Hare Sitting Up (12 page)

‘Quite so. And he doesn’t seem to have been terribly well received. Lord Ailsworth talked about shooting anybody who came hanging round the place. Is he always like that?’

Jean Howe looked worried. ‘Not a bit. He is very shy and retired, and so he has got himself a reputation for being odd. But he is usually the kindest and gentlest of men. Just sometimes he has queer fits of anger, which get exaggerated by gossip.’ The girl gave Appleby a quick apprehensive glance. ‘You haven’t come because people have been saying he is really mad?’

‘Quite definitely not. I come from Scotland Yard, not Harley Street.’

Jean looked relieved. ‘You see, these sudden flares of temper or intense feeling are just something in the family. I get them myself.’

‘Really?’ Appleby smiled at her. ‘What about?’

‘Oh – just the way of the world in general.’ Jean spoke quickly, as if this was something she was not prepared to enter upon.

Appleby changed the subject. ‘You live here?’ he asked.

‘Well, I used to – off and on. I like the birds. For the last three years, I’ve been here only now and then during university vacations. This time, I’ve been here only a few days. But I expect I shall stop.’ Jean hesitated. ‘I expect I shall
have
to stop.’

They had turned and were walking down the avenue. Appleby was thinking cautiously that he had begun to establish a relation of confidence with this young woman. Which was lucky – because she didn’t strike him as an easy girl. And the circumstances of their first introduction to each other hadn’t been exactly propitious.

‘You feel you may have to stay here?’ he prompted gently. ‘Do you mean that you find your grandfather needing rather more looking after than formerly?’

‘The whole set-up needs that. You see, he is quite obsessed with the birds.’

‘At an effective scientific level?’

‘Oh, dear me – yes. Even the mere collection of pinioned birds here is very important. But his work on the snaring and ringing, and at receiving reports from all over the world and compiling his census, has very high standing among ornithologists. He lives for it. Although perhaps it would be fair to say that he lives more and more for the birds and less and less for the ornithologists.’

‘And the estate, and so forth: does he at all live for that?’

Jean made a gesture at the decay around them. ‘You can see he doesn’t. Nor for the house, either – although it has been rather a place in its time. The domestic situation there is difficult. Perhaps sketchy would be the word. That’s the chief reason why I think I’ll have to stay about. My father was the only son, you see. And he was killed in the war. My mother died when I was a baby. And most of our relations keep well away. They’ve no interest, because it’s all fixed up that a direct heir succeeds, even if a female. That will be me.’

‘You mean,’ Appleby asked, ‘that you will be a peeress in your own right?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never inquired.’ Jean seemed genuinely indifferent. ‘But I shall have the birds.’

They turned a corner of the drive, and Ailsworth Court was before them. James Gibbs, Appleby said to himself – being stronger on buildings than on birds. There was a massive central block, linked by quadrant corridors to two service wings. The domestic situation could very readily become difficult, one supposed, where the architect had designed that your dinner should come to you along a hundred yards of curved passageway. But at least it was extremely grand – and as each of the service wings had an identical lantern with an identical clock, you would always know when to hurry home to meet the advancing feast. If – that was to say – the clocks were in working order, which they didn’t look to have been for a long time. The whole of Ailsworth Court, in fact, looked uncared for, unlived in, dilapidated, and almost ready to tumble down.

Lord Ailsworth’s granddaughter had come to a halt. Approaching the house thus in company with a stranger, she seemed to find it a little daunting. ‘You can see,’ she said, ‘that we’ve seen better days.’

‘But your grandfather is wealthy?’

‘Of course. He has far more money than is decent. It’s not that. It’s just that he doesn’t any longer much care for people, and he won’t have them about. No guests. And no masons or carpenters or painters either.’

‘That’s fairly evident. But the birds seem to like it.’

This was fairly evident too. The whole façade, together with a row of colossal statues perched above the cornice, was white with their droppings.

‘It is rather startling, I’m afraid. Particularly inside.’

‘Inside!’ Appleby was astonished. ‘You don’t mean that the birds are – well, in residence?’

‘They have infiltrated rather, of recent years. My grandfather doesn’t see why the whole place should be empty. There are wild duck in the attics. It sounds like Ibsen, doesn’t it?’ Jean smiled faintly. ‘And, of course, the Donkey Ducks are in the drawing-room. You must have heard about them.’

