‘Me? Not since this morning.’ As true as I could get. He glowered suspiciously.
‘That bird of yours came in full of excuses, and me with my hands full.’
‘A thoughtful lassie, Lydia,’ I said proudly, paying him.
No sign of Tinker or Honkworth, but in the next few minutes Liz showed up for a quick coffee.
Talk picked up about the week’s luck. Finally, just as I was losing hope, the door creaked open and Tinker tottered in. Remember I said a bit ago that he looked better in daylight? I take it back. He looks horrible in daylight.
He shuffled across and practically fell into a chair. The smog instantly reeked of the habitual drinker’s bitter breath.
‘Chips, peas, sausages,’ the apparition growled. ‘And fried bread. Bacon. Fried egg. Tea.’
‘Coming,’ from Woody, blundering about in the smoke like a fiend from a Teutonic opera.
‘You forgot the custard,’ I joked. Tinker’s bloodshot eyes wobbled.
‘Hello, Lovejoy. You got me up at four o’bleeding clock,’ he accused.
‘I’ve not forgotten. I owe you. Look, Tinker.’ I had to get out before the ghastly plateful arrived. ‘Where will I find Honkie?’
‘At that old pub, the Bellman, on the canal. His barkers meet him there, and his popsie, the one with the big –’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ I told him as a parting shot I was going up to the Smoke street markets in the morning to have a harsh word with Sykes for letting his lads do Margaret’s place over.
‘You’re a goner, Lovejoy.’ He shook his head when I grinned. ‘You never bleeding well listen.’
I was crossing to the Ruby when Mel and Sandy’s multicoloured motor streaked past, slowing a fraction for Mel to stick his head out of the window.
‘Lovejoy, baby!’
I tried to dodge back among the crowd but Sandy braked to halt. Other cars screeched and swerved, a right hullabaloo.
‘Did you see we’ve done the wings mauve and orange?’ Mel cried, waving and pointing. ‘Don’t you just adore it?’
‘Er, great.’ I began to retreat into the Arcade. There’s another way out across the pub yard at the back. It leads into the old market place where no dazzling motors may follow.
‘About those poxy Satsuma vases!’ Mel shrieked. ‘Lovejoy! Comeback!’
I hadn’t time to listen to their fantasies. Lydia had already told me they’d given her the benefit of their advice.
I escaped thankfully past Margaret’s wrecked shop. Lydia looked up as I passed. I blew her a demonstrative kiss. She stared at the floor but I definitely saw her hand flick upwards in the slightest shyest wave on record. Well, progress. Almost negligible, but very definitely progress.
Honkworth, Esq., was holding forth in the saloon bar. Note that phrase, please, holding forth. Only people as grotesque as Honkworth can hold forth. Other people have to manage simply with speaking. Bill Leyde’s glittering waistcoat had clearly been woven by transalpine virgins among vine groves. The blonde popsie and Dolly were tittering at Honkworth’s jollity. A few canal men were knocking pints back and smiling with quiet amusement.
‘If it isn’t my old pal Lovejoy!’ Honkworth boomed. Leyde’s piggy eyes took me in while the two birds fell silent in pleased anticipation. Under the glare of all this attention I made the best entrance I could manage.
‘Can I have a word, Honkie?’
‘For you, Lovejoy – anything! Well –’ he twinkled caution at the assembled multitude – ‘almost anything!’ Roars of merry laughter followed.
‘Come over here, then.’ I got a noggin from an intrigued barwoman. ‘Sorry about Henry, Dolly.’
‘I believe you’ve been filling Aunt Martha’s head with silly ideas,’ she said, frozen-faced.
‘Your beliefs are beginning to get me down,’ I said. She took a swipe at me as I turned. It caught me off balance and I went flying, the glass shattering on the wall. My head was ringing when I rose. The rest were still. I recovered and headed for the fireplace where Honkworth was waiting, hands on hips, belligerently. ‘About the Reverend Henry Swan, lately deceased, of this parish, Honkie.’
‘Who?’ He was glancing from me to Dolly.
‘You gave him a lift from the station. The last London train.’
His frown cleared. ‘What about it? What’s up?’
I was suddenly fed up with all the fencing.
‘What did you talk about?’ I asked. He stepped back, watching me carefully. ‘Tell me now, Honkie, or I’ll be cross.’
