Belchester Box Set

by Andrea Frazer

  ‘Hugo, you’re a right little entrepreneur, aren’t you?’

  ‘Thank you very much, Manda. It’s very kind of you to say so.’

  ‘What’s that?’ quavered a voice from a chair by the door, which they had not noticed was occupied.

  ‘Oh, Mummy, you nearly frightened the life out of me. You’re getting as bad a Beauchamp.’

  ‘Beecham! And I couldn’t help overhearing. What are you two up to? Anything exciting?’ asked Lady Edith.

  ‘Nothing that involves you, Mummy, or, in fact, could involve you. I’m thinking of opening the house to the public, and we couldn’t possibly risk you being seen alive, so you’ll just have to keep out of the way whenever we do it, or I shall be compelled to murder you.’

  ‘I say! That’s jolly unfair, and not very like you, Manda. I’d have imagined you’d hate the idea of the general public swarming all over your family home, putting their sticky fingerprints all over everything, and nicking the bibelots.’

  ‘Not at all, Mumsy. Hugo’s suggested a way we can do it without having to suffer the hoi polloi, and you can just put up with it, or beetle off to your apartment in Monte Carlo, and leave us in peace.’

  ‘That’s no way to speak to your poor, aged mother, Manda!’ Lady Edith chided her.

  ‘Agreed! But then, I’m not speaking to my poor aged mother, am I? I’m speaking, instead, to my fairly well-off, and soon to be even better-off, dead mother and, believe me, that makes a huge difference.’

  ‘That’s right! Shut me away in the attics, with only bread and water to live on. Treat me like a prisoner in my own home. Children can be so cruel these days.’ Lady Edith was really displaying a wealth of self-pity of which Lady Amanda would not have thought her capable, had she not remembered that her mother had once been part of the Belchester Players, an amateur dramatic group that used to put on plays now and again in the city’s theatre.

  ‘Well, yah, boo, and sucks to you!’ exclaimed Lady Amanda, very childishly, and promptly left the room, in search of a cocktail, even though it wasn’t yet lunchtime.

  Enid Tweedie was summoned (of course!) for the preparations for opening the house, and was soon to be found under everyone’s feet, with a mop and bucket, singing old Eurovision Song Contest numbers much too loudly, and dramatically out of tune.

  This stalwart had worked for Lady Amanda for more years than she cared to count, first as a cleaner who came in to do ‘the rough’, now rather more in the role of Beauchamp: that of general factotum and friend of convenience. She never felt put upon by Lady Amanda, because she had been treated so well by her, during and after her many trips to hospital for minor operations. The latest one had been for ingrowing toenails, and she was only just back on her feet after that.

  Lady Amanda spent the bulk of her time at the library table, covering it with a multitude of sheets of paper, planning the various tours that could be offered, and the commentary that would accompany the proposed guests round the various parts of the house.

  Hugo, meanwhile, had had his second hip-replacement operation, and spent a lot of his time reading, with a little gentle exercise every now and then. He’d found some local history books in the library, sadly out of date, but, nonetheless, fascinating (for history tends not to change), and often spent his reading time in a porter’s chair in the library, interrupting lady Amanda every few minutes, to read out something to her, or ask her opinion on an item he had just read.

  Time passed, Mummy stayed on, like a barnacle on the bottom of a ship, and soon it was approaching December, the clocks gone back, and darkness falling slightly earlier every day, making their daily round almost dream-like. It was definitely time to make something happen to wake them all up, and get the wheels in motion for what they had been planning for months, now.

  Even the thought of Christmas approaching could not really motivate Lady A. Life had become too predictable, and she was filled with ennui, wishing that something exciting would happen to liven things up again; not that she wished anyone dead, just to provide her with a murder to investigate. She was just hungry for a more dramatic side to her daily round – anything, to relieve the boredom that she felt she might not be able to shake off before the grave. In her opinion, life had been a bit too SOS (Same Old S**t) for some time now, and it was about time things livened up.

  Chapter Four

  Planning the Changes

  ‘December, Manda!’ exclaimed Hugo, over breakfast on the first of that month. ‘If we don’t do something soon, it’ll be next year in no time at all.’

