Mad About the Boy? (7 page)

‘Lady Harriet,' she called. ‘As you know, we have had to put your husband in the garden suite on the ground floor. Would you like to change your room so you can be next to him?'

Lady Harriet stopped and looked at her hostess with some surprise. ‘Change? Whatever for? I am perfectly comfortable, and the fact that there was a death in the next room does not concern me in the slightest.' She swept on her way, leaving Lady Rivers biting her lip in irritation. And well she might, thought Haldean. The only reason Tim's body had been moved late last night was in deference to Lady Harriet's supposed feelings. The least she could do was pretend to have some.

He shared a quick look of resignation with his aunt before turning back to the Robiceuxs. They looked upset, and no wonder. ‘Don't worry,' he said in a low voice. ‘Lady Harriet's totally self-centred. Do you want to stay on here? If not, I'll take you home in my car and your luggage can be sent on later.'

The two girls exchanged looks. ‘We'd more or less made up our minds to stay,' said Squeak eventually. ‘It seems like running out to go now.'

‘And we'd only have to come back for the inquest,' added Bubble. ‘If only I knew why he did it, Jack. We were having such a good time last night and we'd made plans and . . . and . . .' She blinked very rapidly. Isabelle exchanged glances with Haldean, before taking her friend's arm and leading her firmly out of the hall, passing Alfred Charnock as he came in.

‘What's up with the girl?' Charnock asked Lady Rivers. ‘The one that's weeping all over the place, I mean. Didn't she like the vicar's sermon or something?'

Lady Rivers looked at him in exasperation. ‘Don't be flippant, Alfred. She's upset about Mr Preston.'

‘Mr Preston?' repeated Charnock, puzzled. ‘Who's . . . Oh yes, the one who topped himself, you mean. I hope she's not going to sob through lunch about it. Speaking of which, when is it? Lunch, I mean?'

Sir Philip gave him a hostile glare. ‘As always, Alfred, lunch is at one o'clock.' He was about to say more but stopped as Lawson, the footman, walked into the hall and, approaching Sir Philip, coughed respectfully.

‘May I have a word, sir?'

‘What is it?'

‘There is a disturbance in Lord Lyvenden's room, sir.'

‘A disturbance?' repeated Sir Philip, puzzled. ‘What sort of disturbance?'

‘An inharmonious disturbance, sir.' Lawson coughed again. ‘I fear it may become a violent disturbance before long.'

Sir Philip's eyebrows shot up. ‘Who the devil's Lyvenden got in there?'

‘The person would not give his name, sir. I believe him to be a Russian and it is possible that he did not understand my question. He waited while I ascertained what Lord Lyvenden desired me to do and Lord Lyvenden, after seeing the person, gave orders that he should be admitted. I may say I was surprised, sir, as he struck me as an unlikely caller for Lord Lyvenden to entertain, but his lordship's instructions were unequivocal, sir.'

Alfred Charnock grinned. ‘Maybe Bertie the Bolshie's come to complain that his last bomb didn't go off.'

‘Be quiet, Alfred,' Sir Philip said absently. He looked at Lawson in bewilderment, ‘A
Russian
? And they're having a quarrel, you say?' Lawson bowed his head in agreement. ‘What the devil's Lyvenden doing, seeing Russians in my house?'

‘Perhaps it would be as well to go and find out, Philip,' put in his wife.

‘I shall most certainly do so,' he said grimly. ‘Damn me, as if there wasn't enough going on to worry about without Russians disturbing the peace. Well, I'll soon set the feller to rights.' He braced himself and shot his cuffs in a determined way.

‘I'll come with you, Uncle,' said Haldean. A Russian? That was the second one in the space of two days and he didn't sound the sort of character whom his uncle should tackle alone. In fact, the more help he had the better. He certainly didn't want Charnock along, but he inclined his head towards Stanton.

‘I'll come too, Jack,' said Stanton, taking the hint, and together they walked off down the corridor, following the fuming Sir Philip.

They hadn't gone far before they heard shouting. ‘That's not Lyvenden,' said Haldean, listening. ‘It must be the other chap. My word, there he goes again! He's pretty shirty about something, isn't he?'

‘I'll teach him a trick worth two of that,' said Sir Philip. He strode on and knocked sharply on the door. ‘Hey! Lyvenden! What's going on in there?'

