2 The Affair of the Mutilated Mink Read online

  'Lady Burford jerked her head up. 'You've invited them both — for this weekend?'

  'Yes. Wasn't it lucky they were free?'

  'Really, Geraldine! That's very naughty of you.'

  'But you said you wanted extra manpower.'

  'One extra man - not two. And certainly not two who are almost strangers to me.'

  'It doesn't matter if they're strangers to you. They're not coming to amuse you. I've made it clear that their main function will be to entertain my wild colonial second-cousin-in-law-once-removed Sebastian. It was necessary to invite both because we don't know what he's like. Now, Paul can discuss lowbrow things like sport and the London shows, and Hugh can talk about literature and art. Paul can play him at billiards, Hugh at chess. You ought to be grateful you have a daughter who can supply a man for every occasion.'

  * * *

  Paul Carter put the receiver down and gave vent to a loud whoop of joy.

  It had to be a good sign. It had to be. True, it was short notice to be invited for a weekend - almost as though he was a last-minute addition. But he had been invited. It must mean something - other than merely helping with the Australian relative.

  He'd been rather uneasy lately about Gerry. At one time things had been hunky-dory between them. Then she'd seemed to cool off and he'd started to have horrible misgivings.

  But now this. Glorious Alderley. A long weekend with Gerry. And surely a chance to win her. She must at the very least be meaning to give him that opportunity — an opportunity when she would be free from the presence of that twerp Quartus.

  * * * *

  Hugh Quartus hung up and stood gazing at the telephone, a suspicious frown on his pale, slender-featured face. His dark, deep-set eyes were thoughtful.

  Why now, at this late date, had she asked him? Was he a replacement for somebody who'd cried off? No - she must know dozens of socially gifted young toffs, who would fill that bill much better than be would. Like that rotter Carter.

  So why? For there was certainly more to this invitation than met the eye. She didn't really want him to entertain this Australian cousin.

  Hugh ran a thin hand through his rather long black hair. What was the matter with the confounded girl? Hot - cold, on - off, yes - no. She was really infuriating. He just didn't know why lie bothered.

  Yes, he did. He knew quite well.

  Not that he had any real chance. Once or twice he'd thought there was a glimmer of hope. But they always seemed to end up bickering.

  He wished now he'd refused the invitation. He had half a mind to call back and tell her he'd forgotten a prior engagement. There'd be no pleasure in the visit. The bucolic Australian cousin sounded utterly grim. That idiot film star would be preening himself all over the place. He'd seen a Rex Ransom film once. Never again. Gerry hadn't said who the other guests would be; no doubt they'd all be equally ghastly.

  One thing held him back from cancelling. Curiosity. He had to find out why she'd invited him. Though he was going to hate every minute of it. The only consolation was that the fact she'd asked him certainly meant she wouldn't be seeing Carter for a few days.

  Chapter Four

  Thursday dawned bright, crisp and very cold, with a coating of frost silvering the lawns of Alderley and tracing fantastic opaque patterns on the windows. A thin layer of ice covered the lake.

  In the house the atmosphere at breakfast was markedly strained. The Earl - nervous as a schoolboy at the prospect of meeting his idol - managed only one egg, two rashers of bacon and three slices of toast. Gerry, who, at the last minute, had been beset by Terrible Doubts as to the wisdom of inviting her two beaux at the same time, spoke hardly at all; while the Countess was feeling decidedly disgruntled at the prospect of entertaining eight people, all of whom had been more or less foisted upon her.

  After breakfast the Earl decided to try and calm himself by spending half an hour with his beloved gun collection. On his way upstairs he encountered Merryweather.

  He stopped. Ah - everything ready for the guests?'

  'Quite ready, my lord.'

  'Where you puttin' people?'

  A close observer would have noticed a momentary expression of astonishment appear on the butler's impassive and august features, it being the first time in thirty years that Lord Burford had taken the remotest interest in domestic matters.

  'You wish me to appraise you of the disposition of guests in relation to sleeping accommodation, my lord?'

  'That's it.'

