Belchester Box Set

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘Sorry, Manda. I must have been temporarily astray from my wits. I had forgotten that morning-after feeling, and I think the consequences would be much greater at my age. If anyone says anything, I’ll tell them I’m getting a bit senile. Will that do you?’

  ‘Just be honest, and say that your enthusiasm carried you away for a moment. We don’t need them spreading the news around the county that Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump is going off his chump, now do we?’

  ‘You’re right, as always. Shall we retire to the drawing room for a little peace and quiet, while they’re all off moaning that they can’t get access to our underwear drawers?’

  ‘Just a minute,’ she requested, and, turning from Hugo, she called in a very loud voice, ‘If you would all follow Beauchamp, he will do the rounds of the tour with you, as he knows so much more of all the interesting nooks and crannies of this place than I do. When the tour is finished, feel free to take yourselves where you will and have a good old explore. I’ll be very interested to hear what you have to say later, when I ask you for some feedback. And don’t forget the cocktails! Have a good time!’

  ‘Now,’ she turned back to her house-mate. ‘You had just made a most excellent suggestion, and one I think we ought to act on, on the instant. What about you, Enid?’ she called, seeing her house-guest enter the library to carry away some of the crockery and the few morsels of uneaten food out to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m fine, Lady Amanda. I’ll just finish this clearing away, while Beauchamp is conducting everyone round the nooks and crannies, and when he gets back from showing them the public and family rooms, I shall help him with the washing up, then I expect we’ll have a nice cup of tea at the kitchen table. I seem to have upset one of your guests, however,’ she concluded.

  ‘How on earth could you have done that?’ asked Lady Amanda, surprised that such a well-mannered and mild woman as Enid could make any impression on the elephants’ hides that her old friends possessed.

  ‘I think, although I’m not quite sure, that I had a bit of a ‘Chumley’ moment with that old army man with the moustache.’

  ‘What on earth did you say to him?’ asked Lady Amanda, wondering what sort of gaffe Enid had managed to make.

  ‘I asked him if he was enjoying himself. I’d worked out who he was from my list, although I think you called him ‘Stinky’ when you let him in.’

  ‘Yes, sorry about that. I was a little over-excited, and forgot that I was giving you clues to everyone’s identity.’

  ‘I addressed him by what I had assumed was his name, but when I used it he looked at me as if I were a snake ready to strike, and went off muttering to himself and snorting.’

  ‘What did you call him, Enid?’ asked Lady Amanda, knowing exactly what her friend was about to say.

  ‘Lt Col. Featherstonehaugh-Armitage, of course.’

  ‘And I suppose he went off muttering ‘Fanshaw’, did he?’

  ‘That’s exactly right, Lady Amanda. How on earth did you know? Although I think I already know the answer.’

  ‘Because that’s how his name’s pronounced: Fanshaw-Armitage.’

  Enid sighed the sigh of someone tried beyond endurance. ‘Well, I just wish he’d spell it that way then. What is it with your lot – sorry to sound coarse – that they can’t just spell their names how they sound?’

  ‘Sheer bloody-mindedness, I expect,’ was the answer she received, and she must have been satisfied with it, because she trotted off to the kitchen, perfectly happy once more.

  Lady Amanda and Hugo had had barely an hour of peace and quiet in which to snatch forty-winks, when a shriek, as piercing as that of a banshee, suddenly shattered the silence of the house.

  Lady Amanda awoke with a ‘Whaah!’ of surprise, only to find that she had dribbled all down her cardigan while she had been ‘resting her eyes’. Hugo, not so tired from the day’s exertions, as there hadn’t been any for him, was already up and heading for the door before she shook herself fully awake. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ she asked, rubbing discreetly at her front with her handkerchief.

  The screaming carried on, occasionally interspersed with the long drawn-out wail of ‘Muuurdeeer!’

  With Hugo now at her heels, having been overtaken, she sped towards the source of the distress calls, when Beauchamp suddenly appeared in front of her and uttered the words, ‘I’m sorry to inform you, my lady, that there is a body in the library. I’m afraid that one of your guests has been the victim of a murderous attack.’

