Murder in Oils 10 weekend bonus

 

 

Chapter 10

 

“Did you mean it? That you are in love with me?” demanded Ida.

“Did you eavesdrop on my telephone conversation?”

“Of course I did,” said Ida. “I wanted to know what you said, and you didn’t tell me not to. Are you in love or are you just satisfying the solicitor that you are looking after me?”

Alexander pulled her into his arms, and kissed her with a thoroughness which left Ida in no doubt as to his feelings.

“Oh!” said Ida. “I wish I had known you two years ago; why would anyone use opium when they could have kisses?”

“You’re adorable,” said Alexander. “But now I have to handle David with the delicacy and finesse of a man deboning kippers.”

Ida giggled.

“I am sure you will manage,” she said. “You haven’t popped the question.”

“I ought to ask his permission.”

“Ask, anyway.”

“Will you marry me, Ida?”

“Yes!” said Ida.

“We can have a long engagement so you can go to university,” said Alexander.

“Do you mind?”

“No; I want you to be sure, and to have found yourself entirely,” said Alexander. “And if you meet some young man your own age and prefer him I prefer to know before we are married.”

“Nobody has cared for me as tenderly as you except Basil,” said Ida, soberly. “You treat me as a princess, but you still assume I am capable.”

“It’s how Papa treats Mama,” said Alexander.

 

oOoOo

 

 

“David, there’s going to be someone else for dinner, old man,” said Alexander, strolling out to where David was knocking billiards around a billiards table. “Do you want a game?”

“Why not?  Who have you invited?” David collected the balls to re-rack.

“Well, I could scarcely refuse to put up Basil’s solicitor, could I?” said Alexander. “The trouble falls on Ida’s head, and she was willing to open up a guest room. Do the rooms that back onto the servant’s quarters have windows?”

“Of course they do; the servants live on what is essentially a mezzanine as the kitchen is in a kind of half basement. Part of it is under the studio, which is why there’s a balcony-terrace,” said David. “There are rooms for female servants above the housekeeper’s room, just that we only have Gladys because servants are in short supply.  The male servants sleep in rooms with windows under the balcony, all very hygienic.  It was supposed to be a ballroom, but Basil took it over.”

“Oh, that makes perfect sense,” said Alexander. “I should have a proper look around.”

“Do, the design is revolutionary and efficient,” said David, enthusiastically. “All pipes and electrical wiring is inside conduits in the thickness of the walls, and can be accessed by a number of concealed panels, with ladders and crawlways. We don’t have to be disturbed at all by plumbers or electricians, they can go into the crawlways out of sight and get on with it.”

“Fascinating,” said Alexander, neglecting to point out that this made murder much easier too.

“I am a good architect,” said David, smugly. “Now what’s this about Basil’s solicitor? He hasn’t got anything to leave.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said Alexander. “I’d pay a good bit for some of his paintings, and if he has left them to Ida, I probably shall. I gather he intended to do so; and apparently there’s a legacy to Campbell as well. You wouldn’t want to deprive the poor chap of that.”

“No, no of course not, nor any keepsakes he leaves to Ida,” said David. “If he sold a few paintings, it might put her through university, if she is strong enough.”

“If it doesn’t, I have a mind to do so; I want to pay my addresses to her. You were right to make me examine my feelings over why I started using her name; I want to ask her to marry me,” said Alexander.

“I... my dear fellow! This is very sudden.”

“Yes, I know, I am not used to being knocked for six by a woman like this,” said Alexander with a deprecating show of frankness. “And I am aware that you must find her harder to live with, without Helen providing a buffer between two powerful intellects and stubborn natures.”

“I... why, that could be why I find her so difficult,” said David. “You think she is as clever as I am?”

“Oh, the whole family is brainy,” said Alexander. “I think it’s plain that one of you is cleverer than the other two, but by normal standards, Ida is quite brilliant.”

David preened, and Alexander addressed the table to hide the laugh inside that it was not David whom he had meant.

It took a lot of skill to lose, just, to David, but Alexander managed the feat, and David was full of bonhomie. Alexander then opened the note from Dr Craiggie, which said pretty much what the doctor had told Ida, and a rider that he was looking forward to dinner.

Alexander laughed.

“Oh, Dr Craiggie has invited himself to dinner too; his sister is so very middle class, she won’t let him have fish and chips, and when he heard that we have no such bourgeois qualms here he let the fish shop know there’d be an extra place at dinner. Cheeky old man! But I can’t blame him.”

“Indeed!” said David. “I am glad you are not at outs with him over Basil’s... death.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” said Alexander. “Death causes changes to a body, and Campbell had not explained that the symptoms had been whilst Basil was still alive. Under the circumstances, it was not unreasonable, even as he assumed that Helen fell because she had quarrelled with you leading to a moment of carelessness.”

