“No charges, it seems.”
“No charges? You’re having me on.”
“Nope.”
“But Miss S.’s already identified Parsons as the bloke that jumped her in the church! Be your age, that was what broke the case for us!”
“I know, but she doesn’t want us to prosecute him. She had a long talk with Ranger this morning. Likewise Trish Thumper. And although I haven’t the slightest idea yet what grounds she had for saying so, Trish Thumper told Ranger quite definitely that her father wouldn’t be taking the matter any further either.”
“What the blazes has been going on?”
“I don’t know, but I mean to find out. I’m going down to Plummergen myself later today. All Ranger could tell me was that after the fiasco by the lake—I tell you Chris, I’m furious with myself for not being there to see it—and the brawl in the ambulance, the whole Plummergen gang reasonably enough abandoned the opera and headed for home. Accompanied by a very subdued Wilfred Thumper, wearing the picnic tablecloth like a sarong and the jacket of Bob Ranger’s new suit, about which Ranger’s very fed up. That journalist chap, Banner, drove the judge, Lady Thumper, and Mel Forby in the Thumper car. Ranger took Miss Seeton, who insisted that he should drop her off at Rytham Hall with the others.”
“Oh boy, must have been a right old circus when they all arrived. So they put old Thumper into a hot bath, tucked him up in bed afterwards, and then Miss S. and Trish got their heads together and for some mysterious reasons of their own decided to muck everything up for us. That what you think happened?”
“It’s all I can think, at the moment. Keep all this under your hat, Chris. I’ll try to keep you in the picture, but until I know what it is myself I don’t want you or anybody else going off the deep end.”
“Hurry up, the suspense has been killing me!” The moment Thrudd entered the door Mel jumped up from the tiny dressing table in her room at the George and Dragon, rushed into his arms, and contrived simultaneously to hug him and to deprive him of the large buff envelope he had been carrying. She nodded her head toward her portable typewriter precariously balanced on the dressing table.
“I’ve been trying to draft a story, but I couldn’t concentrate. You’ve been a heck of a long time, lover.” She drew out the contents of the envelope and studied them for a few moments. Then, unable to maintain her poker face any longer, she treated him to a smile of pure delight. “Thrudd, you’re a genius. You’re forgiven for having that smug smile on your face when you walked in here.”
“Not bad, are they? I had quite a job persuading the guy that runs the photographic studio in Brettenden to do the job at all, let alone to rush it. Said he specialized in weddings, children, and pets and had an urgent date with a cocker spaniel. But after I spoke to him about the power of the press he agreed to develop the film and run off the contacts and a few enlargements, by special arrangement with money.”
“Who’s a clever boy, then? Wowee!” Having spread out the enlargements on the bed, Mel scrutinized with more care the sheet of contact prints she held in her hand.
“I just had him blow up the obvious ones, but there are a few others that might be of interest.”
Mel put down the contacts and stood beside the bed head down, poring over the enlargements. “My only regret is that newspapers can’t run pics in color yet. It’ll come, they do say. But I can’t forget the way that guy’s hair matched his bow tie. Thumper may be a dried-up old prune, but he sure has good taste in boyfriends. That shot’s the prizewinner, if you want my opinion.”
“Speaking as a music critic, you mean, or as a hotshot feature writer?” Thrudd closed in on Mel from behind, put his arms round her and nuzzled at her neck. Then he peered over her shoulder at the photograph she had indicated.
It was beautifully sharp, and depicted a sodden Harvey standing chest-deep in the waters of the lake at Glyndebourne, with an equally drenched Sir Wilfred Thumper apparently embracing him. The expression on the judge’s clearly recognizable face must in fact have been one of shock and distress, but what Thrudd’s lens had captured looked uncommonly like drunken affection.
“Passing lightly over that ungallant wisecrack, all we have to do now is figure out how best to use it. And also, incidentally, what the dickens your friend and mine Miss Emily D. Seeton is up to. Did I give you permission to remove your arms, Mr. Banner?”
He put them back round her and squeezed. “Oh Mel, you’re so stern. You will be gentle with me, won’t you?” Then in his normal voice, “Is Miss S. up to something?”
