A Fete Worse Than Death

by Liz Hedgecock

  ‘Oh God,’ said Pippa. ‘She’s going to tell Lady H.’

  ‘I expect so,’ said Norm. ‘Let’s go and retrieve this sword, and deal with everything else later.’

  He knocked on the dining-room door, and Tim’s fruity voice called ‘Come in, we’re all decent.’ He was sitting at the table with the rest of the company, still costumed but now wearing glasses. ‘Mrs Harbottle shooed us out of the morning room, so we came here. No point getting changed, we’ll be back on in a few hours.’

  ‘I won’t keep you,’ said Norm. ‘Just doing a quick prop check.’

  ‘I’m not surprised!’ said Tim, holding up his bandaged finger. ‘Dangerous things, props.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Norm. He moved to the table and unsheathed each weapon in turn, checking the edges with his finger. ‘These seem to be in order.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ boomed Tim.

  ‘Now.’ Norm walked to the sideboard, and opened its doors to reveal a sword balanced on the piles of china. ‘Does anyone recognise this one?’ He lifted it out and brought it to the table.

  Tim inspected the sword, keeping his hands well clear. ‘That’s the one I had, isn’t it?’

  ‘The very same. I’m guessing this isn’t one of your props.’

  ‘No,’ said a small, slim man dressed as a retainer of some kind. ‘That’s the real thing. May I?’ He examined the sword, handling it reverently. ‘A nineteenth-century hunting sword, unless I’m much mistaken.’

  A sharp rap on the door preceded Mrs Harbottle, her face set and stern. Lady Higginbotham trailed in her wake. ‘I thought as much,’ said Mrs Harbottle, pointing to the sword. ‘Look, Lady Higginbotham.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Lady Higginbotham frowned. ‘What is this doing here?’

  ‘You recognise it, milady?’ asked Norm.

  ‘I certainly do. It is one of my great-grandfather’s swords, from the collection in the drawing-room. They have hung over the mantelpiece since I was a little girl.’

  She reached out to touch it, but Norm stepped forward. ‘Best not, milady. It probably doesn’t matter — half the village will have handled this sword by now — but we should take precautions.’

  ‘Precautions? What sort of precautions?’ Lady Higginbotham’s tone was as sharp as the sword.

  ‘In case this sword is needed as evidence.’ Norm moved the other weapons away from it. ‘May I use your telephone?’

  ‘You mean…?’ The words hung in the air unanswered for a moment.

  ‘I do. Best case scenario: a prank that went wrong. Worst case scenario: attempted murder.’

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘Please ask him not to bring the police car. Or at least not to put the siren on,’ Pippa gasped as she half-ran along the corridor.

  Norm stopped dead and she shot past him before she was able to stop. ‘Pippa.’

  ‘What, Norm?’ she asked miserably.

  ‘You’ve made your point. I’ve heard you. Now go and do something else, and let me make the call to Jim Horsley.’

  Pippa trailed down the path to the marquee. Dev was still signing books, and the pile had dwindled to a few copies. ‘Nearly done.’ He grinned at her. ‘Good thing too. There’s some singers hangin’ about who reckon you’ve double-booked ’em.’

  The choir! Pippa stuck her head out of the marquee and saw a tight knot of black and white standing a few feet away. Oh no. Not more angry people. But her feet carried her towards them.

  ‘We said four o’clock,’ Jen observed, coldly.

  ‘We did,’ Pippa admitted. ‘I’m sorry, everyone. Dev Hardman was late, and I had to move everything around. He’s almost finished, so hopefully you’ll get a good crowd. It’s just — it’s been a hard day.’

  Jen thawed instantly. ‘OK, Pippa. I wouldn’t like to take it on.’

  ‘And there’s tomorrow…’ Pippa felt tears pricking at her eyes, trying to escape, and blinked.

  ‘Why don’t you take a break?’ Edie said, indicating the tea stand. ‘I bet you’ve been on the go all day. We can do our own introductions.’

  Dev Hardman swaggered out of the marquee, followed by a snake of mesmerised women, and a few men. ‘I’ll head off then. What time’s the cake tasting?’

