Gotcha! This one was smaller. Not a baby mouse, more of an adolescent. And alive. Petrified with terror, but alive. Just for an instant, he wondered about taking a tiny taste—purely in the spirit of scientific curiosity.
No, no! He fought Monty’s instincts to a standstill again, although it was becoming harder, especially when he was tired, the cat gained the ascendant more easily. No, he would not eat this shivering creature. He had a better use for it.
Cats played with mice. He gathered it up in his mouth very carefully; he didn’t want to damage it. This one was going to be more fun alive. Cats shared their mice with playmates. Heh-heh-heh.
Hello, playmates! He dropped the mouse beside Jilly’s ear; she was too occupied to notice. So was Rufus. The mouse crouched there, frozen with terror.
Let’s have a little action around here. He nudged the mouse with his paw and it came to squeaking life. It collided with Jilly’s ear and scrabbled for purchase to climb over it.
‘EEEeeeekkk!’ Jilly shrieked and thrashed about, hurling Rufus away from her. The mouse raced across her face, narrowly missing her screaming mouth.
‘What the hell!!??’ Rufus stared down at it unbelievingly. The mouse scuttled across the room and disappeared behind the wainscoting.
The cat settled back on his haunches and regarded the two humans brightly.
‘That bloody sodding cat!’Jilly scrambled to her feet and aimed a hysterical kick at it.
Missed me by a mile. He moved only slightly as the nylon-clad foot swished past him.
‘And he’s laughing at us!’ Jilly shrieked. ‘Look at him—he’s laughing at us!’ She looked around wildly. ‘Where are my shoes? I’m going to put them on and stamp over him in my high heels!’
‘This is too much!’ Rufus stamped across the office and flung open the door.
‘TOTTIE!’ he bellowed. ‘TOTTIE, COME HERE AND GET THIS BLOODY CAT!’
‘Couldn’t you have waited a minute?’ Jilly turned her fury on him as she tried to pull her apparel back into a state resembling respectability.
Rufus looked at her blankly for a moment, then down at himself and hastily began to repair his own inadequacies as footsteps began pounding up the stairs.
Please adjust your dress before leaving. Heh-heh-heh.
‘It’s all right.’ Woody appeared in the doorway. ‘I’ll get rid of him for you.’
‘No, you won’t!’ Tottie was right behind Woody. She pushed him aside and dashed across the room to scoop Monty into her arms. ‘What’s he done now to get everyone upset?’
‘He brought in another mouse,’ Rufus said tightly. ‘This one was alive. It … it startled Ms Zanna.’
‘It ran over my face,’ Jilly said bitterly. ‘Right across my face.’
‘Really?’ Tottie’s eyes widened in mild disbelief. ‘How did Monty get a mouse up to your face?’
‘Never mind that now—’ Rufus said quickly.
‘I’m sorry, Rufus,’ Jilly said at the same time. ‘I want to go home and stand under the shower for about an hour. Ring me tomorrow and we can get together and … continue our discussion.’ She gave Monty a venomous look. ‘Without the cat.’
‘Oh dear, she is upset,’ Tottie said, as Jilly’s footsteps clattered angrily down the stairs. ‘Monty, you are a naughty boy.’
‘Just get him out of here!’ Rufus snapped.
‘Let me take care of him,’ Woody growled, reaching out to snatch at the cat. ‘I’ll guarantee he never gives us any more trouble.’
The cat growled back from the safety of Tottie’s arms and slashed out at the clutching hands.
Cursing, Woody leaped back. Long thin ribbons of red welled up and ran down one hand.
‘You sodding bastard!’ he snarled. ‘I’ll get you for that!’
‘You can get out of here, too!’ Rufus was at the end of his patience.
Tottie waited until she heard Woody’s footsteps die away before she went to the door. She smiled over her shoulder at Rufus, but he seemed sunk in a foul mood, glaring down at the carpet darkly.
‘I think I’ll take you back to the house now for your own protection,’ she murmured in Monty’s ear as she carried him down the stairs. ‘No matter how many mice you’ve caught, you haven’t made yourself Mr Popularity around here tonight.’
But I had a good time. Heh-heh-heh.
31
‘Oh, Tottie!’ Miranda seemed flustered as she opened the door. ‘Come in.’ She looked over Tottie’s shoulder. ‘You’re alone?’
