Merlin's Furlong
Page 1
Titles by Gladys Mitchell
Speedy Death (1929)
The Mystery of a Butcher’s Shop (1930)
The Longer Bodies (1930)
The Saltmarsh Murders (1932)
Death at the Opera (1934)
The Devil at Saxon Wall (1935)
Dead Men’s Morris (1936)
Come Away, Death (1937)
St Peter’s Finger (1938)
Printer’s Error (1939)
Brazen Tongue (1940)
Hangman’s Curfew (1941)
When Last I Died (1941)
Laurels Are Poison (1942)
Sunset Over Soho (1943)
The Worsted Viper (1943)
My Father Sleeps (1944)
The Rising of the Moon (1945)
Here Comes a Chopper (1946)
Death and the Maiden (1947)
The Dancing Druids (1948)
Tom Brown’s Body (1949)
Groaning Spinney (1950)
The Devil’s Elbow (1951)
The Echoing Strangers (1952)
Merlin’s Furlong (1953)
Faintley Speaking (1954)
On Your Marks (1954)
Watson’s Choice (1955)
Twelve Horses and the Hangman’s Noose (1956)
The Twenty-Third Man (1957)
Spotted Hemlock (1958)
The Man Who Grew Tomatoes (1959)
Say it With Flowers (1960)
The Nodding Canaries (1961)
My Bones Will Keep (1962)
Adders on the Heath (1963)
Death of a Delft Blue (1964)
Pageant of Murder (1965)
The Croaking Raven (1966)
Skeleton Island (1967)
Three Quick and Five Dead (1968)
Dance to Your Daddy (1969)
Gory Dew (1970)
Lament for Leto (1971)
A Hearse on May-Day (1972)
The Murder of Busy Lizzie (1973)
A Javelin for Jonah (1974)
Winking at the Brim (1974)
Convent on Styx (1975)
Late, Late in the Evening (1976)
Noonday and Night (1977)
Fault in the Structure (1977)
Wraiths and Changelings (1978)
Mingled with Venom (1978)
Nest of Vipers (1979)
The Mudflats of the Dead (1979)
Uncoffin’d Clay (1980)
The Whispering Knights (1980)
The Death-Cap Dancers (1981)
Lovers Make Moan (1981)
Here Lies Gloria Mundy (1982)
Death of a Burrowing Mole (1982)
The Greenstone Griffins (1983)
Cold, Lone and Still (1983)
No Winding Sheet (1984)
The Crozier Pharaohs (1984)
Gladys Mitchell writing as Malcolm Torrie
Heavy as Lead (1966)
Late and Cold (1967)
Your Secret Friend (1968)
Churchyard Salad (1969)
Shades of Darkness (1970)
Bismarck Herrings (1971)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © The Executors of the Estate of Gladys Mitchell 1953.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle, 2014
www.apub.com
First published Great Britain in 1953 by Michael Joseph.
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
E-ISBN: 9781477868966
A Note about This E-Book
The text of this book has been preserved from the original British edition and includes British vocabulary, grammar, style, and punctuation, some of which may differ from modern publishing practices. Every care has been taken to preserve the author’s tone and meaning, with only minimal changes to punctuation and wording to ensure a fluent experience for modern readers.
To Grace & Jules with love
Contents
Cast of Characters
CHAPTER ONE Merlin’s Uncle
CHAPTER TWO Merlin’s Doll
CHAPTER THREE Merlin’s Error
CHAPTER FOUR Merlin’s Folly
CHAPTER FIVE Merlin’s Jest
CHAPTER SIX Merlin’s Myrmidons
CHAPTER SEVEN Merlin’s Aunt
CHAPTER EIGHT Merlin’s Vivien
CHAPTER NINE Merlin’s Nephews
CHAPTER TEN Merlin’s Choice
CHAPTER ELEVEN Merlin’s Treasure
CHAPTER TWELVE Merlin’s Cat
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Merlin’s Fort
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Merlin’s Emissaries
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Merlin’s Apostates
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Merlin’s Answer
About the Author
Cast of Characters
Uncle Aumbrey. A crafty, disagreeable, and dishonest old man with four nephews, whom he maliciously plays against one another in the drawing up of his will.
