Chapter Thirty-Six

Mrs. Sugden took the telephone call from the estate agent. She could view the Corner Shop in Thorpefield today. Every instinct told her that it was too soon to be poking about that poor woman’s premises. He was cagey when she asked him whether Mrs. Farrar was decently buried, but gave the impression that she was. The fellow must be anxious to have the Corner Shop off his hands quickly because he offered to be at the station and give her a lift.

Mrs. Shackleton said it was important. And Jim Sykes had called round, telling her they now knew who the man was, and things were moving. “Stand by the telephone,” he had said.

She could hardly stand by the telephone while haring off to Wakefield to meet an estate agent. She didn’t like this whole business. It was too spread out and too far from home. You didn’t know what people would be like when all their born days they’d lived nowhere but the back of beyond, and that back of beyond was the place where a poor woman was done in. A back of beyond where helpless bairns were packed off to the workhouse.

At school she learned a poem, The Charge of the Light Brigade. One line came back to her: “Someone had blundered”. There was a never a time when someone high up didn’t blunder. It was always them at the top of the heap who blundered and them near the bottom of the heap who paid the price.

Not that Mrs. Sugden thought of herself as at the bottom of the heap, nor Mrs. Farrar neither. From what she gleaned of Mrs. Farrar, Mrs. Sugden regarded her as a sensible woman and a hard worker.

Mrs. Shackleton must be feeling desperate, feeling the strain of living in a wilderness of mines and farms and fields of rhubarb. If Mrs. Shackleton could face it, so could she.

She would take her big shopping bag. What’s more, she would straight away make a list of questions a person might ask neighbours about the shop. She would draw up a plan of campaign. There might be a need to stay overnight. Anything was possible when Mrs. Shackleton was on a case.

This was a matter of what the military would call reconnoitring.

Picking up her pencil, she wrote the word Questions. A person would want to know the rent, what stock was included, what the takings might be. Some trusting shopkeepers allowed their customers to put items on the slate. If customers did that, would they, in times of hardship, have the wherewithal to pay up?

None of that would help track down a killer. Unless there existed some customer unable to pay up and sufficiently fiendish that he or she would be willing to put an end to the obliging shopkeeper, and thereby wipe their own slate clean, risking hell and damnation in the process.

A person would want to know who lived nearby, and whether a woman taking over the business would be safe from thieves and murderers.

It made her jump when Harriet and Sergeant Dog came bounding into the kitchen. She quickly pushed a few items into her bag. She had been so absorbed as to not hear the pair come in. Having lately experienced an annoying earache, Mrs. Sugden worried a little. Could this be too much wax, or the onset of deafness?

“Did you come in right quiet just now?”

“No, just the usual.”

“You’ll be on your own for a while, Harriet. I’ve a bit of business to attend to.”

“Business for Auntie Kate you mean?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s all right. We don’t mind, do we, Sergeant Dog?”

The dog wagged his tail.

Mrs. Sugden frowned. “Sometimes little bits of business take longer than you think. If you need anything while I’m away, or if I’m delayed overnight, you’ve got Miss Merton close by.”

“I won’t need anything.”

“No, but if you do, you’ve got Mrs. Sykes nearby and you know where Mr. Duffield lives. Mrs. Duffield is a friend.”

“Yes I know all that.”

“Take any messages that come. If you have to go out, ask Mrs. Sykes to come and stand by the telephone.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just near Wakefield. I’m only being cautious in case something crops up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve to look at a shop.” She didn’t want Harriet traipsing along.

“You’re nervous aren’t you?”

“I’m not nervous. I leave nerves to other people. I’m just thinking about you and Sergeant Dog managing on your own.”

“Well tell me where you’re going.”

“I’m being met at Wakefield station.”

“What about Sookie?”

“She’s all right. She’s asleep on my bed. She can get in and out the window and everything she needs is there.”

“Have a nice time.”

Mrs. Sugden gave a bit of a snort, as if to say that nice times were for other people. Nice times were for softies and soppy articles.

Harriet saw that Mrs. Sugden had been making notes, and had covered them with blotting paper. “Before you go, I’ll just go get myself a bar of chocolate.”

Harriet thought Mrs. Sugden might be suspicious about her taking a second wander with the dog so soon after the first, but Mrs. Sugden was preoccupied.

Harriet walked along the street. Sergeant Dog, sensing some urgency, trotted smartly beside her, foregoing his usual great interest in the smells of Headingley. He looked up at her in listening mode, waiting for some important instruction.

“Sergeant, do you get the feeling that we’re being kept in the dark? I don’t think we need trouble Miss Merton or Mrs. Duffield. We’ll visit Rosie Sykes. We won’t tell any lies, just think of a way of getting a little bit of information. Do you agree?”

Sergeant Dog wagged his tail.

Rosie was sitting with her feet up, reading yesterday’s Yorkshire Evening News. She was glad to see Harriet, and to be made a fuss of by that sloppy dog.

“Mrs. Sugden’s packing her shopping bag, Rosie.”

“She doesn’t waste time.”

“Only she’s forgotten the address where she’s going, some shop.”

“She’s being taken there isn’t she?”

“Yes, being met at the station.”

“Well then the person who’s taking her ought to know. It’s some general store in Thorpefield, sort of place that sells necessaries and sweets and such like.”

Harriet chatted a bit. She asked Rosie was there anything interesting in the paper. There were all sorts of interesting things. Harriet thought she’d never shut up.

“Right then, I’d better be off. Oh and Mrs. Sugden says would you mind standing by the telephone because she might be a few hours and I have to be at work.”

“You don’t take that dog to the pictures do you?”

“He’s no trouble. He sits in the manager’s office.”

None of them ever remembered Harriet’s shifts or her hours. That was sometimes an advantage.

*   *   *

The stationmaster blew his whistle. Mrs. Sugden seated herself on the far side of the carriage so as to look out of the window for the short while it would take to get to Wakefield. The carriage door opened. She looked up to see who would join her. “Harriet! What are you doing here?”

“I just thought me and Sergeant Dog would come with you.”

“You little monkey! How did you get here?”

“We caught the tram to the station and then –”

“Well what I’m doing isn’t for a child and a dog.”

“I’m not a child, and Sergeant Dog missed qualifying as a police dog only through his extreme good nature. We won’t be in the way.”

“I’m being met.” Mrs. Sugden groaned. “It’s all arranged, and no mention of an entourage.”

“Well, you can say that you had to bring your daughter and the dog.”

Mrs. Sugden opened her mouth to object that Harriet would not pass as her daughter, but Harriet did not give her time.

“It will be more natural to have me with you. No one would suspect a person of investigating a crime if that person had a young relative with her. And a villain would think twice about having a go at us with Sergeant Dog at our side.”

Harriet decided against saying that in case of an emergency she would be able to run for help. Mrs. Sugden couldn’t run for toffee.

“The telephone –”

“Rosie Sykes was very keen to practise answering it.”