Alan Hunter - Landed Gently

A constable was dispatched, and returned shortly to usher in the nobleman. Somerhayes looked more collected than he had done in the morning. The ghostly paleness had left his high-boned cheeks; there was some colour in his lips; a certain firmness, when he spoke, had replaced the near-hysteria-sounding flatness of his voice. He looked quickly around him on entering, and seeing Gently, gave him a fey little smile. Gently returned it with a solemn nod.

‘Haven’t interrupted your dinner, man, have we?’ enquired Sir Daynes with concern.

‘No, thank you, Daynes. I have had very little appetite for it.’

‘Mistake, man, mistake. Should keep up your strength, y’know.’

Somerhayes made no reply, but took his seat in the chair that had been set facing the table impressed for the business of taking statements. Dyson took his place opposite, his short-hand constable beside him; Sir Daynes and Gently remained standing, the former shifting over a bit to give Gently a fairer look at the fire.

‘Your full name, sir?’

‘Henry Ainslie Charles Feverell, sixth Baron Somerhayes.’

‘Of Merely Place in the county of Northshire, sir?’

‘Yes… magistrate of that county.’

Why was he looking at Gently while he gave these details, as though they constituted a wistful joke?

‘We would like you to tell us, sir, what you know about the deceased, and how he came to be staying at Merely Place.’

Somerhayes crossed his legs with deliberation and addressed himself to the task. He had nothing significant to tell them, but he gave it in precise detail. The deceased had been introduced to him in the tapestry workshop six weeks previously. He had been invited there by Mr Brass, following a lecture given by Mr Brass at the American Air Force base at Sculton. According to the deceased’s account of himself, he was the only son of a newspaper proprietor in the town of Carpetville, Missouri, USA, and his age was twenty-three. He had had artistic training and was enthusiastically interested in the tapestry workshop. He had subsequently paid a number of visits during which he had taken weaving lessons from Mr Brass, who had been very favourably impressed by his pupil’s ability, and his general popularity had led Somerhayes to invite the young man to spend his Christmas leave at the Place.

‘He was a complete stranger to all the residents, sir, as far as you know?’

‘A complete stranger.’

‘None of the residents or staff are American, sir, or to your knowledge have been to that country?’

‘None of them are American, and I would be surprised to learn that any of them except myself had been to America.’

‘When were you in the States, Henry?’ interrupted Sir Daynes in surprise. ‘Thought you were attached to the Paris Embassy when you were in the Diplomatic Service?’

‘I was there as a very young man,’ agreed Somerhayes. ‘But that was before the outbreak of war. During the war, as you know, I worked in the Foreign Office. It was while I was there that I had occasion to visit the United States.’

‘And of course… never had anything to do with this feller or his family?’ Sir Daynes sounded embarrassed at having to put such a tendentious question.

‘I did not have that pleasure.’

‘Of course not… too busy, eh? Didn’t get around much.’

‘I made a few excursions in the neighbourhood of Washington, but my acquaintance was confined to members of the embassy and their families and friends. I had no opportunity to visit the state of Missouri.’

‘Naturally… understand! Just have to get these things straight, y’know. Go on with what you were telling us, Henry… feller obviously a complete stranger.’

Sir Daynes relapsed into some throat-clearing and Somerhayes, unmoved, proceeded to relate the events leading up to the tragedy. He had sent his car to pick up Earle at Merely Halt on the evening of the 23rd. The young man had arrived at some time after eleven, when the rest of the household had retired. Somerhayes had ordered him some supper and chatted with him while he ate it. He had been in high spirits, talking gaily of his experiences in London and of a certain ‘amusing old buffer’ — here Somerhayes’s strange little smile again found Gently — who had travelled down with him. They had retired together to the north-east wing, where Somerhayes had given him a room in his own suite. In the morning Earle’s high spirits had continued. He had begun the day by going round with a piece of mistletoe and kissing, it was understood, every female member of the household, including the housekeeper, who was fifty-nine. Later on he had gone to the workshop in the company of Mrs Page and Mr Brass, and had made a start at setting up a low-warp machine on which he was purposing to weave a cartoon, or pattern, of his own design. During the afternoon he had accompanied Mrs Page on a walk through the park to the folly, and during the evening he had made one of a party in the north-east wing, which was in communal use during the holiday.

‘He was full enough of horse-play then, as I can testify,’ grunted Sir Daynes. ‘Young devil led me a caper or two.’

After Sir Daynes had left with Lady Broke and Gently, Earle had wanted to continue with the fun. In view of the morrow, however, the party broke up shortly after midnight. The tapissiers had retired to their quarters in the south-east wing, which adjoined the workshop, Mr Brass to his rooms in the south-west wing, and shortly afterwards, Mrs Page to the suite she occupied in the north-west wing.

‘So that for a short time there were yourself, Earle and Mrs Page alone in the… where was it?’ murmured Gently from his corner of the hearth.

Somerhayes paused directly in his statement. ‘The yellow drawing room, Mr Gently. Yes, that is perfectly correct, though the three of us were together for only a few minutes while my cousin finished some Sauternes she was drinking.’

‘Would you remember the conversation?’

‘I’m not certain that I would. I believe Lieutenant Earle was describing to us the advantages of a visit to Missouri, which he would have liked to have persuaded us to make. But as I said, my cousin did not remain with us longer than it took her to finish her drink.’

‘After which Lieutenant Earle and yourself were left together?’

Somerhayes looked Gently straight in the eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said.

They had sat by the dying fire until Somerhayes had been called away by Thomas, his butler-valet, with some question about the laying-out of presents in the wing breakfast room. When he returned to the yellow drawing room Earle was still there, and they had had a night-cap together. Then Earle had gone up to his room, at about one a.m., and Somerhayes had followed him ten minutes later, after giving some final instructions to Thomas.

‘Was Thomas there, sir, when the deceased retired?’ enquired Dyson quickly.

Somerhayes shook his head. ‘Thomas was busy in the breakfast room. I returned to him there after seeing Lieutenant Earle go up. As you probably know, in this wing one passes the stairs to the first floor on the way from the yellow drawing room to the breakfast room.’

‘And you left Thomas in the breakfast room when you retired, sir?’

‘Yes. I left him putting out the silver.’

Dyson nobly restrained himself from jumping down his distinguished informant’s throat, but it was with a visible effort.

‘Like that, sir, you were the last person to see him alive?’ he suggested carefully.

‘I was,’ replied Somerhayes flatly, without the suspicion of an evasion.

‘Hrrmp, hrrmp!’ interrupted Sir Daynes. ‘Apart from the criminal, of course, apart from the criminal. Suppose the young feller did go up to his room, Somerhayes? Bed wasn’t slept in, y’know.’