The Case of the Missing Morris Dancer Page 9

  Henry smiled. ‘Not at all, though maybe three thirty would have been better. But we’ll work around three. Could you let Miss Stephanie know, please, and tell her she can reach me here? I’ll just stay out of the way for now.’

  ‘Certainly, Your Grace,’ said Edward, closing the door as he left.

  Henry was just settling his frazzled head on his pillow when his mobile phone began to vibrate in his waistcoat pocket.

  Holding it to his ear he heard, ‘Henry, is that you? It’s me. I’m in a spot of bother and I could do with my big brother’s help. Have you got a mo?’

  Henry glared at the instrument in his hand, then put it back to his ear. ‘No, Clementine, I don’t have a mo. Have you forgotten I am to be married in a few days? And can you begin to imagine the state of chaos and uproar that’s reigning here? No you cannot, because we haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for weeks. Mother’s been leaving messages for you all over London. It’s terribly unfair to the staff at the Belgravia house to keep ignoring her requests to telephone – she keeps asking them, and they keep asking you, no doubt. So what’s the matter? Run out of money?’ Henry was usually cross with his sister, and today was no exception.

  Instead of anything approaching a cogent response, all Henry heard was sobbing. He waited, less than patiently. It was probably all a ruse, he told himself. Typical of Clemmie. For once this was supposed to be a time when Henry was the center of attention, but there she was trying to throw herself into the limelight. As per usual.

  ‘I’m sorry, Henry. I didn’t mean to spoil your wedding …’

  ‘You won’t,’ snapped Henry, ‘come or don’t, I couldn’t give a fig. Mother would be mortified if you didn’t attend, of course, so come for her sake. But you won’t ruin my wedding. You couldn’t.’

  ‘Henry, oh Henry – I’m in hospital, and I think I might have killed someone. I’m sorry it’s at such an inconvenient time,’ sobbed his sister.

  Henry paused. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said slowly.

  ‘I smashed the car. My leg’s broken. Three places, they say. And they found a bicycle, but no bicyclist. I’d completely squished it. It’s a tragedy.’

  Henry could feel his temples throb. ‘When you say “they”, I presume you mean the police?’ he felt he’d spoken quite calmly, given the circumstances.

  ‘Yes,’ said Clementine simply.

  ‘I see. And you’re at which hospital?’

  ‘St Stephen’s, Kings Road.’

  ‘Completely immobile?’

  ‘Utterly.’

  ‘Will they release you?’

  ‘I’m not under arrest, Henry. There’s no actual dead body.’

  ‘I meant the hospital.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Yes. I’ve been here for a few days already. They say I can go home. But I don’t want to go to the house in Belgravia, I want to come back to Chellingworth Hall. Home home.’

  ‘You’ve been in the hospital for days?’ Henry could hear his voice moving up the scale. ‘Why did no one from the London house inform us of this?’

  ‘No one there knew.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Because I thought I could sort it all out myself.’

  Quite how his sister had imagined she could ‘sort out’ a broken leg and a possibly fatal road traffic accident all by herself Henry had no idea, but, knowing Clementine, she’d come up with some bizarre notions and had blithely stuck to her guns. Until now.

  ‘I suggest you telephone Gordon at the Belgravia house post haste and get him to drive you here. Even if your leg is fully extended it should fit in the back of the Bentley.’

  ‘Could I have a nurse when I get there?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I can’t do anything for myself, Henry,’ wailed Clementine. ‘I’ll have to have someone to help me with all the necessaries. Someone who’s used to managing the human body and all its requirements.’

  Henry’s tummy churned. ‘I’ll speak to someone about it. Now I suggest you telephone Gordon and make arrangements. Are you up to doing that for yourself?’ Henry knew he sounded snippy.

  ‘Thanks, Henry. You’re very kind, and a good egg.’ Clemmie hung up.

  Henry counted to ten, then he counted to twenty, then he telephoned his mother. He made a conscious effort to not whine when he spoke to her, but he couldn’t help believing that was what she’d hear as he told her about his sister’s plight, and plan.

