As soon as WingCo heard that Brenda Ellacott had been added to the team at Grange Farm, he was very uneasy. He invited Redbourne and McBride for a drink at the Blandford. He hoped that Judy could persuade Redbourne it was a bad idea to let more people in on their schemes.
Redbourne and McBride both arrived at the hotel and were ushered into the Jackson's private quarters. Judy poured their drinks and handed round some snacks. She could tell that Redbourne was amused by WingCo's obvious anxiety.
"So, WingCo, what's worrying you? You don't invite us into your inner sanctum without either wanting something or getting one of your usual panic attacks. Spit it out."
"It's this Ellacott woman going up to the farm. I don't think it's a good idea. We don't know exactly what Ben told her. That is if he told her anything."
"If you hadn't been so bloody unsubtle when you visited her, chum, I wouldn't have had her on my back in the first place." Redbourne wagged his finger menacingly at him. Then he drank a mouthful of his whisky, before continuing. "However, once she came to see me, all in a fluster because of what you'd said, I could see the advantages of tying her in with us. This way, she'll have to behave herself and we can keep an eye on her."
"I agree." McBride interrupted. "She isn't a very bright woman and she'll soon knuckle under up at the farm. In town she could be a loose cannon, asking too many questions. She needs to stay up at the farm until she's so implicated in our schemes that she can't get out. It's a clever idea, Rex."
"My! My!" Redbourne smirked, "We have learnt the language of the underworld, haven't we? Congratulations, Doc, you've just graduated as one of the criminal fraternity. That's exactly how we work!" He finished his drink and held out his glass to Judy. "Give us another, love."
WingCo was not pacified. Wasn't it the case that the first approach to join their set up had been from the Ellacott woman herself? What if someone else had put her up to it?
"Don't worry, darling." Judy stroked his shoulder. "She can't do us any harm, if she's up at the farm."
"But she must hate our guts! I threatened her, didn't I? And Steele and Davey beat her senseless when they raided her flat. Don't tell me that she's suddenly had an overwhelming desire to be one of us."
"WingCo, you don't understand what it's like to have no money. The woman fairly begged me to give her a job. She said she had nowhere else to turn. And, let's be honest, where would she get a job?" Redbourne was beginning to get impatient with WingCo.
McBride understood WingCo's doubts but said that he knew her better than the rest of them:
"I'm telling you, there's no cause for alarm. As long as she has a roof over her head and a plate of food, she'll be happy. She's not like Judy here." He winked at her.
"Stop the fussing, WingCo." Redbourne said. "Turn your mind to the next race meeting. It's going to be at the Halfway. I expect to make a killing." He laughed. "I'm talking finances, you understand, not guns or razors. Will any of you be there?"
"I'm going." McBride said.
"I might, if we've got the full staff that night." Judy added.
"What about you, WingCo? A little entertainment would take your mind off things." Redbourne grinned at him.
WingCo just shook his head. Something still niggled at the back of his mind about Brenda Ellacott. He prayed he was wrong. If he was right, they would all regret this move on Redbourne's part.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Training the dogs
Early next morning, Soppy told Brenda there would be a training session on the upper field. She dressed in slacks and some flat shoes, hoping the ground wouldn't be too muddy. She wore a thick yellow jumper but it did not keep out the chill morning air. She vowed to buy more suitable clothes for this sort of work when she returned to Starmouth.
Soppy had two dogs on leashes. Redbourne's man, Charlie Davey, was trying to cope with one very frisky young brindle dog. As soon as he saw Brenda, he yelled for her to come and collect a fourth dog.
Soppy grinned at her and gave her the leash of a large, but thankfully calm, black dog. They led the dogs up the steep slope of the field to the flatter top, where the track had been laid out. As she passed by, Brenda glanced at the wooden shed. She saw at once what Temple had meant, in his note, it would be a useful place to hide information.
Soppy tied the dogs' leashes to four separate posts. There were two brindle dogs with almost identical markings. The only difference between the two was that one had four white feet. The other two dogs were predominantly black. One had two white feet; the other had a white tip to his tail. Brenda wondered how you could distinguish them apart at a distance.
She noticed that one of the dogs got a great deal of attention from Soppy. It was one of the black dogs with the white tip to his tail. He fondled his ears and tickled his muzzle. This irritated Charlie Davey who kept looking at his watch:
"For Christ's sake, Soppy, get a move on. It's too bloody cold to stay up here long."
Brenda stroked the other black dog who looked up at her and wagged his tail. Soppy noticed this and grinned at her:
"'Es called Midnight Boy. So I calls 'im Middy. Nice dog, real gentle like."
Charlie Davey went into the shed and started the generator running. Then he checked the 'hare', testing it in short jerky movements.
