by T E Kinsey
‘Of course we shall,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Splendid. You’re on the guest list already. Just speak to Milly and Molly when you arrive.’
‘“Guest list”?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Of course. You don’t expect I’d let my oldest friend pay for her own tickets, do you?’
‘You’re very kind, George dear. Now off you go and get some sleep. I want you bright of eye and bushy of tail for your safety inspection tomorrow. Nine o’clock sharp.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, saluting a good deal more snappily than his circus friends.
He kissed us both goodbye and waved us off as we set off back to the house.
I was in the kitchen doing some early morning chores when the doorbell rang. I had put the iron to one side and had my hand on the kitchen door handle when the bell rang again, followed by fierce hammering of the door knocker. I hurried through to the hall, unbolted the door and opened it to find Colonel Dawlish on the doorstep in a state of some agitation, looking up at the upstairs windows.
‘Ah, Flo, thank goodness,’ he said. ‘Is Emily up yet?’
‘I took her some tea about half an hour ago,’ I said, ‘but she’s not been downstairs yet.’
‘Here I am,’ said Lady Hardcastle, fastening her dressing gown as she came down the stairs. ‘Whatever’s the matter, George? What’s all the racket about? Can’t a girl get some rest?’
‘I’ve just come from the police station,’ he said. ‘Something awful’s happened.’
‘Well don’t just stand there,’ she said, ‘come in and tell us. Flo, let the poor chap in.’
I stood aside and he swept in.
‘Tea in the drawing room, I think,’ she said, and led the way.
As quickly as I could, I made a pot of tea and prepared a tray. I took it through and found them deep in conversation.
‘Ah, Flo, thank you,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What? No cup for you? Fetch yourself one and join us; I think you’d better hear this.’
A few moments later I was sitting in an armchair sipping my tea while Colonel Dawlish retold his story.
‘At about six this morning I was taking a walk around the camp, checking a few things, you know. I don’t usually wander down through the animal cages – I’ll be honest, those blessed lions put the wind up me a bit. Gus – that’s Augustus, the lion tamer, he was with us at dinner last night – Gus says they’re just giant moggies but I’ve never been comfortable. Anyway, they’d been unusually quiet this morning. Ordinarily there’s a good deal of territorial roaring before breakfast but I hadn’t heard a peep out of them. So I took a stroll down through the animal wagons and there they were, the pair of them, fast asleep at one end of their cage. There was a pile of rags at the other, near the door. I thought, that’s a bit rum, someone leaving a mess there like that – you have to be dashed careful with these wild animals, you know, surprisingly fragile constitutions, some of them, doesn’t take much to upset them – and I went over to take a closer look. It wasn’t a pile of rags at all. It was Huey. Hubert Parvin. The juggler. Dead.’
‘Gracious,’ I said. ‘How? The lions?’
‘Yes, from the state of him I’d say he got into the cage for some reason and they mauled him to death.’
‘Gracious,’ I said again, vacuously.
‘Obviously I had to tell the police and they got the local doctor in.’
‘Doctor Fitzsimmons,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘That’s the chap,’ he said. ‘So he and your Sergeant Dobson – he seems like a practical fellow, ex-army I’d bet – they said it looked for all the world like a tragic accident, but if I wanted to be sure I should talk to you two. Dobson told me a frankly astonishing tale about a hanged shipping clerk and the evil wife of a wealthy businessman. And now here I am.’
I was about to say, ‘Gracious,’ again but caught myself just in time.
‘And why aren’t you sure?’ asked Lady Hardcastle instead. ‘Why isn’t it an accident?’
‘Huey was in the cage. On his own. In the middle of the night. And the cage door was locked.’
‘Could he have locked himself in?’ I asked.
‘He could in theory,’ he said. ‘The lock works from the inside as well as out.’
‘But in practice?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘He didn’t have a key with him. Nor was there one anywhere around. I looked most carefully.’
