Georgette Heyer

by Why Shoot a Butler?

  Shirley came downstairs in a few minutes; she seemed pleased to see Felicity, but rather shy. She wore a black armband over her tweed coat, but no other sign of mourning, and although she looked worried she had certainly not been crying. She said that she was quite comfortable at the Boar’s Head and declined Lady Matthews’ offer of escort to the inquest. It was very kind of Lady Matthews but quite unnecessary; she would not like to drag her to anything so unpleasant.

  ‘My wife,’ said Sir Humphrey, eyeing her askance, ‘thought that perhaps you would be glad of – ah support – under such painful circumstances.’

  Shirley gave him back one of her surprising clear looks. ‘I shan’t break down,’ she said. ‘It has been a shock to me, and I’m upset. But I don’t want to pose as being heartbroken. You see, I’m not. I’m sorry if this shocks you.’

  It evidently did shock Sir Humphrey. He said that perhaps she had scarcely had time to realise what had happened. Her smile was a little scornful, but she did not argue the point. On the question of her return to London she was inclined to be vague; purposely, Felicity guessed. There appeared to be business connected with Ivy Cottage which she would be obliged to settle.

  She made no effort to detain her visitors when Felicity rose to go. Felicity thought, privately, that whatever she might choose to say, she was suffering from considerable strain. Her eyes betrayed her.

  Sir Humphrey, on the way home, took no pains to disguise the fact that he did not like Shirley. His sense of propriety was offended by her lack of hypocrisy; he could not forgive such plain speaking, however unsatisfactory Mark Brown might have been. Decency had to be preserved. He thought that the absence of mourning clothes showed lack of respect towards the dead. Whatever a man’s character had been in life, death, in Sir Humphrey’s eyes, made him instantly respectable.

  In the middle of these reflections he broke off to hunt on the seat beside him for something. Felicity slowed down. ‘What is it, Daddy?’

  ‘I seem,’ said Sir Humphrey with annoyance, ‘to have left that book I borrowed at the Boar’s Head. I can’t think how I could have done such a thing. We shall have to go back.’

  Leaving things behind was a habit he had so often condemned in his wife and daughter that Felicity could not forbear a little crow of laughter as she turned the car.

  Ten minutes’ run brought them back to the Boar’s Head. Sir Humphrey went into the lounge where he found Shirley sitting alone, the book on the small table before her. She was flushed, and when she looked up at his approach, he was surprised to see so much light in her dark eyes. Upon his soul, the girl looked as though she had come into a fortune instead of having lost her only brother.

  She got up, lifting the book from the table. ‘You left this behind, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘I’ve been dipping into it. Also dusting it, which it badly needed.’ She put it into his hands. ‘Here you are.’

  ‘And what did you think of it?’ said Sir Humphrey.

  A little smile hovered on her lips. ‘It seems to have some very interesting things in it,’ she said.

  Amberley was not in to lunch, having gone over to Carchester to confer with the chief constable, but he put in an appearance at tea-time, not in the best of tempers. An effort on Sir Humphrey’s part to read aloud to him an anecdote about the Abbe Marolles was firmly checked at the outset. ‘I’ve read it,’ said Mr Amberley.

  ‘Indeed?’ said his uncle huffily. ‘I shall be surprised, nevertheless, if you can tell me what book it occurs in.’

  ‘Curiosities of Literature,’ said Amberley without hesitation. ‘I didn’t know you had the book.’

  Sir Humphrey, pleased to find his nephew more widely read than he had imagined, unbent and said that he had borrowed the book from Fountain that morning. He presently made another attempt to read a passage aloud and was still more firmly checked. ‘Do you remember this bit, Frank?’ he began.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Amberley.

  Sir Humphrey informed him that his manners were intolerable. By way of working off his spleen he said acidly that he trusted Frank did not intend to wake the whole household up in the small hours that night as he had last night.

  Mr Amberley, who had heard his uncle snoring as he had passed his door at four that morning, grinned and said meekly that there would be no disturbance tonight.

  He was mistaken. At twenty minutes past two the silence of the house was shattered by a crash that woke not only Sir Humphrey, but his wife and his nephew also.

