Old Moorhen's Shredded Sporran: The Belchester Chronicles Book 4 Read online

  Hugo’s sense of outrage at the previously proposed invasion of his privacy while in unsuitable clothing had abated by the time they got to The Copper Kettle, and he was feeling much more his usual self when they were seated, waiting for their ‘premium’ afternoon tea.

  Hugo changed his mind at the last minute, and it was a pot of Assam tea that was first delivered to their table, along with a covered metal dish full of hot, crispy buttered crumpets and soft brown muffins oozing with their generous helping of butter.

  Lady Amanda took the role of ‘mother’ and poured for them both, while Hugo took on the role of ‘chief glutton’ and fairly dived into the metal dish to fill his plate, from which he immediately began to fill his face, allowing a liquid yellow trail to snake from his mouth down his chin.

  ‘Manners!’ his companion chided him, and he reached immediately for a napkin to wipe away the signs of his hasty consumption. ‘Sorry, Manda, couldn’t help myself. It must be all that changing in and out of underwear. I feel absolutely starving.’

  ‘No change there, then, in the presence of comestibles. Hugo, let’s take this opportunity of being away from home and all prying ears to have a quick sum up of what we know of the case so far, and what we should do next.’

  ‘Oh, goody goody gumdrops! A special tea and plotting and planning on a new investigation. I must have died and gone to heaven!’

  ‘You’ll certainly die if you don’t start focusing your mind – whether you’ll go to heaven or not, I wouldn’t care to offer an opinion.’

  ‘OK. You do a précis of what we know so far, then we can work out what to do next.’ This was a cunning move on Hugo’s part, to be allowed to carry on eating, while his companion did all the yacking. That should see him through to when the cakes arrived, and he wasn’t quite so hungry.

  ‘Agreed.’ How she did like the sound of her own voice. ‘We’ve had three bodies. I’ve been thinking about that – the timing, and who they were, and I’ve concluded that they were killed for different reasons.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’ Hugo asked, his mouth full, with the inevitable result that he sprayed his front with crumbs and earned himself a dirty look for his lack of manners again.

  ‘The first one in the suit of armour – Victor Mangel – I actually think he may have been involved in the original robberies, and it was a case of thieves falling out. He was killed so much earlier than the others, and in a different way. Maybe he’d been led astray again, after all these years. He can’t have had much of a life since he retired, being widowed, and having no regular daily activity any more.’

  ‘That’s true. Maybe he was even responsible for whoever has been taking things and knocking people off with such abandon actually gaining access in the first place. Maybe he took on the role of a mole.’

  ‘Well worked out, Hugo. I think you could be on to something there. Maybe he managed to unlock the basement access to the outside world before we went away, so that no breaking and entering was necessary – the entering was already arranged for whoever it was; presumably this Jimmy the Jemmy character.’

  ‘And what about the two casual cleaners, then? What made him kill them?’

  ‘I’m not sure about Florrie Searle, that could be as simple as her overhearing a conversation and having to be silenced, but I think Edie Haire might have been leaving after working late, and caught sight of our thieving chap trying to gain entrance to the property.

  ‘Maybe she even challenged him as to what he was up to, and he just brained her one and threw her in the shrubbery. The police eventually found her bicycle in the stables. If you remember, that was the night that all the sporting trophies were made off with, so he was probably trying to get in to conceal himself, until a convenient time to make away with them arose.’

  ‘I say, you are good, Manda. I wouldn’t have been able to imagine half that stuff,’ Hugo said admiringly, as a huge plate of cakes was put down on the table, and the empty metal muffin dish removed. Hugo’s eyes danced with greed as they surveyed the choice set before him.

  ‘What I suggest we do, to try to winkle out some information, is speak to the other maids who were on duty that day. We can probably get their names and addresses from Beauchamp when he comes to pick us up. Then, tomorrow, we can have a casual chat with the outdoor staff; they were to be on duty for much longer, as the garden always needs a huge cut back and tidy up at this time of the year.

