Mr. Campion's Abdication

by Mike Ripley

  The least-shocked person in the room at that moment was Daniela Petraglia. Rupert had flinched violently, gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself backwards into the upholstery as if demonstrating the effect of G-force to a trainee astronaut; Oliver had appeared to melt into his chair, his limp frame collapsing in on itself like a deflating balloon; and even Mr Campion had taken automatic evasive action, folding his body forward off the sofa until his knees bumped into the carpet.

  From his position of supplication, Campion glanced first into the mirror where he saw, reflected, the impressive sight of Precious Aird braced, her stockinged feet wide apart, in a pistol marksman stance, her left hand steadying her right, in which was a small, smoking automatic. Signora Petraglia, Campion was relieved to discover, was obeying orders.

  Slowly and deliberately, the Italian woman placed her pistol flat on the lid of the harpsichord, raised her hand, turned the palm towards the doorway to prove it was empty then used it to lazily brush plaster dust from her hair and leather jacket.

  ‘Remove the signora’s gun please, Rupert.’ As he got to his feet, Campion realized his legs were shaking slightly and for reasons he could not dismiss as old age on weak bones. ‘And get yourself a drink, Oliver – you really do look as if you need one.’

  Rupert expelled himself from his chair and scooped up the pistol, pointing it unsteadily at Daniela Petraglia, who remained seated on the harpsichord stool, blowing dust from the shoulder of her jacket.

  ‘I had no idea you were a dead shot,’ Campion said, turning a smile on Precious, who showed no intention of relaxing her pose.

  ‘Somehow it never came up,’ she said, returning the smile.

  ‘Where’s young Giancarlo? I take it that’s his gun?’

  ‘It’s not much of a gun and it wasn’t hard to take it from him. Right now Lugg is sitting on him back in the Orangery.’

  ‘Then he is certainly secure. Now we wait for Maurizio to return and, as we have him both outnumbered and outgunned, he shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘What about Mr Bell there?’

  Campion turned his attention to Oliver, who was on his feet and staggering not to a cocktail cabinet but towards the harpsichord, mouthing the word ‘Hattie …’

  Being nearest, and quickest on the uptake, Rupert reassured him. ‘Don’t panic, old boy. Apart from the bust, which you might be able to glue back together, there’s no damage to the harpsichord.’

  ‘I wasn’t aiming at Hattie,’ said Precious confidently, ‘and the bullet didn’t even go on to crack the window glass. Told you it wasn’t much of a gun. No stopping power. Sorry about the statue, though.’

  Behind her, Lavinia Bell appeared from the hallway and headed in Oliver’s direction. ‘Don’t be,’ she said in passing. ‘Daddy bought a job lot of those ghastly things.’

  Fortuitously Campion’s timing proved immaculate and the first police car to answer his telephone summons arrived thirty seconds after Maurizio had parked the Citroën in the drive and clambered out only to be greeted at gunpoint by Rupert, Precious and Oliver, who had remembered to retrieve his shotgun from the cupboard under the stairs. The confidence it gave him drained from his face when Precious, rather subversively, whispered to him, ‘Now I could have made a real mess of Hattie with that!’

  Faced with three brandished weapons, one of which seemed to be being brandished by someone who knew how to use it, Maurizio took the discretionary route away from valour and raised his hands in surrender.

  The policemen in that first car were uniformed constables who were initially at a loss as to who to arrest or why, but at least they recognized Oliver and Lavinia Bell – one of them even addressed them as the new Lord and Lady of the manor – and so Campion offered their services as interpreters of an admittedly confusing situation. Fortunately the second police car, arriving only a few minutes after the first, contained Inspector Chamley of Suffolk CID, to whom Campion immediately made himself known.

  Facing charges of failing to report a body (and preventing others to do so), aggravated assault (though Giancarlo might question exactly who had been assaulted), firearms offences and threatening behaviour, the Italian contingent were duly arrested and, showing a composure that suggested they had been through this experience before, all ‘went quietly’ as the best British police procedure required.

  In handcuffs, Daniela Petraglia spoke for the first time since Precious Aird had demonstrated her marksmanship as she walked to the waiting police car, but then only in response to Campion’s question.

