Dorothy Cannell - She Shoots to Conquer

There was no time for more. Mr. Spendlow placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders, clearly eager to talk about Stanley’s suggestion of chair placement in the church hall for the youth concert that night. Mrs. Malloy, Livonia, and Dr. Tommy waited a short distance away, and how long could they be expected to stand admiring the parking area? I said my goodbyes to the accompaniment of a particularly coy handshake from Stanley-his parting words resounding in my ears as I rejoined my little group. Had anyone commented on my resemblance to the last Lady Belfrey? Such a charming looking young lady she was. A sad loss for the parish and (obvious afterthought) her husband . He had not added and her stepdaughter .

“Oh, there you are, Ellie.” Livonia beamed at me with surprised delight, rather as though I had stepped out of a lifeboat after being feared lost on the Titanic . “Imagine, Dr. Rowley,” looking shyly up into his equally radiant face, “being at the very same service! He could have been at the eleven o’clock, or he could have been at this one and we…”

“How are you today, Mrs. Haskell?” He executed more of a bend than a bow over his round tum. A gentlemanly formality that thrilled one of us to the core, warmed my heart, and produced a glower from Mrs. Malloy.

“I should try fainting next time I go somewhere and get to be an invalid for the rest of me life. ’Course, not everywhere’s as conducive to a good old-fashioned attack of the vapors as is Mucklesfeld. Did my fellow contestant here tell you, Dr. Rowley, about the white rat jumping on the ghost’s wig?”

“No! My dear,” reaching for Livonia’s blatantly willing hands, “what a ghastly experience for the tender female!” Was this the first time it had occurred to me that Grimkirk’s local GP might share with some amongst us a predilection for the swoonier romance novel? I pictured him sitting up in bed at night, wearing striped pajamas, a tear trickling down a plump cheek as he hoped against hope that Wisteria Whitworth and Carson Grant would defy the odds against their walking down the aisle to soaring strains of “ Oh Perfect Love .”

“The truly gruesome thing,” Livonia looked deep into his eyes, “was that for a moment she didn’t seem aware that anything-let alone a rat-was on her head. She had this fixed, quite dreadful grin on her face!”

“Ghosts are above worldly disturbances,” Mrs. Malloy retorted loftily.

“But she wasn’t one, just someone pretending to be Lady Annabel Belfrey with her head stuck back on after being guillotined.” Livonia clung ever more tightly to Dr. Tommy. “Even Molly Duggan realized that, or she would have fled Mucklesfeld along with Wanda Smiley. Poor Molly! She is even more timid than I am… or was before embarking on this mission of self-discovery.” She explained who she was talking about to the entranced but also suddenly anxious-looking Tommy.

“So you’re now one contestant down.” It should have been clear as glass to Livonia why this worried him, but it had to be remembered her relationship with Harold had given her no reason to believe herself the sort of woman to arouse jealousy in the heart of a man. Sweet, guileless Livonia! Or was she singing exactly the right song for a duet?

“I think that worked to Georges LeBois’s plan.” I said. “Six, five… then four, three, two, until there is one.”

“Meanwhile, we, the contestants, have an event in mind, as was the brainchild so to speak of Mrs. H here.” Mrs. Malloy adjusted the hat to a more imposing angle. “She found out from your cousin Celia that there used to be an archery contest held every year at Mucklesfeld. So we thought we’d put one on to show we can get together as a group to bring back something from the good old days. ’Course, I’d rather set the thing up meself-too many hands in the pastry don’t work to my way of thinking-but there’s some already as resent me getting in late in the game, so it’s go with the flow. Just family invited, so we hope you’ll come, Dr. Rowley. Tomorrow, if poss, is what was decided. Afternoon would be best, but there’s you and your patients…”

“Will you be able to come?” Livonia, no longer holding Tommy’s hands but seeming woven to him by invisible cords, asked with no attempt to feign indifference.

“Delighted! No afternoon or evening surgery on Mondays.”

“That’s what his lordship said when we-well, Judy Nunn specifically-told him about the idea. He also said Miss Belfrey might be receptive to the idea of coming herself and agreeing to her handyman coaching the participants on use of the bows and arrows if you asked her.”

“I would gladly have done so,” Tommy looked both fervent and crestfallen, “but I’m afraid Celia and I had a falling-out last night. She said some things about… about Aubrey’s marriage plans to which I took grave exception. And in the ensuing exchange of words she ordered me never to darken the doors of Witch Haven again.”

It was an easy guess that Celia Belfrey had made derogatory remarks about the sort of woman who entered TV reality shows in search of a husband. Probably she was repeating what she’d said on earlier occasions without more than a token mumble of protest from Tommy-why bother upsetting the old girl to no purpose? But this last time would have been different; he could not allow her to malign the intent of even one of the contestants-not if he were to meet Livonia again pure of heart. I doubted that Celia would want a permanent breach, not out of any affection, but because Tommy had to be her main source of information regarding Lord Belfrey and what he had in store for Mucklesfeld. Meantime, the breach provided me with an opening that I felt driven to seize if I were to obey my conscience as Tommy had done.

“I’ll go to Witch Haven and deliver the message about the archery contest,” I said.

“You will?” Livonia eyed me with a mixture of respect and concern. “What if she’s nasty to you?”

“Someone has to go, and it can’t be Lord Belfrey as he’s banned from the premises. I’ve a strong suspicion that, despite her protestations of eternal enmity, curiosity will bring Miss Celia Belfrey to your proposed event.”

“Won’t miss the chance to scoff from the sound of her.” Mrs. Malloy nodded the hat. “I’ll go with you, Mrs. H. After all,” she added importantly, “it would be more of a proper invitation coming from one of the contestants, which you’re not, when all’s said and done.”

This wasn’t at all what I wanted, seeing my main intent was to have a private talk with Nora Burton. But there was no arguing her point. Fortunately, Livonia spoke up, reminding her of a prior commitment.

“Well, yes, being at the meeting with you and Alice Jones and Molly Duggan to decide what rooms we’ll each focus on for setting to rights is important. And I know it was agreed on right after church, but…” It was clear from the pursing of her glossy purple lips that Mrs. Malloy was seriously torn.

“What about Judy Nunn?” I asked slyly.

“Her? She’ll be out in the gardens, tearing out tree stumps with her bare hands or rerouting the brook.” Thunderous brow.

“She’s incredible!” Livonia enthused. “His lordship seems very impressed.”

“He does?” Tommy nudged at a stray stone with the tip of his shoe. “And may the best contestant win?”

“Absolutely.” Livonia looked up at the sky.

“And who that may be is yet to be decided.” From the fierceness of Mrs. Malloy’s tone, I knew she’d made her decision. She’d be at that meeting not one second late. Breathing a sigh of relief, I suggested that either she or Livonia write a note to Miss Belfrey on behalf of the contestants, which I would take along to Witch Haven. Eager to be of service, however minimal, Dr. Tommy produced a pen and notepad. The missive was dictated by Mrs. Malloy and written down and neatly folded by Livonia.