‘Yes it is, madam,’ said Felix.
‘They’ve broken down and the lady is starting her baby,’ explained the Major. ‘Tricky, what?’
‘Waters broken?’ demanded the woman, instantly grasping the situation.
Connie blushingly confirmed that they had.
‘Contractions?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. Sonia, take her upstairs. She’d best have our room; it’s the driest. Albert, have you done the drips?’
‘What I’m bloody doin,’ innit?’ grumbled the bucket carrier. ‘Can’t hardly keep up with ’em.’
‘Well kindly check them again, especially the ones on the landing. And don’t swear; it’s not nice.’ She offered Felix her hand. ‘Countess of Ickborne. Call me Sybil. How d’yah do?’
‘How do you do, Countess?’ smiled Felix, surprised. ‘I’m Miles Harrison and my wife is Connie.’
‘Don’t suppose you know where you are, do you?’
‘I’m afraid not. We’re bound for Bettishaw, in the New Forest. Just driving through.’
‘Well this mouldering pile is Ickborne Abbey, the jolly old family seat. We’re patching it up, or trying to.’ She gave a jaundiced glance at a trickle of rainwater down the wall. ‘Trouble with the leads at the moment. This her first?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘Thought you had plenty of time, eh? We’d best fetch Dr Cope. He’s young but he’s all right. We’re not on the telephone here but my chauffeur will take you to him. You can organise a repair for your car at the same time.’ She handed the Major a jug. ‘Milk,’ she said.
‘Ah!’ said the Major. ‘Well done.’
Chapter Three
Felix found Connie looking suddenly small and vulnerable in a vast four-poster bed, complete with embroidered drapes. The rest of the room, he guessed, owed its furnishings to the eighteenth century if not earlier, and there was a distinct smell of decay. Sonia was with her. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said amiably. ‘Call me if you need me.’
‘She’s actually very sweet, despite appearances,’ confided Connie. ‘That dress!’
‘Must have been quite a party. How are you doing?’
‘Not too bad so far.’
‘I’m going to fetch a doctor. I won’t be any longer than I can help.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Look, I don’t want to alarm you – I’m sure we’re safe enough – but this is rather a queer set-up.’
‘So I guessed, Mr Harrison.’
Felix chuckled. ‘When in Rome and all that. Our hostess, who has just arrived on a motorbike, identifies herself as the Countess of Ickborne; of whom, I must say, I’ve never heard. It may be true, but she keeps strange company. The fellow she calls her chauffeur – he’s driving me to the doctor, by the way – is a gentleman commonly known as Harry the Dip, real name Harry Saunders, a notorious thief and pickpocket. We haven’t met but I recognised him from his mug shot. Those other fellows are scarcely top drawer either, judging by their language, though the Major and the white tie seem respectable enough. I thought under the circumstances I’d best adopt an alias. If anyone asks, I’m a horse breeder.’
There was a knock at the door and Sonia came in with a tea tray.
‘Not for me thanks,’ said Felix. ‘I’m going for the quack. My wife could do with some company, if you’ve the time. She doesn’t like thunder either.’
Connie raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
‘Don’t expect a Rolls Royce,’ cautioned the chauffeur, still clad in leather coat and boots.
‘Pillion?’ enquired Felix.
‘Sidecar.’
The Countess handed Felix her flying helmet and goggles. ‘You’ll want these. This is Harry, by the way.’
So Harry didn’t mind using his name. Was he a reformed character? It wasn’t impossible, he supposed.
Outside it was now quite dark; the storm still raging. The unseasonable thunder, however, had passed on, though it was still rumbling in the distance. Felix folded his long frame into the sidecar and pulled the tonneau over himself. It didn’t offer much protection but he could scarcely get wetter than he was already.
It seemed they were not going by the main road, his driver plunging and sliding across what he assumed was the abbey’s parkland with the bike’s headlight sweeping across the black shapes of the trees. Judging by the muddy wheel-ruts it was an oft-used route to Ickborne village. This, it transpired, was not far off; a compact sort of place on a minor road. They puttered through it and pulled up beside a detached villa on the outskirts.
