Ten Lords A-Leaping (25 page)

‘Not at all. He spoke most warmly of you and told us we were wasting our time.’

‘Knew he would. Bertie’s a good guy. Understands that though all that land and money and title would be tempting to most people, it isn’t to me. If it comes it comes, as the Lord’s will. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.’

‘You’re completely indifferent?’

Sholto scratched his head. ‘I just let things take their course. Look at it this way. I’m a patriotic American, I like where I live, I like my neighbours and my wife and I are happily married. I manage the local supermarket and I enjoy the job. She teaches first grade and loves it. Between us we make enough to live decently and Cousin Bertie’s generosity has meant that we’re a lot luckier than most. My kids had the brains, I’m proud to say, to go to Ivy League universities and Cousin Bertie provided the money. We can afford a new car every few years, a little boat for weekends on the lake and once or twice we’ve taken a foreign holiday.’

‘Recently?’

‘You mean did we go over to London to mow down a whole lot of lords in an effort to see off Cousin Bertie? ’Fraid not. We haven’t been out of here since two years ago when we went over for the funeral of Cousin Amelia to pay our respects to Cousin Bertie at his time of tragedy.’

‘I see, sir. But if you’ll forgive my asking – and I don’t mean to be offensive. I’m just trying to clear things up.’

Sholto nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘It’s just that most people would find it incredible that you’d settle happily for what you’ve got when you could have what the duke has.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Mr Pooley.’ He shook his head. ‘That sounds much too formal and we’re not formal here in Westfield.’

‘Call me Ellis.’

‘And call me Fred, please. Now look here, Ellis, I may have lived in a small town most of my life, but I’m a keen observer of people and I’ve seen enough of the harm money can do to see the downside as well as the upside. Now, take my boy. More coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

Sholto emptied the pot into Pooley’s cup and sat back. ‘My boy Joe worked hard and now he’s an engineer and I don’t know that he’d have done that if he was sure he was going to be rich. As it was, he wasn’t dazzled by being the heir to the heir, if you know what I mean, because I’ve always pointed out we’re a long-lived family and that even if I did succeed it probably wouldn’t be until I was seventy and he was nearly fifty, so that kept him sensible. And you see, if I inherit tomorrow it’ll probably be the end of what should be a satisfying career, because I could hardly insist Joe make his way as he is now rather than coming with me to England and living the life of an aristocrat. It’s just the same with my daughter, Peggy, who’s going to be an attorney, all going well. Pretty girl. Nice girl. I’d like someone to marry her because they loved her, not because her old man was loaded.’

‘And your wife?’

‘She’s not crazy about coronets. She’s had the odd little fantasy maybe, but mostly she’s not interested. She says, “Fred. What do we really want that we haven’t got?” And especially since Cousin Bertie made his offer some months back, whatever happens we’ll have a very comfortable old age.’

‘Sorry. What offer?’

‘Oh, didn’t he tell you? Here, hang on. I’ll find it.’

The Sholto house was so tidy and free of paper that within a minute he had located in the neat bureau a handwritten letter dated the previous April.

‘My dear Fred,

This is not an easy letter to write. But I think I know you well enough to believe it will not distress you too much.

I feel it right to tell you that I am contemplating remarriage to someone who is a lot younger than me – in her mid thirties, in fact. So it is possible that we may have children.

It was always a source of great grief to me, and to Amelia, that all her pregnancies ended in miscarriage. I am selfish enough to want to seize a second chance to have what I have always desperately desired – children of my own.

For you this would mean being disinherited, which is why I feel it important to ask if it would be very destructive of your family, or if you could take it in your stride. But since for about ten years you must have assumed you would remain the heir, I will understand if you are appalled by the notion of being supplanted. I love the lady in question, but I give you my word that if it is your wish, then I will draw back. However, if you feel able to give us your blessing, what I propose is that should I marry and should my wife produce an heir, I will settle on you a substantial sum of money to ensure that you have, within reason, all you want materially for you and your family.

My love to Marge,

Your affectionate cousin,

Bertie.’

Pooley handed the letter back. ‘Nice man, isn’t he?’

