Strangeways to Oldham (2 page)

‘Oh, how ghastly for you, you poor old thing! What an ignorant woman, and such bad manners to keep on doing it, after she's been corrected. I have the same trouble with my Beauchamp – you must remember him from the old days. He insists that his name is Beecham, and won't listen to a word I say on the subject. Well, I'm not standing for you being subject to that sort of thing! I'm getting you out of here. You simply can't stay. And whatever's happened to the house? Lovely old place!'

‘I've got it on the market. Can't afford to stay here for long, at the prices they charge. I'm not made of savings, you know.'

‘Just precisely what is the fee, per month, Hugo?' asked his visitor, with genuine interest.

At this question, he gestured her towards him, so that he could whisper in her ear.

‘
Combien
, Hugo? How much?' she shouted, scandalised at the figure he had named. ‘That does it, Chummy! You're moving into The Towers today. I can't think of you incarcerated in here for another day.'

‘But how are you going to get me out,' asked Hugo, rather pathetically.

‘I'm going to see that dried-up old hag, and get her to prepare your paperwork for you to leave, then I'm going back to The Towers to fetch the Rolls, before driving back here and moving you out, bag and baggage.'

‘But how am I going to manage?' queried Hugo. ‘You know, the nursing and helping side of it?'

‘You'll have me and you'll have Beauchamp. If you're not paying out a fortune every month to stay in this urine-drenched prison, you can afford to have someone in, like you used to, for whenever it's necessary. I know The Towers isn't the most luxurious of homes, but it's got to be better than this.'

‘A bed of nails in a pig sty would be better than this, Manda. Do you really think you could swing it with old Mato?'

‘Course I can. I'm still the gal I used to be, and I was a match for anyone in my youth.'

Lady Amanda Golightly treated everyone in life equally, no matter what their station, and had not yet met her Waterloo. That woman – that Matron person – had three strikes, then she was out. Those were the rules. She had had her first one, when she had been so rude to Lady Amanda, on finding her in Reggie Pagnell's room. Strike one! She had, even after repeated requests, refused to acknowledge the proper pronunciation of Hugo's rather protracted surname. Strike two! This would be her last chance.

With the light of battle in her eyes, that Hugo remembered of old, she marched out of his room, calling, ‘Matron! Matron! I need to speak to you.
Now
, you wretched woman!'

For the next ten minutes, Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump was aware of raised voices, coming down the corridor to his room from the reception desk, and sat, quivering, wondering what was going on; what was being said about him, and where he'd be sleeping tonight. If it was to be here again, he knew he was probably in for a very rough time. Matron didn't like her word being questioned, let alone completely trampled over, and he knew his Manda of old.

When the disagreement, argument, fight – whatever it had been – had ended, Hugo heard brisk footsteps approaching his door from the corridor, and cowered down in his chair. Ooh-er, he was probably for it, now!

Lady Amanda erupted into his room, her appearance as sudden as that of a pantomime demon that had just shot up through a trapdoor in the floor. ‘Did you know Reggie Pagnell was in here?' she asked, quite inconsequentially in Hugo's opinion, and when he answered in the affirmative, she nodded her head in approval, then told him, ‘Right, that's all settled then.'

‘What's all settled, Manda? I can't keep up with you.'

‘You never could, Chummy, and I'm afraid you never will. That's it! I've sprung you! You're free to go! I've phoned Beauchamp on my mobile, and he says he'll fix the old trailer on to the Rolls, and come down to fetch us. You're coming to live with me, in BelchesterTowers, and I won't hear a word to the contrary. Now, let's get your stuff packed.'

‘Thank God!' said Hugo, on a loud sighing exhalation of breath.

‘Thank
me
, if you please,' replied Lady Amanda, already pulling a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe. ‘I shall also be telephoning round the local estate agents with reference to your house. I don't see why you should have to sell it, when it can bring you a perfectly good income. We'll get them to assess it for rent, and you can let it out – let it work for you, with a little something to make you more comfortable. Of course, if, when the property market rises again, you want to go for the lump sum, that's completely your affair. But nobody but a fool sells at the moment, Hugo, dear. Prices are so low. And now you won't have to line the pockets of the shysters who run this place any more.'

‘I simply don't know how you do it. You're like a whirlwind, still. I would've considered that, after all these years, you might have slowed down a bit, but you've still got all the get up and go you had when you were a gal.'

