Belchester Box Set

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘Exactly, Mr Beauchamp. So I thought the best thing to do would be to stand my ground, wait for whoever it was to finish the call, then tap gently on the door as the call ended; which is exactly what I did do.’ The bait had been enticingly dangled again.

  ‘So, who was it, making telephone calls from your late master’s study?’ Beauchamp was taking the softly-softly approach.

  ‘It was the present Sir Jolyon, Mr Beauchamp, and what I heard – completely reluctantly, you understand – was a man pleading for more time to clear his gambling debts.’

  ‘No! I had no idea Sir Jolyon was a gambling man.’ Lady Amanda would have been proud of her manservant. He was reeling in his fish with enormous skill and dexterity.

  ‘He isn’t any more, I can tell you; but back then he was going through a bad time, and was heavily into cards, not to mention debt. He sounded desperate on the telephone, and was begging to be given just a few more days to get the money together.’

  ‘And?’ enquired Beauchamp, looking eagerly at the older man, who looked just as keen to tell his story as Beauchamp was to hear it.

  ‘And, I didn’t think anything more about it at the time, but the next morning, when I went up to the master to set about washing and shaving him, I was to get the surprise of my life. The maid had been in with his early morning tea, but she’d said he was still asleep, so she’d just left it on the side; he had a foul temper if woken, and she didn’t want to catch the rough side of his tongue so early in the morning. He could be a right tartar at times.

  ‘I went up about fifteen minutes later and drew the curtains, and when I turned to wake the old man, I got the shock of my life. There was nothing on this earth that would ever wake my master again, except for, perhaps, the last trump. He was stone cold dead. I can tell you, I nearly passed out cold when I saw him lying there, with no more breaths left to draw. He’d had his last cigar, and I think I rather imagined that that had sent him off to the other side, and I felt so responsible; as if I’d killed him myself.’

  ‘How ghastly for you, Fustion. You must have been riddled with guilt,’ interjected Beauchamp, just to keep the story flowing, for he was certain that it hadn’t, yet, reached its conclusion.

  ‘I hardly knew what to do next, and I went into what I think is called a sort of auto-pilot mode. I tidied the bed sheets, thinking that he hadn’t gone as peacefully as I’d have liked, They were in a fair old mess, as if he’d tossed and turned half the night. I also picked up a pillow from the floor, never thinking how it might have got there, except through his restlessness. I remember standing and staring at it, as if it might hold the solution to my problem of how to inform the household of what had occurred, and the only thing I recall, is looking at the material and thinking the old fellow must have dribbled a lot in the night, for there were quite a few saliva stains on it.’

  ‘Go on,’ Beauchamp encouraged him.

  ‘Well, I put the pillow back on the bed, and took myself off downstairs to inform the new master and his wife, who were early risers, and would be at breakfast by now. I’d had such a shock, that I was very conscious of the fact that I would upset their meal, but I had no choice, and went straight in to them. That was when I felt they weren’t acting quite right, but I don’t really know how to explain it.

  ‘She already looked as if she’d been crying, which I thought rather odd, as they weren’t a quarrelsome couple, and when I entered the room, Sir Jolyon jumped up, as if someone had pulled a gun on him. His eyes were round and fearful, and yet I hadn’t said a word to them about what had happened.’

  ‘That is odd. Almost as if they already knew, you mean?’

  ‘That’s precisely it, Mr Beauchamp, and when I finally did blurt out my news, it had very little effect on either of them. To my mind, they acted very uncharacteristically. On the way down the stairs, you see, I’d already played out the scene in my mind.

  ‘Sir Jolyon isn’t a man to use two words when twenty will do, and I thought he’d go off into a right old rant about how the old man didn’t deserve to go, and would still be here now if he’d followed medical advice, instead of being bloody-minded and doing exactly as he pleased, blaming me for getting him that last cigar without consulting him. I thought Lady Felicity would burst into tears and have a hysterical turn, weeping and wailing that she never had time to say goodbye properly, and now it was too late.’

  ‘And they did nothing of the sort?’