"C'mon get the two brindles in the traps and let's get them running. You," he pointed at Brenda, "make bloody sure you get the times right. Get the stop watch stopping and starting to the exact time. The first dog is," he looked at his sheet of paper, "the one with four white feet is ... Pepper's Pick. The other brindle is Julie's Joy." He stared hard at Brenda. "You got that. We need the times for both those dogs. So get it right, or else."
Brenda felt in her pocket for the stop watch. She felt more than a bit anxious. She watched the dogs go into the traps.
"Don't worry," Soppy whispered to her. "I'll shout when the traps go up, then you start the watch. Then, I'll tell you when the circuits are over and you stop it. Okay?" She nodded.
And so the morning progressed. The two brindles running against each other; then the two black dogs; then best brindle against best black and slower brindle against slower black. After a couple of hours, including several long breaks while Charlie Davey fiddled with the electrical circuits, Soppy said the dogs had had enough.
Brenda leaned against the shed and checked she had put all the right times next to the proper names. She felt exhausted, as much from anxiety as from any real work.
Soppy went over to her and asked if everything was alright. He gave her a wide smile which she found disarming:
"You seem very fond of that black dog and he seems very fond of you." She said.
"Yeah, I am that. That's Pal. Leastwise that's what I calls 'im. 'e races under the name Fairweather Friend. 'es special, that one."
"For Christ's sake shut up your nattering. Let's get these dogs back to the farm." He took the same dog he had brought up to the circuit and set off at speed down the hill. Soppy gave Brenda the leash of Middy again. He had Pal with him.
"I'd better go on ahead, Mrs Ellacott. I don't want Charlie just putting the dog back anyhow, like 'e always do. Will you be okay on your own?"
"Harry, call me Brenda, please. I'll just take my time with Middy. You go on ahead." She couldn't believe her luck. It was just what she had hoped for. An opportunity to look more closely at the shed.
She watched Soppy disappear down the hill. Then tethering Middy back to the post, she took a tour round the back of the shed. She bent down and there, just where Temple had described, was the large flat stone. She tore out a sheet from her notebook and scribbled a few hurried lines:
She put the folded paper carefully under the stone. Then, she returned to the dog who was beginning to whine. As soon as he saw her returning, he wagged his tail. She undid the leash and jogged with him down to the farm, feeling much more confident.
Soppy had two dogs on leashes. Redbourne's man, Charlie Davey, was trying to cope with one very frisky young brindle dog. As soon as he saw Brenda, he yelled for her to come and collect a fourth dog.
Soppy grinned at her and gave her the leash of a large, but thankfully calm, black dog. They led the dogs up the steep slope of the field to the flatter top, where the track had been laid out. As she passed by, Brenda glanced at the wooden shed. She saw at once what Temple had meant, in his note, it would be a useful place to hide information.
Soppy tied the dogs' leashes to four separate posts. There were two brindle dogs with almost identical markings. The only difference between the two was that one had four white feet. The other two dogs were predominantly black. One had two white feet; the other had a white tip to his tail. Brenda wondered how you could distinguish them apart at a distance.
She noticed that one of the dogs got a great deal of attention from Soppy. It was one of the black dogs with the white tip to his tail. He fondled his ears and tickled his muzzle. This irritated Charlie Davey who kept looking at his watch:
"For Christ's sake, Soppy, get a move on. It's too bloody cold to stay up here long."
Brenda stroked the other black dog who looked up at her and wagged his tail. Soppy noticed this and grinned at her:
"'Es called Midnight Boy. So I calls 'im Middy. Nice dog, real gentle like."
Charlie Davey went into the shed and started the generator running. Then he checked the 'hare', testing it in short jerky movements.
"C'mon get the two brindles in the traps and let's get them running. You," he pointed at Brenda, "make bloody sure you get the times right. Get the stop watch stopping and starting to the exact time. The first dog is," he looked at his sheet of paper, "the one with four white feet is ... Pepper's Pick. The other brindle is Julie's Joy." He stared hard at Brenda. "You got that. We need the times for both those dogs. So get it right, or else."
Brenda felt in her pocket for the stop watch. She felt more than a bit anxious. She watched the dogs go into the traps.
"Don't worry," Soppy whispered to her. "I'll shout when the traps go up, then you start the watch. Then, I'll tell you when the circuits are over and you stop it. Okay?" She nodded.
And so the morning progressed. The two brindles running against each other; then the two black dogs; then best brindle against best black and slower brindle against slower black. After a couple of hours, including several long breaks while Charlie Davey fiddled with the electrical circuits, Soppy said the dogs had had enough.
Brenda leaned against the shed and checked she had put all the right times next to the proper names. She felt exhausted, as much from anxiety as from any real work.