Godfrey Aumbrey. The eldest nephew, a successful and prosperous lawyer who, until a recent revision, stood to inherit everything from his uncle.
Lewis Aumbrey. The other respectable (but less prosperous) nephew, an architect.
Richmond Aumbrey. An impoverished poet, whose wife must work to help support their family. None the less, he was once his uncle’s favourite nephew.
Frederick Aumbrey. The black sheep of the nephews, a gambler, inveterate moocher, and aspiring blackmailer.
Professor Havers. A strange old man who dabbles in all forms of witchcraft.
Peter Piper. One of a trio of adventuresome undergraduates, flippant and fond of kittens.
David Harrison. Another undergraduate, also twenty, languid and sensitive.
Polly Waite. A student of law, thirty-two years old and the group’s mastermind.
Dexter Catfield. A student who died a mysterious death.
Bluna. A black maid, formerly in the employ of Professor Havers.
Mr. S. Majestic. An educated black servant, also formerly employed by Havers, and engaged to Bluna.
Mrs. Beatrice Bradley. A well-known psychiatrist sleuth, interested in all things occult.
Inspector Ekkers. The investigating officer.
The Chief Constable. His superior, who frequently consults with Mrs. Bradley.
George. Mrs. Bradley’s resourceful chauffeur.
Laura Menzies. Mrs. Bradley’s lively niece and trusted secretary.
Célestine. Mrs. Bradley’s French maid, quite wise in the ways of the world.
Old Mr. Catfield. Young Dexter Catfield’s crotchety uncle.
Plus assorted servants, shopkeepers, policemen, and of course, Attila, the monkey.
CHAPTER ONE
Merlin’s Uncle
“The warp seemed necessity; and here, thought I, with my own hand I ply my own shuttle and weave my own destiny into these unalterable threads.”
—Herman Melville, Moby Dick
In the first-floor turret room of an ancient and dilapidated house sat two men. One, who wore a handsome, old-fashioned smoking jacket and its matching, ridiculous cap, was dictating the terms of his will; the other, a neatly dressed, clean-shaven, dark-visaged man of forty, was jotting down its provisions with the effortless efficiency of long practice. On his face, which in repose might have been grim, was a bland, self-congratulat
ory smile.
“It’s very good of you, Uncle,” he said at last, screwing the top on his pen and placing it in a narrow box which also held sealing-wax, a short taper, and a propelling pencil. “I only hope the others will not think I have exercised influence”.
“But you have exercised influence, my dear Godfrey,” said the testator. “Great influence. You have exercised the influence of being the only one of the otherwise jealous and snarling pack of my relatives who has ever troubled to show me the slightest sign of affection, of care in my illnesses, of sympathy with my aims, my ambitions, and my undoubted loneliness.”
“Oh, well, if that’s the case, Uncle, I’m very glad to have played my small part in making life tolerable for you. I know that since Aunt died…”
The benefactor raised a hand. It was a surprising hand for a gentleman of quality and education…large, coarse, and so hairy as to appear to be covered in fur. “Piltdown Man,” another of his nephews had once called the owner of this hand. The nephew had not been forgiven and his name was not included among his uncle’s beneficiaries, although, at that moment, he was staying in his uncle’s house.
“Your aunt,” said Piltdown Man, “was an exceptionally virtuous woman. But for her death, I might never have taken up my present extraordinary hobbies. In fact, I feel perfectly certain she would not have allowed me to do so.”
“I thought you had only one hobby. Aren’t you a collector of antiques, Uncle?” The younger man looked demure and politely enquiring.
The collector of antiques chuckled.
