Harold Whittaker was roused from his contemplations by his secretary giving an apologetic little cough.
‘Ah, Miss Simmons, do forgive me,’ the solicitor said hurriedly. ‘I was just thinking about the fireworks that I have seen at Sedgwick in the past, and very impressive they were too. In fact, I wouldn’t mind seeing them myself this year.’ He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘You’re suggesting we shut up shop half an hour early, are you? Just the thing, I’d say, though I don’t intend to make a habit of it. But just this once I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm. I will expect everyone to work especially diligently today mind, you can tell them all that from me …’
‘I don’t know, Jack Masters, tossing and turning in bed you were last night. I’d be surprised if I had a wink of sleep, I would really,’ complained Mrs Masters, her hands on her hips, as she paused in her work for a moment. They were undertaking their mid-morning chores and, in her opinion, her husband’s performance had been far from satisfactory. What was more, she had no qualms about telling him so. ‘And you as much use to me this morning as that daft girl Biddy, who you know as well as I do is not the full shilling.’ She was referring to the Spittlehouses’ maid-of-all-work, who came in daily to assist Mrs Masters and as often as not was on the receiving end of her tongue.
‘Don’t give on so, Mol, there’s a dear,’ said her husband tiredly, rubbing his eyes.
‘It’s a guilty conscience, that’s what it is,’ said Mrs Masters, getting in to her stride. ‘Serves you right, it does, stealing the major’s post like that.’ Her face clouded suddenly and she turned away.
‘There’s been another one, hasn’t there?’ surmised her husband excitedly, well used to his wife’s various moods and mannerisms. ‘Give it here, will you?’
‘And have you tear it up and throw it on to the fire?’ she said. ‘That I won’t. What will the major say if he finds out?’
‘He’ll thank me,’ said Masters firmly. ‘Now, Mol, my dear, give me that letter.’
While he had been talking he had run around the table and taken his wife in his arms. Taken unawares and before she could think what to do, afraid that Biddy might any minute come upon them in such a compromising position, her husband had slipped his hand into the pocket of her apron and withdrawn the offending envelope.
‘Give that back this instant, Jack Masters,’ cried his wife.
But the manservant had leapt out of her way and was now leaning against the fireplace. Having torn the letter recklessly from its envelope, he was reading it intently, a look of concentration in his eyes. All the while his wife watched on, studying the expression on his face with anxiety, trying to interpret his raised eyebrow and furrowed brow, fearing the worst. Much to her surprise, however, his face suddenly broke out into a broad smile, and he began to chuckle.
‘Don’t you fret, my love,’ said Masters. ‘It’s good news, very good news indeed.’
And with that he turned on his heel and walked out of the room with something of a spring in his step, whistling to himself as he went, as if all were right with the world. Not for the first time, his wife was left to speculate and ponder as to the contents of the mysterious letter meant for her employer.
Chapter Twelve
‘Rose, darling, you’ve hardly eaten a thing,’ observed her husband, a look of concern momentarily clouding his youthful good looks. They were seated in the majestic dining room at Sedgwick Court, attempting to partake of a particularly large luncheon.
‘I’m afraid I’m really not very hungry,’ said Rose, pushing her food around her plate with her fork in rather a listless fashion.
‘Do eat something, darling. We will only be having a very light supper this evening before we leave for the firework display,’ Cedric reminded her. ‘Mrs Broughton and her kitchen staff will be up to their ears this afternoon making chicken soup and black treacle toffee. We’ll be as good as left to fend for ourselves this evening. A cold supper of ham and bread is all we can expect and a cold rice pudding to follow if we’re lucky.’
‘All served to us by an attentive footman and accompanied by fine wines,’ laughed Rose rallying. ‘Really, Cedric, I can tell you’ve never had to make do with a scratch supper.’ She leaned forward and took his hand. ‘But you needn’t worry, darling, I’m not sickening for something. To tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous, that’s all.’
‘About tonight?’
‘Yes, but don’t worry. Edna and I have settled on my outfit and I daresay the children will be far more interested in cramming their mouths full of black treacle toffee and their parents sampling Mrs Broughton’s delicious chicken soup than to pay me much attention.’
‘I’ll say!’ said Cedric with feeling. ‘Not of course that they won’t want to set eyes on the new Countess of Belvedere, because obviously they will,’ he added hurriedly. ‘But what I mean is, you should see the little perishers. They are like a swarm of ants when they descend on the toffee. We’ll be very lucky if we’re left with more than a few crumbs.’ He chuckled. ‘I know for a fact that Mrs Broughton doubles the amount of toffee she makes each year, but it still goes quick as anything.’
‘I think I should feel less anxious if I knew the precise order of events for this evening,’ said Rose.
‘Oh, well, it is all rather informal,’ said her husband lightly, tucking in heartily to his slice of mutton. ‘I suppose the first thing to happen is the lighting of the bonfire. That always raises a cheer once its blazing. Everyone huddles around it if it’s cold. And then it’s the judging of the guys. That’s when you come in, darling.’
