by Joyce Porter
‘No?’ MacGregor told himself that you never knew when all these snippets of information might prove valuable.
Mrs Tiffin shook her tightly permed head. ‘Well, this is no job for a highly trained, experienced butler like Arthur, is it? It’s not a proper butlering job at all. Well, between you and me, I doubt if Lord Crouch and his sister would know what to do with a proper butler if they engaged one. The way they live! Disgusting for titled people, I call it. Pigging it up there in those blooming old box rooms!’
‘You can say that again!’ growled Dover. He was beginning to show signs of restlessness now that all the food had gone.
MacGregor was quick to recognize the danger signs and he got his cigarette case out. In a couple of seconds he had got Dover sucking away contentedly like a baby. MacGregor returned to Mrs Tiffin. ‘What precisly are your husband’s duties, Mrs Tiffin?’ he asked.
Mrs Tiffin sniffed disparagingly. ‘Being a tailor’s dummy!’ she said. ‘He’s just there to impress these blooming trippers they have swarming all over the place. Well, he’s supposed to sort of keep an eye on things as well. See they don’t scratch anything or pinch the cutlery or anything. Oh, and he opens the door to important visitors, too, but mostly he’s just there for show. That’s why Lord Crouch was so keen on getting Arthur, you see, because he is such a fine figure of a man. He’s got presence, Arthur has. He really looks the part.’ Mrs Tiffin smiled contentedly. ‘Mind you,’ she added, ‘I was all against him taking the position.’
‘Really?’ MacGregor was wondering how and when he was ever going to get Mrs Tiffin down to what some of his detective colleagues liked to call the nitty-gritty stuff. ‘ Er …’
‘You can’t afford to let your standards slip,’ said Mrs Tiffin firmly. ‘They soon start taking advantage of you, if they think they can get away with it. Like I said to Arthur at the time, how much ice is a reference from Lord Crouch going to cut? Everybody who is anybody knows the style him and his sister live in. It’s all very fine, I said to Arthur, you saying you only did it to oblige but who’s going to believe you?’
Who, indeed? MacGregor smiled the uncertain smile of one who is hopelessly lost.
Mrs Tiffin took pity on him. ‘Arthur was Lord Crouch’s batman,’ she explained. ‘Donkey’s years ago now, of course. Well, you’d think that was grounds for Lord Crouch doing Arthur a good turn, wouldn’t you, instead of the other way round? What’s got into you? I said to Arthur. You’ve never so much as mentioned your Army service these past twenty years and now here you are taking a stupid position like this on the strength of it. Well, he mumbled something about the money being very good. Just like a man. And then there’s our Charmian to think of, I told him.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said MacGregor feebly.
‘I wasn’t a bit keen on coming down here to the back of beyond because of her. I mean, whichever way you look at it, a girl has more chances in London than she does in the country. It stands to reason, doesn’t it? Oh, I know Gary turned up here in Beltour but that still doesn’t alter the principle of the thing. Arthur was like a dog with two tails when they announced their engagement but, don’t count your chickens, I said. There’s many a slip, I said. And I was right! Our Charmian’s worse off now than if she’d never met the dratted boy!’
‘Ah, yes, Gary Marsh!’ MacGregor stole a glance at Dover and tried to calculate how much longer Mrs Tiffin’s substantial tea was going to keep him pinned down in his chair. The time for ruthlessness had come and MacGregor cut through Mrs Tiffin’s bitter maternal lamentations over the loss of a prospective son-in-law. ‘I believe Gary Marsh spent most of the day he was killed here, Mrs Tiffin?’
Mrs Tiffin agreed sadly that he had. ‘And I was so looking forward to it, too,’ she complained. ‘You see, Gary didn’t often get a weekend off and, when he came home in the middle of the week, our Charmian was at work. I thought this weekend was going to be a wonderful opportunity for us all to get to know one another better.’
‘You didn’t know Gary Marsh well, then?’
‘Not really. Well, until our Charmian started going out with him a month or so ago, I don’t even remember so much as seeing him. I must have done, I suppose, but he just didn’t register somehow.’
MacGregor felt he could understand that. ‘Did you or Mr Tiffin have any objections to the engagement?’