‘He’d been to London.’
‘Anywhere else?’
‘Cambridge, I think he said.’ He was still wary, though now Leyde was at my elbow.
‘Did he say why?’
‘No.’ He thought further, shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Who’d he seen?’
‘Why the hell should he tell me?’ he demanded, working up to indignation.
‘Was he carrying anything, Honkie?’
‘What is this, Lovejoy? Get lost.’ He tried to push past but accidentally stumbled and got my knee in his groin. It really was an accident. Honest, hand on my heart. He folded like they do and clutched at a bar table, gasping and whey-faced. It’s very painful. Leyde moved in but he accidentally stumbled as well and got my elbow on the bridge of his nose. He fell back with his eyes streaming. Furniture clattered. I dropped a small table on him to keep him occupied.
‘Any more for any more?’ I asked gently, my back to the fireplace. People said nothing. The canal men weren’t looking my way with anything like anger so I hauled Honkie up by his posh cravat. ‘I asked you was he carrying anything?’
‘A newspaper,’ he gasped. I pulled his face close to peer into his eyes. ‘Honest to God, Lovejoy. Not a bloody thing.’ He seemed truthful and I believed him, the lucky lad.
I let go. He fell against a stool with a crash.
‘Of all the –’ The southern indignity brought Dolly forward at a run, thinking perhaps to repeat her lone success of a moment ago. I gave her a clout to shut her up, spun her round and tore from the top of her dress down towards the hem. It split neatly along the zip stitches from the neck to the waist, which only goes to show the sort of rubbish people buy nowadays. You could never do that to a hand-stitched Victorian garment. The ice-bucket was only half empty but I up ended it inside her petticoat just the same. I handed the bucket back to the barmaid.
‘Ice buckets that are only half full really get me,’ I told her amid the shrieks and groans. ‘There’s no proper service these days.’
My spirits were dampened by Maslow, who rang joyfully the minute I got back to the cottage. Lisa told me he’d tried twice already.
‘Who’s been assaulting whom, Lovejoy?’
‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Whom?’
‘You, lad. I’ve a summons against you for common assault.’
‘I’m delighted you’re happy, Maslow.’ Good old Honkworth had evidently done his duty. ‘Giving pleasure to people’s one of the joys in life, isn’t it?’
‘I gather he was today’s suspect, Lovejoy. Well, cross him off.’
‘Why?’
‘He got a ticket for speeding that night he gave the Reverend Swan a lift.’
‘So?’ I said, sick to my soul.
‘So he’s on police records as the last person having been seen with the deceased alone. No murderer’s that dumb, to murder when he’s the prime suspect.’ He chuckled into my silence. ‘If you’d asked, he’d have told you all that. And Reverend Swan spent all that day in the Guildhall Library, quite innocently. See you in the dock, Lovejoy, you stupid sod.’
He banged his end down before I could think of a witty ending. I thought only women could do that.
Chapter 14
THE INQUEST WAS held in Buresford village hall. Our coroner’s a portly little man with fussy mannerisms. Glass partitions rolled back gave the hall a ludicrous gymnasiumlike appearance. His secretary kept smiling meaningfully at the doctor giving evidence, but
he wasn’t having any and did his stuff without a falter. We had the indefatigable Maslow and a few uniformed bobbies, sundry fire officers and a secretary from the local angling club. And Martha and Dolly. And Sarah and Thomas, the latter falling over people’s feet and apologizing.
We were called to order as if we threatened anarchy.
‘What’s that man doing, Officer?’ the coroner demanded.
I became conscious of an atrocious yet familiar pong. A filthy mittened hand clutched my shoulder.
‘Lovejoy,’ Tinker’s voice growled in my ear. A report of antique bargains he’d sussed out. ‘Three Shunga prints by Utamaro, all showing people shagging like monkeys. Brad has them, for a swap. He’ll accept porcelain or flintlocks, cash-jacked. Big Frank’s got option on an eighteenth-century marquetry longcase –’
A belligerent bobby started tiptoeing through the throng.
‘– clock by Scholtz of Amsterdam, nearly mint. He’s asking the frigging earth for it and the whisper is Jenny and Harry Bateman picked up –’
‘Not a witness, sir,’ the constable intoned. He had hold of Tinker now but there’s no stopping a barker reporting in.
