A Country Way of Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 4)

by R. A. Bentley

  A Country Way of Death

  R. A. Bentley

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in England January 2018

  Copyright © R. A. Bentley

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book has been produced for the Amazon Kindle and is distributed by Amazon Direct Publishing

  Christmas 1926

  Chapter One

  Approached by a lonely country road, the Hampshire village of Bettishaw lay all but surrounded by William the Bastard's great hunting ground, the New Forest. It was the forest's dark acres, brooding over huddled farmsteads and flinty, crow-scattered fields, that gave the place its isolated and somewhat primitive character; reflected, perhaps, in the people, whose ways were not always those of the outside world. Most had lived there for generations, the same few families marrying amongst themselves, for there was peace and a kind of freedom to be had in the shadow of that ancient woodland not easily found elsewhere. And when times grew hard, as they often did, the forest protected its own, providing in season its firewood, fruits and game, the occasional haunch of illicit venison and pannage for Bert Clement's pigs. It also gave shelter from the prevailing wind, though not the cruel winter easterlies, one of which was blowing now, threatening snow.

  Almost beneath the boughs of the forest oaks was situated the tiny hamlet of Upper Bettishaw (known to the locals simply as Upper) consisting of Hilltop and Bere Farms and a handful of cottages. A half mile of rutted lane wound down from it to the village proper, where on a crossroads could be found the school, the Bell Inn, a garage-blacksmith, four shops, some three-score dwellings, and the Norman church of St John the Baptist. The more distant communities of Lower, Nether and Long completed the population of the parish.

  Few, however, of Bettishaw's scattered inhabitants were to be seen abroad on that bitter December afternoon, and the only sound of human activity came from the church, where under the tutelage of Miss Cecily Ashton, organist and music director, the voices of St John's choir were raised in a passable rendition of "Silent Night."

  'I think we'll make that do,' said Miss Ashton, turning towards them. 'You trebles are still coming in late, but I don't think I can face it again. Go away before I change my mind.'

  Five small boys – looking relieved if not much chastened – immediately scampered for the vestry, followed, with more dignified tread, by their elders.

  'Tomorrow, then!' boomed Gabriel Shutler, bass. 'Don't worry Cecily, we'll move 'em to tears.'

  'One way or another,' muttered Miss Ashton.

  'Was I all right, miss?' asked Daisy Felix, alto soloist.

  'Perfectly, dear,' said Miss Ashton, 'which is no more than I'd expect.' Miss Ashton was of a generation that criticised lavishly but was sparing with its praise.

  As if awakening from a trance, Ian Titmus, a lanky, dark-haired youth of nineteen, sighed and shook his head ecstatically. 'Voice of an angel,' he declared. He worshipped Daisy, body and soul, but ragged her unmercifully in public.

  Daisy stuck her tongue out at him.

  'Miss,' said Marjory Clement. 'I don't suppose you've got another score I could borrow? I'm afraid I've lost mine again.'

  'What on earth do you do with them, Marjory — eat them?' grumbled Miss Ashton, but didn't press for an answer. No doubt, she thought, the illiterate Bert had used it to clean his boots on, or do something unspeakable to a pig. It was a miracle the child had turned out as well as she had, given her antecedents. Rising, she lifted the seat of the organ bench and began to search within. 'I just may have one of the old ones,' she said, 'though I don't hold out much hope. Goodness, what a mess it is! I really must have a turn-out. Just hold these will you, Daisy? And these. Aha! What have we here?' She unfolded a battered set of stapled sheets, gazed frowningly at the top one for a moment then abruptly closed it again. 'No, that's not it. Well in that case I haven't. Sorry Marjory, you'll just have to share, I'm afraid.'

  'Would you like me to copy mine, Miss Ashton?' said Daisy. 'It'd be no trouble.'

  'Teacher's pet,' said Ian reflexively.

  'That's enough from you, young man, or I'll make you do it,' said Miss Ashton. 'Daisy, you're a treasure. Thank you.'

  'I'll drop it across tonight,' said Daisy. 'It might be late because we've got visitors.'

  'Thank you, Daisy,' said the younger girl shyly. 'I'm sorry to be a nuisance.'

  'Oh, you are,' smiled Daisy, 'a huge one.'