‘Did you mention this to Dobson?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? He’s already open to the possibility of it being murder, so why not confirm it and let him take it to the Bristol CID?’
‘Because I imagined he’d want to close us down while the CID came in and investigated.’
‘And...?’
‘And we can’t afford it. We’re in the most awful trouble. Financially, I mean. We can’t afford to close down while the police trample all over the place. We’d be ruined.’
‘So it’s all right to have a murderer on the loose as long as the circus stays open? Oh, George, surely you don’t think that.’
‘Of course not, Ems, that’s why I’ve come to you. Can’t you help clear it up? We can find out who’s responsible and hand them over to the police and everything will be kushti.’
‘Hmmm. Well. I’m not sure I’d do it for anyone else.’
‘But for me, Ems? Please?’ He looked so forlorn. ‘Can’t you help? I mean, I’ve helped the Provost Marshal with investigations in my time but to hear Sergeant Dobson and his man Hancock speak, you’re like a West Country version of Scotland Yard all on your own.’
‘Hardly, darling. We just did what the Bristol CID would have done if they could have been bothered. And more slowly, too. But of course we’ll help. Whatever we can do, we shall.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so very much.’
‘Think nothing of it, dear thing. Now, first things first. One presumes that the first person we should suspect would be the lion tamer. “Gus”, did you say?’
‘Augustus Noakes, yes. He definitely seems the most likely,’ said Colonel Dawlish.
‘And would he have a motive?’ I asked, trying to think of all the things we missed while trying to track down Frank Pickering’s killer.
‘Quite the strongest one I can think of: Hubert had an affair with his wife a few years ago, destroyed the marriage. She was one of the equestriennes. They thought they were being discreet, but of course everybody knew. She left Noakes shortly after and went to work at a riding school in Sussex.’
‘Is Noakes the sort of man to bear a grudge?’
‘I should say so. He was always having little digs at Parvin. Never let him forget it.’
‘Well, it looks as though you don’t need us at all,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’d say you’ve got a man with a strong motive for killing Hubert who very much had the means to kill him. I would wager that he intended to come back and unlock the cage after the lions had done their work and blame it on a drunken accident. He’d have wanted to leave the cage locked as long as possible to prevent the animals’ escape, but if he timed it right they might only have to be unlocked for a few minutes before someone found the body. He was just unlucky that you decided to go that way on your morning rounds. You didn’t usually visit the animals, you say?’
‘Not usually, no. It was just chance,’ he said.
‘So it does all point to Augustus Noakes. But then again,’ said Lady Hardcastle, thoughtfully, ‘we’ve jumped to the obvious conclusion before and been wrong. Whom else might one suspect?’
‘Well, there are the other one hundred and thirty-seven members of the circus. Everyone knows where the lion cage key is kept.’
Lady Hardcastle thought for a moment. ‘But some would find it easier than others to arrange to meet him in the dead of night and somehow manage to get him into the cage. To trick him or lure him. An acquaintance might very well be able to do it, but a friend would have a much easier time of it.’
‘I s
uppose you’re right,’ he said.
‘So who were his friends? Who was part of Mr Parvin’s inner social circle?’
‘The nine others who dined with us last night were his closest pals. They’re the senior members of the troop, my junior officers and NCOs if you like. They’re almost always together.’
‘Then those are our nine suspects,’ she said, decisively. ‘We shall start with them. Florence, set up the crime board.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ I said, rising from the chair.
‘The “crime board”?’ asked Colonel Dawlish with just the tiniest trace of amusement in his voice.
‘The crime, as you so clearly heard, board,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘It’s her special thing,’ I said. ‘Nod and smile and play along.’
‘Set up my “special thing”,’ she said, sternly, ‘and then come and help me dress. A detective, even a clumsy amateur who relies on her “special thing”, must maintain an air of professionalism and I hardly think that conducting an investigation in my nightdress conveys the right impression. Help yourself to more tea, George dear, and if you’re hungry I’m sure you can find something in the pantry.’
