Lies in Lashbrook 24

 

Chapter 24

 

Miss Thripp had not, in point of fact, locked her back door when she stumbled out into the village after the cruel beating Edgar had given her. It was unlikely that she ever locked it until she went to bed at night, and not then if Edgar was out. Ida tripped upstairs to Miss Thripp’s bedroom arming herself with an umbrella on her way. She opened every door upstairs, standing back to listen for the sounds of anyone within. She tied a scarf round the handle of the door with brown man’s shoes visible under the bed, pulled it shut, and tied the other end to the bathroom door. If Edgar was there, he might be able to get out, but not without a lot of noise. She might then work on packing without fear of being interrupted. It was not something a man should do; Miss Thripp would be shocked at the idea of a man rifling through her underwear.

Ida discovered that Edgar had had no such niceness of feeling, and had not only rummaged, but emptied out every drawer, searching for money. Ida made a noise of disgust, sorted out what to pack on the bed, and tidied everything else away. Technically, it was interfering with a crime scene, but they knew who they were after. And pilfering was the least charge against Edgar.

 The top of the closet yielded an old fashioned carpet bag which would do admirably for the necessities of life for a visit. Ida swiftly made sure there were a sufficiency of drawers, stockings, and petticoats, and a couple of warm vests in case the weather, so uncertain at this time of year, should prove inclement.  A couple of skirts and blouses to ring the changes, and a coat-dress should be ample, as well as walking shoes, carpet slippers, and a clean nightdress and dressing-gown.

There had been no frantic attempts to escape, so Ida risked undoing the scarf to get Miss Thripp’s toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom, and a couple of towels. That should do.

The men came upstairs after having performed a relatively perfunctory search downstairs, acquiring a picture of Edgar, to send to other police districts. They went into his room, without much expectation of finding much; and indeed, Edgar had stripped most of what he had brought with him.

His shoes, however, yielded a nice clear thumb print.

“If we can match that to the partial thumb print on the tweezers, we shall tie him to the workroom,” said Alexander, pleased. “But now we need to find him.”

“Do you suppose he was bold enough to stay in the abandoned house?” asked Ida.

“This is Edgar Thripp we’re talking about,” scoffed Tim. “Sorry, sirs, but he’s always been a nasty little beast, but a cowardly one. I know he meant our deaths, but I reckon he could guess that people would know where we went, and that meant sooner or later there would be a search party. I don’t think it occurred to him that there was ventilation and he meant us to suffocate, but even if we did not, it delayed pursuit. He knows now he’s wanted on the railway, and he’d have to hide somewhere until the weekly bus into Oxford. And catching that would be fraught with danger of people recognising him. He has all his clothes, I think he would try to thumb a lift into either Oxford or London, and is walking to the main road.”

“It’s a reasonable supposition,” said Alexander. “Tim, if you go with Campbell, and drive into Oxford, to let them take a picture of that portrait, and then on into London, you might even overtake him.”

“It’s worth a try,” said Tim. “Oxford City Police can telegraph the photo to London, but it’s worth going part way and coming back then on the London road.”

 

Alexander was glad to be dropped off back at Heywood Hall with Ida. They had taken a detour to the other end of the village so Ida could give Miss Thripp her valise, to that lady’s heartfelt gratitude. She declared her positive intent to sing Katisha in the full rehearsal on the morrow. Alexander smiled when Ida told him.

“Fred will be pleased,” he said. “Oh no. Someone needs to tell Miss Brinkley.”

“I expect the vicar will,” said Ida. “You need to lie down; you look all in.”

“I’m all in, I’m afraid,” he said. “Ida! When I proposed to you, I was hale and hearty. That damned belly wound and subsequent things is making me feel like an old man. I... I’m ten years older than you, if you want me to release you from the engagement, I will understand.  And I know I will have to leave Heywood Hall, which is essentially yours, but perhaps you’ll let me stay until....”

