R.T. Raichev - Murder of Gonzago

Clarissa is cunning like a fox, seductive like a she-cat and cold like a snake. She is obsessed with Syl. How she kept staring at him! She seems to have thrown all caution to the winds. That old boy at the funeral, Sir Gyles Napier, said Clarissa had been the sweetest girl when he first met her twenty years ago. Innocence personified. Sugar and spice and all things nice. Is that possible?

What’s that in my pocket? God, why do I keep carrying it about? No one saw me pick it up … The Remnant coat of arms and his initials are on it … Couldn’t be more damning!

He’s always been nice to me. Exceptionally nice. Always so kind and encouraging.

If I had been a different sort of person, I could have started blackmailing him …

What was he doing standing on the terrace outside the french windows at the time of the murder? What was he doing in Grenadin?

Lady Grylls and Major Payne were on their way to the Fenwicks’ house in Belgrave Square, where they were expected by Felicity Fenwick, or Lady Remnant, as she had now become.

‘I hate driving in London,’ Payne murmured.

‘Isn’t the mayor any good? I understand he is in fact a Turk — or was it an amateur cyclist? Some of my sources are far from reliable, mind. He is both ? How extraordinary. What do mayors do ? I am sure we could do without mayors. What are mayors for ?’

‘I really have no idea, darling.’

‘Places like London practically run themselves, don’t they? Which is as it should be, given the high prices of everything . In my humble opinion, Hughie, mayors are surplus to requirements.’

‘You may be right, darling. But you were telling me about the Remnants — about the strange etymology of their family name?’

‘It was originally de Ruminant — de Revenant, according to some sources, which doesn’t seem terribly likely but it is interesting, nevertheless, given that dead and buried male Remnants have a trick of coming back and causing mischief.’

‘Coming back as revenants?’

‘Yes. Dead male Remnants frequently fail to find peace and they tend to return in the shape of malignant ghosts. There’s a legend about it. That’s why they had Roderick cremated, I suspect, though of course they’d never admit it, to prevent him from walking out of his grave. They clearly didn’t want to be left with a tenantless grave,’ Lady Grylls concluded.

‘Something whispers to me that the late Lord Remnant wasn’t a terribly nice man.’

‘He wasn’t at all nice. The Grenadier of Grenadin made that abundantly clear. He was far from popular with those poor locals. He had an awful lot of people evicted, you see, and he had their houses demolished. His explanation to the camera was that he was averse to sharing. He said he couldn’t help his overdeveloped sense of privacy.’

‘I wouldn’t call that a particularly satisfactory explanation.’

‘Neither would I. Roderick boasted of building a golf course and an English bar. That cost him a pretty penny, he pointed out. But the locals failed to appreciate his efforts and they bombarded him with death threats, though he insisted he didn’t let that bother him one little bit. The camera showed him shrugging and yawning in an exaggeratedly unconcerned manner.’

‘Death threats, eh?’ Payne gave his aunt a sidelong glance. ‘What did Lord Remnant die of exactly?’

‘Heart attack or stroke or something. You don’t suppose one should suspect anything more sinister, do you? Tenantless Graves . That would make a good title for one of Antonia’s novels, you know.’

‘I don’t think Antonia’s ever written a novel to match a title.’

‘Would I be right in saying the appeal of Antonia’s books lies not in appeasing the reader’s appetite for sensation or emotion but in satisfying curiosity?’

‘You would be. Jolly well put, darling.’

‘What’s Antonia up to these days?’

‘Not much. Writing as usual. Or thinking about it. Or talking about it.’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘No, not at all. It’s all great fun. She’s giving one of her rare interviews to some magazine this morning.’ Payne glanced at his watch. ‘In about an hour or so. Poor Antonia. She hates giving interviews.’

‘Poor Antonia. I am not sure I’d ever want to be a writer. I am being urged to write my memoirs, did I say? I was told I belonged to a vanishing breed and that whatever I wrote would sell like hot cakes … I rather doubt that … Do you think I could write about Corinne Coreille?* After all, the whole extraordinary episode took place at Chalfont.’

‘I don’t see why not. But you were telling me about the Remnants.’

‘The Remnants, yes. There’s a website devoted to the Remnant family, Provost tells me. Last night Provost got on the computer and ferreted out an awful lot of the most fascinating facts. No more fervent aficionado of the aristocracy than he exists among London’s millions.’ Lady Grylls shook her head. ‘Did you know you could get both Debrett’s and the Landed Gentry “online”? All at the click of a button!’

‘The internet has a lot to answer for,’ Payne said sternly.

‘There was something profoundly dubious about the early Remnants,’ Lady Grylls went on. ‘They thrived on patronage and blackmail and depended on largesse rather than industry for their richer hours. They worked exclusively at their pleasure and liked nothing better than striking attitudes. Remnants were single-minded and incredibly devious. They were liars and looters. They lacked self-awareness.’

‘Mad?’

‘Oh, indubitably. But they were always methodical and always enterprising. Shakespeare’s said to have come up with one of his most famous phrases as a result of his association with a Remnant. Can’t remember which one it was now. Madness comes into it.’

‘Method in his madness?’ Payne suggested.

‘That’s it. Yes. Remnants were notorious for coming up with loony schemes, which they somehow managed to make work. They were flamboyant and reckless. They were awfully keen on theatricals. During the reign of Elizabeth I, a Remnant maintained a private band of actors at Newstead, which was the scene not only of dramatics but of debauches as well.’

‘Tenantless graves. That’s Hamlet , I think,’ said Payne.

‘Is it? I’d be grateful if you concentrated on the road, Hughie. You are a bloody marvellous driver and I love it when you drive like a fiend, but I am sure we’ll have a fatal accident if you insist on taking your eyes off the road. How dreadful, if we got trapped inside the car and they had to cut us out of the wreckage. Like the sardines in the French song.’

‘What French song?’

‘ Marines, argentes, leurs petits corps decapites .’

‘I don’t believe there is such a song. Too macabre.’

‘It goes back to the early days of the French Revolution, I think. Mayfair wouldn’t be such a bad place to die,’ Lady Grylls went on in a reflective voice, ‘if one absolutely had to. It would be better than most places, in fact. All these lovely houses and wonderfully tended gardens, with the Ritz just round the corner.’

‘I believe I’ve got the Hamlet quotation,’ said Payne. ‘ The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets .’

‘Romans saw no virtue in moderation and very little in virtue. Nor for that matter did Remnants. Roderick’s great-grandfather, the ninth earl, was sent to a French military academy, but apparently he preferred to mount his campaigns in wanton female company. He frequented les maisons de tolerance .’