Ten Lords A-Leaping (22 page)

‘So what did you want me to tell Jack?’

‘Just to play it a bit cool if she’s doing any more of her media stuff. Tell her not to be misled just because they’re still holding that Australian chap. All may not be as it seems. Important she doesn’t send out the wrong signals by being triumphalist.’

‘What are you worried about?’

‘Not absolutely sure they’ve got the right fellow.’

‘Have you heard something?’

‘Just had a whiff. Just a whiff. Ah, thank you, Violet. How kind.’ He saluted Amiss with his glass. ‘ ’Fraid I can’t say any more except that the word – from a source I can’t mention – is that it mightn’t be the chaps on the other side that have done this. Might be something embarrassing for us just round the corner.’

‘Really. Like what?’

‘Can’t tell you that, old chap. Sorry. Top secret, I’m afraid, at the moment. But just rein Jack in a bit. Stop her jumping to conclusions. Tell her I said pious platitudes rather than war cries are what she should be aiming at.’ And not another salient word could Amiss get out of the old statesman, who – as Amiss reported bitterly to the baroness – was so discreet he could have doubled for a clam with lockjaw.

‘Nonsense. He gave you the necessary. You don’t get to be the confidant of all the mighty by being a blabbermouth. Anyway, I’ve registered what he said. If they call on me I’ll rival Brother Francis in sweetness and light and will gently rebuke them if they ask me to make any pre-judgements. Now go off and do something useful. Eavesdrop.’ She was gone before he could enquire about Jennifer’s state of mind.

He had no more satisfaction from his conversation with Ellis Pooley, who, obviously constrained by the presence of colleagues, did nothing but promise in response to Amiss’s urgent entreaty to turn up at his flat for something to eat on his way home, whenever that might be. In the event it was eleven o’clock before he arrived and wolfed down the beef sandwiches that Amiss offered. He even fell gratefully on the claret.

‘God, what a day.’

‘I hope it was more interesting than mine.’

‘What did you do?’

‘A lot of the kind of briefing that bored me rigid in the civil service – notes about complicated things rendered simple for idiots, interspersed with fruitless searches for sources of information since the House was mysteriously empty, culminating in drumming my heels all evening in frustration while frantic to know why the Duke of Stormerod should have advised me – insofar as I could understand him – that the murderers may be pro rather than anti-hunting. What the hell is going on?’

‘You’ve got me there. From what Jim said to me before I left tonight, Charlie Friel’s still going hell-for-leather after the activists. Now one more glass of claret, Robert, and I’ll be off.’

The baroness looked at her watch. ‘Good God, I’d better be off or I’ll be late for the interview. Bye, Bertie. Bye, Sid. See you tomorrow. Come on, Robert, we have to have the handover ceremony.’

‘Handover of what?’

‘My cat, Sid. Jack has kindly been playing host to her.’

‘Yes, you should meet her. She’s a frolicsome little thing. I’ll miss her. Come on, Robert. Come on. There’s no time to waste.’ She shot out of the bar, down the corridor to the lobby and thence to the cloakroom.

‘How’s she been, Mr Hudson?’

‘Played merry hell for the first fifteen minutes, your ladyship. Caused a lot of comment. Indeed, Lord Purseglove wanted to let her out but I prevented him. He kept saying: “Poor little kitty, poor little kitty”. But I told him you had said she can be ferocious when roused and to leave her be.’

‘Good thinking.’ The baroness sniffed. ‘Hmm. I think she needs a pretty drastic change of newspaper. Robert, you’d better take her to the loo.’

‘Are you mad? If I get her out of the basket, I’ll never get her back in again.’

‘Oh, nonsense. You just don’t know how to treat her. All she needs is a bit of coaxing, like any woman. Oh, all right then. If you’re chicken, I suppose I’ll have to do it. The old girl’s too fastidious to be left in this condition to journey across London.’ She snatched Amiss’s newspaper out of his pocket and disappeared off with the basket. Two minutes later she was back with an empty basket.

‘Oh no. Please no. You didn’t let her get away?’

The baroness looked slightly abashed. ‘All would have been fine had it not been for Clarissa Whitney arriving in the loo just as I was on my knees attending to the container. Quite understandably – and she deserves no blame for this – Plutarch thought this was a good moment to take off. When last seen she was streaking up the staircase. I’m afraid you’re likely to have a lively time getting her back. Sorry I can’t stay and help. Toodlepip.’ Grabbing her coat from her peg, she waved merrily and rushed out.