  ‘Permesso, signora; one last thing, for I doubt we will meet again, except perhaps in court.’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘I know you do not, and probably never will, believe me when I say there is no hidden treasure hereabouts, but back there when you had us at your mercy, you said I was the only one left who was here in 1935. That was not strictly true, was it? Elspeth had a sister, Sonia.’

  Daniela Petraglia tossed back her head and snorted. ‘Sonia is a stupid old woman and a bigger fool than you pretend to be. She knows nothing. I asked her.’

  ‘You didn’t hurt her, did you?’ Campion asked sharply.

  The woman stared at him and said nothing as a policeman lead her away.

  Back in the front room of the hall, Mr Campion called his troops together and introduced them to Inspector Chamley, who clearly felt outnumbered but insisted that he had reinforcements of his own on the way. He was, however, happy for Campion to give the orders in the interim.

  ‘Precious, you have done sterling work being the hair in the gate as far as our nefarious film crew were concerned, and we are all in your debt. I would like you, please, to put yourself at the disposal of Inspector Chamley now and, when his crime-scene people get here, guide them round to the Sweethearting dig so that poor old Samuel Salt can be decently seen to.

  ‘Lavinia, for goodness’ sake get your husband a stiff drink and reassure him that his beloved Hattie is undamaged.

  ‘Rupert and Perdita, you will come with me, please, and you will need your car keys.

  ‘Lugg, somebody has to make a start on giving statements to the police, so it might as well be you.’

  Lugg bridled as if accused on some unspeakable heresy. ‘Hrrumph! Muggins ’ere gets the dirty jobs as per usual.’

  Campion lead the way followed by his son and daughter-in-law, pulling on his hat and coat as he strode out of the hall and across the drive to Perdita’s red Mini Cooper.

  ‘Don’t worry, old Lugg will confuse our noble officers of the law for hours. We have plenty of time.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Perdita asked, pulling open the driver’s door.

  ‘Time enough to find the treasure, of course,’ said Mr Campion with an angelic grin.

  EIGHTEEN

  The Sweethearting Treasure

  Was he being stupid? Was he just being slow? Was he just getting old and the first two were facets of the third? That Campion’s mind allowed such treason was, he realized, because he had put family and friends in a place of danger and all to salve his own troubled conscience. The fact that no one had actually been hurt or traumatized as a result of his arrogant foolishness was due to the resourcefulness of a young American girl he hardly knew who had entered his world purely by chance. At least Lady Luck had not totally disowned him and he should be grateful that she had sent the formidable Precious Aird to act as guardian angel to them all; a precious asset indeed.

  Rupert, scrunched up in the back seat of the Mini, his knees contorted almost to his chin, was also thinking about their unexpected saviour.

  ‘Where did Precious learn to shoot like that?’ he said over the noise of the Mini’s engine being enthusiastically revved by Perdita’s right foot.

  ‘Almost certainly in the Americas,’ said Mr Campion over his shoulder. ‘Their archaeologists are trained to be more aggressive than ours, I’m told, as they have to deal with angry natives armed with poisoned arrows and blowpipes. Though of course there is al
ways the possibility that she was aiming at Donna Daniela and hit the effigy of Lord Breeze by accident …’

  ‘She knew what she was doing,’ said Perdita, negotiating a bend with far more panache than her male passengers thought necessary. ‘You should have seen the way she dealt with Giancarlo; the poor guy didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘And all the time, there was I worried that Lugg would do something stupid.’

  ‘We girls didn’t need Lugg, though his weight did come in useful afterwards, for sitting on the chap, once we’d distracted and disarmed him.’

  Rupert strained his face nearer the front seats. ‘How exactly did you manage to distract him, darling?’

  Mr Campion noticed that Perdita’s cheeks were glowing rosily and thought that might be a subject best explored without his presence.

  ‘We’ll have plenty of time to swap war stories later; now let’s get to the King’s Arms and disturb the licensee’s holy hour of rest and recuperation.’

