Reginald Hill - The Price of Butcher

A sound, or a combination of sounds, caught her attention.

It came from the machine hut. It sounded like a champagne cork popping, accompanied by upraised voices and raucous laughter.

She approached, angry reproaches forming on her lips, an anger increased when she recognized one of the voices as that of her pet hate, Hen Hollis.

And then she stopped in her tracks as another voice, even more familiar, rang in her ears. It was the voice of Alan Hollis, her servant, her server, and, so she foolishly believed, her friend.

What he was saying chilled the blood in her veins.

“Aye, fill us up, Hen, it’s been hard graft today. And the hardest bit of all was tupping her ladyship! By God she’s a handful-nay, she’s a barrowful! It’s like being in bed with a prize porker. And that’s just what she sounds like when she comes, tha knows, like one of her own pigs when you slit its throat. Whee whee whee, it squeals, and that’s the noise Daph makes too. Whee whee whee-oo, don’t stop, Alan-whee whee wheee!”

Lady Denham turned and rushed away, not stopping till she reached the stables. Here, to her beloved old horse, Ginger, she poured out her heart. For the time being anger had been drowned by hurt, that this man to whom she had given herself with abandon, this man whom she had trusted and even liked, this man who had been the beneficiary of her generosity in life and who would be an even greater beneficiary on her death, this man had betrayed her, had mocked her, had bandied her name around in the company of his low relations, had given her archenemy, Hen Hollis, a weapon to mock her with…. How could she bear the pain? she asked dear patient Ginger. How could she bear the shame?

There was a noise behind her. She turned to see another object of her hate approaching, Nurse Sheldon, her rival for the affections of Dr. Feldenhammer. What had she heard? Had she said anything to the horse that Sheldon could use against her?

The creature was daring to look sympathetic, to ask if she was all right! This was not to be borne! She dashed the tears from her eyes and set out to put the creature in her place. A few moments later she had reduced her to a quivering wreck capable of nothing more than the futile gesture of hurling a glass of wine.

Fortified by this triumph, Lady Denham felt just anger coursing through her veins to replace those weakling emotions of hurt and distress. These Hollises would find out who they were dealing with!

Back she went to the hog roast hut. Silence fell as she stood in the entrance. Behind her the sky grew lurid as the storm approached, a sheet of distant lightning etched her against its fleeting brightness.

“Ollie Hollis,” she cried, “you can start looking for a new job tomorrow morning. Hen Hollis, you are trespassing on my land. If you are not gone in five minutes, I will set the dogs on you. And as for you, Alan Hollis, I am giving you notice to quit the Hope and Anchor. And when you go, take a long look back, for by then I shall have removed your name from my will and the Hope and Anchor will be as far out of your reach as loyalty and decency clearly are from your soul!”

As she finished, thunder rolled through the air. She turned and walked away, triumphant, confident that nothing Hollis could say could be anything more than a gnat’s bite to the reputation of Lady Daphne Denham.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned. It was Alan Hollis. His once longed-for touch was now anathema to her. She slapped his face. To her shock and horror he struck her back. She fell, cracking her head against a stone. But worse was to come. For the second time that day she felt the weight of his body upon her. Once more she was squealing like a stuck pig, but this time the resemblance went further than mere sound. For his hands were round her throat, and she was truly dying.

I think that probably gets as near the truth as any fiction does, Andy. I reckon Ollie would panic and take off; Hen, after his initial delight that his old enemy is dead, would probably begin to consider the consequences as they might affect him, but cool-headed Alan would get him to drag Daphne into the long grass, then tell him to make himself scarce, there was no reason anyone should ever know he’d been there.

Now Alan himself heads back to the hall. The storm is getting nearer and people are getting agitated. He sees Clara and tells her what’s happened. Why would he do that? you ask. Because, my dear Watson, another little bit of local knowledge I have acquired through keeping my sharp blue eyes skinned is that dear calm and collected Clara has been following auntie’s example and sampling Alan’s wares herself! She it was, I suspect, who came up with the clever idea of putting Ted in the frame. I mean, he was the most obvious suspect, and she happened to know where he’d left his clothes and his watch when he changed to go swimming. So while Alan takes charge of relocating the booze into the house, she slips off, breaks the clasp of the watch, and snags it on Daph’s dress. Then she returns, and she and Alan give each other an alibi for all the significant period.

Later that evening, Ollie fetches up at the pub, still in a state. His asthma is so bad he heads off to Miss Lee’s for relief. It is clear to Alan that Ollie cannot be relied on. Sooner or later he’s going to come clean about what happened. When Hen shows up a little later, Alan first of all makes it clear that in the eyes of the law they will be equally guilty. Okay, Hen may get a lighter sentence because he didn’t actually strangle Daphne, but he’ll still be going to jail. And, here’s the clincher, Alan probably assures him that he will not be able to inherit Millstone Farm. (Interesting legal point that, as it was by Hog’s will, not Daphne’s, that it reverted to Hen, but I don’t suppose he was in a state of mind to debate such niceties!)

He then tells him where he’ll find Ollie. To be fair, perhaps all he meant was for Hen to try and talk some sense into him, but when it turned out that Hen had gone over the top and stuck a needle right through the poor sod’s spine, that must have seemed like a sign from whatever God Alan worships that everything was going his way!

Now the only weak link remaining is Hen. Easily dealt with. Alan knows where he’ll be, and that night he heads out to Millstone with a bottle of scotch.

Could be Hen had already done the deed, but I doubt it. Whatever, by the time Alan leaves, Hen is dangling from a rope in the stairwell, there’s a suicide note on the kitchen table, and at a single stroke Alan has got rid of the one remaining witness and provided the police with a self-confessed murderer.

As it turns out, this has another benefit. With Ted no longer a suspect, there is nothing to prevent him coming into his rightful estate. Clara had already tried one trick to get at Ted’s huge inheritance-by threatening to publish the second will. Of course that’s been no use since everyone got to know it was a fake. But she has another card up her sleeve now. Did she fall or was she pushed? Well, I’ve no idea. Either’s possible, knowing Ted. Whichever it was, the threat that Clara might suddenly get her memory back is going to be very useful.

But not to worry, Andy. I’ll make sure that Ted pays nothing till she publicly recalls that it was an accident. I think that will be worth a few thou, don’t you? And really, Clara deserves a supplement to her meager inheritance, I think. To Daph in most things she was a very good and faithful servant.

Of course, the big question to such a devotee of justice as yourself is what to do about cunning old, ruthless old Alan Hollis.

Rest easy, Andy. There are some forms of justice best left in the hands of God. Why not leave it to Him to summon Alan to the great central court in the sky where, I do not doubt that, as He dispenses his justice, attending on his right side will be dear old Daphne Denham and on his left revolting old Hen Hollis. How apt it would be if the Lord arranged things so that Alan’s comeuppance could be traced, however indirectly, to Daphne herself?