Murder in oils 11

 

Chapter 11

 

Mr. Blakecastle of Blakecastle, Fawnby, and Robb, arrived at seven.

“The fog seems to be breaking, at last, but it’s perishing cold out,” he said. “Mr. Henderson, I see a resemblance to Mr. Basil Henderson; Miss Ida; and you’ll be Inspector Armitage?”

“That’s correct,” said Alexander, taking his turn to shake hands.

“Perhaps you’d like to come upstairs to your room,” said Ida.  “If you want a quick bath to warm up, the water is hot.  We are not changing for dinner as it’s an informal fish and chip supper, but I haven’t been able to provide a beach to pretend it is the seaside. I have made a pineapple gateau for afters, however.”

“Dear me, how delightful!” said Mr. Blakecastle, an elderly man who was plainly enchanted by Ida. “I have heard so much about you from your brother, he was very keen to make sure that anything he left you was to be tied up in a trust for your safety, and administered by the firm.”

“Basil was always very good to me,” said Ida.

“Yes, he had time, as of course, he couldn’t work,” said David.

“Oh, dear me, Mr. Henderson, what makes you think that Mr. Basil Henderson did not look upon painting as work?” said Mr. Blakecastle. “I know he put money aside for you as you would not take his board and keep from him.”

“I couldn’t break into what might have remained of his legacy,” said David. “Old Uncle Basil didn’t leave him enough for that after hospital bills, not when it was my pleasure to keep my war-hero brother.”

“Oh, but Mr. Henderson, it wasn’t from his legacy, no, not at all,” said Mr. Blakecastle.  “Mr. Basil Henderson made a sizeable amount on his paintings, not just his museum work, copying old masters for display and curator work. He sold well with his original paintings too, and he invested what he made very wisely indeed.  As he left his entire painting collection to Miss Henderson, she would be well off if she sold one of them a year.”

“What about those of us he painted? Aren’t we entitled to them?” demanded Gloria.

“I believe Mr. Henderson always insisted on giving a gift in exchange for painting other people,” said Mr. Blakecastle, dryly.  “That means a model has been paid and has no claim on the painting.”

“But I didn’t know they would be valuable,” said Gloria. It was perilously close to a whine. “I’d have asked a proper fee if I’d known.”

“Basil asked if you were contented with what he gave you for your time, and you said, ‘yes,’” said Ida. “There’s a good one of Helen with Gloria in the style of Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema there,” she pointed to the wall. “He gifted that one to David.”

“I think I’ll move it to my office, upstairs,” said David. “So I can see Helen every day while I work.  Would it cut down, do you think? Then Gloria could have her half.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Alexander, as Gloria spluttered. “It would destroy the value, and remove the counterpoint to Helen, throwing her air of fragility into relief.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” said David. “Ida, can you see yourself giving Gloria and Anna a picture of themselves?”

“Oh, I expect so,” said Ida. “I will have to sort through them. There’s only one of Anna, and it’s a bit ironic.”

“I’d rather not,” said Anna. “I have seen some of his ironic works.”

“Yes, I don’t suppose Miss Truckle will like the one he did of her, either,” murmured Ida.

Alexander bit back a laugh.

It had been a picture of a gnat with Miss Truckle’s face, in the manner of Fuseli, parodying his most famous work, ‘The Nightmare’ where Ida was sleeping on a day bed and the gnat, hugely out of proportion, was menacing her.

“Run up and take advantage of the hot water,” he said to the solicitor. “Dinner will be arriving soon. We can talk later.”

“Dear me, yes, thank you,” said Mr. Blakecastle, allowing himself to be led, docilely, by Ida. “Are these the fatal stairs?”

“Yes, but do not upset David, I pray you,” said Ida, hurrying him away.

 

Dr Craiggie arrived with the fish boy, just as Mr. Blakecastle, much warmer now, was coming downstairs.  David was explaining to the doctor and Alexander his patent air-ducting system from the back of the big fireplace in the centre of the divide between eating and living area, and how heat was carried under the floorboards around the living space.

Ida had brought a stack of plates and knives and forks.

“I thought we could sit around the fire, and eat out of the paper, but if there are plates, those who prefer them can eat on their laps, or at the table,” she said.

“I will eat at the table,” said David.

“I’ll join you,” said Gloria.

“Dear me, when I was growing up, fish and chips was a very new experience, and we used to sneak out of school, pooling our pennies for what we could afford, and we sat and ate in the dormitory, and burned all the paper afterwards, and opened the windows to disperse the smell,” said Mr. Blakecastle, happily. “How that takes me back! Delightful.” He eased himself into an armchair with a paper of fish and chips, plying salt and vinegar with happy abandon.

