Rose pretended not to notice his younger brother sticking out his tongue at his brother behind his back, nor that the sniffing child was now wiping his nose unceremoniously on the back of his sleeve. She heard however a soft tut of reproach from the housekeeper standing beside her.
‘What is your name?’ asked Rose of the older boy.
‘Jude Browning, miss,’ replied the boy. Mrs Farrier tut-tutted this time quite audibly. ‘Your ladyship, I mean.’
‘The guys were laid out in a very straight line,’ Rose began carefully. ‘Did you put them all out together? All at the same time, I mean?’
‘Most of ’em,’ replied the boy named Jude. ‘One or two of the boys were late arriving, weren’t you, Ben,’ Jude said, half turning to address one of the other boys who nodded. ‘We had to squeeze Ben’s guy on to the end of the line. It meant we had to budge all the others up.’
‘And the guy with the tweed jacket?’ enquired Rose, desperately trying to appear nonchalant.
‘Funny you mention him,’ replied Jude, eyeing her with a degree of suspicion. ‘He was already there, laid out on the ground, like. We didn’t recognise him. That’s to say, none of us put him together, like. He just appeared there out of thin air, as bold as brass.’ Jude took a step forward and bent towards Rose in something of a confidential manner. ‘Gave us quite a turn it did, seeing him all laid out like that. It made us wonder who had made him.’
‘We thought a group of girls had done it like and didn’t want to let on,’ piped up Jude’s younger brother, obviously not wishing to be left out. ‘Ever such fancy clothes they’d put him in. There was nothing wrong with that tweed jacket he was wearing; it weren’t torn or anything. A proper gent could ’ave worn it, it was that fine.’ He paused to scowl at his brother. ‘And you needn’t look at me like that, Jude, as if I’m telling tales, ’cos you said as much –’
‘No, I didn’t,’ hissed his brother.
‘Don’t you go pretending you didn’t, or I’ll tell Mum. You know how she can’t abide you telling lies.’
‘That’ll do,’ cried the housekeeper. ‘If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head –’
Jude pointedly ignored both Mrs Farrier and his brother and said: ‘I suppose Bert’s right. We’d have got quite a bit for that jacket down at the market, and no mistake. Not that we had a mind to take it of course, because we didn’t.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ said Rose, giving the boy a look of encouragement. She didn’t want the boys’ petty sibling squabbling, or Mrs Farrier’s reproaches, to discourage the children from talking to her.
‘The guy in the tweed coat was already there, you say? And you didn’t see who brought him?’
‘No. But, like Bert says, we thought a bunch of girls had made him.’
‘Did you see anyone?’ Rose said carefully. ‘A man perhaps, or a woman?’
‘No, nobody,’ said Jude. He clutched his cap tightly in his hand and Rose was painfully aware that his clothes were rather tattered and his trousers far too short for him. ‘Of course it was dark by then and we only had one torch among us. But no man or woman wouldn’t have made that there guy. The competition, it’s only for us children, see? They wouldn’t have been able to win the prize, so there’d be no point to it.’
‘I do see,’ said Rose gravely, rather dreading asking her next question. She was permitted a moment or two of grace while young Bert interjected with a comment of his own.
‘Tom’s father helps him make his guy,’ he muttered, half under his breath.
‘No he don’t!’ cried the sniffing child. ‘You take that back Albert Browning, or I’ll punch yeh.’
‘That will do,’ cried Mrs Farrier. ‘Any more of that and you’ll all be out of here on your ears.’
‘Bert, you keep quiet, do you hear?’ said Jude, half turning to face his brother. ‘Can’t you see the lady wants to ask us some questions about the guy?’ He turned his attention back to Rose and stared at her with serious eyes. ‘There was something wrong about that guy, wasn’t there? It didn’t look quite right, not like a proper guy at least.’
‘Did you look at its face?’ asked Rose, feeling rather sick.
‘No, there wasn’t time. Its face was covered by its cap, and I was busy positioning my own guy, as were the others. Though I admit I was tempted to take a peek. I wanted to see if the features of its face had been moulded proper like, or just painted on like ours were.’
