Chapter Six

What’s the matter?’ Bill followed Ellie upstairs to discover what was going on.

Frank shrieked, ‘Go away! Go away, I say! I want my mummy!’

‘He’s shoved something against the door on the inside,’ said Ellie, failing to get the door open more than another inch. ‘See if you can shift — whatever it is.’

Bill tried, and failed. ‘Do we send for the fire brigade?’

‘Let me have another go.’ Ellie inserted her hand and wrist in the narrow gap, and felt around. ‘He’s jammed a chair under the door knob. Frank, do you hear me? Let us in, there’s a good boy.’

‘I’d tan the hide off him,’ said Bill, more or less under his breath.

‘I heard that!’ yelled Frank. ‘I’m not letting you in. You get my mummy, do you hear?’

‘I can’t, dear,’ said Ellie, keeping calm. ‘You know she’s busy this afternoon. Now, if you don’t want to come out, then that’s all right by us. We’ll go downstairs and get ourselves a drink and a biscuit, and you can stay there till you’re ready to join us. All right, Bill?’

‘What I’d do to him!’ said Bill, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Frank gave a piercing shriek. ‘Don’t leave me!’

‘Then pull the chair away from the door.’

Pause for thought. ‘If I do, you won’t let him come in, will you?’

‘No,’ said Ellie. ‘I’ll ask him to go downstairs and wait for us. Right?’

Bill went back downstairs, muttering that children needed to be taught their place. Ellie didn’t try to make excuses for Frank’s naughtiness, though it did occur to her that Bill was not the ideal person to deal with a small child’s tantrums.

She pulled the door towards her until it clicked shut, and in a moment she heard the chair being removed from under the door knob. Frank took a flying leap back into her bed as she opened the door, but not before she’d caught sight of his face. He hid under her duvet, but she gently drew it back to appreciate the full glory of his war paint.

‘I thought it was face paint, like we have at playschool on special days,’ he said, beginning to sob. ‘But it hurts!’

Ellie bit her lip to hide a smile. ‘Come into the bathroom and we’ll see about getting it off, shall we?’

He’d used up all her lipstick, both the pale pink and the darker rose. That would come off with soap and water. But he’d also used almost the whole of a bottle of nail varnish which she’d bought in a mad moment and never used. As it dried, it had puckered the skin on his face. No doubt it did hurt. There wasn’t much of her make-up left on the dressing-table, though a liberal amount was on the duvet cover and pillow, on Frank, and on his clothes.

It was going to take some cleaning up. She called down to Bill that there was an emergency and he’d better leave her to deal with it. Bill didn’t argue very much. He said he’d half promised to look in on work that afternoon, so if she didn’t need him any longer . . .

‘I don’t want him to see me!’ said Frank.

Ellie sighed. ‘If you will do silly things, Frank, you have to take the consequences, but in this case Bill has more important things to do than make fun of you, so . . . let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?’

Luckily she kept a drawer full of spare clothes for him at her house.

An hour later, a subdued boy had been cleaned up and inserted into clean clothes, while Ellie stowed everything he’d stained into a large bag to be taken into the cleaners. What Diana was going to say about that, Ellie didn’t want to imagine. It was true that you really couldn’t take your eyes off a child of that age, even for a minute.

‘Come along, Frank. Let’s take this bundle to the shops. Perhaps we can call in at the library on the way back, get you some more books to read.’

‘Don’t like books. Don’t want to go. Can we have chips at the café?’

Ellie was too exhausted to argue. ‘Maybe. Get your jacket and we’ll be moving.’

‘Don’t want to . . .’

He caught the look in her eye, and got his jacket. His shoes were a disgrace, but Ellie didn’t keep a spare pair of shoes at her house, so he had to wear what he’d had on when he’d decided to paint himself up as a tiger. Diana would be livid about his shoes, and no wonder. They cost a bomb nowadays.

