Murder in Oils 13

 

Chapter 13

 

“Dear me,” said Mr. Blakecastle, “Proper bubble-and-squeak, how nice, I haven’t had that in such a long time. Is that reheated battered sausage claimed by anyone? No, excellent... a second egg? I don’t mind if I do. What an excellent cook you have.”

“That’s me,” said Ida.  “I did ask Wandsworth if she was well enough to be back on duty, but our night excursion prostrated her. Fortunately, I like to cook. It’ll be finger food for the wake, sausage rolls, sausages on sticks, and sandwiches and I ordered cakes in from the bakery because there’s only so much I can manage, and I did everything else instead of dinner, hence the fish and chips.”

“I am sure it will be delightful,” said Mr. Blakecastle. “What an asset you will be to Mr. Armitage when he entertains!”

“I need to move out of my bachelor digs,” said Alexander. “There’s a Tudor property which David owns, the ten year lease is coming up for renewal, and if the current leaser is willing, I’d like to take it over.”

“Why would you want that sad old ruin? I can build you something like this,” said David, for once breakfasting with them.

“I hope it’s not a ruin, upkeep is your responsibility unless a separate agreement is made,” said Alexander. “I like old houses. And wouldn’t feel secure in this one.”

Gladys brought coffee to Alexander.

“The items you asked for are with Mr. Campbell, them wearing best today; and I’ll get them back before they miss them.”

“You are a good girl,” said Alexander, slipping her a few coins.

“Ooh, sir, you don’t have to, I am more’n happy...” Gladys demurred, but took the coins. “I’ll have the other item back to Mr. Campbell soonest.”

 

Alexander finished his breakfast.

“I’ll be at the funeral in time, but I’ll find my own way there,” he said. “I set my sergeant something to do in the village, and I want to consult him.”

“Keller,” said David, forgetting Alexander’s criticisms of his house.

“He has featured in my enquiries,” said Alexander.

“Knows all the access panels, too,” said David. “By Jove, Alex, you’re quite right about security, when someone proves unsatisfactory, they might well do something unconventional.”

“Even so,” said Alexander.

“He’s a filthy little sod,” said David. “All charm of manner, and finding excuses to touch Helen, when holding chairs for her,  passing her anything, and helping with her coat, and he was always murmuring about how difficult her life must be. How the hell did he figure that?”

“You aren’t the easiest person to live with, David, but I have to say, Helen seemed to find your autocratic bearing more comforting than otherwise,” said Ida. “She was quite old-fashioned and she hated the modern way of women’s independence. She liked David telling her what to do. I can’t see it myself, but there’s no question but that she found Keller’s attentions distressing.”

“She asked me, rather hesitantly, like a frightened bird, if I would not mind giving him his congé,” said David.  “Afraid she would offend me, poor girl! Well, when she told me about how he was suggesting assignations, that offended me, and when I confronted him, he had the cheek to say that she needed a real man, not a cold fish like me! I really did not understand what he meant.”

“You find it hard to express the more tender emotions,” said Ida, dryly. “But Helen was satisfied, so that’s all that matters.”

“Exactly,” said David.

 

Alexander met Harris in the pub. The hour had not struck at which Englishmen could imbibe alcoholic beverages, and Alexander never drank until after five, in any case.

“See Keller?” asked Alexander.

Harris expressed a brief, invective-filled description of the said Brian Keller, which would have surprised Keller's parents had they known of their own supposed origins.

“And besides that?” said Alexander, blithely ignoring several distinct biological unlikelihoods and a calumny which would have been actionable if published.

“He has an alibi for when Helen Henderon was killed and the time in which we think Mr. Basil Henderson was slipped the tobacco.”

“That seems a weak point to me, you know,” said Alexander. “He sees murder most foul done; surely Basil wouldn’t remain just sitting there.”

“Perhaps chummy tries to talk him into thinking it was an accident?” said Harris, using the police slang for an unnamed or unknown suspect.

Alexander stiffened.

“That’s it,” he said. “Now, chummy was probably considering getting rid of him, anyway, and had the hemlock prepared. Wheeling Basil back into the studio... talking about a tragic accident, asking his advice, perhaps. Knocks off his tobacco pouch, apologises, picks up any spilled, but not hard to be out of sight from him, and put in the deadly stuff. Says ‘here, have a smoke, it’ll calm you down, and then you can help me confess to David.’  Am I making sense so far?”

