Tragedy at Two (31 page)

But then she looked at young Josie’s smiling face, and remembered that the girl’s partner had been attacked on the road, left to die in a ditch. She relented, although she also remembered that the gypsies had been the first to be suspected of the crime. She stood up and extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Josie,” she said. “I didn’t come to your shop. We got our shopping in Tresham. More anonymous in a supermarket for us. We might get stared at, but they let us buy their goods! How’re you doing now, gel?”

This last was addressed to Lois, who nodded and said she was fine. “We’re takin’ a few days break, me and Josie,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to come to the Appleby fair, so here we are. Your lot doin’ all right? I read about them two who were with you in Farnden. Sounded nasty.”

Athalia’s eyes narrowed. “Nuthin’ to do with us,” she said. “They didn’t come along of us to here. Though we saw them on the way.” She didn’t mention that their encounter was closer than that. Less said about that the better.

Lois felt George’s presence before she saw him. He was there behind her, and spoke close to her ear. “Slummin’, are we?” he said.

She whipped round and faced him. “That’s a nice welcome, I’m sure,” she said angrily. “Come on, Josie. ’Bye, Athalia, we might meet up again in the next day or two. Have a great time.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” George said. “No need to be so hasty. I was only joking. Evenin’, miss,” he added, nodding politely at Josie. “Must be your daughter, Mrs. Meade,” he said. “She’s the image of you.”

“When young,” Lois said sharply. “Anyway, Josie,” she added, “we must be getting back.”

“You’ll be quite safe here with us,” George said. “Have a beer. We got crates of the stuff in the van.”

Athalia looked at him closely. She missed nothing that went on with George, and realised with a sinking heart that the poor man was attracted to Mrs. Meade. Now what? she thought. Since his wife had gone off, Athalia had taken him under her wing, and thought of him as almost a son. This must be stopped, and at once.

“Mrs. Meade was getting back to her hotel,” she said. “You can see the light’s goin’, George. Not safe for two beautiful young ladies to be alone in Appleby on a fair night.”

“They won’t be alone,” George said, fetching a bottle and four glasses. “I shall escort them back to their palace.”

“If the pumpkin coach don’t turn up first,” Josie said, and all except Athalia laughed, and she went back to her seat on the trailer steps. George fetched two chairs, and Lois and Josie sat down, with George on the grass at their feet. They sipped their beer and watched the scene, listening when a song broke out somewhere on the field.

After a while Athalia relented, and began to tell stories of past days, when travellers, real gypsies, were welcomed, and had stopping places where they could spend several weeks. “Nowadays,” she said bitterly, “we get a reputation for being dirty people, not clearing up after us. But, Mrs. Meade, when the police come and want you off the site and on your way with no time to do anythin’ but pack up a few belongings, it ain’t no wonder things get left.”

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, Mrs. Lee,” Josie said, “but how can you keep really clean living in a caravan and always moving on?”

Lois held her breath, expecting a blast from Athalia. It didn’t come, and Athalia chuckled. “Different way of life, Josie. We think we’re cleaner than you
gorgios.
We’d never wash dirty socks in the same bowl as scrub the veg. And in the old days, we never had no toilets. Ugh! Fancy all that in one place! We used the woods and the hedges in a proper way. Now, o’ course, we got toilets and showers an’ all that in these fancy trailers.”

Suddenly, shouts of a fight came from across the field. Raucous voices joined together to cheer on one side and then another. George got to his feet. “Time to go, ladies,” he said. “Athalia will tell you more another time. Somebody should collect her memories before it’s too late. Come on now, follow me.”

On the way back, George chatted about nothing much, filling them in on gypsy ways. “We’ve always had fights, but shake hands after.” With a bit of prompting from Lois, he asked if they’d got Rob’s attacker. When she said not, he stopped and looked at her. “Do
you
think we did it?” he asked seriously. Lois shrugged. Josie said that until they found the guilty person, they had to suspect everybody.

