“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I said. “Marigold Edwards is either the world’s most inept estate agent or she’s up to no good.”
I imagine you think her inept because she hasn’t yet sold a pair of cottages that are as sound as a bell.
“Rose Cottage and Ivy Cottage are just the tip of the iceberg,” I said. “Lilian told me, quite casually, that properties in Finch routinely sit empty for months and months before they’re sold. The only exception she could cite was Peggy’s lightning-fast purchase of the greengrocer’s shop.”
I believe we’ve discussed Finch’s limitations, Lori.
“I’m aware of Finch’s limitations,” I said testily. “My question is: Why add to them? Why go out of your way to discourage people from moving here?”
Has Marigold Edwards gone out of her way to discourage people from moving to Finch?
“Seems like it to me,” I said. “Why else would she bring them to see the wall paintings in St. George’s?”
The church’s medieval wall paintings are of great historical value, Lori.
“They’re creepy,” I said flatly. “They give me the heebie-jeebies. If Will and Rob weren’t in love with all things ghoulish, St. George and his creepy dragon would give them nightmares. An estate agent with Finch’s best interests at heart would steer her clients away from the wall paintings.” I looked up from the journal and spoke half to myself as a fresh thought occurred to me. “Maybe Marigold tells her clients about the feud as well. She could make it seem as though the village is a hotbed of seething hostility.”
I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little less cryptic, my dear. Are you referring to the state of war that exists between Sally Cook and Peggy Taxman? If so, I can assure you that such rivalries are not unique to Finch. They exist in every community.
I looked down at the journal and smiled grimly.
“Wrong feud,” I said. “I’m referring to the state of war that exists between Finch and Tillcote.”
Good grief. I thought the Finch-Tillcote feud ended years ago.
I gaped at the journal.
“Y-you knew about it?” I stammered. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Of course I knew about it. I grew up with it, though it started long before I was born.
“You might have mentioned it,” I said reproachfully.
I would have, had I known that the villagers were still engaged in it. I may have grown up in Finch, Lori, but I spent most of my adult life in London. After my mother and father died, I lost touch with my old neighbors. I retained ownership of my family’s cottage, but I rarely visited it. When I did return, no one spoke of the feud to me. I assumed, quite naturally, that it had faded into obscurity.
Aunt Dimity’s final comment reminded me of something Emma Harris had said to Bill and me beneath the apple tree: “Why waste your breath on a place that’s beneath your notice?”
“The villagers don’t talk about it,” I said as understanding glimmered. “Not often, anyway.”
I rest my case. How does the jury find? Is the defendant guilty or not guilty?
“Not guilty,” I said penitently. “I’m sure you would have warned me about the feud if you’d thought I’d be dragged into it.”
Have you been dragged into it?
“To be honest, I sort of dragged myself into it,” I replied. “I came close to inciting a riot after church when I asked Peggy Taxman and the rest of the ladies if they knew Arthur Hargreaves. My innocent inquiry triggered a full-on tirade about Tillcote folk, who have, at various times, insulted Dick Peacock’s homemade wine, made fun of Sally Cook’s spreading waistline, looked down their noses at St. George’s, and ridiculed the horrible lamp Opal Taylor takes home from the jumble sale every year because she can’t persuade anyone to buy it.”
Everyone in Finch ridicules Opal’s lamp.
“Not to her face,” I said pointedly.
Oh. I see.
“Finally,” I continued, “Peggy claimed that a Tillcote lad had stolen a bag of potato chips from the Emporium, and Sally topped her by declaring that Tillcote folk would steal the coins from a dead man’s eyes. Oh, and Bill found out later that Teddy Bunting can’t stand Tillcote’s money-grubbing rector.” I shook my head. “What a kerfuffle! Honestly, Dimity, if I’d known about the feud, I wouldn’t have asked the ladies about Arthur Hargreaves.”
Why did you ask the ladies about Arthur Hargreaves?
I stared blankly at Aunt Dimity’s question, then raised a fist and thumped myself on the forehead.
“Stupid me,” I said. “I keep forgetting to tell you: Bess and I met Arthur yesterday.”