‘A gentleman.’ Shotto handed him a photocopy.

‘Dear Cousin Bertie,

I appreciated your letter, but don’t you worry about a thing. If I end up a duke, I’ll try to be a good duke, if I don’t, that’s OK as well. Like I said to you that time when you asked me if I’d like to move the family to England and learn about the business, you can never know what the future may hold so it’s better to plod along unless the Lord calls on you to change. If you get married, you’ll have my very good wishes and if you’d like us to be there for the wedding, we’ll come. Thanks to you, the kids have had every chance, and we’ve nothing to grumble about if we don’t end up with coronets. I don’t know as how I’d know how to wear one properly anyhow.

Marge sends her love and best wishes,

God bless you.

Your affectionate cousin,

Fred.’

‘And your wife was happy about this too?’

‘Yeah, we think the same about things mostly. When Mom was urging us to up sticks and go and live on Cousin Bertie’s estate it was Marge said, “You can’t predict what’ll happen. After all, Bertie might get divorced or become a widower and who’s to say what might happen then.”’

‘Very sensible woman, your wife.’

‘Yep. Never had a day’s regret about marrying her.’ He pointed proudly at the photographs on the sideboard.

Pooley studied them curiously. ‘Are these your children?’

‘Yes.’

‘Very nice-looking.’

‘Yeah, as you can see, they take after Marge, fortunately not after my family. I’m no oil painting. No more than Bertie is.’

‘Who’s that?’ Pooley pointed at a cross-looking, thin woman.

‘That’s Mom. And there’s Dad. He died a long time ago.’

‘And that?’

‘Oh, that’s Will, my twin brother.’

‘He doesn’t look at all like you.’

‘Nope, one of those funny things. Took after Mom’s side, while I took after Pop’s. It was the same temperamentally.’

Being so far away from home made Pooley forget his usual professional anonymity. ‘It’s peculiar being a twin when there’s inheritance involved, isn’t it? I’m the younger by ten minutes and my brother’s going to inherit a lot.’

‘Yep. The Lord sure moves in mysterious ways. Will would have liked to be a duke much more than me, but life ain’t fair. You’ve just got to take it as it comes. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘No. You’ve been most kind. Thank you very much, Mr Sholto.’

‘Fred.’

‘Sorry. Fred. Now I’ll be getting back to Washington airport.’

‘Not going to stop and see the sights? Not that there are many here.’ He laughed.

‘No thanks. As you can imagine, with all this going on, we’re short-staffed back at home. Better get back as fast as I can.’

Sholto walked Pooley out to the waiting taxi. As they shook hands he looked sombre. ‘If you see Cousin Bertie, tell him Fred was asking for him and that I’m real glad he’s safe. I promise you I’ll have our congregation pray to the Lord to help you catch that maniac before any more harm’s done.’

‘I’d be grateful for that. We can certainly use all the help we can get.’

Chapter 25

«
^
»

‘That’s really terrific’ Amiss clutched his left temple. ‘Sholto’s a saint. There isn’t a shred of evidence to link those mad Trots in Leadbetter’s basement with the Lords murders. Jim says your anti-terrorist boys are out of ideas and no one has a clue who the Avengers are. So it’s eight thousand, four hundred and sixty-seven suspects down and none to go. What are you going to do today? Announce it was mass suicide?’

‘Probably go through all the files all over again looking for something we’ve missed. The only bright spot in all of this is that no one’s tried to frame the Trots for what they didn’t do just because we’d like them to be guilty – which of course is why the press is baying for our blood.’

‘Nasty this morning, is it?’

Pooley winced. ‘They talk about us like you shouldn’t talk about a dog. Or even an animal activist. I’ll be in touch.’

‘For a man who’s been to and from the States in less than twenty-four hours you’re looking pretty good, Ellis. It must be all that healthy living. And thanks for your report. Disappointing but very good.’

Pooley flushed with pleasure.

‘Thank you, sir. Have you a minute?’

‘Yes. I’m just contemplating how to explain to the Commissioner that I’m completely out of ideas.’

