lies in lashbrook 21

 

Chapter 21

 

Jeff set off to the station first thing, dropped off by Campbell.

“Off to the city, sir?” asked Fred. “Seeing Mrs. Savin’s fancy man?”

“Going for a search warrant and warrant for an arrest, Fred,” said Jeff. “I may have to argue a bit, but we can prove it now, or we will be able to, if we find the letter-making stuff.”

“Were them women right about it being a man?” asked Fred.

“I can’t really discuss it,” said Jeff. “I said too much already, only it might disrupt the dress rehearsal if one of the cast is a bit upset.”

“I can’t think that it’s Emily Reckitt,” said Fred. “Whatever people are saying; and Sam, he’s as straight as a die, it’s why he plays a twisty type like Pooh-Bah so well.”

“Don’t try and second guess us, Fred,” said Jeff. “I think Alex has an understudy in hand.”

“It should be my job, but I suppose you can’t be too open,” Fred.

 

Meanwhile, at Heywoods Hall, the telephone rang. Ida answered it.

“Oh, Ida! Is Mr. Armitage there? This is Maud, I need to talk to him about something, but I can’t stay on the phone long, or dad will have my tripes for trimmings.”

“He can cycle down to you and bring us back some nice smoked haddock as well,” said Ida, who went in search of Alexander. As it happened, he was examining the bicycle Campbell had acquired for him.

“Maud called, she wants to talk to you urgently. I said you’d cycle in to the village.”

“I wish you will come with me; I haven’t ridden a bicycle in ages,” said Alexander. “I warned her off a grammar school boy whom Irma described, and she guessed I have the diary. I think Edgar was out of earshot, but I can’t help wondering if he has been talking to her, to find out what was said.”

“Then it’s important to talk to her as soon as possible, in order to tell her to stay away from him,” said Ida.

“I think she realises that, or she wouldn’t phone us,” said Alexander. “Right, I’m going to put my trousers in my socks; it looks ridiculous but better than snagging on the chain. Thank goodness cuffs have gone out.”

“Oh, what a fuss! Women cycle every day with skirts and never snag them,” laughed Ida, leaning over to kiss him.

“I admit that I am but one of the weaker sex,” said Alexander, tucking his trousers into his socks.

Ida sniggered.

“You know I have to do a series of sketches of the cautious sportsman and his adventures with a self-willed bicycle?” she said.

“Cruel artist!” said Alexander. “I hope it isn’t self-willed; I wouldn’t know how to tame it.”

“You rode a bicycle in your youth; it’s like that,” said Ida, heartlessly.

Alexander swallowed hard and mounted up. He wobbled wildly and put his feet down in a hurry.

“Well, it’s the right size for you; Campbell got that right,” said Ida. “And it’s in perfect condition, Sid Smith knows what he’s doing with bicycles.” She put her left foot on the left hand pedal and set off scooting with her right foot crossed behind, swinging it through the gap women’s cycles had in the frame for skirts, once she had reached speed. Alex put one foot on the pedal and pushed off determinedly. He wobbled a few times, and then got his balance. Ida waited at the gate.

“You go first so I can watch if you fall off,” she said.

Alex raised a hand in acknowledgement, wobbled, and put his hand back firmly down.

“I’ll get the hang of it,” he said, firmly, mostly to himself.

 

Alexander was starting to feel quite confident by the time they reached the hump-back bridge over the railway, and sailed over, managing to wave to Fred as he did so, and feeling his belly drop as he went down the other side.  Next was the bridge over the river onto the high street, and Alex started to brake as a dark figure appeared right at the far end of the bridge, where the impromptu path went down to the river path. He was still going too fast to avoid the stick thrust between the spokes of the front wheel, and catapulted over the handlebars, to land painfully on the dirt road. He rolled to take the force out of the landing, and saw the figure start towards him.

Ida’s piercing shriek, “Alex!” saw the dark figure whirl, and descend with more haste than grace down the river bank.  Alex came painfully to his feet.

“NO!” he yelled, as Ida screeched to a halt, leaped off her bike and went after the figure. He managed a limping run, and grabbed her arm.

“He’d kill you in a trice,” he said.

“I think he must have gone over the wall into the abandoned house,” said Ida. “Either that or he’s hunkered down under the bridge.”

“Well, I will go and look,” said Alexander, slithering painfully down the precipitous path. He looked first under the bridge, but nobody was there on the narrow one-time tow-path. There was nobody to be seen on the path past Lover’s Lane, so Ida’s supposition of the abandoned house seemed fair. And frankly, that meant a trail gone cold. That it was Edgar, Alexander had no doubt. Presumably he had listened on the party line to Maud’s telephone call. Alexander managed to scrabble his way back up to the road, leaving blood from the gravel rash on his hands.

