Hare Sitting Up

by Michael Innes

  Appleby drove on. Nether Ailsworth proved to be a dull little place, and its pub, the Bell, looked primitive and uninviting. It was inconceivable that Howard Juniper could ever have chosen it on its merits for a quiet holiday. Lord Ailsworth’s sanctuary emerged quite clearly as the only reason why he could have wished to come near the place. Appleby decided, provisionally, to come back to the Bell for lunch; it would certainly not be much of a meal, but he might pick up further information. At the moment, he would go straight on to Ailsworth Court, and see whether he had better luck with its owner than Colonel Pickering had reported.

  Again he drove on – this time skirting a high stone wall uncompromisingly crowned with broken glass. The map showed only one drive of any consequence as leading to the mansion, and within a couple of minutes he had reached it. Flanked by symmetrical lodges which could never much have consulted the convenience of their occupants, and hung on massive stone pilasters crowned with prancing griffins, wrought-iron gates of great elaboration were inhospitably closed against the world. Appleby drew up with his bonnet facing them and sounded his horn. Childe Rowland, he said to himself, to the dark tower comes.

  Nothing happened. The earl’s retainers – hurrying or loitering, scowling or bobbing, aged or juvenile – were not in evidence. Appleby got out and prospected. The lodges were deserted, and their windows were boarded up. The iron gates, which were rusty and uncared for, were secured by an equally rusty chain and padlock. Appleby peered through them and up the drive. It was, in fact, a long elm avenue, and in a state of utter neglect. It was deep in leaf mould, with here and there tussocks of bleached summer grass. A hundred yards or so ahead, a great elm had come down in a way that seemed to make wheeled traffic impossible. Ailsworth Court itself was invisible.

  It was a set-up that took Appleby entirely by surprise. He hadn’t been able to find out a great deal about Lord Ailsworth, but at least he had sufficient information to be certain that he was far from belonging to the more picturesquely indigent of our ancient nobility. The Ailsworths weren’t at all ancient – except indeed as prosperous citizens, a station they had owned in the time of the first Elizabeth. The present Lord Ailsworth was the third earl. And it was the first earl who had made the family breweries the biggest concern of their kind in England. Lack of money certainly wasn’t the occasion of the forlorn face that the place chose to present to the world. And that left only one explanation. Lord Ailsworth must be a person of pronounced eccentricity. Appleby looked forward to meeting him.

  This, however, didn’t seem too easy to achieve. There must, of course, be some other entrance to Ailsworth Court. Even if its owner were a recluse, a certain amount of coming and going was inevitable. Somewhere there must be at least a cart-track. And he was bound to find it if he nosed around. Or he could simply go back to the Bell and inquire.

  But Appleby’s glance, as he made these reflections, was on the rusty iron gates. He found himself considering footholds and estimating distances. And he thought of Judith, storming that loft at Splaine Croft. Need he himself take up a more elderly attitude? He looked up and down the road. It was entirely deserted. He peered through the gates at the neglected avenue. It seemed entirely deserted too. And there was no physical impediment to his making the climb. He was as fit now as he had been twenty years ago. No, the only impediment was a matter of decorum and dignity. Top people don’t go over the top; they expect to be ceremoniously ushered through… Appleby began to climb.

  It wasn’t easy. In fact he had seriously underestimated the task. The gates, after all, although elaborately got up with volutes and scrolls, had been designed in the first place just as gates. And they were doing their job tolerably well. They had already exacted from Appleby the forfeit of rather a large rent in a cherished piece of Lovat tweed. Still, he had got to the top. But the main difficulty was to get down again.

  Above the gates was more ironwork, pyramidal in structure, and supporting a large shield on which armorial bearings had at one time been enamelled. The Ailsworth hogsheads and firkins and tankards, he thought to himself with a certain ill temper. He was astride this final pompous if decayed affair, and conscious of the distinct possibility of a further laceration in the seat of his trousers, when he saw that he was being observed.

