‘Not yet,’ replied Hugo, who had kept his eyes to himself since they’d entered, as he didn’t fancy them turning black as a result of unwelcome curiosity. ‘I haven’t had the chance to have a good look round yet.’
‘Well, get your peepers swivelling. I’ve thought about lunchtime yesterday, and I also don’t remember anyone who looked like him in The Witches’ Cauldron, but we’re doing the next three most likely places today. If nothing comes of it, we can always put The Witches’ Cauldron back in the mix.’
Hugo didn’t hear most of this as, at the mere mention of the previous lunchtime’s visit to the pub, he had broken out in a sweat of fear. ‘Hugo, are you listening to me?’ asked his breakfast companion, crossly.
‘No,’ he replied, totally throwing her off balance.
‘What do you mean, no? Why on earth not?’
‘Because places like this make me feel I’m going to decorate my underpants in a very childish way.’
‘Really?’ This was a reaction that would never have crossed Lady Amanda’s mind, and she found it novel as well as disgusting. ‘Well, just don’t do it. Here comes our breakfast.’
Hugo shovelled down his food and slurped his tea like the most ill-bred navvy, then rose immediately to leave. ‘You settle up. I’ll meet you outside,’ he whispered hoarsely, looking from side to side as if for an assassin.
‘OK, Hugo. Just calm down. I’ll be out in a minute,’ Lady A replied, looking at him as if he had gone mad.
Hugo bolted out of the door as if all the hounds of hell were after him, only to find that he had jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Two unshaven men with bald heads who had settled up and left just before him, were examining the tricycles with rapt fascination.
‘This belong to you?’ one of them rasped, a look in his eyes that Hugo could not read.
‘Yes,’ he squeaked, his voice as high-pitched as a girl’s. He harboured the terrible fear that they would beat him up, then steal the tricycles. They looked so rough and tough that he felt his sphincter contract and twitch with terror.
They were both looking at him, now, probably deciding where to dump his body when they’d finished with him. Oh God, what was he going to do? Where was Manda? How had he found himself in this ghastly situation?
One of the men spoke; the rougher-looking, more muscular one, but Hugo was so paralysed with fear that he didn’t hear what he said. Repeating himself, the man asked, ‘Would you mind if I had a ride of your tricycle? I’ve never seen one this big before. I’ll only take it down to the junction with Cathedral Avenue and back.’
Hugo nearly fainted with relief, and nodded as the other man asked, ‘Me, too?’ and wasn’t even intimidated when Manda came out of the café and asked, in quite an angry voice, where the hell their tricycles had gone.
They passed an hour in the cathedral, then walked down North Street wheeling their vehicles, so that they could do some window shopping. There was time to pass before they could contemplate ordering lunch, and it had to be filled somehow.
Bumping into Sir Jolyon and Lady Felicity ffolliat DeWinter just outside the Market Cross gave them an excuse to seek this structure’s shelter and sit on a bench for half an hour or so, to pass a little more time in catching up with gossip about mutual friends, and the murder trial for which a date had just been set.
By the time they’d had a good old exchange of news, Lady A judged it late enough for them to head for The Cat and Footstool, and they parted from their acquaintances, remounted their tricycles, and headed off down East Street. They turned right into Beggars Run and found the pub just off the junction on their right.
Chaining their vehicles to fence posts in the car park, they surveyed the public house, which neither of them had visited before. It looked slightly more respectable than yesterday’s example of a local hostelry, and they approached it with a mixture of hope and trepidation.
Without a word, they both headed for the door marked ‘Saloon Bar’, knowing that they would have to brave a quick visit to the public bar at some point, because it was possible that this was where Jimmy the Jemmy would feel more at home, given his recent accommodation at Her Majesty’s pleasure.
Their shepherd’s pie was acceptable, but their mission proved fruitless and, having made two lemonades last two and a half hours, they were ushered out of the pub by the landlord at closing time, this being an establishment that had not applied for an all-day licence.
The Clocky Hen was a different story altogether. They had gone into the library to spend a couple of hours reading the day’s newspapers until it was opening time, then cycled to their final destination.
