murder in oils 16

 

Chapter 16

 

 

Simon drove far enough out of Lashbrook to find a pub serving food, and they ate.

“I’ll drop everything off at the Yard on my way back tomorrow,” said Alexander, with a yawn. “I’ll see if Ida can find me the paintings of Helen for David to pick the best.”

“Sleep, son; curl up on the back seat, there’s a blanket,” said Simon. “Otherwise you’ll be exhausted by the time you’ve racketed back to Oxfordshire from Essex again.”

“I will,” said Alexander. “Thanks, Papa.”

“You’re my boy,” said Simon.

 

Alexander slept all the way home, and scarcely remembered falling into bed. He awoke refreshed to breakfast brought by Ida.

“You shouldn’t be in a man’s bedroom,” he chided.

“But it’s my fiancé’s, and I am leaving the door open,” said Ida.

“Ida, did you bring all your best dresses?”

“No, I hadn’t got room, you know that. Why?”

“I’m going to ask Gladys if she’d like to be a lady for a few nights and go to some parties, as an ingenue, and see if we can catch Jonathon at it,” said Alexander. “He knows you and he might be suspicious. He doesn’t know me, and Gladys can be ladylike enough when she puts her mind to it.”

“Won’t it be dangerous?”

“Yes, and it’s another reason I don’t want to risk you. If Gladys has one cigarette, it’s not likely to hook her. If you are forced to smoke one, I don’t want to think of the consequences.”

Ida flushed.

“Do you think me weak-minded?” she snapped.

“No; I think you’ve had a dependency on those vile things which, like an allergy, can be rapidly re-awakened, because it has affected your body,” said Alexander.

“Oh!” said Ida. “I’m sorry.”

“You had every right to query me,” said Alexander. “But trust me on this; I’ve seen it in society. It’s like alcoholics. If they can give up drink and are offered liquor, one drink is both too much and never enough.”

She nodded.

“I see,” she said. “Take care; and look after Gladys.”

“I will,” said Alexander.

 

Ida had sorted out all the pictures of Helen; three of her on her own in different styles, another with Gloria, where Gloria was definitely a handmaiden to the great lady, waiting on her in the classical setting beloved of Alma-Tadema, and one with David.

Being Basil, it was in the style of the Pre-Raphaelites, with David as a Viking, and Helen gazing at him adoringly.  On the back, Basil had scrawled, ‘Thor and Sif.’ He had exaggerated the length of Helen’s blonde hair, as Sif was known for her long golden locks; but if the necklace she wore was intended to be the Brising necklace, it looked rather modern.

“The necklace was one which David gave Helen,” said Ida. “Basil always called it ‘Brisingamen,’ to David’s annoyance, but it is a lovely one of them as a couple. David does well as a big, brainless god of thunder, doesn’t he? But Thor could be quieted by gentle Sif, so it’s actually a good choice.”

“Basil painted right to the heart of people,” said Alexander. “Thor is looking on his wife in adoration.”

“His satires are wickedly well observed,” said Ida. “And I bet the one of you on the tank was because you were a bit pompous at him.”

Alexander laughed, flushing.

“I was,” he said. “I got over it.”

 

 

He kissed her tenderly, before taking his leave, and as he had said he would, took the evidence he had amassed to Scotland Yard.

“So, there is something in it?” asked Superintendant Barrett.

“Oh, hell, yes, and it ties in with those drugs being smuggled and distributed,” said Alexander.

“You always fall on your feet,” said Barrett. “What, if any, help do you need?”

“A couple of lads inserted into Fringford, and some watching the London abode of one Jonathon Grantham,” said Alexander. “I don’t know, but I suspect he may also have a pad in Oxford city. There’s going to be a party in Oxford tonight, as it happens, and I am planning to gatecrash, hopefully with a partner. And a few extra bobbies around wouldn’t go amiss.” He filled in his chief on what he was anticipating, and details of time and place, and drove on to Lashbrook feeling much happier that there would be official backup.

 

oOoOo

 

“Hullo, old chap, what kept you?” asked David.

“Traffic, and I had to stop off in London for a spare part,” said Alexander, mendaciously. Unless you counted ordering extra bobbies as a spare part. “Yes, I could have got one elsewhere, but the man who understands my car is in London, and I trust him.”

“Oh, well, it’s Italian, isn’t it? Should have bought British,” said David.

“I considered a Hillman, but I had a Lancia before, and I like it,” said Alexander. “Sunday not too stressful without me?”

David laughed.

“Any day without you is less stressful,” he said. “I do miss Ida, though, but not her quarrelling with the other women.”

“Ida doesn’t like to be pushed around, by people who have no right to do so,” said Alexander. “She takes gentle caring bullying from my mother; even submitted to breakfast in bed, yesterday.”

“I am glad she’s with your mother; sounds as if she can actually handle Ida,” said David, in profound relief.

