by Simon Raven
‘Your niece.’
‘Right. Well, she’s no more business than you have to be ringing up Fielding at this hour of the night or any other, and she doesn’t want literary advice, only to talk dirty, I wouldn’t wonder. Nevertheless I told her where he was, bless her heart, because she said she simply wanted him to know what a marvellous time she and Marius were having in Somerset. Know who I mean by Marius?’
‘Yes. I’m at school with them both, you see.’
‘Oh. Then you’ll be pleased to know they’re having a lovely holiday. Or that’s what Tessa says.’
‘Have you any reason to doubt her, Mrs Malcolm?’
‘I know when she’s up to something. There’s something not quite straight going on.’
‘In Somerset?’
‘Perhaps. Though it could be she just wants to talk dirty to Major Gray, like I said.’
‘Where do I find Major Gray?’
‘That bloody college. Lancaster. I’d hoped he’d be here with me about now. But he’s not. Nor he’s not obliged to be, of course. I’d just hoped he would be, that’s all. Know what I mean?’
‘Yes, I do. I am very sorry, Mrs Malcolm.’
‘You really sound it.’
‘I am. goodnight.’
Dreading the idea of telephoning Lancaster again and getting the same beastly man as he’d spoken to before, whom he could hardly expect to be any more civil just because he was asking for Fielding this time and not for Jeremy, Palairet tried a number which he knew by heart: the Sterns’ London house, the number and address of which he treasured in his breast with much the same emotional compulsion as had sent him to Regis Priory to see Lover Pie. Here he hoped to find Isobel Stern, Marius’ mother: surely she would listen to anyone who feared for Marius.
And perhaps she would have done. But Isobel was not there, being hundreds of leagues away in her chancel under the Pyrenees, and Pally was answered by someone else.
‘I’m Mavis, the cook,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Or call me Ethel if you prefer. What’s in a name?’
‘I hoped to speak to Mrs Stern, Mavis.’
‘Bless your little heart, duckie, none of them have been living here, except for odd nights, since poor old Clarabelle Stern went up to be with Jesus two years ago, and then some. They let me stay on out of kindness…to keep the place warm just in case.’
‘In case of what, Ethel?’
‘Well, one of ’em might want to come, one of these nights. Dame Isobella might get sick of her dykey arrangement in France; and then little Rosie’s been given the birdie by her best chum, Tessa, so she might not fancy being at Buttock’s any more when in London; and Marius may feel his oats one day and decide he needs somewhere private to have it off with whatever he fancies, and choose here, knowing that old Ethel won’t spoil his sport or tell tales to Mummy; and so on.’
‘But no one is there now, Mavis?’
‘No one here now, except me. Ring any time, if the fancy takes you.’
‘Thank you. Goodnight.’
Nothing for it, thought Pally: I shall have to ring ‘that college’ again.
This time Len was more civil.
‘Sorry I was so stroppy when you rang just now, sweetheart,’ said Len. ‘We’ve been having rather a trying time, but that’s no reason to bite your balls to pieces. Now: it was Jeremy Morrison you wanted?’
‘Yes, but you said he hadn’t come. This time I want Fielding Gray.’
‘Boy oh boy, are you low in luck. The thing is, Fielding went this afternoon, because Jeremy, although he hasn’t come yet, is very soon going to come. Neither of them wants to see the other just now, you understand?’
‘I think so. Where has Fielding gone?’
‘His home in Broughton, I’d say, or else Buttock’s Hotel.’
‘I’ve tried them both. He’s at neither.’
‘Then he’s gone off in a sulk, and you’d better give him up.’
‘I suppose so. When does Jeremy arrive?’
‘Not for a day or so. Carmilla Salinger, whom he’s coming to see, has had to put him off. A guest of hers has just died in one of the guest rooms.’
‘How very awkward.’
‘Isn’t it? What a sensible boy you sound. Most people would have gone all sanctimonious and said “how dreadful” or “how tragic” or “how sad”. “Awkward” is much more to the point. Anyhow, I’m afraid I can’t really help. If you still want Jeremy, ring again tomorrow evening and then just keep trying.’