  ‘Then I think we should embark on a spree of going out in the evenings to visit the local pubs and any eating places there are. This Jimmy the Jemmy isn’t a local so, presumably, even if he’s found digs, he’ll go out in the evening, when he’s not on a ‘job’, for food and company.’

  ‘But, we don’t know what he looks like, Manda, and Moody’s not going to want to help us out, is he?’

  ‘No, but I bet that nice Sergeant Glenister would show us a photograph of him from police records, to give us some idea of who we’re looking for, and he could do it on the quiet, so that none of us gets into trouble with old Grumble Guts.’

  ‘Genius!’ exclaimed Hugo, through a mouthful of fondant fancy.

  ‘Really, Hugo, you’ve got crumbs all over my woolly. Please don’t talk with your mouth full.’

  ‘Sorry, Manda,’ replied Hugo so promptly, that he sprayed her again, much to her disgust.

  Beauchamp pulled up outside in the Rolls just at the point that Hugo thought that, if he ate another bite, he would burst. Lady A had been fidgeting for at least the last ten minutes, not having a stomach with the same large capacity as Hugo’s, and not being a greedy-guts to boot, and could have cheered when she saw the familiar vehicle draw to a halt.

  When they were comfortably installed in the rear seat, blankets solicitously thrown over their elderly knees, Beauchamp admitted that he could remember the names of the other maids and, as he had his iPad with him, he could access their addresses as well.

  ‘Excellent fellow, Beauchamp. At least one of us in the household can claim to have joined the twenty-first century,’ crowed Lady A.

  ‘What’s an iPad?’ asked Hugo, a frown wrinkling his forehead even more severely than usual.

  Beryl Sylvester, it turned out, lived in Scraggs Lane, which bordered the public gardens. Her house was found to be a pretty little cottage on the outside, which could do with considerable modernisation on the inside – great for photographically inclined visitors, but pretty miserable to live in.

  ‘Oh, your ladyship!’ she exclaimed with surprise, on opening her front door. ‘Whatever are you doing on my doorstep, and Mr Hugo too?’ – Beauchamp had remained with the car, not only for the sake of security, but because he knew how small those dwellings were on the inside.

  ‘Do come in and let me get you some tea or something,’ blustered Beryl Sylvester, thoroughly discombobulated by this unexpected visit of the aristocracy to her very humble abode.

  ‘No thanks. We’re fine,’ Lady A refused politely, then continued, ‘we’d just like to ask you a few questions about Florrie Searle and Edie Haire, if we may.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything about their deaths,’ Beryl replied then, remembering her manners, invited them to take a seat. ‘You’ll have to take me as you find me,’ she said. ‘This place is no palace, and the landlord hasn’t done any modernisation since before the war. I’ve still got an outside toilet and a tin bath.’

  ‘Give me his name and telephone number and I’ll see what I can do,’ replied Lady A, absently. ‘No, I mean about their characters, and what you saw of them the day they died.’

  ‘Thank you very much your ladyship,’ said Beryl, in reply to Lady A’s offer of intervention on her behalf on the state of the house. ‘This is the most neglected house in the lane, because all the others are privately owned, and not rented, like this one.

  ‘As for Florrie and Edie, they did have one thing in common, although they displayed the trait in completely different ways,’ explained Beryl.

  ‘Go on,’ Lady
A encouraged her, thinking that they might be about to get somewhere.

  ‘They were both terribly nosy. Florrie was probably the worst, though. If Edie wanted to know about something that was going on, she just approached the person who would know, and asked them outright.

  ‘Florrie was more sneaky, and usually learnt things she wasn’t supposed to hear by listening at doors, and eavesdropping whenever she had the opportunity. She also went through people’s private papers and possessions if she got the chance. She was a menace, I thought – always spying.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Beryl, my dear. You’ve been very helpful,’ Lady Amanda praised her occasional cleaner, thinking that what they had just been told rather confirmed her theory that Florrie could have overheard something and been knocked on the head because someone had found out what she had done.

  ‘Should you require regular hours at the Towers, please give Beauchamp a ring and ask him when he could find employment for you,’ she concluded, remembering that she had promised she would recruit more staff to help out the soon-to-be-married couple.