Hudson shook his head admiringly. ‘Quite a card, her ladyship.’

Amiss glowered. ‘I can think of more appropriate descriptions, but I’ll save them for when I see her next.’ Picking up the basket, he wandered hopelessly towards and then up the stairs, down a couple of corridors and into the lobby. Two doorkeepers bore down on him instantly. ‘Is that your cat that’s just invaded the chamber?’ asked the smaller giant.

‘No, no. It’s Lady Troutbeck’s. She’s asked me to retrieve it.’

‘Her ladyship is going to be in trouble with the Lord Chancellor,’ observed the larger giant with some satisfaction. ‘He didn’t look best pleased when the animal launched itself down the table towards him, jumped on the arm of the woolsack and – of all things – straight into the throne itself.’

Amiss grimaced. ‘Dear me. I hope this doesn’t make her liable for a public hanging on Tower Hill or anything.’

‘Judging by the Lord Chancellor’s face,’ said the smaller giant, ‘it’ll be disembowelling first.’

‘Are we speaking of the baroness or the cat?’

‘Both.’ He jerked his head. ‘Look.’

Amiss peered fearfully into the chamber to see that Plutarch in only a few minutes had succeeded where the abseiling lesbians and a mass murderer had failed. Their lordships were actually admitting to each other that something funny was going on. There was little pretence of listening to old Lord Halliday, who was gamely persevering in addressing them on the subject of the royal parks. Instead, the peers were gazing in fascination at Plutarch’s spectacular progress around their sacred surroundings. Leaping on a bench here, clearing a table there, jumping once more on the throne and using the Lord Chancellor’s shoulder as a launching pad, she finally, with a leap over the gate that separated the peers from their guests, whizzed into the lobby in a blur of yellow fur. There was no question of catching her. She was out of the lobby and down the corridor to the right before he could draw breath.

‘That’s some cat,’ said the larger giant respectfully.

‘The sort of cat you’d expect her ladyship to have,’ observed his colleague.

‘How very true,’ said Amiss. ‘Well, I’d better try to find her or her ladyship will be very upset. I could see as she left for her urgent appointment that she was terribly worried.’

Plutarch was not hard to trail. At every corner there was a stunned onlooker who knew she’d gone left, right, up or down and within ten minutes Amiss was being waved by his last informant towards the library. As he opened the door a shrill scream confirmed that Plutarch was indeed among those present.

Amiss peered in cautiously and observed that the dozen or so readers present – like the inhabitants of the chamber – were rapt in fascinated concentration on her progress. The young librarian stood sucking the back of his hand, and not wishing to earn the enmity of someone on whose goodwill he relied, Amiss hastened up to him.

‘Has Lady Troutbeck’s cat scratched you, Mr Leadbetter? I’m so sorry.’

Leadbetter stuck out his hand. ‘Look.’ His voice was quavery. ‘All I did was try to pick her up.’

It was one of Plutarch’s better scratches. Amiss remembered well from the early days of their acquaintance how painful it could be when one incautiously incurred her displeasure. Murmuring apologetic platitudes he began to move towards Plutarch, now crouched on a table in the corner weighing up her options. He was only a foot away – and feeling reasonably optimistic – when the door opened, and aiming for the great outdoors, she sprang off the table, vaulted over a horrified, elderly man and hurtled between the legs of the incoming Lord Harrington, bringing him crashing to the ground. That Harrington had been one of the most odious ministers under whom Amiss had ever worked provided some compensation for what he knew would be further horrors awaiting him. Delivering a weak smile in the general direction of the audience, and leaving others to pick Harrington up and dust him off, Amiss sidled out of the room.

Plutarch, it turned out, was sticking to her favourite haunts; she had retraced her flight path almost exactly. When he next caught sight of her she was circumnavigating the lobby, but although still energetic, she seemed to be slowing down. He was watching in the expectation that after three or four more tours he would be able to ambush her, when a well-meaning attempt by the doorkeepers to corral her started her on a stampede back down the corridor, a detour into the bar and then up a staircase.

