White Christmas with a Wobbly Knee

Book 0: The Belchester Chronicles

by Andrea Frazer

Genres: Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

The second in the series featuring a madcap pair of amateur sleuths and a delightful outpouring of upper-class English eccentricities - with the odd murder thrown in. Lady Amanda Golightly, eccentric resident of the sprawling Belchester Towers, has a new venture: guided tours. To celebrate she invites a horde of old chums to a trial run at Christmas, complete with tasty nibbles. However, things don't go to plan - a dead guest is discovered found slumped on the library table. Lady Amanda and her friend Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton Crump are off again, but can they beat the morose Inspector Moody to the unmasking of the culprit?

Release date: May 15, 2014

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 250

Sample

Chapter One
Settling-in Spats and Other Arguments

Beauchamp made up Lady Edith’s bed and prepared her room for her and, after she had creaked her way upstairs in the lift, Lady Amanda and Hugo were left alone together, to contemplate their drastically altered immediate future.

‘I don’t know how I’m going to cope with her bossiness and interference again,’ complained Lady Amanda.

‘I know how you feel,’ agreed Hugo, but not exactly thinking of those qualities in Lady Edith.

‘What am I going to do, Hugo, old thing?’ she wailed.

‘You’ve always got me,’ Hugo reassured her.

‘Yes,’ she replied, then sighed heavily. ‘I know!’

There were, of course, uncomfortable moments, in this settling-down period.

‘It’s ‘Beauchamp!’ pronounced Lady Amanda, with fervour.

‘No, it’s not. It’s ‘Beecham’!’ argued Lady Edith, with fervour.

‘Beauchamp!’

‘Beecham!’

‘Beauchamp!’

‘Beecham. Why do you persist with this ridiculous French pronunciation?’ asked Lady Edith, her hackles rising.

‘Because Daddy always called him “Beauchamp”!’ Lady Amanda’s hackles could rise too, and hers were years younger than her mother’s.

‘Beecham!’

‘Beauchamp!’

‘Beecham!’

‘Yes, my ladies?’ replied that named individual, appearing as if by magic by their sides.

‘Bugger!’ swore Lady Amanda, uncharacteristically, and stomped off to her room to sulk.

‘I don’t see how you can be standing there, so obviously alive, when I’ve got your Death Certificate in my bureau.’

‘Not worth the paper it’s written on!’ replied her mother, stubbornly.

‘I’ve still got it, and you’d better watch out, or I might just shop you to the fuzz.’

‘Don’t use such appalling slang, girl! I’ll simply tell them that I remembered nothing since the accident, until recently, suffering from amnesia for all these years, as I have.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’

‘Just you try me, my girl!’

‘How are you going to explain to the Queen that she’ll have to send a telegram to a long-dead woman, in a few years’ time? She’ll probably stick you in the Tower.’

‘I shall say that rumours of my death were somewhat exaggerated, but that I’m feeling much better now, thank you.’

‘Oh, Mummy, you are absolutely impossible!’

‘But you’ve got to go, Mummy. I’ve got my own life to live now that you’re dead. And if you don’t take yourself back off to the Continent, I shall make public, the fact that you ran a knocking shop here for the American servicemen, during the war. And I shall tell about Daddy and his Black Market deals. And what if it were to be made known that he had worked as an arms dealer after the War? What would people say to that? If all your secrets came out, apart from the fact that you’re simply not DEAD, where would you be?’ Lady Amanda was furious, and having one of her tantrums.

‘I should be a frail old lady with memory loss, or, if I fled, simply a figment of your imagination. You, however, should all this get to official ears, would be stripped of your title, and I’m sure the tax office would be more than happy to strip your comfortable bank account as well, to cover all the unpaid taxes from Daddy’s and my illegal activities. Now, how do you like them potatoes?’ Lady Edith smiled angelically at her daughter, then licked her right index finger, and drew a vertical line in the air.

‘My house-point, I rather think, my dear!’

‘I just can’t stand it any more, Hugo. Every time someone comes to the house, I have to shove Mama behind a door or into a cupboard, in case someone sees her and rumbles what’s going on up here. She seems to think it’s a hoot, but it’s playing merry hell with my nerves. My life seems to be one endless game of ‘Hunt the Slipper’, with Mama being the slipper: and she’s got wheels too. What if she thinks it’s a jolly jape to wheel herself out into open view? The gaff will be well and truly blown, and we shall all end up in gaol – except you, of course – with a list of charges against us as long as your arm. I just can’t stand the tension: I’m permanently on an adrenalin overload.’

‘May I suggest more cocktails,’ suggested Hugo, considering this idea with his head cocked to one side. ‘It won’t alter the situation at all, of course, but it will probably reduce your ability to fret over it, and give you a calmer and more relaxed view of things.’

