“ ‘In its pursuit of these,’ ” went on Hubert, ignoring her, “ ‘it will exercise inexhaustible patience and stratagem…’ ”
“Getting itself taken on as housekeeper?”
“ ‘…for success to a particular object may be obstructed in a hundred ways.’ ”
“Only two, in Angela’s case: viz. Godiva and Winfrith Benson,” murmured Sally.
“ ‘It will never desist until it has satiated its passion, and drained the very life of its coveted victim.’ ”
“Lucky old Esmond to have escaped the toils!”
“ ‘In ordinary ones,’ ” went on Hubert, giving Sally no very friendly glance, “ ‘it goes direct to its object, overpowers with violence, and strangles and exhausts often at a single feast.’ I have omitted a short passage which does not affect my argument, for, if that description,” concluded Hubert Pring, “does not give a word-picture of the late but, I fear, unlamented Angela Barton, I’m sure I don’t know what could.”
“You appear to have been a sufferer, Mr. Pring,” said Dame Beatrice, in a sympathetic voice.
“You may well say so. It was most unfortunate and, if it all came out, I should not only lose my post but also the chance of buying a partnership in the school, which I shall be in a position to do in two or three years’ time when Parris has finished paying back certain monies he owes me for getting him out of a serious difficulty some months ago. A valuable racing greyhound belonging to a syndicate was stolen from Parris’s kennels and held to ransom for three thousand pounds. Parris could not find three thousand pounds, so appealed to me, as an old schoolfellow, to come to his assistance. Of course I insisted upon a fair rate of interest, to which he agreed. He signed an IOU and I gave him the money. He is paying me back, bit by bit, but sometimes finds it hard, I think, so I keep the tabs on him. After all, it was lucky for him that I was able to help him out. He dared not let the owners know, you see, that the dog had ever been out of his keeping, in case it had been tampered with in some way. You know what goes on at some of these dog-tracks, no doubt.”
“So that’s what Nigel and Marjorie were talking about,” said Sally, remembering the day of their quarrel. “But what was that about you and Angela Barton? How could she have lost you your job and the chance of a partnership?”
“Oh, well, as to that—I can rely on you ladies not to let it go any further—it happened like this, and was really not my fault. It chanced that my headmaster was due at some learned society’s annual dinner. He was to be one of the after-dinner speakers, so he could not miss it. His wife, very much younger than himself, had been invited to a charity ball on the same evening and was very anxious to go, so I was ordered to escort her.
“Well, I need not go into details, but the fact is that, during the course of the evening, she became completely intoxicated, so much so that I was in a quandary. I dared not take her home in the state she was in. The headmaster might have returned and inevitably would have blamed me for her condition, and, in any case, the servants would have had to know, since I could hardly have been the person to put the wretched woman to bed.”
Sally, visualising such a scene, giggled.
“The upshot was that I decided to throw myself upon the mercy of Nigel and Marjorie Parris,” Hubert continued.
“Was this before or after you came to the Parrises’ rescue?” Dame Beatrice enquired, quelling Sally with a basilisk eye.
“As a matter of fact, before. That is why I could hardly refuse Nigel when he appealed to me for help to buy off the greyhound’s kidnappers.”
“Where should we be without this friendly spirit of give and take?” said Laura. “But how did Angela Barton come to know about your doings when the ball was over and you were faced with your problem?”
“Oh, because she was a paying guest at Nigel’s at the time, before she went and planted herself first on the Calshotts and then on their vicar,” Hubert replied.
“So that’s how she knew so much about the Parrises!” said Sally. “I wonder what she found out about the Calshotts while she was at it?—and about the vicar, too, come to that.”
“But surely it was quite respectable, from your headmaster’s point of view, for his wife to spend the night in a house where there were already two women?” said Laura.
“It was her condition, you see,” explained Hubert, almost pathetically, “and Angela could be trusted to make the most of that. If the story ever came out, I should have been blamed, don’t you see? It would be argued that I had betrayed my headmaster’s trust.”
