You Owe Me Five Farthings

  You Owe Me Five Farthings

  Rose had gone up to bed quite early. She fell asleep quickly and deeply and found herself dreaming about Simon. They were ringing the bells in the tower at St Martin’s, while they tried to hold hands, which was not only impossible but horribly dangerous. Simon was shouting at her to let go of him, and then suddenly she found he had dropped the end of his rope and was holding her in his arms instead. Loose bell-ropes were flying about her head, people were shouting at both of them to control the bells, and all the time she felt so peaceful, held tightly in his arms, as though nothing and no one could separate them. Then he started kissing her, and all the other ringers melted away; and they were alone, in his bed in the cottage where he had once so nearly made love to her. But this time there was no telephone to interrupt them, no crisis to rob them of consummation.

  The dream was so vivid that her body began to respond to his imagined caresses, and it was only gradually that she realised the dream had turned into reality. But the man who was holding her was not Simon, but Clive.

  What They Are Saying AboutYou Owe Me Five Farthings

  “Jane Anstey’s refreshing breeze fills both romance and mystery, while solid reflections on clergy family life draw the reader into the heart of the rectory. Pilcher and Howatch rolled together make this a truly ‘unputdownable’ story which left me wanting more.”

  —Rev. Ken Wakefield

  Cornwall

  “Fans of St Martin's Summer will welcome back the well-drawn characters of Rose, Clive, Simon and the Swanson family. Together with some new acquaintances, they and the author take us on another carefully-plotted intrigue in this sequel which, after some surprising twists and turns, points the way to a future full of possibilities.”

  —Sue Brownlow

  Governor and Deputy Chair

  Marjohn University, Plymouth

  “Utterly absorbing.”

  —Dr. Jane Santo, retired psychologist

  You Owe Me Five Farthings

  Jane Anstey

  A Wings ePress, Inc.

  Mystery/Romance Novel

  Edited by: Jeanne Smith

  Copy Edited by: Rebecca Smith

  Executive Editor: Jeanne Smith

  Cover Artist: Trisha FitzGerald-Jung

  All rights reserved

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Wings ePress Books

  www.wingsepress.com

  Copyright © 2019 by: Jane Anstey

  ISBN 978-1-61309-377-1

  Published In the United States Of America

  Wings ePress Inc.

  3000 N. Rock Road

  Newton, KS 67114

  Dedication

  To Jane and Peter

  Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement’s,

  You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St Martin’s,

  When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey,

  When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch.

  When will that be? say the bells of Stepney.

  I do not know, says the great bell of Bow.

  —English nursery rhyme

  One

  Rose knelt at the altar rail and put out her hands for the communion bread like a starving waif reaching out for food. Jeremy looked at her with concern as he handed her the wafer and then the chalice, and wondered what new misfortune had befallen her.

  She was the only communicant in St Martin’s church that morning, which was not unusual, especially on a bitterly cold December day. As parish priest, Jeremy very often celebrated weekday early morning communion services on saints’ days entirely for his own benefit, most of his parishioners being busy with family or on their way to work. He had begun speaking the words of the service to the semi-darkness of an empty church as usual that morning, when he saw Rose slip into a pew near the door and kneel silently. Her lips did not move in the responses, and her lovely face looked ravaged and worn.

  After he had finished the administration, she stayed kneeling at the rail, clinging to it as though claiming the ancient right of sanctuary. He began the final post-communion congregational prayer and she spoke it with him line by line from memory until suddenly, near the end, her voice broke and she fled, running from the church as though pursued, and vanished into the churchyard. Hurriedly replacing the paten and chalice on the altar, he went after her, but when he looked down the lane she was nowhere to be seen.

  “I can’t think what can have upset her so much,” he said to his wife as they ate breakfast together in the rectory kitchen. “She’s had an awful few weeks, one way and another. What now?”

  Liz adjusted nine-year-old Chris’s school jumper, handed him his pen and homework folder and ushered him out of the door, closely followed by his more organised twin, Bethan. They were old enough to walk the hundred yards to the village school together without her supervision. She poured more coffee thoughtfully and handed it to Jeremy.

  “Was it the prayer itself, do you think?”

  He frowned. “How could that be?”

  “It’s a very offering prayer, isn't it, Remy? Offering of ourselves, I mean.”

  “‘We offer you our souls and bodies to be a living sacrifice’,” he quoted. “M’m. I see what you mean.”

  “Seems to me that Rose is probably no stranger to the idea of being a sacrifice.”