  ‘You’re right about that, Beauchamp. Sir Jolyon himself just blustered something like, ‘the old man had to go sometime’ and perhaps I would sort out the undertaker, as the doctor had been in recent attendance. Lady Felicity merely said what a relief it was to know that he was no longer suffering, and then I was dismissed.’

  ‘Didn’t it play on your mind that something was out of kilter, Fustion?’

  ‘It wasn’t my place to say anything. I could’ve lost my position, and it wasn’t really any of my business. I dismissed it from my mind, until that gentleman, who is no gentleman, came snooping around here a few months ago, asking impertinent questions and generally upsetting the staff.’

  ‘I’m assuming you’re referring to Barrington-Blyss?’ Beauchamp wanted all the ‘i’s dotted and all the ‘t’s crossed, and would chance to presume nothing.

  ‘That’s the feller. Got himself knocked off at your place, yesterday, I hear. Can’t say as he’ll be missed. From what I’ve heard. I never could put up with him, as I’ve already made clear. He was never what you’d call a popular man – more someone who was tolerated because of who he’d married, if you get my drift.’

  ‘Oh, I do, indeed, Fustion. Least said, soonest mended, eh?’

  ‘That’s it in a nutshell, Mr Beauchamp. Now, would you like any more refreshments?’

  ‘I have had an adequate sufficiency, thank you. My compliments to the cook on her baking, and I must take my leave now. Thank you so much for sparing the time to talk to me.’

  ‘Is your old gal playing detective again?’ asked Fustion as Beauchamp rose from his chair.

  ‘I shall tell her ladyship that you asked after her,’ he replied, and winked at the old keeper of secrets at The Manor. They were two of a kind, and they both recognised this fact.

  After morning coffee, Hugo had been surprised and delighted to find out that he would be responsible for a fact-finding mission on his own, and not under the beady eye of Lady Amanda.

  ‘Hugo,’ she trilled, as he set his empty cup back in its saucer. I want you to go out on reconnaissance for me, this morning.’

  ‘You’ll be coming too, though, won’t you?’

  ‘No. This is a mission strictly for you. I want you to go over to the Heyhoe-Caramacs’ and ask if it’s possible to speak to their gardener. His name’s Grundle, I believe.’

  ‘What’s gardening got to do with the murder?’ asked Hugo, perplexed at this request.

  ‘If I remember correctly, he was Col. Henry’s father’s man, when the colonel was in the army. He must know an awful lot about the old fellow and the household’s history, right up to date. If there’s anyone at that house who can give us a pointer or two in the right direction, it’s Grundle. He’s a bit of a grumpy old curmudgeon, but I’ll give you a bottle of whisky to take with you as a peace-offering.’

  ‘What shall I tell him I’m there for? I can’t just turn up without a reason,’ Hugo asked plaintively.

  ‘Tell him I want him to do me some cuttings from all his honeysuckles and clematis. I’ve complimented him on his climbers in the past, so he’ll have no reason to doubt the veracity of the request.’

  ‘Righty-ho, Manda. Where do they live?’

  ‘At a place called The Grange. It’s only a few hundred yards up the Belchester Road, so you might as well take the tricycle.’

  ‘In this weather?’

  ‘Hugo, a man has lost his life, and you complain about getting a bit chilly? What are you, a man or a mouse?’

  ‘Squeak,’ was Hugo’s inevitable answer, but
Lady Amanda informed him that Beauchamp had taken the Rolls and would not be back until it was time to prepare luncheon. With that, she bundled him into the hall, handed him his top coat, his hat and gloves, and offered a long stripy scarf to protect his face against the wind. Then, when she had him suitably bundled up, like a rather colourful Egyptian mummy, she whizzed off to the stables and rode the motorised trike round to the front of the house, and helped him on to it. She had left it running, and her last act in seeing him off was to release the brake, giving him a rather unexpectedly wobbly start to his first mission for the day.

  Hugo sputtered haphazardly down the drive, muttering insults into the wool of his scarf, containing words such as ‘dictator’, ‘control-freak’, and ‘blasted Little Miss Bossy-Boots’.

