By the Pricking of My Thumbs tat-4 Read online

  'Did nobody ever come down here with her?'

  'Well, I'm not so sure about that. Of course these partition walls, you know, that they put in when they turned the house into two, well, they're pretty thin and sometimes you'd hear voices and things like that. I think she did bring down someone for weekends occasionally.' She nodded her head. 'A man of some kind. That may have been why they wanted somewhere quiet like this.'

  'A married man,' said Tuppence, entering into the spirit of make-believe.

  'Yes, it would be a married man, wouldn't it?' said Mrs. Perry.

  'Perhaps it was her husband who came down With her. He'd taken this place in the country because he wanted to murder her and perhaps he buried her in the garden.'

  'My!' said Mrs. Perry. 'You do have an imagination, don't you? I never thought of that one.'

  'I suppose someone must have known all about her,' said Tuppence. 'I mean house agents. People like that.'

  'Oh, I suppose so,' said Mrs. Perry. 'But I rather liked not knowing, if you understand what I mean.'

  'Oh yes,' said Tuppence, 'I do understand.'

  'It's got an atmosphere, you know, this house. I mean there's a feeling in it, a feeling that anything might have happened.'

  'Didn't she have any people come in to clean for her or anything like that?'

  'Difficult to get anyone here. There's nobody near at hand.'

  The outside door opened. The big man who had been digging in the garden came in. He went to the scullery tap and turned it, obviously washing his hands. Then he came through into the sitting room.

  'This is my husband,' said Mrs. Perry. 'Amos. We've got a visitor, Amos. This is Mrs. Beresford.'

  'How do you do?' said Tuppence.

  Amos Perry was a tall, shambling-looking man. He was bigger and more powerful than Tuppence had realized.

  Although he had a shambling gait and walked slowly, he was a big man of muscular build. He said, 'Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Beresford.'

  His voice was pleasant and he smiled, but Tuppence wondered for a brief moment whether he was really what she would have called 'all there'. There was a kind of wondering simplicity about the look in his eyes and she wondered, too, whether Mrs. Perry had wanted a quiet place to live in because of some mental disability on the part of her husband.

  'Ever so fond of the garden, he is,' said Mrs. Perry.

  At his entrance the conversation dimmed down. Mrs. Perry did most of the talking but her personality seemed to have changed. She talked with rather more nervousness and with particular attention to her husband. Encouraging him, Tuppence thought, rather in a way that a mother might prompt a shy boy to talk, to display the best of himself before a visitor, and to be a little nervous that he might be inadequate. When she'd finished her tea, Tuppence got up. She said, 'I must be going. Thank you, Mrs. Perry, very much for your hospitality.'

  'You'll see the garden before you go.' Mr. Perry rose. 'Come on, I'll show you.'

  She went with him outdoors and he took her down to the corner beyond where he had been digging.

  'Nice, them flowers, aren't they?' he said. 'Got some old-fashioned roses here. See this one, striped red and white.'

  '"Commandant Beaurepaire",' said Tuppence.

  'Us calls it "York and Lancaster" here,' said Perry. 'Wars of the Roses. Smells sweet, don't it?'

  'Smells lovely.'

  'Better than them new-fashioned Hybrid Teas.'

  In a way the garden was rather pathetic. The weeds were imperfectly controlled, but the flowers themselves were carefully tied up in an amateurish fashion.

  'Bright colours,' said Mr. Perry. 'I like bright colours. We often get folk to see our garden,' he said. 'Glad you came.'

  'Thank you very much,' said Tuppence. 'I think your garden and your house are very nice indeed.'

  'You ought to see t'other side of it.'

  'Is it to let or to be sold? Your wife says there's nobody living there now.'

  'We don't know. We've not seen anyone and there's no board up and nobody's ever come to see over it.'

  'It would be a nice house, I think, to live in.'

  'You wanting a house?'

  'Yes,' said Tuppence, making up her mind quickly. 'Yes, as a matter of fact, we are looking round for some small place in the country, for when my husband retires. That'll be next year probably, but we like to look about in plenty of time.'

  'It's quiet here if you like quiet.'