  'All right if we start now?' demanded Martin Bulloch, the church's bell captain. He had been hovering impatiently with his cohorts for ten minutes or more.

  'Yes, you may,' said Miss Ashton. 'They're probably as good as they'll ever be,' she added, observing the departing choristers. 'Coming Ian?' Ian was her orphaned great-nephew and lived with her.

  'I'm going to walk Daisy home first,' he said. 'It's getting dark.'

  'Well don't be late for tea.'

  They watched her hobble painfully across the transept, the vestry side-door providing the nearest access to her cottage, thirty yards away. Well into her sixties, she suffered, according to Doctor Felix, from heart-failure. She was a singular figure, for between her flowered straw hat, twenty years out of date, and her pink, dropsical ankles she seemed to consist largely of bosom and bum, the former at imminent risk of toppling her over.

  'Poor old thing,' said Daisy. 'I wish Daddy could do something for her. Don't you think it was a bit odd, about the score? I could swear it was the right one. There was something scribbled on it.'

  'I wasn't looking. What did it say?'

  'I'm not sure. Just something.'

  'I'll ask her. Come on, or I'll be late back.'

  'You don't have to see me home, you know,' said Daisy, who had walked the lane in the dark since she was seven. 'If you just want to kiss me, you might as well do it here and save yourself the trouble.'

  'A kiss tastes sweeter for being earned,' said Ian chivalrously. 'Besides, there might be bears.'

  Hunched into their overcoats and with half a gale at their backs they set out briskly on the ten minute walk. The snow had arrived, and pale, stinging flakes, small as midges, whirled about them. From the church tower the bells began to ring.

  'Who is that ahead of us?' frowned Daisy, peering into the murk. 'Oh, it's Marjory. I noticed you didn't offer to walk her home.'

  'If we're lucky she'll distract the bears,' said Ian. 'Are your brothers coming for Christmas?'

  Daisy giggled. 'Poor Marjory! A necessary sacrifice, I suppose. Only Miles this year. He's bringing Connie with him. Charles and Grace are going to her parents.'

  'Connie is the girl he met on a case?'

  'Yes, she's lovely. My parents haven't seen her yet. She was at his new flat when I went to look at it. It's rather swish. If you come back after tea you can say hello.'

  Ian shook his head. 'You won't want me there tonight. I'll see her tomorrow anyway. Payment please.'

  Oblivious to the elements they stopped and embraced, leaning against a field gate.

  Chapter Two

  Half-blinded by powerful headlights, the lovers moved reluctantly apart. A fierce voice barked at them. 'This is the morality police. You are under arrest. Raise your hands. Do not attempt to flee.'

 
'Miles, you fool!' laughed Daisy.

  'We guessed it was you anyway,' said Ian. 'Hello, Mr Felix.'

  Detective Inspector Miles Felix got out of the car to shake hands. 'You've grown,' he said accusingly. 'In you hop. That's if you've finished debauching my sister, of course.'

  'Hello, Connie,' said Daisy, sliding across the back seat. 'Did you have a good run?'

  'It was certainly a quick one,' said the fur-clad young woman. 'Aren't you cold?'

  'I ought to get home really,' said Ian. 'I'm late already.'

  'I'll run you back,' said Miles. 'You won't want to battle against this. Connie Harrison, this is Ian Titmus.'

  'Welcome to sunny Bettishaw, Miss Harrison,' said Ian.

  'We'd never recognise each other again,' laughed Connie, reaching out to him in the darkness.

  'What's the car?' asked Daisy. 'It's awfully big.'

  'Vauxhall Velox,' said Miles, 'Bit of a barge after the Alvis, but it's handy for ferrying my chaps about.'

  'Hardly a barge,' said Connie. 'We did over seventy coming down. My nerves have yet to recover.'

  'Then she made me put the hood up,' grumbled Miles good-naturedly. 'Most unsporting.'

  Passing a couple of cottages, they turned in at the farmhouse, its lighted windows wonderfully welcoming in what was now a minor blizzard. Lavinia Felix was at the door to greet them. 'We saw you coming,' she said. 'Hello, Ian. What are you doing here?'

  'Squiring me home,' said Daisy. 'He's not stopping.'

