Let's Kill Uncle (11 page)

T
HE GLEAMING PLANE
circled the Island harbour like a bird of prey. It swept to the water, making a smooth landing, and taxied to the float beside the wharf.

Mr and Mrs Brooks hopped about their little parlour in happy agitation. Who knew? If they made a good impression on Barnaby’s uncle, he might even let them have Barnaby next summer. They hardly dared hope.

‘Sydney, you and Barnaby go down to meet Major Murchison-Gaunt, while I tidy up,’ cried Mrs Brooks, hastily swallowing her digitalis.

Mr Brooks, tiny and erect, with Barnaby in tow, walked down to the wharf to meet Uncle.

Sergeant Coulter, off duty and in civilian clothes, relaxed on the porch of the store. Watching.

Uncle, wearing dark glasses and impeccably dressed in white flannels, ascot tie and crested navy blazer, sprang lightly to the wharf.

‘Major Murchison-Gaunt? This is indeed a pleasure.’

Uncle and Mr Brooks shook hands heartily.

Mr Brooks reached behind and gently dragged Barnaby to the fore.

‘And here’s the young man who’s the cause of all the excitement. I’ll leave you two alone, while I go back to the store. You will come up for tea, won’t you Major? Mrs Brooks is looking forward to meeting you.’

‘My dear Mr Brooks, I feel I have imposed on you enough.’

Uncle’s voice was soft, indeed, delightful, with its public school accent.

‘Not at all, not at all,’ Mr Brooks patted Barnaby’s shoulder fondly. ‘We’ll be waiting for you.’

Barnaby, left alone with his uncle, offered a grubby hand to Major Murchison-Gaunt.

‘How do you do,’ he said.

The old, cheerful, wicked Barnaby had been spirited away, and in his stead was left a small automaton.

‘Barnaby, my dear little fellow,’ Major Murchison-Gaunt embraced the child affectionately. ‘Are you well? Have you been happy here?’

‘Yes, Uncle.’

‘My, my, how you’ve grown. Well, how kind it was of the Brookses to look after you. And you like it here?’

‘Yes, Uncle.’

‘I’m so glad, Barnaby. Now, we mustn’t keep Mr and Mrs Brooks waiting. I must thank them again. Shall we go up?’

‘Uncle?’

‘Yes, Barnaby?’

‘Uncle, may I stay with them, for the summer, at their place behind the store, instead of at the cottage?’

Uncle looked sadly down at his little nephew.

‘Barnaby,’ he said in a hurt voice, ‘don’t you want to be with me?’

‘Yes,’ said Barnaby faintly, ‘only I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if I stayed on with them.’

‘Well, we’ll see. You know I want you to be happy. I’ll go up and have a talk with them now. I was going to try to cancel my lease on the cottage, as I have a great deal of unexpected business to attend to in the city, and I’ll be able to fly over only occasionally.’

Barnaby’s face was very white.

‘Oh, let me stay on for the summer. Please, please! I’ll do anything you say, only let me stay!’

‘But my dear little chap, it isn’t entirely up to me. I’ll have to see what Mr and Mrs Brooks think about the idea. You run along and play while I talk with them.’

Barnaby’s gaze rose to his uncle’s face, but stopped at the razor-like mouth. He didn’t dare contemplate the eyes behind the dark glasses.

Uncle’s eyes were quite mad.

Uncle, of course, knew this, which was why he always wore dark glasses.

As he walked away, Barnaby took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Uncle had not changed.

Christie, who had been hiding behind the war monument watching the meeting, now came forward and waved for him to join her.

‘Did you see him?’ he whispered when they met.

‘No, not really. I was too far away. Come on, let’s go up to the old church, it’s quiet there, we can talk and no one will hear us.’

Sergeant Coulter, although off duty, automatically and unconsciously noted height, age, weight, build, colour and mannerisms. Six foot one, forty to forty-five, weight two ten to twenty, build muscular, complexion florid, hair fair and very curly. He recognised the army carriage. Sergeant Coulter
was impartial, but Albert hated army officers. Uncle, he decided, was a very natty dresser, his clothes skilfully cut to disguise the animal bulk. Savile Row or Bond Street, Albert thought sourly. But something was out of place. The hard eyes of the Mountie swept over Major Murchison-Gaunt again. The hands. Tailoring couldn’t disguise them. Powerful, hairy hands which dangled in a restless manner, like paws longing to walk.

No, Uncle was not one of those toothbrush-moustached, spindly, regular army officers whom Albert detested. Uncle looked like a tough customer, a gentleman, of course, but as tireless and strong as a wolf, a mixture of country squire and ex-commando.

