Murder in oils 12 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 12

 

Campbell put ‘Livery Stable Blues’ back on.

“I likes the way they get the trumpets to neigh,” he said.

Mr. Blakecastle permitted himself an austere smile.

“A talented performance, even if one deplores much of this modern music,” he said. “Next, Mr. Armitage; ‘who is adjured to remember his promise to look out for the interests of my sister, Ida. I’d like you to marry her, but I don’t make any such stipulations, though I think if you meet her, you would suit very well,’ in Mr. Basil Henderson’s own words. I understand congratulations are in order?”

“They are,” said Alexander. “And I’m well-heeled enough to take care of Ida under any circumstances.”

“I could see you were in love with the lady by the teasing banter between you,” said Mr. Blakecastle. “He goes on, ‘I give Alex Armitage the choice of any three of my paintings even if he does not marry Ida, so long as his choices do not coincide with any she wants to keep for herself.’”

“We can argue the toss over that later,” said Alexander. “But I want that portrait of you.”

“And I want the ones he did of you,” said Ida.

“I didn’t see any,” said Alexander.

“They’re watercolour, in his watercolour folio,” said Ida. “One shows you sitting on your tank astride the gun, and it’s a bit rude, because he put water dribbling out of the gun.”

Alexander laughed.

“Authentic Basil,” he said.

“The other is a serious sketch of you in uniform, with that look in your eyes when you’ve got a clue between your teeth,” said Ida.

“Well, I cede those,” said Alexander.

Blakecastle cleared his throat and they gave him their attention.

“‘To Mr. David Henderson, fifty pounds a year from 1917 to the time of my death, from my estate for the trouble and my keep, as he refuses to accept any during my life, and his choice of any  or all of the paintings of Helen Henderson which I have made.’”

“He made others?” said David.

“Any number,” said Ida. “Some with Gloria because they went everywhere together, but some alone. He did one of Gloria as little orphan Annie, which she hates, but it’s good work.”

“She’s no such thing,” said David.

“But she does like to play the ‘poor orphan of the storm taken in by the beneficent Hendersons,’ card,” said Ida.

“And Miss Henderson,” said Blakecastle sternly. “’To my beloved sister, Ida, any paintings not otherwise bequeathed, and hoping there will be no quarrel over those that are, to keep or sell as she sees best. Sell them through Mr. Blakecastle, Ida; he knows how to get the best deal. Also to Ida the residue of my estate from sales of art, and my investment portfolio, to be held in trust until she is five-and-twenty or until the occasion of her marriage to someone Mr. Blakecastle approves of if that should occur in the meantime, the interest to be hers until the trust is wound up.’” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Basil Henderson invested in civil aviation and in automobiles, and the residue stands at around forty seven thousand pounds.”

“I... I find that hard to take in,” said Ida.

“We shall not be marrying in a hurry, so you have time to get used to it,” said Alexander, taking her hand and patting it.

“The interest will be more than I am used to, to be honest,” said Ida.

“Well, it will see you through University in style, so you don’t have to feel that any of the other girls have a heap more than you,” said Alexander.

“Yes, that will be nice,” said Ida.

David was staring in a mix of outrage and chagrin.

“Basil made that much with his daubs?” he whispered, incredulously.

“Hardly ‘daubs,’ Mr. Henderson,” said Mr. Blakecastle. “He was a fine artist, brilliant, even, and his early demise is a loss to the world of art.”

“The hell!” said David. “Surely I should administer it for Ida, as her brother?”

Mr. Blakecastle smiled a thin smile.

“Mr. Basil said you would say that, and he said I was on no account to countenance it, because you would convince yourself that it was an investment to build ugly buildings nobody wanted to live or work in.”

“I’m a very good architect!” cried David.

“You’re a bit avant garde for most people, old man,” said Alexander. “Give me a red-brick manor house with ivy, a priest’s hole, and fading wallpaper every time.”

“Philistine,” said David.

“If you wish,” said Alexander. “I want to keep the painting of the murder, too; I doubt you’d like a picture of Helen, falling, David, but to me, keeping it keeps it in the family, as it should never be public, and reminds me of how I met Ida, and also what a strong and dedicated man Basil was to be able to paint it as he died, as he knew he was dying.  It’s a damned good painting, even if I don’t generally like the style, and it’s a family piece.”