  ‘The cakes have to be in the marquee for judging by ten o’clock in the morning, and if you could announce the winners at eleven…’

  ‘Sir yes sir.’ He touched a finger to an imaginary cap, and wandered back to the hall.

  ‘Come on, everyone,’ said Jen, with asperity. ‘We’d better get started before the whole marquee-full chases after Dev Hardman.’ The choir made for the tent like a swarm of black and white wasps.

  Pippa stood on the lawn and watched them go. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She wasn’t needed here, she wasn’t wanted at the hall, and from the lack of sightings of her family, they were doing fine without her. I will not cry on the east lawn where everyone can see me, she told herself, and hurried to a portaloo to do it in private.

  I’ve had enough, she thought as she wept. All that planning, all that effort, and for what? A few quid in a bucket, in exchange for the dislike of everyone in Much Gadding and quite possibly the surrounding area, too. If the news about the sword got out, she’d never run another event as long as she lived. Although, to be honest, right now she didn’t want to.

  Someone banged on the door and Pippa nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘Will you be much longer?’ The voice was distorted through the door. ‘I’ve got a toddler here that needs to go!’

  ‘Hang on,’ called Pippa. She dabbed at her eyes and fished in her bag for a mirror. It wasn’t too bad. She didn’t have trails of mascara down her cheeks, at least. She just looked smudgy, and puffy, and very, very tired.

  She opened the door to find Marge gripping the hand of a small girl who was shifting rapidly from foot to foot. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Marge, not sounding particularly pleased.

  ‘Yes,’ said Pippa. There didn’t seem to be much else to say, so she walked off. Then it occurred to her that she could get into the Mini and drive away. The stallholders could carry on without her, the actors could announce themselves. If anyone did need her, they could phone. Her feet carried her towards the car park, a hot bath, and a glass of wine —

  And through the trees, she saw the blue and white of a police car. At least the siren wasn’t blaring, but it was the last thing she wanted to see.

  Pippa ran down the path to the approaching vehicle, waving at the car park. PC Horsley was wearing a neutral expression, which worried her. It suggested he had already made his mind up. But he turned into the car park without using his siren or lights. At least that was something.

  Pippa waited beside the car while PC Horsley put his cap on and got out. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Parker,’ he said. His eyes were half-hidden by the cap brim.

  ‘What did Norm say to you?’

  ‘That’s a matter for me and Norm, Mrs Parker.’ He began walking up the path to the hall. ‘I assume, from the way you’ve put yourself between me and the lawn, that you don’t want people to know I’m here.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Pippa admitted.

  ‘Thought as much.’ He walked on a few steps before speaking again. ‘You do realise, Mrs Parker, that if I feel it’s necessary I could shut the whole thing down. Not saying I will, mind, but — don’t get in the way. I’m just trying to do my job.’

  ‘I understand.’ Her mouth was dry at the thought of it. PC Horsley knocked at the door.

  Beryl Harbottle’s face brightened as soon as she saw who it was. ‘Thank heavens you’ve come, Constable Horsley. What a carry-on.’ She opened the door wide to admit them. ‘I expect you’d like a cup of tea and a biscuit.’

  ‘Perhaps later, Mrs Harbottle. Could you show me where everyone is?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Harbottle led the way to the dining room, where the Gadding Players were still gathered. Lady Higginbotham was sitting at the head of the table, with Norm next to her, and the sheathed swor
d lay before her on the tablecloth. Exhibit A.

  ‘I take it this is the offending article,’ said PC Horsley. ‘Any idea where it came from?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘My drawing-room wall. I recognised it immediately.’ She shook her head. ‘That sword hasn’t drawn blood for over a hundred years, until now.’

  ‘Luckily it was only a scratch,’ boomed Tim, holding his hand out.

  ‘Indeed,’ said PC Horsley, examining the plaster. ‘But an injury nonetheless.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ said Tim. ‘Lady Macbeth is in such a tizzy that she’s gone for a lie down. I just hope she’s fit to perform tonight.’

  ‘It must have been a shock,’ said PC Horsley, gravely.

  ‘Um, well.’ Tim looked bashful. ‘The show must go on.’