“Old fool,” said David. “Helen is the one person who never quarrels... quarrelled... with me. I... I can’t believe she’s gone! What will I do?”

“You’ll find the strength to carry on for your family,” said Alexander.

“Yes, I suppose so; such as it is, now, and Ida leaving me, too,” said David.

“Perhaps you could find it in you to be kind to Miss Truckle and let her stay until she can find another position,” said Alexander. “I think she has kindly intentions, and she is not as forceful as jolly people like that nurse.”

David shuddered.

“To have a buffer – good word of yours – between me and Gloria too would be useful,” he said.

If he remarried, Alexander was happier to throw Miss Truckle to the wolves than subject the hapless child Cyril to a stepfather like David.

 

oOoOo

 

 

Gloria came down from her room for afternoon tea, limping visibly, and Ida solicitously put a little table by a chaise longue of hideous design of wood tortured into geometric curves, and canvas between the wooden frame.  Alexander had seen more comfortable-looking camp beds for Other Ranks, but perhaps, like the armchairs, looks were deceiving.  Ida provided a comforter to lie on, pillows, and a light shawl ‘not too heavy on your poor legs’ for her, and Gloria certainly enjoyed the attention, if not the level of comfort of the chaise longue. She did look somewhat drawn.

“Miss Wandsworth!” said Alexander. “You were, I believe, worried that you might be blamed for carelessness, but I can assure you that the poison was given to Basil deliberately.”

“I hardly can feel comforted by that,” said Gloria. “People might accuse me of trying to kill him!”

“Oh, not without a good motive, surely?” said Alexander. “After all, the current theory has to be that he was killed because he saw Helen murdered; and Helen was your dear friend.”

“Yes, quite so,” said Gloria. “I... I was hoping to go to the funeral.”

“You could always use Basil’s wheelchair,” said Ida. “It’s been cleaned, after all.”

“I... I don’t need that much aid,” said Gloria. “Perhaps David will lend me the strength of his arm.”

“Not a good idea with the gossip rife in the village,” said Ida. “Admittedly, the village folk think that David is boffing Anna, but you know how they talk.”

“Excuse me, what is this?” asked the nurse.

“Oh, the gossip is that David pushed Helen downstairs, and you poisoned Basil so you could marry David,” said Ida. “Don’t pay any account to it; when I was ill, the story ran that I had been disappointed in love and tried to kill myself. You know how village people are.”

“It’s disgraceful and should not be allowed,” said Anna, in something close to a frightened screech. “It’s iniquitous that a nurse or doctor should have their reputation smirched and their character taken away like that!”

“Murder, unfortunately, entertains the masses, and they love to point fingers at the gentry,” said Alexander.

“But... but you have discovered surely that there was no murder? Helen must have just lost her balance!” said Anna. “I have no motive, I am out of a job. I do not want to marry David, not at all.”

“Good,” said David.

“I’m afraid the murder of Helen left clear marks,” said Alexander. “The implement with which she was hit still had blood on it, which has gone to Scotland Yard, and the bruise from it on her arm as she flung it up defensively is clear, including a faint trace of the pattern on it. But I am standing back until the funerals are over, to avoid causing any more anguish. I will be pleased to offer my arm to you, Miss Wandsworth, at the funeral, as I am known to be a friend of Basil’s.”

“So long as Ida isn’t jealous,” said David.

“Oh, not at all,” said Ida. “I recognise that Alex is chivalrous to all.”

“My dear! Not proper to use his first name,” said Miss Truckle. “Especially not shortened!”

“Yes, it is; he proposed, and I said ‘yes’,” said Ida. 

“Ida! You have not known him long...” tried Miss Truckle.

“No, but I have known him longer through Basil talking about him,” said Ida.

“Do you think it wise to throw yourself away on a policeman, even if he was gently born?” asked Gloria.

“Hardly throwing myself away,” said Ida. “You should look up the Armitages in Debrett’s. He’s descended from a Royal Duke.”

“Oh, bugger,” said Alexander. “I was keeping that quiet.”

“Well, well, you have done well for yourself, Ida,” said Gloria. “But you shouldn’t let him know that you know how cleverly you have wormed yourself into his affections. Nice for you not to be dependent on David any more.”

“I have a legacy that will see me through University so I wasn’t in the position of hanging on David’s sleeve; when I am twenty-one, the trust winds up, and I know how to be a careful housekeeper,” said Ida. “We didn’t have much in the way of disposable assets when I was keeping house for David and Basil while this house was being built, you know. It took years, and I was quite capable of producing good meals.”

“A great asset to a policeman who sometimes arrives home at most irregular hours, and sometimes with witnesses in semi-protective custody,” said Alexander. 

“And where is your ring?” asked Gloria.

“Still in Cartier’s,” said Alexander. “I know just the ring, by Oscar Heyman and brothers.”

There was a profound silence.

