I’m looking down on the trial of the young man from my village of Brayley Glen, accused of my “callous and shameful” murder. It’s a strange sensation, although it could’ve been worse - I could be looking up!
“And so, Mr. Langrish, you still maintain that Mrs Rumsden simply gave you her life savings. Just like that, for helping her with a few shopping bags?” The disbelief in the QC’s voice was apparent for all to hear. Of course, it wasn’t exactly my life savings; I’d kept plenty in the building society to share out between my family, I wasn’t daft.
“Yes, I’m telling you. She wanted to give me a chance, after all that fuss before. She believed me.” Paul would’ve sailed through a lie detector test, for sure.
“And there was no argument?” The questioners eyebrows would be needing oxygen at this rate.
Paul shook his head. “No, only when I told her I didn’t want it, she just wouldn’t let me go.”
“So, in the end, you took it to make her happy?”
“Yes. She was dying anyway, she said she wouldn‘t need it where she was going.”
“How very convenient for you!” There was just one eyebrow raised now. I can’t say I like this chap very much, with his posh Italian suit and supercilious air. But that’s the county town for you, I suppose.
“It wasn’t like that!” Paul’s eyes sparked angrily and his knuckles whitened against the polished mahogany of the dock. Go on, lad, I urged. You give him some back.
“And she asked you to buy the rat poison?”
“Yes. She said Ted normally did everything for her, but she’d forgotten to tell him about the rat and knew she wouldn’t remember the next time she saw him.” There’s a certain air about someone when they’re telling the truth. I can see it and I can tell that some members of the jury, at that point, were considering if Paul might really be innocent.
“And when you took it back to her, she invited you in for tea?”
“Yes.” Paul’s voice rose slightly with the vehemence of his answer. And don’t forget the biscuits, I admonished, even though he couldn’t hear me - I bought some lovely all-butter cookies especially.
“Had Mrs Rumsden ever been this friendly towards you before?“
“No … but she said she felt sorry for me … wanted to help me out … ” He lost it a little bit at that point. He was starting to realise how it all sounded, I think. You stick to your story, lad, be strong. He certainly has a good memory, I’ll give him that. Remembered our conversation almost word for word, he did. It’s funny how other people see things differently though, isn’t it?
Alma - who lived in Lavender Cottage, next door to me - swore she heard us arguing, that I was refusing to give him any money. She’s an insatiable busybody, although she did look out for me.
“She kept it under her bed; I kept telling her to put it in the bank, but you know what some people are like, stuck in their ways ...”
Bob, the village shop proprietor, remembered quite clearly selling Paul the rat poison.
“I had no reason to think it were dodgy,” he sniffed into his hanky, “’cos since they started building that by-pass, there’ve been a load of rats displaced ..." He can be a bit of an old woman but there’s no denying his honesty.
Ted was adamant; stubborn old sod that he is, he disputed the lad‘s claim I‘d sent him to buy it.
“Why would she do that? She didn’t ‘ave no rats. I‘m round there most days and Max, her terrier, he‘s better‘n any cat for digging out rats!”
Dr. Moncur, bless him, my GP, completely forgot to mention the cancer riddling my body and homed straight in on the poisoning symptoms: SOCO had no trouble discovering the lad’s fingerprints everywhere - cups, kettle, biscuit barrel, sugar bowl, rat poison - and why would they, he admitted being there and making tea after he’d bought the poison. P.C Jordan placing him at the scene, sneaking in through the back door of the cottage seemed almost irrelevant - I just couldn’t have him walking mud through the hallway, my beige carpet would never have recovered. It was his word against theirs. An unemployed lad with a boisterous reputation, found with £2000 in his house - the one shared with a drunken mother and an indifferent father - versus half of the Brayley Glen church committee. Charity fundraisers and village stalwarts extraordinaire. What chance did he have? Sadly for Paul, the jury came back with a unanimous ‘Guilty’ verdict. None of the villagers were allowed to serve, of course, it being such a close community. Although I believe the milkman’s 3rd cousin, twice removed, was married to the foreman.
My name is Agatha Rumsden. I was 87 years old when I died. I was murdered. Officially, at least. I talked it over with a select few from the St. Stephen’s committee - we agreed it was the best way to ensure Paul Langrish was properly punished for what he’d done to the milkman’s daughter. She was a sweet girl, and she’d had a crush on him. So, after their date, when she was quiet and jittery instead of happy and excited, the whole story came tumbling out. It was at church on the Sunday morning. We hadn’t even made it outside to enjoy the fresh carpet of bluebells in the garden. There was me, Ted, Terry Moncur, Bob, Alma and Gary Jordan; he went straight around there to arrest that lad. And what happened next? “Not enough evidence - his word against hers.” Outrageous! That poor, dear girl. When that lad was let off, I said we should fit him up for something else; Ted said I’d been watching too much TV! But it started us all thinking: My part was really quite simple. I was dying anyway; why waste the opportunity?
So we ‘fitted him up’ good and proper. No lack of evidence for the jury this time, oh no, presented with the testimonies of half a dozen respectable villagers. How could anyone else know I had forced the money on him, that he really was telling the truth?
“It’s so unfair - all the gossip you’ve had to put up with, because of that lying little tart. Go away, make something of yourself. Go on, take it - I’m not spending it where I’m going, am I?” And the arrogant little wretch believed me.
End
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