“You are a mess,” said Ida. “Better come into the cafe, and call for Craiggie. I don’t want to assume you didn’t pull something”

“There’s a dull ache, but no worse,” said Alexander. “See me sat down then run to the station and tell Fred that if Edgar Thripp tries to leave by train, he’s to be stopped. And if Campbell is there still, having a beer with him, ask him to take my bike in to Sid to be fixed and run me home.”

“I will,” said Ida. “And I’ll ask Emma Squires to get Maud to come to you.”

 

Alexander was shortly sitting with a leg up in the cafe whilst Marion Squires cleaned gravel from one knee and from his hands.

“Took a toss? Looks like a nasty one,” she said.

“It was assisted by someone who put a stick through my wheel,” said Alexander, grimly.  “I think I was very lucky that Ida came with me and frightened off the fellow.”

“There are too many nasty tramps these days,” said Mrs. Squires. “I’ll send Maggie to ask Tim to check the abandoned house to make sure nobody is squatting in it.”

“A wise precaution, but tell him to take someone with him,” said Alexander. “Just in case.”

If Edgar vanished into the abandoned house, it was as well to flush him out. A man could live in there, with the jungle of a garden, fairly indefinitely without a concerted search. Alexander felt sick, he was really noticing the pain now, and the shock. He shivered.

“Come away into our parlour; Craiggie is on his way,” said Mrs. Squires.  She led him into a parlour which smelled of cinnamon and hot sugar from the bakehouse, and installed him in a big soft armchair with a footstool, and wrapped a crocheted rug over him.

Alexander was asleep by the time she placed a cup of tea on an occasional table next to him.

He woke as soon as the door opened, and looked up at Maud.

“Oh, Mr. Armitage! Was it Mr. Thripp who tried to kill you?” she asked. “Mrs. Squires will have it that it was a tramp but...”

“But I think you are right,” said Alexander. “Did he threaten you?”

“No, he came into the shop for a piece of whiting, and he teased me that I was chatting you up last night,” said Maggie. “He was fishing for what we talked about, and I just said that you warned me about a boy you had heard of as a heart-breaker. He said I was a bad girl not to say at the inquest all I knew about Irma, and I said I hadn’t hidden anything, because I didn’t know anything. But... but I think he knew I was nervous. He said he knew I was a special friend of Irma’s because she had asked him to get me a present from her when he was in Oxford the other day.”

“Not that he was in Oxford,” said Alexander. “I think he got out at Shiplake and cycled back to the Savin cottage.”

“He said I should meet him at lunch time in Lovers’ Lane and he would give me the gift from Irma,” said Maud. “That was when I got really scared and phoned you.  It’s Helen who was always Irma’s special friend, not me. Irma was one of those who called me Haddock, but it’s all of a piece of not knowing real things, isn’t it?”

“You are a bright girl,” said Alexander. “I wish your father had let you go to the grammar school.”

“He said he didn’t want me turning into a little snob,” said Maud. “But I am doing the same course as Irma.”

“I’m thinking of retiring from the force; I keep injuring my wound,” said Alexander. “If I set up as a Private Eye, I’d want a secretary when Ida’s at university and one who is sensible enough not to fall in love with me.”

Maud giggled.

“You and Ida are so clearly made for each other,” she said. “I’d have a better chance of meeting someone interesting as your secretary; I’d like to consider it.”

The door opened, and Doctor Craiggie came in.

“You go back home, Maud, and don’t leave the house,” said Alexander. “Doctor, I seem to be a bit of a pest to you.”

“Tell me you haven’t drunk that tea before I give you the all-clear,” rumbled Craiggie.

“I hadn’t even noticed it,” said Alexander, honestly. He undid his waistcoat and shirt for the doctor to examine him.

“There’s a lesion on the scar line, but nothing serious,” said Craiggie, poking around. “I’m inclined to leave it to heal on its own, it’s superficial, not penetrating to the belly cavity. Stay out of trouble. Oh, and you can drink the tea.”

“I think I shall,” said Alexander, doing so. It was stronger than what was served in the cafe and was very welcome.

He was glad when Campbell came to get him, but insisted on limping to the car on his own, to avoid stiffening up.

“Sid says you didn’t ’alf prang your bike,” said Campbell. “’E reckons it’ll be two days before ’e can fix it.”

“I didn’t ask for chummie to try and kill me,” said Alexander. “I want Ida and Gladys to stay home now, until after the arrest.”

