by James Lear
“Maybe.” I thought it best to keep him sweet—and besides, I wasn’t entirely averse to the idea of having him bound and at my mercy.
“Neville and his friend had him at both ends.”
“Great.”
“So you see, we’re a very generous family. Generous to our staff. Simon got everything he could have wanted, and more. It’s a tradition in Drekeham Hall. Everyone has a go with everyone else, from the lowliest hall boy all the way up to...well, anyway, we had a marvelous time. You must come down when I’m having one of my weekends.”
“Perhaps when all this has blown over.”
“Yes, precisely. When order has been restored. Quite honestly, I will be glad when Mr. Meeks is out of the way. He’s nearly spoiled everything. Stupid boy, getting ideas above his station. But you see, it would be in nobody’s interest to let all this blow up in the newspapers. Best if it’s...”
“Hushed up? I understand.”
“I knew you would. We have to be so careful, don’t we?” He ran his hand down my chest and let it rest on my lower abdomen.
I turned and walked out of the room to avoid punching him.
IX
THERE COMES A POINT IN MOST SHERLOCK HOLMES stories when the great detective takes Watson to one side and tells him that he has divined the truth behind the mystery, then demonstrates his superior powers of deduction by unraveling the entire story to the astonished sidekick (and reader). I felt that the time had come for me to do something of the kind, and had even fantasized about Morgan’s star-struck admiration, which he would express in the only way he knew how.
But there was a fly in the ointment. I didn’t have a clue what was going on in Drekeham Hall. I had gathered a great deal of information, but I could not, for the life of me, resolve it into a coherent picture. The truth, surely, was right under my nose, but I could not see it. Images were whirling around in my brain: Meeks and Walworth in Leonard Eagle’s bathroom; Simon, the hall boy, bound hand and foot, with a cock up each end; Burroughs, the butler, and his network of spy holes... I needed to introduce some order into this erotic jumble, so I went up to my room for a bit of peace and quiet, fully intending to work it all out on a piece of paper and come to a blinding conclusion.
Morgan had had much the same idea. I found him sitting in an armchair, staring out across the gardens. He didn’t even turn around when I came in.
“There goes the groom, taking Sir James’s hunter for a gallop in the lower field,” he said. “Wish I was out there with him.”
“What, the hairy one?”
“Yes. The one who just pissed in our faces.”
“How many other men work in the stables?”
“None. Just him. They don’t have many horses nowadays. Used to be some excellent hunting round here, but Sir James has run it down over the last season or so. Pity, really.”
“Just him... I see.”
“Is it important?”
“Just another piece of the jigsaw that doesn’t fit. If he’s the only one in the stables, then he couldn’t have been in two places at one time this morning, could he?”
“No. Nobody can do that.”
“And yet it seems that everyone in Drekeham Hall can do exactly that. The groom was in the field with the gardener, we watched them, and yet at just the same time he was meant to be fucking Leonard Eagle.”
“Impossible.”
“Exactly. And you saw how much spunk he shot over the gardener’s face.”
Morgan grinned. “Gallons of the stuff. Looked like he hadn’t come in days.”
“Then they rode off together, and it was lunchtime. How was lunch, by the way?”
“Ghastly. I missed you. Everyone’s in such a sulk.”
“Who was there?”
“Sir James, as gloomy as ever. Lady Caroline, who looked as if she was about to go to pieces. Whopper Hunt, who barely ate a thing. Billie, who’s bearing up wonderfully under the circumstances, but looked like she’d been crying. And of course that awful cove, Leonard.”
“Ah. Leonard. It all comes back to Leonard. So he ate lunch with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s no way he could have snuck in a quickie with the groom.”
“Oh, no, definitely not. Besides, he spent most of dinner dropping things under the table and trying to feel my leg. He’s a disgusting creature.”
“So everything he’s told me is a lie.”
“Of course it is, Mitch. I could have told you that.”
“You don’t know what he’s told me.”
“I don’t have to know. Leonard Eagle is a bad egg. Incapable of telling the truth. Everyone knows that.”
“In that case...”
And so I related to Morgan everything that Leonard had told me: the party in his quarters, while the rest of us were out of the way playing a silly game of Sardines; the circumstantial evidence of the abuse of Simon, the hall boy; the “actor pals” from London and their rough trade friends—and Meeks’s unexpected taste for dangerous forms of gratification that had cost Reg Walworth his life.
“But what about Burroughs? He said that Meeks was in his room all afternoon.”
“And I’m sure he was. But if it comes to evidence, whom are the police going to believe? Sir James’s brother, backed up by Sir James himself, no doubt? Or a couple of visitors to the house who can’t tell how they got their evidence, and who have no right to be sticking their noses in in the first place? Oh, it’s all been very carefully, cleverly sewn up.”
“But the thing is, Mitch, it’s a pack of lies.”
“If only we could prove that.”
“We must.”
“Could Meeks have been at a party in Leonard’s rooms, and then found his way back to the servants’ quarters?”
