by Karl Fish
‘Who struck you, Henny?’ Dove enquired.
Henrietta Huntington-Smythe looked back at Aggie. It was such an obvious glare no teacher could fail to observe the accusation. However, she took the unwritten Priory code very seriously and being a snitch was not one of them. Instead, she just pinched her nose, wincing with pain from the cracked finger, to stop the bleeding. Revenge could wait for another day. It was always best served cold.
‘Very well,’ Miss Dove said, calming down. ‘Every girl here must attend detention.’
The dissatisfied rumblings came from all of them, except Aggie who couldn’t quite believe Henrietta’s silence. The Priory girls were incandescent with Aggie and a little with her adversary too. She calculated the wrath of twelve of Ambledown Priory’s finest might outweigh that of the previously contrary Miss Dove.
‘It was me, Miss,’ Aggie confessed. ‘I hit her.’
‘Whatever for?’ Dove asked back.
‘I’m not really sure, Miss,’ Aggie hesitantly replied.
‘Very well. Chatsmore and Smythe you are to report to me after school. One hour’s detention.’
‘I cannot see that’s fair. And it’s Huntington-Smythe,’ Henrietta argued back with bloodied cotton tissue now inserted into her nasal passage.
‘That’s two hours physical detention for you both,’ Miss Dove replied, upping their evening sentence.
Henrietta did not answer back again. She elbowed past Aggie back into class. Followed by her gaggle of followers.
Aggie and Gemima were the last two pupils to enter Sister Harvey’s class.
‘Detention!’ Harvey called out with her back turned and was scribbling on the board.
‘To add to the two hours I already have tonight,’ Aggie replied sarcastically, much to the amusement of her side of the classroom.
‘Join the club,’ Elizabeth mouthed to her.
Sister Harvey turned around and looked down her nose at Aggie. A quick flash to Huntington-Smythe, still nursing a bloody nose, and the sister had already answered the question just about to roll off of her tongue.
‘Very well. Miss Dove can deal with you all. That includes Peabody senior too. You never know, you may learn something.’
Aggie sat down, whispering Eric’s revelation of Lyle Braggan into Elizabeth’s ear.
‘That’s not good news,’ Elizabeth whispered back.
Aggie now sat in a constant state of agitation, picking at her fingernails and scratching one calf muscle with the other foot before repeating over and over. The lunch bell couldn’t come quickly enough as she intended to make a swift visit back to her uncle.
Day one at a real school. Enemies made; teachers included.
*****
Dr Beckworth announced himself at Closet and Cleaves with a lung-retching cough and splutter.
‘Afternoon, gentlemen. Who do we have here?’ he enquired.
‘Lyle Braggan,’ Wilson Bott confirmed bluntly.
‘Lyle eh? I saw him in the Poacher just yesterday evening. Had a bit of a to-do with old Pop.’
‘Really? What kind of a to-do?’ Bott questioned.
‘Cards were involved. Lyle is terrible at gambling. No doubt Pop taught him a lesson or two. Needless to say, Lyle left in a foul mood. He spilt my pint on the way out.’
‘Should I consider you a suspect too, Doctor?’ Bott amused himself at Beckworth’s expense.
The doctor ignored him and started over on the body.
‘So, you do suspect foul play?’ Cleave interrupted.
‘Doctor,’ Bott began, composing a more serious tone. ‘Any reason why I should consider foul play?’ he asked.
Examining the dead body up and down and squinting in and out of his half-moons the doctor couldn’t be sure. ‘He’s terribly bruised around his head and neck. Could have been struck or could have fallen from a height, considering the blunt trauma and bleeding to his skull,’ Doctor Beckworth advised. ‘I dare say his neck was broken as a result.’
‘So you cannot determine either way, Doctor?’ Bott pushed for an answer.
‘Inconclusive,’ Doctor Beckworth replied. ‘You could, of course, ask Dr Belchambers for assistance. He is qualified in pathology, you know.’
Wilson Bott did know. In fact, it was ancient pathology. However, the inclination he may be involved in a minor capacity was peaked when the crowd had gathered earlier.
‘I hear Gideon was also in an altercation with Lyle in the Poacher last night?’ he posed to the doctor.
