Dance to Your Daddy (Mrs Bradley)

by Mitchell, Gladys

  ‘This thing is not a rapier,’ he said. ‘I am told that it is a smallsword, although, as you see, the blade is of a pretty fair length. It measures, as a matter of fact, thirty-two and a half inches, and, with the hilt, another six and a quarter inches, so, as you say, it would be too long for you to wear as part of your costume, although the date of it, according to my information, would be about right for Georgian dress. You’re sure you’ve never seen it before?’

  ‘I’m perfectly sure. Anyway, oughtn’t it to have a sheath? It looks very dangerous like that.’

  ‘We’re still in hopes of finding the sheath, but it doesn’t matter if we don’t.’

  ‘I don’t see why you’ve brought the sword here,’ said Rosamund in an unusually spirited tone.

  ‘As I said, Miss Lestrange, to find out whether you could identify it. We’re very anxious to know where it came from.’

  ‘Why – is it – is it …?’

  ‘We don’t know for certain, not yet, but Mr Romilly picked it up on the cliff-top not a long way from Dancing Ledge.’

  ‘By the way,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘who identified the body?’

  ‘Mr Romilly Lestrange. We’ve questioned him about finding the poor young gentleman and he told us that his nephews Hubert and Willoughby had not turned up at Galliard Hall, so we got him to make a formal identification, which, I may add, he was unwilling to do until we pointed out there was nothing to fear.’

  ‘Nothing to fear?’ echoed Rosamund. ‘When somebody has been killed, and a sword has been found with Romilly’s fingerprints on it, and you’re questioning everybody who was at Galliard Hall last week? How can there be nothing to fear?’

  ‘Now, now, miss,’ said Kirkby. ‘Nothing to fear, and nothing to get excited about, so long as you’re an innocent party. Now you seem to be in Mr Tancred’s confidence to a certain extent, and you went in the car with him and Dame Beatrice to Shaftesbury. It’s not where he lives – at least, it’s not his permanent address as given by Mr Romilly Lestrange – so do you know how long he intends to stay there?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it. We left him outside a church …’

  ‘St Peter’s,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘in Shaftesbury.’

  ‘He didn’t mention his plans, miss?’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘Right. Thank you, Miss Lestrange. I’ll have to find him, of course.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Coranto—Felix Napoleon’s Fancy

  ‘Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Burgomask dance between two of our company?’

  A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  * * *

  (1)

  Tancred was tracked down without the slightest difficulty. Accompanied by Dame Beatrice (her companionship sufficiently accounted for on the score that she knew the people concerned), Kirkby went straight to the police station in Shaftesbury.

  ‘Provost?’ said the desk-sergeant. ‘Why, yes, sir. He’s on bail, on his own recognisances. Charged with causing a breach of the peace – to wit, getting drunk, insisting on reciting poetry and assaulting the landlord when requested to leave. His case comes up tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’m investigating that case of the clergyman found dead on Dancing Ledge. This man Provost may be able to help me.’

  ‘Well, you’ll find him in his caravan on Fuddy’s Farm Fields, about four miles from here. He’s living there, as usual, with a friend.’ He gave concise directions. ‘The friend’s a female,’ he added.

  ‘Is she also a lover of poetry?’ Dame Beatrice enquired.

  ‘She’ll have to be, ma’am, with that one. He writes it. Let’s hope, for his own sake, he doesn’t start reciting to the magistrates. Sir Bentham will send him down without the option if he does.’

  ‘Show me on the map where this place is,’ said Kirkby. The sergeant pin-pointed Fuddy’s Farm Fields on the large-scale wall-map. ‘I see. The Blandford road, and branch off at the foot of Melbury Hill. Doesn’t look much like farming country.’

  ‘The farm itself is more than three miles away.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I see. Thanks, Sergeant. Well, I think I can find my way.’

  ‘Anything else I can do, sir?’

  ‘Might be – later on.’

  (2)

  The caravan was sheltered not only from the north by the noble, beacon-topped hill, but from the south-west by a small wood. They found Tancred, in a sheepskin jacket, jeans and furlined boots, seated on the steps of his caravan, engaged, apparently, with his Muse, for he had a large scribbling-tablet on his knees and a pencil in his hand.

