Death on Allhallowe’en (10 page)

‘Perhaps you might be back in time? If you find your housekeeper all right?'

‘Perhaps. But don't count on it. Her husband's not the man to send off a telegram for nothing.'

But he was the man, apparently, to be damnably vague about it. No address on the postcard they had sent and no hospital named in the wire. As he drove towards Margate he thought with some annoyance that it would take time to find the patient or Stick himself. There was ‘our window marked with an X', but even this might be complicated.

The crowds had left the town but many of the fun fairs, amusement arcades, discothèques, boutiques, cafés, pornography stalls, palais de danse, freak booths, strip-tease clubs, bingo halls, bowling alleys, and other institutions necessary
for the modern mass holiday were still open and there was an air of dying frivolity about the place.

Carolus drove along the front till he could see the tall building in which was ‘our window marked with an X'. It had no doors on the sea-front and driving round the back of the building he found it was nothing less than the
Grand Vista Hotel. Prop. Mrs Estelle Buckingham.
He entered and went to a counter marked
Office.
A small handbell was provided and after a few moments Carolus ventured to ring it.

The whole hallway, with its tall pseudo-Jacobean seats and copper warming-pans, seemed to hold its breath as the tintinnabulation died away. Then a door opened and a Presence was behind the counter.

Mrs Estelle Buckingham was not tall, but she succeeded in looking impressive. Studying her off-mode splendour, Carolus felt he understood where the crowds at Torremolinos came from.

‘Yes?' she said in a throaty non-committal voice.

‘Would you mind telling me whether you have a Mr and Mrs Stick staying here?'

‘They
were
here,' admitted Mrs Buckingham grandly. ‘They are here no longer.'

‘Oh, dear. I'm most anxious to find them.'

‘I'm afraid that's all I can tell you.'

‘They didn't say where …'

‘They said nothing.' She paused and then, as though making a great concession, added:

‘They didn't suit.'

‘You mean they were working here?'

‘Oh, no. They were guests. But they were not Our Sort of People.'

This was the New Snobbery of the 1970's. Carolus kept his temper.

‘I know just what you mean. I thought perhaps you might have gathered whether they are still in Margate.'

‘Cliftonville,' corrected Mrs Buckingham. ‘I did hear it mentioned
that they had been seen about the town after leaving here.'

‘Thank you so much.'

‘Are you the police?'

‘Certainly not. Why? Surely Mr and Mrs Stick…'

‘I have no reason to suppose they are wanted persons. They were simply not the type we are accustomed to. May I ask whether you are connected with them in some way?'

‘Yes. Certainly. Mrs Stick is my very dear and able house-keeper.'

‘That accounts for it.'

‘For what, for heaven's sake?'

‘I suspected they were in service.'

‘Is there anything disgraceful about that except the anachronism of it?'

‘Nothing disgraceful. But we're living in another age. It didn't do. My guests don't like the idea of private service. They are independent-minded people, mostly from Yorkshire. And I resented Mrs Stick's criticism of my cuisine.'

‘I see.'

‘Moreover, there is a public-house on the corner. The Royal Thanet. I do not care for my guests to use it. It lowers the tone of the hotel if they're seen popping across the road.'

‘Why? Don't Yorkshiremen drink?'

‘Dear me. You
are
behind the times! Do you still think of factory technicians as workers who swallow beer in pubs?'

‘Well, I'm bound to say I should have thought …'

‘My
guests prefer to take a bottle of wine at dinner. But could Mr and Mrs Stick see that? Not a bit of it. They were across there every night, sharp at opening time.'

‘You're not going to tell me they came back drunk?'

‘No-o. Not drunk. But the man Stick appeared to have had a few. And they were both rather noisy.'

‘Noisy?' gasped Carolus.

Mrs Buckingham inclined her head.

‘I have just heard that Mrs Stick has been taken to hospital,'
said Carolus. ‘I suppose you don't happen to know anything about that?'

‘Nothing, I'm afraid.'

‘Can you suggest any way of tracing them? You have been most kind.'

