The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (34 page)

He bowed, and said formally, “Good-morning, Miss Jones. Do I take it that you are ‘at home'?”

“Yes, and so is Mr. Castle—well, I mean he's visiting us, and he saw you drive in, so don't tease.”

Vespa grinned. “All right. I'm only glad you're none the worse for wear after your great adventure.”

“You'll be the worse for wear if you don't tell—”

“Nothing to tell, unfortunately. Even Broderick couldn't find anything in or on the jar that might help us. Except that the scratches weren't—”

“Sratches? Do you say you gave my sweet Molly a damaged vase? No wonder you didn't want to show it to me last night!”

“
Will
you try not to explode before I've a chance to finish? I couldn't show it to you last night, Miss Pepper-Pot, because for one thing it was too dark for you to have seen it properly, and for another, you could hardly keep your eyes open. To say truth, when I gave it to the child, I thought it was quite charming, and that the scratch marks were only on the surface. But now Toby says they're not scratches at all, but that your father painted the vase in that way. Do you know— Oh, gad! She's doing it again!”

Consuela's eyes blazed with excitement and she sprang to seize his arm and exclaim, “That's
it!
That's what was so odd about that ugly painting! It had
odd little lines
on it! Oh, Jack! Jack! Whatever can it mean? Why would—”

The door burst open and Manning hissed urgently, “Her ladyship's very cross, and she's coming to find you, miss!”

A distant shriek of
“Consuela!”
emphasized her warning, and Consuela hurried into the corridor calling gaily, “Here I am, Grand-mama! Captain Vespa wanted to look at one of Papa's paintings.”

Lady Francesca was annoyed by what she termed ‘unseemingly behaviours', but Vespa was skilled at calming the uncertain humours of elderly ladies and she was soon thanking him for his assistance during the robbery. Mr. Castle, who had obviously been fully informed of the case, expressed his dismay that such things should occur in “our innocent, sylvan countryside” and went on to deplore the increase of crime in Britain as a whole. “I've no wish to alarm you, ma'am. But with you two ladies living alone, and only a part-time footman and an elderly groom and gardener for protection…” He shook his head bodingly. “Dear me! It does seem indicated that you should hire an able-bodied man to guard the house.”

“Thank you, Mr. Castle, but Captain Vespa has already hired a guard for us,” said Consuela.

“But—was not the poor man injured during the robbery?”

“He was, sir,” put in Vespa. “But I had another young fellow watching this house for the rest of that night.” They all looked at him in surprise, and he added with some reluctance, “I believe you know him as Dicky-Boy.”

Lady Francesca's eyes widened. “Why, the poor lad is witless!”

“He seemed very conscientious,” said Vespa. “And I believe he watched faithfully and would have raised the alarm if a mischief-maker came near.”

Consuela said drily, “He watches everything that goes on in the village. I fancy, were he able, he'd make an excellent biographer for Gallery-on-Tang.”

“True,” agreed the clergyman. “The only trouble is that one never knows when his word can be relied upon. Only look at that tragic business with Mrs. Hawes and little Molly. Everyone was frantic to find the murderous individuals who ran them down, and Dicky went about giggling and claiming that he'd not only seen, but had recognized the coach!”

“He had?” Vespa tensed. “Who was the owner?”

Mr. Castle spread his hands helplessly. “We never could get any sense out of the boy. He'd just say it was his secret, and that he knew things other folk didn't know.”

“And if he had told us,” said the duchess, “how could anyone put any—oh, what is the word that they say for
credenza,
my pet?”

“Credence, dear,” supplied Consuela. “But only think, if—Captain Jack? What is it? Have you solved our puzzle?”

Vespa stared at her blankly.

Before he could respond Manning flung open the door, her attempted introduction cut off by Paige Manderville's terse, “Your pardon for this rude intrusion, Lady Francesca. Good-afternoon, Miss Consuela, Mr. Castle. Jack, I've an urgent message for you.”

Vespa stood at once and made his apologies, and the two men stepped into the hall.

“What the deuce has happened now?” demanded Vespa softly. “Mrs. Stokely is not—”

“The lady has left the country. Allegedly bound for sunny Italy.”