‘Oh, thank goodness for that,’ cried Rose.
She had spoken quietly to herself but apparently just loud enough for Jude to hear. For, as the other children shuffled out of the room with the promise of more toffee in the servants’ hall to take home to their mothers and younger siblings, the boy bent forward so only Rose could hear.
‘It weren’t no guy, were it, miss?’ And when she didn’t reply immediately, ‘I thought as much.’
Chapter Fifteen
Rose emerged from the green baize door to a commotion of sorts. The footmen were crossing the main entrance hall carrying between them a variety of hats, scarves and gloves; thick overcoats were also draped over their arms. They had evidently just relieved four gentlemen, only recently arrived, of their outdoor attire. The men in question loitered in the entrance hall. Manning, the butler, stood to attention, ready to attend to their needs. He beckoned them towards the library, where he informed them hot drinks would be served. Certainly the men appeared in need of something to ward off the chill of the November evening for they breathed in the warmth of the house and spent a moment or two rubbing their hands together in front of the fire that blazed in the hall.
‘Ah, that’s better,’ said Cedric. ‘I don’t know about you chaps, but I feel chilled to the bone.’ He paused to glance up at one of the other gentlemen, who was considerably older than himself; a solid, well-built man with a face which had the suggestion of a florid complexion when it was not pale with the cold. ‘Though I expect you’re used to this sort of thing, aren’t you, Newcombe?’ the earl continued. ‘I daresay it comes with the territory. Ah, Rose, darling, I didn’t see you there. Do let me introduce you to Detective Inspector Newcombe. We’re by way of being friends. Newcombe plays on the Sedgwick cricket team, don’t you know. He’s something of a fast bowler, aren’t you, man? We were in no end of trouble before he joined our side. Newcombe, may I introduce my wife, the Countess of Belvedere.’
‘Lady Belvedere, how do you do?’ The inspector gave Rose something of an appraising look, which appeared to comprise mostly of a barely concealed curiosity. She did not think it was her looks which interested him. Rather she wondered if he were familiar with her reputation for being something of an amateur sleuth. He smiled briefly at her and indicated the man standing beside him, whom he introduced as Sergeant Bell. Inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief that Inspector Connor, and particularly Sergeant Harris, had not been assigned to the case. It was only when she looked beyond them that she spotted Major Spittlehouse.
He was standing a little apart from the others and had not joined in the general discussion about the weather. He held himself upright in a military fashion and yet Rose had the odd impression that his natural desire at that moment was to droop his shoulders and slouch, or perhaps to lean against the fireplace for support, for all the world as if he carried the universe upon his shoulders. That he had been deeply affected by his servant’s death was obvious from both his demeanour and the solemn expression upon his face, which was set in such rigid lines that Rose feared that any moment it might crack. Beneath his skin she glimpsed a battle raging, on one side a desire to succumb to his feelings and on the other a perceived duty to maintain a stiff upper lip. She had not yet been formally introduced to him, their first meeting having been overshadowed by the discovery of the murdered man, which had quite done away with any of the usual formalities and pleasantries. Her husband was at that moment busy conversing with the policemen. She was thus afforded the opportunity to edge forward and make her own introductions.<
br />
‘Major Spittlehouse, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I just wish it was not under such unfortunate circumstances …’ How inadequate the words sounded, even to her own ears. ‘If there is anything that I can do?’
‘What?’ The major gave an involuntary start. He had been so oblivious to his surroundings and so absorbed in his own thoughts that it had taken him a moment to register that he was being addressed. ‘Oh, that’s very kind of you, Lady Belvedere. It has been a most frightful shock and …’ He stopped abruptly, his eyes large and suddenly focused. ‘My sister?’
‘She is quite all right,’ said Rose quickly. ‘You have no need to worry. She is resting upstairs.’
‘Ah … good. Did you tell her …?’
‘About your servant’s death? Yes. I thought it best to tell her the truth; that he had been murdered, I mean.’
