'Avian — that's birds, isn't it? Feathers. Feather boa? Ostrich-feather hat?'
Bernard shook his head. 'You're being too literal. It's more like a clue from a cross-word puzzle, I think.'
'I don't know about those. I've never tried one.'
'Oh, they're all the rage at work. Freddy is particularly keen on them. He's moved from The Times to the Telegraph so as to get them and calls out the clues when you're trying to add something up. I think it's probably "dovecote."'
'I say, that's rather clever,' laughed Emily. 'Unfortunately it's not spelled the same!'
'Which is why it says "by the sound of it." It tells you you're not to worry about the spelling.'
'Oh, I see. But is there a dovecote? I can't say I've ever noticed one.'
'Neither have I, but I'll bet that's what it is. They're usually set on a pole, aren't they?'
'Sometimes it's a building, I think. Or just holes in a wall.'
'Like over there, do you mean?' suggested Bernard, pointing. 'The gable of that barn, or whatever it is.'
'So there are! Let's have a look. Blow it! George and Janet are there.'
'We might have guessed Janet would tumble it.' said Bernard. 'They're pondering the second clue, I expect. If we watch, we might get some pointers. Come behind the hedge a minute.'
'Isn't this rather naughty, spying on them?' giggled Emily, crouching beside him.
'Well, there's nothing in the rules against it, and it might save us time. Anyway, I'd say a little moral flexibility is justified under the circumstances, wouldn't you?'
Emily gazed at him with surprise. 'Bernard Austen! And you a respected accountant.'
'I'm not accounting now; I'm trying to win my wife a Tudor manor house, with gardens and dovecote. The end justifies the means.'
'I see! And just how "morally flexible" are you prepared to be?' said Emily. 'I think I should be told!'
'Oh, whatever's required,' said Bernard, peering through the foliage. 'Theft, blackmail, murder if necessary. Look, George is going inside. We'd best wait until he comes out.'
The library at the manor house was on the first floor, quite large and well-lit, with comfortable armchairs and a table to work at. Bookshelves lined the walls and projected into the room in places, making peaceful nooks and corners. There was no-one about but Nettie, who had been dusting. She bobbed politely and left them to it.
'One bible, family-sized,' said Tony, plonking it down. 'What was the clue again?'
'"Book 5. 29:18.15+44. Darts beneath the band,"' read Elizabeth.
'And you reckon it's Deuteronomy?'
'Yes. It's the last of the Pentateuch. Well, obviously.'
Tony stared at his wife in amazement. 'How on earth did you know that? That it's Deuteronomy, I mean.'
'Probably from Sunday school. I'd do anything for an embroidered bookmark.' She stood in thought for a moment. 'Actually that's not strictly true. I'd do anything to stop Mavis Stokes getting the bookmark.'
'I'm not the least surprised,' said Tony leafing through the pages. 'Well, if you're right, here it is: "Lest there should be among you man, or woman, or family, or tribe, whose heart turneth away this day from the Lord our God, to go and serve the gods of these nations; lest there should be among you a root that beareth gall and wormwood." Hmm, gall and wormwood. What do you reckon the numbers mean?'
'I expect you have to count the words.'
'All right, I make that heart and, um . . . gall.'
'Great hall!' cried Elizabeth triumphantly. 'Anagram.'
'Crikey! That was quick.'
'Well, "Hall" just jumped out and that left "great."'
Tony shook his head wonderingly. 'I had no idea I had such an intelligent wife.'
'I don't know why not, I'm sure!' said Elizabeth indignantly. 'Anyway, I spent all yesterday swotting up. I want this house, Tony.'
'I know you do.'
She turned and looked at him in the direct way she had. 'But you don't, do you?'
'If you want it,' said Tony, 'I'm prepared to go all out for it. That's what we're doing, isn't it?'
'That's not what I asked.'
Tony sighed. 'I like our little house, Lizzie. It may not be as grand as this one but I've had to sweat blood to get it. I'm fond of it, and I should miss it. For you, however, I'd give it up. Just don't forget about Joan.'
'Oh, pooh to Joan,' said Elizabeth. 'We'll get rid of her somehow.'
'How?'
'Poison her cocoa.'
'Lizzie!'
