Mr Campion's Fault

by Mike Ripley

  ‘So a good result for the forces of law and order all round, then?’ asked Campion.

  ‘Pretty much,’ said Ramsden. ‘The Booth boys are starting to come clean. They’re claiming Bertie Browne’s death was an accident and they’re blaming Maude fair and square for Bagley and Ivy Neal.’

  Campion was aware that Amanda’s eyes were slowly widening.

  ‘Well, that’s all jolly good, Chief Inspector,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Will you join us for coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you very much; I’ll leave you to finish your dinner in peace. I’ll say good night and wish you luck for tomorrow, Lady Amanda.’

  Ramsden stood up and left the table in a silence which continued for a full two minutes before Amanda spoke.

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you’ve forgotten to tell me, Albert?’

  It was part of Ash Grange lore that Speech Day was the favourite day of the school year for its misanthropic groundsman, Rufus Harrop, as he was put in sole charge of car parking which thus gave him ample opportunity to continue his own class war against the richer parents and take revenge for personal sleights both real and imagined. He had, though it rankled, been told to be on his best behaviour when supervising the arrival of the guest of honour, Lady Amanda, though he could not for the life of him see what a posh southern woman with a fancy title could possibly have to say to interest the folk of Denby Ash.

  He waved Campion’s Jaguar into a reserved parking space and, as he had been rehearsed by Celia Armitage, opened the passenger door for Amanda. As he had been strictly rehearsed by Brigham Armitage, on pain of instant dismissal, he welcomed her to the school grounds in stony silence.

  Amanda, as she did with any public engagement she undertook, had done her research and as she got out of the car she offered a hand. ‘You must be Mr Harrop,’ she said graciously. ‘My son has told me what an absolutely splendid job you do on the school grounds and the playing fields. I doubt the school knows how lucky it is to have you.’

  Rufus said nothing, merely stood open-mouthed, though he did weakly shake Amanda’s hand. Long after the event he would say, to anyone who would listen, that it had been ‘like meeting royalty’ and that ‘them Campions aren’t such a bad lot and not at all stuck up’.

  Rupert, who had observed the encounter from the steps of the school, had been impressed and told his mother so as he greeted her with a kiss.

  ‘You seem to have tamed our ferocious groundsman,’ he said, ‘and if you can do that, you’ll absolutely wow the boys and the staff here. Let me take you in, they’re all gathering in the Dragons’ Den … that’s the staff room. All except Perdita, who’s giving the cast of Doctor Faustus a last-minute pep talk.’

  ‘Is she prepared for curtain up?’ said Mr Campion as he joined them.

  ‘She’s dreading it,’ Rupert answered, ‘but has to keep upbeat for the sake of the boys as all the parents will be there for the first show and then there’s another performance tonight for the locals, but Perdita thinks if they come at all they’ll come for the brass band music, not the play.’

  ‘Has Roderick Braithwaite reported for duty?’ asked Campion.

  ‘Is he your apprentice detective?’ said Amanda.

  ‘Sort of. He’s a fine lad – brave one too. He’s playing Faustus.’

  ‘Perdita’s confident he’ll be fine,’ said Rupert, ‘and he was certainly full of beans this morning. Last night, Arthur Exley called round for his tea at Mrs Braithwaite’s as per usual, but instead of going into the house, he opened the door and threw his cap in.’

  ‘And Ada Braithwaite didn’t throw it back out.’

  ‘She did not. It seems she’s agreed to a new husband and a dad for Roderick.’

  ‘I am so glad,’ said Campion, ‘and we will be devastated if we’re not invited to the wedding.’

  ‘We will?’ murmured Amanda.

  ‘Oh, yes; in fact, I fully expect to be asked to be Best Man.’

  ‘You have been busy making friends and influencing people, haven’t you?’

  ‘You know I always try to sprinkle a little fairy dust in my wake. Now it’s your turn to charm and inspire Denby Ash, darling, which you will do brilliantly. Go give them a Speech Day they’ll never forget!’