‘– a host box, Irish silver, but I can never tell what the bleeding marks mean –’
‘Evict that man, Constable.’
‘– and an old lead cistern with a coat-of-arms is in Gimbert’s auction for next week and a Pugin satinwood parcel-gilt table by Grace and that’s about it –’
His voice receded and a door slammed. Sometimes I’m really proud of my friends. Devotion to duty is what makes a genius of Tinker. Whether he stinks to high heaven or gets evicted from every joint on earth makes no difference. Sometimes our shoddy human race warms your heart. I noticed Sarah Devonish trying to conceal her amusement with an elegantly gloved hand. Well, well, I thought, human after all.
‘I will remind those in attendance,’ the coroner said,’ ‘that this is a court established under the Monarch’s direct authority. Anyone creating interruptions will suffer immediate penalties.’ You could tell he was peeved, but to me Tinker is an example to us all.
In the end I wasn’t called as a witness. Maslow could feel my hate-filled gaze on his fat neck throughout the entire proceedings. I was gratified to see his ears redden. Everybody gave evidence about how good, kind and careless old Henry Swan had been.
The coroner had no alternative. The Reverend Henry Swan went down for all time as a slipshod drunken old bum. The coroner commiserated with the next of kin. The fire services and police were praised.
It was at this point that I found myself pulled at. Some force had me on my feet and people nearby were plucking at my jacket and whispering to sit down.
‘Is that gentleman unwell?’ the coroner called.
‘No, thank you,’ I heard my voice say. ‘Is that the verdict, then?’
‘The court is closed.’ he said, puzzled. ‘Did you have anything to contribute?’
I stared at Maslow for a long time.
‘Not now, sir,’ I said. ‘Not any more.’
‘I quite understand,’ the coroner said sympathetically. ‘All who knew the deceased are deserving of our condolences at this time.’
Outside, cars were starting and people chatted in groups. Sarah was waiting. Thomas Haverro was having a word with Martha over in the school’s playground. The scene had every appearance of Thomas clumsily saying the wrong thing and Martha weeping at the goodwill everywhere. I suppose as a doctor he has a collection of useful phrases for occasions like this.
‘Good day, Lovejoy,’ Sarah said. Well, at least it was better than her usual elbow. ‘I gather from your display at the end you’re unhappy with the verdict?’
Honkworth’s motor breezed in just then. Martha was being given a lift. Dolly took her aunt in hand and was obviously urging Thomas to come along. He gestured at a car, probably his. Bill Leyde the geltie was with Honkworth but the blowsy woman had been left out of today’s jaunt, poor thing. Maybe she’d have lowered the tone. The big car thundered off.
‘There’s something wrong, Sarah,’ I searched for the easy words but they didn’t improve with waiting.
‘What else could it have been but accidental?’
‘You tell me.’
Dr Haverro pulled alongside. ‘Coming, Sarah?’
‘This minute, Thomas?’
‘I’ve to follow Martha back to her place.’ He gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Somehow I always get myself into a quandary.’
‘I’ll give you a lift, Sarah,’ I offered suddenly. ‘Better come, Sarah,’ Thomas said quickly. He opened the passenger door. I felt Maslow’s deliberate advance from the right. The coroner’s black limousine hissed placidly from the playground and on to the road. A constable saluted the royal coat-of-arms and relaxed as the car dwindled towards the motorway.
Sarah suddenly surprised me. ‘No, thanks, Thomas. Maybe I’ll come on later.’
‘Are you sure?’ He too could be determined.
‘Yes. Give Martha my love.’
Thomas darted a smile at her, but the flash deep in his expression was without humour or even hesitation. It got to me for a split second. I put it down to being on edge. Surely it couldn’t have been a look of warning. How could benign old Thomas be warning anyone as self-sufficient as Sarah against innocent old Lovejoy? It didn’t make sense. He smiled, full of understanding, and was out of the way by the time Maslow hove up. Maybe I’d imagined that gleam.
‘Lovejoy.’
‘What is it now, Maslow?’
He was very angry. I was glad about that, because I don’t like being angry on my own.
‘What the hell did you mean by creating a disturbance?’
‘We’ve an appointment to keep, Inspector.’ Sarah linked my arm. ‘Would you excuse us, please?’
