The Affair of the Bloodstained Egg Cosy

by James Anderson

  Ten seconds passed before Lord Burford said: 'Coming here. Disturbin' things. Having to be entertained. Shown round. Talked to. Not understandin' English all over the place. Deuced unsportin' of Rich to foist 'em on us. I blame your mother, I'd have said no.'

  'You wouldn't - any more than you did to Algy.'

  'Well, no, p'raps I wouldn't. But I'd have said yes in a grumblin' manner. Algy Fotheringay's different. No one can keep him away when he decides to pay a visit. He's like a 'flu germ.'

  'Well, what about the Peabodys? You invited them, too.'

  'Couldn't very well get out of it. Been correspondin' with the feller for donkey's years. When he wrote saying they were coming to England and he'd like an opportunity of examinin' me collection I had no choice. But I didn't want 'em here.'

  'You'll thoroughly enjoy having them. You love showing off your guns.'

  'Not to Peabody. I know these Americans. He'll keep insistin' how much better his stuff is, and crowing over this new piece he's picked up in Italy. Yankees!'

  'I thought he was a Texan.'

  'He is. Why?'

  'I don't think he'd take very kindly to being called a Yankee.'

  'Why not?'

  'A Yankee's an American from the northern states. Even you must know Texas is in the south.'

  'Oh, I can't be bothered with these fine distinctions. Americans - Yankees - foreigners: they're all the same. I don't mind entertainin', but I like to choose me guests. And I like 'em to be English. But when the party consists of two central Europeans, two Yankees, and the only two Englishmen are some septic civil servant and Algy Fotheringay, it makes a chap feel like emigratin'.'

  'Perk up. Jane's coming too, remember? You like her.'

  'Course I do. Charming gal. Wish all your chums were as presentable. She doesn't make up for the others, though. I think we're in for a ghastly few days; and you know one of the worst things about it? However gruesome things get, I won't be able to blame your mother. She didn't invite one of 'em.'

  'Perhaps she'll meet somebody up in town today and ask them down.'

  'If she does, it'll be somebody absolutely charming, who'll be personally responsible for saving the weekend from complete disaster. You mark my words.'

  * * *

  'Excuse me, but it is Lady Burford, isn't it?'

  The Countess of Burford paused in her leisurely examination of Messrs Harrod's furnishing fabrics and surveyed the speaker through her lorgnette. He was a tall, bronzed young man with deep-set blue eyes, and he was smiling at her engagingly.

  'It is.' She looked for a few seconds, then her face cleared. 'Of course. You're Lucy Arbuthnot's nephew.'

  'My word, you've a good memory.'

  'For faces. I can never remember names.'

  'Giles Deveraux.'

  'Of course. We met at her Yorkshire place about three years ago.'

  'That's right. How are you, Lady Burford?'

  'I'm very well, thank you.'

  'And the Earl - and Lady Geraldine?'

  'They're both in excellent health, I'm thankful to say. You're looking extremely fit. Been abroad?'

  'Yes, for several months.'

  'Lucky you.'

  'It was far from pure pleasure. My work keeps me on the move.'

  'Oh, of course, you're in the Navy, aren't you?'

  'Was, I left a couple of years ago. I'm by way of being a writer now.'

  'Indeed? What sort of things do you write?'

  'All sorts. Bit of freelance journalism. Travel books. Guide books.'

  'And what is the current project?'

  Deveraux hesitated. 'Um, well, I'm about to start on a hectic series of country house visits in connection with a commission I've received.'

  'Oh?' Lady Burford fixed him with an enquiring gaze.

  Deveraux seemed a little embarrassed. 'Actually, I've been asked to write a book on famous British houses - one of a series. Each one will cover a different period - Elizabethan, Queen Anne, Georgian, and so on.'

  'And which period are you dealing with?'

  Deveraux cleared his throat. 'Er, late Stuart.'

  'I see.' Lady Burford looked at him somewhat grimly. 'And why isn't Alderley being included? It's the finest smaller Carolean mansion in England.'

