Sally was in animated conversation, so he moved off to a distant corner where he could observe rather than socialise. A few chairs were provided along the walls, but it was clear that all but the old and infirm intended to remain standing. One thing he noticed had no possible bearing on the investigation. He’d thought it would be impossible for the women in their skirts to sit down, and then one managed it expertly by lifting the top hoop above her hips as she lowered herself on to the chair.
Near the fireplace someone thumped the wood floor with his stick to get attention and several of the company squeaked in surprise.
“Ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for the Beau.”
An overweight man in a black wig waddled forward and one of the flunkeys helped him up to an antique footstool. Sir Edward Paris, ruddy-faced, double-chinned, full of his own importance. You needed to be self-assured in this company if your accent wasn’t Oxbridge and his certainly wasn’t.
“Everybody in? Right. Welcome one and all. We can get through this quick.” He was speaking into a hand-held microphone, definitely not antique. “I’m going to start with a personal statement. I’ve been your Beau for the best part of twenty years now and I reckon it’s time for some other mug to take over. That’s a joke, about the mug. Don’t take it personal.”
No one laughed. The announcement had shocked everyone.
“But I’m not kidding about jacking it in.”
Shock was turning to annoyance. It wasn’t done for the Beau to quit.
“I know the last one died on the job, but there’s nothing in the rules to say I have to go on till I drop dead.”
“But there’s a precedent.” Someone spoke up in elegant vowel sounds obviously honed by generations of good breeding.
“A what?”
“A noteworthy precedent.”
“I’m your noteworthy president in case you’ve forgotten.”
A few polite laughs were heard. It was impossible to tell whether the pun had been intentional. Probably not, Diamond thought.
The well-bred man insisted on saying his piece. “The Beau, the original Beau, our revered Richard Nash, was still Master of Ceremonies when he departed this life. He collapsed over a card game in the Assembly Rooms. Four days later he was gone.”
“So what’s your point, Crispin?”
“Only, my dear Sir Edward, that nobody could possibly object if you chose to emulate the Beau and remain in office.”
“My wife would. She wants her old man back.”
This did earn some laughter.
Somebody else spoke from the back of the room. “Isn’t there some question that Beau Nash was murdered? It was in all the papers the week before last.”
“Rubbish,” someone else shouted. “What do they know?”
“A skeleton wearing the Beau’s clothes was found in a loft somewhere.”
“Twerton,” another voice said and caused more amusement.
“He’d been stabbed.”
“How can they tell?”
“Regardless of how he met his death, my point stands,” the well-bred man said. “He remained the Beau until the end of his life.”
Ed was quick to say, “He would, wouldn’t he? Nobody told me it was forever. I’ve got a life of my own and a business to run. I’ve done my bit and I want out, so I’m telling you now you’d better find someone to take over. Do I have a volunteer?”
Silence dropped like a capture net on the entire company.
Ed waited and asked, “Anyone up for it?”
Diamond was amused to see so many of the high-ups of Bath staring at the floor and plainly wishing they weren’t high up at all and could fall straight through it.
The deadlock was ended only by one bold soul asking, “Does anyone know the latest on the skeleton?”
Ed said, “Hang on a bit. Are you lot deaf? You need a new Beau.”
Then one of the clergy pointed out that it was customary in clubs and societies to invite nominations and have them proposed and seconded and then proceed to an election.
“It never happened when I got the job,” Ed said. “Professor Plum went belly up and I was asked to take over next day, simple as that.”
“Professor Plum?” someone queried.
Sally Paris spoke up. “He means Orville Duff, don’t you, Ed?”
Ed wasn’t there to talk about Duff. “How about you, vicar? You know how things are done. Do you want to be Beau?”
If the cleric had been asked to run naked up Milsom Street on a Saturday afternoon he couldn’t have looked more horrified. “My ecclesiastical duties have to come first.”
“Don’t we have a constitution?” the well-bred man called Crispin asked. “We have our rules about dress and so forth. In fact, Beau Nash was famous for his rules.”
“It’s never arisen before,” an older man said. “I suppose we’re more feudal than democratic. We’ve always appointed a successor by invitation up to now.”
“Because mugs like me stepped up to the plate,” Ed said.
To which Lady Sally added, “Besides writing a large cheque to fund the building work when we took over this place.”
“I don’t want to give the wrong impression,” Crispin said. “We’re all immensely grateful for Sir Edward’s generosity. Indeed the sheer scale of his largesse may account for our reluctance to volunteer.”
Ed had misunderstood again, “My size has bog all to do with it.” He looked round the room at all the uneasy faces. “Fair play, you weren’t expecting me to give up. I sprang this on you. I’ll do the honours one last time and you can decide among yourselves who stands on this soapbox next meeting, because it ain’t going to be Ed Paris.” He cleared his throat. “Next business, welcoming guests. Any takers?”
Some hands were raised and people were introduced. The tension in the room had eased emphatically now that the prickly matter of the presidency was deferred.
Sally said something to her husband and he said, “Strewth. Almost forgot my own guest, Detective Dallymore from the Old Bill.”
Sally was quick to correct him.
