Appleby and the Ospreys (2 page)

Not unnaturally, this speech occasioned general bewilderment. One or two people, realizing that Miss Minnychip had been quoting scripture, looked actively disapproving. Lord Osprey, although not perhaps a very observant man, did observe this and firmly wound up the topic.

‘A tricky matter for Brackley,’ he said. ‘Either action or inaction is sure to offend some worthy people round about. Nevertheless something must be done, and with our authority behind it. I leave it to my wife, who sees more of our neighbours than I do. Only, she must
reflect
; must give her mind to it. Would anyone care to stroll through the gardens?’

This invitation was Lord Osprey’s customary form of
au revoir
, and a sufficient number of his guests were aware of the fact for the party to break up at once. There wasn’t, of course, a stampede. Everybody, that is to say, punctiliously murmured their regrets at being unable to accept so agreeable a suggestion, because of one pressing afternoon engagement or another; and the departure of the remaining guests in their cars fell decently short of a cavalcade.

‘Roses,’ Judith Appleby said as she took her place at the wheel of the ancient Rover. ‘It would have been roses – and Lady Osprey would have known nothing about them.’

‘She didn’t seem to know much about bats either. Nor did her husband, for that matter. By the way, shall we take a look at the church? There it is, in a corner of the park. A convenient Sunday morning stroll from the big house in fine weather, and in foul no more than eight or nine minutes in a carriage. Inside, there will be a family pew for Ospreys, and three or four other pews hired for various grades of retainers.’

‘I don’t think it will be quite like that any longer. Very few of the retainers, as you call them, will think of themselves as obliged to go to church if they’re to earn their keep. As for their children, those of them that sing in the choir – or that sing in the choir when not scared by an occasional bat – they no doubt have to have various treats and outings laid on for them. But let’s take a look, as you suggest.’

The church proved to be – unlike Clusters, the ancestral seat of the Ospreys – unassuming and not in the best repair. Over the crossing there was a squat tower with crockets, and at the west end the belfry was a box-like structure with narrow unglazed lancets. Once inside, one had only to stand beneath the belfry and look upwards to see both the bell itself and a small colony of bats depending from the rafters.

‘A breeding roost,’ Judith said knowledgeably. ‘And I rather think they’re the greater horseshoe variety, which is distinctly uncommon in this part of the country.’

‘Shall we give them a shout, or sing a hymn, and see what the effect is?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, sir.’

This remark or remonstrance came from behind the Applebys, who turned round and saw at once that they were being addressed by the vicar, Mr Brackley. In the Anglican world a sense of trespass always attends upon being detected in a church other than for devotional purposes at some prescribed hour. And if one’s demeanour is in any degree frivolous or even merely cheerful one is apt to feel the impropriety of one’s intrusion all the more keenly.

‘I apologize,’ Appleby said. ‘My suggestions weren’t very seriously intended. It so happens that my wife and I have been hearing about the belfry bats, and we thought we’d come and take a look.’

‘Ah, yes! Yes, indeed. You have been visiting the Ospreys possibly? Excellent parishioners, but they have perhaps allowed themselves a shade too much concern about the harmless creatures. I am myself for a little delay, so that an undisturbed
accouchement
be achieved. Until their brood is born, that is to say. But perhaps I may introduce myself? I am Charles Brackley, the vicar of this parish.’

‘Our name is Appleby,’ Appleby said.

‘Ah, yes! How do you do?’ Mr Brackley turned to Judith. ‘Lady Appleby,’ he said, ‘do you take an interest in bats?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve never made a study of them,’ Judith said. She was a good deal impressed by this deftness in identification. ‘But I know one species from another. And it rather surprises me that this lot drop down in a disturbing way into the church – and in daylight too. Normally, bats are surely the most crepuscular of creatures.’

‘It is quite an infrequent performance, as a matter of fact. But some of the children find it alarming. What troubles them, I think, is the appearance the bats give of darting around in a helpless and aimless fashion. It is, of course, an appearance only. The truth of the matter is that they fly with a precision that astronauts might envy. Not a single one but has an inbuilt sonar system of the utmost delicacy. The direction, speed, distance of the smallest insect, they command through an ability to measure what to us are inconceivably minute fractions of time – and they communicate by a system of squeaks that few, if any, human ears are attuned to hear.’