“You bet she is. I dropped in to see her this morning. She was as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever.”
“Why shouldn’t she be? She didn’t get dunked in the lake. Just pushed everybody else in.”
“That wasn’t the way she explained it, but never mind. She made me a cup of coffee, and we chatted. Agreed that it’s great that the heat is well and truly off Trish Thumper, but Miss S. admitted that she was disappointed to have missed the rest of La Calisto. Then she looked at me kind of sideways in that perky way she does sometimes and said she and Trish had both been in touch with Bob Ranger first thing and told him they didn’t intend to press charges against the man she calls Tintoretto. The ambulance driver.”
“They what?”
“You heard me. At least, not before they know all about him. Miss S. is convinced he has a secret sorrow, and she seems to have persuaded Trish to agree with her.”
“Darn right he has a secret sorrow, and I can guess what it is. He’s sorry he ever got mixed up in this crazy affair, and he’s even sorrier that he’s going to spend years in jail because of it.”
“That remains to be seen. Delphick’s coming down to Plummergen later today, presumably to reason with them.”
“But Mel, this is the character who’s been making the lives of the entire Thumper family a misery. Even if Trish is misguided enough to try to let him get away with it, you can bet your boots old Sir Sourpuss won’t.”
“We shall see. Anyway, it’s just after twelve. Shall we go down and get some lunch, or what?”
“If the alternative is what I think it is, I’d prefer what.”
“But Miss Seeton, justice really must take its course, you know.”
“Oh, but I’m sure it will. Now that you have so kindly explained the background. To this unfortunate man’s predicament, I mean. It was something about the eyes, you know. Trish—such a dear child—understood immediately when I explained it to her.”
“I grant you that it was a sad case, but there was cast-iron evidence that Parsons did make off with that money.”
“So he did, but most ineptly, according to what you have told me. And come now, Mr. Delphick, it was recovered within an hour or two. Not so much as a pennyworth of interest was lost to the building society. The Reliable, I believe. Such an attractive, straightforward name. You know, I often wonder how many members of the one called the Woolwich Equitable use that adjective on a day-to-day basis. If Mr. Parsons so far forgot himself as to behave in an unreliable way, why, that was no doubt because he was distracted. A good many years ago I myself was shocked to discover that I had inadvertently removed a book from a public library without having it stamped. And I was only thinking about quill pens at the time, not desperately worried about a beloved daughter.”
“Hard cases make bad law, Miss Seeton.”
“What a very silly maxim that is. It was by Pearl Buck, I remember, and turned out not to be at all to my taste. The book, that is, so I took it back. Well, a principle like that might appeal to Sir Wilfred Thumper, but I have no time for it.”
“It’s not like you to be so vehement, Miss Seeton.”
“Vehement. A fairly uncommon word. Now you’d have no trouble with one like ‘equitable’, Mr. Delphick. I do admire it. Your vocabulary, I mean. But I admit that I do. Feel strongly. Such a very distressing story. That poor, wretched man!”
“That man attacked you. And he planned at the very least to hold
Trish Thumper captive. Quite possibly to harm her.”
Miss Seeton shook her head decisively.
“Not Tintoretto, Mr. Delphick. The beard is very full and quite conceals the chin, but I’ve already mentioned the eyes. I doubt it very much. That he would in fact have harmed Trish even if she had not demonstrated to him so conclusively that she is well able to take care of herself.” She sighed gently. “As for me, I still feel embarrassed. That I hurt him, while he did no more than frighten me a little. By hitting him with my torch, I mean. It was the other man who tied me up. The one with the van. With the absurd assumed accent. He was afraid, you see. That I should remember his voice.”
Delphick smiled. “Yes. And I gather that in your own way you gave him cause to regret that second encounter, too. So am I now really to understand that you’re disposed to forget the whole thing?”
“Oh dear, no! Poor Mr. Parsons lost his daughter in frightful circumstances. The child he loved so dearly that he courted professional and personal ruin. In an attempt to help her. And then the poor man was subjected to unnecessary public humiliation by an odious bully. Something must be done.”
