An April Shroud

‘No. How could I? I’m here by accident.’

‘So you say. So you say. Men come, men go, and it’s all put down to accident. Have you known Bonnie long?’

‘Your daughter-in-law? I don’t know her at all, Mr Fielding,’ averred Dalziel. ‘I don’t know anyone here.’

‘No?’ The emphasis of Dalziel’s answer seemed almost to convince the old man. But only for a moment.

‘You’re not from Gumbelow’s, are you?’ he suddenly demanded. ‘Or television? I have positively interdicted television.’

Dalziel’s patience was wearing thin, but now the door opened and the stout youth who must be Bertie Fielding came in. He ignored the inmates and passed straight through into the back kitchen, returning a moment later to stare accusingly at Dalziel.

‘That’s my mug. You’ve taken my mug.’

Dalziel blew on his soup till he set the little globules of fat into a panicky motion.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

Bertie turned once more and went back to the stove.

‘My grandson is an ill-mannered lout,’ said Mr Fielding sadly.

‘Can’t think where he gets it from,’ answered Dalziel.

Bertie returned, drinking soup from what appeared to be an identical mug.

‘I hear Charley sank your case,’ he said, more amicably now. Like a baby who doesn’t really mind what teat gets stuck in his mouth, thought Dalziel.

‘Mr Tillotson? Aye, there was a spot of bother,’ he answered.

‘There would be,’ said Bertie maliciously. ‘Evidence of divine whimsy is Charley. Looks like a Greek god but things happen to him like Monsieur Hulot.’

‘You haven’t quite got the balance right,’ mocked Mr Fielding, explaining to Dalziel, ‘Bertie likes to rehearse his witty abuse till he’s got the lines off pat.’

Bertie smiled angrily.

‘Still can’t bear a rival near the throne, Grandpa?’

‘Rival?’ exclaimed the old man, pushing himself upright. ‘When has the eagle considered the boiling fowl a rival? Or the antelope the hog? Good day to you, Mr Dalziel. If you are as uninvolved in our affairs as you claim to be, it seems unlikely that we shall meet again. On the other hand …’

He walked stiffly from the room, his shoes squelching gently on the stone-flagged floor.

‘Your grandfather seems a bit upset,’ probed Dalziel, sucking in a noisy mouthful of broth.

‘Yes, he usually does, these days. It’s not surprising, I suppose, when you’ve lost your last surviving child. Especially as he thinks I killed him.’

The door opened again at this point and the arrival of Tillotson, Louisa Fielding, Uniff and the Indian Maid masked Dalziel’s surprise and prevented him from following up Bertie’s statement.

‘Hello,’ said Tillotson. ‘I say, are your things all right? I hope there’s no permanent damage.’

‘If there is,’ said Dalziel, ‘I’ll send you a bill.’

‘That’s right, captain,’ said Uniff. ‘Don’t let him polite talk you out of your legal rights. I’m a witness. Hey, Mavis!’

The Indian Maid came over to them with two mugs of soup. She was really a striking girl with much of Uniff’s prominence of feature, but regularized into something approaching beauty. The likeness was confirmed when Uniff said, ‘Mave, meet the captain. Assumed command in our hour of need. Captain, may I present my sister?’

‘How do you do, Mr Dalziel,’ said the girl. Her voice confirmed his assessment of Uniff’s origins. It was unrepentantly Liverpudlian.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Dalziel.

‘It was you we saw on the bridge, wasn’t it? You looked as if you were going to walk into the water.’

‘Or on it,’ said Uniff. ‘The second coming, nineteen-seventy style.’

‘He hasn’t had much luck stilling the waters this time,’ said Bertie, peering out of the chintz-curtained window.

The door opened once more and Mrs Fielding came in.

‘Everyone here? Good. Is there plenty of soup to go round? I can’t see Herrie. Or Nigel.’

‘Grandpa was here. But Nigel hasn’t been down, has he?’

Bertie looked enquiringly at Dalziel who shook his head.

‘I hope he’s not moving around in his damp clothes,’ said Mrs Fielding. ‘Lou, darling, run upstairs and find him. Make him come down.’

‘But I’ve not had my soup yet,’ protested the blonde girl. ‘Bertie can go. He’s nearly finished.’

‘He’ll take no notice of Bertie,’ her mother answered firmly. ‘Or worse, even if he was on the point of coming Bertie would make him change his mind. You go.’

‘Oh bugger,’ said Louisa. But she went.

Mrs Fielding came over to the table now and smiled down at Dalziel.

‘I just rang the garage,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have bothered, I was just going to,’ answered Dalziel.

‘No, it struck me you wouldn’t know which was nearest or best for that matter. Anyway they were a bit worried when I told them where the car was. There’s a great deal of water all along that road now and they aren’t sure their breakdown truck can get along. Once it stops raining the water will go down pretty quickly, of course.’

‘So I’m stuck,’ said Dalziel. ‘Well, that’s life. Well, if I can use your phone, I’ll try to find myself a hotel and a taxi. How close can a taxi get?’

‘He’s worried about another trip with Charley,’ said Bertie Fielding. ‘Be comforted, it’s just on the south side that the water lies, Mr Dalziel. The road to the north is a bit damp, but passable. I’d say the Lady Hamilton in Orburn would be your best bet, wouldn’t you, Mother?’

Dalziel groaned inwardly, visualizing the under-manager’s mixture of dismay and triumph at his return.

‘Nonsense, Bertie,’ she replied. ‘It’s expensive, unhygienic, and nearly ten miles away. Mr Dalziel will stay with us until he can pick up his car. Please do, Mr Dalziel. We would all be delighted to have you.’

Dalziel looked slowly round the room and saw delight manifest itself in a variety of strange ways. It masqueraded as indifference on Mavis’s face, amused knowingness on her brother’s, vague uncertainty on Tillotson’s and downright dislike of the idea on Bertie’s. Only on Bonnie Fielding’s did delight appear in anything approaching full frontal nudity.