Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  Everard looked up and across the table at Declan. He took a sip of tonic water and Declan sighed heavily. Everard turned to Eric.

  “No, no, no. I don’t particularly worry myself about any of that. I mean really, unless the government puts spies in my bedroom how would they know what Declan and I do in our private moments...”

  Eric winced, that wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Not his son with another man.

  “As for homophobia and what other people might think, I don’t worry about it and I don’t think Declan does either. I mean you wouldn’t know that I was homosexual if your son hadn’t come out as it were now would you?”

  Eric nodded.

  “No, I suppose I wouldn’t have known. You don’t seem queer to me.”

  Declan shot his father a look and rolled his eyes at him.

  “That’s a very condescending word, Father. You might as well be calling women wenches.”

  Eric looked up at his son.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that Everard nor you for that matter seem homosexual.”

  “Not all homosexuals are effeminate if that’s what you mean,” said Everard.

  “I understand that now. And the two of you probably don’t remember this, but one of our greatest playwrights, Oscar Wilde, was sentenced to hard labor just for being homosexual.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” said Everard. “I’ve read up on Oscar’s case and as much as I disagree with the punishment he was very outspoken about his homosexuality and will no doubt go down in the history books as one of our great martyrs and perhaps eventually even as one of our earliest emancipators. But in some ways he brought the difficulties upon himself...”

  “What would you have done?” asked Declan. “I mean the poor man was accused in public of having committed a crime. Surely you would have defended yourself?”

  “I’m afraid, my dear Declan,” said Everard, looking at him with a smile, “that I do not have the courage that Mr. Wilde had. In fact, I’d likely have gone to France or even perhaps Southern Italy where homosexual sex is not illegal.”

  Eric furrowed his brow, it was obvious this was a difficult topic for him to listen to. Frances looked at him steadily, admiring what was, for Eric, great fortitude and patience. Indeed, if Frances could wave a magic wand, she would have had Declan born heterosexual. But one does not have the gift of magic nor of creation other than to be the vessel through whom life travels on part of its journey.

  Yet she had watched Declan grow into a fine young man. An erudite, kind and even tempered young man. He was a shrewd businessman, perhaps even more so than Eric, and even as a boy he had never treated his younger sister unkindly. They were close, closer than Frances could have imagined.

  And Everard could easily have been another son to her. He was patient and kind and stood upon high moral ground and was never swayed from his beliefs by inconvenience or expediency. And if Frances turned a blind eye to the fact that he was her son’s lover she found the love they shared to be as deep and committed as that between Amelia and Alfie. And wasn’t that all that a mother could ask? That her children grow up kind and healthy and successful with a life overflowing with love?

  That was what she had received and what she felt was her greatest gift. She just wished that Eric might see things in that light. But he struggled with Declan’s homosexuality. He found it difficult to look past it and through to the relationship itself.

  “I didn’t know that about Oscar Wilde,” said Eric, looking up at Everard.

  “Because you’ve never been interested in my life in that much detail,” said Declan.

  Eric looked at his son, and tried to understand. He remembered the small boy who looked up at him through those blue eyes filled with love, not the flinty anger he saw in them now.

  “I find it hard to understand,” said Eric. “I’ve never known how to interact with you. I’m sorry.”

  At that moment Alfred and Ginny came back into the dining room carrying a tray full of plates of food. Alfred put the tray on the side table and started dishing up the fried fish and chips that was for dinner. It was one of Declan’s favorites and had been prepared just for that very reason.

  “Oh my,” said Ginny, as she served a plate to Amelia, “that is a very fine ring you have there my Lady Amelia. Please let me wish you congratulations and may God bless your marriage all your days.”

  “Thank you,” said Amelia, “that’s very kind.”

  “Good on you, sir, you’ve done well for yourself,” she said as she served up Alfie.

  “Thank you, Ginny. I think I’ve caught the catch of the century.”

