Episode 4 - Robert

Robert Jones had been left alone with Jessica at the cottage. Gary gave Dorothy and Cleo, who wanted to help Dorothy explain to Edith what had happened, a lift to the vicarage. Gary hoped to get a little time with Cleo when Dorothy had been welcomed.

Edith Parsnip, long-suffering vicar's wife, mother of five boisterous boys and general factotum at the vicarage, was standing on the doorstep as Cleo and Dorothy finally got out of Gary’s car and scrunched their way up the pebbly path to the house. Edith hoped Dorothy would not catch a chill at the old vicarage, which was cold all the year round and lacked the cosiness and warmth of the cottage in Monkton Way. Dorothy thought it unlikely. She did not have central heating, either.

At the vicarage there was no central heating because the powers that be refused to pay for it and a vicar's salary did not run to it. You would have thought it in the interests of the diocese to look after the health of its incumbents, but St. Peter's was one of those old churches in such disrepair that it was under discussion to close it down altogether. The previous bishop, who had turned out to be rascal and an imposter, would probably have succeeded in selling the land it was built on to a property holding had not Cleo been investigating the case and been largely responsible for averting that catastrophe.

So St. Peter's had survived. Frederick Parsnip, a vicar with suppressed evangelical talents and no other discernible talent, still had a job and the village souls had been saved, if only temporarily. Fortunately, the new bishop had proved to be sympathetic with the idea of preserving rather than obliterating congregations and reviving old traditions, so Mr Parsnip's desired revival of campanology had not fallen on deaf ears.

***

While Dorothy had always had misgivings about Laura Finch, who had normally been thick-skinned and tactless, causing people to take a dislike to her, she herself was an upright kind of person who had tried to see the good in Laura and ignore the bad. She had very mixed feelings about Laura's untimely and violent death. There was no way of ignoring the bad about that, and Dorothy could not think of anything good about it. The rivalry between them had been a kind of one-upmanship and entirely Laura’s invention. It had exasperated Dorothy, but anything is better than silence, and Laura Finch's voice, though the frequent bearer of petulant and resentful comments, had regrettably been silenced for all time.

Now Dorothy was bracing herself for a deep discussion with her friend the vicar, some genuine lamenting by Edith, and a night trying to sleep in a room with two lively youngsters in their bunk beds trying to be good (but failing) or next door in Edith’s utility room, which was just as noisy.

"This is so kind of you at such short notice, Edith," she said.

"You're welcome, Dorothy. Come in and tell us what's happened."

“Go home, Cleo. I can manage.”

“Are you sure?” said Cleo.

“I expect Gary wants to get to bed, too,” said Dorothy.

Gary was waiting in the car and listening to a sport report.

Edith was fascinated by Cleo's American accent, so she turned to her and said "Hi, Cleo," in the drawl she found fascinating. "So nice to see you again."

Cleo had experienced Edith's mimicry a number of times and fortunately found it cute rather than annoying.

"Sorry to bother you, Edith," she drawled now, pleasing Edith's ear with much more drawl than normal.

"Not at all! Not at all! Why, it's no bother at all," said Edith, slurring as many of the words into one another as she could manage.

Dorothy listened to this banter with raised eyebrows. Cleo turned to her and bit on her lower lip so as not to laugh.

Edith led the way into the living room. Although it was mid-July, a fire was blazing in the grate. The room was almost welcoming.

"I'll get coffee and call Frederick," Edith proposed.

“I can’t stay long,” said Cleo.

“But he’d hate to miss you. Cleo,” drawled Edith.

Cleo and Dorothy sat down next to one another on the sofa. The vicarage cat, Priscilla, came and wound herself round their legs. Do cats have presentiments?

Edith popped her head round the door of her the vicar’s office and drawled "Sorry to bother you, Frederick, but we need you in the living-room."

Frederick was as usual suffering from mid-weekly sermon-writer's block and grateful for the interruption, if somewhat irritated by Edith's sudden Americanization.

"Why are you talking with that funny accent, Edith?" he wanted to know.

Edith left his question unanswered. She dashed into the kitchen to get refreshments. A mild expletive escaped under her breath. Edith got carried away by the lilt in Cleo's voice, but she did not usually regale the vicar with her imitation of what she thought was a genuine American accent.

Frederick left off sharpening pencils, a pacifier he turned to whenever he could not think of anything to think, write or do, and hurried into the living-room. Cleo and Dorothy jumped up and went towards him.

"Well, well, well," he exclaimed. "What have we here? Isn’t it a bit late for afternoon tea?"

"This isn't a social visit. We haven’t come to tea," said Cleo.

“We are here on important business, Frederick,” Dorothy added.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, dear ladies," the vicar chanted. "What's the matter? Dorothy, you look peaky! Dearie me, oh dearie me! Miss Hartley, you look peaky, too!"