‘I must admit I’m rather dreading it,’ admitted Rose. ‘What if everyone thinks I’ve made the wrong decision regarding the best guy? And what if I reduce any of the children to tears? I should feel absolutely awful.’
‘Oh, it isn’t as bad as all that,’ said Cedric. ‘There’s really nothing to it. For one thing, you won’t know which child has made which effigy. That’s to avoid accusations of bias or favouritism, because of course some of the children will be the sons and daughters of our estate staff or tenant farmers and the like.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, I’ll be standing beside you and we can confer if you like, though I’m sure you’ll be much better at judging that sort of thing than me.’ His face erupted suddenly into a broad grin as a recollection came to mind and he chuckled heartily. ‘I say, you can’t be any worse than Lavinia. She judged the effigies one year when my mother was in bed with a cold. She chose the guy with the prettiest face. It kicked up quite a stink, I can tell you.’
‘Oh, why?’ asked Rose, curious and not a little alarmed.
‘Because there wasn’t much more to the guy than a well painted face. You see, the children had got bored and hadn’t bothered finishing the body or dressing it even, so that it was little more than a head shaped bit of rag stuffed with straw. I thought there was going to be a riot, but you’d be surprised how readily children can be placated with the promise of more chocolate and toffee.’
Rose laughed. ‘That sounds just like your sister. Well, I daresay I can do better than that.’
‘That’s the spirit. Oh, I forgot to say, after the lighting of the bonfire and before the judging of the guys, I make a bit of a speech. Nothing fancy, you understand, just thanking everyone for coming, that sort of thing. I’ll keep it very short, because of course everyone’s dying to know who’s won the hamper and they are absolutely pulling at the bit to demolish the food, which happens after the judging of the guys.’
‘And then?’
‘The firework display. I must say, it should be quite a show this year.’ Cedric beamed at his wife. ‘So you see, darling, there’s nothing to worry about. It should all go off without a hitch.’
Archie Mayhew sat in the rickety old bus that was winding its way from Bichester to Sedgwick at, what appeared to the young man at least, something of a snail’s pace. He consulted his wristwatch for the third time during the journey, willing the hands to be still. His impatience, he ackno
wledged in some part, was due to annoyance at himself. He should have remembered that the traffic was getting worse each year on Guy Fawkes’ Night as more and more people descended on Sedgwick, the attractions of its bonfire festivities drawing them to the village like an invisible thread.
Of course, he couldn’t have known that old Whittaker would have been so amenable to the suggestion that his staff leave the office half an hour early. If he’d had any inkling, he’d have asked the old man himself instead of sending in simpering Simmons to plead their cause. He’d have asked for an hour too, instead of a meagre thirty minutes. Archie looked at his watch again. Blast! Likely as not if the driver didn’t put his foot on the throttle, he’d be late and Daphne was bound to create one of her scenes. With a sigh, he stopped feeling irritable for a moment and gave way to wondering instead why Uncle Harold had been so generous about the whole thing. He had half expected the old man to consult with Gribble and Hebborn before agreeing to their request, much less that he would go so far as to show any enthusiasm for the idea. Why, hadn’t Simmons said that he was even minded to go to the festivities himself this year?
Archie stared out of the window which was steamed up with the heat and breath of the vehicle’s many passengers and thought what a primitive and unpleasant form of transport a public bus was, particularly when it was overcrowded as it was now. He’d been jolly lucky to find a seat. The thought crossed his mind that his uncle was probably even now making his way to the festivities in the relative comfort of his motor car. He could have been seated beside him now if only he’d asked, instead of being knocked and jostled by a variety of elbows and bags. But of course he hadn’t asked, just as he had not said that he was going to the festivities because Daphne had particularly requested that he do so. If truth be told, he hadn’t liked how the old man had taken the news about him and Daphne, the look of shock, the way the colour had seemed to drain from his face … He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat causing the rather plump lady sitting beside him, a large wicker shopping basket balanced precariously on her knee, to tut loudly. No, he hadn’t liked it at all. He had found it unnerving and that was before … No, he wouldn’t think about that. It wouldn’t do any good. He looked at his watch again and sighed. He was going to be late.
Not half a dozen seats in front of him, Miss Warren sat perched very upright on the edge of her seat. She clutched a leather bag, of indeterminate age, tightly to her, as if she feared that the sudden jolts of the bus might cause her to drop it; perhaps she was even fearful it might be snatched from her, so firm was her grasp. Yet, unlike the young man, she was quite oblivious to the slow progress being made by the bus. For her thoughts were elsewhere, on matters of greater importance than what time she would arrive in the village. She threw a rather furtive glance at her fellow passengers, uncomfortably aware that she had unintentionally made eye contact with the old man sitting across from her, who in turn was eyeing her suspiciously.
The librarian took a deep breath and loosened her hold on the bag, though she took the precaution of first balancing it more securely on her lap. She had no wish for its contents to fall out on to the floor and give her away. She stared idly first out of the window and then down again at the innocuous faded brown bag. How nondescript and innocent it looked. Yet her eyes were constantly drawn back to it almost against her will. The reason for this she readily acknowledged was that its spacious interior hid her crime. She uttered a heartfelt sigh. She had always prided herself on being a law abiding person, and yet now she was little more than a common thief. The notion was abhorrent to her. What would her parents say if they were alive now? God rest their souls.