“With a difference, my boy, with a difference! And that is not my only hobby, either.”
“No?”
“No. And I must not forget that you are by profession wedded to the law. It would never do for me to tell you how I have come by most of my collection, nor what else I dabble in when I have the time to spare. But there’s one thing I will do. Whilst you get those provisions put into a form which can be signed and witnessed, I’ll go and get my latest treasure. It’s the best thing yet, and the acquisition of it has given me peculiar satisfaction. So get on, my boy, whilst I go and prise it from its strongbox.”
“You want me to draft your will now?”
“Certainly. It must be signed and witnessed this very night.”
Mr. Aumbry, the sole survivor of a generation of Aumbrys who had been noted eccentrics, was, on the surface, a surprisingly normal old man, but, as his four nephews, who, from time to time, were invited to stay with him, had reason to know, beneath his outwardly placid and (except for his telltale hands), his almost pontifical appearance, he concealed a distorted personality and a crafty, criminal mind.
The respectable lawyer Godfrey, his eldest nephew, looked at him in silence for an instant…not longer, for he did not care to have the old man read his thoughts. Then he bent his gaze on his papers again and said quietly:
“So these are the provisions of your will?”
“Certainly, my boy. So, you see, you have nothing to fear. When I die you will be a wealthy man.”
“But are you sure that, on thinking things over, you won’t want to make some alterations? There’s Lewis, for example. You haven’t mentioned him so far.” He shuffled his sheaf of notes.
“Neither shall I ever do so. Do you know what Lewis once called me?”
Godfrey did know, and had thought the title apt. He shook his head, however, preferring discretion to valor.
“Oh, well, I don’t think I’ll repeat it,” said his uncle. He stretched out his ugly, hairy hands and flexed and unflexed their thick and primitive fingers. “And don’t mention Richmond, either. Fate has dealt with him, I’m pleased to say.”
“He’s certainly very poor, and I think he’s tubercular, uncle.”
“All the better. I’ve no use at all for Richmond. Calls himself a poet! Expects to bring up those brats of his on doggerel! Lets his wife go out charring…”
“Shorthand-typing, isn’t it?”
“Tchah! Who cares what it is? Now you get my will set down properly, and when it’s signed and witnessed I’ll show you what I said I would. It’s unique and it’s priceless, and it was the apple of the fellow’s eye who had it last! There’s only one proviso. You must never tell anyone you’ve seen it, for I don’t propose to show it to the others.”
Godfrey was much too well trained in his profession to betray surprise. He nodded.
“Very well, uncle, if that’s your wish. The provisions of the will are also, naturally, secret?”
His uncle made no reply. He felt in the pocket of the smoking jacket and produced a small chain purse. Jigging this up and down in his hand, he went out of the room. Godfrey spread out his notes, took a piece of paper from his briefcase, unscrewed his pen, and set to work. He worked carefully and steadily for five minutes. The door behind him opened very slowly, an inch at a time, but he was absorbed and the intruder was very quiet. An upraised arm, a sudden, smashing blow, and the newcomer was scrambling the sheaf of notes together. In another instant he had gone, taking Godfrey’s briefcase with him.
Mr. Aumbry and three of his nephews were at dinner. Upstairs a pale and heavy-eyed Godfrey was facing a plate of chicken and coping as best he might with a severe headache.
Around the dining table were Frederick, Lewis and Richmond Aumbry. The last two were brothers, although there was no family likeness between them and they were men of widely different character. Lewis, the elder brother, was a man of thirty-five, of moderate build and with a quiet manner and a cool eye. He had trained as an architect and had been reasonably successful in a profession to which, in his modest way, he was devoted. He accepted his uncle’s fairly frequent invitations because he was genuinely sorry for the wicked and extraordinary old man. He was unmarried…the result of a girl’s tragic death during his third year at the University…and his strongest feeling by far was for the young brother who sat facing him across the broad table.