“A lot, sir,” said Harris. “Mr. Basil likes a pipe, and perhaps he doesn’t want to condemn out of hand, especially if he either likes, or dislikes, chummy.”

“So he take a good pull, maybe comments that it tastes a bit queer. And chummy makes surprised noises, and keeps him talking until it takes hold, and then tells him that he is dying. He has nothing to write with as such, but he’s been working on some cubist work, maybe, and when left for chummy to disappear off to seem innocent, and Basil, bless him, modifies his painting to put in the staircase and Helen falling, and her killer up above. And scrawls my name on the palette with the knife for Ida.  Chummy might or might not manage to get a look at what he painted, but can’t interpret it, or doesn’t have time to do so, or thinks we can’t tell anything from it.”

“We can’t; the figure kicking Mrs. Henderson down the stairs is not extraordinary,” said Harris.

“But I do draw your attention to the angle of the head,” said Alexander. “I thought it suggestive.”

“Well, since you took a photo of the room with the pictures as they were, I see what  you mean,” said Harris. “It ain’t enough for court, though.”

“No; I don’t even know if a shoe print will be, but it will help,” said Alexander. “We have a lot of circumstantial evidence.  I am hoping she will have a go at me.”

“You be careful, sir,” said Harris.

“I will be,” said Alexander. “I’m going away for the rest of the weekend, after the funerals. And I’ll be doing some checking, too, on what happened to her family. But I’ll be back bright and early on Monday.   I take it that, foul as Keller is, you couldn’t pin anything on him?”

“Only being a slimy little turd, but that ain’t on the statute books yet,” said Harris. “Lady Baskerville, now she seems a real lady. She’s full of praise for Mr. David, account o’ how he lets her have her cottage at a very low rent and sees she’s got plenty to eat.  He knows his noblessy obleejy thing,” he added.

“Pity he doesn’t have a bit more finesse with actual people,” said Alexander, dryly.

“Well, she’s one person as seems to approve of him, without knowing him very well,” said Harris. “She was a lot of ‘poor Helen this, poor Helen that,’ but mostly it seems about Helen desperately wanting a child, rather than about puttin’ up wiv ‘is ‘igh-an’-mightiness.”

“The village opinion has rubbed off on you,” grinned Alexander.

“Well, I don’t hear much of a good opinion of Mr. David nowhere.”

“Poor David.  He’s not likeable, but he’s not a bad man, just rather single-minded and sure that he’s always right.”

“The plain word for that is ‘bully,’ sir.”

“Well, he can be, but he doesn’t mind being stood up to, if you can prove your point,” said Alexander. “He has had some huge shakes of his ego and world structure lately. I hope it doesn’t all erupt at once.”

“So do I, sir. Shall we be getting on for the church?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Alexander. “My car is packed to get back to town; I’m taking Ida to my mother for safety, and Basil’s paintings to stop anyone destroying them, and whether you take the train up to town or stay put, I leave up to you, but if you didn’t have anything planned, having your eyes here won’t upset me any. I’ll be back first thing Monday so if you do take time off, let me know to pick you up.”

“Sir,” said Harris. “They do uncommon good fish and chips here.”

“Good man,” said Alexander correctly interpreting this that Harris intended to stay.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander and Sgt. Harris insinuated themselves discreetly in the back of the church as the funeral party from Foursquares came in.

There was some hissing as David came forward. He looked confused.

Ida flushed. She looked white and strained, and Alexander longed to run to her. Gloria, deprived of David’s arm, and Alexander having forgotten that he said he would escort her, was leaning heavily on a cane and limping in what Alexander thought an exaggerated fashion. Ida put up her chin.

“I wish you will not! Please don’t spoil my last memories of my brother and of my sister-in-law,” she said, in a soft, but carrying voice. “You are cruel to do this, and no Christians to attack us in church like this when we are mourning.”

The hissing subdued somewhat.

“It ain’t you, Miss Ida, it’s that murderous brother of yours,” spoke up a male voice.

“Why, Keller, that’s slander, and untrue,” said Ida.

“If he didn’t push her down the stairs, he druv her to suicide,” said Keller. “The sweetest lady as ever stepped! Turned me off because I wanted to rescue her....”

