Baked to Death

by Dean James

  A few minutes later, I found Reggie’s tent in one of the sections of the encampment I had yet to explore. I grinned. No wonder one couldn’t miss Reggie’s tent. Until this moment, I had thought Luke de Montfort’s pavilion the most elaborate and colorful in the encampment, but Reggie’s outshone Luke’s by a mile. Bold designs in bright gold thread meandered all over the deep blue canvas, and numerous pennants fluttered in the light breeze from various points around the pavilion. How much money had the wanker spent on this ouday?

  I approached the open flap at the front of the pavilion. “Sir Reginald?” I called.

  “Come,” a voice commanded me, and I stepped inside.

  Removing my sunglasses, I peered with great interest around the tent. The furnishings were no less sumptuous and costly than the tent itself. I wondered idly whether the furniture I saw was actually real period stuff or costly reproductions. Either way, the man had spent a tidy packet on his medieval hobby.

  “What do you want?” Sir Reginald demanded ungraciously.

  I smiled disarmingly, trying to avoid looking him directly in his one good eye. “I heard about your beautiful pavilion and its contents, and I rather wanted to see it all for myself. I hope you don’t mind.” I paused to cast an openly admiring glance around. “This is quite an impressive collection you’ve got here.”

  He thawed enough to offer me a weak smile. “Yes, well, I’ve been collecting for years. Always had a thing for medieval furnishings.”

  “It’s all pretty amazing,” I said, moving a bit closer to where he sat on a chair that could easily have been mistaken for a throne. He even had it on a small dais. “How do you manage to bring all this with you?”

  “I have a lorry specially designed for it,” he said in a slightly boastful tone. “And men who are used to handling my lovelies.”

  I smiled inwardly at his unintentional pun. Or was it a Freudian slip? I must remember to tell Giles about it later, and we could both have a good laugh.

  “I’ve been inside several of the pavilions here, and I haven’t seen anything like it. Not even in the de Montfort pavilion.”

  Sir Reginald preened at that. “Luke thought he knew what style really is.” He waved a hand about. “This is how a medieval nobleman should live. But of course one couldn’t expect a mere cook to know that.”

  “I suppose not,” I murmured. “Luke came of rather plebeian stock, I take it”

  “Most assuredly,” Reggie said. “Thoroughly bourgeois, unlike myself.”

  “Oh, really,” I said.

  He nodded emphatically. “My grandfather was the seventh Earl of Morcaster.”

  I had never heard of that particular peer. Obviously a very minor earl, I decided, but I didn’t share my opinion with the earl’s grandson. Instead, I did my best to appear impressed that I was in such noble and exalted company. “Then you must not have encountered Luke socially very often, outside these gatherings, that is.”

  “I should say not!” Reggie huffed at me. “The very idea.”

  “But I suppose things are different in the world of the G.A.A. Anyone can be a nobleman, it seems. Or even king.”

  “More’s the pity, if you ask me,” Sir Reginald said. “When I am king, there will be some changes, you can be assured of that.”

  “One good thing about the Middle Ages,” I said in a mild tone, “was that everyone knew his proper place in the scheme of things.”

  “Too bloody right!” Sir Reginald almost bounced off his throne in excitement. “There was none of this democratic stuff in the Middle Ages.” He sighed longingly. “Ah, for the good old days.”

  I smothered a laugh. He really was a piece of work. “Ah, yes, back then you wouldn’t have had to contend with jumped-up bakers’ sons trying to run things, would you?”

  He eyed me with suspicion, finally alert for any signs of mockery on my part. I gazed blandly back at him. Reassured, he allowed his features to relax into smug satisfaction.

  “No, I wouldn’t” he said. “I could have spit in Luke’s face, and he couldn’t have done a damned thing about it.”

  “Well, I’d say that someone has pretty much done that, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “I should think deliberately poisoning someone is putting him in his place rather effectively. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Sir Reginald stood up from his throne and hopped down from the dais. He took a couple of steps toward me, then thought better of it He stepped back. “And just what do you mean by that?”