The door was flung open by Lord Lyvenden who, when he saw them, nearly collapsed in relief. ‘Rivers, my dear chap. Thank God you're here.' He stepped back to let them enter.

A dark, thickset man with a seamed face and a wisp of beard was standing by the french windows. Well, thought Haldean, it's not the same bloke as last night, but he's a nasty piece of work, all the same. Unconsciously his hands curled into fists.

The Russian was smoking a thin black cigar and, as they entered, turned to look at them with raised eyebrows. ‘So,
my lord.
' There was a wealth of sarcasm in the title. ‘These are your friends, are they?'

‘Don't you take that tone of voice with me,' said Sir Philip pugnaciously. ‘Who the devil are you?'

The man smiled, revealing yellowing teeth. ‘A business associate of the lordship here. We were just discussing matters. Private matters.' He put his head to one side, looking at Lyvenden. ‘And the business has just been concluded, yes?'

‘I . . . I think so,' said Lord Lyvenden, weakly. ‘You really shouldn't have come down, my good man. I would much prefer all this to be settled in Town. Look, for God's sake, will you go!'

The Russian casually dropped his cigar on the rug and ground it out with his heel.

Sir Philip looked at the rug, looked at the Russian and, with eyes blazing, stalked across to him. ‘Out! Now!'

The man spread his hands wide. ‘I am going. I do not wish to spend more time here than I have to.'

Haldean dropped a hand on his uncle's arm. If Uncle Philip really lost his temper, the Russian looked as if he could be vicious. Who on earth was this chap? That could wait. The main thing was to get him out of here, before Uncle Phil got hurt. ‘The door's this way,' he said pleasantly. ‘After you.'

They walked out of the room together, Sir Philip pausing only to jerk his head at his guest. ‘Lyvenden! I'd like a word with you.'

Their progress back to the hall was punctuated by Lyvenden's attempts at an apology. He scurried after them, his flabby face pale and working with emotion. ‘Terribly sorry . . . wouldn't have had it happen for worlds . . . just a little matter of business . . . most unfortunate . . . very sorry for this unfortunate incident . . .' The Russian stopped dead and turned to glare at Lyvenden, who cringed like a kicked dog.

‘Come on,' growled Sir Philip, putting his hand on the man's shoulders. ‘The sooner you're out of here the better.'

The Russian threw off Sir Philip's hand with a contemptuous shrug and strode into the hall. Here curiosity had evidently been too much for everyone, for no one had left. The Russian glanced round at the silent group in obvious disdain before striding to the door, his feet ringing in the silence on the marble floor. Egerton opened the door in his stiffest manner, waiting for the unwelcome visitor to go.

Haldean breathed a sigh of relief. That bloke could have been very nasty indeed. He looked swiftly at Alfred Charnock, pleased if rather surprised that Charnock hadn't started something. His pleasure was short-lived.

Charnock unpropped himself from the pillar of the door where he had been leaning and said, ‘Just a minute, old sport. I can't possibly let you pop off without any sort of explanation. What are you doing here?' His tone was deliberately offensive.

The Russian didn't answer, but stood with his arms folded across his chest. Charnock stuck his hands in his pockets and lounged back against the pillar.

The two men were oddly alike, trading arrogant stare for arrogant stare. Charnock laughed. ‘Well?'

‘This is a business associate of Lyvenden's, Alfred,' said Sir Philip rigidly. ‘He is just leaving.'

Charnock grinned, and walked to the front door, barring the exit with his body. ‘Not so fast, Philip. I want to know who this chap is.' Then, head to one side, he asked a question in what was, presumably, Russian.

The man started, unfolded his arms and slowly nodded a reply.

‘Well, well,' drawled Charnock. He shot a glance at Lord Lyvenden, who had sunk on to a chair, before snapping out another question. The man nodded again.

Charnock, who was obviously enjoying himself hugely, stepped back, his weight balanced on one foot.

‘Alfred, don't,' said Lady Rivers, quickly.

Charnock ignored her. With a lift of his eyebrows, he asked another question.

The man gazed at Charnock as if not believing what he had heard. Charnock repeated himself, and, with a yell, the man lunged out. He grasped at Charnock, there was a flurry of movement, a yelp, and the Russian was left nursing his arm.

