‘Parish business? You ain’t got no parish. Your parish is me and the widow Shields.’
He double-took, his fingers skidding over the book he had been about to open.
‘Widow? Julia’s a widow?’
‘Yeah.’ Evie seemed to enjoy the impact her words had made. ‘Didn’t you know? Came to a bad end, he did, old Darren Frensham.’
‘Frensham?’
‘She never took his name. Why should she? Don’t suppose I shall, when and if I marry. I’m a Witts and I’m proud of it.’
‘What was this bad end he came to?’
‘Well, there’s the thing, vicar. It’s all a bit of a mystery. He had a bit to drink, went out walking to the barn to clear his head, and never came back.’
‘Never came back? So …?’
‘Oh yeah, he’s dead. They found the body, right there, in Palmers Barn.’
‘What – did he die of?’
‘Seemed like a heart attack.’ Evie shrugged. ‘Something scared him, p’raps. He ain’t the first to die out there, after all.’
‘You’re talking about ghosts. Please don’t. Perhaps some animal? Or he was attacked?’
‘Not a mark on him. There’s those as suspects our precious Ms Shields put something in his drink. You see, they weren’t getting along so famously – it was common knowledge in the village.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘She married beneath her, for love. Or something like it. More like lust, I think. He was a charmer, was Darren. But he was no good. Gambled away most of her money and drank the rest. That’s why she lost the manor.’
‘Oh.’
‘It was repossessed the week he died.’
‘Oh.’
‘She weren’t best pleased.’
‘No.’
‘There’s a substantial school of thought in the village that she had something to do with his death.’
‘And that’s why she’s unpopular here?’
‘That’s about it. The black widow, they call her.’
‘Imaginative.’
‘Yeah, not really. You do like her, don’t you? Darren was very well liked, especially around the pub. He was one of those blokes – you know he’s no good, but you can’t help but want to be in his company. He weren’t faithful to her neither. And she knew it. Everybody did.’
‘Did you and he …?’
‘No, he weren’t my type. I know, I know, you’ll say everyone’s my type. But Darren weren’t a Saxonhurst boy, so he was pretty much off my radar.’
‘So Julia married a wastrel …’
Evie laughed. ‘I love the way you talk sometimes. You’re so old-fashioned. You’re just like …’ She broke off. ‘Don’t worry about it.’