by Alexie Aaron
“What happens next?” Noelle asked.
“I don’t know. Browning will be there to interview Maurice in the morning. Because of us I’m sure he will have a lawyer with him.”
Noelle looked me over. "Mom, you’re wearing one navy and one black sock."
"Am I?" I looked down and sure enough I was. I must have packed them that way. I rummaged around fruitlessly and solved the problem by taking off both socks.
"Do you think you’ll get in trouble for talking to Maurice before the police? The Cornwall guy seems alright, but I don't think the Met guys are too comfortable with your American ways, Cin."
"I don't think so either, but I think they will handle things from now on. Maybe they’ll let us know or we’ll just read it in the papers like everybody else. Anyway, let's leave it till the morning. Tonight, I am going to my first dinner with the swells."
“Well then, let’s eat, drink and be merry,” Paz said. "But first, I want to prepare you for the farce downstairs. My mother has invited my Aunt Liz, whom you’ve met, and Uncle David. Peter will be there and Billy – she’s been calling him William all day. I have to warn you about my father. In conversation he’s an experience that is similar to a carnival ride. He starts off slow and quiet and when you are comfortable and feeling mellow, he flies around, talks a mile a minute, changes the subject and forgets what he was talking about minutes before.” Paz paused for effect. In her best munchkin voice she said, “Hold on to yourselves, in your honor, the matriarch of the family, my grandmother Lady Mary Price is joining us.” Returning to her own voice she continued, “Rounding out the table is Doctor Bertram Marcum, Professor of Music and his protégé, Stephen Douglas. I am sure we’ll have to sit through a small recital afterwards. Steven’s a master of the violin. No doubt, poor Peter, will be accompanying him on the cello.”
“All this for us?”
“Yes, because you are the famous manuscript detective from the United States. And here we have Noelle who captured an international criminal. My mother will be much envied at her club.”
“Yikes! I’m going to make an ass out of myself aren’t I?”
“No, Mom, we will leave that to Paisley.”
“Got your back, Cin.” Paz raised her imaginary gun and posed in true Charlie Angels form.
We followed Paz downstairs and to the other side of the house from the music room. The large ornate room we entered had several groupings of furniture that were set up in conversation pits. I could just make out a fire burning at the end of the room. I should have worn my driving glasses. Peter walked forward and greeted us before stealing Noelle away for a whispering session. Billy was sitting, looking very ill at ease and holding a drink that he passed from one hand to another. He looked up and was overjoyed to see Paz.
“I think that Billy needs a rescue. What’s he wearing?”
“I don’t know, wait, my father must have given him a shirt and trousers to wear. Not too bad, but not Billy.”
“I agree. Billy needs denim.”
Paz left. I stood for a while building up my courage.
“Are you going to venture in or be a spectator?” a gruff female voice said behind me.
“I always like to see what kind of game is being played before breaking the rules of it,” I said without turning around.
“It does give one an advantage.”
I turned around and smiled. “You and I should play on the same team. I’m Cin Fin-Lathen.”
The tall regal woman behind me bowed her head. “Very nice to meet you. I am the foundation, the wind and the water.”
“That would make you wise, egotistical and humorous. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mary Price.”
“I sense a little pierced rat has clued you in on me. Let’s go in and grab something high in alcohol. Then you can explain your answer.” Lady Mary moved her ample frame with the grace of a ballet dancer. She chose a wing chair in the far corner. The moment she sat down a young man in a uniform asked her for her drink order. “What’s strong where you come from, Lathen?”
“I drink Manhattans.”
“What’s in it?”
“Double scotch, vermouth, dash bitters and a cherry. And it’s Fin-Lathen or Cin.”
“How awful, simply deplorable. Son, we will have two. That is, two for each of us.”
“I’m surprised you ordered a Manhattan if they’re awful and deplorable.”
“Oh no no. You misunderstood me. I was referring to your name. Lathen is a good name, good stock comes from that name. What in heaven’s name does Fin come from? I suspect the Irish. And sin? Must we advertise?”
