The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (6 page)

Searching his memory for the biblical reference, the priest said hesitantly, “Well, I'm— Er, that is to say—”

“Tell him there ain't a word of truth in the whole perishing lot,” demanded the accused, the picture of outraged virtue. “Tell him to repent.”

“You know damned well I speak truth,” snapped Vespa.

Mr. Castle said cautiously, “I am very sure you—er—
believe
what you say sir. But—”

“What the deuce d'you mean by that? I tell you the front doors of the manor were wide open when I arrived, and this scoundrel was nowhere evident! In the night I heard him frippering about with his woman and
saw
her run into a room and hide!”

“Hah!” snorted Strickley. “Listen to it, willya!”

The clergyman pursed his lips dubiously.

“If you mean to take this rascal's word over mine,” growled Vespa.

Mr. Castle wrung his plump hands. “I—I fear, I have no choice, sir.”

“What?”

“Strickley throwed one of my best customers out the window, about eight o' the clock last evening, Captain, sir.”

The new voice brought Vespa's head around sharply. Mr. Ditchfield, proprietor of the Gallery Arms, stood there, a grave expression on his freckled face and the sunlight gleaming on his red hair. He was but one among the small crowd that had gathered to enjoy the proceedings.

A large man whose gory apron proclaimed him the local butcher nodded vehemently and voiced a supporting, “'Sright, sir. We all on us see it.”

“I don't doubt you,” said Vespa. “But it doesn't change the fact that Strickley came back to Alabaster later on, and—”

“Couldn't of, Mr. Vespa,” boomed a very tall lady wearing a sagging poke bonnet that completely hid her features. “My mister put Hezekiah Strickley in they stocks at half past eight o'clock.”

“Mrs. Blackham,” murmured the priest in Vespa's ear. “Our good Constable's spouse.”

“And I ain't been out but once since then,” asserted the prisoner defiantly. “And then only fer ten minutes account of me bowils, and thanks to Mr. Castle, and no thanks to them as begrudge a man defending of his honourable name!”

“What man would that be, Hezekiah?” called the blacksmith, a sturdy, bright-eyed individual with a round sweaty face, a leather apron, and a long-handled pair of iron tongs still clutched in his hand. “Not yerself, me buck?”

There was laughter at this, and angry protests from the prisoner, but Vespa frowned. If this was truth, then the intruder last night could not possibly have been Strickley.

Watching him, the priest said, “They're honest folk, Captain. It wasn't Hezekiah who brought his—er—lady to your house, or stole your food.”

“See?” jeered the caretaker. “All wrong, wasn't yer, Mr. London Dandy?”

Shocked gasps arose from the onlookers.

Vespa said coolly, “It appears that I owe you an apology. And if you use either that tone or that term to me again, Strickley, you and I will have a private discussion.”

“Ar, and he were one of Lord Wellington's ‘Family',” announced an emaciated little man who walked briskly to join the group. “An Aid-the-Camp what was knocked down at the Battle of Vitoria. You best watch your p's and q's, Hezekiah! Captain Vespa knows how to deal with your kind, I don't doubt!”

Strickley's jaw fell and he gaped at Vespa as if he couldn't believe his ears.

“This is Constable Blackham, sir,” imparted the clergyman. “Our minion of the Law.”

“And glad I am to welcome you, Captain,” said the constable as they shook hands.

The crowd closed in around Vespa; the men eager to meet him, the bonnets of the ladies bobbing to their curtsies as they murmured shy greetings. The excitement seemed to infect even the little dog, who rushed about barking importantly.

Strickley meanwhile had been released, and stood off to one side, stamping his feet up and down and watching the proceedings with a scowl. “You can pay me off, Captain,” he grunted when he could get near Vespa. “You won't want me, no more'n I want you.”

“I'll pay you after you've told me why you went off and left my house open. And don't deny you did that, at least.”

“Aye. I did.” His fierce eyes sweeping the crowd, Strickley snarled, “But I wasn't scared, and I see what I seen! And if any man calls me a liar, he can choose his own winder to be throwed out of!”

“If you wasn't scared, why didn't you stay to close the door, mate?” called the blacksmith.

Strickley turned on him furiously.

The constable warned, “That'll do! Any more trouble from you, and I'll lock you up for a week, Hezekiah!”

