by Mike Ripley
‘I seriously doubt anyone will,’ observed Campion.
‘I think that’s a splendid idea, Gus,’ said Mrs Webster, her eyes shining. ‘Let’s put all this behind us and start a new life.’
‘Er … yes … precisely. Now, we’d better talk to Bill Bailey. He’s a good sort and I’m sure he’ll give us a sympathetic hearing. Then I’ll walk you home.’
If he had not known better, Mr Campion would have put Clarissa’s sudden weakness at the knees and consequent stumbling into Marchant’s manly chest down to shock, but he was sure Mrs Webster was not the swooning type.
‘We owe you our thanks, Campion,’ said Gus who had suddenly found himself holding Clarissa’s hand. ‘Do stay and let us buy you a good dinner or two. I’ll make your room at the Woolpack available for as long as you want.’
Mr Campion clasped his hands in front of him as if in prayer, and performed a small bow of humility.
‘You are too kind, but I have left Lindsay Carfax too many times already. I must make a final exit tonight or I will face severe penalties domestically. There may, however, be a way in which you could express your gratitude, if I may be so bold.’
‘Name it, and if I can provide it, it’s yours.’
‘You own the Woolpack and several other public houses do you not?’
‘Certainly I do. I also have shares in several restaurants and two golf clubs.’
‘And these business activities – totally legitimate ones of course – bring you into contact with the brewing trade?’
Marchant looked surprised, but said, ‘Naturally. My late wife, who did not approve of licensed victualing, used to say I was the brewers’ best customer. That would be wholesale, of course, not retail.’
Campion smiled. ‘I was wondering if you had any contacts with bodies such as the Brewers’ Society or the Brewers’ Company in London.’
‘As a matter of fact I do. We sell London bottled beers in Suffolk; they take Suffolk ales and barley wines in London, not to mention our malted barley. What are you after, Campion? A couple of barrels for a party or for the Christmas feast?’
‘No, nothing like that. I would like you to use what influence you have to get someone I know a position in Brewers’ Hall in the City.’
‘Well, I’ll put in a word if you think it will help.’ Marchant raised an eyebrow. ‘Though I’m not sure if I approve of nepotism …’
‘It’s not nepotism; not really, it’s more a public service by keeping an undesirable off the streets. You see there’s a vacancy at Brewers’ Hall for a Beadle and an old mess-mate of mine called Lugg would fit right in.’
‘Are you sure you won’t stay over, Uncle? You really do look shattered.’
‘No, my dear, my mind has been made up for me. I must keep my promise to leave Lindsay Carfax and get home. Bill Bailey has kindly offered to give me a lift in a police car and one of his boys in blue will pick up the Jaguar before the local farmers use it as a scarecrow. I’ll grab forty winks in a police cell in Bury, which will no doubt be good for my soul, then a hearty breakfast in the police canteen and I’ll be back in London in time for morning coffee and severe reprimands.’
Uncle and niece walked slowly down the High Street in the bright moonlight. Very occasionally a curtain now did twitch and a front door open and then quickly close; the comings and goings of so many vehicles so late in the evening finally proving irresistible. Not one of the villagers, however, came out to enquire what was going on.
‘There’s obviously something better on television,’ said Eliza Jane, reading Campion’s mind.
‘Let the good people of Lindsay sleep through the revolution. When they rise with the dawn it will be to a life without Carders.’
‘Will they notice?’
‘Probably not; though that’s not necessarily a bad thing,’ said Campion reasonably, ‘and there will be something else on telly tomorrow night.’
‘And what about the Carders themselves?’
‘They will dissolve into folklore, all except Lady Prunella Redcar, who is already a thing of legend. She will retain her life of splendid and pampered ignorance in Monte Carlo because Gus Marchant is a kind man and will continue to provide whatever Carder pension she draws. Though she will be troubled by frequent visits from the French police and Interpol and will have to advertise for a new companion-housekeeper.’
‘Monte Carlo, eh?’ said the girl impishly. ‘I might apply for the post.’
‘You should have a word with my daughter-in-law Perdita first,’ said Mr Campion. ‘On second thoughts, I think it might be dangerous if you two got together and hit it off.’
‘Dangerous for whom?’
‘Mankind in general, I would have thought. And speaking of dangers to man, I dropped my rather splendid walking stick, my pilgrim’s staff, down by the studio last night. If it’s still there in the grass, do give it to Clarissa as a keepsake, or as stock for The Medley.’
‘I’m not sure I’ll be spending much time at the studio in the future.’
‘Really? I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘Sorry, but not surprised?’
Mr Campion slowed his gait and studied his niece’s face, revelling in the familiar Fitton features.
‘I must be careful what I say, but I have always thought you had your aunt’s impeccable taste in men. With Ben Judd, you just forgot it for a while.’
‘That’s the most arrogant, immodest thing I’ve ever heard!’ Eliza Jane snapped, stamping a foot, but her fury was transient. ‘It’s also sadly very true. I was besotted with Ben. Perhaps I thought I could tame him but after the way he behaved last night, I think that’s an impossible dream and I would go mad in the attempt.’
‘Not only beautiful, but wise,’ said Campion fondly, ‘which is the Fitton family motto, or it ought to be.’
They walked a few more paces in silence until they arrived at Eliza Jane’s cottage.
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ asked the girl.
‘Of course I will, I’m being taken into custody and a night in the cells in Bury St Edmunds will be a new adventure for me.’ Campion smiled his most owlish smile.
‘Haven’t you had enough adventures? Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?’
‘At my age, you mean? You might be right; in fact I think you are.’
‘Steady on, Uncle, don’t go all serious on me.’
‘I hope I’ll never do that,’ said Campion, taking her hand in his, ‘but recent events have been rather wearying and I am no longer as young as most people think I am.’
Eliza Jane tugged on his arm to acknowledge the joke.
‘Look up there,’ said Campion, pointing his spectacles to the billowing full moon above.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it.’
‘It certainly is, but my point is that a man walked on that earlier this year.’
‘And one day a woman will.’
‘Of that I have no doubt, but when I was born men – and women – were still some years away from even flying. Now we send men to the Moon and watch it on television from the comfort of our own homes. It is a very different world now from the one I was brought in to and I think it is a world getting harsher and more ruthless.’
‘You mean the drugs scene?’
‘Not just that, though that is unpleasant and will undoubtedly become more of a problem. It is the speed of change – progress, if you like – which is leaving people like me behind. It is the way of the world and I am not making any special pleading, but I don’t have to like it and I think it better for all concerned, myself, my family and my friends, if I accept that I can no longer keep up the pace. I’ve had many a jolly adventure, been lucky in life and very lucky in love. Hopefully I have the wisdom to know when it is time to retire gracefully from the scene.’
Eliza Jane squeezed her uncle’s hand, the gesture expressing an affection she would have found hard to put into words.
‘I came to Lindsay Carfax,’ said Mr Campion, ‘because I was i
ntrigued by what sounded to be a really old-fashioned mystery, the sort of mystery that required an old fashioned adventurer.’
Mr Campion smiled his gentlest smile.
‘It was; and I am. And both of us have had our day.’
Albert Campion will return in Mr Campion’s Fox