‘Nonsense,’ Beckworth responded. ‘Lyle tried bullying his way through a crowd and Gideon told him to mind his way, that’s all.’
‘Right, very well. I’ll speak to him myself,’ Bott concluded and wished Dr Beckworth a good day.
Chapter 24
The egg thief
It had taken closer to two hours than just over the hour advised by his staff but Major Boyd Collingdale had finally arrived on the outskirts of Ambledown. The map showed the simplest route via the Old London Road. However, as they did not have a formal address for Dr G. Belchambers the Major had opted for the more challenging route via the foothill of the Steep. The incline was such that the large green military lorry he had commandeered revved aggressively and faltered, liable to conk out at any time. Coupling that with the village barricades of wood and barbed wire that zigzagged and snaked up the hill, making the path almost impenetrable, the Major knew immediately the decision had been wrong. Nevertheless, he soldiered on regardless.
A small posse of helpers he had mustered took it in turns to move wire and wood barricades where they could, as he barked at the driver not to stall the vehicle on the treacherous climb. Highly revving it coughed out clouds of black smoke as it nudged up the gradient shaking the cobblestone pathway of the Steep, having barely made the narrow bridge crossing that bestrode the Amble. As it reached the peak of the climb, it passed a blinkered Shire horse tethered to a cart.
‘Halt!’ Collingdale cried out.
Atop of the steepest part of the hill, where the road divided into three and masked just behind the large stone monument for Ambledown’s fallen, the Major spied the fine coaching house The Crown. Engine still running, he descended from the raised passenger seat, placed his peak cap on his head, secured the Peacekeeper beneath his armpit and strode towards the inn.
A forthright palm on to the bell at the reception of The Crown Inn awoke the snoozing owner with a jolt. A successive volley of them, when he hadn’t responded quickly enough, announced Major Boyd Collingdale’s arrival.
‘Alright, alright. Keep your hair on!’ came the awakening voice of the innkeeper, Benjamin Paine. As he yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he focused on the stout bald man aggressively rocking on his heels at the reception counter. He soon regretted his words moments prior. Benjamin was usually timely, articulate, and well-turned out but the previous night he had snuck to the Poacher for the seasonal mutton and inadvertently consumed ample amounts of Amble Ale, much to the displeasure of his wife who was the true proprietor of The Crown. Luckily for him, he had missed the Huntington-Smythes who had dined there the evening before that.
‘Is this your establishment, sir?’ Boyd barked.
‘It is,’ Paine replied cordially, now awake but nursing a hangover.
‘I need your assistance regarding a delicate matter,’ Boyd whispered
‘I see,’ Paine replied. ‘Is it a mistress, sir?’ he whispered, moving over the counter closer to the Major’s ear.
‘What?’ Boyd exclaimed incredulously. ‘No, it is not a mistress. How dare you!’
‘Apologies, sir,’ Paine replied, half-bowing and retracting backwards.
‘I require the details of a former guest,’ Boyd angrily volleyed back.
‘I’m afraid we do not give our guests details out, sir. We pride ourselves on discretion,’ Paine snivelled.
‘Listen to me,’ Boyd directed at Paine, pointing the Peacekeeper under his chin. ‘I am a serving major in His Majesty’s army. I
have very little time and a friend who has passed in suspicious circumstances. Your guest wrote him a warning letter. What does that say to you?’
‘That he knew it was going to happen?’ Paine gulped.
‘Precisely. And how would you feel if it turned out you were harbouring such a person. Interfering with a murder inquiry? So, please can you find me this guest’s contact details?’
Paine adjusted himself and walked to a large cabinet that stood behind him. The thought of The Crown’s reputation and utmost discretion played over in his mind. ‘What would your guest’s name be? The date he resided here perhaps?’ he responded to the Major.
‘I’m unaware of the date but the guest’s name is Dr Gideon Belchambers,’ Boyd Collingdale replied articulately.
Paine paused, turned around, and then laughed uncontrollably.
‘What’s so funny?’ Collingdale asked.
‘Gideon isn’t a guest here. He’s a resident,’ Benjamin Paine replied.
‘Guest, resident, makes no odds to me. Tell me which room I can find him in,’ Boyd continued.
