Episode 2 - Jessie

Monday cont. then Tuesday May 2nd

On Monday evening Robert Jones delivered the usual order to the school. Cleo had phoned him and told him what had happened. He wondered how everyone would be fed that evening and in the near future. Mrs Oldfield's gormless  assistant would do nothing to ease the situation.

“I didn’t know I’d have to come in again today,” she explained when she arrived at the school having been summoned by the housekeeper.. “I had a little drink.”

“Under the circumstances it was your duty to come,” said Mrs Baines.

“That girl is not sober,” said Dorothy, who wanted to go home and had only come into the kitchen to say so. You could not fail to notice that Jessie Coppins was drunk. Dorothy offered to stay and help with the supper. Jessie would have liked that, but Mrs Baines was sceptical. Piano teachers were not usually competent at canteen cooking, she thought. But then, especially in her present state, Jessie Coppins wasn’t, either.

“You go and splash some cold water on your face, Jessie Coppins,” scolded the housekeeper. “I’m surprised at you drinking alcohol in the afternoon.”

“I can drink if I like on my free afternoon,” retorted Jessie, swaying as she went to the kitchen sink to cool her brow. The body of Mrs Oldfield had already been taken away, but Jessie carefully avoided the blood that had not yet been mopped up.

“And you can start by cleaning the floor,” said Mrs Baines.

“Where is she then?” Jessie wanted to know.

“They’ve taken poor Mrs Oldfield to Middlethumpton police station, Jessie,” Dorothy explained.

“I’m glad. I’ve never seen anyone completely dead and I don’t particularly want to. Did she die on this bit of floor?” said Jessie, pointing to the blood.

“She was stabbed in the back just there,” said Mrs Baines, pointing to the exact spot and stabbing the air with both hands.

”It gives me the creeps.”

“Pull yourself together!” admonished Mrs Baines.

Gary and Cleo had stood by watching this scene. The relationship between the housekeeper and the assistant cook left much to be desired. Gary, Cleo and Dorothy had been ready to leave when Jessie arrived, but the sight of this drunken individual and vicious-tempered housekeeper did not inspire them with confidence in the setup. Jessie Coppins was probably oblivious of everything and had almost certainly not been around when Mrs Oldfield met her maker.

“Where were you this afternoon, Miss Coppins?” Gary asked nevertheless.

“Not here,” said Jessie, and with considerably more volume “Not bloody here.”

Jessie Coppins was a local girl, about 22 years old, with an apprenticeship at a chip shop behind her. She lived at home with her mother and a number of children, two of which were hers.

Mrs Oldfield had taken Jessie on because she needed someone for simple tasks, like cleaning up after her, slicing bread or peeling potatoes, and Jessie had proved useful. The girl was uncouth and impolite, but she had eventually been allowed to do other simple tasks such as helping to prepare the supper if it was going to be a simple affair with cold meat and cheese, and she could bake a fair cake.

The girls liked her because she amused them. She was unlike anything they normally came across. Quite apart from smelling rather offensive, Jessie spoke her mind in language she was told not to use at the school. She did not notice when she was being enticed to express herself in obscenities and expletives.

Mrs Baines, quite a cultured woman as housekeepers go, had tried very hard to make something of Jessie. She had got as far as insisting that Jessie take a shower every day (which she didn’t), wash her hair regularly (which she didn’t) and not wear Wellington Boots apart from outside in the rain. She had even replaced many of the girl’s unsuitable garments, most of which came from the Charity Shop in Middlethumpton. She was now obliged to wear a uniform all the time she was working.

This afternoon she was not wearing her uniform, but a low-cut little number she had acquired for special occasions. It was hideous, but Jessie thought she looked like a woman of the world in it. Her idea of what a woman of the world should look like had been fuelled on the day she had helped Mrs Baines to make the girls’ beds and taken time to peek into Cosmopolitan, the Tattler and other glossies that the girls preferred to their textbooks. Since then, the girls had passed on their used glossies, and Jessie read them carefully from cover to cover and back again.

Gary thought Jessie was promiscuous in her spare time, judging by her choice of apparel, but otherwise harmless. Jessie thought Gary was looking at her with what she called ‘hungry eyes’. Dorothy wondered how much contact Jessie had with the girls at the school and if she had carried messages to and from the local pub and other venues frequented by the yobs of the district.

In the end they all left Mrs Baines and Jessie Coppins to their own devices. With the help of strong coffee and aspirin, Jessie was now sober enough to see to the supper, which had fortunately already been planned and partly prepared by the dead Mrs Oldfield.

