Feted to Die: An Inspector Constable Murder Mystery (4 page)

“Out through the flower room is quickest,” advised Laura.

“Yes, I know the way. Thank you. I’ll see you later.” His voice died away.

“Poor man,” said Helen. “I do feel Horace puts upon him. Anyway, enough about them. Vicar, do cheer us up. Let’s have some good news.”

“Yes, Mr. Pugh,” smiled Laura. “There must be some village gossip you can tell us. Have another drink and give us the latest from the Women’s Institute.”

“Now you know I don’t approve of gossip, Laura. Although I heard there was a suggestion that the ladies might raise some money by doing a naked calendar,” replied the vicar, turning pinker, “but I don’t really think that’s the sort of thing we want to see in Dammett Worthy, is it? Actually, I’m not absolutely sure that it was a serious proposal. Isn’t that rather passé these days? I do think some of the younger members of my congregation like to tease me sometimes. I suppose it’s my age. I really ought to be grateful that I have any younger congregation members at all, considering the state of some country parishes.”

“Now vicar, you know we all think you’re absolutely sweet. Especially the Brownies … not to mention some of their mothers.” The vicar’s blush grew deeper.

“Laura, stop it!” said Lady Lawdown. “You are a worse tease than anybody!”

“Don’t worry, your ladyship,” responded the vicar. “I’m not such an old fogey that I can’t enjoy Laura’s little joke. But that reminds me. If you don’t mind, your ladyship, I shall just pop outside and have a word with Brown Owl about the Brownies’ painting competition. I certainly don’t want a repetition of last year.”

“Why, what happened last year?” asked Helen.

“There was a most unseemly brawl between two of the mothers when the results were announced. I seem to recall some mention of doping. I really can’t have that again. Some of the language was verging on the profane, and it’s not at all a good example for the little ones, is it? So if you’ll excuse me …”

“Yes, of course, vicar,” replied Lady Lawdown, “but don’t forget to come back, will you? We can’t very well start without you.”

“I shall be two ticks, never fear.”

“Do you want me to come with you to keep order?” enquired Laura.

“No need, my dear,” the vicar reassured her. “Take the chance to put your feet up for a minute. I’m sure you haven’t stopped all morning. Go on, have another little drink. Be a devil!” And with an unexpectedly boyish chuckle, he made for the hall, where a few seconds later the front door closed behind him.

“D’you know, that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” said Laura, getting to her feet and heading for the drinks table.

“I don’t think so, darling,” commented Lady Lawdown. “Between the two of you, you and Mr. Pugh have practically finished the bottle.”

“Well, I shall have to go and get another one, shan’t I?” replied Laura practically. “I assume we have some more in the butler’s pantry, unless Seymour’s been towsing it on the sly. Shan’t be a minute. Oh, do you think I ought to go and change out of jeans for the opening?”

“Of course not, Laura,” put in Helen. “You look lovely as you are. I’ll come with you – I expect you could do with a hand. And you really ought to put those flowers in a vase, Sandra. Would you like one from the flower room?”

“You are thoughtful, Helen dear.” And as the other two left the drawing room, Lady Lawdown crossed to the window again and gazed out over the grounds of Dammett Hall. She had never grown tired of the view across the park dotted with oaks, with the magnificent cedar tree in the foreground and the long slope down to the rush-fringed lake. And now it was all at risk. Her lip quivered, and she surreptitiously wiped away a tear. She felt very alone.

“Seymour, where on earth have you been hiding yourself?” As Laura Biding emerged from the library, she almost collided with Seymour Cummings and Albert Ross at the foot of the stairs. “We’ve all been wondering where you were. I thought I might have to send out a search party!”

“The only thing I’m in search of at the moment is a drink. Which,” he observed, indicating the bottle which Laura carried, “you seem perfectly equipped to provide. So lead the way, my dear. Come along, Albert – let’s go and get a quick one in before all the ghastly jollity begins.”

“Look who I’ve found skulking in the hall, Mummy,” declared Laura, as she opened the drawing room door to reveal Lady Lawdown pacing restlessly in front of the fireplace. “He claims he’s looking for a drink.”