  Jeremy reflected that Liz knew her friend well and had probably hit the nail on the head. But that didn’t explain why Rose was struggling with the idea of sacrifice particularly, just at that moment. Her son Robert was making a good recovery from last month’s ordeal, and according to Chris, his classmate was back at school and seemed all right. Could Clive, Rose’s husband, be the problem? Jeremy couldn’t believe he could have relapsed so soon from the new resolutions he had made to reform his philandering ways and make a new start with Rose, but who knew? Then there was Simon Hellyer, like Rose a member of the St Martin’s bellringing band, who had become a close friend of hers in recent months––perhaps more than a friend. It didn’t seem likely that Simon would have deserted Rose or otherwise upset her when she had so much else to deal with––he seemed to Jeremy a reliable kind of person and clearly very concerned for her wellbeing, though his presence might, Jeremy supposed, have complicated matters for her. But that left the mystery unsolved. What on earth had happened to bring Rose to the edge of breaking down this morning?

  ~ * ~

  Rose arrived home from early communion to find Clive and Robert having breakfast together. Robert was still in his pyjamas instead of being dressed for school.

  “I need to go to work now, Rose,” Clive told her. “I’m sorry. Are you able to take Robert to school?”

  “Yes, all right,” she said absently, hardly noticing Clive’s unusually considerate question. In a way, it was a relief to have something practical to deal with. She was still shaken from the burst of emotion that had assailed her at the end of the communion service.

  “Don’t forget to have some breakfast yourself,” Clive reminded her.

  She looked at him blankly and then nodded.

  “I don’t want to go to school today, Mummy,” Robert whined immediately.

  Rose sighed. Her son could be very stubborn on occasions, and the whine indicated th
at he was feeling determined. Clive sketched a wave and left them to it.

  It took much persuasion and a phone call to Fran, his teacher, before Robert would consent to leave the house. Rose reminded him that it was the school carol service in church that afternoon, and promised she would be there. Fran had agreed it wasn’t sensible for him to take part as he’d missed a lot of rehearsals earlier in the term, but Rose had convinced him that he would enjoy sitting in the audience with her.

  “And there are lots of Christmas art and craft activities going on at school this morning,” she reminded him brightly. “Surely you don’t want to miss those?”

  Robert’s face had begun to wear a mulish expression, but she remained firm. There had been so much disruption to his school life recently––he had had two days off after his trip to hospital last week, on top of all the time he had spent away from school in November––that she wanted to get him back into some kind of routine before the end of term. And she needed some time to herself, as well, to try to bring her own raw emotions to some kind of equilibrium.

  She walked along the lane with her son slowly, Robert dragging his feet in his unwillingness to engage with school. “Chris and Bethan will be in class, won’t they?” she reminded him, trying to encourage more positive thoughts

  He nodded, brightening slightly at the thought of being with his friends, and by the time he went into the classroom––a little late but in time to be marked in the register––he seemed more cheerful. Rose blessed the twins silently for their stalwart and enduring support, and set off home.

  Her mind was turning on her own troubles as she walked home to Sundials, and it was with considerable surprise that she saw Maddie, her neighbour and Robert’s occasional babysitter, waiting outside to waylay her as she passed. Maddie was looking flustered and unhappy. Her hair was awry and her make-up smudged, and she had clearly been crying.

  “Rose, I need to speak to you. Have you time to come in for a minute?”

  Rose summoned some neighbourly concern with an effort. She really had enough to deal with already, she felt, without trying to be sympathetic to Maddie. But that was selfish and unworthy, and she tried to look concerned and interested instead.

  “Come and have some coffee with me,” she invited. “I need to be at home in case Fran rings. Robert wasn’t too keen to go into school this morning and I want to be sure I’m there to take the call if he has to come home again.”

  Maddie nodded at once and followed her into the Sundials kitchen, where Rose made her a cup of instant coffee and put it on the table, trying not to remember how Simon and she had sat there, not so long ago, chatting, with the same mugs in front of them.

  “I have to tell you something,” said Maddie, her head bowed into her handkerchief.

  What on earth can Maddie have to tell me? wondered Rose.

  “I know Clive wouldn’t say anything,” her neighbour went on miserably. “He protected me, and wouldn’t answer police questions about that evening, I know. That’s why I had to go and tell them.”

  Rose looked baffled. What could Maddie have to do with Clive being questioned by the police? He hadn’t actually been arrested, and no charges had been made against him in the end, so she’d thought the matter was closed. But as Clive had stayed away from home for the whole time he was being questioned, she didn’t feel she knew much about it.

  “That evening I was babysitting for you,” Maddie mumbled. “When Robert disappeared—”

  “Yes?” said Rose, trying to sound encouraging, though her heart had sunk. She remembered that evening all too well. She had gone to Simon’s house for the Tower AGM, but none of the other bell-ringers had turned up, so she had ended up alone with Simon, and had very nearly gone to bed with him. And while she was there, and Maddie was babysitting, Robert had slipped out of the house on his own and witnessed something that had brought on the terrible silence and emotional withdrawal from which he had only just recovered. What further revelations did Maddie have about that momentous evening? No one else knew what had so nearly happened between herself and Simon. She had confided in no one, and she knew he wouldn’t have said anything. What did Maddie know, or guess?

