Ten Lords A-Leaping

by Ruth Dudley Edwards

  ‘What did the poor old sod do on Fridays that he shouldn’t?’ asked the baroness sadly. ‘Pass the bottle over here, Robert.’

  ‘Leather-clad lady with whip, male slaves running round her house in pinnies doing her housework, licking her kitchen floor with their tongues and being beaten at regular intervals.’

  ‘God, I’m so glad I didn’t go to public school,’ said Amiss.

  ‘We didn’t all end up like that,’ said Pooley stiffly.

  Milton continued: ‘The poor devil said he used to flog himself a bit in the monastery for penitential reasons. When he came out into the world the urge to find someone to do it for him became too great so he phoned up one of those people whose ads are plastered all over telephone kiosks: Madam Dominatrix this one was called. Dom for short.’

  ‘And rather than have this revealed he was prepared to allow murder to happen?’

  ‘You do see things in such a black-and-white way, Jack,’ said Amiss. ‘We’re talking about a holy fool, for God’s sake. I bet he just chose not to know what was happening.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Milton. ‘He said what really worried him was the possibility of sacrilege, but he convinced himself that if he deconsecrated and reconsecrated the tabernacles all would be well and that maybe what was being transported—as Sholto claimed—was a bit of harmless contraband.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked the baroness.

  ‘Brother Francis barely knew what contraband meant. He certainly wasn’t thinking about antipersonnel mines.’

  ‘So the notion of Sholto being a murderer never crossed his mind?’

  ‘He says not until the bombs went off and he read about how small they were.’

  ‘Are you telling me he’d never looked at the contents of the tabernacle he brought into the Lords?’

  ‘Sholto had the key.’

  ‘And nobody tried to search it?’

  ‘It’s not the sort of thing people search, especially when it’s being carried by a priest.’

  ‘Why didn’t the bombs show up when it went through the security screen? Oh, sorry.’ The baroness snapped her fingers. ‘I’d forgotten. The bombs were encased in plastic, so of course they wouldn’t show up.’

  Amiss interrupted. ‘Now let me get this right. When Plutarch and I ran into him, he had realized a) that the contraband had disappeared, b) that so had his research assistant, and c) that this holy of holies had been used to transport instruments of death? So what he was doing was taking it home to disinfect it in case it had traces of explosives and then reconsecrate it.’

  ‘It didn’t occur to him to report all this to the police?’ The baroness sounded impatient.

  Milton shook his head. ‘No, because before he left, Sholto told him if he told anyone he’d make him such a laughing stock that his movement and his order would be forever discredited and that anyway he was going out of his life and there was nothing more to worry about and no further harm would be done. That was the straw at which the petrified rabbit grasped.’

  ‘And the stun-gun? How did that get into the Lords in the first place?’ asked Amiss.

  ‘Security was almost nonexistent on peers before all this started,’ said Milton. ‘Brother Francis—who is now frantically cooperating—fears he might have inadvertently imported it in a bag of golf clubs which Sholto left at his flat after Mass and then asked him to take in and leave in his room.’

  The baroness gave a mighty yawn. ‘Very good. Now if that’s all, I think I’ll be going home to Myles. Call me a cab, Robert.’

  ‘Mind you,’ said Milton, ‘we haven’t caught them, we haven’t proved anything, and lots of this is speculation.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘It’s an open-and-shut case. If I were you, I’d hurry up and find the Sholtos.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack. Now that you’ve pointed it out, I suppose that’s what we should do next.’

  ***

  ‘How did they find them so quickly?’

  ‘Easy. Yesterday afternoon some spark of intelligence illuminated what one might loosely call Brother Francis’ brain and he volunteered that though it was true that he didn’t know where Sholto lived, he remembered he might have his telephone number somewhere in his office. By the time he’d been taken there and found it, and British Telecom produced the address, Jim and his mob were able to get to the Sholto flat just as mother and son were sitting down to dinner. They were a bit upset, apparently, but since Sholto’s arsenal was in another room, they had little option but to go quietly.’

