Chapter 1
“Fancy coming back with me for the weekend to the paradigm of entitled aristocratic piles?” Alexander Armitage asked his new friend and old colleague, Jeff Morrell.
“So long as you’ll eat fish and chips out of the paper and come into the pub with me to celebrate Queen’s Park’s win over Swansea,” said Jeff. They had been to the game together.
“I don’t know why you think I don’t like fish and chips out of the paper,” said Alexander. “As it happens, I do. And a scoop of scraps and a pickled onion.”
Jeff laughed.
“Just like us plebs,” he said.
“I’m one of the world’s workers too; I just happen to have independent means as well,” said Alexander. “And I am well aware that the ‘scraps’ of broken off fried batter represent the ability for a family of six to dine on enough chips for a family of four by eking it out with what the chip shop would otherwise throw away. I never have scraps when they’re in short supply, I know what they mean to people living on the edge.”
“I grant you that, you aren’t ignorant of how the other half live, like some of the toffs I’ve known,” said Jeff.
“I’d do more, but most are too proud to accept,” said Alexander. “At the same time, I do enjoy my privileged lifestyle. The house belonged to my brother-in-law-to-be’s family, but David is an avant-garde architect and preferred to build a home which looked like a sewerage-pumping station. He leased the house, and the current lessor has sold him back the lease; and I bought the last five years as David plans to give it to Ida and me as a wedding present. I haven’t had a chance to go over it yet, and I thought I’d enjoy your comments on inconvenient draughty barns which would harden my resolve to keep it, because you bring out the contrary in me.”
“Well! At least you are honest about it,” said Jeff. “No Ida this weekend?”
“She’s assisting Sir Brian Cleevey, the eminent archaeologist, who is disinterring some noble Saxon in the wilds of Essex, and it goes towards her degree,” said Alexander. “I wrote ahead to have food in; I am domesticated and I can cook, and if all else fails, the bakery in the village does beef patties and Cornish pasties as well as sausage rolls, and there’s a chippie.”
“Ah, in that case, I accept,” said Jeff. “When are you back on active duty?”
“Another month,” said Alexander. “I keep thinking I’m fit for work, but then, I do a bit too much, and I’m washed up.”
“A belly wound is a serious matter,” said Jeff. “What are you doing to occupy yourself?”
“I’ve joined the Lashbrook Players, an amateur dramatics group,” said Alexander. “I won’t be destroying the dignity of the Yard, because I’ll be in drag under about three tons of makeup as ‘Katisha;’ we’re doing ‘The Mikado.’ The title role is Fred Chaffinch, the station-master, and we know we can blend our voices well, he’s a pal of mine. I’m replacing someone I nicked last year, who used to do the dame roles.”
“Well, I suppose that seems fair. What had he done?”
“Dope smuggling. Actually it tied in with the business I fell into on the cruise, so that is very satisfying.”
“Indeed, filthy slow murderers. We don’t disagree on that.”
“I doubt we actually disagree on many fundamental things, Jeff; but I am glad you now know I’m not on the take.”
“I was a fool, jealous.”
“Maybe, but don’t stop questioning why any copper has more money than seems reasonable. Some of them are on the take.”
A few hours later, the Elizabethan mansion which was Lashbrook House loomed out of the gloaming.
“It is quite a pile,” said Jeff.
“Yes, by Jove; a medieval hall house with Elizabethan wings and later Jacobean twiddly bits, by the look of it,” agreed Alexander. “I’ve passed by outside once or twice but it will be my first time inside.”
He rang the bell, a handle like a stirrup on a massive cloth bell-pull. There was a jangle.
The door opened to a plump woman.
“We don’t want none,” she said, and started to shut the door.
“Mary Fringford! Didn’t you receive my letter?” asked Alexander.
The door-closure paused.
“What, are you the gentleman who bought out the lease?” Mrs. Fringford demanded.
“I am, indeed; and I’m going to be marrying Miss Ida,” said Alexander.
