Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

Lady Mad, who was no doubt picturing herselfdoing a love duet with the eccentrically shaped policeman, said,when she had located her voice, “But you don’t even know if he canread, and I’m sure he can’t act.”

“And he’s – he’s a common fellow,” ClemmyCrenshaw bleated, nicely forgetting her own humble origins. “Ithought our play was meant for proper ladies and gentlemen.”

Murmurs of assent moved up and down thetable.

“Ah, but I know a great deal more aboutHoratio Cobb than any of you might imagine,” smirked the presidingbaronet. “You see, my niece Lizzie here attends Miss Tyson’sAcademy, which, incredibly, Constable Cobb’s daughter Delia alsoattends. Lizzie, being an overly kind girl, has befriended MissCobb, who, sad to say, does a fair amount of boasting about herfamily and their meagre triumphs.”

Lizzie blushed on cue and nodded her head insupport of her uncle’s claims.

“Mr. Cobb not only resembles one of theBard’s mechanics, he was raised by a father who worshipped theGreat Man and encouraged his two sons to do the same – going so faras to name them after Shakespearean characters. Delia and herbrother recite and perform at home, I’m told, and their papa hasbeen known to join them. And if this fellow can read and memorize, I can teach him to act!”

Lady Mad, who was vaguely aware of thesefacts but had failed to associate them with the Bardolphian figuremunching through his third tart in her dining-room, said with anambiguous smile, “Well, then, Perry, go ahead and ask him. Perhapswe’ll find out if there’s anything really worthwhile under thathandsome uniform.”

Sir Peregrine stood up and motioned for Cobbto come back into the theatre.

***

Clementine Crenshaw was sitting in her nightdress onthe extreme edge of her canopied bed. “I seen you gawkin’ at LadyMadeleine, don’t think I didn’t,” she said to her husband, who wasnear the door and looking as if he were about to bolt. “You wentan’ spoilt a perfectly wonderful evenin’.”

Cyrus sighed, and came over to sit besideher. He was fully dressed except for his loosened tie and anabsence of boots. She turned her back on him, but he reached upanyway and laid a hand on her slumped shoulder.

“Everybody was starin’ at the lady, sweet.She wished to be stared at, and it would have been impolite not tohave done so.”

Clemmy choked back a sob. “But she was sobeautiful an’ she made me – ”

“Now don’t go gettin’ yourself all worked up.You know what happens to your nerves.”

“It ain’t my nerves that’s hurt!” shesnapped. All the heart had gone out of her ringlettes, which nowdrooped wherever they pleased. She had made a desultory attempt toremove her makeup, leaving her face streaked and blotched. Herlarge eyes were glazed with tears – and something else.

“If I’d’ve known this play was goin’ to upsetyou so – ”

“I ain’t upset! I’m not ! We belongwith them people, I know we do. But when I seen Lady Madeleine bather lashes at you, an’ you – ” She couldn’t finish: a full-blownsob had arrived, and overwhelmed.

Cyrus put both arms around her. “Of course webelong, of course we do. We’ve worked hard to get where we are, mysweet. And we’ve always done it together. And we’ll keep on doin’it together. That’s a promise.” These words were crooned intoClemmy’s ear like a mantra or healing prayer. He rocked her slowly,and felt her body begin to relax.

“Yeah, we’ve worked hard, ain’t we?” she saidin a voice low and slurred.

“I’ll get you some more of your medicinenow,” he said, releasing her cautiously. She sank back onto thenearest pillow. He tried not to look at her splotched face, thedefeated tresses, and the sagging weight of her flesh beneath thenightdress. At her vanity, he found the stoppered bottle he wasseeking and opened it. It was half empty. It had been full, he wassure, before they had left for Oakwood Manor.

“Bring it to me, luv, please,” she murmured,stretching out one hand with a supreme effort. When he reached her,she seized the bottle, held it up to her lips and drank itscontents down.

“I’ll leave you now,” he said, leaning overand kissing her on the forehead.

“Yes, yes,” she breathed, and lay back uponthe bed. “We worked damn hard, didn’t we? Nobody thought we’d makeit, but we did, didn’t we?” Her words began to run into one anotherand she was no longer sure she was speaking them aloud. “My daddywas a bootlegger, but we showed ‘em, didn’t we, luv? And after thatawful thing your papa did down there in the war, who would’veguessed – ”

But Cyrus Crenshaw, self-made man, hadalready left the room and closed the door behind him.

After leaving Oakwood Manor, Cobb walked straightdown to Briar Cottage. He had already arranged for Gussie French tocome into the office early in the morning to prepare his account ofthe witness-statements for the magistrate, but he wanted Marc to goover them first, not with a view to altering them but rather toafford Brodie’s lawyer the opportunity to develop some kind ofuseful argument when they all met at the Court House at teno’clock. Marc was waiting for him, Beth and Maggie having gone tobed. Charlene was next door, sitting with Etta Hogg, who wasrunning a high fever and required constant watching. The cottagewas eerily quiet.

“If your demeanour means anything,” Marcsaid, “the news is not good.”

“I may’ve done the lad in,” Cobb sighed.

***

As was his custom, Marc sat silently and listened toCobb go over in minute detail his interviews with Tobias Budge, SirPeregrine Shuttleworth, Andrew Dutton, Horace Fullarton and CyrusCrenshaw. Later, after Cobb left, Marc would make copious notes onthe case and, as soon as he could thereafter, run them past Bethfor her comments and insights.

“So you can see, major,” Cobb finished up,“them stories all seem to fit with the times Gillian Budge give methis mornin’ – if they’re all tellin’ the truth, which ain’tlikely.”

“One of them isn’t, that’s for sure.”

“Well, we oughta remember that Fullarton’salready lied to you when he told you he didn’t see anythin’ in thealley through the coatroom window.”

“True. But of all the club members he isclosest to Brodie. I’m inclined to believe he thought it best forBrodie if he said nothing to me. After all, when I informed him ofthe arrest and impending charge, he did not know of Brodie’s ownsigned statement or that Brodie’s walking-stick was the murderweapon.”

Cobb looked skeptical, but all he said was,“So you still figure it was one of them swells who done it?”

“One of them, or Tobias Budge, has tobe the killer. I don’t for a second believe somebody unknown to usjust happened to wander into that alley and club Duggan todeath.”

“But I can’t find even a tiny disagreement inthese statements. Can you?”

“Not yet. But taken together, as you’vesummarized them, they do spell trouble for Brodie tomorrowmorning.”

Cobb sighed. “I was hopin’ I was wrong aboutthat.”

“The magistrate is sure to see things this way,” Marc said, and Cobb settled back for a lawyerlysumming up. “Dutton leaves about nine-forty or so and claims tohave seen or heard nothing. Fullarton leaves about nine-forty-fiveand hears the first part of the altercation between Duggan andBrodie. Minutes later, Crenshaw says he saw a man leaning over anunconscious body. Budge, rummaging about the cellar, also observessome sort of struggle and then, some minutes later, sees a stickbeating down on the prone victim. Shuttleworth leaves last, just intime to spot a youthful, slim figure hot-footing it up thealley.”