‘He’s at home anyway,’ said Harry, pointing to a car in the garage.
Dr Cope was an affable, well-padded bachelor of thirty or so. ‘In you go, Harry,’ he said, ‘and warm yourself up. You’ll remember where the whiskey is, I dare say. Come through to my surgery, Mr Harrison. I’ll just get my things together and we’ll push off. How are they treating you, up there at the Abbey?’
‘Very hospitably,’ said Felix. ‘They about saved our bacon.’
Cope nodded. ‘She’s a good sort, the Countess. All the same, I think the quicker we get your missus out of there the better, frankly. If the place were a slum they’d condemn it. Was Sonia there? Pretty redhead.’
‘Yes she was.’
‘That’s a comfort anyway. She likes to act dumb but she’s a sensible young lady.’ He glanced meaningfully at Felix. ‘They make a nice couple, don’t they, she and the Countess?’
‘You’re not serious are you?’
The doctor chuckled. ‘Ours not to reason why, eh? Is this Mrs Harrison’s first?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘Then we’d best hurry. Did you want to telephone to anyone? That’s if the lines aren’t down.’
‘If I might ring my parents?’ said Felix. ‘They’ll be wondering what’s happened to us. And I’ll need to set up some transport onwards, and a mechanic for my car.’
‘I think that would be a very good idea.’
The calls completed, they bundled into the doctor’s Austin and set off.
‘I should warn you,’ said Felix, ‘the road is flooded.’
‘It’s all right, I’m not going that way. Five minutes, tops.’
‘Do you often get called out there?’
‘Thorn in my side. The working conditions are lethal and they’re not trained to it.
Care to give me your real name, Inspector? I’ll need it for my records.’
Felix boggled at him. ‘How the devil did you work that out?’
‘Not hard. Doctors get pretty beady, you know. You’ve a police issue revolver in your pocket. It wouldn’t normally show but your overcoat is wet and the pocket’s gaping. Given your age and general demeanour I make you an inspector at least. I also know something about our mutual friend, or can guess. I once had occasion to remove a load of buckshot from his situpon. He had his story, of course, but I wasn’t buying it. No doubt you recognised him. Best to adopt an alias, under the circumstances.’
‘Right on all counts! I am replete with admiration. My name is . . .’
The doctor raised a hand. ‘No, don’t tell me. There’s more. The rather unusual shape of your earlobes suggests to me that your father is a surgeon, possibly turned country GP. Am I right?’
Felix burst out laughing. ‘Cope, you absolute dog!’
‘For whom I did locum, not three years ago, and saw you briefly. And that’s no way to address a man about to deliver your firstborn. Damn and blast! Tree down.’
They got out and gazed up at it. ‘We’ll never shift that,’ said Felix. ‘Back the other way?’
The doctor shook his head. It’ll be quicker to run. Come on!’
The steep and wooded path from the road to the Abbey had become an ankle-deep torrent, up which they were obliged to scramble, Cope clinging grimly to hi
s bag.
‘Was there ever such a night?’ said Felix, shoving at the door.
‘You won’t forget it in a hurry. Evening, Sybil. Hello, what’s this? Started without me, has she? I won’t charge any less, you know.’
There came the unmistakable sounds of advanced parturition, causing Felix to dash upstairs two at a time. ‘Is she all right?’ He demanded.
‘Perfectly,’ said Sonia. ‘No gentlemen in here, thank you. Except you of course, Doctor. Hello.’
‘Hello Sonia,’ said Dr Cope. ‘Go and find a drink, Harrison. And pour one for me. If you feel any contractions, try to breath through them.’
The Major had already anticipated them, handing him a chipped glass. ‘How’s she doing?’ he asked.
‘I’m told “perfectly,”’ said Felix. He cocked a horrified ear. ‘Good heavens, can that really be my wife?’
