lies in Lashbrook 18

 

Chapter 18

 

Alexander had only the haziest memory of being bundled into the car and driven home, helped up to bed and undressed by Campbell, calling him ‘You bloody fool, Major, sir,’ in an affectionate tone. He came to as the hazy sun indicated that it had crept to late afternoon, striking low across his bedroom. Jeff had come in with a mug of tea.

“Campbell said you were stirring,” he said. “Craiggie says you’ve strained the wound but he doesn’t think you opened anything inside, but he’ll be over later, and will stay for dinner.”

“It doesn’t feel spongy as if there was blood leaking inside, and it doesn’t really hurt,” said Alexander. “But I’ll be glad to have Craiggie check; the ride on that ladder was wilder than any fairground; actually, it was wilder than the trip I once took in a Brisfit[1] to take a look at the terrain from above, and we ran into a circus,[2] and came home hedge-hopping. I tell you, gunnery up in one of those crates is not like firing a tank cannon, it’s like targeting a fly with a pea shooter whilst being tossed in a blanket.”

“I ’eard you had three confirmed kills whilst acting as impromptu rear gunner, sir,” said Campbell, who was also hanging around.

“The blighters were on our tail; I could scarcely miss,” said Alexander. “Cured me of any desire to move into the RFC, though. Those crates were flimsy as a matchbox. My leather coat stopped more bullets than the plane’s hull did, I swear; I shook two spent rounds out of the leather. I came close to needing new trousers after that little trip.”

Campbell laughed in the way of a man who appreciates a brave man admitting to fear in a humorous fashion. His former man, Basil Henderson, had been a pilot, flying a Sopwith ‘Camel.’ He had seen plenty of pilots virtually falling out of aeroplanes which were more hole than vehicle. The average survival for a pilot once joining the theatre of war was eleven days during the most intense fighting, and those who survived longer were usually exceptional flyers and rapidly became aces.

“It was heaving people around which did the damage,” said Jeff. “I should have been the one to go in.”

“And I remember you saying that you can only swim if you can keep one toe on the ground,” said Alexander. “We’ll attend to that in the summer, and I’ll get you swimming properly.”

“I appreciate that,” said Jeff.

“How’s Theodore?” asked Alexander.

“Still asleep; Mary gave him a drop of laudanum, to keep him from brooding,” said Jeff.

“Campbell, I’d be glad if you’d set up a camp-bed in his room tonight,” said Alexander.

“Yessir,” said Campbell. “Unless the medic ’as to cut you open to stop you poppin’ your clogs.”

“Cheerful bugger,” said Alexander.

 

Alexander insisted that he could get dressed, and that Craiggie could poke at him on a chaise longue. Before the doctor arrived, however, he had visitors in the persons of Dr.  Brinkley, and his niece, Amabel.

“Reverend, Miss Brinkley, nice of you to call,” said Alexander.

“Dear me, you may not think so, when I tell you why,” said Dr.  Brinkley. “I am here to support my dear niece, because she has something to tell you which might shake your faith in your belief in who is the poison pen.”

“I’m walking out with Edgar Thripp,” said Amabel. “Well, he came to church with his aunt, but he looked terrible, and I managed to coax him to tell me what was troubling him. He... he had a headache in the night, and went to his aunt’s room to ask if she had any ‘Daisies’[3] to take to cure the pain, and his aunt was not there.  He was puzzled and wondered if she also felt unwell, and went downstairs. She was not there. He went into the bathroom and found some pills to take and went back upstairs, but he glanced out of the window after putting out the light, and saw his aunt creep back into the house, with a big bag. He scarcely slept a wink for the rest of the night, though it was two in the morning. He believes his aunt is the poison-pen; and I hate to think ill of a colleague, but it does seem an odd coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Jeff, what time did we go up after writing up reports for the coroner tomorrow?” asked Alexander.

“Well after two,” said Jeff. “You went to lock the front door.”

“Yes, and there were no letters there then. But Mary found them in the morning when she came to unbolt it,” said Alexander. “Miss Thripp is quite cleared of having anything to do with delivering the letters, Miss Brinkley. You may rest assured of that.”

“Oh! I am so relieved,” said Amabel. “And Edgar will be relieved too.”

“I do hope you are not permitting him to take advantage of you, Miss Brinkley,” said Alexander. “Since he has been responsible for one proven and one conjectural pregnancy in the village already.”

“How dare you!” cried Amabel. “Why, Edgar is a gentleman! He would not take advantage of a lady!”

“Perhaps not of a lady, but he has one living daughter, who is acknowledged by Miss Thripp as her great niece, and who is the beneficiary of her will, to make up in some measure for her start in life,” said Alexander. “I wonder if Edgar Thripp is aware of his aunt’s will?”

“I am sure she has every right to leave her money wherever she pleases,” said Amabel. “I think someone has taken advantage of her, however, since he would not act like that.”

“As it happens, I have reason to believe that he was the father of Sally Braithwaite’s unborn child as well,” said the vicar.  “Perhaps you will listen to my concerns about your courtship with him now my dissatisfaction with his character is backed up by another.”

“If he got a girl pregnant, doubtless she was some hussy who entrapped him,” said Amabel.

“That’s defamation and also untrue,” said Jeff. “A girl of seventeen fooled into believing that he loved her.”

“What do you know? You’re an outsider,” said Amabel, rudely.

“Amabel!” the vicar was shocked.