‘I have Hugo; it just takes me longer to recover from one of my tornados, now.'

Chapter Two

After settling Hugo into a suitable room on the ground floor, Lady Amanda and he took afternoon tea in the drawing room, as she explained Beauchamp's current job description to him.

‘Bertie Wooster had Jeeves, Lord Peter Wimsey had Bunter; I have Beauchamp, who does his level best to live up to the impeccable record of his fictional counterparts. He's a sort of old family retainer-of-all-work. He seems to be good at absolutely everything, except the appreciation and pronunciation of his own name. I believe you met him first when he was Daddy's butler?'

At that moment, Beauchamp appeared in the doorway, silently as usual, to enquire about supper. ‘What have you planned for us this evening? I know it's short notice, to feed another mouth, but we'll have to manage,' she enquired. ‘You remember old Hugo, don't you?'

‘Of course, my lady. Good evening, Mr Hugo. Nice to see you at BelchesterTowers again, after all these years.' He turned to Lady Amanda. ‘I had planned Dover sole, new potatoes, and a green salad,' Beauchamp intoned. He did a lot of intoning, when they had guests, she'd noticed.

‘Stuff and nonsense!' she replied. ‘Deal with the fish the best you can to feed three. Chuck it in some batter, chip the potatoes, and we can have it all fried, with some baked beans. My secret supply is in the camphor-wood coffer in my bedroom, Beauchamp.'

‘I know, my lady. Thank you, my lady. Will there be anything else with that?'

‘Yes. A pot of really strong Assam, a plate of white sliced bread, suitably buttered, and lashings of tomato ketchup, thank you, Beauchamp. And we'll have a nice kipper for breakfast. Fried, mind – none of that grilled nonsense! You may go.'

‘Thank you, my lady.' Beauchamp melted back through the doorway, and it closed without a sound.

‘He's a bit unnerving, isn't he, Manda?' commented Hugo, having noticed the noiseless arrival and departure. ‘I'd forgotten all about that trick of his, moving around without a sound.'

‘Oh, Beauchamp's all right. Started here as a boot boy, donkey's years ago, and worked his way up, until he was the only one left. Serves him right! Haha! Good old stick, though, Beauchamp. Would trust him with my life,' she finished, full of the man's praises, even though the two of them often fell out.

‘Loyalty! That's what it all comes down to in the end: loyalty, Hugo. And talking of loyalty, tell me about Reggie Pagnell. Did you see much of him in Stalag Birdlings – the place even has a sickening name!'

‘Not really, Manda. He was in quite a bad way. Marbles gone, you know. I tried popping into his room, when I realised he was in there too, but he didn't have a clue who I was, so I stopped going. Too depressing, making me think that I was headed there too.'

‘Tommyrot, Chummy! You'll still be compos mentis when we're all gaga! Now, back to Reggie – did he have any visitors?'

‘Only the one, that I'm aware of. Came once a month, for the last three months. In fact, yesterday was his third visit. Sorry if I sound a bit like an old biddy peeking round the net curtains, but there's bally little else to do in a place like that, but keep an ear and an eye out for what's going on around one.'

‘Don't apologise. If I'd been stuck in there, I'd probably have committed murder by now, and be locked up in Broadmoor, if it still exists. So who was this infrequent but regular visitor of his?'

‘One of the nurses said it was his nephew,' replied Hugo, unsuspectingly.

‘His
nephew
?' boomed Lady Amanda. ‘But he was an only child and he never married. How the hell can a nephew visit him, when he hasn't – sorry, hadn't – any brothers or sisters, or in-laws?'

‘I don't know, Manda. I'm only repeating what I was told. Don't shoot the messenger. It was your father who was in partnership with him, back in those antediluvian days. I was still a bit of a stripling, back then.'

‘Sorry, Hugo. I just don't understand it. Any other information?'

‘Yes. Apparently, this ‘nephew' always brought along a hip flask filled with Reggie's favourite cocktail, and they shared it during his visit.'

‘Yes!' Lady Amanda was back in booming mode.

‘Careful, Manda. You nearly made me spill my tea.'

