James the Conniosseur Cat Page 12

  “Well,” he said, looking at them. “This is a different matter.”

  “What do you mean?” asked a very excited Home.

  “These two are very valuable indeed,” said Peter. “I think I know who they belong to. If I’m right, we’ll have a real burglary on our hands.”

  “Marilyn,” he called, “get Felix Benson on the phone, if you can.” Turning to Home, he said, “These stamps, I’m sure, are part of a very fine collection belonging to Felix Benson. Felix has been traveling for the last two weeks, and was scheduled home late last night. I’ll check with him to see if he has his copies.”

  “Mr. Benson on the phone,” Marilyn announced. “And he’s angry at being awakened.”

  “He’ll be madder still, soon,” said Peter, and turned to the phone. “Felix, Peter Hightower here. Did you have a good trip?… Fine … Not really up yet?… Would you check and see if your Mauritius collection is safe? Yes, I know it’s silly, but please indulge me. I’ll wait.”

  Peter did not have to wait long. A sputtering noise on the phone preceded an enraged yell from Felix Benson. “Four of my albums are gone! How did you know?”

  “Never mind that now,” Peter said. “Call your local police immediately, and be prepared to receive Detective Inspector Home from Scotland Yard as soon as he can get to you. You may be able to get it all back.”

  There was more sputtering. Mr. Benson was turned over to Inspector Home, and Peter gave James an admiring look.

  Inspector Home gathered up the book and the stamps, all carefully placed in a protective plastic envelope, thanked Peter effusively, gave James a very puzzled look, and took himself off to solve a burglary he hadn’t known had taken place.

  “You’ll never get the credit,” said Peter to James, chuckling. “The Yard will never admit they owe this one to a cat, but we’ll never have any more jokes from them, you may be sure.”

  James ruffled his fur and grinned. Being a detective was truly delightful.

  That evening, James practiced slipping silently from behind my sofa, ate sparingly of tea (Inspector Home is very thin), and listened carefully at the door. When he heard Mrs. March approach, he insisted I open the door before she knocked. He gave her his “see-I-know-you’re-coming” look and marched upstairs.

  A few afternoons later, the merry friends gathered for tea and conversation. Helena, Lord Henry, Peter, and Shep were all there, and James, who was busy lurking, forgot to arrange the seating so that both Shep and Lord Henry were sitting on the sofa with Helena between them. James then placed himself between Helena and Shep, thereby preventing Shep from holding Helena’s hand or patting her arm.

  It was a happy time. We ate scones and strawberry jam and drank tea.

  At last Peter said, “I have a request of Lord Henry. The album you brought me recently contains some letters that suggest there is a whole correspondence somewhere at Haverstock Hall. Would you search for it?”

  Lord Henry looked both interested and distressed simultaneously.

  “Dear Peter, of course I’ll look, and enjoy doing so, but at present Etheria is staying at the Hall, and …” He didn’t finish.

  “I understand perfectly,” said Peter. “It isn’t so much that the correspondence would be valuable—though it would be—as that I suspect it would have historical interest. Just keep it in mind when you have time.”

  No more was said on the subject. Shep got up, asked Helena to go to dinner with him, and was turned down. Lord Henry was refused in his turn, and after hugging James, she left us. Shep went on his way and James, Lord Henry, and I at last went off to Frank’s, where Lord Henry finally unburdened himself.

  “I can’t imagine what she wants!” he said, talking of Etheria. “She doesn’t want me to marry. Says I’m too old. She wants me to give Haverstock Hall to the National Trust after we take everything we want to her castle in Scotland, but I don’t know why. I’ve tried to talk to her frankly, but all she says is that she is concerned with my welfare and the honor of the family.”

  “I asked her, when she married Baggy, what she wanted from the old house, and she said she wouldn’t think of taking anything that belonged to the house, but I suspect that was before I began thinking I’d like to marry Helena. Now she doesn’t make any sense.” Lord Henry sighed.

  James had been listening carefully. He patted Lord Henry sharply on the arm.

  Lord Henry looked up. “Yes, old chap?”

