Draining his glass, Beauchamp announced, ‘And now Enid and I must be off. I’ve already got our luggage packed in the Rolls, along with all the other miscellaneous items I brought up with me, plus the bulk of your and Mr Hugo’s luggage, so we shall get a good start, and find somewhere to stay for the night, as late as possible, so that we can make good speed to welcome you home.’
‘Here’s mud in your eye,’ Lady Amanda toasted them both, and blew a kiss to Enid, who was so surprised that she actually ducked, as if a missile had been launched at her.
As the Rolls rolled through the imposing castle gateposts and on to the winding country lanes that would eventually lead to what Beauchamp thought of as ‘a proper road’, the inside of the car was alive with the sound of singing.
‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do. I’m half-crazy, oh, for the love of you,’ rang out Beauchamp’s pleasant baritone.
‘It won’t be a stylish marriage, for we can’t afford a carriage,’ Enid continued, an octave higher, and thoroughly enjoying this shared interest they had discovered.
‘But you look sweet …’
At the end of the song, they both burst into peals of delighted laughter, and argued amongst themselves as to which number they should carol next.
By the time they were approaching an old inn to take their overnight break, their approach was accompanied by:
‘O, o, Antonio, he’s gone away,
Left me alonio, all on my ownio,
I’d like to see him now, with his new sweetheart,
And up would go Antonio, and his ice-cream cart,’ a pleasant lullaby for them both after all the excitement of their little trip to Bonnie Scotland.
Back at the castle, Lady A and Hugo had managed to make it downstairs just in time for a refill of sherry before the first course, their appetite really whetted for the vintage wine that was on the dining table, the white, in an ice bucket, the red on a wine coaster, having a good old breathe.
From the quality of the food served, it was quite obvious that Cook had been let loose on the telephone to the local suppliers, and been allowed to order exactly what she liked, instead of having to keep inside Cardew’s miserly budget. At last she could let her talents have free range, instead of having to work miracles with second-rate ingredients, and the results were superb.
Siobhan almost purred as she ate, sometimes breaking out into a contented humming. This is what life had been like before Cardew had cultivated his mean streak, which was probably when he had started squirrelling money away in the Cayman Islands for his escape.
The wines were not only wonderful, but did their job admirably, of loosening up all the diners, ready for some rather uninhibited dancing, after a suitable period for decent coffee, brandy and a little digestion.
As both coffee and cognac were sipped and conversation buzzed with the events of the last few days, the piper could be heard just inside the front door, inflating his pipes and warming up. While this was going on, some of the staff joined them, for Siobhan wanted an eight-some reel, and an eight-some reel she was going to have, come hell or high water.
Those from the staff perched on the spindly chairs that everyone else had avoided, and Siobhan, who was sitting with Lady Amanda, pointed out the variety of tartans they wore. Evelyn Awlle, Walter Waule, and Cook, Janet MacTavish were all dressed in the MacIntosh tartan, which was the house tartan, and had red as its predominant colour.
It must have taken a mort of tartan to kit her out, thought Lady A, but she looked good dressed in her national material, her face almost girlish, as she did a few cumbersome skips in preparation for the dancing. She’d make a man a damned good wife, she considered, especially if she could hook up with someone like Angus Hamilton. He might be a mite older than her, but they both had the same employer, and wouldn’t have to make too many changes in their way of life, but could enhance each other’s. Golly, she must be turning into a sentimental old matchmaker in her old age!
Mary Campbell was in her family tartan of dark blue, green, and yellow and with the application of a touch of make-up and a smile on her face, looked as if she’d just had her application to join the human race accepted. Sarah Fraser also wore her own tartan of red and black with white lines, as did Angus Hamilton, the chauffeur, about whom she had just been speculating, and whose tartan was very similar to the Fraser, but with a slightly less complicated plaid.
Sandy Gunn, the new piper, when he appeared, already playing, proved to be wearing the MacIan tartan, which was a dark one with a little red in its pattern. These last two were allowed to wear their own tartans, as they were not inside staff, as were the two visiting inside staff. Altogether they made a very colourful bunch.
Lady A and Hugo had not taken much notice of the other guests’ tartans, as they had arrived just before dinner, in time to guzzle down a sherry and, as the first dance started to gather speed on the floor to the blood-stirring skirl of the pipes, Lady A and Hugo sat out with Siobhan, who wanted to share her knowledge of tartans with her Sassenach guests.
But just before she started on her explanation, she whispered to Lady Amanda, ‘I don’t know what I ever saw in that rat Menzies, and I’ve a good mind, now the entail’s been broken, to put this whole bang-shoot on the market and make my home permanently on a good-quality cruise ship. Although I won’t, of course, but it’s a bit of a pipe dream, if I can’t do something with the old family estate.
‘By the way, the inspector found Cardew’s fingerprints on your hip flask, as well as Macdonald’s, so he must have stolen it from your room. Sorry. I’ll return it to you before you leave,’ then began to point out the different patterns of plaid.
