The Problem at Two Tithes (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 7) (12 page)

Jameson paused outside the police station. He would speak to Primm and find out what Daniel Tyler had said. If he had heard the shot while Kathie and Norman were in view of him—or even after they had passed him—then they were in the clear. Otherwise, if he had heard it a few minutes before he met them, things looked much more suspicious. He hoped very much that Kathie had got it wrong.

Despite an affectation of idleness, Freddy Pilkington-Soames was in actual fact a young man of great resourcefulness and determination who, once he had got an idea into his head, would not let go of it until he had brought it to fruition. At present, his two overriding goals in life were: 1) to put one over on Corky Beckwith, and 2) to ingratiate himself with the ladies of Two Tithes. The outcome of 1) was at present uncertain, for Corky had of late ceased to follow him around the village, and seemed bent on mysterious business of his own, but on 2) Freddy set himself to work, and by Wednesday afternoon had succeeded so far as to procure an invitation to tea, by the simple expedient of promising to include a paragraph about the church fête in his next piece about the Banford Green murder.

He duly presented himself and found, rather to his relief, that Sir Humphrey Cardew had gone to his office in London, and that the little party consisted of Lady Cardew, her mother Mrs. Randall, a large woman who was introduced to him as Mrs. Hunter the vicar’s wife, and Angela. He therefore put on his best manner and set himself to exercising his not inconsiderable charm on the ladies. Lady Cardew, it was true, was still rather suspicious of him (it would clearly take some work to overcome her disdain for the popular papers), but Mrs. Hunter liked his apparent plain speaking, while Mrs. Randall regarded him through her lorgnette with distant interest. Angela, of course, was a sport and required no winning over at all.

‘I say, this shortbread is simply delicious,’ said Freddy. ‘Who made it?’

He knew full well, having been primed earlier by Angela, that Elisabeth’s was the fair hand which had baked the biscuits. Lady Cardew nodded graciously and admitted responsibility.

‘It was meant for the fête,’ she said, ‘but there was too much so we kept this back. Rather a good thing, as it turned out, or it would have all gone down with the rest of the cake stall.’

Freddy raised his eyebrows in polite interest.

‘There was an incident with an escaped pig. It was rather my fault,’ said Angela in the dutiful but expressionless manner of one who has said the same thing many times.

Evidently there was much entertainment to be had from this incident, and Freddy was about to take full advantage of it when he happened to glance at Lady Cardew and saw a triumphant expression flash briefly across her face. There was nothing ill-natured about Freddy, so he decided to let the subject drop. He could always tease Angela about it later. Instead, he said after a moment:

‘I understand you had a nasty accident on your bicycle the other day, Mrs. H. I hope it wasn’t too serious. Still, though, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. I’ve always said those penny farthings are a menace. Far too high off the ground to be safe.’

Mrs. Hunter gave a shout of laughter and wagged her finger at him.

‘You impudent boy,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact, my bicycle is quite a modern one. I’m a great believer in getting plenty of fresh air, and there’s no better way of doing that than by cycling everywhere.’

‘You won’t be able to do it for a while, though, will you?’ observed Elisabeth.

‘No,’ said Mrs. Hunter. ‘It’s a great shame, but the doctor has advised me to stay off it for a week or two until my wrist is quite better. Just a sprain, you know,’ she said to Freddy, ‘but Dr. Rutherford says I was lucky not to break it. Thank goodness for Alice Hopwell, that’s all I can say. I know she’s let herself go rather, and of course she has far too many children, but she’s kind-hearted enough with it. I was just outside her house when I fell, and she picked me up and took me home. I was worried about bicycle thieves, but she said she had a stout chain and a padlock and would lock it up for me by the church until I was ready to fetch it. We haven’t had any rain since Saturday so I suppose it’s all right where it is for now. Gipsies!’ she said suddenly. ‘Now there’s a story for you, Mr. Pilkington-Soames.’

She was about to launch into a tirade on her favourite theme when Mrs. Randall leaned forward and spoke up.

‘It must be tremendously exciting, being a reporter,’ she said to Freddy. ‘You must meet all kinds of people.’

‘Oh, I do,’ said Freddy. ‘Most of them are quite dreadful, though.’