  James gestured to himself.

  “You?”

  James nodded.

  “You’d, ah, find out what Etheria wants?”

  James nodded.

  “How?” Lord Henry looked puzzled. James looked disgusted. He patted a catalog with a picture of Haverstock Hall on it that Lord Henry had put on the table.

  “Take you to Haverstock Hall!” said Lord Henry happily. “Splendid! We’ll all go down to look for the correspondence, Etheria or no Etheria.”

  James shook his head, pointed at me and shook his head again, then pointed at himself and nodded.

  “Well,” Lord Henry said, “Helena, then.”

  James shook his head firmly.

  “Just you and me?”

  James beamed. It took a while, but his dear friend had eventually caught on.

  Two days later, arrangements had been made with Mrs. March, and Lord Henry arrived in his sports car on a glorious day. James snuggled down in the front seat and off they went.

  In due time the sports car drove up the long driveway approaching Haverstock Hall. Before the car got to the entrance of the hall, James alerted Lord Henry to let him out, and—placing his paw on his mouth to indicate silence—disappeared into the shrubbery and slipped to the back of the hall, where he entered by the back door. Carefully keeping out of sight, he made his way to the door of the drawing room, waited till Wilson appeared with a tea cart, and slipped in when the door was opened. Wilson, occupied with maneuvering the tea cart, did not notice, and James slithered into invisibility behind the folds of a large blue silk drape from which he could see and hear but not be seen.

  Waiting to dive into the lavish tea that Wilson was handing around were Etheria, the Marchioness, and Fiona. Lord Henry, looking fit and stocky, was standing before the large fireplace. He surveyed the women with some apprehension and strode out of the room, commenting, “Excuse me, I have work I must do. By the way, Wilson,” he added, “set up a tea for me in the library, will you?”

  “Very good, sir,” said Wilson, and left.

  “Do be careful what you do, dear,” called Etheria to the retreating Lord Henry. “You are getting old and fragile, you know.”

  “Lord Henry certainly does look fragile,” said Fiona, echoing Etheria as usual.

  “Nonsense!” the Marchioness exclaimed. “He looks splendid, Ethy, almost blooming, you might say. Why do you insist he’s over the hill?” She had just finished a smoked salmon and fresh dill sandwich, and now fell delightedly on an almond mocha cake.

  “He’s thinking of marrying again, and I know it would be terrible for him, all that turmoil and a new woman in the house,” Etheria said mournfully.

  “Imagine,” said Fiona, “a new woman in the house.”

  The Marchioness laughed. “You don’t want a new woman in the house!” she said. “You like it this way. You get the use of this house when you are tired of Baggy, and Henry doesn’t interfere with you. If he married again, he’d live here most of the time, and his new wife would run the house.”

  “I’m not thinking of myself at all,” said Etheria, much affronted. “I’m totally concerned with Henry’s welfare. I’m proposing that he give the house to the National Trust.”

  “You are truly a saint,” said Fiona, eating another mocha cake herself. “Henry will be dead in a week if he remarries.”

  “Well,” said the Marchioness, “if you’re really determined to give Haverstock Hall to the nation, will you give me your cook?” The Marchioness tried a strawberry tartlet this time.

  “
Oh, dear,” said Etheria. “I should like nothing better, but I promised Mother dear on her deathbed that I should look after Cook, and I shall take her to Scotland and make sure she is comfortable for the rest of her life.”

  “You do honor all your responsibilities so!” said Fiona with a mouthful of apricot custard cake.

  The Marchioness snorted and said, “You are something, Ethy!”

  There was more gossip, and finally, having finished everything in sight, the three women at last left the room.

  James had increased his store of information substantially. Etheria wanted Cook for her own house in Scotland, but what else? James was sure there was more on her mind.

  He slithered out of the drawing room and padded noiselessly into the library, where he found Lord Henry napping on the big leather sofa before the fire. A glass of whiskey was on the coffee table, and the remains of a substantial tea were beside the whiskey. James sampled the whiskey and made inroads on the tea and had curled up at last next to his best friend when he heard the door open. He streaked under the sofa. Almost immediately he was nearly squashed flat as Etheria plumped down on the sofa. James could only listen.

