Look to the Lady (23 page)

Mr Lugg remained unabashed.

‘You've mixed us up with a nice set, 'aven't yer?' he said. ‘I've known ticket o' leave men who'd blush to 'ear theirselves associated with them names you've mentioned over the phone. Fight with razors and broken bottles, they do. It's the class o' the thing I object to. No one can call me a snob – not reely – but a gent 'as to draw 'is line somewhere.'

But for once Mr Campion was not mollified by this attitude.

‘Put on a bath, get out the car, find a map, and go and lose yourself,' he said, and stalked off upstairs, leaving Mr Lugg speechless and startled out of his usual gloomy truculence.

A little over an hour later Penny, seated by herself in the spacious faded drawing-room whose broad lattice-paned windows overlooked the drive, was somewhat surprised to hear the door of her father's room across the hall close softly, and to see Mr Campion in a motoring coat and hatless run down the steps from the open front door, and, climbing into his car which stood waiting for him, hurtle off down the drive at an alarming speed.

She had imagined that he would have been down shortly to take tea with her, and she was just about to put her pride in her pocket and ring for Lugg and information, when Branch appeared carrying a bulky envelope on a salver.

‘Mr Campion was wishful for me to give you this, miss,' he said, and withdrew.

With her curiosity considerably piqued, Penny tore open the stout manilla and shook its contents out upon the Chesterfield beside her. To her astonishment there lay disclosed upon the faded brocade a folded sheet of paper, another envelope, and a small bag made of cheap red silk. The paper was closely written in broad distinctive writing.

Dear Penny, I have gone to pay a friendly call to show off my new suit. I may be so welcome that they won't want to part with me
,
so don't expect me until you see me. I leave Lugg with you as a sort of keepsake. Three meals a day, my dear, and no alcohol.

I wonder if you would mind giving him the enclosed note, which I have stuck down to show my ill-breeding. No doubt he will show it to you. But I don't want him to have it until I am safely on my journey, since he is trained to follow a car. The rather garish bag, which you will see is not made to open, contains, as far as I know, a portion of the beard of a very old friend of mine (a prophet in a small way). That is for Lugg too.

Remember your promise, which only holds good while I'm alive, of course. Don't get the wind up whatever happens. If in doubt, apply to the Professor, who is a mine of information and the best sort in the world.

Such clement weather we are having for the time of year, are we not? ‘The face is but the guinea's stamp. The heart's the heart for a' that.'

Believe me, Sincerely yours, W. Shakespeare.
(Bill, to you.)

The girl sat turning the paper over on her knee, until Branch re-entered with the tea-wagon. But although she was burning with curiosity, it was not until a good half-hour had elapsed that she sent for Lugg. Colonel Gyrth never took tea, and she was still alone when the door opened to admit the troubled face and portly figure of Mr Campion's other ego.

The big man had a horror of the drawing-room, which he crossed as though the floor were unsteady.

‘Yes, miss?' he said suspiciously.

Penny handed him the envelope in silence. He seized upon it greedily, and, quite forgetting all Branch's training of the past few days, tore it open and began to read, holding the paper very close to his little bright eyes.

‘There,' he said suddenly. ‘Wot did I tell yer? Now we're for it. 'Eadstrong, that's what 'e is.'

He caught sight of Penny's face, and, remembering where he was, was about to withdraw in an abashed and elephantine fashion when she stopped him.

‘I had a letter from Mr Campion too,' she said. ‘He said I was to give you this.' She handed him the red silk bag, and added brazenly: ‘He said you'd probably show me your letter.'

Mr Lugg hesitated at first, but finally seemed relieved at the thought of having a confidante.

‘There you are,' he said ungraciously. ‘That'll show yer what a caution 'e is.' He tossed the note into her lap. ‘It may be a bit above yer 'ead.'

Penny unfolded the missive and began to read.

Unutterable Imbecile and Cretin. Hoping this finds you as it leaves me – in a blue funk. However, don't you worry, cleversides. Have had to resort to the Moran trick. If I am not back by tomorrow morning, get somebody to take the beard of the prophet to Mrs Sarah on Heronhoe Heath. Don't have hysterics again, and if the worst comes to the worst don't forge my name to any rotten references. You'd only be found out. Leave the Open Sesame to Sarah and the Chicks. Yours, Disgusted.