“Like a dream,” said Alexander. “Listen, I have been collecting a lot of evidence, and I know who killed Helen and Basil, but I am not going to tell you. I want to make a big pinch, and I’d really like you to keep yourself to yourself as much as possible. It runs very deep. Can you trust me on that?”

“Certainly; keeping out of the way of all of those ruddy women seems a good idea, as long as Miss Truckle is going to be fine. She was quite ill after the gassing.”

“Perhaps you should suggest that Anna moves into Ida’s room to keep an eye on her – which is also out of your suite,” said Alexander. “I need to borrow Gladys for the evening, to make a demonstration over... various things.”

“Over how Helen was killed?  I can accept it, old boy.  Yes, take her to do whatever you want. I’ll rephrase that, put your eyebrows down; you’re marrying my sister!”

“I’ll ask her to help pack for Ida and talk to her in privacy there,” said Alexander.

 

Lunch was slices of pork and egg gala pie.

“Marvellous of you to have managed to get this ready for us,” said David, to Gloria.

“Oh, it’s not hard,” said Gloria.

“So long as you took the labels off,” murmured Alexander.

Gloria glared at him.

“I do my poor little best to help you out, David,” she cooed.

“Oh, you’re a force of nature,” said David. “What a waste you’d have been as a chemist, dealing with smelly chemicals, not delectable food.”

“Oh, I’d enjoy doing both, making scents and bath crystals to sell for my own little endeavour,” said Gloria. “But, of course, I can’t do that as a housekeeper and not married, it lacks security in my position.”

“I wasn’t about to turn you off because there’s no longer a mistress of the house; you don’t care for that, do you?” said David.  “It’s Anna they pointed fingers over, and she’ll be going as soon as she has another situation. Though actually, Anna, if you’d move into Ida’s room, you can keep an eye on Elinor Truckle for me, Gladys is going to empty out Ida’s things this afternoon.”

“Mr. Armitage wasted no time in setting up a love nest,” said Gloria.

“I don’t really know what you mean by that, Wandsworth,” said Alexander. “My betrothed wife is staying with my parents. Are you trying to spread untruths about Ida? I don’t suppose David likes you blackening his name any more than I do.”

“No, I damn well do not,” said David.

“Oh, I meant nothing by it!” said Gloria, hurriedly. “I meant to tease Mr. Armitage for working faster with Ida than on the sad business of death in the house. It was too easy to make Mr. Armitage rise.”

“I think you are forgetting your position in the household,” said Alexander. “Remember, I am close to being Mr. Henderson’s brother-in-law, and a pert tongue on the housekeeper cannot be seen as pleasing.”

“I do the job, but I am next to family myself!” flared Gloria. “Helen made me promise that if anything happened to her, I would take her place in looking after David!”

“Haha, just as well she didn’t ask you to take her place in all things!” laughed David. “Why, the idea of you as my wife is just too risible for words!”

“And why is that?” asked Gloria.

“I don’t like you,” said David. “As an employer to employee relationship, that doesn’t matter, but marry you? Gad, no! You’re loud, brash, obnoxious, pushy, and managing, and what’s worse, you look like a horse.”

“Harsh,” murmured Alexander. He might have wished that this quarrel had not happened so soon, but it was going to happen sooner or later.

Gloria went white, with two red spots of colour on her cheeks, and she turned and whirled off, all limping forgotten.

“I hope the cooking won’t suffer,” said David.

“It won’t; she imports it from Fortnum and Mason,” said Alexander.

“What, not really? Did you detect that?” asked David, amused.

“I uncover any number of trivial secrets when delving into more serious matters,” said Alexander. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it, as she plainly stays within the budget you set her, had you not been rightly concerned that the housekeeping would suffer for her being fool enough to expect a man who so adored his wife as you adored Helen to be ready to move on in a week or so, if ever.”

“You never saw us together.”

“I’ve seen the painting of you as Thor and Sif.”

“Oh! Basil had the most impish sense of humour. But they were a loyal couple. Is it any good?”

“It’s brilliant,” said Alexander, softly. “I’ve got several paintings, but I left them in the car; I thought we could look at them properly when I’ve wrapped everything up, so you’re under less strain.”

“Yes, I appreciate that, old man,” said David. “You’re not as unlikeable as I thought. I thought you were a stiff-necked do-gooder and interfering busybody.”

“That’s all right, I thought you were a stubborn, irritating tick who couldn’t change his mind on evidence if it was presented by St. Michael and all the angels.”

David laughed.

“We see each other’s faults clearly but perhaps we can manage to be better brothers because of that,” he said.

“Making profound statements plainly runs in the family,” said Alexander. “We’ll irritate each other no end, but at least we can be frank about it.”

“Ida cooked everything she served, didn’t she?” said David. “I suppose you wouldn’t consider settling here with her in charge when you get married? I can’t see Gloria staying long.”

“I’d hate the idea, because I loathe your modern house,” said Alexander. “I grew up in a house which actually has secret passages, and it has poky little corners that go nowhere and have no efficient usage, and I love it.”

“You really would be suited to Heywood Hall,” said David. “I tell you what, I’ll make you a gift of it for a wedding present, and you can move in when the current lease is up.”