  'Well, my lord, Mr Haggermeir is in the Cedar bedroom, Mr Ransom in the Grey, Mr Gilbert in the Blue—'

  'Who's Mr Gilbert?'

  'Mr Arlington Gilbert.'

  'Oh, yes, of course. Go on.'

  'Miss Bradshaw and her husband in the Oak, Mr Carter in the White next door, the secretary person in the Regency, and Mr Quartus in the Green.'

  'No one in the Royal suite.'

  'No, my lord. It is not usually occupied except by special guests.'

  'But we've got a special guest! Mr Ransom.'

  Merryweather closed his eyes. 'Your lordship is not suggesting we should accommodate an actor in the Royal Suite?'

  'Not an actor, Merryweather — a Great Star. Why not?'

  'May I ask, my lord, if this is also her ladyship's wish?'

  'Not exactly. You think she'd object?'

  'It's hardly for me to say, my lord. But I should recommend that your lordship consult with her before taking such a radical step.'

  Lord Burford rubbed his chin. 'P'raps you're right. Very well, better leave it.'

  He moved off. Merryweather breathed a sigh of relief.

  * * *

  Paul's manservant, Albert, brought him his early tea at six-thirty in his Park Lane flat. After drinking it, Paul rose, donned a track suit, and went for his usual run in the park. By the time he'd returned, glowing with health, and had shaved and showered, Albert had his breakfast ready. Paul sat down to eat it, saying, ' Better pack my traps now. And put my running kit in. May do a hit of cross-country training.'

  By the time he'd finished breakfast, Albert had stowed the cases in the car. Paul gave him a few last minute instructions - he had decided not to take Albert with him on this occasion - and by eight o'clock was on the road. He'd be at Alderley comfortably before lunch. And then for a long, long weekend with Gerry.

  'Happy days are here again,' Paul carolled lustily as he drove.

  * * *

  Hugh Quartus groaned thickly as the alarm clock clanged stridently a few inches from his ear. Without opening his eyes, he reached out an arm and knocked it from the table. It stopped. He lay still, trying to remember why he had set it. He usually slept till he woke. So there must be something important on this morning.

  Then it came to him. Alderley. Oh, lor!

  Hugh dragged himself out of bed, staggered to the washbasin, splashed tepid water over his face, shaved, and ran a comb through his hair. He made some tea, cut and ate a couple of thick slices of bread and jam, shoved some clothes and a few necessities into an old army kit-bag, and wrapped his only decent lounge suit in brown paper. Like it or lump it, they'd have to put up with one of their guests not wearing formal dress in the evenings.

  Next he filled a Thermos flask with tea, dressed in two pairs of socks, thick corduroy trousers, three sweaters and his old, moth-eaten fur-lined flying jacket, and went down to the lock-up garage he rented.

  He opened it and wheeled out his motorcycle and sidecar. He threw his luggage into the sidecar and took from it a scarf, goggles, cap and gauntlets. These donned, he was ready. Wrapped up though he was, it was going to be a fearfully cold trip. He was tempted, even at this stage, to go by train. But no; this way he'd have independence of movement. Without the bike, he'd be stuck in the heart of the country and utterly reliant on his hosts for transportation. Besides, he'd save a few shillings this way - always an important consideration.

  The superbly tuned engine of the little motor-bike started at first kick. It really had been a
bargain, this machine.

  Hugh remembered he hadn't washed the breakfast things or made the bed. They'd be waiting for him when he got back.

  Something else to look forward to.

  * * *

  It was a little after eleven o'clock when Merryweather threw open the big double doors of the morning room at Alderley and announced, 'Mr and Mrs Sebastian Everard.'

  Thankful at last to know her cousin's surname, Lady Burford went forward to greet her.

  The woman who led the way into the room was small, somewhat plump, had a round, good-natured face and blonde hair done in lots of small tight curls. She stopped, staring at Lady Burford, her head tilted to one side. There was something birdlike about her.

  'Lavinia?'

  'Cecily?'

  'My dear, how lovely! You're looking wonderful.'

  'And you, Cecily.'

  They kissed. Lady Burford said, 'You remember George?'

  'Why, of course.' Cecily turned and presented her cheek as the Earl stepped forward. He brushed it with his lips, a little uncertainly.