  'Unfortunately, the houses have been more or less selected by now—'

  'Which ones?'

  'Well, Eltham Lodge, Ramsbury, Honington, Belton—'

  Lady Burford interrupted with a snort. 'You must be out of your mind! Some of those places aren't in the same class as Alderley.'

  'Well, that's a matter of opinion—'

  'Fiddlesticks! It's not a matter of opinion: it's a matter of fact. You ever been to Alderley?'

  'No, I've seen pictures of it.'

  Lady Burford dismissed pictures with a gesture of contempt. 'You definitely committed to include certain houses and no others?'

  'Not really. There's nothing about it in the contract.'

  'Then you must come and see Alderley. Don't make up your mind until you've been. I guarantee that afterwards you'll agree Alderley's got to be included. How about it?'

  'It's very kind of you. But I'm afraid my time has been very carefully allocated. At the end of next week I'm off to Eltham, and from then on it's a different house every few days until the end of October - and my publishers want the manuscript by the New Year.'

  'I see.' Lady Burford thought for a few seconds. Then she said: 'What about this coming weekend?'

  Deveraux hesitated again. 'I haven't made any firm arrangements. I was hoping to do some sailing . . .'

  'You must come to us. Now don't argue. You'll be under no obligation to include Alderley afterwards if you don't want to. But you must see the place and talk to my husband before you make up your mind. Will you?'

  'Well,' Deveraux smiled, 'if you insist.'

  'That's settled, then. We are giving a small house party, anyway, so it'll fit in quite nicely. Thursday suit you? That's when most of the others are arriving.'

  'Thursday will be admirable.'

  'Trains at quarter-past ten, twelve, two, and four from Paddington. Takes about two hours. Tell the guard to stop at Alderley Halt. It's an old right we've got.'

  'Actually, I shall probably motor down.'

  'Well, it's easy enough to find. Look forward to seeing you. 'Bye.'

  'Good bye, Lady Burford. And many thanks.'

  Deveraux watched Lady Burford walk briskly away. Then he strolled off in the other direction. He gave a little smile to himself. 'Well, my boy,' he muttered under his breath, 'congratulations, I must say you arranged that very nicely indeed.'

  * * *

  Richard Saunders eyed the man who was sitting opposite him, fastidiously sipping coffee out of a Crown Derby cup. Then he pushed an open box of cigarettes across his desk. 'Cigarette, Thornton?'

  'Thank you, no, Minister. I do not smoke.'

  Richard took one himself and lit it before saying: 'I asked you here this morning because I thought it would be a good thing if we got together for a chat about the weekend. I wondered if you have any advance thoughts about these talks.'

  Edward Thornton put down his cup, took out a white linen handkerchief and carefully wiped his lips. Then he said: 'None of any importance, I'm afraid, Minister.'

  He was a tall, thin individual, wearing pince-nez and a wing collar. There was little in his personality to impress. Yet Richard knew him to have a reputation as one of the Foreign Office's best negotiators - a man of icy logic, decisive speech, and prodigious memory.

  Thornton said: 'As I see it, the negotiations should be relatively straightforward. After all, there is no clash of interests involved. HMG and the Grand Duke want basically the same thing.'

  'The details may be tricky, though. That's where you're going to come in especially.'

  'I feel confident I am adequately prepared and can advise you with a high degree of accuracy.'

  'Good man. Just talking to you makes me feel happier. As you kno
w, I'm very much a new boy at this sort of thing. But I don't think you'll let me make too many floaters.'

  Thornton smiled thinly. 'I do flatter myself that I have saved the reputation of more than one minister in the past. But I do not expect to be called upon to do so on this occasion.'

  'I hope you're right,' said Richard.

  * * *

  Merryweather, Lord Burford's venerable and stately butler, sat in his pantry and ticked names off his list. Mr. and Mrs. Peabody, the Royal Suite; the European gentlemen, the Cedar and the Blue bedrooms; Miss Jane her usual; Mr. Fotheringay, the Green; Mr. Deveraux, the Grey; Mr. Thornton, the Regency; and Mr. Evans, the Dutch. All the rooms ready. Everything done.

