Wicked! (133 page)

But Cadbury had been living at home with Anthea and shut in the kitchen and kicked in the ribs once too often. Next moment he’d thrown himself at Stancombe, knocking him to the floor, standing over him, growling furiously.

‘Bastard dog.’ Stancombe tried and failed to grab Cadbury by the balls.

‘Ha, ha, ha,’ panted Dora, ‘serves you right for persuading Mummy to have him castrated. Pity she didn’t have you done at the same time.’

When she first peered into the wardrobe, she thought she’d stumbled on a linen cupboard, then slowly realized Cadbury had sniffed out pillows and pillows of white powder.

‘Good boy, good, clever Cadbury, keep him there.’ Dora rushed next door and seized the handcuffs. Wrenching a terrified Stancombe’s hands behind his back, she clicked them shut. Then she bound his ankles very tightly with her Boudicca house tie.

‘That’s a reef knot – only thing I learnt in the Brownies. You won’t get out of that, nor would Joan approve of such disgusting language,’ she added, pulling his green silk handkerchief out of his pocket and shoving it in his raging mouth.

‘Let’s see what else you’ve got in here.’ Returning to the wardrobe, Dora found several briefcases bulging with notes and, at the back, a sleek, black gun, which she laid on the desk.

‘You evil man . . .’ Then, horror and revulsion taking over from a sense of achievement: ‘How dare you do that to my boyfriend?’

Picking up the house telephone she dialled 999.

‘I want to speak to Chief Inspector Gablecross, it’s very urgent.’ Then, after a pause during which Stancombe wriggled like a netted tuna to free himself: ‘Hello, Chief Inspector, this is Dora Belvedon, could you come at once? I’ve just conducted a citizen’s arrest on Randal Stancombe. He’s in big trouble. He’s got a lot of white stuff in his cupboard that doesn’t look like baby powder.

‘My dog, Cadbury, deserves a medal, he’s been so brave. I’ve tied Stancombe up but he’s not in carnival mood, so please hurry. I’ve no idea where I am, but it’s quite grand with pillars at the bottom of the drive topped with monsters . . . now I remember, Mr Brett-Taylor’s got one on his crest: they’re griffins. The park railings are all broken and could never keep a horse in and it’s a very shaggy old house with high ceilings. There’s the doorbell, it might be Uncle Harley back, so please hurry.’

As the bell rang more insistently, Cadbury barked, uncertain whether he ought to rush to the door or guard Stancombe, who mumbled furiously through his handkerchief that Dora would now be for the high jump.

The doorbell rang again. Grabbing the gun, holding it behind her back, Dora tugged open the door to find Ashton Douglas, with his arm round a beautiful fair-haired little boy, cooing, ‘Come on, Bwad, you’ll love this wonderful house. Good evening,’ he added with his thin smile. Then, clocking Dora’s ripped, undone shirt, paused, unsure what game she might be playing. ‘I’ve got an appointment with Mr Stancombe.’

‘He’s not here.’

There was a crash from next door.

‘It’s a man mending the boiler,’ squeaked Dora.

Ignoring her, Ashton ushered Brad into the study.

‘What the hell?’

Cadbury growled, but with more uncertainty. He needed another line of coke.

‘Don’t untie him, Mr Douglas,’ ordered Dora, whipping out the gun, ‘or I’ll fill you full of lead. The police are on their way and this gun is loaded.’

‘Don’t be silly, little girl,’ said Ashton, hastily shielding himself with a terrified Brad.

Oh help, thought Dora as the doorbell rang yet again.

‘You wouldn’t dare fire that gun, put it down.’ Ashton, setting Brad aside, was about to untie Stancombe’s feet.

‘Oh yes I would.’ Aiming above Brad, Dora shut her eyes and pulled the trigger. As a bullet shattered the mirror above his head, Ashton dropped Stancombe’s ankles. ‘And next time you go kiddy-fiddling,’ she added furiously, ‘take your socks off.’

‘What are you talking about?’ spluttered Ashton.

‘A disgusting film of you gang-raping Paris.’

Ashton’s face turned as green as his suddenly panic-stricken eyes. Next moment, Brad made a bolt for it. Catching him with her left hand, Dora drew him close: ‘It’s OK, you’re safe now.’

