OLD MOORHEN’S SHREDDED
SPORRAN
A Lady Amanda Golightly Murder Mystery
The Belchester Chronicles: Book Four
ANDREA FRAZER
Another tongue - in - cheek romp for our intrepid decrepit heroes. Lady Amanda Golightly and her housemate Hugo Cholmondeley - Crichton - Crump return from their visit to Scotland to find a letter informing them that Hugo's sister will be arriving the following day for a month's visit, which sours Lady A's mood as Tabitha constantly bullied her at school.
Her manservant's announcement that he is now betrothed to Enid Tweedie, sort of friend and general gopher for his employer, has already unsettled her.
If that wasn't enough to cope with, it appears that, while they were away, the security of Belchester Towers had been breached and there had been thefts. To top it all, somebody started systematically killing off the domestic staff!
Enter Detective Inspector Moody and Detective Sergeant Glenister, and all hell breaks loose!
Other books by Andrea Frazer
The Belchester Chronicles
Strangeways to Oldham
White Christmas with a Wobbly Knee
Snowballs and Scotch Mist
Old Moorhen’s Shredded Sporran
Falconer Files
Death of an Old Git
Choked Off
Inkier than the Sword
Pascal Passion
Murder at the Manse
Music to Die For
Strict and Peculiar
Christmas Mourning
Grave Stones
Death in High Circles
Glass House
Falconer Files – Brief Cases
Love Me To Death
A Sidecar Named Expire
Battered to Death
Toxic Gossip
Driven To It
All Hallows
Death of a Pantomime Cow
Others
Choral Mayhem
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Lady Amanda Golightly – owner of Belchester Towers
Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton Crump – an old friend who lives with her
Beauchamp – her butler-cum-general factotum
Enid Tweedie – fiancée of Beauchamp and friend of Lady Amanda
Tabitha Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump – Hugo’s sister
Ludovic and Dominic – Tabitha’s brown-spotted Bengal kittens
Evergreen – head groundsman
Phyllida, Ethelred, and Poppy Draycott-Bayliss – friends of Tabitha
Plumstead – Tabitha’s manservant
A team of occasional indoor and outdoor workers, including:
Outdoor
Victor Mangel
Edgar Drake -Ed
Edmund Darke – Edds
Edward Darle – Eddie
Indoor
Florrie Searle
Edie Haire
Beryl Sylvester
Madge Moth
Police Personnel
Detective Inspector Moody – of the Belchester CID – a man who lives up to his name
Detective Sergeant Glenister – newly moved to plain clothes, also of the Belchester CID
Police Constable Baldwin
Police Constable Spouph – not quite as ridiculous as his name!
Contents
A Quick Catch-up
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
A Quick Catch-up
Lady Amanda Golightly of Belchester Towers rediscovered an old friend in a local nursing home and rescued him from a life of terminal boredom, telling him she was going to sort out his mobility problems and move him into her own home, to get him out of the ghastly God’s-waiting-room atmosphere of the place. This started their first misadventure in murder.
Having decided to try opening the Towers to the public, they fell into another murder investigation when one of Lady Amanda’s guests, who was taking part in a dry-run before the official opening, ended up dead.
Thinking themselves finally free of these tragic events, they travelled up to Scotland to spend Burns’ Night with a couple whom Lady Amanda had known for decades, only to find themselves sleuthing again.
This story follows directly on from their homecoming from this ill-fated trip, after which Lady Amanda was made aware that Hugo’s younger sister was coming for a visit and, as they had not been there for a while, the letter announced her arrival date as the next day. Beauchamp also dropped a further bombshell when he announced his intention to marry Enid Tweedie, a long-term friend-cum-personal slave of her ladyship who had been shamelessly taken for granted for years unrecorded.
Thoughts of Hugo’s sister, who had been a dreadful bully at school and the bane of Lady A’s life, here, in her own house, were severely depressing, but she knew that Hugo had no home of his own in which to entertain her, and realised that she must grit her teeth and live with the situation.
We join her as Beauchamp brings in the evening’s pre-prandial cocktails.
Chapter One
Monday
Beauchamp entered the drawing room with a tray of cocktails, his usual duty at this hour, but Lady Amanda was totally unaware of his presence until he spoke. ‘I thought an Old Moorhen’s Shredded Sporran might be in order, as we’ve managed to survive our Scottish trip without either being murdered, or dying of hypothermia,’ he announced.
‘Eh?’ she queried – rather commonly, Hugo thought.
‘Excellent idea, Beauchamp,’ agreed Hugo, giving the butler an ingratiating reply, hoping to make up for his friend’s lack of manners, an unusual occurrence indeed, for she was the very devil herself where manners were concerned.
Shaking her head like a dog emerging from water, she said, ‘Sorry, Beauchamp, old man. I was lost in a dream for a moment there. What is it you’ve brought us tonight?’
