God Rob Ye Merry Gentleman (4 page)

‘I'll go one better than that.' Of course she would: she was Lady Amanda Golightly, the enemy of the crooked. ‘I have all my friends' contact details on my computer and, if I may be allowed a couple of minutes, I shall phone Beauchamp Senior and get him to email them to you here at the station.'

Glenister never queried the reference to Beauchamp as a Senior, but he couldn't resist asking, ‘You didn't come into Belchester in the Rolls, then?'

‘No.' Suddenly Hugo was quite animated. ‘Manda bought us both mobility scooters for Christmas, and we've used today to try them out. No more tricycle for me! Hurrah!'

‘And,' his relentless friend continued, to regain the limelight, ‘you can check with the others who had not noticed anything missing when I last spoke to them.'

‘And Beauchamp would be happy to identify the person you specifically named?'

‘He would. Now, I've a little plan with which I hope you may be able to help out.' As she explained, a smile broke out on the sergeant's face, and he agreed at once. ‘I've always wanted to do something like that. I'd be delighted. And now I must get on with recovering the stolen items and taking our imaginative chummie into custody.'

Hugo lifted his eyebrows and exclaimed, ‘I say …' as Lady Amanda interjected, ‘Not you, you silly old fool – the thief.'

CHRISTMAS EVE

Lady Amanda had arranged a little drinks party before she and all her cronies went for Midnight Mass, and a little light supper, of course, to sustain them through to the late hour: a little out-of-season asparagus and a few bite-sized caviar canapés – one knows the sort of thing. When the old-fashioned bell-pull started to be yanked, the library table was laden with plates of delicious bits and pieces, both sweet and savoury.

The party of local decrepits who arrived at the grand entrance to Belchester Towers were well wrapped up – furs for the ladies, cosy cashmere for the men – and hats, scarves and gloves abounded. But they were not in the least irked, for they knew that the Beauchamps
pére et fils
, would convey them from the reception to the cathedral, all crushed in and toasty in the Rolls and the Daimler and, as they were the cream of the county (or, at least, the scum that rose to the surface of it) no local member of the Constabulary would dare ticket them for overcrowding.

It was about eight thirty, when coats had been shed along with overshoes, and other outer garments had been put away, and the guests were just starting to descend on the delicate and delicious bites of food that there was an urgent peel on the front door bell, and Lady A winked at Beauchamp Senior and indicated that he should answer it while Beauchamp Junior called, very loudly over the buzz of excited chatter, ‘Pray silence for our special seasonal visitor.'

‘Would you please fill your plates,' requested his father, equally loudly, ‘charge your glasses, and pray be seated for tonight's very special event.'

The ‘mature' guests, having been brought up to obey an authoritarian voice which sounded as if it knew what it was talking about, immediately assembled on the chairs and sofas scattered round the book-lined room, leaving the library table looking as if it had played host to a swarm of locusts with particularly large appetites.

‘My Lords, Ladies, and gentlemen, may I introduce to you our special guest for this evening, Detective Sergeant Father Christmas.' Beauchamp needed no megaphone to project his voice.

Standing before them was DS Glenister in a Santa suit he had bought fairly cheaply at the market – for he would need it when he had children of his own – doing his best to beam at all the old dinosaurs. So where were the presents, thought Lady Amanda, looking vainly for a little seasonal sack dangling from one shoulder?

‘If you would all like to raise a toast to the sentiments of the season' – Beauchamp was at it again – ‘we shall adjourn now to the dining room, where I think you will find what our red-suited friend has brought for us, as well as a bowl of traditional eggnog for your immediate enjoyment.

‘What are you playing at?' hissed Lady A as they headed out of the library.

‘I've already been here – came in through one of the servants' entrances – as Beauchamp suggested that it would take for ever to hand every item out individually. I've got a couple of men in the drawing room waiting to take statements as to what belongs to whom, and they can have a great game of identifying what they have individually lost. We obviously can't let them take them away with them, for they will be needed as evidence, but we can at least label each item as to its rightful owner, and they've already been checked for fingerprints.'

This was all mumbled through his thick cotton wool beard and was quite difficult to understand. What wasn't so hard to comprehend was that the DS had a lively sense of humour and great goodwill.

‘And as this way won't take so long, it won't spoil your party,' the sergeant concluded.

‘What a lovely man you are – for a policeman.' Even Lady Amanda was mellow on this special evening of the year. ‘Are you sure you and Beauchamp aren't in any way related?'

‘I hardly think so.'

‘Well, you should be. And this being Christmas Eve, which couldn't be passed without a reference to Dickens' old curmudgeon, what
is
Inspector Moody doing to pass the festivities?'

