Old Moorhen's Shredded Sporran: The Belchester Chronicles Book 4 Page 6

  ‘Right, you lot,’ Lady A called them all to order as Beauchamp poured the tea and Enid poured coffee for those who preferred it. ‘That nice Glenister chappie has spilled the beans, so when I’ve passed on what he told me we should be as up to date as that Moody twit.’

  ‘You’re surely not thinking of getting involved in murder yet again?’ asked Hugo, aghast. They’d already found themselves caught up in three incidences of unlawful killing, entirely due to her insatiable curiosity and sheer nosiness.

  ‘But, of course, Hugo. These murders have been carried out actually on my premises. How could I resist the temptation, with everything going on right under my nose?’

  ‘What’s all this about getting involved with murder cases? It sounds most unsuitable and thoroughly unladylike,’ enquired Tabitha, who was not privy to any details of their previous detecting activities.

  ‘Just a little hobby of ours: solving murder cases for the police.’ Lady A used this as a throw-away line, in her efforts to sound cool, and increase her house points for her street-cred tally. All she actually achieved was to induce a case of mild hysterics in her guest, who was absolutely horrified at the thought of her big brother – her now elderly brother – putting himself in dangerous situations, and getting involved with killers.

  ‘Don’t fuss so, Tabby. We haven’t been in that much danger,’ he tried to calm her, but remembering some of the tight corners they’d got themselves into, especially in their last case in Rumdrummond Castle over Burns Night, he knew this to be a lie, and he crossed his fingers childishly, in retrospect.

  ‘That confirms it! So, you have been put in danger by this reckless old bag.’

  ‘Tabby!’ Hugo admonished her in a loud voice.

  ‘You always were a cow at school, and time hasn’t mellowed you one jot,’ Lady A shot back, undoing all the good work that not seeing each other since they had been at school together had wrought.

  ‘That does it! I’m leaving straight after this meal, and I want you to come with me, Hugs!’ she declared, in a haughty manner.

  ‘Not on your life, Tabs. I’m staying put. We never got on like a house on fire, and I’m having a lot of fun living here and getting mixed up in all sorts,’ retorted Hugo, suddenly realising that he had been having the time of his life, despite his half-hearted protests.

  ‘You do as you please. You always were an ungrateful old sod.’ With that, Tabitha shoved a whole half-slice of toast in her mouth, rose, and marched out of the room, mumbling round her edible oral obstruction, ‘And I shan’t be coming back in a hurry. I shall be glad to get away from this mad-house where nobody’s safe, and somebody loses their life every day.’

  ‘I bet you’re covered in crumbs after that little speech,’ Lady A called after her, utterly determined to have the last word, although she was almost certain that the words ‘Up yours!’ floated ethereally on the wind in the distance. But that didn’t matter at all. Hugo had finally seen his sister in her true colours, and he was going to stay on here at Belchester Towers and join in with her latest investigation, which was just about to get underway.

  Utterly unmoved by his sister’s hasty departure, Hugo piped up, ‘Come on, Manda, dish the dirt.’

  With an equal lack of concern for their recently departed guest, Lady A’s face broke into a huge smile of utter smugness, as she began, ‘That lovely DS Glenister brought me completely up to date.

  ‘It seems that the first victim, Victor Mangel, was shot, and Florrie Searle suffered a heavy blow from a blunt instrument. Victor had been dead about a week, so he was definitely put in that suit of armour while we were in Scotland at dear Siobhan’s.

  ‘If that awful sister of yours hadn’t brought those two wild cats into my house we would have eventually noticed the smell on the landing. The fact that the cats managed to topple over the suit of armour merely meant that he was found earlier.

  ‘Florrie Searle was simply bopped over the head, but that definitely happened yesterday morning, and it would seem that the killer probably came from outside – one of the staff noticed that the music room’s French windows were open for a while during the pre-luncheon period, and we know none of us either opened or closed them.’ Three heads nodded in unison in agreement.

  ‘What about that Jemmy fellow that Moody was going on about. Did the young sergeant have anything to say about him?’ Hugo was showing a lively interest; this was more like it, rather than watching every word he said with his sister around.