Mrs Baines phoned Mrs Cagney, the kitchen help who lived locally. She had learnt her job feeding a brood of her own kids and earned her stripes doing for various families for many years. That good soul was almost over-qualified for the temporary job of lowly kitchen help. On arrival next morning she declared that she would have no problem preparing the 50 lamb chops expected to be delivered that evening to be eaten with oven chips the following day. Jessie had a hunch that Mrs Cagney would soon usurp her and wondered how she could prevent that happening.

Jessie also thought that it was her right to move into Mrs Oldfield’s job. Mrs Cagney grasped her five minutes of fame with both detergent-damaged hands, and was given by Mrs Baines to believe that if she did things well, she could soon call herself chief cook. Jessie would remain subservient, of that Mrs Baines was sure.

But Jessie overheard Mrs Baines promise to Mrs Cagney and declared that she would go to any lengths to avoid being subservient, whatever that meant. She would ask the boarders. They knew a lot of posh words, so they must know what that word entailed.

***

In Upper Grumpsfield, Tuesday morning started with one of the second-breakfast meetings at Cleo’s cottage. Dorothy loved those meetings because they always previewed what lay ahead in the way of sleuthing. Dorothy had never dreamt that she could be a private detective, and now she was one, and enjoyed every minute of it.

“One thing’s definite, and that is that I’ll be at the chorus rehearsal in the church hall this evening,” Dorothy announced. “I’ve always wanted to look in, but never had enough of an excuse before. I couldn’t very well say that I wanted to hear if they still sing as badly as they did under poor Laura Finch’s direction.”

“I understand that the new guy, Lester something or other, doesn’t use a piano at all, so he won’t need your services as an accompanist, Dorothy,” said Cleo.

“Why don’t you come too and I said you are an expert on their new American singing style,” said Dorothy.

“You mean barbershop, don’t you? I suppose it’s better than Laura Finch’s taste in choral music, but I’ve never sung it, and in fact, I don’t think I can sing at all.”

“Of course you can sing, Cleo. Everyone can sing. Laura said so.”

“That’s why the Finch Ladies sounded so dreadful, I suppose.”

“In amateur choruses you have to take the bad with the good,” said Dorothy.

“Since Laura’s chorus was mostly bad it can’t be any worse than it was, Dorothy”

“So that’s settled. I’ll collect you at half past six and we’ll stroll along to the church hall.”

“On your head be it,” said Cleo.

“We are investigating, Cleo. That’s what really matters.”

***

Dorothy Price lived in a cottage in Monkton Way, about 100 yards further up towards Monkton Priory than Cleo’s cottage and thus further from the village. St Peter’s parish church was near the River Grump, which bordered on the village green and fed the village pond, sometimes to overflowing, on its winding way to the Thames.

“I wonder if Edith would like to go along,” said Dorothy.

“Can she sing?” said Cleo. “Of course she can. You said everyone can sing.”

“I’ll phone her,” said Dorothy. “After all, the rehearsal is just round the corner from the vicarage. She can always say ‘no’.”

“I didn’t know that you cared that much about what Edith does, Dorothy.”

“I’m sorry for her.”

***

Edith Parsnip had five sons to rear and had to save the vicar from himself most of the time, but the boys could at least be relied on to go to bed before it got too late. Mr Parsnip would be at home, ostensibly supervising them while preparing for his meditation, which took place every Tuesday night in the church and lasted all night. He took good care not to leave home before the chorus rehearsal had finished, since the church hall was built onto the back of the church at the organ end. Mr Parsnip was not averse to a bit of good singing, but Lester Keys had not been there long enough to make much difference to the squawking band that now called itself the ‘Golden Girls’ and was already threatening to stage a concert.

Lester Keys was what Cleo would call ‘a nice guy’ and Jessie would probably call ‘a dish’. He was very tall and lanky, more partial to men than women, and quite unlike the jockey who had lent him his first name. He could not say if his parents, who were very short and rather tubby, had had ambitions for their only son to become a jockey in the wake of his famous namesake, Lester Piggott, on whose back the Keys had placed quite a few winning bets.

But Lester had grown to over six feet, so he was not qualified to be a jockey. He had, however, found a way out. He would be a D.J. instead. He studied pop music when he wasn’t frequenting discos and night locals who went in for DJs in a big way and sometimes even let him have a go on the revolving record-players.

