A Connoisseur's Case (7 page)

‘Anyway,' Colonel Raven was saying, ‘the fellow Crabtree was packed off to the colonies.'

‘Well,' Judith said, ‘he went to some place in the west of the United States.'

‘Precisely, my dear girl. It's what I was saying.' The Colonel appeared to meditate offering a third glass of sherry, and to think better of it. ‘But why, by the way, are we talking about Crabtree? He had a job with the people over at a place called Scroop House, I seem to remember. But of course I haven't heard his name mentioned for years. Tickling other people's trout in Alaska, I should imagine.' Colonel Raven was very pleased with this joke.

‘He came back.' Judith hesitated. ‘He came back, only the other day. And John and I happened to meet him, and have some talk with him, in a pub called the Jolly Leggers. Only this morning, that was. And – well, he's been murdered.'

‘My dear child!' Colonel Raven was shocked. ‘Nothing of that sort could possibly happen round here. Just how do you suppose him to have been murdered?'

‘Somebody took a crack at his skull.'

‘You astound me, Judith. Who could possibly think of doing such a thing?'

‘Who indeed, Uncle Julius.' Judith glanced across at Appleby almost in alarm. ‘Strangely enough, it was John and I who came on the body.'

‘Oh, dear!' Now Colonel Raven was really upset. He seemed at once to feel that the neighbourhood, in treating his guests to such an experience, had badly let him down. ‘I'm very sorry to hear it,' he said. ‘But I'm glad you mentioned it straight away. Not a subject for the dinner table. Did I say something about the burgundy?'

‘Yes, Uncle Julius. And we're looking forward to it. But I felt I had to mention what had happened, because probably the local police will be coming after John to get his help.'

‘John's sort of thing, to be sure.' The Colonel had brightened again. ‘I hope it's an interesting – um – case of its kind. I'm only sorry it wasn't Stevenage.'

‘Stevenage?' Judith was puzzled.

‘Our local bigwig, Lord Stevenage. Murder of an earl would give John more scope, I mean. And none of us would miss old Stevenage. Not that anybody is going to miss old Crabapple, either, I suppose.'

‘Crabtree.'

‘Crabtree, then. They must have let him come back. Ticket-of-leave business, no doubt. Injudicious. Look at the consequences for the poor devil.'

‘But, Uncle Julius, I don't think there's any reason to believe that Crabtree was a criminal.'

‘A criminal?' Colonel Raven stood up as his butler announced dinner. ‘You can't have heard me, my dear. The man wasn't merely a criminal. He used to take my trout.'

‘And do you think he took old Mrs Coulson's trout, too?'

‘Good Lord!' Colonel Raven was amused. ‘I don't believe you ever met the Grand Collector when you used to come to Pryde as a kid.'

‘I'm fairly sure I never even heard of her.'

‘Well, well!' The Colonel made a gesture indicating that he and Judith should go in to dinner together, and that Appleby might go before or after them as he chose. ‘There used to be a mixed crowd there in the old lady's day. Not our simple country set from around here at all, you know. Stevenage, for example. I don't suppose poor Tommy was ever invited to Scroop in his life. But I did occasionally go myself. The old lady liked hearing about my rather special way of tackling the
mahseer
. I'll tell you about that – just a matter, you know, of studying the way they took their ordinary feed – while we pick at whatever those dolts have provided for us.'

‘We must hear that, of course, Uncle Julius. But over the coffee, please, when we can really attend. At dinner you must tell us about old Mrs Coulson and her mixed crowd. I feel cheated at never having heard all about her before.'

‘It's no good,' Appleby said over Colonel Raven's shoulder. ‘Judith isn't being honest. She wants people, and the local legends, and what sort of
chinoiseries
William Chambers did for the original Coulson – if that was his name. She prefers that – and let's be frank about it – to anything about fish.'

‘It isn't true,' Judith said. ‘But I can't deny that it is really John who has a passion for the fishy. Anything of that sort he pounces on at once.'

‘To be sure, my dear.' Colonel Raven answered a shade absently. Arrived in his dining-room, he was giving a sharp eye to the dispositions that the dolts had contrived for his guests. ‘But I can certainly tell you about the folk at Scroop. The house is one of those new-fangled places that retired merchants and their kind began running up in the 1770s and 1780s. But people of that sort have their merits, one oughtn't to deny. As for old Sara Coulson I'll tell you all I know.'

