by Robert Warr
‘Your Sergeant was a bit mysterious in his telegram.’ Inspector Thorpe was in obvious good humour, ‘but when someone of your reputation sends me a cable that asks me to join him and to bring my handcuffs I naturally come. Just who is it that you want me to arrest?’
‘Sir William and Lady Barke for the wilful murder by poison of Lord Reventhorpe.’ My master paused momentarily while Thorpe dealt with this news. ‘I thought I would ask you if you wanted to make the actual arrest in a vain attempt to restore the bad reputation that my office has with you provincial detectives.’
‘You can prove your case?’ Thorpe asked with some natural trepidation because wrongly arresting a member of the gentry could really damage a career. A good arrest could, conversely, really bring you to the public’s notice.
‘I thought that it would be more discrete if we walked to Hevershap Hall. That will give me enough time to explain the case to you.’
‘Good enough, Thompson.’ Thorpe looked around at his men and, gesturing for them to follow, led the way from the station.
It was a beautiful night, cold and clear. There were no clouds and only about a quarter of the moon. The scene was lit by a gently silver light that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was a night for friendship, love and good cheer. The seriousness of our mission, however, impressed me and I trotted at my master’s side without investigating any of the small noises and interesting scents that surrounded me.
My master detailed two of the police constables to go forward and ensure that the gate keeper did not raise the alarm and was obviously surprised when they reported that not only were the gates wide open but the gatekeeper’s lodge seemed to be empty.
As we passed through the gates into the park, Inspector Thorpe instructed one of his men to close the gate and secure it, on the grounds that if someone had gone to the trouble of ensuring that the gates were wide open it was almost his duty to ensure that they were thwarted in their design. I could see my master’s quick grin and knew that he appreciated this provincial detective’s dry wit.
We advanced quickly towards the house walking a few yards to one side of the drive where our footsteps would be muffled by the grass and we had the benefit of the sparse cover provided by some trees planted in a loose avenue. On reaching the bridge we had to go back on to the drive and, for all our care, made some noise in the thick gravel that had been spread along the roadway.
Once over the bridge we advanced along the side of the drive until my master motioned for everyone to join him in the thick shadows near the end of the shrubbery. Once we were all gathered, he detailed three of the men to watch the sides and rear of the house while the two inspectors and Sergeant Allen went to the front door. We were just starting to move out when there were the sounds of wheels on gravel and a coach and four came out of the stable yard and swept towards the bridge.
We ran out onto the road and, while some of our number opened their hooded lanterns, my master waved his arms and blew loudly on his whistle. I could see the coachman starting to rein in his horses when a head appeared in the window of the coach and a male voice shouted something that was drowned in the rest of the bedlam.
The coachman did not hesitate, but rising in his seat, set about the horses fiendishly with his whip causing them to surge forward at a full gallop. When it became obvious that the coach was not going to stop most of us flung ourselves off the drive and into the shelter of the shrubbery. One of the constables, a young man called Hall who had been a carter before joining the police, leapt forward and caught the left hand front horse’s bridle. For a moment he hung on, his weight causing the horse to slow, before the whip cracked near his hand and he fell under the horses. The coach lurched as it ran over him and his screams were cut short. Our quarry had won past and, with his connections, I was certain that Sir William could escape the country with ease. I howled my frustration to the unfeeling night as I watched the coach approach the bridge.
There was a sudden movement as something small jumped from a branch near the top of a shrub, yowling like a demon, to land on the coachman’s right shoulder before attacking his face and head. The coachman’s screams were indescribable, half pain and half terror. He stood upright and with his right hand tried to throw off his assailant forgetful of the reins that he was holding.
The shrieks and the smell of blood had panicked the horses and they bolted in blind terror. The sudden tug on the reins caused them to veer to the right and the metal hubcaps on the wheels grated against the stone of the bridge adding another tortured scream and a mass of sparks that fountained into the air. The coachman suddenly leapt, a panicked jump taking him over the balustrade and into the dark of the lake; a smaller shape separated from him and I heard two distinct splashes.
I realised that the coachman’s assailant could only be Bee and set off towards the bridge in the hope of rendering some assistance.
The coach continued on; the horses’ fear seeming to grow as their mutual panic became a mass hysteria and the gallop turned into a stampede. The left hand door opened and a figure jumped from the careering vehicle rolled and ran, seemingly unhurt, into the shelter of the shrubbery.
The coach was leaning against the balustrade of the bridge and I realised that one or both of its right wheels had given way under the punishment and it was effectively running on two wheels and a rail. As I watched it reached the end of the bridge’s coping and, now unsupported, lurched to its right and rolled, accompanied by a thin female scream, sideways down a slight embankment into the lake. By some great fortune the traces parted at last and the horses, freed of their terrible burden, galloped off into the park.
Spaniels may not normally be known for their speed but I covered those few yards in record time and hearing a sobbing cry of pain coming from the wreck of the carriage went to investigate. Lady Caroline Barke was lying on her side half in the water. A length of wood that had obviously come from the side of the coach transfixed her torso. From the amount of blood in the water and the look in her eyes I knew she was dying so I went towards her, my instinctive reaction being to comfort an injured human.
