Pushing Up Daisies (21 page)

Simon left the college, sat in his car, and phoned the number. A girl answered, but it was not Andrea. She had a local accent and gave her name as Tanya. Simon gave his name as Simon Andrews and his job as a checker-out at a supermarket. She demanded his reason for wanting to go. Simon said that he needed the money and would like a day out. Also, he didn't mind a bit of a punch up. She laughed and told him she would see him at the bus on Saturday.

Of course. Saturday is tomorrow, Simon realised.

In the morning, he climbed aboard the bus wearing a black sweater and trousers under a camouflage jacket. Tanya turned out to be a small chubby girl with red hair and freckles. She welcomed Simon with a grin and said, “Most of this lot are here for the money, but you're the only honest one.”

Simon took a seat next to a pallid girl with a long white face and bitten nails. “Terrible about them foxes,” she said.

“I'm just here for the money,” said Simon.

When Simon was not in the grip of one of his obsessions, he was a good detective. He had guessed that most of the turnout would come for the money, and he didn't want to engage in any violence.

But his new companion looked shocked. “That's dreadful. I'll tell Tanya.”

“She knows,” said Simon. “But she needs the numbers. I mean one of you must be filming.”

“Jerry does that. He's got a car.”

She turned away in disgust and stared out of the window.

When they reached the manor, they stopped outside the gates. Tanya took a group photo of them all. There was a short drive so that they were able to see the hunt assembled on the lawn outside. They all climbed down from the bus. Simon shouldered his way to the gates, took out a camera and zoomed in on the hunters. He didn't know if Charles hunted but didn't want to risk being noticed. Suddenly, he thought he saw the small figure of Andrea riding a tall hunter. He retreated away from the others and covertly studied the pictures of Andrea he had brought with him. Just to be sure, he climbed up the wall and sat on top of it to get a better look.

She was wearing a pink coat. He had once wondered why scarlet hunting jackets were called ‘pink,' had looked it up and found they were named after a tailor called Pink who had bought too much scarlet cloth for army uniforms and had been left with a surplus and so had created the hunting coat.

Stirrup cups were being handed up to the riders. Andrea scowled and refused the drink.

“Get down off that wall,” shouted a voice below Simon.

Simon twisted around. A tall policeman, one of many, had just arrived.

Scrabbling down the wall and joining the others, Simon wished he'd worn a balaclava over his face like some of the others. He hoped none of the policemen would recognise him.

Two men swung the gates open. The hounds trotted out, the horsemen followed. And then the Master of the Hunt clasped his chest and said, “I'm sick. Get an ambulance.” Riders dismounted and helped him down. Then others of the hunt were dismounting and vomiting. Then Simon saw Bill Wong giving instructions. Bill saw Simon and scowled, but Simon held a finger to his lips and mimed he had to talk to him. So Bill got two policemen to drag Simon behind a police van and demanded, “Make it look good.”

“Andrea Bellington is from Harby Hall,” said Simon. “She's into animal rights. She refused the stirrup cup which is why she's about the only one not being sick. Get whatever bottles supplied the stirrup cup and get it analysed.”

“Right. Thanks, Simon. Now bugger off.” He said to the two policemen who had brought Simon, “Throw him back.”

Members of Hunt the Hunt looked on sympathetically as Simon was carried up to join them and thrown on the ground. They all began to shout about police brutality with the exception of Tanya, who was on her mobile phone saying, “Well, if the hunt is cancelled, they can have their lunch but no pay.”

Simon could hear the wail of approaching sirens. He managed to ease up to the gate and looked down the drive. Andrea was standing by her horse and speaking rapidly into a mobile phone.

Andrea rang off and looked in surprise as Bill Wong and two policemen approached her, and then all three went into the manor.

It was a long day for Simon. All the would-be saboteurs had to be interrogated and their names and fingerprints taken. Warned beforehand by Bill Wong, the policeman who interviewed Simon accepted his fake name and fake address without a murmur.