St John Bagehot was in full Cameron fig, a complicated pattern with its red standing out against the darkness of the background. Drew and Moira Ruthven were cousins on their mothers’ side, and wore the Buchanan, the yellow and oranges of which glowed like jewels against some of the blander tartans.
Ian Smellie’s mother had been a Barclay, and they were both attired in the screaming yellow of the Barclay plaid. Siobhan, herself, wore the house colours of the MacIntoshes and, after all her identification of the clan colours, bade the two of them join them in a dance.
‘But I can’t dance,’ protested Hugo.
‘And I haven’t done any Scottish dancing since I was at school, when we had this Scottish geography mistress who was mad about it,’ pleaded Lady A, similarly dismayed at having to cut a Scottish rug. They had managed to do a little hoofing round the floor to look as if they were taking part, when there had been more people there for Burns’ Night, but there were four less people now, their host being dead, and three of his guests arrested. Even Duncan Macdonald was in police custody, and he had been an enthusiastic – not very accurate, but enthusiastic – dancer on that occasion.
‘Come on!’ Siobhan exhorted them. ‘Angus and I will show you the steps at half-speed, away from the melee, then you can join in when you feel ready to.’
There was no way to refuse her, after all that she had been through, and come through more positive than she had been in years. Lady Amanda rose and held out a hand to Hugo, who was slowly creaking to his feet. ‘Come along, old chap, you can’t refuse the chance to say that you took part in Scottish dancing in a Scottish castle, on a Burns’ Night visit, now can you? People will be so surprised when you tell them, back home,’ she encouraged him.
Lady A soon picked up the steps she had not danced since childhood, but Hugo was the hit of the evening. Not really knowing what he was doing, even after some tuition, he allowed himself to be hurled and swung around the floor willy-nilly, whooping with a mixture of excitement and terror, as he swung at great speed from one partner to another.
In the middle of the Gay Gordons, which can be a very boring dance, he enlivened it considerably by getting himself in a tangle, when arm movements had to swivel the dancers to dance in the opposite direction, and it took two other participants, and a short break in the proceedings, to set him and
his partner back on the right track, and facing in the right direction. He still managed, however, to make such a mess of the steps that, at one point, he seemed to be positively skipping.
After three energetic numbers, he retired to a sofa to become the elderly and retiring gentleman that he usually was, puffing hard to get back his breath. He was content just to watch the others ‘cutting a rug’, and noticed, as Lady Amanda had done earlier, that the usually surly Mary Campbell, with the sheer joy of the dancing, looked less like a gargoyle and more like a woman, which he, personally, thought would have been impossible.
And that new piper was pretty much up to the minute. He’d noticed that, instead of a sgian dubh in his sock, he wore a mobile phone: rent-a-reel, 24/7. How modern was that?
They departed the following afternoon, leaving for the airport directly after lunch, with only hand baggage to take on the plane, as Beauchamp had taken all but their travelling clothes and their tartan with him and Enid, in the Rolls.
As they were on the point of leaving, Angus waiting for them by the car door, Siobhan thanked them for coming, and especially for their help in ridding her nest of so many undetected vipers. ‘Don’t leave it so long before you come back again. We’ve not had a Golightly at a Burns’ Night since your mother died, and that must be twenty years ago.’
Lady Amanda forbore to correct her and, secretly never wishing to cross the castle’s threshold again, bade her a fond farewell, adding an invitation to Belchester Towers whenever she felt like it. She then reassured Hugo, as they entered the back seat of the car, that she had no intention of ever coming north again. That was her finished with Burns’ Nights north of the border.
When they arrived home, by taxi, from the airport, Lady A was delighted to see the Rolls parked ostentatiously outside the front doors, elegantly announcing that Beauchamp had, indeed, got home first.
Inside, there was a fire burning in the drawing room, the beds were freshly made up, and the smell of cooking wafted all the way from the kitchens, to tantalise their nostrils. Beauchamp had sorted the mail that had arrived in their absence, and put it on their respective desks, for Hugo had been assigned his own ‘work station’ in the library, now that he was a permanent resident.
They were both, in different rooms, opening their mail happily, glad to see that Enid was there too, as she served them with a very welcome cup of tea. Say what you will about the facilities available on aeroplanes and in airports, but no tea tastes as good as that made in one’s own kitchen in one’s own home.
Epilogue
Lady A was just reading a missive from an acquaintance, about the approaching murder trial of her old friend Porky, when Hugo flung himself through the door, wailing like a banshee, and making little whooping noises.
‘Whatever is the matter, Hugo? Have you won a chance to take part in a Readers’ Digest prize draw?’ she asked, with a little titter.
‘No, Manda. It’s Tabitha! My younger sister! She’s coming on a visit. She’s coming here! Do you remember her?’
