Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 7: Off With His Head, Singing in the Shrouds, False Scent. Ngaio Marsh
might perhaps tell her. But they only shuffled their feet and made noises in their throats. She took a deep breath and went on. (‘Voice pitched too high,’ she thought.) ‘May I try and guess? You’re the eldest, You’re my Uncle Dan, aren’t you, and you’re a widower with a son. And there are Andy and Nat, the twins. You’re both married but I don’t know what families you’ve got. And then came Mummy. And then you, Uncle Chris, the one she liked so much, and I don’t know if you’re married.’
Chris, the ruddy one, looked quickly at Trixie, turned the colour of his own hair and shook his head.
‘And I’ve already met Uncle Ernie,’ Camilla ended, and heard her voice fade uneasily.
There seemed little more to say. It had been a struggle to say as much as that. There they were with their countrymen’s clothes and boots, their labourers’ bodies and their apparent unreadiness to ease a situation that they themselves, or the old man, at least, had brought about.
‘Us didn’t reckon you’d carry our names so ready,’ Dan said and smiled at her again.
‘Oh,’ Camilla cried, seizing at this, ‘that was easy. Mummy used to tell me I could always remember your names in order because they spelt DANCE: Dan, Andy, Nat, Chris, Ernie. She said she thought Grandfather might have named you that way because of Sword Wednesday and the Dance of the Five Sons. Did you, Grandfather?’
In the inglenook of the Private, Mrs Bünz, her cider half-way to her lips, was held in ecstatic suspension.
A slightly less truculent look appeared in old William’s face.
‘That’s not a maid’s business,’ he said. ‘It’s man’s gear, that is.’
‘I know. She told me. But we can look on, can’t we? Will the swords be out on the Wednesday after the 21st, Grandfather?’
‘Certain sure they’ll be out.’
‘I be Whiffler,’ Ernie said very loudly. ‘Bean’t I, chaps?’
‘Hold your noise then. Us all knows you be Whiffler,’ said his father irritably, ‘and going in mortal dread of our lives on account of it.’
‘And the Wing-Commander’s “Crack”,’ Ernie said monotonously pursuing his theme. ‘Wing-Commander Begg, that is. Old ’Oss, that is. ’E commanded my crowd ’e did: I was ’is servant, I was. Wing-Commander Simon Begg, only we called ’im Simmy-Dick, we did. ’E’ll be Old ’Oss, ’e will.’
‘Ya-a-as, ya-a-as,’ said his four brothers soothingly in unison. Ernie’s dog came out from behind the door and gloomily contemplated its master.
‘We can’t have that poor stinking beast in here,’ Trixie remarked.
‘Not healthy,’ Tom Plowman said. ‘Sorry, Ern, but there you are. Not healthy.’
‘No more ’tis,’ Andy agreed. ‘Send it back home, Ern.’
His father loudly ordered the dog to be removed, going so far as to say that it ought to be put out of its misery, in which opinion his sons heartily concurred. The effect of this pronouncement upon Ernie was disturbing. He turned sheet-white, snatched up the dog and, looking from one to the other of his relations, backed towards the door.
‘I’ll be the cold death of any one of you that tries,’ he said violently.
A stillness fell upon the company. Ernie blundered out into the dark, carrying his dog.
His brothers scraped their boots on the floor and cleared their throats. His father said: ‘Damned young fool, when all’s said.’ Trixie explained that she was as fond of animals as anybody but you had to draw the line.
Presently Ernie returned, alone, and after eyeing his father for some moments, began to complain like a child.
‘A chap bean’t let ’ave nothin’ he sets his fancy to,’ Ernie whined. ‘Nor let do nothin’ he’s a notion to do. Take my case. Can’t ’ave me dog. Can’t do Fool’s act in the Five Sons. I’m the best lepper and caperer of the lot of you. I’d be a proper good Fool, I would.’ He pointed to his father. ‘You’re altogether beyond it, as the doctor in ’is wisdom ’as laid down. Why can’t you heed ’im and let me take over?’
His father rejoined with some heat: ‘You’re lucky to whiffle. Hold your tongue and don’t meddle in what you don’t understand. Which reminds me,’ he added, advancing upon Trixie. ‘There was a foreign wumman up along to Copse Forge. Proper old nosey besom. If so be – Ar?’
Camilla had tugged at his coat and was gesturing in the direction of the hidden Mrs Bünz. Trixie mouthed distractedly. The four senior brothers made unhappy noises in their throats.
‘In parlour, is she?’ William bawled. ‘Is she biding?’
‘A few days,’ Trixie murmured. Her father said firmly: ‘Don’t talk so loud, Guiser.’
‘I’ll talk as loud as I’m minded. Us doan’t want no furreignesses hereabouts –’
‘Doan’t, then Dad,’ his sons urged him.
But greatly inflamed, the Guiser roared on. Camilla looked through into the Private and saw Mrs Bünz wearing an expression of artificial abstraction. She tiptoed past the gap and disappeared.
‘Grandfather!’ Camilla cried out indignantly, ‘she heard you! How could you! You’ve hurt her feelings dreadfully and she’s not even English –’
‘Hold your tongue, then.’
‘I don’t see why I should.’
Ernie astonished them all by bursting into shouts of laughter.
‘Like mother, like maid,’ he said, jerking his thumb at Camilla. ‘Hark to our Bessie’s girl.’
Old William glowered at his granddaughter. ‘Bad blood,’ he said darkly.
‘Nonsense! You’re behaving,’ Camilla recklessly continued, ‘exactly like an over-played “heavy”. Absolute ham, if you don’t mind my saying so, Grandfather!’
‘What kind of loose talk’s that?’
‘Theatre slang, actually.’
‘Theatre!’ he roared. ‘Doan’t tell me you’re shaming your sex by taking up with that trash. That’s the devil’s counting-house, that is.’
‘With respect, Grandfather, it’s nothing of the sort.’
‘My granddaughter!’ William said, himself with considerable histrionic effort, ‘a play-actress! Ar, well! Us might have expected it, seeing she was nossled at the breast of the Scarlet Woman.’
Nat and Andy with the occasional unanimity of twins groaned: ‘Ar, dear!’
The landlord said: ‘Steady, souls.’
‘I really don’t know what you mean by that,’ Camilla said hotly. ‘If you’re talking about Daddy’s Church you must know jolly well that it isn’t mine. He and Mummy laid that on before I was born. I wasn’t to be a Roman and if my brother had lived he would have been one. I’m C. of E.’
‘That’s next door as bad,’ William shouted. ‘Turning your back on Chapel and canoodling with Popery.’
He had come quite close to her. His face was scored with exasperation. He pouted, too, pushing out his lips at her and making a piping sound behind them.
To her own astonishment Camilla said: ‘No, honestly! You’re nothing but an old baby after all,’ and suddenly kissed him.
‘There now!’ Trixie ejaculated, clapping her hands.
Tom Plowman said: ‘Reckon that calls for one all round on the house.’