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Shortbread's Light Bite:Casting Out Sin

Published 10 months ago

Today we have a Thursday Thriller for you.

There's been a Murder! So stick on the kettle, unwrap those sandwiches, and get out the magnifying glass. Can you solve the crime before you finish your lunch?!

Casting Out Sin by Dorothy Spurzen

16th of September

Today is my 15th birthday and Miss Fennytoke invited me for a special tea. She is such a funny old thing. She looks at you with her head cocked on one side like a robin’s, as if she is always wondering what you’re thinking. She often invites me for tea and is always very kind. I like her, although I am sometimes afraid she can tell what I’m thinking. She lives in a small thatched cottage on the village green, which is surrounded by shops, offices, and a few other cottages. Her tea table sits by the front window so she can watch the villagers going about their business. Barringford is a very old village. The grown-ups say it is charming and most of the young people complain that it is impossibly dull. I don’t find it dull. If you watch people, quietly so they don’t notice you, you learn a lot about human nature. You learn a lot about the world and its wickedness.

“Sometimes it helps to write down your thoughts, Ruth, if you don’t have anyone you can tell them to,” she told me as she handed my present, a diary, across the table. I love the blue leather cover and its little lock and key. I didn’t show it to Mummy and Daddy. I won’t write in it every day, just when I want to say something important.

Miss Fennytoke knows I don’t have any friends because I am always alone walking my Cairn terrier, Harrison. The girls at school are not unkind to me, they wouldn’t dare, but they don’t want to be friends either, because I am the Vicar’s daughter and supposed to be a goody-two-shoes. I don’t make much effort, I must admit. I find them very boring and silly. I like school because I enjoy my classes and get better marks than everyone else. The teachers like me. I am a credit to them, they say.

The girls stared at me a lot today, heads together in that simple-minded whispering way schoolgirls have, spying to see if I look any different than I did yesterday. This is because I am a murder witness and have to give evidence at the inquest next week. They’re probably hoping I’ll have a nervous breakdown or something. Now I’m fascinating all of a sudden. But I’m just the same. My blank face must be very disappointing for them.

Daddy was terrifically upset when he found out. He said I shouldn’t have been out that late and that my appearing as a witness at an inquest is unseemly. Unseemly, in 1954? The war is over and this is a new era! He is so old-fashioned in some ways. Mummy just dithered and wrung her hands, annoying both of us. Mummy is thin and pale and has a lot of lines on her forehead because her eyebrows are always half-raised and half-frowning. I wonder if she was pretty once? Her smile lights everything up, although I don’t see it much, mostly when I’m sad and she wants to cheer me up. She’s sweet and weak. Daddy isn’t sweet, he’s actually rather nasty. He looks impressive—tall and gray-haired with a bit of a paunch. His face is quite good-looking, I suppose, but it can turn evil in a second. His eyebrows come together in a black wave and his lips snarl like a dog’s. He is the biggest hypocrite in the world.

Daddy doesn’t like me at all these days. I see it in his angry stabbing looks, his little triumphant cruelties. He didn’t like me all that much to start with, just never paid me any attention, which was much better.

It all started when Grandmother—his mother—died. I don’t think other people make such a fuss about death, but I suppose he has to show off, being the Vicar. I haven’t known many people who have known dead people, but I don’t think they visit them in their coffin and kiss them. I think they keep it all closed away.

I wouldn’t kiss her. They’d washed her, I think, and put on her best dress and brushed her hair. Never pretty in the first place, she certainly wasn’t now. Not even presentable. Dead people definitely look dead. And I could smell her, in spite of everything. A sort of sour and woody odor emanating from whatever was left open. Her face looked gray and waxy and I thought some of it could come off on me, and I wasn’t about to have any of that foulness on my lips. I said no. He pushed me forward, I pushed back. Hopeless, smiling Mummy stood with her shoulders around her ears and her hands worrying each other like she does. While the row was going on in spitting whispers, I noticed that she edged away from the coffin, though, and never kissed that horrid old dead woman. Daddy told me to get out, and I did that. I’ll write more about him tomorrow. I’ve got a headache.