The initial look the major shot at her suggested that he strongly disagreed with this viewpoint. However, he said nothing and, with remarkable quickness, he composed his features; it might even be presumed that he went so far as to nod his head. ‘I suppose it’s for the best,’ he said rather wearily. ‘She would have to have been told in the end.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Rose. ‘I thought I ought to say something when I had the opportunity to do so. It would have been awful if she’d heard it as a piece of gossip.’
The major lifted his head and addressed the senior detective. ‘I assume you’ll want to speak with me, Inspector? But first, if you have no objection, I should like to go up and see my sister. She’ll be pretty shaken up by all this, I can tell you.’
‘Of course,’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘And it’ll fit in well enough with my own plans. I’d intended to speak to Lord and Lady Belvedere first anyway, being as it was they who found the body.’
Cedric led the way to the library, the two policemen following. Rose, however, held back a little to take a moment to stare at the retreating back of Major Spittlehouse as he mounted the staircase. She noted that he did not rush up the stairs, if anything he seemed to take his time. It was if he was weighing up everything with each step that he took. She frowned and admonished herself for being fanciful. But the odd feeling that she had lingered and would not go away. For some reason, she felt a sense of apprehension at the major’s progress up the staircase, though she could not put a finger on why she should be anxious. It was quite natural in the circumstances that the major should wish to see how his sister was holding up. Would it matter so very much if the two of them conversed before they were formally interviewed by the inspector?
Rose gave one last look and followed in the wake of the other gentlemen. When she entered the library, the two policemen and her husband were in the process of arranging themselves around the octagonal library table, drawing up chairs so that they might all be seated.
‘Oh, there you are, darling,’ said Cedric, procuring a chair for her and positioning it next to his own. Inspector Newcombe was seated opposite them, with Sergeant Bell to his right. Husband and wife watched as the inspector made a show of shuffling the few papers in front of him and the sergeant took out his notebook in preparation.
‘Now, I’ve made a few rough notes of my own based on the bare particulars as they were told to me by your lordship, Major Spittlehouse and Constable Abbott, when I first arrived on the scene,’ began the inspector. ‘Very sketchy they are of course, and we’ll need to put flesh on the bones so to speak, but suppose I use these as the basis for my questions to you?’ It was undoubtedly a rhetorical question, but so steadfast was his gaze that both the earl and the countess felt obliged to nod. ‘Good.’ The inspector gave a smile which encompassed the two of them. ‘Very well, without further ado, let’s begin, shall we? It’s likely to be a long old night for Bell and me.’
‘Righto,’ said Cedric, crossing his legs languidly, ‘though first I would be grateful if we might get one thing straight before we start, if you’re willing that is, Newcombe?’
‘Oh, and what is that, my lord?’ The inspector looked at him, seemingly intrigued, though a smile played about his lips and Rose wondered if he had an inkling of what was coming next.
‘I should like my wife to be involved in this investigation. She’s a first rate amateur detective, don’t you know.’ Cedric turned and winked at Rose. ‘You do want to investigate this murder, don’t you, darling?’ She felt a flutter in her chest and returned his smile, with a murmur of assent. How different it all seemed to when she had had to fight her own corner at Crossing Manor in servants’ clothes, with only poor Sergeant Perkins to plead her cause.
‘I do indeed know,’ Inspector Newcombe was saying, when she had torn her gaze from Cedric and returned her attention to the policeman. ‘The station at Bichester is full of the Crossing Manor business and the role Lady Belvedere played in solving it.’ Addressing Rose, he said: ‘You are known at Scotland Yard too I believe, m’lady? As I understand it, you’ve helped them solve one or two of their murder cases?’
‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘I suppose you could say that.’
‘Of course you could,’ interjected Cedric with feeling. ‘You should hear my sister on the subject, Newcombe. Really, my wife is far too modest.’
‘And naturally enough,’ continued the inspector, as if the earl had not interrupted, ‘you’re worried I’ll come down all officious and bureaucratic like and tell you I don’t want any meddlesome amateurs queering my pitch?’
