Beau Death

22

‘You won’t forget to pick me up at the end of the evening?’

‘And leave you to walk home dressed as you are? It’s tempting, but I’m not completely heartless.’

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll sit here a moment until I see someone else go in.’

‘In case it turns out to be one gigantic hoax? Peter, it can’t be.’

Paloma had slotted into a space in front of the north side of the Wood family’s masterpiece, the three-storey Romanesque creation known originally as the King’s Circus. The terraced building formed a circle broken only by the three roads that led into it. Romanesque? Imperial Rome had certainly been in John Wood the Elder’s mind when he wrote the proposal announcing that the space in the middle would be used for ‘the exhibition of sports.’ Whether lions and Christians featured in his plan is less certain. He laid the foundation in 1754 and died the same year, after which his son, John Wood the Younger, oversaw the construction. Completion was 1767, so Beau Nash didn’t live to see it. But the cream of society moved in, among them the prime minister William Pitt the Elder, the Earl of Chatham, the artist Thomas Gainsborough and Lord Robert Clive.

Diamond was still having doubts. ‘I keep asking myself how I was shoehorned into this crazy situation. The head of CID dressed like this — it’s a farce.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Paloma said. ‘It does wonders for you. You look superb and everyone will respond.’

‘I know how my team would respond if they could see me.’

‘They’d respect you even more than they do already.’

He went silent. He knew she was being positive. And how he needed the confidence she was trying to provide.

‘Who suggested you came here — Georgina, wasn’t it?’

‘Suggested? She volunteered me. To be fair, she changed her mind later. She was thinking of sending someone else and that would have been pointless. I’ve got myself to blame for telling her so.’

‘That’s to your credit, then. You’re not a quitter. I think you’re about to make a major breakthrough.’

‘I wish.’

‘If you find out who the skeleton must have been, you won’t be complaining.’

He nodded. Paloma’s support was rock solid.

‘And then you won’t be far from naming his killer.’

‘Says you.’

Suddenly his confidence-provider sounded a different note. ‘It could be one of the members.’

‘The murder was twenty years ago.’

‘They could still be around, couldn’t they?’

‘They could, but...’

‘For God’s sake be careful, Peter. You may be dressed up, but it’s not a game. It’s dangerous.’

A large white minivan entered from Gay Street, glided around the central garden with its huge plane trees and came to a stop outside the house leased by the society. Like every other, this residence was fronted with twin Doric columns topped with a frieze decorated with serpents, nautical devices and emblems of the arts and sciences.

The van door slid aside and a woman in a huge hat looked out as if to make sure no one else was about. Self-conscious like me? Diamond speculated.

Her driver got out. He was in a modern suit.

Diamond recognised him. ‘That’s Spearman, Sir Edward Paris’s chauffeur. The woman must be Lady Paris.’

‘Watch this,’ Paloma said.

Lady Paris (if this was she) was having trouble getting through the door. She had to ease out by stages with the driver’s help. He bent low and spread his arms and she giggled. The skirt was the problem. It had some kind of springy under-support.

‘Is it a crinoline?’ Diamond asked Paloma.

‘No, they came later. It’ll be a hoop dress, and difficult to manage. They were never made to travel in minivans.’

Between them the lady and her chauffeur were coping, but dignity was difficult. The skirt swung up like a handbell when they finally pulled it free. Hoots of laughter. If this was indeed Lady Paris, she was no shrinking violet. At pavement level she spent some time rearranging the folds. Composed at last, she stepped up to the open door — fortunately as wide as any in Bath — and went inside.

‘Okay, it’s really happening. I believe you now.’ Diamond opened the car door.

‘Walk tall, big man,’ Paloma said, ‘but keep your head down.’

‘Difficult — at the same time.’

He braced himself and marched in.

His leather heels clattered on the stones of a black and white check stone floor that looked original. Loud voices were coming from ahead, so he moved on and found himself outside a room filled with chattering people in costume. One glimpse disposed of all doubts about the need for his wig, frock coat and breeches. Without the costume he would have been as out of place as a clown at a funeral.

‘Do squeeze in if you can,’ someone said. She was in a hat shaped like a two-tier cakestand and he recognised her as the woman he’d just watched getting out of the minivan. Better start thinking of her as a lady if she was indeed Lady Paris. When she stepped back a little and pushed down on the hoops of her skirt to make room, he saw that the cakestand was topped with a round, stuffed fabric object made to look like a bun, with quite believable currants and flakes of sugar. A Bath bun, of course. These people didn’t take themselves as seriously as he’d assumed.