“I virtually lived on fish and chips at university,” said Craiggie. “A quick, cheap meal, for those of us not up for the more expensive fare. Often enough sausage and chips, two sausages for a ha’penny, cheaper than a piece of fish.”

“Or fishcakes,” said Alexander. “Fishcakes can be very tasty.”

“Like rissoles,” said Ida. “We used to have rissoles for breakfast a lot, or bubble and squeak, when I was looking after my brothers.”

“I like bubble and squeak,” said Alexander. “You can feed me on it deliberately, not just because it’s cheap.  With a fried egg on top, frilly and crisp at its edges.”

“Oh, fussy about your eggs with military precision, are you, Major Armitage?” said Ida.

“Why, yes, I am, future Mrs. Armitage,” said Alexander. “I demand them sunny side up and not hardened.”

“I shall be on my mettle.  If there are any chips left over, I’ll make them into bubble and squeak for breakfast tomorrow with the cabbage left over from last night,” said Ida.

“If Gloria lets you,” said Anna, with a touch of spite.

“She’ll be too exhausted from socialising to get up,” said Ida. “Especially if I tell her how well she’s looking and that I am sure she’ll be quite back to normal.”

Alexander laughed, and was interested that Anna and Miss Truckle and the doctor joined him in this.

“Dear me, not an entirely happy household?” asked Blakecastle. “Not that a household can be expected to be happy after two sudden deaths... perhaps harmonious would have been a better word.”

“Helen kept all the disparate characters in the house relatively happy and able to rub along tolerably together,” said Ida. “She was a very quiet person, but the lack of her quietude is very loud.”

“What a very profound statement,” said Alexander. “That describes it very well, not that I knew the household as a household, but I can well imagine and understand that from the comments others have made. And there is a lack of quietude at the table.”

David was on his feet.

“Just leave me alone, woman!” he shouted, at Gloria. “You have no idea at all how I feel, so don’t pretend that you do! I will grieve in my own way and I don’t want to effing-well talk about it!”

He picked up his plate of fish and chips and stalked over to join everyone else, dropping into an upright chair and sat, looking awkward.

Ida moved a folding card table over for him.

“Thank you,” said David. “Promise me you won’t read psychology at university; women are unsuited to it and get batty ideas in their heads about understanding people.”

“I want to study Archaeology,” said Ida.

“Good,” said David. “And better than medicine, all your clients will be dead and can’t complain.”

“She could study medicine and go in for forensic pathology,” said Alexander.

“No, thank you, too messy,” said Ida. “I don’t like sick people.”

“You were perfect with Basil,” said David.

“Oh, he wasn’t sick, he was damaged,” said Ida. “It makes a difference.”

“So, what has poor old Basil left?” asked David.

“Well, strictly, I should not read the will without all the beneficiaries present,” said Mr. Blakecastle.  “I thought it might be more appropriate to read it to Mr. and Miss Henderson, Mr. Campbell, Miss Price, and Mr. Armitage in private.”

“Me?” said Alexander, startled.

“More an adjuration than a legacy, though a painting is mentioned,” said Mr. Blakecastle. “I can’t really say any more.”

“Who the hell is Miss Price?” demanded David.

“Her first name is Gladys; I believe she is a maid,” said Mr. Blakecastle.

“Gladys? Now, you are not telling me Basil was messing around with a maid under my nose?” David was getting heated again.

“The legacy is dependent on the young woman’s decision,” said Blakecastle. “There is no suggestion of any... hanky-panky..., Mr. Henderson.”

“I expect he wanted to thank her for her kindness to me,” said Ida.

“I’ll have them come to my study,” said David, standing up.

“Not until after the gateau,” said Ida. “Because I am not going until I’ve had my gateau, and it is impolite to Mr. Blakecastle to drag him off before he has finished eating. That’s why you are so unpopular in the village, you have no manners, and no consideration for anyone but yourself.”

“I... I am not discourteous!” said David. “Don’t you want to know what Basil left you?”

“No, I want to enjoy gateau with visitors,” said Ida. “The gateau will get too warm if left out any longer, but the will is not going to spoil.  So long as I have Basil’s pictures, I don’t really care.”

“I’m with Ida, and vote for gateau first,” said Alexander.

David was sulky, but it did not stop him having a generous portion of gateau.

“This is sublime! Did you send up to town for it?” he asked. “I can’t believe the bakery managed it.”

“I made it, thank you very much, David,” said Ida. “Because I am capable.”

“Well, I’m damned,” said David.

“Mr. Henderson!” said Blakecastle, scandalised.

“What?” said David.

“He doesn’t like you swearing in front of a young lady,” said Alexander.

“I didn’t,” said David. “Anyway, Ida doesn’t mind, do you?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did,” said Ida. “You’d please yourself whatever.”

“The hell with you, I do not effing well act like you say!”