  “Oh,” I said, waving a hand about nonchalantly, “you know. Someone obviously thought Luke was getting above himself.”

  “He was,” Reggie said. “But I didn’t poison him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I didn’t accuse you,” I said, “but since you’ve mentioned it...”

  “You don’t dare!”

  At this point I couldn’t refrain from laughing openly at him. “Come now, my good man,” I said, and nearly laughed again, watching him bridle at my condescending tone, “surely, after what you’ve been telling me, you can’t expect me not to think you had a perfectly good motive for doing away with Luke.” He sputtered at me, nothing but nonsense syllables, while he grew so red in the face I feared his head would explode.

  “Anyone could see you hated him,” I continued, “and it was also fairly obvious that he was going to be elected king. You didn’t stand a chance while he was in the running, did you?” I shook my head dolefully. “No, you didn’t. You knew that, and you could easily have poisoned him. And with him out of the way, you could probably defeat poor old Harald pretty handily. Wouldn’t you say so?” Gasping for air, he collapsed in the direction of the dais. But he missed by an inch or so and sat down hard on the carpet in front of it. I almost took pity on him, he was so pathetic.

  “Yes, you probably wouldn’t have much trouble with Harald,” I repeated. “Or should I say, ‘you won’t,’ now that Luke is out of the way.”

  Sir Reginald at last found his voice, if not his dignity. “You pompous, interfering poofter! How dare you! I should throw you out of my pavilion this very moment.” He struggled to get to his feet I regarded him with a smile indicating that we both knew how futile a threat that was.

  Sir Reginald rearranged his gown with trembling hands. “It is true that I did despise Luke,” he said, attempting a casual tone, “but I was not the only one. There would be quite a queue ahead of me, you know. There are others here who despised him as much as I.”

  “Come now,” I scoffed.

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” he said. “And at the head of the queue would be that tart of a sister of his.”

  “She seemed like a lady to me,” I said, “for all that she’s a member of the dread bourgeoisie.”

  “Shows what you know,” Reggie responded, ignoring the bait. “As if the likes of you would know a true, gently born lady.” He snorted rudely. “That vixen is no better than she should be, you mark my words. Flirts with anything in trousers, she does.”

  “Or almost anything.”

  This time he knew he was being mocked. He reddened. “I wouldn’t consort with such a woman. There’s no telling what kind of pox one might get as a result,” he said, but I’m not sure he convinced even himself.

  “What possible motive could she have for murdering her own brother?”

  “The basic thing that every woman wants,” he said. “Power, pure and simple. Despite the fact that women are manifestly unfit to rule or to run large businesses.”

  “Don’t let Queen Elizabeth hear you say that,” I admonished him, shaking a playful finger in his direction, “or you might find yourself arrested for treason.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, man,” he said. But he did look a mite worried.

  “Have no fear,” I said, “I won’t report you to the Prime Minister’s office. Or whoever it is you report treason to.”

  He glared at me. I knew he wanted me to leave, but he didn’t have the courag
e to try to make me do it. Underneath the bluster quaked a raving coward.

  “You say Adele wanted power,” I continued. “That’s not a very concrete motive. She might have wanted the power her brother wielded in their family business, but how could you prove that she would kill to get it? How would anyone be able to prove that?”

  “Because I heard her, that’s how.” He smiled.

  “Oh, really,” I said. “What did you hear? And when?”

  “Never you mind what and when,” he said smugly. “I heard her plotting with her new beau, when she didn’t think anyone could overhear her foul plans.”

  “I presume you mean Millbank.” I paused for him to confirm that, but he didn’t respond. “If you have heard something as potentially damaging as you claim, then you should go to the police with it.”

  “I’m not going to do the police’s work for them,” Sir Reginald said. “Let them find it out for themselves.”

  Really, the man was even stupider than I had first thought. “Then you have two options. I shan’t hesitate to inform Detective Inspector Chase of our conversation, and I’m sure he’ll be eager to question you.”