“Oh Seymour, there you are,” said Sandra Lawdown, looking round with what seemed like relief. “I wish you’d been here earlier.”

“Dreadfully sorry, ma’am,” smiled Seymour. “I have to admit to going absent without leave. Why, have I missed something exciting?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that … well, when I have visitors, it’s more pleasant if my house guest is here to help me entertain them.”

“To tell you the honest truth, Sandra, that was my main reason for doing the disappearing act. I didn’t really trust myself to keep my promise to be nice to Horace. Sorry, Albert, no offence, but you know he and I … well, enough said.”

“Ah, Seymour. They’ve found you at last!” Helen Highwater came in from the hall, closing the door behind her.

“Please don’t you give me a hard time as well,” groaned Seymour, “otherwise I really shall go and hide. Anyway, I don’t appear to be the only one missing. I thought you were expecting Robin Allday as well.”

“He’s on his way,” said Laura quickly. “I’ve just phoned him. Now, let me do these drinks. Helen?”

“Not for me, dear. I need to be able to hold a pen, and I’m shaking enough as it is. I don’t know why, but these book signings always make me so nervous. I’ll just have a glass of water – yes, soda water’s fine.”

“Seymour? No need to ask.” She smiled. “One scotch coming up, and I shan’t bother to get you to say when, because I know you won’t. Right, there’s yours. Albert?”

“Albert will have a large gin and tonic as usual,” put in Seymour. “Plenty of gin, not much tonic, and no ice. Isn’t that right, Albert?”

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact it is, Seymour. But how …”

“I ought to know by now. I’ve seen you drink enough of them in the Dammett Well. Paid for most of them too,” he commented in a not-particularly-successful undertone to Laura.

“Mummy?”

“I’ll have just a little something to steady my nerves, darling. I’ll have a brandy.”

“Sandra, I don’t suppose I’m still in time for that drink you invited me for?”

The door had opened, and Robin Allday stood on the threshold.

“Robin, I’m so glad you’ve made it,” exclaimed Lady Lawdown with evident pleasure. “We’d almost given up on you.”

“Never! Sorry I’m so late, but you know how things are in the law – there’s always something unexpected.” replied Robin. “Thank you, Laura. Well, cheers, everybody. Are we all set up for this afternoon?”

“If we aren’t now, we never shall be!” remarked Laura. “Ah, here’s the vicar back. Come on in, Mr. Pugh. We’re just having a final drink before the off. Come along – there’s another wee drop of whisky for you to settle your stomach. Are you all ready with your speech?”

“Hardly a speech, Laura. Just a few I hope well-chosen words. Nobody wants a sermon today.”

“Indeed they don’t,” commented Seymour feelingly.

“Hell and damnation!”

“What is it, darling?” asked Lady Lawdown.

“The gate to the Secret Garden,” answered Laura. “I’ve forgotten to unlock it. Nobody will be able to get in from the Park to have their fortune told. I’d better go and do it now.”

“No, darling. You stay here – I’m sure Mr. Pugh wouldn’t mind doing it. Here, vicar, take my keys.” She took a bunch from her handbag on a small bureau by the fireplace. “It’s that little one there. If you just pop out through the flower room and turn left, the gate is just the other side of Horace’s tent. And if you could just check with him to make sure he’s ready. That’s if you don’t mind …”

“Not at all, your ladyship. I shall be two shakes of a lamb’s tail. And then we shall be … what is it they say … all systems go.” He hurried from the room.

It seemed only moments later that the vicar stood in the drawing room doorway again. His face was no longer pink, and bore an expression of shock.

“What is it?” asked Lady Lawdown. “Is everything all right?”

“No, your ladyship. No, it isn’t. Not at all. Oh dear! Oh my goodness!”

“Come on, man,” said Seymour. “For goodness sake, tell us.”

“It’s Horace Cope. He’s … he’s …” The vicar’s eyes turned upwards, and he crumpled to the floor.

Chapter 3

“Guv!”