‘I rather wanted one of them… Jeremy or Fielding…now.’
‘Then you’re not being a sensible boy. I told you: they’re just not here.’
‘I know. I was being silly. Thank you for trying to help.’
And now, desperation mounting, Pally sat down in a chair and began to snivel, then bethought him of just two sources of hope: Mavis (or Ethel) and the Chamberlain, both of whom had invited him to telephone again, both of whom would be lavish with time and goodwill and advice, if requested. Mavis, thought Palairet, would perhaps be the shrewder; the Chamberlain, despite the undertone of madness in his voice, the more experienced and the sounder. He would try the Chamberlain first.
‘The thing is,’ he was saying, as to an old friend, some two minutes later, ‘that I think something is wrong, even if he himself does not know it is wrong, with Marius Stern, who is Mr Jeremy’s friend. Mr Jeremy has not arrived at Lancaster and you say you don’t know where he is in London. So I need someone else who will listen to me and who will not laugh at me for imagining things.’
‘Here am I, sir.’
‘I know, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am. But you cannot leave Luffham. I need someone who can come.’
‘I understand, sir. Mr Jeremy you cannot find, nor anyone else, because, by the sound of you, you have telephoned everyone you can think of and have found only silence.’
‘Yes.’ He told the Chamberlain the names of all the people he had telephoned. ‘Is there,’ he concluded, ‘anyone else at all? You may know.’
‘Oh, I do. Master Marius had a cousin called Miss Tullia Llewyllyn, “Baby” to her friends. She married Lord Canteloupe. They are both very attached to Marius. Her ladyship is somewhat volatile; his lordship, whom I served for many years, as a soldier and a friend, is totally reliable in personal matters – though he was often less than dutiful in military ones. Telephone their house in Wiltshire.’ He gave Pally the number. ‘And say…say to his lordship… Res Unius, Res Omnium…’
‘…Res Unius, Res Omnium,’ Palairet said.
‘Ah,’ said Theodosia Canteloupe, ‘the old motto. You want my husband. I’m afraid he’s out to dinner, a stag party with the MFH, so he won’t be up to conversation when he comes back.’
‘Then can I speak to you, Lady Canteloupe? It’s about your cousin.’
‘My cousin?’ said Thea, illegitimate and adopted.
‘Marius. Marius Stern. You are… “Tullia”? “Baby” – please excuse me – to your friends?’
‘Tullia is dead.’
‘But the Chamberlain at Luffham–’
‘–Is an old man, who wanders and forgets. Tullia, “Baby” to her friends, is dead in Africa. I am Theodosia Canteloupe.’
Somehow this piece of intelligence upset Pally more than any of the evening’s disappointments or frustrations so far.
‘Oh, Lady Canteloupe,’ he said, ‘I have rung up so many people to ask them to help. Jeremy Morrison and Mr Tunne and Marius’ mother and Fielding Gray, and none of them are there. My aunt will be so upset about the telephone bill,’ he blubbered, ‘she’s asleep now, but she’ll find out, and then she’ll pretend not to mind because she loves me, but I know she can’t aff–’
‘–What is your telephone number at your aunt’s?’ said Theodosia, crisp as a Colonel of Horse.
Pally told her.
‘Then ring off at once. I shall ring back.’
This she did within ten seconds.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘let us get a few things straight.
You rang my husband, and when you got me, you thought I was Marius Stern’s dead cousin, Baby.’
‘Yes. You see, I didn’t know–’
‘–Never mind that. You had something to say about Marius. What did you have to say about Marius?’
‘There is something horribly wrong with Marius. There is some trouble…which I do not yet understand. I cannot prove it, I cannot say what it is, but I know there is something.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because…because I like him rather a lot. Oh, Lady Canteloupe, because I love him.’
‘As good a reason as any, I suppose. Details in a moment. But first: you are talking from your aunt’s house in Burnham-on-Sea. This I know, but I do not know your name.’
‘Palairet. I am at school with Marius.’
‘I have heard your name. He half-murdered you at Oudenarde House.’
‘By accident.’
‘And you remained his friend. Indeed you did. You rang up all these people, risked ridicule, risked distressing the aunt you love, because you thought Marius might need help.’
