James moved toward Bert, chuckling. ‘That’s you told.’
Bert rolled his eyes. ‘I tell yer, if they were blokes, they’d ‘ave had a bunch of fives by now. Ought to stick ‘em on top of that bloody bonfire.’
Mr Chrichton waved a quick ‘hello’ to James and offered Beth a box of toffee apples which, he hoped, would be of some delight to the children. Close behind him, to James’ surprise, Professor Wilkins appeared.
‘Struth!’ said Bert. ‘How’d you get him ‘ere?’
‘It won’t astound you to learn that I really have no idea,’ replied James. ‘I think perhaps Beth must have oozed some charm over him yesterday.’
‘Christ. I’ll lay you odds-on, he won’t stop long.’ Bert shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen ‘im turn up for anything.’
James excused himself and made a beeline for Charlie Hawkins to let him know that he’d retrieved his library books.
‘Oh, that’s great, thanks very much,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ll make arrangements to pick them up, if that’s okay. Just out of interest, how many did he have?’
‘I think there were ten in total.’
‘Honestly, I know he’s dead and everything, but that’s nicking, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I s’pose it is,’ James replied wondering, as he walked away, just how ‘Christian’ Alec Grimes was if he went about stealing things.
George Lane, looking decidedly dishevelled in a light grey trench coat, shook his hand and demanded a pint of King and Barnes. Dorothy Forbes and her husband gratefully accepted a small sherry each and snuggled up to each other in the queue for soup.
‘We’ll soon get you warmed up,’ James assured them. ‘We’ve got our normal soup and rolls just there. I’d best get off and light this bonfire, otherwise we’ll never get going.’
He looked for Bert and spotted him talking to Graham. Catching his attention, he pointed toward the bonfire.
‘Can you give me a hand?’
Bert waved an acknowledgement and put his beer down.
‘Hello, Lord Harrington.’
James recognised the light Scottish tones of the delectable Diana and swung round. She was wrapped in a white fur coat holding hands with Ian Connell. They certainly looked a striking couple.
‘Ah, how lovely to see you,’ he said. ‘Listen, take yourselves over there and Beth will show you where the drinks and eats are. It’s a bit of a help yourself, I’m afraid. I’m just off to light the bonfire.’
‘D’you need any help?’ Ian asked.
‘Thanks, but I’ve got it covered. Go and make yourselves known. And Ian, do introduce Diana to Beth.’
Five minutes later, armed with torches, newspaper, petrol and matches, Bert and James strode into the darkness. James commented that the wood was exceptionally dry so he didn’t think it would take long to get going. Ducking under the roped barrier, they stuffed pieces of rolled-up newspaper around the base and splashed petrol up and down the slats of wood and bric-a-brac.
Satisfied with their efforts, James stood back and shone his torch around the bottom, looking for the best places to strike his match. Bert suggested they light it at every possible place to get it going quickly. He took some matches from James.
‘I’ll start round the back there, you start here and we’ll go clockwise.’
‘Right-ho,’ James replied as Tommy Hawkins ran up to him and tugged his sleeve.
‘Ah Tommy, we’re just about to light her up. D’you want to go and get everyone over?’
‘Sir, what ‘appened to our guy?’
James looked up at the peak of the bonfire. ‘Nothing. It’s up there.’
‘But that’s not our guy,’ said Tommy indignantly. ‘Ours had my dad’s tweed jacket on. Dad was really angry about it, that’s how I remember. And anyway, our guy’s been thrown over there, by the edge of the wood.’
James heard a match strike.
‘Bert, stop!’ James shouted suddenly.
‘Why, what’s up?’
‘Don’t light it.’
James studied the guy flopped on top of the mountain of wood. Sometimes the kids messed about in the village and stole one another’s guys, but he had a bad feeling about this. He turned to Tommy.
‘I say, Tommy, could you go and make sure the children have plenty of sparklers before we start? Tell my wife not to let anyone come down until we say. I’ll get your guy on top before we start, all right?’
Tommy nodded eagerly and ran off. Bert trudged over to him.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Bert, can you spot George in that crowd?’