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ he said, looking up, as, the car having come to a bumping halt on the wheel-rutted turf, he saw Dame Beatrice. ‘So you’ve tracked me down, have you? Trust the blasted police to give me away!’

  ‘I am the police,’ said Kirkby. ‘I am conducting an investigation into the death of the Reverend Hubert Lestrange, whose body was found below the cliffs on Dancing Ledge.’

  ‘So that’s who it was,’ said Tancred.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Oh, I spotted it, you know, last – when would that have been? – last Tuesday. Yes, that’s right. Day after I’d accepted my invitation to old Romilly’s place, Galliard Hall. I wrote a ballad about it. You know – four-line stanzas with a b c b rhymes. Martha set a tune to it, and we have it as one of our fireside songs. Would you care to hear it?’

  ‘You saw the body last Tuesday? What time would that have been, sir?’

  ‘Let’s see, now. We’d come up here from London the day before. Martha drove me to Blandford for her weekly shopping, and we got there at ten and had loaded up the boot of her car by about eleven, I suppose. We’d planned to get lunch out, but it was much too early to have it then, so I said, ‘Why don’t we stick old Romilly up? Save our money, and give me a chance to find out what sort of ideas he’s got, because he’s holding a family pow-wow and I wouldn’t mind having a shot at finding out why.’ Well, Martha wouldn’t wear it, so I said, ‘Well, it wouldn’t hurt for you to have a look at the outside of it. It’s crumbling a bit, but it’s a fine old place. We’ll have lunch in Wareham and go on from there.’

  ‘And did you lunch in Wareham, sir?’

  ‘Well, no – at least, not table d’hôte. More à la carte, if you know what I mean. We bought rolls and ham and cheese and apples and beer, and had an al fresco in the car.’

  ‘Whereabouts, sir?’

  ‘There’s a rather jolly little parking-place on the quay. All right this time of year, but the hell of a place to get out of in the holiday season because of the two-way traffic on the Swanage road.’

  ‘And then, sir?’

  ‘Well, then we came out and drove over the bridge, and we were all right until we got to Langton Matravers, but it appeared we’d missed some sort of turning and had come too far south or east or something. The post-office people directed us, but it sounded so horribly complicated that, after we’d looked at the map, when we got back into the car, Martha said, “Let’s pack it in, and go and have a look at the sea. The cliffs are marvellous this side of Swanage.” So, of course, that’s how I came to spot the body, but I hadn’t a clue who it was.’

  ‘You did not examine it, sir?’

  ‘Good Lord, no! I’m a poet, not a blasted bloodhound! It gave me the idea for this ballad, though. That’s the main thing.’

  ‘It did not occur to you that the gentleman might not be dead, and that maybe you could help him?’

  ‘He was dead enough! The waves were gently rolling him about.’

  ‘And you did not report what you had seen?’

  ‘Why should I? It never occurred to me. Martha was a bit chastened, so I piloted her to the car and comforted her, and then we drove back to Wareham and had tea in that jolly bow-window place where they have lashings of cream and always do you so well.’

  ‘May I have the young lady’s address, sir?’

  ‘Well, for the present, she’s living here. You’re not goi
ng to bully her, I hope? She can’t tell you any more than I can, and, anyway, at present, she’s out.’

  ‘When do you expect her back, sir?’

  ‘God knows! She’s gone in to Shaftesbury to have her hair done.’

  ‘We’ll wait, sir. Have you anywhere for Dame Beatrice to sit down?’

  ‘Why, yes, of course. Come in, both of you. Martha cleared up before she went, so there’s plenty of room. By the way, just as a matter of interest, who says the body was Hubert’s?’

  ‘Mr Romilly Lestrange, of course, sir,’ replied Kirkby, giving him a long stare.

  (3)

  Martha was a very pretty girl, small-boned, well-groomed, supremely mistress of herself and, in both senses, mistress of Tancred.

  ‘Go and sit in the car,’ she said to him, when Kirkby had stated his business, ‘and don’t come back until I tell you. If you want something to do, you can peel the potatoes. We’re having Irish stew tonight.’