As Amiss, cursing, began the climb again, a figure came round the turn of the staircase and Plutarch hit it amidships: cat, man and suitcase rolled to the bottom of the stairs. Amiss grabbed the winded Plutarch, stuffed her in the basket and strapped her in before he turned his attention to the moaning Brother Francis. Apologies, explanations and sympathy followed, until at last the suffering monk was ready to be helped to his feet. Recollecting himself, Brother Francis said, ‘I trust Pussy is all right? Why was she in such a hurry? Had she been distressed by someone?’

‘Not half as distressed as a lot of people have been by her, I can assure you.’

Brother Francis abruptly lost interest. ‘Where’s my suitcase?’ His battered bag was lying a few feet away. As Amiss picked it up, it opened and out of it fell a large square gilt box. Brother Francis rushed over, picked up the box, grabbed the suitcase, stuffed it inside and took off without another word. Amiss and a protesting Plutarch set off for home.

‘I wish I’d been there.’

‘Yes, you’d have enjoyed it. In retrospect even I would rather not have missed it. By the way, I said she was your cat. You can expect a wigging from the Lord Chancellor.’

He heard an immense yawn. ‘What? A wigging from Perry Ladislaw? Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t dare.’ She sniggered. ‘We were on the same delegation once in Amsterdam and he knows that I know what he got up to.

‘Now, about Plutarch. I hope you’ve given her something decent to eat after all her labours. I worry lest your culinary standards will come as a shock after St Martha’s.’

‘I treat Plutarch like a cat, Jack, not as some sort of comrade on a pirate ship with whom to share the booty.’

‘Brute. I must send her some smoked salmon.’

‘What beats me is why he was carrying a tabernacle.’

‘Who?’

‘Brother Francis.’

‘Tool of his trade, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but it sits on an altar.’

‘Maybe he was taking it to a repair shop. I don’t know. You should have asked him.’

‘Some of us have a certain delicacy about asking intrusive questions.’

‘More fool you if you want to know the answer. Now, I must be off. Myles and I are going to see
Tosca
.’

‘That’s a busman’s holiday, isn’t it? All that death and disaster.’

‘Yes. But the songs are better than in real life. Give Plutarch my love and tell her I’m proud of her. Her exploits will go down in history. I’m glad I organized things so as to give her the opportunity.’

‘You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?’ howled Amiss. But it was too late. She had gone.

Chapter 22

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Recent events had made Amiss an inveterate news addict, though this evening, like most, had yielded nothing on the Lords investigation that he didn’t already know. So when he switched on the ten o’clock news he was expecting nothing but the usual bromide about ‘massive police effort’, ‘no stones unturned’, ‘every expectation of making an early arrest’ that served for information. There was some news on the animal-activist front, however, with a protest outside the Lords for the first time since the latest murders. With the committee stage beginning the following day, they were out in force – woolly hats, cross, bearded people in anoraks. The lot. The camera lingered on the usual revolting banners and focused for a few seconds on ‘End This Torture Now’, which was held by someone curiously overdressed for such a mild night, the hair being entirely covered by a baseball cap and with a scarf muffling the face from the nose downwards. As Amiss wondered vaguely why anyone should dress his head for Arctic conditions and yet wear no gloves, he noticed something which made him leap up and rush to the telephone. Pooley was still out, but Jim Milton had just got home.

‘Can you be sure?’

‘How many people have Claddagh rings and a large scratch on the same hand?’

‘What’s a Claddagh ring?’

‘Two hearts entwined.’

‘Hmmm. OK. I can’t think when I’ve seen one of those on a man. Fair enough. I guess we’d better have Mr Leadbetter in double quick. I’ll have to put Charlie Friel in charge, since the animal activists are his territory. He’s going to be furious his people overlooked this fellow. What’s Leadbetter like, anyway?’

‘No discernible personality. Wouldn’t think he’s got much guts.’

‘Ah well, then he won’t enjoy Charlie, poor fellow.’

‘You won’t finger me as the source?’

‘Of course not. I’ll say it was an anonymous tip-off. Thanks, Robert.’

‘Jim.’

‘Yes?’

‘What’s the news on you and Ann?’

‘Stalemate. I’ve hardly had time to talk to her for two weeks. The time difference makes it almost impossible when I’m so busy, which – as you can imagine – hasn’t strengthened my side of the argument.’

Amiss sighed. ‘When you do speak to her, give her my love.’