  'I suppose,' said Tuppence, 'I could ask the local house agents. Is that how you got your house?'

  'Saw an advertisement first we did in the paper. Then we went to the house agents, yes.'

  'Where was that, in Sutton Chancellor? That's your village, isn't it?'

  'Sutton Chancellor? No. Agents' place is in Market Basing. Russell amp; Thompson, that's the name. You could go to them and ask.'

  'Yes,' said Tuppence, 'so I could. How far is Market Basing from here?'

  'It's two miles to Sutton Chancellor and it's seven miles to Market Basing from there. There's a proper road from Sutton Chancellor, but it's all lanes hereabouts.'

  'I see,' said Tuppence. 'Well, goodbye, Mr. Perry, and thank you very much for showing me your garden.'

  'Wait a bit.' He stopped, cut off an enormous peony and taking Tuppence by the lapel of her coat, he inserted this trough the buttonhole in it. 'There,' he said, 'there you are. Looks pretty, it does.'

  For a moment Tuppence felt a sudden feeling of panic. This large, shambling, good-natured man suddenly frightened her.

  He was looking down at her, smiling. Smiling rather wildly, almost leering. 'Pretty it looks on you,' he said again. 'Pretty.'

  Tuppence thought 'I'm glad I'm not a young girl… I don't think I'd like him putting a flower on me then.' She said goodbye again and hurried away.

  The house door was open and Tuppence went in to say goodbye to Mrs. Perry. Mrs. Perry was the kitchen, washing up the tea things and Tuppence almost automatically pulled a teacloth off the rack and started drying.

  'Thank you so much,' she said, 'both you and your husband. You've been so kind and hospitable. What's that?'

  From the wall of the kitchen, or rather behind the wall where an old-fashioned range had once stood, there came a loud screaming and squawking and a scratching noise too.

  'That'll be a jackdaw,' said Mrs. Perry, 'dropped down the chimney in the other house. They do this time of the year. One came down our chimney last week. They make nests in the chimneys, you know.'

  'What-in the other house?'

  'Yes, there it is again.'

  Again the squawking and crying of a distressed bird came to their ears. Mrs. Perry said, 'There's no one to bother, you see, in the empty house. The chimneys ought to be swept and all that.'

  The squawking scratching noises went on.

  'Poor bird,' said Tuppence.

  'I know. It won't be able to get up again-'

  'You mean it'll just die there?'

  'Oh yes. One came down our chimney as I say. Two of them, actually. One was a young bird. It was all right, we put it out and it flew away. The other one was dead.'

  The frenzied scuffling and squeaking went on.

  'Oh,' said Tuppence, 'I wish we could get at it.'

  Mr. Perry came in through the door. 'Anything the matter?' he said, looking from one to the other.

  'There's a bird, Amos. It must be in the drawing room chimney next door. Hear it?'

  'Eh, it's come down from the jackdaws' nest.'

  'I wish we could get in there,' said Mrs. Perry.

  'Ah, you can't do anything. They'll die from the fright, if nothing else.'

  'Then it'll smell,' said Mrs. Perry.

  'You won't smell anything in here. You're softhearted,' he went on, looking from one to the other, 'like all females. We'll get it if you like.'

  'Why, is one of the windows open?'

  'We can get in through the door.'

  'What door?'

  'Outside here in the yard. The key'
s hanging up among those.'

  He went outside and along to the end, opening a small door there. It was a kind of potting shed really, but a door from it led into the other house and near the door of the potting shed were six or seven rusty keys hanging on a nail.

  'This one fits,' said Mr. Perry.

  He took down the key and put it in the door, and after exerting a good deal of cajolery and force, the key turned rustily in the lock.

  'I went in once before,' he said, 'when I heard water running. Somebody'd forgotten to shut the water off properly.'

  He went in and the two women followed him. The door led into a small room which still contained various flower vases on a shelf and a sink with a tap.

  'A flower room, I shouldn't wonder,' he said. 'Where people used to do the flowers. See? A lot of the vases left here.'

  There was a door out of the flower room. 'This was not even locked'. He opened it and they went through. It was like, Tuppence thought, going through into another world. The passageway outside was covered with a pile carpet. A little way along there was a door half-open and from there the sounds of a bird in distress were coming. Perry pushed the door open and his wife and Tuppence went in.