“I think you exaggerate,” said Dame Beatrice. “However, I thank you for your confidences. Now perhaps you would be willing to answer one or two questions. There are certain matters connected with your stay at Tannasgan on which I should wish to receive enlightenment.”
“My stay at Tannasgan was cut short, of course. Mind you, I did not enjoy it as much as I had hoped I would.”
“Too many sceptics among the watchers?”
“I would not have minded their being sceptical. One is prepared for that attitude. What I objected to was their flippant approach.”
“They jested about the monster?”
“Worse. They ignored it and went their selfish ways regardless. And let me tell you, Dame Beatrice, that I deplore the term ‘monster.’ The creature, quite obviously, is a deviant from the fusion of two lines or species of prehistoric animals, combining, as it does, the characteristics of Diplodocus and/or Plateosaurus with those of Ornithomimus or Ornithosuchus.”
“You appear to have studied your subject, Mr. Pring.”
“Oh, well, as to that, a couple of talks on prehistoric animals, when examinations are over and end of term approaches, are sure-fire stuff with little boys.”
“And what causes you to cite those particular prehistoric creatures as the probable ancestors of the animals or reptiles which are said to exist in Scottish lochs?” asked Dame Beatrice.
Sally groaned inwardly and Laura rolled her eyes ceiling-wards, but Dame Beatrice sounded genuinely interested.
“Lulling him,” thought Laura, “so that, later on, she can get what she wants out of him.”
As though Dame Beatrice’s honeyed words were bait, Hubert Pring rose to them.
“According to Cox,” he said, “(I refer to Dr. Barry Cox, of course, the zoologist and authority on vertebrate palaeontology) the earlier dinosaurs were divided into herbivores and carnivores, the latter succeeding and preying upon the former. The herbivore, Diplodocus, for example, appears to have been amphibious and to have had lakes as his habitat, so that his enormous bulk could be supported by the water. Moreover, his body may have contained large air-sacs, enabling him to sustain himself for long periods without the necessity of surfacing in order to breathe. The humps which so many observers have noted on the Loch Ness creatures could approximate to such air-sacs, could they not? The theory has been advanced, I believe, and seems perfectly credible.”
“It is a point,” Dame Beatrice agreed.
“The reason I suspect a later fusion between the descendants of Diplodocus and those of Ornithomimus,” pursued Hubert, his eyes shining with pedagogic enthusiasm, “is that the present lake-dwellers are almost certainly fish-eaters, as I remember Sir Humphrey (was it Sir Humphrey?) explaining.”
“Well,” said Dame Beatrice, “your argument is very interesting. All the same, does not the prehistoric long-necked Plestosaurus coincide in almost all particulars with eye-witnesses’ descriptions of the monster? Apart from verbal accounts and such photographs as we have, there is the remarkable sketch made by Mr. Torquil MacLeod from a sighting he had in 1960. It looked to me very much like Dr. Barry’s impression of a long-necked Plesiosaurus.”
“Barry’s impression doesn’t show humps, Dame Beatrice.”
“It was reconstructed from fossilised remains, I suppose, and these would not show air-sacs. Plesiosaurus, however, does show paddles in the form of powerful flippers, whereas Diplodocus and
Ornithomimus possessed fore and hind legs, the latter larger and stronger than the former. There is no suggestion of flippers.”
“Angela Barton seems to have possessed a pretty sturdy pair of legs, talking of those,” observed Laura. “Wasn’t she something of a mountaineer?”
“Oh, I think not,” replied Hubert. “She was a great walker, I believe, and good on hill-slopes, but hardly a mountaineer. That is a very different thing, if you did but know.”
“She did get about, though,” said Sally, forbearing to inform him of Laura’s mountaineering exploits.
“I suppose she paid frequent visits to the other caravans,” said Dame Beatrice. Hubert shook his head.
“She was domiciled with the Calshotts,” he said.
“But, on these walks she took, did she not drop in on one or another of you to obtain her lunch? I understood that she never carried provisions with her.”
“She may have visited the major’s caravan, but she certainly never dropped in on me.”