“I just want my pay,” growled Strickley sullenly. “Fair's fair.”

“True,” said Vespa. “Come up to the house later, and I'll square accounts.” He glanced around at the bright, interested faces of these country folk. “I'll be needing people to work for me. If anyone cares to apply, they can talk to me now, or…”

The friendly smiles had vanished, the honest eyes were lowered, the cheerful little crowd quieted and began to drift away, and within seconds Vespa stood by the stocks with only Mr. Castle and his ex-caretaker beside him.

The priest gave a nervous little cough. “I'm—er—rather afraid you'll find it difficult to hire servants here, sir.”

Perplexed, Vespa said, “I realize the house is old and rather run-down, but— Jupiter! If the local people are that independent, I'll look elsewhere.”

“It's—er—certainly worth a try,” mumbled Castle.

Strickley laughed. “No it ain't. Whyn't you tell him the truth, Mr. Clergyman? You won't get no one, Captain. Alabaster Royal's knowed for miles around. Ain't no one in his right mind would spend one night in the old place.”

Vespa turned to the cleric. “Surely, in this modern age your people don't still think—”

“They don't
think,
mate,” interrupted Strickley rudely. “This here clergyman won't say it, but I will. Yer falling-down great manor's
haunted,
Captain! Lotsa folks has heard 'em whispering and rustling about, but I'm the only one what ever see the woman. I were in—ah—such a hurry to tell everyone about it that I forgot to lock the house up.” His face darkened. “And then they wouldn't believe me. That's why I throwed Billy Watson out the winder. 'Cause he said I were making it up. I wasn't. I
seen
her! And now, I ain't the only one. You see her too, didn't you, Captain?”

Vespa hesitated. Could he be sure of what he'd seen last night? He'd been very tired. Perhaps he had dreamt the whole thing. Perhaps it had been another of his hallucinations. It was a depressing thought. Rallying, he said curtly, “I doubt a spirit would have stolen my breakfast. Besides, I do not believe in ghosts!”

“Hah!” snorted Hezekiah Strickley.

*   *   *

Gallery-on-Tang's police station and gaol was located in a tiny two-room building next to the smithy, and having accompanied the constable to this establishment, Vespa gave him a report of the coaching accident. Mr. Blackham was horrified. Such deeds were perpetrated by London's amateur coachmen, he said, who were nothing more than a set of hare-brained noddicocks, but he'd never had such a thing happen in
his
district. He took notes, writing slowly and copiously, but gave it as his opinion that without reliable corroborating witnesses there was small chance of prosecution, even if the miscreants were found.

Indignant, Vespa retorted, “I was a witness!”

“Yes, but with all due respect, sir, from what you've told me, you was asleep. Nor a judge wouldn't rule 'gainst the other driver based on the word of a post-boy; 'specially if a gentleman were tooling that coach. He'd be more likely to find the boy at fault.”

Vespa had half-expected such a decision. He acknowledged its logic reluctantly, and went into the sunshine with a rather grim look.

Hezekiah Strickley was loitering about the yard of the Gallery Arms, and Vespa hailed him and told him he would include today's wages provided he hauled a load of supplies out to Alabaster. The ex-caretaker agreed grudgingly. Next, Vespa called in at the fragrant little Grocer's Shop/Post Office and enchanted its fluttery lady proprietor by placing a large order. The Widow Davis promised to have it all packed up and ready by the time Strickley had hired a horse and cart.

“I must apologize for the silliness of the local people, sir,” she said in her tremulous voice. “I didn't come here till I married. I'm city-bred, as I'm sure you can tell. Canterbury is where I was born, and you may believe it took me a long time to adjust to country folk, so set in their ways as they are. They won't change, I'm afraid. You'll fetch your servants down from London, will you, Captain? You couldn't live in that great house all by yourself, surely?”

He said with a smile that she was probably in the right of it, and went to find Secrets.

The blacksmith, who was known as Young Tom, gave him a leg-up into the saddle and reinforced his belief that the mare had taken no serious hurt, and that provided she was rested for a few days, she would suffer no ill effects. “Looks to me like you won't be doing no long journeys yourself, sir,” he added sympathetically. “Got proper stove in whilst you was in Spain, I hear. A proper nuisance it must be to have to limp about like that.”