  ‘He said there have been two more sightings: one in The Witches’ Cauldron, and one in the environs of the cathedral. Apparently Moody went to warn the bishop about this character, and the bish has fair got the wind up. He’s locked up all the silver and valuables, so the cathedral’s without its bling at the moment.’

  It was another French word used in anger that put Lady Amanda into her next tizzy. About mid-morning, she was heading for the music room to collect her E flat clarinet, to have a bit of a blow and get her lip in again – for she was sure to have lost her embouchure since she had last played – when ‘merde’ was yelled in a furious voice that sounded to be Beauchamp’s and to have come from the billiard room.

  She rapidly changed direction and headed for the source of the Gallic anger, thinking that Beauchamp really seemed to be getting in touch with his roots now – as long as he kept doing hers with hair colour, she didn’t mind what he got in touch with. It certainly wouldn’t be his feminine side, now he was contemplating matrimony.

  On entering the large room, she found her manservant leaning against the billiard table with his hands raked through his hair, a look of despair on his face. ‘Whatever’s the matter, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ she asked.

  He merely removed his right hand from his head and pointed at the glass-fronted cabinet where all the family’s trophies and sporting cups had once been stored. ‘They’re gone! All gone!’ he declared, his voice now no more than a croak.

  Lady A’s head swivelled in the appropriate direction with all the stilted movement of an automaton, demonstrating her reluctance to come across more malfeasance. The cupboard was, indeed, absolutely empty. Every trophy and cup that had been won by a family member since the house was built was now no longer on the premises. Someone had definitely had it on their toes with the evidence of the family’s sporting prowess, and she was suddenly overcome with a wave of fury.

  ‘Get that miserable specimen of a policeman in here!’ she barked, her eyes flashing and her fists clenching and unclenching. ‘Oh, and by the way, Hugo’s sister is, I think, this very minute, packing to leave.’ Beauchamp shook his head, as if emerging from a nightmare, and said, ‘Does that mean Plumstead will be leaving, too?’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  ‘Thank God for that! The man’s a right pain in the arse,’ was the unexpectedly coarse reply, and Beauchamp scuttled from the room in search of the inspector, his face now split by a grim grin of satisfaction.

  When that miserable specimen did present himself in the room, he had a nasty smile on his face that indicated some sort of triumph. Before Lady A could open her mouth, he was in there with his own snippet of news.

  ‘I have good news and bad news for you. The good news is that your tricycles have been found.’ Before she had the time to reply, he had added, ‘Unfortunately they were at the bottom of the canal, and I’m afraid they’re disgustingly dirty, and rather the worse for wear.’

  ‘Then I certainly don’t want them back here,’ his opponent informed him in her most uppity voice. ‘When you’ve finished with them, have them sent to a garage to be repaired and cleaned, and make sure they take extra care when cleaning the saddles. One never knows whose bottoms might have been on them in their absence. And now I should like to inform you that there has been yet another robbery.

  ‘All the family’s silver trophies from our sporting past have been stolen. This cabinet was full of them up to yesterday, and now every last one of them is gone. What are you going to do a
bout this serial offending, eh? And these murders? They’re turning into a daily occurrence now. What, exactly, are you doing about it?’ she asked, showing that the boot was now on the other foot, and she’d turned the tables on him very neatly.

  Before he’d had more than a minute or two to bluster, Glenister almost skidded into the room, so fast was he moving, his eyes full of news.

  ‘He’s been sighted again, guv, and actually coming out of the drive to this house,’ he said, triumph in his voice. ‘That’s the third sighting in a few days, so Jimmy “the Jemmy” Aldridge is definitely in our manor, and has been in our manor – house. Geddit? Ha ha!’

  His humour was not appreciated by his superior officer, who merely asked, ‘When?’

  ‘Last night, sir,’ replied the younger man, now in more sober mode.

  ‘Then that must have been when he murdered Edie Haire and stole all the trophies from this room.’

  ‘I thought you had men on duty keeping watch, Inspector.’

  ‘I did,’ the man replied furiously, ‘and I’ll have their guts for garters.’