“Not even to see Marjorie Parris? She had stayed with the Parrises as a paying guest, you said.”
“Oh, Marjorie was very seldom in our caravan. She did not care for preparing meals. I used to do all that. I’m rather fond of cooking, you know. She would do the tidying up before she went off, and she would wash up after lunch and supper, but most of the day I was alone. Nigel and Jeremy would go off in the boat and I suppose Marjorie joined them as soon as she was free, although nobody ever mentioned it.”
“Did you mind being left alone?”
“Oh, far from it. I prefer to be without distractions when I am engaged upon important work.”
“What work would that be?” asked Laura. “The cooking do you mean?”
“Oh, no. I am writing my own book on the monster.”
“Really? Have you actually seen it?”
“Oh, yes, two or three times. I have taken photographs, too.”
“How excited Sir Humphrey must be!” said Sally.
“Sir Humphrey?” said Hubert, blankly. “Oh, but my book will be nothing to do with him.”
“It was he who organised the expedition and paid for everything.”
“That will be acknowledged in my preface.”
“Has he seen your photographs?”
“Nobody except my publishers and the printers will see those until my book comes out.”
“So it was your idea to change over caravans, I suppose.”
“Yes. I put it to the others that it would be agreeable to obtain a different view-point. They concurred, so I took it upon myself to communicate our ideas to the major. He was more than ready to make the exchange, especially when I threw in my bottle of sparkling burgundy as an inducement, and so it all came about.”
“Just like that!” said Sally.
“Just like that,” agreed Hubert, looking slightly surprised. There was something in her tone which had disconcerted him. He would have been even more disconcerted had he overheard the first remark she made to Laura when they had left him and were in Dame Beatrice’s car and were headed for the New Forest and the Stone House.
“The dirty little bastard!” Sally said.
“You mean his book?” asked Laura.
“Yes, I do. It was fully understood that any sightings and particularly any photographs were to be reported and shown to Sir Humphrey, and here’s this little worm double-crossing everybody in his slimy, underhand, secretive little way. I wish Angela Barton had told his headmaster that Mrs. Headmaster had spent the night canned to the eyebrows in Hubert Pring’s digs.”
“They were no longer his digs, presumably, and there were already two women on the premises,” Laura pointed out. “It was all as respectable as dammit, damn it.”
“Not the way Angela Barton would have told the story,” said Sally.
“The fact remains that she did not tell it,” said Dame Beatrice from the back seat of the car, for Laura was driving with Sally seated beside her. “I think, Laura, that we had better turn off at the next crossroads. The morning is not yet spent and I wish to interview the Benson sisters once more.”
“You’ll find them at the vicarage cooking the vicar’s lunch, I expect,” said Sally. “Phyllis told me that Godiva is a cordon bleu and Winfrith a trained dietician. I can’t imagine why the vicar ever gave a thought to Angela Barton when he had the twins at his beck and call.”
“I expect it was Angela who did the thinking,” said Laura. “Anyway, what’s the matter with having our own lunch before we hit the Benson trail?” As by this time it was almost noon, for they had left the Stone House soon after breakfast, Laura’s suggestion was well received and, after an expensive but satisfying meal at an hotel which they reached at just after one o’clock, they drove to the Bensons’ cottage and were fortunate enough to find the sisters at home.
“We have just come from Mr. Pring,” said Dame Beatrice, who had left Laura and Sally in the car. “I am very sorry to trouble you again and so soon, but there are two things I think you can tell me, if you will.”
“About Angela Barton’s death? You think she was murdered, and so do I. Winfrith demurs, but that is only chicken-heartedness. I don’t know why one uses that term,” said Godiva, breaking off in order to give consideration to this point. “There is nothing so evil and unforgiving and unutterably vindictive as a hen. But you were saying?”
“Only this: did you and your sister enjoy the sparkling burgundy provided by Sir Humphrey?”
“We had no opportunity of enjoying it. The major classed it contemptuously as hogwash and stated that there was only one bubbly and that was champers. I have no idea what he meant. Anyhow, he said that he should take the bottles home, as they would do for his guests.”