  ‘Quite.’ PC Horsley took out a notebook. ‘Tell me how you got the sword, please. Did someone hand it to you?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ declaimed Tim. ‘When it was nearly time for me to make my entrance, I popped in and chose one at — well, no, not at random.’ He grinned. ‘I picked this one because it was the best-looking. After all, I am the lead.’

  ‘Was anyone else in the room?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘And how were the swords laid out? Was this one set apart?’

  ‘Not that I remember. They were set out in a line, and it was somewhere in the middle.’

  ‘Thank you.’ PC Horsley turned to Mrs Harbottle. ‘I think I shall take up your kind offer of a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.’

  Mrs Harbottle preened. ‘You’re very welcome, constable. I’ll go and put the kettle on —’

  ‘Before you do…’ PC Horsley flipped over the page in his notebook. ‘Could you tell me about the comings and goings in the house today?’

  Mrs Harbottle flapped a hand in disgust. ‘Don’t get me started, constable. People have wandered in and out all day getting things for the stalls, the actors have been rushing to and fro, and that chef and his whatever-she-is were here too for half the afternoon — at least they’ve gone now. Oh, and Mrs Parker has visited several times too,’ she finished triumphantly, turning a glare on Pippa.

  ‘And no one was guarding the props,’ PC Horsley surveyed the company.

  ‘Why would we?’ said the slight man who had identified the sword. ‘They’re just a bunch of stage swords. Some wooden, some plastic.’

  ‘Mm.’ PC Horsley gave the man a long look before closing his notebook. ‘I assume you want to do your evening show.’

  ‘Of course we do!’ cried Tim.

  PC Horsley raised his eyebrows at Pippa, who nodded frenziedly. ‘All right. You can do it, under these conditions. First, I am going to take this sword and get it dusted for prints. Not that I think whoever brought it was stupid enough not to wear gloves… Anyway. I shall also need your fingerprints, for comparison. Who has handled this sword?’

  Pippa, Norm, Tim, and Mrs Harbottle raised their hands. ‘Oh, and me,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘At least, I must have at some point. I sometimes take them down to show visitors.’

  ‘Ohh-kay.’ PC Horsley scribbled a note. ‘So, sword for analysis, full fingerprints. I’ll check these weapons to make sure they are fake. Norm, would you be able to stand guard over them tonight, while the play’s on?’

  ‘I can do that,’ said Norm.

  ‘Thank you. Oh, and Lady Higginbotham, is there a lock on the drawing-room door?’

  Lady Higginbotham looked vague. ‘I’m not sure —’

  ‘There is,’ said Mrs Harbottle, eagerly. ‘Shall I lock it and bring you the key?’

  ‘I’ll go with you, if I may.’ He turned back to Lady Higginbotham. ‘I assume there aren’t any other rooms containing weapons?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘You make my home sound like some sort of arsenal, constable. There are only five swords, and I keep those for their family history.’

  ‘Of course. Perhaps you might consider locking them in a case, milady.’

  Lady Higginbotham huffed a little, but said no more.

  ‘Right. I’ll get the drawing room locked, then we’ll check the swords. After that I’ll do fingerprints, and take statements — I’ll need a separate room for that. When’s this play meant to kick off?’

  ‘Seven,’ chorused the company.

  ‘I’ll also need a sandwich with that cup of tea,’ said PC Horsley. ‘While the play’s on, I’ll be standing at your stage entrance whatchacallit, and I expect everyone coming on stage to hand me their weapon for a final check. No more slip-ups. Got that?’ He looked round the room, his face stern.

  ‘Got it,’ they mumbled, like a class of schoolchildren in the midst of a telling-off.

  ‘Good.’ PC Horsley put his notebook away. ‘Let’s get started.’

  CHAPTER 11

  ‘That’s all I need for now, Mrs Parker.’ PC Horsley closed his notebook. ‘I may ask you to give a formal statement at the station later. I’ll give you a ring if so.’

  ‘What a mess.’ Pippa pushed her fringe out of her eyes. ‘What a horrible, horrible mess.’

  ‘Mrs Parker.’ She looked up, and his face was no longer stern. ‘Nobody died today, and we’re going to make sure it stays that way. I suggest you go home and do something to take your mind off it. We already have your fingerprints on file from last October —’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me,’ said Pippa gloomily. On that occasion, somebody had died. But at least she hadn’t been in charge of everything. She hadn’t been responsible. ‘I wish I’d left well alone.’

