The Girl in Blue (15 page)

‘Yes.’

‘Is she
rich?’

‘Yes.’

‘I mean
really
rich?’

‘She
has between one and two million dollars,’ sad Jerry with a shudder.

‘Ha!’
sad Crispin, as if he were saying it among the trumpets.

Jane arrived soon after
lunch next day, but it was not for some little time that Jerry had the
opportunity of an extended conversation with her. When Crispin received a
guest who might take it into her head to buy Mellingham Hall, he received her
thoroughly. Wherever Jerry went, he seemed to come on the two of them, Crispin
prattling, Jane listening politely. It was only when Crispin was summoned by
Chippendale to go indoors to take a telephone call, leaving them standing by
the lake, that the interview which Jerry had been half dreading, half looking
forward to was able to proceed.

Chippendale
in his friendly way lingered long enough to give Jerry a cordial wink
accompanied by a vertical raising of the thumbs, presumably to indicate that
Jane had met with his approval, and seemed on the point of engaging them in
amiable chat, but apparently thought better of it and withdrew, and they were
alone except for a duck, remarkably like Chippendale in appearance, which was
quacking meditatively in the water not far away.

If
Jerry had attempted to open the conversation, he would probably himself have
quacked, for he was deeply stirred and in no shape to frame a coherent remark.
Although this encounter had not come on him as a surprise, it had done much to
cause his vocal cords to seize up. It was Jane who spoke first.

‘I seem
to remember that face,’ she said. ‘Mr G. G. F. West, is it not?’

Mr G.
G. F. West still being in no condition to sustain his share of the exchanges,
she continued.

‘You
are probably wondering what I am doing here. How the girl does flit about, you
are saying to yourself, here today, Bournemouth yesterday, London the day
before that, doesn’t she ever stay put? The explanation is very simple. I felt
that if Mellingham Hall was so irresistible that you couldn’t keep away from it
even though it meant breaking your sacred promise to take me out to dinner, it
must be an earthly Paradise and I ought to come and have a look at it. And I
must say it well repays inspection. But it’s a shame about that dinner. From Barribault’s
point of view, I mean. They were expecting to clean up, for they knew that you
would have spared no expense.

Jerry
found speech. Nothing very bright, but technically speech. He said:

‘I’m
sorry.’

‘Me,
too.’

‘I was
going to write to you and explain.’

Take
some explaining.’

‘Only I
can’t.’

‘I don’t
follow you.

‘I mean
it’s rather secret stuff. Can you keep a secret?’

‘No.’

‘You
could try.’

‘Oh, I’ll
try.’

‘Well,
then, it’s like this.’

He told
his story well, omitting no detail however slight, and she listened
attentively. When he had finished, she gave her verdict as uncompromisingly as
she had done after weighing the evidence in the case of Onapoulos and
Onapoulos versus the Lincolnshire and Eastern Counties Glass Bottling
Corporation.

‘Your
Uncle Bill is a hell hound.’

‘No, he’s
all right.’

‘Landing
you with a job like that.’

‘He
wants that miniature rather badly.’

‘I dare
say, but I maintain that, slice him where you like, he’s still a hell hound. Do
you know what I would do if I had an uncle who wanted me to search people’s
rooms? I’d tell him to go to blazes. I’m surprised that you didn’t.’

‘I
couldn’t. There’s the money.

‘Money
isn’t everything.’

‘It is
as far as I’m concerned. You see, I’m in love with a girl—’

‘Well,
that’s always nice.’

‘— and
she’s damned rich and I’m damned poor.’

‘I don’t
see where that matters. If she’s worth falling in love with, she won’t mind.’

‘It isn’t
her minding that’s the trouble, it’s me minding.’

‘You
don’t want to seem a fortune hunter?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Has it
ever occurred to you that you ought to be certified?’

‘It has
from time to time, and then from time to time it hasn’t. I think on the whole I’m
doing the sensible thing.’