  'Well, well, well,' he said, 'this is splendid. Splendid,' he added dogmatically, as though someone had contradicted him.

  Cecily said, 'And this is my husband, Sebastian.'

  Sebastian Everard was slight and thin, with a round, clean-shaven pink face and a bland expression. He smiled. 'How - how - how de do?' He spoke in an exaggerated drawl, offering a limp hand to the Earl and Countess. 'Jolly - jolly decent of you to ask us.'

  'Delighted to have you,' Lord Burford said.

  'Really? Oh, jolly good.' He gave an amiable titter, gazing round the room vaguely at the same time.

  'Now, George,' Lady Burford said briskly, 'why don't you give, er, Sebastian a drink? Cecily and I have a lot to talk about. There'll be some coffee shortly and if I remember rightly that's what she'll prefer.' She led her cousin to a chair by the fireplace.

  'Thank you, dear.' Cecily said. 'Now, there's so much I want to hear about you and George and Geraldine. And you must bring me up to date on twenty-five years of gossip. I want to know all about Lucy and the twins and Margaret and Reggie and Bobo and the Pearsons - and, oh, dozens of people.'

  'My, that's a tall order.'

  Lord Burford meanwhile had plucked at Sebastian's elbow. 'Come across here and let me pour you something.'

  'What? Oh. Right. Jolly good.' He followed the Earl across to a sideboard where drinks were laid out. 'What'll you have?'

  'Oh.' Sebastian frowned. 'Don't know, really.'

  'Sherry?'

  'Jolly good.'

  Lord Burford poured and handed Sebastian a glass.

  'Cheers.'

  'Oh, yes, rather.'

  They drank. There was a pause. Lord Burford cleared his throat. 'Chilly today.'

  'Oh, rather.'

  'Good drive down?'

  'Jolly good.'

  'Capital.' There was another silence. The Earl said, 'Er, I keep a few sheep.'

  'Really? Oh, jolly good.' Sebastian peered out through the window, as though expecting to see them dotted about the lawn.

  'Oh, not personally, of course. At the home farm. Have a good man running it. Must admit I find 'em rather irritatin' creatures. No offence, I hope?'

  'No, no, not at all.'

  'Always getting lost in the snow or caught in hedges, lambing at the most inconvenient time of the year. No doubt you feel quite different about 'em.'

  'Well, I - I haven't given it a lot of thought, actually.'

  'Really? You surprise me. I imagined it would be unavoidable.'

  'No, never found it necessary. Partial - partial to the odd chop, don't you know. And useful for insomnia, eh, eh?'

  'Countin' them jumping over a fence, you mean? Even that doesn't work with me. They always refuse to jump. Not that I'm often troubled by sleeplessness. Clear conscience, I suppose. How many thousand you got?'

  The nearest thing so far to animation or surprise came over Sebastian's face. 'How - how - how many thousands?'

  'Just roughly.'

  'Oh.' He stared at his sherry glass. 'Don't know, really.'

  'But you must count your stock sometimes.'

  'Count? No. I get statements from the bank and my jolly old accountant keeps tabs on my position.'

  Lord Burford's eye bulged. 'Your accountant counts your sheep for you?'

  Sebastian blinked. 'Oh, no. Thought you meant money. I don't own any sheep.'

  You don't? You mean you ain't a sheep farmer?'

  'Oh, no. Not at all. Never. Sorry.' He smiled.

  'Great Scott! I could have sworn . . .' He turned and raised his voice a little. 'Lavinia, you said Sebastian here was a sheep farmer. He's nothin' of the sort.'

  Cecily said gently, 'Oh, I'm sorry. I should have explained. It was Philip, my first husband, who was the sheep farmer. He died many years ago. Sebastian's not even an Australian. He was just visiting when we met. But then he decided to stay on.'

  The entry of Gerry at that moment caused a welcome diversion. After introductions she said, 'Well, I suppose you know all about our expected VIP guest?'

  'No, dear,' Cecily said. 'Who's that?'

  'The great Rex Ransom, no less.'