Gloria positively glared at Ida for attracting a man who thought nothing of buying a piece of one-off jewellery from such a prominent designer.

“So long as it’s pretty, I’d be happy with any ring,” said Ida.

“Easy to say,” said Gloria.

“They were scarcely known when I got engaged to Helen,” said David. “Naturally, I got her a good stone from Cartier’s.”

“And I am sure you will get as lovely a ring for any woman when you remarry,” said Gloria.

“I could not possibly consider remarrying, and I consider that remark in poor taste, Gloria!” snapped David. “My poor Helen is not even buried yet!”

“A rather premature conjecture,” murmured Alexander. “And considering the ill-natured gossip,  rather foolish, don’t you think?  Things like that could run David’s head into a noose, because enough gossip would have the Home Office feel they ought to prosecute, and evidence to the contrary of his guilt despite, juries have a bad habit of saying ‘no smoke without fire’ and convicting husbands of dead wives on statistical probability.”

“I would never have killed Helen, or even hit her,” said David, bewildered.

“And I know you’re totally innocent, from a number of clues,” said Alexander. “But any talk of remarrying, however much in jest Miss Wandsworth may have been, would be perceived in the village as certain proof that David was involved in her killing. And I only investigate crimes; I don’t have much say in court. I can present the evidence, and the jury can still choose to ignore me. Trial by jury is a great institution but the British public as a whole hate adultery.  And we all know David has not been adulterous, but if the newspapers became involved? He’d be prejudged and convicted.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Gloria, sulkily.

“No, no, of course not,” said David. “But do be careful!  Even Ida has more sense than that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of gossiping about you,” said Ida. “Partly, it’s your own fault, though, you won’t pass the time of day with the locals, so they don’t like you.  I chat in shops, so they like me. It’s how people work.”

“Humans are illogical creatures,” said Alexander, cheerfully. “Another game, David, before dinner?”

“Yes, splendid idea,” said David. “You’re good enough to keep me on my toes.”

Alexander sighed in relief; he had the formula to keeping David happy.

He would be glad to get away for a day or so when the funeral was over.

 

Murder in Oils 9

 

Chapter 9

 

Ida met Alexander at the front door, hands on hips.

“What was that about not bothering with dinner?” she said.

“I ordered eleven fish suppers from the chippie,” said Alexander. “Eleven, that’s right, isn’t it? Foster, Campbell, Gregson, Gladys, then David, Nurse, Gloria, the old trout, you, me, and Dr. Craiggie.”

“Is Dr. Craiggie coming to dinner, and does he eat fish and chips?” asked Ida.

“Yes, and yes, and he invited himself when I told him, because his sister won’t let him have fish and chips,” said Alexander. “Right, I’m off to find out what Campbell has for me.”

 

Campbell was in the bathroom singing ‘Mademoiselle des Armentières’ in a rich baritone without any replacement for the more questionable words. There was a red light on.

“What, you have a dark room for your red light district songs?” called out Alexander.

The lyrics of what had not happened to the eponymous Frenchwoman in thirty years broke off.

“Mr. Basil liked me to record ‘is paintings, Major,” called out Campbell. “I ‘as the thing wiv me, to keep an eye on it.”

“Very good; carry on,” said Alexander. “Permission to sing granted.”

“Fanks, sir,” said Campbell.  He launched into ‘Auprès de ma blonde’ and Alexander noted that his French accent was considerably better educated sounding than his natural British tones.

Presently, the light went off, and the door opened.

“I got the pics hangin’ over the bath, drying,” he said. “I puts a board on the bath for me chemical baths, and I irons for Mr. Basil on it too. Wiv a clorf over it,” he added hastily. “No chemicals on my gentleman’s clothes.”

“Some nice clear pictures, and well done for photographing it in situ as well,” said Alexander. “The enamel inlay on the brass in black and white matches well with the impression of it in the painting. Did you get any fingerprints?”

“Nope,” said Campbell, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Ooever done it wore gloves; but if it were a lady, she would of, wouldn’t she? An’ so would Gladdie if she was cleaning brasswear, but Gladdie wouldn’t murder nobody.”

“No, I concur,” said Alexander. “If she brings any shoes in here, I want them pressed into a dough of flour and water, and photographed, and the dough mix baked to preserve them. And that photographed one to one.  What camera do you use?”

“I gotta box-Brownie,” said Campbell. “I used a whole roll o’ film, eight pics.”

“You’d better stock up if you are going to be my man,” said Alexander. “Was there any blood on it?”

“Hell, yes,” said Campbell.  “I done what you suggested and wet a ball o’ cotton wool. I sealed it in a paper bag, and when them prints is dry, I thought I’d take ‘em into London wiv me sample, an’ pick up some more film... that’s more’n I need, sir,” as Alexander gave him a couple of notes.

