Murder at the Manse (The Falconer Files Book 5) Page 6

  From below the counter, he reached for a glass of iced mineral water, took a sip to refresh his acting, and resumed the alert but confident pose he had decided was to be his character’s stock-in-trade. A quick glance at the register had confirmed that the man had stated his occupation as ‘professional gambler’, which didn’t surprise him in the least. His stay here would no doubt be some sort of gamble, although at the moment, Jefferson didn’t have the faintest idea what sort. That he was up to something not on the agenda, he was sure – absolutely sure. He had a feeling in his monocle, which dangled from a fairly wide black velvet ribbon attached to his lapel by a small fourteen carat gold pin.

  III

  The next arrivals were suitably over-awed by the establishment, already commenting on the parking service offered by Steve Grieve, and dazzled by the rich appointments of the entrance hall, the whole scene being set off by the arrival of the footmen, back one each side of the stairs.

  The woman was the first to reach the counter – late thirties, Jefferson thought, and perspiring in a somewhat unladylike way. Where she should have glowed, she perspired, and in some unfortunate areas, she positively sweated. She wore only a hint of lipstick and mascara, and wore her copper-coloured wavy hair caught on the top with a velvet band of some kind.

  Her husband followed in her wake, tugging two enormous suitcases, and muttering as he dragged. ‘It’s only a bloody weekend, Sue. Why have you brought everything in your wardrobe? I expect to hear the kitchen sink clank inside one of these any moment now.’

  ‘Don’t fuss so,’ she instructed in a low hiss. She then turned on Jefferson Grammaticus one of the most devastating smiles he had seen in a very long time. It positively lit up what had appeared, at first glance, to be a fairly ordinary countenance, with only a small crowning of the nose and upper cheeks with light freckles, to distinguish it from any of thousands of other female faces.

  Dear Lord, she was exquisite, and he really hoped that the man that accompanied her was aware of what a rare jewel he possessed, for she had a face that, if it would not quite launch a thousand ships, would happily get nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine into the water without too much difficulty.

  This last thought hit him as he noticed a slightly chipped front tooth in her smile, and realised that there was always a serpent in Eden, and nothing was ever really as perfect as it appeared at first glance. For a moment, he cursed his observational powers, realising that those other nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine men launching ships would never have noticed such a minuscule imperfection, and would forever hold her memory dear.

  ‘Good afternoon. We’re the Veedes,’ she introduced them, and Jefferson had to fight to stop himself from wincing. No doubt the other nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine men, like he just had, would certainly have noticed her broad Black Country accent, which was echoed by her husband, who identified them individually as Lewis and Suzanne, ‘But we prefer Lew and Sue – more friendly, loike. ( Author’s note: I shall not be trying to reproduce their pronunciation, as I shall more than likely end up in a severe sulk, and quite possibly with a stress-induced fainting fit .)

  Lew, usually the quiet one of the couple, was inclined towards loquacity, brought on by the grandeur of their surroundings, explained at length that he was a third-generation master baker with his own business, ably and efficiently assisted by his lovely wife, Sue, and that this was his first break since he had been to an un-leavened and sour-dough symposium several months ago. Sue, he pointed out, unable to stop the flow now that he had got underway, had gone even longer without a break, so they really considered that they had earned a little luxury and rest, and with efficient and trustworthy people manning the barricades back at the business, both in the bakery and in the shop, they had decided that they could at last afford the time.

  How did the man manage to breathe? Though his ears, maybe? Jefferson had switched off when Lew got as far as ‘third-generation master bakers’, and brought himself back into focus, as the baker cleared his throat self-consciously, at the end of the rather long speech he had just undertaken. He really was a man of few words that weren’t closely associated with ‘yeast’ or ‘flour’, and had surprised himself by such a lengthy explanation of their circumstances. He really would have to catch himself on, and not be so over-impressed. This was supposed to be to relax them, not to reduce him to a quivering heap of jelly with a severe inferiority complex, and a substantial hole in his bank balance.