At first it seemed to be full of off-duty police officers, being next to the police station, but Lady A wasn’t fooled by that. She led Hugo reluctantly into the public bar, thinking of the advice to keep one’s friends close, and one’s enemies even closer.
Where better for Jimmy the Jemmy to hang out than next to the police station. They’d never think to look for him there, and he probably thought he’d be safe as houses, right under their noses. But then, he had Lady A to deal with now, having crossed her severely.
She’d run the gamut of saucy and impudent looks and ordered two Virgin Marys when her eye was caught by a particularly loud tweed jacket, and she nearly fainted clean away when she looked upwards and was absolutely convinced that she had spotted her man. That face looked very familiar.
As unobtrusively as possible, she pointed out the figure to Hugo who agreed that he did, indeed, look extremely familiar. ‘In that case,’ she said in a hoarse whisper, ‘I’m going to slip next door and see if I can raise DS Glenister to come in and arrest him. You keep a sharp eye on him while I’m gone. Don’t let him get away. And pay for our drinks while you’re at it. I need to be off quickly in case he rumbles us and makes a break for it.’
She bustled out of the exit and Hugo was left to juggle a pocketful of change and watch their target who didn’t, at least at the moment, appear to be off anywhere.
Lady Amanda, meanwhile, rushed into the police station and up to the desk, asking officiously if she could see DS Glenister, as it was of vital importance in the solving of several serious crimes. The officer on duty took exception to her superior manner, and replied, with some satisfaction, that DS Glenister was not on duty at the moment, but he’d call another officer to look after her.
‘As long as he’s CID and not of inferior rank,’ she trumpeted at the man, looking down her nose, so filled was she with self-importance. The duty officer made a quick call on an internal telephone and Lady A was just pumping herself up to be at her upper-class best, when Inspector Moody hove into view through the double swing doors.
‘What do you want?’ were his opening and far from encouraging words.
‘This officer is summoning somebody to deal with me,’ she informed him in a superior manner that was matchless.
‘I know,’ he replied, exasperated. ‘Why do you think I’m here? It’s me he summoned, you silly old dear.’
‘Don’t you talk to me like that when I’ve gone and found Jimmy the Jemmy for you, and left my friend Hugo guarding him so that he doesn’t escape.’
‘You never have!’ exclaimed Moody in disbelief.
‘Come with me and I’ll show you,’ she declared, in triumph.
Back in the pub, Hugo saw the door open and his friend enter the bar with Moody in tow, just as chummy put his empty glass on the bar and headed for the rear exit. He had to do something, and do it fast, before the criminal got away.
Hugo moved across the intervening space as quickly as he could, caught hold of the man’s jacket sleeve and said, ‘I am making a citizen’s arrest. I know who you are and the police are on the way.’
By this time, Lady A had spotted him with her quarry, and was blundering through the other drinkers, like a galleon in full sail, with Moody in her wake. When she finally got to Hugo and his prisoner, she said, ‘Here is your man, Detective Inspector Moody. I recognised his f
ace as familiar as soon as we entered the bar. He’s been hiding here, right under your nose, all this time.’
Inspector Moody’s face broke out into a grin of absolute glee as he said, ‘May I introduce you, once again, to PC Spouph. You obviously misidentified him, with him not being in uniform.
Hugo’s hand fell to his side, and his face fell almost as far, as he realised what fools they had made of themselves.
‘What?’ spluttered Lady Amanda.
‘He’s one of my uniformed officers who was in attendance in your own home when one of the maids was murdered. Don’t you remember?’
Chapter Twelve
That Night
It had taken several cocktails to assuage Lady A’s embarrassment at what had happened earlier in The Clocky Hen, and it was only now, after several of Beauchamp’s finest efforts, that she could contemplate the future with anything but shame.
‘Buck up, your ladyship. Remember we’re going to keep surveillance on the old chapel tonight, to see if we can’t catch a rat in our trap. If I can lock him in, I can push hard on the key so that he can’t get his in from the other side while you dial 999.’ Beauchamp had evidently been giving the evening’s activities some thought.