‘Yeah, ‘e’s over there, talking to Donovan and ‘is missus.’
‘Go and get him, will you, and keep everyone occupied up there. Get George down here and Philip Jackson. We need to get that guy down.’
‘Get the guy down! What for?’
James studied the form on top of the bonfire. ‘Just do as I say, Bert, please.’
Bert followed James’ stare and swallowed hard. ‘That’s not a guy, is it?’
Grimly, James shook his head. Bert squeezed his arm.
‘I’ll be two secs.’
Bert jogged back to seek out the Inspector. James watched him the whole way, saw him whisper in George’s ear and his friend’s urgent glance toward him.
He noticed that Beth, thank goodness, had picked up on the oddity of the diversion and Tommy’s instructions. She announced that the bonfire would be starting at eight o’clock and quickly made arrangements for the children to be occupied. James glanced at his watch; that gave them half an hour.
‘Good girl, Beth,’ he said to himself.
He retrieved the wooden ladder that lay a few yards away and leant it against the back of the bonfire, out of sight of the villagers.
George, holding a lantern, stomped toward them with Philip Jackson marching behind.
‘What’s going on?’ George said.
‘George, I may be over-dramatic, but that is not the guy the children made. That’s their one, lying over there.’ James indicated to where the children’s guy had been discarded by the trees. ‘And that chap up there is awfully big and his hands look incredibly lifelike.’
His friend stared up to the figure, then at James. ‘Is it safe to go up?’
‘I’ll go,’ said Bert. ‘He looks pretty stocky and I’m used to carting stuff about.’
He steadied the ladder and gingerly made his way up. Stephen Merryweather tapped James on the shoulder.
‘W-what’s happening?’
‘I’m not entirely sure, Stephen,’ replied James hesitantly. ‘May be just a practical joke. I say, could you go and retrieve the guy that’s over by the edge of the trees there? It’s got a tweed jacket on.’
Borrowing James’ torch, Stephen jumped to it and made his way across to the woods. Meanwhile, Bert had reached the top of the ladder. He leant over and pulled the mask from the guy’s face.
‘Bloody hell!’
George grabbed the ladder. ‘What is it?’
‘A body, a man…a bloke,’ cried Bert. ‘I don’t know who. He’s got a great lump on his head, though.’
‘Bring him down quickly,’ George ordered.
Philip and James held the base of the ladder as Bert clumsily hoisted the body over his shoulder and steadily made his way back down the ladder. At the bottom, he laid the man out on his back. George looked at James.
‘Seen him before?’
James shook his head. The unshaven, scruffy young man in front of him was a complete stranger. George felt in his pocket and brought out a wallet. He flicked through some money and scraps of paper, which included a driving licence.
‘Blimey. It’s Keith Grimes.’
‘Good Lord,’ James said. ‘Are you sure?’
‘That’s what it says here.’
Philip Jackson knelt down, felt for a pulse and whispered hoarsely.
‘He’s still alive!’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Philip we
nt to sprint to the house, but George pulled him back.
‘Hold on, I need to think this through.’
‘With all due respect, George, this man needs to get to a hospital and fast,’ said Philip. ‘His pulse is weak. The quicker we get an ambulance, the better.’
James took his Barbour coat off and laid it across Keith. ‘He’s right, George. We can’t—’
‘Listen up,’ George ordered. ’I want you to do exactly as I tell you. Stephen – hurry up with that guy.’
Stephen did as he was told and stared at the man on the ground. ‘G-good Lord, who—’
George grabbed the guy from a startled Stephen and pushed it at Bert. ‘Take off Keith’s jacket and put that, and this mask, on the guy and stick it at the top of the bonfire.’
‘K-Keith!’
James rested his hand on Stephen’s arm. ’Don’t worry, old chap, we’ll update you in a moment. George seems to have a plan.’
Bert quickly removed Keith’s jacket and dressed the guy as George had instructed. George grabbed hold of Philip.
‘Right, you ring for an ambulance and, using my name, instruct them not to sound the bell. Just draw up quietly. I don’t want any attention from James’ guests. No-one knows about this except us. And walk around the party so you don’t get stopped. If anyone does ask, just tell ‘em the vicar’s not well.’