  Buoyed by his mother’s response – that he’d handled everything perfectly and he’d done just the right thing – Henry finally left his room an hour after he’d entered it feeling that, for once in his life, he’d accomplished something all on his own.

  Making his way to the estate office where he knew he’d find Stephanie, he drew her to one side, filled her in on what was happening regarding his sister, and asked her advice about a nurse. Two minutes later, he was being whisked off by Edward to the comparative privacy of the lower library so he could have an emergency meeting with Tudor Evans. Luckily for Henry he was in such a state of shock that the imminent arrival of the intimidating Mr Evans left him undaunted, which meant when Tudor and he sat alone in the library on two rickety chairs, he was ready for anything. Or so he thought.

  ‘So you see, with the inaccessibility of the Anwen Morris artefacts, and with us not having our musician, I think it best if we pull out of the wedding altogether,’ Tudor Evans was concluding regretfully, just as Stephanie joined the two men, which she had promised to do.

  Henry thought she sounded a bit on edge when she said, ‘We can’t have that, Tudor. We must have the Anwen Morris to lead the journey from the altar to the bed. That is, from the church to the hall. It’s a well-established tradition designed to ensure the fertility of the marriage. At my age, I’m not taking any chances. Surely you can perform without the artefacts, and I’m sure you could find another Morris musician. Don’t you chaps all know each other? Don’t you all use basically the same tunes?’

  With both men hovering beside their chairs, having risen from them upon Stephanie’s arrival, Tudor Evans looked uncomfortable as he replied, ‘To be honest, yes, we do all know each other pretty well, but no, we don’t all use the same tunes, and no, it’s not going to be possible for us to find another musician. There is one man, up in Radnorshire, who might have been able to help, but he’s visiting relatives in Australia at the moment, so he’s out of the picture. And he was the only one anybody could think of.’

  ‘What about pre-recorded music?’ asked Stephanie, summoning an encouraging smile from Henry.

  ‘Well, if we’d thought about that beforehand and actually recorded the music, then, yes, that could have worked,’ replied Tudor, ‘but we haven’t got our music in pre-recorded form. And it’s not the sort of thing you can buy on a record, or even over the internet. All our music is – well, it’s an acquired taste.’

  ‘You know this is just a tradition, Stephanie, don’t you, my dear?’ said Henry gently. ‘The fact that we won’t have the Anwen Morris to lead us here on Saturday will not impact our likelihood of having children, I promise.’ He smiled at the woman for whom he had the utmost respect, and with whom he knew he would be in love forever. As he gazed into her lovely brown eyes he saw them fill with tears.

  Henry feared Stephanie was finally cracking. Within about thirty seconds she’d dissolved into hysterical sobbing, and Henry was left flailing, steering her toward an utterly inadequate seat, and barking at Tudor Evans that his fiancé needed a glass of water.

  A few moments later, Stephanie had regained some composure – as had Henry – and she was sipping cool water which Henry also dabbed at her wrists with a damp pocket handkerchief. She reassured him he could leave her alone, which Henry did, dragging Tudor Evans toward the door.

  Once there Henry held the man’s lapel in his fist and whispered angrily, ‘I do not care what you have to do, you will find either Aubrey Morris or a replacement musician, and you will find the Anwen Morris artefacts, or other items
with which you are able to perform at my wedding on Saturday. You have the women of the WISE Enquiries Agency to call upon, and I am asking you to get in touch with them immediately you leave this room to make my wishes known to them in no uncertain terms. I fear I am in no mood to speak to a woman at this time. Do you understand me, man?’

  Henry felt that, for once in his life, Tudor Evans was in no doubt he was not the most important man in the room. ‘I understand perfectly, Your Grace,’ was all he needed to say.

  Henry heard the man speaking into his mobile phone as he left, ‘Annie, that you? Boy oh boy, have we got trouble …’ was all Henry caught, then he made his way back to his exhausted and crushed fiancé. He determined to be of more help to her over the next few days. This was their wedding, and it was time he pulled up his socks and got on with making sure it all went as well as could be expected.