Soppy went over to her and asked if everything was alright. He gave her a wide smile which she found disarming:
"You seem very fond of that black dog and he seems very fond of you." She said.
"Yeah, I am that. That's Pal. Leastwise that's what I calls 'im. 'e races under the name Fairweather Friend. 'es special, that one."
"For Christ's sake shut up your nattering. Let's get these dogs back to the farm." He took the same dog he had brought up to the circuit and set off at speed down the hill. Soppy gave Brenda the leash of Middy again. He had Pal with him.
"I'd better go on ahead, Mrs Ellacott. I don't want Charlie just putting the dog back anyhow, like 'e always do. Will you be okay on your own?"
"Harry, call me Brenda, please. I'll just take my time with Middy. You go on ahead." She couldn't believe her luck. It was just what she had hoped for. An opportunity to look more closely at the shed.
She watched Soppy disappear down the hill. Then tethering Middy back to the post, she took a tour round the back of the shed. She bent down and there, just where Temple had described, was the large flat stone. She tore out a sheet from her notebook and scribbled a few hurried lines:
'Found it! Nothing much happening at the shop. Will keep my eyes open in case some new goods come in.'
She put the folded paper carefully under the stone. Then, she returned to the dog who was beginning to whine. As soon as he saw her returning, he wagged his tail. She undid the leash and jogged with him down to the farm, feeling much more confident.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Mrs Hannaford makes plans
Brenda was not sure what to make of Mrs Hannaford. She thought the feeling was mutual. If there had been a way of cooking her own meals instead of having them with Soppy and Mrs Hannaford in the farm kitchen, she would have done so. But there wasn't. So she tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. Mrs Hannaford seldom spoke directly to her. Instead she would ask Soppy to pass the bread or the cider. That way they did not need to make eye contact.
One thing Brenda was sure about was that Mrs Hannaford detested Redbourne. Brenda suspected that any welcome she maight have received had been tainted by Redbourne driving her to the farm and ordering Mrs Hannaford to look after her. Mrs Hannaford seemed to have got the notion that Redbourne had sent Brenda to Grange Farm to keep an eye on things and report back to him. Brenda knew she couldn't tell her the truth.
Mrs Hannaford placed a bowl of stew in front of both Soppy and Brenda. Then, she poured a tankard of cider for each of them and sat down wearily.
"You'm okay, Mrs 'annaford?" Soppy asked anxiously.
"Just tired, lad, just tired." Her eyes had softened when she spoke to him and she smiled faintly.
"I'm not tired, Mrs 'annaford, I'll 'elp you if you'm needing anythin."
"No, 'arry. There's no need. I already done the chores. There's nothin more needs doing."
Brenda ate the stew and drank the cider in silence. When she had finished, she offered to help with the washing up. The offer was politely but firmly refused, so she excused herself from the table saying she needed to write some letters.
When Brenda had left, Mrs Hannaford snorted:
"Some letters, indeed!" Soppy looked up surprised at her tone. "'tween you and me, 'arry, she'm goin to write a report about us for that Redbourne."
"What's there to say? There be nothin but word about the dogs."
Not answering, Mrs Hannaford cleared the table mulling over what there might have been to report. Soppy wiped the dishes and put them on the old farmhouse dresser.
"I don't trust that Redbourne nor the men with him!" Mrs Hannaford said at last. "What's 'appened to that chap who was always 'ere before. The one who came with that stuck up bloke with the big moustache."
"Oh, I knows! The man with the moustache is the man who owns the big 'otel in Starmouth. WingCo, they call 'im. T'other man was Mrs Ellacott's 'usband. He'm dead now!"
"Dead! But 'e weren't no age. No age at all."
"Drowned 'e did. That Steele chap told me. Said the man went missing, then washed into a fishing net."
"Oh My Lord!" Mrs Hannaford was shocked. "So what does she say?" She nodded towards the cottage. "She must 'ave said somethin to you."
"She don't talk much. She's not spoke about 'er 'usband to me. Not at all."
Mrs Hannaford wiped her hands on her apron and nodded to herself before she spoke:
"Like as not, 'arry, she is in on this Redbourne's racket too." She peered at him closely. "Tell you what, lad, we got to look out for ourselves. Sure as eggs is eggs, this business with the dogs 'taint goin to end well."
She turned to her small lounge and beckoned for him to follow. She pulled open the top drawer in an old roll-top desk and took out a small green metal box. From round her neck, she drew out a chain. At the end of the chain was a brass key.
"You remember all this, 'arry. In case somethin 'appens to me." She drew out a wodge of large £5 notes. "You knows which one of them dodgy dogs is goin to win, don't e?"