“Even the respectable citizens of Farnden?” George said. “Like that lot in the pub on quiz night? One or two there would have done us in on our way home. Think on it, Mrs. Meade,” he added.

 

 

WHEN THEY WERE SAFELY BACK IN THEIR HOTEL ROOM, JOSIE said, “Mum, shouldn’t we ring Dad?”

“If you like. Yep, let’s ring him and Gran. They’re probably imaginin’ all kinds of disasters. Then we’ve got to think, like George said.”

DEREK HEARD THE TELEPHONE AND LOOKED AT HIS WATCH. There had been several calls during the evening, and none of them had been from Lois and Josie. Now he had no great hopes of it being them this time.

“Dad?” It was Josie’s light, clear voice, and Derek felt a tear come to his eye. How stupid, he told himself. The girl’s a grown woman now. And anyway, Lois was there and would see her safe.

“How’s it goin’, me duck?” he answered in a husky voice. He cleared his throat, and added, “has yer mum run off with the raggle-taggle gypsies yet?”

“No, I have not!” Lois’s familiar sharp voice was so reassuring that Derek relaxed, and sat down on the hall chair. “So havin’ got that out of the way,” she continued, “how’s everything at home. Any problems with the girls? Is Gran managing?”

“No problems with New Brooms,” Derek said. “Except, o’ course, they sweep cleaner when you’re around. And as for Gran, she’s in her element, bossin’ me and everyone else who comes in sight. Douglas and Susie rang from Tresham to see how you were getting on, and Gran told them she didn’t know, but all at Farnden under her supervision is runnin’ like clockwork.”

“Oh, well, in that case shall we stay another week?”

Derek’s voice changed instantly. “Certainly not,” he said. “If you want the truth, we’re all missin’ you and Josie a lot. Come home soon, gel.”

Josie took the phone again and chatted to Derek and Gran, and told them they were having a great time, taking lots of photos to show them when they got home. “Cheerio, then, Dad,” she said at last. “Here’s Mum.”

“’Bye, Derek,” Lois said, and as an afterthought, “Love you.”

 

 

“NOW,” JOSIE SAID, FLATTENING OUT ON THE BED, “LET’S HAVE A review. You first, Mum.”

Lois had an uncomfortable feeling that her daughter was taking over, but reminded herself that it was Rob they were talking about. Josie’s Rob. “Right. First of all, Athalia was not at all pleased to see us. To see me, I should say. Still, that was fair enough. She told me in no uncertain terms that I should stay away from the Farnden gypsies. I expect it would have been all right if they hadn’t got the blame for Rob’s murder. Then, o’ course, there was the fire.”

“But she came round later on, with those great stories,” Josie said.

“Yeah, but did you notice how she clammed up when I said we’d read about those two brothers? I reckon she knew more than she was saying.”

Josie was silent for a minute. Then she said, “You’re right. And those two were the most likely candidates for attacking Rob. I suppose the police checked for dog bites?”

“Dunno. That’s one thing we can ask Cowgill or your Matthew when we get back. I expect the autopsy shows up all that kind of stuff.”

“Anyway, what else?” Josie yawned.

“Only one thing, really. Probably the most important. When George told us to think on about village people. He actually hinted at somebody in the pub that night. You know George and his mate were stopped and threatened on their way home after the quiz?”

“Who by?” asked Josie, wide awake again.

“A gang—some of them kids, some older. There was a man in charge, Athalia told me soon after. But nothing seems to have come of that.”

“Another thing to ask the cops, Mum. You know who I’m thinking of, don’t you? The man who hates outsiders and particularly gypsies?”

“Sam Stratford,” Lois said grudgingly. She dreaded stirring up more trouble for Sheila. The poor woman had not been at all happy lately.

Josie nodded. “And yet he’s not a bad bloke really. He’d do anything to help if he thought you were in trouble.” Then she remembered his spat with Alf Smith, and mentioned it, asking Lois if they’d always been enemies.

“Not really enemies,” Lois said, and laughed. “They used to be rivals for the favours of several of the village girls, and Sam always won. He was a great looking bloke in his youth, and Alf was always a bit of a runt.”