Stunned, Vespa stammered, “But—it cannot be! Only yesterday—” He paused. Only yesterday the lovely widow had led him to the arbour, and then deserted him. And now, without a word to him, Esme was going to Italy? Toby had said the Gentrys were going to Italy. He mustn't let himself think … He
wouldn't
let himself think … He said brusquely, “Are you sure you're not mistaken?”

“Quite sure. The lady has left these shores. I wish,” Manderville looked very grim, “that I could say as much for your gallery owner.”

“Da Lentino? Is he ill?”

“They found him in his gallery this morning. He appeared to have fallen off a ladder. Smashed his skull on a marble sculpture. Or something.”

“Oh, my Lord! Poor old fellow. He's not…?”

Manderville nodded somberly. “'Fraid so.”

16

“Fell off a ladder, my eye!” Frying pan in hand, and his sheet ‘apron' protecting his elegance, Paige Manderville hurried into the breakfast parlour. He spooned what he claimed were ‘sautéed' mushrooms onto the plates of his eager friends, while declaring, “There's not a doubt in my mind but that the poor old fellow was done away with!”

Outside, the rain was pouring down, so a fire blazed up the chimney. The advent of autumn seemed to have whetted appetites, and the three young men lost no time in dealing with the beefsteak, roasted potatoes and green beans their amateur chef had provided with Peg's willing but erratic assistance.

Broderick accepted a roll from the silver basket Peg thrust at him. “I agree,” he said. “Jove, but this smells good! What d'you say, Jack?”

“If we're right in believing this is all part of the same plot,” answered Vespa, setting down his wine-glass, “then poor da Lentino would certainly have posed a threat to the men who purchased the Preston Jones paintings. He could have identified them.”

Manderville, having sent Peg off with his apron, took his place at the table. “Didn't you say one of the rogues sounded like old Alperson?”

“It was not a very close description, but it could well have been applied to—” Vespa checked and glanced up as his valet came into the room. “That will be all, Thornhill. Thank you.”

“I made enough extra for everyone,” said Manderville.

“You are very good, sir.” Thornhill started out, hesitated, and turned back. “Perhaps I should say, Captain Vespa, that I am aware of your present concerns regarding the unhappy demise of Mr. Preston Jones. And I have come into some information which may be of service to you in that regard.”

They all turned to look at him.

“Go on,” said Vespa.

“I presume, sir,” said the valet, approaching the table again, “that when Dicky-Boy called this morning, it was to tell you of his guard duties at the Jones house, night before last? I wonder if he had already given you his tale of having seen Mr. Preston Jones at Alabaster Royal on the night of his death?”

“No! I wasn't aware the boy had made such a claim.”

“I was,” said Manderville, attending to his beefsteak. “The Mayor told me. Jove, but I'm a fine chef! I hope you appreciate how fortunate you are to have—”

“We will award you the Legion of the Frying Pan for culinary excellence,” interrupted Vespa impatiently. “What did Mr. Fletcher say?”

“Eh? Oh—well, he said Dicky-Boy claimed to have seen poor old Jones here the night he died, lushy drunk and being helped by two men.”

Irked, Vespa said, “You didn't tell me that!”

Manderville shrugged. “What difference does it make? The poor block will say anything to be interesting. Likely, there's not a word of truth in it.”

Thornhill coughed. “Er, well, there just might be, Lieutenant Manderville. Could we have Harper in, Captain?”

“Why? Does he also know something about Mr. Jones' death?”

“I couldn't say, sir. The thing is, he knows Lord Alperson.”

Harper arrived, as bright and cheery as ever, and apparently undismayed by the deafening clamour of the bell. He had, he admitted upon being questioned by Thornhill, served as groom to his lordship. “Until 'e turned me off wivout no character, Captain, sir. That's when I crep' in 'ere, eh?”

“Why?” asked Broderick. “I mean, why were you dismissed without a reference?”

Harper looked at Thornhill, who interposed suavely, “As is so often the case, Lieutenant Broderick, Harper saw what a servant should never see. In this instance, he was so unwise as to not avert his eyes when Lord Alperson was—ah, fondling his granddaughter. Much against the young lady's will.”

“Why, that dirty old man!” exclaimed Manderville, revolted. “His own granddaughter?”

“And not the first time, neither,” said Harper, nodding.

