When Tuppenny had jumped off the bench and scampered away, Bosworth said, “Well, then, Owl, what’s so troublesome that it can’t be said in the presence of small fry?”
The professor turned his head from side to side, to see if anyone else might be listening. “There’s tooo be a badger-baiting,” he said, with great gravity. “Tooonight.”
Bosworth set down his teacup with a clatter. There had been few badger-baitings in the Land between the Lakes in recent years, for the Justice of the Peace for Sawrey district had mostly managed to shut them down. He was not entirely surprised by Owl’s news, however.
“It’s the raid on the sett at the Hill Top quarry,” he said soberly. “Parsley told me that her aunt Primrose—she was living in the Hill Top sett—was kidnapped, along with both of her young cubs. Jeremy Crosfield found one of the cubs, but the other is still missing. Primrose hasn’t been seen, either.” He cleared his throat. “Jack Ogden is the name Parsley heard, in connection with the crime. It seems that the fellow is back in the village.”
The professor looked exceedingly grave. “I thought as much,” he said. “Ogden is a scoundrel of the very wooorst sort, a rascally, criminal fellow. But what’s tooo be done, I don’t know.”
“Well, something has to be done,” said Bosworth, in his practical way. He was very fond of Owl, who was quite a dear fellow indeed, and admirable on several scores. But whilst the professor was respected by all for his intelligence and erudition, he was not known to be a creature of decisive action—except, perhaps, where his meals were concerned. He was quick enough when it came to that.
“Something, indeed,” agreed Owl, blinking. “Further research is called for, I believe, especially in the area of the lax enforcement of existing laws against animal cruelty. I should be very pleased tooo glance through my books and papers and—”
“I will think of a plan,” Bosworth interrupted firmly, “and then we can discuss it.”
“As yooou wish,” said the professor, applying himself, with enthusiasm, to his egg.
While Owl enjoyed his breakfast, Badger unfolded his dampish newspaper and retired behind it, not to read, but to think. There was silence in the room until the professor was quite done with his meal.
At last the owl sighed deeply and brushed the crumbs from his feathery front. “I should be glad tooo participate, of course, if yooou will tell me what I’m tooo dooo.” He frowned at the badger. “I hope, old chap, that yooou will not be tempted tooo take unilateral action. There are likely tooo be a great many men in the group, and some of them will nooo doubt have firearms. I should not like tooo run any unwarranted risks.”
“It depends,” the badger replied, “upon your definition of ‘unwarranted. ’ But I can assure you that I do not intend to go it alone, for that is far too dangerous. Now, listen, Owl. Here is what I propose. Tell me what you think.”
And for the next little bit, the owl listened as Bosworth talked, nodding his head in a benign and owlish fashion, until at last a massive snore confirmed what the badger was beginning to suspect: that the professor had drifted off to sleep. The badger awakened him with a sharp poke, made him listen for five more minutes to an abbreviated version of the plan, and then sent him on his way back to his beech tree. Bosworth knew from long experience that it was no use trying to deal with Owl when it was time for his morning nap.
30
“Whatever Shall I Wear?”
Winston proved as good as his word. He did fly like the wind, so swiftly that Miss Potter arrived at Captain Woodcock’s house just as the captain and Mr. Heelis—their jackets off and their shirt sleeves rolled up—were completing the repair of a punctured tire on the captain’s Rolls-Royce, and some ten minutes before the Tidmarsh Manor phaeton appeared in the village. This was ample time for Miss Potter to relate what she had learnt from Emily about Miss Martine’s administration of a certain “medicine” to Lady Longford, and what she had overheard of the conversation between Miss Martine and Dr. Gainwell, who—it now appeared—were sister and brother.
“Miss Potter,” said the captain, rolling down his sleeves and fastening his cuffs, “you astonish me. How you managed to gather all these facts in only a few minutes—”
“Nonsense,” Miss Potter replied tartly. “The only astonishing thing is that this foolish pair managed to convince themselves that they could get away with such an outrageous scheme.” She pointed up the street. “Dr. Gainwell—although that is not his real name—is coming now, on his way to the ferry. You can question him for yourself.”
