by Emily Organ
“Would you have preferred to box our ears, Colonel?”
“Well, I would have done, truth be told. Ah, thank you, Higgs.” The colonel took his pipe and whiskey from the butler’s salver. “But a fellow can’t go around boxing a lady’s ears. That would be quite unthinkable!”
“I’d say you’d be quite justified in doing so,” said Churchill. “We were rather silly, weren’t we, Miss Pemberley?”
“We were carrying out an investigation,” replied Pemberley sulkily.
“You won’t do it again, will you, ladies?”
“We promise, Colonel Slingsby. Never again,” said Churchill earnestly.
“Suppose that’s sorted then. All rather confuddling, if I may say so, but what else is there to add? On with the day, I reckon. I quite like breakfasting early. Tell you what, Mrs Churchill, how about I do what I can to help you with your investigation into these gardener sorts? I don’t quite understand what you’re looking for, but I do admire a chap – or occasionally a woman – who takes his or her initiative in such matters. I’ll assist where I can. How about I have the minutes of the meetings for the Compton Poppleford Horticultural Society sent down to you? There may be a nugget or two in there, or there may be nothing at all.”
“Thank you, Colonel, how helpful of you.”
Higgs returned to the room carrying something on top of his salver.
“Your breeches, ma’am,” he said to Churchill, lowering the salver so that she could see her neatly folded trousers lying on top of it.
“Thank you,” she replied with a blush. “How politely presented.”
“Please wake Miss Flint so she can escort Mrs Churchill to my mother’s dressing room to change,” the colonel said to his butler.
“Of course, sir.”
“My housekeeper will help you look presentable again, Mrs Churchill.”
“Oh, don’t wake her on my account, Colonel!”
“She usually rises at two o’clock in the morning anyway,” replied the colonel. “It’s only an hour earlier than usual.”
Chapter 29
“I think I’ll lie low for a couple of days, Pembers,” said Churchill as she nursed a cup of tea at her desk the following morning. “That was a rather mortifying situation to find ourselves in. Thank goodness I have a nice plate of iced fancies to comfort me.”
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d kept your breeches on,” replied Pemberley.
“Despite my best attempts to explain it to you, my trusty assistant, you fail to understand how unbearable chafing can become. I thought I would be quite safe in the dark in the middle of the night. How did I know the colonel was about to blast us with his shotgun?”
“We should have guessed that it was at least a possibility.”
“We thought he was asleep, Pembers! I don’t think we could have predicted any of last night’s events, and they’ve left me feeling rather red-faced. The only consolation, I suppose, is that the colonel has agreed not to breathe a word of it to anyone, and especially not to that dreadful Inspector Mappin.”
They heard the door open downstairs, followed by heavy footsteps on the staircase.
“It sounds like we have a new client,” she said hopefully. “I quite fancy taking on a new case, don’t you? I’m tired of grubby gardeners and marrows and saucepans and gun-toting colonels. I think a nice quiet murder in a vicarage would suit me perfectly. In the library with a dagger, which is actually a letter opener but can also make for an effective murder weapon.”
“Morning, ladies!” Inspector Mappin tapped on the open door as he cheerfully stepped into the room.
Churchill felt her heart sink.
“And how are you both this morning?” he added with a grin.
“You’re unusually frolicsome today, Inspector,” commented Churchill sourly. “Has there been a development in the case?”
“No. No development at all,” he replied, removing his helmet and sitting down on the chair opposite Churchill.
“So what then?”
“Feeling tired, Mrs Churchill?”
“No, I’m fine. Why?”
“I heard you were engaged in some interesting antics up at Ashleigh Grange last night,” said Mappin with a wink.
“Oh, damn and blast it!” retorted Churchill, slamming her tea cup down onto its saucer. “I should never have trusted the colonel not to say anything!”