Soppy grinned then shook his head slightly:
"Well, it don't always work out just as it should, Mrs 'annaford. Most times it do, but not always."
"Most times is good enough for me. You and me is goin to go into partnership. I'll give you money to bet on them dogs you thinks will run well. We'll try it out for a while and see 'ow we do. In time, if luck is with us, we'll make enough to get out of this place before the trouble comes."
"Enough to get back the farm?" Soppy was excited.
"Doubt that, lad, but maybe enough to get us a smallholding."
Soppy could hardly contain himself. He vowed to pay more attention to the training sessions. He might even ask Brenda Ellacott if he could see the notes she made after each run. Already though, he was sure of one thing. Fairweather Friend had been described by Redbourne as a 'little goldmine'. He'd overheard him say that to WingCo, Steele and the one they called the 'doc'. Maybe, Fairweather Friend would be a goldmine for him and Mrs Hannaford too.
One thing Brenda was sure about was that Mrs Hannaford detested Redbourne. Brenda suspected that any welcome she maight have received had been tainted by Redbourne driving her to the farm and ordering Mrs Hannaford to look after her. Mrs Hannaford seemed to have got the notion that Redbourne had sent Brenda to Grange Farm to keep an eye on things and report back to him. Brenda knew she couldn't tell her the truth.
Mrs Hannaford placed a bowl of stew in front of both Soppy and Brenda. Then, she poured a tankard of cider for each of them and sat down wearily.
"You'm okay, Mrs 'annaford?" Soppy asked anxiously.
"Just tired, lad, just tired." Her eyes had softened when she spoke to him and she smiled faintly.
"I'm not tired, Mrs 'annaford, I'll 'elp you if you'm needing anythin."
"No, 'arry. There's no need. I already done the chores. There's nothin more needs doing."
Brenda ate the stew and drank the cider in silence. When she had finished, she offered to help with the washing up. The offer was politely but firmly refused, so she excused herself from the table saying she needed to write some letters.
When Brenda had left, Mrs Hannaford snorted:
"Some letters, indeed!" Soppy looked up surprised at her tone. "'tween you and me, 'arry, she'm goin to write a report about us for that Redbourne."
"What's there to say? There be nothin but word about the dogs."
Not answering, Mrs Hannaford cleared the table mulling over what there might have been to report. Soppy wiped the dishes and put them on the old farmhouse dresser.
"I don't trust that Redbourne nor the men with him!" Mrs Hannaford said at last. "What's 'appened to that chap who was always 'ere before. The one who came with that stuck up bloke with the big moustache."
"Oh, I knows! The man with the moustache is the man who owns the big 'otel in Starmouth. WingCo, they call 'im. T'other man was Mrs Ellacott's 'usband. He'm dead now!"
"Dead! But 'e weren't no age. No age at all."
"Drowned 'e did. That Steele chap told me. Said the man went missing, then washed into a fishing net."
"Oh My Lord!" Mrs Hannaford was shocked. "So what does she say?" She nodded towards the cottage. "She must 'ave said somethin to you."
"She don't talk much. She's not spoke about 'er 'usband to me. Not at all."
Mrs Hannaford wiped her hands on her apron and nodded to herself before she spoke:
"Like as not, 'arry, she is in on this Redbourne's racket too." She peered at him closely. "Tell you what, lad, we got to look out for ourselves. Sure as eggs is eggs, this business with the dogs 'taint goin to end well."
She turned to her small lounge and beckoned for him to follow. She pulled open the top drawer in an old roll-top desk and took out a small green metal box. From round her neck, she drew out a chain. At the end of the chain was a brass key.
"You remember all this, 'arry. In case somethin 'appens to me." She drew out a wodge of large £5 notes. "You knows which one of them dodgy dogs is goin to win, don't e?"
Soppy grinned then shook his head slightly:
"Well, it don't always work out just as it should, Mrs 'annaford. Most times it do, but not always."
"Most times is good enough for me. You and me is goin to go into partnership. I'll give you money to bet on them dogs you thinks will run well. We'll try it out for a while and see 'ow we do. In time, if luck is with us, we'll make enough to get out of this place before the trouble comes."
"Enough to get back the farm?" Soppy was excited.
"Doubt that, lad, but maybe enough to get us a smallholding."
Soppy could hardly contain himself. He vowed to pay more attention to the training sessions. He might even ask Brenda Ellacott if he could see the notes she made after each run. Already though, he was sure of one thing. Fairweather Friend had been described by Redbourne as a 'little goldmine'. He'd overheard him say that to WingCo, Steele and the one they called the 'doc'. Maybe, Fairweather Friend would be a goldmine for him and Mrs Hannaford too.
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