  Reggie’s eyes widened at that. Clearly he hadn’t thought things through.

  “And if you don’t tell the police yourself,” I said, trying not to gloat, “you’ll probably find yourself cast as the chief suspect It wouldn’t take a suspicious mind long to figure out that those pastries you gave Luke yesterday were filled with poison.” He started gabbling again, but nothing of any sense came out of his flapping mouth.

  “Think about it,” I said. “I’ll give you a couple of hours to consider your course of action, and then I’ll speak to the police myself.” I bowed. “And now I must bid you good day, sir.”

  As I left his pavilion, I could hear him sputtering.

  The man was as dumb as the proverbial dirt clod. If he had poisoned Luke with the fig pastries, he was stupid to think he could possibly get away with it And if he withheld solid evidence of someone else’s guilt from the police, he was equally stupid enough to get himself killed over it.

  I walked a few yards away from Sir Reginald’s pavilion and paused to take stock. Whom should I visit next?

  Deciding that the king himself would be my next choice, I strode forward in search of the royal residence.

  I hadn’t gone far when I chanced upon Murdo Millbank in conversation with the de Montforts’ young maid, Etheldreda-Beryl. I paused a few feet away and eavesdropped unashamedly.

  “... she has to,” Millbank was saying in tones of desperation.

  “I can tell her, sir,” Etheldreda responded dubiously, “but I don’t know as she’ll listen to me. Begging your pardon, sir.”

  “But I simply must talk to her,” Millbank said. “It’s vital that I do so.” His hands fidgeted with the long left sleeve of his houppelande. “I simply cannot understand it,” he muttered, more to himself than to the girl in front of him.

  “She’s that upset about her brother, sir,” Etheldreda said kindly. “I’m sure if you wait a wee while, she’ll be happy to speak with you.”

  “Perhaps,” Millbank said. He breathed in deeply, then exhaled as he stiffened his spine. “You tell her from me that I will call upon her in two hours’ time, and I expect her to be ready to talk to me. Is that clear?”

  Etheldreda shrank away from the fierce tone. “Yes, sir,” she said. Then she grasped her skirt in her hands and scurried away from him.

  Millbank was still glaring after her as I approached him.

  “Good day, Master Millbank,” I said.

  Startled, he whirled to face me. “Who the devil? Oh, you. What do you want?”

  Oh dear, oh dear. My second less-than-gracious greeting within the past hour. If I had been of a more sensitive nature, I would have begun to think some people didn’t like me. Hard to imagine, I know.

  “Me? I’m just out for a stroll through the encampment,” I said in my breeziest tone. “How about yourself?”

  “I’m too busy to enjoy myself by just wandering about,” he said pointedly, then turned to walk away.

  “I’m sure you are,” I said, falling into step beside him. “I’m sure you have lots to do, what with your business venture falling apart like it has.”

  He stopped and turned to look up at me. “What the devil do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know,” I said, waving my hand about. “Your plans for all of this.”

  “Who have you been talking to?” he demanded.

  “Well, not anyone in particular,” I said. “But I was just thinking, with your principal partner dead, you can’t proceed with your plans for the medieval restaurant and theme park, I guess you’d call it.”

  “Nothing has changed,” he said shortly. “And it’s none of your bloody business after all.” He began to walk away from me again.

  I matched him stride for stride. “I suppose Adele de Montfort aims to go along with the deal you put together with her late brother.”

  He made no response to that no doubt hoping I’d take the hint and leave him alone. He didn’t know me very well.

  “I see,” I said. “I gather Adele has changed her mind after all.”

  That stopped him. He glared up at me. “Have you been talking to her? What has she said?”

  “Oh, you mean she hasn’t said anything to you?” She certainly hadn’t said anything to me, but he was too dense to see through my vague response.

  He swore, loudly and fluently. “She’s not going to get away with this. I have a contract after all.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about I’m sure,” I said, patting him on the arm consolingly.