“Oh no, I didn’t hear it from him,” replied the Inspector. “It wouldn’t be right for a gentleman to gad about town talking about partially clad ladies finding their way into his home in the dead of night.”
“Then who? Where did you hear about it? Not that I’m admitting there’s any truth in what you’ve heard. It’s little more than back-fence talk.”
“The colonel’s housekeeper, Miss Flint, told the wife at the greengrocer’s this morning.”
“Whose wife?”
“My wife.”
Churchill gave an angry snort. “The housekeeper should know better! In fact, she should be sworn to secrecy! The colonel will hear about this and have her fired.”
“I doubt it. Miss Flint has worked at Ashleigh Grange since the colonel was in short trousers.”
“Surely she’s not that old, is she?” said Pemberley.
“Oh, she is, Pembers,” said Churchill. “A doddery old biddy with a half-working brain to boot. They should have put her out to pasture years ago.”
“I’ve always had the greatest respect for Miss Flint,” said Inspector Mappin. “She’s the keystone of Compton Poppleford.”
“Is that so? Well, in that case the village is doomed. Why did I ever leave London to live here, Pembers?”
“The purpose of my visit to you this morning, Mrs Churchill, is to find out what the devil you and Miss Pemberley were up to in the grounds of Ashleigh Grange in the dead of night.”
“We were achieving far more than you and your men, Inspector, that’s for sure.”
“What did you achieve exactly?”
“It’s a secret.”
“Mrs Churchill, I’m sure you don’t need me to inform you that deliberately withholding information which would assist a police investigation is a crime in itself?”
“I couldn’t say whether it would assist you or not, Inspector.”
“Let me be the judge of that. Now, what were you doing there? You cannot expect me to believe that it was a little nocturnal perambulation to soothe the senses.”
“That’s exactly what it was, Inspector! You have an excellent nose for sniffing out people’s motives. I can tell.”
“I do indeed, which is why I happen to know that a nocturnal perambulation was not the reason for your hanging about in the colonel’s marrow patch.”
“Ah now, you’ve touched on a pertinent point there, Inspector. They’re not the colonel’s marrows.”
“Whose are they, then?”
“They’re Rumbold’s secret marrows, Inspector.”
“How did you know they were there?”
“We were tipped off that there was something of note there, but we didn’t know exactly what it was.”
“And how does this fit in with the murders of Rumbold and Williams?”
“We have no idea, Inspector. Do you?”
“No. None.”
“Perhaps it’s little more than a red herring, Inspector,” conjectured Churchill.
“In the shape of a green marrow,” added Pemberley.
“It could be indeed,” said Inspector Mappin. “The next time you receive such a tip-off, why don’t you simply consult me or one of my men? It would be preferable to you trespassing across the colonel’s land in a state of undress.”
“I wouldn’t have dared mention it to you, Inspector, given that you are always accusing me of meddling.”
“I don’t always—”
“Ah, but you do. Poor little old me! I’m fearful of mentioning anything to you at all these days seeing as you’re so determined to embark on that meddling speech ever
y time we meet.” Churchill pushed out her lower lip as though her feelings were hurt.
“Come now, Mrs Churchill, I’m always interested in hearing intriguing tip-offs. The only thing that bothers me is when you get yourself too involved.”
“Have you ever known me to get too involved in something I shouldn’t, Inspector?”
“Well yes, actually.”
“There you go again! It’s no wonder I try to keep things to myself.”
“Mrs Churchill, I’m sure a balance can be struck between you passing on useful information and trampling all over my cases like a bull let loose in a paddock.”
“Are you likening me to a loose bull, Inspector?”
“Not at all, Mrs Churchill.”
“Well, it sounded very much like you were. And in the case of Rumbold’s marrows, I don’t think there is anything relevant to report. It’s completely irrelevant, in fact.”
“I think you may be right, Mrs Churchill. You must understand that I needed to visit you to find out more once I’d heard about the trespassing incident.”
“Has the colonel reported it to you?”
