‘Are you trying to make a bloody earl of me?’ Swithin shouted. ‘I’ll have nothing to do with it. It’s a damned disgrace. It’s a load of old rubbish.’ He swallowed violently. ‘Not earldoms and so forth,’ he added rather desperately. ‘I don’t care about them any way on. But all this. And raking things up. And, as I say, making a monkey of me.’ With this decline into inelegant speech Swithin sat down, as if his bolt were momentarily shot. And it was now Cyprian who stood up.
‘I do think there’s something to be said for getting things a little clearer,’ he said. ‘If Swithin wants to be Lord Wyndowe instead of me, I don’t mind a bit.’ Cyprian halted on this, perhaps astonished to find that it was almost true. ‘But it would be rather steep if he wanted to turf out my father and become Lord Mullion at once.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ Swithin had jumped to his feet again and was advancing belligerently upon his so recently acquired kinsman. Cyprian, to Lady Mullion’s evident discomposure, was equally disposed to turn her drawing-room into a boxing ring. The two young men squared up to one another, furiously glaring. Then – and with absolute simultaneity – they both burst out laughing.
‘Rubbish!’ Swithin shouted. ‘Utter rubbish!’
‘Rubbish!’ Cyprian echoed – mysteriously but with complete conviction.
‘Rubbish, indeed.’
Dr Hinkstone had spoken for the first time – and so quietly that everybody turned and stared at him. What they saw was an old man in a most evident state of enjoyment.
‘Complete nonsense,’ Dr Hinkstone said, ‘and simply for want of a few facts. Our well-informed vicar is a little lacking in information, I am glad to say. Or I think I am glad to say. Nothing dramatic is going to happen to the Earldom of Mullion. And Swithin is not the late Miss Wyndowe’s grandson.’
‘What do you mean?’ Swithin demanded, suddenly (and in both senses) turning round. ‘Didn’t you tell me I was?’
‘No, my dear young man, I did not. I told you that Dr Atlay was going to tell you so. You are not Camilla Wyndowe’s grandson. Nor are you Rupert Wyndowe’s grandson either.’
‘Swithin’s not a Wyndowe at all?’ The question, expressed in terms of comical-dismay, came from Cyprian.
‘Ah!’ Dr Hinkstone said. ‘That I did not say.’
21
‘Martin Atlay’s narrative,’ Dr Hinkstone pursued, ‘I am perfectly willing to accept apart from one small particular. And his feelings about it all do him credit, no doubt.’
‘My feelings,’ Dr Atlay said with dignity, ‘are extremely painful: a fact I have been unable to suppress. The claims of truth are paramount, nevertheless.’
‘I quite agree, provided one has enough of the truth to flourish around.’ Dr Hinkstone glanced rather wickedly round his auditory, so that a sensitive observer might have felt him to he extracting more amusement from the situation than its awkward nature warranted. ‘And enough of the truth means all the truth – about Wyndowes, Gores, and everybody else. But, of course, what one wants are the relevant truths. Rupert and Camilla Wyndowe were legally husband and wife. Rupert and Camilla Wyndowe were not legally husband and wife. One of these statements is true, and the other false. I am myself quite uninterested in which is which, since the point is of no practical concern to anybody now living. Let us agree, however, that the marriage was legally valid. As I have indicated, I am perfectly willing to concede the point.
‘Let us now consider what follows. Rupert, at that time Lord Wyndowe and heir to the earldom, has himself acquired an heir. But being a man utterly devoid of principle, and unwilling to acknowledge his marriage, he is content that this child should grow up on the family estate under the name of Abel Gore. This boy does so grow up, marries, and has a son called Ammon Gore. So far, and granting our first hypothesis, we are on what may almost be called firm ground. Whether these two gentlemen were by right successive Earls Of Mullion it might, I imagine, take many legal luminaries to determine – if not, indeed, the entire House of Peers into the bargain. But as both these rustic gentlemen are now dead, I think I am right in saying that nothing of all this would affect the present position of Lord Mullion. He would undoubtedly be confirmed in it, as would his son, were the question to be raised in any way.’