Josie said innocently that it couldn’t be that. They were elderly men now. Lois laughed again, more loudly. “They wouldn’t like to hear that!” she said. “Wait ’til you’re their age, my gel, and you’ll see there’s life in the old dogs for years.”

“Anyway, we’re getting off the point,” Josie said. “Who else, if not Sam? Alf?”

“Goodness, no. He’s been the gypsies’ friend for years. They’ve stopped on his land every year. He’s fond of Athalia Lee, too. And she of him, I think. No, not Alf.”

“Who, then? And if it was the same gang that attacked Rob, what would any of them have against Rob?”

“That’s it, isn’t it,” Lois said. “I reckon we know now that there was another side to Rob. Most of us have secrets, usually in the past. Is there anything that might have happened before you met him? Something that made him an enemy?”

Josie bit her lip and frowned, thinking hard. “Well,” she said, “he didn’t talk about his family or friends he had before he came to Tresham. He didn’t make friends easily, that’s true. But he was always happy to be just with me, at home. He seemed grateful. . . .” She choked, and put her hands up to her face.

“Don’t fret, duckie,” Lois said quickly. “That’s enough for tonight. Shall we go down to the bar and have a nightcap? Stone’s ginger wine is the thing. Gran swears by it. Come on, shoes on, and lets go and chat up the locals.”

As they went downstairs, Lois reflected that maybe because they were away from home, Josie seemed more able to talk about Rob, though she was sure that there were still things that Josie was not telling her. She remembered then how Josie as a teenager had been able to keep her secrets forever, if necessary. People didn’t change that much, she reckoned. What was it Derek said? “Softly, softly, catchee monkey.” She must bear that in mind.

 

 

THE BAR OF THE HOTEL WAS NOT AS CROWDED AS LOIS EXPECTED. There were a few farmers talking comfortably about sheep, and one or two married couples clearly on their regular night out.

“I suppose the locals keep away from the town centre on fair nights,” Josie said. She looked around and saw over in the far corner a familiar figure with a newspaper hiding his face. Alf Smith. Why wasn’t he up on the field with his precious gypsies? He’d seen Lois and herself, she was sure, and obviously did not want to join them. She said nothing to Lois and led the way to the opposite end of the bar.

“Mrs. Meade, isn’t it?” A large, overdressed woman had approached them, and smiled broadly at Lois. “You’re a long way from home, dear, aren’t you?”

Without being invited, the woman, Mrs. Westonbirt from Waltonby, a New Brooms client, sat down heavily in the elegant hotel chair and began to talk at once about the gypsies and how colourful it all was, and how she’d always wanted to come to Appleby, as her ancestors had been gypsies, though her mother had always denied it.

“So glad to see you here,” she enthused, as Josie and Lois sat glumly, not able to get a word in, as the monologue continued. “When you’re a woman on your own—my dear husband passed on five years ago—as you know, of course, Mrs. Meade—i t is not easy to come into a bar for a drink without inviting attention—even in these days of women’s lib!”

She paused only to take a sip of her gin and tonic, and then told them in detail all that she had seen and done that day. Finally, after what seemed to Lois and Josie like hours of relentless burbling, she stood up with difficulty and said it was time for tat-tat to bo-boes—“ In other words, dears, up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire! I shall look out for you at breakfast tomorrow—perhaps we could sally forth together?” She walked out of the bar, pausing only to order morning tea and a newspaper from the receptionist.

Silence fell over Lois and Josie. “Not sure I remember how to speak,” Josie said at last.

“Nor me,” Lois said. “What was that about tat-tat to whatsit?”

“God knows,” said Josie. She noticed that Alf Smith had gone. It must have been while Mrs. Westonbirt had them fixed with her beady eye.

“Shall we have another?” Lois said, picking up their empty glasses.

“Why not,” said Josie. “Then it’ll be time to go tat-tat to bo-boes,” they chorused, and laughed with relief.