Charnock laughed once more. That was a mistake. The Russian fumbled at his waist with his good hand and drew out a long-bladed knife. The crowd in the hall gasped and Mrs Strachan gave a little scream.

Charnock backed off warily, and the Russian pounced.

Haldean, Stanton and the other men leapt forward but Charnock was quicker. Like a striking cobra, he shot out his hand, seized the man's wrist and twisted it upwards, the knife gleaming between them. For a few brief seconds they stood eye to eye, before Charnock, with a grunt, slammed the Russian's arm behind his back, sending the knife clattering to the floor.

‘Shall I break your arm?' asked Charnock, a dangerous glint in his eye.

The man stared at him, then came an interruption. The stairs out of the hall curved up to the corridor and from the corridor Malcolm Smith-Fennimore's voice broke loudly into the tension.

‘I don't know, Lady Harriet,' he was saying, ‘but there's an awful rumpus going on. The funny thing is I thought I heard someone speaking in Russian. Good God!' Preceded by Lady Harriet he rounded the stairs and they both stopped dead as they took in what was happening in the hall.

‘Victor,' called Lady Harriet, in a voice with an edge to it. ‘Who is that peculiar person?'

Lyvenden stood up with an odd little bob and shuffle. ‘Just business, my dear, nothing but business. Nothing for you to worry about. I've got it all under control. It's all under control. Totally under control.'

The Russian stood absolutely still, staring up the stairs, then looked round with a triumphant smile. ‘So,' he said eventually. ‘I learn something today. That alone was worth coming for.' Still smiling, he walked over to where his knife lay and bent to pick it up. Charnock stuck his foot out and pinned it to the floor.

The Russian straightened up and Charnock smiled back.

‘Mine, I believe. I'd like a little souvenir of our meeting. Now, if you don't mind, old man – or should that be comrade? – I really do think you've outstayed your welcome.' He grasped the Russian's shoulder and steered him firmly to the door, shutting it behind him.

It was like a dam bursting. Everyone spoke at once. Unregarded, Smith-Fennimore came down the stairs into the hall and picked up the knife, turning it over in his hands. As Charnock came back from the door, he handed it over with a few words that were not English.

Charnock took the knife with a look of surprise. ‘I didn't know you spoke Russian.'

Smith-Fennimore nodded. ‘Why did you ask him if he was one of the Chërnye Sotni? That's a pretty deadly insult. You might have known it would stir him up.'

Charnock straightened his cuffs. ‘Yes, it did rather, didn't it?' he drawled.

Haldean looked at Aunt Alice's white face. ‘You deliberately provoked him. How could you?'

‘What the devil's a Churny whatever it was?' demanded Sir Philip.

‘They were thugs,' said Smith-Fennimore quietly. ‘Thugs and murderers.'

Charnock spared him a glance of lazy unconcern. He didn't bother to look at his sister. ‘They were enthusiastic supporters of the Tsar. Perhaps a bit over-enthusiastic at times. I had a fancy to find out which side he was on and I did. It made him see red, in every sense of the word.' He glanced at his watch and raised his voice so he could be clearly heard, revelling in being the centre of attention. ‘How early it still is. Far too long to wait for lunch. I'm going to the pub to celebrate. I haven't enjoyed myself so much since I came here.' His eyes flicked over to Lord Lyvenden. ‘You've got some more interesting associates than I gave you credit for. How come you're on visiting terms with a Bolshie?'

‘A Bolshevik!' exploded Sir Philip. ‘Lyvenden, what the devil's going on?'

Lyvenden, who had been sagging quietly in a corner, bristled. Haldean caught Stanton's eye. Lyvenden was brave enough now any danger was past. ‘The Bolsheviks are no friends of mine, Rivers. I think I may say without fear of contradiction –' he was gaining confidence with every word he spoke – ‘that you have known me long enough to concur with that remark. But any commercial enterprise, my dear fellow, especially one as fraught with difficulties as mine, renders one liable to contact with some very strange company indeed.' He was nearly back to his old verbose self. ‘It would be foolishly indiscreet of me to say more, as the affair is not mine to discuss. What I can say is that the Government are fully cognizant of the man who has so unfortunately intruded on the peace of this Sabbath morning and see eye to eye with me in my treatment of the matter. I have their complete confidence, Rivers, I am happy to say.' The cringing, frightened figure of a few moments ago had vanished as if he had never been. ‘Complete confidence.'