  A young woman had appeared in the avenue. She was dressed in breeches and leggings, and she carried a pail. She was looking up at him with startled – almost, he thought, with haunted – eyes. But when she spoke, it was in a manner that was entirely self-possessed.

  ‘Are you coming, or going?’ the young woman asked.

  Gowing is always Cumming, and Cumming is always Gowing. For a moment it was only this ancient and idiotic joke that Appleby could think of by way of reply. And of course it would be rather too inconsequent to be satisfactory. So he just looked at the young woman, and the young woman looked at him. After all, he was elderly, or at least getting on that way. And dignity and decorum sat as naturally on him as did the excellent old Lovat. His hair was grey at the temples. He looked most natural in a black soft hat – and even tolerably natural in a bowler and a beard, like the late notable Mr Clwyd. If he were twenty-two, this would be fine. He would grin cheerfully at the young woman from his elevated perch, and probably all would be well. As it was, his was at the moment a demonstrably false position.

  ‘Coming,’ Appleby said.

  ‘Then why don’t you move laterally?’ the young woman said. ‘Like a crab. You can reach one of the stone pillars that way. And come down by the rustications.’

  Appleby saw that this was a good suggestion. He saw, too, that the young woman was not a milkmaid, or person of similar rustic quality. Far from it. You have Lady Margaret Hall – he said to himself – written all over you. And probably you’re cracked on birds. Aloud, he said: ‘Thank you. I’ll take your advice. And then perhaps we can talk.’

  The young woman made no reply to this. She watched his descent impassively. ‘You’ve ripped your jacket,’ she said, when he had come to earth. ‘And,’ she added with quiet satisfaction, ‘your trousers too.’ Her glance went to the leather binocular case slung over his shoulder. ‘I suppose,’ she asked coldly, ‘it’s the Perry River White-fronted Goose?’

  ‘No,’ Appleby said. ‘It’s not that. Definitely not that.’ He was still feeling rather foolish.

  ‘Then it must be the Fulvous Whistling Duck.’ The young woman announced this with quiet certainty. ‘Those are the two there has been talk about lately.’

  ‘Not that either. I’m not interested in birds.’

  ‘Are you not, indeed?’ The girl’s voice hardened. She was abruptly demoting Appleby from the status of impertinent enthusiast to that of plain thief, intent on walking out with a Fulvous Whistling Duck in his pocket. ‘I think you’d better explain that to the police.’

  ‘I am the police.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re a gentleman.’ The girl flushed slightly, as if conscious of having unwarily said something idiotic. ‘I mean you’re a genteel crook. It’s written all over you.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, child. It’s nothing of that sort.’ Appleby felt that only a certain heavy paternal quality could quite make up for the memory of him perched grotesquely at the apex of Lord Ailsworth’s gates. ‘My name is John Appleby. I’ll find you a card.’

  ‘My name is Jean Howe. And I don’t in the least want to see your card. I expect you have dozens of them.’

  ‘Then I won’t bother you with it.’ Appleby looked at Miss Howe with some amusement. ‘Why do you keep your garden gate padlocked in that curmudgeonly way?’

  ‘Our garden gate?’ She looked at him suspiciously, as if conscious of being made fun of. ‘I suppose we’re entitled to such privacy as we choose? After all, it’s our own land.’

  ‘But don’t you think it should all be nationalized, and so forth?’

  Appleby realized that this random and absurd question was a great success. It involved the young woman, whose views were conscientiously advanced, in
difficulty that was for the moment insuperable. However, she came back not badly. ‘Did you climb in,’ she asked, ‘and ruin that very decent suit, just for the luxury of debating socialism with the first person who detected you?’

  ‘I climbed in to see Lord Ailsworth. I think you are a relation of his? I remember the family name.’

  ‘I’m his granddaughter.’ As she took in more of the intruder, the young woman was growing visibly perplexed. ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ she said, ‘by calling yourself the police. But I know that Colonel Pickering came to see my grandfather yesterday.’

  ‘Quite so. And he doesn’t seem to have been terribly well received. Lord Ailsworth talked about shooting anybody who came hanging round the place. Is he always like that?’

