Free Last Act of All by Aline Templeton Page B

anyways. Oh, there’ll be a great old turn-out today, shouldn’t wonder.’
    Martha, ignoring him, went out into the street. She did not look round at the sound of hastening feet behind her.
    ‘ Martha, oh Martha!’
    She neither turned her head nor adjusted her pace as the woman panted up behind her.
    ‘ Well, Martha, what do you reckon to it?’
    Her lip curled a fraction. ‘Reckon to what, Annie?’
    ‘ You mean you’ve not seen it? All over our paper, it were...’
    ‘Oh, that.’
    At the church a huddle of women, like Joe’s barnyard fowls in their sober Sunday colours, were clucking at the lych gate, ignoring the vicar who waited to greet them at the church door, his hands rubbing unconsciously together.
    The hush that fell when she arrived was a tribute to Martha, and she savoured it. She was very watchful these days; as housekeeper at Radnesfield House she had commanded an automatic respect which now she must exact by force of personality. Relishing the moment when she would toss them this juicy worm of scandal, she hesitated a second too long. She bridled at the sound of another woman’s voice.
    ‘ It did seem to me we’d all be in our pews this morning. What do we think on it, then? Is he misbehaving, or are they a sweetly loving couple?’
    ‘ Oh, there you go, Jane Thomas.’ Martha’s tone was sharp with spite, resenting this theft of her small pleasure. ‘You should know better than to pay any mind to what you read in them old newspapers, you should.’
    ‘ No smoke without fire, that’s what I say.’ One of the lowest in the pecking order had dared to speak, emboldened by the choice nature of the titbit of information she had to contribute.
    ‘ Them Daleys had a right set-to going home from the pub at lunchtime, and Jack Daley with some tidy names to call that Sandra. And there was my youngest, out playing in Wagstaff’s field with Mary’s Billy. And when she comes in, “Main,” she says to me, “what’s a common tart?”’
    Teeth were sucked in pleasurable shock, and scandalized breath indrawn. The subdued clucking rose again.
    ‘ Well, London ways.’
    ‘ Everso pretty, that actress is. Younger than Mrs, by what I saw on the telly last week.’
    Sharon Thomas was hovering at the outside of the group. She was pretty, in the drawn, exhausted way of women who have married and had too many children too early, and drudged all their young lives. She lived in the shadow of Jane, her forceful mother-in-law, and certainly in awe of Martha Bateman and her vitriolic tongue. But now, exalted by her status at Radnesfield House, she could taste the delights of superior information.
    ‘ All I know is, that Mrs Fielding, she’s a real lady. Ever so kind and thoughtful. But him — pinched my bottom, he did, when I were bending over cleaning the brass.’
    ‘ He never!’ Incredulous eyes swivelled on to her.
    ‘ You’ve never said nothing about this before!’ Martha led the accusation.
    ‘ Nobody’s never asked me.’ She tossed her head. ‘Like I said, she’s nice. And we’d best be getting into church, or vicar will wring those hands of his right off.’
    Martha ’s face was blacker than ever as she brought up the rear with Jane Thomas.
    ‘ Changes, that’s what this’ll mean. You mark my words.’
    ‘ Talking’s cheap,’ Jane said comfortably. ‘Takes a lot of believing, you said yourself.’
    Martha was not appeased. ‘We’ve had enough changes in Radnesfield. We don’t want no more.’
    In agreement for once, Jane nodded as they reached the vicar, who, with all the innocence of the reader of quality Sundays, was saying happily, ‘How very nice to see you all, ladies! Such an encouraging congregation,’ as he ushered them in.
    *
    Neville was brusquely uncommunicative as he and Chris Dyer set off for London early on Monday morning. Dyer was unsurprised. Fielding was a moody sod, and anyway, who made bright conversation at six a.m.? He pulled his French leather cap down