“Strong words, Miss Seeton,” Delphick said, fascinated by this unfamiliar, crusading side to her.
“Well, you see, so much unhappiness flowed from it. The trial. I quite see that Sir Wilfred Thumper isn’t accountable. For the death of that poor child, I mean. But blameworthy, certainly. It is understandable, isn’t it, Mr. Delphick? That Mr. Parsons, during years of frightful mental anguish, should have made him the focus of his bitter desire for revenge?”
“Perhaps it is understandable, but I don’t quite see why Trish Thumper should be expected to display as much magnanimity as you. More or less on his own written admission, Parsons administered some noxious substance to her at the Hurlingham Club, which made her ill and resulted in her losing an important match.”
“Really, Mr. Delphick! She tells me that it was almost certainly nothing more than a strong laxative. Martha Bloomer swears by Eno’s Fruit Salts herself, and certainly wouldn’t call it noxious. She’d prefer California Syrup of Figs, but they don’t seem to sell it these days, she says. And it was an exhibition match. Not in the least important.”
Delphick shook his head slowly and sighed. “Well, I can see it’s not much use arguing with you,” he said. Then he stood up and prepared to leave. “Thank you for the tea and cake, Miss Seeton. I must be off to Rytham Hall now. To see Sir Wilfred.”
“Really? I understand that apart from having caught a severe cold, he is none the worse for his experience. Rather the reverse, in fact.”
“That’s a rather mysterious remark, Miss Seeton. Anyway, let me remind you that Parsons has subjected him to severe mental and emotional stress over a period of months. In spite of what his daughter said to Sergeant Ranger, I somehow doubt if Thumper Senior will be inclined to forgive and forget.”
Miss Seeton’s previously serious expression had been replaced by something like a twinkle. “Don’t be too sure, Mr. Delphick,” she said sweetly.
chapter
~18~
IT’S NOT easy on the face of it to understand why it can make perfectly good sense to describe a rapping on a door as hesitant. Audible or inaudible, yes, but surely to go beyond that is fanciful? Not a bit of it. A moment’s thought suffices to make the fair-minded person accept that, just as the occupant of a room would be fully justified in interpreting a succession of thunderous blows as menacing, or a rapid tattoo as peremptory or impatient, so the occupant of the library at Rytham Hall, namely Sir George Colveden, was quite right to infer that the taps he heard were tapped by a hesitant, not to say timid, tapper.
“Come in!” he called, and sat back to watch the doorknob turn and the door open, as if by no human agency. Then, in the gradually widening gap, a pale face appeared, half obscured by a wad of paper tissues being held beneath a nose in contrasting red.
“You, ah, wodted to see me, I understad, Colbeded.”
“Ah, there you are, Thumper. Yes, as a matter of fact I did. Well, don’t just stand there, come in, come in. That’s better. Take a pew, old boy.” Never one to shirk a disagreeable duty, Sir George had, following the telephone call from Miss Seeton, mentally prepared himself for the forth-coming interview. He nevertheless found his resolve weakening when he contemplated the shambling, sniffing figure of Sir Wilfred Thumper.
“Good God! Just realized I haven’t set eyes on you since last night. You look perfectly frightful, man!”
“Bery sorry, Colbeded. But your wife gabe me this to wear.”
“No, no, I don’t mean that old dressing gown of mine. Even though I thought she’d given it to the Salvation Army or Oxfam or somebody like that years ago. You’re welcome to it. Take it away with you if you like. No, I mean that streaming cold in the head. You ought to be in bed. Get the doctor to have a look at you, what?”
“Was in bed, Colbeded. But Labidia tode me to get up ad pull byself together.” Sir Wilfred abandoned himself to a paroxysm of sneezing while Sir George gaped at him in disbelief.
“Lavinia did? That doesn’t sound at all like her. And besides, since when did you pay any attention to Lavinia?” He paused in some confusion, and cleared his throat. “As you were, Thumper. Remark out of order, none of my business. Sorry about that. Anyway, you’ve got a corker of a cold there. Here, you’d better have a whiskey.”
