‘H-h-he drank in The Witches’ Cauldron, just off the Market Cross, and he played for their darts team,’ Spouph continued nervously.
‘Right den of thieves that place is. There are more villains per square metre in there than there are in Brixton Prison. Anything else?’
‘Not really, sir; not what you’d call relevant, anyway.’
‘Well I’d like to inform you all that I’ve recently had a call on my mobile from the station, and it seems that Jimmy “the Jemmy” Aldridge was released from prison about a month ago, and has now been spotted in this area three times, the first being about ten days ago. Spot the connection!’
‘So you think this “Jimmy the Jemmy” character is responsible for the robberies here, sir?’ asked Glenister, speaking for the first time since he’d entered the room.
‘I know damned well he’s at the root of it. I can feel it in my water.’
Lady A turned slightly green at the mental image this conjured up, and looked away to regain her former equilibrium. ‘Does this mean that you’ll all be on the lookout for this Jimmy-jemmy person, and do you think he’s our murderer?’ asked Hugo, only slightly confused about the name of the released prisoner.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Moody, then continued with his interrogation of PC Spouph. ‘What about the indoor staff? Names?
‘Searle, Haire, Sylvester, and Moth,’ he replied, tentatively. ‘Searle being the dead woman.’
‘Not a Victor amongst them, is there?’ asked Moody, smirking, then noticing that no one else had a smile on their face, although some of them were old enough to remember Victor Silvester the band leader.
‘No, sir, they’re all women: Florrie Searle – deceased – Edie Haire, Beryl Sylvester, and Madge Moth.’
‘And did you learn anything useful from them?’
‘Only that the French windows in the music room were noticed to be open for a while this morning, which is unusual, but the woman who noticed it thought that Lady Amanda might be sorting out some music for a recital while she had a guest staying, and that the room may have been found to smell musty, as it hasn’t been used for some time, and needed a quick airing.’
‘Thank you, Spouph. Go back to the station, type up your interview notes, and put a copy of them on my desk, please.’
‘Yes, sir. Certainly, sir,’ agreed the PC, evacuating the room immediately at some speed, to fetch his bicycle from the barn, and relieved to be leaving such high rank to pick on someone else and leave him in peace. There was no way he wanted to be the centre of attention.
Since her arrival the day before, Tabitha had contacted an old school friend whom she hadn’t seen since moving away from the area many years ago, and who had agreed to come over and pick her up for an afternoon out, along with her husband and daughter.
‘By the way, Phyllida Draycott-Bayliss, her husband Ethelred, and their daughter Poppy are coming to pick me up about three. Ethelred lives in a real castle. Although most of it’s apparently a nineteenth century re-build, it’s been done accurately, and the place is a real fairy-tale structure, just like in the movies.’ This was a definite pop at Belchester Towers and its lack of actual age, it having been completely built in the 1800s.
‘So, no different to this, then, really,’ replied Lady Amanda, acidly.
‘It’s a complete replica of what was there before,’ protested Tabitha, in defence of her friend’s husband’s ancestral home.
‘A fiction of some architect’s imagination, then. If it’s a replica, the old place must have fallen down, so how do they know what it looked like with any degree of accuracy?’ Ooh, she was getting herself into a right aristocratic tizzy – there was a hissy fit in the offing.
‘From historical records, old plans, and woodcuts. There’s a tapestry that shows it in its entirety; there were just loads of old records to show what it used to look like.’
‘Sure there were. And this is a new build. When, exactly, in the nineteenth century was it thrown up, this so-called exact replica?’
‘The 1870s, I think.’ Tabitha supplied the information haughtily.
‘Well, this went up in the early 1800s, so Belchester Towers is, actually, older than this replica that you’re getting all defensive over.’
‘Yar, boo, and sucks to you, you jealous old trout,’ replied Tabitha, thumbing her nose at her hostess like an ill-mannered child.
Hugo eventually brokered a peace deal, and it was amicably agreed (sort of) that the Draycott-Baylisses would be asked in to take a cup of tea when they arrived to pick up Tabitha, so that Lady Amanda could, at least, show off a small portion of her home to ‘the opposition’, as she saw them.
