Bismarck Herrings (Timothy Herring)

by Gladys Mitchell

  “So that’s Coningsby’s aunt,” he added, as they walked out to what had been the cloister garth. The afternoon was sunny and quite warm. Several of the old women were seated outside on their benches in pairs or singly, and one was snipping dead roses off the bushes which bordered their side of the grass plot. She straightened up when the two men approached.

  “Be you council?” she enquired, making a threatening gesture with her secateurs.

  “No, no,” Timothy hastened to assure her, “anything but. We’ve just come to have a look round.”

  “So be as you ain’t council,” she said, resuming her task. Parsons approached two who were seated side by side on one of the benches.

  “I wonder whether you’d be kind enough to show me over your houses?” he said. Both rose, and the one who appeared to be the younger, although she looked as though she were well into her seventies, replied,

  “This way, sir, but you mustn’t take no account of the washing.” Leaving her companion, she led the way to the first cottage in the row. “And ’appy I shall be when we’re all condemned, sir,” she somewhat startlingly remarked.

  “Oh . . . you mean if the council pull these houses down?” asked Parsons, surprise in his voice.

  “My married niece has always said she’d have me, sir, if ever I was turned out of here for any reason except my own disgrace. Got a nice little house in Ipswich, she have, and room for me now the family’s old enough to get married, with nobody but youngest daughter livin’ with ’em.”

  Parsons inspected every second cottage and then suggested that he and Timothy should go round to the back and take a look at the whole row from the water-meadows.

  “Well?” asked Timothy, when they had done this and had also been over the hospital wing. “What’s the verdict?”

  “Well,” Parsons replied, “if the whole place was under sentence of demolition in order to let some builder or the council put up a housing estate, of course I’d oppose it root and branch, but, as you know, the council are prepared to save and renovate the parts which matter. If they’d preserved the monks’ dorter in its original form, I’d try to save the hospital, too, but the mediæval building has gone, except for the night stair to the church, and the present lath and plaster construction isn’t really worth preserving. As for the almshouses, well, even to keep them standing, there are all kinds of structural repairs which ought to be done, and done soon. They make quite a picturesque row, both back and front, but nothing, of course, compared with, for instance, the almshouses at Chipping Norton, still less with those at Chipping Campden or the St. Cross dwellings near Winchester, which are older than these.”

  “The Cotswolds have the advantage of stone for building, of course,” said Timothy, “and that, to my mind, makes a heap of difference. So it’s thumbs down for Lady Matilda’s Rest.”

  “Not necessarily, but if the other preservation and conservation societies don’t oppose the demolition, I don’t think Phisbe needs to stick its neck out.”

  “Well, we’d better go and break the news to Miss Coningsby-Layton, I suppose. I’ve prepared her, but she’s not exactly going to dance and sing. Is it any good to get the cottages surveyed?”

  “You’d only get a repetition of what I’ve told you. There’s a lot to be done over the next two or three years to keep them habitable, and I can’t see the council spending the money even if they wanted to—which they don’t. What’s happening to the church, I wonder? I know it’s going to be preserved, but how are they going to use it?”

  “When we were here last time I asked about that. Miss Coningsby-Layton said that it has been declared redundant under the 1969 Pastoral Measure and under the Redundant Churches and Other Religious Buildings Act of the same year. The council have been given planning permission to turn it into a concert hall, provided that the items on the programme are of a solemn nature.”

  “Bach, but not The Bachelors?”

  “Yes, and Humperdinck the First, but not the Second, and Beethoven but not the Beatles, and Franck (César) but not Frank (Sinatra). That’s about the size of it.”

  “So that settles the happy fate of the church, because, if it’s to be used as a concert hall, it will have to be kept in repair. So now to break the news to the warden. After all, it isn’t completely gloomy.”

  “It is, for her, if the council won’t repair those dwellings.”

  “Well, that’s as may be, and I’m sorry about it. Incidentally, the council’s surveyor will have reported on the state of those chimneys. They’ve been shored up fairly recently. I bet it broke their hearts to spend the money if the cottages are coming down so soon.”