  'The film star? Really? How exciting. Did you hear that, Sebastian?'

  'Oh, rather. Jolly good. When - when's he expected to arrive?'

  'The train should be getting in to Alderley Halt in about five minutes. Hawkins has gone to meet it in the Rolls. Actually, there's quite a party of film people coming, isn't there, Daddy?'

  Lord Burford nodded happily. 'Biggest thing to happen at Alderley since Queen Victoria stayed here in 1852.'

  'Jolly good,' said Sebastian.

  * * *

  By the time Hugh reached Alderley village at about eleven-thirty and started on the final stage to the house he was stiff with cold. This last part of the journey did nothing to improve his mood. The estate was surrounded by a positive network of narrow lanes, and like all of them the one he had to follow wound irritatingly, several times approaching to within a mile of the house, which could be clearly glimpsed through the trees. Then the lane would suddenly turn away, without apparent reason, on another long detour.

  Hugh's mind was filled with thoughts of blazing fires and hot coffee, and as bend followed bend he became more and more frustrated and began to push his machine ever faster.

  At last he reached the final bend before the straight stretch of wider road that ran past the entrance to the drive leading up to the house. He twisted the throttle grip, leaning over so that the wheels of the sidecar actually left the ground.

  One thing, however, which he had not allowed for was the heavy overnight frost that had resulted in icy roads. Until he'd reached the village he'd been travelling on main roads, on which grit had been laid. But this twisting, little-used lane had not been treated.

  Suddenly Hugh felt the bike start to slip from under him. The next moment he found himself rolling over and over on the road. It seemed as though he was never going to stop. But eventually he did, and when his head had cleared he sat dizzily up.

  After a few seconds he decided he wasn't hurt and got unsteadily to his feet. Suddenly he no longer felt cold. He walked over to his cycle and sidecar, which were apparently undamaged. Hugh tried to get the contraption upright. But it was heavy and his feet kept slipping on the still icy surface.

  He was making another attempt when he heard a car approaching from around the bend. It had the deep-throated roar of an expensive sports model. Hugh started to run towards the bend. But his feet went from under him again. By the time he'd scrambled up, a long, low scarlet drop-head tourer had appeared round the curve.

  Hugh yelled and waved his arms. He saw the driver brake and the car start to skid. Hugh threw himself to one side, and in a graceful spin the sportscar's nearside rear wheel went over the front wheel of the motorcycle.

  * * *

  Paul felt the bump and a horrible crunching clatter. Then the car had stopped an
d there was a great calm. He got hastily out and saw that the front wheel of the motorcycle was badly buckled. The driver, only his nose showing between goggles and scarf, was standing on the grassy shoulder, staring mutely at the wreckage.

  Paul walked towards him. 'I say, old man, I'm most frightfully sorry—'

  Without taking his eyes from his injured machine, the motorcyclist raised both arms skywards in a gesture of fury and shouted, 'You reckless imbecile!'

  Paul said, 'Now, steady on. I only—'

  'You only? You only wrecked my—' He looked at Paul for the first time and stopped short. 'You?' he said.

  Paul felt a sudden chill of alarm. He said, 'What?'

  'Carter! What are you doing here?'

  'I'm afraid I don't—'

  The other suddenly tore off his goggles and scarf, and Paul's eyes widened. 'Quartus! Hullo. I didn't recognise you in that get- up.'

  'I said, what are you doing here?' Hugh snapped. His face was white.

  'I'm on my way to Alderley.'

  'I gathered that, you fool. But just why are you on your way there?'

  Paul frowned. 'I've been invited for the weekend.'

  Hugh was breathing hard. 'By Geraldine?'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'The little beast!'

  'Look here, don't you speak about Gerry like that.'

  'What's it to you how I speak about Gerry?'

  'I think a lot of her. I won't stand by and listen to her insulted.'

  'Then don't stand by. Clear off. I'll stay here and insult her to my heart's content.'

  Paul swallowed and managed to control himself. He said, 'I'm sorry about the bike.'

  'So am I!'

  'But I'm not really to blame—'

  'Not to blame! I suppose you think my machine dived under your car — decided to commit suicide!'