‘Thanks.’ But he was only able to take one step. Tube trains in the rush hour had more standing room.

She released the dress and the hidden hoop sprang up and lodged against his shins. ‘Don’t back off,’ she said. ‘Touching is part of the fun.’

‘If you say so.’

‘You’re new to this, aren’t you? You must be Georgie’s top detective. I was instructed to look out for you. I’m Sally, the Beau’s ball and chain.’

So this had to be Lady Paris. He managed a nod. ‘Peter Diamond.’

‘Gorgeous rug, Pete,’ Sally said, evidently meaning his wig. She was about his own age and already making him feel as if he should lighten up. ‘One like that gives a guy style. You could pass for George Washington. I wish my other half was allowed to sport a white one, but Beau Nash wore this long black shoulder-length thing that makes him look like Fred Basset, the cartoon dog. Don’t laugh when you meet him. He’ll bark if you do. He may bite.’

Diamond felt sudden pressure on the backs of his knees. Someone else in a hoop dress was trying to enter the room.

Sally grabbed his arm and pulled him close. ‘It gets like this, I’m afraid. Every time anyone else comes into the room we all get more intimate, but you can relax. I defy anyone to go the whole way dressed like this.’

Going the whole way hadn’t crossed Diamond’s mind. Right now he was trapped by whalebone digging into his lower limbs from front and back and it was uncomfortable. He edged sideways.

‘Have I shocked you?’ Sally said.

‘No, ma’am. I’m trying for a better position.’

A peal of laughter came from her. ‘If Ed hears that, it’s pistols at dawn. You haven’t met the old tosser, have you? I can’t introduce you because he’s way over the other side of the room.’

‘Actually I was told there are some senior members I ought to meet.’

‘You don’t want to bother with them,’ she said. ‘Geriatrics. A man in his prime like you should be chatting up the girls.’

A man in his prime? He enjoyed that, but he still had a job to do. ‘Seriously, that’s why your husband invited me.’

‘You don’t have to tell me, ducky. I was there. It’s about the skeleton, isn’t it? You think it could have been one of our members.’

‘That’s only a theory,’ Diamond said. ‘It was wearing the clothes. And a long black wig. What happens when a new president takes over? Is the same costume handed on?’

‘I’ve never heard that it is,’ Sally said. ‘No, that’s ridiculous. Presidents come in all shapes and sizes. Orville Duff, the one Ed took over from, was a stick insect. Ed would never have got into his clothes.’

‘So they provide their own?’

‘I suppose if the incoming Beau is short of a few pennies, he might enquire what happened to the last one’s outfit, but that certainly didn’t apply in Ed’s case. Anyway, Orville died in office and you don’t want to wear a dead man’s clothes, do you?’

‘Was he wearing them at the time?’

‘That’s not what I meant. And he didn’t end up in a loft in Twerton.’

‘But the skeleton was dressed in a genuine eighteenth-century outfit.’

‘Really? Ed’s was made in a sweatshop in Indonesia, far as I know.’

‘What about his wig?’

‘Polyester. Take a look when you meet him.’ She shook with amusement. ‘It’s far too shiny.’

‘So the wig doesn’t get handed on either?’

‘If I had my way it would get handed on to Oxfam. Yours is something else. Is it powdered?’

‘It may be. Paloma — she’s a friend — got it for me. She’s quite an expert. Ouch.’ He felt more pressure on the backs of his calves. Someone else was trying to get into the room. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Estella. She winked and smiled.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Diamond said. ‘Good to see you again.’

‘There you are,’ Sally said. ‘All the ladies want a piece of you, but I have you trapped.’

He turned his head again. Estella was already talking to someone else. It was amusing listening to Sally, but he couldn’t see any prospect of meeting the veterans he’d come to see. How did anyone get about in private houses in the eighteenth century when the women wore these vast skirts? The only movement possible was from fans being used by ladies. The air had become far too stuffy.

Like a mind reader, Sally answered his question. ‘This is the anteroom. We all transfer into the main reception room in a moment and then we can breathe again.’

Already some movement at the other end was relieving the pressure. Soon he’d be able to look about and see if he recognised anyone.

‘What happens in there?’ he asked Sally.

‘The meeting, hopefully short, and a chance to get a drink. You’re not driving, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Neither are we. Our chauffeur spends a boring evening waiting for us.’

Some of the people behind them were now moving. Sally nudged him. ‘Come on. Use your elbows.’