‘I knew he did.’
‘Very well, Mr Palairet. What is your Christian name?’
‘Everyone calls me Pally.’
‘How horrible. What is your real name?’
‘It’s silly. Galahad.’
‘Not silly. But I’ll call you something else, even Pally, if you prefer.’
A long silence.
‘No. You may call me “Galahad”.’
‘I am Theodosia. My friends call me “Thea”. You call me “Thea”… Galahad Palairet. And now: tell me exactly how you came to know that Marius needs help, and what sort of help it must be…’
When Piero and Ptolemaeos returned to Tunne Hall, they expected to find the guardian Mrs Statch ready to render her report and serve their luncheon. Instead they found her unconscious in a flood of unspeakable liquids under the kitchen table.
‘One sees the perils of absenting oneself,’ said Ptolemaeos, ‘even for only three days.’
‘It was worth it, sir. You look much fitter.’
‘I feel much fitter. And I much enjoyed those Cumbrian castles. How clever of an Italian to plan such a trip in England.’
‘Always ask a foreigner if you want to see the most beautiful and curious things in your own country. The natives take them for granted. Familiarity breeds blindness. I shall now start working on our next expedition, sir, if you please.’
‘Not till after your examination at Cambridge. You’ll need to work on that.’
‘It’s not for nearly two months, sir.’
‘You’ll still need to work on it. I want to see your name on that list,’ said Ptolemaeos, ‘with stars clustering all round it. And when we do go away next,’ said Ptoly, surveying the supine Statch, ‘we will leave no watchdog.’
‘We must, sir. The terms of the Insurance Policy for the books and artefacts in the library requires a caretaker in your absence. But let us negotiate that barrier when we reach it. You go and look at the mail, and I shall cope with the Signora and make the lunch.’
After Ptolemaeos had rumbled off to his office, Piero raised Mrs Statch’s heels to rest on a chair, poured a bucketful of hot water heavily laced with Jeyes Fluid between her legs, and slapped a pint of cold water on to her face. As she whined her way back into consciousness, she was told to clear up and get out, either for good, or, if she wished to retain her job, to return the next day only on the absolute understanding that she ceased to make spells against Piero behind his back.
‘How d’ye know I does that? Canst prove?’
‘My dear, abominable Mrs Statch, I have lived in countries where witchcraft is of a far higher standard than it is in your English Fens. You make one more spell against me, and not only are you dismissed from Mr Tunne’s employment–’
‘–That be for Mr Tunne to say–’
‘–No. It be for me to say, for so he has charged me. One more spell out of you, Goody Statch, and not only will you be sacked, you will receive a bigger and better spell up your own apertures – all seven of them.’
Half an hour later, when he limped into the office with a tray of light luncheon for Ptolemaeos and himself, he found Ptolemaeos in a rare frot of excitement, apparently caused by a letter from the Greco in Tuscany.
‘“…Tell Piero”,’ Ptolemaeos read out, ‘“that his idea of consulting Don Simone Fontanelli was quite brilliant. Fontanelli has engaged, as our “agent of reaction” in the business ahead, a Florentine who calls himself Tiresiana or sometimes La Tiresias. When in full drag he is a magnificent blond with three Viking plaits, flashing green eyes, a rapier nose, and a wide, red mouth, like Dracula’s. He has lovely, long, smooth legs which he dresses in purple stockings gartered three inches above the knee, a bottom which beggars all description encased in lederhosen which conceal his sex, a bare midriff with a devouring navel, and a subtly folded sash of gauze over the bosom which simulates mammary formations at one moment huge and succulent, the next petites and poignant.
‘“Fontanelli, who sends the ‘Signorino Piero’ his compliments, has returned to Palermo. Nicos and I are off to Venice, where we shall be joined by Tiresiana this day week – by which time we shall have set everything up in Samuele…”
‘I hope they don’t get too clever,’ said Piero. ‘In essence your plan is simple and had best be left so.’
‘Whatever happens,’ said Ptolemaeos, ‘they should have an amusing tale to tell on their return. What an excellent soufflé, Piero. Now tell me something, dear boy: when you do have time to turn your mind to our next little jaunt, whereabouts had you thought of taking us?’