‘I don’t.
If the post of village idiot at Mellingham-in-the-Vale is vacant, I feel you ought
to apply for it. Still, I suppose it’s no good trying to reason with you. So
what are your plans? When do you search?’

‘This
afternoon.’

‘Golly!’

‘Yes,
that’s rather how I feel. But it’s got to be done.’

‘What
happens if she catches you?’

‘I don’t
like to think of it. I’m hoping everything will be all right. She’s having tea
with the vicar. But you might be praying for me, will you?’

‘If you
think it would be helpful,’ said Jane. ‘It will have to be the one for those in
peril on the sea, because that’s the only one I remember.’

4

Having lingered to wink at
Jerry and elevate his thumbs as a tribute to Jane, Chippendale had not been
able to reach the extension in the butler’s pantry in time to listen to Crispin’s
telephone call, but one is happy to say that he missed nothing that would have
been worth hurrying for. It was only from the vicar thanking Crispin for his
gift of two old pairs of trousers and a teapot with a cracked spout to the
forthcoming Jumble Sale in ad of the Church Lads Annual Outing. There were, of
course, a few words of pleasant conversation just to keep the thing from
seeming abrupt. The vicar said how eagerly he was looking forward to enjoying
Mrs Clayborne’s company at the tea table; a charming woman didn’t Crispin
think, and Crispin sad Yes, charming, charming. Oh, and would Crispin tell her
to be sure to bring with her that novel by Emma Lucille Agee, I think that was
the name, of which she had spoken in such high terms, and Crispin said he would
not forget, which he promptly did. Nothing, in short, which would have repaid
Chippendale for the trouble of picking up the extension receiver.

It was
perhaps an hour later, getting on for half past four, that Crispin, returning
to the library to avoid R. B. Chisholm, who wanted to talk to him about the
situation in the Middle East, found Chippendale in a chair with his feet on a
table, reading a book of sermons.

He
seemed to be glad to be interrupted, though he was a man who sorely needed all
the sermons he could get his hands on.

‘Ah, there
you are, cocky,’ he sad genially. Thought you’d be along sooner or later. Ever
read this fellow? Canon Whistler he calls himself. Got a lot to say about hell
fire. I suppose a clergyman had to in those days, if he wanted to keep his job.
I’ve got a cousin who’s a clergyman, well when I say a clergyman, he cleans out
a church down Hammersmith way, dusts the pews and washes the floor and sees
that the hymn books are all present and correct, makes a good job of it, too,
the vicar calls him Tidy Thomas, that being his name, the same as mine only
mine’s Reginald Clarence. Shows what a small world it is.’

Crispin,
lending a reluctant ear to these confidences, had made a discovery. He hastened
to share this with his employee.

‘Chippendale,’
he said, ‘you’ve been drinking.’

So
manifestly true was this charge that the blush of shame would have mantled the
cheek of a more sensitive man, but Chippendale acknowledged it with no change
of colour. He did not go in much for blushes of shame.

The
merest spot, chum,’ he said, ‘the merest spot. I looked in at the Goose and
Gander for a few quick ones, and do you know what Beefy told me?’

‘Who
the devil’s Beefy?’

‘Beefy
Hibbs, the landlord, licensed to sell tobacco, wines and spirits. He’s the
uncle of Marlene Hibbs I gave a bicycle lesson to on Simms’s bicycle, and he
sad Simms had been molesting Marlene.’

‘Simms
would never do such a thing.’

‘Well,
he did. She has a dog called Buster she dotes on, what you’d call the bull
terrier type, and he accosted her in the High Street and told her in a very
harsh manner that it had bitten him in the trouser leg, and when she pointed
out that every dog is allowed a first bite by law, he sad that if it happened
again, he would prosecute it with the utmost severity and Buster wouldn’t have
a leg to stand on legally and would be for it. Hurt the poor child’s feelings,
as you can well imagine. I found her in tears by the village pump and had to
stand her a strawberry ice cream before I could bring the roses back to her
cheeks. The fact is the man’s drunk with a sense of power and needs a sharp
lesson, and I’ve thought of a way of giving it him if I can work it.’