  A couple of minutes later he found himself trotting off behind one of the two liveried men, glad to be rid of the weight of his wife’s luggage. As Sue had gazed first on the two uniformed honeys, Jefferson had seen a look in her eye that he had not seen since a very dear female friend of his, after over twelve months on a strict diet, had viewed a double chocolate fudge dessert with ice-cream and extra-thick double cream.

  Sue Veede was practically drooling, and as she walked away from the counter, he could smell the sex oozing from her pores. Jocelyn and Jerome had better watch themselves: she might be into double helpings!

  As she sashayed behind her husband’s retreating figure, the cases bobbing along behind her in the firm charge of Jerome Freeman, Jefferson cast a glance at the entrance, which was empty, and checked the kitchen, from whence he could hear the beginnings of a ruckus floating on the air. Oh, sod it! What was going on now?

  On the threshold of the kitchen, he got an earful of Chef in full flow. ‘Why Ah ’ave a blerdy cat in ma cuisine? Ge’ the fockin’ theeng outta here. How do Ah cook with a feelthy animal in ma cuisine, hein?’ He stood with a boning knife in his right hand, slowly transferring it to his left, and back again. Dwayne Mortte was crouched out of general sight, behind the side of the large refrigerator, looking terrified.

  ‘What the bloody hell is going on in here? I spoke to you earlier, and said I wanted no more stupid behaviour. What, in the name of Christopher Columbus’ dick, is going on now?’

  It was only after his rather coarse question that Jefferson noticed Mrs Ironmonger sitting quietly in a wheel-backed chair in her black uniform, almost invisible in the steam and gloom of the room. ‘It’s my Perfect Cadence,’ she explained, in quiet, reasonable tones. ‘She wandered out through here to find her way to the garden, which is really terribly intelligent when you come to think about it, because there’s no cat-flap for her convenience. Obviously, I came with her, she not yet being able to manipulate a door handle, and then this Froggie freak started to have a hissy fit.’

  ‘You should have let her out of the window in your room, Mrs Ironmonger, as agreed when I said you could bring your little kitty here in the first place. You know very well that there is a hotel rule forbidding children or pets, and I can’t be seen by guests to be condoning one of my staff flagrantly breaching this rule. It reflects badly, it makes me look a fool, and I won’t be a party to it. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘I’m sure I should have complied with that request, had I not been downstairs doing work that isn’t actually mine, because you have left us understaffed. If you would only fit a cat-flap in my personal window, I should keep my little darling within the confines of my room, and not let her roam the hotel in general to get her exercise.’

  Jefferson would have loved to fit a cat-flap in her ‘personal window’, but he had the idea that they may be thinking of two entirely different actions. ‘I take your point, Mrs Ironmonger, and I shall order the services of a glazier as soon as is humanly possible. As for you, Chef, shut the fuck up, or I’ll fillet you with your own boning knife. I’ve just about had enough of your histrionics for one day. Do I make myself clear? To both of you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Oui.’

  At this point, the bell in reception rang with an impatient ‘ting’, and as Jefferson left to answer it, those in the kitchen considered that they had got off quite lightly. It was only first night nerves, and they had soon made up again, Mrs Ironmonger taking her ‘precious’ to her own room, where kitty was allowed out of the window
. Her furry darling’s way back was via the fire-escape, and she would just have to get used to the route.

  IV

  Returning to the grand entrance hall, he found two couples waiting for him, both pointedly ignoring each other till they had heard a little more about the other, after check-in. The first couple was quite young – probably in the early thirties, and both were dressed in T-shirt and jeans, trainers adorning their feet. Jefferson coughed to draw attention away from the expression of horror that had appeared on his face, crossed his fingers out of sight, and hoped that they didn’t intend to dress that way during their stay here. It would quite ruin the tone of the place. Anyone would think this was a holiday camp!

  The man put out his hand, and introduced them as Bradley and Fiona Baddeley from Hove. (‘Please call the wife “Fudge” – everyone else does.’) Grammaticus briefly wondered if she was merely clumsy, or if this was a genuine pet name for her, while handing them the register to append their details.