  ‘I don’t see what we can do at this time of year. No one will want to come out in this weather. It’s freezing cold, dark, and miserable. I thought we’d probably open in the springtime,’ she replied.

  ‘But what about a rehearsal, just to get us in the mood.’

  ‘A rehearsal? Whatever do you mean by that, Hugo?’

  ‘Not sure! But give me this morning to think it over, and I’m sure to come up with something. I’ll make some notes, and put it to you at cocktail time, when you’re less likely to bite my head off.’

  ‘I do not bite your head off, you old fake,’ Lady Amanda denied, then, seeing the expression on her friend’s face, flushed a little, and added, ‘Well, not often, anyway.’

  ‘There you go, then. We’ll have a nice little natter over cocktails, this evening, and my head shall remain safe for the whole day.’

  ‘Hugo!’

  At six o’clock that evening, Hugo and Lady Amanda entered the drawing room to find it empty, and Beauchamp hot on their trail with a tray containing only two glasses. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ enquired his employer, wishing her mother to Hell, for a nice little holiday. She should find plenty of like-minded people there that she would get on well with.

  ‘Her ladyship is taking her cocktail and dinner in her room tonight. She has been busy all day, trying to finalise details of the completion of work on her new apartment, and is making haste to arrange travel plans,’ replied the dignified Beauchamp.

  Waiting until he was out of earshot, Lady A turned to Hugo, and punched a fist in the air. ‘Thank goodness for that!’ she said, with glee. ‘The old witch is back off to the Continent!’

  ‘Jolly D, Manda!’ Hugo agreed with her, doing a little dance with his lower legs, as he sat in an armchair. ‘Perhaps things can get back to something like normal now, with those murders over and done with, and your mother back amongst the living dead.’

  ‘And we can get on with our plans to open up this place, so that it doesn’t seem like quite such a mausoleum,’ she suggested.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ declared Hugo, ‘as I said I would this morning, and I believe I’ve got a jolly good idea for how to have a rehearsal, and spread the word amongst the “right sort” of people, who’ve always wanted to have a good nose round in here.’

  ‘Shoot!’ crowed Lady Amanda, necking her cocktail in one swallow, and ringing the bell to summon Beauchamp, so that she could have another celebratory swallow. She was feeling quite giddy with glee, at the thought of getting rid of her mother, and planned to make sure the giddiness could also be attributed to alcohol.

  ‘They don’t hunt any more round these parts, do they, after the ban and everything?’ Hugo enquired.

  ‘Oh, how I miss the thrill of the chase. How could they possibly have made it illegal?’ wailed Lady Amanda, Hugo having accidentally provided her with one of her favourite soap boxes.

  ‘But you said you hated all that horsey stuff with the girls at school. I didn’t know you rode,’ Hugo said, perplexed. He clearly remembered her saying how she hated the way the girls were goofy about their ponies.

  ‘That still stands. I couldn’t be bothered with all that jumping over fences that were only six inches high, then getting a soppy rosette for it. And I still can’t see the point of point-to-point. It’s like having a racing car, and only ever driving it at thirty miles an hour.

  ‘But hunting? That’s a completely different kettl
e of horse-flesh. There’s nothing like galloping across the countryside astride a fine hunter, sailing over fences and hedges, never knowing whether you’re going to come a cropper. Now, that’s real riding! And now, alas, it is no more,’ she stated, with a tragic note in her voice.

  ‘We did have a drag-hunt for a couple of years, but it just wasn’t the same, so, now, we just don’t bother. There is a Hunt Ball, but there’s no Hunt as such, now. The MFH says it’s not the same, now they can’t tear an innocent animal to pieces at the end, so he’s given up organising anything. And all the hounds have had to be euthanized. I bet people wouldn’t be sniffy about hunting if they realised how many hounds had to be murdered, because there was no longer any use for them: but they don’t think about that. It’s all about the blasted verminous fox!

  ‘So now the farmers have to shoot them, or trap them or use poison. It’s taken a lot of the colourful history out of the countryside and, I think, made things worse for the fox, for they can shoot a darned sight more than they could have hunted, and I believe the poor things are having rather a thin time of it.