  The noise had seemed to come from the drawing room, and it was followed by complete stillness. Amberley came softly out of his room with a gun in one hand and a torch in the other, and stood for a moment listening intently.

  A board creaked somewhere below; Amberley began to descend the stairs in the darkness, making no sound.

  At that moment the door of Sir Humphrey’s room was wrenched open and Sir Humphrey hurried out. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded and switched on the light at the top of the stairs.

  Amberley said something under his breath and reached the hall in a couple of bounds. He was too late; when he flashed his torch round the drawing room it was empty. The French window was swinging wide, and the curtain bellied into the room in the draught. Amberley tore it aside and looked out. The moonlight flooded the garden, but there were patches of shadow cast by the trees. No one was in sight, the torch-beam revealed no lurking form. Whoever had broken into the house was by now well on his way to the road, and to follow would be a futile task.

  Mr Amberley went back into the drawing room and inspected the window. Two small panes of glass had been neatly cut out, enabling the burglar to unbolt the window, top and bottom.

  Sir Humphrey’s voice was upraised. ‘What the devil are you up to, Frank?’ it demanded wrathfully. ‘Are we never to have a night in peace?’

  Amberley strolled back to the hall. ‘Just come down here, Uncle,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve no wish to do anything of the kind! What are you playing at?’

  ‘You’ve had a visitor,’ said Amberley, and wandered back to the drawing room and stood in the doorway surveying the chaos there.

  Sir Humphrey joined him. ‘It wasn’t you? do you mean to say… God bless my soul!’

  The ejaculation was provoked by the sight that met his eyes. To a tidy man it was certainly startling. Someone would seem to have been frenziedly searching for something. The room was turned upside down; cushions, books, papers were scattered higgledy-piggledy over the floor. The drawers of Lady Matthews’ bureau were all open and the contents thrown out. In the tiled fireplace the broken pieces of a large vase added to the litter. Obviously the intruder had accidentally knocked it over, and it was the noise of the smash that had awakened the household.

  The window next caught Sir Humphrey’s dazed eye. He repeated rather feebly: ‘God bless my soul!’ and stared at Amberley.

  ‘We’d better have a look round,’ said Amberley, and led the way to the library.

  Here the confusion was even worse, while the condition of Sir Humphrey’s study drew a faint moan from its unfortunate owner. His desk had been ransacked, and all his papers had been cast recklessly onto the floor.

  ‘God bless my soul!’ said Sir Humphrey for the third time. ‘It’s a burglary!’

  His nephew looked at him with scant respect. ‘How do you think these things out so quickly?’ he inquired. ‘Hullo Aunt. Come to look at the wreckage?’

  Lady Matthews, with her hair in curlers and cold cream on her face, stood in the doorway looking interestedly round. She was not in the least put out. She said: ‘Dear me, how exciting! Such a muddle! Poor Jenkins! Why the study?’

  Amberley nodded. ‘You have a way of hitting the nail the head, Aunt Marion, though no one would ever think it. Do tell me why you’re plastered with white stuff ?’

  ‘Face cream, my dear. At my age so necessary. Do I look odd?’

  ‘Quite ghastly,’ Amberley assured her.

  Sir Humphrey danced with impatience. ‘G
ood God, Frank, what has your aunt’s face to do with it? Look at my desk! Look at my papers!’

  ‘Much better look for the silver, dear,’ said his wife. ‘Or does Jenkins take it upstairs? Murdered in his bed, perhaps. Someone had better go and find out.’

  But Jenkins had not been murdered. He appeared at that moment with a coat and trousers put on hastily over his pyjamas. Sir Humphrey greeted him with relief and was not disappointed. Jenkins’ feelings rivalled his own, and the two mourned together until Mr Amberley intervened.

  ‘Take a look at the valuables, Jenkins,’ he requested.

  Jenkins went off at once. Sir Humphrey took his wife to see the damage done to the drawing-room window, and Mr Amberley stood in the middle of the litter in the study, frowning.

  He was joined soon by his cousin, who was in high fettle but indignant that no one had seen fit to rouse her. Mr Amberley evinced a mild interest in the methods usually employed by her maid when calling her in the morning.

