Dorothy Cannell - She Shoots to Conquer

“That would be her, always hoping for the worst. How that acid-tongued woman can be related to Dr. Rowley or Lord Belfrey-although I don’t know him as well-beats me.” Mrs. Spuds shook her head. “I’m amazed you got your foot in the door, love. No wonder you’re looking in need of a sitdown. If you don’t mind the kitchen, I’ll make you a cup of tea, and afterwards, if you like, I’ll phone Mr. Manning’s daughter and let her know Archie’s turned up.”

“Won’t she be terribly worried?” I followed her through an open door with Thumper-Archie-pressing closer than usual, and sat down on the chair Mrs. Spuds pulled back from the table. It had a yellow and white checked cloth and in the middle was a bottling jar filled with leafy twigs. Altogether the kitchen, with its wide modern window above the sink, cream Aga, and old-fashioned dresser with blue and white china, looked much more cheerful than I was feeling with that soft nose nudging my knee.

“I wouldn’t think she’ll be in a panic, love.” Mrs. Spuds set the kettle on the stove and reached for the tea caddy. “She’s a nice woman is Linda Dawkins, though ready enough to say she’s not an animal lover. Which isn’t a crime. What would please me would be for… Dr. Rowley to get himself a nice puss.” She opened the fridge for the milk. “Both Linda and the hubby are Dr. Rowley’s patients.” I nodded before bending down to unknot Lord Belfrey’s tie from around… Archie’s collar, my fingers lingering in the black velvet fur.

Having placed a cup and saucer in front of me, Mrs. Spuds patted my shoulder. “I also know Linda from playing whist at the church hall when they need someone to fill in. I’m not one of those keen card players, like she is. Both goers, her and the hubby. Never ones for a night by the telly.” She fetched her own tea and joined me at the table. “Home’s where I like to be when I’m not working-although you can’t call it work when it comes to doing for Dr. Rowley.”

“He seems very nice.”

“Kindness itself. Such a shame he’s never married. Shy with women like my Frank was until we got together. And like he’d have said, God rest his soul, it’s a good thing we’re all different. He wouldn’t have liked to hear me sounding critical of Linda Dawkins. I hope you didn’t take it that’s what I was doing.”

“Not at all.” I smiled at her. “You were filling in the picture.”

“Celia Belfrey’s another story, although I have tried to feel sorry for her. Imagine growing up and living out your youth at Mucklesfeld! To my mind it’s a Chamber of Horrors,” Mrs. Spuds stirred her tea, “which I’ve said to Dr. Rowley when I shouldn’t, him almost certain to come into the place one day, unless he goes before Lord Belfrey. Is the tea how you like it? I didn’t put in much milk,” she moved a small pansy-painted jug my way, “add more if you like.”

“It’s just right, thank you.”

“Do you have a dog of your own, love?”

I shook my head, while a voice inside me cried out that Archbishop Thumper was my dog.

“Understandable Linda finds it a bind having to get back from her outings to see to Archie, or that-not being used to having an animal-she sometimes forgets to keep the garden gate shut. Like she said to me when we met in the high street, the responsibility all falls to her during the day, and when the hubby gets home at night he’s entitled not to be bothered. But there, she’ll stick to the promise she made her dad.”

“That’s something.” My heart sank and my hand went down to Archbishop Thumper’s head.

“A finer old gentleman you’d never wish to meet than Mr. Manning. Feeling all right, love?” Her kindly face searched mine.

“Fine. I’m interested in Mr. Manning.” How could I not be in the man who had raised such a wonderful dog?

“Terrible what happened.” She watched me take a swallow, as I might have done when glad to see the children start downing their milk. “Crossing the road, he was, on his way to have a chat with Mrs. Jenkins from the house opposite, and mustn’t have seen the car coming, although the driver told the police he was going slow, which a couple of witnesses agreed was true. Well below the speed limit, they said. Probably Mr. Manning had his mind on his Brussels sprouts. Devoted to his sprouts, was the old gentleman, used to get worked up about them coming out in brown speckles the way a mother worries when she thinks her child may get the illness with the rash that’s going around. If only he’d looked right, left, and right again like we were taught in kindergarten. The one blessing, love, was that Archie was inside at the time.”

“If only”… those had to be among the most agonizingly futile words in the English language. If only the exterior lights had been on when Suzanne Varney drove through the gates at Mucklesfeld. If only she had parked on the drive and sounded her horn. If only the phone hadn’t been out and medical help could have been fetched more quickly. Dr. Rowley had said death would have been instantaneous, but could that be certain? Might he not have wished to provide some minimal comfort to Lord Belfrey?

“The poor doctor, who’d have his job? is what I used to say to Frank.” She poured us both a second cup. “He was making a house call just a few doors down the afternoon the old gentleman got run down. Someone recognized his car and fetched him to the scene. Very upset he was when I saw him next.” I guessed what was coming. “And now there’s been this other terrible accident. That awful fog! I don’t know when I’ve seen one so bad in a long time. But no need to tell you that, love, when you and your hubby and friend were out driving in it like the poor young woman, just a short time before.”

“It was like driving through a mattress,” I said.

“I was here when Lord Belfrey came to fetch the doctor. These last few years I haven’t had Frank to hurry home to, so I’m more than pleased to stay on and put his dinner in the oven. The mercy was that he’d just got back from going on a walk.”

“In the fog?”

My startled exclamation roused Archbishop Thumper to place his head on my knee as if to save me from bouncing up in the air. Mrs. Spuds’s periwinkle blue eyes twinkled. “Wonderful as he is, Dr. Rowley has his odd ways. Same as most men, including my Frank-for him it was going on peculiar diets, like the time all he would eat was butter beans with vinegar. For years the doctor’s kept a skeleton from his medical student days in the hall wardrobe. When he comes in, I’ll be asking him where it’s gone because it wasn’t there this morning. The fog wasn’t so bad when he set off-saying he was stiff from sitting in the surgery late into the afternoon and a walk would help loosen his back-but between you and me, love, it had seemed to me he’d been a little down in the dumps all week.”

“Might that have had something to do with the start of filming Here Comes the Bride ?”

“You mean that he might not have approved? I wouldn’t think so, love. What goes on at Mucklesfeld has never seemed to interest him overmuch. There was a rift, you see, between his father and grandfather that led to the change of name to Rowley, and the doctor was brought up not expecting any closeness with the Belfreys. His late lordship treated him strictly as the local GP. As for Celia Belfrey, I’ve always thought the only reason she’s accepted him halfways as a relation is he’s the only person willing to spend half an hour in her company. His mother-that wasn’t considered good enough to marry into the family-was the same wonderfully kind sort. A lovely home she made here,” Mrs. Spuds looked around the kitchen, “and bless him, Dr. Rowley has kept things just like she had them. And now,” she got to her feet, “why don’t you stay resting yourself while I go into the sitting room and give Linda Dawkins a ring?” She hesitated in the doorway when Archbishop Thumper gave a low whine before putting his head down on his paws. “Just listen to him; anyone would think he’s not keen to go home.”