“I very much doubt it. Not without being seen. He’d have to go down the landing, right past the cupboard where you and I were...well, hiding...down the main staircase, and through the passage that leads to the stairs.”
“It’s possible, isn’t it?”
“But the place was crawling with hunters. We were the only ones they hadn’t found. Besides Billie, there were Sir James and Lady Caroline, and Rex of course. Everyone hunting round the main part of the house, looking for us.”
“But they’re all in it together.”
“I resent that remark, Mitch. Whatever is going on, Billie knows nothing about it, and if you don’t believe me, I’ll be extremely angry with you.” His color was up; Morgan was extremely chivalric where ladies were concerned.
“Okay, okay, I believe you. I’m sure Belinda knows nothing. But Rex? Sir James and Lady Caroline?”
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd, Mitch, that nobody found us for such a long time?”
“I wasn’t really paying much attention to the game.”
“No, I know what you were paying attention to. Corrupting your old pal Boy Morgan, who didn’t know any better and who had been waiting for you to make a move since the first day he met you.”
“Is that true?”
“Might be,” he said, tousling my hair. I wanted to wrestle him to the floor and take him right there and then, but he kept me at arm’s length. “Now just listen for a moment, Mitch. I’ve been thinking. That game of Sardines. It suited us, of course, for reasons that you well know, and it suited Billie, who’s a big kid at heart. But I believe it suited everyone else in the house for very different reasons.”
“You mean it got us out of the way.”
“Precisely.”
“While something was done in secret.”
“Bingo. Everyone pretended to hide—but they were up to something.”
“And when the police turned up, so soon after the discovery of the body...”
“Discovered by Belinda. I can’t believe they would do something so awful to their own daughter. Stuffing a corpse in a cupboard where it would fall out on her.”
“It was all planned. But why this weekend, with the house full of people?”
“That’s what we have to find out, Mitch. Something happened. We don’t know what. But something brought matters to a head.”
“If only we knew what those ‘matters’ are.”
“Well I can tell you something,” Morgan said, with a satisfied grin. “Whatever it was, Sir James didn’t like it.”
“What do you mean?”
“While you were down the pub flirting with your secretary friend, don’t tell me you weren’t, I was making myself useful belowstairs.”
“Not the fantastic tits again.”
“The very same.”
“And what did she have to reveal to you?”
“Nothing of that nature, though if I weren’t such a decent chap I’d be tempted to sneak down there later on and give her what she wants. Why not join me, Mitch? Find out what you’re missing.”
“I’d rather you fucked me than her.”
“Your loss. Think of both of us... Well, never mind. Anyway, she’s a very naughty girl, our Susie. Very naughty indeed.”
“I’ve heard about her loose morals from various quarters.”
“You can’t blame her for fucking Hibbert, can you? But that’s not what I meant. She’s nosy. Inquisitive. Can’t mind her own business.”
“In other words, she saw something.”
“She was on her way to a tryst with Hibbert when she heard Sir James and Lady Caroline arguing in the library. She stopped and listened, but couldn’t make out what it was all about.”
“Then?”
“They came bursting out of the library and chased each other up to Leonard’s rooms. She watched them go in together and slam the door behind them.”
“When was this?”
“Just about the time that you were getting my dick out of my trousers, I should think. She hid herself underneath the stairs and waited.”
“So if Meeks had come down...”
“She would have seen him.”
“And did she?”
“She never mentioned it. That’s the trouble. Awkward for Meeks.”
“But we know...”
“That’s the trouble, Mitch. I’m not sure Burroughs was telling the truth.”
“How come?”
“Because Susie said that Meeks was serving tea to the family in Leonard’s rooms. She saw him go in—but she didn’t see him come out. And he still hadn’t come out when all hell broke loose.”
“I refuse to believe Meeks is a murderer, or even an accomplice to murder. Now you have to believe me. It’s all wrong.”
“I believe you, then. I tell you what, though. She may not have seen Meeks coming out of Leonard’s room, but she did see Sir James.”
“What?”
“Yes. Storming out, he was, looking furious about something. Went off to his study and wasn’t seen again until the police arrived.”
“Maybe they found out what Leonard was up to with his friends.”
“I don’t believe he was up to anything of the sort. Not with Lady C in there as well. I think they were having some kind of meeting.”
“But what about?”
“That’s what we have to find out.”
But where? We had looked in all the obvious places, even in a few of the less obvious ones, and all we were left with was suspicion and rumor. We left our room to “go hunting,” as Morgan put it; we both knew that, if we stayed shut up together any longer, we’d let the trail go cold and spend the rest of the afternoon fucking. I could still feel the pleasure of his two long fingers up my ass, and was desperate to let him play the man with me. I was even prepared to “share” Susie, the kitchen maid, if it gave him pleasure. I knew it was time to get out and get my mind off sex.
We strolled along the network of landings on our floor, as if the truth was somehow going to pop out of a cupboard, like a partygoer in a game of Sardines—or, this being Drekeham Hall, like a corpse that’s been planted in a covered-up murder.
“Boy,” I said, suddenly stopping in my tracks. “What did Belinda see up here yesterday afternoon? Just before she found the body, I mean.”