  Heading directly to the library, without stopping to pass ‘Go’ or collecting £200, Lady Amanda punched a fist in the air and called over her shoulder, ‘Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!’ Hugo, who had not watched the right films to explain what she was talking about, merely limped along in her wake, trying to summon up sufficient energy to keep up with her.

  Chapter Ten

  An Inspector Calls

  Inspector Moody was not in the best of moods. In fact, it would be more accurate to state that Inspector Moody was in an absolutely diabolical mood. There he had been, his sister and family gathered round his dining table playing their annual game of Monopoly, his wife struggling in the kitchen to assemble enough turkey sandwiches for the whole brood of them, when his telephone had shrilled, and extinguished the flame of pride that always burned in his heart when he put up Susan and her brood, and treated them to the benefit of his entertaining expertise.

  The call had come out of the blue, and when the nature of the crime had been partnered with the residence of Lady Amanda Golightly, Moody had turned a very odd colour. Mrs Moody would not have been surprised to see smoke issuing from his ears. She knew that expression very well, and was always grateful when she was not on the receiving end of it.

  He was still grinding his teeth when PC Glenister arrived at the house to collect him, and his whole family gave a collective sigh of relief and gratitude when he disappeared through the door, informing them that he had no idea when he would be back, and hoped that he made it back home without committing murder himself. That certainly left them with something to chew over in his absence.

  Now, he found himself in the library at Belchester Towers, staring down at the lifeless body of Capt Leslie Barrington-Blyss, his head slumped forward on the library table. ‘So, what did this poor chap do? Criticise your mince pies?’ he asked, throwing a glare in Lady Amanda’s direction.

  ‘I had nothing whatsoever to do with this, Inspector. He was perfectly all right when I last saw him about an hour and a half ago. There must be a maniac on the loose. Have you had any reports of someone wandering off from Speedwell?’

  This, as Inspector Moody was well aware, was the local psychiatric hospital, and he wasn’t going to let this new sparring partner get away with blaming a perfectly respectable mental health facility, that did a very sound job of securing the establishment and its grounds, for something that she was obviously responsible for.

  ‘There have been no such reports. And don’t you think this is a gross case of overkill? Are any of your guests out of their minds, or subject to psychotic episodes?’ If she could besmirch Speedwell, then he could return the slur, by implicating one of this bunch of Hooray Henrys and Henriettas.

  ‘Overkill, Inspector? Would you kindly explain yourself this instant? I have no idea what you are babbling about, and how dare you insult my guests!’

  ‘Have you taken a close look at the deceased … m’ lady?’ he asked, the last one and a half words nearly choking him, and causing his face to empurple quite alarmingly. He didn’t see why he should kowtow to this interfering old windbag, just because she had some sort of minor title. She had been a thorn in his side once, and he didn’t want to find himself worrying at the same spot again, at the end of the year.

  ‘I have been too busy summoning you, comforting his widow, and dissipating the air of panic that was present when he was discovered. Pray, share your more intimate knowledge with me, so that I may render a proper opinion.’ She coul
d be haughty when she chose, and she wasn’t going to be intimidated by this lump of a man, whom she considered had the intellect of a flagstone.

  ‘If you would care to take a closer visual evaluation, you may note that a blow to the back of the head seems to have been administered – note the bloody wound. An examination of his neck will show signs of a garrotte having being used on him, as it is still in place, and if you examine his throat, you will notice that, just below the still present garrotte, it has been cut from ear to ear. Anyone who wasn’t half-blind would notice the knife sticking out between his shoulder blades, and from the colour of his lips and the slight odour issuing from his mouth, I would hazard a fairly confident guess that he has been poisoned as well.

  ‘Is this some sort of Christmas joke that you’re all playing, because if it is, not only is it not funny and in the most appalling taste, but someone is going to spend an awfully long time in prison for what has happened here today. I will not be taunted like this!’