Mr Parsnip's repetition of phrases and words was standard rhetorical practice he generally carried over into his sermons, making them up to twice as long as they otherwise would have been.

"Sit down! Sit down!" he commanded. "No need to stand on ceremony. No need…"

Edith reappeared with a tray of coffee mugs.

"I've made milk coffee. I hope that's all right," she said.

"Just fine," Cleo drawled for Edith's benefit. "Purrrrfect!"

Frederick Parsnip poked around in the embers of the coal fire then chucked a shovel full of the fuel onto them, grunting as he did so, presumably to make sure that Edith noted his gesture. Housework was the prerogative of housewives, but tending the fire was sometimes his job. Replenishing the coal scuttle from the coal shed outside was not.

"Keep the home fires burning," he exhorted as the flames roared up the chimney.

"We'll need more coal, Edith," he said. Throwing it into the grate was his job. He was again glad that fetching it from the coalhouse in all weathers was Edith's.  He never pondered on how the custom had arisen.

Edith smiled ever so slightly and sat down at the dining table to drink her coffee. She wasn't sure if what was coming would be any of her business, so she melted into the background, just in case.

"It's like this, Frederick," said Dorothy. "I don't know how you will take this, but...."

Then she looked pleadingly at Cleo, who picked up where she had tailed off.

"Laura Finch is dead," she said, without a trace of a drawl.

Silence fell on the room. Then the vicar repeated Cleo's words.

"Laura Finch is dead. Did you hear that, Edith? Laura Finch is dead. I think we should say a prayer."

But before the vicar could launch into his prayer, Cleo interrupted.

"She's not just dead. She was murdered."

"Oh dear," said Edith with a little sob.

"What's more, her body was lifted through the window of my new office and left bleeding on my new carpet.”

"How dreadful for you," Edith sympathized as if someone had spilt coffee on the tablecloth.

"How dreadful for Laura Finch," the vicar said, visibly shocked. "How did she die?"

"She was stabbed in the back three times, Vicar."

Edith let out a little cry.

Dorothy got up and went to comfort her.

"I can't bear it," Edith moaned. "Who could have hated her so much?"

"That's the question we are all trying to answer, “ said Cleo in her business-as-usual voice. “It was a brutal killing, and no witnesses have yet been found."

Cleo's direct approach was effective. Edith pulled herself together and tried to comfort Dorothy instead. Dorothy told her not to fuss.

"I was shocked, and still am," she explained, when Edith looked hurt as Dorothy shrugged her off, "but we have to face the fact that there is someone who wanted her dead. I just hope it wasn't one of her children."

"One of her children? One of her children? One of her children?” intoned the vicar.

Cleo explained how they had found Jessica at Laura’s bungalow.

“Who’s Jessica?” Edith wanted to know.

Cleo explained.

"But she never mentioned a daughter," said Edith "I wonder what else she didn't tell us."

"Whatever the reason was, we shall never find out now," said Mr Parsnip firmly, chipping into the conversation and startling everyone by employing an authoritative tone.

"You sound as if you know something, Frederick," Dorothy remarked.

The vicar merely shook his head.

"I don’t know whether I quite believe you," said Dorothy. "I don't like open endings to stories, so I for one will be trying to find out more and if you know something, you should tell us because not holding back evidence would help us and get a load off your mind, wouldn’t it, Cleo?"

When Cleo did not answer, Dorothy hurried to add “Of course, we would not want to interfere if it was a matter for the police, Frederick.”

“I hope you are listening, Frederick,” said Edith courageously.

"The thing is that they just want to find the killer,” said Dorothy. “I want to know why."

***

The doorbell rang.

Mr Parsnip looked relieved. He had had it on the tip of his tongue to say something about Laura Finch and now he would not have to.

"That'll be Robert," said Cleo.

“But we came with Gary,” said Dorothy

“I expect Robert was getting nervous, alone with a young woman,”  drawled Cleo.

Edith fetched him in. She had no time to commit they new drawl to memory.

“Where have you been,” asked Robert in a masterful voice.

"Here, and we have to go home immediately," said Cleo. “You should not have left Jessica to her own devices, Robert.”

“What’s that cop’s car doing in the drive, Cleo?” Robert asked, ignoring what Cleo had just said..

“Is he still thee I’ll tell him to go home. He stayed in case there was a problem.”

“And was there?”

“No.”

Robert marched to the car and told Gary he could go home.

“Where’s Jessica?” Gary asked.

“In bed asleep and that’s where you should be,” said Robert.

Gary knew when he was beaten and drove off.

***

Robert marched back into the house to say a belated hello to everyone.

Cleo was angry with herself for contemplating joining Gary in his car and letting him wait for her.