  The road had been cleared, so he had little difficulty with snow or ice, and he eventually found it quite revivifying to be puttering along in the bright sunshine under a powder-blue sky, on such a crisp and beautiful day. His spirits rose as he rode, and by the time he’d reached The Grange, he was in a fine mood.

  Stopping only to open the gate to admit himself and his machine, he turned the handle-bars towards the greenhouse, in which he could detect a fine clouding of smoke; a sure sign that the old man was in there with his pipe going full blast. Hugo had met him once before, but only in passing, but was sure he could hold his own, on this mission. He liked people and, in general, they like him. It might not be such a bad morning after all.

  Meanwhile, shortly after Hugo’s reluctant departure, Lady Amanda had been surprised to receive a visitor in the guise of PC Glenister, who stood on the front step and twinkled at her. ‘Morning, ma’am,’ he greeted her, and gave her a dazzling smile with just a hint of conspiracy in it. ‘I thought I’d pop round and keep you up to date with events relating to yesterday’s suspicious death.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, young man, er, Constable. Do, please, come in and warm yourself. Tell me, has Inspector Moody sent you?"

  ‘Absolutely not, ma’am. I just thought you’d like to be kept abreast of what the police have turned up.’

  ‘Are you conspiring with me, Constable?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely, ma’am. I saw that look in your eyes yesterday and, as I’d rather get the case wrapped up before New Year when I’m off to visit my family, I thought I’d back you as the winning horse.’

  ‘How very charming and astute of you. So you’re proposing to be my police mole, is that it?’

  PC Glenister squeezed his eyes nearly shut and made vague clawing motions with his fingers.

  ‘Jolly good impression. Perhaps it might be more comfortable for us, if we’re to collaborate, if I called you something less formal than PC Glenister. What is your Christian name?’

  ‘I believe the politically correct expression now is “forename”,’ he informed her, as a corner of his mouth twitched.

  This was a test, she felt, and replied, ‘Christian name was good enough for my parents, and it’s always been good enough for me, so I repeat, what is your Christian name, PC Glenister?’

  ‘Call me Adrian, ma’am.’

  ‘And you may call me Lady Amanda. Now, what have you got for me? Has old Mouldy-Wump got anything to go on yet?’

  ‘I’m very much afraid he has. That’s why I’m here, really. I couldn’t bear to see him steal a march on you. Oh, and if anyone should ever find me here when we’re consulting, I wonder if you’d be so good as to say that I’m just here on some routine follow-up questions.’

  ‘Excellent idea!’ Lady Amanda agreed. ‘Now, what’s the old windbag got?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that he obtained a search warrant this morning, for the deceased’s house, having got wind of a book he was writing, that might leave a number of members of the County Set right in the proverbial poo,’ he informed her.

  ‘Damn!’ swore Lady Amanda. ‘And did he find it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, and there’s no point in asking me if I can get access to it, because he’s got it locked up in the evidence room with instructions that no one’s allowed to retrieve it except himself. That is, he found a paper copy, and confiscated the deceased’s computer.’

  ‘Blasted dog-in-a-manger!’

  ‘Exactly! That was the final straw that made me decide to throw my lot in with yours. I think I’ve got him pretty well summed up now, and I don’t want to be working on this case until I draw my pension.’

  ‘Good lad! Stick with Auntie Amanda, and you won’t go far wrong. Now, has the book got him any further forward?’

  ‘He was reading it when I left the station, and making some very excited noises. I’ve got a nasty feeling that he’s got his hands on the goods, but he’s bound to bungle it somehow. From what I’ve seen of him, he couldn’t detect the location of his own backside with both hands and a mirror. And by the way, there were absolutely no fingerprints to be found on any of the weapons. I thought you’d be pleased to hear that, so at least he’s got nothing to go on in that department.’

  ‘Okay, Adrian. You’ve been up-front with me. I’ll now be up-front with you. I’ve managed to get one of my friends – not a classy one, you understand, just to make that clear – installed in the widow’s house as a companion/nurse while she’s coming to terms with the shock. So, I’ve now got someone on the inside, and I intend to use her.’