“At least I associate enough with the village folk to know more about them than the poison pen; which Miss Thripp does as well,” said Jeff. “She would not make the positively laughable mistakes the poison-pen has made in some of the letters. Calling both Alex and me uneducated, for example; I did matriculate, but Alex was at Oxford and has a degree. Referring to Miss Henderson and Miss Price as actresses from London.  Miss Thripp has taught both of them in the school and knows very well who they are. Miss Thripp is an impossible suspect. I think perhaps you should go and relieve Edgar Thripp’s mind on that score.”

“And if he has settled down enough to be a model husband, of course, you are to be congratulated,” said Alexander. “I hope you will not mind supporting him whilst he writes his book.”

“What book? Edgar is not writing a book,” said Amabel.

“Oh, he has not told you about it? He told me he was writing a book about village life,” said Alexander.  “I think he would do better in researching it to mingle more, but perhaps he is relying on anecdotes from you and Miss Thripp.”

“I will ask him about it, how clever he is!” sighed Amabel.

She and the vicar took their leave.

“Campbell!” called Alexander. “You’re driving Miss Ruth and Miss Millie to visit my parents for a week or so.”

“You think he would try to kill an innocent child?” gasped Jeff.

“He hasn’t minded killing Irma, who wasn’t really an adult, has he?” said Alexander. “And now he knows he won’t inherit, he will want Millie dead before he tries to kill his aunt. If Millie does not die first, anything she has when she dies goes to her next of kin. Her mother. Only with Millie out of the way can he become a beneficiary of Miss Thripp.”

“And we’ll make up a dummy and put in her bed, and say that she is down with measles,” said Ida. “Which means the room must be darkened even during daytime, so that there is no damage to her eyes. And then we can pretend to have all gone out, and catch him red-handed.”

“I hope he does not try to do it during the inquest; we must attend,” said Alexander.

“Oh, the house will be empty.  Mary, Ruth, and Millie given the day off,” said Ida. “And then drop rumours that she came back crying and sick and has developed a rash.”

“I’ll have a word with Craiggie when he comes,” said Alexander. “Invite him for dinner again tomorrow; he’ll jump at it. Serena Craiggie’s idea of cooking, I gather, is to boil everything until it loses its colour.”

“Poor man,” said Ida. “I know; take a heap of food to the rehearsal and tell them we were going to have them over but that we think Millie has measles. The tale will spread faster than any infection.”

“Brilliant,” said Alexander. “And invite the Braithwaites too as it’s their day off. Ruth! We are disposing of you and Millie most high handedly because I fear for her life when Edgar Thripp realises that his daughter is the main beneficiary of his aunt’s will.”

“Is she?” said Ruth.

“As I understand it,” said Alexander. “She said, at least, that Millie would be well taken care of.”

“I’ll take her wherever you tell me,” said Ruth. “Jeff? You won’t let anyone harm her?”

“I’ll do my best to make sure she’s safe,” said Jeff.  He ruffled the effulgent locks of the little girl as she ran in behind her mother, looking a little mutinous. “You go and have a fun holiday with Uncle Alex’s Mama and Papa on a farm,” he said.

“Are there donkeys to ride?” asked Millie.

“There’s a donkey, who is mostly obliging,” said Alexander. “Kittens in the barn, a few spaniels, chickens, goats, a couple of cows, and a sow who farrowed a litter of twelve. We’ve had prize pigs for generations. They have bristles the same colour as your hair, Millie.”

“Really? I thought pigs were pink,” said Millie.

“Oh, some are black and some are black and white, and these are pink under their hair, like you are,” said Alexander. “I expect you’ll be allowed to help feed any baby animals who need it.”

By this time all truculence had passed and Millie was keen on her promised holiday.

“I am glad your mother takes in anyone you send to her,” said Jeff. “I’ve become very fond of that little girl.”

“I expect next time she visits it will be when mummy and daddy have a honeymoon,” said Alex.

Jeff blushed.

“Well, I could think of worse venues,” he said.

 

Doctor Craiggie came to give Alexander a more thorough check up.

“No oedema,” he grunted. “If you’d torn anything inside, I would be able to feel swelling as you bled into the belly cavity. Even so, I want you to look at your next stools before getting rid of them, and if there’s any blood, have your man take you into the hospital in Oxford and tell them it’s on my orders. I don’t have the fancy equipment a hospital has and apart from the feel of it, the only way I could tell for sure would be to open you up to check that you don’t need opening up.”

“Thanks,” said Alexander. “Doctor, I need to ask you to tell a lie for me.”

Craiggie frowned.

“Why?” he asked, bluntly.

“I want to catch a murderer red handed in an attempt to kill Millie Fringford,” said Alexander.

Craiggie was alert.

“If that child has witnessed anything, you should get her away,” he said.

“She’s already gone,” said Alexander. “But if you came over here tomorrow after a summons, you could let it be known at the rehearsal that it appears that the child has measles.”

“If you say the child is ill, and I recount typical symptoms, I don’t even have to lie,” said Craiggie.

“Even better,” said Alexander. “Well, then, I will phone you to ask you to attend on Millie tomorrow afternoon; Mary is going to bake pies and things for the rehearsal and I’ll apologise for not having people over, because of Millie being ill.”

“And I don’t mind pulling the wool over the eyes of anyone who would kill a child, and a dear little girl like Milliemolliemeggsie,” said Doctor Craiggie. “And for Mary’s cooking I’d waver over perjuring myself.”

 

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[1] Bristol Fighter, a 2-seater WW1 biplane

[2] The so-called ‘flying circus’ originally referred to Jagdstaffel 1, under Manfred von Richthofen because of the bright colours chosen to paint the planes within it, and sometimes loosely applied to any squadron of German planes.

[3] A freely available analgesic which may or may not have worked