“Thank you; that’s generous,” said Alexander. “Now, let me speak to Gladys about packing Ida’s room up; what I don’t take can be stored for now, so poor Miss Truckle has someone to keep an eye on her.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

“Gladys,” said Alexander, “Are you up for some danger?”

“You want me to blackmail Miss Wandsworth and see what happens?” asked Gladys.

“Oh, you’d got that far?”

“Well, Drew – Campbell, that is, was doing the photography, and which shoe fit that nasty bruise is clear enough,” said Gladys. “I think she tried to gas Miss Ida, too, and she wasn’t half so adoring of Mrs. Helen below stairs as above.”

“The servants’ hall always knows,” said Alexander. “You’re a bright girl, Gladys. Do you think you could manage to be a flapper for an evening?”

“If you wants me to, sir,” said Gladys. “Why?”

“I want to round up the people who gave Ida those opium cigarettes, before arresting their leader,” said Alexander.

“Oh, she never did!” gasped Gladys, putting her hands to her mouth. “Her and her nasty smelly room?”

“Oho, you are quick,” said Alexander. “But I don’t want to lose the rest of the gang.”

“No, sir, of course you don’t,” said Gladys. “What do I have to do?”

“Pick some of Ida’s jewellery and a party dress, some of her silk stockings, and can you fit her shoes?”

“If I picks a pair of soft ones, kid, or silk,” said Gladys, dubiously. “She has little feet.”

“What about Helen’s?” asked Alexander.

“The master....”

“We won’t tell him, and I doubt he’d notice,” said Alexander. “She was ethereal but stately.”

“She had long, thin feet like me,” said Gladys.

“Her clothes would fit you better, too, but I wager they might be recognised,” said Alexander.

“I ain’t much wider’n Miss Ida, her skirts might be a thought short on me.”

“Well, as long as it’s not too outrageous, that might not be bad,” said Alexander. “There’s that dark blue thing she wore my first night here; can you manage that?”

“If I tear it, reckon you’ll replace it for her,” said Gladys, philosophically. “If need be, I’ll take out the side seams and tack it to my indigo Sunday gown.”

“Well, that’s your duties for the rest of the day, you can throw Campbell out and change in there,” said Alexander. “I’ll go steal a pair of shoes for you, and this evening you’ll come out of the studio French windows. Don’t forget furs!

“Yessir,” said Gladys.

 

Murder in oils 15 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 15

 

Alexander was glad of the long drive with his father, to talk through his findings, his beliefs, his conjectures, and what he could prove, and what he could not.

“You’re going to have trouble linking Basil’s painting with the autopsy results,” said Simon. “If you take a piece of tracing paper and put it over, and draw out the figure and Helen falling, to show a hidebound judge how it is constructed you might get respect; I understand the Yard considers you a fairly competent art expert?”

“Yes, I’ve had cases of art theft before now,” said Alexander. “Thanks, Pater, good idea.”

“I’ll ‘Pater’ you, you scamp,” said Simon. “If the shoe print fits, that’s the sort of solid evidence that judges like.  You did bring a camera, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I plan to photograph the still room,” said Alexander. “I’ve got the vest-pocket Kodak I got during the war. It’s not the best camera in the world, but they made me give back the Zeiss on the downed Heinkel Albatross. It was a big old thing, anyway, designed to take plates eight by ten inches, for blowing up photos to see small features of the landscape from their spyplane.  It was a beauty,” he added.

“A spy camera would be,” said Simon. “The sort of thing where they take six or seven years polishing the lens.”

“Yes, and it had some photos over the enemy lines,” said Alexander. “Which, of course, a lowly major did not even get to see.”

“So I should hope,” said Simon, severely. “Above your paygrade, Tankie!”

Alexander laughed. His father had, after all, been in Intelligence during the war years.

“I’m on the right track, though, aren’t I?” he said.

“Are you asking me, son, or telling me?” queried Simon.

“Telling you,” said Alexander.

“Then you know in your own mind that you have all the pieces,” said Simon.

“The drugs business complicates matters,” said Alexander.

“Or simplifies it,” said Simon.

“Sir, are you out of your mind? How can it simplify things?” demanded Alexander.

“Well, son, you have a murder of a woman for the rather flimsy motive that her friend from university, grateful for a place as housekeeper, was in love with David. Does she strike you as so in love with David that she would kill to get him, and kill someone to whom she owes something of a debt of gratitude?”

“No,” said Alexander. “I’m just thinking that, having gone through most of her degree in chemistry, she more than qualifies as a pharmacist’s assistant, and even a female isn’t going to start on less than a hundred and twenty quid a year.  David pays Gloria eighty, because I asked, and her keep is worth another sixty-five, but she’s tied to the house. And with her studies, she could walk through any pharmacy exam.  An ordinary shop assistant gets almost twice that, so she ought to be holding out for over three hundred a year. More, if she’s willing to develop film as well. And so why would she stay as a housekeeper, when she could save up to complete her exams, even if not enough to complete university?”

