Dorothy Cannell - She Shoots to Conquer

“Harold thinks going mad on shopping is buying two loaves of bread at once.”

Silently, much as I detested the man unseen, I conceded that in general this was more in line with the male psyche than my version. “Shall we go down to your car?” I suggested.

She accompanied me meekly toward the drive, which ended with the gapped and crumbling wall, while the dog trotted soberly ahead as if demonstrating that he was not the sort to run away from home. I was now convinced that he did belong at Mucklesfeld or had accompanied Georges LeBois. Regrettably, if the latter were the case, he didn’t take his duties of canine assistance to a man in a wheelchair with an excess of dedication-unless he belonged to a labor union that required his being given designated time off.

“Perhaps he married an heiress, Ellie.”

Momentarily I couldn’t think who Livonia was talking about, but I was pleased by her comfortable use of my name. She had seemed so self-deprecating that I had imagined it would take months or even years for her to drop the Miss, Ms., or Mrs. with a new acquaintance. However, before flattering myself unduly, I recognized she now found herself in unknown territory.

“Oh,” I said, “my eighteenth-century Lord Belfrey! The pragmatic marriage would have been the order of his day, wouldn’t it? And now here is his current lordship engaging in a highly modern interpretation of selecting a bride with the most to bring to Mucklesfeld.”

“It sounds cold-blooded,” replied Livonia, as we skirted a sundial lurking in a tangle of tall weeds. “Still, I suppose it’s understandable he would feel morally obliged to honorably fulfill his stewardship. With his not having children, in particular a son, who will inherit the title and estate at his death?”

“He has a cousin,” I said, pleased that she was showing an increasing trickle of interest in Mucklesfeld and Lord Belfrey. “His name’s Tommy Rowley and he’s the local doctor. I met him last night.” No need to go into details, although I would have to warn her at some point about the maniacal suit of armor.

She eyed me in puzzlement. We were now walking down the badly rutted drive that sloped fairly precipitously on our left into scrub woodland. “I’d have thought that if he’s in line, his name would also be Belfrey.”

“Rowley was his mother’s maiden name. His father made the switch because of some family feud. I got the impression that he hadn’t taken kindly to being the third son. Probably got his nose out of joint from being stuck wearing hand-me-downs and told his share of the ancestral inheritance would be a predisposition to severe acne and early balding.”

“Did Dr. Rowley display any hostility toward his lordship?”

“They seemed friendly.”

“I suppose he was at Mucklesfeld because of the car accident that took Suzanne Varney’s life,” Livonia continued before I could reply. “I still can’t take it in. Did anyone say if she died instantly, or was she able to talk… if only to give them some idea what happened?”

“Tommy’s belief was that she was killed on impact.”

“It’s simply too awful.” Livonia swayed against me, stepping in a pothole. “I’ve always had a fear of getting into a bad accident. Harold says it’s because I know nothing about how cars work, so can never be in complete control of a vehicle. He’s right. I’m not the least bit mechanical, but I suppose I could take a course and hope the instructor wouldn’t lose patience with me if I got the battery and the engine mixed up. In this day and age, a woman on her own should know how to fend for herself in a crisis…” She choked up.

There hadn’t been much fending that Suzanne Varney could have done in her moment of ultimate crisis, I was thinking when we reached the tall iron gates that heralded the end of the drive. Parked against the roadside curb was a pale blue Volkswagen Beetle. Livonia opened the driver’s side door with a timidity that suggested she was expecting an arm to reach out from the back-seat to grab her round the throat. I wasn’t all that surprised, therefore, when she screamed: “There’s someone crouched down on the other side of the car. I saw the top of a head.”

Even incoherent thought, let alone a verbal response, became impossible with Thumper barking agreement. Our blinking eyes perceived a woman coming round the front of the car.

“Did I scare you? Sorry. I’d got some gravel in my shoe and bent down to shake it out.”

“Oh!” Livonia forced a tremulous smile.

“It’s so early,” I said with what I hoped was a light lilt, “we thought we would be the only ones out and about.”

“An acquaintance kindly dropped me off and it had to be at first light because she has to be back in time for work at nine and it’s a good two-hour drive. I was about to go for a walk and get the lay of the land around Mucklesfeld.”

“Oh!” Livonia repeated, but this time there was interest in her voice. “Are you another of the contestants for Here Comes the Bride ?”

The woman nodded. She was a diminutive female with short fly-away beige hair and a narrow, thin-featured face. Indeed, her overall appearance was beige-complexion, hiker’s jacket, and twill slacks. The only touch of color came from her brown eyes and matching loafers. “And the two of you?” she inquired.

I explained about the fog and my overnight status. Livonia admitted tentatively to being a fellow contestant, but added that she was having some second thoughts now that a meeting with Lord Belfrey was at hand.

“Don’t go getting cold feet,” the other woman said. She had a quietly brisk, sensible voice. “You must have had compelling reasons for taking this step. In my case, it’s the grounds.” She stood on tiptoe to look around her. “When I read that once-glorious gardens and woodlands had reduced to a sad wilderness, I had to answer the call. My family owned a landscaping business, you see. My brother took it over and ran it into bankruptcy. My attempts to help him out financially caused me to lose my home with its two acres, and for the past few years I’ve been in a small flat with only a window box to satisfy my green thumb.” Thumper extended a sympathetic paw, which she bent down and shook. “Nice dog.” She looked from Livonia to me as she straightened up, her voice briskly pleasant. “Belong to either of you, or to Mucklesfeld?”

“Not ours,” I told her. “But whether he belongs here or from somewhere else in the neighborhood isn’t clear. For the moment I’m calling him Thumper.”

“Suits him. Preferable to Dog Doe certainly.” The narrow face creased into a smile that was reflected in the brown eyes. She extended a hand that was surprisingly workmanlike given her size. “I’m Judy Nunn. And you?”

“Ellie Haskell.”

“Livonia Mayberry. Judy Nunn, you said… the name sounds familiar.”

“I’m thinking the same of yours. Perhaps it will come to one of us. Meanwhile, we are still several hours early. Care to join me on a good long walk?”

Livonia looked less than enthusiastic. I spoke up.

“I should go back inside and talk to my husband about getting ready to leave for home. His parents have been taking care of our children while we’ve been on holiday.” A panicked thought surfaced. They had been expecting us last night… but of course, my breath steadied, Ben would have phoned and explained the delay. Even so, I could not continue to dally outdoors. He was bound to be wondering where I had got to, although to be fair to me-I reminded myself in true wifely fashion-he had been the first to do a disappearing act.

“I think I’ll come inside with you,” said Livonia in the tentative voice of one who was used to having the most ordinary statement dissected prior to rejection, “if you don’t mind, that is. I… I’m scared I’ll lose my nerve if I wait any longer to face the music.”