  “It wouldn’t look too good if a chimney fell on some old person’s head. Well, let’s get it over with the warden.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Death of an Elderly Woman

  “When after many Lusters thou shalt be

  Wrapt up in Seare-cloth with thine Ancestrie:

  When of thy ragg’d Escutcheons shall be seene

  So little left, as if they ne’r had been . . .”

  To His Worthy Friend, Mr. Arthur Bartly.

  “Tim,” said Alison, when, some days later, he had taken her back to Warlock Hall and she had seen the gardeners at work and had made plans for turning the huge pond into a swimming pool, “why should we go abroad for our summer holiday?”

  “I thought you were all set on it.”

  “That was before I knew about the boat. When we’ve explored this river and the creek, we could try the Broads, or even part of the south coast. Why not?”

  “I’d like that. Of course, we’ll be dependent on the weather, you know, and you might also get most fearfully bored.”

  “Oh, no, I shouldn’t. Besides, I think we ought to keep in touch here while the men are at work. There might be all kinds of problems and it would be a great advantage if we could tackle them on the spot, or, at any rate, while we were in England.”

  “Say no more. Operation Cruiser is on. I’ll get our president to help me take the boat round the coast. I’m not having you on board while we do that, if you don’t mind. No, please don’t argue about it. You can meet us at Chichester with the car, and I’ll take you aboard at Bosham.”

  “I’m a better swimmer than you are.”

  “Better, but perhaps not stronger. Anyway, do as you’re told or we don’t go. Right?”

  “No, not right. Either I go with you all the way, or I don’t go at all.”

  “Dear, dear! Well, we’ll see what the president says. Perhaps he can’t come, and in that case it’s all off.”

  “Why? It isn’t the first time you’ve handled a boat, is it?”

  “No, but it’s better with two of us.”

  “Exactly. You and me.”

  “I meant, better with two men.”

  “Oh, Tim! It’s not as though there’s any heavy work to be done! I can read a chart and we shall only hug the coast, I suppose, and I don’t get sea-sick, and I’ll promise to obey orders in a general sort of way.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “I’ll obey orders except in cases where I know better than you what ought to be done.”

  “And you expect me to take you on those terms?”

  “Yes, of course. Besides, if the president comes, you’ll have to take orders, anyway. He’s certain to want to be skipper.”

  “There’s a snag, though. I’ve gone and committed us to this trip to Madeira. What can I do about that?”

  “Cancel. They always have a waiting list. If not, pay what they ask, but I’m sure they won’t bother. And now, darling, when do we start? And, Tim, don’t ask the president. It will be ever so much more fun on our own. And I don’t suppose I’ll often know better than you. I’ll try not to, anyway. One thing I’ve learnt is that masculine dignity must be served. It’s a nuisance, but there it is, and there’s not very much I can do about it, worse luck!”

  “I don’t know so much! I’d hate to b
e a balloon if you were around with a pin!”

  They transported the cruiser overland to Bosham, after all, voyaged only by day, and snugged down every night, although each afternoon they had to begin looking for moorings earlier than they would have liked, for it was full holiday season and the anchorages were crowded. First they explored the whole of Chichester harbour and the various channels coming down from the Hard at Bosham, where the cruiser was launched. They turned at Dead End past the ferry and the Hard, rounded Longmore Point past the yacht basin and its lock, and turned the cruiser in the Fishbourne Channel to pass Dell Quay and so landed at Fishbourne.

  They dined and spent the night in Chichester, visited the cathedral, lunched, then cruised up the Thorney Channel along the coast of Thorney Island, found it rather uninteresting, so went up to Emsworth along the channel of the same name. There was low-water landing at the Hard, so they went ashore on Thorney Island and found a lane which took them into Emsworth, where they stayed the night. In this desultory fashion they spent three weeks, visiting the beautiful Beaulieu River and Lymington, but avoiding entering Christchurch Harbour because of its shifting bar and varying depths, its onshore winds and heavy swells. However, inexperienced though they were, they found an anchorage beyond the Haven House, a prominent landmark on the north side of the river, and decided to stay there for the afternoon and night.