‘The ones that Lord Ailsworth rescued from extinction?’ Appleby nodded. ‘I suppose it’s natural that they should be given the place of honour in the household. But are
all
the birds parlour boarders? Don’t some live out?’

Jean laughed. ‘The great majority live out. The pens are on the other side of the house, running down to the breeding ground and the decoy pool and the river. Would you like to see them before we hunt out my grandfather?’ She looked at her watch. ‘I don’t think he’ll be about yet, as a matter of fact. And it will give you something to talk about.’ She paused. ‘If, that’s to say, he’s at all disposed to talk to you.’

‘If it’s not taking up too much of your time,’ Appleby said.

He suspected that Miss Howe’s offer was a matter neither of pure benevolence nor of simple pride in what she had to display. She wanted to know more about the stranger and his business before she admitted him to her grandfather’s presence. And that, in the circumstances, seemed fair enough. What Appleby had to decide was how much he was going to confide in her.

‘We’ll go this way.’ Jean, who had disposed of her bucket, led the way down a path which made a wide detour of the house. ‘I’ll simply show you some of the pens, and then take you up the nearer observation tower and explain how the decoy pool works.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be most interested.’

‘But I think you said you’re
not
interested in birds?’ Jean was slightly mocking. ‘When people are frank about that, I usually show them just the Trumpeter Swans and the Cackling Geese.’

‘Don’t all geese cackle? I seem to remember it’s what they did on the Capitol, when they gave the alarm and saved Rome from somebody or other.’

Jean turned and faced him. ‘Could you possibly,’ she said, ‘cut the cackle? And tell me what all this is about?’

‘It’s about a very eminent scientist who has disappeared.’ Appleby had come to a decision about this young woman. ‘His name is Juniper.’

‘Juniper?’ Jean frowned. ‘It’s an uncommon name. But it seems to ring some bell.’

‘Very probably. He’s been in the news from time to time.’

‘But the bell seems fairly recent.’ Jean shook her head. ‘But what has his disappearance got to do with us down here?’

‘We’ve been unearthing his various interests. And one of them has proved to be birdwatching. We’ve been following that up. And we’ve discovered that he was in Nether Ailsworth only a few weeks before he vanished. He was clearly interested in your set-up here.’

‘I don’t see that it would have been of much use his coming down. My grandfather has been frightfully anti-visitor of late. As those gates will have made you realize.’

‘Quite so,’ Appleby said – and unconsciously fingered the tear in his jacket. ‘Shall you get in a row for showing me round?’

‘I hope not. And this was what Colonel Pickering came about yesterday? He hoped to learn if my grandfather knew anything about this man Juniper?’

‘Just that. And Lord Ailsworth said he’s never heard of him.’

‘Then why should you come today?’ Jean asked this rather stiffly. ‘My grandfather may be eccentric – and even rude at times. But he’s not a liar.’

‘My dear young woman, I don’t question for a moment that Lord Ailsworth is a man of the strictest honour. But this fellow Juniper – Howard Juniper – happens to have an eccentric strain in him too, or at least he cultivated one as a younger man. Although he came down here openly some weeks ago, he may have come down later masquerading as somebody quite different. Your grandfather may have been subjected to a deception. That’s why I want some talk with him.’

Jean had halted before what appeared to be the first of the pens. ‘Just the Common Shoveler,’ she said. ‘But attractive, don’t you think?’

Appleby examined the creature with civil interest. ‘I like the glaucous blue,’ he pronounced.

‘On the lesser wing coverts? Yes, indeed. And just look at the speculum.’

Appleby did his best to look as if he were looking at the speculum. ‘Remarkable,’ he said.

‘You don’t know what I’m talking about. We’ll move on. You’d better see the Ruddy Shelduck.’

‘Yes, I should enjoy that.’

‘And – by the way – I think I’d like to look at that card, after all.’

Appleby produced his pocketbook and handed her a card. ‘That’s very sensible of you,’ he said with a return to his paternal manner.

She glanced at it and walked for a moment in silence. Then she looked at him with fresh curiosity. ‘Do you generally do your own chasing after missing persons, Sir John?’

‘No, hardly ever. I lead, nowadays, a shockingly inactive life. But I’ve been rather chivvied into this.’

‘And who is in a position to chivvy you?’

‘Oh, several people. The Prime Minister, among others.’