 

 

‘Reasonable family, and all that,' Colonel Raven presently said, as he peered with some severity at a sauceboat. ‘Daughter of old Freddie Crispin, who was the brainiest of that lot.'

‘The Viceroy?' Appleby asked.

‘That's the chap. Shot with him once, when I was a lad. Rather a set affair. Had to perch on a great elephant, and all that. But quite fun. Unassuming for a bigwig. Freddie, I mean. Not the elephant.'

‘So old Mrs Coulson,' Judith said, ‘was an Hon? I'm surprised Seth Crabtree didn't make that point.'

‘Yes, of course. She was the Honourable Mrs Coulson, for what the point's worth. But rather distinguished, bless her, as well. All sorts of people congregated. Arthur Balfour, and that crowd. Sara might have been called a tuft-hunter, if she hadn't been quite a tuft herself. But mad – quite mad. Do you know, mad folk have always interested me? Something that rather appeals in them. I don't know what.'

‘And she was called the Grand Collector?'

‘So she was. And so she did. Religions and reptiles, pottery and prima donnas, ormolu and OMs.' Colonel Raven smiled happily – whether at his own wit or because the sauce was right, it would have been hard to say.

‘I'm sure Arthur Balfour had the OM. And was well up in a variety of religions as well.'

‘Not a doubt of it, my dear – all credit to him. Always found one religion a pretty full ration, myself. Keeping up with it, and all that. And going in and reading one of the lessons for the parson. Morning on your knees in the family pew – and knowing, perhaps, that the mayfly are on the water. Hard.'

‘Yes, Uncle Julius. But tell us more about Sara Coulson.'

‘Some money of her own. And then, of course, this fellow Coulson had pots. It always helps.'

‘She survived her husband?'

‘Dear me, yes. By a good many years. And was left the place absolutely. No entail, or trust, or anything of that sort. No children, you see – and next-of-kin Coulsons only out on rather a remote line.'

‘But there's a Coulson at Scroop House now?'

‘Certainly. A very nice chap. Always anxious to do the right thing in the county. Too anxious, in a way. Place not quite native to him.'

‘I see. But how did he come there?'

‘Bless me if I ever thought to inquire. Never been on more than nodding terms with Scroop, you see. But I suppose the old lady must have made a will handing it back to the Coulson who was next in succession. Her own fortune too, perhaps – since she was certainly anxious that the place should be kept up in the grand manner.'

‘And the new Coulson let her down there?'

‘It seems to me you know all about this story already.' The Colonel frowned in some displeasure. But this may have been only because his butler was showing signs of handling the burgundy as only a dolt would do.

‘The late Seth Crabtree,' Appleby explained, ‘gave us a glimpse of life in the big house long ago. He seems to have had some position of privilege with the old lady. Did something or other for her. It was all a little obscure.'

‘Perhaps he provided her kitchens with my trout. He'd have been quite capable of it, the atrocious rascal. But – by Jove! – I've remembered something. About this very decent fellow, Bertram Coulson, coming into the place. People were surprised at it. You see, although he was the nearest of kin, old Sara had never set eyes on him. And there was some other Coulson – a younger man – whom she was said to have rather a fancy for. And the house and money were, as I've said, hers to do what she liked with. So people thought it odd. And it's odd that this should come back to me. The story hasn't been in my head for years. But then, so many things haven't.' Colonel Raven, who was sniffing warily at a drop of burgundy, looked momentarily perplexed. ‘I'm sure I don't know why.'

‘But about when old Mrs Coulson died?' Judith prompted. ‘Bertram Coulson failed to take over?'

‘Oh, entirely. Never so much as came to look at the place at that time. Shoved it on the market as a furnished property, with shooting, fishing and all, with the result that it was rented by a commercial chap called Binns. Later on, when Bertram Coulson thought better of it and came into residence after all, his former conduct took some living down in the neighbourhood.'

‘How did his change of heart come about?'

