Pageant of Murder

“Oh, nonsense! He wasn’t all that Public School!”

“Public schools aren’t the only places where you don’t split on a pal!”

“Oh, I grant you all those delinquent gangs. They don’t split on one another because they daren’t.”

“Is that so different from the public schools, then? They only don’t split because their lives wouldn’t be worth living if they did! And, anyway, what about that donkey at the dressage? I bet that was Luton’s idea of a joke.”

Kitty jumped in where Laura feared to tread.

“This is getting us nowhere,” she declared. “That donkey got out of control, that’s all. Now, then, what were you saying about this Caroline dim-wit seducing the Colonel?”

Mrs Gough giggled.

“It happened when the Batty-Faudreys gave a fancy-dress party to celebrate the silver jubilee of the house.”

“I thought the house was older than that.”

“I mean the silver jubilee of their ownership of it.”

“Oh, yes, of course. And was this Caroline invited to the party?”

“In a sort of way. Mrs Batty-Faudrey wanted a masque-like—Comus, you know—so, of course, the drama club were asked to do one. Well, the whole thing was rather difficult because, except for Comus, nobody knew of any masques, and, somehow, Comus seemed unsuitable unless we could alter it quite a bit, which is what we did, and then we combined it with a bit of Everyman and a bit of Midsummer Night’s Dream, you see.”

“Good God!” said Laura.

“It wasn’t at all bad,” said Mrs Gough, complacently. “Considering that we were only given three weeks’ notice, I think the club came up to scratch quite marvellously. Of course, being under-rehearsed, we had to improvise a bit, but as we gave it in the dark, except for a few candles, and to an audience who’d mostly had plenty to drink…”

“Where was it performed, then?” asked Laura. “In the house?”

“Yes, in the hall of Squire’s Acre. It’s Elizabethan, so there was plenty of room. Well, when the lights went up —which they did rather unexpectedly, owing to Teddy Luton mistaking—or some of us thought perhaps it was done deliberately—mistaking the cue to switch them on—Caroline was found to be sitting on the Colonel’s knee. Of course, it was quite suitable, in a way, as the Colonel (we heard afterwards) tried to point out to his wife, because he was dressed as Charles II, but, naturally, Mrs Batty-Faudrey wasn’t having any of that, although she glossed matters over at the time.”

“Yes, but we’ve never been asked to perform there again,” said Mrs Collis. “In fact, until the pageant, none of our members has even been inside the gates and none of the Batty-Faudreys came to the Town Hall Merry Wives, I noticed, not even Giles.”

“So when Giles Faudrey came bounding in with Caroline and sat with his uncle and aunt and the Mayor and Mayoress—yes!” said Kitty thoughtfully. “Do you know,” she added to Laura, as they left the cul-de- sac and made for the side-street where they had left the car, “I don’t believe you need look any further for a motive.”

“Why?”

“Why? Well, Dog, it’s plain enough. You can see what happened.”

“Oh? And what did happen?”

“Delayed revenge!”

“Eh?”

“Well, it stands to reason, Dog. The Colonel gets into his wife’s bad books because of this Caroline creature, and Giles presenting her at tea-time on the day of the pageant like that—fuel to the fire, as you might say—and then that silly business of the donkey which spoiled the dressage—well, you can see how it all affected the Colonel. He frets and fumes. She-meaning Mrs Batty-Faudrey—a hard case, Dog, if ever there was one—she spends the long winter evenings brooding upon his little escapade and then reminding him of it. His anger smoulders—and against whom?”

“Don’t keep me in suspense! Against whom?”

“Not against his wife. He is honest and he can’t help seeing her point of view. Not against Caroline. He is a fair-minded man and he is prepared to admit that she would not have been the party of the second part if he had not been the party of the first part. I refer to the knee-sitting. So now, with whom are we left?”

“You tell me.”

“Oh, Dog, you can’t be trying! We’re left, of course, with the wretched Luton, who gave the game away by turning the lights up at the wrong time. Let us go further.”

“I can’t wait to do so,” said Laura. They reached the car. “I’ll drive, shall I?”

Kitty settled herself comfortably, Laura took the wheel and they drove off towards Brayne high street and the London Road.

“Well, going further,” continued Kitty, “this is how I see it. At the time of that masque, Luton is in love with this girl Caroline. He is of a jealous temperament. He feels there is hanky-panky in the air. He knows she is not on- stage, and as, in that hall where the masque was performed, there wouldn’t have been any wings, he knows she is not in the wings. Where, therefore, he wonders, has she got to?”

“To the Colonel’s armchair and lap?” suggested Laura.

“Quite right, Dog. How he senses this, we do not know, but, his feelings bursting suddenly out at the top of his