A Particular Eye for Villainy: (Inspector Ben Ross 4) by Granger Ann Page A
Authors: Granger Ann
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Tapley’s books. But the print had been too small, the words too long and unfamiliar, and the subject matter dull.
‘He was a quaint old gentleman,’ Biddle had written verbatim in his notes, ‘and very old fashioned in his clothes and ways. He always spoke of taking a “dish” of tea. But he was always very polite.’
The mystery – why anyone should deliberately set out to murder such a man – deepened. My policeman’s suspicious mind had already decided there must have been more to Thomas Tapley than had met the eye. But would we be able to find out what it was?
Biddle had established one last point and it was an important one. The back door, in the kitchen, was not secured during the day because Jenny was ‘in and out’ all the time. The woodpile to keep the kitchen range going, the coalhouse from which to feed the parlour fire, and the pump supplying the household’s water needs, were all in the yard. Mrs Jameson also kept a few chickens in a shed in the back yard. Jenny fed them and collected their eggs.
At this news I asked if the chickens were let out to roam free during the day. Biddle said there was a moveable wire cage where the birds spent the daylight hours before being locked inside again at night. Jenny had taken Biddle outside to show him.
‘It means Jenny can move the chickens around from spot to spot and they clear out all the beetles and such on the ground. But they were all back in their shed by five. I asked her to take me outside and show me,’ added Biddle, ‘because the other one, your maid Bessie, kept interrupting and I wanted to get Jenny on her own.’
I could imagine the scene and thought Biddle shrewd to have got Jenny away.
‘It’s pity it didn’t rain earlier today,’ I grumbled. ‘We might have had some good footprints in the yard.’ I thought about the chickens. ‘Might they have squawked if disturbed by a stranger coming through the yard?’ I wondered aloud.
But Biddle thought otherwise. ‘They wouldn’t raise the alarm, sir, begging your pardon. It’s geese what cackle when strangers come near them. Not chickens, silly things they are. Geese are as good as a watchdog. My grandpa keeps them. He’s got a pig, too, in his backyard and it’ll eat all your rubbish. A pig’s very useful.’
I deferred to Biddle’s superior knowledge of animal husbandry, and praised the lad for having done a good job interviewing the servant girl and checking the yard. I told him to write it all out nicely so that it would go on record. Biddle blushed red to the tips of his rather prominent ears and began to thank me fulsomely until I ordered him to stop.
Oh, and Jenny didn’t have a follower, Biddle threw this fact into the pot. Mrs Jameson wouldn’t allow it. ‘Though she’s quite pretty, that Jenny,’ opined Biddle.
I told him to go home now and to concentrate on the report he was to write in the morning; and not start getting unprofessional thoughts about witnesses.
Biddle now turned even redder and I feared his head would burst into flames in the only case I’d ever seen or was likely to see of spontaneous combustion.
Chapter Five
----
DAWN WAS breaking before I made my own way home. I like this time of day and even tired as I was, and worried about this new case, I breathed in deeply of the morning air that was still relatively fresh and unpolluted. The first workers were on their way to their places of labour, picking their way round the puddles that dotted the cobbled street and had gathered in the gutters. Chimneys puffed out the first smoke of the day as housewives or sleepy servant girls got the range lit. I could easily guess the topic of conversation over the breakfast would be all about the comings and goings at the Jameson house the previous night.
No one was yet rattling about in our kitchen and the parlour fire had long gone out. But the room was still warm and I settled down in the chair before the ashes and fell asleep.
I was awoken later by
‘He was a quaint old gentleman,’ Biddle had written verbatim in his notes, ‘and very old fashioned in his clothes and ways. He always spoke of taking a “dish” of tea. But he was always very polite.’
The mystery – why anyone should deliberately set out to murder such a man – deepened. My policeman’s suspicious mind had already decided there must have been more to Thomas Tapley than had met the eye. But would we be able to find out what it was?
Biddle had established one last point and it was an important one. The back door, in the kitchen, was not secured during the day because Jenny was ‘in and out’ all the time. The woodpile to keep the kitchen range going, the coalhouse from which to feed the parlour fire, and the pump supplying the household’s water needs, were all in the yard. Mrs Jameson also kept a few chickens in a shed in the back yard. Jenny fed them and collected their eggs.
At this news I asked if the chickens were let out to roam free during the day. Biddle said there was a moveable wire cage where the birds spent the daylight hours before being locked inside again at night. Jenny had taken Biddle outside to show him.
‘It means Jenny can move the chickens around from spot to spot and they clear out all the beetles and such on the ground. But they were all back in their shed by five. I asked her to take me outside and show me,’ added Biddle, ‘because the other one, your maid Bessie, kept interrupting and I wanted to get Jenny on her own.’
I could imagine the scene and thought Biddle shrewd to have got Jenny away.
‘It’s pity it didn’t rain earlier today,’ I grumbled. ‘We might have had some good footprints in the yard.’ I thought about the chickens. ‘Might they have squawked if disturbed by a stranger coming through the yard?’ I wondered aloud.
But Biddle thought otherwise. ‘They wouldn’t raise the alarm, sir, begging your pardon. It’s geese what cackle when strangers come near them. Not chickens, silly things they are. Geese are as good as a watchdog. My grandpa keeps them. He’s got a pig, too, in his backyard and it’ll eat all your rubbish. A pig’s very useful.’
I deferred to Biddle’s superior knowledge of animal husbandry, and praised the lad for having done a good job interviewing the servant girl and checking the yard. I told him to write it all out nicely so that it would go on record. Biddle blushed red to the tips of his rather prominent ears and began to thank me fulsomely until I ordered him to stop.
Oh, and Jenny didn’t have a follower, Biddle threw this fact into the pot. Mrs Jameson wouldn’t allow it. ‘Though she’s quite pretty, that Jenny,’ opined Biddle.
I told him to go home now and to concentrate on the report he was to write in the morning; and not start getting unprofessional thoughts about witnesses.
Biddle now turned even redder and I feared his head would burst into flames in the only case I’d ever seen or was likely to see of spontaneous combustion.
Chapter Five
----
DAWN WAS breaking before I made my own way home. I like this time of day and even tired as I was, and worried about this new case, I breathed in deeply of the morning air that was still relatively fresh and unpolluted. The first workers were on their way to their places of labour, picking their way round the puddles that dotted the cobbled street and had gathered in the gutters. Chimneys puffed out the first smoke of the day as housewives or sleepy servant girls got the range lit. I could easily guess the topic of conversation over the breakfast would be all about the comings and goings at the Jameson house the previous night.
No one was yet rattling about in our kitchen and the parlour fire had long gone out. But the room was still warm and I settled down in the chair before the ashes and fell asleep.
I was awoken later by
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