Pageant of Murder

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Second Pageant, Part One

‘We must now turn to the records of more recent events and devote a little space to the remarkable proceedings…in the town.”

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When Laura read Mr Perse’s manuscript—or, rather, typescript—she was constrained to admit that his ideas were anything but gosh-awful. The young man, in fact, had made a lively and intelligent plan for his projected pageant, and Laura was considerably impressed by it and rang up Kitty to say so.

There was only one fly in her nephew’s ointment, Kitty replied. All the parts were to be taken by schoolboys. The girls’ school, mindful of the recent feud, had declined to allow itself to be involved.

“He’ll be much better off with a complete cast of boys,” said Laura to Dame Beatrice, reporting the telephone conversation. “For one thing, there won’t be any nonsense of the wrong sort, and, for another, there is no doubt that, called on to impersonate girls, apart from a mad determination to pad their chests until they look like double-fronted pouter pigeons, boys make up better as girls than girls do as boys. Don’t you agree?”

Dame Beatrice, who had always thought growing boys, apart from an unfortunate tendency towards spottiness, were infinitely more attractive than growing girls, agreed wholeheartedly and wondered aloud how soon Mr Perse would be able to stage his pageant. This proved to be during the week of the school’s half-term holiday at the end of October.

“Hope it keeps fine for him,” said Laura, when she was given the date. “Personally, I’d think twice about putting on an open-air show at that time of year.”

“Not all of it is to be given out-of-doors, though, is it?” Dame Beatrice enquired.

“Well, quite enough of it to make a fiasco if the weather turns really wet. There’s a good deal of actual ground to be covered,” Laura explained. “He’s doing the Roman bit—Aulus Plautius and company—at the end of Ferry Lane. They’re supposed to have landed there, having crossed the river with elephants on board.”

“Surely Mr Perse is not proposing to introduce elephants?”

“Well, if he isn’t, it’s not for want of trying. Kitty tells me that he got in touch with a circus, but I expect they would want a lot more money than he’d be prepared to pay. He’s leaving out Offa of Mercia—which is a pity—and also the Danes, the first because he doesn’t think Offa’s activities in Brayne were sufficiently dramatic to interest his boys, and the Danes because he thinks the said boys might be a bit too enthusiastic in ravaging the town.”

“It sounds as though he has given up the thought of having the boys to dance round the sacred oak. That would have to come before the Romans, I think.”

“Yes, it would, and he has. The school captain led a deputation.”

“Really? To object to the revels?”

“Well, honestly, I can’t say I blame the boys. It’s different if you belong to the Folk Song and Dance Society, but, if you don’t, to dance Sellenger’s Round or Mage on a Cree round an oak tree for the benefit of the local yobs is something quite other, so he’s starting at the ferry and then the whole procession, on foot, is going to Squire’s Acre to enact a chunk of Domesday Book.”

“It is very good of the Colonel to lend his grounds once more.”

“He didn’t really want to, so Kitty tells me, but he’s not very popular in Brayne and he didn’t want any adverse comment in the school magazine or the local paper, and I understand that Julian Perse, who never seems averse to sticking his neck out, rather threatened him with both if he wouldn’t play ball. Squire’s Acre was part of the original Manor of Brayne, you see, so Julian felt strongly that the Batty-Faudreys must lend it.”

“I see. And is the populace to be admitted?”

“No. Only the friends and relations of the boys taking part. That was the stipulation, and Julian made no objection. He told Kitty that the Domesday Book must be included, as Brayne is actually mentioned in it, but that the episode would be far too dull to appeal to the general public. I agree with him. Personally, I couldn’t care less about hides and carucates and virgates, or how many ploughs make five.”

“And does that end the open-air part of the proceedings?”

“Yes, for the morning. In the afternoon he takes his boys to the Town Hall for the next bit of history. He wanted to use The Hat with Feather, because that’s where the event is supposed to have taken place—in an earlier building, of course, but on the same site—but his headmaster and the hotel manager joined forces in turning the project down. The headmaster refused to allow his boys to enter licensed premises, and the manager thought the said licence might be jeopardised if they did.”

“And this particular act?—a Chapter of the Garter held in 1445 by the sixth Henry, one surmises.”