‘An Old Moorhen’s Shredded Sporran,’ he replied. He knew at once what she had been thinking about, and felt the blood flood up from his neck to his hairline. He had not long revealed the fact to her that he and her old friend, and sometimes too obliging slave, were betrothed, and would be married in the near future.
‘Well, at least we’re back from that uncivilised place in one piece,’ she replied, referring to the castle where they had been staying, rather than the country itself.
Beauchamp coughed delicately into his hand, indistinctly muttering ‘Beecham’ into his hand as he did so. This was a long-running saga with his employer, she insisting on the French pronunciation of his name, and he insisting that she should use the English pronunciation.
As he was the illegitimate son of Lady Amanda’s father, the situation was somewhat unusual. His French mother, ex-lady’s maid to Lady A’s mother, naturally pronounced her own name in the French way, but was so très snob about having given birth to the son of a genuine English ‘milord’ that she decided her son should have his surname pronounced in the English way to emphasize where he came from, regardless of on which side of the blanket this phenomenon had occurred. From such simple beginnings had the current disagreement on the name’s pr
onunciation developed.
The man himself had been unable to sleep the previous night, it taking him five whole minutes to slip into the arms of Morpheus, and during this dead time, he had devised the game of ‘Beecham Tennis’. The rules for this game were simple. Every time her ladyship addressed him as ‘Beauchamp’, he would find a pretext for correcting her, albeit in an underhand way. The first one to get to forty points won that particular game. At present, he saw the score as fifteen all.
This, however, was a mixed match, and at the moment, he hadn’t decided how many games and sets there should be to the match. He was not a fan of Wimbledon, and spent – or wasted, as he saw it – virtually no time watching the television. There was always something active to do, rather than just sitting in front of a box in a state of fugue, living life at second-hand
This time it was he who was roused from a brown study by an exclamation from his employer, followed by the words, ‘Good grief, Beauchamp; what do you put in these things?’
‘It has eight ingredients, your ladyship. Should you wish to know the recipe, I should be delighted to enlighten you, if you would care to walk down to the kitchens sometime.’
Lady Amanda had already switched off, though, and returned to her private gloomy thoughts. Beauchamp took advantage of the situation, and coughed discreetly ‘Beecham’ into his hand, and thought, thirty-all.
It was Hugo who brought her back to the here-and-now by asking her if she really minded him having a relative to stay. She replied in a lacklustre manner, ‘I must be honest and say that I don’t particularly like Tabitha; she was a bullying bitch at school and made my life a complete misery, but we’re all grown-ups now, and she must have mellowed over the years.
‘This is your home now, though, and you must treat it as such. Before you lived here, you’d never even have thought of telling her she couldn’t visit you, and I don’t expect you to turn her away and send her to an hotel now. She is welcome here; but if she starts misbehaving like she used to, I shall not hold my tongue. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly clear and reasonable. I say, thanks, old thing,’ replied Hugo, having broached the subject and received what he considered to be a positive reaction.
At that moment, Lady A abandoned the subject of Tabitha’s imminent arrival, and raised the thought that had been troubling her severely. ‘What if Beauchamp buggers off to Enid’s little house in Plague Alley, and just leaves me to get on with things here on my own? What shall I do without him? How will I manage? I’ll – we’ll – have to move into a bungalow somewhere in ghastly suburbia. I don’t think I can face that. Oh, Hugo, what am I going to do? How am I going to manage without him?’
‘I’m sure and certain he doesn’t want to leave his position here. Why don’t you have a discreet word with him and ask him if he would like quarters for the two of them in the Towers? It would be easy enough to create a cosy little apartment for them, and Enid could then be your official dogsbody – sorry, maid – and you could actually pay her for all the things she does for you.’
‘Hugo, you’re a genius. And then she could sell that little box of a house of hers, and they could have some nice outings and, maybe, with the proceeds, she could buy herself a new coat. That old one of hers is getting to be an absolute disgrace.’
She put down her glass and headed for the door, calling, ‘Beauchamp! Beauchamp!’ but for once, he didn’t appear at her elbow and frighten seven shades of shit out of her.
She had just left the drawing room, unexpectedly en route for the domestic quarters, when a cry from that direction froze her in position, as if she were involved in one of those so long-ago games of musical statues, and the music had just stopped.
‘Zut alors!’ she heard, and even her heart was frozen. For all the French-ness of Beauchamp’s early upbringing, she had never heard him utter a word of the Gallic language, and she was chilled by the experience, her own mind following the same track and coming up with an expletive, ‘Sacre bleu!’ Whatever could have happened?
Trotting as fast as she could, considering her somewhat bulky construction, she called out in alarm, ‘Beauchamp, Beauchamp, whatever is the matter? Beauchamp! Is everything all right, Beauchamp?’
She found the manservant furtively muttering ‘Beecham’ into a hand rolled as if to receive a cough, finishing with, ‘Damn and blast, I’ve lost count of the score now.’
‘What the devil’s happened to so disarrange you?’ she asked, in a breathless manner, her mind still caught up in French vocabulary.