  Beryl’s face lit up with delight at the thought of a regular income, and she pumped Lady Amanda’s hand in genuine gratitude, when she and Hugo took their leave of her.

  Their next port of call was a house in Beggars Run, near the Cat and Footstool public house and, there, in the picturesque black and white cottage, in far better repair than their last destination, they found Madge Moth, surrounded by library books on local history.

  ‘We apologise for disturbing you without warning,’ began Lady A, who found this member of staff stronger of character than Beryl Sylvester and even a little intimidating.

  ‘No problem, your ladyship. I’m just doin’ a bit o’ readin’ on the city’s history,’ replied Madge, indicating her collection of books.

  ‘I can see that, and jolly academic it looks, too. The thing is, we’re here to ask you about Florrie Searle and Edie Haire. Did you know them at all?’

  ‘I was quite friendly with Edie Haire,’ replied Madge, her expression turning doleful. ‘We weren’t what you’d call bosom buddies, but we got on all right. Florrie, I didn’t get on with quite so well. She seemed to find me a little much, and used to scuttle off whenever I hove into view.’

  ‘What can you tell us about their characters?’ asked Hugo, suddenly realising that he hadn’t uttered a word in the last house they had visited.

  ‘They were both a bit of a gossip, if you know what I mean, but whereas Edie was upfront about it, and talked openly about anyone and anything she chose, Florrie was more underhand, whispering in corners about people and stuff; never coming out into the open about anything she knew.’

  ‘That’s very interesting, and fits in with what else we know of the two women’s characters,’ said Lady Amanda. ‘Thank you very much for your time.’

  ‘Are you sure you won’t stay for a cup of tea and a slice of my home-made fruit cake?’ asked Madge hospitably.

  ‘So kind of you, but we’ve just taken afternoon tea,’ Lady A refused politely, while Hugo turned green at the very thought of consuming more, and rushed on ahead outside for some fresh air before he was sick from overeating.

  Chapter Eight

  They had chattered like hyper-active schoolchildren on the way home in the back of the car, believing that they had sorted out motives for all the murders so far. But they would have to clear their minds of such mundane matters this evening, for it had been designated a wedding planning night, where Beauchamp and Enid would put forward their wishes for the big day, and Lady A would add her two-penn’orth – or, perhaps, rather more, they hoped.

  After dinner, they took their coffee in the drawing room so that they didn’t waste any more time at table, and Beauchamp started off, explaining what they had already done.

  ‘We’ve booked St Michael-in-the-Fields for the first Saturday in April, at two o’clock. We’ve been to see the vicar, and booked the bells and the choir. Enid hasn’t found an outfit yet, but there’s plenty of time for that, and it’s only the celebrations afterwards to arrange now, apart from some minor details,’ he informed his listeners.

  ‘I’d forgotten that you could get married in church because Enid’s a widow and you, of course, have never been married before, Beauchamp,’ said Lady Amanda. ‘And as for the nuptials feast,’ she continued, making Enid blush at the very thought of nuptials, ‘I should like you to have that here, as my wedding present to you both.’

  Enid promptly burst into tears of gratitude, that they had been spared this large financial outlay, however, Beauchamp queried, ‘But you’re already having alterations done for our accommodation here. Surely you don’t want to be put to any more expense.’

  ‘I shall be put to whatever expense I choose to. If I want to create you a flat and pay for the celebrations, then I shall do so, and you can either like it or lump it.’

  After a few seconds of stunned silence, they both admitted that they would ‘like it’ very much, and were overwhelmed by her generosity.

  ‘I’ve also spoken to one of our occasional maids, who is going to contact you about working regular hours here. I thought that would be a start in getting some more hands on deck for the amount of sheer hard labour you two have to get through. I’ll see about a footman as soon as I can, then we can see how the land lies. Now, what “minor details” does that leave to be booked?’

  ‘Photographer, car and chauffeur, bouquet, buttonholes; I could go on and on,’ moaned Enid, in despair.

