Lies in Lashbrook 22 requested bonus

 

Chapter 22

 

“I feel a fraud, asking for a lift, now I’ve had a rest,” Alexander said to Campbell.

“Jus’ accept that we worry about you, major,” said Campbell, gruffly. “I’ll see you in, then I’ll be back to ’elp young Mapp search that ’ouse. You be’ave yourself.”

“Yes, Campbell,” said Alexander, meekly. He let himself be installed in a wing-back chair in the library in slippers and a dressing gown,  fetched by Campbell, and pyjama bottoms to replace his torn and bloodied trousers. Campbell also covered Alexander’s wounds with Lady Armitage’s comfrey cream, and re-did the dressings with swift gentle efficiency which Alexander appreciated. Alexander found himself wrapped in a rug, with a tot of whisky, a plate of ginger-nuts, and a magazine called ‘The Wizard.’

“Really?” he said to Campbell.

“It’s a boy’s magazine from DC Thomson, so you know it’s quality,” said Campbell. “It’s got some ripping good stories in it – Ruff the Ruthless, he’s an RFC ace, like Mr. Basil, and the Wolf of Kabul, a spy out on the Whodostans. You’ll enjoy it.”

Alexander found himself enjoying the boys’ comic more than he expected, sniggering at the concept of Wilson, who was supposedly born in the eighteenth century but had acquired mastery over his own body, and was involved in derring-do, faking his death and re-inventing himself from time to time; reading about Ruthless Ruff, a bittersweet reminder of his friendship with Basil Henderson, and sniggering at the outrageous spy story set on the northwest frontier of India, or what Campbell referred to as the ‘Whodostans.’

 

 

Alexander jumped at the ring of the telephone, and answered  the extension which was in the library, having finished the magazine, and being in a better frame of mind than he had expected. Perhaps it was Jeff, or Fred, with a telegram regarding a sighting of Thripp.

“Hello?” he said, cautiously.

“Sir? This is Tim Mapp. I do apologise, but I’ve sent Campbell to get you, this is outside my pay grade. I know you’re on sick leave, but you are a Police Inspector, and you can advise me.”

“That sounds very ominous, Tim. Yes, I’ll come. And you’d better not say a word more, I heard at least five more clicks on the party line from those avid for details.”

“Yessir. I mean, nossir,” said Tim.

It was a nuisance that they were on a party line, but that was the way it went.

 

Alexander went up to his room to change into decent trousers and a matching jacket, and put his shoes back on. He returned downstairs, picked up his hat, where he had left it on the coat rack by the front door, and absently plied the clothes brush in the vestibule to deal with the detritus it had picked up when he came off the bike.

“My goodness, I must have looked a fright,” he said to his reflection in the mirror.

The mirror made no comment, but then, Alexander would have worried if it had. He heard the car coming up the drive, and tried to run out and found himself limping rather more than running. He grimaced. Gravel rash was a minor injury but it hurt out of all proportion to its seriousness.

He would loosen up in a day or two, no doubt.  He waved a bandaged hand to Campbell.

“You were right about the comic, I enjoyed it,” he said. “Very far fetched.”

“You say that, Major, you say that,” said Campbell, “But where Ruthless Ruff is concerned, some very strange things happened in the war to aviators. Why, Mr. Basil leaped from a burning plane early in his career, when he was gunner in a Brisfit, and ’is pilot jumped too, and Mr. Basil came through spruce pines with snow on, which broke ’is fall, and landed gentle as gentle in a snowdrift; and ’is pilot landed on an ol’ dead tree which impaled ’im good an’ proper like a vampire wiv a stake frough ’is ’eart. Fair give Mr. Basil a turn when ’e fahnd ’im, I can tell you!”

“Indeed, I imagine so,” said Alexander. “He told the story of another Brisfit which came home and made a perfect three point landing, and pilot and gunner were stone dead, and judging by how cold they were, had been for hours.”

“An’ other weird stories,” said Campbell. “Strewf! You can’t make it up.”[1]

“So, what’s amiss in the house that it’s too hush-hush for the party line?” asked Alexander, getting back to the matter in hand.

“Well, we don’t rightly know, on account o’ the locked door,” said Campbell. “Which Tim didn’t like to break open nowise wivaht aufority, see?”

