Mrs. Malory and Any Man's Death (20 page)

“Because she had a hold over some people?” I suggested tentatively.

Ellen looked at me sharply. “What sort of hold?”

“A different one for each person, I believe. Most of us have something, however trivial, that we would prefer the world not to know about.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Ellen got up. “I’ll put the kettle on—you’ll have a cup of tea?”

“That would be nice.”

Neither of us spoke while she made the tea and got out a tin and put some small cakes onto a plate.

“Bought cake,” she said. “My mother would have had a fit.”

I smiled. “We all come to it sooner or later, and you’re busier than most.”

She poured the tea and I took a small almond slice.

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “She did have something on us, Fred and me. It was never out in the open, nothing you could really get hold of, just implied. But that was enough. I never supposed we were the only ones, but, of course, she never said anything. I think we all knew—the whole village—but no one had the nerve to stand up to her.”

“One person did,” I said.

“Really? That was brave. No, I won’t ask you who it was because you wouldn’t tell me.”

“No.”

Ellen put some sugar in her tea and stirred it thoughtfully.

“When you get right down to it, our secret wasn’t really so dreadful. Most people would think nothing of it. I suppose it was the way Annie put things, those remarks that made you think that everyone would—well, I don’t know—would think less of you, I suppose.”

“I can imagine.”

“And really these days no one would think anything of it—it was just the boys. Fred didn’t want them to feel bad, though they both knew, of course.” She looked at me and laughed. “You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about!”

I shook my head.

“It’s the old story, really. Mark isn’t Fred’s child. I was pregnant when he married me.”

“Look, please,” I said, “don’t feel you have to tell me anything.”

“No, I want to—just to prove to myself what an unimportant thing it was and how
stupid
we were to let Annie get at us like that!”

“It’s understandable; she was very insidious.”

“That’s just about it,” Ellen said. “Insidious—a nasty word for a nasty person. Well, what happened was that when I was eighteen I went up to Bristol to look after my auntie May. She was my mother ’s older sister, never married, stayed at home to look after their parents so they left her the little money they had and she managed on that. Anyway, she had this bad go of pneumonia and my mother sent me up to nurse her. Before I went, Fred and I had come to a sort of understanding—not an engagement; both our parents said we were too young. Fred was only a year older than me. So I think my mother was quite glad of an excuse to get me away from the village for a bit.”

She picked up the teapot. “Do you want another cup?”

I shook my head.

“Auntie May had a very good next door neighbor, you know, popping in and out to see if everything was okay. Mrs. Philips she was, Edna. She was very helpful to me and used to bring in meals for us both to save me cooking. Her son Trevor used to bring them round sometimes (he was on leave from the army) and stayed chatting. Then, when Auntie May was getting better, Mrs. Philips used to say, ‘You young people go out and enjoy yourselves—I’ll sit with May.’ So we went to the cinema, for walks on the Downs, or just for a drink. He was very lively, full of fun—older than me, knew his way around. I thought he was wonderful. Well, one thing led to another, as they say, and a little while after I got back home I realized how stupid I’d been.”

“Did you tell Fred?”

“Yes, I told him first of all, even before I told my mother. He was very upset, of course, and I felt terrible because I knew it was him I wanted—Trevor was only a bit of madness. I thought I’d ruined everything.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, I had to tell my mother and she and my father were furious—you remember how it was, such a disgrace. But Fred said he still wanted to marry me and we should do it right away. I must say, his father was very good about it (his mother had died when he was quite young) and we had the banns called straightaway and Fred’s father let us have the farm cottage.”

“What about Trevor—did you ever tell him?”

“No, what would have been the use? He wasn’t one for settling down. Anyway, I heard a few years later that he’d been killed on some sort of military exercise. Very sad; he’d been so full of life.” She sat quietly for a moment, looking down at her clasped hands. “Still, I suppose in some ways it was for the best; it might have been awkward later on.”

“Does Mark look like him?” I asked.

“Not really; just occasionally there’s something.”

“Perhaps that’s why he chose to go into the army.”

“Perhaps. He never wanted to do anything on the farm. Just as well, really. I mean, Fred always treated him as his own, but I think he’s glad Dan will have the farm—well, it’s been in the family for generations; you know how it is . . .”

“How were the boys when you told them?”

“They’d always been very close—Dan looked up to Mark and, of course, by the time they were old enough for us to tell them it wasn’t such a big deal; people’s attitudes had changed. No, they took it very well. I suppose because Dan was so set on farming and Mark wasn’t, that made it easier. No, bless them, they’re still very good friends. But Fred was right; it would have been awkward for them if word had got about. That’s why we fell in with what Annie wanted.”

“How could she have found out?” I asked.

“There was a bit of talk in the village when Fred and I got married so young and then Mark being born so soon after. But I suppose people thought we’d just been careless. But Martha, Annie’s mother, liked ferreting out bits of gossip. That’s probably where Annie got it from.”

“Such a horrible, spiteful thing to do, to hold it over you like that,” I said.

“And, as you say, we weren’t the only ones. It’s an awful thing to say, but there’s quite a lot of people in the village who’ll feel better now she’s gone.” She got up and took the teapot over to the sink. “I’m glad I told you, Sheila. In a funny sort of way it puts it into perspective.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said. “Of course, I’d never mention it to anyone . . .” I got up and moved towards the door. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself.”