Sir George decided to have a bracer himself, too, and the business of going over to the side table and pouring them took long enough to enable him to think about and decide to revise the tactics he had planned to employ. Clearly a subtler approach was called for. The invalid accepted the drink with an air of humble gratitude.
“Bery good ob you.”
“Think nothing of it. I say, Thumper, d’you remember that blighter Remington at all?”
“Rebigtod? Yes. Prefect. School House. Dot likely to forget.”
“Ah, precisely! I should jolly well say not. Thoroughly bad lot, used to torment the junior boys. Accuse them of breaking all sorts of rules they never even knew existed. Because they didn’t, of course. Used to stage mock trials, along with some of his cronies, and invent humiliating punishments just for their own amusement, that sort of thing.”
“He did. Beastly sadist, you called hib. The tibe you rescued be, Colbeded.”
Sir George blinked as his memory projected a vivid picture in his mind, of a half-empty storeroom at school, getting on for fifty years in the past. Of a group of sneering seniors centered round the unspeakable Remington, and of a skinny little boy standing before them with his short trousers down round his ankles, tears streaming down his face, and his quavering, piping voice breaking down repeatedly in his attempts to sing the comic song ordered by his tormentors. And of himself at sixteen or seventeen bursting into the room, taking in the scene, and roaring incoherently as he launched himself with arms flailing at Remington in defense of young Thumper, his fag.
“Gabe hib a bloody doze, you did. Ad two ob the others.”
“So you do remember. Must admit I’m a bit surprised, in view of what I’ve learned today. I don’t mind telling you that I’d been intending to read you the riot act this afternoon. And rather regretting that I’m no longer in a position to give you six of the best.” Red-eyed and red-nosed, the former fag said nothing, but looked ever more woeful as Sir George pressed on. “I’ve been proud of you, young Thumper. Watched your career with interest and, yes, dammit, respect. No small thing to become one of Her Majesty’s judges, after all. Knew you were said to be a tough nut, told myself a judge has to be firm. Didn’t much admire the way I saw you treat Lavinia sometimes, but it doesn’t do to speculate about other people’s marriages, eh? Anyway, I never thought I’d have to face the fact that a former fag of mine turned out to be a bully. You’ve let me down, old boy.”
“If you say so, Colbeded. I’b sorry, Colbeded.”
“So I should hope. Well, it’s never too late to mend. My understanding is that
this fellow who wrote you those letters had every reason to give you a hard time. Agreed?”
“Perhaps, Colbeded, but—”
“No perhapses or buts about it. Did you know that both Miss Seeton and Patricia have decided not to press charges against him?”
“Yes, Colbeded. Patricia tode be.”
“Good. Now, I gather Chief Superintendent Delphick’s coming over here to see you shortly. What are you proposing to say to him?”
For the first time the light of defiance came into Sir Wilfred’s inflamed eyes. “Justice bust be dud!” he insisted.
Mel Forby put the telephone down and turned to Thrudd. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I don’t recall Miss Seeton ever ringing me up before.”
“She’s all right, is she? Not sick or anything?”
“I don’t think so. Just upset. Delphick just left her, his second visit today. To say that he’d talked to old Thumper, who says that no matter what she and Trish have decided, he wants the book thrown at this guy Parsons. For sending him a series of threatening letters.”
“I’ll be darned. He doesn’t give up easy, does he?”
“Nope. Apparently Sir George, Trish, and even Lady Thumper have all had a go at him, but he’s adamant.”
“Lady Thumper? But hasn’t he treated her like a doormat for years?”
“So they say, but apparently the sight of him taking a header into the lake had an electrifying effect on her. Having been terrified of him for most of their married life, she suddenly realized that he’s not a dignified, awe-inspiring figure at all. In fact, he’s nothing but a pompous, ridiculous old poop who’s been sponging off her money for far too long.”
“Well, that’s a useful blow for freedom, for a start. But if Miss Seeton says he’s down but not out, I guess Parsons will have to face the music after all.”
“Not necessarily,” Mel said thoughtfully. Then she put up a hand and stroked his cheek with infinite tenderness. “Thrudd, darling?”
Advantage Miss Seeton (A Miss Seeton Mystery Book 7) Page 14
