“Quite so, Cassandra. But they did not marry Richard Ward.”
“So?”
“So when I married Richard I took the name Philippa Crichton-Ward.”
“Just to be posh.”
“No, not just to be posh, thank you. And had I realised sooner I perhaps would have changed my mind.”
“Realised what?”
“That Lady Penelope’s full name in that dreadful puppet show was Lady Penelope Crichton-Ward. My childhood nickname came full circle to haunt me.”
Chapter 5.
“That’s the hospital Lee was in.” DC Barry Taylor nodded at the television slung high above the bar. Local news.
DC Jez Harris glanced up disinterestedly. “The Halo. All that fancy design and so-called latest medical tech and they still couldn’t save him. A waste of tax-payers money if you ask me.”
Taylor shrugged, fielding memories of his late colleague. “The tax payer didn’t foot the bill. And they never said they could perform miracles, be fair. A knife through the vitals ain’t ever gonna be curable. The miracle was they kept him alive as long as they did.”
Harris nursed his beer thoughtfully, the TV screen forgotten. “D’ya think he heard any of us? Knew we were there for him, like?”
Taylor shrugged again. “Who knows. But if you’ve gotta be on life support before you go I can think of worst places. I’ve never known a hospital like it.”
It was Harris’s turn to shrug. “Wouldn’t know. Last time I was in hospital I was five years old. Appendicitis. Not planning on going back, either.”
“What about when Nikki and her brother coshed ya?”
Harris cringed at the memory. “That was five minutes in A&E. That doesn’t count. Not like when you had an overnight when the Huntsman took you out.”
Taylor sat up indignantly. “He did not take me out. I threw myself in front of a bullet in the line of duty, to protect a fellow officer, namely young Tex.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Yeah, well you were out cold in the gents’ bogs, so you wouldn’t know.”
“Only because my back-up man wasn’t on the ball.”
“Hey, I saved the day, remember. Got that bloody pomme rouge back while you were getting nursed by Anna. Come to think of it, that’s twice you’ve been out cold and Anna’s been on the scene.”
“That nurse who was looking after Lee Roberts was called Anna, too,” Harris said, determined to change the subject.
“Forget it. She’s engaged.”
“How would you know?”
“Brenda told me.”
“How would she know?”
“She works there.”
Harris spluttered beer back into his glass. “What, your Brenda’s a nurse?”
“Don’t be a prat. She’s a hygiene and contamination control technician.”
“A cleaner, you mean?”
“Shut it.”
Chapter 6.
“If we’ve time on the way home we’re going to pop in to your grandma’s and see if she’s got any photos of your great-grand parents hidden away.”
Ruby was wide-eyed with bemusement. “What did they do that was great?”
Ella laughed. “That’s not what it means, Tues. It’s like, Grandma is Mum’s mum, right? So our great-grandma was Mum’s mum’s mum.”
“Exactly right, Els,” Red said. “And we might get to see some pics of Mum on the beach at Margate if we’re really lucky.”
“Pictures, Cassandra, not pics. For goodness sake.” Pippa stretched her arms out, enjoying the attention of her offspring. “Your Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa lived just across the way in Greenwich, children. Great-Grandpa worked at the Maritime Museum. Great-Grandma and I often sat under this very tree, waiting for Great-Grandpa to finish work.”
“This tree?” Ruby looked up in wonderment. “Is this tree very old too?”
“Even older than Mum,” Red said. “If such a thing is possible. Trees can be hundreds of years old. I bet some weird and wonderful things have happened beneath these branches.”
Jack surveyed the landscape. “I doubt it. It’s all grass. Not even like a proper park with a boating pool or anything.”
“There’s a reason for that, Jack,” Pippa said. “Great-Grandma used to regularly regale me with stories and legends about Blackheath.”
Red leaned back, crossing her arms behind her head, watching the clouds roll by. “Rubes here was telling me you told her Blackheath had something to do with that ring-a-ring o-roses rhyme we were singing. So what was that all about?”
