The Wellington Bureau: A Quartermain Mystery

by Daphne Coleridge

through the east gate. She felt flustered and uncomfortable. Had he seen her? What would he think? He would think her quite callous. He would think her a thoughtless flirt; fickle and insensitive. She felt quite sick. He walked over to where they stood.

  “Lady Quartermain.” His face was set in its usual expression, stern but devoid of emotion. He would look so at death itself. There was no way of telling what he had seen or what he thought. "Douglas told me that I would find you here.”

  “Hallo.” She pulled her face into order. She hoped it expressed a calm, friendly greeting. “You’ve been up to the house? Did you find what you wanted?”

  “Douglas tells me that you have the key to Andrew’s desk.”

  “Does he? I’m blowed if I know where it is. Do you want me to come and find it?”

  “I would be most grateful if you could.”

  “All right. Oh, you’ve met Percy.” She observed the fact that the two men had not acknowledged each other, and her good manners took over automatically. The two nodded at each other without comment. Anna and the Brigadier went over to the house whilst Percy tactfully receded into the garden. “Now where could that key be?” Anna spoke aloud, an automatic response to the taciturn Brigadier, and one she did not like. She instantly recalled that Andrew often placed it underneath the carriage clock in the study itself, and she led the Brigadier in silence to the study.

  “Here we are,” she said, producing the key.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you need any help? I have some idea of how Andrew organised the muddle in his desk.”

  “Thank you, but I would not wish to keep you from your guests.” Anna thought this might be something of a rebuke, but his voice was even toned and polite. He was his usual unruffled self.

  “Fine. Are you staying to dinner?” She knew there was little hope of this, in view of the number of Toby’s friends cluttered about the place.

  “That is most kind of you, but I really ought to be getting back to London.”

  “Would you at least have a cup of tea before you go?” Anna really could not bear the idea of the Brigadier being hounded out of Q House by Toby and his wretched friends. And, of course, she had told him that she had no plans for going to Herefordshire. Would he wonder what changed her mind? She hoped he didn’t think that she had come for the sake of Percy. “Please?” she added, a little plaintively, determined that he should receive the hospitality that was his due.

  “That would be very nice.”

  “Good,” she said in relief. “I’ll tell Douglas to take it into the conservatory. You won’t be long will you?” She was assured that he would not. However, it was a good ten minutes before he joined her. Four of these she spent wishing that she had not allowed things to get out of hand with Percy, one she spent observing that it really had been a very exciting, if rather arrogant kiss – although that fact didn’t excuse her. The rest of the time she spent hoping that the Brigadier hadn’t observed this lapse.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” The Brigadier looked very slightly bothered.

  “Did you find what you were after?”

  “Well, no. But Andrew has addressed this to me. I expect it will explain what happened to the papers.” He placed a slim white envelope on the table.

  “You look a trifle concerned. Were the papers important?”

  The Brigadier’s face cleared and he assumed his usual bland expression. “No. I have what I want here,” he said in a reassuring voice.

  The matter was closed. The Brigadier drank his tea, politely refused renewed invitations, and departed. Anna was left with a deep sense of frustrationwhich she could not explain.

  Apart from the brief and regrettable incident with Percy in the rose garden, Anna successfully managed to avoid all Toby’s guests until the Saturday evening, when dinner inevitably brought them together. On the Sunday she was even more careful of her privacy and incarcerated herself in the library, only emerging to bid them farewell as they unwillingly submitted to the necessity of being prepared for the Monday morning return to work. She had not, however, forgotten that she owed it to Lady Parry to make at least one more attempt to fathom out the troubles of the mournful Warren, and to Lady Furnival to see if the mysterious jewel thief was, incredible although it may seem, the same young man. Fortunately she gleaned enough information during the course of the Saturday evening to renew her belief that something odd was afoot and to give her an idea of how to set about solving the mystery; thus she felt justified in her Sunday’s holiday.

