Murder in Cold Mud

by Emily Organ

  “I hadn’t really considered it.”

  “You can see it in the noses of men his age with their enlarged nasal cavities.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “I should think so. Oh look, Pembers, is that the orangery over there?”

  Churchill pointed at a section of building that appeared to reflect the night sky.

  “It looks like glass. It could be.”

  “I wonder if it has any oranges in it. I have to say that it irks me when I come across an orangery without oranges in it.”

  “I suppose the word orangery is just another name for a tropical hothouse, so in theory it could house a whole range of flora.”

  “I suppose it could. But it should still contain oranges.”

  “By the sounds of it, Downs and Harris have been up to something next to the orangery.”

  “I can’t imagine what.”

  “Hopefully we shall find out in just a moment.”

  The two ladies walked carefully along a winding gravel path. Churchill repeatedly glanced up at the huge dark shadow of the house, fearful that another light would flicker on at any moment.

  “What if the colonel discovers us here? What will our explanation be?” asked Pemberley.

  “He won’t, and if, by any chance, he does we shall simply say that we wished to see the beauty of Ashleigh Grange by night.”

  “Without his invitation?”

  “We can add that we had no wish to disturb him.”

  “I can’t see him accepting such an explanation without any argument.”

  “He won’t find us here, Pembers, don’t you worry.”

  They reached the orangery and began to walk slowly around it.

  “I don’t really know what we’re looking for,” said Churchill. “There are a few boulders lying about but nothing else of note. I do hope Mr Harding was correct. He wouldn’t have led us on a wild goose chase, would he?”

  Pemberley stooped down. “These aren’t boulders,” she said. “They’re a cylindrical shape. Have a feel.”

  Churchill tentatively reached down with her hand and quickly leapt back.

  “Good grief!” She smothered a shriek and her blood ran cold. “It’s a human head!”

  “That’s my head, Mrs Churchill,” said Pemberley. “I’m just going to quickly switch on my torch so we can see what’s lying on the ground here. I’ll do a quick on-and-off, and hopefully that won’t cause any problems for us.”

  “Make it a quick on-and-off, Pembers. Very quick indeed.”

  The brief flash of light told them everything they needed to know.

  “Marrows,” said Pemberley.

  Chapter 27

  “Impossible,” said Churchill. “Marrows don’t grow to that size. Give us another quick on-and-off, Pembers.”

  Pemberley gave another flash of the torch.

  “Goodness! Are they really marrows?” said Churchill. “I’ve seen hippos smaller than those things.”

  “Have you really?”

  “No, not really, but the comparison gives you an idea of my great astonishment.”

  “Don’t forget that Mr Rumbold told us his largest marrow from last year was heavier than his wife.”

  “Oh yes, I remember now… That’s it Pembers!”

  “What is?”

  “These marrows must be the ones Rumbold was keeping secret! How many are there? It looks like three to me. Pemberley, I do believe that Mr Harding has led us straight to Rumbold’s secret marrows.”

  “They can’t be all that secret if Downs and Harris know about them.”

  “They may know about them now, but perhaps they didn’t when Rumbold informed us of their existence.”

  “Or perhaps they did know, but Rumbold didn’t realise they knew,” suggested Pemberley.

  “That may be true. I’m beginning to feel rather confused.”

  “So who knew about the secret marrows? And why are they secret?”

  “Two pertinent questions, my trusty assistant,” replied Churchill, “and I have no immediate answers to offer. There’s no doubt the colonel knows about them. One could hardly miss these gargantuan vegetables plonked next to one’s orangery.”

  “I’m surprised he wasn’t tempted to ask his cook to whip one of them up into a stew.”

  “Have you ever eaten marrow, Pembers? It’s the most tasteless substance known to man. It’s like eating water, only with a slightly chewy consistency. And with pips in. Marrows are only useful for one thing, and that’s being nurtured into oversized vegetabilia by men with dirty fingernails.”