“Poor girl,” said Vespa. “What a wretched life she must have led, with no one to protect her.”

“If ever I heard of anything so disgusting,” exclaimed Broderick. “Some men make me ashamed to be male!”

Encouraged, Harper said, “Ain't it the truth, sir! Some of the gents what useter come to Redways—cor! And their ladies no better. If not worse! When a woman goes bad, Cap'n, she's ten times worse'n—”

“Yes, well, Captain Vespa does not require your philosophizing,” interrupted Thornhill. “Tell him what you just told me. About the foreigners.”

“Ar,” said Harper. “You mean them wiv the dark faces, does yer, Thorny— Whoops! I means, Mr. Thornhill.” He turned his head, grinning broadly and winking at Vespa. “They wasn't Frenchies, Cap'n,” he said. “Nor Eyetalians. Nor Spanishers. I know that lot.
Proper
foreign, they was.”

The three men at the table exchanged a tense glance.

Vespa said, “Might they have been from the East?”

Harper nodded vigorously. “Somewhere like that, sir. Inja or 'Rabia. Out that way.”

Manderville asked, “Were there Indian ladies, also? One very beautiful lady, perhaps?”

“No, sir. I couldn't say as there was. Not what you might say
ladies.
And I'd 'ave remembered anyone beautiful. 'Course, they never brung no females when they come 'ere.”

“When—
who
came here?” demanded Vespa, startled.

“Why, 'is lor'ship, sir. Like I said. Arter I were turned orf, I thought I'd seen the last of the perish— Er, Lord Alperson. Coulda knocked me dahn wiv a feather when I 'eard someone moving abaht dahnstairs arter dark. I thought it were the ghosties, and I come dahn slow and scared, and there they was! The old lord and 'is friends, sitting' rahnd the kitchen table by candlelight, talking so soft and low that I knowed they was up to no good!”

“So you see, Captain,” Thornhill put in, “Lord Alperson
did
come here. Just as Dicky-Boy said.”

Vespa asked urgently, “When was this, Harper? Do you know what they were discussing? Or who were the other gentlemen?”

“It were afore poor Mr. Jones died, I know that. But”—Harper shook his head—“I didn't dare get close enough to 'ear naught. But I knowed one of 'em were Sir Gentry. Very thick wiv 'is lordship, 'e is. Very thick. And I think Mr. Cramer were another. The third gent, I didn't never see clear. But 'e were a flash cove, that I knows. And they was all afraid of 'im. I 'eard Sir Gentry say once, ‘No, by God! I didn't bargain fer no murder!' And the third gent says, 'aughty as be-damned, ‘Fool! Keep yer voice dahn! He suspects, I tell yer!' And 'e says as they wasn't to know if 'alf a 'undred vagrants and tramps might be listening. That's when I guessed they might come looking fer me, so I went inter the ghostie business meself, sir. Scared most folks orf. The gents didn't come no more. Leastways, not as I knowed.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Broderick when they were alone again. “If old Alperson's in it up to his eyes, he's been very cagey about things. A tricky customer! Perhaps he
was
one of those chaps who bought Mr. Jones' paintings. What did they call themselves, Jack?”

Vespa frowned uncertainly. “Be dashed if I can remember. I think the buyer was Leonard somebody.… He said he was from Tunbridge Wells, I know that. And it seems to me that the name of his house had something to do with birds. Roosters, or peacocks or—”

“Partridge, you great silly!” Consuela burst in upon them. She was wearing a dark rose wool cloak over a pink gown, there were roses in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. “Partridge Towers!” she said, putting back her hood. “And his name was Leonard Harrison.”

They had all sprung up at her arrival. Vespa said wrathfully, “Riding alone again! In the rain and after dark! Are you quite demented, ma'am?”

“The lady comes like the very glow of autumn,” said Manderville admiringly.

“Here, Miss Consuela,” Broderick drew a chair closer to the fire, and took her cloak. “You're likely cold.”

“And hungry,” she admitted, sniffing. “My, but that smells delicious. Is it?”

“No,” frowned Vespa. “Go home and eat your dinner!” He threw down his napkin. “And I suppose I must escort you.”

“Not so,” said Manderville, offering a gallant bow. “I shall be most happy to volunteer.”