“We’d better go home, Robert,” she said. “Dorothy can do the rest of the explaining. Maybe you can persuade Mr Parsnip to tell her what else he knows about Laura,  Dorothy.”

“With those words, Cleo swept out of the vicarage with Robert in tow.

***

Meanwhile, the vicar was looking so guilty that Edith and Dorothy stared at him expectantly. He muttered something about finishing his sermon and sidled off into his study.

“I expect he’ll sharpen some more pencils,” said Edith.

“He’s hiding something, Edith.”

“The vicar isn’t capable of hiding anything, Cleo,” said Edith in defence.

“Don’t underestimate him!” said Dorothy. “I know that look. He’s guilty of something.”

***

Before they got into his white delivery van, Robert felt the need to ask Cleo some searching questions, especially about Gary’s continued presence at the vicarage when he could have driven home.

“He was waiting to see if we needed help.”

“And did you?”

“No, but I'm ravenous and we must get back to Laura’s kid.”

***

"I didn't know she had a daughter, let alone a cheeky hussy of a girl,” said Robert  as he drove the short distance from the vicarage to the cottage.

"None of us did."

"Don't you think that's all a bit too much to swallow?"

"I want to find out why Laura concealed the truth about her early life."

“Why is the girl staying with us, Cleo. You haven’t actually explained.”

“Laura’s bungalow has to be gone over by forensics, then Jessica can go back there. I don’t know the whole story, Robert. There’s probably more to it.”

“More what?”

“I wonder if she killed Laura or hired someone else to.”

”Do you mean that we are harbouring a murderess?” said Robert.

“No. Those stabbings were a man’s job.”

“So she would just be an accessory, wouldn’t she?” said Robert.

“Put like that…”

“But if she just wanted money from Laura, she’s hardly likely to have killed the golden goose,” Robert argued. “Do you believe her story?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Cleo. I would be glad if she left as soon as possible so that we can get on with our own lives," said Robert, seriously ruffled at the idea that someone who could conceivably have committed a murder was staying the night.

"Let's assume that if Gary let her stay with us, he has decided that she's harmless,” said Cleo.

"Look Cleo, quite apart from Gary’s dubious judgment, we should not be providing hospitality to someone who might even conceivably be a killer, however harmless she seems."

"Leave it to me, Robert. She's simply not the type. She's just a slip of a girl. She would never have had the strength to lift Laura Finch, let alone push her dead weight through a window."

"So what is the type, Cleo? Do they have ‘I'm a killer’ stamped on their foreheads, or are they average people who would not stand out in a crowd?"

"You have a point, Robert, but she had nowhere else to go."

"Couldn’t she have stayed in Laura’s bungalow?"

"Cordoned off. Forensics would not allow it."

***

Hardly were Cleo and Robert back in the cottage than the phone rang. It was Gary.

"We've verified Jessica's identity, Cleo. The authorities in Bermuda beamed me a photo of her."

Within seconds, Cleo had the photo on her phone. It could have passed for Jessica, but it was slightly blurred and Robert remarked on that.

“OK. It looks like her,” Cleo told Gary over the phone.

"We have no reason to detain Miss Finch," Gary concluded.

“Then she can stay the night and move out tomorrow,” said Cleo. “Good night.”

Robert followed Cleo into the kitchen to make coffee and a sandwich..

***

Cleo wondered how Gary had approached the Bermudan authority. She did not think that the information was necessarily correct, and even if it was, it still wasn't an alibi, unless someone could credibly confirm her whereabouts as being somewhere else during the timespan of Laura’s murder.

Julie and her friends only saw her once, three days before the murder. Where had she been after that and before they discovered her in Laura's living-room? She could have been in Upper Grumpsfield on the day of the murder, then gone away and come back again. But she would have needed help to get Laura from where she had been killed to the back of the office block and heave her through that sash window into the office, and where would she find anyone willing to do such a horrible thing  at short notice? Apart from that, if her identity was authentic, that did not mean that everything else she had said was true. Cleo thought Gary was being very naive about Jessica.

***

"I hope you've got over your reservations about her staying the night, Robert. You could snap her in two if you had a mind to."

"That's not likely, now is it? I'm just cautious."

"Well, you needn't be. Laura's bungalow will be examined for evidence and Jessica can go back there tomorrow."

"I hope you're right."

***

Robert said he was tired  and went to bed. Without proof that Jessica did not kill Laura, Jessica was in his opinion a suspect. Cleo wrapped herself in the sofa plaid, curled up on the two-seater sofa in front of the fire, and slept there. Robert did not miss her and Jessica, who wandered into the kitchen to get a drink sometime during the night, decided that her suspicions about Cleo and the cop were justified. Why the hell did she stay with a boring butcher when she could have that cop? Jessica knew which guy she would choose.