“Let’s say the rest is for your trouble and the extra running about,” said Alexander. “Thanks for making two prints of each so I have one.”

“I fort you’d need ‘em,” said Campbell, looking pleased that his initiative was acknowledged.

“Get back in good time; fish and chips for dinner,” said Alexander.

“’Is majesty will ‘ave conniptions,” said Campbell, happily. “I’ll be orf in a jiffy when all them prints is dry enough, and have plenty o’time to shop. I could get some plaster o’ Paris rather than eff abaht wiv flour paste.”

“What a good idea,” said Alexander, passing him more money.

Harris was a good sergeant, but having a personally loyal man really was very useful. And a sergeant could not ingratiate himself with other servants the way a valet might.

 

oOoOo

 

Ida passed a letter to Alexander when he emerged, looking for a cup of tea; the dining area had a percolator, teapot, kettle, and bowls of fruit and tins of biscuits, as well as a few slices of bread under a breadsafe, and the toaster, and four tiny dishes for pats of butter under a glass dome.

David was buttering a scone so Alexander tucked the letter discreetly in his pocket.

“How are we to manage without Gloria, eh?” said David. “I hear you stopped by to ask Craiggie to look at her; I should thank you for that. Can’t let her fester without the best care, what?”

“I thought it wisest,” said Alexander. “I also gave Ida a day of respite to get herself together before having to arrange dinner, so I ordered fish and chip suppers for the lot of us, servants and all.”

“Fish and chips! What makes you think persons of our class eat fish and chips? What sort of idea do you have of us?” David went red. “And who said you could use Ida’s name?”

“I like fish and chips, and I fancied them,” said Alexander. “It’s not as if I suggested it for Christmas dinner, not that it bothers me, it’s what a lot of Jewish families do. I hope I’ll be gone well before Christmas.”

“So do I,” muttered David. “Surely your family doesn’t eat fish and chips?”

“Oh, hell, yes, on the sea front, out of newspapers,” said Alexander. “There’s something liberating out of such a very British and patriotic meal, and forgetting table manners for once, don’t you think? It’s one of those great social levellers, like horse-racing and regattas.”

“I suppose so,” said David. “Who said you could use Ida’s name?”

“I am afraid I started doing so because she’s my friend’s sister, and it seemed more friendly,” said Alexander. “Ida! Do you mind me using your name?”

“Not at all, Alex,” said Ida, calmly, helping herself to an apple, and biting into it, skin and all.

“Well, there you are,” said Alexander. “Would you like to help Campbell and me with Basil’s documents?”

“No, but I will,” said Ida. “I hope you have plenty of good, big, white linen hankies, though, I shall probably cry.”

“I’m sorry about that, but if it also brings up happy memories, that has to be good,” said Alexander.

“Yes, and if I cry myself out, I can make sure to be better behaved at the funeral tomorrow,” said Ida.

“You’re not stopping the funerals?” demanded David.

“No, there’s no need,” said Alexander. “Murder may have been established as a certainty, but there is no reason not to give the innocent their closure. I thought I’d make myself scarce after the funeral, and come back on Monday, to give you some time.”

“Good of you,” muttered David, unwillingly.

“I can really start to collate everything on Monday,” said Alexander.

He intended to remove all of Basil’s paintings and papers when he left, and would have done any collating needed by the time of his return, but there was no reason to mention this.

Alexander finished his cup of tea, and a piece of toast, and returned to Basil’s studio, followed by Ida.

“David told me to loop back one of the curtains while I’m in here; as if Campbell would put up with any funny business,” said Ida.

“He is careful of your reputation,” said Alexander. “He has a point.”

“I suppose so,” said Ida. “What papers does Basil have?”

“I’m not sure. Campbell isn’t here, actually; he’s gone up to town with some photographs I asked him to take,” said Alexander.

“I know he kept a diary,” said Ida. “His will should be here somewhere.”

“Any hidden drawers?” asked Alexander.

“A hidden lock, anyway,” said Ida.

“I have his keys; Campbell gave them to me,” said Alexander.

“It’s a little silver-coloured one; there’s a carved lion on the side of his Davenport, and it swings out of the way to show the keyhole,” said Ida. “The drawer is at the front, but you can’t open it unless you unlock the lock.”

“Interesting,” said Alexander. He found the lion head carving, and felt it experimentally, and found that it pivoted to one side. Unlocking the lock caused a click more audible at the front of the Davenport, and a drawer slid slightly forward.  Alexander drew it open.

“Here’s his will,” he said. “Has his solicitor been notified?”

“I didn’t even know he had a solicitor,” said Ida. “David has been assuming all of Basil’s belongings come to him.”

“He’d be wrong, then,” said Alexander. “Oh, you gave me a letter, which I haven’t had a chance to look at.”