  “Clive came home while you were out at the Tower meeting,” Maddie explained, between sobs. “And...and…oh, Rose, I can’t think how it came to happen, what I was thinking of. But Clive and I—”

  She stopped, but Rose had caught her drift. “Oh, Maddie, you can’t mean—”

  “Yes,” confirmed Maddie, blushing. “I’d always admired Clive, but I never thought he’d fancy me. And then that evening it seemed that he did. I was such a fool, I know that now. Wicked, too, when you and I have always been friends.”

  Friend? thought Rose savagely. I never thought of you as that. A trusted neighbour, perhaps. And now I see you weren’t even that.

  “You left Robert on his own in the house!” That dereliction of duty to Robert was much more serious to her than anything Maddie and Clive had done together—Clive’s unfaithfulness with others had been something she’d always suspected, even in earlier years when she hadn’t actually known about it. Because Robert was alone, no one had prevented him going out that night, and seeing—“I trusted you, Maddie,” she snapped, her face white with anger.

  Poor Maddie recoiled at this unaccustomed fierceness. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Rose. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Like a blow over the heart, Rose realised that when Clive had seduced Maddie (it was sure to have been that way round, she knew), she herself had been in Simon’s arms in the cottage at Two Marks. To leave Robert on his own in the house had been criminally negligent on Maddie’s part, but she was hardly in a position to criticise the babysitter for her sexual weakness.

  “It’s done, Maddie,” she said, with resignation. “Robert might have slipped out anyway while you weren’t looking––it’s what he intended to do. And he’s all right now, that’s what matters.”

  “Oh, Rose, thank you for looking at it that way,” cried Maddie, gushing tears as well as emotion.

  “Don’t expect Clive to take things any further, though, will you?” Rose told her. “Because he won’t. He always has plenty of fish to fry.” She could hear the cold bitterness in her own voice. Clive had promised to become a reformed character, and eschew other women, but in the light of Maddie’s revelation, she wondered how likely this was to happen.

  Maddie nodded. “I knew that,” she said. “I knew it the next day, really, that it was just a one-night stand. But then Clive disappeared like that, and I didn’t know what to do. I had to tell the police about it in the end because it gave him an alibi for the evening when Brian Warrendon died, and they went on questioning him until I told them. I couldn’t have them charge him with murder. I told Remy, and he insisted we go to the police. But Rose––don’t you care?”

  Rose sighed. “No, not really,” she admitted. “Not now. But I’m glad you told me, Maddie. It’s always best to be honest about these things, don’t you think?”

  Maddie stared at her. After a moment, when it was clear to both of them there was nothing more to be said, she got up and went home.

  After her neighbour had gone, Rose sat for a while, turning her empty mug round and round in her hands. At first she felt numbly miserable, punch-drunk from all the emotions of the past few weeks. Then she re-ran her conversation with Maddie and found it even more depressing than it had been live. Why didn’t she care about what had happened between Maddie and Clive? Clive really had seemed contrite about his sexual liaisons and only a few days ago had promised a fresh start for them both––and she had accepted both his contrition and the promise. She ought to care about what had occurred, even if it was in the past. She worried suddenly that she might have given up Simon, who really mattered to her, and who she was sure cared deeply for her in his turn, for the sake of a relationship that might turn out to be moribund.

  She cast her mind back to her last meeting with Simon, in the co
ld, windy churchyard after ringing practice. She had told him that their relationship, such as it was, must end, and with it all the promise of a love that neither of them had looked for. His deep distress at her decision had wrenched at her heart, and he had gone away without speaking afterwards, without looking back. But at home she had found Robert waiting for her, and her sacrifice had seemed worth it then, because he needed her; but now, after Maddie’s revelations of Clive’s casual infidelity, and her own total indifference to them, she wasn’t so sure.

  I’m in love with Simon, she thought. But I can’t go back on my decision. I promised to stay with Clive for Robert’s sake, and I will. I must. But what if we can’t forge something new together? What if my marriage turns out to be the same lonely wasteland it was before? I don’t think I can bear that. Oh God, what shall I do?

  ~ * ~

  Clive, carrying out his part in the projected “fresh start” upon which he and Rose had agreed, was at that moment breaking the news to Olivia, his personal assistant, that their relationship must henceforth be purely platonic and business-oriented. It was his first day back in the office after several weeks off, so it wasn’t difficult to engineer a few moments with her under the pretence of catching up on what had been happening at work while he was absent. Their relationship, as far as he was concerned, had always and entirely lacked any kind of emotional commitment on either side. She would possibly be put out, he thought, at the loss of status and the removal of the perks she had been entitled to as business hostess and perhaps piqued at her return to a purely professional role, having shared so much more with him out of working hours. But he could not believe that she had invested much emotional capital in their relationship or would care particularly that it had come to an end.