‘Nothing of the kind!’ Cyprian had jumped to his feet, and was again in a condition of considerable excitement. ‘It’s perfectly plain that Swithin–’
‘Ah! I come to Swithin now.’ As he said this, Dr Hinkstone nodded benignly to the late heir of the Gores. ‘And the more readily, I may say, because he appears to be a perfectly sensible young man. With Swithin, moreover, I come to that single small particular in what may be termed Atlay’s case that I am unable to accept. I have a little authority here, as I brought Swithin into the world. I fear, my dear Atlay, that you are not very likely to see him out of it.’ Hinkstone paused on this stroke of wit, in which he seemed to find considerable satisfaction. ‘I repeat that I brought Swithin into the world – and, naturally, as being Ammon Gore’s son. But this was a deception. It was a deception, no doubt, of a most painful kind, so that when I became aware of the truth I felt it to be far from my business to publicize it. It would, indeed, have been contrary to the ethics of my profession to do so. However, here is the fact now. Swithin is not Ammon Gore’s son.’
‘How the devil can you know that, Hinkstone?’ It was Lord Mullion who asked this question – and then promptly answered it himself. ‘Something not quite delicate, eh?’
‘You may express it that way, if you please, my dear Mullion. What happened was this. Ammon Gore, whom I had never attended before, fell seriously ill, and in fact died not very long afterwards in the cottage hospital. It was not before I had discovered that he was congenitally incapable of fatherhood. For what the point is worth, this was confirmed by two of my colleagues, and is a matter of verifiable record at need.’ Dr Hinkstone paused briefly. ‘So if you accept my word on all this,’ he concluded, ‘the entire matter can be dismissed from our minds.’
For some moments nobody had anything to say. And nobody seemed very pleased – least of all the suddenly unfathered Swithin. Then Lady Patience Wyndowe stood up, crossed the room, sat down beside her lover, and spoke for the first time.
‘I don’t think so, Dr Hinkstone,’ she said.
‘My dear child, there is no purpose–’
‘Didn’t you say, or at least imply, that you were not asserting that Swithin is not a Wyndowe?’
‘If I did, it was inadvertent – or, rather, a mere pedantry. Anybody may be anybody, theoretically speaking.’
‘Damn it, Hinkstone, that won’t do. It won’t do at all.’ Lord Mullion, as he made this all too obvious point, was suddenly surprisingly formidable. ‘Swithin, my dear lad, I hope you agree with me.’
‘Yes, sir, I do.’ Swithin, after half an hour of mingled embarrassment and acute suffering, looked thoroughly formidable too.
‘We’re not going to leave this on a note of bloody innuendo,’ Cyprian said – violently, yet cogently enough. ‘You’ll damn well say what you know, you old–’
‘Cyprian, dear,’ Lady Mullion said.
‘You old fool,’ Cyprian concluded composedly and on a milder note.
All this was extremely awkward and improper, and in face of it Dr Hinkstone was obliged to change his tone.
‘If I have mishandled this,’ he said, ‘I apologize. Perhaps it is now unavoidable that more should be said. But it must be with due warning, Lord Mullion. For what remains is something that Atlay would be abundantly justified in calling extremely painful. But I acknowledge that one further fact is due to this young man.’
‘If Swithin is a gentleman’s son,’ Atlay said augustly, ‘he is certainly entitled to know the fact.’
At this Swithin made to speak. It is only too probable that he was going to say (or shout) ‘To hell with gentlemen’s sons!’ Patty’s hand on his knee, however, restrained him for a moment.
‘Very well,’ Hinkstone said. ‘Eventually t
he unhappy woman–’
‘Don’t call my mother the unhappy woman,’ Swithin said – but tolerably calmly. ‘Just get on.’
‘Eventually she confided to me her child’s true parentage. The boy christened as Swithin Gore was in fact Mr Sylvanus Wyndowe’s son.’
‘By God, I’ve got a son!’ Sylvanus Wyndowe had leapt to his feet, and his complexion was like a beacon suddenly ignited to announce some portentous event. ‘Damn it!’ he roared, ‘it was that little Amy. It all comes back to me. She was married to a Gore. I’ve got a son, as well as that gaggle of women. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!’ With these astonishing words, Sylvanus ran across the room, hauled the dumbfounded Swithin to his feet, embraced him, and showed every sign of proposing to waltz him round the resplendent scene of this bizarre conference.