‘How about a cruise in a private yacht, in the wake of Odysseus? Or following the voyage of Jason to Medea and the Golden Fleece?’
‘A sea journey? I have always been shy of them. But if you, my dear Piero, are making the arrangements and accompanying me, I shall be shy of them no more.’
‘When are you leaviing?’ said Canteloupe to Theodosia.
‘Almost at once. I must meet Master Galahad in Taunton this evening. We shall go on from there.’
‘Go on where from there?’
‘Ultimately, Bellhampton Park. From what Galahad tells me, the affair at Regis Priory must have been in the nature of a dummy run. Marius was being observed and, up to a point, rehearsed…and the Glastonbury set were in on it, as well as his own lot. Now then, Canty. This morning came news from a distraught Carmilla: Myles Glastonbury, whom we persuaded her to accept as her guest in Lancaster, has died in a coma there. Before he went into the coma, he told Fielding Gray, who later told Carmilla, that his father, Prideau, has some scheme on with an old friend of his, Raisley Conyngham, a master at Marius’ school. This scheme has to do with horses. It so happens that this Raisley Conyngham has Marius – and his chum, Tessa Malcolm – staying with him for the Easter hols in Somerset, and that Marius is being trained by Conyngham’s people as a stable lad. According to Myles, Marius is involved in the scheme, whatever it is, which is being got up by Prideau and Conyngham. Although Myles went into his coma and died before he could reveal what the scheme was, he said two things of interest about it first. One: as far as Prideau is concerned the scheme is a harmless joke or trick, undertaken for the fun of the thing and to show how clever Prideau can be when he tries; but Myles suspects that for Raisley Conyngham the thing is very different–that Raisley Conyngham plans to engineer some occurrence at the best risky and at worst definitely “evil”.’
‘Why did Myles suspect that?’
‘He just felt it, he told Fielding. And this brings us to the second interesting thing he said. He said that Raisley Conyngham somehow knew that Myles felt suspicious; and that he laid his hands on Myles’ hair (just as he used when Myles was a little boy) and had thus infected Myles with the illness from which he was already beginning to suffer.’
‘What nonsense.’
‘I agree and, so does Carmilla. But the real point of all this
, Canty, is that though we don’t know what the scheme is, we do know that the second part of it will operate at Bellhampton in two days’ time, when Conyngham’s horse, Lover Pie, runs against Prideau Glastonbury’s mare, Boadicea, in the Hamilton Chase.’
‘But how do we know this?’
‘Because that far Myles did get before he became unconscious. Lover Pie and Boadicea, he said, were major factors in the whole affair. They were running against each other at Regis Priory and then soon after at Bellhampton. Something preliminary was to happen at the meeting, now over, at Regis Priory; and in the light of Galahad’s report, we can now guess that this was some kind of trial or rehearsal. A few days later, something final, so Myles at any rate implied, was to occur at Bellhampton Park, something which would arise from, or during, the race for the Hamilton Cup.’
‘This is sheer romancing.’
‘So I would have thought – had not my Master Palairet, thinking no evil, just out for a spree with his Auntie, watching independently and from a totally different angle – had not my Master Palairet, I say, witnessed such very peculiar behaviour at Regis Priory, which bears out everything said by Myles Glastonbury.’
‘This Master Palairet. How did he come to be telling you what he saw – or thought he saw – at Regis Priory?’
‘That is a long and complicated story; but the nub of the matter, Canty, is that Galahad’s instinct told him that his friend was in trouble, and he was not going to rest, no matter how many people scoffed or rejected him or just weren’t there when wanted – he was not going to rest, Canteloupe, until he had found his friend help. In the end, never mind quite how, he found me.’
‘Very well. As you know, I have business with the lawyers for the next few days, so I suppose you may as well join this boy at Taunton, if that will amuse you.’
‘Whether it will or not, I am going to Taunton.’
‘Will you be gone long?’
‘I have not forgotten our agreement and the time limit set on it, if that is what you mean.’
‘In part, yes. I also meant, how long are you going to bear with this silly schoolboy fantasy of imbroglio and plot.’