I have found a hiding place for my diary. There is a cloth cover underneath my mattress—canvas, I think. I made a slit where I can slip the book out of sight. It will be nice to be able to tell things, even if it is just to a book with blank pages. And it won’t judge me or my grammar. My parents will think I’m doing my homework.

17th of September

Tomorrow is the day of the inquest, so I had better practice my evidence. Best to write it down. Here goes.

I was walking Harrison (that’s my little dog) on the night of the 10th of September. At about ten, I was coming up to the Fox’s Lair (that’s our local pub), when I noticed two men outside arguing. I hung back in the shadows in case they were drunk. It was Kevin Day and Colin Mackie. Kevin got on his bike and peddled like mad off down the main road towards the school. Colin lit a cigarette and smoked for a few minutes. Then he stubbed it out and rode off in the same direction as Kevin. I walked in that direction, too. I often go that way to make a large circle around the village back to the vicarage. I like Harrison to have a long walk last thing, you see. When I came to Kevin’s house, which is on that road, I saw Kevin and Colin struggling together in the front garden, across the road on my right. Colin dragged Kevin around the back of the house and I heard Kevin shout “No!” I continued my walk home, locked up and went straight to bed. My parents were already asleep. I know because their door was ajar and I looked in on them before I went to my room.

I think that sounds about right. The next day, the police found the blood-encrusted knife wrapped in one of Colin’s shirts pushed into the hedge by the side of his front gate. His wife said that shirt had disappeared off their washing line a few days ago. Mr. Hardcape, who owns the general store, said that a carving knife had been stolen from his shop the week before the murder and that yes, Colin had been in his shop that week. So had just about everybody else in the village, of course. There’s no doubt in my mind that Colin will be arrested. What excitement! All the old ladies in the village are twittering from morning till night. Arranging the church flowers and polishing the brass took them twice as long as usual this week, in spite of having twice as many volunteers.

18th of September

Well, I gave my evidence today and the coroner thanked me and said I spoke very clearly. He seemed pleased with me. Grownups like me because I say and do all the right things from their point of view. Colin was arrested and will stand trial. I will have to give evidence then, too. I expect they’ll hang him. His wife cried a lot. I’ll be something of a celebrity in the village and Daddy will hate it. Colin said he had been arguing with Kevin because Kevin had been having an affair with one of the barmaids at the pub. Kevin’s wife is his cousin, he said, and the betrayal made him angry. But not angry enough to kill him. He said he never went near Kevin’s house that evening. And since there was a heavy rainfall during the night, the police couldn’t find any bicycle tracks or footprints. Most of the pub regulars knew about the affair—I would overhear little bits of gossip now and then. None of them came forward. Probably afraid their wives would stop them going to the pub if they knew the goings-on there.

About six weeks ago, I saw Colin walking with his secretary towards Boskriss Woods. They were hand in hand, looking very cozy. I followed them a couple of weeks later when I saw them slipping into the woods again. If they had spotted me, it wouldn’t have seemed odd me being there, because it is a perfectly natural place to walk a dog. Harrison seemed to understand I didn’t want to be discovered and kept quiet. He’s a very, very good dog. My best friend. Well, let’s be honest, my only friend; Miss Fennytoke is too old to be my friend. I watched them from behind the wild rhododendrons kissing passionately and goodness knows what else, but I left before it got too beastly.

Colin’s a hypocrite like Daddy. No, of course Daddy’s much worse, because he’s the Vicar and preaches about sin and pretends to be saintly. He always preaches to me about sin at the dinner table, but not like he preaches in church, in his best voice. At home he thunders. It gives me a tummy-ache. I can’t digest properly when I’m being thundered at. I got a card on St. Valentine’s day this year. Perhaps it was from one of the local boys or it could have been one of the girls playing a prank. They don’t sign them, you know, so I don’t actually know whom it was from. Well, Daddy went mad when he saw it and called me the “Whore of Babylon.” Is she in the Bible? I’ll have to look. I think it must be one of those chapters they always leave out in scripture classes.