  As the inspector came to the end of his descriptive accusation, he had worked himself up into such a state of fury that spittle had gathered at the corners of his mouth, and collected in a very unpleasant and not at all refined fine froth. Beauchamp handed him a tissue without a word.

  ‘I thoroughly resent what you’re implying about my old friends here. Murder is no joking matter, and should not be treated as such. I’m sure that each and every one of us is willing to co-operate to the fullest with your enquiries, to bring whoever did this to justice. Now, if you could just act like a gentleman for a moment, and not carry on like an hysterical teenager, maybe we can begin this investigation.’

  ‘Are you implying that I am not acting in a professional manner?’ asked Moody, looking as if he could turn nasty again.

  ‘If the shoe fits, Inspector …’ Lady Amanda let this hang in the air, and saw PC Glenister trying to suppress a smile. As he caught her gaze, he winked at her, and she suspected that she had an ally in the making in this young man.

  Remembering the first foray into murder investigation that she and Hugo had made when the latter had moved into Belchester Towers, she reckoned that with this chap ‘on side’ they had a far better chance of beating Moody to the solution.

  At last she had admitted why things had seemed so humdrum. She had been longing for the excitement of detecting again, the call of adventure, and the investigation of the unknown. It had added a liberal sprinkling of spice to her existence, and now she felt she couldn’t live without it.

  She and Hugo would tackle this murder and, come hell or high water, they would identify the murderer before that small-minded little inverted snob could even scratch the surface of the truth. And if Hugo didn’t want to play, he could stay behind in his playpen, while she went hither and thither searching for clues.

  ‘I shall conduct my guests to the drawing room, Inspector Moody, while you seek to gather together your manners, and you may interview us one by one in the dining room. The table in there should prove perfect for taking notes. I shall also alert my manservant to expect a team of what I believe you call SOCOs, to take samples and suchlike from the scene, for forensic analysis.

  ‘Should you or your men require any refreshments, just ring for Beauchamp, and he will oblige. Now, if you will excuse me, I must accompany my guests to less distressing surroundings.’ With a strong sense of having put the man in his place, she gathered her old friends round her, and set off for the drawing room, requesting Beauchamp to bring them all a nice pot of tea, to settle everyone’s nerves.

  Inspector Moody, more out of spite than from any other motive, apprehended Beauchamp on his way to the kitchen to carry out his mission of mercy before he could obtain access to his over-sized kettle, and informed him that he would like to question him first.

  ‘But I’m ordered to provide tea to soothe the guests’ nerves. Some of them are undoubtedly suffering from shock,’ he retorted, and got it; both barrels.

  ‘I don’t care if her ladyship has asked you to provide a priest for a dying child, matey. You’re going nowhere until I’ve questioned you, and you can argue until you’re blue in the face, and it won’t make any difference. At the moment, I’m in charge, and I’d like that to be clear to everyone in this house this afternoon, including you, Jeeves. And if you refuse to co-operate, I shall arrest you for obstructing a policeman in the execution of his duty. Got that?

  ‘Lady high-and-mighty Golightly might think herself mistress of all she surveys, but she, like every citizen of this country, is not above the law of the land, and today, I represent that law. What I say, goes, without question. Now, put that in your pipe and smoke it. And if Lady Muck doesn’t like it, she can whistle! Comprende? Good! Now, siddown, and don’t you dare to look down your nose at me, or I’ll find something to charge you with; you see if I don’t.’

  ‘Very well, Inspector,’ replied Beauchamp, with his very best manners polished to perfection. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

  PC Glenister was already seated at the dining room table, his notebook out, his pen poised, resembling nothing more than an eager puppy waiting for a stick to be thrown for him. He hadn’t long come out of training and Belchester was his first posting. He’d thought it would be all lost dogs and cats, with perhaps a few pairs of knickers being stolen from clothes-lines thrown in, for a bit of spice, but it had not proved to be so.