Colonel Dawlish smiled for the first time since he had arrived and Lady Hardcastle and I left the room together to prepare for the day’s work.
The rest of the morning was spent in the dining room as Colonel Dawlish told us everything he knew about Hubert Parvin’s friends. Lady Hardcastle sketched each one in turn while I pinned the sketches on the board and made notes under each.
By noon we had images of all ten:
Hubert Parvin - Juggler, deceased
Augustus Noakes - Lion Tamer
Prudence Hallows - Trapeze Artist
Abraham Bernbaum - Strongman
Jonas Grafton - Clown
Veronica Prentice - Fat Lady
Wilfred Carney - Dwarf
Adeline Rosethorn - Contortionist
Sabine Mathieu - Equestrienne
Mickey O’Bannon - Prize Fighter
We knew already that Parvin had been mauled to death by lions and that he had had a none-too-secret affair with the lion tamer’s wife a number of years ago. There were tensions between assorted other members of the troop, too, but his descriptions of the arguments and sniping seemed to me to be typical of a large group of friends who spent almost every waking moment in each other’s company so I wasn’t sure how significant they were.
We learned that Miss Veronica Prentice, the fat lady, was actually “Mrs Carney” and that she and Wilfred, the dwarf, were just about the most happily married couple that Colonel Dawlish had ever met, with a kind word for everyone and always willing to do anything they could to help. They were, he said, almost like parents to the group. We put them to the bottom of our list of suspects for now.
Colonel Dawlish was unable to think of any motive whatsoever that the remaining seven members of the inner circle might have for murdering Hubert Parvin. Niggles, teasing and petty jealousies aside, they all got on well as far as he knew. We’d already established that any member of the circus would have been able to open the lion cage – it was a matter of safety that everyone should know where the key was kept. And as for opportunity... even those in shared caravans or tents would have been able to slip away in the middle of the night without anyone knowing anything about it. In the stories, the detective would always be able to unpick someone’s alibi, but after a hectic and exhausting day’s work setting up the circus, “I was in bed asleep” would stand up to even the closest scrutiny; so was everyone else and who would gainsay you?
We had been talking for hours when to my immense relief Lady Hardcastle declared it to be lunchtime and sent me off to prepare something quick and light for us all to eat.
I returned with a large plate of sandwiches which we ate as we continued working.
‘What about,’ I said, enlivened by the renewed energy given me by my cheese sandwich, ‘the possibility that someone wanted falsely to implicate Noakes in Parvin’s murder? What if we’re looking for motives for murdering Parvin, but that crime was just a means of getting Noakes hanged?’
‘Why not just kill Noakes?’ said Colonel Dawlish. ‘Why not lock him in his own lion cage and let the lions get rid of him instead of leaving it for the hangman?’
‘Because... er...’ I had to admit I was stumped.
But Lady Hardcastle wasn’t so quick to dismiss it. ‘No, it’s an intriguing notion. Execution is public punishment. The Crown points its judicial finger and says, “Guilty,” for all to hear. Perhaps the killer was prepared to sacrifice Parvin in order to have Noakes suffer the shame and humiliation of public accusation before he was finally punished for whatever it was he had done.’
‘It would take a deranged, sadistic mind to do that, Ems,’ said Colonel Dawlish.
‘Given the nature of the murder itself, I’d say sadistic derangement can be assumed as fact. This would just make it disturbingly calculating as well.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he finally conceded.
‘I so often am, dear,’ she said and took another bite of her sandwich.
‘So, then, Colonel Dawlish–’ I said.
‘“George”, darling, please,’ he interrupted.
‘Yes, Colonel Dawlish, of course,’ I said and he rolled his eyes. ‘So what we’re looking for is someone who might have felt themselves to have been wronged by Mr Noakes and who would have wanted them publicly humiliated and punished, if not for that, then for something else.’
‘The only person I can think of, Miss Armstrong,’ he said, ‘would be our strongman, Abe Bernbaum. Did you see our posters?’