  The windows were shuttered but one side of a shutter was hanging loose and light came in. Although it was dim, there was a faded but beautiful carpet on the floor, a deep sage-green in colour. There was a bookshelf against the wall but no chairs or tables. The furniture had been removed no doubt, the curtains and carpets had been left as fittings to be passed on to the next tenant.

  Mrs. Perry went towards the fireplace. A bird lay in the grate scuffling and uttering loud squawking sounds of distress. She stooped, picked it up, and said, 'Open the window if you can, Amos.'

  Amos went over, pulled the shutter aside, unfastened the other side of it and then pushed at the latch of the window. He raised the lower sash which came gratingly. As soon as it was open Mrs. Perry leaned out and released the jackdaw. It flopped on to the lawn, hopped a few paces.

  'Better kill it,' said Perry. 'It's damaged.'

  'Leave it a bit,' said his wife. 'You never know. They recover very quickly, birds. It's fright that makes them so paralysed-looking.'

  Sure enough, a few moments later the jackdaw, with a final struggle, a squawk, a flapping of wings flew off.

  'I only hope,' said Alice Perry, 'that it doesn't come down that chimney again. Contrary things, birds: Don't know what's good for them. Get into a room, they can never get out of it by themselves. Oh,' she added, 'what a mess.'

  She, Tuppence and Mr. Perry all stared at the grate. From the chimney had come down a mass of soot, of odd rubble and of broken bricks. Evidently it had been in a bad state of repair for some time.

  'Somebody ought to come and live here,' said Mrs. Perry, looking round her.

  'Somebody ought to look after it,' Tuppence agreed with her. 'Some builder ought to look at it or do something about it or the whole house will come down soon.'

  'Probably water has been coming through the roof in the top rooms. Yes, look at the ceiling up there, it's come through.'

  'Oh, what a shame,' said Tuppence, 'to ruin a beautiful house-it really is a beautiful room, isn't it?'

  She and Mrs. Perry looked together round it appreciatively.

  Built in 1790 it had all the graciousness of a house of that period. It had had originally a pattern of willow leaves on the discoloured paper.

  'It's a ruin now,' said Mr. Perry.

  Tuppence poked the debris in the grate.

  'One ought to sweep it up,' said Mrs. Perry.

  'Now what do you want to bother yourself with a house that doesn't belong to you?' said her husband. 'Leave it alone, woman. It'll be in just as bad a state tomorrow morning.'

  Tuppence stirred the bricks aside with a toe.

  'Ooh,' she said with an exclamation of disgust.

  There were two dead birds lying in the fireplace. By the look of them they had been dead for some time.

  'That's the nest that came down a good few weeks ago. It's a wonder it doesn't smell more than it does,' said Perry.

  'What's this thing?' said Tuppence.

  She poked with her toe at something lying half hidden in the rubble. Then she bent and picked it up.

  'Don't you touch a dead bird,' said Mrs. Perry.

  'It's not a bird,' said Tuppence. 'Something else must have come down the chimney. Well I never,' she added, staring at it.

  'It's a doll. It's a child's doll.'

  They looked down at it. Ragged, torn, its clothes in rags, its head lolling from the shoulders, it had originally been a child's doll. One glass eye dropped out. Tuppence stood holding it.

  'I wonder,' she said, 'I wonder how a child's doll ever got up a chimney. Extraordinary.'

  Chapter 8. Sutton Chancellor

  After leaving the canal house, Tuppence drove slowly on along the narrow winding road which she had been assured would lead her to the village of Sutton Chancellor. It was an isolated road. There were no houses to be seen from it-only field gates from which muddy tracks led inwards. There was little traffic-one tractor came along, and one lorry proudly announcing that it carried Mother's Delight and the picture of an enormous and unnatural-looking loaf. The church steeple she had noticed in the distance seemed to have disappeared entirely-but it finally reappeared quite near at hand after the lane had bent suddenly and sharply round a belt of trees. Tuppence glanced at the speedometer and saw she had come two miles since the canal house.