‘What? And let my mother turn me into a raging alcoholic?’ She thought for a moment, then declared, ‘Well, just until she goes, I suppose it’s not a bad idea. Good man, Hugo! Have a Grasshopper! BEAUCHaaargh! Dear God, man, my nerves are in shreds already. For the love of all that’s holy, would you please not sneak up on me like that. In my current condition I’m liable to have a heart attack, and then where would your job be? Answer me that one! ‘

‘I shall need a bit of cash before I go. You know how expensive moving … Of course you don’t! You’ve never lived anywhere but here, but I can assure you, it’s a very costly business, and I could do with a bit of a top-up, if you’d be so kind,’ Lady Edith asked, one day after afternoon tea.

Delighted at the thought of seeing the back of her mother, Lady Amanda asked how much she required, while Hugo looked on with keen interest.

‘About a million should do it, I think. For now,’ replied the ancient dowager.

Hugo’s mouth fell open with amazement and horror. How on earth she could have the brass-necked cheek, after all these years of being dead, to ask her daughter for such an enormous amount of money, he had no idea.

‘I’ll just get my cheque book, and I’ll give the old boy at the bank a call in the morning, to let him know that I’m authorising that sum to leave my account,’ said Lady Amanda, and went off, in pursuit of her cheque book, calling back, ‘You’ll have to tell me who to make it out to, as I haven’t the faintest idea under what crass alias you have been living these past twenty years.’

Hugo hadn’t realised that his mouth could open any further, but it did, making him think that if he had another shock, while in this state, his chin might, literally, hit the floor.

Chapter Two
Problems with Workmen and Post-operation Blues

Hugo’s first hip replacement operation had taken place in the autumn. Lady Edith had got her feet well under the table by then and, when Lady Amanda had enquired, as politely as she could, when they would be seeing the back of the old bird, she was always ready with some excuse; for example, ‘The plumber’s on holiday for three weeks, and the electrician can’t get on with his work until the plumber comes back,’ or ‘The plasterer’s in Paris on an urgent job, and he’ll be gone for at least a month.’

‘You seem to suffer from an awful lot of bad luck with your workmen, Mummy,’ Lady Amanda had commented sourly, but to the old lady it was just like water off a duck’s back. Her daughter was taking things remarkably well, publicly, considering that, only a few short months ago, she had been ‘Queen of the Shit Heap’, as Lady Edith coarsely described it, and here she was now, back under her mother’s eagle eye, and with Hugo twittering at her all the time; but her outward patience wouldn’t last for ever.

The priority at the moment, however, was Hugo. Having just been discharged from hospital within only days of his surgery (‘We need the beds, sir.’) there were certain delicate problems to be sorted out, with regard to his mobility, while he recuperated.

Social Services had kindly sent round a commode for Hugo’s use, and it was this that had caused the current outburst of rebellion: that, and the metal crutches that had arrived with it.

‘I am NOT using that thing!’ Hugo had never expressed himself with such volume and anger before, and he pointed at the object of his anger, the commode, as he shouted. ‘I will not have THAT THING in my bedroom, with its potty sticking out through the seat for all to see. I may be old, but I insist on retaining my dignity.’

Wading in, with her fingers crossed behind her back for luck, Lady Amanda made a suggestion. ‘We have a very old commode in the attic. It just looks like a cube of carved wood – a bit like a large, ornate box. Nobody would ever guess it was a commode.’

‘That sounds more acceptable, but I’ll have to see it first,’ replied Hugo, slightly mollified, and hoping that, as usual, Lady Amanda would come to his rescue.

‘I’ll get Beauchamp to fetch it down for you,’ she soothed him.

‘And I’m not walking with those blasted things, either,’ said Hugo, pointing to the crutches.

‘Why ever not?’ she asked.

‘Because they’ll make me look like a silly old man, who’s fallen over and injured himself. I will not go round looking like a victim of my age! And that’s final! I had enough of that with that damned Zimmer frame.’

‘Beau …’

‘Already here, my lady.’ Beauchamp spoke quietly from just behind her right shoulder.

‘Oh, you did give me a fright! I’ve told you not to creep around like that. It’s very unnerving.’

‘Yes, my lady. How can I be of assistance?’

‘Firstly, you can fetch down the carved commode from the attics, and secondly, have you still got that rack of walking canes in your pantry?’

‘I have, indeed, my lady,’ the manservant answered.

‘Then perhaps you could fetch them along, too? The commode is for Hugo’s bedroom, and the walking canes can be brought here, for his inspection. He doesn’t like the utilitarian crutches, and would like something a little less “medical” to aid his walking.’

‘Very good, my lady.’

Beauchamp really was a peach of an asset to the household, thought Lady Amanda, as he left them to carry out his errand.

A little later, Hugo inspected the many fine walking canes available for his use, with enthusiasm. He’d already okayed the ‘po’, as Lady Edith vulgarly put it, and was now choosing the canes he would like to ‘test-walk’.

‘I really like this one, with the silver greyhound’s head on it. It’s just the right height, it’s as straight as a die, and it holds well.’

As he went through the sticks, Lady Edith, who had joined them when she heard Beauchamp transferring them into the drawing room, was giving a running commentary on to whom they had belonged in the past.

‘That one was Great Uncle Wilbur’s. He used to love going to the dog track. Terrible gambler, you know. Just as well my Jonathan came along when he did in the family. Where would the family fortunes be, if it wasn’t for Golightly’s Health Products?’