  “They could be useful for storing things in,” added Pemberley.

  “Storing things? Why would anyone put something inside a marrow instead of using an item designed specifically for storage, such as a box, cupboard or drawer?”

  “To hide something, perhaps.”

  “If you had something to hide, you’d hide it in a marrow, would you?”

  “No, but someone has.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll do a quick on-and-off again, and while I do so take a look at the marrow on the far right. It has some ribbon tied around it as if it’s holding the vegetable together. I think someone has sliced it open, scooped out the innards, placed something inside and tied it back up.”

  “Goodness, Pembers, you have such a fertile imagination. Go on, then, give us another flash.”

  In the brief wink of light Churchill observed some wide green ribbon wrapped around one of the marrows, just as Pemberley had described.

  “You’re right, Pembers! I wonder what’s going on there. Let’s undo the ribbon and find out.”

  “Can we be sure we’ll be able to wrap it back up again just as it was?”

  “I’ve bandaged a few arms in my time, I’m sure we’ll manage.”

  The two ladies shuffled carefully toward the tied-up marrow in the dark and stooped down to feel for the ribbon with their fingers.

  “I’ve got it, Pembers. I can feel a knot of some sort, and I think it should come undone quite easily. There we go… Oh no, that’s pulled it tighter now. Is there another knot somewhere? Here we are… No, that’s not doing anything.”

  “We could cut it with my penknife.”

  “Yes, let’s just do that. My patience is beginning to wear thin in these damp breeches.”

  There was a lot of fumbling about in the dark as Pemberley tried to find her penknife in her pocket, then attempted to cut the ribbon around the marrow. She was eventually successful.

  “The marrow is open!” she whispered.

  “So what’s inside it?”

  After a little more fumbling, Churchill’s question was answered with a jingling sound.

  “Coins!” exclaimed Pemberley in a loud whisper. “And lots of them!”

  “Really?” said Churchill. “I’ll do a quick on-and-off with my torch so we can get a quick look.”

  She turned it on and was dazzled by a hoard of glinting gold.

  She gasped. “Are those sovereigns?”

  “Yes,” said Pemberley. “Now turn your light off.”

  Churchill fidgeted about with her torch. “I can’t. It won’t.”

  “Let me do it, then.”

  Pemberley reached over and tried to flip the switch. “Darn it! It’s jammed.”

  “I know it is. Why do you think I couldn’t turn it off?”

  “You’ll have to cover it up with your hands.”

  Churchill did so, and a faint pink-tinged light was all that remained.

  “Good,” said Pemberley. “Now, let me have a look at these coins.”

  “Do you need more light?”

  “A tiny bit.”

  “Watch how, with a careful adjustment of my hand, I’m able to control the direction and intensity of light.”

  “That’s very good,” replied Pemberley, inspecting the coins. “There must be a fortune here! Let’s count it.”

  “Oh, must we? Can’t we just agree that it’s a lot?�
�

  “It’ll help us work out roughly how much is here. I think it could be around two hundred pounds.”

  “Good grief, Pembers! Really?”

  “Just a smidgen more light, please, and then I’ll be able to count.”

  “I can’t. It appears to have expired.” Churchill fidgeted with the switch on her torch. “Nope, it’s gone. What a contrary thing. You’ll have to use yours.”

  “I think I’ll manage without it. It’s too risky turning all these lights on and off.”

  Churchill leant up against the orangery for a little while, listening to the faint jingle of coins.

  “Finished yet, Pembers?”

  “Almost.”

  Churchill asked the same question twice more and received the same response.

  “It’s no good,” she said with a sigh. “These breeches are much too uncomfortable now. I’m sure the damp has caused them to shrink. I can tell by the tone in your voice that you’re going to be a while yet, and as it’s a mild night I’m just going to remove them and give them an airing.”

  “No, please don’t.”