The main reception room had undergone some modern alterations, two fair-sized rooms opened up to become one, but whoever did the job had finished it in eighteenth-century style — a fine plastered ceiling and ormolu wall fittings with real lighted candles. The pictures were mostly copies, he guessed, several of people he recognised from the books he’d studied: Frederick, Prince of Wales, Princess Augusta, the Duchess of Marlborough, the Countess of Huntingdon, Ralph Allen, John Wood and of course Juliana Papjoy. The Beau himself wasn’t on the wall. He was by the fireplace on a plinth in marble, a copy of the statue in the Pump Room.

‘Grab a glass before the meeting starts,’ Sally told Diamond.

Footmen in blue and gold livery were circulating with trays of what looked like champagne, so he took her advice, moved about with glass in hand and got his first proper look at the membership. Difficult to recognise people in wigs and bonnets, but he spotted an ex-mayor, two headmasters, his own bank manager and two of the clergy from the Abbey.

Sally was in animated conversation, so he moved off to a distant corner where he could observe rather than socialise. A few chairs were provided along the walls, but it was clear that all but the old and infirm intended to remain standing. One thing he noticed had no possible bearing on the investigation. He’d thought it would be impossible for the women in their skirts to sit down, and then one managed it expertly by lifting the top hoop above her hips as she lowered herself on to the chair.

Near the fireplace someone thumped the wood floor with his stick to get attention and several of the company squeaked in surprise.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for the Beau.’

An overweight man in a black wig waddled forward and one of the flunkeys helped him up to an antique footstool. Sir Edward Paris, ruddy-faced, double-chinned, full of his own importance. You needed to be self-assured in this company if your accent wasn’t Oxbridge and his certainly wasn’t.

‘Everybody in? Right. Welcome one and all. We can get through this quick.’ He was speaking into a hand-held microphone, definitely not antique. ‘I’m going to start with a personal statement. I’ve been your Beau for the best part of twenty years now and I reckon it’s time for some other mug to take over. That’s a joke, about the mug. Don’t take it personal.’

No one laughed. The announcement had shocked everyone.

‘But I’m not kidding about jacking it in.’

Shock was turning to annoyance. It wasn’t done for the Beau to quit.

‘I know the last one died on the job, but there’s nothing in the rules to say I have to go on till I drop dead.’

‘But there’s a precedent.’ Someone spoke up in elegant vowel sounds obviously honed by generations of good breeding.

‘A what?’

‘A noteworthy precedent.’

‘I’m your noteworthy president in case you’ve forgotten.’

A few polite laughs were heard. It was impossible to tell whether the pun had been intentional. Probably not, Diamond thought.

The well-bred man insisted on saying his piece. ‘The Beau, the original Beau, our revered Richard Nash, was still Master of Ceremonies when he departed this life. He collapsed over a card game in the Assembly Rooms. Four days later he was gone.’

‘So what’s your point, Crispin?’

‘Only, my dear Sir Edward, that nobody could possibly object if you chose to emulate the Beau and remain in office.’

‘My wife would. She wants her old man back.’

This did earn some laughter.

Somebody else spoke from the back of the room. ‘Isn’t there some question that Beau Nash was murdered? It was in all the papers the week before last.’

‘Rubbish,’ someone else shouted. ‘What do they know?’

‘A skeleton wearing the Beau’s clothes was found in a loft somewhere.’

‘Twerton,’ another voice said and caused more amusement.

‘He’d been stabbed.’

‘How can they tell?’

‘Regardless of how he met his death, my point stands,’ the well-bred man said. ‘He remained the Beau until the end of his life.’

Ed was quick to say, ‘He would, wouldn’t he? Nobody told me it was forever. I’ve got a life of my own and a business to run. I’ve done my bit and I want out, so I’m telling you now you’d better find someone to take over. Do I have a volunteer?’

Silence dropped like a capture net on the entire company.

Ed waited and asked, ‘Anyone up for it?’

Diamond was amused to see so many of the high-ups of Bath staring at the floor and plainly wishing they weren’t high up at all and could fall straight through it.

The deadlock was ended only by one bold soul asking, ‘Does anyone know the latest on the skeleton?’

Ed said, ‘Hang on a bit. Are you lot deaf? You need a new Beau.’

Then one of the clergy pointed out that it was customary in clubs and societies to invite nominations and have them proposed and seconded and then proceed to an election.

‘It never happened when I got the job,’ Ed said. ‘Professor Plum went belly up and I was asked to take over next day, simple as that.’

‘Professor Plum?’ someone queried.

Sally Paris spoke up. ‘He means Orville Duff, don’t you, Ed?’