  Having got rid of him, she turned to Kirkby and asked:

  ‘Have you come about the court-case? Is it worse than he told me? I hope he hasn’t done anything really silly. He never does behave himself in pubs. Thank goodness I wasn’t with him.’

  ‘But you were with him on the day he went to Dancing Ledge.’

  ‘Oh, dear! Don’t remind me of that! There was nothing we could do, you know. The poor man was hideously dead.’

  ‘You could have reported finding the body.’

  ‘I told Tancred that, but he wouldn’t, and he begged me not to. He’s such a baby, you know. He always runs away from anything awkward. To stifle my curiosity, do tell me whether he seduced all the women at Galliard Hall – or only one of them. There were three possibles, he told me. He always runs into trouble when I can’t keep him under my eye. I suppose he takes after that naughty old great-uncle of his, don’t you? You know – the one with all that lovely money. Tancred hoped the Provosts would come in for something, but it’s all been left to one of the Lestrange girls. It seems he took a fancy to her and adopted her. Disappointing, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Old Felix Napoleon, the old horror who’s caused all this mix-up.’

  ‘Do you refer to the death of the Reverend Hubert Lestrange, miss?’

  ‘Not that, so much. I really meant the old Bluebeard’s Will. Tancred went to bed with the heiress while he was staying at Galliard Hall, and she seems to have told him her troubles.’

  ‘I wonder whether his version was the same as mine?’ asked Dame Beatrice. ‘Did he confide it to you?’

  ‘Yes. He’s quite a tender-hearted idiot where girls are concerned – a lot too tender-hearted for me to dream of going steady with him – and this girl seems to have given him quite a story. Seems she’s out of the frying-pan into the fire. She’d been adopted by this old rip …’

  ‘Felix Napoleon Lestrange,’ interpolated Dame Beatrice.

  ‘… and all went merrily until the old boy introduced a chorus girl, or some such, into the ménage, and went such a bust on this female that for a long time – a couple of years, at least – the poor girl thought her inheritance was in danger, and that Felix the tomcat would marry this buskined beauty and she would cop the kitty when he died.

  ‘Fortunately, this didn’t happen. He gave the floosie the air when he found himself sinking, and the Will, so far as it goes, is as it should be, except for one small but all-important proviso. If the heiress goes cuckoo, or if she dies, Romilly Lestrange cops the lot. Well, of course, she’s bound to die sooner or later – we all are – but, naturally, she doesn’t want it to be sooner and she doesn’t want it to be assisted.’

  ‘You mean she doesn’t want to be murdered by Mr Romilly,’ said Kirkby unemotionally. ‘Anything more, miss?’

  ‘Well, it’s all a lot of boloney, I think,’ said Martha, ‘but I don’t suppose this murder business is going to make her feel any better about things, and she told Tancred she isn’t only afraid of this Romilly, but also of the dispossessed chorus lady, who must also be gunning for her, and was expecting a baby by old Felix Napoleon and might show up at any minute, complete with child, and create hell and demand her rights and all that kind of what-have-you.’

  ‘The baby would be illegitimate, miss.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t they have rights or something, these days? Heirs of the body, and so forth? Anyhow, be that as it may, this Trilby, according to Tancred, is in a real old spider’s-web of intrigue and is talking of cutting her throat as the best way out of it.’

  ‘This is all very interesting, no doubt, miss, but it doesn’t help me.’

  ‘Are you going to find out about this baby?’

  ‘The question does not come within the scope of my enquiry, miss. Will you give me your account of the way in which you spent last Tuesday?’

  Martha’s account tallied almost word for word with Tancred’s. Kirkby wondered whether they had rehearsed it.

  ‘I’ll have to get confirmation of their story,’ he said. ‘If the Reverend Mr Lestrange was already dead on the Tuesday, there’s no point in finding out what the house-party did after that.’

  ‘The coastguard stations, according to the Ordnance Survey,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘are at Peveril Point and just south of the secondary road which leaves Worth Matravers for Ranscombe Farm. From neither spot would Dancing Ledge be visible, I imagine.’