  It did indeed prove a memorable Speech Day. The correct prizes were given to the correct recipients, the applause was heartfelt and polite when it was called for and the cheering (for any mention of a winning school team) was controlled and not at all unruly. The school song was sung with gusto, the Rev. Stanley Huxtable lead the assembly in a prayer suitable for all denominations, the staff looked suitably learned in their university caps and gowns, speeches were listened to in respectful silence and the last oration – Lady Amanda’s stirring call to arms to ‘Reach for the Stars through Education’ – received a standing ovation from every woman, and a fair proportion of the men, in the school hall.

  Tea and cake were served in the enforced intermission while the hall was rearranged to accommodate the staging for Doctor Faustus and the arrival of Arthur Exley and selected members of the Denby Ash Brass Band.

  When preparations were complete and the audience had resumed their seats, the three Campions allowed a prime position on the front row, Brigham Armitage mounted the stage and begged boys and parents for their attention as he had an important announcement to make.

  ‘I have to inform you of a slight change to the cast of our production,’ began the headmaster once he held the silence of the packed hall. ‘Owing to unforeseen circumstances, the role of Helen of Troy will not be played by Miss Hilda Browne but by Miss Perdita Browning.’

  There was a hum of expectation among the boys and of mild curiosity among the parents. The headmaster indicated that Arthur Exley and his musicians, resplendent in their red and black with gold piping bandsmen’s uniforms, arranged in a semicircle in front of the stage, could now commence their overture.

  As the first notes began to swell, Rupert leaned in to his parents. ‘Perdita says to thank you, Pop, and that she’s promised to give you a big kiss if she gets through this. How did you manage to get the mad Hilda to step down?’

  ‘I paid her a social call,’ said Mr Campion under the music, ‘and pointed out that as her late brother was now the subject of a murder enquiry, it might be wiser not give the impression that she was more interested in theatricals than in justice for Bertie. I may also have mentioned that she would surely be expected to appear in court as a star witness in the near future and of course the press would be present there.’

  ‘And she fell for that?’ Rupert whispered.

  ‘You know what actors are, my boy. The chance of a bigger role and a mention in the newspapers is usually enough to turn their heads.’

  ‘But what about poor Perdita?’ Amanda intervened. ‘Haven’t you landed her in it at very short notice?’

  ‘She’s rather looking forward to it,’ said Rupert smugly. ‘She doesn’t have any lines and she says thanks to you and Marion and Sally, she’s sure she’ll make a dramatic entrance.’

  Mr Campion was watching Arthur Exley conducting his bandsmen with slowing sweeps of his baton and suspected the overture was almost over and the real action about to begin.

  ‘Who are Marion and Sally?’ he asked as the lights in the hall began to dim.

  ‘Marion Foale and Sally Tuffin,’ said Amanda quickly. ‘They designed the outfit I bought Perdita as an early Christmas present in London. Now be quiet, you two, and watch the show.’

  When her cue came, Helen of Troy walked regally across the stage and back again. When her second cue came she repeated her statuesque promenade, a beautiful and confident model – as surely Helen was – making the stage her personal catwalk.

  The effect on parents, teachers, bandsmen and the boys – especially the boys – was electric.

  A few of the women present may have recognized the black-and-white optical check suit and very short skirt she wore from a magazine feature and acknowledged that the long h
igh-heeled white leather zip-up boots and black tights patterned with white diamond shapes added to the Carnaby Street authenticity, but all in the audience agreed afterwards that they had never seen anything so fashionable in Denby Ash before.

  The second performance of Doctor Faustus took place some three hours after the first. It was more than enough time for the village drums to beat effectively and the hall was packed to the rafters, so much so that Rufus Harrop volunteered to work front of house without any thought of an overtime payment, for the sheer pleasure of turning people away.

  That night, Brigham Armitage would say later, was a bad night for television in Denby Ash. Then, remembering his Yorkshire heritage, he would add: ‘If only we’d sold tickets …’