Uncle, Mr Brooks and Sergeant Coulter all met on the porch of the store.

Mr Brooks introduced Major Murchison-Gaunt and Sergeant Coulter.

‘Army?’ said Uncle in surprise.

‘Royal Canadian Mounted Police.’

‘I had no idea the law was represented here. Many desperadoes?’ asked Uncle jovially.

‘Sergeant Coulter lives on the Island,’ explained Mr Brooks. ‘He’s an Island boy. He drops in twice a week officially, not that we give him much extra work.’

‘That’s a nice plane you’ve got,’ said Sergeant Coulter. ‘De Havilland Beaver, isn’t it?’

Major Murchison-Gaunt nodded.

‘We mustn’t keep Mrs Brooks waiting, she’s so anxious to meet you, Major. Do come in. Albert, you will join us for tea, won’t you?’

Albert looked absent-mindedly at Mr Brooks.

‘Why, yes, thanks,’ he said.

Mrs Brooks was delighted to meet Major Murchison-Gaunt.

‘We can’t tell you how much pleasure it has given us having Barnaby here,’ she said. ‘He’s an orphan, is he not? He has never mentioned his parents, and of course, we’ve never asked him.’

‘My dear Mrs Brooks, let me begin by trying to thank you for all you have done for the boy. Yes, Barnaby is an orphan. He is now. I owe you an explanation for not being here to look after him, but the truth of the matter is I have been in Europe. Handling the funeral arrangements and settling the estate of his mother.’

Major Murchison-Gaunt paused, then continued,

‘I hardly know where to begin. The whole thing has been such a tragedy. First, I must ask you not to repeat a word of this to the child. You’ll certainly understand why as I explain.

‘You see, Barnaby believes he was orphaned in his inf ancy. As a matter of fact, his father did die then. But his mother passed away just three weeks ago. In a mental hospital in Switzerland. Naturally I don’t want the boy to learn this.’

Shocked glances passed between Mr and Mrs Brooks; even Sergeant Coulter looked impressed.

‘That poor child,’ whispered Mrs Brooks.

‘He is indeed.’ Uncle paused reflectively, then gave them a quick glance. ‘No doubt you remember the Gaunt case? It made international headlines about ten years ago.’

Mrs Brooks’s hands flew to her face.

‘Oh, no, you mean Barnaby- ?’

Uncle nodded.

‘Gaunts?’ said Mr Brooks. ‘The biscuit people?’

Those black-and-gold tins marked ‘By Appointment’ were known all over the British Empire.

‘Yes,’ said Uncle.

‘I don’t recall the case,’ said Sergeant Coulter.

‘I thought you in particular would, you know, Interpol and all that.’ Uncle sighed. ‘Well, my wife and Barnaby’s father were brother and sister. After Barnaby’s birth, his mother, Claire, suffered a very profound depression - postnatal something or other, the doctors call it.

‘My wife and I had rented a villa in Italy, on the Gulf of Spezia, and we suggested that poor Claire and Robert and the baby should visit us. We hoped that perhaps cheerful company, and boating and sports and that sort of thing would snap Claire out of this depression of hers. Her doctor thought it was an excellent idea.’

His listeners leaned forward anxiously.

Uncle sighed again.

‘Unfortunately, what we, and even her doctor, thought to be a temporary derangement, proved to be a deep-seated psychosis. We were naturally alarmed by her condition, but at that time we had no idea of the seriousness of it.’

Uncle paused, unable for the moment to continue.

Mrs Brooks refilled his teacup, Sergeant Coulter lit a cigarette, and they waited expectantly.

Uncle took a deep breath, once more in control of his emotions.

‘I’m sure you must all remember now. While in the acute maniacal stage, in the middle of the night, she fata lly stabbed my brother-in-law Robert. And if it hadn’t been for the child’s nurse and myself hearing his dying screams, she would have killed the baby - yes, little Barnaby. We reached her only just in time to prevent a second murder.’

His audience sat stunned.

‘She couldn’t stand trial, of course. She was committed to a hospital for the criminally insane, but five years ago I managed to have her transferred to a private clinic.’

Uncle rubbed his hands wearily over his face.

‘My wife and I adopted Barnaby. I even added the name Gaunt to my own, so the child would have the feeling of security.’

‘And is your wife in Europe now?’ asked Mrs Brooks.

Life was almost insupportable to poor Uncle.

‘My wife was killed in a car accident six months later, Mrs Brooks.’

‘Oh, my dear’ cried Mrs Brooks.

Uncle took out a silken handkerchief and blew his nose.