'Only joking . . . I think. Now for, "Darts beneath the band."'
'Whatever that means.'
Egg and Charlotte were enjoying their morning coffee when a filthy and dishevelled George came in.
'Number four?' enquired Egg sympathetically.
'Have you done it?' scowled George.
'Yes we have.'
'Then why aren't you covered in doves' . . . deposits?'
'Would you like your coat cleaned, sir?' asked Doris.
'Thank you, Doris. Yes I would, ' said George. 'I'm not quite sure what the drill is with, er . . . '
'That's all right, sir. We've just done Mr Roger's. It came up a treat.'
'Bernard arrived. 'Oh, I say! You too George?'
'You know darn well me too,' grumbled George. 'I saw you lurking behind that hedge.'
'I might as well take yours as well, sir, while I'm at it,' said Doris cheerfully.
'What? Oh, all right, thanks. Just let me check the pockets.'
'This is quite entertaining,' chuckled Charlotte as the two men went to wash. 'Do you suppose they solved the second bit?'
'If they did, they must be kicking themselves. Is there anything indoors we might try, while we're here?'
'How about "Emma was his muse"? It's a work of art, presumably. Music? Painting?'
'Probably a painting. Not really my forte, unfortunately.'
'Nor mine. The only Emma I can think of is Emma Hamilton.'
'Well she'd be muse material, I daresay; beautiful, one supposes, and not averse to taking her clothes off. Let me see, Trafalgar was eighteen hundred and five, wasn't it?'
'Yes. And the Nile was in seventeen ninety-eight. So we need an artist from about that period, presumably a portrait painter.'
'Or earlier, perhaps, when she still young and succulent.'
'Ooh — succulent! Am I succulent, Egg?'
'Like a ripe peach, my love. I long for your flesh.'
'Well you'll have to wait for that. Come on, let's go and look for portraits.'
'We could be wildly wrong,' cautioned Egg, draining his coffee. 'How about if we look up Emma Hamilton first, and see whom she mused for?'
'Yes, all right. They can't have many eighteenth century paintings here, so once we've got him it ought to be quite easy.'
'I think I know this one, said Vanda. '"Get a rise out of Ibsen's fatal heroine." It's probably Hedda Gabler. I actually played her once. All terribly intense and psychological.'
'What do you make of it, then?' said Roger.
'An anagram presumably? They often seem to be. There's "head," and "gable," but we've had a gable with the dovecote.'
'If it's anything to do with bally pigeons, count me out,' said Roger with feeling. 'One lot of filth and feathers is quite enough.'
'Poor darling. You were very brave.'
'Well I could hardly send you up there could I? Let's have a look; I can't properly visualise these things without seeing them. Hmm. Bread? Bed? Rather a lot of beds to check.'
'It could be quite interesting though?' suggested Vanda.
'No, I don't think so. Where would one start? Ladder, perhaps? Why, that's it! Ladder — "Get a rise out of!"'
Vanda gazed at him and sighed. 'It could be, but where? It would have to be permanently fixed, not the sort someone could wander off with and spoil the clue.'
'Stables!' said Roger, suddenly inspired. 'Ladder to the hayloft. Come on.'
'Are there stables here?' frowned Vanda, fol
lowing him. 'No-one rides, do they?'
'Not now, I doubt. Our cars are parked in them. Hadn't you noticed?'
'Why of course. Silly me!'
The ladder turned out to be between Vanda's little sports car and Tony's elderly Ford. 'Right,' said Roger. 'Up we go.'
'I'm not sure I should,' said Vanda archly. 'I know all about men and hay lofts. It brings out the worst in them.'
'Nonsense. You'll be perfectly safe, I assure you.'
Vanda looked aggrieved. 'Well thank you, Roger! No beds, no hay lofts. Have I really become so undesirable?'
Roger paused in his ascent, resting his brow against a rung of the ladder. 'Vanda, what are you doing here?'
'Same as you,' said Vanda, 'I was invited.'
When he turned, his jaw was taut with anger. 'You know I didn't mean that! I don't see hide or hair of you for seven years and suddenly you're flirting with me. It's a bit hard to take in!'
'I wanted to help you, that's all,' protested Vanda, flinching away from him. 'You want help, don't you? And for five of those years I've been a widow. You knew where I was.'