“We shall,” Heelis said, shrugging into his jacket. “Miss Potter, we are deeply in your debt.”
“Nonsense,” Miss Potter said again, but this time she smiled.
The inquiry did not go on for very long. The two men stopped the phaeton, escorted Dr. Gainwell into Captain Woodcock’s library, and subjected him to a series of questions. They already knew the answers to most of these, thanks to Miss Potter. And when Mr. Kenneth Wentworth (his real name) understood that he faced prosecution as an accessory to attempted murder, he became suddenly rather cooperative.
Over the course of the next half-hour, then, it emerged that his sister, Miss Mabel Wentworth (calling herself Maribel Martine), had been sent by a London agency to fill the advertised position as Lady Longford’s companion and secretary. When Miss Martine arrived at the Manor and saw the situation—an old woman with a great deal of money and no family to inherit—she began to ingratiate herself with her ladyship. Over the course of the next few months, she devised a scheme whereby she would become Lady Longford’s chief legatee upon her ladyship’s death—which wouldn’t be far off, if Miss Martine had her way. When she discovered that her ladyship had an orphaned granddaughter, she did all she could to discourage Lady Longford from giving her a home. Failing in her efforts, she had contacted her brother and begged him to come to the Manor and help her deal with the problem. She planned to have him appointed as head teacher, which would give him a reason to be in Sawrey—and to stay at the Manor—over an extended period of time. Carrying out his sister’s instructions, Wentworth had appropriated the identity of a certain Dr. Gainwell, who had recently been assigned to the South Pacific by the London Missionary Society, where Wentworth worked as a clerk.
“But it was never my intention to harm the girl, you know,” Wentworth insisted. “I’ve done nothing wrong except to impersonate a missionary.” He grinned crookedly. “And that, surely, is not a hanging offense.”
“You received the stolen jewelry that your sister sent you,” Woodcock pointed out. He cast an accusing glance at the man’s Saville Row frock coat. “You sold it and you spent the money on clothes. That warrants a charge of grand larceny.”
“And you knew of your sister’s plan to poison Lady Longford,” Heelis added, “which makes you a co-conspirator. Your best chance for leniency, Wentworth, is to testify against your sister and throw yourself on the mercy of the Crown.”
Wentworth dropped his head into his hands with a groan.
“As Justice of the Peace for Sawrey district, I am issuing a warrant for your arrest, Kenneth Wentworth,” Captain Woodcock said in a formal tone. “The constable will convey you to Hawkshead, where you will be arraigned before the magistrates on the charges of receiving stolen property and conspiracy to commit murder. Meantime, we will apprehend your sister and—”
“Then you’d better hurry,” Wentworth said glumly. “Unless I miss my guess, she’s planning to leave just as soon as Beever gets back with the phaeton.”
Miss Martine was indeed planning to leave, directly after luncheon. She had already packed her bags and quietly set them in the hallway closet, not wanting to call any special attention to her departure. It would be awkward, of course, to answer Lady Longford’s questions. In a day or two, after the fuss had died down, she would write and say that her sister or her cousin was deathly ill, and that she had been suddenly called away, and might her outstanding wages be sent, please, to the address at the bo
ttom of the letter.
But in the meantime, Emily was announcing callers. Miss Martine was startled to look up and see Captain Woodcock and Mr. Heelis, standing in the doorway behind Emily. Her surprise turned to stunned dismay when the captain, with a stern expression, told her that he had just sent her brother off to the magistrates’ office in Hawkshead, and went on to tell her why. She stared at him for a moment, wondering how on earth he had got the information. Briefly, she considered fainting dead away on the velvet sofa, but rejected that dramatic idea, feeling that it was somehow un-befitting a woman of her strength of character. Anyway, it would only prolong the inevitable. She might as well get it over with.
So she remained upright and heard herself telling the truth in a calm, steady voice that hardly seemed her own, making as much of her brother’s involvement as she dared and even going so far as to attribute the idea of poisoning the old lady to him.