  ‘Probably not, ma’am. Well, if you’ll drop me off in Shaftesbury, I’ll have another word about Mr Tancred Provost with our chaps at the station. They’ll take me to Wareham, and I’ll work Provost’s story back from there. He’s a sufficiently striking-looking lad for the people in the tea-shop to remember. I don’t suppose they get crowds of people on a Tuesday at this time of year. Then I’ll tackle the post-office people at Langton Matravers.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do in the meantime?’

  ‘I hardly think so. When I’ve checked Provost’s story (if I’m able to), I’ll go along to Galliard Hall again and have another word with Mr Romilly.’

  ‘Mr Giles Provost was there when you called, I suppose? He’d got back from the New Forest?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but he’d nothing to tell me. He had been out with the New Forest Hunt all right, but that (if Tancred Provost’s story is true) can’t do anything to help us. I’ll have to tackle him from the other end – his home – and find out what he was doing before he went to Galliard Hall. According to the housekeeper – although I think she’s a lot more than that – there was bad blood between the Lestrange family and the Provosts, so the murder might tie up with a sort of vendetta. It seems a bit peculiar, if such was the case, that they had all been invited to Galliard Hall at the same time.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Judith told me that she had advised against having members of the two families in the house together, but that Mr Romilly had overruled her. He appears to have been amusing himself in an unkind manner at their expense. It seems that he had promised them, falsely, certain benefits, as an inducement to them to come and visit him.’

  ‘What kind of benefits, ma’am? – monetary ones?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. It seems that he promised Mr Tancred a publisher who would pay for printing his poems, and the schoolmaster, Mr Humphrey, a much better post. I have never met the Reverend Mr Hubert, of course, but Romilly spoke of getting him preferment of some kind.’

  ‘That sort of thing? I see. Been less surprising, then, if Mr Romilly had been bumped off, instead of the Reverend Hubert, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I have a theory that one of those who suffered disappointment may have gone so far as to attempt to murder him.’ She told Kirkby of the mysterious but abortive shot in the night.

  ‘There are two other people at the Hall I want to interview,’ he said, when he had listened to the story. ‘They were in Bournemouth when I visited the Hall.’

  ‘Oh, the twin brother and sister, Corin and Corinna Lestrange. Yes, they are appearing on sta
ge in Bournemouth this week. I expect they were rehearsing when you called. They, and Mr Giles, were the persons who really did benefit, although only in a very small way, from their visit.’

  ‘Oh? How was that, then, ma’am?’

  ‘The twins were offered free board and lodging for the period of their theatrical engagement, and Mr Giles obtained the loan of a horse for the hunting-field. I do not think Romilly mentioned to you that not only the Reverend Hubert but the eighth member of the party did not turn up?’

  ‘Who would that be?’

  ‘Mr Willoughby, whom Rosamund mentioned to you. He is the Reverend Hubert’s brother, and appears to be missing.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard of it. It might be very important. I’ll ask Mr Romilly about him.’

  ‘I certainly think you should do that.’

  ‘One thing I’ve proved. The married couple, Mr and Mrs Humphrey Provost, are in the clear. There’s no doubt their alibis are unshakeable.’

  ‘I’m glad of that,’ said Dame Beatrice. Kirkby said thoughtfully:

  ‘One Lestrange dead – either suicide or murder – and another missing? I’ll certainly look into that. Well, ma’am, I’m most grateful for your help. If I may, I’ll call on you again and let you know how things are going. It will need to be soon, because of the inquest.’

  (4)

  ‘So, according to his light-of-love, Tancred runs away from anything unpleasant,’ said Laura. ‘By the way, Celestine tells me we had a visitor. Pity there was nobody at home. You were off on a toot with the detective-inspector and I, in accordance with your instructions, had whisked Rosamund off to Bournemouth to get her fitted out with clothes.’

  ‘Who was the visitor?’

  ‘He didn’t leave his name or a card.’

  ‘Romilly, I venture to suppose. Did Celestine describe him?’

  ‘A tall, smooth-faced, dark-eyed, grey-haired gentleman of late middle-age, wearing a very good grey overcoat and a black hat. He asked to be allowed to come in and wait, but she explained that we were both out for the day and she had no idea when to expect us. He then asked to see Rosamund, whom he called “the young Mrs Lestrange, who is staying here,” and was informed that she had gone out with me, but that I had not said where I was going.’