  ‘I don’t know what you expect to get out of Mr and Mrs Yallop,’ said Rupert, his face glued to the side window observing the police Panda car which was drawing up alongside the Mound. A ruddy-faced man wearing a long, naval duffle coat and Wellington boots and with a broken shotgun in the crook of his arm was waving them into the side of the road like a bored flight controller on the deck of an aircraft carrier. ‘That’s Farmer Spark, isn’t it? He seems to be on the ball.’

  ‘Well, it is his land, after all,’ said Campion, ‘and he keeps an ever-watchful eye on it. I’m rather surprised the police didn’t ride to our rescue before Precious had to, as I was sure Mr Spark would be observing our every movement at the dig. Perhaps he was feeding his pigs or inside giving his wife a perm or something when the guns appeared. Still, I’m sure he will tell the nice policemen what’s been going on, and that will keep them busy and leave the coast clear for us.’

  ‘Clear for exactly what?’ asked Perdita, eyes on the road and accelerating again now the Panda car was out of both sight and mind.

  Mr Campion clapped his hand together in flamboyant manner. ‘Why, to find the Sweethearting Treasure, of course.’

  ‘So you knew where it was all the time!’ Rupert grabbed the back of Campion’s seat so fiercely that it shook. ‘Yet you kept telling Cruella that …’

  ‘Cruella, that’s very good,’ Campion chuckled, ‘but I was nothing less than honest with Signora Petraglia – well, not more than twenty per cent less than honest, but then she wasn’t a very honest person.’

  ‘But you do know where it is?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far. In fact, I wouldn’t go so far as to say I know what it is, let alone where it is, but I think I know someone who may.’ He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows as though the thought had just occurred to him. ‘Except I don’t actually know them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sonia Brunt, of course. I’ve never met the lady but you two have. You can introduce me.’

  ‘We’ve only met her once and we told you, she fainted at the sight of us! We’re not exactly on social terms,’ said Perdita.

  ‘That should have given me my first clue, especially when you told me what Mr Yallop said.’ Campion stared out of the window distractedly as the main street of Sweethearting flashed by.

  ‘What did I say he said?’

  ‘That Sonia was worth her weight in gold.’

  ‘And that was significant?’

  ‘In itself, a passing remark,’ said Campion, ‘but then Farmer Spark told me that Sonia was “really valued” by the brewery which owns the pub and then again, the odious Bill Crow referred to her as a “diamond”. It was as if they were all, unconsciously, pointing me to the answer: gold, value, diamonds – all things associated with treasure.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Albert, but it has been a long and eventful day and I’m not following.’

  ‘Do not despair, daughter dear. I am probably not making much sense. It is something which comes with great age, but just think on this: what if Sonia Brunt is the Abdication Treasure?’

  The trouble with resident guests, Joshua Yallop had long felt, was that they treated the place like a hotel and life would be a lot easier if the King’s Head could do without them. There were occasions when he sincerely entertained the notion that running a country pub would be an ideal life were it not for customers in general, as they invariably proved more demanding than their custom was worth and showed little consideration for the private life of the licensee. Even this current party of Campions – admittedly a better class of visitor than one saw these days and certainly decent spenders in the bar – were taking liberties, and here they were interrupting his precious afternoon rest period yet again. If their persistent knocking on the front door woke Edna he knew he would suffer for it and so, as he clumped across the bar, he was determined to give them a piece of his mind and lay down a few rules of the house.

  When he was close enough to register, through the glass panes in the door, that it was the senior Campion who was personally drumming his knuckles, Joshua Yallop had an instant change of heart. Mr Campion was a member of the Suffolk gentry by marriage and clearly of patrician stock in his own right – just the sort of customer worth cultivating. Secretly, Yallop had always dreamed that if he was going to be treated as a hotelier then he would prefer to run a nice, private hotel with a select clientele rather than a public house. A hotel in a location popular with the upper classes and one offering sea views from all rooms – somewhere like Torquay, perhaps.

  ‘Mr Yallop, please accept my sincere apologies for troubling you out of hours. It is both inconsiderate and rude to intrude on your off-duty hours, but I would crave a few moments of your time.’

  Now there was a gentleman for you. If only the King’s Head could attract more like him.