‘How could we miss them?’ I said. ‘They were everywhere.’
‘That was certainly the intention. Whose names did you see on them? Can you remember?’
‘There was Mr Bradley and Mr Stoke,’ I said.
‘And Abraham Bernbaum,’ said Lady Armstrong, ‘Britain’s strongest man. I remember it clearly because I wondered whether you had any evidence to back up such a bold claim.’
‘To be truthful, we probably don’t,’ said Colonel Dawlish. ‘But the point is that his is the only name on the bill. He’d been quite the draw in the London circus shows but the audiences were drying up a little. We were beginning to struggle too, so ours was a marriage of convenience. We offered him steady work, a decent wage and a place to stay, and he gave us a famous name for the bill. We all won.’
‘It sounds like you did,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘But I presume all was not sunshine and flowers within the family.’
‘Indeed no. Someone’s nose was put quite seriously out of joint by the news that the new boy was getting top billing. Someone thought that if anyone should be getting top billing it was him. Someone thought that he and his lions were the reason people came to Bradley and Stoke’s Circus.
‘Now the finale of Abe’s act is to lift a barbell above his head. Two enormous iron balls, it is, on either end of a long iron bar. He gets two men from the audience and asks them to try to lift it, you know, to prove how heavy it is. First one tries, then the other, then both together, and even between them they can barely lift the thing. One afternoon, as the show was being set up, someone removed the two enormous iron balls and the heavy iron bar from the trolley and replaced them with two papier-mâché balls on either end of a broom handle, all painted grey. The stage hands wheeled the barbell out on the trolley, just like always. Abe selected his two volunteers – big enough to look like they should be able to lift it, but never too big in case they actually could. He had the first one attempt to lift it, and of course it shot up into the air like it was made of paper and paste. Unluckily for Abe he’d picked a show-off, and this chap chucked the thing in the air, twirled it around, threw it to his friend... the audience were crying with laughter. They thought it was part of the act, but Abe was mortified.’
‘He probably should have kept it in the show; it sounds marvellous,’ I said.
‘Actual
ly, it was rather fun,’ he said, ‘but Abe didn’t see it like that. And he knew exactly who was responsible. He knew that Gus had meant to humiliate him and never forgave him.’
‘But, really,’ I said, ‘It’s all a little convoluted. Murdering a man so that another man will be falsely accused of murder as revenge for a practical joke?’
‘In my defence,’ said Colonel Dawlish, ‘I still think Gus killed Huey Parvin by locking him in the lion cage. Abraham Bernbaum is a charmingly gentle man who lost his temper a few years ago. It’s you two who were trying to make things complicated; I just told you another everyday story of circus folk.’
‘Very well, then,’ said Lady Hardcastle, decisively, ‘let’s interview them both. Augustus Noakes the lion tamer is the bookies’ favourite, and Abraham Bernbaum the strongman is the 100-1 outsider who may be worth an each way bet.’
‘I never had you pegged for a gambling gal,’ said Colonel Dawlish.
She took his face in both her hands. ‘My poor, naïve little darling,’ she said and kissed his forehead, ‘there’s so much you don’t know about me.’
He laughed.
‘Hurry, servant,’ she said. ‘Fetch hats and gloves, we are bound for the circus to speak to a lion tamer and a strongman. George, you need to do whatever it is you need to do if you want to open tonight; we’ll make our enquiries as discreetly as we can.’
As we approached the circus entrance we could see that there was some sort of commotion within. We were met at the box office by a flustered Mickey O’Bannon.
‘Thank the lord you’ve come, boss,’ said the Irishman. ‘Where the devil have you been?’
‘I’ve been with my friends,’ said Colonel Dawlish indicating Lady Hardcastle and me. ‘Whatever’s the matter now?’
‘It’s Gus, boss.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s dead, boss, God rest his soul.’ He crossed himself.
‘He’s what?’ exclaimed Colonel Dawlish. ‘How?’