“C I N,” I spelt out, “preferable to Cynthia.”
“Fine. Cin, how has your trip to England treated you so far?”
Our drinks arrived. I waited until the young man left before replying, “Aside from being dumped in a bog, shot at, and ruining four pairs of shoes, the trip has been a lot of fun.” I drank deeply. It was very good. I caught the eye of the young bartender and mimed my approval.
“Don’t waste your time on him. Too young, no stamina.”
I almost choked. “Oh no, I was complimenting him on the drink.”
“Fine, save face,” she said dryly.
“I like you, Lady Mary.”
“I will reserve my judgment on you till after you explain your earlier comment.”
I thought a moment before answering, “You are wise because you are the foundation of this family. Your granddaughter Paisley has your remarkable intelligence, and to keep a family together in these times takes a wise woman, hence the good foundation.”
“Egotistical?”
“The wind is egotistical. It goes where it wants, never thinks that it isn’t wanted and it is impressed with itself. The water is humorous because have you ever listen to it gossip with the rocks in a stream. It will torture your senses as it continues through the night, dripping from a faucet. And for kicks, it throws itself off of cliffs. Very funny water is.”
“I like you too, Cin. Why hyphenate the name? Don’t love the hubby?”
“I do, did, love my ex-husband. But I thought that when you meet someone for the first time you should give them the whole picture. Cin – I am too impatient to wait for someone to say Cynthia. Fin – my parents’ name. They’re responsible for my red hair and quick wit. Lathen – he’s the father of my children.”
“Nicely done, just think it up?”
“Yes.” I started laughing.
Lady Mary and I got along well. I couldn’t have asked for a better verbal match. She was insightful and very aware of everything that went on in her world.
Peter brought Noelle over and introduced her to his grandmother.
“Ah, Noelle, my grandson Peter called me from a payphone to gush about you just minutes after you met.”
“Grandmother...” a very embarrassed Peter tried to cut her off.
“Hush up." She held up her hand. Peter closed his mouth. Lady Mary continued, “He fell head-over-heels in love with you. Chills, stomach felt funny, and he heard bells ringing. How do you explain that?” Lady Mary opened her eyes wide.
“The flu. Evidently, he wasn’t vaccinated.”
Lady Mary burst out laughing. “Noelle, better run fast, Peter has long legs.”
“Good advice.” She smiled at Peter and he lit up.
They left us to our girl talk. Funny thing, girl talk, it’s the same all over the world. Different subjects maybe, but we do tend to frighten men away when we get started.
“Not the trusting sort. She has a wait-and-see attitude.”
“Hope he hangs in there, Lady Mary. I like him.”
“Never seen him like that before. Good boy, my daughter Liz and her husband are good parents.” She drained the first drink and moved on to the second one. “Caroline is excellent at entertaining, except occasionally she’ll invite some real losers. I cannot abide with the upwardly mobile set. It’s in bad taste to talk about what you have or how you got it. Breeding ca
n’t be learned.”
“Then is it a talent?”
“Yes it is. Poor people who raise their children to respect others, they have good breeding. Rich people with pedigrees that let their children run amuck don’t. Yes, it is a talent. Oh good God, here comes Doctor Music Pants and the limp fiddle boy. The kid has talent, no doubt, but he has no musculature. If it weren’t for his bones he would be a sack of flesh.”
I watched them approach. The doctor had an air of authority and cut through the room while his protégé walked so close behind him that he resembled a racecar drafting. Lady Mary held out her hand and Doctor Marcum bent over and kissed it. His shadow mumbled something and fled.
“You’re going to have to teach him how to talk. Maybe ask Liz for some deportment lessons,” Lady Mary advised.
“You’re too hard on the boy. His talent will gain him a spot in the sun.”
“Without people skills his wings will burn, just like Icarus.”