‘Use the patio entrance,’ James said. ‘The door’s open.’
Philip nodded and scurried across the darkened field toward the house. Bert, meanwhile, had shimmied up the ladder and deposited the children’s guy back on the bonfire.
‘Right,’ George said, prodding Stephen, ‘you are the person who’s been taken ill. You’re gonna miss the party, I’m afraid. But it may help to catch whoever did this.’
‘R-right you are,’ Stephen said apprehensively as George ordered him to go in the ambulance when it arrived and stay with Keith Grimes.
‘Bert,’ George instructed, ‘you got ‘im down pretty easily. Can you carry Grimes to the house without being seen?’
Bert shot him a ‘you’re asking a lot’ look, but nodded that, yes, he could do that.
‘I say,’ James said with some concern, ‘the poor man’s not well. Do you think we should be manhandling him across a frozen field?’
‘Well, he was manhandled to the top of the bonfire and survived that,’ replied George, ’so we can manhandle ‘im here too. It’s a risk I’m prepared to take.’
James groaned as the unmistakable voices of Rose and Lilac Crumb came closer. How did they always know when something was kicking off? George’s brusque and ill-mannered request that they remove themselves back to the party went down badly.
‘Who does he think he is? ’ Lilac remarked.
‘How rude,’ said Rose as they retreated.
James and George crept through the darkness to the house, with Stephen in the middle of them feigning malaise. Within twenty minutes, both he and Keith were deposited in the ambulance and sent off to the hospital.
James, his jacket retrieved, delved in the pockets and brought out his cigarettes.
‘Look, what’s going on, George? Why is Stephen lying low? What’s your plan exactly?’
George took a cigarette from him. ‘A murder was gonna take place here tonight and I want the killer to think that’s still happening. Stephen is the person that’s been taken ill and that’s our story for tonight. As far as the killer is concerned, Keith Grimes is still at the top of your bonfire.’
George pulled Bert toward him. ‘You go and get this bonfire started and you,’ he said, pointing at James, ‘stick with me. Keep your eyes peeled and let me know if anyone is taking too much pleasure from a burning Guy.’
James baulked at the suggestion but, making their way back, realised that just about everyone connected with Alec Grimes, the play and the assault on Stephen, had descended upon them that evening. Even Professor Wilkins, who never attended any social functions in the village, had graced them with his presence.
Bert, to the delight of the children and all the guests, began to light the long pieces of rolled-up paper they’d stuffed into the base of the bonfire. Within minutes, the dry cinders crackled to life and the drizzled petrol encouraged flames to creep menacingly through the timber.
George rubbed his chin. ‘I’m going to commandeer your phone for a few minutes - get a constable to sit with Keith, just in case he wakes up.’
He surveyed the villagers, who had gathered as close to the fire as they could. Children waved their sparklers in one hand and gripped sausage rolls overflowing with ketchup in the other. The unmistakable smell of a smoky bonfire poured across the field.
‘Keep an eye out,’ he added. ‘The suspect is likely to be standing here as we speak.’
‘Good job Tommy ‘awkins spotted it,’ Bert said.
James sighed, not wanting to think about what could have been. Bert turned to George.
‘Are you gonna be taking Jimmy’s crime a bit more seriously now?’
George winced and reluctantly nodded. ‘Keith Grimes was obviously a target. So, although I hate to admit it, it stands to reason his dad was, too.’ He strode purposely toward the house.
James excused himself and made his way across to Beth. Her expression had a mixture of worry and curiosity.
‘James, what’s happening? George looks so serious and Stephen’s disappeared. Anne’s been looking for him everywhere. Bert said something about an ambulance and then told me to speak with you - is someone ill?’
‘Something pretty awful has happened,’ replied James. ‘Well, was just about to happen, actually.’
He steered her away from their guests and went through the events as they’d unfolded, of how the Guys were switched and George’s command of the situation, together with his plan. Beth gaped, completely and utterly speechless, as James summed up. He waited for her response, having emphasised the need to get their story right.
