In the Crypt with a Candlestick

by Daisy Waugh

  To which his mad cousin replied: ‘What the fuck are you wearing?’

  Young Egbert grinned: ‘Bit much at breakfast, is it? I’m squeezing in a bike ride before Tintin & Dogmatix Day. Looks like we’re going to be lucky with the weather… How are you?’

  To which Mad Ecgbert, crunching on his burnt toast, had replied: ‘You look ridiculous. By the way…’ he indicated a large oil painting on the wall; a distant grandfather, wearing tight white breeches, high boots and a wig: ‘I need that painting. Tell Carfizzi to send it over, will you?’ And then he threw his burnt toast onto his plate and stood up. ‘Or you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.’

  Egbert said: ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee, Coz?’

  Mad Ecgbert replied: ‘I can’t eat breakfast with a fucking bumblebee. You look like a bumblebee, Egbert.’

  Egbert shrugged and settled down to breakfast on his own. Carfizzi normally took charge in these situations… He didn’t start work for another fifteen minutes but Egbert assumed he would take care of said situation soon enough: he would probably organise for a car to take Ecgbert back home – without the painting, obviously.

  In the meantime, young Egbert had more pressing concerns. Tintin & Dogmatix day was traditionally a great favourite with the tourists, and in his first year in charge at Tode Hall, it was important to him that he didn’t disappoint.

  * * *

  Later, while Egbert was in his post bike-ride shower, and Mr Carfizzi was putting Mad Ecgbert back into his minicab, India called on her guests in the Queen Charlotte Suite. Violet was still luxuriating in Lord Olivier’s bed, so it was Alice who answered the door. She found India dressed in sexy-maid uniform, stilettos and fishnets, carrying a breakfast tray and laughing so her shoulders shook, making the breakfast slide around the tray.

  ‘Surprise for your grandmother!’ she whispered. ‘Thought it was time the tables were turned…’ She looked at Alice’s face (always hard to read). ‘… Funny?’ India asked her, suddenly doubtful. ‘Not funny? Oh God. I thought it would be nice for her to have breakfast in bed. About time, really. To thank her for all the times she brought Emma and Geraldine Tode their breakfasts in bed – and I bet she did, you know, every single day… Should I not have done it?’

  On the tray, most beautifully laid out, with silver toast rack and silver marmalade bowl was a breakfast fit for a Queen… It was a sweet gesture. Alice was only concerned about the sexy maid get-up. Her grandmother, who could be quite touchy, might think India was laughing at her.

  However, in the time it took for Alice to form these thoughts, India had grown impatient. She’d made all the effort. She was going to see it through.

  ‘Come on,’ she whispered to Alice. ‘She’ll love it! Let’s do it!’

  Alice stepped aside, India delivered the tray. It turned out Violet was too old and blind to notice the details of India’s get-up in any case. But the laden breakfast tray, in all its elegance and grandeur, reduced her to tears.

  ‘Bless you,’ she said to India, tucking into the kippers. ‘It’s the best morning of my life.’

  CHAPTER 17

  Tintin day went very smoothly until about three o’clock. Visitors to the John Lewis style café in the basement were offered Tintin & Dogmatix themed cakes, and India had also arranged a miniature teddy-themed treasure hunt around the adventure playground for the children.

  Dominic Rathbone was meant to announce the winner of the dressing-up contest at 3 p.m. sharp. (India and Egbert had passed the decision wholly over to him.) But at 3.20 p.m. Alice, Violet, the Todes and about fifty idiotic-looking tourists, dressed as teddy bears, were milling around on the lawn by the lake, still waiting for Dominic to begin. It was getting quite boring.

  India kept telling him to buck up, because it was cold and ‘nobody was that interested’. But he wouldn’t be hurried. Sunkissed and fit, post his European tennis holiday, and looking at least a decade younger than his sixty-three years, Dominic appeared to be taking the decision very seriously. He had a clipboard. He was examining each teddy costume slowly and carefully, and making notes. Even the competitors, toasty in their stupid outfits, were beginning to voice some impatience.