‘He's gone, from long tradition, to his sister's house in Norwich.' Glenister's grin suddenly got very wide. ‘They hate each other like poison, and she's got five unruly children, all of whom wake up at about three thirty on Christmas Day to tear open their stocking presents, apparently taking them into their uncle's room so that he can share in the excitement of what they received. His sister always makes sure there's a plastic whistle in one of the parcels, and a tin drum in another; possibly even a kazoo.'

Lady Amanda grinned. Her cup of Schadenfreude was indeed running over. ‘How absolutely delightful. I shall be sure to avoid his company until well into the New Year so that he's had adequate time to recover his usual charm and bonhomie.'

Glenister laughed and accepted a glass of the champagne cup with which the Beauchamps were circulating amid the ‘oohs' and ‘ahs' of delight as people recognised their pilfered possessions. It was a very jolly party indeed that set off for Midnight Mass, and Lady Amanda had asked the sergeant if he would like to join them. ‘Would it be right, Father Christmas turning up at one of the holiest services of the year?'

‘The clergy would absolutely love it, and many parents take their children along to the service, knowing that the little ‘darlings' will sleep until later in the morning if kept up so late. Trust me, you'll go down a storm in your red suit. She extended an arm to him and he took it, the two of them marching down the steps from the front door and off towards the Rolls.

During the service, while her guests were singing the carols with unusual gusto, Lady Amanda quietly questioned Glenister. ‘And did you get the miscreant responsible for all these petty, mean thefts?'

‘Of course we did. Beauchamp was absolutely right. He worked in an insurance office for a few months before he was sacked, but he had gathered a large amount of information about particularly meaty policies and the addresses to which they applied.

‘It was then a piece of cake to gather together some of his children's friends to make a carol party – some of them are particularly musical. When they'd enchanted the house owners, his son would ask to use the lavatory then pretend to get lost. Most houses, even the posh ones, usually have an engagements calendar either in the owner's office or the kitchen. We're talking older people here, not social media nuts who do everything on Facebook, Twitter, and electronic diaries.

‘There were also invitations displayed on mantelpieces. The boy would jot down the times the owners would be away from the property – such establishments aren't over-run by servants these days. It was the work of a moment to effect an entrance through a window – probably single-glazed – and dart round collecting whatever loot could be found.

‘The other carol singers knew nothing about the real intention of their performances, but were allowed to share out the takings between them towards buying Christmas presents, and his son, who did most of the squirming through windows and lifting
objets
and appeared to be a nice quiet boy, got ten percent of what his father got from the hooky shops he sold on to, to keep schtum.'

‘And what will happen to them?'

‘The boy will get off with a stiff talking-to. He's below the age of criminal responsibility, but we'll have our day in court with his father. Isn't it strange how two of Dickens' books have collided this December?'

‘Eh?' queried Lady Amanda, rather commonly.

‘Well, old Scrooge has had to go to seasonal hell in Norwich, as previously explained, and Fagin himself has been operating his gang of children in Belchester.'

‘Go to the top of the class, Glenister. I must say, it's been a pleasure working with you.'

After such a prolonged conversation, several people in the pew in front of them turned round and, with their right forefinger over their lips, hissed, ‘Ssshhhh!'

‘Merry Christmas,' whispered Lady Amanda towards the line of disapproving faces.

The disapproval immediately disappeared, and they wished the chatty old lady and Father Christmas the sincere compliments of the season before joining in the last verse of ‘O Come All Ye Faithful': the one that's only supposed to be sung on Christmas Day and has the uplifting, soaring descant. ‘Yea, Lord we greet Thee, Born this happy morning' soared above the midnight chimes that were ringing out from the cathedral to welcome in the joyous day.

Outside, the temperature had gone up slightly and the first flakes of snow of the winter began to fall, some landing artistically on a holly bush which boasted clusters of red berries. It would have made a beautiful Christmas card scene, had there been anyone there to observe.

COCKTAIL RECIPE

EGGNOG

(This is absolutely yummy – Hugo thinks so, too, as long as the stringy bits are strained out!)

1 measure of dark rum

1 measure of brandy

1 and a half measures of milk

1 measure of whipping cream

Half a measure of sugar syrup

1 small beaten egg

Shake well and strain, garnishing with grated nutmeg

NB I usually scale up the quantities considerably, whisking in a bowl instead of shaking, and serve in a punchbowl as the centrepiece of a buffet. If desired, do feel free to deck the bowl with plastic holly (fa la la la la…) – AG (Lady)

THE END

The Belchester Chronicles

by

Andrea Frazer

For more information about
Andrea Frazer

and other
Accent Press
titles

please visit

www.accentpress.co.uk

God Rob Ye Merry Gentlemen

ISBN: 9781786151155

Copyright © 2015 by
Andrea Frazer

This edition published by Accent Press 2015

The right of
Andrea Frazer
to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.