  Jenkins came back to report that so far as he could tell without making an inventory of the silver, nothing was missing. The dining room had not been touched, and the Georgian saltcellars were still reposing on the sideboard.

  Mr Amberley went in search of his uncle, whom he found raging over the damage done to his window. Lady Matthews was placidly agreeing with him.

  ‘I want you to come and see whether anything is missing from your study, Uncle,’ said Amberley.

  ‘How the devil am I to tell?’ said Sir Humphrey. ‘It will take me hours to get my papers in order again! Upon my word, it sometimes seems to me there’s no law left in England!’

  ‘Did you keep anything of value in your desk?’ interrupted Amberley.

  ‘No, I did not. It is some slight comfort to me to know that this damned thief’s labour was entirely fruitless!’

  ‘No money? You’re quite sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure! Do you suppose I should be likely to leave any money about?’

  ‘You, Aunt?’

  ‘No, my dear. Only bills and things. So dull for him. What do you suppose he wanted?’

  ‘I don’t suppose anything. I’m in the dark at the moment.’ He looked round the room, his eyes narrowed and speculative. ‘The drawing room, the study, the library, but not the dining room. Queer. It would seem as though you’ve got something that someone else wants rather badly, Uncle. A document?’

  ‘Certainly not! Any important papers are lodged at my bank. Not that they could be of the slightest interest to anyone but myself.’

  ‘Why throw books on the floor?’ said Lady Matthews. ‘So unnecessary, I feel.’

  Amberley looked quickly across at her. ‘Books! Good God!’

  ‘Go on, Frank, what?’ squeaked Felicity. ‘I do call this fun!’

  Amberley paid no heed to her. ‘Where’s that book you borrowed from Fountain, sir?’

  ‘In my room. I took it up to bed with me. What has…’

  Amberley turned. ‘Get it, will you, Jenkins? Curiosities of Literature.’

  Lady Matthews sat down. ‘How delightfully mysterious,’ she said. ‘Why the book, my dear?’

  ‘I rather think that it was the book that was wanted,’ replied Amberley. ‘I hope so anyway.’

  Jenkins came back, the book in his hand, and gave it to him. Amberley flicked over the leaves, shook it, peered down the back, carefully felt the thickness of the boards.

  ‘Too thrilling!’ murmured Lady Matthews.

  But Amberley was looking puzzled. ‘I seem to be wrong,’ he said. ‘Yet somehow – I don’t think I am.’ He glanced thoughtfully at his uncle. ‘I wonder.’

  ‘What do you wonder?’ said Sir Humphrey. ‘Pray don’t be obscure!’

  ‘Whether anyone entered your room tonight,’ said Amberley.

  Sir Humphrey, who like many others had an entirely erroneous belief that he was a light sleeper, was indignant. He was ready to swear that no one could possibly have entered his room without waking him.

  His wife interposed. ‘Dear Frank, all most intriguing, but don’t annoy your uncle.’

  ‘Sorry, Aunt. It’s all rather disappointing. I’m going back to bed.’

  Sir Humphrey demanded to know what was to stop the burglar returning through the damaged window. Mr Amberley professed complete unconcern. He was still holding the book, and he went out carrying it with him.

  Twelve

  Mr Anthony Corkran was about to answer the telephone, which was ringing shrilly in the lobby off the hall, when he was forestalled by the polite Baker.

  The butler apologised with his usual deprecating air for being late and took the receiver off the hook. He said: ‘Hullo!’ and Mr Corkran, still standing in the hall, could have sworn a female voice answered. The butler gave a sidelong glance towards him and said primly: ‘I do not know whether it is convenient just now – miss.’

  The voice spoke again. Baker listened and said: ‘What name, please?’

  Apparently no name was given. Corkran saw a curious expression come into the butler’s face and wondered. Baker set the receiver down carefully and went away across the hall to the kitchen premises. His interest aroused, Corkran lingered in the doorway of the library to see who was being fetched. Not entirely to his surprise Collins came into the hall a few moments later and went towards the telephone lobby. Corkran drew back into the library and shut the door.

  Collins went into the lobby and picked up the receiver. ‘Who is it? Collins speaking.’

  ‘I think you know who I am,’ said a woman’s voice.