“From Dr. Craiggie. He wanted it in writing that in his professional opinion, Gloria is in pain, but perfectly capable of doing her job. But she’s been under a lot of strain, and she is a lady.”

“I doubt it would stop you.”

“I’m stubborn,” said Ida. “What does the will say?”

“Two thousand pounds to Campbell and the residue to you, essentially,” said Alexander.

“Basil had two thousand to leave? David said he mustered out penniless as a cripple,” said Ida.

“Yes, but we all know how much David knows when he has made up his mind,” said Alexander. “Is there a telephone I can use with some degree of privacy?”

“Yes, the one in the housekeeper’s sitting room,” said Ida. “There’s a bedroom, too, with ensuite which Gloria does not use, she has a guest bedroom near the back stairs.”

“Ida, do me a favour; move into the housekeeper’s bedroom, and don’t tell anyone but Gladys. She can perhaps help you bring your clothes down there.”

Ida gave him a startled look.

“Why?” she asked.

“If someone is after your brother’s wealth by marrying him, and finds out how much Basil is worth, and that this comes to you, your life is in danger,” said Alexander, soberly. “Because if you die unmarried, it reverts to David.”

“How... how much are we talking about?” asked Ida.

“Thirty thousand pounds,” said Alexander.

Ida gasped.

“But where did he get that from?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but the sum is mentioned as per the date in July 1920, when he made his will,” said Alexander.

“I know he had a legacy, as I did, but it was not large; I assumed it all went on hospital bills,” said Ida.

“I have account books here,” said Alexander.

“I’d rather have Basil back, as poor as a church mouse,” said Ida.

Alexander passed her a handkerchief as she started sobbing.

A flick through the account books left him whistling.

“Well, he came by his money honestly,” he said. “He copied the entire collection of an American art connoisseur, who wanted copies to put on display, to keep the real collection safe. He was that good!  There are a few museum fees from dealing with damaged artworks; and he seems to have invested very wisely as well. He has shares in a number of automobile companies, and civil aviation. A good, broad portfolio, if this list is anything to go by.

“Oh, my!” said Ida. “He could have moved out.”

“He could, but I fancy he liked to be near you, my dear,” said Alexander.

“Oh! I could have kept house for him without any of the pressures from all the scrapping personalities here, if he had only moved away, and I might not have let Jonathon give me a cigarette to calm me down,” sobbed Ida. “I had run off to go to a party because David and Gloria were at loggerheads, and Helen was crying because she could not make them compromise.”

“Now that seems to be more likely to cause her to miscarry than your problems,” said Alexander, grimly. “You shift yourself and get moved downstairs, while I phone this solicitor.”

 

oOoOo

 

“Blakecastle of Blakecastle, Fawnby and Robb?  My name is Alexander Armitage, I’m an inspector with Scotland Yard; had you been summoned over the death of Basil Henderson of Lashbrook?”

Ida heard the phone yapping irritably.

“No, I’m no relation at all, I’m investigating his murder,” said Alexander.

He held the receiver at a distance from his ear as it exploded in ejaculations of horror, surprise, disbelief and a number of questions.

“Yes, I am completely sure; the Home Office ordered an autopsy, and poisoning seems indicated... yes, his brother and sister are alive and well, but his sister-in-law was murdered, and it appears that Basil witnessed this and was killed... no, I can’t tell you anything like that.  His brother is under the impression that he is the sole legatee. Ida?  She’s upset at her brother’s death, and was hoping to keep a few paintings before her brother burned the rest....” he held the receiver away again. “Calm down!” he yelled. “I’ve been helping her rescue them.  No, I have no idea what they are worth, and nor does she, and their worth as work of her brother is more important to her... Yes, dammit, of course I’m taking care of her interests, I’m an old friend of Basil’s and I’m in love with her and I’m going to marry her as soon as I can... I need a ring. No, I had no idea I was going to fall in love.  I intended to fulfil a promise to Basil to keep an eye on her... yes, that was in July two years ago, when he made his will, and we met up. Yes, if you can come to Lashbrook as soon as is convenient, do you have an updated amount?” he pursed his lips and whistled. “Well, I do anticipate foul play when this is known, I’m hoping to persuade Ida to go to my mother, but not until after the funeral... oh, eleven o’clock to morrow morning.  You can be there tonight?  I hope you’ll be satisfied with fish and chips, the housekeeper met with an accident... you like fish and chips? Splendid.”

He rang off, checked a list of numbers, and dialled again.

“Fishmonger? Armitage from Foursquares; make that twelve fish suppers. Add it to the house bill, will you? Thanks.”

“You handle people very well without getting angry like David,” said Ida. He grinned.

“And now the screaming begins when David realises that Basil was selling paintings for four figure sums, as well as investing wisely,” he said.