‘Except for Monty,’ Tottie pointed out. ‘I’m not sure what he’s been up to, but he’s blotted his copybook good and proper at the Chesterton tonight.’ She added craftily. ‘He’s probably missing Win.’
‘Oh yes, take him through,’ Miranda said abstractedly. She remained in the doorway, looking up and down the street.
‘You expecting someone, dear?’
‘Only Oliver Crump. He’s coming by to pick up his aunt.’
‘Oooh, Win won’t like that,’ Tottie said. The cat growled softly in agreement.
‘It will be a matter of supreme indifference to Win.’ Miranda smiled wanly. ‘In fact, I’d feel better if Win could get angry, or be insulting, or do anything more like his old self. He’s so sweet and eager to please these days that it breaks my heart.’ Miranda stepped back and closed the door.
‘I know what you mean, dear.’ Tottie nodded sagely. ‘It was the same when the children were ill. You begin to wish they’d do something awful, just so you’d know they were getting better.’
‘If that’s the criterion,’ Miranda said drily, ‘then I can tell you Thea is feeling very well.’
‘Oh dear! It’s like that, is it?’ Tottie ‘had no illusions about what she meant. ‘Problems?’
‘Not ours,’ Miranda said. Oliver’s problem—when he arrives.’
‘I thought she had that film job. She’s usually all right when she’s working.’
‘It finished today. She came straight here from the wrap party.’
‘Oh.’ Tottie had the full picture now. ‘And I suppose you were your usual hospitable self?’
‘Too much so, I’m afraid. I didn’t realize—’
‘No one ever does. She’s awfully clever about it. Oh, well, you say Oliver’s on the way—?’
‘He rang when he couldn’t reach her on the set. Some of the crew knew where she’d gone. He’ll be here any minute.’ Miranda sighed. ‘I suppose he’ll be annoyed with me—and rightly so, I’m afraid.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Tottie soothed. ‘I’ll stick around. He won’t create so much if someone else is present.’
‘Oh, Tottie, you’re a darling.’ Miranda smiled warmly. ‘Stay the night—please.’ Suddenly, she found herself limp with relief; a friendly companion by her side to share the burden—that was what she needed. What Win had once been, but now … ‘Win’s—I don’t know. Thea seems to have thrown Win into an odd mood.’
‘Don’t you worry, dear.’ Tottie was gratified. ‘We’ll calm him down again … oh dear!’
‘And so—’ Dame Theodora was on her feet, acting out an elaborate anecdote. Win, semi-reclining on the sofa, was grinning at her with appreciation, egging her on.
‘And so—’ Dame Theodora flourished the sheaf of roses she was using as a prop. ‘She threw the coffee in his face!’
‘Griyte! Griyte!’ The Instrument applauded.
‘You should have seen him. Even with the coffee dripping down his chops, he couldn’t believe it. He’s usually the one to behave badly!’
‘Miykes a chiynge, dunnit?’ The Instrument said.
‘Oh, Win, you are a fool!’ Dame Theodora collapsed back on to her sofa, laughing uproariously, and reached for her drink.
‘But—’ Tottie gave Miranda a worried look and lowered her voice—‘why does he keep using a Cockney accent?’
‘Just wait a minute,’ Miranda answered sotto voce. ‘Win, darling.’ She raised her voice. ‘Here are Tottie and Monty to s
ee you.’
‘Guid! Guid!’ The Instrument switched to Scots. ‘Hullo, ma darrlings.’ He beamed at them with an air of enjoying his own cleverness.
‘He’s been like this since Thea arrived,’ Miranda murmured. ‘I never know what accent will come out next—and she thinks it’s funny. It … it’s beginning to frighten me. Do you think it might be a new symptom? Perhaps he’s heading for a relapse?’
‘I don’t think so, dear.’ Tottie’s tone didn’t ring true; she was worried, too. ‘Before, he didn’t talk at all.’
‘Von’t you haff somesing to drink?’ It was German now; in fact, a line from an all-but-forgotten film. With luck, audiences would have forgotten it completely, but it appeared that vestiges of it remained in The Instrument’s memory.