Ed wasn’t there to talk about Duff. ‘How about you, vicar? You know how things are done. Do you want to be Beau?’

If the cleric had been asked to run naked up Milsom Street on a Saturday afternoon he couldn’t have looked more horrified. ‘My ecclesiastical duties have to come first.’

‘Don’t we have a constitution?’ the well-bred man called Crispin asked. ‘We have our rules about dress and so forth. In fact, Beau Nash was famous for his rules.’

‘It’s never arisen before,’ an older man said. ‘I suppose we’re more feudal than democratic. We’ve always appointed a successor by invitation up to now.’

‘Because mugs like me stepped up to the plate,’ Ed said.

To which Lady Sally added, ‘Besides writing a large cheque to fund the building work when we took over this place.’

‘I don’t want to give the wrong impression,’ Crispin said. ‘We’re all immensely grateful for Sir Edward’s generosity. Indeed the sheer scale of his largesse may account for our reluctance to volunteer.’

Ed had misunderstood again, ‘My size has bog all to do with it.’ He looked round the room at all the uneasy faces. ‘Fair play, you weren’t expecting me to give up. I sprang this on you. I’ll do the honours one last time and you can decide among yourselves who stands on this soapbox next meeting, because it ain’t going to be Ed Paris.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Next business, welcoming guests. Any takers?’

Some hands were raised and people were introduced. The tension in the room had eased emphatically now that the prickly matter of the presidency was deferred.

Sally said something to her husband and he said, ‘Strewth. Almost forgot my own guest, Detective Dallymore from the Old Bill.’

Sally was quick to correct him.

With some bluster, Ed resumed. ‘All right, all right. Now you see why you need a new Beau. I’m going soft in the head. My good lady tells me I should have said Detective Superintendent Diamond. Where are you, mate?’

Forced against all his instincts to break cover, Diamond raised his hand and said, ‘Peter will do.’

‘Peter it is. Welcome to the Beau Nash Society, Pete. And if some of you are asking yourselves how I come to be cosying up to the law all of a sudden, it’s because he’s the cop investigating the skeleton you was talking about just now. Ain’t that the truth, Pete?’

The truth was that Diamond was in sudden danger of filling his breeches. He said, ‘Well, yes,’ and hoped the spotlight would shift.

It didn’t. Some busybody said, ‘It sounds as if the Beau’s guest is the ideal person to clear up the uncertainty about what actually happened at Twerton.’

Oh no he wasn’t.

Paloma’s ‘Keep your head down’ was a sick joke now.

To gain thinking time Diamond drained the champagne glass.

But Ed made a bad situation worse. ‘I’ll hand you the mike, Pete. We’d all like to hear from you.’

‘There’s nothing I can say,’ Diamond called across the room. ‘It’s an ongoing investigation.’

‘Can’t hear you,’ the busybody called out.

Ed had already stepped down from the stool and crossed the floor to where Diamond was. ‘Say something or they’ll get stroppy.’

Even the notoriously stubborn Peter Diamond wasn’t proof against an audience of Bath’s top people demanding a statement. He held the microphone to his mouth, ‘All I can tell you at this time is that the remains found in Twerton aren’t those of Beau Nash. He’s buried in the Abbey.’

‘The Abbey?’ the man called Crispin said in disbelief. ‘I think you’ll find the weight of opinion is against you. It’s all over the internet that he ended up in a pauper’s grave and no one seems to know exactly where.’

Somebody who’d drunk too much shouted, ‘Twerton.’

‘You don’t want to believe everything you read on the internet,’ Diamond said. ‘Go back to the original reports of the funeral as we did. They all say he was buried in the Abbey.’

‘Where does the story that he was a pauper come from, then?’

‘I’ve no idea and I don’t have the time or inclination to find out.’

‘It’s not just the internet. I’ve seen it in books.’

‘I’m sorry, but the books are wrong. This is one of a number of myths about Nash that don’t stand up to examination.’

Ed was still at Diamond’s side. He was rubbing his hands with anticipation. ‘What else is there? Now you’ve started, you’d better tell us.’

Everything Diamond said was being amplified, seeming to lend authority to his statements. Ed was right. He couldn’t really back down. So against all his best intentions he found himself giving the Beau Nash Society the truth about another bit of moonshine: the story that the Beau’s former mistress Juliana Papjoy resurfaced when the Beau was old and infirm and came back to Bath to nurse him. ‘For the romantics among you, I’m sorry to spoil a happy ending,’ he said, ‘but in spite of what most of the biographies say, there’s no evidence whatever that she came back. We looked at original sources. For the last twenty years of his life he was under the thumb of a woman called Mrs. Hill, who by all accounts gave him a hard time. As for Juliana, she turned eccentric and lived out the rest of her life in the hollowed-out trunk of an oak tree.’