She whisked me towards my crate, leaving Maslow sizzling. We hurried off, though the engine took six goes and a push from two passing farm lads who were on their way to a football match. They thought the car hilarious and made jokes.
‘Thanks,’ I told Sarah. Then, on the principle that it’s safest to own up to what women are going to suss out anyway, I added, ‘I had this odd idea that we weren’t friends.’
‘And you are correct, Lovejoy, so far.’ She was smiling, though. ‘Hadn’t you better explain?’
So I did, practically everything that had happened. Some parts she guessed even as I spoke. Other bits she couldn’t see until I’d explained them over and over.
‘Why are you so obsessed, Lovejoy? The antique cup?’
I found myself stumbling for words. ‘It’s Henry. Whatever it was he had, a ten-year-old kid could have nicked. Henry couldn’t have stopped a bus. Yet they killed him.’
‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t, Sarah.’ I pulled the crate to a tipsy stop in a lay-by. ‘He had these daft ideas about . . . about mankind being able to sanctify things. Any bloody thing at all, just by using it right.’ I saw her expression clear with sudden understanding.
‘Like antiques, Lovejoy?’ she smiled.
‘Well, yes.’ Why do I always go on the defensive? I make me mad sometimes. ‘What about it?’
‘I see.’ She was staring at me full face. ‘I do see, Lovejoy. How beautiful. How very beautiful.’
‘Eh?’ Women make me suspicious when they switch moods like this. I took my hand back from where she’d reached for it. There’s no halfway house.
‘I mean, so we’re fighting for sanctified love?’ I didn’t like that plural. ‘How can I help?’
I thought a minute or two, then decided to trust her. ‘Tell me all you know about old Henry and this cup thing.’
‘Have you somewhere we can go?’
‘Martha’s?’ I suggested lamely.
‘Possibly not,’ she said, frowning. ‘There are too many people there. Your cottage.’
‘Are you sure?’
She fell about laughing. ‘Yes, I’m sure, Lovejoy. Even without a chaperone.’
When I have somebody like Sarah home I’m always embarrassed. Not that I’m uneasy fetching a woman in. In fact, trying to achieve this occupies a large part of my waking hours. It’s just that women of Sarah’s class will never complain about the state you’ve got yourself into, the way somebody like Lisa does, for example. But that only makes the general grubbiness seem worse. And the more you try to cover up, the worse things get. I said to look about if she wanted and started to brew up. She went out into the garden.
‘I don’t like to do much to it,’ I explained to forestall her when I knocked on the window to call her in.
‘So I see.’ She was smiling again. ‘No gardener.’
‘Well, it’s done nothing to me.’ I carried a cup for her. She sank gracefully on the divan without giving it a glance.
‘How wise you are, Lovejoy.’ She didn’t appear sardonic to my brief look. As I went into the alcove for mine I realized she’d caught my eye. ‘It’s time to make amends.’
‘Eh?’
‘Come and sit down.’ She folded her legs under her. You can’t help admiring the way their legs finish up in curves and sleek lines. I did as she said and stared gravely somewhere else. ‘I must apologize. When first we met I supposed you were a . . . a chiseller.’ She brought it out with a gratified smile.
‘No need to apologize.’
‘Yes, there is.’ She pulled a face after a sip and moaned. ‘How absolutely terrible.’
‘It’s the water,’ I said defensively. ‘They put chemicals in for our bones.’
‘I was insufferable.’
‘Forget it.’
‘I think Thomas would have been kinder to you – if I’d not been so suspicious the day we all met.’ She took off her hat and dropped it carelessly aside. I like how they loosen their hair. ‘As I see it, Lovejoy, Henry’s hitherto useless friends – Thomas, myself, Martha and her unsettled niece Dolly – ought to do what we can to help.’
‘How?’
‘Let’s be practical.’ She rose and wandered about the room. ‘Your garden’s unkempt, and your cottage. But that might be explained by your . . .’ She paused, then added, ‘Your – shall we say – solitary mode of life.’ I knew she’d spotted some of Lisa’s things. I thought I’d hidden most of them. ‘You can afford a car, of sorts. You are therefore not destitute. On the other hand you are obviously less than affluent, despite your intuitive gift where antiques are concerned.’
The Grail Tree Page 12
