‘Will somebody please remove me from this woman! She is attempting to destroy my virtue.’
Lady Amanda eventually sorted out the various arms and legs, and helped Mrs Mint back indoors for a restorative cup of tea, as Stinky and Donkey came out of another side door and asked what all the noise was about.
‘Damned beast threw me!’ exclaimed Hugo, ‘and I landed on this woman who must work for you. Manda, you’ll have to get that trike either doctored or put the beast down. It’s absolutely wild.’
‘It’s not like a horse, Hugo. It can only have had you over the handlebars if you pulled on the wrong brake and it stopped abruptly, whereas you didn’t.’
A voice from inside the servants’ quarters’ door cried out in anguish. ‘Had me over the handle bars, that’s what he nearly did, over-sexed old man.’
Hugo was so incensed that he replied to this with, ‘I am not. It was my tricycle that catapulted me over its handlebars, and I just happened to land on you. Pure bad luck – for both of us!’
‘You tried to ’ave your wicked way with me when you waylaid me on the garden path,’ Mrs Mint retorted.
‘Madam, I am a virgin!’ bellowed Hugo then, realising what he had just disclosed, looked for somewhere to hide his embarrassment.
There was a short silence from inside, then the voice called out again, ‘And what’s a man of your mature years doing riding a tricycle in the first place?’
‘I shall not dignify that with a reply,’ stated Hugo, and dusted himself down. ‘Good afternoon, er, Stinky; good afternoon, um, Donkey,’ then he blushed. Such ridiculous nicknames were out of his ken. He was also not part of Lady Amanda’s intimate circle of friends, and found himself rather at a loss.
‘Come on inside, and we’ll have an early cocktail while we tell you about what happened when poor old Donkey was rooked out of that fifty-quid note.’
The interior of the house was as sumptuous as Belchester Towers, simply dripping with antiques, and Stinky explained that Donkey was an antiques dealer who often kept a large part of his stock at home, where it was safer than in their business establishment. She could not bring herself to use the word ‘shop’ with its connotations of money made from ‘trade’.
‘You are such a snob, Stinky. Why don’t you just say that Donkey’s got an antiques shop?’
Going rather pink around the ears, Stinky ignored this cutting remark and said, ‘Shall I ring for cocktails? What would you like? No, let’s let Lardon surprise us. He’s French, you know.’
Lardon? Lady A had to put her finger in her mouth and bite down hard on it to stop herself from laughing, as Stinky rang a tinkly little silver bell.
Almost immediately, a man with slicked-down dark hair and flashing brown eyes appeared, dressed impeccably. ‘Yes, Madame,’ he intoned, and Lady A thought, if he’s French, then Beauchamp’s a Chinaman. But she wouldn’t burst Stinky’s bubble.
‘Can you produce three surprise cocktails for us please, all different, and all sort of, fitting, if you know what I mean, and the master’s usual whisky and soda’
‘Weez plezzure, Madame,’ he replied, looking at Lady A with a wary eye. He had a horrible suspicion that she had sussed him out.
When he came back about six or seven minutes later, he had four glasses on a tray, and began to hand them around. ‘Thees eez for you, Milady – a Zombie; and you, sir, are a Hairy Navel.’ Hugo began to splutter in indignation until Lady A quelled him with one of her looks and said, ‘It’s just the name of your cocktail. Take it.’
‘And thees one should amuse Madame – a Cute Fat Bastard in ze Sack,’ and he had the temerity to wink at Stinky, receiving a mischievous smile in return, and Lady A hoped her old friend wasn’t having her head turned by the fake Frenchman.
When Lardon had shut the door behind him, Lady A checked it to see that it was, indeed, firmly closed, and then said, ‘He’s no more French than Hugo, Stinky, and it looks like he’s got his eye on you.’
As she began to bluster and splutter, Donkey said unexpectedly, ‘He can have her if it stops him resigning. Where did he get that damned silly name from?’
‘Probably from a packet of the same, in the supermarket,’ replied Lady A, who did indeed know what the inside of the local supermarket looked like, and occasionally liked to browse there. There were so many unexpected things to be found, like quails’ eggs and some rather acceptable champagne, as well as little tins and jars of caviar.
