As they were walking back upstairs, Marnie told Herv that Lilian had seen something in the ledgers that might indicate where Margaret Kytson’s well was. He told her that there was a village meeting at seven that night and he thought that she should be present too.
Marnie went back to trying to read the ledgers through Lilian’s eyes but nothing sprang out at her at all. Nothing even made her curious, and she wondered if there really was anything to see or whether she’d be better employed concentrating on matters that needed her more immediate attention, such as trying to find costings for rebuilding those four dilapidated cottages or combing over the accounts again to see if she could find any more of Titus’s misappropriation of funds. The ledgers held still more secrets, she was sure.
HISTORY OF WYCHWELL BY LIONEL TEMPLE
Contributions by Lilian Dearman.
In 1849 Cecil Dearman, who inherited the manor after the death of his sibling Rodney, challenged his younger brother Tiberius to a dual. Both men were involved in a three-way relationship with ‘Fat Bessie’ Nevison of Pike Farm in Troughton. Miraculously both guns failed to go off so Cecil beat his brother to death with the end of his pistol and was executed for murder in the same year. Bessie married the last remaining brother Vestigen but she died in suspicious circumstances in 1851 – poisoned by sweets laced with arsenic. Vestigen was suspected of ridding himself of an unfaithful wife, but there was no evidence with which to charge him.
Chapter 34
The closer the clock hands swung around to seven, the more Marnie’s nerves began to jangle. Could she really walk into Titus’s house uninvited to face people who resented her presence in the village because she’d 1) put up their rents, 2) slashed their private funding, 3) snogged their heartthrob and 4) shoved cheesecake in their faces.
The first time she’d had to do a presentation in front of the industry demi-god that was Laurence Stewart-Smith, she’d almost walked out of her job rather than face him. He was well known for being impossible to impress and of being a closet misogynist. She’d thrown up the night before, had chronic diarrhoea in the morning. She was pretty sure, at least, that she wouldn’t vomit or mess herself during her address because there was nothing left in her system to expel. It was always good to find a positive, she thought.
It was whilst she was putting her make-up on at the kitchen table that fateful morning that she heard something that would stay with her always. The radio was on and playing an anniversary programme which featured an interview with Sammy Davis Junior. He was talking about the prejudices he had endured throughout his career.
‘You always have two choices: your commitment versus your fear,’ he said and that resonated so deeply with Marnie that she dropped her mascara. Commitment versus fear, which was it to be? She’d arrived at Café Caramba that morning with a whole new attitude. She presented her ideas to a room packed full of men expecting something weak and full of holes and instead she’d dazzled them into silence.
Now she was facing the same: which was more important, her fear or getting Wychwell back on its feet? Titus Sutton was big and bullish but he didn’t have the power that Laurence once had over her: Titus couldn’t sack her. Titus couldn’t sully her name so she never worked again. Titus was simply a big bag of hot air – and a corrupt one at that.
So Marnie put on one of the power-suits she used to wear for work, applied ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ red lipstick and as she walked up to the Lemon Villa, recited Sammy Davis Junior’s quote like a mantra. She had deliberately delayed her arrival until quarter past, to allow the meeting to be in full swing. She rang the doorbell, her jaw tight with tension. Hilary answered.
‘I hear there’s a village gathering tonight,’ said Marnie, head held high.
‘There certainly is,’ said Hilary, smile pulling at the corners of her lips. ‘Would you like to push past me to gain entry. It’s just to your right, there.’
Marnie didn’t have to push past her, of course. There were fourteen steps because she counted them in an effort to offset her spiking anxiety level. She didn’t give herself time to think, but opened the door and walked straight into the room full of people. Marnie took them all in with a sweep of her eyes from Derek at one side of the table to Una at the other. Zoe’s head was down, Titus was glaring at her, Cilla was wearing a small smile, Herv gave her a secret wink.
Titus was the first to speak. ‘Hilary, what on earth are you doing, letting her in?’
‘I didn’t give your wife the option of not letting me in,’ said Marnie. ‘If this is a village meeting, about the village, and me I expect, then I reserve the right to be here.’
Titus’s eyeballs began to bulge. ‘This is my house, madam . . .’
‘Well it’s your home, but the house itself belongs to the village, which I’m presently in charge of,’ she fired back. Something in her head gave her a high-five for that.
‘I think it might be a good idea if Miss Salt stays,’ said Dr Court. ‘She can answer our questions then.’
There were grumbles of agreement. But not from Kay and Una, who were trying to kill her with their narrow-eyed stares.
Herv got to his feet. ‘You can have my seat, I’ll stand,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Marnie, taking him up on the offer and sitting down demurely. Underneath the table, though, her leg was vibrating with nerves as if an over-enthusiastic puppeteer was jerking on a string tied to her knee.
‘So, questions?’ she said, dovetailing her fingers together and sitting primly. ‘Do ask me anything you aren’t sure of.’
‘Why does my rent agreement say that I have to pay a penalty of five pounds extra per month?’ Kay Sweetman dived straight in.
‘And mine does as well,’ said Una.
‘Do you really have to ask?’
‘You can’t do that,’ Una protested.
‘Well yes, actually I can and I have,’ Marnie replied. ‘And if you don’t like the arrangement then why not go and live in Skipperstone where you will be paying a hell of a lot more than you do in Wychwell. That’s the deal – take it or leave it. Anyone else?’
Una’s mouth gathered into a cat’s-arse pucker of fury.
‘You’ve obviously made a huge mistake in what you think you’re going to charge me for living here,’ snickered Titus.
‘Not at all,’ said Marnie, with a coolness belying her inner stress. ‘I worked out the rents per square footage. You have rather a lot of square footage in this house, Mr Sutton. Quid pro quo. It’s fair and – if you’ll excuse the pun – square.’
Titus’s red face moved further up the angry spectrum towards purple.
‘How solid are the promises you made in the letters?’ asked Cilla, and Marnie knew she was giving her the chance to appease people’s worries. Bless her.
‘The new deals have been made with the approval of the new owner. They are binding. You all have your homes for the duration of your lifetimes, subject to the rents being paid of course. If you work for the estate and then retire, the rent will constitute part of your pension.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cilla.