to hold her ground.
"I couldn't help noticing you and the constable in Betty's house last night," she said, leaving Elizabeth in no doubt as to the real reason she'd confronted her that morning. "Has something happened to Reggie?"
About to pretend ignorance, Elizabeth thought better of it. "What makes you think something happened to him?" she asked, hoping she sounded indifferent.
Joan looked over her shoulder as if afraid of being overheard. "Well, I haven't seen him around for a while. Betty told me he'd gone in the army. Can't see as how they'd take him, though. Got too much weight on his middle and always coughing. Can't be too healthy, if you ask me."
Thoroughly interested in spite of her reservations, Elizabeth prompted another response. "It does sound as if he might have been turned down."
"Well, and then there's his drinking. Hardly ever seen him sober, I haven't. His liver must be shriveled up like a prune. Drinks like a fish, and temper to go with it. I don't think he ever has a bath, neither. The dirt's just grimed into his skin. Sometimes he looks just like a black man from Africa."
"Well, he did deliver coal for a living." For some reason, Elizabeth felt compelled to defend the poor man. No matter what he was like, he certainly hadn't deserved to have his face smashed to bits.
Joan was sharper than Elizabeth realized. "Did?" Flushed with anticipation, she lowered her voice. "You mean he's
gorn
, then?"
Inwardly cursing her slip of the tongue, Elizabeth said hastily, "I'm afraid I really can't talk about it right now. Perhaps Mrs. Stewart can tell you more when she comes home."
"I just knew something bad was going to happen to him," Joan declared, once more effectively halting Elizabeth's escape. "I could see it coming."
"Oh?" Elizabeth tried to sound only mildly interested, but she doubted if Joan had even heard her. The woman couldn't wait to rattle off everything she knew.
"Used to argue something terrible, they did. The two of them. They had a dreadful row right out here on the street. Reggie was going on and on about Betty spending all her time at the bank. Accused her of making eyes at Henry, he did."
"Henry?"
Joan's voice had an edge to it. "Henry Fenworth, your ladyship. The manager at the bank in the High Street? Hasn't been there that long. Widower, he is. Nice-looking chap. Too young for Betty, I'd say. Then again, there's no accounting for taste. Don't know why he's not in the Army, though. Must have something wrong with him, I s'pose. Still, he's more Betty's type than that filthy drunkshe married. Had to get married, she did. She was six months along at the wedding. Then she lost the baby. Never had another. Doesn't surprise me. I would never let filth like that touch me. I reckon he forced her the first time. Can't see her doing it otherwise. I think—"
Deciding it was high time she put a stop to this flow of gossip, Elizabeth said firmly, "Well, I really must be running along. Please tell Rita I shall do my best to help out at the fete."
"I will, m'm. Thank—"
The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the roar of Elizabeth's motorcycle. As she rode back up the hill, she went over everything that Joan Plumstone had told her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to pay a visit to the bank. She hadn't met the manager yet, and with her shaky finances, it might be a good idea to make his acquaintance. Besides, she couldn't help wondering just how much truth there was in Reggie Stewart's accusations.
Someone had brutally murdered Reggie, apparently in a fit of rage. Could a love triangle have been the motive? It was certainly worth investigating.
It would have to wait for a while, however. With Polly gone for the day, she had a golden opportunity to catch up on tasks in the office that had gone neglected lately. Polly was a great help, but she could be a very distracting presence at times.
At the very first opportunity, she promised herself, she'd run down to the bank and meet Henry Fenworth.
"I couldn't help noticing you and the constable in Betty's house last night," she said, leaving Elizabeth in no doubt as to the real reason she'd confronted her that morning. "Has something happened to Reggie?"
About to pretend ignorance, Elizabeth thought better of it. "What makes you think something happened to him?" she asked, hoping she sounded indifferent.
Joan looked over her shoulder as if afraid of being overheard. "Well, I haven't seen him around for a while. Betty told me he'd gone in the army. Can't see as how they'd take him, though. Got too much weight on his middle and always coughing. Can't be too healthy, if you ask me."
Thoroughly interested in spite of her reservations, Elizabeth prompted another response. "It does sound as if he might have been turned down."
"Well, and then there's his drinking. Hardly ever seen him sober, I haven't. His liver must be shriveled up like a prune. Drinks like a fish, and temper to go with it. I don't think he ever has a bath, neither. The dirt's just grimed into his skin. Sometimes he looks just like a black man from Africa."
"Well, he did deliver coal for a living." For some reason, Elizabeth felt compelled to defend the poor man. No matter what he was like, he certainly hadn't deserved to have his face smashed to bits.
Joan was sharper than Elizabeth realized. "Did?" Flushed with anticipation, she lowered her voice. "You mean he's
gorn
, then?"
Inwardly cursing her slip of the tongue, Elizabeth said hastily, "I'm afraid I really can't talk about it right now. Perhaps Mrs. Stewart can tell you more when she comes home."
"I just knew something bad was going to happen to him," Joan declared, once more effectively halting Elizabeth's escape. "I could see it coming."
"Oh?" Elizabeth tried to sound only mildly interested, but she doubted if Joan had even heard her. The woman couldn't wait to rattle off everything she knew.
"Used to argue something terrible, they did. The two of them. They had a dreadful row right out here on the street. Reggie was going on and on about Betty spending all her time at the bank. Accused her of making eyes at Henry, he did."
"Henry?"
Joan's voice had an edge to it. "Henry Fenworth, your ladyship. The manager at the bank in the High Street? Hasn't been there that long. Widower, he is. Nice-looking chap. Too young for Betty, I'd say. Then again, there's no accounting for taste. Don't know why he's not in the Army, though. Must have something wrong with him, I s'pose. Still, he's more Betty's type than that filthy drunkshe married. Had to get married, she did. She was six months along at the wedding. Then she lost the baby. Never had another. Doesn't surprise me. I would never let filth like that touch me. I reckon he forced her the first time. Can't see her doing it otherwise. I think—"
Deciding it was high time she put a stop to this flow of gossip, Elizabeth said firmly, "Well, I really must be running along. Please tell Rita I shall do my best to help out at the fete."
"I will, m'm. Thank—"
The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the roar of Elizabeth's motorcycle. As she rode back up the hill, she went over everything that Joan Plumstone had told her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to pay a visit to the bank. She hadn't met the manager yet, and with her shaky finances, it might be a good idea to make his acquaintance. Besides, she couldn't help wondering just how much truth there was in Reggie Stewart's accusations.
Someone had brutally murdered Reggie, apparently in a fit of rage. Could a love triangle have been the motive? It was certainly worth investigating.
It would have to wait for a while, however. With Polly gone for the day, she had a golden opportunity to catch up on tasks in the office that had gone neglected lately. Polly was a great help, but she could be a very distracting presence at times.
At the very first opportunity, she promised herself, she'd run down to the bank and meet Henry Fenworth.
Similar Books