‘No, I mean he’s a resident of Ambledown. He lives just up the road at The Keep. Not sure why you ever thought he would be a guest here. Let alone caught up in a murder.’
‘Because of this,’ the Major responded holding up the letter with the watermark of The Crown just visible.
‘That bloody Belchambers bugger!’ Paine excitedly replied. ‘I knew he’d been stealing stationery from me. Now I can prove it.’
‘I’d recommend discretion, sir. You may have harboured a man with knowledge of the killer,’ Collingdale replied acutely, amusing himself. ‘The Keep you say?’
‘Y-Yes. Take a right out of the door, just in front of the Castle. You can’t miss his shop or his home.’ Paine was now bowing and subordinate to the army man.
And with that, Major Boyd Collingdale donned his peak hat, made an about-turn, and set a quick pace yomping uphill. Paine, on the other hand, was eagerly considering the news about Gideon. ‘Gideon Belchambers, murderer’s mate?’ he contemplated.
A crunch of gears later and Boyd’s entourage of men followed in the van behind as it chucked out dark clouds of regurgitated diesel.
*****
Wilson Bott, who had been observing the large van from the inside window of Closet and Cleaves, continued to watch it slowly chug uphill before stopping just south of The Keep. He required Gideon’s assistance and wondered what business the army had with him.
It wasn’t unusual for Gideon to have vans delivering and collecting his antiquities and curiosities, but Wilson Bott had never before seen one that had an old sergeant major eagerly proceeding in front of it. He was just about to alight from Closet and Cleaves when the shadow of a man bore down the Steep and cast its all-encompassing shadow on the pavement outside. He stepped out of the funeral parlour to be greeted by the giant.
‘Where’s, Bott?’ came the deep slow voice.
‘Now, Pop. You can’t be seeing him just yet,’ Wilson Bott replied to the man-mountain in front of him.
‘I’m kin and ’e ain’t got no farva. ’Is bruvver is far away. I’m the only family ’e ’as,’ Pop Braggan replied. The wolfhound on the leash looked like she would make light work of any man that got in Pop’s way. The magpie on his shoulder cawed in support.
‘Pop, we have witnesses that say you two had a fight,’ Bott replied nervously.
‘Wot rubbish. ’E was like a son to me, that boy,’ Pop snarled back. ‘Sure-nuff, I ’ad to put ’im right last night. Been drinkin’ ’e ’ad. But I’d never ’urt ’im.’
‘Sorry, but I can’t let you in, Pop,’ Bott insisted.
The man strode forward and placed the dog’s leash in Bott’s hand. He then bent down and removed his cornucopia of gold chains from around his neck and placed them over Bott’s much smaller frame. The weight was enough to render him static.
‘Right, I need just five minutes wiv ’im. Luna will look after you and the bird will look after me gold,’ Pop told Bott.
And with that, ‘Lady’ landed on Bott’s shoulder acting as an avian sentry while Pop Braggan removed his hat and entered Closet and Cleaves. Bott prayed that none of the feline residents of Le Chat Noir made an appearance that would see the hound drag him face-first down the Steep.
*****
The lunchtime bell finally rang and relief spread across Aggie’s face as she vacated quickly from the classroom.
As she maintained a swift pace through the small corridors, Elizabeth struggled to keep up.
‘Agatha, wait,’ the senior Peabody called out. ‘Aggie!’
Agatha rounded the corner to where the Aspidistra dominated the entrance lobby. Miss Dove was in a heated discussion with a portly woman who was remonstrating with her. She noticed Miss Dove hand over a pile of papers. They looked like the ‘weights and measures’ task the students had carried out first thing. She stood back observing them, obscured by the large green plant.
Elizabeth came hurtling around the corner, clattering into Aggie, exposing them both to the two women in deep discussion.
‘Chatsmore! Peabody!’ Dove shouted over.
Aggie and Elizabeth dusted themselves down and stood in front of them with their heads bowed. It never failed to amuse the governess how teenagers believed themselves invisible to the adult world.
‘I might’ve known a Peabody was involved,’ came the sneering leer of the woman Aggie wasn’t familiar with. ‘And I hear you like to talk with your fists,’ she continued, pointing at Aggie.