As they were going out, they met Kate just leaving, also on her way to the shops. Catriona was in her big buggy, so Kate put Ellie’s bundle in the tray at the back. Frank, unusually subdued, walked beside them, with one hand on the buggy.

‘What . . . ?’ asked Kate, in a low voice.

‘Don’t ask,’ said Ellie. She wrenched her mind away from the horrors of the past hour. ‘Let’s talk about something else, shall we? The price of cabbages. Your latest library book. The woman selling bread rolls.’

‘Yes, well, I might have come across something there. You know how it is when you’re working full time; you don’t get to make friends locally. When I had Catriona and started to work part-time, I started meeting one or two other youngish mothers at the new café in the Avenue. After having worked in the city all those years, it’s a completely new world to me. We actually talk about what washing powder we use, and where to get the best-value baby clothes. That sort of thing.

‘I remember a couple of my new friends talking about the woman who went around selling bread rolls a while back, saying her stuff was good and, though it was a bit of a nuisance that you never knew when she’d be coming round, they often bought off her. So I thought I might pop along to the café — that’s the new coffee bar that’s opened on the other side of the road to the Sunflower restaurant . . . lots of young mothers use it, because there’s nice low sofas inside and they don’t mind children so long as they don’t get underfoot when they’re carrying hot drinks around — and see if anyone I know is in there and can tell me about her.’

‘I’ll join you,’ said Ellie. ‘I think Felicity knows where to find the woman, or how to find her, more likely. But Felicity doesn’t think she’s the kind of person who’d suddenly start making such terrible mistakes with her baking, and though Felicity isn’t exactly . . .’

‘Brain of Britain? She strikes me as being pretty shrewd, though no academic, of course.’

‘Precisely. I’m inclined to respect her opinion. So if we can find this woman and get her to take some kind of health test . . .’

‘My feelings exactly.’

Frank announced, ‘I want a chocolate milk-shake and a chocolate muffin.’

The two women both looked at him, with eyebrows raised.

Frank reddened, but eventually decided that he’d have to give in. ‘Please.’

Ellie stopped holding her breath. Helping to bring up Frank was a tiring business. Kate was frowning, looking down at Frank’s shoes, dappled with colour.

Ellie said hurriedly, ‘Tell you later. I’ll drop off my stuff at the cleaners and be with you in a tick. Come on, Frank. Hold my hand crossing the road.’

When Ellie did get to the new café, she found Kate was sitting between a couple of young mothers. Catriona was being bounced on the knee of a smartly dressed young black woman, and Kate was giving a bottle to a very young baby who obviously belonged to the third member of the party, a redhead. All three were talking a blue streak and Kate was giving her friends all her attention, so Ellie decided it was best not to join them. She took Frank off into a corner and provided him with what he wanted, while treating herself to a café mocha with cream. She felt she deserved it.

As one young mother left the circle around Kate, another took her place. Several long phone conversations took place; what did they all do before mobile phones were so popular?

Meanwhile Ellie was joined by Anita, whom she’d known from before the time when her husband died, when they’d both worked in the charity shop in the Avenue. Both of them were delighted to catch up on the gossip. What was Madam — who ran the shop inefficiently — up to nowadays? Did she really say that? Well, I never!

With enormous enjoyment they caught up on the news, thoroughly aired the latest scandal, discussed the fall-out from the weekend at church — Anita’s mother had gone to the lunch but not been taken ill, though she knew someone who had. They talked about where they were going for their holidays that year and wasn’t it a pity about Joyce Holmes’ miscarriage, but there was plenty of time for her to have another, wasn’t there.

Finally Frank — who’d been reasonably quiet, playing with some of the indestructible toys provided by the coffee shop — suddenly announced that he’d had enough and wanted to go home. Ellie decided discretion was the better part of valour, and agreed they should go, only picking up some vegetables and bread on the way home. Before she’d reached the end of the Avenue, Kate had caught up with them. ‘Sorry,’ said Kate. ‘It felt a bit rude to exclude you, but . . .’