  But there was nothing to be done. The spotlight was on Dominic, and that didn’t happen often enough these days. His acting career had peaked in Prance. The coffee ad currently running was a happy aberration and – as Dominic liked to say when in his cups: ‘You can take the man out of the theatre but you can’t take the theatre out of the man.’ This afternoon, he was playing the role of Celebrity Judge at the annual Tode Hall Tintin & Dogmatix Costume Contest, and he intended to milk it for as long as he could.

  Carfizzi ruined everything. (On purpose, Dominic assumed at the time. He and Carfizzi enjoyed a complicated love–hate relationship. Rather, Carfizzi love–hated Dominic. Dominic’s feelings were less intense.) In any case, just as Dominic was clearing his throat, just as he was about to announce the winner – Carfizzi sidled slap into the centre of the action and whispered something into Egbert’s ear. It was off putting. More off putting still, the expression on Egbert’s face as he received Carfizzi’s news.

  Not a happy face.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Egbert asked him.

  Carfizzi nodded. He looked terrible.

  ‘It can’t be true…’

  India, standing beside her husband, but focusing on Dominic, was unaware of Carfizzi and Egbert’s whispered exchange. She had noticed Dominic clearing his throat, preparing to start – and then bloody well stopping again. ‘Come on, you old thesp,’ she shouted at him, ‘get on with it! You can’t string this out forever!’

  Egbert tapped her on the shoulder. Carfizzi, his swarthy face bereft of its usual health and colour, stood quietly, waiting. It was as if (Dominic thought later) the entire scene had been played out in theatrical slow-motion. When Egbert finally spoke, his words sounded distorted. Dominic wasn’t sure if he’d heard them right.

  ‘… The smell…’ Egbert said.

  ‘What’s up?’ India asked, coming to stand beside him.

  Egbert put a finger to his lips. He glanced across at Alice, caught her eye – seemed to hesitate, and then beckoned her over. Alice left her place behind her grandmother’s wheelchair and went to join him.

  Someone’s died, she thought. She knew. She could see it from the look on their faces – Dominic, India, Egbert, Carfizzi. Someone had died.

  Egbert said to India, very quietly – ‘Munchkin, I want you to stay calm.’

  India said, ‘Egbert, what the fuck has happened? Can we please just get this crapshow over and done with and go back inside?’

  ‘Shhhh,’ he said. (Mustn’t alarm the tourists.)

  ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘The smell,’ Egbert said again. ‘Alice – the smell we noticed up by the mausoleum…’

  Egbert put a hand on India’s shoulder, but continued directing his words to Alice. ‘It wasn’t sheep. It was – Carfizzi’s found… He found… a body… in the mausoleum. Dead.’

  ‘Human?’ India laughed. It was too loud, all wrong. ‘I should hope so, Egg! There are lots of bodies in the mausoleum. That’s what it’s for!’

  He shook his head. ‘No. She shouldn’t have been in there… She was meant to be in Capri.’

  India’s eyes goggled. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. And then: ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  Carfizzi nodded. ‘Lady Tode. She must have been lying there all this time…’

  India’s eyes swivelled. Through the throng of teddy bears, she sought out Dominic, who was staring back at her, making his way over. India turned back to Alice, to Carfizzi, to Egbert. ‘Dead?’ she said. ‘Since when? I thought she went to Capri?’

  ‘Shhh!’ said Egbert.

  Dominic joined them. ‘What’s happened? What’s going on?’

  Carfizzi laughed: not a funny laugh, full of bitterness. ‘You’re saying you don’t already know?’ he said.

  ‘Know what?’ Domini
c said. ‘What are you talking about? What have you done, Carfizzi? What have you done this time?’

  India took hold of Dominic’s arm. ‘They’ve found her,’ she mumbled, and burst into tears.

  ‘Found who? What have you done, Carfizzi?’ Dominic asked again. ‘What the hell is going on? Somebody tell me!’ He was talking far too loudly. It was the last thing anyone needed.

  Egbert held up a hand. ‘Everyone, keep calm. India, Munchkin. Try not to cry. First and foremost, let’s not create a drama. First and foremost, we’ve got to finish this Tintin show. Get the tourists out of the area. Carfizzi, have you called the police?’

  Mr Carfizzi shook his head. His eyes shifted again to Dominic. ‘I thought it would be prudent to wait,’ he said.

  ‘Of course you did,’ muttered Dominic.