“He was the one who remembered seeing the stories about Florence Maybrick in the newspapers,” she said, applying her white handkerchief to her eyes. “I told him it was a cruel, heartless scheme, but he insisted.” She delicately suppressed a sob. “You have no idea how obstinate my brother can be when he wants something. And he wanted Lady Longford’s fortune. I was powerless—utterly powerless—to resist him.”
When she had said all that could be said, Emily was called in. The foolish girl, weeping stormily, was compelled to repeat what she had already told Miss Potter—about the “medicine,” whilst the captain wrote everything down and asked Emily to sign it. Then Emily pointed the captain and Mr. Heelis to the wastepaper basket where Miss Martine had discarded what remained of the flypapers she had stolen from Mrs. Beever’s pantry, not imagining that anyone would understand their significance.
“Thank you for your honesty, Emily,” the captain said, folding the girl’s statement and putting it into his pocket. “Lady Longford has cause to be grateful, as well.”
Emily threw a sidelong glance at Miss Martine. “Does this mean that I won’t be going to London to be a maid in a fine house?” she asked in a tearful whisper.
“What do you think, you foolish girl?” Miss Martine snapped. She lifted her chin. “How could I recommend you for a responsible position after the way you have betrayed me?”
“And you can thank your lucky stars for that, Emily,” Mr. Heelis said firmly, as Captain Woodcock took Miss Martine by the arm and began to lead her away. “You would not be happy in London, with all the smoke and dirt and noise. And Miss Martine certainly had no intention of getting you a good position. She only wanted to get you out of here, so you wouldn’t be able to tell what you saw.”
“What is this commotion?” demanded Lady Longford icily, coming down the hall toward them, dressed in her dressing gown and leaning on her stick. “Mr. Heelis, what is the meaning of this? Emily, why are you sniveling so disgracefully? And why does Captain Woodcock have his hand on Miss Martine’s arm? Does he think she is going to fly away?” She pounded her stick on the floor. “Miss Martine, I demand to know why these gentlemen have invaded my home!”
“If you will permit me, ma’am,” Heelis replied, stepping forward, “I will tell you the full story. It is not a pretty one, I am afraid. But bear with me whilst I—”
Still talking quietly, he accompanied Lady Longford in the direction of her sitting room, leaving Captain Woodcock to take official custody of Miss Martine and the poisonous flypapers, and to tell Emily that her presence would be required before the magistrates, where she would be obliged to repeat under oath what she had seen.
“Before the magistrates?” Emily whispered, her eyes widening. “Oh, my gracious! Oh, my stars! Under oath?” She gulped. “Whatever shall I wear?”
“You are a stupid fool, Emily,” said Miss Martine, in the cruelest tone she could summon.
31
Miss Potter Feels Muscular
It had been a very long day, Will Heelis thought, as he finished his pub dinner at the Tower Bank Arms. A fine dinner, in fact—nothing at all wrong with the steak and kidney pie that Ruth Safford had served him, or the blackberry cobbler and coffee that had finished off the meal. He leaned back in his chair, took out his pipe, and began to think about all the things that had happened that day, from the early-morning breakfast with Miss Potter and Caroline, to the arrest of the Wentworth sister and brother, now installed in the Hawkshead jail, awaiting arraignment. It had been a long day, a day full of surprises, and it wasn’t over yet.
Ten minutes later, Will had paid for his dinner and was standing on the front steps of the Arms, when he looked up to see Miss Potter coming down the hill, on her way from Hill Top Farm. There was mud on her skirt and dust on her jacket, and she was swinging her hat in one hand as she walked, whistling under her breath.
Will tipped his bowler hat courteously. “Good evening, Miss Potter.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, and her hand went to her mouth. “I didn’t see you, Mr. Heelis.”
“I’m sorry to have startled you.” He went toward her, noticing how pretty she was when she was flustered. “I wonder if you’ve heard what happened today?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been occupied with Hill Top affairs since I left you this morning.” She put on her hat. “I am sorry to tell you that Mr. Biddle and I have come to a parting of the ways. I am tired of being terrorized and bullied by a man in my employ. I have paid him for his work and discharged him.”