‘There’s a generation gap,’ said Ellie. ‘They wouldn’t have talked so freely if I’d joined you.’

‘I’m older than most, but sometimes they remember it and sometimes they don’t. I did get round to asking about the woman who sells bread rolls, and someone knew a girl whose aunt she is—’

‘Aunt?’

‘Yes. She’s Julie’s aunt. Julie wasn’t there, but one of the others knew about her, and phoned Julie and asked her. I said I was planning a big party and wanted somebody who could prepare the food for me. None of them are church-goers, as it happens, so they didn’t know about what happened on Sunday. I’ve got the name and telephone number of the culprit. A Mrs Rivers. I asked where she lived, but my contact had come off her phone by that time and I didn’t want to push too hard. We should be able to sort it from the phone book.’

‘You are brilliant, Kate. I got a bit of gossip, too. The handyman-cum-gardener who worked at Felicity’s old house — that big monstrosity at the bottom of the hill, you know? He was found dead last week. The inference is that he’d got drunk once too often. Anita says it was in the local papers, but I must have missed it, somehow.’

Kate looked puzzled. ‘But what connection . . . ?’

Ellie grimaced. ‘I know, I know. For one dizzying moment, it seemed to me that there might be a connection, because Felicity used to buy bread rolls from this woman — what’s her name, Rivers? — in the past. But he didn’t die at Felicity’s old house, and I’m sure there’s nothing in it.’

‘I respect your intuition,’ said Kate, ‘but surely . . . no, it’s just a coincidence.’ At this point Catriona began to show symptoms of restlessness and Kate hastened her step. ‘I must rush.’

‘What’s Mrs Rivers’ telephone number?’

Kate was almost flying along the path. ‘I’ll drop it in to you later.’

It was no use trying to catch up with the much younger Kate, particularly with a tired little boy in tow, who was beginning to whimper.

‘I want my mummy.’

‘Let’s sing along,’ suggested Ellie.

‘Won’t! Carry me!’

‘You’re much too big to be carried, Frank. Look, isn’t that Mummy’s car ahead?’

Fatigue forgotten, Frank ran on ahead of Ellie, who caught up with him just as he was preparing to dive across the main road and managed to grab hold of his jacket before he committed suicide under a bus. ‘Frank, how many times have I told you not to run into the road?’

‘I hate you!’ shouted Frank. Once across the road, he slipped out of Ellie’s grasp and sped along to where his mother was getting out of her car. ‘Mummy, Mummy, Mummy! She was all horrible and she scrubbed my face, and made me wear these horrible old clothes and then she made me walk all the way to the shops and all she wanted to talk about was people killing one another with cakes and—’

‘WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR SHOES?’ demanded Diana, fending him off. Diana was all in her favourite black, power-dressed to impress. She was getting too thin for beauty, and spending time at the hairdresser and manicurist to compensate for the loss of the good looks she’d had in her youth. ‘Mother!’

‘I know,’ said Ellie, putting into practice the old adage that attack was the best form of defence. ‘You turn your back for five minutes, and he’s ruined his clothes and a complete set of bed linen. The dry cleaners say they’re not too hopeful of getting the stains out, and I shall have to get myself some more lipstick and nail varnish, not to mention the stains on the carpet. I’ll send you the bill for everything, shall I?’

‘WHAT?’ Diana gaped.

‘She made me,’ said Frank, turning sullen. ‘She was talking to that Bill and sent me up to bed and she never came to read me a book and I was tired of the computer which doesn’t have any good games on it, not games where you can kill people, anyway, so I went into her bedroom just to have a look around, and she shouldn’t have left me alone all that while.’

‘Bill wanted to talk to me,’ said Ellie, opening her front door, ‘about . . .’

‘Which reminds me,’ said Diana. ‘I’ve put your house on the market. Even in this slow-down, it should sell pretty quickly.’