Lady Amanda’s face clouded over like a stormy summer’s day, and her brows drew together in distaste. ‘Do I remember her? Do I remember Tabitha Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump, Hugo? Well, I bally well ought to. She bullied me mercilessly all through school. That girl made my schooldays an absolute misery, and I was so relieved when she finally left, that I actually cried with joy. So, yes, I should say I jolly well do remember her, with no fondness whatsoever, and you’ve actually invited her here?
‘Can’t you put her off? Say I’ve got bubonic plague, or something similarly ghastly – smallpox, say?’
‘Not really, Manda. She’s arriving in the morning. It’s just that we’re a bit later back than we intended to be, what with all the palaver in Scotland, so she thought she was giving me adequate warning – I mean, notice. I’m sorry. But she is my sister. Do you think you could just grit your teeth and bear it for a little while? You can always come down with suspected plague if you can’t stick it. I’m sure Dr Andrew would play along, for the sake of a quiet life and a bit of a laugh.’
While she was digesting this bit of ghastly news, Hugo went back to his post and, it being later than it felt, what with the flight and everything, she was still on her own when Beauchamp came in carrying a tray with three glasses on it. ‘Is it that time, already?’ she asked, in surprise. ‘I had no idea. Do you want to give Hugo a bit of a yell?’
‘Not just at the moment, your ladyship. I have something of a private nature to discuss with you before Mr Hugo joins us, if that’s acceptable to you,’ he replied, mystifyingly.
‘You’re being very cagey tonight, Beauchamp,’ she replied, feeling slightly queasy, having already had one unpleasant surprise, from Hugo, since their return.
Beauchamp put down his tray carefully on a small table, and Lady Amanda was horrified to notice that there was a slight tremor in his hand. Whatever was he going to say? He wasn’t ill, was he; maybe with something incurable? He must be all right. He was her Beauchamp, and she simply wouldn’t be able to manage without him, especially since she had learnt (and accepted) that they were kin.
‘I wish to request your blessing, for I am planning to get married,’ he stated bluntly, then just stood there with a poker face, staring at the wall above her head, and waiting for a reply.
Oh, my good Lord! He was going to leave her, after all this time! She’d lay money on it being one of the women from the castle. And she’d be left here, hundreds of miles away from him, with no possible replacement.
He’d be off back to Scotland, and she’d be left here all on her own – she had forgotten Hugo in her moment of great distress – with no one to do for her in the impeccable manner that Beauchamp had evolved over the great number of years that he had worked here. He wasn’t ill at all. He wasn’t dying. This was even worse, for he was leaving her, and he’d work for someone else, and not her, any more.
Her scream brought Hugo at what, for him, passed as a run. ‘Whatever’s the matter, Manda? You sound like the end of the world is nigh!’
With a face distorted with horror, she announced, ‘Beauchamp’s getting married!’
The words went straight over Hugo’s head, or rather, their import did, and he casually asked, ‘What have you made for us tonight, old chap? I’m dying for a change of cocktail.’
‘May I offer you both a ‘Goodness Gracious’,’ he replied, proffering the tray politely. ‘I shall be having a ‘Slippery Surprise.’
THE END
COCKTAIL RECIPES
SNOWBALL
2 measures advocaat
¼ measure lime cordial
5 measures lemonade
Add all ingredients to an ice-filled glass and garnish with a cherry.
To turbo-charge, add a generous slug of vodka.
SCOTCH MIST
2 measures scotch whisky
Shake with a glassful of crushed ice, pour and add a twist of lemon peel.
GOODNESS GRACIOUS
1 measure cherry brandy
1 measure white crème de cacao
2 measures cognac
1 teaspoon egg white
Shake and strain into a glass ¾ filled with broken ice.
SLIPPERY SURPRISE
½ measure scotch
½ measure crème de banane
2 measures peach juice
2 measures grapefruit juice
½ measure passion-fruit juice
Shake with broken ice. Garnish with seasonal fruit and a straw.
HIGHLANDER
½ measure Drambuie
½ measure scotch
½ measure dry vermouth
1 teaspoon lemon juice
4½ measures dandelion and burdock or cola
Mix and add to ice-filled glasses and garnish with mint and a straw.
FROZEN MELON BALL
½ measure Midori
½ measure vodka
2 measures pineapple juice
1 teaspoon lime juice
Sh
ake and strain over crushed ice and garnish with a melon ball and a slice of lime.
FROZEN SPIRITS
1 measure of vodka or other spirit, chilled until gelatinous
Serve in a frosted glass
APPLE OF MY EYE – Beware, non-alcoholic!
2 measures apple juice
½ measure blackcurrant syrup
1 measure pineapple juice
1 measure coconut cream
Blend with half a glass of crushed ice and garnish with a cherry and slice of banana.
ABSOLUTELY THE END! CHEERS!
The Belchester Chronicles
by
Andrea Frazer
For more information about Andrea Frazer
and other Accent Press titles
please visit
www.accentpress.co.uk
Belchester Box Set
ISBN 9781783759835
Copyright © 2013 by Andrea Frazer
This edition published by Accent Press 2015
The right of Andrea Frazer to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
Belchester Box Set Page 51