  Deptford’s usual calm was ruffled. ‘’E murdered all them poor buggers just to get Bertie? Never ’eard anything like it. What a pestilential son of a pontry-maid!’

  ‘Who? What?’ asked the baroness.

  ‘Jorrocks,’ explained Amiss.

  ‘So who were the Animal Avengers?’

  ‘Our friend Agnes composed those letters to focus suspicion on to the animal activists. Apparently, she was inspired by a book of Edgar Wallace’s.’

  ‘Blimey. I knew Agnes was a pill, but this! Violet. Another round, please, luv.’

  ‘Mind you,’ said Amiss, ‘you have to admit she was unusually devoted to her family.’

  ‘Like a Roman empress,’ interjected the baroness.

  ‘Or that American who murdered her daughter’s main rival for cheerleadership of the high-school football team.’

  ‘It’s beyond everything. Poor old Bertie. ’E must really be upset.’

  ‘He was, but it’s been a huge relief to him that neither his heir nor the heir’s son had anything to do with it.’

  ‘Are the cops sure of that?’

  The baroness nodded. ‘Will Sholto confirmed that it was a private entrepreneurial venture to instal the high-minded Fred as duke and then wallow in luxury along with him? Seems looking forward to that was all mother and son had been living for for years. Fred’s announcement that Bertie might get married drove them wild.’

  Deptford shook his head again. ‘Thanks, Violet,’ he said absently. ‘Has Agnes said what she actually did?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Since they pleaded guilty, apparently they’re bragging about how clever they were. Her main contribution was to suss out peers she thought might be vulnerable, whom sonny then followed to see if there was any dirt on them. In nominating Brother Francis, she showed herself a good judge of character. And then she stayed on in the hope of picking up useful gossip. For instance, she overheard Jack talking about our planned meeting in committee room 4.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said the baroness. ‘Still, if she hadn’t got us one way, she’d have got us another, no doubt.’

  Deptford scratched his head. ‘Am I bein’ stupid? Wasn’t she taking a big risk that Bertie might recognize her?’

  ‘They hadn’t met for over forty years, and anyway, like her son, between coloured contact lenses, wig and God knows what else, she was well disguised.’

  The baroness banged the table. ‘Let’s cheer up. There is much to celebrate, including the news I received from Bertie this morning before he took off abroad that he is to become a father.’

  ‘Why, the old goat!’ Deptford smiled with male complicity. ‘And them not even married yet.’

  ‘They will be next week. But don’t be misled, Sid. This was not a result of unbridled lust. Surely by now you know the ways of the aristocracy. This time he wasn’t going to get married unless he was sure the girl could whelp.’

  ‘On that delicate note, shall we go in to lunch?’ asked Amiss. ‘May I remind you that you are due to spend this afternoon with Littlejohn hammering out the final details of the deal you and Bertie did with him yesterday.’

  ***

  The media had been excited when the four young members of a far-left group had been charged with sending letter bombs to defenders of field sports. The news that relatives of the Duke of Stormerod had pleaded guilty to nineteen murders was sensational. The leak that Sholto’s exotic weapons had been acquired with the help of Ulster Protestant paramilitaries added a
n extra frisson. And the journalists’ cup of joy ran over when it emerged that Brother Francis had been charged with being an accessory after the fact. There followed a stampede of press revelations about the highjacking of the animal rights movement by violent elements in society.

  It was a propitious time for Baroness Troutbeck and Lord Littlejohn to announce that the Lords had amended the Wild Mammals Bill in a way that was satisfactory to the majority of people on both sides. The clauses banning wanton cruelty remained, as did the prohibition of hare-coursing, but a huge majority of their lordships agreed it should remain legal to hunt those animals—like foxes and mink—that were themselves predators.