‘Nature in rather an elaborative mood,’ Appleby said.

‘It may be so regarded. But theologians, I believe, would account for all the endless diversity of created things by evoking the doctrine of what they call the Divine Abundance.’ It was clear that the Reverend Charles Brackley didn’t presume to reckon himself a theologian.

‘I don’t think I’ve heard of the Divine Abundance,’ Judith said. ‘Is it at all readily made intelligible?’

‘I believe it is. God, having all eternity both behind him and in front of him, is always in danger of getting bored. So he occupies himself ceaselessly in thinking things up. Ceaselessly he creates diversity. But whether or not also for our instruction or entertainment, it would be hard to say.’

Thus edified, the Applebys made suitable remarks, and presently went on their way. And Appleby’s mind reverted to Lord Osprey.

‘So much for the Church’s problem,’ he said. ‘But why should Osprey shove it – for what it’s worth – at his wife? He’s the churchwarden, not she.’

‘Perhaps he has to think about Bills and Budgets and things.’

‘Nonsense. The man’s a legislative ignoramus. What do you imagine he does with his time? He has to fill it, I suppose. Rather like that parson’s God.’

‘I’ve heard that Lord Osprey has a hobby.’

‘Judith, I sometimes wonder whether there’s anything you
haven’t
heard about anybody in this entire county.’

‘It’s simply because information, however useless, tends to stick in my head. Lord Osprey has a hobby. What could be more useless than knowing that?’

‘One never can tell. It certainly isn’t very startling information in itself. But perhaps the nature of the man’s hobby is a little out of the way. Just what is it?’

‘Numismatics.’

‘He collects old coins? I do find that slightly odd. I imagine anybody with enough money, and with time on his hands, can form a collection of such things. But it’s rather a learned field, I’d suppose – or is if one’s going to get much satisfaction out of it. One has to be an ancient historian, and a more or less modern one too, to rank as any sort of numismatist. Does Osprey employ some harmless drudge as a curator or secretary or something?’

‘Nothing of the kind. Osprey has a brother-in-law who provides the necessary erudition. He was there, as a matter of fact, but I suppose you weren’t introduced to him. He was the man who sat in absolute silence next to Miss Minnychip. It seems his name is Marcus Broadwater. So Lady Osprey must have been a Broadwater. The family’s not from this part of the world, and I don’t know anything about them.’

‘Do you know whether this learned Marcus Broadwater lives in the house?’

‘Only off and on, probably. I think he’s some kind of rather peripheral Cambridge don.’ Judith was silent for a moment as she negotiated a tricky turn in the narrow country road. ‘Talk of the devil!’ she then said. ‘There he is.’

‘Broadwater?’

‘Yes, Broadwater. He has just crossed the road, and taken that field-path to the river.’

‘An angler, it seems. And, presumably, a keen one, to have got into those togs and all this way from that boring lunch. He must have piscatorial as well as numismatic interests. And his brother-in-law probably owns the fishing rights for a good stretch of the river.’

‘Broadwater certainly seems to expect a good catch. Look at the big basket he carries. And that sort of landing-net thing.’ Judith appeared amused by the spectacle of so complete an angler. ‘But, John, why do men who go fishing always wear deerstalker hats? It seems to mix things up.’

‘It’s to stick a good variety of their dry flies in, as you can see. All sports have their superstitions. Every seasoned angler believes that there is just one fly that the trout will currently go for, and that he has only to find it and cast it.’

‘And cast it, I suppose, when he is himself up to the knees in the stream. Did you notice his waders?’ Judith had been much amused by this unexpected appearance. ‘Shall we stop the car, and stroll after him, and make admiring noises when he catches anything?’

‘Certainly not. Broadwater might very reasonably regard it as an impertinent intrusion.’

‘Or we could talk to him about coins.’ This suggestion being also unfavourably received, Judith drove on silently for some minutes. ‘Coins,’ she then said, ‘must have rather the same sort of fascination for a collector as diamonds and emeralds and precious stones in general. Unlike pictures or statues or even books, they can be tucked away in a very small space and gloated over.’

‘Infinite riches in a little room.’

‘That kind of thing. And I have no doubt that a rare and very ancient coin can be worth enormously more than its original face value.’