“Because there’s something she wants, and David is a convenient excuse for it,” said Simon. “And that something is because she’s a druggist in a very literal sense, she has her own pharmacy, in a big house in the middle of nowhere, with a patent air conditioning system to get rid of the smells,  didn’t you write that David had extractor fans in the whole kitchen complex ducted into the sewers?”

“Yes, it seemed outrageously excessive to me, but I suspect him to suffer from dyspepsia and nausea from strong smells. He gets easily put off eating.”

“Well, less silly than it sounded, in that case. I imagine the room she has taken as a still room has the same system.”

“By Jove! It explains why the nurse hasn’t asked innocent questions about the stink of opium.”

“Exactly. The house is perfect for her. She may have intended it for a stopgap at first until she discovered what being queen of the kitchen might mean. Did you know that Foursquares has an account with Fortnum and Mason, and a lot of food is delivered? Cooked meat and pies and the like?”

“Well, I’m damned!” said Alexander. “Whew! So she’s not the fantastic cook David brags about. I should have asked the servants.”

“You should.  But you phoned and asked me to look into her parents, and I dug my nose in other things too.”

“Her parents, yes. What did you find out?” asked Alexander.

“They lost all their money on a very dodgy scheme, involving the black market during the war, so the family appear to be bad’uns all round,” said Simon. “Her mother supposedly took an overdose of sleeping pills, and her father, distraught, forgot to take his digitalin pills.”

“In other words, she murdered them both, by poisoning the mother and replacing her old man’s pills with placebos she had made,” said Alexander.

“You’ll never prove it,” said Simon.

“No, but it confirms for me that she is a ruthless operator, and that I am glad my Ida is safe.”

“Me too,” said Simon.

“I don’t know if Helen saw something, or if Gloria just got impatient waiting for her to die; she was very ill after a miscarriage... Hell’s Bells! Suppose Helen confided that she was pregnant? And the party was to celebrate that... and she gave Helen a strong abortifacient?  Getting rid of Helen, and putting Ida out of play by getting her hooked in one fell swoop. Helen is ill, might even die, Ida is blamed by David, but Ida manages to survive cold turkey, and a heart attack cause by improper treatment, and with Basil’s help, starts getting well. Controlling her is important. She is too clever to be allowed too much independence.  Using Keller fails, but a governess works well. I suspect Gloria would not even have quibbled at Ida going to university, knowing that once she shook the dirt of Foursquares from her feet, she’d be long gone.”

“And then there was Basil,” said Simon.

“Yes, and she tried to get him to take opium, but he did not like being out of control,” said Alexander. “I think she always meant to kill him at the same time as Helen. Perhaps she intended for him to be found dead, having fallen from his chair, at the bottom of the stairs; but Campbell got home early. And Basil was strong enough to do more than she could have possibly imagined.”

“He was an amazing man,” said Simon, quietly.

“And I will look after Ida – for him, as well as for me,” said Alexander. “Turn left, here, it’s quicker.”

“David won’t like a strong, managing woman, from what you’ve told me,” said Simon.

“No, and therein the flaw in her plan,” said Alexander. “I fancy she believes she is making herself indispensible to him, where actually, she’s irritating him. She wants to get her hands on Ida’s money, but more than that, she wants Ida out of the way.”

“The money counts, though.”

“Yes, she’s greedy, and it hurts her to have to see nearly fifty thousand quid flutter out of her reach. I think her attempt to gas Ida was in order to save her at the last minute, so that she could posit that Ida was not in her right wits, had not the capability to run her own  affairs, and therefore should be declared an imbecile in David’s protection, unable to sign a will, unable to marry, and with the right drugs given and withheld, she could even have convinced a board of psychologists that Ida needed care. And then David would get the money. Now I think of it, there was a light under her door; she hadn’t gone to sleep. But Campbell’s nose is uncannily good, and he picked up what was going on, and me thundering up the stairs put the kibosh on her felonious little plans.”

“From East End slang to Gilbert and Sullivan?”

“Have you got anything against Gilbert and Sullivan?”

“No, it just amused me.”

“I am a product of my time,” said Alexander. “So, Gloria’s motive is to keep her drug factory secret.  Helen was just an impediment to her long term plan, and Basil and Ida mere incidentals.”

“More or less, in a nutshell,” said Simon. “A ruthless woman of esuriently venal rapacity.”

“I knew I didn’t like her,” said Alexander.

 

 

Alexander directed his father down a cart track to park.

“No way the lights are going to shine into the windows of the house, and if we cut across a field, we are into the property. Round the garage, and then in through the access panel. What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“By the time we’re there, it will be eight. Dinner is at eight, sharp, or David will know the reason why,” said Alexander.

“I suppose once she marries him, he will have a tragic accident,” said Simon.

