Page 93 of Fire Must Burn

Iris walked over to the stone threshing floor and stomped on it experimentally.

‘Nothing but chaff this trip,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve wasted our time and your money.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Gwen. ‘I’ve rather enjoyed spending a weekend with you. Do you realise this is the first time we’ve travelled together?’

‘So it is,’ said Iris. ‘Maybe we could try it again when there isn’t some crime involved.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Gwen. ‘Let’s go into the town proper. There’s something I want to check.’

She dropped a couple of shillings into the collection box. Then they walked to the centre of the town, stopping to view the Town Bridge across the river. Gwen made certain to photograph the Bradford Gudgeon that surmounted the weather vane on top of the old two-cell town lockup. Iris expected her to hunt for souvenirs for Ronnie, but instead her partner stopped in front of the estate agents and perused the listings pinned to a bulletin board behind the front window.

‘You’re not thinking of buying a place here, are you?’ asked Iris.

‘Not at all,’ said Gwen. ‘There. Look at this.’

She pointed to one for a grange house with buildings and grounds.

‘Not my style,’ said Iris. ‘And well beyond my means.’

‘I know,’ said Gwen. ‘It looks to be a similarly sized property as our inn. Now, say you had been working as a housekeeper for twenty years or so. Do you think you’d be able to save enough to afford a place like this on that salary?’

‘I don’t know how much housekeepers get paid.’

‘I do,’ said Gwen. ‘I’m paying for one now, and I’m paying her well. Yet even if the Pickards paid Mrs Dorter even more handsomely, I would still guess that this inn would have been too costly for her.’

‘She would have bought it in ’36 or ’37,’ Iris pointed out. ‘The slump would have made things more affordable back then.’

‘Even so, the place has been renovated extensively,’ said Gwen. ‘The furniture and the decor are first rate. Money has been spent. And you know as well as I do that the banks are not exactly forthcoming with loans for a new business when a woman is running it.’

‘You think she knew enough about what happened to blackmail the Pickards?’

‘I think it’s a plausible explanation.’

‘Very plausible,’ said Iris. ‘But it doesn’t solve how we’re going to get the information out of her.’

‘No, but I think we’re on the right track. We’ll have to come up with a more effective approach.’

‘You don’t suppose a simple bribe would work, do you?’

‘I didn’t bring bribe money with me, alas. Let’s get some lunch.’

Unfortunately, neither lunch nor further exploration of the attractions of Bradford-on-Avon stirred any further ideas for prying the information out of Mrs Dorter. They wandered through the Shambles, then headed back to the inn in time for tea. Mrs Dorter once again presided over dinner, managing to exclude Iris from any conversation without being obvious about it. At its conclusion, she stood to address the company.

‘Game Night will be held in the game room as is customary,’ she said. ‘Pamela will be in attendance for those who require snacks and drinks. I myself will be retiring early, I’m afraid, so I will bid you all an enjoyable evening.’

With that, she departed the dining room.

‘And that’s our last chance,’ muttered Iris.

A woman named Alice, half of one of the illicit couples staying there, leaned across the table.

‘If you’re looking for something more entertaining tonight,’ she said, ‘the ladies are going out dancing at the Three Horseshoes while the men waste the evening playing cards. We have room in our car for two more.’

‘What do you think?’ Iris asked Gwen.

‘Sounds like fun,’ said Gwen. ‘I’m game.’

‘Splendid,’ said Alice. ‘We’ll change shoes, then rendezvous in the front parlour.’