Here
was Crispin’s opportunity to fulfil the promise he had made to Constable Simms
that he would speak to Chippendale, but he let it pass. With so much on his
mind he was incapable of interesting himself in the petty squabbles of these
fretful midges. All that interested him was the question of Chippendale’s
ability to function as a searcher of rooms when he was so plainly under the influence
of the wines and spirits which Mr Hibbs was licensed to sell.

He put
this point to him with no attempt to spare his hearer’s feelings with tactful
circumlocution.

‘How,’
he asked, ‘are you going to find that miniature when you’re as tight as an owl?’

Chippendale
weighed the question, and it amused him a good deal. He had to laugh like an
entertained hyaena before he could reply. He knew that after those quick ones
he was at the top of his form. Recovering his gravity, he admitted that he was
perhaps a mite polluted, but ridiculed the suggestion that he was as tight as
an owl.

‘Just
keyed up, chum. In the circumstances, if I may use the expression, a couple of
snifters were unavoidable. You can’t take on the sort of job I’m taking on
without a little outside help. I remember when I was a nipper and used to go
hunting for the stuff Father won on the dogs, I always had to have a swig of
Mother’s Vitamin B tonic to nerve me to the task. Don’t you worry, mate. I’ll
deliver the goods all right. You stay here, cocky.’ He wandered to the window,
walking a little unsteadily. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the dame has emerged and is
navigating down the drive en route for the vicarage. The coast is clear. I’ll
be getting along and what’s the word, begins with sub, no it’s gone.

He left
the room, frowning thoughtfully, to return a moment later.

‘Subject
her belongings to the closest scrutiny,’ he sad. ‘Knew I’d get it.’

5

He left Crispin a prey to
the liveliest misgivings. He had had misgivings before in his time, but seldom
any as lively as these. So much was at stake, and it was not agreeable to think
that success or failure were in the wobbly hands of an agent who showed such
unmistakable signs of having had what is technically known as one over the
eight. His assurance that he was merely keyed up had done nothing to ease his
mind. He clung to his original opinion that few owls could have achieved a more
pronounced degree of tightness. And this being so, how would he comport himself
in Mrs Bernadette Clayborne’s inner sanctum? Many workers sing at their work.
What guarantee had he that Chippendale would not sing at his? Even now the
suite might be ringing with drunken melody, and people pouring in from all
directions to ascertain what was going on.

Calmer
thoughts prevailed. Chippendale was a business man, counting on this venture to
enrich him by a hundred pounds, and he would not allow the urge to warble to
get the better of him. He would keep the thought of that hundred steadily
before him and go through his task with his music still within him. And the
vital thing was that there was no chance of an interruption by Barney. She had
been seen going down the drive, heading on winged feet for the vicarage.
Everything, in short, was perfectly all right, and like Kipling’s soldier
Crispin sad to his fluttering heart strings ‘Peace, be still’.

Nevertheless,
a certain jumpiness still persisted, rendering it beyond his power simply to
sit and wait for his agent’s return from the front. ‘You stay here, cocky,’
Chippendale had sad, and he had fully intended to do so, but the library with
its hushed gloom was too much for him. He yearned for the great outdoors where
there would not be seven or eight hundred bound volumes of early Victorian
sermons eyeing him with silent rebuke. He rose and went down to the hall to get
his hat, and was thus enabled to obtain an excellent view of Barney, who was
coming in at the front door.

One of
the less engaging qualities of the Gorgon of Greek mythology was, we are told,
her ability to turn into stone anyone who was unlucky enough to catch sight of
her, and it seemed to Crispin that this unexpected encounter with one who
should have been tucking into tea and buttered toast at the vicarage had had a
similar effect. It is a well-attested medical fact that the heart cannot take
time off, but he would have required written proof to convince him that his own
had not stopped beating.