“No, I only heard about it from the wife.”
“If the good man himself hasn’t reported it, and I doubt he will, then no charges will be brought and you really have no business stepping in here and snooping about.”
“Mrs Churchill, I was merely visiting you to find out what had happened.”
“Nothing of any interest to you, Inspector, and we’ve already ascertained that Rumbold’s marrows are irrelevant to your investigation, so there’s no need for you to pry any further.”
Inspector Mappin scratched his head. “Well no, I don’t suppose there is.”
“Have you found out who the owner of the frying pan is, Inspector?”
“How do you know about the frying pan?”
“We saw one of the Bulchford constables with it shortly after they’d fished it out of the duck pond.”
“We’re still trying to establish who the owner of that particular piece of cookware might be.”
“It has to be the murder weapon, doesn’t it?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Why else would someone throw their frying pan into the duck pond if they weren’t trying to cover up the fact that they’d whacked a gardener on the bonce with it?”
“That’s a good question, Mrs Churchill, but there may well be a logical explanation for that.”
“Pfft. I sincerely doubt it. The frying pan was clearly used to clonk Mr Rumbold over the head. You need to find out who it belongs to as a matter of urgency.”
“Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Mrs Churchill. We’re working on it.”
“Good. Now don’t let us detain you a moment longer, Inspector. We know you’re a busy man.”
“Indeed I am, Mrs Churchill.” He stood and put his helmet on. “We have a murderer to catch, after all.”
“So you do. Now toddle off and get on with it.”
The two women waited for the Inspector to walk down the staircase before speaking again.
“Why didn’t you tell Inspector Mappin about the money in the marrow?” Pemberley asked.
“Oh, you know what he’s like. He’d get himself over-excited and in a bother about it all. The marrow money can be our little secret, Pembers.”
“And the colonel’s.”
“Oh yes, and his as well. I shouldn’t think he’ll go shouting about it around town.”
“Miss Flint will probably do that for him.”
“No doubt she will. Dreadful woman. She’s almost as bad as Mrs Thonnings.”
“What’s wrong with Mrs Thonnings?”
“Everything, Pembers. Now let’s update our incident board and decide what we should do next.”
“I thought you wished to lie low for a few days.”
“What’s the point? With Miss Flint telling everyone about our antics last night the whole village will know by lunchtime. I may as well get on with it and hold my head high.”
“That’s the spirit, Mrs Churchill.”
“Delivery!” came a shout up the stairs.
“Come on up!”
“It’s too ’eavy!”
“Let’s go and help the delivery boy, Pembers. I suspect he’s brought the minutes from the meetings of the Compton Poppleford Horticultural Society. No doubt they’ll provide the perfect read for whenever we have trouble sleeping.”
Chapter 30
After spending a pleasant morning updating the incident board and case file, Churchill and Pemberley repaired to Mrs Bramley’s Tea Rooms for a sandwich.
“Hopefully we’ll catch that Flatboot girl once and for all,” said Churchill as she inspected the chair for sturdiness before sitting down in it. “There she is again with that scowl on her face. A grumpy expression is so terribly ageing, don’t you think? I always make a point of smiling at myself in the mirror first thing every morning. It lifts the facial muscles. Do you do that, Pembers?”
“I don’t have any mirrors at home,” replied Pemberley.
“Don’t you? Perhaps I should have guessed that. Oh look, here comes Flatface.”
Kitty Flatboot approached the table and gave Churchill a sour look as she readied herself with her notepad.
“What you havin’?” she asked.
“I’ll have an egg salad sandwich, please, with sliced radishes. The same for you, Miss Pemberley?”
“Just cucumber for me, please.”
“With egg salad?”
“No, just cucumber on its own, please.”
“And a pot of tea for two as well, please, waitress. No smile today?”
“Why you always talkin’ about smilin’?”