  It was while they were having their snack lunch in the cockpit that a powerful motor-cruiser went by. Timothy, who had his binoculars out because he had been studying the tower of Christchurch Priory, turned them, from force of habit, on to the moving boat.

  “That looked like Jabez Gee,” he said. “Surprising to find him in these waters. Wonder what he’s up to?”

  “Why should he be up to anything?” asked Alison. “He works with boats. He told us so.”

  “I know. You have a look.” He handed her the glasses.

  “Well, now, there’s a coincidence,” said Alison, as she returned them. “It’s Jabez all right, although I’ve only seen him once. I don’t know the tall, thin one who’s standing up at the wheel, but the third man is our renegade Macbeth, Kilbride Colquhoun as ever is.”

  “Are you sure?” Timothy took back the binoculars and trained them on the now exciting craft.

  “Dead certain, darling. I saw more than enough of him during the early rehearsals, before he walked out on us, so I can’t help recognising him now I see him again. Why, what is exciting you so much?”

  “Oh, nothing—only—well, he happens to be the second of my conspirators at Warlock Hall and the tall, thin helmsman is the third of them. Something is falling into place.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Those fellows—Ross and Banquo—were talking about Colquhoun and one of them was saying that Macbeth had scratched from the play because he got into a pub brawl and had his face knocked about . . .”

  “Oh? You mean it wasn’t at a pub brawl, it was that night when he collided head on with the thin man at Herrings.”

  “That’s it. Now all I’ve got to do is find out the name of the thin chap, and if they trespass on my property again I’ll sue them, especially as Jabez now has no right to enter the Hall.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think they’d go back there now we’ve got workmen all over the place. If they really are smuggling in illegal immigrants, they’ve changed the scene of operations, I expect, and are using the south coast channels instead of our creek. Anyway, we don’t really know that they’re smugglers at all, do we?”

  “Not with all those palliasses I saw laid down in the undercroft and elsewhere? My word. I’d like to know the truth about them!”

  “I suppose,” said Alison, after a pause, “that, if I weren’t with you, you’d go after them. I mean, if you had another man with you. Well, please don’t let me stand in your way. I mean, I’d hate you not to do something you wanted to do, just because I wouldn’t be much good in a fight. I’d be quite handy with a boathook, though, if it came to it.”

  Timothy laughed.

  “I know you would,” he said, “but the shot isn’t on the board. What they get up to is no business of mine, so long as they’re not carrying on their activities in a house which belongs to me. I wouldn’t mind following them up just for the fun of it, and we shouldn’t run into trouble unless I started it (which I’m not prepared to do at present). You could greet Colquhoun as an old acquaintance and we both know Gee, and I could bear to find out the other chap’s name. It might come in useful later on.”

  “I don’t think we’d catch up with them, you know. That was a pretty big boat and I’d say a lot faster than we are. She’s almost out of sight already.”

  “Well, as you rightly point out, of their nefarious enterprises actual proof, so far, is lacking, and I’m not a policeman or an exciseman, anyway. On with the dance; let joy be unconfined. It is odd about your Macbeth being my Plummy-Voice, though. Where would you like to spend the night?”

  They avoided Poole Harbour, hugged the coast past Anvil Cove and decided to go no further west than Weymouth, where they moored just about a mile inside the entrance to the harbour. A few days later they returned to Chichester and, having cruised up the river as far as Arundel, they parted from their boat and returned to Chichester itself, where their car was to pick them up after the cruiser had been sent on its slower road-journey back to the creek. It was in Chichester that they saw Jabez again. This time he was without his companions. They met him as he was coming out of a public house in East Street, when they were returning to their hotel after visiting the thirteenth-century almshouses off Lion Street.

