Ngaio Marsh - Death of a Peer

“That will do, Michael.”

“Well, anyway—”

“Never mind,” Alleyn interrupted. “Have you any idea why your uncle was angry?”

Nanny said: “I don’t think Michael ought to answer these questions without his parents say that he may.”

“O Nanny !” cried Mike in accents of extreme provocation. “You are!”

“Then we shall ask them to come in,” said Alleyn. “Bailey.” A figure stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the scrap-covered screen by Mike’s bed. “Will you give my compliments to his lordship and ask him if he would mind coming to the nursery?”

“Very good, sir.”

“Is he another detective?” asked Mike when Bailey had gone.

“He’s a finger-print expert.”

Mike suddenly gave a galvanic leap, ending in a luxurious writhe among the blankets. “I suppose he’s brought his insufferlater,” he said.

“All his kit,” agreed Alleyn gravely. “What happened when you left the drawing-room?”

“Well, I went to the dining-room and talked to Robin. The others had gone out. And then Giggle came along and said he had to go because Uncle G. was yelling in the lift. So I went to the landing with Giggle and he went downstairs. When he’d gone Uncle G. yelled out for Aunt V. So I bunked into 26. Gosh, he did sound livid. Absolutely waxy. I bet I know why.”

“Are you sure he called out after Giggle had gone?”

“Yes, of course I am. Certain-sure.”

“Did you see anybody else?”

“What? Let’s see. Oh, yes. I saw Tinkerton in the hall. I sort of just spotted her out of the tail of my eye. She was tidying up the wardrobe, I think.”

“Nobody else?”

“No.” Mike thrashed his legs about. “Well, anyway,” he said, “I’ll jolly well tell you why—”

“You wait for your father, Michael,” said Nanny. Somewhat childishly, Mike thrust his fingers in his ears and, fixing a defiant gaze on his nurse, he shouted. “It was because Mr. Grumball and all the other—”

“Michael,” said Nanny in a really terrible voice. “Do you hear what I tell you? Be quiet.” She reached out and pulled Mike’s hands away from his ears. “Be quiet,” she repeated.

Mike flew into a Lamprey rage of some violence. His cheeks flamed and his eyes blazed. He roared out a confused sequence of orders. Nanny was to leave him alone. Must he remind her that he was no longer under her complete authority? Did she realize his age? Why did she continue to treat him like a child? “Like a silly damned kid,” roared poor Mike and, pausing to take breath, glared about him and encountered the cold gaze of his father. Lord Charles had come round the corner of the screen.

“Mike,” he said, “may I ask why you are making an ass of yourself?”

“Overexcited, m’lord,” said Nanny. “I knew how it would be.”

Mike opened his mouth, found nothing to say, and beat on the counterpane with closed fists.

Alleyn, who had risen, said: “You’re not shaping too well at the moment, you know. You won’t make anything of a policeman if you can’t keep your temper.”

Mike stared at Alleyn. Tears welled into his large eyes. He hauled the bed-clothes over his head and turned his face to the wall.

“Oh, damn!” said Alleyn softly.

“What is all this?” asked Lord Charles rather peevishly. Alleyn looked significantly at the crest of mouse-coloured hair which was all that could be seen of Mike, and turned down his thumb.

“I’ve blundered,” he said.

“Come outside,” said Lord Charles.

In the nursery passage, Alleyn closed the door and said: “I’m afraid Michael is upset because your nurse quelled the remarkably steady flow of his narrative. He told me that in your interview with him Lord Wutherwood had been annoyed about something. Nanny very properly suggested that you should be present. Michael, who is an enthusiastic maker of statements, resented her taking a hand.”

“Did he—”

“Yes, I’m afraid he did deliver himself of one rather curious phrase. I’m so sorry he’s upset. If I may I should like to try and mend matters a little. If I could just say good night to him?” Alleyn looked at Lord Charles and added rather drily: “I hope you will come with me, sir.”

“The horse having apparently bolted,” said Lord Charles, “I shall be glad to assist at the ceremony of closing the stable door.”

They returned to the nursery. Nanny had tidied up the bed. Mike lay with the sheet clutched to the lower part of his face. His eyes were tightly shut and his cheeks stained with tears.

“Sorry to wake you up again,” said Alleyn. “I just wanted to ask if you would very kindly lend me that lens of yours. I could do with it.”

Without opening his eyes, Mike scuffled under the pillow and produced his Woolworth magnifying glass. He thrust it up. Alleyn took it. Mike was shaken by a sob and retreated farther under the sheet.

“It’s a jolly good glass,” said a muffled voice.

“I can see that. Thank you so much. Good night, Lord Michael.”

The sheet was thrown back and Mike’s eyes opened accusingly upon his father.

“ Daddy !” he said. “It’s not going to be that !”

“Well,” said Lord Charles, “well, yes. I’m afraid — well, yes, Mike, it is.”

“Good lord, that puts the absolute lid on it! Good lord, that’s absolutely frightful! Good lord,” repeated Mike on a note of tragedy, “it’s a damn’ sight worse than Potty!” iii

Mr. Fox had remained in the drawing-room with the Lampreys and Roberta Grey. Alleyn, on his return with Lord Charles, found Fox sitting in a tranquil attitude on a small chair, with the family grouped round him rather in the manner of an informal conversation piece. Fox had the air of a successful raconteur, the Lampreys that of an absorbed audience. Frid, in particular, was discovered sitting on the floor in an attitude of such rapt attention that Alleyn was immediately reminded of a piece of information gleaned earlier in the evening: Frid attended dramatic classes. On his superior’s entrance, Fox rose to his feet. Frid turned upon Alleyn a gaze of embarrassing brilliance and said: “Oh, but you can’t interrupt him. He’s telling us all about you .” Alleyn looked in astonishment at Fox who coughed slightly and made no remark. Alleyn turned to Lady Charles.

“Has Dr. Kantripp come back?” he asked her.

“Yes. He’s seeing my sister-in-law now. The nurse says she’s a good deal better. So that’s splendid, isn’t it?”

“Splendid. We can’t go very much further without Lady Wutherwood. I think, as you have kindly suggested, Lady Charles, the best plan will be for us to use the dining-room for a sort of office. I shall ask the police-constable on duty on the landing to come in here. Fox and I will go to the dining-room and as soon as we have sorted out our notes I shall ask you to come in separately.”

Fox went out into the hall. “What’s the time?” asked Henry suddenly.

Alleyn looked at his watch. “It’s twenty past ten.”

“Good God!” Lord Charles ejaculated. “I would have said it was long past midnight.”

“I think we ought to ring up Aunt Kit again, Charlie,” murmured Lady Charles.

“I think we ought to ring up Nigel Bathgate,” said Frid.

“Bathgate!” cried Alleyn, jerked to attention by this recurrence of his friend’s name. “Bathgate? But why?”

“He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he, Mr. Alleyn? So he is of ours. As he’s a press-man I thought it would be nice,” said Frid, “to let him in at the death.”

“Frid, darling!” her mother expostulated.

“Well, Mummy darling, it is just that. Shall I ring Nigel up, Mr. Alleyn?”