“Well, I could almost understand that one,” said Alexander. “He’s a tick. He was lucky in Helen, in that she found his inherent tickishness endearing; or at least, she didn’t mind it. I don’t know what she was doing at university, she doesn’t seem to have had many brains, and certainly no gumption, but I suppose there are the little fools who swan through and somehow manage to avoid learning anything.”

“Too many, and it isn’t just the girls,” said Simon. “Good grief! Is that the house?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Alexander.

“Ida flattered it,” said Simon. “Any self-respecting sewerage works would die of shame to look like that.”

“He had some great ideas, but no vision to make it attractive as well as clever,” said Alexander. “I think I’m sorry for David. He has no idea what a little tick he is, or how he manages to be one.”

“You’re probably the only person who is.”

“More than likely.  Now, Ida told me how to do this...” Alexander found the rivets that were no such thing, to unlock the access panel.

“Looks tight in there,” said Simon.

“Less so than in a tank,” said Alexander. “And probably a reasonable temperature throughout, not baking in the sun, freezing in the cold and always wet from condensation. I know that the tank was a game changer, but I doubt it will catch on; not unless they can get it going faster than walking pace, and with a better field of view. It’s a novelty, but not much use against modern munitions.  You’d have to be able to build hundreds of them, going at a decent speed to make any serious tactical advantage, and backed up by men on equally mobile transport.”

“Who knows,” said Simon, who was a bit more knowledgeable about the planned mass tank attacks of improved vehicles for the final push of 1919 which never happened, once Germany began losing faster than the allies could win. Such things were still top secret, even from his son.

Simon followed Alexander down the ladder, pulling the hatch back into place.

“No point letting a draught in, or letting anyone out see that we’re in,” he said. Alexander had switched on an internal light, which was dim, but sufficient, and led him out of another panel into a large, meticulously clean room, with benches, cupboards, and work surfaces, including a gas stove.

“I can smell the ruddy opium,” growled Alexander. “It’s coming in raw; how are they getting a stink like that past customs?”

“Something stronger smelling?” suggested Simon.

Alexander frowned.

“Someone went into the haberdasher’s as I passed it,” he said. “I was almost bowled over by the scent. He’s importing scent legally, and paying the duty, to cover the smell of opium.”

“That’s cheek,” said Simon.

“Here she’s boiling it in lime to make into tablets, and there’s a kitchen grater to grate it into tobacco,” said Alexander. “Hell’s bells!”

“What?” said Simon.

“Acetic anhydride... chloroform... sodium carbonate... ether... hydrochloric acid. She has the works to turn it into heroin,” said Alexander. “These look fairly new; I think that’s a more recent endeavour.”

“There are plenty of young men, injured, and with less fortitude than Basil, who would pay anything for its brief oblivion,” said Simon.

“A pound of that would sell, once broken up and cut, for more than her yearly wage,” said Alexander, soberly. “I hope she’s careful; the last part is rather volatile.”

“I’ll be glad when you’ve made your pinch,” said Simon. “Take your pictures, and let’s leave.”

Alexander fished out his folding camera, and his somewhat less concealable flash gun. He recorded everything onto the tiny 127mm film, being careful what he chose to photograph in case his flash gun failed, and because of the limited number of pictures.

“What’s this diary?” asked Simon.

“Paydirt,” said Alexander, opening it.  There were dates of anticipated visits to France, meetings with Jonathon Grantham, and parties he wanted to attend. Alexander copied out dates and venues in his own notebook.

 

Then the two men retreated, leaving everything as they had found it.

“Time?” asked Alexander.

“Almost eight thirty,” said Simon.

“I’m going to risk throwing gravel at my bedroom window where Campbell should have returned,” said Alexander. “And the bathroom.”

There was a light in the room in which he had been sleeping, just beyond the end of the balcony which served the studio. Alexander threw some gravel from under the balcony.

The light went out. Shortly thereafter was the ominous click of the cocking of a weapon.

“Orroight, ‘oo’s muckin’ abaht out there?” came Campbell’s voice from the balcony.

“Me, Campbell, and my father,” said Alexander, meekly. “I’m glad you’re on the ball, and I heard no such thing as a weapon cocking if you don’t have a licence for it.”

“I dunno what sahnd you mean,” said Campbell. “Come on in, an’ I’ll make a nice cuppa.”

Alexander led his father up the steps, through the half-light of the studio, and into the bedroom, which was decidedly cosy with three of them.  Campbell disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with three steaming mugs of tea.

“I been developing the pics of all them shoes,” he said. “Gladdie got them all back afore they was missed, nipping in to collect Lady Baskerville’s with Cyril in tow. Ain’t hers, nohow; her foot’s too small. But, I got a nice curved print off of them thin curved heels That Bloody Woman wears, them triple-strap Mary Jane’s o’ hers.”

“They’re called ‘Louis heels’ because they resemble those worn in the seventeenth century by King Louis the fourteenth,” said Alexander.

“Well, you can’t trust the French to do nuthin’ straightforward and sensible,” said Campbell. “Look at their cooking.”

Alexander decided not to get into a discussion on Campbell’s prejudices.

“And for the record, the nurse?” he asked.