‘Good heavens, no! Gary was a very nice boy … really. Once you got to know him. And, of course, anything Charmian wanted was all right by her father and me. She’s our only child, you know, so I suppose we do tend to spoil her a bit. Still, she’s a very sensible girl and we do want to see her settled. She’s had one or two disappointments in the past, you know, and we did so hope everything was going to work out this time.’
‘Perhaps you could tell me exactly what happened on Sunday,’ said MacGregor, earning top marks for dogged determination. ‘ Did Gary seem perfectly normal?’
‘Well,’ – Mrs Tiffin paused as she gave her answer some thought – ‘he hadn’t much to say for himself but, then, I think he was probably always a bit like that. You’d have to ask our Charmian.’ Mrs Tiffin looked coy. ‘She’s the one who’d know whether he was his usual self or not.’
‘What did you do on Sunday?’
‘Do? Well,’ – Mrs Tiffin sat back with a sigh – ‘ I don’t know that we actually did anything. Charmian and her dad went to church and Gary met them there. I gave it a miss that morning because I had to see to the dinner. I wanted it to be something a bit special. Well, after church Arthur and Gary went to The Bull Reborn for a drink and Charmian came straight back here to give me a hand. Then we had dinner and, after dinner, Charmian and Gary watched television in here. Arthur came and gave me a hand with the washing up and then we just sort of generally kept out of the way. Well, you do, don’t you? Round about five o’clock I got the tea ready and took it in. By the time we’d finished that it was time for Gary to leave. I did suggest that Charmian might like to walk over with Gary to Beltour and maybe even wait while he saw Lord Crouch and then go to the station with him, but her dad wouldn’t hear of it. Mind you, it was coming on to rain but she could have taken her mac. Arthur said he wasn’t having her come all that way back from the station by herself in the dark. In view of what happened to poor Gary, I suppose he was right but I wasn’t too pleased with him at the time, I don’t mind telling you. Well, you know what young couples are like and a nice walk through the woods can be so romantic, can’t it?’
MacGregor was scribbling away like a maniac, much to Dover’s sardonic and sleepy amusement, but the sergeant was keeping a firm grip on the essentials. ‘Just a minute, Mrs Tiffin! You knew that Gary Marsh was going to see Lord Crouch that evening?’
‘Oh, yes. Gary mentioned it at dinner.’
‘And you knew he would be walking from Beltour House, through Bluebell Wood and across the Donkey Bridge to the railway station?’
‘Yes.’
‘He told you that, too?’
Mrs Tiffin wrinkled her brow. ‘Well, no, not in so many words, I suppose. I just assumed that’s what he’d do. I mean, if you’re walking, it’s the obvious way, isn’t it? Miles quicker than going round by the road.’ She glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Good heavens, is that the time? Well, if you want to ask me any more questions, you’ll just have to wait a bit. I’ve got to get Arthur’s tea ready for him. He likes to have it as soon as he gets in. Would either of you two gentlemen like another cup?’
Dover heard that all right. ‘ Yes,’ he said and yawned noisily as he watched Mrs Tiffin begin to pile up the empty plates. ‘ Here,’ he said, generous to a fault, ‘my sergeant’ll give you a hand with that. Come on, MacGregor! Where’s your manners?’ Dover gave Mrs Tiffin a conspiratorial wink. ‘You play your cards properly, missus, and he might even wash up for you! He’s very domesticated. Make some girl a first-rate husband!’
Mrs Tiffin examined MacGregor with renewed interest. ‘He’s not married, then?’ she asked with
a little laugh, as though it was all some big joke.
‘An unplucked rose!’ Dover assured her maliciously.
‘Fancy!’ Mrs Tiffin subjected MacGregor to another shrewd going over. ‘Er – are you likely to be staying in the district for long?’
Dover dragged his chair nearer to the fire as MacGregor banged crossly out into the kitchen with the load of plates a beaming Mrs Tiffin had handed him. ‘No idea,’ said Dover. ‘Sometimes these cases take days to clear up, sometimes weeks.’
‘Weeks?’ echoed Mrs Tiffin thoughtfully. ‘Fancy! Well, I just hope you’ll look upon this house as your second home while you’re here. Pop in any time you feel like a drink or a meal. We’ll always be very glad to see you. Both of you, of course.’
