Belchester Box Set

by Andrea Frazer

  They attended Midnight Mass with Beauchamp chauffeuring the Rolls. It was a custom that neither of them liked to miss, although Hugo, of later years, had had to make do with the first Eucharist of Christmas on the television. When they had been younger, it didn’t matter how long the party had been going on, they all pulled themselves together to go as a large group for this special service, and managed to behave themselves during its lease.

  Tonight was a bit like old times, as they remembered those Christmases of so very long ago, and the people who used to be such good friends, before the war had intervened, and they had either been killed, or been scattered all over the world. They might be old, but at least they had gay and happy memories, and, hopefully, would spend the last years of their lives enjoying each other’s company, and not being alone on all the important days throughout the year.

  When they arrived back at Belchester Towers after the service, even though it was twelve forty-five, they did not go directly to bed. Old people do not need so much sleep, and they repaired to the drawing room where Beauchamp brought through a tray with three cocktails on it, as he always celebrated the dawn of another Christmas as a member of the family, and not just a hired help. That was how things had always been, and they would not change in Lady Amanda’s lifetime.

  ‘Well, what have you cooked up for us this Christmas?’ asked Lady Amanda, as Christmas cocktails were always Beauchamp’s choice.

  ‘I have provided a ‘White Christmas’ for you, my lady, as I noticed the first few flakes of snow falling as I put away the Rolls. Mr Hugo, I know, has been having problems with one of his knees, so for him, I have prepared a ‘Wobbly Knee’, which I thought was very appropriate. And for myself, a new recipe which rejoices in the unusual name of a ‘Bumpo’. I have no idea what it means, or even what it tastes like, but I like a surprise. Cheers! Merry Christmas to you both! And to you both, a peaceful New Year!’ Beauchamp had no idea how he had tempted fate with his toasts, and this was his second offence.

  The next morning reminded Hugo of his childhood Christmases. Strings of white lights had appeared, draped round every room, and every Christmas tree in the house was ablaze with lights. Holly and bright tinsel decorated every picture that hung from the walls, and mistletoe hung at strategic points, throughout their living quarters.

  This must be all Beauchamp’s doing, but Hugo couldn’t work out when the man had found the time and energy to transform the old place so, when he had so much extra work to attend to both today and tomorrow. He quickly abandoned his speculations on this subject when he heard a joyful yell from the drawing room, and found Lady Amanda there, on her knees in front of the fireplace, ripping paper off a large flat parcel.

  ‘Oh, Hugo, just look at this! It’s an antique blotter with silver cherubs on the front. I didn’t even know Father Christmas was aware of how tatty my old one was getting. This is beautiful! I can hardly wait to write a letter, so that I can use it. What have you got Hugo? Come along, old chap, get ripping. You’ve got quite a few parcels to open.’

  Hugo’s gaze turned to where he had hung his ‘stocking’ last night; in actuality, a linen pillow slip with a card pinned to it, which bore his name. It was bulging with angled parcels and boxes, and the excitement that he had felt at this season so long ago now filled him again. He had, indeed, been transformed into a little boy.

  Taking down the pillow slip and putting it on a sofa, he began to remove gifts from it, and unwrap them; first slowly, as one is taught to do in a polite way, then more vigorously, as one would like to do with every present one is ever given, but forbidden to by the dictates of good manners.

  By the time he had a pile of discarded wrapping paper round his feet, the sofa held the components that comprised a complete train set, with all the fun little items that went with it: little signal boxes, a miniature station with its personnel, tiny passengers and sundry suitcases, miniature trees, a humped shape that was a tunnel, a level-crossing, complete with gates: there seemed to be endless little bits and pieces with which to construct a railway world.

  ‘How did he know?’ asked Hugo, flabbergasted, but hugely impressed.

  ‘How did who know what?’ enquired Lady Amanda, holding up a sparkling pair of earrings to the light.

  ‘Beauchamp. And that I never had my own train set. I always had to ask my older brother’s permission to use his, and he hardly ever said yes – at least, not until I had agreed to let him give me a Chinese burn, which was horrible.’