‘Amazing what they’ll come out with, eh?’ said the Major. ‘Words you didn’t think they knew. She’ll be all right with old Cope though. Salt of the earth, what? Mind that drip.’
‘Do you actually live here, any of you?’ asked Felix, as a small Niagara disgorged into a nearby bucket.
‘Not me. I’m just visiting. Sybil’s a pal of mine. Those other fellows do. Not sure where they sleep. Somewhere dry, I hope. I think she feeds ’em hay in the winter and grass in the summer. Still, they seem happy enough.’
‘I don’t live here either,’ said Swindon, observing Felix with a quizzical eye. ‘What’s your line, then?’
‘Insofar as I stoop to vulgar toil,’ said Felix, ‘I breed gee-gees. I’ve a half share in a stud farm.’
‘Any winners?’
‘Yes, but not what you’re thinking of; it’s ponies for children. What about you?’
But before the man could answer there came the sound of another vehicle ascending the drive. Too soon, surely, to be their rescuers?
‘For me, I expect,’ said the Countess, stepping outside. ‘Heaven be praised! The rain has stopped. Hello young man. Don’t bother to unload now. Put it round the back and come and warm up.’
Standing a little to one side, Felix saw a small tipper lorry. There was no clue as to what it might contain. The driver and his mate came in and were introduced. ‘What a night, eh?’ he said.
‘As you might be able to hear,’ said the Countess, ‘Mr Harrison’s wife is upstairs, swelling the population of the world.’
The man smiled. ‘A maternity hospital now is it?’
Dr Cope appeared on the stairs. ‘Mr Harrison, come and meet your daughter. She’s a bit mucky but I don’t suppose you’ll mind that.’
Chapter Four
‘This is a horse, Abigail,’ said Felix, holding her up to look. ‘You’ll be seeing a lot of these.’
‘You’re not proposing to name her that, are you?’ frowned Winifred Harrison. ‘I thought you were joking.’
‘Not joking at all, Mother,’ said Connie. ‘Her name is Abigail Winifred Lavinia Felix. We thought you’d be pleased.’
‘Thank you, dear. I am, naturally, and I’m sure Lavinia will be too. You do realise, I suppose, that Abigail’s a servant’s name — a general term for a servant?’
‘Yes, Mummy, a hundred years ago.’
‘It still is to most people. Why choose that?’
‘Tell her, Miles,’ said Connie.
‘Why me?’
‘Because you agreed to it. It was a joint decision.’
Felix glanced at Humphrey Harrison, who could usually be relied upon to back him up.
‘No good looking at me,’ said Humphrey. ‘You’re on your own there, old chap.’
‘All right then,’ said Felix, shifting his daughter a little higher on his shoulder. ‘Because, dear Mother-in-law, she was born in an abbey in a gale. It’s a play on words. It also means beloved of her father, which she is.’
‘You see?’ said Connie. ‘What could be more appropriate? Anyway, it sounds nice and it’s unusual.’
‘It’s certainly that. Suppose you’d gone by train. Would you have called her Basingstoke? Her teachers will despise her, she’ll be bullied in the playground and no-one will want to marry her. Her life will be blighted. What about Agatha if you want an “A”? That’s a nice, normal name.’
‘Agatha!’ cried the horrified parents.
‘What’s wrong with Agatha? It hasn’t done Mrs Christie any harm.’
‘I’ll bet she wouldn’t have chosen it.’
‘Can I hold her now?’ pleaded Daisy. ‘I haven’t held her once this afternoon.’
‘No you can’t,’ said Felix, dancing away from his sister. ‘She’s mine, all mine!’
‘You can change her then,’ said Connie. ‘She stinks.’
‘I thought it was the horse,’ said Felix, handing her back.
◆◆◆
‘. . . deeply eccentric, but quite a likeable character,’ Felix was saying. ‘I’d never heard of her but she’s real enough. I checked. The Marquis died in the war and she appears to share her damp and mouldering bed with the aforementioned Sonia. Again, very charming. The local doctor seems rather taken with her and Connie thinks she’s wonderful. We thought at first she was a bit of a tart, with her party dress halfway up her thighs, but it turned out she’s a cabaret dancer. She had her dancing partner there. Nice chap.’