‘I shay,’ she said, her voice rather louder than was necessary, ‘that’sh a jolly good id-id-idea.’ Lady Amanda’s speech had become rather slushy as she ‘relaxed’ rather more than necessary.
‘Manda, I do believe you’re tiddly,’ observed Hugo, with a slightly squiffy smile himself, for he had partaken of just as many cocktails as his friend, and then giggled.
‘Oh dear,’ remarked Beauchamp, as he observed the elderly pair. ‘Things may get rather trickier than I had anticipated.’
‘I’ve only had two drinky-winkies,’ brayed Lady Amanda.
‘Me too,’ agreed Hugo over-vehemently.
‘You’ve had two Hammer Horrors and two Lawnmowers apiece – two different cocktails but two of each, making four, if my maths is not mistaken,’ Beauchamp reminded them.
‘That must be why I need a little snoozy-woozy.’ Lady Amanda yawned extravagantly and swayed a little on her feet.
‘But, your ladyship, due to your late return from Belchester, we’ve actually stayed up, so that we don’t have to get ready for bed and get up again, before we go out on surveillance. It’s half-past one, and we said we’d go outside at two o’clock, which is the time you saw the lights in the chapel last night.’ Beauchamp feared she was going to blow their plans completely.
‘Well, I’m going to need my frame,’ whined Hugo. ‘I’m never steady on my feet late at night.’
‘And with a bellyful of booze,’ muttered the manservant under his breath.
‘I want a frame too. Find one for me, Beauchy-Weaushy.’ Lady Amanda had become like a petulant child while under the influence.
Beauchy-Weaushy obligingly set off to fetch Hugo’s Zimmer plus one more, so that they could get their clandestine activities over and done with, and he could offload these two into the land of nod. But before that, he was going to pour one more liquid down their throats that might actually help the situation.
When he returned, he left the two frames outside the door and entered to see the squiffy pair trying to walk. ‘Sit down again,’ he ordered them quite sternly. ‘I’m going to make a pot of Beauchamp’s Infallible Remedy for you, to set you up for the adventure to come.’
He returned from the kitchen some minutes later and found them both dozing on a sofa, like a pair of bookends. ‘Wakey, wakey!’ he called in a stentorian voice that made them both jerk awake with surprise. ‘Beauchamp’s Infallible Remedy has arrived.’
‘Oh, goody goody,’ trilled Lady A, rubbing her hands together.
‘Yummy,’ said Hugo, doing the same, although neither of them had any idea of the ingredients.
Beauchamp had purposely made no mention of the fact that it was non-alcoholic, and usually used as a remedy to counteract drunkenness. He had brought it along in a silver pot, and its recipe was two parts espresso coffee to two parts cocoa, with two spoonfuls of sugar to each serving, to be served hot. The final touch was a sprinkle of cinnamon on the top of each serving, the powder for which resided in a small silver bowl on the tray next to the Limoges coffee cans and saucers.
It was a recipe he had learned from his mother, which she had used on Lady A’s father, when he got himself rather tired and emotional in his mistress’s presence, and, although it wasn’t alcoholic, it sure packed a punch, and had been known to fool the uninitiated.
Both Hugo and Lady Amanda were fooled by its potency, and lapped it up eagerly, both asking, to Beauchamp’s delight, for a second helping. His fiancée wasn’t so easily fooled.
‘I’m going outside for a fag,’ Enid informed whoever could be bothered to listen, putting her cup back on the tray in disgust. ‘I’ll meet you at the door.’
Beauchamp rolled his eyes at nobody in particular as he walked down the hall, and began to gird his loins for a very difficult, if not dangerous, evening.
When he managed to herd the two unruly old hooligans outside, Lady A was singing ‘On Mother Kelly’s Doorstep’, and Hugo was whistling ‘In a Monastery Garden’, a blissful smile on his face. It didn’t seem to matter too much at the moment, because there were no lights on in the chapel, but Beauchamp, nevertheless, did his best to shut them up in case there was someone out of their sightline.
‘Enid, for heaven’s sake don’t light another cigarette,’ he ordered in a harsh undertone.
‘Why ever not? Smoking’s not noisy,’ Enid protested, her packet already out of her pocket.