‘There are only three hospitals it could possibly have been. I suggest you try them in turn. I will write down their names for you, with address in each case. I think you should go to them personally. The telephone is not very satisfactory in these cases. And if you find nothing, try the Royal Thanet at six o'clock.'

‘I'll take your advice.'

‘Of course, she may have been entered under another name.'

‘Why ever would she be?'

‘People do, you know.'

‘I think it's most unlikely in this case.'

‘But you don't even know what's wrong with her. She may have been knocked down crossing the road when she wasn't steady on her feet.'

‘Mrs Stick is always steady on her feet,' said Carolus loyally. ‘But thank you very much for these addresses.'

‘It's a pleasure,' said Mrs Buckingham.

None of the three hospitals was able to help him. One young woman said, ‘Stick! What an extraordinary name!' and wrinkled her nose; another said they had a Mr Strickland in D Ward, but by six o'clock Carolus was prepared to believe that the telegram had been a hoax to get him out of Clibburn on the day of the dance.

He did as Mrs Buckingham suggested and went to the Royal Thanet as it opened at six. He found himself alone with the barman, who wore a reddish beard and had a mean smile. His name was Dick.

Carolus asked if he knew the Sticks.

‘Do I
not
!' he responded heartily.

‘I gather they come here most evenings.'

'Regular as clockwork. They'll be in in a few minutes. You a friend of theirs?'

‘Yes.'

‘They're a pair, aren't they?'

They certainly were, but Dick implied more than this.

‘In what way?'

‘Got some life in them. Not like half the bees round here. You should see her when she's had one or two.'

‘I never have.'

‘Oh, my goodness! You've missed something. He's just as bad.'

‘Really?'

‘I'm telling you. They have us in fits of laughter.'

‘I don't think we can be talking about the same people.'

‘Yes, we are. Sticks, that's it. He looks quiet at first and she's a little old girl with glasses. You'd never believe it to look at them.'

‘Believe
what?'

‘Like I'm telling you. Well, they're on holiday, so why not? That's what I say. They're not doing any harm. Ever heard her imitate a couple of cats on the roof? You'd die laughing.'

‘I can't believe it!'

‘You'd believe it all right if you were here round about closing time.'

Life was full of revelations, pondered Carolus.

‘I hear Mrs Stick has been taken to hospital.'

‘When? She was all right last night. Very much all right.'

‘I had the telegram today.'

‘Then ten to one it's a lark of theirs. They're always up to something. She'll be in as right as rain in a minute.'

She was, followed by Stick. They did not see Carolus at first, but went straight up to the bar.

‘Hallo, Mrs Stick!' said Dick and at once burst out laughing.

‘Now, Dick. Don't start!' said Mrs Stick, smiling brightly.

‘It's too early in the evening for that!' said Stick.

What he was not to start, what
that
was—these were left unspecified.

‘There's a friend waiting for you,' said Dick and hurried away.

Mrs Stick was in no way abashed, Carolus was pleased to see.

She was still smiling when she came up to him and asked, ‘Whatever brings you here, sir?'

Carolus handed her the telegram, which she read, taking her time.

‘We know nothing about it,' she said. ‘I've never been to hospital and wouldn't go not if I was dying. Whatever does it mean?'

‘I thought it was a practical joke,' said Carolus.

‘If it is, it has nothing to do with us. Look at this, Stick. We like a bit of a joke when we're on holiday but neither of us would ever think of playing silly tricks like that. And you came rushing down here, sir? It's a shame and a very nasty thing to have done.'

Stick was more practical. He knew Carolus's drink and brought over a double with his pint and Mrs Stick's Guinness.

‘It could be,' Carolus was unwise enough to say, ‘that someone wanted me out of the way for a time.'

‘So there
are
goings-on where you're staying? I knew it as soon as you told me you were off for a fortnight. What is it this time, sir? Not more murders?'

‘There may be, unless I get back. So you're all right, Mrs Stick? I'm glad to find that.'

‘Of course I'm all right. And if I wasn't you wouldn't get telegrams about it, as you might have known. What I'd like to find out is how they guessed where to send it? No one knows anything about us down here.'