 

Murder in Oils 8

 

Chapter 8

 

Alexander woke refreshed. He gave Campbell an errand before breakfast, loaning him a pair of white cotton gloves, and strolled out to the dining area to find that breakfast was a buffet affair with chafing dishes to keep things hot. There was a toaster of the most modern kind, and bread sliced ready for it, very evenly and thinly cut, he noticed approvingly.  Gladys was a treasure if it was her hand! He ignored the corn flakes, checking under each lid to find out what there was, and helped himself to a pair of kippers which he arranged lovingly on buttered toast with a pat of butter on top of them to melt as he dissected out the bones.  This delectable treat was followed by more toast with sausages and a poached egg.

Ida emerged from the kitchen in her frilly pinny and cap she had worn to look like a Lyon’s nippy.

“Sure, and we’re hopin’ sorr foinds it all t’his satisfaction,” she said, in a cod Irish accent.

“You’re adorable, Ida,” said Alexander, and then flushed.

So did Ida.

“Delectable and eligible young men have no right to be charming when they don’t mean anything by it,” said Ida, a little breathless.

“I meant it,” said Alexander. “I should like to court you.” He winked. “And steal Gladys as your maid if she can cut bread this well.”

“Oh, that’s me,” said Ida. “I’m quite capable of doing Gloria’s job as she reckons she is too much in pain to cope. I tried to get a look but she wasn’t having any of it so I don’t know if she’s acting the hypochondriac or if Anna is being spiteful in downplaying her woes, or a little bit of both. As to cutting bread and poaching eggs, it’s all about knowing the tricks; the bread is yesterday’s and so suitable as toast, but it cuts more easily; and you put a dash of vinegar in the water when poaching eggs. I’ve never used a poacher, though they do make them a nice shape.”

“Did you cook the eggs too? Poached to a nicety,” said Alexander.

“Well, I know any idiot can boil eggs, but I can’t,” said Ida. “I can see what poached or fried eggs are doing, but I never seem to get soft-boiled eggs right.”

“Why, there’s a trick to that, too, as a bachelor knows,” said Alexander. “When you ‘swim’ your eggs to check they are good, you can tell how old they are by how high they float in the pan, the older ones rise higher than the newer. Newer eggs need about 4 minutes, older eggs six or seven. That’s if you put them in boiling water. New eggs take three minutes after it boils if you put them into cold, which I’m afraid I usually do.”

“Oh! Then I’ll try that. Of course, they don’t keep for a buffet board anyway. Poached eggs are a bit more forgiving.”

“I take it morning rising is not regular?”

“No, and I’m about to put together a tray for Gloria; Anna will be down soon, and David at about eleven. His man takes him coffee and a poached egg on half a slice of toast, cut diagonally, precisely corner to corner, and his egg made in a poacher so it is perfectly circular, and arranged just so on the toast. The other half of the slice is carefully jammed with strawberry jelly to exactly a quarter inch thick all over which is why it has to be jelly not jam, he can’t abide bits. Tomorrow, being the funeral, we shall all be getting up and I will cook some rice and throw any left over eggs and kipper into it with some curry powder for kedgeree, which may not be the most appetising but who is thinking about what they are eating for funerals?  That’s if they are still going ahead?”

“They are,” said Alexander. “All sorted. Uh, why does David have breakfast in bed?”

“Oh! He will be dressed and in his private sitting room. He doesn’t like to look at the disorder of the way other people eat breakfast, it puts him off his food. He can manage by dinner time. And we usually have sandwiches and cakes with tea at three o’clock which are not too untidy for him.”

“Dear me, he really does take things to excess,” said Alexander.

“I suspect if hens could be bred to lay square eggs, David would invest,” said Ida. She helped herself to kippers, and plonked her own poached egg on top of it, which she devoured daintily, but with evident enjoyment.

“It’s nice to enjoy food again,” said Ida.

“It’s nice to see you enjoying food,” said Alexander. “What a sweetheart you are, and what a horrid time you’ve had!”

“Do you say that to all witnesses?” asked Ida, wistfully.

“What? No! Perish the thought! I normally remain aloof and distant, but... dear me, Ida! I... I appear to have become ridiculously fond of you in the shortest time!”

“Well, then, you had better court me so you know all my faults as well as my virtues,” said Ida.

“What shoes do you wear?” asked Alexander.

“Oh, I’m not extravagant to keep,” said Ida. “I don’t like fashion shoes; too uncomfortable. I have strap patent leather pumps with a low cuban heel.”

“Good,” said Alexander.

“Are you mean about hats? I don’t wear hats if I can avoid it either, but I would expect new hats from time to time.”

“Eh? No, I’m not mean about things like that.  I just wanted to eliminate you from Helen’s death.”

She went white.

“I... I suppose you have to treat me as a suspect,” she said.

“I was pretty sure I had eliminated you, but now I can prove it,” said Alexander. “What about Gladys?”