  ‘Whatever’s the world coming to, when we can’t even rely on our policemen to be on the alert,’ asked Lady A, mischievously.

  ‘Oh, shut up, you old bag!’

  ‘Sir, you said that out loud,’ Glenister advised him.

  ‘Oh, my Gawd!’ Moody fled the room with a hand over his mouth, his face a picture of extreme embarrassment. He’d had no idea he’d actually articulated the thought.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Evergreen, in the potting shed, with a cast-iron trug,’ stated Lady Amanda, inexplicably.

  ‘Pardon?’ queried Hugo, totally confused.

  ‘I’m very bored with this live action version of Cluedo, and I need some new long janes. Mine are in such a state, they won’t see me through the rest of the cold weather this year.’

  ‘Brainwave, Manda. I could do with some more vests and winter drawers, myself. The bottom halves have worn very thin in places, and the top halves seem to have had a visit from a plague of moths.’

  ‘I’ll get Beauchamp to attend to your clothes storage areas to deal with the munching insects, and, this afternoon, we’ll take a trip into Belchester and make a visit to Curt and Pawtly. They always come up with the right quality goods.’

  ‘Can we have afternoon tea in The Copper Kettle? They do the most delicious crumpets and they’ve got Darjeeling.’

  ‘Of course we can, silly Hugo. We’ll have an extra-scrumptious tea to celebrate the departure of your ghastly sister.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about her. She was a bit of a nightmare, wasn’t she? And those awful cats! My poor trews! And she was a bit of a cow to me, too.’

  ‘I must admit to overhearing a couple for conversations between the two of you, and I wanted to go into the room and bloody her nose for her, but I didn’t, because I didn’t want to embarrass you.’

  ‘And she kept calling me “Hugs”. She hasn’t done that since she was in the nursery. Yuk!’

  ‘How galling. But I liked the way you referred to her as ‘Tabby’ a few times; that’s a cat’s name, if ever I heard one, and she’s a prize-winning cat, if ever I saw one. She ought to be registered with the Governing Council of the Cat Fancy: I can’t say her pedigree’s outstanding, but they’d probably accept it, at a push.’

  As the tricycles had not yet been returned from their adventure in the canal, and subsequent incarceration at the police station as evidence, they got Beauchamp to drive them into the city centre in the Rolls.

  He dropped them at the Market Cross, and they walked the short distance up West Street to their store of choice, Hugo sporting a pair of canes. ‘What’s with the sticks, old chap? I thought you were much better with getting around,’ asked his fellow shopper.

  ‘I was, but have you noticed that it’s not just cold at the moment; we’re having quite a bit of damp, too, and that really gets to my old bones. Remember, I’ve got another replacement next month, and we’re nearly finished, but I still get achy bits, and a lot of them won’t be being replaced with titanium ones – thanks for arranging the upgrade, by the way.’

  ‘No problem. Titanium lasts much longer and is less likely to break, so it could save a lot of bother in the long run. Actually, I think I might sort out Grandmama’s cane – the one with the silver dog’s head, when we get back – I’m suffering a bit, myself, and could do with just a little extra support.’

  ‘And I’m going to sort out the old Zimmer with the wheels and brakes, and do my old impression of Stirling Moss.’

  ‘Didn’t I get you a bicycle bell for that, so that you could warn people if you were charging up behind them?’

  ‘You did, and your mother gave me an old-fashioned rubber bulb horn for it, too, so there shouldn’t be any mishaps in the future.’

  By now they were entering the large clothing store that was Curt and Pawtly, and Mr Curt himself – who had a cunningly placed mirror that showed him who had entered when he was at his desk in the back room – came out to greet two of his most important customers.

  Rubbing his hands together, probably because the heating was having a job coping when the door had been opened, but giving a good impression of Uriah Heep being ‘ever so ’umble’, he came forward to shake their hands and enquire of what assistance he could be to them on this bitingly cold day.

  ‘Vests and winter drawers, Mr Curt. Ours can’t quite see us through to the end of this winter, so we’ve come to stock up early for the rest of this one and the next and save ourselves a trip in November.’