Penny put the note down. ‘What does it all mean?' she said.

‘Ask me another,' said Mr Lugg savagely. ‘Sneaked off on me, that's what 'e's done. 'E knew I'd 'ave stopped 'im if 'e didn't. This 'as torn it. I'll be readin' the Situations Vacant before I know where I am. 'E ain't even left me a reference. Lumme, we are in a mess.'

‘I wish you'd explain,' said Penny, whose patience was beginning to fail her. ‘What's the Moran Trick, anyhow?'

‘Oh, that,' said Mr Lugg. ‘That was silly then. It's sooicide now. We was up against a bloke called Moran, a murderer among other things, 'oo kep' a set o' coloured thugs around 'im. What did 'Is Nibs do when we couldn't get any satisfaction from 'im but walk into 'is 'ouse as cool as you please – forcin' 'em to kidnap 'im, so's 'e could find out what they was up to. “Curiosity'll kill you, my lad,” I said when I got 'im out. “A lot of satisfaction it'll be to you when you're 'arping to 'ave a pile of evidence against the bloke who's bumped you off.” '

Penny sprang to her feet. ‘Then he knows who it is?' she said.

‘O' course 'e does,' said Mr Lugg. ‘Probably known it from 'is cradle – at least, that's what 'e'll tell you. But the fac' remains that we don't know. Gorn off in a silly temper and left me out of it. If I ever get 'im back from this alive I'll 'ave 'im certified.'

The girl looked at him wildly. ‘But if the Cup's safe with Val, what's he doing it for?' she wailed.

Lugg cocked a wary eye at her. ‘Depend upon it, miss, there's a lot 'o things neither of us 'ave been told. All we can do is to carry out 'is orders and 'ope fer the best. I'll tell yer wot, though, I'll get my lucky bean out tonight – blimey if I don't.'

Penny returned to the letter. ‘Who is Mrs Sarah?' she demanded.

‘The Mother Superior of a lot o' gippos,' said Mr Lugg disconsolately. ‘It's either nobs or nobodies with 'im, and I loathe the sight o' both of 'em – begging yer pardon, miss.'

Penny looked up quickly. ‘We'll take the token together tomorrow morning,' she said. ‘Heronhoe Heath is about five miles from here across country. Mrs Shannon has her racing stables on the far side of it. We'll drive over.'

Lugg raised an eyebrow. ‘Mrs Shannon? Is that the party as come snooping round 'ere the day after yer aunt died?' he said. ‘Powerful voiced, and nippy like?'

‘That's right,' said Penny, smiling in spite of herself.

Mr Lugg whistled. ‘I 'ate women,' he said, with apparent irrelevance. ‘Especially in business.'

—

H
ERONHOE
H
EATH
, a broad strip of waste land bordered by the Ipswich road on one side and Heronhoe Creek on the other, was half covered with gaudy broom bushes when Mr Lugg and Penny bumped their way across it in the two-seater on the morning after Mr Campion's departure. The sunshine was so brilliant that a grey heat haze hung over the creek end of the heath, through which the flat red buildings of Mrs Shannon's stables were faintly discernible. There was not another house for three miles either way.

The Gypsy encampment was equally remote from the world. It lay sprawled along the northern edge of the strip like a bright bandana handkerchief spread out upon the grass by the side of a little ditch of clear water which ran through to the creek.

When they were within hailing distance of the camp the track, chewed up by many caravans' wheels, became unnegotiable. Penny pulled up. ‘We'll have to walk this bit,' she said.

Mr Lugg sighed and scrambled out of the car, the girl following him. They made an odd pair.

Penny was in a white silk jumper suit and no hat, while Mr Lugg wore the conventional black suit and bowler hat of the upper servant, the respectability of which he had entirely ruined by tilting the hat over one eye, thereby achieving an air of truculent bravado which was not lessened by the straw which he held between his teeth. He grumbled in a continuous breathy undertone as he lumbered along.

‘Look at 'em,' he said. ‘Vagabonds. 'Ut dwellers. Lumme, you wouldn't catch me spendin' my life in a marquee.'