‘You’re not having me on?’

‘No, I’m not. I ought to say, by the way, that I hope simply to find this infuriating Howard Juniper and lead him quietly home. Without any publicity at all. So my story to you is confidential.’

‘I’m not likely to ring up the local paper.’ Jean said this with a sharp contempt no doubt appropriate in the granddaughter of an earl. ‘And I’m prepared to accept your missing scientist as somebody terribly important. What’s his line?’

‘He’s a bacteriologist.’

‘It sounds as if he was quite a useful sort of person. But do Prime Ministers often bother their heads about missing bacteriologists, however eminent?’

‘Not at all often.’

Jean came to a dead halt. ‘And what did you say his name was?’

‘Juniper. Howard Juniper. You seem a bit surprised.’

‘Do I? I was just remembering something. Now we’ll do the observation tower.’

The observation tower was unimpressive. It was like a very large packing case on stilts, and a ladder led up to it. Head high, there was a narrow unglazed aperture all round. A draughty place in winter, Appleby thought.

Although not high, it yet commanded, over this flat country and the broad stretches of water beyond, a remarkable view. It was an uncommonly deserted tract of country, Appleby thought, and admirably adapted to be some sort of nature reserve. Just visible on the other side of the estuary was the road along which he had himself driven. But there seemed to be not so much as a cottage on it, and only far to the east a smudge of black smoke gave some suggestion of industrial activity. And on this side, apart from the chimneys of Ailsworth Court just visible about a quarter of a mile to the north, there was nothing except a few low sheds and – far out towards the river – a second observation tower. What at first caught one’s attention, however, lay quite near at hand. It was a large pool, connected by a broad channel with the estuary, and having four arms which gave it the shape of a conventional star. Each arm led into a sort of openwork tunnel, apparently constructed of wire netting, which curved gently and grew narrower until it ended as a straitened cul-de-sac. It was rather as if four skeletal cornucopias had been thrown down at the corners of the pool – except, presumably, that they were designed not to pour anything out but to entice something in.

Appleby studied the arrangement with real interest. ‘I can see,’ he said, ‘that waterfowl will settle on the pool. But what persuades them to swim up these sinister-looking tunnels?’

Jean Howe laughed. ‘I don’t think you’d guess the answer at all easily. It’s a dog.’

‘A dog? You mean it swims after them?’

‘Not at all. You see the wattle screens flanking the tunnels, as you call them? And the gaps in them, here and there? The dog is simply trained to show himself successively at the different gaps, and always working up towards the neck of the trap. He doesn’t chase the fowl. The fowl chase him. Nobody knows why. But they do. Then one of the men – my grandfather has three or four – appears at the mouth of the trap in a dinghy and drives them forward.’

‘How very odd.’ Appleby was genuinely impressed. ‘And then the birds are caught and ringed and so forth?’

‘Just that. And, next year, we shall hear of them turning up in Hawaii or Siberia or wherever. The study of migration, you know, is absolutely fascinating. It’s absolutely absorbing. I can’t tell you.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Appleby was aware that Jean had spoken with a sudden intensity which suggested that her grandfather’s master passion was getting a firm grip on her too. ‘Am I right,’ he added, ‘in thinking that the fascination comes in part from the whole purpose and mechanism of the thing being largely inexplicable?’

‘Well, one can occasionally see why birds go to and fro within their range. It’s a simple matter of climate and food. But not always. One has to suppose that they are still doing something that ceased to have any point ages and ages ago. And, you know, it isn’t only birds. Butterflies can be even more mysterious. Painted Ladies come out of their chrysalises in the Sudan and move straight north in hordes. They may end up in the Arctic Circle, which doesn’t seem sensible at all. There are other kinds that fly straight out to sea until they fall and drown. But the birds, of course, are the long-distance champions. The North American Golden Plover thinks nothing of 2,000 miles non-stop over the Atlantic. And there’s really no explanation of why it makes the effort. But the
how
of the thing is more mysterious still. The first broods of young swallows, you know, leave England before their parents – and make their own way to the tribe’s prescriptive winter quarters in South Africa. And in the following spring they may return to the very barn in which they were hatched. For countless centuries every one of the little creatures has been born with its own radar and so forth ready built-in. It’s impressive. But if one wants really to scare oneself, one has to turn from the butterflies and birds to some of the small mammals. Do you know about the Lemmings?’