‘Again, sorry, but you've just jogged my memory. So much has happened this afternoon that I just forgot all about it. Look here,' she commanded, scuffling in her capacious handbag and pulling out a cocktail glass, a fine old linen handkerchief a barrier against her leaving any fingerprints on its surface.

‘I say, old girl! You haven't taken to drinking during the day have you?' enquired Hugo, aware of her love for cocktails when he had last known her.

‘Of course not. I actually went into Reggie's room. That's why I was at that ghastly place. Enid Tweedie told me he was in there, when I went to see her in hospital … But that's a completely different story.

‘I went there with the specific goal of visiting him, just for old time's sake, you know. But when I got there, that person on reception told me she'd have to ask Matron first. Well, you know me! I wasn't going to wait to be given permission to visit an old family friend, so I checked his room number with the list pinned on the wall, and toddled down to see him,
sans
permit.'

‘But he was dead, Manda.'

‘I know that now!' she exclaimed in exasperation. ‘But I didn't know it then – just shot into his room before anyone saw me, and there he was, covered from top to toe in a white sheet. It gave me quite a turn, I can tell you.'

‘So the cocktail glass is from his room?'

‘Bingo, Chummy! There were two glasses on the bedside table, and they looked rather out of place in a joint like that, so I sniffed ʼem.'

‘Ah, the old Golightly nose! Can identify a cocktail at a hundred paces.'

‘That's right! And I got it straight away. The cocktail was a ‘Strangeways to Oldham': one measure of dark rum, one measure of gin, half a measure of Rose's Lime Cordial, two measures of mandarin juice, one measure of passion fruit juice and two measures of lemonade,' she informed him crisply.

‘But there had been something else in those glasses, too – something nasty. And some of the liquid had been spilled on the carpet, so I got down on all fours like a dog, and sniffed that too.'

‘Oh, you didn't, Manda. You're quite shameless, you know.'

‘And that's how Matron caught me – on all fours, sniffing the carpet.'

‘Whatever did you tell her?' asked Hugo, amused at the turn of this tale.

‘I told her I was praying for Reggie's immortal soul, nicked an empty glass, and swiftly made my retreat, because I'd heard your voice. Your room seemed as good a place as any to hide, and I didn't fancy being chased by that old harridan, down the drive, with my proof in my handbag. If I'd hesitated, she might have asked why I had my nose to the carpet, and I'd have had to be very rude to her, and told her I was trying to trace the smell of wee that pervades the home.'

‘Proof of what?' asked Hugo, referring back to something Amanda had said, almost in passing.

‘Why, proof that Reggie Pagnell was murdered, of course. Don't be so dense, Hugo! She even asked me, when I was arranging your escape, if I'd noticed how many glasses there were on his bedside cabinet, so I told her, of course, that I'd only seen one. Let her look amongst her own staff for the phantom cocktail glass snaffler!'

‘That's taking two and two and making five, isn't it?'

‘Rot! Reggie's gaga. He gets three visits from a nephew who can't exist. The “nephew” always brings a cocktail for them to share. Reggie dies suddenly, after the third of these visits. I turn up, and smell something suspicious in the glasses. Ergo, he was murdered, but by whom, and why?'

‘But both the glasses had something nasty in them, you said.'

‘Hence the stain on the floor. He had to pour out two drinks, just like he'd done before, and then, when Reggie had drunk his, he must have poured the other back into this hip flask. Have you ever tried pouring anything into a hip flask without a small funnel? It's impossible not to spill something. Hence the spill on the floor. Hence, murder. QED, Hugo.'

Lady Amanda sat with her arms folded, eyeing her old friend with a mutinous glare. ‘Well, Hugo?'

‘Actually, I think you might be right, after all you've told me. But what are you going to do about it, eh?'

‘You mean, “what are
we
going to do about it”, Hugo. Well, firstly, I'm going to ring for Beauchamp, and tell him to put this glass somewhere very safe … I suppose, actually in my safe would be the best bet.'

‘I wondered why you'd been holding it in your hankie like that. And secondly?'

‘That's the bit I don't know yet. I think we'll have to sleep on it, but it'll probably involve going to the police station and seeing if I can get anyone to believe my story.

‘And now I believe it is a couple of minutes past the Cocktail Hour, so what can I get you?'

‘I haven't the faintest idea. I don't know much about cocktails. You choose!'