‘I was just getting out the plate to give it a polish before we use it tomorrow night for Miss Tabitha’s arrival, when I discovered that we seem to have been victims of a robbery at Belchester Towers. It’s gone; every last piece of it – not even a pepperette left carelessly behind,’ the man finished, having lost complete control of his syntax.
‘What do you mean, gone? How can we have been robbed? Everything was left locked, wasn’t it? No one else has keys except us four!
‘There were plenty of members of staff around in the grounds, involved in the winter clear-up, for security not to be breached. They’d have seen off any shady characters.’
‘Maybe, your ladyship, it was one of our paid helpers who was into a little helping him- or herself.’
‘I find that very unlikely. We take up references on everyone, and no one’s been here less than a year. Somehow, someone has got into the place, and I think it must have been done under cover of darkness, when no one was on duty. We didn’t appoint any security staff; it’s never been necessary in the past.’
‘Well, it might be advisable, in the future, not to leave the place totally unattended again.’ Beauchamp’s face was white with shock. He could not believe someone had been riffling through his pantry in his absence, and he felt almost as if he’d been indecently assaulted, or at least had his underwear drawer disarranged by strange hands.
‘Sit down, man, before you fall down.’ Enid Tweedie had now arrived, having been attracted by the hoarse French curse, and recognising her fiancé’s voice. ‘Whatever has happened, to reduce you to a state like this?’
‘We’ve been robbed, Enid. Someone’s got in and stolen all the plate I wanted to buff up to use tomorrow evening. All the good stuff’s gone.’
‘You spoke that last phrase as if there’s some not-so-good stuff around the place, somewhere.’
‘Well, of course there is, woman. There’s a load of old plate up in the attics that we stopped using when the household invested in the lot that’s been taken.’
‘Why can’t you use that, then?’ asked Enid pragmatically.
‘Because it’s old. Some of the plate has actually worn off, and some of the pieces have suffered disfiguring accidents and are dented.’
‘And will that really be noticed, when it’s all covered in food, the main light is candlelight, and all the diners are involved in earnest conversation, not having seen each other for several years?’
Beauchamp answered this last question with a short period of silence, and one of his old-fashioned looks, while Lady Amanda, not so trusting, was muttering, ‘It’s Tabitha. Of course she’ll notice.’ Clearing her throat as she came to a decision, the Lady of the House suddenly announced, ‘Get thee to the attics, Beauchamp, and seek out the second-best plate. Cinderella shall go to the ball, although she’ll have to put up with a used ballgown.’
She then executed an abrupt about-turn and beetled off to telephone the police to report the theft that had taken place in their absence. She only hoped they could get out to them today, so that the place was not swarming with representatives of law and order when Tabitha arrived on the morrow.
They couldn’t, damn and blast it
Meanwhile, Enid smirked in triumph while her fiancé left the room, discreetly coughing ‘Beecham’ into his hand more than once, to put him ahead on points, even if it was cheating.
Chapter Two
Tuesday
Lady Amanda’s telephone conversati
on with the police station had been with the duty sergeant and had, therefore, been polite and civilised, the sergeant expressing genuine sympathy with her plight.
It was a different story the next day, when Detective Inspector Moody and the newly promoted Detective Sergeant Glenister turned up on her doorstep. ‘Only the very best for the gentry,’ announced Moody sarcastically, as she bade them enter.
‘Good morning, Lady Amanda,’ the sergeant greeted her, with a friendly smile. While Moody treated Lady Amanda and her cronies as enemies, Glenister had always got on with them well, and become a staunch ally, helping out when he could with snippets of otherwise unavailable information, thus aiding the enemy and undermining his superior.
Glenister had also been transferred to plain clothes, and looked as if he had just walked out of a fashion shoot for the trendy section of a buy-it-on-tick catalogue.
‘As you may have noticed and will have to forgive,’ began Moody in his lugubrious voice, ‘I have not dressed up in my Sunday best for the occasion of visiting the local title.’
‘I had noticed that Sgt Glenister was looking particularly sharp, while you are your usual rumpled self. Well, never mind; it shouldn’t affect your ability to detect, should you have managed to develop one.’
Moody scowled at what felt like a slur, and shot a glower at his junior officer. How come his little witticism had fallen so flat? The woman obviously had no sense of humour. He’d waste no more of his gems on her.
She showed the two men into the morning room: so sunny at this time of day and, in fact, chosen for this particular reason to be the room it had become. The carpet was a shade of light blue, while the upholstery and curtains were a cheery butter yellow, adding much to it bright aspect.
‘Do take a seat, gentlemen,’ invited Lady A, although surveying Inspector Moody with a jaundiced eye as she uttered the last word. ‘I shall summon my butler, who will be able to give you more information than I, the particular items stolen being more in his territory than mine.’
As she trotted out of the room, Moody commented, ‘Stuck-up bitch!’
Old Moorhen's Shredded Sporran: The Belchester Chronicles Book 4 Page 1