‘Now, down to business. Tell me about last night, Donkey,’ said the Zombie.
‘Oh, it was awful,’ wailed Stinky. ‘Thyme – that’s our parlour-maid – went to the door: Lardon won’t lower himself; says his English is not good enough…’
‘Let Donkey tell it. He might be more coherent,’ advised Lady A, again having a secret smile. His French accent must be very unsteady if he can’t cope with the door, because she was sure she’d heard just a tiny Liverpudlian vowel when he’d spoken earlier.
‘Hrmph,’ Donkey cleared his throat and began his version of what had happened the previous evening. ‘Thyme answered the door and found some young fellow there saying he wanted a quick word with the mistress. She, not knowing any better, went and got old Stinky here, and by the time she got to the door, there were five of them, and they were all wearing masks. Threatened to do the most awful stuff if we didn’t pay them off. Said it was trick or treating, but I’ve never seen it with menaces before.
‘Well, Stinky went and fetched me, and by then they were really standing in a menacing group. I took out my wallet, and one of the little blighters caught hold of a fifty pound note and whisked it out, then they all ran off laughing. I spoke to the police station, but was told that I should be more careful with callers at the door, and get everyone to use a safety chain. I ask you, what sort of fool would I look if my door was answered by someone across a piddling little safety chain, eh?’
‘Really, Donkey, if your butler won’t answer the door, then you will have to ask a footman to do it. You really can’t risk your maids doing it, not with who’s around in this day and age and with a place like this, just stuffed to the gills with precious antiques. I hope you’ve got an alarm fitted.’
‘No,’ Donkey replied shamefacedly, then promised to put it at the top of his list – which was probably extant only in his imagination.
‘And I hope your insurance is up to date,’ added Lady A, whereupon Donkey blushed again, and took a small sliver of paper and a tiny pencil out of a pocket and made all the actions of taking an urgent note to himself.
To disperse his embarrassment, he added, ‘Stinky says that we’re not the only ones who’ve been called on by this collection of young thugs.’
‘That’s right, Donkey. We’ve got representatives of five other Belchester households coming round tomorrow to tell us about their incidents, but you’re the first posh one of which we’ve heard.’ She added this last to bolster up his dented self-esteem over the fifty pounds, his reluctant butler, and everything else that had happened since they’d arrived.
‘Please do pass on our apologies to Mrs Mint about the collision earlier, and assure her that Hugo has no ambitions or even inclinations in that direction whatsoever.’ As she stood, she put her hand to her head and exclaimed, ‘Oh, my head’s fair going round. Whatever did Lardon put in that Zombie?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea, Manda,’ replied Stinky. ‘He never tells us what’s in his cocktails.’ Another mark against the man, as far as Lady A was concerned, and she determined to dig the information out of Beauchamp as soon as they got back to Belchester Towers.
Both of the visitors fair tottered down the steps to their tricycles, the alcohol affecting their riding in quite opposite ways. Hugo rode, as free as a three-wheeled bird, back up the hill and up to the door of Belchester Towers. Lady Amanda, on the other hand, got the giggles, and twice had to swerve to avoid being squashed into roadkill, the first time by a juggernaut that was labouring its way out of the city, and the second t
ime by a furniture lorry, on its way into the city to deposit its cargo of furniture.
Whereas she vowed never to drink and ride again, Hugo decided that a bit of Dutch courage definitely aided both his ability to steer and his energy to pedal, and he would certainly do the same again, should the necessity arise.
III
Enid Tweedie rode up to Belchester Towers on her ancient creaky bicycle the next day at about one o’clock, having taken a meagre early lunch with her demanding old mother, who lived with her. It had been meagre because, whatever she produced, her mother criticised it and compared it to her sister’s much superior offerings, and early, because she wanted to get away from the criticising, moaning old biddy. Lady Amanda Golightly was just as demanding, but she felt she was more appreciated at her old ‘friend’s’ house.
She left it out of sight round in the stable yard, and slipped into the servants’ entrance, as she felt was her place. Beauchamp had the ears of a bat and immediately called out a cheery greeting to her. From slightly more distant came the unmistakable bellow of dear Amanda, requesting her presence in the drawing room.
