lies in lashbrook 20

 

Chapter 20

 

Alexander returned with a deposition from Theodore that this was his daughter’s true diary, and that he verified the translation by Inspector Alexander Armitage; Alexander wrote out a transcript in a clear, round hand used to writing reports, and pushed to the back of his mind the line, ‘I copied all the letters in a big round hand,’ from Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘HMS Pinafore.’ He suspected that Irma would have loved to have played ‘the gallant captain’s daughter’ and wondered whether it was improper to hope she had a chance to meet Gilbert and Sullivan in heaven. W.S. Gilbert may have had no very high opinion of his working partner – he once famously said, ‘No-one can have a higher opinion of him than I do, and I think he’s a dirty little beast,’ – but for bringing so much pleasure to so many people, Alexander fervently hoped that in the infinite understanding of the afterlife, they might have reconciled their differences.

Anything rather than dwell on the last, terrified moments of the bright, happy little flapper hoping for a grown-up kiss, which really brought home how young Irma was. Theodore was crying silently, and Alexander, after obtaining his signature, left quietly. He sat in the car fighting off a memory of a ‘tommy’ telling him about a poison gas attack, ‘It’s like being strangulated and drownded both at once, while someone sets fire to your froat.’ Mercifully, Irma was dead before she went into the water, and it would have been quite quick.

He went back to Heywood Hall.

“We don’t need to trap him trying to kill Millie,” he said. “We have cause to apply for a search warrant and nick him.” He showed the diary to Jeff.

“Bollocks! Poor stupid little bint,” said Jeff.

“Too much influence from a bad and shallow mother,” said Alexander. “Well, I don’t suppose we’ll get hold of a magistrate now; it’s almost three and the poor little things will be fainting with exhaustion for having been on duty since ten this morning.  I’ll ring Craiggie and tell him I don’t need him to lie.”

“I never was that comfortable about doing it that way,” said Jeff. “But thinking the diary was destroyed, I didn’t see another way.”

“And it was just her shorthand exercise books,” said Alexander. “Her real diaries, six years of them, hidden inside a teddy bear.”

“Just as well Savin got sentimental,” said Jeff. “Or do you think he suspected?”

“I don’t think he had a clue,” said Alexander. “Well, I’m famished; I’ve had no lunch yet and it’s almost time for afternoon tea.”

“Tunch,” said Jeff. “Well, if a cross between breakfast and lunch is brunch, a cross between lunch and tea must be tunch.”

Alexander laughed, and discovered that Mary had made him chicken sandwiches, with a generous portion of sage and onion stuffing, and a layer of something green to go with it, which Mary later told him, when he congratulated her on a good salad, was young dandelion leaves, chives, and young spinach leaves. Alexander, more used to wilted lettuce in the police canteen, was not about to complain about unconventional salads; he had had similar at his mother’s table, after all. Lady Armitage was happy to use wild foods and anything edible which presented itself. Alexander was also quite familiar with finding edible mushrooms in the right season.

 

The rehearsal was a full dress rehearsal, and Alexander noted with malicious glee that Edgar Thripp remained to hear his aunt sing. The baffled fury of the man when Miss Thripp was able to sing Katisha’s songs with aplomb was delicious.

“Why, Auntie, I thought your voice was wavery,” he said, when the performance finished.

“Oh, I’ve been getting gradually better,” said Miss Thripp. “I even had a gossip in Nancy Thruppence’s salon at lunch time after the inquest. We got beef patties from Squires’ to eat and gossip about it. We had a lovely coze about Vera Banks, as she should be, Tweedie was her husband’s middle name. I’m sorry, Mr. Morrell, but none of us thought that Vera could be the poison pen, not for lack of malice, but because she likes to be in the middle of drama. As like as can be to Vi Savin, in many ways, of course, but without poor Vi’s superficial charm. And we came to the conclusion that it has to be a man.”

“Oh?” said Jeff, obligingly, seeing that she was just waiting for encouragement to go on.

“Well, the writer knows nothing about the village at all,” said Miss Thripp, sitting forward, cheeks flushed with the pleasure of guilty gossiping. “It’s the sort of things a man might conjecture if he was trying to cause trouble, though we couldn’t see why. It’s someone without any real knowledge as Alex said at first... you won’t mind if I call you Alex, will you, dear? You may not have been in my class, but of course, I’ve always known dear Ida.”