Ellie suddenly felt extremely tired, but she’d told Bill she’d try to deal with Diana herself and she must try to do so. ‘You know very well that your father left his half of the house to me for life. After I die, you get his half, but not mine. You’ve had a copy of my will. You know exactly where you stand. Besides, it is by no means settled that I’m going to marry Bill.’

‘You’d be a fool not to,’ said Diana, ignoring the first part of Ellie’s speech. ‘He’s bound to leave you a lot of money when he dies, and since he’s older than you, you should come out of it pretty well.’

‘His two daughters might well disagree with you.’ Ellie threw down her keys and dropped her handbag on the hall chair. ‘That’s enough, Diana. It’s been a long and tiring day, for me and for little Frank. Why don’t you take him away and feed him?’

Diana fidgeted. ‘I was rather hoping you could find something in the fridge for him tonight. I have appointments booked, and I thought he could stay overnight with you.’

Ellie was inspired to lie. ‘Sorry. I’m out tonight myself.’

‘But I was relying on you to—’

‘You can’t have it both ways. Either you want me to spend time with Bill with a view to marrying him, or I continue to be your unpaid nanny and look after Frank.’

‘If you put it like that . . .’

Ellie closed the front door in Diana’s face and set her back to it. The hall was darker than usual, because of the boarded-over window. She must get her builder on to the job. The answerphone light was winking. More disasters, no doubt. Too bad. Ellie wasn’t playing.

The flap of the letterbox lifted, and a piece of paper floated to the floor. Ellie nearly let it be, but then stooped down to pick it up. It was from Kate, with Mrs Rivers’ telephone number on it.

Ellie smoothed the paper out and took it over to the telephone, which rang again just at that moment. Aunt Drusilla.

‘Ellie, are you free this evening? I think it’s about time we have a family conference. Rose is preparing a light supper for us. Can you make it?’

‘I suppose I could, but—’

‘Don’t bother to dress up. Oh, and by the way, Rose is perfectly all right again now, though that’s more than can be said for that selfish daughter of hers, who hasn’t so much as asked her mother how she is.’

‘Joyce is out of hospital, then?’

‘Only a little the worse for wear, and making a meal of it. If you ask my opinion, she’s trying to make her husband feel guilty so that he won’t expect her to get pregnant again too quickly. Half past seven, right?’

‘Right.’

Ellie put the phone down, and listened to her messages. Nothing from Thomas. Several people from church asking if she was all right and detailing their own recovery from a bout of sickness. A cold sales call. Nothing much.

Ellie dialled the number she’d been given. The phone rang and rang. Nobody picked it up at the other end. Finally an answerphone kicked in. Ellie hesitated. What sort of message could she leave? Either she’d frighten the woman to death, accusing her of mass food poisoning, or . . . No, this would have to be done in person.

She got out the phone book, and turned to the R section. There was a surprisingly small number of people called Rivers, and it didn’t take Ellie long to see that N.D. Rivers could be found at the phone number provided by Kate. The address — just the other side of the Avenue. It wasn’t precisely on the way to Aunt Drusilla’s, but it wouldn’t need much of a detour to call in there.

First she had to put clean sheets on her bed and see if she could get the stains out of the carpet . . . and then she’d have to change. It was all very well Aunt Drusilla saying not to bother dressing up, but it had not been a good day — and here her tooth twanged again, reminding her of her other problem — and she would rather like to get out of these clothes and into something which would boost her morale.

Perhaps she’d try on her new underwear. Well, why not?

She had an apricot and white top with a matching apricot skirt which had a built-in swirl to it. Her legs weren’t bad. Perhaps she’d take some good high-heeled sandals to change into when she got to Aunt Drusilla’s.

As she tackled the stains on the carpet, she found herself worrying about that poor handyman of Felicity’s who had met an untimely end. Where was last week’s local paper? She usually put newspapers and junk mail into the green box in the porch for recycling. Of course Kate was probably right, and it was nothing but a coincidence that Felicity’s one-time gardener — what was his name? Something Irish? Probably ‘Paddy’. Yes, Paddy — should have been found dead one morning, just as Felicity’s dog had been. Or rather, her husband’s dog. Only — and here Ellie sat back on her heels to consider the matter — the dog had been poisoned.