“Yes, I see,” said Alexander. “Not put on by the kids?”

“Nah, not nowise,” said Campbell. “That’s a proper job, you would’n’ get a lock like vat in vat little bit of an ’ardware store on the main street. I don’ say it’s been put on proper-like, because it ain’t, not nowise, an’ it should’n’ be ’ard to jemmy, but it’s a deadlock. An’ Tim wants your aufority to jemmy it, me ’aving the tools, but ’im ’avin’ the wind up wivaht orders, not bein’ a matter of immediate life an’ deaf.”

“Quite, and some chief constables can be very bluenosed about country coppers taking initiative,” said Alexander.

“Erzackerly,” said Campbell. “I know Lieutenant-Colonel Poulton was a straight guy over fings when Foursquares burned dahn, but you dunno ’ow ’e might be wiv a bobby wivaht a war record.”

Alexander nodded.  There was very much the divide of ‘us’ and ‘them’ between those who had served in the Great War, and those who had not; and moreover, though in theory any man could rise through the force, some of the top brass were stricter with the uniforms than with detectives.

“Well, I was half considering retiring to become a P.I., anyway, so if I get bawled out it doesn’t really matter,” said Alexander. “And as well to not make Jeff Morrell make the decision for the same reason.”

“Jus’ wot I fort, him needin’ the salary and you not,” said Campbell, turning into the overgrown drive of the abandoned house without pause. Alexander ducked instinctively as branches impacted the windscreen. The car had a roof, but the overgrown trees made him feel that way. They scraped overhead.

“Are we in danger of them coming in?” asked Alexander.

“They ain’t big, jus’ noisy,” said Campbell.

Tim was sitting on the front step of the Victorian house, built, Alexander thought, before the railway. It was red brick, and he judged it to have five or six bedrooms, too large really for most of the village people.

It would, however, make an exceptionally good community centre for lessons and as a hobbies and arts centre. But that was for the future.

“Lead on, Macduff, if I may misquote,” he said to Tim.

“It hasn’t been out of scrutiny,” said Tim. “I left Jim here while I went down to the hardware shop to call you. I thought I ought to ask you officially.”

Alexander nodded. He would have been as happy to have come if Jim Campbell had asked him to attend, but it was perhaps as well that Tim was rather proper about protocol. Tim led the way into the house, which was dark and gloomy for the boarded up windows, save where the odd board had been pulled down. The hall was generous in size, with side rooms off either side, and a narrow corridor after going through a green baize door to the nether regions of the house, once occupied by servants. To the side, and under the staircase was another door. It had a remarkably modern looking lock on it.

 “It goes down to the cellar,” said Tim. “There’s a steep and rather creepy stair and another door at the bottom. When I was a kid playing here, we used to dare each other to go down the stairs and knock on the door at the bottom. One time when I did it, the lower door was off the latch and when I knocked, it swung open with a creak. I think I beat any record there may be for climbing stairs to get away.  I suspected Edgar Thripp of having slipped down to open it a little before challenging me.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me; he does seem to have been rather a little beast all round,” said Alexander. “I wonder if he was the Boy Scout who suggested killing someone naked to avoid blood stains on clothes.”

“Matter of fact, I think it was,” said Tim. “If it wasn’t, he was there, and I bet he remembered the idea. Anyway, this door has a lock on it. I thought it would be easiest to take off the hinges.”

“I can get a jemmy into the lock,” said Campbell.

“Go on, then,” said Alexander. “Rather than wholesale destruction of the fittings.”

Campbell made short work of the lock, which did not appear to have been fitted terribly expertly, and the door opened.

“I got my bicycle lantern,” said Tim. “I thought it would be a good idea.”

“Good man,” said Alexander. “I’ll go first so you can say I did any breaking and entering.”

“I’m not scared any more,” protested Tim, but his voice shook.

“You ’old the light for us,” said Campbell. “Don’t worry, we won’t snitch.”

“This is a place which is redolent with memories for you, and not pleasant ones,” said Alexander. “Not so for us, so we’ll go ahead.”

“Thanks,” said Tim, ruefully.

They negotiated the steep stairs, which went down parallel to the staircase above, and Alexander opened the door at the bottom. It did not creak at all.