‘Most certainly – and there may be a special fascination in that. Do you think, Judith, that if we had been much more prestigious guests than we were – minor royalty, say, or something like that – we might have been invited to gloat?’

‘It’s possible. But – do you know? – I believe I’ve heard that Lord Osprey makes something of a mystery of where the collection is kept. It won’t be in a kind of strong room with the pricier family silver. It will be somewhere more fanciful than that.’

‘I doubt it. Osprey doesn’t strike me as a fanciful type. In fact, my dear, you get these odd ideas as a kind of reflection from my long association with the more
recherché
kinds of crime.’ Appleby fell silent for some minutes after this, and when he spoke again it was in what seemed a random and inconsequential way. ‘I was a much better policeman, you know, than I am the country gentleman you’ve turned me into in my ripe old age.’

‘You do hanker, John – don’t you? And it isn’t for your final eminence as the top bobby in London. It’s for the position of the promising young man in the CID.’

‘That’s deplorably obvious, I’d say.’

‘And it’s why, every now and then, you still run into mysteries accidentally on purpose.’

‘No doubt. But I don’t think the Ospreys are a promising hunting ground. In fact they drop out of our lives here and now – until you decide it’s time to ask them to lunch or dine.’

‘One never knows,’ Judith Appleby said.

One never does. Ten days later, and at an early hour, Appleby was called to the telephone.

‘Detective-Inspector Ringwood speaking. Sir John Appleby?’

‘Good morning, Mr Ringwood.’ Appleby had repressed an impulse to say something like ‘I ain’t done nuffink’, or even ‘It’s a fair cop. I done it, sure enough.’

‘I’m deeply sorry to have to tell you, Sir John, that his lordship is dead.’

‘What lordship? And why are you ringing me up about it?’

‘As one of his close friends, Sir John.’ The unknown Ringwood sounded cautiously reproachful. ‘At Lady Osprey’s urgent request, Sir John. She assures me you were that.’

‘Lady Osprey overstates the case, Mr Ringwood. She could hardly overstate it more. If Lord Osprey has hanged himself, or been strangled by a demented butler, or anything of that sort, of course I’m sorry to hear of it. But I don’t see that you have any occasion to communicate with me. Distraught women – or men, for that matter – frequently make senseless suggestions to the police. An officer of your experience, Mr Ringwood’ – Appleby had decided that Ringwood was probably a decent copper but a little confused as well – ‘must have come across that sort of thing often enough.’

‘I don’t know that I have, sir. But if you don’t feel you have any concern in the matter, I must just apologize for troubling you.’

‘There’s no occasion for an apology, Mr Ringwood. What has actually happened?’

‘Stabbed in the throat, Sir John. And killed outright. It’s the way you might treat a pig, if you ask me.’

‘I keep a few pigs, Mr Ringwood, to beguile the tedium of old age. But I haven’t, as it happens, had to do my own slaughtering of them.’

‘Of course not, Sir John. But it’s right to tell you that Lady Osprey is much overwrought.’

‘Naturally. But are you telling me merely that something horrible has occurred, or is it that an element of mystery is involved?’

‘Definitely a mystery. The perpetrator must be said to have left no clue.’

‘Can you mean more, Mr Ringwood, than that, so far, you haven’t found one?’ This was an ungracious question, and Appleby repented of it at once. ‘And Lady Osprey,’ he continued, ‘wants you – well, to consult with me in the matter?’

‘It appears to be what is in her mind, Sir John. And I would, of course, be very grateful–’

‘I simply can’t do anything of the kind. You know that as well as I do. It’s no less impossible than if I happened still to be Commissioner of Metropolitan Police.’

‘Quite so, sir. I fully realize that. But the lady also thinks of you as a personal friend of the deceased, as I’ve said.’

‘I tell you I am nothing of the kind. Just something more than a nodding acquaintance. My wife and I, as it happens, lunched with those people about a fortnight ago. That kind of thing.’

‘Am I to communicate to Lady Osprey that you see it in that way, Sir John?’

‘Certainly not.’ Appleby thought for a moment. ‘It’s a fair cop,’ he said – and this time it was aloud.

‘Sir?’

‘I mean that it will be only the decent thing to turn up. To condole with Lady Osprey, that is. Are you yourself, Mr Ringwood, at Clusters now?’