It was at this moment that Savine entered, followed by a parlour-maid. His intention was no doubt to remove the tea-things. He gave one glance at the situation, however, and abruptly withdrew, shooing the young woman before him like a straying hen.
‘I’ll take him into my house!’ Sylvanus roared. ‘I’ll make a man of him. I’ll teach him to sit a horse–’
‘I can sit a horse!’ Swithin shouted indignantly. Father and son glared at one another, each in a high state of emotional confusion.
Not unnaturally, this response to so untoward a sequence of events became general for a time. It was Charles Honeybath RA who eventually a little relieved the tension. He had been silent throughout the protracted éclaircissement, but now felt that something fell to be said.
‘My dear Mr Wyndowe,’ he said, ‘it is fortunate that making a man of Swithin is unlikely to take you long. For it is improbable that Lady Patience will part from him for more than a month or two.’
‘And I am certainly not parting with him now,’ Patty said, rising composedly to her feet. ‘Swithin and I are going out to dine together.’ And Patty, for once in a way indubitably running her lover, took Swithin by the hand, led him up to her mother, presided over a kiss, and left the drawing-room on his arm.
Lady Mullion rang a hell, thereby summoning Savine to restore normal life to Mullion Castle. And then Honeybath turned to her.
‘Mary,’ he said, ‘that young man is very much to be congratulated. And now you and I must get down to thinking about our portrait.’
Honeybath Titles in order of first publication
These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels
1. The Mysterious Commission 1974
2. Honeybath’s Haven 1977
3. Lord Mullion’s Secret 1981
4. Appleby and Honeybath 1983
Synopses (Both Series & ‘Stand-alone’ Titles)
Published by House of Stratus
The Ampersand Papers
While Appleby is strolling along a Cornish beach, he narrowly escapes being struck by a body falling down a cliff. The body is that of Dr Sutch, an archivist, and he has fallen from the North Tower of Treskinnick Castle, home of Lord Ampersand. Two possible motivations present themselves to Appleby – the Ampersand gold, treasure from an Armada galleon; and the Ampersand papers, valuable family documents that have associations with Wordsworth and Shelley.
Appleby and Honeybath
Every English mansion has a locked room, and Grinton Hall is no exception – the library has hidden doors and passages…and a corpse. But when the corpse goes missing, Sir John Appleby and Charles Honeybath have an even more perplexing case on their hands – just how did it disappear when the doors and windows were securely locked? A bevy of helpful houseguests offer endless assistance, but the two detectives suspect that they are concealing vital information. Could the treasures on the library shelves be so valuable that someone would murder for them?
Appleby and the Ospreys
Clusters, a great country house, is troubled by bats, as Lord and Lady Osprey complain to their guests, who include first rate detective, Sir John Appleby. In the matter of bats, Appleby is indifferent, but he is soon faced with a real challenge – the murder of Lord Osprey, stabbed with an ornate dagger in the library.
Appleby at Allington
Sir John Appleby dines one evening at Allington Park, the Georgian home of his acquaintance Owain Allington, who is new to the area. His curiosity is aroused when Allington mentions his nephew and heir to the estate, Martin Allington, whose name Appleby recognises. The evening comes to an end but just as Appleby is leaving, they find a dead man – electrocuted in the son et lumière box which had been installed in the grounds.
The Appleby File
There are fifteen stories in this compelling collection, including: Poltergeist – when Appleby’s wife tells him that her aunt is experiencing trouble with a Poltergeist, he is amused but dismissive, until he discovers that several priceless artefacts have been smashed as a result; A Question of Confidence – when Bobby Appleby’s friend, Brian Button, is caught up in a scandalous murder in Oxford, Bobby’s famous detective father is their first port of call; The Ascham – an abandoned car on a narrow lane intrigues Appleby and his wife, but even more intriguing is the medieval castle they stumble upon.
