I wonder if you would mind giving him the enclosed note, which I have stuck down to show my ill-breeding. No doubt he will show it to you. But I don’t want him to have it until I am safely on my journey, since he is trained to follow a car. The rather garish bag, which you will see is not made to open, contains, as far as I know, a portion of the beard of a very old friend of mine (a prophet in a small way). That is for Lugg too.
Remember your promise, which only holds good while I’m alive, of course. Don’t get the wind up whatever happens. If in doubt, apply to the Professor, who is a mine of information and the best sort in the world.
Such clement weather we are having for the time of year, are we not? ‘The face is but the guinea’s stamp. The heart’s the heart for a’ that.’
Believe me, Sincerely yours, W. Shakespeare.
(Bill, to you.)
The girl sat turning the paper over on her knee, until Branch re-entered with the tea-wagon. But although she was burning with curiosity, it was not until a good half-hour had elapsed that she sent for Lugg. Colonel Gyrth never took tea, and she was still alone when the door opened to admit the troubled face and portly figure of Mr Campion’s other ego.
The big man had a horror of the drawing-room, which he crossed as though the floor were unsteady.
‘Yes, miss?’ he said suspiciously.
Penny handed him the envelope in silence. He seized upon it greedily, and, quite forgetting all Branch’s training of the past few days, tore it open and began to read, holding the paper very close to his little bright eyes.
‘There,’ he said suddenly. ‘Wot did I tell yer? Now we’re for it. ’Eadstrong, that’s what ’e is.’
He caught sight of Penny’s face, and, remembering where he was, was about to withdraw in an abashed and elephantine fashion when she stopped him.
‘I had a letter from Mr Campion too,’ she said. ‘He said I was to give you this.’ She handed him the red silk bag, and added brazenly: ‘He said you’d probably show me your letter.’
Mr Lugg hesitated at first, but finally seemed relieved at the thought of having a confidante.
‘There you are,’ he said ungraciously. ‘That’ll show yer what a caution ’e is.’ He tossed the note into her lap. ‘It may be a bit above yer ’ead.’
Penny unfolded the missive and began to read.
Unutterable Imbecile and Cretin. Hoping this finds you as it leaves me – in a blue funk. However, don’t you worry, cleversides. Have had to resort to the Moran trick. If I am not back by tomorrow morning, get somebody to take the beard of the prophet to Mrs Sarah on Heronhoe Heath. Don’t have hysterics again, and if the worst comes to the worst don’t forge my name to any rotten references. You’d only be found out. Leave the Open Sesame to Sarah and the Chicks. Yours, Disgusted.
Penny put the note down. ‘What does it all mean?’ she said.
‘Ask me another,’ said Mr Lugg savagely. ‘Sneaked off on me, that’s what ’e’s done. ’E knew I’d ’ave stopped ’im if ’e didn’t. This ’as torn it. I’ll be readin’ the Situations Vacant before I know where I am. ’E ain’t even left me a reference. Lumme, we are in a mess.’
‘I wish you’d explain,’ said Penny, whose patience was beginning to fail her. ‘What’s the Moran Trick, anyhow?’
‘Oh, that,’ said Mr Lugg. ‘That was silly then. It’s sooicide now. We was up against a bloke called Moran, a murderer among other things, ’oo kep’ a set o’ coloured thugs around ’im. What did ’Is Nibs do when we couldn’t get any satisfaction from ’im but walk into ’is ’ouse as cool as you please – forcin’ ’em to kidnap ’im, so’s ’e could find out what they was up to. “Curiosity’ll kill you, my lad,” I said when I got ’im out. “A lot of satisfaction it’ll be to you when you’re ’arping to ’ave a pile of evidence against the bloke who’s bumped you off.” ’
Penny sprang to her feet. ‘Then he knows who it is?’ she said.
‘O’ course ’e does,’ said Mr Lugg. ‘Probably known it from ’is cradle – at least, that’s what ’e’ll tell you. But the fac’ remains that we don’t know. Gorn off in a silly temper and left me out of it. If I ever get ’im back from this alive I’ll ’ave ’im certified.’
The girl looked at him wildly. ‘But if the Cup’s safe with Val, what’s he doing it for?’ she wailed.
Lugg cocked a wary eye at her. ‘Depend upon it, miss, there’s a lot ’o things neither of us ’ave been told. All we can do is to carry out ’is orders and ’ope fer the best. I’ll tell yer wot, though, I’ll get my lucky bean out tonight – blimey if I don’t.’