  “Henry,” said Etheria, shaking him awake. “We must have a serious conversation. I have to make arrangements this week.”

  “What arrangements?” Lord Henry asked, pretending not to know.

  “Why, packing all of our dear old things to go to Scotland, of course! It’s too much for you, this big house. You have your flat in London, and whenever you want country life surrounded by your own things, you have but to run up to us in Scotland at Reevers Roost—though I can’t think why Baggy wants to call the castle by that terrible name—and Cook will give you all your favorite foods.…”

  “Now, Ethy, this estate and the title and responsibilities are all mine, you understand. I inherited them when father died. At present, only you and I are involved. When I die, you inherit if I have no children. You have no children and are too old to have any, so there will be no future heirs from your side.”

  “I know,” Etheria interrupted. “That is exactly why we should consolidate all of our assets in my place, and let the government take care of this estate.”

  “Etheria,” Lord Henry said sternly, “Haverstock Hall and the title belong to me. When I die without issue, which it appears I will, you may do as you wish with this place if you are still alive, but until I die, I propose to make my own decisions for my own reasons.”

  “Are you planning to marry again?” Etheria asked.

  “At the moment the only person I want to marry won’t marry me,” Lord Henry said sadly.

  “Well,” said Etheria, jumping up, “I’m glad someone has some sense. Not only are you too old, but it would be a desecration of Mathilda’s memory. I am off to dress for dinner at the old Baron’s. I’ve asked Wetherby to drive me. Now think over what I have said, and I’m sure you’ll see that I’m right. If you don’t see I’m right, I may have to take steps!” With that she flounced out of the library, and James came out from underneath the couch. He sat on Lord Henry’s lap and they both looked unhappy.

  That evening, James slept in a dark corner of the hall. Etheria woke him when she came in from dinner and he followed her silently to her room, where he slipped in with her and hid.

  Etheria sat at her dressing table and addressed her reflection in the mirror.

  “Well,” she said aloud, “I guess Henry will come around, but he had better hurry. I have only a month to find the ceremonial piece before the gala at the castle. It will be a spectacular asset to the party. There isn’t a peer in Scotland or England who can match it. I’ll see if Wilson can find it first thing in the morning, and if Henry objects I’ll go to court.” She smiled a self-satisfied smile at herself in the mirror, got up, put on her robe, and headed for the bathroom. James took the opportunity to slip out of the room.

  The ceremonial piece! What on earth was that?

  Before dawn, James hurried down to the kitchen to see if there were any leftovers, as he dared not let Cook or Wilson know he was in the house. He found three kippers on a plate and ate one. There was water in a plant bowl, which he drank, and thus refreshed, he waited concealed as Wilson appeared and shortly thereafter, as he suspected she would, Etheria arrived.

  “Good morning, Madam,” said Wilson, rising to his feet as she appeared.

  “Wilson, I want to see the ceremonial piece!” She demanded.

  “What?” said Wilson in surprise.

  “You know,” said Etheria impatiently. “That magnificent enameled silver and vermeil centerpiece that’s been here for years.”

  Wilson looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, Lady Etheria, I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”

  “Get the catalog.” Etheria snapped.

  Wilson went into the small office he had next to the kitchen, and returned with an old bound ledger book. Etheria snapped it out of his hands and riffled through pages in which were listed such things as “Staffordshire place setting for 24, Pantry 2, Cupboard 1,” in various persons’ handwriting. At last she found what she wanted, but she let out a gasp of anger.

  “Here it is,” she said. “‘Ceremonial centerpiece, silver, gold enamel, 11 pieces,’ but no location. Wilson, why is there no location?”

  “I truly don’t know, Lady Etheria,” said Wilson. “I’ve only been here seven years. I never heard of such a piece in all that time. Perhaps you should ask Lord Henry.” Wilson was clearly very distressed.

  Etheria banged the ledger closed, and slammed it on the kitchen table. “Thank you, Wilson,” she said angrily, and stomped out.