“Really, Cass, you are so ignorant of your own heritage. Your country’s history.”
Red shrugged. “Britain’s past ain’t nowt to be proud of, Counsellor. Rape and pillage, slavery and exploitation. Isn’t that how Britain ruled the waves?”
“This is no time for left-wing revisionist history lessons, Cassandra.”
Red pulled a face. “Whatever that means.”
“Mummy said people ate roses and sneezed until they died,” Ruby said solemnly. “And then the rats ate them.”
Pippa gently took Ruby’s hand. “Actually, sweetheart I think you will find that’s not quite what I said.”
“Is this one of Great-Grandma’s old wives’ tales?” Red asked.
“It was Great-Grandma who introduced me to the story, yes, but I believe it is widely accepted.”
“What, that people sneezed to death and got eaten by rats? Be serious.”
“Cass, as a high-ranking detective you should know to acquire the full story before jumping to conclusions.”
Red grinned. “We’re all ears, Counsellor, regale us.”
“But not the history bit, Mum,” Ella protested. “I get enough of that at school.”
“Yeah, just tell us about everyone being eaten by rats,” Jack encored. “That sounds well cool!”
Pippa shook her head in disbelief. “You children… Where did I go wrong? History was one of my favourite subjects when I was at school.”
“Yeah, but there was a lot less history to learn back in those days,” Red said.
“And I love you too, Cassandra.” To the children, “How would you feel about having a picnic in a cemetery?”
“Gross,” said Ella. “No way.”
“So you wouldn’t care to eat your crusty rolls and butter while sitting on someone’s grave?”
“I’d rather starve,” Jack said.
“Me too,” Ella agreed. “I could never at anything surrounded by dead people.”
Pippa rubbed her hands theatrically. “Excellent. That’s more for you and I, Cassandra. And Ruby, of course. In fact, Cass, shall we make a start. Pass me Ella’s roll. You can have Jack’s.”
“Hey! That’s not fair!” Ella and Jack declared in unison.
“On the contrary, you said you would not wish to picnic in a cemetery. But that’s exactly what Blackheath is. A gigantic graveyard. There are dead bodies right beneath where you are sitting.”
Ella jumped up, holding herself rigid. “Where?”
Jack stared at the ground. “Cool!”
Ruby looked thoughtful. “Will they come alive at Halloween?”
“Of course not, Rubes,” Red reassured the child. “Mum’s just joking with you, gorgeous.”
“No, not at all,” Pippa said. “The Great Plague of 1665. Sixty thousand people died, and those that died in London were buried here on Blackheath. That’s why there is no construction on Blackheath, because for many centuries it was feared the plague might be revived if anything was built here.”
Red scanned the grassland. “That’s one big cemetery, Counsellor.”
“Bigger than this. The bodies were so numerous the graves continued along the south bank of the Thames, into Kent. They stopped at the place we now call Gravesend.”
“Which is why it’s called Gravesend!” Ella beamed at her mother. “Wow, Mum, you should have been a history teacher.”
Pippa looked horrified at the t
hought. “And live in abject poverty all my life on a teacher’s salary? No thank you.”
“I bet they do come alive, Tues,” Jack said to his little sister. “Every Halloween the dead walk the streets of London.”
“Jack, that’s enough,” Pippa said curtly. And will you please not call Ruby Tues. How many more times?”
“Yes, Jack,” Red said solemnly. “Do as Lady Penelope asks.”
Pippa sniffed. “Yes, thank you, Cassandra. I can always rely on you to uphold my authority. Not.”
“Have a roll, Counsellor.” Red thrust the sandwich box across the picnic blanket. “So where does ring-a-ring o’roses come into the story then?”
Pippa selected the crustiest roll before handing the box to the children. “Your young teeth aren’t strong enough for these extra-crusty rolls,” she explained lamely.
“Anyway, as I was saying, the Great Plague was actually carried by fleas. The fleas would bite you and you would then die a horrible death, though not one that involved sneezing. The fleas in turn were carried by rats. At the time London’s streets were tiny and cramped, and there were no sewers or waste disposal. People just threw their waste –even toilet waste – into the streets.”