The word ‘poison’ hadn’t been mentioned in connection with Paddy’s death, had it?

The stains came out of the carpet pretty well. Ellie tackled making the bed with clean linen.

What an unpleasant man Sir Arthur Kingsley had been, and what a relief — though of course you weren’t supposed to say so — was his death in a car crash. He’d abused Felicity both physically and mentally, reducing her to a quivering, dowdy wreck. Since she was responsible for her difficult mother’s residential care and had no money of her own, he’d assumed she wouldn’t leave him. Not a nice man, no.

Felicity had perked up no end since he hadn’t been around to criticize her all the time. Their big house had been far too large for her on her own, so she’d sold it and moved to a much smaller one overlooking the park. Encouraged by Ellie and Kate, she’d bought a wardrobe of new and becoming clothes, and had her hair restyled and highlighted.

Ellie wondered if Felicity had heard about Paddy’s death. Felicity was a tender-hearted soul and would grieve to hear about it. Well, she hadn’t mentioned it, so it was odds on that she hadn’t heard.

Ellie glanced at the clock, took a couple of paracetamol and shed the day’s clothes. She got under the shower, wondering whether or not she ought to say something to Felicity about Paddy. Probably not.

She slid into her new underwear — yes! It made all the difference to the way she felt. Put on the apricot and white outfit, brushed her hair out, found some sandals that she could walk in without killing herself, dabbed pressed powder on her shiny nose, and found the butt end of a good lipstick, which was all that Frank had left her. Memo: buy another one, perhaps a shade darker? Small handbag: keys, money, diary . . . what did Aunt Drusilla want, anyway?

Ought she to phone Bill before she went out? No, better not, or there might be an argument about the way her family wasted her time.

Down the stairs. Had she time to ring her builder? No, they’d have closed for the day by now.

The sky was definitely getting overcast. Bother. She picked up an umbrella and a soft cream-coloured jacket. Shoes? No, she wasn’t going back to change them. She set off at a good pace, round the Green, and down the Avenue a way . . . cross over opposite the bakery and then along the residential road to the junction . . . turn right . . . look up the numbers of houses. Big old houses, these. Most of them were divided into flats and . . . yes, this was the house in which Mrs Rivers lived.

It was a stark, red-brick Edwardian house with bays bellying out and a good wide off-the-road parking space in front. No garden. Three bell pushes, and the bottom one was labelled ‘Rivers’.

This was all too easy. Ellie wondered if she should just ring Thomas and tell him she’d found the woman. He could deal with her from now on. But she’d forgotten to put her mobile phone in her handbag, and as she was here now, she might as well make contact.

Ellie rang the bell and waited. Nothing happened. Then she heard halting footsteps as someone crossed a tiled floor in the hall and came to the door.

‘Yes?’ It was an elderly man with sparse white hair and sagging face, leaning on a Zimmer frame. He did not look welcoming.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry to drag you to the door,’ said Ellie. ‘I was looking for the Mrs Rivers who sells bread rolls in the neighbourhood.’

‘My wife’s out.’ His manner was not welcoming.

‘Oh. Well, my name’s Ellie Quicke, and I wondered whether . . . what time should I call to catch your wife in?’

‘Don’t bother!’ He shut the door in her face.

Ellie took an involuntary step backwards. What rudeness! First she was angry. How dare he! And then she shrugged and even tried to laugh. What did it matter, anyway? She’d get Thomas to deal with the woman tomorrow.

She wondered if he’d been so rude because he knew his wife had sold suspect rolls. Was it guilt that made him shut the door in her face? Well, Thomas could sort it out tomorrow.

