Official Town Business (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book I)

Good Old Picture

Imogen and the children were having supper in Mrs. Dyre's kitchen, under a strict gaze of Mrs. Lewis, the housekeeper. The children ate, throwing each other sneaky glances; and of course it was Brian who was the first one to let snickering escape.

"Eat your peas, young sir," Mrs. Lewis grumbled, and the boy shrank in his chair. 

Judging by the shiny eyes, his veneration was mostly for show.

"Mrs. Lewis, this drawing," Imogen started with her investigation. "Philip told me, Mrs. Roberts drew it. Is it right?"

"Yes, it is." The housekeeper glanced at the drawing of the fox Imogen had noticed the day before. "And it's not the first one. Mrs. Dyre'd remove them, but Mrs. Roberts kept putting up new ones. Don't understand this, I don't. Bothering one's mistress." 

The woman shrugged.

"It is very good," Imogen said, picking up a slice of roasted carrot with her fork. "In my opinion, which is not necessarily correct, of course. It's been years since I studied art."

"Well, it's been even longer for poor Mrs. Roberts," Mrs. Lewis answered with a shake of her head.

"Why 'poor?'" Imogen asked cautiously, and then asked in surprise, "How do you mean? Mrs. Roberts studied art?"

"She was at school with the Headmistress. Didn't you know?" Mrs. Lewis took a sip of her cuppa. "And that nasty woman, who died. The other teacher."

"Mrs. Fitzroy?" Imogen gasped.

"Yes, her. They were all at school together. You can look at the photos, in the drawing room. There are albums, and they are all together in the pictures. And then Mrs. Roberts' Ma got sick, and she had to find a job. And after that she never returned, I reckon, to drawing and such. And she's bitter of course, always has been." Mrs. Lewis scoffed. "Don't know why people never know their place. You're scrubbing floors? Keep scrubbing. We all have work to do."

The housekeeper got up and marched to the sink. Imogen dropped her eyes to her plate. The question of one knowing one's place had been quite a lot on her mind recently, let's face it. She brushed off the thought. Surely, concentrating on a new piece of information possibly pertaining to a murder mystery was more important than thinking about her yet again undefined social status.

***

After the children were washed and sent to beds, just as the night before, Imogen went to the aforementioned drawing room, and started her investigation.

The photo albums - large leather-bound books - weren't hard to find. Just as everything in the Headmistress' life and household, they were neatly arranged, dates and locations marked on their spines.

Imogen stared at the photo of young Mrs. Dyre - in a Depeche Mode tee - in the company of another three young women, teenagers even. One was indubitably the future Mrs. Fitzroy, still wearing other colours besides her later obligatory black and white combination. Mrs. Roberts - much slimmer and her hair longer than the current military buzzcut - had her arm around the fourth girl's shoulders.

Imogen had to concentrate and squint but she recognized the fourth person in just a few moments. The woman's name was Tuppence Beedle, and she had been a teacher of drama in Fleckney Woulds Complimentary - until six months ago when her body had been found at the bottom of the quarry outside the town.

Her death had been considered an accident. She was known to spent a lot of time in the quarry, painting rather repetitive landscapes. She had also been fond of colour brown, which she had used abundantly while depicting the same view from the edge of the quarry. After her death the school held an exposition of her works, which Oliver called 'fifty shades of poop' in hushed voice, and they inappropriately giggled. Imogen had met Ms. Beedle only a few times, and still she felt they should not have laughed - but the paintings were so very pretentious and uninspired!