‘I was just leafing through the file on Brother Francis, and I remembered what Robert had said about him and Plutarch and I still can’t work out why he was carting a tabernacle around the place.’

‘A tabernacle? I didn’t hear that bit of the story – all I heard was about Plutarch and the Lord Chancellor. Is there more?’

‘She crashed into Brother Francis and he dropped a suitcase which turned out to have a tabernacle in it. And I just can’t work out why.’

Milton thought for a few moments and then shrugged. ‘Why not? Let’s go on a wild tabernacle chase. Get Brother Francis’s London address, order a car and we’ll leave in fifteen minutes.’

Brother Francis’s London headquarters was a modest flat in a small terraced house in Highgate. He looked so distressed when he answered the door that as they sat down in his spartan living room on the hard chairs, Milton, to put him at his ease, said, ‘Bit far out for you, this, Brother, isn’t it?’

‘Ah, yes, Superintendent, but it has the incomparable blessing of being beside Highgate cemetery.’

Milton could remember only one thing about Highgate cemetery. ‘Do I gather you are an admirer of Karl Marx?’

Brother Francis looked shocked. ‘How could you think I could admire such an enemy of godliness? No, no. The cemetery enables me to be in touch with the eternal verities through musings on the afterlife. For instance, every morning, when I walk there, I pass a tombstone which says:

‘As you pass by, so once was I,

As I am now, so you will be,

Therefore, prepare for eternity.

‘It is a beautiful piece of poetry.’ He simpered. ‘I would have been proud to have written it. And I like to reflect on how true it is. But also the cemetery is where I meet my little friends.’

‘Ah, yes. Animals, no doubt.’

‘Squirrels particularly. At this time of the year I bring them nuts and talk to them. I call them by their names and they come. You can tell them apart, you know. You look surprised, but I assure you it’s true, for they all have their own little winning ways and funny habits and charming personalities. It is a privilege to be among them. And among the little birdies, too.’

Milton could not think of any answer to this, so he went straight to the point. ‘I’m sorry to break in on you with no notice, but I wanted to know why you were removing a tabernacle from the House of Lords.’

‘It’s mine.’

‘Oh, I’m not disputing that. It just seems odd, and you’ll understand that in the present climate we have to investigate anything odd.’

‘I thought I’d take it home with me. I no longer feel I can say Mass in a place where so many terrible things have been done.’

‘But surely that sad place needs the blessing of God now more than ever before?’ Milton felt proud of himself for producing such an unctuous statement without laughing.

Brother Francis wriggled. ‘Ah yes, you may be right and I may have been hasty. But I felt the urge to bring this holy object to my little home where I could commune with God more privately.’

‘Where used it to be before? In the Lords, I mean.’

‘In my little room.’

‘May I see it, sir?’

‘Yes, I’ll bring it in.’

‘No, no. You don’t want to carry something as heavy as that around unnecessarily. I’ll come and look.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

But Milton was already on his feet and following Pooley out of the room. ‘In here, sir?’ He walked into a bedroom containing only a narrow iron bed and a clothes rail on which were hung scarlet parliamentary robes, a brown woollen habit and a long overcoat. Behind him Brother Francis was bleating, ‘No, please.’

‘In here, sir,’ called Pooley. Milton joined Pooley at the door of what proved to be the religious sanctum.

‘Please, it’s sacred.’

‘Don’t worry, Brother. Nothing will be harmed.’ Milton’s glance took in the vestments, the monstrance and tabernacle on the altar and the picture of St Francis on the wall with a sparrow in his hand. ‘Would you mind opening the tabernacle, Brother?’

Unhappily, Brother Francis walked over, genuflected before the tabernacle and opened the door to reveal a few wafers.

‘Very well, Brother. Thank you. Sorry to have disturbed you.’

‘Sir!’ Pooley called from the kitchen. ‘There’s another one here.’

The box was lying on the draining board, front downwards, with a bottle of disinfectant beside it. ‘I’m a bit puzzled, Brother. Could you explain to me why you brought the tabernacle home when you already had one here?’

‘I was going to take this one back to the Sanctuary.’