  Jean Howe looked worried. ‘Not a bit. He is very shy and retired, and so he has got himself a reputation for being odd. But he is usually the kindest and gentlest of men. Just sometimes he has queer fits of anger, which get exaggerated by gossip.’ The girl gave Appleby a quick apprehensive glance. ‘You haven’t come because people have been saying he is really mad?’

  ‘Quite definitely not. I come from Scotland Yard, not Harley Street.’

  Jean looked relieved. ‘You see, these sudden flares of temper or intense feeling are just something in the family. I get them myself.’

  ‘Really?’ Appleby smiled at her. ‘What about?’

  ‘Oh – just the way of the world in general.’ Jean spoke quickly, as if this was something she was not prepared to enter upon.

  Appleby changed the subject. ‘You live here?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I used to – off and on. I like the birds. For the last three years, I’ve been here only now and then during university vacations. This time, I’ve been here only a few days. But I expect I shall stop.’ Jean hesitated. ‘I expect I shall have to stop.’

  They had turned and were walking down the avenue. Appleby was thinking cautiously that he had begun to establish a relation of confidence with this young woman. Which was lucky – because she didn’t strike him as an easy girl. And the circumstances of their first introduction to each other hadn’t been exactly propitious.

  ‘You feel you may have to stay here?’ he prompted gently. ‘Do you mean that you find your grandfather needing rather more looking after than formerly?’

  ‘The whole set-up needs that. You see, he is quite obsessed with the birds.’

  ‘At an effective scientific level?’

  ‘Oh, dear me – yes. Even the mere collection of pinioned birds here is very important. But his work on the snaring and ringing, and at receiving reports from all over the world and compiling his census, has very high standing among ornithologists. He lives for it. Although perhaps it would be fair to say that he lives more and more for the birds and less and less for the ornithologists.’

  ‘And the estate, and so forth: does he at all live for that?’

  Jean made a gesture at the decay around them. ‘You can see he doesn’t. Nor for the house, either – although it has been rather a place in its time. The domestic situation there is difficult. Perhaps sketchy would be the word. That’s the chief reason why I think I’ll have to stay about. My father was the only son, you see. And he was killed in the war. My mother died when I was a baby. And most of our relations keep well away. They’ve no interest, because it’s all fixed up that a direct heir succeeds, even if a female. That will be me.’

  ‘You mean,’ Appleby asked, ‘that you will be a peeress in your own right?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never inquired.’ Jean seemed genuinely indifferent. ‘But I shall have the birds.’

  They turned a corner of the drive, and Ailsworth Court was before them. James Gibbs, Appleby said to himself – being stronger on buildings than on birds. There was a massive central block, linked by quadrant corridors to two service wings. The domestic situation could very readily become difficult, one supposed, where the architect had designed that your dinner should come to you along a hundred yards of curved passageway. But at least it was extremely grand – and as each of the service wings had an identical lantern with an identical clock, you would always know when to hurry home to meet the advancing feast. If – that was to say – the clocks were in working order, which they didn’t look to have been for a long time. The whole of Ailsworth Court, in fact, looked uncared for, unlived in, dilapidated, and almost ready to tumble down.

  Lord Ailsworth’s granddaughter had come to a halt. Approaching the house thus in company with a stranger, she seemed to find it a little daunting. ‘You can see,’ she said, ‘that we’ve seen better days.’

  ‘But your grandfather is wealthy?’

  ‘Of course. He has far more money than is decent. It’s not that. It’s just that he doesn’t any longer much care for people, and he won’t have them about. No guests. And no masons or carpenters or painters either.’

  ‘That’s fairly evident. But the birds seem to like it.’

  This was fairly evident too. The whole façade, together with a row of colossal statues perched above the cornice, was white with their droppings.

  ‘It is rather startling, I’m afraid. Particularly inside.’

  ‘Inside!’ Appleby was astonished. ‘You don’t mean that the birds are – well, in residence?’