“Sorry to tell me! Why, I’m delighted, Miss Potter. Good for you!” Will had known Bernard Biddle for at least ten years, and he was aware that the man had harassed and intimidated almost everyone who hired him. No one would hire him if he weren’t the only building contractor between Windermere and Hawkshead. “I trust that you are feeling comfortable about what you have done,” he added.
“If you want to know the truth, Mr. Heelis, I am feeling muscular,” Miss Potter replied smartly. “It is surely wicked, and I suppose that some would say I have behaved badly. But it gives one strength to say exactly what one thinks to another, particularly when that other is a man who expects one to curl up and cry.”
Will couldn’t help chuckling. “Really, Miss Potter, you are an amazing person.”
Her cheeks were pink, but she was smiling as she looked up at him. “What I need to do is find another contractor—someone who does not feel that taking orders from a woman reduces him to something a little lower than the earthworms. There is a man in Kendal, I understand. I intend to go and talk to him tomorrow.” She paused. “Now, tell me, please, Mr. Heelis. What happened today?”
Will told her, in every detail, and had the pleasure of seeing her very blue eyes widen as the story went along. He concluded with: “And that, I believe, is the end of that ominous scheme. The Wentworths are in custody, and Lady Longford has accepted the situation—with understandable bitterness, of course, at having been so thoroughly duped and so dangerously victimized. She believes, Miss Potter, that you saved her life.”
Now the blue eyes were very wide, and the color very high. “I?” she exclaimed. “But I did nothing—except a bit of eavesdropping.”
“Now, now, Miss Potter,” he chided. “Accept the credit, for it is certainly due. Underneath that crusty exterior, Lady Longford has a good heart. I have high hopes that she will come to accept her granddaughter, over time.” He paused. “I have not yet taken Caroline back to the Manor—she seems to be enjoying herself in Miss Barwick’s bakery—but I plan to do so tomorrow.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Miss Potter said decidedly. “If there is any way I can help, be sure to call on me.” A shadow crossed her face. “And if you happen to hear that my orange guinea pig has been found, I should be very grateful if you would let me know. I don’t hold out much hope, for he was last seen on Holly How, a dangerous place for a very little creature. He’s probably already made a mouthful for an owl or a fox.”
Will put his hat back on his head. “I shall indeed be on the lookout for him,” he said gravely, and adde
d, feeling suddenly shy, “I am on my way to the Woodcocks’ for the evening. The captain and I are going out later—we have an engagement in Far Sawrey—but in the interim, we will probably play cards and chat. Miss Woodcock will be there, of course. I wonder . . . would you care to join us?”
Miss Potter looked down at her hands, then away. She seemed to consider the invitation for a moment, but shook her head. “Thank you, no,” she said. “Mrs. Crook is expecting me to supper. Besides, I’m not much of a card player.”
From the look he saw in her eyes before she glanced away, Will had the idea that there was more to it than that. But there was no point in pursuing the matter, so he swallowed his disappointment and gave her a smile and a nod.
The two of them walked together as far as the path to the Woodcocks’ house, where they said goodnight. He stood and watched her as she walked up the street, bareheaded, her stride firm and energetic. Felt muscular for having given old Biddle the boot, did she? Really, a most remarkable woman.
32
We Few, We Band of Brothers
At midsummer, in the Lake District, darkness does not fall until well after ten o’clock, so Will Heelis and Miles Woodcock, with Miss Woodcock, played three-handed bridge and discussed the events of the day.
At ten o’clock, as previously arranged, Constable Braithwaite appeared. Miss Woodcock excused herself, and the three men held a quiet but intense consultation. Having received his instructions, the constable left, and fifteen minutes later, there was a tap at the side entry and Charlie appeared, looking just as seedy as he had the day before, and with the same rank odor of ale, garlic, and onions hanging about him like a malodorous cloud.
The Tale of Holly How Page 23
