Chapter 15
The uninvited guests
Percival woke with a start. He had been having a rather unpleasant dream. Though the details faded rapidly he was left feeling at odds with himself.
To make matters worse, the incessant tweeting of birds first thing in the morning was not something he was used to, nor did he think he could ever grow accustomed to the racket. Born and bred in the city, he preferred the rumble of traffic to wake him.
He rose from the bed whilst being careful not to wake Mavis, who was still fast asleep. He pulled his dressing gown on, quietly made his way out of the bedroom and then descended the stairs on his way to the kitchen.
Percival put the kettle on to boil and began preparing a teapot and two cups. Out of the blue a loud and rapid knock on the front door disturbed his routine.
“Who on earth would knock on our door at this time in the morning?” he groaned gruffly. He looked looking at the clock face it read a quarter to six. Who apart from Percival got up at this hour?
He quickly hurried up the wide hall as another rasping barrage of knocks thwacked the entryway. Percival angrily wrenched open the heavy, wooden door. He had intended to launch into a respectable rant about the appropriate hours a normal person should visit someone else. However his words faltered as he caught sight of an immaculate police uniform.
On the doorstep of his luxury, holiday cottage were four people; two women and two men. One of the men was wearing the instantly recognisable uniform. The two women he had seen before also, not that he wished to recall either encounter. However, the second man was a stranger and Percival did not like the look of him, not one bit. He was far too handsome to be a good person. In Percival’s experience when a person was pretty on the outside they were usually rotten on the inside.
“Oh, it’s you,” Martha Trotter groaned. She grimaced and the continued. “We’re looking for a girl.”
“Well! You won’t find one here,” Percival replied shortly. He had met Martha a few days prior, their conversation did not end well. He looked at her down the length on his nose. “I’m surprised you managed to find this place. As I recall you said the cottage didn’t exist. I’ll accept your apology when you’re ready.”
Martha narrowed her eyes angrily, though she maintained her composure and replied as if she hadn’t heard him. “The girl has been missing for three days. We had hoped you may have seen her. Did she pass this way?”
“If a child wandered onto my property I would have shooed it off,” Percival announced.
He was about to close the door on the quartet, clearly this conversation was pointless, when Mavis appeared at his side. Encased in a polka dot bathrobe she fretted as she spied the policeman.
“Oh dear, what’s he said now? Is this about the other day? I know he was rude but calling the police, really?” Mavis voiced.
“We're looking for my daughter. She's gone missing,” Rose replied. She cried freely, unabashed with her worry and grief.
Percival knew this brazen-woman too, though he was not about to admit how. If she was the mother, then the child was the same one he delivered the letter to, Harmony Ryder. He knew the name from the letter well; he had read it a thousand times or more. Admitting that would only complicate the issue. Why would he connect himself to this runaway girl? Admitting his connection would only raise questions he wasn’t comfortable answering.
“Your daughter is missing? Oh, you poor thing,” Mavis gasped. She nudged Percival out of the way. “Come in, come in. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Martha didn't even try to hide the smirk across her face as she followed Percival’s wife into the house. Behind her Rose, Joe and Sergeant Cooper smiled and nodded at him as they too made for the kitchen.
Percival closed the door. He was utterly enraged. Martha’s smirk pulsed inside his mind, boiling his blood. He was furious with Mavis for embarrassing him in front of the unwelcome guests; especially that frightfully rude country-woman. She was by and far the worst of them.
As he tracked the intruding-quartet he scrutinised the mother of the missing girl. She wore a purple dress and sandals. In Percival's opinion this was hardly the correct attire for searching for one’s AWOL offspring.
Percival knew Rose’s type, he’d seen them before. She was the kind of person commonly referred to as a hippie. London was peppered with them; arty-types all of whom were unkempt and disorganised. Two of the most deplorable traits a person could have, according to Percival that is.
He considered the possibility that Harmony may have had the right idea in running away. The weeping woman claimed to be a good mother but who out of the group could vouch for her? Perhaps she was awful to the child? She certainly didn't look like the kind of parent he would have wanted.
Percival entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table. The visitors all sat down without even waiting for an invitation; this made them practically squatters in his book.
“Well?” he grumped, folding his arms across his chest.
“Well what?” Martha responded.
“Well? What more do you want with us? We haven’t seen her?”
“Percy!” Mavis exclaimed. “I am so sorry about him. He can be a bit cranky in the mornings, can't you dear? Now, tell us everything. How can we help?”
Percival was on the cusp of a rant when his wife flashed her eyes angrily at him. His rage withered, halted by a bitten lip.
“Her name is Harmony. She's fourteen in a few days and she has beautiful, red-hair like mine. Of course mine is longer and slightly more lustrous but,” Rose stopped talking as a fresh flood of tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m saying…”
Martha took over. “She was last seen a few mornings ago at a cottage on the other side of the wood. We’ve had search parties out looking her, but no one has found anything more than a few footprints.”
“What are the police doing about it? Have you notified the press?” Percival asked briskly.
“I’m doing all I can, Mr…?” Sergeant Cooper replied calmly.
“Mr Montague.”
Martha Trotter and Sergeant Cooper exchanged a quick glance. There was a flicker of recognition at the mention of this name, though neither made it obvious to the others.
Mavis poured the contents of the steaming kettle into a large teapot. She lifted it over to the table along with cups, spoons, sugar and a milk jug. Her face was clouded with concern.
Percival did not share her sympathy for people or their sob stories. On the whole he was not a charitable man. He believed people are poor because they are lazy and, therefore, not worth his help.
“We never had any children. So I can’t claim to know what you’re going through,” Mavis began. “But you have my word. We’ll not rest until she’s found and safe home with you. Isn’t that right, Percy?” The last part was inflected in a manner which implied ‘Percy’ would not be disagreeing.
“Yes, dear,” he responded through gritted teeth.
“Now, you all drink the tea while it's hot and we will go and get dressed,” Mavis suggested. She smiled and hoisted Percival out of his seat by the elbow.
“What an odd couple,” Martha whispered to the others when they were alone. They silently nodded in agreement...