On to Aunt Drusilla’s. In addition to her own semi, Ellie had inherited a large Victorian house when her husband died, but his aunt had always lived in it, and would probably die in it, too. Ellie had never wanted to live in it herself, and was happy that Miss Quicke should see her days out in it, provided she maintained it properly. Roy, being an architect, had made himself useful by dividing the big house into two and updating all the facilities, so that dear Rose could also live there in comfort while attending to Miss Quicke’s needs.

Miss Quicke herself continued to occupy all the main reception and bedrooms, while allowing Rose to enjoy herself filling the once bare garden with flowers. Miss Quicke was as careful of Rose’s well-being as Rose was of hers, and had even added a conservatory on to the back of the house, to allow Rose to indulge her passion for plants.

Roy had taken over the old coach-house, turning it into pleasant living quarters for himself, plus an office. Over the last couple of years, he and his mother had gone into local housing development schemes, with Roy providing the architect’s skill and Miss Quicke overseeing the money side. As Miss Quicke had observed, ‘Roy is good on the broad sweep of ideas, but needs to be watched on the detail.’

As Ellie rang the bell and let herself into the tiled hall, she was looking forward to Rose’s cooking, and hardly considered what shocks Miss Quicke might have in store for her.

‘There you are, my dear,’ said Miss Quicke, materializing in the doorway of the huge drawing-room. ‘I’m glad you came early, because I wanted a word with you before the others arrive.’ Leaning only slightly on her stick. Miss Quicke gestured Ellie to an antique but comfortable armchair.

Ellie came to full attention. Miss Quicke did not summon people to her presence without having an agenda. So what was up this time?

‘This tiresome business at the church lunch,’ said Miss Quicke. ‘It’s been a minor inconvenience, as it happens, but it could have had major consequences. It gave me pause to think what might have happened if . . . you understand me, I’m sure.’

‘“In this life, we’re in the midst of death” sort of thing?’

Miss Quicke nodded. ‘Suppose I had been affected, at my age? My digestion has always been weak, and hasn’t become any less so with age. I must consider the future and the future needs of my family and those I care about. Which leads me to the reason I called you. You’ve had an offer of marriage from Bill Weatherspoon. Are you, or are you not, taking it seriously?’

* * *

The housekeeper hadn’t cycled past her old house for a while. It was too painful, and she had to take indigestion remedies afterwards for her heartburn. She could get all the information about Felicity Kingsley that she needed at work. But now that she was well on the way to planning her next murder, she found herself going that way more often.

She got off her bike on the park side of the pavement, and fiddled with the brake pads to give herself an opportunity to observe what was going on. She hardly recognized the place nowadays. Felicity had had builders pulling it about, replacing all the windows and having the woodwork painted white instead of that nice dark green she had had.

There were masses of red and pink geraniums in tubs on either side of the porch. Hanging baskets, too. Most untidy.

The lawn at the front, which had once been the housekeeper’s pride and joy, had been torn up and pergolas set in an expanse of flagstones, with climbing roses and clematises sprawling all over the place.

No restraint at all!

The single garage had been pulled down and rebuilt as a double, while the up-and-over door had been replaced with one of those fidgety electronic affairs that were always going wrong. That was a pity, because it was easy to stage a suicide in a garage if you could get access to it. But she’d used that method to get rid of her late husband, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to try it again. Well, not at the same address. No.

A powerful-looking car drove up to the house, and the driver sounded his horn. Felicity rushed out of the house and banged the front door to behind her. She got in the car, gave the driver a light kiss on his cheek, and off they went. It was the same man who’d picked her up from the retirement home the other day. Roy, his name was. An architect. The hussy.

At work the staff had nicknamed Felicity’s mother ‘Milady’. Sarcastically, of course. Milady liked Roy, didn’t she? Tried to make out he’d visit her even if Felicity didn’t drag him along. Stupid woman.

The woman who had once lived in Felicity’s house ground her teeth. She got back on her bike and pedalled off, planning a special treat for Felicity.