“I see,” said David.  “I... I was going to burn them all because it hurt to much to have them around without Basil.”

“I know,” said Alexander. “But this way, with them stored, you can re-open this space as something else, and move on.”

“Mr. Blakecastle,” said Ida, “I want to make my will right now to leave everything to Alex, and a bequest for Gladys. I want it made out and witnessed before we go to bed, so I don’t wake up dead.”

“But my dear Miss Henderson, your immediate next of kin would be your brother; you cannot suspect him of foul play?”

“No; but someone in this house, or close to Helen,  killed Helen and Basil, and David is now an eligible bachelor again and I don’t want anyone trying to marry him to get their hands on Basil’s money. I hope Gladys and Campbell will keep quiet, but a pack of women will soon wheedle it out of someone one way or another.”

“Very well,” said Blakecastle.  “Perhaps Mr. Armitage will fetch the good Doctor as a witness, and Mr. Campbell for the other....”

 

 

oOoOo

 

 

“So, what are Basil’s daubs going to realise?” asked Gloria with half a sneer.

“I haven’t a clue,” said Ida. “But I made a will just now, making Alexander Armitage my heir, because David hasn’t a clue how to handle money.  He’s wealthy almost by accident but he’d probably manage to waste what Basil left, so it can go to my fiancé.”

“You’re a minor, that cannot be legal!” said Gloria. “All you have should go to your brother!”

“It doesn’t work like that, and it’s a legal will made out by a solicitor,” said Ida. “David has enough to continue to pay your wages, you know.”

“Helen was too soft on you; a sister-in-law should have taken you in hand.”

Ida laughed. It was rather a bitter laugh.

“Helen kept me alive when my idiot brother tried to punish me for having been a fool,” she said. “I can’t see why so many women seem to think David is the answer to a maiden’s prayers, he’s cranky, stubborn, bad-tempered, not as clever as he thinks, and once an idea enters his brain, it would take an entrenching tool to get it out. I love him, but I don’t like him much.”

“I wonder if he knows how you feel about him?” asked Gloria.

“Well, if he doesn’t, he’s deaf as well as daft,” said Ida. “I don’t mince my words, dear Gloria, so never mind the thinly veiled blackmail.”

“I really do not know what you mean,” said Gloria.

“No, sweetie, of course not,” said Ida.

 

oOoOo

 

Campbell awoke Alexander by shaking him, hard.

“Gas, Major! Gas!” he was shouting.

Alexander came to himself fumbling for a gas mask box at his side, which he no longer wore, and swore.

“I’ve opened the winder, an’ here’s Mr. Basil’s gas-mask for you to go check your young lady, and I’ll open all the uvver winders dahn here, an’ check on Glad,” said Campbell.

“Don’t turn on any lights, have you a flashlight?” asked Alexander. “The flash of electricity might set it off exploding as surely as a candle.”

“Yerse, no trouble,” said Campbell. Alexander put on his own flashlight, shrugged into a dressing gown and slippers, and exited his room to run up the stairs. Ida should not be in her room, but she shared a sitting room with Miss Truckle, and Alexander burst through the door. He could hear the escape of gas, and saw that the gas fire was on, but not lit. He turned it off and flung open the window. Ida’s door was open. Alexander pushed it further, and ran his flashlight over the bed. It was unoccupied, and neatly made.

He opened the door to the other bedroom, and went over to Miss Truckle.

“Miss Truckle!” he called, his voice muffled in the mask. He shook her, and she stirred, slightly. Alexander opened her window wide. He took off his mask to take a good breath of fresh air, coughing slightly on the thick fog.

“Miss Truckle!” he called again, and shook her once more. She roused, and screamed a rather strangled scream.

“Good, you’ll live,” said Alexander.

“Mister Armitage! This... this is my bedroom! How dare you? Were you looking for Ida? Engagement does not make intimate relations right!” she managed.

“It was nearly your grave, not your bedroom,” said Alexander. “The gas fire was on but not lit in your sitting-room.”

“Oh! Ida is so feckless! I did not turn it on, but went straight to bed!”

“You can’t blame Ida; I told her to find somewhere else to sleep, and as her room is empty, she took my advice,” said Alexander. “The smell had reached downstairs; coal gas sinks, which is just as well, since Campbell woke up. You owe him your life.”