Penny returned to the letter. ‘Who is Mrs Sarah?’ she demanded.
‘The Mother Superior of a lot o’ gippos,’ said Mr Lugg disconsolately. ‘It’s either nobs or nobodies with ’im, and I loathe the sight o’ both of ’em – begging yer pardon, miss.’
Penny looked up quickly. ‘We’ll take the token together tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘Heronhoe Heath is about five miles from here across country. Mrs Shannon has her racing stables on the far side of it. We’ll drive over.’
Lugg raised an eyebrow. ‘Mrs Shannon? Is that the party as come snooping round ’ere the day after yer aunt died?’ he said. ‘Powerful voiced, and nippy like?’
‘That’s right,’ said Penny, smiling in spite of herself.
Mr Lugg whistled. ‘I ’ate women,’ he said, with apparent irrelevance. ‘Especially in business.’
CHAPTER 21
The Yellow Caravan
—
HERONHOE HEATH, a broad strip of waste land bordered by the Ipswich road on one side and Heronhoe Creek on the other, was half covered with gaudy broom bushes when Mr Lugg and Penny bumped their way across it in the two-seater on the morning after Mr Campion’s departure. The sunshine was so brilliant that a grey heat haze hung over the creek end of the heath, through which the flat red buildings of Mrs Shannon’s stables were faintly discernible. There was not another house for three miles either way.
The Gypsy encampment was equally remote from the world. It lay sprawled along the northern edge of the strip like a bright bandana handkerchief spread out upon the grass by the side of a little ditch of clear water which ran through to the creek.
When they were within hailing distance of the camp the track, chewed up by many caravans’ wheels, became unnegotiable. Penny pulled up. ‘We’ll have to walk this bit,’ she said.
Mr Lugg sighed and scrambled out of the car, the girl following him. They made an odd pair.
Penny was in a white silk jumper suit and no hat, while Mr Lugg wore the conventional black suit and bowler hat of the upper servant, the respectability of which he had entirely ruined by tilting the hat over one eye, thereby achieving an air of truculent bravado which was not lessened by the straw which he held between his teeth. He grumbled in a continuous breathy undertone as he lumbered along.
‘Look at ’em,’ he said. ‘Vagabonds. ’Ut dwellers. Lumme, you wouldn’t catch me spendin’ my life in a marquee.’
Penny surveyed the scene in front of her with approval. The gaily painted wagons with their high hooped canvas tops, the coloured clothes hanging out on the lines, and the dozens of little fires whose smoke curled up almost perpendicularly in the breathless air were certainly attractive. There was squalor there, too, and ugliness, but on the whole the prospect was definitely pleasing, the sunlight bringing out the colours.
What impressed the girl particularly was the number of wagons and caravans; there seemed to be quite forty of them, and she noticed that they were not settled with the numerous little odd tents and shacks around them as is usual in a big encampment, but that the whole gathering had a temporary air which was heightened by the presence of a huge old-fashioned yellow char-a-banc of the type used by the people of the fairs.
Although she had known the Gypsies since her childhood she had never visited them before. Their haunts had been forbidden to her, and she knew them only as brown, soft-spoken people with sales methods that
would put the keenest hire-system traveller to shame.
It was with some trepidation, therefore, that she walked along by the disconsolate Lugg towards the very heart of the group. Children playing half-naked round the caravans grinned at her as she approached and shouted unintelligible remarks in shrill twittering voices. Mr Lugg went on unperturbed.
A swarthy young man leaning over the half-door of one of the vans, his magnificent arms and chest looking like polished copper against the outrageous red and white print of his shirt, took one look at Lugg and burst into a bellow of delight that summoned half the clan. Heads popped out from every conceivable opening, and just for a moment Penny was afraid that the reception was not going to be wholly friendly.
Mr Lugg stood his ground. ‘Party, name o’ Mrs Sarah,’ he demanded in stentorian tones. ‘I got a message for ’er. Private and important.’
The name had a distinctly quietening effect upon the crowd which was gathering, and the young man who had heralded their arrival opened the low door of his wagon and clattered down the steps.