‘Because of the smell of the smoke,’ he explained.
‘But they always smoke when they’re on surveillance in films and on the telly,’ his fiancée protested.
‘Which shows that it’s all “let’s pretend”. If our villain was over by the chapel right now, but out of sight, and he lit a cigarette, we should smell it and immediately be able to pinpoint his position.’ Beauchamp always found that a ‘f’r-instance’ quite often helped where no explanation would prove as effective.
‘I see what you mean,’ agreed Enid, realisation dawning on her, as she slipped the cardboard packet away again. ‘Good thinking!’
This exchange had allowed his two elderly charges to get away from him and, as he turned round to continue guiding them, he spotted them much further ahead, but separated by quite a distance, and taking an inexplicably curvy route.
They looked just like a couple of giant snails ambling across the lawn in the moonlight, their course completely haphazard. He had not realised that one could still execute a drunken gait with a Zimmer frame.
Beauchamp urgently pointed Enid in the direction of Hugo, whom she found singing under his breath, some nursery song about ten thousand men and some royal or other. ‘Hush, Mr Hugo,’ she urged him in low tones. ‘There might be a murderer concealed near us.’
‘Sorry! Sorry! Shhh!’ he replied, this last with a finger unsteadily at his lips to indicate silence.
Beauchamp headed after Lady Amanda, whom he found in a condition he would not have thought possible. ‘Bloody bastard!’ she was muttering. ‘Bloody thieving, murdering bastard! Murdering scum! Bloody criminal shitbag! Steal my stuff would you? Kill my staff would you? Well we’ll just see about that!’
‘Hush. Your ladyship. The miscreant could be anywhere within earshot but out of sight. You don’t want him to hear you, do you?’
‘Want to sodding kill him!’ she declared.
‘Hush!’ Beauchamp chided her. ‘How can we sneak upon him if he can hear us coming? We’ll never catch him if you carry on like this. He’ll hear us coming and get clean away.’
‘Good point, my man. Good point. Hush up, or you’ll give away our position, whispering in that loud voice.’
The manservant was happy to have the blame shifted to him, if it shut her ladyship’s mouth and stopped her cursing and swearing. Turning her towards the chapel, he took her arm and
began guiding her, in silence now, towards their goal.
He had reconnected the electricity supply to the building during the day, and popped over to see that it was still working, and that the wires had not been chewed by small animals, but there was not even the glow of an oil lamp or the beam of a torch to be seen in the building tonight.
That could mean one of two things: either the miscreant had already been and gone, or he had not yet arrived. If it was the former, he would probably have left some tell-tale sign by having moved something that would give him away. Heaven knew, there were enough things in there to start an antique shop. If he hadn’t been there yet, he didn’t know what they’d do. He’d just have to play it by ear.
Inserting the key in the lock, he noted that it would not turn widdershins. That could mean only one thing. He turned the key clockwise, and it clicked. He was right! The chapel had been left unlocked, and he knew he’d locked it when he’d come over here much earlier. He must have already been.
Unlocking the door again, he flung it open boldly, confident that there was no one inside, and put his left hand to the wall just inside the doorway to put on the lights. What this revealed was almost unbelievable, and he was wrong in his last supposition.
That ‘they’ had already been was evident from the fact that not one stick of the contraband loot they had found there the night before remained in evidence, but the building wasn’t quite deserted of people.
Splayed across the altar, like an offering at a ceremony of human sacrifice, was the body of Evergreen, and he was as dead as dead could be, a knife sticking up from his chest making him appear to be like a character in a murder weekend, and somehow unreal.
Lady Amanda nearly went arse-over-tit in her hurry to get down the aisle and make a closer inspection. As she waddled, driving her Zimmer before her, she could be heard to mutter, ‘My head groundsman! My bloody head groundsman! Murdered! The bastard! He’s going to bloody well pay for this!’
Hugo, who had not heard her cursing before, exclaimed in shock and horror, ‘Manda! Mind your language! That’s disgraceful!’
Old Moorhen's Shredded Sporran: The Belchester Chronicles Book 4 Page 11