  “I wonder whether it’s a place like that where some of Miss Coningsby-Layton’s old ladies are to go?” Alison was saying, and Timothy was about to reply when he stopped short.

  “Why, good morning, Gee,” he said, with feigned heartiness. “You seem to get about a good deal these days.”

  “Same to you, sir. Good morning, madam. ’Avin’ your ’oliday, I take it?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  “Not me, no. Follerin’ me trade, as you might say.”

  “Ah, yes. Didn’t you pass us somewhere about Mudeford, near Christchurch, the other day?” asked Timothy.

  “Not me, guv, no. Brought a gent’s yacht round from Lowestoft, that’s all. Ain’t been no further west nor Itchenor.”

  “Oh, really? It’s easy to be mistaken. Where are you living now?”

  “In Lowestoft, like I said.”

  “Not with your mother, then?”

  “Oh, no. The old lady’s gone to ’elp keep shop in London. That’s no place for me. Got to foller the boats, I ’ave, and they don’t keep my sort of boats up along them parts, I don’t reckon.”

  “Now why should he lie about Christchurch?” said Timothy, when they had gone on their way. “Because we did see him, both of us, and although I wouldn’t swear in court to those other fellows, I’m perfectly certain they’re the chaps who were with him at Warlock Hall that night.”

  “Of course, their errand in these southern waters could be innocent enough. You’d run an awful risk trying to bring illicit cargo into any of the harbours or rivers down here,” said Alison. “Perhaps they had been over to the Continent to contact their friends . . .”

  “And warn them against shipping any more cargoes to the creek? I’d believe that if I thought they knew I’d rumbled them that night, but I don’t think for a minute that they do know. Anyway, it’s just one more thing to pigeonhole. And you’re wrong about these south coast harbours. They’ve been used quite a lot for smuggling in illegal immigrants. Apart from what has been in the newspapers, you’ve only to look at the charts. See here, now, I’ll show you what I mean when we get back, but, to be going on with, you’ve only got to think of Chichester Harbour itself, with Langston Harbour next door to it and connected with it by Sweare Deep. There are plenty of well-marked channels where you can run motor-cruisers and yachts. There’s the Chichester Channel itself, and Thorney Channel,
with a perfectly good minor road at West Thorney up to Havant; there’s the Emsworth Channel and the one which goes up to Bosham; then on the Langston side there’s a way up to Bedhampton and, if you like to take a chance with an illicit cargo on board, I suppose you could risk the Broom Channel and the “cut” westward under the bridges to Horsea Island and Portchester.”

  “Very well. You’ve made your point, although I’m not sure that everything you suggest would be practicable, even for desperate men who wanted money, but I’ll give you best.”

  “Thank you, darling. Well, our little, rather slow holiday is over and the chaps who are taking our cruiser back to the creek know exactly what to do, so—just one more night away from home, and then for the Cotswolds and a warmed-up, indoor swimming pool! The bathing on this trip has been lousy.”

  The usual shoal of letters, holiday postcards, begging letters, and postal advertisements was awaiting their arrival, for nothing had been sent on, since Timothy had been unable to leave any fixed address during the three weeks he and Alison had been away.

  “Oh, dear!” she said. “Do you think it will all wait until tomorrow?”

  “Better sort it, I suppose,” said Timothy, “but it will do after dinner. Well, now it’s over, what did you think of the holiday? Are you sorry we didn’t go to Madeira?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I’m rather glad we didn’t have to live on the boat.”

  “Yes, cribbed, cabined, and confined would have been le mot juste, in that case.”

  “Would you rather have gone with another man and roughed it, instead of always dining and mostly sleeping ashore? Was I hopelessly in the way?”

  “Now what sort of answer do you expect to a question like that?”

  “I won’t press for one. It might be injudicious. By the way, I expect one of those envelopes contains my timetable and list of duties for next term.”

  “Then we’ll do as you suggest, and attend to all the correspondence tomorrow. Tonight we will dedicate to the gods, first to Bacchus, then to Eros.”

  “They must both be getting rather tired of us, don’t you think?”