“But could not you and your sister have claimed one of the bottles, leaving Major Tamworth and his wife the other?”
“Our only interest in alcoholic beverages is their use in cooking. Sparkling burgundy has no place in the preparation of our menus.”
“I see. The other caravans appear to have enjoyed Sir Humphrey’s gift.”
“He gave three bottles to Nigel Parris.”
“Three?”
“Yes. He said that two bottles to be shared by three young men and a girl were insufficient. Hubert claimed one of the bottles and traded it to the major, who tried the wine and condemned it and said he should take the other two bottles home to offer to his guests, as I told you.”
“How do you come to know this?”
“Marjorie Parris told us. Now and again, especially during the first few days of our stay, she came over to our caravan while the major and Mrs. Tamworth had the tent. She said she could not bear the exclusive company of Hubert Pring.”
“She only came over in the mornings after that,” said Winfrith. Her strong-minded sister frowned.
“I am afraid she was occupied during the afternoons in misbehaving herself with the major,” she said.
“Misbehaving herself with the major?” said Dame Beatrice.
“Marjorie Parris and Major Tamworth would have nothing but mutual misbehaviour in common,” snapped Godiva. “Both were bored to death with the life they led on the banks of the loch. Of course the major had nothing to fear, but with a jealous husband like Nigel—well, I don’t know about Marjorie. I think she was running risks.”
“But how do you come to know this?”
Godiva raised her eyebrows.
“Angela Barton told us, of course,” she said. “How else could we have known? We do not spy upon unlawful couplings!”
“Like father, like son,” said Dame Beatrice absently. “Did Angela Barton often visit your caravan?”
“Oh, yes, frequently she would drop in for a snack. She never carried food with her. It was her custom, I believe, to have a substantial breakfast and then, round about five o’clock, after the major and Mrs. Tamworth had had their tea and gone off again, she would drop in and take pot-luck. I think she appreciated our cooking. I expect it compared favourably wit
h Lady Calshott’s efforts.”
“So by tea-time the major had ceased to sport with Amaryllis in the shade,” commented Dame Beatrice.
“He would not miss his tea, and Marjorie, I dare say, would hardly dare to miss hers, for fear of questions being asked.”
“But what about Mrs. Tamworth? Did she not wonder why the major did not spend his afternoons with her?”
“I expect she was usually asleep, and, of course, I don’t suppose he spent every afternoon with Marjorie. In any case, Mrs. Tamworth, poor woman, would have been glad of a respite from his company, I daresay. He was a most overbearing man, I always thought. She had not the very faintest idea of how to manage him.”
“You appear to have managed him with considerable success, I understand. How did you do it?”
“Oh, bullies are not always as brave as they would have one think, and I was not his wife.”
“Perhaps you had the whip hand over his food.”
“Perhaps,” said Godiva. “Show me a man and I will show you a pig.”
“You malign the porcine race.”
“Yes,” said Godiva, with a harsh laugh, “perhaps I do, when I compare it with Major Tamworth.”
CHAPTER 18
Sparkling Burgundy
“Sad purple well! whose bubbling eye
Did first against a murderer cry;
Whose streams, still vocal, did complain
Of bloody Cain.”
Henry Vaughan, Silurist.
“So that accounts for the bottle which Laura found at the hunting-lodge,” said Dame Beatrice.
“It doesn’t account for who put poison in it and hid it in a barrel,” said Sally.
“Did the autopsy indicate whether Angela Barton had drunk any of the coffee?” asked Laura. “We’ve nothing to go on in assuming that she’d been given poisoned wine. And where did the thermos flask come from? Was that ever established?”
“Oh, there’s no secret about that,” said Sally. “It belonged to Lady Calshott. That’s another reason why the Scottish police didn’t bother with it. They assumed—and nobody could contradict them—that Angela had simply borrowed it without asking. After all, she was one of Sir Humphrey’s party and a near relation to Lady Calshott.”
Winking at the Brim (Mrs. Bradley) Page 18