“I don’t mind in the least,” said Alexander. “I expect you’d have been continually telling me off, like Fred, for being a nuisance. I had too smart a mouth.”

“I’m sure you were a little hellion,” said Miss Thripp in the tone of indulgence a teacher uses of a prime favourite, even when they are troublesome. “The clever ones always are.”

“So, did you have any favourite suspects?” asked Alexander.

“Oh! No, not really,” said Miss Thripp, flushing again. “Of course, we dissected every one of the menfolk of those of us who were there, just for fun, though of course the killings make it not fun really. But it is a puzzle who would have a reason.”

“Surely you did not include me, Aunt Betty?” asked Edgar, lightly.

“And why not? It was only for fun,” said Miss Thripp. “We decided that you might have a drug habit because of having gone to Oxford,  and were planning to start blackmailing people but I’ve never seen you in a drugged state,” she finished cheerfully. “There’s no fun in taking away the characters of others unless you do so outrageously.”

Maud giggled.

“Yes, Mummy and I decided that it could not really be Daddy, because the idea of him trying to destabilise village society by promoting international communism was a little bit too far fetched. We couldn’t see you involved in communism either, Mr. Thripp,” she added.

“No, I fear Edgar is a trifle too self-centred,” said Miss Thripp.

“You aren’t dabbling with communism, are you, Miss Thripp?” asked Maud.

“Heaven forfend! Apart from their aggressive atheism, which offends me, there are two things about communism which don’t work,” said Miss Thripp.

“What are they?” asked Maud.

“Everything they say, and everything they do,” said Miss Thripp. “Which I will debate any time, but right now I would like to get to the viands that Mr. Armitage has brought.”

“Just waiting for the Braithwaites, and here they are; I thought we could cater for them as well, this time,” said Alexander, as he started unpacking hampers, and waving to the fishmonger and his wife, son, and fosterling. “Oh, Mary has done us proud, ham, pickles, meatloaf, pies, sausage rolls, chicken sandwiches, egg sandwiches, cucumber sandwiches – that’s why she didn’t let me have cucumber at lunch, even the forcing house doesn’t manage to produce many yet – and cheese and pickle sandwiches.  And her own brewing of beer! Excellent.”

“I wish I was as good as Mary Fringford at cooking,” said Polly Chaffinch.

“I’m sure she’d be more than happy to give you a few tips,” said Alexander. “Theodore is hoping for some lessons with her. I’ll miss her cooking when I’m back in a bachelor pad after Easter.”

“Eh, you won’t be,” said Jeff, contemplating the combined joys of a sausage roll with cheese and pickle sandwiches. “I called in to Barrett whilst you slept off your little swimming jaunt, and told him you had been playing hero again and that Dr.  Craiggie recommended another month off.”

“I’ll be porky and bored,” said Alexander, mournfully.

“I thought you were going to take up cycling?” said Jeff, heartlessly. “I think you should sponsor classes in the hall here for village people so Mary can teach more people and get paid for it, and get in a few typewriters to teach shorthand and typing and things.”

“It’s a good idea,” said Alexander. “Though I’m tempted to designate the unused wing at the hall, so equipment can be left out in various places and not have to be housed somewhere between classes. We have enough trouble here with our props and costumes. I’ll see if I can get another Nissan hut as well just for the players. I can’t see many people trailing out to the Hall for a play, though they would for classes.”

“I’ll do a holiday class in painting,” said Ida. “Though if I get anyone like Violet Savin I reserve the right to return their fee and kick them out.”

“Maybe one of you ladies can get a list up in Mrs. Thruppence’s salon to see what classes people might want,” said Alexander. “I confess, having put myself back by this latest stunt, I’m tempted to leave the force and set up as a Private Investigator, because I’d hate to be idle, but as I can afford not to work, I could afford to avoid sordid divorce cases and the like.”

“So, what is this mysterious wound that has you off work?” asked Edgar.

“Oh, there’s no secret about it,” said Alexander. “I set myself up as bait, and two little psychopaths slit open my belly before backup arrived, and I had only managed to render one of them unconscious from where I was tied up. And I have managed to open it up a couple of times since because crooks will recognise me and assume I’m there for them before drawing rather egregious attention to themselves, and it’s left me with a definite weakness.”

“Does that mean we can touch you for the royalties of plays we can’t afford now?” asked Fred.