‘Interesting!’ chuckled Chief Superintendent Polly. ‘Shows how you can get it all wrong. What should we do about Saunders?’
‘Nothing. Maybe he really is going straight.’
‘Well that’ll teach you to service the car. However . . .’ He pulled forward Felix’s latest report. ‘The suicide. Was it one?’
‘Yes it was. You have to be rather determined to drink bleach, and according to Benyson she knocked it straight back. I’m more interested in what drove her to it. She was only fifteen — a child.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘I’d say shame, laced with despair. She was a plain little thing, not the brightest, and with a new stepfather who probably didn’t want her back. That job was all she had, and she must have felt she’d let them down.’
‘Would they have sacked her, do you think?’
‘No, that’s the tragedy of it. Her mistress seemed quite fond of her and was very cut up about it, or professed to be. It was she who found her, of course. I’d like to nail the beggars, if I can.’
‘“I’m here to sterilise the telephone receiver.” You’d think she’d have been wise to that one. Were they insured?’
‘Yes they were. It’s only a theory about the telephone. Someone hadn’t screwed the mouthpiece up properly. She was a bit young to have acquired a dicey boyfriend so it’s unlikely to have been that. I’m not saying we’ll get them for this one but it’s not the first around there and I don’t suppose it’ll be the last. I’d like to hang onto the case for a week or two. You never know; we might see a pattern.’
‘Much taken?’
‘Table silver mostly, but some quite valuable jewellery inherited from Mrs Jackson’s mother. He pinched the garden door key, we think, and let himself in while she was at the shops.’
‘Who’s the local man?’
‘Sergeant Welby. It’s only a small station.’
‘Capable?’
‘Seems all right.’
Polly considered. ‘There’s no suggestion she was forced or inveigled into drinking the stuff?’
‘I can’t make it other than suicide.’
‘Then I don’t think we can justify taking it further. Sorry.’
Felix had his hand on the doorhandle when Polly called him back. ‘Look, I’ll give you another week, no longer. Though I don’t know what else you can do.’
‘Thank you, sir. That’s appreciated.’
The superintendent smiled sympathetically. ‘I know what yo
u’re thinking; that she could have been yours. You’re stuck with that now, I’m afraid, like the rest of us.’
‘Couple of things,’ said Rattigan as Felix re-entered their office. ‘First, I’ve found your Major Parker. Perfectly respectable. Widower, lives in Tunbridge Wells, member of the Army and Navy.’
‘Well that sews that up. Thanks, Teddy. What was the second thing?’
‘Jackson. He’s had county court judgements against him for debt. Three in the last five years.’
‘Has he now!’ Felix turned as a familiar figure entered the room. ‘John, hello! Are you back with us?’
‘If you want me, sir,’ said John Nash, shaking hands all round. ‘Clare insisted really. She’s streets better than a month ago, especially since we moved. We’ve had a telephone put in, and Paul’s Mary says she can always ring if she’s feeling frightened or under the weather. I think she’ll be all right, though.’
‘Well, that’s marvellous! Welcome back. We could have done with you last week. Young lady killed herself.’ He turned to the others. ‘Polly’s given us another week, by the way. Blood from a stone if ever there was, so we’d best make the most of it.’
◆◆◆
‘She visits her daughter on Wednesday afternoons; that I do know,’ said Sergeant Welby, pouring them tea. He was a stout, red-faced, man, somehow typifying the country copper. ‘Gets back about four in order to start the evening meal. They had a cook as well as a maid at one time but she left for some reason and they didn’t replace her.’
‘Struggling financially?’ suggested Rattigan.
‘That I can’t say. They don’t give ’em up lightly, do they? They live a bit high to my way of thinking, for round here anyway.’
Death in Patent Leather (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 7) Page 2