  It behoved the sensible people of Britain, explained the baroness over the airwaves, to demonstrate their rejection of the disruptive and violent lunatic fringe. The British treated their animals better than anyone else in the world, and it was their job to be evangelists abroad for the decency which characterized their society. Rather than worrying about such minor matters as fox-hunting, the job of the general public was to bombard members of the British and European parliaments with letters demanding that British standards prevail in Europe.

  Like the great British public, MPs were terrified of anarchy and the blessed English word compromise was on everyone’s lips. So when the bill, duly amended, went back to the Commons, it was backed by the government and passed in its emasculated form with scarcely a fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Amiss was cold, drenched, tired, and wishing passionately that he had never dared Jack to demonstrate her prowess on the hunting field. As he trudged with Jennifer Bovington-Petty through the heavy mud he muttered, ‘I’m sorry for dragging you into this. It’s a lesson to me to keep my mouth shut when I’ve been celebrating too well. I couldn’t get her to cancel the dare the day after.’

  ‘What do you mean? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Quite apart from anything else, I had an absolutely wonderful time helping her to dress this morning. It was hilarious to see her normal impatience at war with her notions of the importance of elegance on the hunting field. Getting the apron skirt on over the jodhpurs was difficult enough, but we had a fiendish time getting her hair right for the topper.’

  ‘I admit she looked good.’ Amiss stomped on for a moment. ‘But to tell you the truth, I’m worried. She hasn’t hunted for fifteen years, and that horse Jamesie provided is an enormous brute.’

  ‘Roddy’s reliable enough. No bigger than what she’s used to, apparently. And remember, side-saddle is pretty safe. That’s why the Queen didn’t fall off when someone fired a starting pistol during Trooping the Colour. Anyway, she certainly took off confidently enough.’

  ‘Confidently! The last I saw of her she looked close to overrunning the hounds. Are we nearly there?’

  ‘Poor Robert. You’re not really cut out for country pursuits, are you? Cheer up. That’s Rayner’s Wood over there, and if the hunt doesn’t turn up there within say half an hour, honour will be satisfied and we can go back home to the library fire.’

  ***

  ‘Only five minutes more.’ Jennifer cocked her head. ‘I hear something. Come on.’

  Amiss reluctantly left the tree against which he had been comfortably propped and squelched after her to the outskirts of the wood.

  ‘Here they come.’

  Across the field tore a fox with baying hounds in hot pursuit and Jack Troutbeck careering immediately after them, with three hunters about a hundred yards behind. ‘Isn’t it a breach of etiquette to be ahead of the Master of Foxhounds?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry. Jamesie knows he’s no great shakes.’

  As the baroness drew nearer, they could see that she had lost her topper, she was red with exertion and drenched through from the torrential rain, but her whole countenance radiated exhilaration. Amiss flattened himself against a tree as the fox and then the hounds hurtled past. Moments later, the fox reappeared heading for the covert that lay to the left; it crashed into Roddy’s legs. As the hounds came after him, Amiss shut his eyes and the baroness let out a lusty roar of ‘Hold!’ Thrown into momentary confusion, the hounds hesitated for just long enough for the fox to reach safety.

  ‘You can look now,’ said Jennifer. ‘She’s saved it.’

  Amiss opened his eyes and looked at the baroness. ‘Did you do that for me or for the fox?’

  The three hunters drew up behind her and over the horizon the rest came into view. She looked defiant. ‘Impulse. Anyway, as Trollope said, “No man goes out fox-hunting in order that he may receive pleasure from pain inflicted.” And if they do, they shouldn’t. We’d had the ride. Didn’t need the fox.’

  A hubbub of protest broke out behind her. ‘Stymied the hounds.’

  ‘Let him get away.’

  Jennifer grimaced. ‘I’m afraid they’re going to be a bit upset that there hasn’t been a kill.’

  ‘Bugger them,’ said the baroness, and turned to face her critics.

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