  ‘Excellent,’ Egbert said. ‘Good thinking. The last thing we want is to make a fuss. Munchkin, how are you feeling? Are you feeling better?’

  India nodded.

  ‘Good girl! Now then, Munchie, can you face carrying on here? Carry on as if nothing has happened. That’s what we have to do – Dominic, you too.’

  ‘I still don’t know what you’re all talking about. What’s happened?’

  ‘I want you both to carry on as if everything was quite normal. All right? Dominic, announce the winner. Don’t rush it. Make an event of it! These people are counting on you. They’ve gone to a lot of trouble, getting their costumes right. Whoever’s won today will want to feel special. Let’s not take that away from them…’

  ‘Egg,’ said India, wiping her eyes. ‘You’re amazing. I love it when you take control.’

  Egbert nodded. Businesslike in this crisis. His eyes turned to Alice, who was standing there, calmly and quietly, observing events. ‘Alice, I know it’s a bit much. You haven’t even officially started yet… But could you bear to come with me? I’m going to have to head up there and check it out, and I have a feeling your calm presence would really help. Mr Carfizzi – shall you come with us? It’s entirely up to you. But I must say, I’d be awfully grateful if you did…’

  CHAPTER 18

  It wasn’t the first time Alice had seen a dead body. She found her mother, post overdose. She came back from school and found her dead in her bed, covered in vomit. Nothing, ever, would compare to that. Maybe Alice was already a little shut-down. Maybe a childhood spent with a fragile, alcoholic, junkie mother had taken its toll on her already. But ever since that day – that was the amazing thing about Alice – nothing rocked her anymore. Not since then.

  So she followed Egbert and Carfizzi into the mausoleum with no more than curiosity – and distaste, of course: the smell was bad.

  ‘How long’s she been there?’ she asked Egbert, as they climbed into the car together.

  Egbert didn’t know. Neither he, nor India, nor apparently Carfizzi, had seen or spoken to Lady Tode for almost a fortnight. Not since the day she was due to leave for Capri. Relations had grown so sour between her and India it had been a tremendous relief for all parties that she left when she did. There would have been no reason for either of the young Todes to get in touch with her.

  Looking down onto her two-week-old corpse, Egbert could feel bad about that now.

  The crypt was arranged around a central, circular hallway, with four small rooms branching off it, each one lit with a single window, high in the wall, at ground level. There was no electricity down there. What remained of the daylight landed in soft beams from the four high windows, meeting in the crypt’s centre, where Lady Tode now lay, a silver candlestick and a broken candle half-clasped in her hand. She’d been hit on the head. That much seemed to be obvious. Her hair was matted like wire, and she was surrounded by a dark brown pool of her own blood.

  ‘Even in death, she is elegant,’ muttered Carfizzi.

  It wasn’t strictly true. Her right leg had twisted unnaturally beneath her, and her skirt had hoiked up revealing thick winter stockings and expensive silky pants. There was something especially shocking about seeing Lady Tode’s pants: a violent reminder to Egbert and Carfizzi that she must, in life, have had – a bottom. This was gross. And now she was dead.

  ‘So true,’ sighed Egbert. ‘Always elegant. D’you think we should cover her up?’

  The three of them gazed at the body in silence. Lying beside her, just beyond her dead hand was an old-fashioned key, the Tode family crest engraved on its handle: the key, Alice presumed, to the mausoleum.

  ‘You think someone did this to her?’ asked Alice, thinking aloud. It was tactless.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Egbert replied quickly. ‘You’ve been reading too many penny dreadfuls, Alice Liddell! My goodness! Aunt Emma obviously came to say a fond farewell to Uncle Ecgbert before leaving for Capri, and then obviously fell over, hit her head… poor old thing. And the problem is, of course, no one would have heard her down here, except the sheep…’ He shuddered. ‘Awful way to go, I must say. We have to hope she didn’t cling on for too long. I expect she lost consciousness the moment she landed, don’t you, Carfizzi? Otherwise she could have raised the alarm – somehow. Walked home…’

  ‘Unless she was locked in,’ said Alice.