  ‘Ah, I see you’re entering the legal profession,’ commented Grammaticus, noting that the man had filled in his occupation as ‘articled clerk’. ‘And what do you do with your time, dear lady?’ he chanced, flashing her one of his ‘you can confide in me’ smiles.

  ‘I work for an AIDS charity,’ she chirped back, totally unaware of how the couple behind them shrank away from them with a moue of disgust. Good grief, there was enough suppressed prejudice in this little gathering to spark a small war!

  ‘I’ve put you in number seven,’ he informed the Baddeleys. ‘It’s the mauve room. If you would care to put yourselves in the capable hands of the footmen, they will carry your bags and escort you to your room, but one moment, before you go. Here, he lifted the in-house telephone, and rang the kitchen, merely muttering, ‘Tea, on the lawn, now,’ before handing them their key. Addressing both couples, he announced that an al fresco afternoon tea would be served outside whenever they were ready, and moved on to the next couple.

  As the last couple to arrive at check-in approached the counter, he was able to note that the woman was a noticeable number of years older than her partner, and was trying her best to beat the flapping wings of time. It was she who took the conversational reins, and introduced them as Madge ( she first!) and Mark Berkeley-Lewis, flashing him an open-mouthed smile that revealed that her top four front teeth were patently false. After such work with cosmetics on the rest of her visage, it was like finding a boil on the Mona Lisa’s nose on close inspection, and Grammaticus was not enchanted.

  A quick glance at the register showed that Mark Berkeley-Lewis had declared himself as in ‘banking’. ‘Clerk!’ was Jefferson’s scathing thought, as he intoned, ‘I’ve put you in number eight, the peach room,’ and turned them over to the recently-returned Freemans.

  At this point, he left reception and made his way over to the office, from whence he returned a couple of minutes later bearing a lectern, with a programme for today’s activities affixed to it, placing it next to the reception counter, in a position where it could be seen before a member of staff had been interrupted, to give out the same information that this offered. It read:

  PROGRAMME FOR CHECK-IN DAY – MURDER/MYSTERY WEEKEND

  Check-in onwards: Afternoon Tea, served on the lawn at the front of the Hotel.

  6.00: Welcome Reception in the Library. Complimentary champagne and cocktails with canapés to be served.

  6.45: Short explanatory talk in the Library to outline the details of the murder mystery planned for tomorrow night.

  7.15: Inspection of costumes for the murder mystery drama, in the Billiards Room.

  8.00: Dinner will be served in the Dining Room. Character booklets can be found by designated places, as per the seating plan displayed on the Dining Room buffet.

  Post-prandial coffee and cognac will be offered in the Drawing Room, at your pleasure.

  Dear Guest,

  You will be afforded the opportunity to select a suitable costume to complement the character part you have been allotted for the murder mystery drama during the course of the evening.

  These will be your responsibility until after the entertainment is over. This will 6.30 pm tomorrow, after Afternoon Tea, which will be available again on the front lawn, and also in the Summer House to the rear of the hotel, overlooking the sublime view of the river and the surrounding countryside.

  Please try to take time, during the day tomorrow, to familiarise yourself with the part you will be playing during the evening, as this will ensure that everyone has as fine a time as it is possible to have.

  Good luck, and have fun!

  Jefferson Grammaticus

  With all guests now accounted for, he took the opportunity to make his way outside to see if anyone had emerged to take tea. He was surprised and pleased to see that the staff had already covered the allotted pair of trestle tables with the snowy white damask cloths he had specified, and that on the cloths, there rested three silver (plated) tea services, along with a plethora of fine china, from which to imbibe the refreshing liquid.

  Large plates of assorted sandwiches also adorned the surface of the cloths, along with several stands with assorted cakes and tarts. That ought to keep the punters busy until it was time for more chow, and a bit of the old free boozy-woozy! Hands clasped in satisfaction behind his back, Jefferson turned back to the hotel and went back inside to have a last-minute inspection of preparations for their first dinner of trading.