Just before she was about to go upstairs to get changed into something she considered suitable for welcoming guests, she overheard another conversation between Hugo and his sister, this time in the library.
‘You don’t think she has you here because she actually likes you, do you?’ Tabitha’s voice rang out scathingly.
‘Don’t be such a bitch, Tabby. You really have turned into a right old cat,’ Hugo replied in defence, and Lady A rushed off upstairs, with no wish whatsoever to hear a word more of this acrimonious exchange. She was really very fond of Hugo, and she didn’t want his sister poisoning his mind against her. She’d have to think of something.
Not much later, the Draycott-Bayliss family rang the doorbell, with impeccable manners, dead on time, just as the clock was chiming, and Beauchamp ushered them in with the utmost obsequiousness, in an attempt to create the best impression possible for his employer.
Lady Amanda herself emerged down the staircase, dressed and made-up to the nines, in her best effort at a Hollywood entrance. As usual, she was let down by something completely beyond her control. Enid emerged through the door from the domestic quarters, two shadows shot out after her, and the next thing anyone else knew, there were two spotty animals swinging from Phyllida Draycott-Bayliss’s handbag.
Poppy, who had seen them come out, out of the corner of her eye, screamed. Phyllida, aware that her bag had suddenly almost doubled in weight, looked down, and sank to the floor in an excellent Victorian swoon, while Ethelred expostulated, ‘Good Lord!’ in the sort of accent that would have made Prince Charles sound as if he came from a sink estate.
Lady A rather ruined the effect she had created with her entrance by bellowing, ‘Tabitha!’ in the harsh and loud tones of a fishwife then, realising what she had done, re-arranging her face into the semblance of a welcoming smile again, and continuing her elegant sway to the bottom of the stairs.
Finally, she extended a hand and approached the visitors to her home, as Tabitha shot out into the entrance hall, grabbed her little darlings – demons – gabbled a brief greeting to her old school-friend and family, and shot through the baize door to return her furry charges to their incarceration in the dog cage.
Enid was left muttering incoherent apologies about how the cunning animals had lifted the latch again on the cage, and escaped just as she was leaving, finally overtaking her as she reached the door from the domestic quarters to the hall. She was mortified at the situation that only looked to be her fault, as she knew who would get the blame when it came time for the kangaroo court, later.
Apart from her one screamed exclamation, Lady Amanda acted as if nothing had happened and, when Tabitha emerged through the baize door to the hall again, gave her a murderous look, daring her to say anything about the occurrence. Luckily, Tabitha knew how to read her of old, and sensibly decided to save her apologies for when her visitors were off Belchester Towers land.
Lady A conducted the three strangers to the drawing room to take tea, as if she were escorting royalty to a regal banquet. She had no sooner directed everyone to suitable seats, when Beauchamp entered, steering the tea trolley before him. ‘Tea is served, your ladyship,’ he announced in his most refined voice, and placed the comestibles’ conveyance before his mistress.
At that moment, there was a noise that indicated that the baiz
e door, heavy as it was, had been flung back as far as it would go, and a furious voice yelled, ‘You come back here, you hairy little bastards!’ It was no surprise whatsoever, then, when Ludovic and Dominic galloped into the room, leapt, and landed right on the tea trolley, in search of sanctuary.
Lady Amanda screamed as scalding hot tea streamed off the trolley and onto her skirt, Hugo yelped as the milk jug landed in his lap, and everyone present look astounded as the person from whom the yell had emanated entered the room in hot pursuit, and proved to be Enid Tweedie.
‘Really, my dear!’ Lady A chided her. ‘Language!’
‘Well, those two little buggers are enough to try the patience of a saint. If they aren’t removed from where I spend most of my time soon, I swear I’ll dice them and put them in a stew.’
‘My poor precious ones!’ moaned Tabitha, appalled at the thought of her darling charges being murdered, and left the room to try to incarcerate them again, hopefully with more success than the previous attempts had achieved.