“Oiled,” said Alexander. “I see a Tilley lamp, here, Campbell, can you see any meths to get it going?”

“Yerse, some ’ere,” said Campbell. “Don’ forget to let the pressure orf of it.”

Alexander had not forgotten, but also checked that there was kerosene in the lamp. Campbell produced matches and got the pre-lighter going, and when it went yellow, Alexander ‘tickled’ the pump until the bright, blue-white light threw every corner into sharp relief; and revealed the poison-pen’s workroom.

“I should have taken fingerprints first,” said Alexander. “But it does help to have some light upon the subject.”

“There’s a notebook here with suggested messages,” said Tim. “I think a handwriting expert could match it.”

“And I’ll dust the mantle of the lamp,” said Alexander. “We have to move the lot of this out. But we’ll do the chairs, the table, there’s a dictionary and I wager he did not bother with gloves down here. Tweezers. Fine, we have about two hours’ work here with fingerprinting; go get my kit from the car, please, Campbell, and then when we’ve done that, you can run and ask for aid from the vicar and Oliver, we’ll lock it all in the crypt.”

 

They worked with grim determination to catalogue any possible finger print; the door proved a good source. Tim was sure none of the local kids would ever come into the cellar.

“I hope there will be a sufficiency of prints in his own home to prove his guilt,” said Tim. “What if he wiped everything before he fled?”

“I wonder if he wiped the chamber-pot,” said Alexander. “It’s of no moment, we’ll have the prints waiting for when he is picked up, and he’s bound to be picked up sooner or later. The telegraph has gone out describing him and asking for him to be detained. I’m inclined to think he’s more likely to go to Oxford than Aylesbury; he knows Oxford, knows how things are done, and can sign up as an academic reader under a false name. We can ask to speak to all new academics, and go through the hotels as well. Or rather, the Oxford city police can do so. Miss Thripp has photos of him to copy. I don’t think he can elude arrest for long.”

“Major? I thought I heard a noise,” said Campbell, cocking his head on one side.

“If any of those dratted kids have come into the house for a necking party, I wager they’ll think we’re ghosts or vampires and will leave quicker than they came,” joked Alexander. “If they peer down the steps, the lamp is going to be casting an eerie blueish glow on the wall through the gap of the door.”

“I wonder if I ought to go up and warn them off,” said Tim. “We don’t really want half the local youths tramping all over the place and gawping.”

“Yes, maybe you should,” said Alexander.

Tim moved towards the door, but suddenly it slammed.

“A draught...” said Alexander.

Outside, a key turned.

“That was not a draught,” said Campbell. “Hey! You kids! We’re the police! Unlock that door!”

There was a rather high pitched male giggle from the other side of the door.

“Now who’s stupid, Mr. Nosy-Parker Armitage?” said Edgar’s voice in a sing-song. “There’s no way out and you’ll die down here.”

He did not trouble to hide the sound of his footsteps on the stairs going up.

 

---

[1] Both stories are documented occurrences from the Great War.

lies in lashbrook 21

 

Chapter 21

 

Jeff set off to the station first thing, dropped off by Campbell.

“Off to the city, sir?” asked Fred. “Seeing Mrs. Savin’s fancy man?”

“Going for a search warrant and warrant for an arrest, Fred,” said Jeff. “I may have to argue a bit, but we can prove it now, or we will be able to, if we find the letter-making stuff.”

“Were them women right about it being a man?” asked Fred.

“I can’t really discuss it,” said Jeff. “I said too much already, only it might disrupt the dress rehearsal if one of the cast is a bit upset.”

“I can’t think that it’s Emily Reckitt,” said Fred. “Whatever people are saying; and Sam, he’s as straight as a die, it’s why he plays a twisty type like Pooh-Bah so well.”

“Don’t try and second guess us, Fred,” said Jeff. “I think Alex has an understudy in hand.”

“It should be my job, but I suppose you can’t be too open,” Fred.

 

Meanwhile, at Heywoods Hall, the telephone rang. Ida answered it.

“Oh, Ida! Is Mr. Armitage there? This is Maud, I need to talk to him about something, but I can’t stay on the phone long, or dad will have my tripes for trimmings.”