‘Ah, my dear Enid,’ the head of the household called out as Enid shuffled through the door, her usual dowdy self. ‘I wonder if you could organise afternoon tea for, say, half a dozen for three fifteen, and a second round, the same, for four fifteen?’
‘What’s happening?’ asked Enid, her tone slightly perkier than it had been in the kitchens.
‘Mystery is what’s afoot, my dear Enid. You were not the only one terrorised by this gang of thugs. I have heard of many others from the vicar, who has kindly given me some names and addresses. Even Stinky and Donkey are not immune, it seems, from these blackmailing young individuals.
‘Hugo and I were going to tricycle round to interview them, but Beauchamp has decided that he will collect them in two groups and bring them back here, where we can use his tape recorder to capture what information they can give us. If I don’t tell them the machine is running, and offer them afternoon tea up at the big house, they will talk more freely. If necessary, would you go undercover for us?’
‘Oh, yes. That would be very exciting. What do I have to do?’
‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I have an idea.’ In fact, this never came to fruition in the current case, but just looking forward to the possibility was enough to cheer up this dour individual. ‘Now, the first sitting for tea will be for three individuals, plus Hugo and myself, the second will be for two couples, plus we two, as before.’
‘You’re going to eat two teas?’
‘Oh, I don’t think Hugo will have any trouble with that. The man seems to have hollow legs. When he gets all those joint replacements, I’m sure they’re going to find out that all he’s suffering from is a jam tart jam in his knees, and a surfeit of scones and buns in his thighs.’
Enid scuttled off to get baking and cutting dainty little sandwiches while Beauchamp got out the old Austin Seven and gave it a bit of a dust-off. He only used it when he knew he or his passenger were going somewhere where the roads were narrow and the Rolls would just get jammed.
Lady Amanda found Hugo having a snooze in the library with the Telegraph over his upper half, jolted him awake unnecessarily abruptly, and told him to get his wits together for their afternoon of statement-gathering.
At five past three the crunching on the gravel drive announced that Beauchamp was back with his cargo of intimidated old people, and the chatter of excited voices at this unusual treat at the big house filled the hall, the small crowd of noise stopping as her butler-cum-general factotum took their coats.
After a couple for minutes, he ushered them into the large drawing room with a suitably dignified air. His introduction of them was as impeccable as that at a coming-out ball, and he announced in a strong voice. ‘May I introduce you all to the Lady Amanda Golightly and Mr Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump.
‘Sir, m’lady, may I present to you Mrs Rita Baldwin, currently residing at number 13 Scraggs Lane; Mrs Sheila Shilling, currently residing at number 15 Rag-a-Bone Lane; and Mrs Betty Bunn, currently residing at number 21 Twixt-the-Ways, all in the city of Belchester.
‘Ladies, pray be seated so that afternoon tea may be served, then you may make your statements to Lady Amanda.’
There was a quiet murmur of voices as they sorted out the order on which they would perch on the very edge of the chesterfields, then all was silent, all eyes on Lady A and Hugo, who was doing his best to look interested and not over-excited. The former reached down to the floor beside her seat and discreetly activated the tape recorder, which Beauchamp had left ready for her to switch on.
‘Mrs Baldwin, may we have your statement first. Just tell us what happened when you had that group of unpleasant youths call on you,’ she enquired of a hugely fat woman with ankles so swollen they looked like they had been borrowed from an elephant, and whose hair was a very unlikely orange colour, escaping from its pins wherever it found opportunity.
‘Well, it were three or four days ago – too early, to my mind, to start goin’ about this activity – and I were bringin’ in me washing as it were already dark, and the frost had frozen it solid. Had to do karate on me knickers, so I did. Then, when I had me mouth full of pegs, I heard this almighty rumpus at the front door and went out to see what on earth were goin’ on.
‘There were four or five tall young men out there, all a-wearing them rubber masks, and they were askin’ me if I preferred a trick or a treat. Well, I don’t hold with all this American rubbish at Hallowe’en, so I told ’em to get lorst. The one who seemed to be their leader said it would be the worse for me if I didn’t give them some money for all the trouble they’d taken to get dressed up, and I told ’em to sling their ’ooks, if they knew what was good for them.’