  Wilson picked up the ledger and returned it to his office, while James escaped from the kitchen to the library, where he sat in the knee hole of the desk to think.

  Etheria wants Cook and the ceremonial piece. The ceremonial piece is somewhere in Haverstock Hall, but no one knows where. The next job for the great detective is to find the ceremonial piece. With this decision, James left his hiding place and, giving Lord Henry, who had just entered the library, a cheery salute, he slipped out into the great hall.

  The rest of the day he spent in a systematic search. He explored every cupboard in all three pantries, and made a careful search of the many armoires and cabinets in the many unoccupied guest rooms, none of which were locked. This job was particularly arduous, as he had to pry the doors open and then push them shut again as silently as possible. Etheria had gone out, so he didn’t have to be too careful, but there were the maids and Cook and Wilson to worry about.

  In the storage room off the ballroom he found much dust and a lot of folding chairs.

  In the children’s nursery he found discarded toys and two big steamer trunks he could not open, but no ceremonial pieces.

  Outside the nursery was a door that was slightly ajar. James slid inside and up a flight of dark, dusty stairs. He sneezed two or three times, raising more dust. He found himself in an attic illuminated only by the light from a tiny circular window. The attic was stacked with books, a broken chair was near the top of the stairs, and in the back was a cupboard barely visible in the dim light.

  At first, James was tempted to give up. The attic was dirty, and no one had been here for years. He sat on a broken chair and sneezed again. At last he got off the chair, padded across the dusty floor, and entered the cupboard. It was totally dark, but James could feel something hard and bulky that seemed to be wrapped in a soft cloth. He found this object to be quite large, and as he was feeling around it, his paws slipped on something small, also in some sort of cloth.

  Fastidiously he took the small object in his mouth and hopped out of the cupboard with it. In the dim light he saw he had a gray flannel bag, tied up with a silk cord, which contained something hard and lumpy. Holding the cord in his mouth, he carried the bag bouncing down the attic stairs. He dragged it along the hall, intending to take it to the library to show Lord Henry, when a voice on the stairs called out, “Make yourself comfortable in the dra
wing room, Fiona!”

  Etheria was hurrying upstairs. James dropped the silken cord and hid behind a chest of drawers.

  Etheria did not see James, but she did see the sack. For a moment she stopped, then swooped down, picked up the sack, and hurried off to her own room.

  James went to the drawing room and concealed himself behind the window draperies to await developments.

  Fiona sat looking out the window while Wilson wheeled in a tea cart. Lord Henry poked his head in the door and instructed Wilson to leave him a big tea in the library and not clear up until the morning. Then he left. Etheria entered with the flannel bag in her hand. She was clearly excited.

  “Fiona!” she cried. “I’ve found it!”

  And she opened the little bag and produced what appeared to be a sort of small bowl held up by a nude girl sitting on a mound of thistles, all in silver. The inside of the bowl was gilded, and the leaves and flowers of the thistles were enameled green and purple.

  “What on earth is that!” Fiona exclaimed.

  “The ceremonial piece!” Etheria cried. “I found it on the stairs. I wonder how it got there. Fiona, it means the whole thing is still here. It is truly glorious when it is assembled.”

  At last Etheria put the dish down on a footstool in front of the hearth, on which a fire was burning brightly. The dish glittered.

  Fiona’s hands also held an object, a small gold bell in the shape of an Elizabethan woman whose head and shoulders were the bell’s handle, and whose skirt spread out to form the bell. In the woman’s hand was clasped a large ruby. Fiona looked with envy at both objects, and then placed the bell on the footstool beside the enameled dish.

  Etheria poured tea and babbled away about how wonderful all the treasures of Haverstock Hall would be in her own great castle, particularly the ceremonial piece.

  Fiona sighed and said nothing.

  At last, tea all gone, the two women left, Etheria to change for dinner at the Marchioness’s. Neither woman thought to take the two objects on the footstool.

  The room was warm and quiet, and James dozed. Then he was rudely awakened by a scratching sound.