“Very sensible lace-ups, with old-fashioned round toes for comfort,” said Ida. “She has a pair of winkle-pickers for best, but they have quite low heels, like mine, because she can’t afford to hurt herself on unaccustomed shoes on days off. She’s not frivolous like some maids.”

“I’m glad you have her, she is partisan for you,” said Alexander. “Do you think she would procure me one each of the shoes of the other women in the house?”

“Not a problem, I’m sure,” said Ida.

“What are the chances of getting the shoe of Lady Baskerville?” Alexander asked.

“You take that suggestion seriously?”

“Ida, I have to take every suggestion seriously,” said Alexander.

“I... I could ask Gladys to offer to look after Cyril so that Cecily could come to the funeral, because Saturday is her maid’s day off. Gladys said she didn’t really want to go, as she preferred to remember them living; and so do I, but it would look odd if I did not go. I expect Cecily’s maid would stay if she had to, but she’s no sort of companion for a high-spirited boy, and Gladys has brothers, and took her child-nurse badge.”

“If she would be willing, I will be grateful, and if there is any trouble, I will find her a place until you are able to take her on as your maid,” said Alexander.

“I imagine she’d be much relieved,” said Ida. “Servants are hard to come by, these days, but fired for prying, even if asked by the police, would not be looked on kindly.”

Anna Galbraith came in, slouching somewhat towards the buffet.

“I do not find it amusing that you dress as a maid, Miss Ida,” she said. “Who did the cooking?”

“I did,” said Ida.

“So, should I fear for my life?” asked the nurse.

“That’s not very funny, under the circumstances,” said Alexander, dryly.

Anna flushed.

“I suppose not; but I cannot think that a girl bred with a silver spoon in her mouth can produce palatable food.”

“I used to hang around cook in our former house,” said Ida.

“I enjoyed what she made,” said Alexander.

“Oh, men; they will eat anything,” said Anna. “Except David, and he eats like an old maid. That governess will be down shortly, and she will decry a lack of soft-boiled eggs, will help herself to tea so thin it can hardly struggle out of the pot, a piece of bread-and butter, which she will attempt to dip in her poached egg in lieu of boiled egg, she will leave the white, and have a piece of bread-and-jam, decrying that the bread is dry, because it is bread for toasting.”

“I have to say, Anna has her to a ‘T’,” said Ida.

Miss Truckle minced in.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I suppose if Gloria is still hurt we won’t have any breakfast.”

“And there you would be wrong, Miss Truckle,” said Ida, who discreetly whipped off her cap and was untying her pinny. “I made breakfast.”

“Oh, dear,” said Miss Truckle. “Let me see... oh! How can anyone face kippers at a time like this?”

“I enjoyed mine,” said Alexander.

“So very hearty,” said Miss Truckle. “No soft-boiled eggs... I hope the poached egg is cooked all through. It will have to do.  And this bread is so hard! Even jam will scarcely soften it.”

“It’s for toasting,” said Ida. “I can get you a slice of soft bread, if you want me to start the new loaf.”

“Oh! I will manage,” said Miss Truckle. “Much will be wasted, you have made too much.”

“I have to take up a tray to Gloria yet, and Major Armitage is eyeing those last kippers with lustful eyes, so we may not have kedgeree tomorrow; I can chop up the sausages and egg with onion and potato in a potato bake, and the last of the dry bread will make a fine bread-and-butter pudding. I am quite capable, you know, of looking after myself, and the household,” said Ida. “We lived in a poky little cottage whilst this place was being built, and I shopped, cooked, and cleaned for David and Basil, though Campbell helped with the heavy work.”

“Oh, dear! You should not have had to be a skivvy!” cried Miss Truckle.

“I quite enjoyed it, actually,” said Ida. “Only then, David packed me off to finishing school for a couple of years, because some busybody complained that it was unseemly that a sixteen-year-old lady should be maid of all work to two gentlemen, even if they were her brothers.  Goodness knows how they managed.”

“By Campbell being resourceful, no doubt,” said Alexander, amused at how closely Anna had guessed Miss Truckle’s behaviour.  She was, indeed, dipping ‘soldiers’ of bread in her poached egg’s yolk.

 

When Ida took a tray up to Gloria, Alexander strolled out to visit Dr. Craiggie.

“I wish you will look in at Foursquares to look at Miss Wandsworth,” he said. “She had a shock and spilled a tureen of soup. Nurse Galbraith patched her up, but I’d like your opinion.”

“Do you trust it?” asked Craiggie, bitterly.

“About the living? You’d be out of business if you were a bad doctor,” said Alexander. “I think you are too partisan a coroner, however.”

“Well... I was shown up as a fool,” said Craiggie.

“Misguided,” said Alexander, pacifically.

“I’ve written to resign from the position rather than have it taken from me,” said Craiggie.

“I can respect a man big enough to acknowledge a fault,” said Alexander. “David can’t.”