“Mr. Henderson! Your language!” said Blakecastle.

“Stop baiting Ida by letting your language get worse and worse, old man,” said Alexander.

“But I’m not! I don’t swear, I am the mildest tempered of men!” shouted David.

“You shout and swear like a trooper, David,” said Dr. Craiggie. “You always have done, but Helen could always divert you when you started getting into a paddy.”

“A paddy?” David was almost jumping up and down, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Alexander took him by the arm and firmly marched him over to the studio.

“Dr. Craiggie, as one of the medical profession, would probably warn you about your blood pressure; as a policeman, I am going to point out, without prejudice, that you have a foul mouth and a temper which will get you into trouble if you don’t curb it,” he said. “Saying you are a mild mannered man and then all but jumping up and down in rage is hilariously funny to me, but distressing to the old man, and not very pleasant for Ida. Now, calm down, try to think before effing, blinding, damning and so on. It’s not manly, and it’s not attractive.”

“Damn you!” snarled David, taking a swing at Alexander.

He found his arm caught, and swung up behind him in a vice-like grip.

“I could arrest you for that,” said Alexander. “Get a grip on yourself, man! Throwing a tantrum every time you are thwarted is a fool thing to do. I know it’s because you are upset about Helen, and feel lost, but you can’t express your grief by attacking the world.”

“I... I...” and then David was sobbing, great racking sobs. Alexander drew him through into the bedroom, and sat him on the bed, giving him time to let the grief roll off the man.

“Now,” said Alexander, “Go into the bathroom and clean up, and then ring for Gladys to assemble her, Campbell, Ida, Blakecastle, and me in here, with orders to Foster to serve coffee half an hour later in the living room. We’ll get that all over and done with.”

“Thanks. I don’t like you much, but, hell! You’ve been more help than many people I’d think of as friends,” said David.

“We’re going to be brothers, so it behoves me to establish myself as family,” said Alexander.

“I suppose so,” said David.

Alexander left him, and returned to his gateau, which he had not finished.  He was just dealing with the last of the cream, and surreptitiously licking his fingers, when Gladys came in.

“If you please, Mr. Blakecastle, Mr. Armitage, and Miss Ida are to go to the studio,” she said.

Blakecastle picked up his briefcase.

Gloria stood up and moved to join them.

“Sorry, this is only for those mentioned in Basil’s will,” said Alexander.

“Oh, but surely little Ida won’t mind...” Gloria tried.

“Yes, I do,” said Ida.

She went into the studio, where David had set up a table for Blakecastle, and pulled chairs around in front of it, over near the windows. Ida darted into a corner, winding up the phonograph, and putting on a record, and soon the tones of Al Jolson’s voice singing ‘April Showers’ ensured that there would be no eavesdropping.

She smiled brightly at Blakecastle.

“Shall we move on?” she said.

“Er, yes, certainly,” said Blakecastle.  “First, small bequests; to Andrew Campbell, a faithful batman, valet, nurse, and friend, two thousand pounds, for if he wants to set up his own photography shop.”

“Oh, Gawd!” said Campbell. His eyes streamed with tears. “’E used-a tease me about me photography shop, but I never fort...” he turned to Alexander. “But is the offer to be your man still open?”

“If you want it,” said Alexander.

“I’ll put it in the bank,” said Campbell. “Mr. Basil would want to know as how his friend was being looked after proper like. And if that’s me done, I’ll go and tend to Mr. Jolson on the phonograph; we got plenty to keep that predatory hyena from hearing nuffin’.”

“Thank you, Campbell,” said Alexander.

Campbell managed a cheeky grin and went over to the phonograph.

Blakecastle cleared his throat as ‘April Showers’ ended, and ‘Ding-a-ring a ring’ rang out.

“Miss Price,” he said. “To Miss Gladys Price; the choice of one thousand pounds for her good care of my sister Ida, or to be paid fifty pounds a year from a trust to be set up for as long as she stays as Ida’s maid, the residue of the trust to go to her if she leaves Ida’s service through no fault of her own, or Ida should die. The trust is to be administered by the firm of Blakecastle, Fawnby and Robb.”

Gladys gasped.

“Go on!” she said. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a thousand pounds. I’m willing to be Miss Ida’s maid forever.”

“Very well, there will be some papers to sign,” said Blakecastle.  “Next... my goodness, that last line of the song is distinctly questionable.”

“Don’t worry about it, sir, Americans, you know,” said Alexander.

Campbell made a change of artist to the instrumental ‘Livery Stable Blues’ from the Dixieland Jazz Band.

“Basil had terrible taste in music,” sighed David.

“I like it,” said Ida.

“Quiet, both of you and let Mr. Blakecastle do his job,” said Alexander.

“Quite so,” said Mr. Blakecastle.