Appleby on Ararat
Inspector Appleby is stranded on a very strange island, with a rather odd bunch of people – too many men, too few women (and one of them too attractive) cause a deal of trouble. But that is nothing compared to later developments, including the body afloat in the water, and the attack by local inhabitants.
Appleby Plays Chicken
David was hiking across Dartmoor, pleased to have escaped the oppressively juvenile and sometimes perilous behaviour of his fellow undergraduates. As far as he could tell, he was the only human being for miles – but it turns out that he was the only living human being for miles. At least, that is what he presumed when he found a dead man on top of the tor.
Appleby Talking
Arbuthnot is paying for a rash decision – he recently married a beautiful but slightly amoral girl whose crazy antics caught his rather cynical professional interest. His wife has taken a lover, Rupert Slade, and Arbuthnot wants nothing more than to see him dead – but the last thing he expected was that he’d walk into his living room and find just that!
Inspector Appleby shares the details of this and many other fascinating crimes in this un-missable collection.
Appleby Talks Again
Ralph Dangerfield, an Edwardian playwright who belonged to the smartest young set of his day, kept a scandalous diary recording the intimate details of his own life and those of his friends. After his death, it was believed that his mother had burnt the incriminating evidence, but fifty years later, a famous collector of literary curiosities claims to have the diary in his possession and threatens to blackmail fashionable London with belated secrets about people now in respectable old age. Sir John Appleby reveals how he uncovered this unscrupulous crime and talks about his key role in seventeen more intriguing cases.
Appleby’s Answer
Author of detective novels, Priscilla Pringle, is pleased to find that she is sharing a railway compartment with a gentleman who happens to be reading one of her books – Murder in the Cathedral. He is military officer, Captain Bulkington, who recognises Miss Pringle and offers her £500 to collaborate on a detective novel. To everyone’s surprise, Miss Pringle is rather taken with Captain Bulkington – is she out of her depth?
Appleby’s End
Appleby’s End was the name of the station where Detective Inspector John Appleby got off the train from Scotland Yard. But that was not the only coincidence. Everything that happened from then on related back to stories by Ranulph Raven, Victorian novelist – animals were replaced by marble effigies, someone received a tombstone telling him when he would die, and a servant was found buried up to his neck in snow, dead. Why did Ranulph Raven’s mysterious descendants make such a point of inviting Appleby to spend the night at their house?
Appleby’s Other Story
During a walk to Elvedon House, palatial hom
e of the Tythertons, Sir John Appleby and Chief Constable Colonel Pride are stunned to find a police van and two cars parked outside. Wealthy Maurice Tytherton has been found shot dead, and Appleby is faced with a number of suspects – Alice Tytherton, flirtatious, younger wife of the deceased; Egon Raffaello, disreputable art dealer; and the prodigal son, Mark Tytherton, who has just returned from Argentina. Could the death be linked to the robbery of some paintings several years ago?
An Awkward Lie
Sir John Appleby’s son, Bobby, assumes his father’s detective role in this baffling crime. When Bobby finds a dead man, in a bunker on a golf course, he notices something rather strange – the first finger of the man’s right hand is missing. A young girl approaches the scene and offers to watch the body while Bobby goes for help, but when he returns with the police in tow, the body and the girl are missing.
The Bloody Wood
An assorted party of guests have gathered at Charne, home of Charles Martineau and his ailing wife, Grace, including Sir John Appleby and his wife, Judith. Appleby’s suspicions are soon aroused with the odd behaviour of Charles, and the curious last request of Grace – who desires that upon her death, Charles marries her favourite niece, Martine. When Charles and Grace die on the same day, foul play is suspected.
Carson’s Conspiracy
Businessman Carl Carson decides to make a dash for South America to escape the economic slump, leaving his home and his barmy wife. But he has a problem – if his company were seen to be drawing in its horns, it wouldn’t last a week. His solution is his wife’s favourite delusion – an imaginary son, named Robin. Carson plans to stage a fictitious kidnapping – after all, what could be more natural than a father liquidating his assets to pay the ransom demand? Unfortunately, Carson has a rather astute neighbour – Sir John Appleby, ex-Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.
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