  V

  Had Jefferson headed upstairs on his tour of inspection, instead of into the bowels of the ground floor rooms, he would have heard some very interesting comments on not only his person, but on his décor and establishment as well, but he didn’t, so he entirely missed these few gems, unfortunately, unattributed, unless one happened to be a fly on the landing wall.

  ‘Pompous fat prig. He’s so condescending, he ought to stand on a chair to talk to us.’

  ‘He’s just like an old-fashioned Dickensian character, isn’t he? And I think the décor’s just yummy.’

  ‘I hope this is worth all the dosh I’ve shelled out. I don’t fancy being shafted by an over-dressed dandy and a couple of Uncle Toms.’

  ‘Oh, those gorgeous uniforms! If I were here on my own, I’d be after those two like a ferret up a trouserleg.’

  ‘I hope this place isn’t staffed by a bunch of poofs. I don’t fancy having my jollies fondled during the murder!’

  ‘He’ll have to go. I need to do something about this. But what?’

  ‘I’ve got to find some time for us to be alone together.’

  ‘He must be on his own. It won’t work unless he’s on his own, and it has to work.’

  ‘I’m right out of my depth here. How do I always end up being made to feel so uncomfortable?’

  ‘Nobody will ever find out, if I’m really careful and stick to my story.’

  ‘It’s like a tart’s boudoir in here. Who the hell did the interior decorating, Danny la Rue?’

  ‘God, I can’t wait to be alone with my little bunsy-wunsy again.’

  There were enough seething thoughts and emotions within the walls of The Manse to fuel any number of real murder mystery weekends, although at this stage, fortunately for him, Jefferson Grammaticus was totally unaware of how Fate would play games with his carefully laid plans and ambitions, and leave them in ruins about him.

  Chapter Five

  Friday 18th June – into the evening

  I

  Outside, the guests had taken advantage of the weather and the inclusive afternoon tea, and there were now figures dotted here and there, in various individual styles of clothing. Fruity Newberry, it seemed, had now adopted a brightly-coloured, flowing cravat and discarded his previously-worn faux-squire suiting for something a little more suitable for the prevailing weather, his outfit mainly composed of a pair of light-coloured flannel trousers and a cream linen shirt, to offset the brightness of his neck attire. His wife, Teddy, was in some sort of ankle-length afternoon dress in a dazz
ling red and green print, and both of them sat at the tea table with self-satisfied expressions on their faces.

  Fruity was simultaneously admiring the quality of the silver and porcelain, while mentally examining his possible chances of rekindling old flames on the quiet. His heart beat with a slightly greater speed than was usual for him, as he contemplated anticipated pleasures, blending with fond memories of past passion.

  Teddy was just relaxing: glad to be away from the hustle and bustle of the casino and their rather claustrophobic apartment. It was all very well for Fruity to indulge himself in life by being a professional gambler, but it had never offered her any stability. They had never been able to buy a property, because his winnings were mostly wiped out by his losses, and she had never had the luxury of the choice of whether or not to have children. Their somewhat precarious existence simply couldn’t support the risk, and so she had ceased to raise the subject years ago.

  It had always been a definite ‘not’ with Fruity, and she could never have been certain of enough income to feed and clothe a child, let alone leave herself with enough emotional energy to nurture one. She had spent just about all of her time with her husband worried about how they were going to pay the rent at the end of the month, without adding the repayments of a mortgage and the expense of child-rearing entering the equation.

  She was a woman who had had to live in the moment, and for the moment, she was just content to sit here in these beautiful grounds and let the warm breeze ruffle her hair and make playful little waves with the material of her frock. She could stay here for ever: would stay here for ever, if she got the chance, and for one treacherous second, imagined working in this beautiful building; being part of the team that brought this gracious setting to life, having a room of her own, and no more financial nightmares. Well, as her mother would have said, she had made her bed, and now she must lie in it.