A Particular Eye for Villainy: (Inspector Ben Ross 4) by Granger Ann

Author:Granger, Ann [Granger, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780755383771
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2012-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

* * *

ON MY return from The Old Hall and after parting from Fred Thorpe, I managed to find the telegraph office. I sent my message to the Yard. It was then time to make my way to Barnes’s home where I was royally received by Mrs Barnes and dined splendidly on a beef pudding and fruit tart.

By now, having had a long and eventful day, I was ready to retire to the Commercial Hotel and my bed. But instead I had another appointment to keep. I’d promised Fred to call later that evening and meet his father and grandfather. So, together with Sam Barnes, I set out for the Thorpe residence.

This turned out to be a substantial house where we found all the Thorpe family gathered, including the ladies. They were Fred’s wife and mother and a Thorpe maiden aunt. Young Fred, I learned, had children, but they were very young and fast asleep in the nursery. The house was fairly crammed with Thorpes. After the usual formalities of introduction and small talk, the womenfolk retired. Sam and I found ourselves comfortably seated before a crackling hearth, in company with the three Thorpe men. The port was passed round.

It did occur to me that I had drunk more alcohol that day than at any time since Christmas. I sipped cautiously at the port and resolved to keep a clear head. It was not easy, what with fatigue and so much new information running round my brain after my meetings that day.

Fred’s father was very much a mature version of young Fred, his curly hair now grey but still abundant. To think that this robust man was of an age with the late Thomas Tapley only served to underline how unfairly Fate had treated the latter. To designate Fred’s father as ‘Old Mr Thorpe’ seemed equally unjust, but he seemed happy to be called so. Mr Thorpe Senior, the grandfather, however, was a fierce-looking ancient, brandishing an ear trumpet and swathed head to toe in tartan shawls. I foresaw certain difficulties of communication.

‘We were all of us very sorry to learn what happened to Tom Tapley,’ began Fred’s father.

‘What’s that?’ demanded Thorpe Senior shrilly, holding the trumpet to his ear and leaning forward in the winged Queen Anne-style chair; where he strongly resembled a tartan parcel that had been deposited there and forgotten.

‘Tom Tapley, Grandpapa!’ bawled Young Thorpe.

‘Let the side down!’ squawked Thorpe Senior. ‘When he was a lad.’

‘You do him an injustice, Father!’ objected Old Mr Thorpe vigorously. ‘And you forget you speak of an old and much respected client.’

‘No, I don’t!’ snapped his parent. ‘He did let the side down. There was a big fuss when he was up at Oxford and he had to leave very suddenly. His mother took it badly, not because she knew what he’d been up to, but because she didn’t. He was caught with another fellow in what they like to call a compromising situation. No one would tell her and she thought he’d been in some boyish scrape like seducing a serving girl.

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