  ‘Well, don’t. Make a list and get some quotes, and we’ll talk again. What about your honeymoon?’

  ‘We were considering a week in the West Country,’ admitted Enid.

  ‘Is that all? But there’s a big, wide world out there.’ Lady A was scandalized, and even Hugo ‘tut-tutted’.

  ‘And the West Country’s the small bit of it that we’d like to visit,’ added Beauchamp.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure? Because, money’s no object, you know.’

  ‘I know, your ladyship, but the most important thing is that we go exactly where we want to, and that happens to be the West Country, in this instance. We’ll have the rest of our lives together to go exploring exotic destinations.’

  ‘And I’m very fond of the books of Daphne du Maurier,’ added Enid, unexpectedly.

  ‘Well I’ll be blowed! I’ve never even looked at them.’ This was one occasion when Enid definitely had the upper hand over her benefactor. ‘But you’re not getting away with it that easily. Hugo and I will get a selection of holiday brochures and see if we can’t possibly tempt you further afield.’

  ‘That will be a waste of time, your ladyship,’ Beauchamp informed her haughtily.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. If we can’t tempt you two, we may decide on a little trip ourselves, just to liven up our lives a little.’

  In hearing this, Hugo made a strange face combining excitement with trepidation. He didn’t trust Manda to choose somewhere where he might feel very uncomfortable, or where a revolution wouldn’t break out the day after they arrived. He’d never really fancied going guerrilla-watching.

  Saturday

  The next morning, Lady Amanda scuttled along to the domestic quarters before breakfast had been served and bearded Beauchamp in his den. She needed the names of the occasional outdoor staff, so that they could plan their day. She’d already decided that they’d do the rounds of the travel agents in the morning to see if she and Hugo couldn’t jazz up the honeymoon destination. In the afternoon they’d return home and carry out their interviews of the outdoor staff.

  ‘You’ll need their addresses, too,’ Beauchamp advised her. ‘Today is Saturday, and the men don’t work weekends.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because it’s not as if we’re preparing for a garden party or fête; there’s no goal date or urgency, so we let them work a five-day week. The job gets done, and the men are happier.

  ‘Now, there are three of them that were working here when
the bodies were found. Have you got a notebook and pen? You have? Right! You want to make a note of Edgar, Edmund, and Edward’s details.’

  ‘That could prove confusing,’ remarked Lady A.

  ‘Just a freak coincidence, your ladyship. Edgar Drake lives at 15 Twixt-the-Ways …’

  ‘Never heard of it. Where the hell is it?’

  ‘I’ll give you precise directions after you’ve got all the necessary information, your ladyship. Edmund Darke lives at,’ – here he consulted his iPad again, he was a thoroughly modern manservant – ‘7, The Butts, and Edward Darle lives at 12A Scribes Street.’

  ‘Well, that’s me totally confused, and I thought I knew Belchester like the back of my hand,’ declared Lady A, scribbling furiously to get down the last address before she forgot it.

  ‘Now, directions.’ Beauchamp cleared his throat and drew his eyebrows together in thought. ‘You know the narrow lane that cuts between the shops on West Street, just a short way from the Market Cross on the right-hand side?’

  Lady Amanda’s face froze in contemplation of the exact location of this lane. ‘Got it! Go on.’

  ‘If you turn down there, that is Twixt-the-Ways itself. If you take the first left off it, where it bears to the right, you’ll find yourself in The Butts, and if you just carry on down it instead of turning off, it runs into Scribes Street. In fact, The Butts joins Twixt-the-Ways and Scribes Street and is really not very long at all. They’re all quite close together, and situated between the public gardens and the rear of the northern parade of shops.’

  ‘Well I never. What a warren it must be round there, and I never knew these little back streets existed. It should be quite an adventure walking round there.’

  ‘I could take you in the Rolls, but it might be a bit difficult negotiating such a large car in the very narrow lanes. I could, however, accompany you on foot, if you like?’

  ‘I really don’t think we shall need a bodyguard, Beauchamp. This is Belchester we’re talking about, not Chicago.’