“Ho, well, the whole lot’s like Goldilocks an’ the three bears,” said Campbell. “Nursie’s feet are too big; Lady B’s are too small; but Glory Hallelujah, hers are jus’ right.”

“Excellent,” said Alexander. “You photographed each shoe in relation to the photo of the wound?”

“Front on, side on, shoe on its side to show the end o’ the heel, stood on the photo, and a photo of the plaster-of-Paris cast an’ all, each one wiv the name o’ the shoe’s owner held up clear in a place-setting thingy,” said Campbell.

“Good work,” said Alexander. “Can I take them all? I don’t want to leave you with the responsibility.”

“I’ll be glad to get rid of the bleedin’ lot,” said Campbell. “Uh, Major?”

“What is it, Campbell?”

“Are you sure Miss Ida ain’t got no more opium?” asked Campbell, diffidently.

“What makes you say so?” asked Alexander. “I’m not angry.”

“Well, I went and had a good butcher’s[1] arahnd her room, an’ I turned up a box under her piller wiv some o’ them funny cigarettes in,” said Campbell.

“Ohho,” said Alexander. “And did you ask Gladys about the box?”

“Yerse, it weren’t there when Gladdie made the bed, but she never checked when she ‘elped miss to check out an’ relocate,” said Campbell.

“I think it was hidden before the gas incident as ‘proof’ that Ida was backsliding,” said Alexander. “What did you do with it?”

“Picked it up in me ‘ankie, and bagged it up in a grocer’s bag for you,” said Campbell.

“I doubt Gloria left any prints, but at least it shouldn’t have Ida’s on it,” said Alexander. “Gloria’s in the drugs business, Campbell, and we need to move slow enough to catch her.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” said Campbell.

 

---

[1] Butcher’s hook = look, Cockney rhyming slang

murder in oils 14

 

Chapter 14

 

“Has it occurred to you that after all that stress and emotion, I might be hungry?” asked Ida.

“Of course, my darling. That’s why we’re stopping at a pub for lunch,” said Alexander.

“You are good at taking the wind out of my eye,” said Ida.

“I live but to please,” said Alexander.

“Gloria was going on about stripping every bed, taking down the curtains round the studio to beat them, beating all the carpets, and so on,” said Ida. “I think she was going to do it to make sure I had heavy work, but now if she wants to go ahead, Anna can refuse, and Gladys will be needed for meals.”

“I can bear Gloria’s vicissitudes with equanimity,” said Alexander, drawing into the yard of an old inn, named ‘The Highwayman’s Rest.’  ’  It was timber-framed, build of stone on the ground floor, the first and second storeys above that being, presumably, wattle-and-daub, plastered on the outside with some pargetting work of dubious value having been added some time in the 15^th century, displaying sundry heraldic symbols which might be the mullet and crescet of the de Vere family if one had a strong enough imagination. He parked the car, and led Ida inside.

“Hullo, squire, you look like you’re off to a funeral,” said the landlord.

“Actually, we just came from one,” said Alexander. “We avoided the Wake, so what’s on the menu?”

“A lot more substantial than muckin’ funereral food,” said the man. “Pork chops, mash, green beans an’ baked onion. That do you?”

“Very well, thank you,” said Alexander.

 

Ida sighed, laying her knife and fork down properly on a plate cleared but for the bones.

“That was so nice,” she said. “I’ve really enjoyed food the last few days; we’ve been eating real food, not the fancy kickshaws Gloria thinks are appropriate.”

“I did wonder at the sauce that first dinner, which was more sauce than meat,” said Alexander. “Don’t get me wrong, nothing wrong with a good parsley sauce on fish, a fricassee of chicken in a roux sauce, pepper sauce with steak and so on; I even like coq au vin as a change. But you can get obsessed.”

“Exactly,” said Ida. “I don’t feel enthusiastic about eating Gloria’s succulent taste-tempters, because they don’t.”

“Nothing wrong with good plain food without disguising the tastes. Any sauces should supplement, not drown.”

“Exactly,” said Ida. “I am glad you will like me feeding you good plain food.”

“My darling, I look forward to it. But we can also have a cook housekeeper so you have time for your own pursuits, who, being an employee, you can throw out of the kitchen when you want to do your own thing.”

“Gloria wouldn’t countenance that. She’s furious that the family has been happily fed, you know!  She was expecting us all to have to survive on cornflakes this morning, having a full breakfast made her as mad as hornets.”

“You should not really... oh, hell, it’s funny, and you’ve had to put up with her for years.”

Ida beamed at him.

“Where do your parents live?”

“Essex, but we’re going via London, to Cartier’s. I want that ring for you,” said Alexander. “I rang them and asked them to put it aside; we are expected.”

“Goodness! Sounds like royalty,” said Ida.

Alexander laughed.

“According to family history, our descent from a royal duke is spurious, and was a rumour started to spite someone, doubtless like Gloria, but the Duke of York thought it a grand joke, and my ancestor ended up solving mysteries for the Duke and his set. But ‘everyone knew’ the connection, so it made it into Debrett’s.”