  ‘Right-o, my dear. Let’s have a look at that list of yours, and start to make it ours, shall we?’ he began. He meant well, and Stephanie knew it.

  TEN

  Carol Hill half-rolled over in bed to look at her husband – not the easiest thing to do given Bump’s size. Despite the overnight rain she’d left the windows ajar and now she could hear the birds singing in the trees around the village green, and she knew the early bus for Hay-on-Wye was late because it hadn’t roared around the corner yet. In the peace of the village, that sort of thing was audible. At their old flat in Paddington? All this would have gone unnoticed. As it was, she’d listened to the village throughout the night, unable to sleep well, because her mind was whirring with what she’d found out the evening before.

  Carol had done as Christine had asked and had trawled through as much of Stephanie Timber’s online life as she was able, trying to find out if the young woman had any hobbies or interests that might make the selection of a wedding gift easier. When she’d found nothing she’d carried on digging – into Stephanie’s parents. And she’d been surprised at what she’d found. It seemed Stephanie’s father had an interesting background, and some of the information Carol had gleaned suggested it might not be the sort of personal history a duchess would shout about, if Stephanie was even aware of it. What was more to the point was the fact she’d discovered some possible intersections between John Timbers and Alexander Bright during a period about a decade earlier. She’d been grappling with her conscience about how much she should say about her findings to Christine, because the upshot was it looked as though Alexander might not be very happy to become reacquainted with Mr Timbers.

  Deciding to talk to Mavis about her dilemma, Carol was delighted when David groaned, and reached for her, connecting with Bump long before the rest of his wife.

  Snuggles and breakfast behind them, Carol briefed her husband on her plan for the day – a quick trip to the shop for some supplies, then off to do her planned stint at the village hall making Welsh cakes. Feeling pretty relaxed about the case, because there wasn’t really much they could do about a man simply choosing to take his own property and go off on some sort of jaunt, with or without his toothbrush, she gave Bunty one last loving stroke as she pulled the hood of her duffel coat over her head and made off through the kitchen door.

  Pleased the rain had died down, but disappointed the keen wind was even chillier than the day before, Carol pushed into the beating drizzle and made her way diagonally across the village green. Her red wellies made her feel fearless as she splashed through the sodden, muddy grass, and she was quite lighthearted when she pushed open the door to the general store and made the little bell tinkle, announcing her arrival. She was sure of a cheerful greeting; Sharon Jones was a lovely girl, and the village benefitted from her presence in the shop. Her parents had run the place for decades, then they’d retired and sold up to a young couple who’d imagined that running a general store and post office in a little Welsh village would offer them an idyllic lifestyle with a healthy income. They’d been proved wrong in pretty short order, had decided that village life wasn’t going to suit them after all and had just about given the business away in their urgency to escape. Sharon Jones had returned to her beloved Anwen-by-Wye, having found that life in Cardiff wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and was now judged to be the perfect person to restore the original status quo in the village.

  ‘Hello Mrs Hill,’ said Sharon as Carol entered, shaking rain off her dripping arms. ‘How are you and Bump today? Alright? Is today the day, do you think?’

  ‘Oh, who knows? I don’t. But yes, I’m tidy, ta, and it’s Carol, I keep telling you,’ replied Carol allowing her full Carmarthenshire accent to bloom. ‘Mind you, I could do with it being a bit warmer. Oh my giddy aunt, it’s nippy. Let’s hope it’s not like this for the wedding, eh?’

  ‘Oo, I know. Terrible bad that would be, wouldn’t it. I hope it picks up for them. I mean, what will anyone wear if it’s like this? Got to walk all the way from the church to the hall up there, haven’t we? Bit twp, if you asks me, expecting us all to do that. I expect they’ll be alright, mind. Going in a pony and trap, aren’t they? Just the likes of us have to walk it.’

  Carol tried to look chipper as she wondered about the possible sources of a rumor about a pony and trap. ‘I believe they are walking too. The Morris dancers are leading them.’

  ‘Not with Aubrey gone, they won’t be. I said that to him last week, I did, when he got all his money out. I said, “What will they do without you?”’