Someone was leaning on the bell. Backing towards the front door, keeping her eyes on Ashton, Dora put on a deep voice and cried: ‘Who’s there?’

‘Open up,’ said a familiar, reedy voice.

‘Mr Fussy,’ exploded Dora as she opened the door.

Alex was disguised by a false beard, a deerstalker and dark glasses; his open-neck shirt, however, revealed his wobbling Adam’s apple.

‘Your friends are in there, you disgusting old man.’

Seeing the gun and Nemesis in the form of a Middle Fifth student with her clothes torn off, Alex turned and bolted slap into the arms of PC Cuthbert, who’d been working out with Gloria and who had no difficulty arresting Alex and slapping him into handcuffs.

PC Cuthbert was accompanied by a policewoman, into whose arms Dora thrust a sobbing Brad. Rushing back to Stancombe’s telephone, punching out numbers, she was deep in conversation as Paris erupted into the room, fists clenched, eyes blazing, snarling like a snow leopard about to spring.

‘Where’s Dora, what the fuck’s going on?’

Cadbury thumped his tail as Paris took in Stancombe flailing on the ground, Ashton cringing in the corner and Dora with all her buttons ripped off, putting back a receiver. Completely losing it, Paris leapt forward, enfolding her in his arms, clinging to her like a drowning man to driftwood, frantically kissing her over and over again.

‘Are you OK? Omigod, what did that bastard do to you? Did he hurt you?’

‘I’m fine, honest. I was just ringing Paul Dacre to ask him to hold the front page.’

For a moment Paris gazed down at her in disbelief, exasperation and then love.

‘For fuck’s sake, I’ve been through every hell in the world worrying about you. No one knew where you were. I thought I’d never see you again.’ Paris’s voice broke as, trembling violently, he clutched her tight. ‘And don’t watch, you bastard,’ he added, giving Stancombe a big kick.

‘I left my mobile behind, I wanted to ring you but I couldn’t,’ gasped Dora who, as reality reasserted itself, had started trembling far worse than Paris. ‘I had to be brave for Cadbury and because I was so desperate to see you again.’

Tears were trickling down Paris’s cheeks.

‘I imagined such terrible things happening to you, I can’t tell you . . . They’re like . . . so terrible.’ Having furiously wiped his eyes with his sleeve, still clutching Dora, he turned towards Ashton.

‘Many happy weturns, Mr Douglas, wemember me?’

His voice was so filled with contempt and loathing that Dora shivered, Cadbury dropped his ears and Ashton backed terrified into the cupboard.

‘We’ve never met,’ he gibbered.

‘Yeah, we did. On your fortieth birthday, remember, at a waif-swapping party at Oaktree Court,’ spat Paris. ‘I don’t figure this birthday’s going to end quite so well for you.’

For a second his fingers tightened convulsively on Dora’s arms, then, as she said shakily, ‘It’s OK, I’m here for you, I love you,’ police poured into the house.

‘Break it up, you two,’ said Cosmo, tapping them on the shoulder a few minutes later. ‘Well done, Cadbury. Christ! Look at that Charlie.’ He snorted a pinch from a claws-punctured bag. ‘It’s very good; I suppose we can’t have the odd kilo for rounding up this gang of thieves?’

‘How did you ever find me?’ asked Dora, still keeping the firmest hold on Paris.

‘We followed Mr Fussy,’ said Cosmo, nodding at Alex who was remonstrating with PC Cuthbert.

‘I can explain everything, officer.’

‘And I can tell you, Alex, baby,’ called out Cosmo chattily, ‘that like Trafford’s minge-drinkers, you’re going down for a long, long time.’

While Col Peters, Russell Lambert, Des Res and Rod Hyde were being rounded up, all on their way to the party, Dora had a brief private word with Chief Inspector Gablecross.

‘There was this hideous video in the machine which could send this lot to the electric chair. Could Paris possibly not see it? I chucked it out of that window into some bushes in the direction of the stables.’

‘There aren’t any stables,’ said Chief Inspector Gablecross grimly. ‘You’ve been very lucky; Stancombe’s a very dangerous man. You must have been frightened.’

‘I had Cadbury,’ said Dora fondly, ‘and, frankly, when a true writer gets on to a good story, they feel no fear.’