“Because there isn’t a great deal of it going on around here. I think, as a nation, we need to do more smiling. Don’t you agree, Pembers?” asked Churchill with a forced grin.
“I don’t think smiling comes naturally to the British,” replied Pemberley. “I think we’re all worried that it makes us look suspicious.”
“What nonsense.”
“I know that I feel suspicious of people who smile a lot. I always assume they’re trying to make up for something.”
“Please bring our order quickly, won’t you, waitress? My secretary is rather hungry and it’s making her terribly grumpy.”
Kitty Flatboot gave a sulky nod and departed.
“You can be glum company sometimes, Pemberley. I was only trying to sprinkle a little cheery dust about the place.”
“Oh look, Mr Harding is sitting just over there,” said Pemberley.
Churchill felt a rush of heat to her face. “Is he now?”
“Yes, just there. Look!”
“It would be rude to turn round and stare at him, Pembers.”
Churchill’s face felt warmer still as she watched Pemberley wave at the shop owner. She felt certain he would have heard about the incident at Ashleigh Grange by this stage.
“He’s coming over,” said Pemberley.
“Well, I’m sure there’s no need for that. Oh hello, Mr Harding. How are you?”
Churchill picked up the menu card and fanned herself with it in a desperate bid to cool her face down.
Mr Harding’s eyes twinkled. “I’m very well thank you, Mrs Churchill. And you?”
“I can’t complain, Mr Harding. Thank you for asking.”
“Oh good. We certainly don’t want any complaining, do we?”
“I can’t abide people who complain. It’s such a wearisome trait.”
“It certainly is.”
A pause ensued, and Churchill waited for Mr Harding to mention the rumours he had heard from the previous night.
“Have you ladies ordered lunch?” he asked.
“We have,” replied Churchill with relief. “An egg salad sandwich with sliced radishes for me and a cucumber sandwich for my trusty assistant.”
“Both excellent choices, if I may say so.”
“Thank you, Mr Harding.”
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“I’ve just enjoyed some spotted dick with custard myself.”
“Another excellent choice.” Churchill began to feel increasingly hopeful that news of the incident on the colonel’s estate hadn’t reached his ears.
Kitty Flatboot placed a tea tray on the table.
“Is your chair a’right today?” she asked Churchill.
“Perfectly fine thank you.”
“Mrs Churchill’s chair broke last time she was ‘ere,” Kitty explained to Mr Harding. “Fell flat on the floor she did.”
An intense hatred for the waitress burned in Churchill’s chest as she watched her walk away.
“It was a defective chair,” Churchill added bitterly.
“A defective chair? Poor you Mrs Churchill,” said Mr Harding. “It must have quite ruined your day.”
“It was nothing, my day was absolutely fine.”
“Were you harmed?”
“No not at all. You recommend the spotted dick do you Mr Harding?”
“Oh yes, with the custard too. Well I won’t keep you ladies a moment longer, I must go and pay my bill. Do enjoy your lunch.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr Harding. Do have a wonderful afternoon, won’t you?”
“I shall certainly endeavour to.”
He left them and strolled over to where Kitty Flatboot was waiting beside the till.
“How mortifying Pembers,” hissed Churchill. “Now Mr Harding knows about the chair incident and if he also knows about the breeches incident… oh, the thought is unbearable!”
“There’s no point in worrying about it,” replied Pemberley. “What’s done is done. Consider it as water off a duck’s back.”
“Easier to do if you’re a duck. Oh look, Flatface has muddled up Mr Harding’s change again, she really doesn’t deserve to keep her job here.”
The two ladies watched as coins were passed back and forth between Mr Harding and Kitty Flatboot. Mr Harding eventually seemed satisfied and left the tea rooms.
“Let’s keep an eye on her now, Pembers, and see just how many of those coins find their way inside the till.”
Both women watched intently as Kitty counted each coin back into the till and slammed it shut.
“Pah!” scorned Churchill. “She must have known we were watching her.”