Ida laughed.

“I am glad you are not too grand,” she said.

“I’m a policeman,” said Alexander. “I’d get cut down to size by my colleagues if I were too grand.”

“Alex, would you mind if I tried my hand at painting? David laughed at my efforts.”

“Your drawing of Helen was very well executed. I know you were going for accuracy not artistic display, but every artist needs a framework of accuracy, even if departing from what can be seen in, say, cubism.”

“I would say that to do cubism well, you need more accuracy because you have to match what can be seen with what can be inferred,” said Ida.

“An interesting way of looking at it,” said Alexander. “We’ll pick you up some painting kit in town too.”

 

oOoOo

 

In Cartier’s, customers of one-off pieces get far more personal treatment than most customers, ensconced in a back room, with cups of tea, and trays of jewellery brought to them.

“I want this one for her, with the stones matching her midnight blue eyes, and the diamonds as bright as her smile,” said Alexander, stubbornly.

“It is beautiful,” said Ida, admiring the ring of three rows of offset stones, two rows of sapphires with a row of diamonds between.

“It is a part of a parure, monsieur....”

“Fine, I’ll have the parure,” said Alexander. “Nothing too good for my wife.”

“Monsieur is very discerning.”

“Monsieur is very demanding,” said Alexander. “And autocratic.”

Ida giggled.

 

oOoOo

 

 

Ida sat, admiring her ring, as they drove out into East Anglia, her art supplies in bulky packages next to the trunk full of Basil’s paintings.

“I hope your parents will like me,” she said, shyly.

“Bound to adore you, because I do,” said Alexander. “I wrote to Mama, and said I’d be bringing you down at some point.” He hesitated. “I won’t see much of you, over the weekend,” he said. “I have work to do; I brought Basil’s diaries with me, and I need to decipher them. He wrote in his own peculiar code.”

“I expect a policeman’s wife is used to her husband working peculiar hours,” said Ida.

“Good girl,” said Alexander.

 

oOoOo

 

Ida was not prepared for an effusive greeting from Alexander’s parents, most of his siblings having flown the nest. She burst into tears, and Lady Armitage – apparently his father was a baronet – hustled her up to a room prepared for her, pretty and feminine without being too feminine, with a fire blazing in the grate, and a kettle on a trivet by it.

“You must call me Margaret,” said Lady Armitage. “Or Mama, if you wish.”

“Mamargaret,” said Ida. “I barely remember my mother. Oh! What has Alex told you about me?”

“That you’ve had a very tough couple of years, and the only people who mitigated it have died,” said Margaret. “And yes, he told us about that wicked young man who got you hooked on drugs.  You must feel that you can talk to me about anything, you know.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Ida. “I... I think I would like to sleep now.”

“Of course. I will bring you a tray for dinner; you don’t want to have to socialise.”

“Oh, THANK you!” said Ida. “I am so happy, why am I weepy?”

“Because it’s all been a very great ordeal,” said Margaret. “Do you want a phonograph record on to go to sleep with?”

“Oh! I never thought of that. No, I think the crackling of the flames will be soothing,” said Ida. “I miss a real fire. Alex wants to buy my old house before David built the sewerage factory.”

“You must tell me all about it another time,” said Margaret.

By the time she reached the door, her future daughter-in-law was making little sleeping noises.

Margaret was determined to take good care of the poor little waif of a girl.

 

oOoOo

 

“You spoil me, Mamargaret!” protested Ida, on waking next morning. “I had a tray for dinner, and now one for breakfast?”

“You haven’t had enough spoiling, little girl,” said Margaret. “I hope you like all that’s on offer; a soft boiled egg, sausages, bacon, vegetable cakes, which are no more than bubble and squeak but we cook them in muffin tins, and freeze them, fried egg, mushrooms, tomatoes, and fresh orange juice as well as tea.”

“Oh, it’s magnificent,” said Ida, happily. “I do not think I can go to church though.”

“No, and nobody expects you to do so,” said Margaret. “I suggest you have a pyjama day, and curl up in my boudoir, where Alexander will be working. You have the gift of silence, for him, I am sure!”

“Oh, yes, I do not need to talk.  I will sketch, I think.”

“What a good idea.”

 

Thus, Ida, in her pyjamas and gaudy dressing-gown, was curled up in a pile of cushions in front of the fire in Margaret’s pretty boudoir, with a french window opening onto the terrace, almost devoid of flowers at this time of year, but with dried sea lavender and the pearly seed cases of honesty in a pair of vases. Chinese fabrics on the walls showed gay flowers and birds in panels, between pale blue painted walls. Over the fireplace was an oil painting of a handsome couple, who were apparently Sir Caleb and his wife, Jane, the first detective Armitages. A gaudy china elephant stood beside the fireplace, being used for a tea-tray.  Ida was sketching her old house from memory in watercolours, and Alex was grunting from time to time in frustration or satisfaction as his work went worse or better.