“Quite correct, and I gather that Julian has very much gone to town on the costumes. Oh, and he had an anonymous letter about the sacred oak. He’s sure it came from some of the boys—Middle School, he thinks.”

“I venture to guess the contents.”

“And I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right. Yes, they said they were sorry the Head Boy had felt obliged to turn down the idea of the dancing because they understood that the tree had also been used as a gallows…”

“And they saw no objection to hanging one of the masters on it, I presume?”

“Yes. Saucy little devils! They did not specify which master, though. Rather restrained of them, I thought. Well, there’s a lot more to take place in the Town Hall, of course, but, in the early evening, directly after tea, comes Julian’s real masterpiece. He’s going to stage an eighteenth-century election in the market square at the canal end of the Butts—hustings, horseplay, torches—everything to be included except the beer.”

“That should take some stage-managing. Are you proposing to go along and take part in the revels?”

“Well, if you could spare me, I’d rather like to go, if only in support of old Kitty, whose family feeling impels her to make one of the party, highly though she disapproves of the whole project. She says it’s asking for a spot of mayhem, and I don’t mind betting she’s right.”

“Go, by all means. I shall await with interest your account of the affair.”

Laura set out for Brayne with mixed feelings. She was interested to see whether young Mr Perse’s pageant was as good as his script, and she wondered whether it would serve to throw any fresh light on the aftermath of Kitty’s own attempts to illuminate the history of Brayne. On the other hand, she had a superstitious dread that tragedy might stalk in the wake of the second pageant as it had done during and after the first.

Kitty, dressed with her usual combination of “good taste slightly emphasised,” (in Laura’s own words), and a particularly noticeable hat and accessories, met her, by arrangement, at Julian’s lodgings. The young man himself opened the door and Kitty’s voice floated towards them from his sitting-room.

“That you, Dog?”

“Here, in all my glory.”

“Come right in. Julian,” explained Kitty, when Laura presented herself, “has to push off in about ten minutes’ time to round up his squad, so we’ll drink his sherry until it’s time to start. He says we’d better walk. Do you mind?”

“If we’re going to drink his sherry, it might be as well if we do walk. How are you feeling, Julian?”

“That death would be preferable to running this pageant.”

Kitty blenched.

“Don’t use that word,” she said.

“Beg pardon. Just an expression. Aunt Kay, dear, why not remove that expensive-looking lid? You don’t need to start for at least three-quarters of an hour. I’ve got to get to school and pile my yobs into motor-coaches and then we’ve got to sort ourselves out at the end of Ferry Lane before we can do our stuff.”

“This hat,” said Kitty, “is on right, and I’m not going to touch it. You ought to wear a hat, Dog. Why don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t be seen dead in one,” said Laura. Kitty recoiled.

“Do you mind?” she asked faintly.

“Eh? Oh—I see. Sorry, and all that. Just slipped out. A manner of speaking, that’s all.”

“Well,” said Julian, “I’m off. See you later, if I survive.”

“Julian and I seem fated to lacerate your feelings,” Laura remarked. “Cheer up, old soul. Nothing else is going to happen.”

“There’s still Edward III at large, Dog. I wish I’d never promised Julian I’d come along today. Oh, well, we may as well drink to his success.”

To reach Ferry Lane they took the road to the Half Acre and then turned left along the high street. They passed the Town Hall and the police station and turned down by the fire station after they had crossed the road.

Ferry Lane was a narrow, cobbled thoroughfare which boasted (“thank goodness,” said Kitty, conscious of high-heeled, expensive, fashionable shoes) a narrow pavement on the left-hand side of the way. Kitty leading, she and Laura walked in single file towards the river, and were approaching the final bend in the lane when a sudden, unexpected sound rent the air and was followed by cheering, whistling and other excited and approving noises.

“Good heavens!” cried Kitty, stopping so dead in her tracks that Laura nearly fell over her. “He’s done it, after all!”

“Good old Aulus Plautius!” said Laura. “I’m all for an elephant or two.”

“But we’ll be trampled to death in this narrow lane! Come on, Dog! I’m going back!”

“They won’t come up here,” said Laura. “Anyway, you go back, if you like, but I’m going to march breastforward. Anyway, you’ve scotched the hoodoo. You’ve used the ghost-word yourself.”

“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.”