“At her request because she felt threatened by the way you wouldn’t leave her alone!” said David, angrily. “I know you know how to get into Foursquares when it’s locked up, if anyone pushed her down the stairs, it was you, because she struggled to get away from your unwelcome embraces.”

There was a deadly silence.

Then Keller took a swing at David, who dodged it, and floored him with a punch which carried all his pent-up anger.

“Harris,” said Alexander.

Harris pushed forward, and interposed himself between David and Keller, as David looked as if he was considering hammering further blows on Keller’s groggy body.

“Come on, you,” said Harris, cuffing Keller. “Causing an affray in church!”

“No smoke without fire,” said a voice.

“There is when someone wot’s a person of interest like this uses a smoke grenade to cover his own misdeeds,” said Harris. “Quieten dahn, will yer?  This is a bleedin’ funeral, not a ruddy royal command performance at the bleedin’ ‘Ippodrome.”

There was a mixed response to Keller being forcibly removed, but most of the congregation seemed to approve, and the mood swung to greater support of the funeral party from Foursquares.

 

Alexander moved forward, and managed a word with the vicar before the bodies were taken out for the committal.

“Before we proceed, Inspector Armitage would like a word,” said the Reverend Brinkley.

“Good morning,” said Alexander. “I’m here as a mourner too, which most of you are not, just here for the prurient interest, and I don’t know about the Foursquares party, but I certainly resent that you’re only here for the show and the free food in the Nissan hut. Basil was a friend of mine. I will never forget my meeting with him, dragging his maimed body across No-Man’s land, the stench of burned flesh on him, agony and determination in his eyes.  I am one of the fortunate few to have a satirical painting of me, by Basil, which I’m not going to describe in church, but I remember Basil as a bloody good fellow, a hero, and a man of determination. A man who painted the murder of his sister-in-law whilst he was dying of poison, and left message for me to be sent for.  Now, there are reasons to exclude Mr. Henderson from the suspect list, tempting though he sometimes makes it to label him as the villain. Everything I have heard from those who lived within Foursquares, staff and family, make it abundantly clear that Helen welcomed her husband’s forceful nature and they were devoted to each other, even if they were not demonstrative. As to Keller, he isn’t the killer either, but he is wanted for questioning over a number of petty thefts. Scotland Yard is putting together the evidence to be sure that the right person is fingered.  I want the killer of my friend brought to book, and unfortunately, that Keller knows how to get into the house and may have been indiscreet about that has opened up the field considerably. It’s my job to catch a killer, and I think you might see I have more just cause than if I was merely here professionally, and I’ll thank you to mind your own business and let me mind mine. Nobody is going to get off scot free, believe me.”

He got a ragged cheer.

He turned to Basil’s coffin, came to attention, saluted, turned, and marched back down the aisle.

It occasioned surreptitious wiping of eyes from those who had been previously unmoved.  Harris had left Keller in what passed for a cell in the local police house, and returned to observe the funeral party.  The interment was carried out with quick efficiency, and most of the ‘mourners’ nipped through the gate at the back of the churchyard for the village hall.

Cecily Baskerville was with friends and family, embracing Ida.

“Someone else can preside over the Wake,” said Alexander, to Ida. “Gladys packed your overnight bag, and if you need anything else, you can borrow from one of my sisters.”

Ida smiled, tremulously.

“Thank you for telling them that David is cleared. Someone threw a clod of earth at us on the way down here. I was quite frightened in church; that awful man could have raised a lynch mob if he had tried, I think. I hate him! He tried to feel me up, and said nobody would believe the mad girl. He came to my room using the access panel, and I hit him where it hurts with the corner of a book. I figured out how to jam the panel, but if it was him who took the things that went missing, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Harris is going to get a search warrant to go over his place, and to question his girlfriends about ‘gifts,’ said Alexander.

“He told me he could get me more special cigarettes,” said Ida, suddenly.

Alexander stiffened, and he beckoned Harris over.

“Miss Henderson was offered opium by Keller,” he said. “You can add that to the charge sheet – and see what he knows.”

“Yessir,” said Harris, saluting his officer.

“Right; in you get,” said Alexander.

“How do you manage to be managing in a way I don’t mind, but David being overbearing puts my back up?” asked Ida.

“Because I am ineffably splendid and amazingly clever, and David reacts first and does any thinking a long way down the line,” said Alexander.

 

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.

 

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.