  ‘I got rid of my hunter, you know, after last year’s dreary drag-hunt. Christmas was tedious enough without Mummy and Daddy, but without the Hunt, it’s going to be absolutely deathly.’

  ‘Thanks for the potted history. A ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ would have sufficed,’ scowled Hugo, who was getting a bit fed up with Lady A’s mini-lectures. It seemed that he couldn’t ask a straight question any more, and receive a straight answer. Everything came with embellishments.

  ‘Why did you ask, then?’ enquired Lady Amanda, now looking a little confrontational.

  ‘Only because I’ve had the most marvellous idea, that won’t only cheer up Christmas a good deal, but that could lead to us opening, and making a go of this place.’

  ‘Continue,’ was his companion’s curt reply.

  ‘Why don’t we get the place freshly polished and dusted for the Season of Goodwill, which no doubt would have happened anyway, and invite some of the local nobs round on Boxing Day for a tour of the place and afternoon tea? That’ll give you something to look forward to on the twenty-sixth, and take your mind of the fact that there’s not even a drag-hunt for you to go galloping off on.

  ‘There’d be no charge, of course, but we could let it be known, when they arrive, that we are trying out the idea which, if it gets good feedback, will be a reality in the spring. If they spread the word for us, we’ll not only get the right sort of people, but it will be good for the area in general; bring more people into Belchester and the surrounding countryside.’

  ‘What a topping idea, Hugo! You’re a pocket genius, you are! And we’ve still got a few weeks to organise everything.’ Lady Amanda was all smiles now. ‘That would definitely give Boxing Day a bit of sparkle, rather than the anti-climax I was dreading.’

  It was ages since she had entertained anyone but a few friends for cocktails or a cup of coffee or tea. The thought of having a gathering on Boxing Day seemed a sparkling idea to her. Christmas had been rather a dull affair ever since Mummy and Daddy had gone, and she felt a surge of enthusiasm for showing off the old place, decorated like it should be, and with a bit more life in it.

  ‘And what about the old kitchen and scullery, and all those other domestic offices? Beauchamp has a thoroughly modern kitchen. And I know he doesn’t use the butler’s pantry any more, because you keep all the silver in the strong-room’, said Hugo, suddenly full of enthusiasm for this new idea.

  ‘What about them? They’re antediluvian, so they’ve all been shut up for donkey’s years.’

  ‘Exactly!’ yelled Hugo, leaping, in slow motion, out of his chair in his excitement.

  ‘Hugo, either I’m an idiot, or I can’t see what you’re seeing. Explain yourself.’

  ‘That’s all the go, these days, isn’t? Looking back into the past, at how things used to be done. There’re scads of programmes on the television about just that sort of thing. And what about collectors? They just love what I believe they call ‘kitchen-alia’. You could work full-time just doing tours of the old domestic offices, and maybe the servants bedrooms – a “How They Used to Live” sort of tour. It would be a smash-hit! People would love it! And you could even let the plebs come in on that one, because it’s not as if you’re showing off the family jewels, is it?’

  ‘Is this really true?’ asked Lady Amanda, not really believing that people would pay good money to look at some old whisks and hair sieves.

  ‘Of course it is, Manda. Give Enid a ring and ask her what she thinks about the idea, then you’ll see.’

  Lady Amanda moved over to the old-fashioned telephone – one of those that still had its handset actually attached to the instrument – and dialled Enid Tweedie’s number (on the exceedingly old-fashioned round dial).

  ‘Hello, Enid. Lady Amanda here. Tell me what you think of this little idea of Hugo’s. He’s suggested that …’

  A few minutes later, she replaced the receiver and looked at Hugo with a new respect. ‘I don’t know how you knew it, but it seems that you’re spot on. Let’s go and open up the domestic offices now, and see what sort of state they’re in. I told Enid we’d have a look, and I’d ring her back if we wanted her to come up here and lend a hand.’

  ‘But it’s nearly time for dinner, Manda!’

  ‘Yes, and in the time between now and the gong, I suggest we trot along and make use of what little time we have, and not sit here thinking about our stomachs, even if yours presents itself as a ready subject for conversation.’