138

The police proceeded to fillet Stancombe’s various properties and unearth every kind of skulduggery, more drugs and arms in other deserted warehouses and evidence that he had massively bribed Ashton, Rod Hyde, Alex Bruce, Russell, Desmond Reynolds and Col Peters with villas in hot countries and huge dollops of cash.

For these rewards, they had been instrumental in stitching up Janna and ousting Hengist from power, so Stancombe could get his hands on both the Larks land and Badger’s Retreat, with, eventually, his eyes set on the water meadows and razing the Shakespeare Estate to the ground.

Stancombe and Uncle Harley were also convicted for importing and dealing in millions of pounds’ worth of Class A drugs. In addition, Stancombe’s inability to resist a chance to blackmail or keep in line the others by filming every birthday party had provided enough evidence to send the entire gang to prison for many years.

As there were at least a dozen other incriminating videos, Chief Inspector Gablecross managed to retrieve the one Dora had chucked in the bushes and never used it in evidence.

‘Now Mr Fussy’s gone, Hengist can have his job back,’ said Dora happily.

Fussygate, however, was the third scandal to rock Bagley and, at the governors’ meeting in mid November, it was unanimously decided, at Jupiter’s instigation, to appoint Artie Deverell as headmaster.

Hengist wasn’t due out till after Christmas and nobody knew if he’d even want to come back. Better to root out all corruption.

Ian and Patience were asked to stay on and Wally and Miss Cambola invited to join the staff. Artie would also have liked to have invited his friend Emlyn Davies back as deputy head, but Emlyn was finding both his marriage and his job with the Welsh Rugby Union far too exciting.

The photograph of Tabitha Campbell-Black and her horse was restored to the front of the
Old Bagleian
magazine. Aided by Artie, Lord Hawkley set about clearing Theo’s name and overseeing the publication of his epic translation of Sophocles. A new classical library, large enough to contain the archives, was also commissioned. Randal Stancombe, it was noted, didn’t tender for the job.

Other excitements included Dora and Cadbury getting their faces in all the national press and Cadbury getting his chance to meet the Queen after all, when he won an award for gallantry.

Just after Christmas, Artie Deverell was faced with his first challenge: a letter from Joan Johnson, saying in future she would like to be known as Mr John Johnson.

‘She can take over Artie’s old house,’ observed Cosmo, ‘and at least she won’t be hassled to address the Talks Society.’

139

Hengist was released from prison in January, to the sorrow of his fellow inmates. He had written their letters, sorted out their financial and emotional problems and, when pressed, regaled them with hilarious anecdotes of the great and famous.

None of them felt he had committed a crime.

‘When we took SATs at school, Henge, our ’ead gave us the answers.’

Despite his cheerful exterior, they were aware too of a heartbreak no prison doctor could cure.

Whilst inside, Hengist had kept up with the outside world, reading with pride of Jack Waterlane, Lando and Amber scuffling with the police over the hunting ban, with huge pleasure of Janna and Emlyn’s marriage, noting without surprise the increasing closeness of Jupiter and David Hawkley, and, with amazement, the rounding-up of the Birthday Party club.

Being in prison, no one could ring him up for quotes.

‘We’ll sort out the nonces, Henge, if any of ’em end up ’ere,’ promised his friends.

Artie Deverell was now at the helm, but in no hurry to desert his exquisite Regency house, so there was no longer any pressure on Sally to leave Head House. But she was so unhappy she wanted to escape as soon as possible. It was just the mental paralysis induced by having to dispose of twenty thousand books, innumerable works of art and beautiful cherished furniture; it was as harrowing as distributing beloved animals if you’re forced to close down a zoo.

Since she’d demanded a divorce, Sally hadn’t seen or spoken to Hengist. He had refused to allow her or anyone else to visit him in prison. Anxious not to embarrass pupils or staff, he returned to Bagley to pick up some books and clothes on the Sunday before the start of the spring term. Sally therefore said she’d make herself scarce.

Hengist arrived in a blue van lent him by Rupert and, before going into Head House, wandered up the pitches to Badger’s Retreat. At least this had been saved from Randal’s bulldozers. It was bitterly cold and had been trying to snow, but only with the coming of night was it starting to settle. Flakes swirling against a dark yew reminded him of a bottle-green polka-dotted dress with a full skirt that Sally had worn on their first date.