  The valet cast a quick look over his shoulder and spoke urgently into the mouthpiece. ‘It’s no use your ringing me up here. It’s not safe. I told you before.’

  ‘Then I think you’d better meet me,’ said the voice coolly. ‘I can make trouble, you know.’

  The man’s lips curled back in a rather mirthless smile.

  ‘You’ll get no good by it.’

  ‘If you refuse to meet me that won’t deter me,’ said the voice. ‘Either you come to terms or I wreck the whole thing. I mean that. I can do it, too. “Half a loaf is better than no bread,” and I have got just half a loaf. Well?’

  Collins’ fingers tightened on the receiver as though it had been someone’s throat. ‘All right. But don’t ring me up here again. I’ll meet you. I don’t know when I can get off. I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thanks, you can let me know now,’ said the voice.

  ‘I tell you I can’t get off at a moment’s notice. You ought to know that. I’ll see you on my evening off alone.’

  ‘You will see me today,’ said the voice, stating a fact. ‘Certainly, alone.’

  ‘It’s not safe. I can’t get away for so long.’

  ‘I don’t mind coming to you,’ said the voice obligingly. ‘If you’re wise you’ll manage to slip out for half an hour.’

  The valet gave another quick look behind him. ‘All right. I’ll do that on condition you don’t ring up here again.’

  ‘If you’re reasonable I shan’t want to ring you up,’ promised the voice. ‘Where do we meet?’

  The man thought for a moment. ‘It’s risky, but do you know the pavilion in the wood?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘There’s a gate before you get to the lodge, leads to the gamekeeper’s cottage. The pavilion is by the lake, just beyond. You can’t miss it. I’ll be there at six.’ He hung up the receiver abruptly and stepped out of the lobby.

  Fountain came out of the library pulling the door to behind him. A heavy scowl was on his face; his eyes were fixed suspiciously on the valet. ‘Who rang you up?’ he demanded. ‘Mr Corkran has just been asking me if I am aware that my servants use the telephone for their own private affairs. Who was it?’

  Collins stood still, his eyes lowered. There was an unpleasant look about his mouth, and for a moment he did not answer.

  ‘Some woman, eh?’ Fountain said, coming a step nearer. ‘Isn’t that so?’

  The ey
es were raised for a brief instant; Collins said smoothly: ‘Yes, sir.’ He gave a little cough. ‘Merely the young lady I am keeping company with, sir. I explained that she must not ring me up again.’

  ‘Keeping company? That’s something new. Now see here, Collins! I’ll put up with a lot, but there are some things I won’t stand. Got that?’

  The valet bowed. ‘Perfectly, sir. It shall not occur again.’

  ‘It had better not,’ Fountain said grimly. ‘It seems to me it is about time I got rid of you. All things considered.’

  The shadow of a smile crossed Collins’ thin lips, but he nothing. Corkran came out of the library at that moment, and Fountain turned to meet him. The valet went away soft-footed across the hall.

  ‘You were quite right, my dear chap,’ Fountain said. ‘Ringing up his girl! Bloody cheek! Thanks for tipping me the wink.’

  Seven miles away Miss Shirley Brown came out of the telephone-box at the Boar’s Head with a triumphant look in her eyes. She was met by the hall porter, who informed her that a gentleman of the name of Amberley had called to see her, and the look changed to one of guarded secrecy. She told the porter to inform Mr Amberley that she had gone out, adding as an excuse that she must take her dog for a run and could not wait now.

  She allowed her visitor ten minutes’ grace and then came downstairs followed by Bill. Mr Amberley had gone leaving no message. With a sigh of relief not entirely unmixed with disappointment, Shirley went out, walking in the direction of Ivy Cottage where she had Mark’s packing to do.

  At five o’clock in the afternoon she shut Bill into her bedroom and went out, dressed in a long tweed coat and a felt hat pulled low over her head. She went directly to the Market Square, where the omnibuses that served the surrounding villages started. No. 9 bore the legend LOWBOROUGH on its signboard, and she boarded it. After some minutes its driver, who also performed the functions of conductor, got in and started his engine. Shirley, who had chosen a seat immediately behind him, leaned forward and requested him to set her down at the turning that led to Norton.