“He can cycle down to you and bring us back some nice smoked haddock as well,” said Ida, who went in search of Alexander. As it happened, he was examining the bicycle Campbell had acquired for him.

“Maud called, she wants to talk to you urgently. I said you’d cycle in to the village.”

“I wish you will come with me; I haven’t ridden a bicycle in ages,” said Alexander. “I warned her off a grammar school boy whom Irma described, and she guessed I have the diary. I think Edgar was out of earshot, but I can’t help wondering if he has been talking to her, to find out what was said.”

“Then it’s important to talk to her as soon as possible, in order to tell her to stay away from him,” said Ida.

“I think she realises that, or she wouldn’t phone us,” said Alexander. “Right, I’m going to put my trousers in my socks; it looks ridiculous but better than snagging on the chain. Thank goodness cuffs have gone out.”

“Oh, what a fuss! Women cycle every day with skirts and never snag them,” laughed Ida, leaning over to kiss him.

“I admit that I am but one of the weaker sex,” said Alexander, tucking his trousers into his socks.

Ida sniggered.

“You know I have to do a series of sketches of the cautious sportsman and his adventures with a self-willed bicycle?” she said.

“Cruel artist!” said Alexander. “I hope it isn’t self-willed; I wouldn’t know how to tame it.”

“You rode a bicycle in your youth; it’s like that,” said Ida, heartlessly.

Alexander swallowed hard and mounted up. He wobbled wildly and put his feet down in a hurry.

“Well, it’s the right size for you; Campbell got that right,” said Ida. “And it’s in perfect condition, Sid Smith knows what he’s doing with bicycles.” She put her left foot on the left hand pedal and set off scooting with her right foot crossed behind, swinging it through the gap women’s cycles had in the frame for skirts, once she had reached speed. Alex put one foot on the pedal and pushed off determinedly. He wobbled a few times, and then got his balance. Ida waited at the gate.

“You go first so I can watch if you fall off,” she said.

Alex raised a hand in acknowledgement, wobbled, and put his hand back firmly down.

“I’ll get the hang of it,” he said, firmly, mostly to himself.

 

Alexander was starting to feel quite confident by the time they reached the hump-back bridge over the railway, and sailed over, managing to wave to Fred as he did so, and feeling his belly drop as he went down the other side.  Next was the bridge over the river onto the high street, and Alex started to brake as a dark figure appeared right at the far end of the bridge, where the impromptu path went down to the river path. He was still going too fast to avoid the stick thrust between the spokes of the front wheel, and catapulted over the handlebars, to land painfully on the dirt road. He rolled to take the force out of the landing, and saw the figure start towards him.

Ida’s piercing shriek, “Alex!” saw the dark figure whirl, and descend with more haste than grace down the river bank.  Alex came painfully to his feet.

“NO!” he yelled, as Ida screeched to a halt, leaped off her bike and went after the figure. He managed a limping run, and grabbed her arm.

“He’d kill you in a trice,” he said.

“I think he must have gone over the wall into the abandoned house,” said Ida. “Either that or he’s hunkered down under the bridge.”

“Well, I will go and look,” said Alexander, slithering painfully down the precipitous path. He looked first under the bridge, but nobody was there on the narrow one-time tow-path. There was nobody to be seen on the path past Lover’s Lane, so Ida’s supposition of the abandoned house seemed fair. And frankly, that meant a trail gone cold. That it was Edgar, Alexander had no doubt. Presumably he had listened on the party line to Maud’s telephone call. Alexander managed to scrabble his way back up to the road, leaving blood from the gravel rash on his hands.

“You are a mess,” said Ida. “Better come into the cafe, and call for Craiggie. I don’t want to assume you didn’t pull something”

“There’s a dull ache, but no worse,” said Alexander. “See me sat down then run to the station and tell Fred that if Edgar Thripp tries to leave by train, he’s to be stopped. And if Campbell is there still, having a beer with him, ask him to take my bike in to Sid to be fixed and run me home.”

“I will,” said Ida. “And I’ll ask Emma Squires to get Maud to come to you.”

 

Alexander was shortly sitting with a leg up in the cafe whilst Marion Squires cleaned gravel from one knee and from his hands.