‘Oh, don't they?' put in Dick. ‘You'd be surprised.'

‘Now, Dick. You stop that.' Mrs Stick turned to Carolus, who was preparing to leave. ‘I'm ever so sorry if it's anyone from here,' she said. ‘I don't see how it can be, though.'

'Don't worry. I'll see you back in Newminster in about a week. You seem to be having a good time.'

‘You have to have a laugh sometimes,' said Mrs Stick. ‘Else where should we be?'

‘Where indeed?' asked Carolus, and saying good night to Stick and the barman went out to his car.

So he had been got away from Clibburn by a clumsy trick, clumsy and ineffective, unless the time at which his absence was necessary was the afternoon, not the evening. For it was now 6.18 and if he drove fast he would be back soon after seven, in plenty of time for the dance. Like so much else that had happened in the village, this could have serious consequences and intent or it could be trivial—like the shot at Murrain's roof, like the inverted crucifix, like Alice Murrain's reputed powers. He did not try to decide who had done it, who had sent the telegram from Margate, but he had a pretty good idea how it had come about. Margaret Lark knew about the Sticks and had seen the postcard, and either through frivolous gossip or by intent had passed the information on to someone to whom his absence was important. There were other remote possibilities, the village post-office, the postman, even John Stainer, who was well aware of Carolus's sense of obligation to the Sticks. But all the probabilities were that Margaret Lark had chattered.

Margaret's faculty for gossip cut both ways. If anything had happened during his absence she would know of it.

‘Nothing—so far as I've heard,' she said when he asked her. ‘There was a football match, I think.'

‘Mrs Lark, do you remember my telling you about my housekeeper and her husband at Margate?'

‘Mm,' she nodded. ‘Why?'

‘Can you remember telling anyone about that?'

‘I might have menched it to Luce Smith.'

‘And your husband?'

‘Def no. I never tell him Clib news. Why?'

‘Because someone who knew they were there took the trouble
to go to Margate and send a telegram summoning me because Mrs Stick had been taken to hospital. Silly, but it worked. I've just come back after finding both the Sticks perfectly well and knowing nothing of any telegram.'

‘What an extraor thing! You don't blame me, do you?'

‘Not directly. But I think you must have told someone. No one else here knows about the Sticks.'

‘Oh, dear. Have I opened my big mouth again? I'm terribly sorry. The only perse I can remem telling was Lucy. Surely she couldn't have sent the tel?'

‘No. But she could have told someone who did.'

‘You think someone wanted you out of the way? Bit sil, wasn't it, because you were bound to be back as soon as you found they were all right. I don't know who it can have been. Everyone here's busy with the dance. It's going to be quite a thing this year.'

‘So I gather.'

‘You'll go, of course?'

‘Yes. I shall go. What about you?'

‘Yes. Believe it or not, Ron's decided he wants to go. I'm going to wheel him down.'

‘I hope you both enjoy it.'

‘I say, Car, you don't think anything will hap, do you?'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘It's probably sil, but Allhallowe'en's always meant rather a lot in the place. In other places it's more a joke than anything, but here they take it seriously. There's supposed to be a tradition about it. And after all the talk there has been, and after what happened last year, I can't help wondering. It seems so extraor Matchlow's coming and giving it out that he's coming, too. And the Murrains—what do they want to go to a dance for?'

‘To dance, perhaps.'

‘You're joking. I shall feel better when it's over, I can tell you.'

John Stainer was no less anxious.

'I know I mustn't expect miracles from you, Carolus, but have you got anywhere with your enquiries? The dance starts in less than an hour.'

‘Don't I know it? No, I'm still very much at sea. There's a certain amount of ill-will felt for Horseman. I'm sure of that.'

‘And yet no one is more popular with the younger people. He's considered With It. You'll see at the dance tonight. He's the undisputed Master of Ceremonies. A bit of a funny man, I know, but he makes it all go with a swing. Our village hall was once a Nonconformist chapel. We bought it some years ago and have never finished the alterations. The lectern is still there and Horseman announces all the dances from it.'