“Tracks on the carpet.”
“Where were they leading from?”
“Sir James’s study, she thought.”
“That’s where they were going to, though, isn’t it? That’s where they took the body. Look; if you rub the carpet toward us, as if you were dragging a body from the cupboard where it was found and into Sir James’s study, the pile is just pressed flat. No tracks. This is where Belinda was standing, roughly, when she found the body. She wouldn’t have seen anything.”
I demonstrated with my foot, roughing up the pile in the appropriate direction.
“You’re right.”
“But if the body had been dragged in the other direction... Look.” I rubbed my foot across the carpet the other way—in the direction that led from Leonard’s rooms to the fatal cupboard. The pile, brushed up, made clearly visible tracks.
“So what Billie saw was not leading to Sir James’s study,” Morgan said, “but leading from Leonard’s rooms...”
“And into the cupboard. Correct. So now we know where the murder took place.”
“But that’s exactly what Leonard told you.”
“Yes. But he’s lying about Meeks. Burroughs knew where Meeks was all afternoon. If we can prove that, and if we can make Leonard stick to his guns about the whereabouts of the murder, then we’ve got him.”
“Do you think he killed Reg Walworth?”
“Not necessarily. But he knows who did.”
“So it’s all down to Burroughs. Poor old bastard. They’ll turn him out when they know what he’s been up to.”
“And how easy it would be to discredit his evidence. Put the screws on someone like Hibbert, he’d blab. Then Burroughs is silenced, Meeks remains guilty on the evidence of the entire family, who will support Leonard’s story, the scandal will be hushed up, Meeks hangs, Rex marries Diana... It’s all very clever. Very neat.”
“I say, Mitch, shut up a second.” Morgan laid a hand on my arm.
“What?”
“Listen. Downstairs.”
Voices were raised somewhere beneath us. We went toward the source of the sound and lurked at the head of the stairs. There, at the front door, was the bulky form of Mrs. Ramage, giving short shrift to an unseen visitor.
“If you’ve come to sell something, we never buy at the door. Besides which, I would have thought that even someone of your class would have the common decency to come round the tradesman’s entrance.” She was quite gruff with anger.
“I’m not selling anything,” came a man’s voice. “I told you: I want to see Sir James.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then I suggest you make contact with our Mr. West on the telephone.”
“I’ve come all the way from London...”
“It doesn’t matter if you’ve come from Timbuktu, Mr....”
“Barrett. From the London Evening News.”
“A journalist! Get away from here this instant before I call the police.”
“I’m not breaking any laws, Missus.” The voice had a slight cockney twang. “Just let me in.”
“Certainly not. Speak to Mr. West. Good day.” She slammed the door in the visitor’s face and lumbered through the hall and out of sight.
“She’s better than a bulldog,” Morgan said.
What little I knew of the press I had gleaned from novels, but I got the impression that Mr. Barrett of the London Evening News conformed to the type, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. If my reading was right, he would at this moment be sneaking around the side of the house and trying to find an alternative entrance that would circumvent the fearsome doorkeeper. I hastened out into the garden, cut through a shady alley that led from the drive, and—lo and behold!—met Mr. Barrett coming toward me. He was a man of roughly my height and build, that is to say, short and stocky, with a hat pushed back on his head, a cheap suit, an
d unpolished shoes. Little wonder Mrs. Ramage had given him such short shrift. I could see, however, that he had an inquisitive pugilist’s face, with a broken nose, strong cheek-bones, and a full, rubbery mouth. He was no oil painting, but I found him refreshing in these rarefied surroundings.
He was one step ahead of me.
“Afternoon, guv’nor. Just come about the guttering. Don’t mind me. I know where I’m going.”
“Glad to hear it, Mr. Barrett.”
He didn’t bother to keep up the pretense. “All right, all right. I’m on my way. Can’t blame me for trying to do my job. God, this place has got tougher security than Bucking-ham Palace.”
“Hold on,” I said, steering him back toward the drive. “You and I need to have a little talk.”
“What about?”
“We’re interested in the same things, I guess.”
“Oh, shit. You’re not that Yank from the news agency, are you? The one that’s scooping everyone else’s stories? For God’s sake, give a bloke a chance.”
“No, I’m not a journalist. Come in here.”
The garage, where Hibbert kept Sir James’s Bentley, was open, and I pushed Barrett through. The air inside smelled not unpleasantly of petrol. Hibbert’s cigarette ends were all over the floor. I wondered if this was where he brought Susie to keep her sweet.
“You want to see Sir James? Forget it.”
“That’s what his secretary said on the phone.”
“Mr. West?”
“Yeah. Snotty little toerag.”
“Sir James isn’t seeing anyone. Least of all a journalist.”
“Why not?”
“You tell me.”
“Reg Walworth.”
At last: the lead we’d been looking for. Someone who could shed light on the central mystery of the case—who, and what, was Reg Walworth, and why would anyone at Drekeham Hall want him dead?
“So who was he?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Me? I’m just a friend of the family.”