Shades of Eliza Doolittle! The cat sank down on his haunches and shook his head groggily, recognizing what must be happening. Monty, desperately trying to do what was required of him, was striking out on his own conversationally. He couldn’t be blamed for that; trapped in the alien body for heaven knew how long, he had learned to manage it pretty well, but the voice production was still a problem to him. Scrabbling frantically through The Instrument’s memory, he was catching and throwing out ready-made phrases and tag-lines as he found them, not realizing that they came equipped with accents pertaining to the particular role. Monty had not quite grasped that Winstanley Fortescue should utter words in his own ordinary standard English accent.
‘I think I will have a drink.’ Tottie sounded overcome.
‘Reet, help thasel’ to summat, lass.’ He beamed at her again.
‘Oh dear,’ Tottie said. ‘Madame Rosetti has her work cut out for her.’
‘She’s done wonders so far.’ Miranda poured out a drink for Tottie and, in response to Dame Theodora’s subliminal signal, refreshed that glass. ‘He’s almost flawless in the part now. It’s just when he begins to talk normally that he’s like this. Normally!’ She gave a faintly hysterical laugh.
The Instrument glanced over at her uneasily, as though fearful that he had done something wrong.
‘Everything all right, darling?’ she asked, giving him a reassuring smile.
‘Oh, I say, old gel,’ he drawled. ‘Absolutely spiffin’.’
‘He got it almost right that time,’ Tottie said. ‘At least, he’s making an effort.’
The doorbell pealed sharply. Miranda went to answer it.
‘That will be for me, I fear,’ Dame Theodora said dramatically. ‘The tumbril awaits!’
‘It is a far, far better thing I do—’ The Instrument responded instantly to the cue—‘than I—aaargh!’
Unable to control himself any longer, the cat had taken a severe nip at an ankle.
‘Monty!’ Tottie swooped and gathered him up, retreating with him as Winstanley Fortescue rubbed his ankle and glared at the cat. ‘What’s got into you tonight? I thought you’d be all right over here. I’m sorry, Win. Monty’s been out of sorts all day.’
The Instrument glowered, but thankfully produced no remark. If he would only retreat into brooding silence—and stay there between performances—the situation might be saved. A brooding semi-invalid was understandable; but a Winstanley Fortescue roaming around making inane remarks in a variety of inappropriate accents would simply be making a fool of himself. No matter how well he did on stage, even fewer parts would be offered in future.
Miranda’s voice rang out in the front hall on a higher, more artificial note than she used to intimates. More than one voice answered her; there was a concerted rumble, as of introductions or explanations. She returned with Oliver Crump immediately behind her and a large unknown man following.
‘I knew it was you,’ Dame Theodora said. ‘Every time I’m enjoying myself, you come along and try to spoil it. I see you’ve brought reinforcements. Afraid to face me alone?’
‘This has nothing to do with you, Auntie Thea.’ Oliver Crump glanced at her glass and glanced away again, not prepared to make an issue of it. ‘I’m doing a favour for Rufus, that’s all.’
‘A favour for Rufus? From you?’ Dame Theodora shook her head. ‘Most unlikely.’
‘Nevertheless, Auntie Thea, it’s true. Rufus rang me because he knew I had, er, experience, with certain difficulties and he needed the benefit of my advice on the subject. Naturally, I was most happy to be of help. That’s why I’ve brought Ace along tonight. Rufus asked me to.’
‘Ace?’ Dame Theodora looked over Oliver’s shoulder at the large man looming behind him. ‘Don’t I know you?’
‘Good evening, Dame Theodora.’ The man’s voice was deep and surprisingly pleasant. ‘We met a few years ago when I was doing a job for Mr Crump.’
‘When you were minding him, you mean. I remember.’ Dame Theodora’s eyes lit with delight. ‘There was a rumour going round that some American restaurant chain had put out a contract on Oliver because of the way he reviewed their flagship restaurant—’
‘People in catering have no sense of humour.’ Oliver shuddered. ‘It’s being cooped up in hot kitchens in all weather, with all sorts of dangerous weapons around, I suppose. Their thoughts naturally turn to violence.’
‘You were Oliver’s shadow for about six months,’ Dame Theodora recollected. ‘Until he chickened out and got a job as theatre critic.’
‘It pays better,’ Oliver defended huffily. ‘And there’s less dyspepsia.’