“Alexander Simon Caleb Frederick Armitage!” Ida put her fists on her slender hips and glared at him. “I love you. I adore you. You are going to marry me, even if I have to mummify you in bandages to get you to the altar, you adorable, overly-noble, idiotic fool!  You are injured. It’s taking a while to heal. I’d love you if you were in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.  I’m not going to put up with such morbid maunderings, do you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Alexander. “I didn’t want you to feel tied by pity for me.”

“Now that is the biggest bunch of baloney I have ever heard,” said Ida. “I don’t pity you; what is there to pity? You are a brave man with too much bravery at times... no, I take that back, you wouldn’t be the same man if you didn’t go into the weir after drowning people, but you have to accept the consequences. And if it takes years for you to heal, it takes years for you to heal, though I’m not sure what the Yard would think.”

“Ida... would you mind if I sent in my resignation and became a private eye?” blurted out Alexander.

“You know, that would be a jolly good idea,” said Ida, taking the wind out of Alexander’s eye.  “Have you been hesitating over suggesting it?”

“Well, yes,” said Alexander. “An inspector of police at Scotland Yard is a respectable man; but a private eye might be seen as a bit... seedy.”

“Oh, pooh,” said Ida. “With Sherlock Holmes, and Hercule Poirot, and now a new hero, a Lord Peter Wimsey, in a new book I’ve been reading, I should think private eyes are becoming quite respectable.”

“Well, if you don’t mind...”

“You should call yourself a consulting detective, to associate yourself with Sherlock Holmes, rather than some sordid gumshoe, sleazing around people’s infidelities,” said Ida.

“Yes, dear,” said Alexander.

That was when the doorbell jangled in a frenzied carillon of cacophony.

Mary answered the door.

“Where is he?” it was Amabel Brinkley. “Where’s Armitage?”

“Mr. Armitage is not well,” said Mary.

Amabel pushed past her, and into the library where Ida had gone to the door.

“You did this!” she screamed. “You slandered my Edgar! Everyone is saying he’s the poison-pen, and a murderer!”

“He is the poison-pen and a murderer,” said Alexander, rising.  “He tried to kill me twice today.”

“You’re lying! Or at least wrong!” cried Amabel. She advanced on Alexander, and managed to rake his face. Fortunately, her nails were cut short as befits an infant teacher,

Ida grabbed her arms.

“My fiancée was hurt this morning by Edgar; I was there, I saw it,” said Ida. “He reopened an old wound.  And then he locked Alex and Tim Mapp and Mr. Campbell into the cellar in the abandoned house where he compiled his poison-pen letters expecting them to suffocate down there.”

“There was a letter to you,” said Alexander. “I was going to make sure it never saw the light of day, but I’m going to tell you that he was not kind. He wanted so much to throw the blame on Miss Thripp that he wrote to you too, and I fancy, because it’s truly spiteful, that he meant every word, because he was only romancing you to be able to hint to you that it was Miss Thripp. I can’t say what he wrote to you, it was foul.”

“I, however, won’t hide the letter I saw when we were taking the evidence to lock it up,” said Ida, grimly. “He called you a silly old maid for thinking that a handsome and personable young man might fancy you. I don’t know who he meant, as I didn’t know you were going out with a handsome and personable young man, since I thought you were going out with Edgar.”

“How dare you!”

“How dare I what?” said Ida. “Tell the truth? He was using you.”

Amabel slapped Ida.

Ida slapped her back, turned her arm up behind her, and frog-marched her out of the front door. She slammed it. Amabel hung on the bell and hammered at the door for several minutes. Ida phoned the rectory.

“Dr.  Brinkley?” she said. “I wish you will come to Heywood Hall and pick up your niece; ask Dr.  Craiggie to drive you and bring a sedative, she is having a breakdown.”  The earpiece quacked in enquiry. “She is upset about Edgar Thripp being a fugitive, and thinks that Alex has somehow made it up. She’s hysterical. And no, I don’t care if it is a party line, she was most intemperate. I think she may need a nursing home.” She listened. “Yes, thank you.” She rang off.