  Carol was on full alert. ‘What do you mean, when he got all his money out?’ She realized as she said it she shouldn’t have sounded quite so interested, because Sharon retreated into her shell.

  ‘Oh, nothing really. I suppose I shouldn’t say. You know, post office business.’ She looked a bit sheepish and Carol noticed she’d reddened around her hairline. Carol needed to get Sharon back to a place where she was prepared to talk.

  ‘Oh well, never mind. Now, I’ve come in for some supplies for the Welsh cakes. I’m on today. What have you got?’

  Luckily Sharon took the bait and smiled. ‘Thank goodness Marjorie phoned me a few weeks ago and warned me about all this, or I’d have run out of everything by now. I tell you what, someone should have phoned the Guinness Book of Records or something, all the stuff you lot are going through. I’ve got it all, what do you need?’

  ‘Everything,’ said Carol grinning. ‘We all agreed we’d buy four pounds of flour each, and all that goes with it, so could you put that together for me, Sharon? Ta. I dare say you know the recipe off by heart by now.’

  Sharon busied herself behind the counter of the general store part of the shop. As she did so, Carol wandered around the post office area looking a bit lost, and poking through the stationery supplies and sundries that surrounded the counter where Sharon took in and passed out post and parcels, stamps and greeting cards. Carol’s brain was humming along, nineteen to the dozen.

  ‘How are you going to carry all this?’ asked Sharon, looking at the heavy bags that ranged along the counter.

  Carol pulled a face. ‘Drat, I hadn’t thought of that. I can’t, not in one load.’ She looked out of the glass door and made another face. ‘Uch a fi! The weather’s not fit for a dog. I know, I’ll phone David. He can help.’ She winked at Sharon as she patted Bump, ‘It’s his fault I’m like this anyway.’

  Carol phoned her husband, who promised to arrive with the car as soon as he could. Passing time until his arrival Carol said quite nonchalantly, ‘It’s such a shame they won’t have the Morris dancers on Saturday. All to do with fertility, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sharon. ‘Getting on a bit, Stephanie, isn’t she? You know, to be starting a family. Could do with all the help she can get, I dare say.’

  Carol decided to risk it. ‘Not like Aubrey to let everyone down,’ she ventured.

  ‘No,’ agreed Sharon then, peering around at the empty shop as though someone might be listening from behind the canned peas, she added, ‘everyone’s due a holiday when they need one. And he does work very hard. Mind y
ou, I didn’t think he was going till after the wedding. In fact, that’s what he told me. Having a bit of time off here this week to pack and get ready, then off next Monday. That’s when the insurance was for.’

  Carol tried to not sound over enthusiastic when she replied, ‘See, now that sounds more like him. Take a bit of time to get sorted, do what he’d said he’d do, then off to go. I bet he was looking forward to it.’

  Sharon nodded eagerly. ‘Oh he was that, poor dab. Never does nothing he doesn’t. Why shouldn’t he go off to Europe and have the time of his life?’

  ‘He wouldn’t miss this weather would he? You know, there,’ punted Carol.

  Sharon looked a little confused. ‘Well, I don’t know where he was going exactly. Just that his insurance was for Europe. Though why he bothered I don’t know. I told him about how to do it without. But yes, I suppose it’s nice in some parts over there now, though I’d have thought most of it would be like this.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Carol. What next? ‘Did he say he was nervous about going?’ Worth a try.

  Sharon shook her head. ‘No, just excited. Said they’d waited their whole lives for it.’

  ‘They had?’ Carol was tingling with excitement.

  Sharon smiled and winked knowingly. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s what he let slip, but I couldn’t draw him out about it. Clammed up like a cockle past its best, he did.’

  ‘Shame,’ said Carol, her meaning being somewhat different from Sharon’s when she agreed.

  ‘I got the impression he’d known whoever he was talking about from school, though,’ added Sharon, almost as though speaking to herself.

  ‘Really?’ Carol tried not to sound too interested.

  ‘Well, not exactly. But he said something about them plotting at their desks. I don’t know where else he’d be at a desk, do you? I mean it’s not like he worked in an office.’