He decided to find out if any of them knew Andrea. He did not ask outright but wondered out loud whether Hunt the Hunt had someone on the inside. Some looked blank, others said they had seen a lot of children running around the grounds of the manor, and it was probably one of them who had decided to play a trick. Tanya shouted that they would drive on and look for another hunt. Simon's bus companion, the pallid girl, volunteered that her name was Flossie. Simon realised that Flossie was one of the genuine protestors and asked her if Hunt the Hunt had a mole.

“You mean someone on the inside?” asked Flossie.

“Yes.”

“'Scuse me.”

“Where are you going?” demanded Simon, but standing up to let her past him for she had been sitting in the seat at the window.

“Going to have a piss. Okay?”

“Sure.”

It was then that Simon realised that the bus did not have a toilet, and Flossie was bent over Tanya, who was seated at the back of the bus, and speaking urgently. Then Tanya leaned across the aisle and whispered to two thuggish-looking men with shaven heads and face piercings.

This could get nasty, thought Simon. He started to make retching noises and called to the driver, “Stop the bus. I'm going to be sick.” The driver slammed on the brakes, and Simon hurtled off the bus and into nearby woods, running as hard as he could when he heard the sounds of pursuit. At last he rolled into a hollow, covered himself with piles of dead leaves, and waited anxiously. He heard the sound of many voices and realised the whole coachload had turned out to find him. Voices cried, “Kill the bastard.” Simon shivered, reflecting that although they were against cruelty to animals, there was nothing in their minds to stop them being cruel to people.

What possibly saved him was the fact that most of the coachload only wanted a paid day out. He heard them finally returning to the bus, complaining to Tanya that he was long gone. Soon he heard the bus move off and slowly sat up. A large dog fox regarded him solemnly before slinking away.

Agatha's eyes gleamed when Simon reported his day. “That's great news,” she said. “Now, we're getting somewhere.”

“How can we pin it on Andrea?” asked Simon.

“Don't you see? Farraday was killed by Oblivon. So if this emetic turns out to be something you give to animals, it means we can start looking for a vet. Patrick, see how quickly you can find out what was in the stirrup cup.”

“This isn't
CSI Miami,
” grumbled Patrick. “Could take a week.”

“Well, see if she was the only one who refused the stirrup cup.”

“I doubt it. I think half the world's been in rehab.”

“Oh,
Patrick,
” exclaimed Agatha. “Just do it.”

By the following day, Patrick had found out that three other members of the hunt had refused the stirrup cup. One because it was port and said the stuff served was filth and the other two, recovering alcoholics. Andrea said she didn't drink cheap booze and that's what the folk at the manor always served.

“I want you, Patrick and Phil, to follow Andrea. Could you wear different footwear, Patrick? These black shoes and socks mark you out as a copper. See if she knows a vet. Of course, if she has a horse, it stands to reason she knows a vet.”

After her two detectives had gone off, Agatha was just about to go out on a case that Patrick had been working on when the door of the office opened and Damian strolled in.

“What's happened?” asked Agatha.

He took a chair on the other side of her desk. He's going to turn it round and lean his arms on the back, thought Agatha, and that is what Damian did.

“I've come to pay my bill,” he said.

“But we're still working on it,” protested Agatha.

“I don't want to be rude, dear lady, but I have come to the conclusion that you're a waste of space. Give me my bill.”

“Are we getting too close to home?” asked Agatha.

“Just shut up, and I'll pay up.”

Agatha was suddenly glad that the elderly temp was at her desk in the corner. Mrs. Freedman was still poorly, and Agatha had phoned the agency and demanded the oldest secretary they had on their books. She was called Harriet Teller, grey-haired, thick glasses, tweedily dressed.

“Harriet,” said Agatha, “add up the expenses so far and give Lord Bellington the bill.”

“Certainly,” said Harriet. “It will only take a few minutes.”

Agatha studied Damian. Despite the effeminacy of his face, there was something masculine about his deep voice and strong body.

“Stop staring,” said Damian languidly. “It's rude.”

“I'm wondering why you want me to stop investigating,” said Agatha.

“Because you are useless. Will that do?”

“No, it won't. I have a good success rate. Did you hire me because you thought I was useless?”