Penny surveyed the scene in front of her with approval. The gaily painted wagons with their high hooped canvas tops, the coloured clothes hanging out on the lines, and the dozens of little fires whose smoke curled up almost perpendicularly in the breathless air were certainly attractive. There was squalor there, too, and ugliness, but on the whole the prospect was definitely pleasing, the sunlight bringing out the colours.

What impressed the girl particularly was the number of wagons and caravans; there seemed to be quite forty of them, and she noticed that they were not settled with the numerous little odd tents and shacks around them as is usual in a big encampment, but that the whole gathering had a temporary air which was heightened by the presence of a huge old-fashioned yellow char-a-banc of the type used by the people of the fairs.

Although she had known the Gypsies since her childhood she had never visited them before. Their haunts had been forbidden to her, and she knew them only as brown, soft-spoken people with sales methods that would put the keenest hire-system traveller to shame.

It was with some trepidation, therefore, that she walked along by the disconsolate Lugg towards the very heart of the group. Children playing half-naked round the caravans grinned at her as she approached and shouted unintelligible remarks in shrill twittering voices. Mr Lugg went on unperturbed.

A swarthy young man leaning over the half-door of one of the vans, his magnificent arms and chest looking like polished copper against the outrageous red and white print of his shirt, took one look at Lugg and burst into a bellow of delight that summoned half the clan. Heads popped out from every conceivable opening, and just for a moment Penny was afraid that the reception was not going to be wholly friendly.

Mr Lugg stood his ground. ‘Party, name o' Mrs Sarah,' he demanded in stentorian tones. ‘I got a message for 'er. Private and important.'

The name had a distinctly quietening effect upon the crowd which was gathering, and the young man who had heralded their arrival opened the low door of his wagon and clattered down the steps.

‘Come here,' he said, and led them across the uneven turf to the very heart of the assembly, where stood a truly magnificent caravan, decorated with a portrait of the King and Queen on one side and four dolphins surrounding a lurid representation of the Siamese Twins on the other. The brasswork in the front of this exquisitely baroque chariot was polished until it looked like gold. It formed a little balcony in front of the wagon, behind which, seated in the driver's cab, was a monstrously fat old woman, her head bound round with a green and yellow cotton scarf, while an immense print overall covered her capacious form. She was smiling, her shrewd black eyes regarding the visitors with a species of royal amusement.

Their guide made a few unintelligible remarks to her in some peculiar ‘back slang' which the girl did not follow. The old woman's smile broadened.

‘Come up, lady,' she said, throwing out a hand to indicate the coloured steps which led into the darkness of the wagon. As she did so the sunlight caught the rings on her hand, and the blaze of real stones dazzled in the heat.

Penny clambered up the steps and took the seat opposite the old woman, while Mr Lugg lumbered after her and perched himself gingerly on the topmost step of the ladder. The crowd still hung about inquisitively. Penny was aware of eager derisive brown faces and shrill chattering tongues making remarks she could not hope to understand.

The monstrous old lady, who appeared to be Mrs Sarah, turned upon the crowd, her smile gone. A few vitriolic sentences, at the sense of which Penny could only guess, dispersed them like naughty children. With the ease of a duchess Mrs Sarah then returned to her guests.

‘Who sent you, lady?' she said in her sibilant persuasive, ‘party' voice.

Mr Lugg produced the red silk bag, which he handed to Penny, who in turn gave it to the old lady. The plump brown fingers seized upon it, and with her long blackened finger-nails Mrs Sarah jerked at the cotton which bound the topmost edge of the bag. Next moment the contents lay in her hand.

Penny regarded it with curiosity. It was an old-fashioned hair ring, made of countless tiny plaits woven together with microscopic intricacy. She held it up and laughed.

‘Orlando!' she said with evident delight. ‘Don't worry, lady. Sarah knows. Tomorrow,' she went on slowly. ‘Yes, he said the day after. Very well. We shall be ready. Good-bye, lady.'

Penny, considerably mystified, looked startled. ‘Orlando?'

Mr Lugg nudged her. ‘One of 'is names,' he said sepulchrally. ‘Come on. The court is adjourned.'

He was obviously right: the old woman smiled and nodded but did not seem disposed to converse any further. Penny had the impression that their hostess had received a piece of information for which she had been waiting. As the girl descended the steps, however, the affable old goddess leaned forward.