Crispin hadn’t been silenced. ‘You seem to be well informed, sir. “No evidence whatever,” you say. How do you account for the notice outside the restaurant that was once the Beau’s house stating — and I quote from memory — that “they lived the whole of the latter part of their lives here until the Beau’s death in 1761”?’

‘It wasn’t me who put it up.’

‘But the restaurant was known as Popjoy’s until it changed hands.’

‘Yes, they spelt the name wrong as well,’ Diamond said. He was hitting raw nerves here. A few people smiled, but there were hostile faces out there as well.

Crispin said, ‘I don’t know if you’re aware that some of us are acknowledged experts on Nash.’

Then a woman’s voice cut in and this time it wasn’t Sally’s. ‘Mr. Diamond is right. Juliana never lived with him in the Sawclose house. He dumped her in 1743 when his fortune declined. She declared she’d never sleep in a bed again and went back to Warminster and lived in the tree and they never met again. You can read about that in the annual register for 1777.’

Diamond looked to see where the unexpected support had come from.

Estella, bless her heart.

Considering she hadn’t been in the society long, speaking out had required real courage.

‘Are you sure of this?’ Crispin demanded.

‘I’m writing a new biography using primary sources,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I can endorse every word Mr. Diamond has spoken.’

Ed took back the microphone and he was grinning. ‘Satisfied, Crispin? Some of us oldies can learn a few things from the younger generation.’

Crispin wasn’t done. ‘Perhaps she’d like to take over as Beau,’ he said in a sarcastic aside that caused some amusement.

‘Good suggestion. Why not?’ Ed said in all seriousness.

Crispin’s voice shrilled in astonishment. ‘Because you can’t have a female Beau. I was being facetious.’

Sally Paris immediately took up the cause. ‘You can have a Belle instead. If none of the men are interested in stepping up, let’s see how a woman manages, that is, if Estella is willing to stand.’

Gasps came from some of the members. The pace of proceedings was more than they could cope with.

Ed looked towards Estella. ‘How about it, young lady? Would you care to be the Belle?’

‘I don’t know. Are you serious?’ Estella said.

‘Look at me. I’m not kidding.’

‘He means it, my dear,’ Sally said.

Ed said, ‘I can already see it on the cover of your book: Estella Rockingham, President of the Beau Nash Society.’

Estella took a deep breath. ‘I’ll need to think about it — and in fairness so should all of you. This would be a major change.’

‘A revolution,’ Sally said. ‘I’m all for it. If anyone wants to stand against you, we can have an election.’

Estella was shaking her head at the speed of what was happening, but the mood of most members seemed to be positive.

Ed said, ‘We won’t rush you. Take your time and let me know. And if anyone else thinks of putting up, we’ll work out what happens next.’ He beamed at his audience and said in a blur of words that no one could interrupt, ‘Any other business? I thought not. In the absence of any other business I declare the meeting closed. That’s the formal bit over. Let’s get back to the fizz and fun.’

Diamond went over to Estella and thanked her for the support. ‘Nobody believed what I was saying. The whole atmosphere changed after you said your piece. How do you feel about taking over from Sir Edward?’

‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I’m not at all sure they mean it.’

‘They do.’

‘Why didn’t anyone else volunteer? Is it a poisoned chalice?’

‘Looking at Ed, it isn’t. How long has he held the post — almost twenty years? That’s a long stint. I expect he made some useful contacts.’

‘This lot won’t be easy to manage,’ she said. ‘There were a few discordant voices.’

‘You can boss them, I’m sure. You know more about Beau Nash than any of them. My guess is that this society isn’t all it claims to be. A lot of them only come for the dressing-up and being seen here.’

She smiled. ‘I’d already formed the same opinion.’

‘Go for it, then. And now I must have a word with Sir Edward.’

He went over to where the Parises were chatting with friends.

Ed broke off in mid-conversation and became playful. ‘Ah, the law has caught up with us. You’ve got me bang to rights, officer. Loitering with intent to tell a dirty joke. If I plead guilty will I get off with a warning?’

‘If it’s one I haven’t heard, you’re in the clear,’ Diamond said. ‘But I’m ready to meet one or two of your long-serving members. You told my boss you’d fix it.’

‘“One or two” was an overestimate. I found the only one who was here before I joined and he’s a basket case.’

