Upon A Dark Night

Ten

Prospect Road, Westbury, was a long trek, they discovered, south of the town under the figure of the white horse once carved, now cemented, into Bratton Down. They spent some of Rose’s money taking a taxi from the railway station.

‘This man Dunkley-Brown is well known in the area, Percy told me,’ Ada started to explain, whereupon the taxi-driver joined in.

‘If it’s Ned Dunkley-Brown you mean, he were mayor of Bradford some years back. Powerful speaker in his time.’

‘He doesn’t mean that Bradford,’ Ada said for Rose’s benefit. ‘Bradford on Avon is a dinky little town not far from here.’ She asked the driver, ‘Politician, is he?’

‘Was. Don’t get much time for politics no more. Too busy testing the ale.’

‘Enjoys his bevvy, does he?’

‘You could say that. Him and his missus. If we catch them at home at this time of day, I’ll be surprised.’

He had no need to be surprised. No one came to the door of the large, detached house. Inside, a dog was barking. Ada said she would go exploring. She marched around the side as if she owned it. Presently, she called out from somewhere, ‘Come and look at this.’

Rose found her in the garage, jammed into a space between the wall and a large white car, her hand resting on the silver fish figurehead. she said with pride, ‘I knew we could bank on Percy.’

Rose’s heart-rate stepped up. ‘This must be the one.’

‘Funny-looking fish,’ Ada commented.

‘What do you mean?’

‘For a car, I mean. The fins stick up high. Not very streamlined.’

True, it was spikier than a trout, say, or a salmon. ‘It’s still a fish.’

‘Definitely.’

‘We’d better go,’ said Rose, suspicious that Ada might be planning some housebreaking. ‘We don’t want to get caught here.’

They had asked their driver to wait, and he offered to take them to the pub the Dunkley-Browns frequented. It wouldn’t have taken long to walk there, but Ada preferred travelling on wheels whenever possible. This had a useful result, because the driver once more picked up a point from their conversation.

‘That fish on D-B’s car? That’s a gudgeon.’

‘A what?’ said Ada.

‘Gudgeon. A freshwater fish. They’re small. Good for bait. Not much of a bite for supper, though. You know why he has it on his car, don’t you?’

Ada said, ‘That was my next question.’

‘Maybe,’ he said slyly, ‘but I asked it first.’

‘He’s a fisherman?’ Ada hazarded.

‘No.’

‘He drinks like a fish?’

He chuckled. ‘I like it, and it’s true, but that ain’t the reason. I told you he were mayor of Bradford once. Proper proud of that, he is. That fish is the official fish of Bradford. Gudgeon.’

‘Like a symbol of the town?’

‘Correct. You’ve heard the saying, haven’t you, “You be under the fish and over the water”?’

‘Can’t say I have,’ said Ada. ‘Like a riddle, is it?

Rose asked what it meant.

‘Local people know it. You know the Bradford town bridge, anywhiles?’

‘Yes.’

Even Rose knew that, just as she knew the names of the Rolling Stones. The medieval nine-arched bridge over the Avon is one of the more famous landmarks in the West Country. Generations of artists and photographers have captured the quaint profile with the domed lock-up (once a chapel) projecting above the structure.

‘On top of the lock-up, there’s a weathervane in the form of a gudgeon. So if you had some cause to spend the night in there…’

‘We get the point,’ said Ada. ‘Mr Dunkley-Brown is proud of his time as mayor, and that’s all we need to know, except where to find him.’

‘No problem there,’ said the driver.

He turned up Alfred Street and stopped in the Market Place opposite the Westbury Hotel, a Georgian red-brick building that looked well up to catering for an ex-mayor. Obviously it had an identity problem, because the gilt and wrought-iron lettering over the door still proclaimed it as the Lopes Arms and there was a board with a coat of arms to affirm it. Another board claimed a history dating back to the fourteenth century and yet another gave it four stars from the English Tourist Board. Mindful of a possible tip, the driver took the trouble to get out and look inside the bar. ‘What did I tell you, ladies? Table on the left, party of six. He’s the little bald bloke and his missus next to him.’

Ada heaved herself out of the back seat and thanked the driver. ‘Do you happen to have a card? We might need to call you again.’ She explained later to Rose that asking a driver for his card was the ploy she used when unable to afford a tip. It saved embarrassment because there was just the suggestion that the tip was being saved for the second run, which never happened.

The interior bore out the promise of gentility: a leather-clad bar, thick, patterned carpet, dark wood panelling and framed Victorian cartoons by Spy. The Dunkley-Browns looked well set for a long session, seated with four others in a partitioned section a step up from the main bar, their table already stacked with empties. Although their conversation didn’t quite carry, the bursts of laughter did.

Rose would have started by going to the liveried barmaid and ordering something. Ada was more direct. She stepped up to the table where the Dunkley-Browns were and said, ‘Pardon me for butting in, but you are the former Mayor and Mayoress of Bradford, aren’t you?’

Ned Dunkley-Brown seemed to grow a couple of inches. Bright-eyed, short and with clownish clumps of hair on either side of his bald patch, he appeared friendly enough. ‘As a matter of fact we are. Should we know you?’

Mrs Dunkley-Brown, beside him, cast a sharp eye over the newcomers. She was probably twenty years younger than her husband, with black, shoulder-length hair. She must have enlivened civic receptions in Bradford on Avon.

‘No, we’re visitors here,’ said Ada. ‘Ada Shaftsbury and – what do you call yourself, petal?’

‘Rose.’

‘She’s Rose. Our driver pointed you out.’

‘So you drove here?’ said Dunkley-Brown, simply being civil with these people who may have appeared odd, but who had earned his approval for reminding his drinking companions that he had once been the top dog in Bradford on Avon.

‘Not all the way,’ said Ada. ‘We took the train from Bath. We don’t own a handsome car like yours.’

‘You’ve seen my Bentley, have you?’

Someone in the party made some aside and the women – Mrs Dunkley-Brown excepted – giggled behind their hands.

‘It’s a motor you’d notice anywhere, a gorgeous runabout like that,’ Ada said, unfazed. ‘Specially with the figurehead.’

‘The fish. You know about the fish?’

‘The gudgeon of Bradford.’

‘You are well-informed. Look, why don’t you ladies join us? We’re just having a few drinks with our friends here. What will you have?’

‘A few private words will do. We didn’t come to crash your party.’

‘Private words?’ said Dunkley-Brown.

‘It’s important,’ said Ada.

He became defensive. ‘But I’ve never met you before.’