Holy Disorders. Edmund Crispin
And Daddy doesn’t seem to mind – that’s the chief thing. He brought me up terribly strictly till I was eighteen, but since then he’s just given me a lot of money and let me do what I like. Poor old Meg – the housekeeper at the clergy-house – got ill, and one can’t get servants for love or money nowadays, so I gave up living with Daddy and went to housekeep there. I don’t think the men like it very much, though. Each of them’s afraid the others will think he’s got designs on me. You’ve no idea the way they keep clear of my room, and the rumpus they make when they’re going to the bathroom.’
She laughed, and drank pink gin with a theatrical air of wickedness. It occurred to Geoffrey that she probably got an innocent, childish enjoyment out of pretending to be wicked. He greatly doubted, at all events, if she actually was. But he realized that with his present knowledge of her an adequate assessment of her merits and demerits was out of the question. Certainly she was attractive – very attractive, he suddenly felt. And he sighed, recognizing the enormity of his inexperience in love.
‘Tired?’ she asked.
‘No. Just content.’ It was not, he reflected, entirely a lie, at that. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘that I’ve been attacked three times today?’
She laughed. ‘Attacked? What on earth do you mean?’
‘One man tried to knock me on the head in a shop’ – ‘Store,’ said Fielding automatically – ‘another tried to drop a suitcase full of iron on my head, and another locked me in a lavatory on the train. That is to say—’ Geoffrey struggled for a more suitable form of words. Put like that, it didn’t sound nearly as serious as in fact it had been. ‘There were anonymous letters, too,’ he concluded lamely.
‘But how awful,’ said the girl. ‘No – what a stupid thing to say. I mean’ – she gestured helplessly – ‘well, why?’
‘I don’t know. That’s just the point. But I think it’s got something to do with the attack on Brooks here.’
Frances put down her drink rather suddenly. The movement was a slight one, and in itself unimportant, but it brought a curious unease to the atmosphere. There was a long pause before she said:
‘Do you mean that?’ Her voice was suddenly very quiet.
‘That’s all I can think. If it hadn’t been for Fielding, I might now be dead – almost certainly should be, in fact.’
When Frances took up her glass again, her hand was a fraction unsteady. But her voice was calm as she asked:
‘Was Dr Brooks a friend of yours?’ The question seemed to have a greater urgency, a greater importance, than common sense would allow. Geoffrey shook his head.
‘I only knew him slightly – a professional acquaintance.’ He hesitated. ‘You said “was”—’
She laughed again, but there was no humour in it. ‘No, he’s not dead, if that’s what you mean. I –’ She seemed abruptly to make up her mind about something; with intended deliberateness and ostentation the subject was changed. ‘And Daddy asked you to come down here and play the services in his place?’
Geoffrey acquiesced, repressing an almost irrepressible curiosity. ‘Well, no, not exactly. That is to say, I suppose he knew about it. Actually it was Fen who wired me to come.’ He became uncomfortable. ‘If I’m not wanted, it doesn’t matter. I’m glad of the break, and I shall like to see Fen again…’ He stopped, conscious that the words were meaningless.
The girl’s tone was lighter now.’ Oh, I’m sure you’re wanted – I don’t know who else would have played, if you hadn’t turned up.’
‘I was wondering – surely there’s a deputy? In fact, you mentioned one.’
‘Little Dutton – yes. But he’s in the middle of a nervous breakdown. The silly boy overworked himself, trying to get God knows what stupid musical degree. The doctor won’t let him go near an organ at the moment.’
Geoffrey nodded portentously. ‘That explains it,’ he said. In fact, he reflected, it explained very little. Frances had as good as refused to talk about the attack on Brooks – and, confound it, he ought to know the facts if anyone ought. He was summoning up courage to reopen the subject when the landlord hurried past, peering intently at a huge pocket-watch supplied with a magnifying-glass which raised the hands and the figures on the dial to grotesque dimensions. When he was almost out of the door he paused and came back to them.
‘Didn’t recognize you at first, Miss Butler,’ he said. He clipped his words with the nervousness of the very shortsighted. ‘How’s Dr Brooks getting on? Any improvement?’
‘I haven’t heard this evening.’ Frances spoke shortly. ‘Harry, you don’t know if Professor Fen’s in here this evening?’
‘What, that tall, mad fellow?’ There was something like awe in the landlord’s voice. ‘He might be in one of the other bars. I’ll look. But I don’t think so.’
‘If you see him, you might tell him I’m in here. And a friend of his, Mr Vintner.’
The landlord’s reaction to this last piece of news was unexpected. He took a step back and began breathing very quickly. ‘Geoffrey Vintner!’ he exclaimed.
‘Really, Harry. What on earth’s the matter with you? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.’
The landlord hurriedly pulled himself together. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Didn’t quite catch the name. Thought you were referring to a friend of mine, who – who’s dead.’ He stood wavering in front of them for a moment, and then made a little too rapidly for the door.
‘Well, I’m damned!’ said Frances in frank surprise.
‘If it hadn’t been for Fielding, I should have been dead, too,’ said Geoffrey aggrievedly. ‘Who is that man, anyway?’
‘Harry James?’ said Frances. ‘Don’t know anything about him, really. He’s had this pub for about five years – came from up north, I believe. Staunch Presbyterian. Leading light in the local Conservative Club. In fact’ – a thought seemed suddenly to strike her – ‘just the sort of respectable anonymity you’d expect from—’ She checked herself, and added humorously: ‘From what?’
Geoffrey nodded gloomily. ‘Precisely. From what?’
‘I suppose,’ said Fielding mournfully, ‘that beer you’re drinking is all right?’
Geoffrey jumped visibly. It occurred to him that he was not, perhaps, feeling very well. ‘Don’t be absurd,’ he said testily. ‘People don’t go putting poison in people’s beer. Or if they do,’ he added with rising indignation, ‘it’s no use worrying about it until it happens, or we shall all go raving mad and have to be put away.’ He relapsed into sulks. ‘I shall keep an eye on Mr James,’ he mumbled, and then, with sudden irritation: ‘And where the hell is Fen? Really, it’s too bad of him not to be here when I arrive.’ He brooded on his wrongs, cherishing them individually.
‘I don’t quite understand,’ said Fielding cautiously, ‘about these’ – he waved a hand, evoking a myriad phantom butterflies – ‘insects.’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Geoffrey replied, ‘because you don’t know Fen. My better self persuades me that he’s a normal, sensible, extremely healthy-minded person, but there are times when I wonder if he isn’t a bit cracked. Of course, everyone has these obsessions about some transient hobby or other, but Fen’s personality is so’ – he hesitated over words – ‘large and overwhelming, that when he gets bitten it seems like a cosmic upheaval. Everything’s affected for miles around.’
Frances chuckled. ‘It began,’ she said, ‘when he found a simply gigantic grasshopper on the clergy-house lawn. I must say I’ve never seen anything quite so vast. He put it in a deep cardboard box and brought it in to dinner that night to