  Merryweather read through the list once more, and suddenly a strange feeling of uneasiness smote him. There was something wrong with this house party. It was in a way different from any of the others, the many, many others, which he had supervised at Alderley. The guests were too diverse, too disparate. Most of them were strangers to each other, and even to the Family. There weren't enough ladies, either, which made the seating at table awkward. And speaking of that . . .

  Merryweather made a quick count of the guests. Yes, there would be thirteen to dinner. It was the last-minute addition of this Mr. Deveraux that had caused it. The Family wouldn't mind; but it was to be hoped none of the guests was superstitious. Had her ladyship realised? Perhaps he should point it out to her.

  Merryweather got to his feet. He found himself hoping her ladyship would find an additional guest. For thirteen to sit down this evening would somehow set the party off on quite the wrong foot. And he couldn't help feeling that the weekend was handicapped enough already, without further troubles being added to it . . .

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jane's Journey

  It always gave Jane a kind of thrill to tip the guard and loftily instruct him to have the train stopped at Alderley Halt. It seemed so delightfully feudal and anachronistic. So it was with a slight disappointment that she heard him reply cheerfully: 'That's all right, miss. We're stopping there anyway. There are some other passengers for Alderley on the train.'

  But he took her hard-earned shilling nonetheless. Jane found an empty compartment and leaned back in a corner neat, reflecting that it was a pity she'd mentioned it. On the oilier hand, she was forewarned now. For one of the other passengers for Alderley might well be Algy Fotheringay, and it would be ghastly if he spotted her and she was stuck with his company all the way. But she probably didn't need to worry: Algy would certainly be travelling first class and wouldn't deign to enter her humble third class compartment. In fact, she thought, with a momentary and uncharacteristic twinge of bitterness, it was probably rare for any but first class passengers to have the train stopped at Alderley.

  It was horrible to be poor. Especially when your family had once been rich and influential. It had been in her grandfather's day that things had really started to go wrong. It was almost frightening, looking back, to see how quickly a family fortune could shrink. Her father, an only child, might have been able to retrieve the situation. But he had been a charming and impractical dilettante, who had never really woken up to the fact that he was becoming poor. His wife and family had not realised it, but the cost of giving Jane and her younger sister Jennifer a good education, and enabling them to do the London season, had almost bankrupted him. He had died suddenly, almost penniless and uninsured.

  Mrs. Clifton and her daughters, then twenty and eighteen, had found themselves in great difficulties. They had raised some capital by selling both the country home near Bath and the town house, and had rented a smaller one just outside London. But it had been clear that they would not be able to live on this money for long, and that at least one of the girls would have to get a job.

  Jennifer had been fortunate. She had been the beauty of the season the previous year, and at school had shone in theatricals. She had decided to try her luck on the stage. She could afford no formal training, but her looks and a natural talent had stood her in good stead. After a few months in provincial repertory, and a cameo part in a talkie by the promising young director Alfred Hitchcock, she had got her big break: the chance of going on a long tour of the United States with a leading Shakespearian company. Jennifer had jumped at the opportunity.

  With the tour half over, she had died suddenly.

  It had fallen to Jane to break the news to her mother that Jennifer had succumbed to a rare disease and been buried in the mid-west of America.

  Mrs. Clifton had never really recovered from her husband's death, and the new shock had been too much for her. She suffered an immediate heart attack and died eight weeks later.

  A distraught Jane, who in at little over eighteen months had seen her whole world collapse, had tried to drown her grief with gaiety. She had joined up with a set of the so-called bright young things and had lived wildly for twelve months.

  She had gone through about half her money when, one day, on a visit to Somerset, she had run into one of her father's ex-gardeners. He had told her that his young son was dangerously ill. There was no hope for him - unless by a miracle he could be taken to Vienna for a new operation perfected by an Austrian surgeon.

  Jane had seen the family's doctor, checked with her bank, and agreed to pay all the expenses.