  ‘Meow!’ was Hugo’s only reply, and he struggled out of his chair, grabbed the walking canes he had grown accustomed to using, and began to follow her, as she left the room with one of ‘those’ looks on her face.

  Lady Amanda had to give the door to the old kitchen a bit of a heave-ho with her shoulder before it would yield to her, and what they found revealed to them was an almost perfect Victorian kitchen, the only additions being a great deal of dust, and spiders’ webs draped about the room like grey lace. In more than one nook or cranny, there was a furtive scuffling noise as the mice, the only occupants of this hithertofore deserted region of the house, made themselves scarce – race memory, coming down through several generations, warning them of the dangers of traps and cats, and especially the people who allowed these horrors to be inflicted on their species.

  ‘Good grief, Hugo! Just look at this place!’ exclaimed Lady Amanda, horrified at the condition of the kitchen. ‘It looks like it belongs to Miss Havisham! We’ll never get this cleaned up.’

  ‘Don’t be such a party-pooper, Manda. You can work miracles with a bit of application and an array of modern cleaning products. Remember how we changed Enid’s place for her when she was in hospital? That was almost unrecognisable when we’d finished, and now she’s offered to help you if you want her to. I’m sure Beauchamp will throw himself into it with enthusiasm too, if you ask him nicely.’

  ‘I do not ask, Hugo: I command.’

  ‘Well command nicely, then. No one likes a bossy-boots,’ Hugo reminded her.

  ‘Do you really think this midden will clean up?’

  ‘Of course it will. It just needs time and elbow-grease. Show a bit of enthusiasm for what could be the jewel in the crown of your house tours.’

  ‘I’ll just call Beau … Argh!’

  ‘Here, my lady,’ said a voice just behind her right shoulder.

  ‘Beauchamp! Don’t do that! How can you sneak up on people without them having any idea you’re there?’ Lady Amanda asked him, her right hand clutched to her left breast, as she recovered from the shock. ‘By nature, you’re more of a Golightly than I am.’

  ‘I’ve always been very light on my feet, my lady,’ he explained, walking in his usual dignified manner to a space between the two of them. ‘How may I be of service?’

  ‘We rather wanted your opinion on whether it would be a good idea to open these old domestic offices to the public, for a guided tour
.’

  ‘I should say it needed a little light dusting first, my lady. Old kitchens, coal cellars, stables, and all sorts of sites of bygone domestic slavery are all the go, at the moment, I understand,’ was Beauchamp’s considered opinion.

  ‘Domestic slavery! Domestic slavery? Is that what you consider yourself to be in, Beauchamp?’ she squeaked in indignation.

  ‘Heaven forbid that such a thing should cross my mind. I was, of course, referring to times gone by. And, should you be considering such a venture, may I suggest that the scullery, butler’s pantry, the flower room, the boot room, and quite a number of other domestic offices might also prove useful additions to this projected tour of yours.’

  ‘Dashed good idea, Beauchamp! Lead on! Frankly, I’ve no idea where to locate any of the places you just mentioned, but I’d love to have a little peek.’

  Beauchamp led the way, charging stuck doors and pulling down curtains of cobwebs as he went, and the investigation of the domestic quarters was not abandoned until Lady Amanda caught something out of the corner of her eye, turned her head, and espied a large and hairy spider on her shoulder. ‘Argh! Aargh! Aaargh! Get it off me! Get it off me! Oh, God, I’m going to faint!’ she cried, while trying to run away from it, without thinking that it was firmly lodged on her shoulder and would not move without some help.

  Hugo proved his lack of mettle by running into the recently opened pantry and shutting the door behind him, from which hiding place he shouted, ‘For God’s sake do something, somebody. I’m not coming out of here until it’s gone.’

  It was, of course, Beauchamp, who grabbed the offending arachnid in the soft cotton of his handkerchief, and shooed it out through a window. ‘Maybe you might like to delay your return here until I have done a little light cleaning and dusting, my lady,’ he suggested, with a very superior expression. ‘I’m sure there are many other unwelcome visitors to these quarters, which you would be very unhappy to have to meet. I’ll let you know when it is fit for you to get to work on it.