***

Dorothy maintained that Lester Keys was deluded if he thought he could make Laura Finch’s 'girls' sing in an orderly fashion. He had already sorted them into low, middle, fairly high and very high voices, as the barbershop tradition required, but that move had caused several resignations by ‘girls’ who thought they should be singing soprano though it was years since they had hit any of the high notes, if ever.

Lester thought that was good riddance to bad jobs. Thanks to Mr Parsnip’s earnest appeal from the pulpit for young ladies to join the chorus, there were some newcomers – pretty girls Lester thought would make a decorative front row and even be capable of a few aerobic-like choreographies to enhance the chorus’s optical appeal.

What matter if they would leave when they left Huddlecourt Manor School. He was guaranteed replacements as girl students came and went, and he had applied for and been engaged part-time as music teacher there, which would make it even easier to get a chorus up and running that could sing.

“I think we should get down to business, Dorothy. We don’t want Gary getting ahead with his investigation.”

“I didn’t know there was a competition,” said Dorothy.

“Gary thinks there is.”

“I wonder what Chris will find out about Mrs Oldfield’s death?” Dorothy speculated.

“I think it was pretty obvious what killed her,” Cleo replied. Her mind was already on what could happen when they started talking to people about Mrs Oldfield.

By the afternoon there was still no word from Gary. Cleo had expected him to call, but he had sent her a text to explain that he wanted to get some results before contacting the Hartley Agency. Cleo tried not to think that the Hartley Agency was responsible for more than a few positive findings in cases Gary had introduced to them because he liked to have help wherever he could get it.

***

Dorothy and Cleo got to the chorus rehearsal several minutes before it started. Dorothy did not recognize many of the women immediately, because they were all dressed up to the nines, sported heavy makeup and new hairdos and smiled almost non-stop at Lester Keys before, during and between the rounds of song, which did not perturb him in the slightest since his hunting ground was – as Cleo was quick to point out - elsewhere. He chatted to the newcomers, one or two of whom were from Huddlecourt Manor School. Dorothy recognized one who had taken piano lessons and sought her out during the break for refreshments, which Dorothy noted were mostly alcoholic beverages. 

“Well, Angela, what a surprise to see you here!” 

Dorothy was sure that one of the students would already have imparted a lurid account of the previous day’s dramatic event at the school.

“Yes, Miss Price. Mr Keys is very nice and I’m going to audition for a music college so I’m glad of any voice tips I can get.”

“I’m impressed, Angela,” said Dorothy.

“Funny about Mrs Oldfield,” Angela said. “I heard her screaming at Mrs Baines last week, but I think they were friends again.”

Dorothy did not have time to ask Angela to tell her more, but she registered that information. 

“Get in line, girls! We’re going to start the rehearsal again,” called Lester. “You should all have oiled your larynxes by now.”

***

It took some minutes for the newly renamed Golden Girls to sort out where they should be standing. They were all a bit tiddly and several wine and cider bottles were empty. . Dorothy noted that no one apart from Angela had said a word about Mrs Oldfield and no one had even asked the two sleuths why they were there.

Lester Keys took no further notice of anything except the job in hand. The ladies continued to smile through their singing.  Lester was obliged to impart a number of ill-received critical remarks on the sound they were making. It was in truth a cacophony that Dorothy and Cleo could only otherwise describe as noise.

“We’ll cut out the alcohol next week,” he told them.

“But it’s part of the fun,” argued one rather hot-blooded female in the back row.

***

Having got to the church hall in good time, Edith had been roped in to stand among the tune singers, called Lead in barbershop, which was meant to indicate that they called the tune. That was not always apparent in this chorus, since they had all learnt to sing at maximum volume under Laura Finch’s direction, and Lester had not yet been able to persuade them not to. 

Edith looked totally out of her depth, not least because she had not dressed up for the event, thinking that what she was wearing was suitable for a normal rehearsal. Pale and washed-out was her usual look and in contrast to the boutique garments, heavily made-up faces and elegant coifs she looked paler and more washed-out than ever, except for two feverish looking red spots on her cheeks. 

Dorothy wondered if Edith was sickening for something. The ‘girls’ each side of her were three times her bulk and looked in danger of squeezing poor Edith out altogether. She could only have kept them at bay by poking them with her elbows, but they would probably not have felt a thing.

“This is awful, Dorothy,” Cleo whispered.

And it was. Cleo was sure she would not join the group. Dorothy was sure she would – maybe not to sing, but to make the tea, dish out alcohol-free wine and generally look after the choristers. Dorothy would sew made-to measure waistcoats or knee-length scarves. She would make herself useful and keep her ears and eyes open at the coming rehearsals. When the murder had been solved, they could both walk out.