‘Come here,’ he said, and led them across the uneven turf to the very heart of the assembly, where stood a truly magnificent caravan, decorated with a portrait of the King and Queen on one side and four dolphins surrounding a lurid representation of the Siamese Twins on the other. The brasswork in the front of this exquisitely baroque chariot was polished until it looked like gold. It formed a little balcony in front of the wagon, behind which, seated in the driver’s cab, was a monstrously fat old woman, her head bound round with a green and yellow cotton scarf, while an immense print overall covered her capacious form. She was smiling, her shrewd black eyes regarding the visitors with a species of royal amusement.
Their guide made a few unintelligible remarks to her in some peculiar ‘back slang’ which the girl did not follow. The old woman’s smile broadened.
‘Come up, lady,’ she said, throwing out a hand to indicate the coloured steps which led into the darkness of the wagon. As she did so the sunlight caught the rings on her hand, and the blaze of real stones dazzled in the heat.
Penny clambered up the steps and took the seat opposite the old woman, while Mr Lugg lumbered after her and perched himself gingerly on the topmost step of the ladder. The crowd still hung about inquisitively. Penny was aware of eager derisive brown faces and shrill chattering tongues making remarks she could not hope to understand.
The monstrous old lady, who appeared to be Mrs Sarah, turned upon the crowd, her smile gone. A few vitriolic sentences, at the sense of which Penny could only guess, dispersed them like naughty children. With the ease of a duchess Mrs Sarah then returned to her guests.
‘Who sent you, lady?’ she said in her sibilant persuasive, ‘party’ voice.
Mr Lugg produced the red silk bag, which he handed to Penny, who in turn gave it to the old lady. The plump brown fingers seized upon it, and with her long blackened finger-nails Mrs Sarah jerked at the cotton which bound the topmost edge of the bag. Next moment the contents lay in her hand.
Penny regarded it with curiosity. It was an old-fashioned hair ring, made of countless tiny plaits woven together with microscopic intricacy. She held it up and laughed.
‘Orlando!’ she said with evident delight. ‘Don’t worry, lady. Sarah knows. Tomorrow,’ she went on slowly. ‘Yes, he said the day after. Very well. We shall be ready. Good-bye, lady.’
Penny, considerably mystified, looked startled. ‘Orlando?’
Mr Lugg nudged her. ‘One of ’is names,’ he said sepulchrally. ‘Come on. The court is adjourned.’
He was obviously right: the old woman smiled and nodded but did not seem disposed to converse any further. Penny had the impression that their hostess had received a piece of information for which she had been waiting. As the girl descended the steps, however, the affable old goddess leaned forward.
‘You’ve got a lucky face, my dear,’ she said. ‘You’ll get a nice husband. But you won’t get Orlando.’
Considerably startled by this unexpected announcement, Penny smiled at her and started after Lugg, who was making for the little car as fast as his dignity would permit.
‘’E calls ’isself Orlando among the gippos,’ he said. ‘A funny old party, wasn’t she? See ’er groinies? – Rings, I mean. Close on a thousand quid’s worth there, I reckoned. All made from poor mugs like us. One of ’em told my fortune once. A journey across the water, she said. I was in Parkhurst inside of a month.’
Penny was not listening to him. ‘But what does it mean?’ she said. ‘What’s he got them to do?’
Mr Lugg made an exaggerated gesture of despair. ‘They’re old friends of ’is,’ he said. ‘’E goes off with ’em sometimes. ’E don’t take me – leaves me at ’ome to mind the jackdaw. That’s the sort of man ’e is. You got to face these things. I can see a rough ’ouse afore we’ve finished.’
They had reached the car by this time, and Penny did not answer, but as she climbed into the driver’s seat yet another caravan passed them heading for the camp. She glanced across the heath to where the stables lay just visible in the distance. For a moment a gleam of understanding appeared in her eyes, but she did not confide her thoughts to Lugg.
They drove home through the winding lanes to Sanctuary.
‘’Ere! Wot’s this we’re in?’ said Mr Lugg, after some seventeen sharp turns. ‘A blinkin’ maze?’
Penny, who had grown used to his artless familiarity, smiled. ‘It’s a long way round by road, I know,’ she said. ‘It’s only five miles across the fields. This road dates from the time when one had to avoid the wealthy landowners’ property.’
As they passed Tye Hall Beth and the Professor were at the gate. They waved to her, and Penny pulled up and got out.
‘Look here,’ she said to Lugg, ‘you take the car back to the Tower. I’ll walk home.’