  At that precise moment, he became aware of Beauchamp at the side of the sofa, and jumped slightly. ‘Golly, you’re just like a character in a pantomime – rather appropriate at this time of year. What can I do for you, Beauchamp?’

  ‘Nothing. I just wanted to let sir know that I utilised an old wooden table, covered it with baize, and it now resides in the great hall, should you wish to play with your new acquisition.’

  ‘Beauchamp, you are a miracle on two legs. There’s nothing I’d like to do more,’ replied Hugo, looking quite young again.

  ‘By the way,’ interjected Lady A, ‘what did I get you for Christmas?’ she asked. knowing that he always chose his own present.

  ‘A micro-scooter of the highest quality, my lady. So convenient for getting around all the long corridors in such a substantial residence with efficiency and speed. And jolly good fun it is too,’ he replied, with a smile of satisfaction on his lips. Christmas has the ability to bring out the child in everyone, even someone as stolid and reliable as Beauchamp.

  ‘I believe it would be in order to open the rest of your presents before commencing on setting out your track,’ the manservant advised him, disappearing as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving the two elderly children to re-enact their childhoods in peace.

  Hugo’s next parcel contained a railway guard’s hat, and the next one, a whistle on a sturdy piece of cord, so that he could properly control the running of his new railway service. ‘I say, Manda! I don’t know where you got Beauchamp, but he’s an absolute diamond geezer, if you’ll excuse my use of the vernacular.’

  ‘I’ve actually no idea where Mama got him,’ she replied, rubbing the material of a cashmere scarf against her cheek with approval. ‘He just appeared after I came home from school for the last time; as a boot boy, in those days, and he’s just been here ever since. I know we never deserved him, but he’s stuck with the family through thick and thin, and I really don’t know how I would manage without him. He goes above and beyond the call of duty as a matter of course, and in an emergency, he simply works miracles.’

  Enid Tweedie arrived just after they got back from church, a guest for Christmas lunch, as it would give her a change from looking at her sister’s miserable face and her mother’s evil countenance, both of which she must have had to observe every Christmas of her life so far. She was going to be helping with tomorrow’s affair, and Lady Amanda had decided that the only way to say a proper thank you was for her to join them for Christmas lunch.

  She arrived in a swirl of snow, the like of which had been gently falling since the early hours, and now had reached a rather respectable two to three inches – enough not to hinder walking too much, but sufficient to proclaim the rare occurrence of a white Christmas. Standing on the doorstep with a sprig of holly (with berries) pinned to the lapel of her best coat, and a sprig of mistletoe attached, in an ambitiously racy way, to her hat, Lady Amanda looked at her old employee and friend as she stood there, snowflakes melting on her coat, and felt a wave of affection wash over her.

  This woman too had stuck with her through thick and thin, giving her time generously at the drop of a hat, and had even acted as an undercover detective for her earlier in the year. How much more could you ask of a friend, and yet Lady Amanda had treated her, for most of that time, like a hired dogsbody. Feeling the prickle of a tear at her eye, she decided it must be time for a sherry, to drown this flood of sentimentality that had suddenly overtaken her.

  For a moment, she had the revelation
that it must be the unusual company of an old friend, in the shape of Hugo, this morning as she opened her presents, sharing her excitement and appreciation, that had made her look on Enid in a new light, but a couple of glasses of sherry would soon cure that, and a couple of cocktails would definitely see her back to normal.

  ‘How did you get here this morning?’ she asked, not having seen Enid’s bicycle outside.

  ‘Well, I thought you sent him,’ she replied, enigmatically.

  ‘Sent whom?’ Lady Amanda had done absolutely no ‘sending’ today whatsoever.

  ‘Beauchamp. He knocked on my door just as I was about to leave, and said he’d come to save me the journey in the snow. He said he didn’t want me either slipping off my bicycle, or falling over and hurting myself.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be blowed. I simply didn’t think about it Enid, but Beauchamp really has been your knight in shining armour this morning, hasn’t he?’

  At this information, Enid blushed, and slipped the sprig of mistletoe from her hat and popped it into her handbag. Maybe today was her lucky day.