‘Lady Smythe, I will be dealing with this myself, after school,’ Miss Dove announced.
‘It’s Huntington-Smythe!’ she snarled back. ‘And make sure you do, Dove! Or there’ll be no peace around here for you,’ she ordered before slamming the entrance door behind her.
‘What are you doing here, girls?’ Dove asked.
In all fairness, Elizabeth was just following Aggie but knew Aggie was making a beeline back to 1a The Keep.
‘Agatha, I mean Miss Chatsmore, has a medical condition, Miss,’ Elizabeth improvised.
‘Really?’ Dove responded swiftly. ‘I cannot recall you mentioning that this morning during your meeting with Dr Beckworth.’
‘I forgot. I was nervous,’ Aggie added quickly. ‘I need my pills, Miss. I struggle to breathe sometimes. I get anxious during air-raids and I believe that van noise triggered it.’
Miss Dove’s sceptical frown surveyed the two nervous students for a very long minute. Aggie began a subtle wheezing and feigned pains in her chest.
‘Very well. Be sure to be back within the next half hour. I would hate to extend the detention from just this evening to the full week. I’m locking the door so ring the bell when you return.’
‘Yes, Miss,’ both girls responded before sprinting out of the schoolhouse and north towards The Keep.
*****
‘Mr Braggan, I presume?’ wormed Mr Closet as Pop Braggan made his presence known in the funeral parlour.
‘Take me to ’im,’ Pop ordered.
Lyle was stretched out on the mortuary slab. His eyes peered soullessly at the dim candlelight that illuminated him from above. Pop’s thumb and forefinger stretched across the dead man’s face and softly closed his eyelids. Reaching inside his pocket he pulled out two silver pennies and placed them over Lyle’s eyes.
‘They’re for the ferryman. Not light-fingered funeral shop owners,’ Pop said, cracking his knuckles as a warning to Closet and Cleave. Once he had mumbled a few words to himself he then started searching inside Lyle’s pockets.
‘A-hum,’ Closet coughed disapprovingly.
Nevertheless, Pop continued. Once he had gone through every pocket, he turned to the shoes. He examined the shoe still on Lyle’s foot. The one that had holes in the sole. He then looked at the two funeral directors who were nervously observing him from behind the moulding mortuary drape.
‘Oh, yes, of course, Mr Braggan,’ Cleave announced, in a higher tone than
usual. ‘We are in care of his monies.’
‘What d’ya mean?’ Pop asked back.
‘The monies he kept in the shoe you are looking for.’
Pop then looked down on the men from his towering height and slowly performed a single-handed clap with his right hand.
Closet stepped forward and presented a small purse from where he removed the still-damp US Dollars found in Lyle’s shoe.
Pop then turned around and left the funeral parlour.
‘You ‘av this,’ Pop said to Wilson Bott handing him over all but one of the US bills. ‘Make sure ‘is funeral costs are covered. Then you settle with me when I return.’
The money was more than sufficient to cover the burial, casket and generous wake.
‘And by the way, Bott, ’is inside breast pockets are lined with wool. It runs down behind his jacket. I can feel damp bird shell in there. ’E was an egg feef, so you must ask who pays such monies for such prizes. He rowed wiv me over a farvin in the Poacher. Wouldn’t ‘av risked that if he ’ad so many dollars at the time. So, who offered so much that evening and who ‘ad dollars to offer? That’s wot I’d be asking.’ Pop then bent down and relieved Bott of his horde of gold. Wilson stretched with relief after the weight had been lifted. Taking the hound’s leash, Pop then sauntered down the Steep. Lady the magpie flew off, ever the inquisitive one.
*****
Gideon Belchambers was high up in The Keep when he heard the backfiring military vehicle pull up opposite. At first, he feared gunshot but the black puff of smoke allayed those fears. As he spied the top of the Major’s hat moving towards his shop, not his home, his immediate concern was whether Eric had successfully finished the business he had employed him to complete on Sunday. For what other reason would the military come knocking? The previous evening’s events had deterred him from checking on Eric’s latest masterpiece so he was cautious not to let them into his business premises.