“Well, that’s a different matter!” said Mary Fringford throwing open the door. “I saw two of you, and thought you were from the council, or were salesmen, or some other kind of crook.”
“I apologise, I should have let you know,” said Alexander. “I asked my friend, Mr. Morrell to join me for the weekend to look the place over. It was a bit of an impulse, and if we will put you up we can retire to The Crown in the village….”
“You will do no such thing, Mr. Armitage!” scolded Mary Fringford. “I’ll have a room put up for Mr. Morrell in a brace of shakes, and I laid on plenty of chops, knowing that a man likes his chops, and working on the principle that the meat of any not eaten will go nice in a stew.”
“Ida said you were one in a million, and I see she does not exaggerate,” said Alexander.
“Well, now! I’m sorry there’s no man to bring up your luggage, unless your man will oblige?”
“Oh, Campbell will oblige. He’s batman, valet, chauffeur and general helpmate to me; where have you accommodated him?”
“Well, sir, I set up the dressing room, and I also sorted out the room over the garage which used to be the chief stablehand’s room in times past, the stables being empty now,” said Mary.
“I’ll give him the choice then; though I suspect he’ll take the dressing room as I’m still not fully recovered from a nasty wound I took earlier in the year,” said Alexander. “I see you have a full complement of strap-and-jewel work on the woodwork in the vestibule; any priest’s holes or similar?”
“Oh, a fair share of secret and hidden rooms and spaces,” said Mary. “I came across one unexpected-like only the other day, and it was full of apple cores, and Miss Ida’s drawings.”
“Delightful!” said Alexander. “Not the apple cores, but some of her early work.”
“Aye, she was always talented, not that Mr. David saw it,” said Mary. “Said she should learn to make her work tighter for proper architectural drawings, he did; and look what that got him. That nasty sewerage works of a house and burned down by leaving all the doors unlocked.”
“Poor David,” said Alexander. “I hope I will become ‘Mr. Alexander,’ and become part of the family; David said he’d give us the place for a wedding present.”
“There now! That’s a lovely idea, Mr. Alexander,” said Mary, leading them to the front of the house and down a long gallery. “The rooms open off into rooms with windows on the courtyard,” she said. “Nice and quiet. I’ve put you in the master suite here, and perhaps Mr. Morrell will take the suite next door?”
“Delighted,” murmered Jeff Morrell.
“There now, you look as if you need a bit of feeding up; just leave it to Mary,” said Mary. “My girl, Ruth, will be in tomorrow, to help out. Don’t mind her manner, she’s that on edge after the divorce, but don’t you go thinking she’s a bad girl! Running around after other women he was, and then he murdered that poor old woman and went to jail, so she was able to get a divorce on grounds of his criminality. I warned her he was a bad apple, but no, she would have him; a scarcity of men after the war, o’ course, and him handsome enough, though handsome is as handsome does, I say! And her wanting a father for her little girl, having been deceived, and him willing enough to take on a little cuckoo. And these men who claim to do something in the city, well, unless they own to an honest trade, who knows what they get up to? And what he got up to was defrauding folks, and the one that caught on, he hit her with the fire irons. Fortunate for my Ruth, once she found out he was keeping three other fancy women, and one o’ them he was already married to, so it wasn’t really a divorce, only we say so, on account of her little girl, who’d be illegitimate really if she had been his, not the child of a wicked deceiver. My poor Ruth hasn’t had much luck with men.”
“There are some bad men about,” murmured Alexander, feeling he should say something. “My friend and I are both police inspectors, nothing hidden about our careers.”
“Well, I did hear so, and that you were a gentleman as well, so I must say, I assumed Mr. Morrell would be a colleague of yours,” said Mary. “I’ll have the bed made up for you in no time, Mr. Morrell.” She whirled off.
Alexander looked at Jeff, ruefully.
“I wonder if she has an ‘off’ switch?” he said.
Jeff laughed.
“Well, at least she’s not questioning having police in the house,” he said. “I feel sorry for her daughter.”