Richmond Aumbry was a poet. He had never wanted nor intended to be anything else. He was excessively thin, with a fine head, dark-grey introspective eyes and the mouth of a voluptuary, although his passion was only for his Muse. He was married, fond of his wife and intensely selfish. He accepted his uncle’s invitations because he literally needed good food and fine wines and could not afford to buy these for himself. His profession and his marriage both incensed his uncle, and the old man liked to have him at his table in order to gibe at him. A gift of protective cynicism gave Richmond the power to sustain himself in the face of this unkindness, and he rather enjoyed the cut and thrust of his conversation at table with the old man.
The third nephew was named Frederick. He took his looks from his mother, a Scandinavian, and was tall, blue-eyed, and very fair. He had a high color, and was of an easy-going, amoral, slightly criminal temperament. He had always found his best friends among bookmakers and barmaids, even in his schooldays. He affected an attitude of ribald jollity, but could lose his temper on occasion, although never when the result would be to his own disadvantage.
Conversation at dinner on that particular evening concerned itself, naturally, with the unfortunate Godfrey and his injury.
“A nice thing!” exclaimed Piltdown Man. “Here I leave Godfrey with some most confidential documents, and one of you wretched thugs must needs come in and attack him and filch his papers! Who did it? Who did it, I say?”
The three men round the table looked at him and at one another. Then Frederick, who enjoyed play-acting, rose deliberately and flung his table napkin on to the floor.
“This is monstrous, uncle!” he said. “Before you bring these fantastic accusations, you might at least make some attempt to find out whether they are in any sense justified! Have you questioned the servants? Found anybody who saw one of us enter the turret room when Godfrey was there? Thought of the possibility that some outsider may be concerned? No! You don’t like us, and so you wildly and criminally accuse us—or one of us—of having knocked poor old Godfrey on the head for the
purpose of stealing his papers! What were these papers, anyway, that they appear to have so much importance in your eyes? You’re not usually so tender-hearted about other people’s property!”
“What do you mean by that, Frederick?” But the old man looked startled. He eyed his blond nephew anxiously. “What do you mean?” he repeated almost hysterically. Frederick nodded as though he was satisfied with the effect of his remarks. He kicked his chair back so viciously that it toppled over backwards, and strode out of the room. There was a moment’s silence. At the end of it the front door slammed. The quiet Lewis got to his feet, picked up the chair, sat down again, and, leaning forward, said persuasively:
“Now, look here, Uncle, Frederick has every reason to feel annoyed and insulted. So have Richmond and I. What makes you suspect any of us? What interest could Godfrey’s papers have for us, unless he was drafting your will?…And I suppose he wasn’t doing that!”
“Why shouldn’t he have been doing that?”
“Oh…I see.”
“You do, do you, Lewis?”
“I see, too,” said young, thin Richmond. “But if he was drafting your will, Uncle, you needn’t, at least, suspect me. I know jolly well that I was cut out of it long ago. And if I could afford to buy my dinner I’d go and join Frederick in the village. As it is, I shall stay here and eat humble pie and your most delicious ragout.” He smiled, winked at his brother and continued his meal.
“I’m glad you’re not going, Richmond,” said his uncle. “Godfrey is able, he thinks, to conclude his task this evening. The doctor does not anticipate serious consequences to follow that most cowardly and vicious attack on him; so, later—tomorrow morning, perhaps, if you will be so good—you and Lewis can witness my will. You rightly conclude that you are not to benefit.”
“I’ll witness your will for a tenner,” said the poet mildly.
“Nonsense!”
“A fiver, then. I’m not proud.” He looked steadily at his uncle. “You sinful old man,” he added suddenly.
“So you’ve changed your mind, Uncle?” said Godfrey. “And Richmond is to benefit after all?”
“Just so, just so, my dear boy,” Piltdown Man responded with enthusiasm. Godfrey was reminded of Dickens’ Fagin.