‘Oh, shut up, Mummy, for goodness’ sake, and let Hugo get on with choosing.’ It was amazing how the presence of her mother could turn a woman of her age into the petulant child she once had been.

Hugo now selected one with the head of a bulldog: ivory, with ruby eyes. ‘I say, this one’s a really fine thing. I think I could cut quite a dash, out and about with this in my hand,’ he crowed, examining it for damage and suitability.

‘That one was Grandpa Golightly’s – your father’s father’s, Manda, dear,’ Lady Edith crowed, delighted to see such an old friend again. ‘He bred bulldogs.’

‘How do you know it’s his? He was already dead when you married Daddy.’ Lady Amanda was getting herself into a grand sulk.

‘Because your father told me so, my dearest,’ replied her mother, with the sweetest of smiles, guaranteed to annoy her daughter, and get under her skin.

‘Oh, I’ve had enough of this! I’m going off to do something else. The sticks are usually in the butler’s pantry, should you wish to change either of them, Hugo. I’ll just leave you to it with Mummy dearest.’

Chapter Three
New Horizons

Over the period of his convalescence and beyond, Hugo constantly suggested to Lady Amanda that she open up part of the house to the public. He knew she didn’t need the money, but she did need something to take her interest – something that she could get her teeth into, and keep both her mind and her body active. Her mother was driving her to distraction, and she had too little to do.

After all the change, with Hugo moving in, and working on solving murders, life, with the exception of the prickle in her side that was her female parent, had settled down to a gnawing boredom.

‘Why don’t we get this place spruced up a bit – just some of it, you know – and we could do little tours for the public. Someone could take them round the bits you’ve selected, and give them the history of the place and the Golightly family, and perhaps we could serve cream teas as well; let them walk round the grounds, that sort of thing, don’t yer know?’ he suggested, one morning after breakfast, when Lady Edith requested that her repast should be served on a tray in her room.

‘What?’ replied Lady Amanda. ‘Fill the place with light-fingered plebs, you mean?’

‘Of course not, Manda. If you charge a decent fee for admission, then the plebs won’t want to pay to come and look around. If you can manage the guided tours yourself, you could ask a good whack, what with you having a title and everything. It’ll give you a purpose in life.’

‘I wasn’t aware that I needed a purpose in my life, Hugo. What makes you think I do?’

‘Well, for one thing, your mother’s driving you crazy. You could explain to her that, if she’s still here when the tours start, she’ll have to keep herself well-hidden, in case someone sees her and recognises her. It’s all right her swanning around the Riviera and Monaco. She’s unlikely to meet anyone from round here, there, and even if she did, she’d be able to pass it off as a case of mistaken identity.

‘If anyone saw her in BelchesterTowers itself, she’d have no defence. There’s no coincidence that great, that her double should be staying here, so long after your mother’s death. She has to remember that she is one of the dear departed, in local eyes, and she has to stay that way until her apartment’s ready, and she can go off and leave us in peace.’

‘You’ve certainly got a point there, Hugo. I believe the idea is beginning to grow on me,’ she told him. ‘Let’s have a toddle round the place this morning, and see which bits could be tickled up to show to the paying public. Yes, I’m definitely warming to the idea. When do you think we could be ready?’

‘We’ll have to see how much needs to be done first, and how much of the place you’re willing to show off,’ Hugo advised her, not wanting her to make any hasty decisions that would leave them with too much to do, and too little time in which to do it.

‘Good idea, old stick! The only thing that would be more fun would be another murder,’

‘Heaven forbid!’ replied Hugo.

But the gods don’t like to be challenged, and can be quite contrary, should they feel in the mood to meddle in human affairs.

Their own personal tour of the house rewarded them with much useful information for their proposed venture into the tourist industry. The structure of the building had been kept in good fettle by Lady Amanda, during her reign here, and there was no visible damp.

‘That’s the benefit of the place not being a thousand years old,’ she told him, as they walked round. ‘This was only built two hundred years ago, and I believe no expense was spared in making it impervious to the invasion of damp and general mould. Daddy also did a lot of work when there was a problem in the banqueting hall, and he always kept the roof in good repair, as have I. In fact, it was Daddy who put this family back on its feet again, but I’ll tell you about that some other time.’

Getting back to the subject of the house, Hugo said, happily, ‘There’s quite a lot you could show then, with the removal of the dust sheets, and a bit of a clean-up.’

‘There’s actually too much of it to show, in my opinion. I’m absolutely exhausted,’ moaned Lady Amanda, as they finally got back to the drawing room, and she could flop down into a chair to rest her feet.

‘That’s even better, Manda,’ commented Hugo, cryptically.

‘How is that better? My feet feel like they’ve been beaten for hours with sticks of bamboo.’

‘You could have two or three different tours on offer, for different days, or different weeks. That way you could get people to come here two or three times, paying every time they come back.’

‘Hugo, you’re a right little entrepreneur, aren’t you?’

‘Thank you very much, Manda. It’s v. . .