‘For you, perhaps—but not for your victims. Anyway—’ the light in her eyes dimmed—‘there wasn’t any truth in the rumour—you’re still here.’
‘Maybe that’s because I’m a very good minder,’ Ace Barron said. ‘I could show you my references, but I think my best reference is the fact that all my clients are still alive and healthy.’
‘That’s what I told Rufus,’ Oliver said, ‘and it was good enough for him. Ace is going to look after Win for the next couple of weeks.’
‘For as long as necessary,’ Miranda corrected sharply. ‘Rufus isn’t going to fob us off by providing security for a limited time and then depriving Win of it just when he may need it most.’
‘We talked about that,’ Oliver said. ‘But Rufus believes—and I must say, I agree with him—that the incidents have been intended to stop the production, rather than aimed at Win personally. After Serpent in the Heather has opened, there shouldn’t be any more trouble.’
‘Why should anyone want to stop the show from opening?’
‘Because it’s based on a little-known real-life poisoning case which was unsolved—and it presents a solution involving someone not even suspected at the time. That’s always a dangerous thing to do.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Miranda said. ‘Besides, there were no descendants from anyone in that family. The author assured us of that.’
‘I’m afraid the author lied,’ Oliver said. ‘I’ve been doing some research at the Newspaper Library in Colindale and reading up the case in the Edinburgh newspapers of the time. There is every reason to believe that the son, the wife who married again a second time and the American visitor all had subsequent issue. If Rufus wants to follow this up, he can set a research assistant to work on the genealogies concerned.’
‘But why should anybody worry about it after all this time?’ Tottie wanted to know.
‘Ah, but time doesn’t matter,’ Oliver said. ‘Remember—there is no Statute of Limitations on murder.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Dame Theodora said, ‘but all the people directly involved will be dead by this time. Why should their children or great-grandchildren worry about what their ancestors did?’
‘It might have a bearing on their inheritance.’ Oliver looked wise. ‘A murderer isn’t allowed to profit from his or her crime. If they had profited, it’s possible that the inheritance can be taken away from the heirs and redistributed in the light of new knowledge.’
“I wouldn’t like to see anyone try it.’ Dame Theodora was nothing if not practical. ‘It’s also possible that whatever money there once was h
as long since been spent.’
‘It’s an ingenious theory.’ Miranda’s tone implied that Oliver had sat through too many thrillers. ‘But I suspect that any half-competent lawyer could make hash of any attempt to take money away from the heirs of the heirs. Stopping the production isn’t a good enough reason to kill someone.’ No, it might be comforting to think that this wasn’t a personal vendetta against Win, but she didn’t believe it. Someone was out to get him—and she must quietly suggest to Ace Barron that he keep an especially sharp eye on Antoinette.
‘They could get the same effect more easily by burning down the theatre.’ Dame Theodora laughed abruptly. ‘Oh, Oliver, you’re such a fool you quite cheer me up!’
I’ll still bet my munchies on Rufus himself. Clever devil, encouraging Oliver to line up a few remote and amorphous figures upon whom suspicion could be thrown, if necessary. He’d take no bets at all on Rufus’s paying out any fees for a research assistant to waste time rootling through old records in search of phantoms. Rufus would rather throw his money away on the turn of a card.
‘Always glad to amuse you, Auntie Thea.’ Oliver spoke between clenched teeth. ‘It’s nice to be appreciated—even for the wrong reasons.’
‘Anyway, Oliver,’ Miranda said quickly, ‘thank you so much for finding Ace for us. It was so kind of you. And of Rufus.’
And that was another thing. Why was Rufus being so cooperative? Could Ace really be trusted to look after The Instrument properly? A friend of Oliver’s? Paid by Rufus? If it came to the crunch, whose side would he really be on?
‘Glad to be of help.’ Oliver relaxed in the warmth of Miranda’s gratitude. ‘I knew you’d like Ace—and he’d like you.’ He glanced uneasily at Winstanley Fortescue, who had been silently watching the scene. ‘What do you think, Win?’
‘Mr Fortescue—’ Ace advanced on him, hand outstretched. ‘I’m sure we’re going to get along well. Don’t you worry, I’ll look out for you.’
Nine Lives to Murder Page 16