“Took a toss? Looks like a nasty one,” she said.

“It was assisted by someone who put a stick through my wheel,” said Alexander, grimly.  “I think I was very lucky that Ida came with me and frightened off the fellow.”

“There are too many nasty tramps these days,” said Mrs. Squires. “I’ll send Maggie to ask Tim to check the abandoned house to make sure nobody is squatting in it.”

“A wise precaution, but tell him to take someone with him,” said Alexander. “Just in case.”

If Edgar vanished into the abandoned house, it was as well to flush him out. A man could live in there, with the jungle of a garden, fairly indefinitely without a concerted search. Alexander felt sick, he was really noticing the pain now, and the shock. He shivered.

“Come away into our parlour; Craiggie is on his way,” said Mrs. Squires.  She led him into a parlour which smelled of cinnamon and hot sugar from the bakehouse, and installed him in a big soft armchair with a footstool, and wrapped a crocheted rug over him.

Alexander was asleep by the time she placed a cup of tea on an occasional table next to him.

He woke as soon as the door opened, and looked up at Maud.

“Oh, Mr. Armitage! Was it Mr. Thripp who tried to kill you?” she asked. “Mrs. Squires will have it that it was a tramp but...”

“But I think you are right,” said Alexander. “Did he threaten you?”

“No, he came into the shop for a piece of whiting, and he teased me that I was chatting you up last night,” said Maggie. “He was fishing for what we talked about, and I just said that you warned me about a boy you had heard of as a heart-breaker. He said I was a bad girl not to say at the inquest all I knew about Irma, and I said I hadn’t hidden anything, because I didn’t know anything. But... but I think he knew I was nervous. He said he knew I was a special friend of Irma’s because she had asked him to get me a present from her when he was in Oxford the other day.”

“Not that he was in Oxford,” said Alexander. “I think he got out at Shiplake and cycled back to the Savin cottage.”

“He said I should meet him at lunch time in Lovers’ Lane and he would give me the gift from Irma,” said Maud. “That was when I got really scared and phoned you.  It’s Helen who was always Irma’s special friend, not me. Irma was one of those who called me Haddock, but it’s all of a piece of not knowing real things, isn’t it?”

“You are a bright girl,” said Alexander. “I wish your father had let you go to the grammar school.”

“He said he didn’t want me turning into a little snob,” said Maud. “But I am doing the same course as Irma.”

“I’m thinking of retiring from the force; I keep injuring my wound,” said Alexander. “If I set up as a Private Eye, I’d want a secretary when Ida’s at university and one who is sensible enough not to fall in love with me.”

Maud giggled.

“You and Ida are so clearly made for each other,” she said. “I’d have a better chance of meeting someone interesting as your secretary; I’d like to consider it.”

The door opened, and Doctor Craiggie came in.

“You go back home, Maud, and don’t leave the house,” said Alexander. “Doctor, I seem to be a bit of a pest to you.”

“Tell me you haven’t drunk that tea before I give you the all-clear,” rumbled Craiggie.

“I hadn’t even noticed it,” said Alexander, honestly. He undid his waistcoat and shirt for the doctor to examine him.

“There’s a lesion on the scar line, but nothing serious,” said Craiggie, poking around. “I’m inclined to leave it to heal on its own, it’s superficial, not penetrating to the belly cavity. Stay out of trouble. Oh, and you can drink the tea.”

“I think I shall,” said Alexander, doing so. It was stronger than what was served in the cafe and was very welcome.

He was glad when Campbell came to get him, but insisted on limping to the car on his own, to avoid stiffening up.

“Sid says you didn’t ’alf prang your bike,” said Campbell. “’E reckons it’ll be two days before ’e can fix it.”

“I didn’t ask for chummie to try and kill me,” said Alexander. “I want Ida and Gladys to stay home now, until after the arrest.”

“I’ll tell Gladys; you can break it to Miss Ida,” said Campbell. “I told Tim Mapp I’d go back and help him search the abandoned house for the non-existent tramp.”

“Don’t get blasé,” said Alexander, sharply.

“I won’t,” said Campbell. “Chummie is too dangerous.”

 

Ida, having sent Campbell for Alexander, relayed his message to Fred, to stop Edgar.

Fred scratched his head.