  The operation was completely successful. But Jane had been cleaned out: she had no choice but to get a job.

  This, however, had not turned out to be so easy. She was without qualifications, and she shied away from the usual sort of position taken up by girls of her class in similar circumstances - nursery governess or paid companion. Eventually she had obtained a post as a hotel receptionist -only to walk out after one week when the manager made a pass at her. Then she had moved to the country to become an instructress at a riding school. This had gone well until one day she had seen a pupil, the seventeen-year-old daughter of a rich company promoter with a large family of potential clients, viciously beating a troublesome horse. Jane had snatched the whip and used it to give three or four vigorous thwacks across the back of the girl's riding jacket.

  In London again, Jane had got work with an antique dealer. This had lasted until she had discovered she was expected to ask certain customers to pay with two cheques - but to enter only one in the books. Finally had come Mayfair Modes. It was not the sort of job Jane had ever imagined herself doing - but she had been getting desperate. Almost from the first, however, she had known she wouldn't stick it long. In a way the blow-up with Bottway had come as a relief - even though she had put herself in a terrible stew financially.

  But she wouldn't think of that this weekend. She was going to enjoy herself, pretend she was accustomed to ease and plenty and forget that in a few days she'd have to start looking for a job again.

  It would be good to be back at Alderley. Like going home. Her visits there, and her friendship with the family, had been the one unchanging feature of her life. And, thank heaven, the weather had cleared up. After a long hot spell it had rained heavily that morning and Jane had feared that a wet period had set in; but now it was lovely again, and all the fresher for the rain. Jane stared out of the window and watched the city give way to suburbs, and the suburbs in their turn to soft green meadows.

  When at last the train puffed into Alderley Halt, Jane heaved her two small cases down from the rack, jumped out, and, without waiting for a porter, ran awkwardly with them to the barrier. She stopped, and glanced back; she wanted to see who else alighted. Two men were getting down from a first class compartment. Jane gave a puzzled frown, then her face changed, as from another compartment the figure of Algernon Fotheringay emerged. He was wearing a blazer in two-inch wide red and yellow stripes and the most voluminous plus-fours Jane had ever seen. She turned and hurried out to the sleepy station yard.

  Lord Burford's Rolls Royce was waiting there, the liveried figure of the chauffeur Hawkins, an old ally of Jane from her schoolgirl days, standing beside it. Jane walked across. 'Hullo, Hawkins.'
>
  Hawkins touched his cap and permitted himself a discreet smile of welcome. 'Good afternoon, Miss Jane.' He came forward and took her cases from her.

  'How are you, Hawkins?'

  'Nicely, thank you, miss.'

  'Hawkins, who were you expecting to meet?'

  'Yourself and three gentlemen, miss: two foreign gentlemen - Mr. Adler and Mr. Felman - and Mr. Fotheringay.'

  'They'll be out in a minute. I think I'd prefer to walk. I'll take the short cut. Tell her ladyship I'm on my way, will you?'

  'Very good, miss.'

  Carrying just her bag, Jane started off briskly. The station was about a quarter of a mile from the quaint, old-world village of Alderley itself. Jane walked along the single street, passing the Rose & Crown, Jenkins's Garage, and the half dozen shops, and out the other side onto a quiet country lane. Shortly she came to a stile on the left. She clambered over it and set out across the field along a footpath - just as the Rolls passed along the lane behind her.

  Five minutes later Jane topped a rise, climbed over a low wall that marked the boundary of the Burford estate, and looked down on one of her favourite sights - Alderley itself, solid and serene, flanked by its outbuildings and surrounded by the tree-dotted park, the lake, which at one point came within thirty yards of the house, the beech copse, and the home farm half a mile beyond. All was spread out below her like a perfect miniature model, and Jane just stood looking down in sheer pleasure.

  From here the house, which was built basically in the form of three sides of a rectangle, looked like a reversed capital E with the centre bar missing. It was three storeys tall, but outwards from both top and bottom bars of the E - the east and west wings - a two-storey extension projected.