All the anticipation drained like water in sand. Had this entire pantomime been a waste of time? ‘Can’t he help?’

‘We’ll see.’

Pausing only to take another glass of champagne from a passing footman, Ed carved a way through the throng to where an elderly man in a wheelchair seemed to be stranded inside a stockade of hooped skirts. The chair was a cumbersome contraption made of wicker with three metal wheels.

The basket case.

At least twice the length of a modern invalid chair, it had a capacious black canvas hood, fortunately folded.

‘Is that an authentic bath chair?’

‘Depends what you mean by authentic,’ Ed said. ‘It’s a bath chair, yes, but they didn’t have them in Nash’s time. It’s Victorian.’

Diamond was impressed by Ed’s bit of knowledge. Don’t underestimate this guy, he told himself. ‘Does he know that?’

‘Algy? You can bet your bottom dollar he does, but we turn a blind eye. He can’t stand on his own two pins any more, poor old bugger, and the scooter he uses normally would look even more out of place. He’s wearing the kosher costume, as you see.’

‘How did disabled people get around in those days?’

‘Sedan chairs, but we don’t have one here. The bath chair’s old-fashioned and it does the job. No one is going to make an issue of it. We don’t want to hurt his feelings, so it’s kept here for him in a shed out the back.’ He called out to Algy, ‘Before you leave, old sport, can you spare a couple of minutes for my guest?’

Algy responded at once — and sounded normal. ‘Can he spare a couple of minutes for me?’

‘Why? What’s up?’

‘I need to get to the accessible toilet. It’s urgent.’

‘You’ve got it made.’ Ed winked at Diamond before turning back to Algy. ‘Pete’s your man. Trained for all emergencies, aren’t you, Pete? First on the left through the far door.’

‘I’m obliged to you,’ Algy said.

Algy may have been obliged, but Diamond wasn’t. The unwieldy chair on its iron wheels had to be tugged from the front rather than pushed, and its occupant was distinctly overweight.

‘So I’ll leave you fellows to it,’ Ed said and darted back to his friends.

The next minutes were ones Diamond would want to erase from his memory. The only way he could get the chair moving was by going backwards, bending double and dragging it, apologising each time his rear connected with someone. Having forced a passage through the crowded room and found the disabled toilet, he learned with relief that Algy could cope inside with the aid of the grab rails, so he stepped outside to stand guard. With the chair jammed inside, there was no way Algy could work the lock.

Diamond wasn’t expecting the shout from inside that followed. Apprehensive of what he would be asked to do next, he opened the door a fraction.

‘A certain item is missing in here.’

The emergency could have been worse, but couldn’t be ignored. The head of CID had faced many situations in his long experience. Stopping all comers to ask where the spare toilet rolls were kept was a first, made all the more odd with everyone in costume. Eventually he was directed to a bathroom upstairs.

‘You’re a credit to the force,’ Algy said from inside when Diamond returned with two spare rolls and handed them discreetly round the door. ‘I’m on the police authority for Avon and Somerset and I shall make a point of mentioning this at our next meeting.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Diamond said.

‘Perhaps you’re right. It would take some explaining.’

‘Give me a shout when you’re ready to move again.’

‘You don’t mind waiting?’

After all this effort, Diamond wasn’t going away. The spark of consolation from the episode was that Algy appeared to have his wits about him. But was he savvy enough to remember events from twenty years back?

‘We can talk out here,’ Diamond said when he’d eventually tugged the chair and its occupant into the hallway.

‘Are you tired of lugging me about?’

‘It’s not that. We’ll hear each other better.’

‘Generally it takes two to haul me into the meeting in this contraption. I read somewhere that they used donkeys or ponies originally.’

Diamond didn’t want to know about the history of the bath chair. A far more urgent bit of history needed to be discussed.

‘You’ve been a member for many years, I was told.’

‘At least a quarter of a century.’

‘So you’ve seen several presidents come and go.’

‘Not as many as you might imagine. Sir Edward has been Beau for most of my time in the society.’

‘And before him?’

‘Professor Orville Duff, who was quite an expert on eighteenth-century Bath. A different character altogether than Ed, much more reserved. He died, unfortunately. He was about the age I am now, so I suppose he’d had a good innings. His health hadn’t been good for some time. He wasn’t our Beau for long. About eighteen months, no longer.’

This checked with earlier information. Algy’s memory seemed to be dependable.

Encouraged, Diamond asked, ‘Do you recall any earlier presidents?’

‘Only one other. Before Orville we had Lord David Deganwy.’