With some bluster, Ed resumed. “All right, all right. Now you see why you need a new Beau. I’m going soft in the head. My good lady tells me I should have said Detective Superintendent Diamond. Where are you, mate?”
Forced against all his instincts to break cover, Diamond raised his hand and said, “Peter will do.”
“Peter it is. Welcome to the Beau Nash Society, Pete. And if some of you are asking yourselves how I come to be cosying up to the law all of a sudden, it’s because he’s the cop investigating the skeleton you was talking about just now. Ain’t that the truth, Pete?”
The truth was that Diamond was in sudden danger of filling his breeches. He said, “Well, yes,” and hoped the spotlight would shift.
It didn’t. Some busybody said, “It sounds as if the Beau’s guest is the ideal person to clear up the uncertainty about what actually happened at Twerton.”
Oh no he wasn’t.
Paloma’s “Keep your head down” was a sick joke now.
To gain thinking time Diamond drained the champagne glass.
But Ed made a bad situation worse. “I’ll hand you the mike, Pete. We’d all like to hear from you.”
“There’s nothing I can say,” Diamond called across the room. “It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“Can’t hear you,” the busybody called out.
Ed had already stepped down from the stool and crossed the floor to where Diamond was. “Say something or they’ll get stroppy.”
Even the notoriously stubborn Peter Diamond wasn’t proof against an audience of Bath’s top people demanding a statement. He held the microphone to his mouth, “All I can tell you at this time is that the remains found in Twerton aren’t those of Beau Nash. He’s buried in the Abbey.”
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br /> “The Abbey?” the man called Crispin said in disbelief. “I think you’ll find the weight of opinion is against you. It’s all over the internet that he ended up in a pauper’s grave and no one seems to know exactly where.”
Somebody who’d drunk too much shouted, “Twerton.”
“You don’t want to believe everything you read on the internet,” Diamond said. “Go back to the original reports of the funeral as we did. They all say he was buried in the Abbey.”
“Where does the story that he was a pauper come from, then?”
“I’ve no idea and I don’t have the time or inclination to find out.”
“It’s not just the internet. I’ve seen it in books.”
“I’m sorry, but the books are wrong. This is one of a number of myths about Nash that don’t stand up to examination.”
Ed was still at Diamond’s side. He was rubbing his hands with anticipation. “What else is there? Now you’ve started, you’d better tell us.”
Everything Diamond said was being amplified, seeming to lend authority to his statements. Ed was right. He couldn’t really back down. So against all his best intentions he found himself giving the Beau Nash Society the truth about another bit of moonshine: the story that the Beau’s former mistress Juliana Papjoy resurfaced when the Beau was old and infirm and came back to Bath to nurse him. “For the romantics among you, I’m sorry to spoil a happy ending,” he said, “but in spite of what most of the biographies say, there’s no evidence whatever that she came back. We looked at original sources. For the last twenty years of his life he was under the thumb of a woman called Mrs. Hill, who by all accounts gave him a hard time. As for Juliana, she turned eccentric and lived out the rest of her life in the hollowed-out trunk of an oak tree.”
Crispin hadn’t been silenced. “You seem to be well informed, sir. ‘No evidence whatever,’ you say. How do you account for the notice outside the restaurant that was once the Beau’s house stating—and I quote from memory—that ‘they lived the whole of the latter part of their lives here until the Beau’s death in 1761’?”
“It wasn’t me who put it up.”
“But the restaurant was known as Popjoy’s until it changed hands.”
“Yes, they spelt the name wrong as well,” Diamond said. He was hitting raw nerves here. A few people smiled, but there were hostile faces out there as well.
Crispin said, “I don’t know if you’re aware that some of us are acknowledged experts on Nash.”
Then a woman’s voice cut in and this time it wasn’t Sally’s. “Mr. Diamond is right. Juliana never lived with him in the Sawclose house. He dumped her in 1743 when his fortune declined. She declared she’d never sleep in a bed again and went back to Warminster and lived in the tree and they never met again. You can read about that in the annual register for 1777.”
Diamond looked to see where the unexpected support had come from.
Estella, bless her heart.
Considering she hadn’t been in the society long, speaking out had required real courage.
“Are you sure of this?” Crispin demanded.
“I’m writing a new biography using primary sources,” she said. “Believe me, I can endorse every word Mr. Diamond has spoken.”
Ed took back the microphone and he was grinning. “Satisfied, Crispin? Some of us oldies can learn a few things from the younger generation.”
Crispin wasn’t done. “Perhaps she’d like to take over as Beau,” he said in a sarcastic aside that caused some amusement.
“Good suggestion. Why not?” Ed said in all seriousness.
Crispin’s voice shrilled in astonishment. “Because you can’t have a female Beau. I was being facetious.”
Sally Paris immediately took up the cause. “You can have a Belle instead. If none of the men are interested in stepping up, let’s see how a woman manages, that is, if Estella is willing to stand.”
Gasps came from some of the members. The pace of proceedings was more than they could cope with.
Ed looked towards Estella. “How about it, young lady? Would you care to be the Belle?”
“I don’t know. Are you serious?” Estella said.
