Dorothy Sayers - The Nine Tailors

Here Mr. Blundell — a convinced Disraelian — coughed. He thought he had done that rather well on the spur of the moment, though, now he came to think of it, “deportment “would have been a better word than “behaviour.”

Mrs. Gates unbent slightly, and the Superintendent perceived that he would have no further trouble with her. He looked forward to telling his wife and family about this interview. Lord Peter would enjoy it, too. A decent sort of bloke, his lordship, who would like a bit of a joke.

“About the wreath, ma’am,” he ventured to prompt.

“I am telling you about it. I was disgusted — really disgusted, officer, when I found that Mrs. Coppins had had the impertinence to remove my wreath and put her own in its place. There were, of course, a great many wreaths at Lady Thorpe’s funeral, some of them extremely handsome, and I should have been quite content if my little tribute had been placed on the roof of the hearse, with those of the village people. But Miss Thorpe would not hear of it. Miss Thorpe is always very thoughtful.”

“A very nice young lady,” said Mr. Blundell.

“Miss Thorpe is one of the Family,” said Mrs. Gates, “and the Family are always considerate of other people’s feelings. True gentlefolk always are. Upstarts are not.”

“That’s very true indeed, ma’am,” said the Superintendent, with so much earnestness that a critical listener might almost have supposed the remark to have a personal application.

“My wreath was placed upon the coffin itself,” went on Mrs Gates “with the wreaths of the Family. There was Miss Thorpe’s wreath, and Sir Henry’s, of course, and Mr. Edward Thorpe’s and Mrs. Wilbraham’s and mine. There was quite a difficulty to get them all upon the coffin, and I was quite willing that mine should be placed elsewhere, but Miss Thorpe insisted. So Mrs. Wilbraham’s was set up against the head of the coffin, and Sir Henry’s and Miss Thorpe’s and Mr. Edward’s on the coffin, and mine was given a position at the foot — which was practically the same thing as being on the coffin itself. And the wreaths from the Servants’ Hall and the Women’s Institute were on one side and the Rector’s wreath and Lord Kenilworth’s wreath were on the other side. And the rest of the flowers were placed, naturally, on top of the hearse.”

“Very proper, I’m sure, ma’am.”

“And consequently,” said Mrs. Gates, “after the funeral, when the grave was filled in. Harry Gotobed took particular notice that the Family’s wreaths (among which I include mine) were placed in suitable positions on the grave itself. I directed Johnson the chauffeur to attend to this — for it was a very rainy day, and it would not have been considerate to ask one of the maids to go — and he assured me that this was done. I have always found Johnson, sober and conscientious in his work, and I believe him to be a perfectly truthful man, as such people go. He described to me exactly where he placed the wreaths, and I have no doubt that he carried out his duty properly. And in any case, I interrogated Gotobed the next day, and he told me the same thing.”

“I daresay he did,” thought Mr. Blundell, “and in his place I’d have done the same. I wouldn’t get a fellow into trouble with this old cat, not if I knew it.” But he merely bowed and said nothing.

“You may judge of my surprise,” went on the lady, when, on going down the next day after Early Service to see that everything was in order, I found Mrs. Coppins’ wreath — not at the side, where it should have been — but on the grave, as if she were somebody of importance, and mine pushed away into an obscure place and actually covered up, so that nobody could see the card at all. I was extremely angry, as you may suppose. Not that I minded in the least where my poor little remembrance was placed, for that can make no difference to anybody, and it is the thought that counts. But I was so much incensed by the woman’s insolence — merely because I had felt it necessary to speak to her one day about the way in which her children behaved in the post-office. Needless to say, I got nothing from her but impertinence.”

“That was on the 5th of January, then?”

“It was the morning after the funeral. That, as you say, would be Sunday the fifth. I did not accuse the woman without proof. I had spoken to Johnson again, and made careful inquiries of Gotobed, and they were both positive of the position in which the wreaths had been left the night before.”

“Mightn’t it have been some of the schoolchildren larking about, ma’am?”

“I could well believe any thing of them,” said Mrs. Gates, “they are always ill-behaved, and I have frequently had to complain to Miss Snoot about them, but in this case the insult was too pointed. It was quite obviously and definitely aimed at myself, by that vulgar woman. Why a small farmer’s wife should give herself such airs, I do not know. When I was a girl, village people knew their place, and kept it.”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Blundell, “and I’m sure we were all much happier in those days. And so, ma’am, you never noticed any disturbance except on that one occasion?”

“And I should think that was quite enough,” replied Mrs. Gates. “I kept a very good look-out after that, and if anything of a similar kind had occurred again, I should have complained to the police.”

“Ah, well,” said the Superintendent, as he rose to go, “you see, it’s come round to us in the end, and I’ll have a word with Mrs. Coppins, ma’am, and you may be assured it won’t happen again. Whew! What an old catamaran!” (this to himself, as he padded down the rather neglected avenue beneath the budding horse-chestnuts). “I suppose I had better see Mrs. Coppins.”

Mrs. Coppins was easily found. She was a small, shrewish woman with light hair and eyes which boded temper.

“Oh, yes,” she said, “Mrs. Gates did have the cheek to say it was me. As if I’d have touched her mean little wreath with a hay-fork. Thinks she’s a lady. No real lady would think twice about where her wreath was or where it wasn’t. Talking that way to me, as if I was dirt! Why shouldn’t we give Lady Thorpe as good a wreath as we could get? Ah! she was a sweet lady — a real lady, she was — and her and Sir Henry were that kind to us when we were a bit put about, like, the year we took this farm. Not that we were in any real difficulty — Mr. Coppins has always been a careful man. But being a question of capital at the right moment, you see, we couldn’t just have laid our hand on it at the moment, if it hadn’t been for Sir Henry. Naturally, it was all paid back — with the proper interest. Sir Henry said he didn’t want interest, but that isn’t Mr. Coppins’ way. Yes — January 5th, it would be — and I’m quite sure none of the children had anything to do with it, for I asked them. Not that my children would go to do such a thing, but you know what children are. And it’s quite true that her wreath was where she said it was, last thing on the evening of the funeral, for I saw Harry Gotobed and the chauffeur put it there with my own eyes, and they’ll tell you the same.”

They did tell the Superintendent so, at some considerable length; after which, the only remaining possibility seemed to be the school-children. Here, Mr. Blundell enlisted the aid of Miss Snoot. Fortunately, Miss Snoot was not only able to reassure him that none of her scholars was in fault (“for I asked them all very carefully at the time, Superintendent, and they assured me they had not, and the only one I might be doubtful of is Tommy West, and he had a broken arm at the time, through falling off a gate”); she was also able to give valuable and unexpected help as regards the time at which the misdemeanour was committed.