  Dinner itself passed without event or distinction. The conversation was commonplace admiration of the house and gardens, interest in the history of the Quartermain family, highlights from the Duff, Parry and Gurney family histories, further highlights from the life of the renowned Admiral Sir Archibald Duff, Jane Duff’s thoughts on current affairs, Jane Duff’s thoughts on religion, Lord Tobias Quartermain’s opinion of the wine, port and of Jane Duff. After dinner, at Toby’s suggestion, they indulged in a hilarious game of charades, a huge trunk of fancy dress costumes having been lugged down from the attic for the purpose. During this game Toby distinguished himself as a comedian, Percy and Philip as actors, and the latter as the possessor of the quickest and least easily confused wits. It was Philip who solved all the clues performed by the opposing team with apparent ease, much to their chagrin.

  By midnight they were all, with the exception of Philip, rather drunk. Toby was draped across the settee, still half-clad in a costume originally intended for a Midsummer Night’s party, an ass’s head clasped in one hand. A cardboard crown covered in silver foil was tilted rakishly over Warren Parry’s left eye, whilst his cousin was looking rather threatening in black mask and cloak with a blunderbuss stuck in his belt.

  “It just isn’t fair,” Julia was saying, tapping a silver wand on Philip’s shoulder. “You had an unfair advantage. There should be some rule to say that all competitors should be equally drunk.”

  “On average we were more drunk than you. We had Toby in our team.”

  “Yes, and that wasn’t very fair either. How were we supposed to get to “bumblebee” by watching Toby tripping over bits of furniture in a donkey costume?”

  “That was easy! He was Bottom. Bottom...bum...as in bumble! If that flummoxed you, you might have made something out of the fact that he was dressed as an ass!”

  "We thought it was a donkey.”

  “It wasn’t a good clue,” Jane backed up her team mate.

  “Wasn’t it worth it just to see Toby bounding about the room in that costume? I’d say that you were a good actor, Toby, but I think you were typecast,” commented Anna.

  “I still think that Philip should have been force-fed with neat gin to bring him down to our level,” grumbled Julia.

  “Charades is all about lateral thinking. I would have thought that a little alcohol would have been an advantage. It usually increases mental dexterity,” retorted the accused.

  “It usually makes me want to go to sleep,” yawned Toby.

  “Maybe we should give Philip a drink and have another game,” suggested Percy, another member of Julia’s losing team.

  “You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Toby, who did not look as if he had retained the wherewithal to find his way out of his costume, let alone play another game which required thought.

  “I’m wearing a jester’s costume; do you think it likely that I’m serious?”

  “You are one person I would never take seriously,” said Warren, unfortunately affected by the brandy he had been consuming. Despite his inebriated state, Anna was surprised by this comment coming from the mild, polite Warren. She observed that Caroline looked embarrassed. Perhaps Warren had set himself up as her champion. Unfortunately Percy chose not to let the statement pass unchallenged.

  “And why this vicious attack on my character?” he enquired, coolly raising one eyebrow.

  “You know quite well what I mean,” mumbled Warren, clearly just sober enough to regret his c
omment.

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” Percy seemed bent on pursuing the matter.

  Warren glanced up at Percy and then said quite simply, “You are no gentleman!”

  “What a very quaint, old-fashioned term,” replied Percy. “So I’m not a gentleman. What leads you to that devastating conclusion?”

  “Oh, please stop it!” said Caroline, obviously aware that she was the cause of the dispute.

  “Because you do not keep your word,” Warren answered Percy.

  “Are you trying to tell me that I should marry a girl just because I take her out to dinner a few times?”

  “It was more than that,” said Warren.

  “Good grief! Why are you such a puritan? I thought you had learnt all about infidelity at your father’s knee!”

  “For goodness sake, Percy!” exclaimed Philip. “You are both drunk. Just forget it.”

  “Philip, of course, would never get drunk. A perfect example of sobriety,” said Percy, indicating the subject of his statement with an elegant gesture. “And he is also a man of his word. A gentleman. Unfortunately I cannot afford to be a gentleman. What is the cost? Half a million?”

  Anna watched Philip turn pale at these taunts, and for a moment she thought he was going to hit Percy. But the silence remained unbroken until Toby stood up and said, in the voice of one who has failed to observe any disagreement amongst his guests,

  “I say! Don’t you think some coffee would be rather nice?” Coffee was