  ‘I hasten to say I am not making a plea for alcohol outside of lawful licensing hours.’

  Yet Mr Campion would be just the sort of customer for whom Joshua Yallop might be tempted to break the law. The local Magistrates would surely appreciate that a man of Mr Campion’s standing did not deserve to be shackled by petty bureaucratic legalities designed to keep the lower orders in check.

  ‘I’m sure we could stretch a point,’ he said, opening the door and bidding him enter with an elaborate swoop of his arm.

  ‘My dear chap, I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it. I feel guilty enough disturbing you as it is. I understand you had a break-in during the wee small hours. It must have been a terrible experience for you – and for Edna, of course.’

  Again, the mark of a true gent: thinking of the plight of others. Remembering Edna’s name and taking his hat off: those were also marks of class.

  ‘Not much damage and no great loss to report, but thank you for asking,’ said Yallop, rubbing his hands together as if expecting a tip.

  ‘I understand the burglar made a beeline for your collection of historic bottled beers,’ said Campion, surveying the bar. ‘Did he take any?’

  ‘Oh, surely they’re not that valuable – are they?’ Mr Yallop’s unctuosity suddenly gave way to doubt. ‘They weren’t insured or anything … but I don’t think any are missing.’

  Campion said nothing but stared pointedly at the shelves behind the bar counter where there was an obvious gap in the display between the Maxim Stout and the large, wax-sealed bottle of King’s Ale.

  ‘There was a small amount of breakage,’ admitted Yallop.

  ‘I believe my son discovered that to his cost. Only a minor flesh wound, thankfully. I’m guessing the one he trod on was the Prince’s Ale.’

  ‘It was!’ Joshua Yallop almost squealed with pleasure at his guest’s detective abilities. ‘But I don’t think it was especially valuable, though of course Sonia was very upset.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Sonia. It was Sonia Brunt who was the licensee here before you, I believe.’

  ‘She was indeed, for many years, under her married name of Aldous, though when she took charge of the pub after he died in the w
ar she held the licence in her maiden name. That bottle collection was started by Arthur Aldous, and technically it belongs to Sonia but she always seemed happy to have them displayed in the bar and she dusted them regular.’

  ‘I was told she still works here,’ said Campion. ‘You say she took the breakage badly?’

  ‘Very. She does a bit of cleaning around the place and occasionally helps out behind the bar. When she arrived this morning I thought I was going to have to send her home straight away.’

  ‘And why was that?’

  ‘She looked terrible, said she’d had a fall at home and was really badly bruised about the face but, Sonia being Sonia, she insisted on starting work. I think she needs the little bit of cash we give her more than she likes to admit,’ Yallop confided. ‘She got out her dustpan and brush and dusters and cleaning stuff and then saw the broken glass and started crying even as she was sweeping up the pieces. Proper distraught, she was, and her wailing woke up Edna, which meant I had two women in a state on my hands. I gave Sonia a small brandy to calm her down and insisted she take the day off.’

  ‘Sonia lives in the village, doesn’t she?’ Campion asked, forgetting to ask how Mr Yallop had manged all on his own, which would have been the gentlemanly thing to do.

  ‘Just along the High Street, number forty-nine; you must have passed it when you drove here. Well, really!’

  Yallop was left speechless at the speed with which Campion replaced his hat, turned on his heels and raced from the pub.

  ‘You looked just like them. It was like them being there again after all these years and it gave me a right shock. No wonder I fainted.’

  Campion had shot out of the King’s Head like a bullet and wrenched open the passenger door of the Mini Cooper with some force. Pushing his head into the interior, he ordered Rupert and Perdita to leave the car where it was and to follow him on foot. Rupert immediately began to unfold his legs and extract himself from the back seat but Perdita had remained seated firmly behind the steering wheel and demanded time to visit their room, get changed and ‘get rid of all this make-up gunk’. Mr Campion softened his face and told his daughter-in-law that it was necessary for her to remain in character for a little longer as he could not possibly find another Wallis Simpson at such short notice, or at least not one as convincing as Perdita and she should think of it not as a chore but as a curtain call to an outstanding performance.