The Daffodil Affair (28 page)

‘Daffodil?’ said Hudspith. ‘Nonsense! Daffodil is a broken-down cab-horse. This is as fine a creature–’

‘It’s the pampa. It was the same with the Spaniards when they first came. They landed a lot of sorry jades–’

‘They’re nearer,’ Lucy said warningly.

‘–but after a month or so of the pampa air–’ Appleby broke off; he was working at the horse’s tether. ‘Hudspith, I’ve rather lost my bearings. Which bank are we on?’

‘North.’

‘Then perhaps we can do it. Do you ride?’

‘No.’

‘But you can hang on to a stirrup-leather. Imagine you’re an infantryman charging with the Scots Greys.’ Appleby was in the saddle. ‘Steady, Daffodil, steady! Lucy, up you come. And yell, all of you; yell like mad.’ With difficulty he turned the horse’s head towards the advancing line of fire. The creature reared, came down, curvetted like a colt. And Appleby gave it the rein. ‘A Daffodil,’ he shouted, ‘a Daffodil!’ They charged nightmarishly down the hill. Savages danced and yelled in front. The hooves of Daffodil thundered below and Hudspith held on as to a hurricane. Behind them the glare from the burning Happy Islands obscured Orion and climbed to touch the Southern Cross.

‘Surprise me?’ The Jesuit Father looked innocently at Appleby. ‘No, I cannot say you do that. Except perhaps in the matter of the horse. It was an uncommon feat of endurance. One feels that he deserves a flagon of wine, like the animal in Browning’s poem. You admire Browning? I think of him as an Elizabethan born out of time. He has that theatrical vision of Italy and the Papacy which is so essentially of the Elizabethan age.’

‘I hate to think of all those poor creatures carried off by the savages.’

‘It is curious that he could do so little in the dramatic form.’ The priest shook his head, cultivated and austere and comfortable. No doubt, thought Appleby, he could discourse thus adequately on the poets of half a dozen semi-barbarous nations –and was glad to do so when the rare occasion should occur. ‘But I beg your pardon. You were saying–? Ah, yes; about the poor people who have been carried off. There is little chance of rescuing them, I sadly fear. In any temporal sense, that is to say. You see, those tribes come from pretty far to the south-west. We never contact them. But I assure you that their prizes will be given a very comfortable time. They will be treated as gods.’

Hudspith took his eyes from the little sunlit cloister-garth. ‘Is that comfortable?’

‘Humanly, it may not be so bad. We must pray for them, of course.’ The priest was silent for a minute. ‘You see, all the natives hereabouts have the most enormous appetite for marvels. It amounts to an embarrassment at times, I do assure you.’ He smiled gravely, a man who would not readily be put to a stand. ‘And they are very numerous. They will absorb hundreds of holy men and miracle workers without the least trace of spiritual or intellectual indigestion.’

‘That,’ said Appleby, ‘is just what Wine believed the world at large was ripe to do.’

‘I think we can look after the world at large.’ The priest smiled again. ‘You and I,’ he said politely.

‘It’s an odd end to the thing. For a moment I was inclined to call it poetic justice. But it’s not quite that.’

‘It has a certain artistic fitness, Mr Appleby. To say more than that would be – injudicious.’

Lucy Rideout, rather alarmed in strange surroundings, looked timidly up. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry for Mrs Nurse.’

‘She shall be particularly remembered.’

Lucy blinked, very much at sea. ‘And you think that Mr Wine–?’

‘It is likely that he will have been killed. We heard little of him, but undoubtedly he bore a bad name. And hereabouts, believe me, that is a fatal thing to do. I am wondering about the girl who was believed to be a witch. She must have obtained great power. Her, I believe we can rescue. In such matters, when they are important, we are not without means.’

‘You think Hannah Metcalfe important?’ asked Appleby.

‘She has much talent, and among those people might be an instrument of much good. She shall be found. And instructed.’ He smiled again and rose. ‘And now you are tired, I am sure.’

Time had passed, and even Harrogate was not quite the same. Here and there a bit was missing. The enemy, uncertain of his reception in more martial quarters, was occasionally contriving to chasten the spas of England – chosen haunts of a warmongering plutocracy. And even Lady Caroline had changed with the times, wearing a steel helmet as she took her daily carriage-exercise in the open landau.

‘Dear Miss Appleby,’ said Lady Caroline as she stood on the steps of her modest but distinguished hotel, ‘have you seen my muff? Maidment used to look after it for me.’

‘No, my dear. I fear you have to look after it yourself nowadays. And you must not regret Miss Maidment too much. The auxiliary services do such wonderful work.’

‘No doubt. But I fear that Maidment has been much actuated by a desire for the society of men.’

‘Dear me!’

‘I had frequently remarked it. Where is Bodfish?’

‘Nowadays, Lady Caroline, he appears to like to walk Daffodil up and down before taking us up. Sometimes to
trot
him up and down. But here they are. Have you noticed that the carriage never seems to keep quite still?’

‘Bodfish,’ said Lady Caroline sternly, ‘have a care.’

‘How eager Daffodil is to be off!’ said Miss Appleby. ‘The carriage quite hits one in the back.’

‘I am afraid,’ said Lady Caroline, ‘that this paltry bombing is having an undue effect upon the nerves of the populace. Have you noticed how nervous people appear to be in the streets? Our own modest progress might be a charge of cavalry. Did you notice that policeman at the corner? He positively leapt for the pavement as we passed.’ Lady Caroline settled herself with some difficulty in her corner. ‘I am not sure that the springs of this landau are quite as they were.’

‘I agree with you.’ Miss Appleby swayed in her seat. ‘But it is a great comfort once more to be assured of a quiet horse.’

‘Quite so,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘I declare there is quite a wind blowing; I had not remarked it before we started. And in what poor condition the street must be.’

‘How fast we are going! Here is the Stray already.’

‘To be sure it is. And the traffic is considerable. Have you noticed how red Bodfish seems to go sometimes round the neck? Can it be that he has returned to beer?’

‘There
is
rather a lot of traffic. And do you notice how much of it appears to
swerve
at us? One could almost be alarmed.’

‘My dear’ – Lady Caroline swayed and bucketed and gasped – ‘my dear, there is much comfort nowadays in a quiet horse.’

John Appleby first appears in
Death at the President’s Lodging
, by which time he has risen to the rank of Inspector in the police force. A cerebral detective, with ready wit, charm and good manners, he rose from humble origins to being educated at ‘St Anthony’s College’, Oxford, prior to joining the police as an ordinary constable.

Having decided to take early retirement just after World War II, he nonetheless continued his police career at a later stage and is subsequently appointed an Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard, where his crime solving talents are put to good use, despite the lofty administrative position. Final retirement from the police force (as Commissioner and Sir John Appleby) does not, however, diminish Appleby’s taste for solving crime and he continues to be active,
Appleby and the Ospreys
marking his final appearance in the late 1980’s.

In
Appleby’s End
he meets Judith Raven, whom he marries and who has an involvement in many subsequent cases, as does their son Bobby and other members of his family.

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

Published by House of Stratus

The Ampersand Papers While Appleby is strolling along a Cornish beach, he narrowly escapes being struck by a body falling down a cliff. The body is that of Dr Sutch, an archivist, and he has fallen from the North Tower of Treskinnick Castle, home of Lord Ampersand. Two possible motivations present themselves to Appleby – the Ampersand gold, treasure from an Armada galleon; and the Ampersand papers, valuable family documents that have associations with Wordsworth and Shelley.