“Poor woman,” said Alexander. “I don’t want to expose what he said, but she needs to appreciate that Edgar was using her.”

“I doubt she will,” said Ida. “Not for a while, anyway. I don’t see what she sees in him, myself, he makes me feel grubby. Well, we shall have to sing without music.”

“Let me put through a call,” said Alexander. He telephoned his father.

“Pater! How are Ruth and Millie?” he asked.

“Fine, and don’t call me Pater,” said Simon Armitage.

“I want a favour,” said Alexander.

“Nothing new,” said Simon “And what’s that, son?”

“I need to borrow a parlour organ, an organist who knows Gilbert and Sullivan, and to have them here by tomorrow at one o’clock,” said Alexander.

There was a long silence.

“I’ll handle it,” said Simon.

“Thanks, dad! You’re the best,” said Alexander. “We have an extra couple of list verses, and an extra more humane Mikado verse.”

“I can handle it,” said Simon.

“You saved the show,” said Alexander. “Our pianist was in love with our murderer.”

“Never helpful,” said Simon. “Can Ruth and Millie come home?”

“No,” said Alexander. “Chummie is still on the loose.”

“Not good,” said Simon.

“Out of my hands,” said Alexander.

The screeching and accusations began again as Alexander rang off, and Alexander heard Tim Mapp’s voice telling Amabel to calm down. The screeching continued.

“I’m not taking this,” said Jeff. “You’re under arrest, my girl, for wasting police time, suspicion of harbouring a fugitive, and suspicion of being an accessory after the fact. Tim, my lad, we need to get back to her cottage and see if she’s hiding Thripp there.”

“Drop me short of it, so I can get round the back,” said Tim. “I was looking forward to dinner with you, too. What a nuisance! I shall have to stay in the police house if I have her in the lock-up.  Miss Brinkley, stop that noise, you sound like one of your mixed infants.”

Tim had the advantage of not having been taught by Amabel Brinkley, who was only a couple of years older than he was, but it still took an act of will not to defer to the rector’s niece.

And then the rector and Dr. Craiggie arrived.

Alexander opened the door.

“Doctors!  Come in and partake of pot luck with us when Jeff and Campbell return; I’m sorry, Tim, another time, you and Maggie. If Miss Brinkley is not harbouring a fugitive, you can probably let her go on her own recognisances tomorrow, and Ida will not press charges of assault.”

“Assault!” cried Dr. Brinkley. “Amabel! Surely not!”

“They are saying that Edgar is the poison-pen and killed those women!” sobbed Amabel.

“Well, yes, and I fear I was praying for advice on how to break it to you when Major Armitage phoned me that you were hysterical,” said Brinkley.  “My dear, I am so sorry, but better to find out now than after marriage and perhaps being with child.”

Jeff firmly manhandled the distraught woman to the car, and the doctors came into the house.

“Dear me, poor Amabel, I hope the police will not have to hold her long,” said Brinkley.

“That depends if she was harbouring a fugitive, and if she can be brought to understand that I am not running some kind of vendetta against Edgar Thripp,” said Alexander. Dr. Brinkley looked at his scratched face, and winced. “If she is harbouring him, and cannot be brought to understand that he is a criminal, it may take going before a magistrate and being censured. And I hope it will not come to that, as she would have to be dismissed as a schoolteacher, as the school cannot have a whiff of scandal, and that would be a shame, since she is a victim too, used and victimised by Thripp.”

“Dear me, yes, indeed,” said Brinkley. “I will arrange for her to go to a nice quiet nursing home until September, so it can all be forgotten. I am sure one of the older girls will take over for a term.”

“Maud Braithwaite,” said Alexander. “I plan to employ her as my secretary, the child is in need of more stimulation than serving fish and chips.”

“Child? She’s not more than a year younger than I am,” said Ida.

“She seems much more of a child,” said Alexander. “Gladys will lick her into shape.”

Ida nodded; she was not jealous of Maud; she was secure in Alexander’s love.