“No; he’s an interesting study, but I wouldn’t like to live with him,” said Craiggie. “He’s lost without Helen, I think, which makes him bluster more; but none of those women have a chance with him, except maybe the governess, too forceful.” He added, “I’ll go right there; can I give you a lift back?”

“No, I asked to have any letters or parcels to me directed care of the post-office. Where is the post-office?”

“In the side of the bakery,” said the doctor. “No newsagent here, the newspaper is on sale in the fishmonger’s shop. And the fishmonger’s uses up surplus because they do fish and chips in the evening.”

“Really?  Tell Ida not to make dinner, I’ll order fish and chips sent up to Foursquares for eight.”

“You are getting your feet under the table.”

“With Gloria hors de combat, Ida’s taken on the job. If I take the responsibility for feeding the family and servants for dinner, David can’t snipe at her,” explained Alexander.

“Good point,” grunted Craiggie. “Maybe I’ll invite myself to dinner; I haven’t had fish and chips in an age. My sister keeps house for me and she disapproves of fish and chips as low.”

“The more the merrier,” said Alexander.

 

The bakery took up two shop fronts, and the smell of fresh bread was enticing.  Inside, the two shops had been knocked into one, and the greater part of one of them comprised a cafe, serving anything which was available in the bakery with a cup of tea or coffee. There was room for three small tables, and to one side was a counter with the sign, ‘Royal Mail.’ Alexander went to ask for any mail for him, and was presented with several bulky letters. He paid for the service of holding them, bought a cup of coffee and a cream bun, and examined his mail. A ten by eight photograph showed the shoe print, at a scale of one-to-one; and another also at full scale, showed the wound on Helen’s head, and a wider bruise on her arm than the balustrades, the break also apparent.  Hammond’s execrable handwriting on a note, paperclipped to this photo, read, ‘This bruise was more apparent on the photo than it was last night; I should say confirmation of being hit by a large vase. Note how the bruising fades off as if the weight was less as might be consistent with a roughly cylindrical object.’

Alexander gave a low whistle; it was very clear.

There was also a typed transcript of the autopsy findings, and an addendum covering the examination of the painting, and the conclusions, born out in the photographs, that a vase or similar object had caused the broken arm as a defensive wound.

The laboratory had also confirmed that there had been hemlock in with the herbal tobacco. A note said that the amount was hard to calculate from the burnt dottle, but that even small amounts of hemlock could prove deadly, especially to anyone in poor health or with respiratory ailments. Alexander grimaced.  Basil had fought smoke in his lungs as well as burned legs, and the strain on his heart must have been considerable. He was quite superhuman in his will-power to have painted at all. But that was Basil. Alexander blinked hard on tears of grief, and wished he had visited before; he had not seen Basil for two years, since they met up in a Lyon’s coffee shop in London, and Basil mentioned in passing that his sister was not very well, and he wanted to get back to keep her amused.

Alexander got himself under control.

Basil had said to him as well that he could not be expected to live long, and that he hoped Alexander would keep an eye out for his sister. He had never even known her name was Ida! And he had made reassuring noises, teased Basil that he would outlive them all – which had, at least made Basil laugh – and promised lightly to care for the girl if their brother was unequal to the task. Never expecting to find himself called on that; and not averse to doing so. But caring for Ida was as much about helping Ida to care for herself.

Alexander came from a family where strong, independent women were the norm, and believed that it was important for a woman to be able to be independent, even if she chose to enter a partnership in marriage. After all, one never knew what might befall.

He finished his cream bun, and went into the fish shop.

“Can I make an advance order for fish and chips to be delivered at eight?” he asked.

“If it’s worth my time,” said the fishmonger.

“Ten fish suppers for Foursquares,” said Alexander.

“I don’t appreciate practical jokers,” growled the fishmonger.

“Who’s joking?  I’m happy to pay ahead of time and a fee for delivery,” said Alexander

“That toffee-nosed lot will never eat fish and chips.”

“Well, they’ll go hungry then. The housekeeper is hurt, and I told Miss Ida I’d sort out dinner,” said Alexander. “I’m sorting out dinner.  I’d have paid a hundred guineas and killed a dozen Huns for a fish supper many a time on the front lines, and so would Mr. Basil, rest his soul, who was a friend of mine. And if David Henderson doesn’t like it, he can do the other thing.”

“Ho! Well if you can stand up to Mister-I-Am, good on you, squire,” said the fishmonger. “Mr. Campbell came in more than once for a fish supper for Mr. Basil, when he didn’t want to eat with the family. Ten fish suppers, tuppence delivery because I have to keep the boy up, and I’ll throw in a few sausages in batter as well.”

“Many thanks,” said Alexander, fishing out a shilling and a sixpenny piece. “Keep the penny change, neighbour, for the lad,” he added.