  Everyone chuckled along with him at his pun. Ginny served up Everard. He had before him a plate of chips with carrots and peas as well as a good serving of broccoli with cheese sauce.

  “I hope this will do?” she asked him. “I can rustle you up something else if you prefer.”

  “This looks simply marvelous, Ginny, thank you,” said Everard. “You always spoil me.”

  Ginny grinned widely from ear to ear and then served up Declan last. She then put a bottle of vinegar on the table as well as ketchup and mayonnaise. Ginny then took the tray from Alfred and headed back to the kitchen.

  “Will that be enough for you?” asked Frances, looking at Everard. “It makes me nervous not seeing some fish on your plate.”

  “This is wonderful, Fran, thank you so much. It will be plenty.”

  Frances nodded and asked for some vinegar which Declan passed to her. He then took it and drowned his chips in it. The fish had a wedge of lemon on it which he squeezed all over it. Everard took the ketchup and dribbled it over his chips and then added a dash of vinegar for good measure. Amelia took the vinegar from him and drowned her chips in it just like her brother had done.

  The smell of vinegar was sharp and pungent on the nostrils. Alfie took the bottle of mayonnaise and scooped out a generous helping of it with his fish knife which he then scraped off onto the side of his plate. He dunked a chip into it and bit it.

  “You like it European style?” asked Eric, looking at Alfie.

  “I do. Depends on the day though, and today feels like a mayonnaise kind of day.”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” said Amelia, taking a chip from her plate and dipping it into Alfie’s mayonnaise and then biting the mayonnaise end. She pulled a face, and Alfie laughed. It even elicited a grin from her brother which was her goal. She wanted to lighten the mood.

  “Yuck, still don’t like it,” she said.

  Eric took the salt and pepper grinder and salted his fish and chips and ground pepper all over it.

  “To get back to your earlier question, Eric,” said Everard. “I would never let anything happen to Declan, I’d go to the gallows first.”

  He looked up at Eric and his face was sincere and his eyes pleading for understanding. Eric looked up at him and nodded.

  “I suppose that’s all I could ask for.”

  Eric had a begrudging respect for Everard. The young man was committed to his ideals and although not belligerent about them, he wouldn’t be dissuaded otherwise. In fact, whenever Eric would prod and probe about his sexuality Everard was always patient and slow to anger, in fact he had not seen the young man moved to anger yet.

  He respected that, and in a way, it was only through Everard’s thoughtful and patient responses that he was beginning to understand in some small way, his son’s homosexuality. One thing that Eric found harder to appreciate was Everard’s insistence upon equality. Not so much his insistence for homosexuals being given equality, that was something that Eric could agree with, but rather he had the suspicion that Everard would never have addressed him as ‘Lord’ even if he had insisted upon it, which in any event he hadn’t.

  “Your mother wanted Ginny to cook you one of your favorite meals for tonight. She knows how much you love your fish and chips. Always have since you were a young boy. Isn’t that right,” said Eric, looking up at Frances.<
br />
  Frances nodded.

  “I thought you might like it. We haven’t had it in quite sometime, and now that you’ve moved out into your own flat I wanted to help you reconsider.”

  She laughed, knowing full well that Declan was happily immersed in his own life and living on his own. Declan laughed, looking at his mother.

  “So you’re trying gastronomic blackmail. It might actually work. It is nice to have some fish and chips again, just the way that Ginny makes them. Those chaps in Kensington are no match, even though I keep going back trying.”

  “I’ll say,” said Everard, grinning at Declan, “whenever we’re having lunch together it’s always at one of those blasted fish and chips shops. All I get to eat is chips.”

  “So Alfie,” said Eric, “when are you going to make good on your promise to marry Amelia?”

  Alfie finished his mouthful of fish and looked up at Eric.

  “Amelia and I were hoping for September of next year. In fact, we’ve chosen September the 11th as the day we’d like.”

  Eric nodded.

  “That gives me time to save,” he said laughing.