  It was an attractive old church standing in a sizeable churchyard with a lone yew tree standing by the church door.

  Tuppence left the car outside the lych-gate, passed through it, and stood for a few moments surveying the church and the churchyard round it. Then she went to the church door with its rounded Norman arch and lifted the heavy handle. It was unlocked and she went inside.

  The inside was unattractive. The church was an old one, undoubtedly, but it had had a zealous wash and brush up in Victorian times. Its pitch pine pews and its flaring red and blue glass windows had ruined any antique charm it had once possessed. A middle-aged woman in a tweed coat and skirt was arranging flowers in brass vases round the pulpit-she had already fiished the altar. She looked round at Tuppence with a sharply inquiring glance. Tuppence wandered up an aisle looking at memorial tablets on the walls. A family called Warrender seemed to be most fully represented in early years.

  All of The Priory, Sutton Chancellor. Captain Warrender, Major Warrender, Sarah Elisabeth Warrender, dearly beloved wife of George Warrender. A newer tablet recorded the death of Julia Starke (another beloved wife) of Philip Starke, also of The Priory, Sutton Chancellor-so it would seem the Warrenders had died out. None of them were particularly suggestive or interesting. Tuppence passed out of the church again and walked round it on the outside. The outside, Tuppence thought, was much more attractive than the inside.

  'Early Perp. and Dec.,' said Tuppence to herself, having been brought up on familiar terms with ecclesiastical architecture.

  She was not particularly fond of early Perp. herself.

  It was a fair-sized church and she thought that the village of Sutton Chancellor must once have been a rather more important centre of rural life than it was now. She left the car where it was and walked on to the village. It had a village shop and a post office and about a dozen small houses or cottages.

  One or two of them were thatched but the others were rather plain and unattractive. There were six council houses at the end of the village street looking slightly self-conscious. A brass plate on a door announced: 'Arthur Thomas, Chimney Sweep'.

  Tuppence wondered if any responsible house agents were likely to engage his services for the house by the canal which certainly needed them. How silly she had been, she thought, not to have asked the name of the house.

  She walked back slowly towards the church, and her car, pausing to examine the churchyard more closely. She liked the churchyard. There were very few new burials i
n it. Most of the stones commemorated Victorian burials, and earlier ones-half defaced by lichen and time. The old stones were attractive.

  Some of them were upright slabs with cherubs on the tops, with wreaths round them. She wandered about, looking at the inscriptions. Warrenders again. Mary Warrender, aged 47, Alice Warrender, aged 33, Colonel John Warrender killed in Afghanistan. Various infant Warrenders-deeply regretted and eloquent verses of pious hopes. She wondered if any Warrenders lived here still. They'd left off being buried here apparently. She couldn't find any tombstones later than 1843.

  Rounding the big yew tree she came upon an elderly clergyman who was stooping over a row of old tombstones near a wall behind the church. He straightened up and turned round as Tuppence approached.

  'Good afternoon,' he said pleasantly.

  'Good afternoon,' said Tuppence, and added, 'I've been looking at the church.'

  'Ruined by Victorian renovation,' said the clergyman.

  He had a pleasant voice and a nice smile. He looked about seventy, but Tuppence presumed he was not quite as far advanced in age as that, though he was certainly rheumatic and rather unsteady on his legs.

  'Too much money about in Victorian times,' he said sadly. 'Too many ironmasters. They were pious, but had, unfortunately, no sense of the artistic. No taste. Did you see the east window?' he shuddered.

  'Yes,' said Tuppence. 'Dreadful,' she said.

  'I couldn't agree with you more. I'm the vicar,' he added, rather unnecessarily.

  'I thought you must be,' said Tuppence politely. 'Have you been here long?' she added.

  'Ten years, my dear,' he said. 'It's a nice parish. Nice people, what there are of them. I've been very happy here. They don't like my sermons very much,' he added sadly. 'I do the best I can, but of course I can't pretend to be really modern. Sit down,' he added hospitably, waving to a nearby tombstone.

  Tuppence sat down gratefully and the vicar took a seat on another one nearby.

  'I can't stand very long,' he said, apologetically. He added, 'Can I do anything for you or are you just passing by?'