‘I say, Newcombe, you have it in a nutshell,’ beamed Cedric, and Rose laughed. Really, she didn’t think she had ever met a policeman quite like Inspector Newcombe. There was a warmth in the way he regarded them, almost like a benevolent uncle. It did not surprise her when he said:
‘Well, I can tell you I’m not like that. Any help I am offered is most gratefully received, I can tell you, providing it’s of the right sort that is. Not that I’d say that to everyone, because I wouldn’t. But I like to think that I’m a good judge of character and you’ve got something of a proven record in this field, Lady Belvedere. Besides,’ he added, a twinkle in his eye, ‘I don’t doubt that, whatever I say, you’ll go off investigating by yourself anyway and we might as well work together than apart. If nothing else, it’ll mean I can keep a bit of an eye on you. It’s a dangerous business. I don’t want to end up investigating two murders, not if I can help it.’
‘I say, that’s the spirit,’ exclaimed Cedric. ‘It’s jolly decent of you, Newcombe. I knew we’d be able to count on you; I knew it the moment you bowled that first over on the cricket field.’
‘Even so,’ said the inspector, a more serious note creeping into his voice, ‘I’d ask that you be careful and don’t take any risks. This is a nasty old business, and no mistake. It takes a certain mind to kill a man, dress him as a guy and leave his body to be burnt as part of some village festivities.’ He looked sharply at Cedric. ‘I take it that’s the way it was, my lord? I assume the usual practice is to throw the effigies on to the bonfire at the end of the evening before the flames have quite died down?’
‘It is and it isn’t,’ replied Cedric. ‘No, Inspector, you needn’t look at me like that. I am not trying to be deliberately abstruse. Some of the children do throw their guys on to the bonfire to be burnt it’s true, and it raises quite a cheer, I can tell you. But just as many take their efforts home with them.’
‘I suppose they become rather attached to them,’ said Rose. ‘From what I’ve seen, they put an awful lot of work in to making them. I’m not at all surprised that some don’t want to discard them.’
‘And of course there’s nothing to stop them using the same guy next year,’ said her husband. ‘All they need do is stuff it with a few more rags or straw and repaint its face.’
‘If what you say is true, then it seems rather a precarious and uncertain way to try and dispose of a body,’ mused the inspector. He pondered for a moment and appeared struck by a sudden thought. ‘I suppose if no one claims a guy, it’s thrown on to the bonfire as a matter
of course?’
He stared at Cedric for confirmation and the young man nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘But he’d be taking an awful risk, our murderer,’ continued the inspector. ‘Who’s to say that somebody wouldn’t decide to give the guy a closer look before they threw it on to the bonfire? Of course it was dark, I’ll give you that, but even so, all it would take was a lamp to be shone on its face and the truth would out. And of course the weight and feel of it would be very different from the effigies.’
‘There’d be a risk too that some of the village children might claim it as their own. It’s the sort of thing they’d do for a bit of a lark,’ said Cedric, shuddering at the thought.
‘Had no attempt been made to disguise the face?’ enquired Rose. ‘I’m surprised the murderer didn’t hide it with a mask.’
‘Well, a cap had been pulled down over the face, as you know,’ said the inspector, ‘But all the murderer had done to the face itself was to smear it with a little bit of dirt to take away the pallor. Didn’t make too good a job at it either.’
‘Wouldn’t that suggest that the man’s death wasn’t premeditated?’ asked Cedric.
‘It might and it might not,’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘But what I can’t figure out is why our murderer went to all that effort. Why didn’t he just push the body into the pile before it was lit and be done with it? It would have been easy enough for him to get it a fair way in and disguise it with all the tinder and twigs that would have been there. No one would have been any the wiser and he could be pretty certain then that it’d go up in flames all right.’
‘I think I can answer that for you, Newcombe,’ said Cedric. ‘For as long as I can remember, before the bonfire’s lit, we’ve always checked through the pile looking for hedgehogs.’
‘Hedgehogs?’ Inspector Newcombe sounded incredulous.
‘Yes. The little creatures like to crawl in and sleep under them, don’t you know.’
Murder on Bonfire Night Page 14