  “It’s pitch black, Pembers! No one will be able to tell whether I’m wearing them or not. If it’s any consolation to you – and there is no need for consolation, but I shall provide it anyway – my undergarments are both substantially sized and supportive. They’re the ones I always wear when there’s a brisk wind with a cold nip.”

  “You’re giving me too much information and now I’ve lost count.”

  Churchill tutted. “These are coming off, then.”

  She lay her wet breeches out on one of the marrows to dry and sauntered a few steps to and fro.

  “That feels better. Sometimes a nice airing is all that’s needed. It really is a pleasant night, isn’t it, Pemberley? I was about to recite a poem about the night just then, but I can’t remember it now. Some poetic words dropped into my mind, but just as I tried to put them together they disappeared again. Do you ever find that?”

  “Eighty-nine, ninety. Do I ever find what?”

  “That you struggle to remember poetry?”

  “Sometimes. Where did I get to? Ninety, was it?”

  “Yes.”

  “’Twas a warm, dark night and all the stars—”

  “Ninety-three. Sorry, what?”

  “The stars, Pembers.”

  “Stars?”

  Just then, the crack of a gunshot rang out, its ear-splitting sound echoing in the darkness.

  Chapter 28

  “Colonel Slingsby, I wish to emphatically state that it is not a habit of mine to be sitting about in the drawing rooms of stately homes with little more than a humble travel blanket covering my nether regions,” said Churchill.

  The colonel stood in the centre of the room with a shotgun under his arm. He wore a quilted silk dressing gown and an elasticated moustache protector around his scowling face. Pemberley sat in a cane chair next to Churchill, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.

  A large tiger head snarled down at them from above the fireplace and a cheetah skin covered the hearthrug. A portrait of a military man with an enormous moustache hung over a heavy wooden sideboard carved with elephants.

  “There’s a perfectly simple explanation for all this, Colonel,” ventured Churchill.

  “Good. I feared it would be a long-winded one,” he replied.

  “Yes, it’s perfectly simple, you see, and it’s all Inspector Mappin’s fault.”

  The colonel raised an eyebrow. “Mappin? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “He prohibited us from speaking to you; therefore, it was quite impossible to politely request that we carry out some reconnaissance on your land.”

  “What the devil were you looking for?”

  “Well, for some time now rumours have abounded in Compton Poppleford about Mr Rumbold’s secret marrows. My trusty assistant and I had no idea where to begin looking for them, but then we received a tip-off that there was an item of interest located close to your orangery. Having no idea what that item might be, we were wholeheartedly surprised to discover the legendary marrows there.”

  “Legendary, are they?”

  “Indeed, Colonel. You have been harbouring one of the village’s greatest secrets.”

  “And about two hundred gold sovereigns,” added Pemberley.

  “It’s two hundred this time, is it?”

  “What do you mean by this time, Colonel?” asked Churchill.

  “It’s the bribes those gardeners keep leaving for me. I’m quite tired of it, to be honest with you. Wish they’d leave me alone. Who tipped you off?”

  “I cannot reveal my source.”

  “Bet it was Harding. Man can’t keep anything to himself.”

  “No, it wasn’t him,” replied Churchill in an odd, strangulated voice that didn’t sound like her own.

  “It was definitely Harding.”

  A tall, sombre butler entered the room with three glasses of whiskey on a salver and presented each of them with a glass. Churchill took one, astonished that the man was up and working at such an ungodly hour.

  “Thank you, Higgs,” said the colonel.

  “Anyway, Colonel Slingsby,” said Churchill. “We’d be extremely grateful if you’d agree not to mention this little night-time visit to anyone, and in return we won’t mention that you almost blew our heads off with your shotgun.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I didn’t fire anywhere near your heads. I fired into the sky.”

  “And without a bullet, no doubt,” said Pemberley. “I assume you were firing blanks.”

  “No, there was a bullet all right,” replied the Colonel. “Went right up into the sky.”