  'Mother and Father, this is Connie,' said Miles. 'Take her away and interrogate her. I'm going to drop Ian back.'

  The low-beamed sitting room was already decorated with paper-chains and holly. A Christmas tree, bright with tinsel, stood in one corner, and a log of heroic proportions flamed and crackled in the cavernous fireplace. Drawing her in, Lavinia caught Connie's hands in hers. 'Let me look at you,' she said. 'Goodness, you are beautiful. I thought it was just hyperbole. Isn't she exquisite, Roger? And so cold!'

  'I should imagine I've got a red nose,' laughed Connie.

  'You'll embarrass the poor girl!' chided Doctor Felix. 'Give me your coat, Connie, and go and sit by the fire.'

  'We've no room for servants,' explained Lavinia, 'Mrs Piper from Ivy Cottage comes in to clean, and she and her daughter are kindly cooking for us over the holiday. It'll only be plain fare, I'm afraid. Nothing fancy.'

  'It smells marvellous,' said Connie. 'What should I call you both? There's rather a lot of choice.'

  'Roger and Lavinia, please,' said Dr Felix. 'Except in front of my patients.'

  'Which is everyone else,' said Daisy helpfully.

  'We don't use Sir and Lady here,' said Lavinia. 'It doesn't seem right somehow in a country doctor.'

  'The vicar does,' said Daisy. 'He's a snob. When you've warmed up, Connie, I'll show you your room. Have you brought lots of lovely dresses?'

  'Only eight and a riding habit, I'm afraid,' said Connie. 'The chauffeur put his foot down.'

  'Oh, you ride! Good,' said Lavinia.

  'If I didn't, I doubt I'd be here,' smiled Connie. 'Think of Miles, think of horses.'

  'Oh no, I'm sure that's not true. We'd have had to teach you.'

  'Connie's friend is a couturier,' said Daisy. 'He designs all her clothes. I can't wait to see them. Is this one?'

  'Yes it is, though you can buy them in the shops now. They're quite a popular line.'

  'Well you needn't dress for dinner, unless you want to,' said the doctor. 'We don't usually bother. Except for Christmas day, of course.'

  'Oh no, she has to,' protested Daisy. 'I want to see what they look like on.'

  Replete with Mrs Piper's "plain fare" (rabbit pie and treacle pudding) they had returned to the fireside. Outside, the chill wind howled for admittance but getting no answer, settled for puffing the curtains into the room.

  'Who's doing the horses?' asked Miles.

  'I am,' said Roger. 'Reuben's volunteered for Christmas this year, so he's had the week off in lieu. For how long have we the pleasure of your company?'

  'Note the association of ideas,' said Lavinia to Connie. 'He'll have him mucking out in a minute.'

  'You've got me until the new year, unless I'm recalled,' smiled Miles. 'Connie is a free agent from yesterday, having given up her job.'

  'I'm going to spend some time with my parents,' explained Connie. 'Hello, pussycat, who are you?'

  'This old lady is Tabitha Twitchit,' said Roger. 'You're in her place, I'm afraid.'

  'Come on then,' said Connie, patting her lap. 'Ouch! You've got sharp claws.'

  Miles, who was sitting on the arm of her chair, reached out and scratched the little cat's ears. 'You wouldn't catch Teddy Rattigan doing this.'

  'Nor you would,' said Lavinia. 'That great big man — frightened of cats!'

  'Has he been here?' asked Connie, surprised.

  'We've stopped over a couple of times,' said Miles. 'Mother is an admirer, aren't you?'

  'Yes I am,' said Lavinia. 'He's very sensible and level-headed and keeps you out of trouble.'

  'I'm never in trouble,' said Miles indignantly.

  'No, because he keeps you out of it.'

  Miles glanced sideways at Connie. 'Well I'll certainly have to keep out of it now, won't I darling?'

  This remark was followed by silence.

  'Am I missing something?' frowned Lavinia, gazing speculatively at Connie.

  'Mummy!' giggled Daisy, 'Third finger, left hand.'

  Lavinia put a hand to her mouth. 'Why . . . oh my goodness, you've done it!' she cried. 'I mean . . . Oh you know what I mean! Oh, I'm so pleased.' She hurried to embrace them. 'Congratulations darlings! And what a lovely ring! But you weren't wearing it just now were you?'