Alexander laughed.

“Oh, I can manage that,” he said. “And I can keep an eye on David, who doesn’t really live much in the real world.”

“He remarried quickly,” said Polly.

“Don’t misunderstand that,” said Alexander. “He adored Helen, and was totally lost without her. The remarriage is a convenience for both him and Elinor, and they are moderately fond of each other. It sounds lukewarm but it means financial safety for Elinor, and housekeeping safety for David, and they are happy with each other in such roles. David needs someone to remember meal times and dental appointments and Elinor needs a comfortable second half to her life.”

“It sounds very cold and pragmatic, and unromantic,” said Maud.

“David is cold, pragmatic, and unromantic,” said Ida.  “And Elinor is pragmatic enough not to mind.”

“Poor David, he was very good at Arithmetic at school, but he could not write a composition which was much more than a list,” sighed Miss Thripp.  “Unlike Basil, who was a cheeky boy, and who illustrated all his compositions with naughty little satirical drawings.”

“They’re probably worth a small fortune if you kept any,” said Alexander.

“Oh, I asked him once, before he was murdered if he wanted them back,” said Miss Thripp. “Oh! What a bad boy he was! He told me to sell them for all the market could bear, and buy myself a gigolo and go on holiday.  The cheek he had! With that sideways look and twinkling eyes of his.  I put them in a trust vault for Millie, as she’ll need the support, and Edgar has his father’s money.”

The flash of fury in Edgar’s eyes gave him away.

“I’d love to see them, Aunt Betty,” he said. “I’ve never seen an original Basil Henderson.”

“Yes you have, dear,” said Miss Thripp. “Basil painted the sign of the ‘Clene Shepe’ with some very naughty farm hands in the middle distance.”

“I missed them,” said Alexander, ruefully.

“It’s not apparent from street level, and just as well,” said Miss Thripp, severely. “It really does fall within the Act, but as nobody has complained, nobody has done anything about it.”

“I don’t care; I leave my helmet at home when I come to rehearsal,” said Tim Mapp.

“I’m on medical leave,” said Alexander.

“I didn’t hear anything worth following up,” said Jeff. “Seriously? Alex, your brother-in-law was something else.”

“You’ve seen the one he did of me sitting on the barrel of my tank’s gun, dribbling water out of the barrel,” said Alexander. “He was a talented artist and he also had a sense of humour. The world is less for his absence. But at least I have met Ida through his demise, and she is picking up the Henderson family golden brush with her own art.”

“I owe it to Basil,” said Ida. “Here’s to Basil.”

“To Basil!” echoed Alexander. The cast raised their glasses and mugs of Mary’s homebrew fruit beer.

 

The company broke up for the night after eating, with the expectation of a final dress rehearsal on Wednesday afternoon, with an audience of the grammar school boys, who broke up on Wednesday for their very short holiday.

The chorus of girls were a trifle giggly.  Alexander heard Maud mention one Tony Ambridge.

“Watch out for Tony Ambridge,” said Alexander. “I heard he knows how to undo a lady’s....h’rm, upper foundation garment through a dress or jumper.”

Maud squealed and blushed violently.

“Ooh, sir, who told you that?” she asked. Alexander glanced round. Edgar was escorting his aunt out of the door.

“Irma. She was seeing him,” said Alexander, quietly.

Maud put her hands to her mouth.

“You found her diary?” she whispered.

“I’m not going to confirm or deny that,” said Alexander. “But I didn’t want you embarrassed because of a schoolboy trick.”

“I’ll make sure everyone knows, the rotter,” said Maud. “And him so aristocratic!”

“Sometimes those who consider themselves gentlemen are anything but, and are those who interfere with those they do not consider ladies,” said Alexander.

Maud’s face drained.

“It was Edgar Thripp, wasn’t it? Killed Sally and Irma? Irma was obsessed with him, and Sally, she was seeing him, she told me. I never liked him.”

“Don’t you go doing anything about your guesses; and though I hate deceiving parents, don’t go telling your father.”

“I won’t,” said Maud. “He’d manage to do something to get himself killed.”

Alexander nodded to her, tipping his hat to her and her friend in the chorus whose name he thought was Beryl. It was unprofessional to have said anything, but Maud would get upset about having her undergarments undone, rather than treat it, as Irma had, as sport.