‘I wanted Angela to tell me all about her friends in the
criminal underworld
,’ went on Mrs. Randall, pronouncing the words with great relish, ‘but she’s pretending to be respectable and won’t. You needn’t have such scruples, though.’

‘Oh, no, I can tell you all about what Angela gets up to,’ said Freddy slyly. ‘Shall I tell her about the whisky in the cupboard incident, Angela?’

Angela shook her head quickly in alarm, and Freddy remembered himself.

‘Oh, no, I’m terribly sorry, of course that was someone else,’ he said hurriedly.

‘We drink very little in this house, Mr. Pilkington-Soames,’ said Lady Cardew grandly.

Mrs. Hunter beamed in approval.

‘Quite right,’ she said. ‘I myself occasionally take a glass of blackcurrant wine after Harvest Festival, and a little sherry at Christmas, but other than that Stephen and I generally abstain. I have seen only too well the effects alcohol can have on people. They have the right idea in America, don’t you think, Mrs. Marchmont?’

Angela made some polite reply and Freddy spent the rest of his visit entertaining them with anecdotes of his life as a reporter for the
Clarion
, although he was unable to tell his best stories for the benefit of Mrs. Randall, who seemed really bloodthirsty, since he was unwilling to upset Lady Cardew.

Eventually he took his leave, saying that he had to go and write up his story about the fête.

‘Why don’t you come with me, Angela?’ he said. ‘You can tell me all about it from the point of view of the lady detective. Don’t you know you’ve got a celebrity here?’ he said to the other ladies. ‘If I mention her name in the story that will be a sure-fire guarantee of its being read. Why, the whole country will know of the wild success of the Banford Green church fête!’

With that he left, taking Angela with him.

‘I say,’ he said as they walked out, ‘your sister-in-law is rather hard work, isn’t she?’

‘Perhaps a little,’ admitted Angela.

‘I wonder if she’s ever had any fun in her life.’

‘I rather think she has fun by not having fun,’ said Angela. ‘She’s not a bad person, you know, just a little—inflexible, let’s say.’

‘She’s nothing like her mother at any rate,’ said Freddy. ‘Or her sister.’

‘Oh, you’ve met Kathie, have you?’ said Angela.

‘Yes. Lovely girl, isn’t she? I gather she’s engaged to the main suspect in the murder of Tom Tipping.’

‘Is he the main suspect now? I wondered how long it would take before they fastened upon him.’

‘It was bound to happen. Family members are always the most obvious suspects,’ said Freddy. ‘Of course, that puts Kathie in the picture as an accomplice.’

‘Which is clearly nonsense,’ said Angela with something like a snort. ‘I should as soon believe I’d done it myself as suspect her.’

‘But doesn’t she have a motive if she’s engaged to him?’

‘She’s not engaged to him. She told me so herself. And I’m pretty sure she’s not in love with him either. Everyone thinks they’re going to get married, but I don’t think
she’s
entirely convinced of the idea.’

‘It’s a shame she gives Norman Tipping an alibi, then, since he’s such an obvious suspect,’ said Freddy. ‘I mean, if he did it, then she
must
have been in on it. Otherwise he can’t have done it.’

‘Unless the murder didn’t happen in the way we think it did,’ said Angela.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m just wondering at random. I’m not supposed to be detecting, as Humphrey doesn’t approve of it much, so I suppose I ought to stop thinking about it.’

They were now crossing Tithes Field. The weather was dull and chilly and Freddy shivered.

‘What rotten weather for the middle of summer,’ he said. ‘If it’s going to be cold it might at least go the whole hog and rain too. It must be rather a change from Italy, what? I say, I’m rather jealous of your holiday. I’ve always wanted to go there myself. Tell me about Venice. What was it like?’

Angela made some reply and tried to change the subject, but she was too hasty in doing it and he immediately became suspicious.

‘That’s twice you’ve done that to me,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you want to talk about Italy? Were you fleeced of your life savings by a taxi driver or something?’

‘Of course not,’ she said with a laugh.

But Freddy was by no means stupid. He regarded her closely and understanding dawned on his face. He stopped.

‘Oh,
I
see,’ he said with something like triumph.

‘What?’ she said, stopping also.

‘I thought I recognized that look of yours,’ he said. ‘I ought to have realized the other day.’

‘Which look? I haven’t got a look,’ she said.