“This is boring. Give me the damned bill.”

Harriet brought it over. He glanced at it, drew out a chequebook and signed it. He stood up and said, “Don't come near the hall or any of my family.”

“What did you make of him, Harriet?” asked Agatha.

“Anxious and frightened,” said Harriet.

“Now, that's sharp of you. I think it has something to do with his sister.”

“This is hopeless,” said Phil. “Here we are in Harby and highly conspicuous. We can't lurk outside the hall or the lodge keeper will report us. There isn't a pub in this village.”

*   *   *

“Let's find out the nearest one,” said Patrick. “There must be somewhere for the locals. I'll ask that old codger over there.” He got out of the car and came back to say, “The Prince of Wales is down that road to the left.”

“Another village?”

“No, one of those places stuck out in the countryside.”

They found the pub and noticed there were quite a few vehicles in the car park. “We can hardly go in there and start questioning people,” said Phil.

“We can listen to gossip. I mean, it's been all over the newspapers. We can say we read about it. Also, we can ask about a vet. We'll find someone chatty.”

“What shall we say we do?” asked Phil.

“We could say we're travelling salesmen,” said Patrick.

Phil said, “Won't do. I'd then have to think what I was selling and why I was in this neck of the woods. Just say we're pals and retired.”

They reached the pub and collected their drinks. Two people had just vacated an old-fashioned settle by the fire. They sat down and looked hopefully at two old men in the settle facing them.

Phil said, “Is there a vet near here?”

Two old faces stared at him without blinking. Phil wondered if they were brothers. Both were wearing woollen caps, both had grey stubble and weak blue watery eyes.

What it is to be a detective, thought Patrick. Instead of saying, Get stuffed, I have to say, “I see your glasses are empty. Like a drink?”

“Oh, ar, very kind of you, I'm sure,” said one. “That'll be two pints.”

While Patrick went to get the drinks, one of the men said, “I'm Cedric and this 'ere is brother, Tom. You was asking about a vet? Well, thank ee kindly,” as Patrick put two pints of beer on the table in front of them. “That ud be young Henry Jessop over at Orlington Sudbury. Got trouble?”

“My cat, Daisy, is poorly,” said Phil. “Got her in the car.”

“If you go out and drive to the left, you'll come to a crossroads and you'll see the sign to Orlington Sudbury. The vet's is on the village green,” said Tom.

“Want another pint?” asked Phil.

“Surely. Very kind.”

Phil went to the bar this time. He and Patrick were sticking to soft drinks.

“Over our way,” said Patrick, “there's was a vet once who was a terror with the ladies.”

The two brothers began to chortle and nudge each other. “What's so funny?” asked Patrick.

“Henry the vet, see, he's been way of courting Miss Andrea from the hall,” said Tom.

“So what's funny about that?” asked Patrick as Phil came back with the drinks. He told Phil what Tom had just said.

“Cos Miss Andrea do have a temper. Henry was chatting to a young miss outside his office, and Andrea turns up like the wrath of God and slaps that poor girl and sends her running,” said Cedric. “Better'n them soaps on the telly.”

“Do they plan to marry?” asked Patrick.

“No,” said Cedric. “See, Henry don't want to, but she'll make him, and that's a fact. She's Lord Bellington's sister, see, and she feels that gives her the right to throw her weight around.”

Patrick and Phil decided to move on, Phil, once they were outside, wondering at the strength of the brothers' bladders. “I could never hold that amount of beer without rushing to the toilet,” he said.

“Let's find Orlington Sudbury. If it's got a pub, I wouldn't mind a half of beer and a steak and kidney pie,” said Patrick. “Have you got a photo of this Andrea?”

“Only ones out of magazines, hunt balls, that sort of thing. But she's small and angry-looking. I think I can recognise her.”

Orlington Sudbury turned out to be a large village. It had a sprawling council estate on the outskirts, and then the road twisted and wound through the village. Probably followed a drove road in the olden days, thought Phil. But the village green was there, the pub looking pretty with flowers in the window boxes. It was called the Living End.

“Odd name for a pub,” said Patrick.