  After taking her outer clothes, Lady Amanda led her into the drawing room where, from under the tree, she collected three presents, and thrust them into Enid’s arms with a gruff, ‘Merry Christmas, old friend.’ Enid’s face was a picture of surprise and delight, as she viewed the parcels now nestling in her arms.

  ‘You shouldn’t have, Lady Amanda,’ she exclaimed, with a face that expressed the exact opposite.

  ‘Little thank you for what you did for us when we were tangled up in those murders, earlier in the year. Got to reward our undercover agent for all her hard work,’ replied Lady A, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Go on, then, open them.’

  Enid sat down on a chaise longue and delicately began to remove the wrapping paper, prompting a question from Hugo. ‘Why are you doing it so carefully, Enid?’

  ‘So that I can iron it and use it again,’ came the automatic reply. Enid was too absorbed in not letting the sticky tape damage the pattern on the paper, even to think what she was saying.

  As his mouth opened, to urge her to let herself go and just rip it off, he was stilled by a glare from Lady Amanda, who knew how important little savings like this were to Enid’s life. She was not impoverished by any means, but the habits instilled in childhood had not died in Enid’s psyche, and it was a matter of pride to her to let nothing go to waste unnecessarily.

  From the first parcel she pulled a beautiful Italian leather handbag, exclaiming with delight, and reading out loud from the label. ‘’From Hugo, with all best wishes.’ Why Mr Hugo, what a lovely present, but it looks awfully expensive.’

  Hugo’s mouth gaped, as he had, until now, had no inkling that such a gift from him existed. Lady Amanda came to his rescue by tipping him a discreet wink and explaining, ‘Hugo knows how ladies love their handbags, and he wanted you to have something lovely but practical.’

  ‘How thoughtful. I wouldn’t have considered that such a notion would cross a man’s mind. It’s absolutely lovely, and I shall enjoy using it immensely. Thank you, Mr Hugo.’

  ‘The second gift revealed a pair of silk scarves, one in spring colours, the other in autumn tints. ‘Oh, Lady Amanda! You shouldn’t have done, but they’re beautiful.’

  ‘Get on and open the other one, Enid. I’m dying to see what’s in it,’ she lied, for she had been the inspiration behind all three of these surprises.

  ‘I’m doing my best, but there seems to be rather a lot of tape on this one, for the size of it. Hang on, there we go,’ gushed Enid, now thoroughly enjoying herself with these hithertofore unheard of seasonal offerings. ‘Why, what a beautiful purse! And so practical, with all those sections. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt such soft leather, apart from gloves. But who’s it from? Beauchamp?’ she cried, with surprise, then her face fell, and she added in a small voice, ‘But I’ve brought nothing for any of you.’

  ‘We don’t give to receive, Enid, dear. These are a token of our appreciation for all the hard work you do here, without the slightest murmur of complaint, and for the help you gave us in our little adventure. Enjoy them and think of us when you use them. Nobody could ask for more in return, than that.’ Lady Amanda really knew how to schmooze when it was necessary.

  A gong sounded in the hallway, and the three of them adjourned to the dining room where an impeccably laid table now held the various serving dishes necessary for the meal, and a great carving dish on which nestled a medium-sized turkey, a guinea fowl, a pheasant, and three quail. Beauchamp did like to provide a choice, and was even happier if everyone asked for a little of each, for that meant that he had chosen his viands successfully.

  The meal passed with a little more liveliness than it usually did, and this was all down to the presence of Enid. When she uncovered the parson’s nose on her plate – maybe it was the three glasses of wine that she had already consumed that was the cause of her reaction – she laughed so hysterically that she ended up with hiccoughs, and her conversation throughout the rest of the main course was laced with small explosions from her diaphragm, and profuse apologies for the interruptions.

  ‘Ab – hic-solutely deli-hic-ious birds – hic! I don’t th-hic-ink I’ve ever ta-hic-sted some of these be-hic-fore. You must let me know wh-hic-at they are-hic.’

  This set Lady Amanda and Hugo giggling, mainly at the surprised expression on her face whenever she interrupted her words and, here again, it was probably because, by now, they had caught up with her wine consumption, and all three were neck and neck.