“I’ll tell Gladys; you can break it to Miss Ida,” said Campbell. “I told Tim Mapp I’d go back and help him search the abandoned house for the non-existent tramp.”

“Don’t get blasé,” said Alexander, sharply.

“I won’t,” said Campbell. “Chummie is too dangerous.”

 

Ida, having sent Campbell for Alexander, relayed his message to Fred, to stop Edgar.

Fred scratched his head.

“Reckon it might be too late for that; I seen him cycling over the bridge out towards Heywood Hall not ten minutes ago. If he wasn’t going to yours, there’s a turnoff for Shiplake, on the one side, and Knight’s Claydon[1] the other way, where he could catch a train for Aylesbury.”

“You’ll have to telegraph to Oxford and Aylesbury to hold him on suspicion,” said Ida. “I want to send a telegram to Jeff Morrell, and hope to catch him at the Magistrate’s court.”

“You do that right away and I’ll get onto them right after, aye, and to Shiplake and Knight’s Claydon.  They won’t have many through this long after rush hour looking so spiffy,” he added.

 

Ida cycled back to the bakery in time to see Dr.  Craiggie getting into his elderly car.

“How badly has he hurt himself?” she asked, without preamble.

“I ought to plead confidentiality...”

“I’ll be nursing him,” said Ida.

“Fair enough.  He’s torn the skin superficially, but he declares that inside feels normal enough. I let him drink tea because I could feel no oedema, and nor did he cry out when I poked him in the caecum.”

“Really, Dr.  Craiggie? I thought you were poking him in the bakery,” said Ida, much relieved.

“You, young lady, are a bad girl,” said Dr.  Craiggie.

“Thank you,” said Ida. “It was Edgar Thripp who tried to kill him, you know.”

“Really? It is so usually a woman’s crime.”

“Alex thinks he wanted to pin it on his aunt to cover a supposed suicide,” said Ida. “And he’s gone on the lam as they say in films, so I don’t mind ratting him up.”

“I see,” said Craiggie. “Well, well... oh, my goodness, what has happened to Miss Thripp?” he was out of the car again in an instant and moving forward to lend a hand to Miss Thripp who was weaving along the street, blood flowing from her nose and a nasty bruise on her head. Ida dumped her bike and hurried to the other side of her.

“Oh, Doctor! Oh, Ida! Edgar has run mad!” cried Miss Thripp. “He had been out, but he came back into the house like a madman, and went and threw a load of clothes in a valise and he demanded money from me in a terrible  voice! And I asked him what was wrong, and then he called me a silly old bat, and said it was all my fault for leaving my money to Millie so he could not just kill me and inherit. I asked what had happened to his own inheritance, and do you know what? He said he had spent it all!  I said I only had enough for weekly bills and he hit me! And then he hit me again and demanded it all! I don’t understand what has happened, or why he should behave like that.”

“Oh, my poor dear Miss Thripp!” said Ida, leading her into the cafe and signalling for tea. “Alex said it would hit you hard when you found out that Edgar is the poison-pen. He was going to make it look as if it was you, only he didn’t know enough and made that it risible that anyone should think it should be you. He wanted you to be a laughing stock singing and then he would kill you on Saturday night, and leave some kind of suicide note.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Thripp. “He wanted me to write ‘I can’t go on Wednesday’  to the dentist when he foolishly, as I thought, double booked me during rehearsal. But then it would be my hand writing ‘I can’t go on’ as if it were a suicide note.”

“Little beast!” said Ida. “He was trying to promise a present to Maud, and I wager it would have been a silk scarf like Irma and Sally. Oh my!”

Miss Thripp had fainted.

“Poor little body,” said one of the other ladies in the tea room. “I heard what you said about that Edgar Thripp; why don’t Margie and I take Miss Thripp back to ours? She shouldn’t be alone, and you have enough to deal with looking after the Major.”

Ida turned to see Miss Harmon and Miss Goodie.

“Oh! Would you be so good?” she asked.

“Miss Thripp helped us get together,” said Miss Goodie. “She called us both into her office, though we’d grown past school many years since, and she said that God is Love, and if love existed it came through him, and however different it was to usual, if it was mutual, then it was right in His eyes. We’d been dating boys and trying to fight how we felt.”

“Miss Thripp is a remarkable woman,” said Ida, softly.

“We’ll take good care of her,” said Miss Harmon.

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[1] Steeple Claydon, Middle Claydon, and Botolph Claydon are genuine. I place Knight’s Claydon as a fictional village somewhere in the vicinity, even as Shiplake and Lashbrook are fictional now, being extinct villages.