  “We should have it at Avalon at Ambleside,” said Frances, looking at her daughter. “If that’s something you’d consider?”

  Amelia looked at her mother and smiled.

  “Yes of course, Mum, Alfie and I were hoping we could have it there. It would just make it perfect to be out in the country and not to have to worry about anything.”

  “I see,” said Eric, “so you’re hoping to invite the whole of England, and maybe Scotland and Wales too? What about the Irish?”

  Eric winked at his daughter and she frowned at him.

  “Well, Daddy, if I remember from what mother told me, your wedding to her was quite the national event.”

  “I have no recollection of that, I think I might have been drunk the whole weekend.”

  “Nonsense,” said Frances, “he was stone cold sober and putting on a brave face. But I could tell that he was a little nervous. In any event, you are welcome to as big a wedding as you’d like.”

  “Thanks, Mum, though to be honest, Alfie and I are just hoping for something small and manageable. Just family and maybe a few close friends.”

  “Whatever you like darling,” said Frances.

  Amelia nodded.

  “Yes, that’s what I’d like and Alfie too. Just something small, no more than about one hundred people.”

  “What about your best man?” asked Declan, turning to look at Alfie. “Have you chosen him yet?”

  “Yes, I have. You probably haven’t met him, but he’s a dear friend from varsity. Actually we go back quite a few years before that. But to be honest, I was hoping that I might impose upon you to be a groomsman?”

  Declan smiled at him.

  “That would be a great honor, I would be delighted.”

  “Thank you,” said Alfie, beaming a smile. “I was hoping I could impose on you too, Everard. If it’s not too much to ask.”

  He looked at Alfie and grinned, nodding his head.

  “Yes, of course. It would be my pleasure too.”

  “Thank you. You’ve both been so good to me and I wanted to acknowledge that and let you know how important the two of you are to me. Like older brothers I never had.”

  “Anyone who’s important to my sister, is important to me,” said Declan and he raised his glass to Amelia and they clinked again.

  Frances smiled, feeling wonderfully warm inside as she took in her wonderful, loving and kind family. She had been blessed beyond measure. Beyond all merit that she had even hoped to deserve.

  Alfred came around and cleared the plates away and put them on the tray and took it out to Ginny in the kitchen. Declan turned to his mother.

  “Everard and I wanted to invite you to an event,” he said.

  Frances looked at him.

  “What event is that dear?”

  “Well as you probably know, the second Round Table Conference is opening up tomorrow and Mahatma Gandhi will be here. In fact, from what we’ve been told, he arrived this past Friday. Anyway, Gandhi is giving a speech about his philosophy of satyagraha with a view to positive action through vegetarianism. We’d like you to come along. You and Dad.”

  Declan looked over at his father.

  “What time is it?” asked Eric.

  Declan looked over at Everard.

  “It starts at six thirty and there will be a large buffet of Indian vegetarian food.”

  “That sounds absolutely wonderful,” said Frances. “We haven’t had Indian food in quite some time have we, dear?”

  She looked over at Eric and he nodded.

  “I’d be interested in hearing what he has to say about his Round Table Conference which seems to me more posturing than real negotiating on the part of Ramsay MacDonald’s government.”

  “Yes, well I’m not sure he’ll be speaking much about the negotiations. This is strictly about how vegetarianism fits in with his satyagraha.”

  “Where is it being held?” asked Eric.

  “At Alcott House in Surrey. Which incidentally was where one of the very first vegetarian groups ever gathered,” said Everard.

  “But isn’t it an orphanage now?” asked Frances.

  Everard nodded.

  “Yes it is, but it is still run with the philosophy of vegetarianism as the basis of the diet for the children. There’s a separate building or hall where the lecture will take place away from the main house where the children live. All funds being raised are going to be donated to the orphanage.”

  “How nice,” said Frances.