  ‘Very sensible of both of you, Lady Amanda. If you would care to accompany me to the first floor in the lift, I’ll show you what we have in stock, although we don’t have quite our full range, this being the end of the season, so to speak.’

  Heavy winter underwear had a small room of its own upstairs at this time of year, and included things like liberty bodices and winter-weight petticoats, bedsocks, nightshirts, pyjamas, and nightcaps, thus alerting Lady A to the fact that Hugo probably wasn’t a stranger to these premises, and this was immediately confirmed by Mr Pawtly, who was behind the counter in the appropriate room.

  ‘Why, good day to you, Mr Hugo, and may I say what a pleasure it is to see you again. You haven’t been in for quite some time, if my memory serves me correctly.’

  ‘You’re quite right. I’ve not suffered from the best of health in recent years, but due to the ministrations of my very good friend here, I’m getting more mobile by the month, and getting back a very good quality of life.’

  ‘Hello, your ladyship,’ carolled Mr Pawtly, leaning over to one side to get a clearer view. ‘I didn’t see you there, screened as you were by Mr Hugo. How lovely to see you again. How may I help you?’

  ‘Winter-weight vests and long drawers,’ explained Hugo, this time, and Mr Pawtly began to pull out drawers from a whole wall of wooden-fronted compartments behind the counter.

  ‘Now, if I remember rightly, your ladyship, you take a forty-four portly in vests, and an extra-large in long janes. Is that correct?’

  ‘Spot on, sir. If I can take just one of each to try on and take with me today, I’ll leave my order with you to be delivered, when you can get it together.’

  ‘Excellent, your ladyship. Here are the garments you require,’ the man said, handing over the two items of underwear to Lady A, who scooted straight into a changing room, calling out to Hugo to hang on a minute before he tried on anything, as she had some special advice for him regarding these garments and the arrangements at Belchester Towers.

  There was a good deal of huffing and puffing, as Lady A shed her outer clothes, and the odd muffled oath, as she got stuck in her petticoat, and blundered around the changing room for a few seconds, blind as a bat and thoroughly imprisoned.

  After a particularly heart-felt ‘Damn and blast’, which no one but her knew involved having put on the new long janes back to front and, thus, having to start all over again, she emerged, a sight
for sore eyes.

  ‘Manda! You must have been given the wrong sizes,’ expostulated Hugo, as his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Lady A had vest sleeves which completely covered her hands, and hung nearly to her knees. The legs of the long janes covered her feet with material to spare, and pulled right up to her armpits.

  ‘I don’t know what sizes you usually buy, Hugo, but this is the way you buy them if you want them to survive the Belchester Towers laundry service. It’s fine for pre-worn clothes, but cruel to brand new ones. They fit perfectly after the first wash, but Beauchamp always washes bed linen, towels, and underwear on sixty degrees, which means that there is, inevitably, a certain amount of shrinkage. I’ve found that this is about right for me. Perhaps Mr Pawtly could do a calculation as to which sizes you should now require.’

  ‘Already done, Mr Hugo. If you’d like to take these into a cubicle, I can assess whether I have worked the sizes out to allow adequately for shrinkage. Into a cubicle with you.’ Mr Pawtly was getting quite playful, with a visit from two of his old customers whose requirements he understood perfectly.

  After a couple of minutes punctuated only by moans and groans, as Hugo’s joints made their disapproval felt about this second exercise in dressing, so soon after the first, Mr Pawtly called in, enquiring if he was ready to come out and show them how he looked.

  ‘No!’ came the reply.

  ‘Why not?’ queried the co-owner of the establishment.

  ‘Come over here, so I can tell you,’ requested Hugo in an embarrassed voice. Mr Pawtly approached the heavy curtain and put his ear to it.

  ‘I can’t come out there in my underwear. There’s a girl out there. I’ve never appeared before a girl in my underwear before in my life, and I don’t intend to start now. It’s most unseemly.’

  ‘Oh. Hugo, you are a shrinking violet. I’m going downstairs now, so give me a minute, and it’ll be all clear for you to come out’ declared Lady A, putting a fist into her mouth to stop the laughter, as she made for the lift, to remove herself from Hugo’s field of coyness.