  'Only since they arrived,' laughed Daisy.

  'Don't be rotten!' said Connie. 'I slipped it on after dinner, Lavinia.'

  'A mere twenty-two minutes,' said Miles, glancing at his watch.

  'We've been waiting for you to catch up, dear,' chuckled the doctor, as father and daughter left the room, re-entering suspiciously swiftly with a bucket of champagne and five glasses.

  'But he hasn't just asked you?' frowned Lavinia.

  'Oh no, that was Tuesday night.'

  'All done by the book,' said Miles. 'Down on one knee and everything.'

  'Not so easy at his age, you know,' confided Connie. 'I was afraid he'd get stuck.'

  'Did you ask Connie's father for her hand?' asked Daisy curiously.

  'Not exactly,' admitted Miles. 'His actual words were, "When are you going to make an honest woman of my daughter, Felix?"'

  'I've no idea what he meant,' said Connie, accepting a glass. 'Have you?'

  'Everyone got a drink?' said Roger. 'Then here's to our son and future daughter-in-law. May they be eternally happy.'

  'Gosh, how exciting!' said Daisy. 'I can't wait to tell Ian.'

  'So if you've given up work . . . ' said Lavinia amid the chatter.

  'I'd have had to pack it in anyway when we marry,' said Connie. 'So I thought I might as well.'

  'Ridiculous!' said Roger. 'That they do that, I mean. Shocking waste.'

  'I suppose it is, in general. But I knew when I came back from the cruise I'd had enough. I've done nearly four years after all.'

  'We were thinking about February,' said Miles. 'Date to suit everyone, obviously.'

  'Goodness me! That soon?' cried Lavinia. 'Does your mother know?'

  'Oh yes,' said Connie.

  'And she doesn't mind?'

  'She wasn't very pleased to start with,' admitted Miles, 'but she's coming round.'

  'Just a small wedding,' explained Connie. 'Family and close friends. We don't want anything fancy.'

  'I see,' said Lavinia.

  'Oh, bother!' cried Daisy, with inspired diplomacy. 'I've just remembered I've got to copy a score for Marjory. If nobody minds, I think I'd best get on with it.'

  'What sort of score?' asked Connie. 'Can I help?'

  'It's fo
r the carol service tomorrow; she's lost hers — again.' She looked at the clock. 'It's ten pages.'

  'That's not so much. How about if we do half each?'

  'You can't let Connie do that,' protested Lavinia. 'Not tonight!'

  'I don't mind,' said Connie. 'I often copy music for myself so I'm quite quick.'

  'Sounds like our cue for the stables, Miles,' said his father, standing up. 'You haven't seen the colt yet.'

  'Well?' said Lavinia later.

  'To what do you refer, my dear?' said Roger Felix, peering out of the bedroom window. 'It may not come to much by the look of it. It appears to be stopping.'

  'Don't be annoying, Roger, what do you think of her?'

  The doctor, who knew perfectly well what his wife meant, looked suitably contemplative. He was a big, active man, looking younger than his seventy years. As with his younger son, his long, rather severe countenance concealed a kindly if occasionally reprehending disposition. 'Not his usual type, is she?' he offered. 'Physically, I mean. Never had a blonde before that I can remember. That actress girl was tall, I suppose. Pretty too.'

  'What's her height got to do with it? That was years ago anyway, before Lois. I think she's perfect for him; lovely looking and charming and instantly at home with us. And she rides.'

  'What you really mean is, she's perfect for us. However, she's wasted on Miles. I've a mind to kidnap her to help me in the surgery. Put her in a nice, starched uniform and she'll double the number of visits. I'll make a fortune.'

  'You,' said Lavinia, 'are a wicked old man.'

  The two girls sat at the highest point of Top Field, the forest behind them. The wind had dropped, and apart from some crusty-looking drifts under the hedges, the snow had largely melted in the pale, morning sunshine. Below them, the village lay clear and sharp, though the countryside beyond was largely invisible, shrouded in mist. Daisy, slight and dark-haired in riding breeches and hacking jacket, was astride her pretty bay mare, while Connie was decorously side-saddle on a large, grey gelding in easygoing middle-age. Below them, Miles and his father were proceeding northwards at a gallop.