 

The next day I had to take Tris to have his nails clipped. Unlike Foss, who loves attention of any kind, Tris hates going to the vet. From the moment we go through the door he starts whining and insists on sitting on my knee shivering pathetically. There appeared to be only one vet on duty and the waiting room was full, so it looked as if we were in for a long wait. However, the door opened and I was pleased to see Rachel coming in with Phyll’s old Labrador, who sank down heavily at her feet, snuffling occasionally but otherwise unmoved.

I greeted Rachel and bent over to pat him. “Is he all right?”

“Yes, he’s just here for his booster shot. Phyll would have brought him but she and Martin wanted to go to Taunton.”

“He’s still staying with you?” I asked.

“Oh yes. As a matter of fact I was going to ring you and Rosemary to tell you the news. Phyll and Martin are engaged.”

“Good heavens! But they hardly know each other!”

“I know. But actually they more or less fell for each other that time in Madeira. A real
coup de foudre,
from what I can gather, at least on Phyll’s part, and I believe he felt much the same. But Martin had an ailing wife and Phyll had decided to devote her life to looking after Father, so they parted forever—or so they thought. She was very upset when they came home; she’d never really been in love before, poor lamb. You can imagine the long phone calls telling me all about it! Anyway, when he turned up again in this totally unexpected way and a widower, it wasn’t so much a question of if they’d get together, but when.”

“How extraordinary—like something out of a Victorian novel. The sort of coincidence you think only happens in books, though life is full of them! They certainly seem fond of each other—a real happy ending! How do you feel about it?”

“Oh, I’m delighted for Phyll. She adored Father and this is the first time I’ve seen her really happy since he died.”

“And what do you think about Martin?”

She shrugged. “I really don’t know. He seems genuinely attached to her, which is the important thing. We don’t know much about him but there probably isn’t that much to know, if you see what I mean.”

“What you see is what you get?”

“I think so.”

“I must say I do see what you mean about Phyll being happy. They were telling me about renovating the cottage and she was absolutely bubbling over with excitement, and he was amused but in a fond sort of way.”

“Perhaps fond is the word, but it’s quite a good sort of love, isn’t it, and it isn’t as if either of them is in the first flush of youth. I think he will make her happy and that’s what matters.”

“And how about you? If they move into Annie’s cottage—when Phyll’s altered it to her satisfaction!—you’ll be left alone in that big house.”

“Oh, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. With all the ideas Phyll has about the cottage—not to mention changing her mind about everything half a dozen times—it’ll be the best part of a year before they actually move.”

“And what about the wedding—when will that be?”

“They haven’t decided yet, but fairly soon, I think. There’s no reason for them to wait and it’s going to be quite a simple affair. They’ll speak to Father William about it sometime soon.”

“Well,” I said, “I think that’s simply splendid. Are they telling people, or should I keep it a secret?”

“Oh no, they want everyone to know. In fact, I said I’d organize an engagement party. I do hope you and Rosemary will come.”

“I’d love to, of course,” I said, “and I’m sure Rosemary will too.”

“What an extraordinary thing,” Rosemary said when I told her. “I just hope Phyll knows what she’s doing. After all, what do we know about Martin? I mean, it was odd enough the way he turned out to be Annie’s cousin and turned up here. She’s only known him for a few weeks.”

“And that time in Madeira.”

“A holiday romance!”

“Dr. Gregory liked him—I’m sure that weighed a lot with Phyll.”

“Liking him on holiday’s one thing, but Dr. G never expected him to want to marry his daughter.”

“I think Michael made some inquiries about him when it turned out he inherited everything from Annie. I’m sure if there’d been anything fishy, he’d have discovered it.”

“I suppose so.”

“So will you come to the engagement party?”

“Of course! And I really do hope everything will turn out well for them. It’s just that I’m fond of old Phyll and I think she’s taking a bit of a risk.”

“All marriage is a risk in one way or other. I don’t see why this shouldn’t work out perfectly well.”

“You’re probably right. Goodness, is that the time? I must go—I’ve got to take Mother her prescription. Still, at least I’ll have a hot piece of news for her. Mulling over this will keep her happy for days!”

 

 

 

Rachel’s engagement party for Phyll and Martin was a great success—lots of people, delicious food and an excited buzz. The only drawback was that the guests (given the presence of the two people involved) hesitated to speculate among themselves on the surprising and fascinating nature of the news, though Anthea did manage to back me into a corner and make her views known.

“It’s all a bit sudden, isn’t it?” she demanded in a rather too-loud voice.

“Well . . . ,” I began.

“He’s only been in the village five minutes and here’s Phyllis Gregory marrying him!”

“Oh, they’d known each other before,” I said. “Her father liked him very much.”

“What do you mean? Dr. Gregory? He’s been dead for years.”

“They knew him in Madeira ages ago,” I said.“Didn’t you know?” I added provocatively. “Long before either of them knew he was related to Annie. Phyll’s been telling everyone about the amazing coincidence.”

“Coincidence!” Anthea said disapprovingly. She turned and looked at the happy couple.

“He’s not very tall; she’ll have to stop wearing high heels. I always think it looks very odd in a couple if a woman is taller than a man. So, when are they getting married? Or is it going to be one of those long engagements?”

“Oh, quite soon, I think—before Christmas, anyway.”

“What’s the rush?” she asked, obviously disappointed that the bride’s age made the possibility of a shotgun wedding unlikely.

“There doesn’t seem any reason to wait and it’s going to be a simple ceremony, so there won’t be a lot of preparations to make.”