‘Is that Welsh?’

‘I suppose it might have been. I didn’t know David well. He was another generation, well into his eighties when I joined and he’d lived in Bath most of his life and had been Beau for a number of years. Kindly as they come — too kind, as it turned out.’

‘Why?’

‘Someone took advantage — and none of us saw it coming.’

‘What happened?’

‘A fellow called Sidney Harrod came to one of our meetings out of the blue and announced he was keen to join, so we welcomed him on spec as we always do when a new person arrives. We don’t ask for a subscription right away. A few spare costumes are kept in a wardrobe upstairs and Sidney borrowed one and settled into the society as if he’d been a member all his life. Extremely sociable, charming with the ladies and passably knowledgeable about Nash.’

They were interrupted by a limping woman in a hoop dress looking for the disabled toilet, but too timid to ask. Algy turned in his chair and pointed. She nodded her thanks and scuttled in.

Diamond got back to business. ‘Do you remember what year this was?’

‘Funnily enough, I do, because I had a special birthday that year: 1996. Sidney hadn’t been coming long when he offered to teach us eighteenth-century dancing. Someone told me he was a former chorus boy. I don’t know if it was true — or if anything he claimed was true — but he was supposed to have been in some of the big West End musicals in his youth. The King and I, Half a Sixpence. The dancing was his route into the society. He offered to teach us the minuet, which was by far the most popular dance in its day and quite terrifying because it was supposed to be performed by one couple in front of the entire company. Sidney did the research and taught us in a tumbledown community centre in Walcot. The idea was that we should become proficient enough to introduce dancing to the annual ball — and that’s become a tradition now — so we can thank him for that, I suppose.’

‘Something went wrong?’

‘Not at the start. Between ourselves, the society had become rather dull as David Deganwy got older. Up to that time we’d been mainly sedentary, with talks by experts on this and that, but no participation except for the dressing up. Sidney Harrod came in with new ideas that revitalised us. We learned posture and bowing and curtseying and some of the games they played in Nash’s day. We had music. We went on visits. And the dancing lessons really took off when we progressed to country dancing. Very saucy, some of those country dances,’ Algy reminisced from his bath chair. ‘Johnny Cock Thy Beaver, Cuckolds All in a Row, Rub Her Down with Straw.’

Privately, Diamond was thinking he wouldn’t have wanted to come within a mile of Sidney’s dancing lessons, but then he would never have joined the society in the first place. ‘He knew his stuff, then?’

‘We believed so. He must have had some background in dancing to carry it off as he did. Looking back, he may not have been the expert he claimed to be. I rather think he clued himself up on the dances and convinced us all by force of personality. He was extremely plausible.’

A waiter with a silver tray loaded with sweetmeats came rushing towards the main reception room and almost tripped over the end of the bath chair. Algy put out a hand to steady him.

Diamond ignored the interruption. ‘What age would this Sidney have been?’

‘Difficult to tell. Sixty to seventy, I’d say. He made a big thing out of being one of the Harrod family, as if he had some link with the department store, but his day clothes certainly weren’t from Harrods. He was slightly shabby, in fact. But, oh boy, he talked like a millionaire, claimed to have gone through Harrow School and Oxford and was a member of several London clubs. A great name-dropper. Anyway, he was a dynamo compared to most of us. I don’t think anyone would have objected if he’d become the next Beau.’

Diamond was galvanised. ‘Was that ever a possibility?’

‘It damned nearly happened. He befriended David.’

‘This is Lord David Deganwy?’

Algy nodded. ‘We should have seen it coming, but the blighter was so persuasive he took us all in and most of all he took in David.’

‘How?’

‘We only learned about this later. He used to visit him in Widcombe Hall and take away items of antique furniture supposedly to get them cleaned or repaired. Of course, David never saw them again. The poor old lad was losing his memory as well as his furniture and Sidney took full advantage.’

Diamond had come across parasites like Sidney Harrod many times before. People are so easily taken in.

‘When did you find this out?’

‘Too late, I’m sorry to say. At a meeting one evening — this would have been early in 1997 — David announced to us all that he planned to hand over the presidency of the society at the end of the year because it was becoming a burden to him rather than a pleasure. He said he would be putting forward Sidney’s name as the next Beau.’

‘Really? Someone as new as that?’

‘To be candid, most of us were rather relieved that someone else’s name was put forward. We weren’t queuing up for the honour. We agreed it would be the best possible outcome.’

‘There were no suspicions about Sidney?’