‘I don't know at all, my dear. But it was deuced sudden. Perhaps it would never have happened, but for the bust-up in the Binns
ménage
. Mrs Binns cleared out. Indeed, as she cleared out, they say, without so much as paying her milliner, she may be said to have levanted. Immoral woman, as a matter of fact.'

‘I see. She went off with another man?'

‘I suppose so. But, as far as I know, nobody ever saw her or heard of her again. Unusual, come to think of it, among the propertied classes. But, no doubt, there were lawyers in on settling the affair, and they got their whack.'

‘And then the commercial Mr Binns quit too?'

‘Very suddenly, my dear. And that's where the queer part of the story comes. Binns and Bertram Coulson had some sort of business connection. In fact, one gathered that they were quite pals. The arrangement for Binns' tenancy, in consequence, had become rather casual. The current lease hadn't been renewed up to within a few weeks, or days, of its being due to expire. Then there was this scandal about Mrs Binns. And Bertram Coulson had a belated fit of conscience about Scroop and what it should stand for. So he came down and virtually turfed Binns out on the spot. The story is that his books arrived in one van, his linen in another and his sporting gear in a third. And there he was: a Coulson at Scroop once more. Later on, he must have made it up with Binns. I've never heard, indeed, that Binns has been back to the place himself. But he has a couple of children who stay with the Coulsons quite often. Grown up now. Lad called Peter, and girl of the name of Daphne.'

‘So there's a Mrs Coulson?' Judith asked.

‘Certainly. And a devilish fine woman, in a mature way. No children, though. I see her from time to time. Her body speaks, if you ask me.'

Appleby, who had been listening attentively, was startled.

‘What was that?' he asked.

‘Shakespeare.' Colonel Raven produced one of his rare contented smiles as he made this unexpected reply. ‘Cleopatra, would it be? No harm in frankness with a married woman, my dear.' And the Colonel gave an ingenuously conspiratorial nod to Judith. ‘Idle and childless women of a certain age. They sometimes develop a roving eye.' The Colonel hesitated. ‘And turn up in unexpected places.'

‘In fact' – Judith interpreted – ‘Mrs Bertram Coulson is no better than Mrs Binns was?'

This time the Colonel shook his head.

‘No, no,' he said hastily. ‘One mustn't say that. Dashed serious thing to say. No evidence, at all. Or very little. But flighty – yes.'

Appleby watched, with considerable satisfaction, more burgundy being poured into his glass. Only Colonel Raven's butler was now in attendance. As well as being a dolt, Appleby reflected, he must be a decidedly confidential servant.

‘You said one thing, Colonel, about the belated arrival of Bertram Coulson that struck me. Clearly the man would need some personal possessions, including his own collection of books, and so on. But why sporting gear? He'd apparently ignored, for years and years, being the possessor of a large sporting property. I don't get a picture of the fellow at all.'

Colonel Raven considered this for a moment. He took a sip of burgundy and considered it again.

‘The man's a romantic idealist,' he said.

 

Both the Applebys had found this so surprising an expression to drop from Uncle Julius that a moment's silence succeeded. Appleby caught the butler's eye, and had a feeling that it had turned more than commonly inexpressive. But, oddly enough, it was to his butler that Colonel Raven now turned.

‘Tarbox,' he said, ‘you would agree with me?'

‘Yes, sir – although I am not quite clear on the score of the qualificatory epithet. “Romantic”, sir, I confess to be obscure to me. But “idealist”, certainly. Only a very considerable idealist would have considered retaining the services of the man Hollywood.'

‘Hollywood, Tarbox?'

‘Mr Coulson's butler, sir. He had been many years at Scroop House, and served both Mr Binns and the Honourable Mrs Coulson before him. But to my mind, sir, he is a person to be deprecated.'

‘Deprecated, Tarbox?'

‘“To advise the avoidance of” is, I understand, sir, the common signification of the term. I should advise the avoidance of the person under review.'

‘Dash it all, Tarbox, this Hollywood isn't under review, and I certainly have no intention of looking him up. And now I have quite forgotten what
is
under review, as you call it.'

‘The temperamental characteristics of Mr Coulson, sir. You were remarking that he is a romantic idealist. Her ladyship will correct me if I have repeated the expression incorrectly.'