‘So Stephen’s the fake patient and we’re not to say a word about Keith Grimes,’ she paraphrased.
‘That’s right. George and I are going to amble about and do a bit of people watching. Can we rely on Anne to keep a secret?’
‘Are you kidding! She’ll want to play detective with you and beat the heather to uncover the murderer. But I shan’t let her. I’ll take her inside and let her know what’s happening.’ Beth’s loving eyes became serious. ‘Oh God, please, do be careful.’
He kissed her on the cheek. ’Don’t worry, darling. Our killer isn’t going to do anything drastic in front of the whole village.’
‘What?’ replied Beth. ‘He put Keith Grimes up there to burn alive in front of everyone! Whoever did this is evil. This isn’t Paul Temple, James, this is real life. You promise me you won’t do anything stupid.’
‘Promise.’
‘I’ll keep a look out from where I’m standing, too. See if there’s anything unusual.’
Beth made a beeline for Anne. As James wandered around the fields, he took a deep breath. Behind him stood four trestle tables of food and refreshments. In front of him, the bonfire. Away to the side, Bert, Ian and Graham discussed the plan of action in the firework area.
He checked his watch – 8.30pm. A little later than scheduled, but not overtly so. The flames had really taken hold in the bonfire and they lapped around the soles of the Guy’s shoes. In the flickering light, he spotted George and threaded his way through the crowd to join him.
‘Anything?’
George shook his head. ‘Not that I can see. Not even sure what I’m looking for. You know these people better than me.’
James studied the villagers as they tucked into their food and sipped their soup by the warmth of the fire. Most were families with small children, who stared in ghoulish glee at the Guy perched at the top, almost willing the flames to envelop him.
Donovan Delaney appeared more intent on lighting sparklers for everyone than the main event, with Graham and Ian ensconced in the far field preparing the
fireworks. Anne, Beth and Mrs Keates continued dishing out refreshments by the tables. Mr Keates chatted with Charlie Hawkins, who kept a watchful eye on Tommy and Susan. James swung round, his eyes suddenly alert, searching with intensity. George glanced up.
‘What is it?’
‘Peter Mitchell. I don’t see Peter Mitchell. He was here earlier.’
‘That’s the orchard bloke, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ James said, scanning the faces in the crowd. ‘I don’t see Professor Wilkins, either.’
He jumped as Bert tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Fireworks are ready to go.’
‘Splendid, you get on with that. George and I are undercover.’
Bert rolled his eyes.
‘I say, Bert,’ continued James. ‘Have you seen Peter Mitchell or Professor Wilkins?’
Bert shrugged and shook his head. ‘Professor’s prob’ly gone ‘ome. Not his thing, is it? I’m surprised he came in the first place.’ He walked away.
George licked his lips. ‘Perhaps he just came to see his handiwork.’
James squeezed George’s arm as he witnessed Pete Mitchell suddenly emerge from the woods.
‘There’s Mitchell. He looks a little furtive. What on earth’s he doing in the woods?’
‘More to the point,’ said George, ’isn’t that where the children’s Guy was found?’
James raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes, yes it was. I have to say, George, he doesn’t look terribly happy.’
At that moment, Bert, Graham and Ian began what was later considered the best display of fireworks Cavendish had ever seen.
Long, slender rockets projected skyward, leaving trails of streaming silver glittering into the night. Star bombs exploded violently as they reached the end of their journey; bright glowing stars silently rose from the ground and dissolved in the night air, while a crescendo of blue stars left wriggling tracks snaking hypnotically, before disappearing into the heavens.
The smell of gunpowder hovered above the frosted fields as Roman candles cascaded waterfalls of bubbling flares. Stars and comets shot out urgently, gently fading before limping to an end. Coiled Catherine Wheels spun wildly, screaming and screeching as they chased their tails. Bangers exploded, Jumping Jacks leapt uncontrollably, and whirling helicopters whizzed perilously with no sense of direction.
LORD JAMES HARRINGTON AND THE WINTER MYSTERY (Lord James Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Page 18