  ‘It might have happened anyway,’ said PC Horsley. ‘You can’t predict these things.’ He removed his cap and scratched his head. ‘Have you got contact details for that chef? Dev Hardman, is it?’

  ‘I’ve got his PR’s mobile.’ Pippa pulled out her phone and the policeman took down the number.

  ‘Good. I’ll ring them next. You say they’re back tomorrow?’

  ‘They should be. Dev’s judging the baking competition and doing a prize giving at eleven. But if his timekeeping’s like today, well —’ Pippa spread her hands wide.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s been a shambles. But I should probably be grateful. If he hadn’t messed up my schedule, the play wouldn’t have happened till later, and — oh, it could have been so much worse —’ She buried her head in her hands.

  ‘But it wasn’t,’ insisted PC Horsley. ‘Pippa, go home.’

  Pippa wiped her eyes, not giving a damn about her mascara, and sleepwalked out of Higginbotham Hall. She went to her car, started the engine, and switched off the radio. But she didn’t go straight home. She turned left, not right, out of the grounds, and drove towards Gadcester. After half a mile the houses thinned, with occasional side roads leading to farms and isolated dwellings. She took one, parked, being careful not to block anyone’s access, and cried until she could cry no more, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to strangle it.

  A stupid, stupid, horrible day. And she had to get up and do it all again tomorrow.

  No, she told herself. You don’t have to. Tomorrow you just have to get the baking competition over with, collect the takings, and make sure the lawn is cleared at the end.

  And face Beryl Harbottle.

  And Lady Higginbotham.

  And deal with any fallout from today. She thumped the steering wheel in frustration, and almost hit her head on the car roof when it beeped back at her.

  Pippa flopped in her seat and closed her eyes. At least she didn’t have to worry about the newspapers. PC Horsley had told them not to say anything to journalists, or indeed to anyone they didn’t know and trust. ‘You can talk about the play as much as you want,’ he assured Tim. ‘But your finger is off limits. I can’t risk having the investigation jeopardised by wagging tongues and newspaper sensation-mongering. Are you all clear on that?’ There was a general muttering, shuffling agreement. ‘Good.’

  So just tomorrow, and she’d be done. Pippa sighed a long, shudde
ry sigh, and started the car.

  ***

  ‘How’d it go?’ Simon called from the dining room.

  ‘Tell you later,’ she said, throwing her keys onto the hall table. ‘I’m getting changed.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to the kids? They’ve nearly forgotten what you look like.’

  ‘Muuuuuummmeeeeee!’ Freddie wailed.

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ she said, climbing the stairs. Even that seemed much harder than usual. I hope I’m not coming down with something.

  Pippa removed her make-up and washed her face. Ugh, haggard. She changed into a T-shirt and yoga pants, and dumped today’s clothes in the laundry basket. If anything, she wanted to burn them. You’re overreacting, she told herself. Bad day at the office. It wasn’t your fault.

  It wasn’t, was it?

  She sat on the bed. I’ll go downstairs in a minute. Once I’ve gathered myself together. Somehow, though, she found herself lying curled under the covers. No one could get at her there.

  ‘At least come and kiss them goodnight.’ Simon’s voice was reproachful.

  Pippa peered out at him. ‘How long have I been up here?’

  ‘Maybe an hour. They’re fed, watered, and in bed. To be honest, Ruby’s already asleep, and Freddie wasn’t far off when I tucked him in.’

  ‘Thanks.’ One more thing to feel bad about.

  ‘So.’ He sat on the bed beside her. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Oh God.’ Pippa longed to bury herself in the bed again. ‘Is it so obvious the whole thing was a disaster?’

  ‘When you come home and run upstairs without saying hello, and then I find you an hour later looking like death warmed up … yes, it is.’ Simon stroked her shoulder through the duvet. ‘It can’t have been that bad.’

  ‘Try attempted murder for size,’ Pippa retorted.

  Simon’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Seriously? How?’

  ‘Sword swap in Macbeth. Luckily it was just a cut finger, but still… Not quite the jolly summertime atmosphere I was aiming for.’