Ella stared at her roll. “Mum! I’m eating!”
“I’ll have yours, Els,” Jack said.
Pippa chose to ignore the bickering. “London was simply filthy in those days. A perfect breeding ground for the rats that carried the fleas that carried the plague. But no-one knew it was the rats and fleas. Even the best doctors believed the disease was air-borne, so they filled their pockets with, and wore masks full of, flowers and herbs in the hope of warding off the plague. Which of course had no effect whatsoever. Those wearing the protective masks were in fact just as vulnerable as everyone else.”
“That explains the rose and the pocket full of posies,” Red said. “But you inferred the plague didn’t involve sneezing.”
“I get it!” Ella triumphantly waved her arms in the air. “The flowers in the masks made people sneeze, and then they caught the plague anyway and fell down dead.”
“A-tishoo! A-tishoo! We all fall down!” Ruby chimed in.
“But if they didn’t know what caused the plague, how did they cure it?”
“The Great Fire of London, of course.”
Red sighed. “Of course. Silly me. How obvious!”
Pippa smiled indulgently. “The Great Fire of 1666 pretty much levelled the city. Everything had to be rebuilt. And thanks to Sir Christopher Wren and his ilk the new city was much cleaner, more spacious place, with less opportunity for rats to breed. And of course Sir Christopher also rebuilt St. Paul’s Cathedral, even though his actual job was as an astronomer, not an architect.”
“You know, Counsellor,” Red said, “Ella’s right. You probably would make a good teacher.”
Pippa beamed. “So, your homework tonight, children, and you Cassandra, is to write a poem about the Great Plague.”
“Aw, Mum!”
Chapter 7.
“Brenda thinks my spag bol is to die for,” Taylor said proudly.
“At least she works in the right place if she gets food poisoning,” Harris grinned. “If she exists, that is. If she isn’t just another figment of Barry Taylor’s vivid imagination.”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“Well, no-one’s actually seen her yet. You go on about her like she’s Paris Hilton’s older sister, but you’ve never introduced her to the lads. Why couldn’t she come with you today?”
“Some people have to work for a living, Jez. Not a concept you’d be familiar with, I know. And Bren’ works shifts, so it’s not that often we’re both off at the same time. When it does happen I want her to myself.”
“Have you told her you’re a cop?”
“It’s only been a month.” Taylor swiped the back of his hand across his lips. “I didn’t want to scare her off. My last relationship was a mess because of my job. I don’t wanna jinx this one.”
“No. Your last relationship was a mess because you couldn’t keep your pecker in your pants, not because you’re a detective.” Harris slammed his empty glass on the bar, beaming at Taylor.
“Yeah, well at least my bird isn’t living with her brother and…”
The smile dropped from Harris’s face. “Nor’s mine any more.”
“Sorry.” Taylor looked genuinely apologetic. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I deserved it.” Harris leaned across the bar. “Same again, treacle.”
“Last one for me,” Taylor said.
“What, seeing Brenda this afternoon?”
“No such luck. Not till tomorrow night. I’ll tell her about the job then.”
“Forget Brenda, Baz. This is the next best thing. Make sure you’re standing up when Lindsay brings the drinks. You can see right down her top when she leans forward.”
Taylor waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve got Brenda, Jez. I don’t need to spy no bar-tart’s tits to get my cheap thrills.”
The barmaid approached with the drinks. “Here you go, boys.”
Taylor stood up. “I’ll get these, Jez.” He held out a tenner just far enough that the barmaid has to lean over to reach it. “There you go, Lindsay. Have one yourself.”
Harris grinned like a naughty schoolboy as he watched Taylor leer. “Last one, did you say, Baz?”
Taylor gave the question half a second’s deep consideration. “A couple more then. Might as well get bladdered. Then if we get called in, we can say we’re too pissed to respond.”
Chapter 8.