“Me too,” said Alexander. “Well, at least we know there are secret rooms; I hope Mary will tell me where they are. I am sure it must be most unnerving to be minding your own business when the wall opens up to reveal the maid carrying a change of linen and catching one unclad.”
“Had it happen?”
“Once, when I was about fourteen and visiting my parents’ friends. I was never so embarrassed in my life!”
“I wager!” said Jeff. “Well, it makes you more human, I have to say.”
“I’m only too human,” said Alexander. “Let’s explore; exploring an old house with secrets makes me feel like a schoolboy.”
They could only explore superficially; there was a distinct lack of electrical wiring, and Alexander was unaccustomed to going around with a candlestick. But the dinner gong sounded, and they exchanged guilty looks, being somewhat dishevelled, and rushed to their rooms to repair appearances to go down to eat. Alexander had no intention of changing for dinner, as Jeff was not likely to be used to such niceties, and Alexander was happy to shed them.
“I hope you’ll not mind a rather bitty meal, rustled up,” said Mary.
“I see you’ve only set the table for two,” said Alexander. “I know it will make hassle for you to suggest that you eat with us tonight, but I wish you will consider yourself part of the family. This is the twentieth century, after all, and we fought the war for the freedoms of all.”
“Well, Mr. Alexander, if you feel that way, I’m happy to oblige, but I don’t like to leave my daughter in the servant’s hall with her little girl.”
“Why, they must join us too,” said Alexander. “I’ve no objection to children at the table. If we were working on a case, I might have to ask to eat privately to discuss it, but this weekend we are footloose and fancy free.”
“Was that to impress me?” asked Jeff, when Mary left.
“No; I think it’s genuinely time to start sweeping aside many of the gulfs of social division,” said Alexander. “If we had a large number of servants I’d not insist on it, because it would make most of them uncomfortable, and I would want someone like a housekeeper keeping a lid on behaviour, as young people tend to get rowdy. But where it’s an old family retainer, why, she’s family.”
“I might have some of you old gentry all wrong,” admitted Jeff. “But the way you say, ‘old man,’ or ‘old boy,’ to me, it’s friendly, not patronising. And some of them are really patronising.”
“Partly, it’s fear, so they use arrogant as armour,” said Alexander. “The war swept away much of the old order. Women over thirty have the vote, there are no more property qualifications for men to vote, and the servant market has declined significantly. Fear of losing privilege makes some people behave worse to try to assert what rights they think they still have. Those of us prepared to work and take our place in this supposed world made for heroes have a better idea of the realities of life. I’m not about to give up the money my ancestors worked hard for, but I can at least direct some of it to make a difference. I’ve been chatting to Miss Betty Thripp, the schoolmistress, and finding out what the village school needs. I’m a great believer in education.”
“Now, that’s practical,” agreed Jeff. “I confess, it is nice to partake in a bit of how the other half live.”
“It’s a lifestyle I don’t want to give up,” said Alexander. “And whilst I don’t have to do so, I don’t see why I should. I enjoy my privilege, and I’m happy to share the good life with my friends.”
“And I like you the better for freely admitting to enjoying it. I hate the hypocrites who pretend to hate their money but still rely on it – the Oxford Socialist types.”
“Lord, yes, I want to strangle the little ticks,” said Alexander. “Ran into one in Tunisia, on the cruise, busy recruiting. Nasty piece of work, he strangled his spy, she was posing as a fortune-teller and extracting secrets from the diplomatic crowd’s silly young offspring.”
“Nasty,” said Jeff.
“I’ll say; Ida found the body, hidden on an archaeological site. Deuced unpleasant.”
“Well, it’s the policeman’s lot; if she can handle that, she’ll make you a good wife.”
“Yes, she’s a remarkable girl. She’ll be joining me here, soon, and we shall warble together for the Lashbrook Players. I’ll take you down the pub at lunch time tomorrow and introduce you around.”
“I don’t mind hefting a bit of scenery or even painting,” said Jeff.
“Oh, good man! I shall take you up on that,” said Alexander.