The obese woman stopped for a few seconds, and Lady A had to prompt her to go on. With her face a mask of misery, this mountain of a woman finished her story. ‘They rushed me, they did, Your Ladyship, and they dragged all my clean bed linen into the mud, all me drawers and me stays and petticoats, and trampled them in. They ’ad a bit of a bother because it was frosty, but they managed to get me things all filthy, so that I would have to wash ’em again, and I ’as to do everything by ’and, seein’ as I’ve ’ad me washin’ machine repossessed. Then they started peltin’ me cottage wiv rotten eggs.’
‘That’s disgraceful behaviour, Mrs Baldwin,’ Hugo cut in. ‘What little savages. They must be stopped.’
‘Did you notice if they went to any of your neighbours’ properties, Mrs Baldwin?’ asked Lady A.
‘Not at all. It seemed like it was personal, like. They just left my gate open so that my poor little doggie could get out, then marched down the road laughing like they’d been told the best joke in the world, and me left with the ground covered in me good washing that were so clean a few minutes before.’
‘Thank you very much, Mrs Baldwin. Mrs Shilling, will you go next, please?’ Lady A felt rather like Mrs Dilber, when Scrooge’s possessions were being apportioned. It was something to do with the washing part of Mrs Baldwin’s story that brought the scene to mind.
Mrs Shilling was, in contrast, like a piece of chewed string that had inadvertently covered itself with a sheath of printed polyester and more or less assumed human form. She made a great fuss of clearing her throat to her own satisfaction then began in a surprisingly deep voice, ‘I was doing the washing up when I heard a brusque knock at the front door, around which I always have roses. Some people don’t care how the outside of their property looks, but I’ve got standards.
‘Anyway, they told me, basically, to pay up or something nasty would happen. Now, I don’t mind little children doing this sort of thing, I always keep a bowl of sweeties ready to hand out, but this was totally out of order. I told them I would do no such thing, and – they all had gloves on, by the way; black leather or plastic ones – and they grabbed the bottom of the rose plant at each side of the door, broke
it off, and then tore down the plants, trellis an’ all.’ Again, Lady A thought of words from that distressing scene in a Christmas Carol – ‘curtain rings and all’.
‘Then they put the whole kit and caboodle on to my lawn and stamped all over it, breaking the quite delicate slats of the trellis, so that I shouldn’t be able to put it up again when they’d gone. And they stamped on all me winter pansies, too, the little sods, beggin’ your pardon, m’lady.’
Enid came in with the tea tray at this moment, and ten minutes or so were given over to finding out who took milk, who took lemon – no one – who took sugar, and who would have cake and/or sandwiches. It seemed hardly any time at all until the teapot was drained and the cake stand and sandwich plates were emptied, as if a swarm of human locusts had descended upon them.
With an enormous sigh of disbelief, Enid took the tray and left the room again leaving Lady Amanda to encourage Mrs Bunn to tell her story for the benefit of the tape – of which she knew nothing.
Mrs Bunn’s hair was in a bun, her nose was round and squishy, her face as round as a ball, and her head resembled nothing so much as a cottage loaf. ‘I just gave them twenty quid to go away,’ she began. ‘I offered them a tenner, but they just sneered at me, then told me what they intended to do if I didn’t pay enough.’
‘And what was their threat, Mrs Cottage,’ Lady A erred, her mind filled with loaves.
‘Mrs Bunn, please, Your Ladyship.’ As Lady Amanda reddened, she continued, ‘They threatened to smash the six milk bottles I had left out on the step’ – Belchester still had an old-fashioned dairy that delivered, and some were willing to pay handsomely for this service – ‘and spread the shards all down my garden path and on the lawn. I have twelve pussy cats, all of whom are very dear to me and I couldn’t face the thought of them cutting their little pawsie-wawsies. Besides, the vet’s bills would have been enormous. It was cheap at twenty quid to get the little terrorists off my property.’
‘Did any of you contact the police?’ asked their hostess.
Trick or Threat Page 2