  ‘Nice one, Lady Amanda. You’ve stolen a march on him there. He hasn’t even thought of putting a WPC in the property, in case Mrs Barrington-Blyss’s life is in danger as well.’

  ‘Well, if he does, she’ll have good old Enid Tweedie to contend with, and I hear she’s pretty good with a loaded handbag.’

  Back at the greenhouse, in the gardens of The Grange, Hugo was perched on an old tea chest, drinking whisky-laden tea strong enough to flatten a stevedore, and was well into worming his way into Grundle’s confidence.

  ‘… and I know he doesn’t really like Manda, because she’s so much better a shot than he is. He really resents the fact that a woman should be so good with guns.’

  ‘Well, he certainly doesn’t take after his father, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘His father was a good man with a gun?’

  ‘I’ll say! We had a bit of an adventure during the war, and it was his shooting kept us going until we could get ourselves back to Blighty.’ Grundle’s rheumy eyes were misted with memories, as they gazed back down the long tunnel to his youth.

  ‘We both went over with the British Expeditionary Force, him and me. I was only a private, you understand, and he was the major, so we weren’t buddies, or even on a level where we’d even pass the time of day. Then all hell broke loose, and we found ourselves on our own, cut off from our own lads, and surrounded by bloody Jerries.

  ‘I was a gibbering wreck, with what I’d seen on the beaches, but the major shook me back to my senses and told me that if I wanted to live, I’d have to pull myself together, and listen to him. We weren’t going to be able to leave northern France with all this hoo-ha going on, so we’d better get ourselves down south a bit more, and see if we could contact the Resistance.

  ‘I was that shocked that I’d have done anything he told me to do, but he played a cool hand. We travelled only at night. We slept under hedges and in barns at off the beaten track farmhouses. We stole eggs and chickens. We foraged for food as best we could, and it took us a while, but we finally got somewhere where we managed to pick up on the local Resistance fighters.

  ‘Stupid, it seems, looking back on it, now. There we were, being so clever and underhand, moving about the countryside by night, then we got busted for having a whispered chat in one of them ‘piss-whar’ things. Thank God the Froggy who heard us was on our side.

  ‘He bundled us out of that little stink-hole and into the back of a truck, where he covered us in sacks and drove us off God knows where. In the middle of nowhere we were, when he signalled us to get out. He’d taken us to what looked like the middle of a blasted forest, and suddenly we weren’t s
ure whether to trust him or not. I expected him to hand us straight over to the enemy, but he just stood there whistling a little tune, and soon other men began to materialise out of the trees.

  ‘We’d really landed on our feet, and we knew we were in safe hands. They took us off to an old farmhouse with no neighbour within seeing distance, and gave us some old French clothes to wear, putting our uniforms below the floor in a secret compartment, which I could see already had guns in it. Then they put this heavy old sideboard over the stash. If Jerry came visiting, he would go through the whole place, but they’d got so complacent, those dratted Huns, that they weren’t going to move the furniture around looking for secret compartments.’

  ‘You sound like you had quite an adventurous time in La Belle France, what?’ Hugo commented, seeing the story in his mind’s eye, and turning it into the sort of romantic tale that would have scandalised the old gardener, were he able to read Hugo’s thoughts.

  ‘Oh, we worked. It was no holiday camp. We had to sleep in the back of the chicken house, and work in the fields during the day, so we didn’t stick out, but they fed us well, and after a couple of days, there was a meeting in this little restaurant nearby. Shutters all closed, closed sign on the door and, inside, all oil lamps and candles, and cloak and dagger.

  ‘They had plans to seriously disrupt the Jerries thereabouts, and we were to be a part of it. Life sort of took on a different rhythm then, if you know what I mean. Working on the land was what I was used to, and a bit of a song and dance, getting up Jerry’s nose was fine by me.’

  ‘You must have been very brave, both of you. I hope you were well decorated for your efforts for your country in a foreign land.’ Hugo was trying to change up a gear to find out if he was on the right track. This must lead back to Col. Henry at some point, but they were still stuck in the war, when the colonel would have been a mere infant.

  ‘To cut a long story short …’