Scandal at Six(54)

“Excuse me butting in,” said Justin. “Do you happen to know if Mrs Tollervey-Jones is okay? I’d hate to think of the old lady being hurt.”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Just one of those collect-and-run merchants. He’ll not get far.”

“I hope not,” said Justin. “We can do without such menaces in our community.”

Inside, he was chuckling. It had all been so easy. Pettison had been warned by Betsy Brierley that Mrs Tollervey-Jones was on the warpath, and he wanted her stopped. A quick change into a disguise. Balaclava on the head, scarf wound round half the face, and thick black gloves. It had all been done and dusted in the hour, and he was back in Tresham reporting to Pettison. After that he had returned to his flat over the shop with nobody any the wiser. Mission accomplished! A small dose of the frighteners on Mrs Tollervey-Jones, and back into Pettison’s good books.





Thirty-one





Mrs Tollervey-Jones looked at herself in the mirror on her dressing table. Her short grey hair waved naturally, curling pleasantly around her face. Her clear blue eyes had an honest, straightforward expression, and her lips, unadorned by lipstick, lifted at the ends in a half smile.

“Much too pleasant looking for a justice of the peace,” she muttered to herself. She had recently retired from the justices’ bench, and was restless. Having moved from the hall and its farms and parkland into a substantial stone house in the village, she had simply not enough to do with her time. “Except,” she said to her reflection, “when Lois Meade requires help from me, her unofficial assistant.”

This thought cheered her up, and she looked in the wardrobe for a warm coat, ready to tackle the suspicious Betsy Brierley. Why suspicious? she asked herself. No reason, really. She just had a feeling about the woman. Something guarded in her voice on the phone.

She left the house, locking up more carefully than usual, and drove off towards Tresham, where she threaded her way through the back streets to where Dot Nimmo lived on one side of the road, and Betsy Brierley on the other. As she reached the top of the street, she was passed by a van and for a moment was startled by a large snarling tiger staring at her from the van’s side. Aha! Mr Pettison has been a-visiting, she thought. I must be careful how I tread.

Betsy answered the door, and stared at Mrs T-J. “I don’t know you, do I?” she said. “You said your husband had something to do with our family, but I’ve asked around, and none of ’em remember anything about you.”

“Could I come in for a few minutes? I won’t keep you long, but I’d like to explain. Thank you, dear.”

Huh, thought Betsy, no good soft-soaping me, duckie. It’ll have to be a pretty good explanation, after what Pettison has just told me.

Mrs T-J perched on the edge of a chair, nodded a good morning to Mr Brierley, who stood nervously by the fireplace, and began to talk about her husband. She was tactful when mentioning his little weakness, but said he had had several love children around town when he was young.

“One or two of them were, I believe, brought up by your family, Betsy. In fact, one of the boys, a very bright lad, did very well. Ended up as quite a notable chairman of companies, that sort of thing. I’m researching the family history, and wondered if you remember anything about that, or, since you are much younger than my generation, whether you heard this clever son being spoken of?”

Ted Brierley shook his head, but Betsy said that as a matter of fact, she had been to see an old aunt recently, and she had identified a photograph on her wall.

“A very handsome chap, he was, apparently,” Betsy said now. “And, as you say, very big in the city. Lord Mayor of London, even, later on, after a distinguished career. Pity Ted didn’t get any such genes from his family.”

“Thanks for nothing, Betsy!” he protested. “If that’s the way the wind’s blowing, then I’m off out to the club. I’ll watch the racing from there. I’ll be back for lunch, so don’t stay too long, Mrs Whatever your name is.”

“Sorry about him,” said Betsy, after he had slammed the front door behind him. “He’s always a bit of a misery.”

“I am so sorry to have caused unpleasantness,” apologised Mrs T-J. Privately, she thought she had never encountered a more unforthcoming couple. However, a job was a job, and Lois would be expecting a report from her.

“Are you working now?” she asked, and Betsy’s face hardened.

“And what’s it to you if I am?” she said.

“Oh nothing. I was just being polite. Do you know, I thought a tiger was on the loose on my way here? It turned out to be painted on the side of a van. Advertising Tresham Zoo. Do you like zoos, Betsy?”