She wondered if her guilt was apparent to those seated around her. Her flushed cheeks and restive manner, even the way she clutched her bag so tightly that her knuckles showed white, surely gave her away. Certainly the old man seated opposite suspected her of being up to no good, or was that merely her own guilty conscience asserting itself? She stifled a sob. Really, she would never have done it if she had realised how miserable she would feel. Still, it was only for a few hours, and then she could put them back and all would be well. And her intentions were honourable, she reminded herself, though a part of her had in fact been tempted to let matters resolve themselves without her interference. For really, was it any of her business? One thing, however, was certain above all else; it was too late now; she would have to see it through as best she could unless circumstances determined otherwise. Really, it was all in the fate of the gods.
It was fast approaching darkness by the time the Earl and Countess of Belvedere made their way to the piece of waste ground which had been allocated for the bonfire festivities. They picked their way between brambles, hindered somewhat by the stoniness of the path, which wound its way between the hedgerows. Rose marvelled at how their servants, who had departed some time before, had managed to negotiate the path, laden as they had been with an assortment of furniture, food and utensils.
It was not long before Rose and Cedric had emerged in a clearing, the sounds of laughter and chatter and general high spirits had warned them they were near. Excited children tore in front of them, pushing and shoving, running and stumbling in the darkness, their shrill voices echoing in the night’s sky. Momentarily, the earl and countess were obliged to pause in their walk, which provided Rose with an opportunity to survey the scene. To one side of the field, she could just make out an enormous mound silhouetted against the sky, which she took to be the bonfire. Her assumption was presently confirmed as being correct, for a man approached it with a blazing torch in his hand. He held it at arm’s length as he crouched beside the mound. Stretching forward, he thrust the torch expertly into the centre of the pile to light the tinder. Moments later, the fire took hold and a general cheer was taken up by the crowd as they looked on; even the children paused in their games to take in the spectacle.
As the minutes passed and the bonfire began to blaze, the throng surged forward as if by a common accord until, at a safe distance, they were huddled around the bonfire. Cedric and Rose moved forward to take their places; like the others, they stood transfixed, mesmerised by the flames that consumed and spluttered, and the smoke that entered their throats and noses rendering their voices dry. Rose glanced about her at the rather eerie spectacle of a mass of faces bathed in a mixture of jumping shadows and orange light, the effect of which was to distort the features so that the crowd now took on an almost goblin-like appearance. Her inclination was to shrink back into the darkness where she might watch the proceedings from a safe distance.
Perhaps others were becoming rather bored of staring at the flames, for she was suddenly acutely aware that for some she was becoming the focus of their attention. She patted her cloche self-consciously, rather regretting the ridiculous ostrich feather, which she hoped was not too visible in the dark.
Cedric turned and smiled at her, touching her arm, before moving away from the bonfire to be helped by a servant to mount a wooden crate which had been turned on its back. From his slightly elevated position, the young earl delivered his speech very much on the lines he had indicated to his wife earlier. With the exception of one or two of the children, the crowd appeared to listen attentively. Rose herself was overcome by a sense of pride at her husband’s performance, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. As she listened to his words, she allowed her eyes to glance around the field so that for the first time she noticed the old trestle tables that had been erected to accommodate the various refreshments. She spotted Mrs Broughton, busy presiding over the tureens of chicken soup, and instructing her staff to lay out plates piled high with alternately sausages and black treacle toffee cut into thick slabs. Bottles of lemonade had also been produced as well as bowls of hot mulled cider. Her gaze returned to her husband, who was in the process of concluding his speech. He caught her eye and winked. Now was the moment she had been dreading, the judging of the guys.
She discovered that the effigies were located a little way from the refreshmen
ts, in something of a rough approximation of a line. Some appeared to have been discarded quite haphazardly, while others had been posed in crude approximations of humanlike postures. With Cedric beside her, holding up an oil lamp, Rose bent a little forward, in order to study each guy closely, before making her slow way along the line. The light illuminated the guys in a ghostly fashion. Some she recognised as ones she had seen in the village, their appearance little altered from when she had last seen them; others had undergone a considerable transformation, with freshly painted faces and fine clothes. One or two of the guys she was fairly certain she had not seen before, their masks and clothing quite foreign to her. A few of the poses were really very good, and both she and Cedric laughed at the inventiveness of the young creators, as they pointed and giggled at a particular effigy that had caught their fancy, stepping forward and craning their necks to get a better look.
Rose remembered afterwards only that they had taken their time to admire each effigy. Had they walked quickly along the line, hardly pausing to stop, then perhaps they would not have noticed the guy which was half sitting, half lying, at a peculiar angle, as if it had somehow stumbled into its lopsided position. As it was, it drew their attention, not only because of the strangeness of its pose, but also because the clothes that it wore appeared to be of particularly good quality. There were no obvious rips or tears in the tweed jacket, no stains that had made it unwearable by a living person. Beside her, Rose heard Cedric give a sharp intake of breath.
Murder on Bonfire Night Page 11