‘Yes you have,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it enough times before. It’s one part sheepishness to two parts pure mischief, and it invariably means only one thing. Who is he?’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Angela fearfully.

‘Come on, there’s a man, isn’t there?’ said Freddy. ‘So
that’s
why you’re looking so sleek and self-satisfied—you’re in love! How thrilling! Tell me, would I approve? He has very good taste in jewellery, I must say.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, trying to laugh, although she was inwardly horrified at having been so easily seen through. She was struggling with very mixed feelings about her Italian adventure—not the least of which was guilt—and the last thing she wanted was an inquisitive reporter asking questions and digging the whole thing up.

‘You can’t deny it,’ said Freddy. ‘You know I’ll find out one way or another.’

‘But there’s nothing to find out,’ said Angela.

She was saved, much to her relief, by Corky Beckwith, who turned up just then looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

‘What have you got to be so happy about?’ said Freddy. ‘Have you arranged for someone to be run over by a train in front of you, just so you can get the story?’

‘Of course not,’ said Corky. ‘Although I shall make a note of that thought and save it for a slow day.’

‘I wasn’t trying to give you ideas,’ said Freddy. ‘Come on, what have you got?’

‘Oh, I suppose it can’t do any harm to tell you,’ said Corky smugly, ‘since I’ve already telephoned in my story and it’s too late for you now. As a matter of fact, I have been questioning the farm-hands at the Tippings’ farm.’

‘Do you mean they were prepared to speak to you?’ said Freddy. ‘I should have thought they’d be more interested in getting that jacket off you and putting it on a scarecrow. Goodness knows, it frightens me enough.’

Corky gave a little appreciative snicker.

‘No, no, young Freddy,’ he said. ‘One day you, too, will learn the art of getting information out of people. It’s easy enough if you’ve the wit. I was thinking of offering a correspondence course on the subject. Of course I’d give you a special rate, since we’re old friends.’

‘Oh, I see, you bribed them, did you?’ said Freddy.

‘But what have you found out?’ said Angela impatiently, for it was evident that Freddy and Corky could spar for hours in this fashion if left to themselves.

Corky turned to her and gave her a mouthful of teeth.

‘Madam, I live only to serve you,’ he said. ‘I have found out that Tom and Margaret Tipping were not on the best of terms. In fact, I might go so far as to say that the love had long gone from their marriage, and that they were living together on sufferance. It pains me to say it, but such is the case. I am going now to speak to someone who has promised to tell me all about it. I believe I am hot on the scent. Look out, young Freddy—I should say the
Herald
is about to steal a march on the
Clarion
.’

‘You ass,’ said Freddy. ‘You’re far more likely to ruin things. Why, you’re the sort of fellow who’d go and gawp at a dead body just for the fun of it and trample on all the clues while you did it.’

Corky looked sulky.

‘It’s all very well for you,’ he said. ‘You’ve got an “in” with the inspector. How did you manage to get so pally with him, anyway?’

‘Sheer, native charm,’ said Freddy. ‘I realize it’s more difficult for you, being an imbecile and all that, but you never know—perhaps he’ll take pity on you and throw you some scraps.’

Corky sniffed, then turned his full attention on Angela.

‘Mrs. Marchmont, I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about helping me with my story? I simply won’t believe you aren’t tempted by the prospect of seeing your thoughts on the case in print. Come, now, I shall write something anyhow, so you may as well do it. I have it on the word of my editor that we can give you two whole columns on page four. How can you refuse such an offer?’

‘I don’t know the answer to that any more than you do, Mr. Beckwith,’ said Angela, ‘but it appears that somehow I can.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said Corky, unperturbed. ‘Mind, I shall keep trying.’

He went off, and Freddy scowled.

‘Bother,’ he said. ‘Now I shall have to solve the mystery before he does.’

‘Can’t you just leave it to the police?’ said Angela.

‘What, when my honour and reputation are at stake?’ said Freddy. ‘Never!’

He was about to hold forth at length on the utter unfitness of Corky Beckwith to be allowed anywhere near a pen and paper, when he felt a tug at his jacket and looked down.

‘Hallo!’ he said in surprise. Looking up at him was a small child of perhaps three. She had tangled hair and a very grubby face. ‘Where did you spring from, young lady? What’s your name?’

The child giggled.