‘Why?’ she gasped her eyes focusing on me. I looked back and I saw not a victim but a monster.
‘You poisoned Bee’s mouse and now she’s killed you.’ I replied with cruel honesty and watched as the light went out of her eyes. Her final look of total shocked incomprehension will remain with me forever and I only wish that I hadn’t spoken.
Leaving the body I climbed to the top of the wreck and looked round in time to see Sergeant Allen hurl himself into the water after the fleeing coachman. A small noise caught my attention and I looked round to see Bee swimming strongly towards the far bank. My mother always used to warn us not to underestimate a cat and I think that this was a good illustration of her point.
I jumped from the coach to the embankment and trotted back to where I could hear my master organising things. I arrived at the same time as Inspector Thorpe who was dragging Sir William out of the shrubbery. The prisoner was gasping loudly and had his handcuffed hands up to his throat.
‘What happened?’ my master asked with some concern as the papers often like to interpret robust arrests as police brutality. It is also an unfortunate fact of life that the more money a villain has the better defence he can employ. There is nothing more odious than a highly paid barrister who knows that they have no case trying to divert a jury with accusations of official malpractice.
‘The silly bastard was paying too much attention to me and ran into a forked branch,’ Thorpe laughed with a cruel humour. ‘It nearly stopped him dead but fortunately he hasn’t cheated the hangman of his ten guineas.’
‘How’s Hall?’ Thorpe asked after a moment, all the levity draining from his voice.
‘I think he will live but I doubt that he will ever walk properly again,’ my master’s voice was equally sombre.
‘He has seven children if he can’t work they will be in a terrible state especially if he isn’t granted a
pension.’
‘I will ensure that his family are looked after,’ my master stated with a quiet finality. ‘He was after all injured when working for me.’
Further conversation stopped as Sergeant Allen climbed up from the lake with the unconscious body of the coachman over one shoulder, which he dropped unceremoniously at our feet. We stood looking at the man who seemed to have enjoyed a particularly robust arrest. After a while his eyes opened and Inspector Thorpe arrested him for the attempted murder of a policeman.
Constable Hall was made comfortable and then carried back to the Hall where he stayed until a doctor decided he could be moved. Unfortunately he lost his right leg just above the knee and was forced to retire from the police.
We went to Hevershap Hall to make two arrests and returned with two prisoners both of whom were committed for trial early in the New Year. The Honourable Sebastian was released and all charges against him were dropped.
The case had a final twist as far as I was concerned. It was the third week of December and we were all preparing for Christmas when I found a whole stilton by the front door of my master’s London house. A note attached to it thanked my master for his efforts on behalf of the general populace and offered him the Stilton as a mere token of the giver’s festive gratitude.
Now, it occurred to me that I was responsible for solving a lot of my master’s cases and since no one else had seen this gift cheese it was only right if I partook of the unknown sender’s gratitude and generosity. Having made this eminently just decision I carried the cheese to my bed and began to devour it. I was half way through when a sudden hot pain caused my legs to buckle and I was very sick.
Fielding, attracted by my yelps, entered the room, took one look at me, sniffed the cheese and ran yowling from the room. I was just bewailing the fickleness of cats when he returned being pursued by his slave, the cook, and Short.
Before I knew what was happening the cook had forced some rubber tube attached to a funnel down my throat and was pouring hot salty water into me. She stopped regularly so that Short could hold me up by my rear legs so that I could easily regurgitate the brine mixture. After a while I found myself lying in my bed in front of the kitchen range, a thick blanket over me and a bowl of bread and milk by my side watching Fielding being given choice titbits while being lionised for his promptness in summoning help. He deserved every bit of that praise and more.
Fortunately, I recovered quite quickly and was able to enjoy a large bowl of plum pudding on Christmas day.
-----
‘I don’t suppose that you can ask your man to bring some more cake?’ Snuffles asked raising his head from his paws. ‘I find talking prompts a good appetite.’
‘In a minute, I just want to know a couple of things. What happened to Constable Hall?’
‘Your uncle persuaded the Hampshire force to give him a pension and then asked the General to find him a situation at Arlesford. He is now one of the assistant kennel masters.’
‘I am surprised that my uncle had to persuade the Force to give him a gratuity,’ I remonstrated. ‘I would have expected such a payment to be given as of right to any officer injured in the course of their duty.’
‘So would any reasonable man.’ Snuffles replied with a certain amount of heat. ‘The Establishment does not see policemen as valuable servants, just as common people doing a not very high status job. Fortunately some people, like my master, are doing what they can to change the system.’
‘What is he doing?’ I asked, pleased to hear that my uncle was not prepared to ignore an injustice.
‘For a start he gives every penny of his police salary to a charity that cares for sick and injured officers and their families.’
‘What about Bee?’ I asked as the thought of another victim crossed my mind.
‘She is doing very well and has managed to train Sebastian into a very acceptable pet,’ Snuffles barked with laughter. ‘We saw her when your uncle was invited down for some fishing.’