Detective Inspector Andy Constable looked up from the heap of documents on his desk. In his forties, standing an unthreatening six feet tall, he carried only a little more weight than he
should, and had a habit of pushing his iron-grey hair away from his friendly brown eyes, eyes which easily encouraged confidences from witnesses, but which could turn frighteningly icy, as many criminals could testify.

He looked relieved at the interruption. If he was honest with himself, he had never been particularly at home with paperwork, and the current official pre-occupation with forms, monitoring, and targets left him cold. Ever since he had joined the force some twenty-odd years before, he had always thought of himself as more of an instinctive rather than a by-the-book policeman, and although that had raised many an eyebrow during his career, it didn’t seem to have stood in his way when promotions came around. And after the first two or three years, even the jokes about his surname had faded away. As for his first name, he intended to make sure the problem never arose. His colleagues liked him – there was something refreshingly no-nonsense about Andy – and his subordinates respected and trusted him. From some of the off-record remarks about the upper ranks which he occasionally overheard drifting down the stairwell at the station, that was rarer than his superiors would have wished.

“Yes, Copper?”

“We’ve got a body, sir.”

“Ah, now that’s just what I needed.”

“Sir?”

“Some proper police work to take me away from all this mumbo-jumbo. I take it there are suspicious circumstances?”

“Sounds like it to me, sir.”

“Well, don’t hover about in the doorway. Come in and tell me all about it.”

Detective Sergeant Dave Copper came in and sat alongside the desk. Shorter than his superior and almost twenty years younger, he could never shake off the impression in others that he was stricken with a form of hero-worship for the older man. His air of being a slightly-undisciplined puppy caused occasional smiles among some other officers at the station, but nobody ever failed to be impressed by the dramatic turn of speed he could muster up when the need arose. He was, in fact, almost a legend for the number of joyriders, abandoning their stolen vehicles on one of the town’s several council estates, he had managed to chase down. He had worked with Andy Constable for three years before being promoted to sergeant recently, and the two were regularly referred to in the canteen as AC/DC. But never in their hearing. So far.

“It’s the fete at Dammett Hall.”

“Whose fate?” Inspector Constable was momentarily puzzled.

“No sir, the Dammett Worthy Garden Fete. They hold it at Dammett Hall every year. It was just about to open when they discovered some bloke dead.”

“Some bloke dead …? Now that’s what I like about you, sergeant – your ability to cut straight to the technical aspects of a case. Right, I suppose we’d better get over there and find out what it’s all about.” He stood and reached for his jacket. “Any idea why I’m the lucky man who gets a reprieve from all this pile of guff?” He gestured to his desk.

“Apparently you were asked for specially, sir.”

“Why should the brass want me in particular?” Constable wanted to know.

“Not them, sir. It was the lady.”

“What lady?”

“Lady Lawdown, sir. J.P., sir”

“Oh fabulous! The chairman of the bench of magistrates. Oh bloody hell! Why me?”

“I understand that you’ve impressed the lady when she’s seen you in court, sir. That’s the word from upstairs, anyway. But I’m just the messenger boy.”

“Copper, if that smirk stays on your face one second longer, you’ll find yourself on traffic duty on market day for the next six months. Get the car. You’re driving.”

Once past Dammett Worthy, the road was lined with a sporadic straggle of families heading towards the village. At the gates of Dammett Hall, a small crowd stood around a sign boldly proclaiming “Today! Dammett Worthy Garden Fete”, to which was sellotaped a hastily-improvised “Cancelled”, and the local constable had parked his car and taken up his post in the middle of the gateway to deter those villagers who doubted the truth of the statement.

“Doctor’s up there already, sir,” he replied in response to Inspector Constable’s enquiry, and waved them through.

As the car turned the last corner of the drive, Dammett Hall emerged from behind a screen of trees. The house was a gem, small but perfect. Set on a low platform, two storeys of soft red bricks contrasted with the creamy grey of the stones at the corners and around the front door, with three discreet dormer windows and a cluster of surprisingly tall chimneys adding interest to the roof. Colonnades backed with blind brick walls flanked the house. To the right stretched the lawns which fell towards the lake. To the left stood a ghost village of marquees and stalls, eerily empty of activity.