  Carfizzi pointed angrily at the key, lying in the blood beside her corpse. He had gone to some length (though Alice couldn’t have known this) to position the key just so, as it lay, specifically to prevent nosy parkers from making these sort of unhelpful suggestions. His pointing finger, packed with so much energy, reminded Alice of God’s finger on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. But maybe that was because Carfizzi was Italian. Her sons would probably tell her she was being racist. In the meantime, he was glaring at Alice. ‘You don’t see the key?’ he said. ‘Can’t you see the key, lying there? Of course she wasn’t locked in… Anyway the door was unlocked. That is why nobody ever suspected something. The door was closed but it wasn’t locked. Why would she lock herself into the place? It doesn’t make any sense, what you’re saying.’

  Alice bent inwards, the better to see the key in question. ‘It’s very clean though, isn’t it?’ she observed. ‘Like it’s just been placed there, after the event. I mean – considering everything else is covered in blood.’

  ‘And is that my fault?’ Carfizzi snapped.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Alice. ‘I don’t suppose so. I was just mentioning…’

  Egbert said: ‘I think we should call the police. I’ll wait for them at the West arch, and maybe I can lead them in round via the Home Farm entrance.’ He checked his watch. ‘The gardens close in twenty minutes, but we don’t want to risk… You know. We don’t want to make a fuss.’

  ‘In any case,’ Carfizzi said, still glaring at Alice, ‘the door wasn’t even locked. So I don’t know why you want to say that Lady Tode was locked into this disgusting place… I don’t know why you want to think something so horrible.’ His lower lip was trembling. He was very emotional.

  Egbert patted him on the shoulder. ‘Easy does it, Carfizzi. You’re obviously upset. We’re all upset. I don’t think Alice meant badly, did you Alice?’

  Alice shrugged. ‘I was just observing.’

  They had been down there long enough. Egbert led Alice out into the fresh air again. They sat together in the Range Rover while Carfizzi locked up. It was time to call the police.

  CHAPTER 19

  Egbert drove Alice and Violet to the train station late the following morning. Between dealing with police, undertakers, and scores of grief-stricken estate employees (India seemed, as usual, to have wandered off) Egbert had formally offered Alice a position, and she had accepted it. The job didn’t pay excessively well, nevertheless she would be earning more than she ever had before: not to mention the free car, free house, free utility bills, free phone, free vegetables, six weeks a year holiday and, for her triplets, should they wish to visit her (which they would), five train fares to and from London each, per year. Egbert only bridled when Violet, also present during negotiations, tried to push for the tickets to be f
irst class. He said:

  ‘Oh come on, Mrs Dean. They’re only youngsters. I don’t even travel first class. Seems a bit much.’

  Other than that, he agreed to everything they asked for. In return, Egbert asked Alice to make the move North as soon as she possibly could. Alice thought about it. Assuming the cottage was ready (and able to accommodate Violet’s wheelchair) there was nothing much to prevent her from moving up here right away.

  She imagined a life without the triplets and felt a wave of tremendous sadness. But then she imagined a life without the triplets’ dirty socks, empty pizza boxes, overflowing ashtrays, their constant stealing of her hash and emptying of the fridge. She thought of living in a house that didn’t leak from the kitchen ceiling and didn’t thud from night until morning to the sound of mindless rap. She imagined all that. And at that instant, despite the hideousness of the scene in the mausoleum, she felt, for the first time in many, many years, like dancing a jig of joy. She agreed to start work within a fortnight.

  * * *

  On the train back to London Violet was unusually quiet. When Alice asked her if there was something wrong, she denied it, though there obviously was. Alice opened her Agatha Christie novel and started to read, confident that her grandmother was unlikely to keep her concerns to herself for long.

  After five minutes, Violet said, irritably, ‘I would’ve thought you’d have read all the Agatha Christies by now. Why don’t you read something else for a change?’

  ‘I like her,’ said Alice.

  ‘There are a lot of other books out there, you know…’

  Alice read on.

  ‘Alice, I don’t know how you can sit there reading that rot, so carefree, like you haven’t got a care in the wide world. You must think it’s a bit strange, don’t you? It’s just like you. Pretending everything’s OK, just so you don’t have to do anything. It’s your life in a nutshell isn’t it, Alice? You’re lazy. That’s what you are. Lazy, lazy, lazy.’