Still grumbling a little, Mr Lugg obeyed, and Penny went back along the white dusty road to where her friends were waiting.
‘We’re waiting for the post,’ said Beth cheerfully. ‘Where’s your funny little friend this morning?’
‘Goodness only knows,’ said Penny awkwardly. ‘He went off last night, leaving a note to say he was going visiting. I believe he knows something.’
The Professor, very coolly and sensibly dressed in yellow shantung and a panama hat, stroked his neat little beard with a thin brown hand. ‘Is that all he said?’ he inquired. ‘I’ll say that sounds very odd.’
‘To walk out at a time like this,’ said Beth. ‘It’s not like him.’
‘I think he’s up to something,’ said Penny, anxious to dispel any wrong impression. ‘He left Lugg and me a most extraordinary errand to do. That’s where we’ve been. We’ve taken a red silk bag to an old lady who looked like that figure of Hotel in your drawing-room, Professor, all wrapped up in coloured print. She’s a sort of Gypsy Queen, I suppose. There’s a whole crowd of them camping on Heronhoe Heath.’
The Professor’s round brown eyes widened perceptibly. ‘Well, now, isn’t that strange?’ he said, and appeared to relapse in deep thought.
‘She seemed to understand what it was all about, anyhow,’ Penny went on, ‘which was more than I did. And she said something about tomorrow, as if he’d made a date or something. He’s an extraordinary person, you know.’
Beth opened her mouth to agree, but she was silenced by an apparition which had just appeared leaning over the field gate which split the high hedge directly opposite the Tye Hall drive. A startled exclamation escaped her, and all three of them turned and stared at the dishevelled figure which clutched the topmost bar of the gate for support.
‘Val!’ Beth darted across the road, the other two behind her. The young man was deathly pale. He looked ill, and as he made a move towards them he swayed drunkenly. The Professor unhooked the gate, and, hitching the boy’s arm round his own shoulder, half led, half dragged him across the road and up the path to the house.
‘Don’t chatter to him now, girls.’
The Professor spoke firmly, silencing a chorus of questions. ‘He looks real bad to me. Beth, cut up to the house and get out some brandy and ice water. Penny, my dear, give me a hand with his other arm.’
‘I’m all right,’ said Val weakly. ‘I’ve been doped, I think. Only just came to myself – heard you talking and staggered out. I’m a silly ass, that’s what I am.’
‘Hold on. Don’t talk for a bit,’ the Professor advised, as he led the little party into the house by the side door from the lawn. ‘No, it’s all right,’ he said to an excited maidservant who met them. ‘Don’t alarm Mrs Cairey. Young Mr Gyrth has come over a bit faint, that’s all.’
The girl vanished with a startled ‘yessir,’ and the Professor turned his charge into the library, where Beth was already waiting with the brandy and water.
Val would not be silenced any longer. ‘I asked for it and I got it,’ he said, as he sank down gratefully into a deep saddleback. ‘Gosh! I’ve got a head like fifty champagne suppers.’
‘But what’s happened?’ said Penny and Beth in chorus. ‘And,’ added his sister as the thought suddenly burst upon her, ‘where’s the Cup?’
Val’s clouded eyes grew hard for a moment, and he tried to struggle to his feet as the recollection returned to him. Next moment, however, he had sunk back again helplessly.
‘They’ve got it,’ he said apathetically. ‘Where’s Campion?’
Penny made an inarticulate noise in her throat and then sat down by the table, white and trembling.
Beth seemed more concerned about Val than any Chalice, however. Beneath her kindly ministrations the boy began to recover rapidly. He looked at her gratefully.
‘I’m giving you an awful lot of trouble,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how I got in that field. I woke up and heard you talking and staggered out, and here I am.’
‘Now, my boy,’ said the Professor, ‘what happened? Can you remember?’
Val considered. ‘I was at Campion’s flat,’ he said. ‘I sat up late, reading, with the Chalice in the suitcase actually on my lap. A damn silly place to put it, I suppose. I hadn’t undressed – I didn’t mean to go to bed. Early in the morning, about two or three I suppose it was, I heard a fiendish noise going on outside. I looked out of the window and saw a sort of free fight in progress round that Police Station downstairs. I was wondering what was up when I heard someone in the flat behind me. He must have had a pass-key, I suppose.’
Look to the Lady Page 18
