Free Bones in High Places by Suzette Hill Page B

the Brighton Type treats me with more respect than that! However, it is not for nothing that I am Great Uncle Marmaduke’s nephew. And taking a leaf out of his discerning book I limped valiantly back to F.O.’s room, where, having told Bouncer exactly what I thought of the human species, I spent the entire night under the bed plotting my revenge.

12
     

The Vicar’s Version
     
     
    My bed was extremely comfortable despite the large bolster favoured by the French, and for the first half of the night I slept soundly. However, I awoke at about four o’clock and, although enjoying the softness of the mattress, had the greatest difficulty in getting off to sleep again. Nicholas’s comments in the car park were bothersome, and try as I might I could not rid myself of images of our fellow travellers and their apparent interest in my movements. As in the car park, I kept telling myself that Nicholas was jumping to conclusions and that his suspicion of their being Broadmoor warders and knowing the wretched Crumpelmeyer was wildly off beam. But the more I thought the less I slept, and thus the more I thought …
    Finally I must have drifted off, for the next thing I saw was the sun shining through the blinds and Maurice’s petulant face thrust close to my own. He was clearly impatient to be out, and dutifully I pulled on shirt and trousers and discreetly took him down to the side door into the car park. (Better than tempt fate and risk bedlam, I had left Bouncer snoring and chasing dreamtime rabbits.)
    Hoping to snatch a little longer in bed I was about to go upstairs again, when a voice behind me said, ‘Well, you’re up early, Reverend. Must be like us, making an early start.’ Climp stood there grinning amiably. Clutching a raincoat and a large holdall, he was evidently on his way to the car.
    ‘Well, actually,’ I began vaguely, ‘I was about to check the oil –’
    ‘ And let your cat out, I dare say.’ He must have seen my startled look for he went on. ‘Oh yes, I guessed that little geezer was yours. Saw you with him last night. Put him in your room, you did. And then when we heard the dog bark we knew he had a friend in there too. Still, don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us.’ And he leered conspiratorially.
    ‘What secret?’ I asked defensively.
    ‘You carrying animal contraband,’ he laughed. ‘Going to put them in six months’ quarantine when you get back to England, are you? Seems a long price for the old mop and mog to pay for such a short trip.’
    ‘Ah … well, you see – uhm – extraordinary really, they seem to have jumped into the car at the last moment and it was difficult to know quite what to do.’ My voice trailed off. I was annoyed to be put on the spot like that and could hear the confusion in my tone, which annoyed me even more.
    ‘Oh well, you’re bound to get them through all right. After all, you being a vicar and on the straight and narrow and all that, I don’t suppose Customs will bother. And if that’s your only fiddle you can’t have much to worry about, can you?’ He grinned, opened the door to the car park and added, ‘See you at breakfast before we go, I expect. Toodle-oo.’
    It was ridiculous, but for some reason I was rattled. In itself the animal business was less than minor, and yet I was irked to think that their concealment had been noted by Climp and Mullion: something to do with loss of face and dignity, I suppose. But there was another thing that nagged. Was that reference to the ‘straight and narrow’ and my ‘only fiddle’ merely the crude banter that it seemed, or did it veil a more sinister meaning? The Fotherington affair has coloured my sensitivities, and sometimes the most innocent remarks seem to hold a menace never intended. I tried to persuade myself that I was overreacting, and would doubtless have succeeded had it not been for Nicholas’s remarks the previous night. As it was, I climbed the stairs back to my room irritable and