I’ll tell you about Daddy when I’m ready to put it in writing. I like having my diary to talk to. Now I have two friends. Goodnight.

Love,

Ruth.

22nd of September

Dear Diary,

He just hit me and it hurt. No explanation, he just suddenly lashed out. I’d better tell you the big secret about Daddy, although it’s going to give me an awful headache.

Daddy is very bad tempered at home, although no one would think it, watching him put on his Vicar act for the parishioners. He doesn’t get paid much, so Mummy and I have to scrimp and save. Daddy gets three slices of roast beef on Sundays because that’s his biggest workday and he needs his strength, he says. Mummy gets one, and I get one—but only if I’ve been good. But he never thinks I’ve been good, because I can’t do anything right in his opinion. I get good marks at school, I never go out (except to walk Harrison), I don’t wear make-up, I don’t do anything. That would satisfy most grownups. He hates me, and I know why. He knows I saw him with Jane. He never mentioned it, but I’m sure he caught sight of my reflection in his study mirror—I didn’t duck fast enough. That was about three months ago.

Jane is a girl who helps Mummy with the housework. They say she’s slow. She is pretty stupid. She sleeps in the little room at the top of the house. One of the parishioners urged Daddy to take her on when her father died—of the drink, they say. They say her mother died that way, too. We’d never been able to afford a maid, but they don’t have to pay her, because she’s not bright enough to do anything else; she just gets room and board, and she is a help. She doesn’t eat much, either. She’s mostly nice and cheerful. Mummy is very patient with her and tells her over and over again how to do something until she’s got it. And when she’s got it, she’s got it. She hardly talks, but she’s quite pretty.

One day, I was sitting on the grass against the wall outside Daddy’s study reading Henry V for finals. The window was open, and I heard this funny noise. It sounded like someone panting and moaning all at once. I peeked over the windowsill and there they were. Daddy and Jane. She was on her hands and knees and Daddy was kneeling right behind her, pushing and pushing against her. I saw everything, I mean EVERYTHING, but I can’t write the words, not yet. I don’t think I know the words, actually. He was purple-faced and she was hooting in time with every push. He did it faster and faster until he gave this long shuddering sigh and drooped his shoulders. I felt sick, it was so ugly and disgusting. Poor Mummy, and poor Jane. Although I must say Jane didn’t seem to mind very much. She just stood up, pulled on her knickers, picked up her cloth, and carried on with the dusting. He did himself up and threw himself into his armchair. He was still out of breath, although his color was coming down. He glanced up at the mirror above the fireplace and our eyes met for an instant before I ducked and ran around the house to the kitchen garden where I found Mummy pulling up radishes.

“I saw him with Jane, I saw him,” I blurted out.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, dear, but it’s for the best.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“What? What did you say?”

“It keeps him quiet and away from me. Think about it. He’s been in a better mood lately, hasn’t he?”

“Why do you stay? Why don’t we leave?” I asked.

“And go where, dear? We have no money. We don’t even own our home. There’s nowhere to go. We have to pretend everything’s alright and carry on with our heads held high.”

I’ll remember those words as long as I live. There’s nowhere to go. So sad, she was. There is nowhere you can go to escape from sin, it seems. It is everywhere, even in the house of a man of God, in the room where he writes his sermons. He is the basest of sinners, one who preaches about living a righteous life while breaking the most important Commandment at least once a week.

We talked about the Ten Commandments in scripture a few weeks ago. The one about not committing adultery is the most important one because it’s so disgusting and messes everything up, families mostly. Of course, Miss Adams glossed over it because she was embarrassed, especially with all those silly girls giggling behind their hands. But I’ve seen it destroy things, pull things off course.

I once saw him doing it to Mummy when they left their bedroom door open. Not like with Jane, though, not like dogs. I saw Colonel Simmons’ dogs doing it one day when I was passing his house on my way to school. When he saw me looking over the garden hedge, he took a broom and whacked them into the house. But I knew what was going on. Mummy and Daddy doing it is pretty repulsive, but they are married, after all, so it’s allowed. Mummy lay there still and silent afterwards and he rolled off and over on his side and was snoring in no time. She just lay there staring at the ceiling. I crept back to bed, all churned up inside.