On her return, she said, ‘I used a bit of butcher’s string to tie the catch into position this time. Unless they know how to undo knots, then we won’t be disturbed again. I apologise unreservedly to you all, and I shall leave much sooner than planned, Manda.’
‘Good!’ was all her hostess managed, preparing to leave the room in search of a clean skirt, and some Germolene for her poor, burned knees.
Hugo made the offer of a fresh pot which, he assured the guests, would be ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, but they very politely – and rather coldly – declined, saying that they must get off, or there wouldn’t be time to show Tabitha the whole of their dear old castle.
Suddenly, Enid and Hugo found themselves totally alone in the vastness of the drawing room. ‘Bum!’ said Hugo, with feeling.
‘Double bum!’ replied Enid, in complete agreement with his sentiments.
For the rest of the day, the house and grounds swarmed with policemen.
Chapter Six
Friday
The next morning, there was no need for alarm clocks, as a shrill scream from outside woke everybody with unappreciated abruptness. It then continued, like a human siren, and three figures appeared on the landing in their nightclothes, worried expressions on their faces.
Tabitha sported a floor-length, long-sleeved flannelette garment with a ribbon for decoration just below her chin; Lady Amanda wore sensible flannelette pyjamas, both mindful of how cold the nights still were, and the fact that the heating was not run throughout the night. Hugo was the most surprisingly attired, in a mid-calf-length blood-red nightshirt, matching night-cap and bedsocks, and both ladies stared at him in utter astonishment. If the thought had ever crossed their minds at all, they would have judged him to be a predictable striped pyjama man.
‘What are you two staring at?’ he asked, as they all headed for the staircase, to descend and identify the source of the noise.
‘You!’ declared his sister. ‘What do you look like?’
‘I thought you were Jean-Paul Gaultier!’ said Lady A sarcastically, with a snicker.
‘Yes, indeed!’ agreed Tabitha. ‘Très chic, mon frère!’
‘Oh, shut up and concentrate on where you’re going, or you’ll end up in plaster of Paris, but with no opportunity to practise the language.’
Lady A reached the foot of the stairs first, put her head down, and raced, as if she was trying to score a try at rugby, towards the front door. She stopped at this point and looked outside, to see two figures standing at the foot of the steps. The other two pulled up behind her as she identified the pair as Beauchamp and Enid Tweedie, and Enid had a lit cigarette in her hand. What the …?
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Enid? You don’t smoke!’
‘I used to years ago, and I’ve felt the need to start again – only temporarily, you understand – since Hugo’s sister arrived with her two hell-cats; and now I’ve found a dead body in the shrubbery.’
‘Where?’ asked three voices in unison. Surely there couldn’t be a third corpse on the premises in three days?
‘Just opposite the doorway, where the drive bears left, in the evergreen bushes. I’d just come outside for a pre-breakfast puff, and I saw her foot protruding from the greenery and, when I went over to investigate, thinking someone was hiding there, there she was, dead as a doornail.’
‘Pre-breakfast?’ queried Hugo. It was still dark, but then it was always dark when he got up, at this time of the year.
‘It is half past five,’ Beauchamp informed him, in a dignified manner.
‘Half past what?’ questioned Lady Amanda. ‘I didn’t know there were two half past fives in a day,’ she said, scandalised at the earliness of the hour.
‘Look on the bright side, Manda,’ Hugo counselled her.
‘What bright side?’ she asked, amazed that he could detect the existence of such a thing.
‘They’ll have to get that Moody out of bed to “attend the scene”,’ he explained, lapsing into police jargon, and causing an absolute flurry of inverted commas.
‘So they will!’ she crowed, and a cruel smile crossed her face; ‘and we can all go back to bed – apart from Beauchamp and Enid. Sorry, you two.’
Enid puffed greedily at her cigarette, and asked, ‘Didn’t you know what time Beauchamp got up to get the house ready? I’ve been coming up here at the same time, before I’ve even had a cup of tea, to give him a hand. You really do need some more indoor staff. Neither of us is as young as we used to be.’
‘I had no idea!’ exclaimed Lady A, with a horrified face. ‘I’ll get on to the Agency as soon as these murders are cleared up. But it’ll have to be daily staff. I don’t want anyone else living in, apart from you two.’