'You walked out on me! Packed up and left me for that . . . faggot! Why should I come looking for you? To be insulted and humiliated again?'
'That's not fair! protested Vanda. That's grossly unfair! I thought it was over!'
'I told you otherwise.'
'It was too late then! Roger, no! Don't you dare walk away from me!'
Roger stopped. 'And don't you dare cry!'
'I can't help it, you've upset me.'
'I've upset you! It hurts, Vanda! Do you think I've no feelings at all? When you came breezing in the other day, I scarcely knew what to do with myself. For two pins I'd have cleared off and never come back.'
For some moments they stood and stared at each other.
'Oh Roger, I'm sorry,' said Vanda. 'And I made that silly joke too. Please forgive me.'
'I suppose I shall have to.'
'Roger . . . Oh dear, this is dreadful. I didn't think you'd care. Not after all this time. I wouldn't hurt you for the world, you know that.'
'But you did!'
'Oh, now you're crying.'
'No I'm not.'
'Yes you are. You know you are.' Vanda looked around helplessly. Come and sit in my car a minute.'
'Vanda, there isn't time.'
'I don't care about that; we need to sort this out.'
'"Unscramble a newlywed's letter. Part of clue will help,"' read Tony. 'Second part is: "But how many heads?" Where on earth did he find 'em?'
'Probably used cross-word puzzles for inspiration,' said Elizabeth. 'There's a scrapbook of Torquemada ones in the library. I suppose it must have been quite difficult to make up clues for specific locations.'
'Well I'm not applauding,' grumbled Tony. 'I can almost hear him sniggering as he worked them out. However, assuming unscramble means solve an anagram, I suppose it's the "newlywed's letter." But what part of the clue helps?'
'Let's leave that for a minute. What can we do with it as it stands?'
'Lots of letter "e" in it, which ought to help.' He cogitated for a while. 'Twenty well reeds!'
'Well that's not much use is it!'
'I thought it was rather clever,' said Tony, aggrieved. 'Let's see you try.'
'There's your ladder,' said George as they approached the stables.
'No, wait!' whispered Janet.
'What's the matter?'
'There's someone in that car. Look, it's Roger and Vanda. I wonder what they're doing?'
'Having a smoke probably. Come on.'
'George, no! We can't just burst in on them.'
'They won't mind. It's hardly private.'
'They're not smoking; they're talking. Their heads are close together. I won't let you go in.'
'All right, we'll do it from here then. What's the second part?'
Janet consulted her notebook. '"Between two fashions, almost." You know, I'm beginning to wonder if this is right. It doesn't sound much like stables, does it?'
'I can't think of any other ladders, unless there's one to the bell-tower. We'd best try to solve it anyway. It'll be another number, I expect. They mostly seem to be.'
'Yes they do. Hmm, synonyms for fashions. Styles?'
'Ah! Count the rungs, then.'
'I don't follow.'
George chuckled. 'I'm glad I have my uses.'
'What do you mean?'
'The uprights of a ladder are called stiles, with an "i."'
'Are they really? I never knew they had a name. But can you see all the rungs from here? I can't.'
'Probably, if I crouch,' said George, wincing slightly as he did so. 'No, not quite. I'll have to lie down. Just hold me stick and notebook.'
'George — your back! Let me do it.'
'Certainly not! I'm not having my wife prostrate herself in a stable yard.'
'Then let's come back later; there's no hurry. Oh, George, honestly!'
'There!' said George triumphantly. 'I can see the top clearly now. It's eleven rungs.'
'Janet noted it down. Well get up before someone sees you . . . George? George, get up!
'Can't,' groaned George, 'I'm stuck.'
'Oh, George! I warned you!'
'Only joking, dear.'
'You horrid man! Do you want a kick?'
'It's a good thing he's dead, that's all I can say,' growled Roger, 'If you'd told me at the time, I'd have cut the bastard's throat for him.'
'That's why I didn't,' said Vanda. 'You were a very hot-blooded young man.'
'I'm not young now, and I still would. To think I've been doing business with him all these years.'
'At least you came out the right side of it. How much do you owe anyway?'
'Who says I owe anything?'