‘I’ll remember that!’ promised Dover with a smirk.
MacGregor came back from the kitchen only to receive another armful of plates from a now gushing Mrs Tiffin. ‘ Come on!’ she exhorted him gaily. ‘I’ll wash and you can wipe. All right, dear?’
Chapter Nine
When MacGregor eventually returned to the sitting room, he had a face like thunder. Grimly he rolled his shirt sleeves down and put his jacket on. Dover, feeling the draught, opened one eye.
‘That, sir,’ said MacGregor in a voice which he failed to keep steady, ‘ was not very funny.’
Dover opened the other eye. ‘What wasn’t?’
MacGregor ignored the question and stalked away across the room to sit down as far from Dover as he could get. He reached for his notebook and began ruffling through the pages in an effort to still his beating heart. ‘She’s been telling me what a good cook her daughter is!’ he whined.
Dover rearranged several pounds of fat more comfortably in his chair. ‘She probably thinks you’re quite a good catch,’ he grunted. ‘Sprightly young bachelor with a steady job and a pension at the end of it.’
‘Well, I think it’s positively indecent! Her daughter’s fiancée isn’t in his grave yet, poor devil, and that woman’s already looking round for a replacement.’
Dover felt a faint twinge of sympathy but he managed to suppress it before it showed. He had been snared by a designing mother himself and was still nursing the grudge. Baiting MacGregor, though, was always an enjoyable exercise. ‘You could probably do worse,’ he observed, endeavouring to sound like a Dutch uncle. ‘ It’s about time you settled down and shouldered your responsibilities like the rest of us.’
But MacGregor was not to be drawn. ‘ There’s a man,’ he said, looking out of the window by which he was sitting. ‘He’s just coming through the garden gate. Pushing a bicycle.’
It was Arthur Tiffin, looking less impressive now that he had exchanged his butler’s outfit for a pair of grey flannel trousers and a sports coat. Dover found him almost as charming as Mrs Tiffin. And equally generous, as witness his prompt offer to share his high tea with the strangers at his gates. There was, he remarked good-naturedly, more than enough ham and eggs in the dish for them all. Dover, helping himself first, promptly proved him wrong.
In between the sparse mouthfuls that still remained to him, Mr Tiffin revealed that the death of Gary Marsh had been a deep personal tragedy. ‘On account of our little Charmian,’ he explained and MacGregor leaned forward in an attempt to catch his sorrowful words over the noise of Dover’s guzzling. ‘If she was one of these flashy young bits you see all over the place, I wouldn’t worry so much,’ Mr Tiffin went on miserably, ‘ but she’s not. She’s sort of a bit shy and retiring and it takes time to get to know her.’
‘We should have stayed in London,’ said Mrs Tiffin, who was once again presiding over the teapot. ‘She’d more choice there. We should have stayed.’
It was obviously a well-chewed bone of domestic contention and Mr Tiffin set aside his grief to make the rejoinders which he had no doubt made a hundred times before. ‘We lived in London for years and much good it did her.’
‘There was that chauffeur with those Peruvians!’ snapped Mrs Tiffin, blinking as Dover reached right across her to get at the bread and butter.
‘Did a moonlight flit,’ explained Mr Tiffin in a disgruntled aside to MacGregor. ‘Two blooming days after I’d footed the bill for their engagement party.’
Mrs Tiffin glared at her husband. ‘And who was it who told him she was anaemic? Honestly, Arthur, you’ve put more spokes in that girl’s wheel over your dratted glasses of beer than …’
‘I’ve got to have a chat with them!’ protested Mr Tiffin. ‘I’m her father. I can’t let her get tied up with some man we know nothing about.’
‘There’s chats and chats,’ grumbled Mrs Tiffin. ‘And we know which sort yours are! What about that nice young school teacher in Chelsea that she met at those art appreciation classes?’
‘They sent him to prison for interfering with little boys! That was nothing to do with me!’
‘It only happened after you’d had a heart-to-heart talk with him in The Golden Cross.’
‘Well, damn it all, woman,’ – Mr Tiffin mopped up the last vestiges of his fried egg with a piece of bread – ‘I did find out that he’d already got a wife, didn’t I?’