I had a feeling that this battle was just beginning. Fortunately, it was time to go in and eat. Doctor Marcum gave Lady Mary his arm, and I followed behind them. Caroline directed us to our seats. I was sitting between Peter and Liz. Directly across from me was Doctor Marcum. To his right was Noelle and Stephen to his left. I promised myself I would not frighten the boy even though it was tempting.
The meal was wonderful and Doctor Marcum was a good conversationalist. Peter told him I was a musician and played in a symphonic band in the United States. I admired the gentleman for his feigned interest in community bands. Also for his restraint for not letting wine come out of his nose when I told him what instrument I played. Stephen, however, didn’t know what an alto clarinet was.
“You are familiar with a soprano clarinet?”
He nodded.
“It is larger, a couple more keys than the soprano and in E flat instead of B flat.”
“Samuel plays one,” he said to Dr. Marcum.
“No, that’s the Bass clarinet. Alto clarinet is a harmony instrument very popular in the 1920s. It isn’t so popular now. You are a rarity.”
“Thank you, I know.” I admired the way he didn’t say, “Why the hell are you playing that?”
“Bobby Bathgate is in her band.” Peter smiled at me. I didn’t know exactly what he was up to.
“Bobby Bathgate? What a small world, his father Edward taught me. How is he?”
“Fine, very busy of course.”
“Stephen, Bobby is a trumpet player, very fine trumpet player. Made a name for himself in the jazz arena.”
Stephen just nodded. I think he may have overexerted himself with the alto clarinet.
“I spent a summer at Bathgate the second to last year it was in session. Did you hear a student that went there is going to be knighted by the Queen?”
“Yes, Maurice Sherborn.”
“You know he would never have made it without Bentley Hughes pushing him. Bentley, now that’s a character.”
“That name sounds familiar. Doesn’t he run Classic Compositions?”
“Owns it. And, between you and me, he’s in the middle of trying to take over Boosey and Hawks.”
“Impossible. They’re too big, too profitable. Classic can’t have the cash to back up the bid,” Peter argued.
“Bentley has put his fortune in the deal. He’s counting on Maurice’s knighthood to give him the respectability to be taken seriously by other investors.”
“How does having a Knight of the Realm as one of your composers give you respectability?” Noelle asked.
“It is like a stamp of approval from England.”
“What happens if Maurice isn’t knighted?”
“Depends on the reason. If he were rejected there would be a field day in the papers. If he turns it down, people are going to want to know why. But don’t worry, no man in his right mind would turn this honor down.”
“What would happen to Bentley?”
“Lose everything I guess. Boosey may bite back and take his company. He is too old to start over again.”
Chapter Twenty-one
I wanted to go to my room and look through my notes, but it would have been rude considering the entertainment that was brought in for my benefit. After dinner we walked over to the music room. I had the pleasant opportunity before the concert to talk to both Whitman and David. They bounced off each other in conversation. Whitman was a real clown while David was serious and morose. I felt like I was listening to a record being sped up and then slowed down in almost continuous repetition. The only thing of substance I got from the conversation was that they both enjoyed their children. I liked that. I had thought that children were seen and not heard in most society homes, evidently not theirs.
Maybe Paz seemed screwed up because it was her time in life to rebel. Peter, on the other hand, was more level-headed because he had passed through that particular portal unscathed.
A trio had formed by the grand piano: Stephen stood with his violin, Peter sat at the cello, and Doctor Marcum at the piano. They started off with Mozart and worked their way around Europe touching on this and that composer. They ended with “Solvejg’s Song” from Peer Gynt Suite, No. 2, Op.55 by Edvard Grieg. I noticed that Stephen came alive through the violin. Peter’s cello gave the compositions warmth while Doctor Marcum’s piano rhythms complemented both instruments.
It was something that I would remember forever. I wish that Alex could have experienced this. Noelle eyes shone, and Peter’s wide smile told me he had seen her appreciation.