  ‘They have infiltrated rather, of recent years. My grandfather doesn’t see why the whole place should be empty. There are wild duck in the attics. It sounds like Ibsen, doesn’t it?’ Jean smiled faintly. ‘And, of course, the Donkey Ducks are in the drawing-room. You must have heard about them.’

  ‘The ones that Lord Ailsworth rescued from extinction?’ Appleby nodded. ‘I suppose it’s natural that they should be given the place of honour in the household. But are all the birds parlour boarders? Don’t some live out?’

  Jean laughed. ‘The great majority live out. The pens are on the other side of the house, running down to the breeding ground and the decoy pool and the river. Would you like to see them before we hunt out my grandfather?’ She looked at her watch. ‘I don’t think he’ll be about yet, as a matter of fact. And it will give you something to talk about.’ She paused. ‘If, that’s to say, he’s at all disposed to talk to you.’

  ‘If it’s not taking up too much of your time,’ Appleby said.

  He suspected that Miss Howe’s offer was a matter neither of pure benevolence nor of simple pride in what she had to display. She wanted to know more about the stranger and his business before she admitted him to her grandfather’s presence. And that, in the circumstances, seemed fair enough. What Appleby had to decide was how much he was going to confide in her.

  ‘We’ll go this way.’ Jean, who had disposed of her bucket, led the way down a path which made a wide detour of the house. ‘I’ll simply show you some of the pens, and then take you up the nearer observation tower and explain how the decoy pool works.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll be most interested.’

  ‘But I think you said you’re not interested in birds?’ Jean was slightly mocking. ‘When people are frank about that, I usually show them just the Trumpeter Swans and the Cackling Geese.’

  ‘Don’t all geese cackle? I seem to remember it’s what they did on the Capitol, when they gave the alarm and saved Rome from somebody or other.’

  Jean turned and faced him. ‘Could you possibly,’ she said, ‘cut the cackle? And tell me what all this is about?’

  ‘It’s about a very eminent scientist who has disappeared.’ Appleby had come to a decision about this young woman. ‘His name is Juniper.’

  ‘Juniper?’ Jean frowned. ‘It’s an uncommon name. But it seems to ring some bell.’

  ‘Very probably. He’s been in the news from time to time.’

  ‘But the bell seems fairly recent.’ Jean shook her head. ‘But what has his disappearance got to do with us down here?’

  ‘We’ve been unearthing his various interests. And one of them has proved to be birdwatching. We’ve been following that up. And
we’ve discovered that he was in Nether Ailsworth only a few weeks before he vanished. He was clearly interested in your set-up here.’

  ‘I don’t see that it would have been of much use his coming down. My grandfather has been frightfully anti-visitor of late. As those gates will have made you realize.’

  ‘Quite so,’ Appleby said – and unconsciously fingered the tear in his jacket. ‘Shall you get in a row for showing me round?’

  ‘I hope not. And this was what Colonel Pickering came about yesterday? He hoped to learn if my grandfather knew anything about this man Juniper?’

  ‘Just that. And Lord Ailsworth said he’s never heard of him.’

  ‘Then why should you come today?’ Jean asked this rather stiffly. ‘My grandfather may be eccentric – and even rude at times. But he’s not a liar.’

  ‘My dear young woman, I don’t question for a moment that Lord Ailsworth is a man of the strictest honour. But this fellow Juniper – Howard Juniper – happens to have an eccentric strain in him too, or at least he cultivated one as a younger man. Although he came down here openly some weeks ago, he may have come down later masquerading as somebody quite different. Your grandfather may have been subjected to a deception. That’s why I want some talk with him.’

  Jean had halted before what appeared to be the first of the pens. ‘Just the Common Shoveler,’ she said. ‘But attractive, don’t you think?’

  Appleby examined the creature with civil interest. ‘I like the glaucous blue,’ he pronounced.

  ‘On the lesser wing coverts? Yes, indeed. And just look at the speculum.’

  Appleby did his best to look as if he were looking at the speculum. ‘Remarkable,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t know what I’m talking about. We’ll move on. You’d better see the Ruddy Shelduck.’