  There was an interesting hiatus during the pudding, when Enid started to choke on a silver sixpence; one of many that had graced the Golightly Christmas puddings since these particular coins had been made of sterling silver. Fortunately, Beauchamp knew how to administer the Heimlich manoeuvre, grabbed her swiftly from her seat like a rag doll, and carried out the coup de grace, producing a projectile that bounced across the table and landed back on the pudding plate, a feat so unlikely that none of them could believe it.

  So far through the meal (and the wine) were they, however, that no one had the sharpness of mental capacity to calculate the odds of this happening. It also cured Enid’s hiccoughs, and she sat down at her place again, grateful for Beauchamp’s intervention.

  ‘Nice try!’ announced Lady A, swaying contentedly as she sipped from her glass.

  ‘What do you mean, nice try?’ asked Enid, unable to follow the thought processes that had produced this incomprehensible statement.

  ‘Well, I thought you were trying for a Christmas Day visit to the hospital, just to wish all the staff you know the complim-iments of the sea-season, ’n-all that,’ – a brave attempt by Lady A to keep her speech coherent, but a little unsuccessful towards the end.

  This produced more helpless laughter from Enid, and she replied, with difficulty, ‘S-silly wo-woman. Anyone would thin-ink I spent ha-ha-ha-half, ha ha ha ha ha, my life in the hostipal. Ooh, whoopsadaisy! Bu’ you know wha’ I mean, don’ you?’

  Beauchamp made the brave decision, at that point, to abandon the cheese board and port, and the coffee and liqueurs, and suggested, in quite a forceful way, that they would be better off retiring to their rooms for a little lie down, after all the excitement (wine). Enid was welcome to have a rest in one of the guest rooms that was already made up and ready for occupation, should she agree.

  Enid agreed. So did Lady Amanda. And Hugo. With alacrity. To each, the other two appeared blurred, therefore, they concluded, in their fuddled state, that the other two must be drunk, but they wouldn’t mind a little time-out themselves. Thus it was agreed, and they left the dining room, Beauchamp supporting Enid on his arm, for the oblivion and recuperative qualities of the small death that is sleep.

  At four-thirty, Beauchamp eventually retired to his own quarters to partake of his own Christmas meal, glad of the break and the fact that no one would ring for him for at least an hour. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day, and he needed any rest
he could manage to wangle today, to face the rigours of the Boxing Day experiment.

  The rest of the day passed quietly, with only half-hearted nibbles attempted at the Christmas cake produced at teatime, the only liquids consumed during the afternoon and evening being several pots of tea and a large jug of Beauchamp’s home-made lemonade. This was just as well, considering what the morrow would bring.

  Chapter Nine

  The Experiment Ends in Murder

  Edith, with the loan of a flannelette nightie and a spare toothbrush (from Beauchamp’s supply of same, for emergency use) had stayed the night for the first time in her acquaintance with Lady Amanda, and appeared at the breakfast table the next morning bright and breezy, and ready for whatever the day would bring. She could get to work earlier than if she had had to make the journey from home, as there was no public transport today, and she would have had need of her ancient bicycle to make the journey in the snow.

  Lady Amanda, after an early night and a long sleep, was in sparkling form, fairly crackling with anticipation as she considered the task ahead of her. Hugo, on the other hand, was unusually pessimistic, and gave it as his opinion, over the bacon and eggs, that persuading a bunch of people that they had seen little of for quite some time, and didn’t regularly socialise with, to support their venture, was a waste of time, energy and money.

  ‘Come on, Hugo! Where’s your spirit? Where’s your hunger for a challenge? We can do this standing on our heads if we just summon our natural social graces and powers of persuasion. Look at that time you persuaded Daddy to line the parapets with fireworks for New Year’s Eve. He was dead against the idea until you’d worked on him for a while.’ Lady A had to spark his enthusiasm somehow.

  ‘And regretted it afterwards. It took the fire brigade quite a time to put out all the little fires it started up on the roof, and he took rather a wigging from the chief fire officer afterwards, for doing such a foolish thing during a very dry winter. The fires very nearly broke through to the attics, and then where would you have been? Faced with a huge roofing bill, without their valiant efforts; that’s where you would have been.’