'You reek of desperation, darling. How much?'
'He hesitated. Just shy of six thousand.'
'Six thousand!'
'Couple of bad investments — usual thing. What about you?'
'Me?'
'You did rather jump at the seven-fifty.'
'Vanda gazed disbelievingly heavenwards. 'There are none so blind, they say.'
'You . . . Oh, I see.' He looked away embarrassedly into the darkness of the stables. You must think me a complete chump.'
'No, you're a man. And Roger, if you really want me back — no more Lizzie. I won't stand for it.'
'Roger sighed heavily. 'Is it that obvious?'
'It is to me. Your own brother!'
'It's because it's Tony that I don't know what to do about it. You know what she's like; she hasn't changed. If I break it off entirely it could end up hurting him, which is the last thing I want.'
'Are you sure that's the reason?'
'Yes!'
'And do you really think he doesn't know?' A thought struck her. 'Oh Roger, not Emmett!'
'He's not mine.'
'Are you sure?'
'Couldn't have been. I was a bit busy at the time, getting blown up at the Somme.'
'Thank goodness for that! I mean . . . well you know what I mean. Anyway, it's got to stop. She'll probably keep away when she knows we're together. Come on, we've questions to answer.'
'There may not be enough time.'
'We can work all night if we have to, and if that's not enough, we'll cheat.'
'How will we do that?'
'Just leave it to Vanda.' She glanced in the wing mirror. 'Hello, what's this?'
'I say,' said Janet. 'I'm sorry to butt in and all that, but can you help me with George? His back's given out and he can't get up.'
A cold buffet had been provided for luncheon.
'I never thought it would be this difficult,' said Janet, queuing at the sideboard. 'We've only got seven definite ones and a probable.'
'That's right, tell everyone,' grumbled George, who was looking even more choleric than usual.
'I don't see that it matters,' said Janet. 'What difference does it make?'
'If you've got seven
, you're doing well,' said Bernard. 'We've only got five so far. That is, we think we have, but we can't make much sense of the second answers, so we might be all wrong. Did anyone get number four, in the end?'
'Probably the easiest,' said Egg, winking at Charlotte. 'Wouldn't you say so, beloved?'
'Definitely,' agreed Charlotte, buttering a roll. 'No need to stop walking, even.'
'Are you going to eat that?' said Emily, horrified.
'That's the general idea. Why?'
'But you've had two already!'
Nanny came in, accompanied by Emmett and Joan.
'Hello, Aunties, hello Uncles,' piped Emmett. 'It's me!'
'Hello, you,' said Roger. 'What have you been doing?'
'Playing happy families with Nanny and Joan,' sighed Emmett. 'It was a bit boring.'
'Emmett, this lady is Auntie Vanda,' said Emily. 'I don't think you've met her yet have you?'
'How do you do, Auntie Vanda?' said Emmett, observing her with interest. 'You're frightfully pretty, aren't you?'
'Thank you, Emmett,' said Vanda, to general hilarity. 'That's greatly appreciated.'
'Am I pretty, Emmett?' asked Joan.
'No,' said Emmett. 'Where are Mummy and Daddy?'
'Doing a puzzle,' said Janet. 'A three dimensional one. They'll be here shortly, I expect.'
'Oh Lord!' said Bernard, consulting his notebook. 'What number is that?'
'There are four of them,' said Mr Killigrew, who had been quietly reading the newspaper, 'numbers twenty-two to twenty-five. Just tell me when you're ready to have a go and I'll give you the appropriate box.'
'Are they like this one?' said Emmett, peering at the tray on the table.
'Probably,' said Emily. 'We were playing with it last night. Can you do it?'
Emmett studied it for a moment. 'Yes.'
'Want to show us?' said Roger.
'It's really quite easy, Uncle.' Taking up the pieces one by one, he swiftly fitted them together. 'It's got "FitzGreville" on the side,' he said indifferently.
'He didn't even hesitate,' groaned Bernard.
'That's very clever of you, Emmett,' said Vanda. 'Have you done them before?'
'One or two,' said Emmett. 'They're a bit boring really. May I have something to eat?'
'Of course you can,' said Nanny. 'Come and see what you'd like.'
A Strange Manor of Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 3) Page 4