Cleo left.

Dorothy would cope, and Cleo did not want have to refuse an invitation to join, even by Lester Keys, who had a way with women although. Or maybe because he was not interested in them.

Lester Keys welcomed Dorothy’s offer of backstage help with open arms and allowed himself to be reassured that her friend Cleo would come again, but had had to leave early due to a previous engagement.

The Golden Girls were getting ready for their debut concert with Lester Keys and practising every second evening for it. Dorothy was astonished to find herself swept up in a thankful embrace after which Lester announced her future function to the chorus and Dorothy received a warm round of applause from the ‘girls’.

She was glad Cleo had already left.

***

Dorothy had almost given hope up of one of the group approaching her after the rehearsal when one woman did. She was about the same age as Mrs Oldfield and looked quite tearful. She had not been in the chorus when Laura Finch was in charge, of that Dorothy was sure.

“Have you heard?” she said.

“Heard what?” said Dorothy.

It’s true, isn’t?” the woman said. “Kitty’s dead!”

Dorothy waited while the woman dried her tears and blew her nose.

“Yes, she is,” she said, hoping the show of grief would not start up again. “Are you a friend of hers?”

“I’m Monica Cambridge and she was my best friend.”

Dorothy was surprised. Here was a nicely dressed, obviously educated lady claiming close friendship with Mrs Oldfield.

The woman went on to explain.

“You see, I studied with Kitty all those years ago.”

Dorothy was even more surprised. She looked at Monica Cambridge closely. She and the cook were like chalk and cheese.

“We trained to be teachers,” Monica Cambridge explained.

“Really, but...”

“Kitty was unlucky,” said Monica. “I’ll tell you about it another time.”

“You should. Fancy ending up as a cook at a school,” said Dorothy.

“She wanted to teach, but there was no vacancy at the school, so she offered to cook instead.”

Dorothy wondered how Mrs Oldfield had managed that transition, but she obviously had. What had happened in her previous job? Was that relevant?

“Kitty was always respectable,” said Monica. “That’s why it’s so terrible that someone killed her.”

“So you have no idea who could have done it?”

“No. Kitty had no enemies. She was a good, kind person. Unless...”

"Unless what?"

"There was some chit of a girl in the kitchen. She was employed to do mundane tasks and was exceedingly jealous of Kitty. She even talked about when she would be chief cook. Kitty found the girl amusing, but untalented except that she could make a plain cake if instructed how to every time."

***

On the way home, Dorothy called in at Cleo’s cottage to report on the conversation with Monica Cambridge. 

"But Angela also said something interesting."

"Ah, Angela," said Robert. "I can't understand why such a nice girl ended up in such an awful school."

“She made an impression on you, didn’t she Robert?” said Cleo.

“She stood out in the crowd,” said Robert.

"Maybe she isn't quite as nice as you think."

"Her father's the farmer who supplies me with farm-fresh eggs," said Robert. “I don’t know her personally.”

"So she's local," said Cleo. "That might be relevant."

"I think she spends the weekends at home, so she does not contribute to the weekend debauchery." said Robert.

***

"To change the subject, Monica Cambridge made a good impression on me," said Dorothy. "I'm sure she was telling the truth."

"Which is?"

"That Kitty Oldfield studied to be a teacher and then fell on hard times," said Dorothy.

“That takes care of that, then,” said Cleo, and Robert agreed that Kitty Oldfield could not have provoked her murderer unless she was into something dark and criminal. But what?

“Something in her past, Robert, A skeleton in the cupboard,” said Dorothy. “We all have them. For instance, you did.”

“You’d better wait for the autopsy report, you two,” said Robert, sorry he had provoked that comment. “Maybe she was poisoned first.”

“That’s not funny, Robert,” said Cleo.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” said Robert. “Mark my words, there’s something fishy about it all.”

“I’d better be going,” said Dorothy. “What’s happening tomorrow, Cleo?”

“I think we should take a closer look at Jessie Coppins. She might have wanted Mrs Oldfield’s job so much that she was prepared to kill for it.”

“Jessie Coppins often has muddy wellies and dirty fingernails when she comes into the shop,” said Robert. “She enjoys gardening and I think she is sweet on the young man who does the school garden officially so she helps him. Maybe some of the weed-killer got into Kitty Oldfield’s coffee.”

"That's a long shot, Robert," said Cleo.

"Think about it!"

“I’m going home to watch TV,” said Dorothy. “At least you know where you are with old Hollywood movies.”