Pageant of Murder

“Yes, but I meant what I said. People can be trampled to death in crowds, and by elephants, too. Suppose they get scared at the noise and go berserk or become rogues or something!”

“They won’t. I bet they’re from that circus which has its headquarters a few miles up the river. They’ll be as tame as Angora rabbits.”

“Well, all right, if you say so, but at the first sign of danger I shall flee for my life.”

Laura took the lead and they rounded the bend. There was not a large concourse assembled. The largest crowd was on the opposite bank of the river. On the nearside, surrounding an obelisk of marble raised on a concrete plinth, was a comparatively orderly array of schoolchildren, marshalled by their teachers, among whom Kitty recognised Gordon. They had been drawn up in neat lines on a broad stone quay, the property of the Lower Thames-side Coal, Coke and General Fuel Company. Around the plinth on which the obelisk stood were a couple of dozen boys dressed as Roman legionaries, while on the plinth itself, with one arm around the unyielding waist of the obelisk to keep him from falling off the narrow ledge, stood a tall boy in the full regalia of a Roman general. His standard-bearer, with lion headdress complete, stood just below him, holding the Imperial eagle. At a distance of some twenty yards cowered a bevy of Ancient Britons and, safely away from all humans except their keepers, were a couple of circus elephants. The Roman general was declaiming in Latin.

“It’s jolly well done,” commented Laura to Kitty. “Pity more people wouldn’t come along to see it.”

“Too early in the day, Dog. The mums will be shopping and the dads will be at work. You’ll get your fill of crowds at the free-for-all this evening, I expect. Well, I’ve done what you wanted, so, for goodness’ sake, let’s go. We can wait in the high street to see them pass, if you like, but I’m not staying here any longer.”

“I suppose they walked the elephants along the towing-path and over the bridge,” remarked Laura, as they retraced their steps, Kitty again in the lead. “They’d hardly have got them to stroll across the river. The channel is dredged in these degenerate days, so I suppose the ford simply isn’t there any more.”

“I didn’t see Julian in the crowd,” said Kitty, over her shoulder.

“He was Aulus Plautius, I expect,” said Laura. “He could never have got a boy to learn all that Latin in the time.”

“Oh, rot, Dog! And that’s my answer to both those corny ideas. I expect he’s left the Romans to Mr Thingummy—him I did spot in the offing—and is up at Squire’s Acre superintending the Domesday Book stuff. I wonder what Gordon feels like, having to bring his class to another pageant? A bit grim, I should think, wouldn’t you?”

“I wish I had a chance of getting inside the Hall,” said Laura, wistfully. “I’m certain that’s where lies the evidence.”

“What evidence, Dog?”

“Somewhere among the Colonel’s armoury, dear heart, lies the answer to Falstaff’s death.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Second Pageant, Part Two

“…lives were lost, property destroyed, and ruffianism went rampant for days in succession… The hustings were erected in a large open space on “a piece of ground” near the road, “called the Half Acre”: and we may safely fix the site on the higher part of the Butts…”

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The Domesday Survey for the Manor of Brayne (“the Abbot of Saint Peter’s holds Brayne”) turned out to be as uninspiring as Julian Perse had expected. When the episode—mercifully brief—was over, Colonel Batty-Faudrey invited Kitty, Laura and Julian to go into the house for coffee. This was served in the morning-room, however, and Laura could think of no way of getting herself invited to look at the armoury housed in the long gallery. She consoled herself with the thought that, in any case, there would have been no time to make a detailed inspection, so she enjoyed the coffee, made herself pleasant to her host and hostess, exchanged mild badinage with Giles Faudrey (between whom and Julian there appeared to be a wary kind of give and take which reminded Laura of two boxers testing each other’s potentialities in the first round or so of a ten round contest) and, at the end of half an hour, she left with the others.

Julian, whose boys had returned to school in the motor-coaches provided, followed them in order to make certain that all was ready for the afternoon programme. Laura and Kitty lunched at The Hat With Feather and discussed the Batty-Faudreys and the first two items of Julian’s pageant.

“Rather a frost, so far,” said Laura. “The Romans were all right, but Domesday Book was like I’d always thought it would be. Incidentally, there doesn’t seem to be much support from the rest of the school.”

“Well, it’s half-term-holiday Tuesday,” Kitty explained, “so you couldn’t expect much interest from the masters and boys. It’s good of Mr Thingummy to turn up and help. Julian did tell me his name, but I can’t remember it because I always mix up Tomkinson and Hepplewhite, and I know it isn’t either of those—anyway, he’s hankering after a headship, so, if there’s any chance of appearing in public and catching a useful eye, of course he’s all for it.”

“What’s going to happen at this Chapter of the Garter business this afternoon?”

“Goodness knows, Dog. I’m not going to it.”

“Not going to it? Why not?”

“It’s to be held in the Town Hall, and wild horses wouldn’t drag me there to see another show.”

“I call that morbid. A dozen shows must have been put on there since The Merry Wives. You disappoint me.”

“Well, you go, and I’ll put in time in Julian’s rooms. We’re having tea with him there, in any case, so, when you’ve had your fill of the Town Hall, come along and join me. You don’t need a ticket to get into the Town Hall, by the way. Julian doesn’t expect much of an audience, so it’s free.”

Julian’s expectations, or the lack of them, proved prophetic. Except for a small collection of children from the