I pretended nothing had happened the day I witnessed Daddy’s antics with Jane, although he darted angry looks at me all evening from under that dark stormy wave of eyebrows. I gave him a goodnight kiss, as expected, as if I loved him. Does he really believe we love him? He hits Mummy almost as often as he hits me (never where it shows, of course). He says we need reminding of our duty whenever he does it, and that it’s for our own good. We never say anything, just get out of his way as soon as we can. Sometimes we can’t help crying a little. He expects me to go to university because he is a scholar and that’s what the children of scholars do, especially when there isn’t a son. Only three more years before I go, and that’s not so very long. I’m going to be a teacher at a girl’s school. I’ll teach them to support themselves and be dependent upon no one, especially a man. I’ll teach them to think for themselves and to do what’s best for themselves. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll be sorry to leave poor Mummy all alone with him—no way out for her.

I hear Jane hooting at least once a week, but I hardly ever look. With his high color, and if God loves us, he’ll have a heart attack or a stroke. I suppose the Church must have pensions or something for the families. Goodnight Diary.

Love,

Ruth.

29th of September

Dearest Diary,

I know it’s been a whole week, but there’s been nothing much to tell until now. I had tea with Miss Fennytoke again this afternoon. I was gazing straight across the square into the general store and I saw Dr. Penny’s receptionist go in and simper at Mr. Hardcape. She simpers at any man she comes across, and especially Daddy. Young or old, ladies seem to find Vicars very romantic figures. Funny, isn’t it? To my surprise, Mr. Hardcape turned the “Closed” sign and the two of them darted into the back room, giggling like children. I continued polite conversation, all the while peering sideways to see what was going on at the shop. They came out at least twenty minutes later, and I watched her adjust her blouse and him smooth down his hair (what there is of it). And with his wife in the flat upstairs! I turned my head to see if Miss Fennytoke had noticed anything, but found her watching me instead. She had that robin look again and I felt quite uncomfortable.

“You don’t always know exactly what’s going on in people’s lives, you know, my dear. You mustn’t rush to judgement.”

I thanked her for a lovely tea and left soon after. She makes marvelous cakes. It was lemon sponge today and I won’t go to bed hungry tonight. I went home to get Harrison and went for a long walk. I do my best thinking when I’m walking. I think a lot about sin, there’s so much of it. It’s all around me. Too, too much sin. Miss Adams said that lying is a sin, but it isn’t always, not if God knows it’s for a good reason, and killing, she said, is always wrong. What nonsense! They teach you how God’s wrath strikes people down, so that means I am just His tool. It’s Daddy’s job to cast out sin, but he is a sinner himself, one of the worst, so we can’t rely on him. I wish God would strike Daddy down, I’d enjoy that. No, that thought was bad, because I’m not supposed to enjoy it, am I? I’m just doing God’s work on earth; it’s hard to be given such a burden to carry when I’m only fifteen years old. But I know God understands and approves and, of course, Dear Diary understands, too, because I tell Dear Diary everything. Harrison started sleeping on the floor after Kevin and growled at me sometimes, but now he’s back to sleeping on my bed—I think he understands now, too.

I mustn’t repeat myself, though, or people will get suspicious, don’t you think? I have all the time in the world to get it right. I must take great care Miss Fennytoke doesn’t notice anything. She watches people even more than I do. And she watches me a lot. But she just wouldn’t understand, nobody would. I love starting sentences with And and But, they don’t let you do that at school.

And the sin must be rubbed out. But another murder in a village this small would be too much of a good thing, and that would never do, so maybe an accident this time, while they’re asleep in the flat upstairs. I bet that store has plenty of stuff in it that catches fire easily.

Goodnight, Dearest Diary.

I’ll be back very soon,

Your loving Ruth

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