  Shaking off my hand, he said, “Too bloody right! No one crosses Murdo Millbank and gets away with it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Is that so?” I said, in a deceptively mild tone. “I think perhaps Detective Inspector Chase would be most interested to hear that. Shall we go and tell him together?”

  Millbank stared at me, open-mouthed in shock. “Come along now, there’s a good chap,” I said, taking him by the arm. “Let’s go and have a chat with the nice policeman.” I managed to lead him along about three steps before he recovered his senses.

  “Take your bloody hand off me,” he stormed. “I’ll do no such thing, man. You’re bleeding crazy, if you ask me.”

  “Oh, really?” I said, dropping all pretense of good humor. “I’m not crazy enough to ignore the fact that you had a damn good motive for murdering Luke de Montfort.”

  “What the bleeding hell are you talking about?” Millbank was fairly hopping up and down, he was so angry. “We were business partners, and we were going to make a lot of money together. Now that he’s dead, all that may fall through.”

  I laughed derisively. “Try that one on somebody else, why don’t you?” I leaned forward and poked his chest with my forefinger, and he winced and backed up a couple of steps. “We all saw the way you were cozying up to poor Adele. The way I see it, you thought you’d get rid of Luke, marry Adele, and then cop the whole lot for yourself.”

  The color drained completely out of his face, and for a moment I thought the man was going to pass out in fear. “D-d-d-don’t be r-r-r-ridiculous!” He finally managed to stutter at me. “I d-d-d-did no such thing.”

  “Are you denying that you and Adele haven’t been getting rather chummy lately?”

  A couple of interested spectators had gathered. Most everyone else had busily gone about their activities, ignoring us, but two men had stopped their work in a nearby tent to edge a bit closer. Seeing their curious gazes fixed upon us, I drew Millbank away, behind a tent a few paces away.

  I repeated my question. Millbank frowned at me, and I could see his mind working, trying to figure out how to get around that.

  Finally he gave up. “Yes, all right,” he said. “Adele and I have become close. She’s a damned attractive woman.” His lip curled in disgust. “Not that the likes of you would know anything about t
hat.”

  “Men have committed murder for less,” I said, ignoring his attempt at insult.

  “But not this man,” Millbank said, thumping his chest. “Adele is a beautiful woman, but I’d not kill anyone for her sake.”

  “I didn’t think you would,” I said mildly, and he relaxed a bit. “But you very well might kill if you thought you could get your hands on a very lucrative business. A canny Scotsman like you knows the value of a million or so pounds, I have no doubt.” I laughed. “Throw in a beautiful woman, and there you have it. A superb motive for doing away with Luke de Montfort.”

  Millbank howled in rage and launched himself at me. He was aiming to get his hands around my throat, but I deflected him easily. He was on the ground on his back before he realized what had happened.

  “Don’t try that again,” I advised him kindly. “I’d really rather not hurt you, my good man, but I will defend myself.”

  He didn’t move from the ground. Instead, he lay there cursing me and my forebears, accusing them of all manner of unnatural acts with one another and with a variety of livestock, until his breath gave out.

  I leaned down and offered him a hand. He brushed it aside and got to his feet without any assistance from me.

  “Now that you’ve got all that out of your system,” I said with the utmost politeness, “perhaps you’ll answer a question.”

  He regarded me with a murderous glint in his eyes, but he didn’t try to get away from me.

  “You’re determined to make this difficult, I see,” I lamented. “Very well. I suppose I shall just have to take this up with Adele instead. I cannot imagine how she will take the news that she has been a dupe in your little scheme at empire-building.”

  That drew a reaction, although not quite the one I had anticipated.

  He laughed. When he stopped, he said, “Right, then. What’s your question?”

  “Were you present in the de Montforts’ pavilion at any time yesterday?”

  Millbank frowned. “Yes, I was there briefly in the late afternoon to discuss something with Luke. I had other matters to attend to, and after that I left the encampment entirely until it was time for Miss Titchmarsh’s dinner party.”