“Look at me. I’m not kidding.”
“He means it, my dear,” Sally said.
Ed said, “I can already see it on the cover of your book: Estella Rockingham, President of the Beau Nash Society.”
Estella took a deep breath. “I’ll need to think about it—and in fairness so should all of you. This would be a major change.”
“A revolution,” Sally said. “I’m all for it. If anyone wants to stand against you, we can have an election.”
Estella was shaking her head at the speed of what was happening, but the mood of most members seemed to be positive.
Ed said, “We won’t rush you. Take your time and let me know. And if anyone else thinks of putting up, we’ll work out what happens next.” He beamed at his audience and said in a blur of words that no one could interrupt, “Any other business? I thought not. In the absence of any other business I declare the meeting closed. That’s the formal bit over. Let’s get back to the fizz and fun.”
Diamond went over to Estella and thanked her for the support. “Nobody believed what I was saying. The whole atmosphere changed after you said your piece. How do you feel about taking over from Sir Edward?”
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I’m not at all sure they mean it.”
“They do.”
“Why didn’t anyone else volunteer? Is it a poisoned chalice?”
“Looking at Ed, it isn’t. How long has he held the post—almost twenty years? That’s a long stint. I expect he made some useful contacts.”
“This lot won’t be easy to manage,” she said. “There were a few discordant voices.”
“You can boss them, I’m sure. You know more about Beau Nash than any of them. My guess is that this society isn’t all it claims to be. A lot of them only come for the dressing-up and being seen here.”
She smiled. “I’d already formed the same opinion.”
“Go for it, then. And now I must have a word with Sir Edward.”
He went over to where the Parises were chatting with friends.
Ed broke off in mid-conversation and became playful. “Ah, the law has caught up with us. You’ve got me bang to rights, officer. Loitering with intent to tell a dirty joke. If I plead guilty will I get off with a warning?”
“If it’s one I haven’t heard, you’re in the clear,” Diamond said. “But I’m ready to meet one or two of your long-serving members. You told my boss you’d fix it.”
“‘One or two’ was an overestimate. I found the only one who was here before I joined and he’s a basket case.”
All the anticipation drained like water in sand. Had this entire pantomime been a waste of time? “Can’t he help?”
“We’ll see.”
Pausing only to take another glass of champagne from a passing footman, Ed carved a way through the throng to where an elderly man in a wheelchair seemed to be stranded inside a stockade of hooped skirts. The chair was a cumbersome contraption made of wicker with three metal wheels.
The basket case.
At least twice the length of a modern invalid chair, it had a capacious black canvas hood, fortunately folded.
“Is that an authentic bath chair?”
“Depends what you mean by authentic,” Ed said. “It’s a bath chair, yes, but they didn’t have them in Nash’s time. It’s Victorian.”
Diamond was impressed by Ed’s bit of knowledge. Don’t underestimate this guy, he told himself. “Does he know that?”
“Algy? You can bet your bottom dollar he does, but we turn a blind eye. He can’t stand on his own two pins any more, poor old bugger, and the scooter he uses normally would look even more out of place. He’s we
aring the kosher costume, as you see.”
“How did disabled people get around in those days?”
“Sedan chairs, but we don’t have one here. The bath chair’s old-fashioned and it does the job. No one is going to make an issue of it. We don’t want to hurt his feelings, so it’s kept here for him in a shed out the back.” He called out to Algy, “Before you leave, old sport, can you spare a couple of minutes for my guest?”
Algy responded at once—and sounded normal. “Can he spare a couple of minutes for me?”
“Why? What’s up?”
“I need to get to the accessible toilet. It’s urgent.”
“You’ve got it made.” Ed winked at Diamond before turning back to Algy. “Pete’s your man. Trained for all emergencies, aren’t you, Pete? First on the left through the far door.”
“I’m obliged to you,” Algy said.
Algy may have been obliged, but Diamond wasn’t. The unwieldy chair on its iron wheels had to be tugged from the front rather than pushed, and its occupant was distinctly overweight.
“So I’ll leave you fellows to it,” Ed said and darted back to his friends.
The next minutes were ones Diamond would want to erase from his memory. The only way he could get the chair moving was by going backwards, bending double and dragging it, apologising each time his rear connected with someone. Having forced a passage through the crowded room and found the disabled toilet, he learned with relief that Algy could cope inside with the aid of the grab rails, so he stepped outside to stand guard. With the chair jammed inside, there was no way Algy could work the lock.
Diamond wasn’t expecting the shout from inside that followed. Apprehensive of what he would be asked to do next, he opened the door a fraction.
“A certain item is missing in here.”
The emergency could have been worse, but couldn’t be ignored. The head of CID had faced many situations in his long experience. Stopping all comers to ask where the spare toilet rolls were kept was a first, made all the more odd with everyone in costume. Eventually he was directed to a bathroom upstairs.
“You’re a credit to the force,” Algy said from inside when Diamond returned with two spare rolls and handed them discreetly round the door. “I’m on the police authority for Avon and Somerset and I shall make a point of mentioning this at our next meeting.”
Beau Death Page 27