‘Not at that time. He’d made himself very agreeable, never missed a meeting and appeared to be a Beau Nash fanatic like the rest of us, but with a sense of fun. He once gave us a talk on the Beau’s witty sayings — a book of them was published after Nash died — but to be brutally honest, eighteenth-century humour hasn’t stood the test of time, so we were enjoying Sidney’s wit rather than the Beau’s. I do remember the session as hugely entertaining.’

‘So Sidney was all set to succeed Lord Deganwy as the Beau?’

‘That was the intention and nobody objected, but it never happened. Between David’s announcement and the meeting when we were supposed to welcome Sidney as our new president, he vanished.’

‘Sidney Harrod did?’

‘Yes, without a word of explanation to David or any of us. Simply disappeared into thin air. We were all completely mystified. He wasn’t answering phone calls and his landlady said he hadn’t spoken to her about going. In fact, he owed six months’ rent. Only later did it emerge that he’d been steadily disposing of David’s furniture. He even took off with David’s Beau Nash costume, which was genuine eighteenth-century and extremely valuable.’

A genuine eighteenth-century costume stolen by a man who had gone missing more than twenty years ago? It ticked a lot of boxes.

‘You just mentioned his landlady. Who was she?’

‘I can’t answer that. I only heard about it later, at third hand. I’ve no idea where his lodgings were.’

‘Didn’t you report this swindler to the police?’

‘Me?’

‘All of you.’

Algy shook his head. ‘There was this period of uncertainty that lasted several months. When he missed one meeting without explanation, we didn’t think anything of it. David Deganwy was increasingly confused and when the next meeting came and David didn’t turn up either, we asked Orville Duff to take over on a temporary basis. He was a good man, was Orville. He called on David and pieced together what had happened. That’s how we learned about Sidney’s appalling behaviour. Poor old David was succumbing to dementia. He couldn’t be sure whether he’d voluntarily handed over the things to that thieving scoundrel. Anyway, the furniture went, the costume went, and so did Sidney.’

‘Was the wig taken as well?’

‘The black Beau Nash wig? I believe it was,’ Algy said. ‘David was in poor health by then and died soon after.’

Behind them the toilet door opened and the limping woman emerged and glided by without making eye contact.

‘Was any more heard of Sidney Harrod?’

‘Not a whisper. I suppose he did what conmen do and moved away to some other city to start up under a new identity.’

Diamond didn’t comment. He had his own opinion where Sidney had ended up. ‘Were his lodgings in Twerton, by any chance?’

‘I already said I couldn’t tell you.’

‘So the police were never informed?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘And Professor Duff took over?’

‘He died in office, too, not long after. Lung cancer.’

‘Does anyone have pictures of these guys? Does the club keep a photo album of the annual balls?’

‘I’ve never seen one. However, we do have the portraits of past presidents. Didn’t you notice them in the anteroom?’

‘It was such a crush in there I didn’t see anything like that. I’ll take a look presently. There won’t be one of Sidney, I guess.’

‘Emphatically not. He’s persona non grata.’

‘You said he was about seventy.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you have any memory of his teeth?’

Algy blinked at the question. ‘Not particularly.’

‘Is it possible he had false teeth?’

He tapped his forehead as if it was a cash dispenser supplying memories rather than banknotes. ‘They may well have been false. He was a good-looking man for his age, I have to admit.’

‘Are you picturing him right now?’

‘The smile. He was constantly smiling. Regular teeth certainly, but I couldn’t say for sure whether they were artificial. That’s the whole point of modern dentistry, isn’t it, to make them appear real? I’ve had some implants myself.’

‘I’m not talking implants. I mean a complete set of dentures he could remove when he wished.’

Algy plainly didn’t know.

‘Is there anyone else among the current members who was around at the time?’

After a moment’s thought, Algy said, ‘I’m sorry. I believe I’m the only one left. Even Ed Paris wasn’t in the society then. I expect you were hoping for someone sharper than me. I haven’t been much help.’

‘You’ve been a fantastic help.’ Diamond hadn’t given up on the possibility of finding a photo of Sidney Harrod. ‘Were the press invited to the annual ball?’

‘The local press, you mean? I don’t think we were reported in the Bath Chronicle but there was a glossy magazine called Bath City Life that covered all kinds of social events and sometimes we got into that. You might even find a picture of him there.’

‘We can try. He was probably smart enough to dodge the camera. What height was he?’

‘Average.’

‘Did he have much hair?’

‘I couldn’t tell you. We all wore wigs for the meetings. I know exactly why you’re interested and I wish I could tell you more. Tantalising, isn’t it?’

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Diamond said.