Inwardly, Vespa cringed, but he answered lightly, “Yes. But it's better than being dead, you know.”

This caused Young Tom to roar with laughter and agree that was the way to look at it, all right, and having paid his reckoning Vespa turned Secrets into the lane.

On the way back to Alabaster Royal he tried to make sense of what he'd learnt this morning. Of prime interest was the matter of the intruders in his home. As irritating as it had been to believe his caretaker responsible for the night's activities, it would at least have written
finis
to the problem. Now, he was left with no answer at all except that he was convinced the evil agencies at work were of human origin.
Living
humans! Ghosts were nothing more than flights of fancy indulged in by the gullible. Grandmama Wansdyke had been used to talk about the various legends surrounding Alabaster Royal, but Grandmama had been so very superstitious that he and Sherry had thought it all a grand joke, and now he couldn't even remember most of the lurid tales. The woman he'd glimpsed, and her companion, had likely been keeping a tryst in his house, confound their impertinence! And to add insult to injury, they'd wolfed down his breakfast! His lips tightened and he thought stormily that from now on, windows and doors would be securely locked at night.

Next in order of importance was the matter of servants. When he had so blithely told Sir Kendrick of his desire for a quiet life, it hadn't occurred to him that he would be unable to hire local help. Everywhere, people were seeking positions, and he'd taken it for granted that once it was known he was offering employment, he'd be swamped with eager applicants. Thinking back, he could hear himself declaring that he did not mean to become a recluse. His father's response took on a new significance: “What troubles me,” he'd said, “is that you may have no choice.” If Papa had known what faced him, it would have been kinder to have given him a more substantial warning. On the other hand, he'd been so damned sure of himself. He smiled ruefully. Perhaps Sir Kendrick had decided that he needed a set-down; he'd always taken the line that experience was the best teacher.

Crossing the bridge he experienced again a thrill of pride in the old place, but now pride was tinged with unease because his was not a solitary nature. He'd been accustomed to the easy camaraderie of army life, and before that, to the company of his brother and of his many friends at University and in Town. The prospect of living all alone in such a vast pile was daunting; in fact, it was downright impossible. Much as he hated to admit it, he was not yet up to par, and in no condition to take care of his own needs, much less those of Secrets, and his curricle and coach and the matched greys that would soon arrive from Richmond. There was nothing for it but to hire people from London; unless perhaps Bristol might contain prospective employees less chicken-hearted than the local—

Secrets reared as the small dog rushed past, barking shrilly. Managing to keep his seat, Vespa swore, and sent a brief summation of the mongrel's likely ancestry after it. The summation was brief because he then saw that a large waggon was drawn up in front of the house. The doors again stood wide, and the dog was already racing inside.

Dismounting in his unfortunate stiff slide, Vespa scowled at the waggon, slipped his cane from the saddle holster, and followed the dog.

The house was dim after the bright outer sunshine. He heard male voices and as his eyes adjusted to the changed light he gave an outraged gasp. A large desk stood at the foot of the stairs and two husky workmen were attempting to lift it. The taller of the pair grunted, “Hold it up higher, Perce! You're shifting all the perishing weight to me!”

“No, I ain't,” objected Perce, in a whining, high-pitched voice. “If you could just move yer trotters a bit quicker, we could—”

“Indeed, you could not!”

Vespa's authoritative tone brought the pair to an abrupt halt and the desk was restored to the floor with a crash.

“Who might you be when you're at home?” demanded the whiner insolently.

“I
am
at home,” said Vespa. “You, on the other hand, are not. What the devil d'you think you're doing with my furniture?”

“But we are returning it, of course, dear sir.” A tall, well-built individual strolled down the stairs and confronted Vespa with a dazzling smile. He looked to be about five and thirty, and there was about him the faint swagger of the man who knows his own worth. It was scarcely surprising, for his loosely curling blond hair and well-cut features undoubtedly won him the admiration of most women. Vespa, a keen judge of men, misliked the full-lipped ruddy mouth, however, and mistrusted the heavy-lidded blue eyes that failed to reflect a trace of that ingratiating smile. He noted that the splendidly tailored coat was beginning to show wear and the glossy riding boots were slightly down at heel. ‘The fellow's in the basket,' he thought. “Do you make a habit of calling on people when they're out?” he enquired icily, ignoring the stranger's outstretched hand.