‘Dying and leaving me was the only unkind thing Maudie ever did in her life,’ he said hoarsely.

‘My dear Major,’ said Mr Brooks. Even Sergeant Coulter looked affected.

Uncle Sylvester, momentarily overwhelmed by the appalling mortality rate of his family, raised a hand briefly to his dark glasses.

Sergeant Coulter blinked. He could have sworn the fellow had hair even on the palm of his hand. But that, of course, was impossible.

‘One learns to live with tragedy,’ said Uncle bravely. ‘Barnaby is all I have left, the only link I have with my dear Maude. So now you understand how deeply I appreciate your kindness to him.’

‘Anything we can do for that child is a privilege,’ said Mrs Brooks, reaching for her digitalis.

Oh, that Dickie should always follow such a dark star!

‘He’s so happy with you. I was talking to him on the dock. The little rascal wants to stay with you for the summer.’

Uncle gave a courageous laugh.

‘He and I have always been so close, but do you know, I hardly think he has missed me at all. You must have been very good indeed to him.’

‘Children are often cruel, but they don’t mean to be,’ said Mr Brooks. ‘Our boy Dickie, who had the most thoughtful disposition in the world, couldn’t wait to get overseas, even though he knew how lonely we’d be.’

‘Maudie and I never had a family,’ said Uncle sadly, ‘although we wanted one. So you see, Barnaby is doubly precious to me. I adore children.’

He did indeed. Several little girls to whom he had taken a fancy had vanished into thin air.

‘Which brings me to another problem,’ Uncle went on. ‘I had intended to spend the summer here with Barnaby, but I find now that business commitments make this impossible. The best I can do is to fly over a couple of times a week, so I suppose I must keep Barnaby in the city with me.’

‘Not at all, not at all,’ cried Mrs Brooks eagerly. ‘We’d love to have him for the summer, Major. He is such a dear little boy. I know this must sound selfish, but, you see, Major, we lost Dickie, our only child, in the war. Barnaby is so like him in some ways.’

Mr Brooks looked at Albert and cast her a nervous glance.

Uncle stood up.

‘My dear Mrs Brooks, and here I have been burdening you with my own private sorrow.’

‘Not at all,’ said Mrs Brooks, daubing her eyes, ‘we share a common bond in Barnaby.’

Uncle pondered. Barnaby’s welfare was a matter of prime concern to him.

‘I am wondering if it would not perhaps be unsettling for him to be shuttling back and forth between us.’ Uncle sighed again. ‘But you see, I must be a bit selfish myself. If I could, perhaps, have him over to the cottage, say, one evening a week?’

‘Of course, of course,’ cried Mr and Mrs Brooks. Sergeant Coulter, with a monumental effort, stifled a yawn.

Uncle took out his chequebook and wrote two cheques.

‘This is for Barnaby’s board and any incidental expenses.’

He handed it to Mr Brooks.

‘Why, this is far too much,’ said Mr Brooks.

‘Tut, tut,’ said Uncle. ‘Knowing he is getting love and affection is worth a great deal to me, sir.’

He handed Mr Brooks the second cheque.

‘And this is for your church. I received a very kind letter from Mr Rice-Hope. The real-estate people told me that services are held on Benares, and I don’t know if I shall be able to attend, but if you would be kind enough to give him this on my behalf- ’

Mr and Mrs Brooks looked at each other in wonder.

‘You are a very good and kind man, Major Murchison-Gaunt.’

‘Not at all,’ said Uncle modestly.

‘Barnaby and his little friend Christie have been over to Benares to church,’ said Mrs Brooks with a certain pride, for Barnaby’s religious life seemed to have been neglected.

Pleased, Uncle chuckled.

What, did they actually mean to tell him that the little devil had voluntarily attended services?

Why yes, said Mrs Brooks, he and the little girl liked to. As a matter of fact they spent a lot of time in the old church on the Island. Mr Rice-Hope didn’t mind, as long as they didn’t touch anything.

Little girl? How sweet. Oh, yes, there was one more thing.

Uncle, in an ecclesiastical manner, piously folded his hands over his paunchy, iron-muscled gut.

‘I feel I should tell you,’ he said, ‘that Barnaby has had a little trouble in school. No, I suppose I had better be honest
and say schools. Just plain high spirits, you understand, although one of his masters had the effrontery to suggest that perhaps there was some taint in the boy. I took him out of
that
school in a hurry! I’m a great believer, Mr Brooks, in environment. But just to be on the safe side I took Barnaby to Zurich, to a psychiatric clinic for children.’

Uncle paused and looked around proudly.