‘Then we'll have what I consider to be the cocktail of the day.
Beauchamp
! A couple of Strangeways to Oldhams, if you please.'

And thus, Lady Amanda Golightly stumbled into her first ever experience of murder: innocent, guileless, but with the inherited cunning that had kept her family in Belchester Towers for a great many generations.

And she had used the ‘m' word: murder. Lady Amanda didn't believe in beating about the bush, as has been mentioned before, and she wasn't going to tolerate murder amongst her friends and acquaintances. That was absolutely beyond the pale!

Although she had been aware of its presence in the trailer at the rear of the Rolls the day before, Lady Amanda was shocked and dismayed, the next morning, to see Hugo shuffling along the corridor propelling a Zimmer frame in front of him, on the way to breakfast.

‘I say, old crock. I didn't know you were as bad as that!' she declared, as he finally reached the breakfast room door.

‘'Fraid so, old stick. Doctor says there's nothing to be done about it, though,' he replied ruefully.

‘Who's your doctor?' she asked, abruptly.

‘Old Anstruther,' he replied, concentrating on getting his frame over a crack in the flagstones.

‘Anstruther? Why, he must have been Methuselah's doctor! Have you had a second opinion? Been to the hospital for X-rays? Had blood tests?'

‘He says there's no point, Manda.'

‘No point? The silly old coot. He was practically in his dotage when I was a gal. I'll give my own doctor a ring – sharp young chap, he is – and get you signed on to his books. If there's anything that can be done, he'll not only know about it, but put it into practice. We can't have you trailing round the house like a tortoise, with that thing as your foregoing shell.'

‘If you say so, but I can't see him coming up with anything new.'

‘Anaesthetics are probably new to that old windbag you've been going to. I'll phone after breakfast and make an appointment for you. In the meantime, we've got to get you mobile, and out in the fresh air for some exercise, to strengthen up those old muscles of yours.

‘I know what we'll do,' decided his hostess, as they entered the breakfast room and took their places at the table. ‘Did you see my old black trike yesterday?'

‘Of course I did. It went in the trailer with my walking frame, when you collected me from the home,' replied Hugo, with some dignity. He was neither blind, nor unobservant.

‘Well, that was Mummy's everyday conveyance. For high days and holidays, she had a red one – not quite so heavy, or difficult to steer, and it's in the stables. Also, Daddy used to have a bicycle with a little motor-thingy. If I can get Beauchamp to transfer the motor-thingy from the bicycle to Mummy's red trike – he'll work something out to take into account the extra wheel – we can go out for picnics, even if we never get out of the grounds.'

‘That sounds jolly pleasant, Manda,' he replied, his good humour restored, at the thought of outings and outside – two things he'd been severely deprived of, of late.

Beauchamp laid out a dish of fried kippers on the table, and as Hugo was starting to enquire about what they would do with regard to their suspicions of murder, Lady Amanda upbraided him with, ‘You know one never discusses business at table, Hugo. We'll talk about it after we've eaten. While we're at breakfast, tell me about your extraordinarily long surname, and how it grew that big. I never have known the full story.'

‘Oh, that's an easy one,' he began, interspersing the tale with breaks, while he forked mouthfuls of kipper from his plate, and chewed them appreciatively. ‘Two strong women were all it took. Grandpa Cholmondley married a Miss Crichton and, anxious that her name should not be discarded so lightly, she insisted on adding it to his, making it double-barrelled.

‘My father, in his choice of bride, married an equally strong woman, but with the unfortunate surname of Crump. Well, she prevailed, probably egged on by, and in the same fashion as, her mother-in-law, and the name became triple-barrelled, as you now know it.'

‘But you never married, Hugo?'

‘Didn't dare to, in case I chose a similarly strong-minded bride. Might have ended up with a moniker so long, I'd never be able to fill in a form for the rest of my life. It's bad enough as it is, without making it even longer. Pen keeps running out of ink, don't yer know.'

‘Don't be flippant, Chummy. Is that the real reason you never married?'

‘Of course it's not. Just never met the right gal, I suppose.'

‘Never mind. We can keep each other company now, can't we?'

‘I was going to ask you about that,' Hugo replied. ‘Didn't know if it was quite decent, the two of us living under the same roof, and all that. It's all been a bit sudden. I'll understand completely, if you think you acted rather rashly, yesterday.'