‘That’s good,’ I said generally pleased. ‘But what about…’
‘The Stilton?’ Snuffles interrupted my question. ‘That was sent by Bartholomew Arrat and that investigation is quite another tale, and one that Fielding knows more of than myself.’
The Boating Party
An extract from the journal of Miss Isobel Fraser, written for her sister, Lucy, in Boston.
Saturday Morning
Except for the horrid weekend when James was so unpleasant, I have always felt happy at Arlesford. It has in fact become a sanctuary for me and I find myself looking forward to my next visit. The General and Lady Amelia have treated me as if I were their own granddaughter rather than just a relation by marriage. This weekend that friendly atmosphere has gone and there is an unpleasant tenseness in the air. Aunt Emily and Aunt Amelia, who normally spend the weekend gossiping with each other, have managed to exchange only the barest of civilities.
This tension reminds me of the build up to a summer storm, and I pray that something will occur that will defuse the situation or likely things will be said that will be hard to pardon.
The worst part of this weekend is the knowledge that I was, unknowingly, responsible for this lamentable turn of events. In my naïve innocence, I asked Aunt Emily if Lieutenant Vaughn might not be invited to the next country house weekend. To be honest I had hoped that the romantic nature of the house and gardens might have encouraged him to ask me a certain question.
I know Aunt Emily was delighted and she issued an invitation to Reginald to come down to Arlesford as one of our party. I could tell that she was pleased and told me, at great length, how suitable he would be as my suitor. Apparently, he is heir to one of the noblest titles in England. Unfortunately, Aunt Emily neglected to mention her invitation to Aunt Amelia who took his inclusion in the party quite badly.
From the slightly furtive way Aunt Emily went about the invitation I am quite certain that she knew what Aunt Amelia’s reaction would be. Naturally, I asked her about the Thompsons’ dislike of Lieutenant Vaughn and she told me that Lady Amelia had wanted her James to marry me and was upset because I had a more eligible suitor. How arrogant! I would have thought that they would have realised that as a modern American girl I will make up my own mind, as long as Pa approves.
I naturally apologised to Reginald for the somewhat hostile atmosphere but he laughingly told me that their bucolic jealousy only amused him. I must admit that it did add a certain extra piquancy to the evening. It is after all fun to be doing something that is disapproved of by most of those around you.
There was one incident during the evening of which I am now really ashamed although, at the time, it felt like a piece of harmless fun. The Gentlemen had just rejoined the Ladies when James came up to me and asked whether I would mind singing for the party as it might break the ice. He volunteered to accompany me and I was just about to agree when Lieutenant Vaughn, who had lingered for another port, entered the room and joined us.
On hearing James’ idea Reginald, rejected it out of hand and stated that he and I were going to have a walk on the lawn as we had much to discuss. He then pointed out, with what I foolishly took to be rough good humour, that James was not exactly suited for an evening walk. Reginald continued in much the same vein and I admit I laughed at one of his similes because the idea of a waltzing hog was just so absurd. Suddenly I looked at James and saw the deep hurt etched on his face. He turned and wished me a pleasant evening. As he limped away I looked after him and could have sworn that Snuffles was staring at me with complete contempt.
There was a cold silence as we went outside and descended the steps onto the lawn. If my beau had planned any untoward intimacies, he was foiled in his expectations by Inspector Thompson and the General who came outside with Snuffles and most of the house pack for the dogs’ evening exercise. In a relatively short time, Reginald went back into the house and I found myself throwing a stick for Clara.
The General took the opportunity and bluntly w
arned me that Lieutenant Vaughn was a vicious and cunning brute. I naturally took my beau’s part and the General sadly patted my arm and told me to be very careful and to consider things fully before I agreed to anything that I would regret.
I went to bed soon afterwards and pondered over the events of that evening. Frankly Lucy I do not know whether to believe my heart or my head. I slept badly and woke before dawn. I had hoped that writing to you would have made things clearer but I am still muddled.
Sunday Evening
I came down to breakfast intending to apologise to James for my unforgivable laughter but could not find him in the house. It was only when I had started eating that I saw him by the lake with Snuffles. Unfortunately, by the time, that he returned most of the party had come downstairs and there was no opportunity for private talk.
I had been looking forward to the weekend because Aunt Emily had told me that there was to be a boating party on the River Arle and we Ladies would be rowed along a delightful stretch of river to a grassy meadow where some of the servants would have set up an outdoor feast. I contemplated feeling faint and then realised that it would be a coward’s trick; I could not run away from a difficulty of my own making. The atmosphere at breakfast was so frosty that I did wonder how far we would be able to row before the river froze over even though it was a beautiful July morning.
We went down to the river, in good time for our departure, to be confronted by a veritable flotilla of small boats and I was pleased to see the General helping Lady Amelia into a boat that already contained Inspector Thompson and Snuffles. The prospect of the trip had lightened and a holiday atmosphere was just reasserting itself when Reginald made a loud and frankly boorish remark to the effect that James should go with the servants in the cart since it must be hard for him to do anything physical. I was appalled and sharply told my beau to stop acting in such a low way. For a second I almost thought he would strike me but then he laughed and handed me into a small craft. As he sat himself at the oars, I called out to Clara and she rather timidly joined me.