“Reckon it might be too late for that; I seen him cycling over the bridge out towards Heywood Hall not ten minutes ago. If he wasn’t going to yours, there’s a turnoff for Shiplake, on the one side, and Knight’s Claydon[1] the other way, where he could catch a train for Aylesbury.”

“You’ll have to telegraph to Oxford and Aylesbury to hold him on suspicion,” said Ida. “I want to send a telegram to Jeff Morrell, and hope to catch him at the Magistrate’s court.”

“You do that right away and I’ll get onto them right after, aye, and to Shiplake and Knight’s Claydon.  They won’t have many through this long after rush hour looking so spiffy,” he added.

 

Ida cycled back to the bakery in time to see Dr.  Craiggie getting into his elderly car.

“How badly has he hurt himself?” she asked, without preamble.

“I ought to plead confidentiality...”

“I’ll be nursing him,” said Ida.

“Fair enough.  He’s torn the skin superficially, but he declares that inside feels normal enough. I let him drink tea because I could feel no oedema, and nor did he cry out when I poked him in the caecum.”

“Really, Dr.  Craiggie? I thought you were poking him in the bakery,” said Ida, much relieved.

“You, young lady, are a bad girl,” said Dr.  Craiggie.

“Thank you,” said Ida. “It was Edgar Thripp who tried to kill him, you know.”

“Really? It is so usually a woman’s crime.”

“Alex thinks he wanted to pin it on his aunt to cover a supposed suicide,” said Ida. “And he’s gone on the lam as they say in films, so I don’t mind ratting him up.”

“I see,” said Craiggie. “Well, well... oh, my goodness, what has happened to Miss Thripp?” he was out of the car again in an instant and moving forward to lend a hand to Miss Thripp who was weaving along the street, blood flowing from her nose and a nasty bruise on her head. Ida dumped her bike and hurried to the other side of her.

“Oh, Doctor! Oh, Ida! Edgar has run mad!” cried Miss Thripp. “He had been out, but he came back into the house like a madman, and went and threw a load of clothes in a valise and he demanded money from me in a terrible  voice! And I asked him what was wrong, and then he called me a silly old bat, and said it was all my fault for leaving my money to Millie so he could not just kill me and inherit. I asked what had happened to his own inheritance, and do you know what? He said he had spent it all!  I said I only had enough for weekly bills and he hit me! And then he hit me again and demanded it all! I don’t understand what has happened, or why he should behave like that.”

“Oh, my poor dear Miss Thripp!” said Ida, leading her into the cafe and signalling for tea. “Alex said it would hit you hard when you found out that Edgar is the poison-pen. He was going to make it look as if it was you, only he didn’t know enough and made that it risible that anyone should think it should be you. He wanted you to be a laughing stock singing and then he would kill you on Saturday night, and leave some kind of suicide note.”

“Oh!” cried Miss Thripp. “He wanted me to write ‘I can’t go on Wednesday’  to the dentist when he foolishly, as I thought, double booked me during rehearsal. But then it would be my hand writing ‘I can’t go on’ as if it were a suicide note.”

“Little beast!” said Ida. “He was trying to promise a present to Maud, and I wager it would have been a silk scarf like Irma and Sally. Oh my!”

Miss Thripp had fainted.

“Poor little body,” said one of the other ladies in the tea room. “I heard what you said about that Edgar Thripp; why don’t Margie and I take Miss Thripp back to ours? She shouldn’t be alone, and you have enough to deal with looking after the Major.”

Ida turned to see Miss Harmon and Miss Goodie.

“Oh! Would you be so good?” she asked.

“Miss Thripp helped us get together,” said Miss Goodie. “She called us both into her office, though we’d grown past school many years since, and she said that God is Love, and if love existed it came through him, and however different it was to usual, if it was mutual, then it was right in His eyes. We’d been dating boys and trying to fight how we felt.”

“Miss Thripp is a remarkable woman,” said Ida, softly.

“We’ll take good care of her,” said Miss Harmon.

---

[1] Steeple Claydon, Middle Claydon, and Botolph Claydon are genuine. I place Knight’s Claydon as a fictional village somewhere in the vicinity, even as Shiplake and Lashbrook are fictional now, being extinct villages.

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.