  In his first month as a fully-fledged police constable, Lady Amanda had whirled into the station with a tale of murder in a nursing home, and had beaten his boss to the finishing line, while Inspector Moody still thought there was no case to investigate. Now, here he was again, embroiled with the same energetic and enthusiastic old lady, and there had been another murder.

  He suspected he was going to really enjoy this posting, and had a feeling that he would be working more closely with his current hostess than with his boss. Moody’s name suited him, and anything a humble PC could do to solve a mysterious death in semi-aristocratic surroundings couldn’t do said PC’s career a jot of harm.

  Beauchamp, another who was no fan of the inspector, extracted great enjoyment from informing that officer that during the time when the murder could have taken place, i.e. after the tour during the period when everyone was wandering around alone, he had spent the whole time in the kitchen with Enid Tweedie, dealing with the domestic fall-out caused by the rather large number of persons for afternoon tea, and, resentfully and reluctantly, the inspector had to let him go about his duty of providing tea for the drawing room.

  PC Glenister was dispatched to fetch Lady Amanda, and when she entered the dining room, the inspector had daggers in his eyes. This overweight – fat, actually – old windbag with all her airs and graces, had defeated him once, and he was determined not to let that happen again. She might be a Lady, but he wasn’t inclined to be a gentleman when dealing with this case. He would use every low-down trick he could think of to get to the perpetrator first. He would not be humiliated a second time by this bumbling old amateur.

  ‘Sit down and let’s get this over with,’ he said in a commanding voice, his eyes as cold and hard as flints, as he gazed at this infuriating woman.

  ‘So kind, Inspector,’ she replied, giving him one of her most open smiles, and pulling out a dining chair. ‘Will you and your constable be in need of any refreshment?’

  PC Glenister’s eyes lit up, but Moody merely glared at his hostess and declined the offer, without even the manners to have declared it a kind one.

  ‘I want you to give me the goods on this lot you’ve got here. I want to know everything about them that may have given them a motive, and I don’t want you to pull any punches. And if you don’t co-operate, I’m going to have you down the station so fast, your feet won’t touch the ground. A night in the cells will soon loosen your tongue,’ he spat at her.

  ‘How frightfully amusing of you, Inspector. I must tell the Chief Constable about your talent for doing impressions of a detective from a B-movie. Now, from what I under
stood of what you just said, you would like me to tell you anything about my friends that might be construed as a motive for murder. Is that correct?’

  Moody was shocked into silence by what she had just declared, and merely nodded his head to the final part of it, while enquiring, ‘You actually know the Chief Constable, then?’

  ‘Of course I know old Roland. We’ve served on several committees together over the years. He can’t be far off retirement now. I know he’ll fight that tooth and nail. Very dedicated man. But as for my house guests, I haven’t known them well since we were all much younger. We used to go around in a group with a few others. You know the sort of thing? Everyone invited to the same balls and dinners, you sort of end up as a little gang.’

  Moody, of course, knew nothing of the sort. The only balls he had ever had anything to do with were footballs, and he had what he called his ‘dinner’ in the station canteen, at what he called dinnertime – about one p.m. His upbringing had been so different from hers that he might as well have been brought up on another planet, and he resented this deeply. She belonged to a world, part of which it was impossible for him to become. How dare she! He refused to feel inferior!

  ‘I know Maddie used to smuggle bottles of sherry into her dorm – that’s Mrs Madeleine Mapperley-Minto, PC Glenister. And, of course, there was that time – actually, I think it was twice – that Bonkers was caught raiding the jam cupboard at school; hand actually in the jar when he was busted by Mato. That’s Col. Henry Heyhoe-Caramac, if you’re taking notes. I don’t think I’ve even been custodian of the knowledge of anything that has occurred, of a criminal nature, in their adult lives, however.

  ‘I know I’m not being particularly helpful, but they’re mostly a bunch of jolly good chaps, and I can’t see any of them having a reason to commit murder, and in my house, too. I still stick to the theory that it was an escaped psychopath from the mad house up the road.’