  “But presumably it had to come down again?”

  “Wouldn’t do anyone any harm if it did.”

  “I’d say that it would!” replied Pemberley. “It’s terribly dangerous, Colonel!”

  “But the outcome would be well deserved for anyone found trampling over my land in the dead of night. Dangerous business in itself. A chap’s entitled to defend his property. Fire first, ask questions second. Did it in the Punjab all the time.”

  “Well, I suppose it worked,” said Churchill. “It certainly frightened me out of my wits. I don’t think I’ll ever get back into them again.”

  “It was terribly heavy-handed,” said Pemberley. “A quiet word would have sufficed.”

  The colonel snorted. “If a chap hears trespassers on his land in the middle of the night he’s perfectly entitled to fire off a few rounds. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with! A quiet word would hardly suffice if he’s facing a crowd of hooligans armed with shovels and pickaxes! In fact, if a chap hears trespassers on his land in the middle of the night he comes to expect that he’ll be faced with a few hooligans. What he doesn’t expect to find is two old ladies, one of whom only has half her clothes on!”

  Churchill felt her face redden. “I had suffered some dreadful chafing, Colonel, caused by an unfortunate incident in a wet ditch. You must have experienced similar levels of discomfort, especially in the Punjab with all that heat and perspiration.”

  “Never!”

  “I see. Well, the most pressing question now, I suppose, is what do the marrows and the money have to do with Mr Rumbold’s sad demise?”

  “Blowed if I know. Nothing, probably.”

  “But what do you know about the marrows, Colonel?”

  “Rumbold planted them and told me he didn’t want anyone else to know they were there. But Stropper Harris spotted them from the window of the library and Tubby Williams happened upon them one day when he and I went out shooting. You can’t keep giant marrows secret for long, can you? No one pays much attention to them when they’re those little courgette things, they’re harmless then. But once they’re larger than the average family dog there’s no hiding them.”

  “Who put the money in them? And what’s it for?”

  “Don’t kno
w who, but it’ll be a bribe, like I said. Another whiskey, please, Higgs. And bring me my pipe, too. Would you like another whiskey, Mrs Churchill? Miss Pemberley?”

  “No, we’re fine, thank you, Colonel. I should put my breeches back on and then we can be on our way.”

  “And wash your face too,” muttered Pemberley.

  “Oh I’d forgotten about that,” whispered Churchill. “Is it still covered in mud?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do believe my valet is putting your breeches through the wringer, Mrs Churchill,” said the Colonel. “Higgs will bring them in when they’re done. I’ll wake Pattison the chauffeur up and ask him to drive you both home.”

  “Oh no, please don’t wake him. We can bicycle back. It’s no trouble at all.”

  “Actually, it is,” said Pemberley. “Remember the difficulties you had staying on it?”

  “It was the bicycle, Miss Pemberley, and I shall be able to cope with the homeward journey with no trouble at all. It’s mostly downhill.”

  “No it’s not!” protested Pemberley. “It’s mostly uphill!”

  “Please stop disagreeing with me, Miss Pemberley. I don’t want to trouble the colonel any further this evening. It’s important that his chauffeur has a good night’s sleep.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” replied the colonel. “I often wake him in the middle of the night and ask him to take me somewhere. Rarely get a good night’s sleep myself. Must admit that I’m still at a loss as to why two fine, genteel ladies such as yourselves were trespassing on my land in the dead of night. Trespassing is the sort of thing that drives a chap wild with anger until he realises he’s dealing with two harmless old ladies. Then it quite deflates a man and leaves him out of sorts.”

  “I apologise once again, Colonel,” said Mrs Churchill. “With hindsight it was a rather foolish venture.”

  “Usually when a chap gets fired up he can take it out on the reprobate who caused the upset in the first place. But there is no outlet for a man’s ire when faced with two members of the fairer sex. One feels rather pent up.”