“A beautiful autumnal day and not a villain in sight,” Pippa sighed, one eye on Ruby and Ella, the other on Red’s mobile. “I do hope that thing is still switched off, as per our agreement.”
“Have I ever let you down, Counsellor?” Red shoved the phone across the picnic blanket. “See for yourself. I told the team I’d be incommunicado today and Barry and Jez said they’d be on stand-by if anything crops up.”
“One had best pray nothing crops up, then. Surely the responsibility should have been delegated to someone with more sense than those two reprobates? Isn’t James Mackenzie your number two now?”
“His mother’s sick again. Not long for this world, I fear. I couldn’t lumber him on a Sunday. It’s the only day his whole family can be there together.”
“Anna, then?”
“She’d already made arrangements. She and Jason are having a meal at Casa Dracula’s.”
Pippa smiled at the memory. “At least we can be sure Nikki Marshall won’t be there next time we go.”
Red shot a glance at Pippa. “Next time? I thought you hated it?”
“Well, it wasn’t the most convivial evening we’ve had out together, Cass, but I think that was more the company we found ourselves in than the Count’s establishment per se.”
“Don’t go spouting Latin at me, Counsellor. We’ve already had a history lesson. It’s too early for brain strain.”
“Cass, it’s almost noon. And a working knowledge of Latin is a prerequisite for anyone who aspires to—”
Red raised a hand to quell the semantics. She pointed across the park. “Look at little legs trying to keep up with Ella. Time we got her a proper bicycle, with stabilisers.”
“She’s growing up so quickly,” Pippa followed Red’s gaze. “They all are. Jack’s going to need a new bike soon, too.”
“I don’t think I can higher the seat much more, do you?”
“Well, I’ve assured Jack that if he does well in his end of terms tests, we will look at those new mountain bike contraptions for Christmas. Though why anyone would want a mountain bike in central London is quite beyond me. ”
Red was staring across the heath. “Hoodies at nine o’clock. I hope they’re not here to cause trouble.”
“Off duty, remember.”
Red rolled on to her side, facing away from the gang of youths in the distance.
“Off duty, Counsellor. Just don’t
go coming to me for help when they steal your picnic basket.”
Chapter 9.
The Huntsman pushed the bell a second time. A long hard ring. Through the glass panelled door of the tenement flat he saw a blurred figure approach. Saw a hand reach out to unlock. Watched the door pull open.
He smiled.
The smile wasn’t reciprocated. “You.” Joe Farmer ran a hand through what little hair he had left, looking bewildered. He looked down at his garish blue pyjamas. A sheepish grin. “I had a late night.”
The Huntsman pushed him aside. Stepped across the threshold and closed the door. “Any coffee?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Farmer said bluntly.
“Disturbing your beauty sleep, am I?”
“Supposing someone saw you?”
“Supposing you make some coffee.” The Huntsman thrust a finger into Farmer’s chest. “And put some bloody clothes on.”
Farmer set the kettle going and scurried into his bedroom to change. Feeling braver with the door between them he shouted, “What the hell did you come here for? Everyone’s looking for you.”
“Only the cops. The public don’t know me from Adam. And the last place the cops are going to look for me is here, at another copper’s house.”
“You still shouldn’t have come here.” Farmer appeared in the doorway, dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a grubby shirt. “You might have been tailed.”
“Be serious. Your lot couldn’t find me if I walked up and down Oxford Street wearing a sandwich board and shouting through a loud-hailer to come and get me.”
“Yeah, well I don’t want you here.”
The Huntsman flopped onto the sofa and flicked the remote. “I don’t recall anyone asking what you wanted. I do recall telling you I wanted coffee.”
“It’s coming. Gissa bloody chance.” Farmer made his way back to the kitchenette. Grabbed mugs and Nescafe. “I’ve got no milk.”
“It’s your lucky day. I like it black. No sugar. What happened to the phone I sent you.”
Saffina Desforges' ROSE RED Crime Thriller Boxed Set Page 66