“I wish I could figure out what ‘TBW’ was, sometimes ‘TOBW’,” he said.

“That Bloody Woman, and That Other Bloody Woman,” said Ida. “He didn’t like Gloria or Anna.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” said Alexander. “Cheers.”

“Glad to help,” said Ida. “I know how Basil thinks... thought. I’m still having trouble.”

“He will never be truly dead while  you love him,” said Alexander.  “I wish we had a portrait of him, but he was too modest to do a self-portrait.”

Ida put away her watercolours, and got out a canvas, and oil paints, and sat herself up properly in front of the easel which was part of the supplies Alexander had bought her.

After a few false starts, she found herself painting surely and confidently, and the paint flowed happily from her brush.

 

“Are you two youngsters going to join us for lunch?” asked Margaret.

“Goodness, is it midday already?” asked Alexander.

“It’s almost one,” said Margaret. “No, don’t worry about being in pyjamas, Ida, dear, we’re not formal, but let me just use a little turpentine to take the green smear off your face. Oh, my, you have caught him; I’ve seen a photo of Alexander’s.”

Alexander came over, and gasped.

“You have his talent, my love,” he said. “Well, if we lose all our money, and the Bolsheviks take over so I’m out of a job with the criminals running the country, you can feed us with chalk pictures on the pavements.”

“What nonsense you do talk, at times,” said his mother, indulgently. “If we lose all our money, we can feed ourselves from the farm.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Alexander. “Living on eggs, chicken, cheese, and Swedes.”

“There are worse diets,” said Margaret.

 

“How are you doing, son?” asked Simon Armitage, Alexander’s father.[1]

“It’s heartbreaking,” said Alexander. “It really was private; he confesses the pain and the hardship in a way he never would to any person. It feels like an intrusion, but I’ve discovered something which makes me think hard. Ida, do you recall how you met Jonathon and his set?”

“Oh, it was a party that Helen gave; I think Gloria wanted to show off her skills in catering, and Helen wasn’t averse to the odd party. They were all part of the same set at university, and with Jonathon being so close, his people being from Fringford, it made some social life. I think he was an old flame of Gloria’s.”

“That makes a lot fall into place,” said Alexander, grimly. “Do you recall his folks’ name?”

“Grantham,” said Ida. “His brother was nearer my age, Timothy. He was a little beast, a bit like Keller, a cross between an octapus and a slug.”

“All hands but dripping with slime?” said Alexander.

“Exactly,” said Ida.

“Sketch me Jonathon, later, will you?” asked Alexander. “I want a few details about that young man, but as bright young things go, as the tabloids will call such people, I think it’s time Jonathon went.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Ida.

“Nick him, if I can,” said Alexander.

“Do you want me to be bait?” asked Ida, steadily.

“I might,” said Alexander.

“Alexander! Hasn’t she been through enough?” scolded Margaret.

“It might be more closure to help put him away,” argued Alexander. “And Keller, whom I believe is a mule for him, travelling to and from London, buying gents’ wear for the haberdashery.”

“He goes to Paris for fashion goods as well,” said Ida. “I wouldn’t have thought millinery or haberdashery paid so well, but plainly it does.”

“Got them,” said Alexander.  “Well!  I think I’ll be able to wrap up a smuggling ring, or at least, the British end of it, which has been a bit of a headache to the department. But there are still some missing pieces to the puzzle.”

“I am sure you will piece them all together,” said Ida.

“Yes, I think I will,” said Alexander. “Basil tried one of those opium cigarettes for the pain, once, and decided that the loss of control was not worth taking any more; unlike you, however, he knew perfectly well what he was trying.  Ida, is there a stillroom for making herbal cures at Foursquares?”

“There’s Gloria’s cubby,” said Ida. “Nobody is allowed in there, she makes herbal cures, and Basil’s tobacco in there, it’s entirely underground, with air ducts, behind the open part of the kitchen complex.”

“And are there any external panels to it?”

“Oh, yes! I can draw you a plan of where,” said Ida.

“Then I wish you will do so; I’ll push on a little more and then I’ll be off for a while. I’ll be late back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Burgling,” said Alexander.

“Darling, take the train. Your car is too distinctive,” said Margaret.

“Sunday service,” said Alexander.

“I’m coming with you as a lookout,” said Simon. “We’ll take my car. Goodness, it’s years since I cracked a ken.”

“And if I get caught?”

“An engaged man’s practical joke on his brother-in-law,” said Simon. “We’ll take fireworks, just in case.”

“You have far too felonious a turn of mind for a magistrate and former private investigator, Papa.”

“Why do you think I was such a good private investigator?” said Simon, chuckling happily. “Besides, anything I can do to break up the peddling of poisons to unwitting youngsters, I will.”

“You think Gloria is involved?” gasped Ida.

“I think Gloria is their chemist, taking raw goods and making them more potent,” said Alexander, grimly.

 

---

[1] It’s a family name. He’s the great grandson of Simon, son of Jane and Caleb or thereabouts.