Coffee was served and puddings were set out for anyone to eat at their leisure. Whitman and Liz walked over to the piano. They dedicated the duet they were going to sing to Lady Mary. Whitman sat down and played the intro to “Memory” from Cats by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber. Liz’s voice started softly, and as she sang I could read the story in her movements. It was professional and emotional. Lady Mary wiped the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. She walked up and kissed her daughter, and when her son started playing the Cancan from “Orpheus in the Underworld” by Offenbach, she sat next to him on the piano bench and kicked a leg out now and then. It was hilarious.
I wonder if composers looked down upon these family gatherings with pride. Music is so important on so many levels. I thought about the loss of Donald Williams. It didn’t make enough sense to me. I just couldn’t buy that a man that Bobby said was so joyous to be around would murder for music. Nor did it jive that Maurice wrote Big Band charts. I did feel that his regret at the lovers he inadvertently kept apart was genuine, but Michael’s easy acceptance of his brother using his music didn’t fit. This bothered me.
“You’re lost in thought aren’t you?” Billy asked.
“Oh, Billy. Do you ever feel out of place? A fraud?”
“Ms. Fin-Lathen, look around you. Our barn isn’t as big as this room. That was an easy question. Now why did you ask it?”
“Did Paz tell you about what transpired this evening at Maurice Sherborn’s?”
“Yes, she did. Why?”
“Well, everything points to Bentley Hughes now, no solid proof but enough to speculate. Maurice is guilty as hell in the plagiarism area. He had genuine regret over Angie and Michael, but he still couldn’t believe that Bentley would be involved in killing anyone. I haven’t met Bentley so I have no read on him. But I was going over the evidence that makes him a suspect, and it really doesn’t fit.”
“I don’t know much about music, but I’m very uneasy myself. My father has a saying, ‘I smell something, but where is the stink coming from?’ Now Mr. Bentley, it all seems to point at him, but there is something familiar about Michael. Paz thinks it’s because people have doubles everywhere, but I don’t go anywhere but Cornwall. Did you ever catch a glimpse of a sporty car and not really see it but later you could recall the color and lines of it? Well, it’s like that. I know I’ve seen him before; it’s just the circumstances that are blurred.”
“Maybe you have seen him before, maybe when you and they were
younger. Things seem so out of place. Today for example, if we take away the blood and adrenaline and look clearly at the players, something is wrong. It’s similar to an instrument coming in too soon or playing the phrase wrong. You can hear it, but you have to take away all the others to find the culprit. I played everything back in my head, and there is one thing that didn’t make any sense until now.” I shook my head as to further clear it of cobwebs. “Billy, you have just cleared my mind. Remember after you took out Bruno with the shovel?” Not waiting for an answer I continued, “Well, I went back and was helping Michael with the Father. I described to him what had happened, since he couldn’t see anything lying on the ground trying to stop the Father's bleeding, and he seemed to know your name.”
“He said ‘Billy,’ you’re sure?”
“Yes. How did he know your name, if he never met you before? And he certainly couldn’t see you. I didn’t see you till you stepped in and bashed Bruno.”
“How did he know my name, and how did he know I would be with you? My name wasn’t in the bit in the paper. I was under ‘and friends.’ If you think something is wrong then go with your instincts, Ms. Fin-Lathen. You’re a smart woman.”
“I have to call the CSP or Sergeant Moore. Billy, if I am right we just put Angie into the arms of Donald’s killer. I hope that they haven’t taken the guard off of her yet. Get Peter and the girls and have them meet me upstairs.” I ran over to Caroline and asked for the use of a phone. She directed me towards the den and asked what was wrong. I told her I would explain all when I was certain. I ran out of the room and over to the den. I didn’t want to waste time searching for any phone numbers, so I dialed 999. I got the local constabulary and asked to be transferred to the Met. The operator asked the nature of the emergency and I told her, “Murder.”
“Met emergency. What is the nature of your call?”
“I’m Cin Fin-Lathen, and I must get in contact with CSP Robert Browning or Sergeant Moore immediately. There is a life and death situation that they need to know about.”
“One moment.” The operator left the line for a brief moment. “Ms. Fin-Lathen, I am going to connect you to the New Scotland Yard. Hold on...”