‘That will be perfectly acceptable, your ladyship. Thank you so much.’
‘Who is this dead cove in the bushes?’ At least Hugo was eager to find out who else had been murdered, even if no one else was.
‘I didn’t even take a proper look,’ Enid admitted. ‘I merely noticed that the body was female, then I got rather hysterical. I’m so sorry to have woken you. If only I’d kept calmer, we could have sorted this out without the need to rouse you three.’
‘Don’t worry, Enid. Moody’s enough of a sadist to make sure that waking us up was the first thing that he initiated when he arrived here. If he’d had to get up early, so would we. And with that thought in mind, I don’t think it’s worth us going back to bed. He’ll only insist we get up again. Do you think you could make us a pot of tea, Beauchamp, there’s a good chap? Then we can sort out our ablutions and dressing and come down for breakfast.’
Moody lived up to his name when he arrived, proving to be in a filthy mood after his unexpected early reveille. Glenister was one big yawn, but Moody was in mean mode, and waspish in his snarled remarks. ‘And who exactly has been wiped out on your dangerous premises, now?’ he asked sarcastically.
Beauchamp answered with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘Her name is Edie Haire, and she was part of the casual cleaning team that was working here yesterday. I’ve checked for a pulse and found the body to be stone cold, so may I respectfully suggest that she was killed yesterday evening? If we take a look around, we should find her bicycle. She lived in Snuff Street , and always cycled when she worked here.’ The manservant was perfectly calm, which was more than could be said for anyone else.
‘Thank you very much, Sherlock bleedin’ Holmes,’ snapped Moody. ‘There’s no need to try to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, you jumped-up domestic lackey.’
Behind his back, Beauchamp behaved in a way Lady A had never witnessed before; he poked out his tongue and flipped the inspector the bird.
‘Really, Beauchamp, what on earth do you think you’re doing. This is most unlike you,’ she opined in a harsh whisper.
‘And you haven’t exactly been your good-mannered self recently. Myself, I think we’ve all been affected by Miss Tabitha’s visit. Even my E
nid’s resorted to the evil weed again,’ he hissed back.
‘Surely that’s not cannabis she’s smoking?’ asked Lady Amanda in alarm.
‘Of course not! The evil weed I was referring to was tobacco. She gave up thirty years ago. I just hope she can kick the habit again when Mr Hugo’s sister leaves, which I hope is very soon. Her new pets are not easy to live with.’
‘Do you know, I think you’re right, Beauchamp. I have been aware of not being impeccably mannered, the last few days, and I honestly believe you’ve hit the nail on the head.’
‘Oi, Lady Muck!’ Moody was doing his Prince Charmless act again.
‘Yes, Inspector, dear,’ replied Lady A, determined to behave herself after her enlightening conversation with Beauchamp.
‘I want name, address, and anything you know about the stiff, and I’ll get the SOCO back yet again. They’ll be arriving here every morning automatically, if you have any more corpses for us.’
Still behind him, the manservant put a thumb to the end of his nose and wiggled his fingers. He then proceeded to bite his thumb at the man – the oldest insulting gesture he knew – let the man have a bit of Shakespearean abuse.
‘Inside, you two,’ barked Lady A, pointing towards the front door with a thumb, and found she was left alone with DS Glenister, as DI Moody went off with his mobile phone to play Mr Self-Important as he summoned the SOCO team, once again, to his side.
‘Got any post-mortem results or forensics for me?’ she asked a yawning Glenister in a low voice, leaning furtively closer to him.
‘I have, as a matter of fact,’ he replied, keeping his tone low, too.
‘Dish the goss, then, young man,’ ordered his companion, her face alight with enthusiasm.
The first meal of the day was taken, as usual, in the little room known as the breakfast room, and Lady Amanda was bursting with news, which she had had to suppress until they were all together and in private. Unusually, for this meal of the day, Beauchamp and Enid had been invited to join the other three, so that they could all commune as a group.
Old Moorhen's Shredded Sporran: The Belchester Chronicles Book 4 Page 5