“Oh, dear!” said Miss Truckle. “But, Ida! I hope she is not sleeping with you?”

“What a very poor opinion you have of me,” said Alexander. “If you were a man, those would be fighting words. And what a poor opinion you have of Ida: it is as well you did not say such things in public, or she might have to sue you for taking away her character.”

“Oh, dear!” said Miss Truckle. “Young people are so lax these days, I feared the allure of a rescuer... one cannot deny that through misunderstandings she has been... well, it is no sort of life for a young girl... Oh, dear!”

“If I was you, I’d say and think no more on the subject,” said Alexander. “If you want to put on your dressing gown and go down, I was going to make a hot drink for everyone disturbed by this. I was going to check on Miss Wandsworth.”

“I will check on Miss Wandsworth,” said Miss Truckle. “I am quite capable of doing so.”

“The smell of the gas is dissipating,” said Alexander. “I will see you, and possibly Miss Wandsworth in a moment.” He went out of the other door, and hurried downstairs. Gladys and Ida were up, Ida in a fetching pair of blue silk pyjamas and gaudy kimono. The kettle was on.

“Ah, good, well done,” said Alexander, setting out mugs.

Miss Truckle and Gloria came down the stairs.

“It goes to prove that Ida is not fit to manage her own affairs, and David should get a power of attorney and have her put away,” said Gloria.

“What nonsense are you talking?” asked Ida, confused.

“Putting on your gas fire, and then letting the flame go out, but not the gas!” cried Gloria. “Why, poor Miss Truckle might have been killed!”

“Can’t blame me; haven’t been in that room tonight,” said Ida.

“What?  Are you so lost to shame as to live in sin with the policeman?” demanded Gloria.

“What a smutty mind, you have, Wandsworth; I may have to talk to David about having you turned off,” said Ida, coldly. “No, I chose to change rooms and give Miss Truckle the sitting room to herself.”

“A better solution than suing her,” said Alexander.

“Well, I did not turn the gas on,” said Miss Truckle.

“Unfortunately, with David’s patent method for the convenience of workmen, I suspect that getting into any room to turn on the gas could be effected by anyone to whom David has been tedious about his access panels,” said Alexander. “Campbell tells me there are ways in from outside, so the family never has to see an engineer, which makes a complete mockery of locking back and front doors at night.”

“Oh, dear!” said Miss Truckle.

“Oh, of course!” said Ida. “I did try to suggest to David that it was not sensible, but he told me not to be a foolish child, as the panels were access for workmen, not for criminals.”

Alexander buried his face in his hands.

“Single minded to a fault,” he said. “Poor David, he can’t imagine a workman being dishonest, or a burglar learning from a workman.”

“Yes, if anyone is incapable of managing their own affairs, it’s David, not me,” said Ida.

“But how did the gas get turned on?” asked Miss Truckle.

“Simple, Miss Truckle,” said Alexander. “Someone turned it on, and made sure Ida’s former bedroom door was open, in order to kill her. Someone who did not care if you lived or died.”

Miss Truckle gave a little shriek, and fainted.

“What is going on down here?” David’s voice preceded his pyjama-clad figure.

“Someone tried to murder Ida; or make her look incompetent,” said Alexander. “I’m inclined to wonder whether it was more likely the latter, with a last minute heroic rescue planned.  But we cannot rule out someone from outside, if Dr Craiggie mentioned her inheritance.”

“But I locked the doors, I always do,” said David.

“And your access panels open from outside,” said Alexander.

“But they are only for access to the utilities,” said David, bewildered.

“A window is only for looking out of, and to let light and air in, but burglars still use them to break into houses,” said Alexander.

“But that would be dishonourable!” said David.

“News for you, my brother,” said Alexander. “Most thieves are. And this house would be a thieves’ paradise with all the knick-knacks lying around, ready to be picked up.  As a policeman, I deplore it.

“Hell!” swore David. “It seems I have been too clever for the levels of honesty of the modern ne’er do well.”

“Indeed; and I am going to take Ida to my mother when the funeral is over, as there are altogether too many potential killers around here,” said Alexander. “Pack, and be ready to pick up your case the moment we get back.”

“Now who’s autocratic?” said David.

“Me,” said Alexander.

“And I don’t think I’m protesting,” said Ida.