  “Yes, the Vegetarian Society is putting it on and Gandhi has kindly donated his time for this cause. He’s an honorary member of the society if you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t and rightly so I imagine.”

  Everard nodded.

  “I think we’d love to go, wouldn’t we Eric?” said Frances, giving him a look that made it clear they were both going. Eric smiled.

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “What about me?” asked Amelia. “Can Alfie and I come too. We’d enjoy it wouldn’t we, darling,” she said, looking at her fiancé.”

  Alfie nodded.

  “I’d be very interested in hearing what Gandhi has to say. He’s an exceptionally good speaker from what I’ve heard.”

  Alfie looked around from Declan to Everard.

  “We’d love to invite you along Amelia,” said Declan, “but the event’s been sold out for weeks. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  Amelia pulled a long face.

  “Oh rubbish,” said Everard, “don’t listen to him, he’s just teasing you. We got four extra tickets just in case. Though as Declan says, the event has been sold out for some time.”

  “How much were the tickets?” asked Amelia.

  “Free to you,” said Declan, “but they cost us five pounds each.”

  “That’s not cheap,” said Eric.

  “No, but you’re getting a once in a lifetime opportunity to hear the Mahatma speak. He doesn’t do these sorts of lectures very often and all the proceeds go to the orphanage in any case and heaven knows they could make good use of the money.”

  “Well, I look forward to it,” said Frances, “but I insist that you allow us to pay you for the tickets.”

  “Absolutely not, Fran, I can’t allow it. This is our gift to the four of you,” said Everard.

  And before she could object, Alfred and Ginny came in carrying the silver tray which had upon it six plates with date and walnut pudding on them with a jug of steaming hot custard on the side.

  FIVE

  Chapter 5

  BIJAY Panchal had prepared his father for antyesti. It had been hard, his eyes had dropped hundreds of tears like spilled jewels over Chetan’s body as Bijay had bathed him the night before, keeping his feet facing south so that he might join the dead.

  Bijay was the eldest son and this was his responsibili
ty and his privilege, but it was still hard. Never had he thought it would come so soon. His father was a peaceful man, well liked by all members of the community, and yet he had been savagely beaten to death just for wanting to bring independence to his beloved country.

  Bijay had dressed his father in plain white clothes, the same color that he now wore. He had looked down at him as he lay there, dead. But he looked peaceful and the injury on the side of his temple and the back of his skull from the lathi were hard to notice now. His mother Kanti had been proud of how well Bijay had prepared his father.

  On the morning after his murder she came in to see if Bijay was ready. He was, and they hugged each other and Kanti held back her tears, the mourning would start soon enough. Bijay’s eyes had dried like hot stones in the summer heat as he had burned through his first wave of anger and sadness the night before.

  “Did you remember the holy water from the Ganges?” she asked Bijay, looking deeply into his brown eyes.

  “I did mother, he will be liberated today,” said Bijay.

  He reminded her so much of his father. He was as lean and as handsome as the young Chetan had been. Even though Bijay was already a grown man, he had a boyish face cropped by thick black hair.

  He had visited the Ganges many years ago during one of his pilgrims and he had brought back a small bottle of the holy water. It had been blessed by a brahmin for a small fee, and it was this water he had used to ensure that his father’s soul would attain liberation. He had placed a few drops in his father’s mouth just after he had bathed him and clothed him.

  Kanti looked down at her dead husband as he lay on the stretcher, ready to be taken out to the funeral pyre. He looked so peaceful lying there with his hands clasped together. Kanti noticed the basil on the stretcher by his right side. Just as it should be. Her eldest son, Bijay had taken his task very seriously and she was very proud of him.

  Upon Chetan’s forehead was a dab of sandalwood paste. Kanti couldn’t smell it as she looked down at him, his body was adorned with flowers and they offered the strongest smell that she could discern. Chetan was also adorned with jewels. He had around his wrists a gold chain, one with a ruby that dangled on the outside of his wrist and the other with an emerald.