Back The Witches
Chapters (30)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Book
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Foreword by Cyril Frankel
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25

He produced a smile.

‘Ethel’s all right, though. My mum is often round there, sort of keeping an eye on things.’

‘That’s fine,’ Miss Mayfield said.

She went to every house in which a child lived and, naturally, often encountered a parent. After one or two such meetings she began to suspect – and after a few more, was certain – that a subtle change had taken place in their attitude towards her. They were very friendly, more friendly, in fact, than they had been before; but every now and then, from behind the smiling, welcoming mask, something else would peep out, leer at her for a moment and then be gone before she could identify it. Invariably, though, this appearance and disappearance accompanied a mention of Wesley Baines’s name.

When it first happened and somebody said, ‘Sad about Wesley Baines, weren’t it?’ and the look flashed out, not sad at all, but conniving and knowing, she had caught her breath, connecting the look with her conversation with Canon Thorby, believing that the speaker had by some means learned that she doubted the suicide story. But surely the Canon would never have reported that to anyone. Then somebody said, ‘Let’s see, now. You had your mishap right arter poor Wesley’s, didn’t you, Miss?’ And the look was there, and gone again. They said, ‘Pity about Wesley; he’ll be missed.’ And, ‘Wesley was a right nice chap; never reckoned he’d go and do a thing like that.’ Their words varied, but they all mentioned Wesley Baines sooner or later, and always with that look.

It happened with Mr Frisby, who came along to call upon her one morning. He shook her hand and greeted her effusively, and presently accepted, with an uncomplimentary expression of surprise, a glass of the Tío Pepe.

‘You saved me,’ he said, ‘more than I care to think about, Miss Mayfield. Left to it, those damn dogs could have savaged thirty or forty – and they’re fetching four shillings a pound on the hoof. And Lassie would have taken the rap. Some people, even now, don’t believe there was another dog. Nobody else ever saw hair or hide of it. I’m deeply in your debt.’

‘I saw the other dog. Apart from that, I did nothing, except call Lassie by name, and that had no effect.’