Mrs Tiffin regarded her spouse sourly. ‘Sometimes, Arthur,’ she said, ‘I wonder whether, deep down, you really want to see our Charmian get married.’
‘Of course I want her to get married!’ Mr Tiffin glanced at MacGregor and risked a resigned shrug of his shoulders. ‘I want it as much as you do.’
‘Then why don’t you leave things alone?’ demanded Mrs Tiffin. ‘You’ve always got to go poking your nose in, you have. Look what you’ve done to Gary!’
The unfortunate Mr Tiffin cringed and looked anxiously at his two guests. ‘Here, steady on, love!’ he pleaded. ‘You’ll be getting me into trouble, saying silly things like that. It’s not my fault Gary got murdered.’
‘He was perfectly all right until you took him off for a drink and another of your precious man-to-man talks!’ retorted his wife, clearly intent upon having the last word if it killed her.
Dover was now down to his last spoonful of sherry trifle and MacGregor realized that he was in danger of wasting his opportunities. He broke through the matrimonial infighting. ‘Ah, yes, Mr Tiffin! Now, you took Gary Marsh to The Bull Reborn for a drink after church, didn’t you?’
Mr Tiffin, who had been successfully harried into thinking that every man’s hand was against him, was instantly on the defensive. ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ he demanded heatedly. ‘There’s nothing incompatible in being a church warden and having a drink, is there? You don’t have to sign the pledge to be a member of the Church of England, you know.’
‘Well, no,’ agreed MacGregor, rather taken aback. ‘I never said you …’
‘More often than not, you’ll find the Vicar himself in there, enjoying a quiet pint after Matins. You go to the Noncomformists, sergeant, if you want total abstinence! Alcohol is as much the gift of God as anything else and, as long as it’s used in moderation …’
‘Oh, quite!’ said MacGregor hastily. ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, actually. But it’s Gary Marsh I’m really interested in.’
‘He had a lemonade shandy,’ said Mr Tiffin, unmollified.
MacGregor was not surprised. From what he had gathered about the late Gary Marsh, a lemonade shandy would appear to be just about his mark.
Dover, inevitably, sparked into life again. He pushed his chair back from the table and smacked his lips. A glass of beer would go down a fair treat just now.
Unfortunately, Mr Tiffin was fully occupied with answering MacGregor’s questions. ‘Did he seem worried?’ Mr Tiffin hunched his shoulders. ‘ Well, it’s hard to tell. Gary wasn’t the sort of lad who wore his heart on his sleeve. To tell you the truth, I could hardly get a word out of him.’
The irrepressible Mrs Tiffin chipped in again. ‘That’s probably because you were doing all the talking,’ she said. ‘As usual. Well, somebody must have said something because you both turned up here for your din
ners with faces as long as fiddles. I made sure something had gone wrong … again.’
‘And I told you you were mistaken, didn’t I’ Mr Tiffin stared resentfully at his wife. ‘ You know your trouble, don’t you? You imagine things.’
Dover’s patience was becoming exhausted. He roused himself to take a guiding hand in the conversation. ‘While you were having a drink together,’ he said, carefully emphasizing and clearly ennunciating the relevant word, ‘what did you talk about?’
It was too subtle for Mr Tiffin. ‘Oh, this and that,’ he said vaguely.
The sullen scowl which crossed over Dover’s face indicated, even to the most obtuse, that this answer was not satisfactory.
Mr Tiffin tried again. ‘ The lad’s prospects, you know. After all, he was proposing to marry our only child and I naturally wanted to know how he envisaged his future.’
‘You were supposed to be making a few enquiries about his past!’ That was Mrs Tiffin, displaying the infallible memory which wives of her calibre always seem to possess. ‘We knew his future was secure, what with Lord Crouch taking such an interest in him. It was his past I wanted clearing up.’
Mr Tiffin poured some milk into his cup and irritably tossed in a couple of lumps of sugar. ‘Oh, good grief, Alice, nobody bothers about that sort of thing these days.’
‘Oh, don’t they?’ sniffed Mrs Tiffin, resolutely folding her arms and forcing her husband to stretch for the teapot himself. ‘ Well, that’s a nice thing for a religious man like you to say!’
