Free Strangeways to Oldham by Andrea Frazer Page B

This wasn’t Sexton Blake: this was real life, and real life was safer than fiction, or so he thought, then.
    When they finally returned to Belchester Towers, it was too late for afternoon tea, so Lady Amanda requested that dinner be brought forward a little, to compensate, and Hugo announced that he needed another little lie-down, as it was some time since he had been so active.
    â€˜Really, Hugo! You spent most of the time we were at the hospital being pushed around in that wheelchair. How can you possibly be tired again?’ Lady Amanda asked, casting a sceptical eye over him, and realising that he really did look worn out. ‘Never mind! Can’t be helped! Off you toddle, and don’t worry about me. I’ll find something to occupy my time,’ at which point the old pull-style front door bell rang, and she exclaimed in triumph, ‘Here we go. I said something would turn up.’
    The something that turned up was a representative from the Social Services department, with a wheelchair for Hugo to use, until such time as he was more mobile. ‘Dr Andrew phoned and ordered it,’ the gentleman at the door explained. ‘If you’d just like to sign here – and here – and here? Thank you very much, madam.’
    â€˜That’s ‘my lady’ to you,’ she informed him haughtily, and took charge of Hugo’s new chariot. ‘Hey, Chummy, just before you toddle off to bed, look what Dr Andrew’s sent round for you. Fantastic, eh?’
    â€˜If you like that sort of thing,’ replied Hugo, turning his back and shuffling off in the direction of his bedroom, which was where he liked it – on the ground floor, where he felt safest.
    Abandoning the new carriage, which Beauchamp could take care of, as far as finding somewhere to stash it was concerned, Lady Amanda arranged her face in a determined expression, removed an old crash helmet of Mummy’s from a cupboard, and stumped purposefully off, out of the house, and towards the stables.
    She was determined to get the hand of the motorised trike while Hugo was napping. She’d had Beauchamp try it out himself, leaving any alterations or improvements to its running in his capable hands, and was now ready to get ‘back on the horse’ so to speak. It may have beaten her once, but it wouldn’t be given another chance. She would master it, or die in the attempt.
    When Hugo entered the drawing room after his nap, still a little bleary-eyed, he found Lady Amanda sitting on a sofa, her hair wildly out of place, oil smudges on her face and hands, and a triumphant expression on her face.
    â€˜Been taming the wild beast,’ she said, by way of explanation, and when Hugo’s face broke into a study of incomprehension, explained in more detail:
    â€˜That motorised tricycle that Beauchamp fixed up for you. I’ve had him do a few alterations, and I’ve just about mastered driving the thing. It’s nowhere near as excitable as it was last time we had it out, and I think it’s time you learned to ride it.
    â€˜Oh, not now, you silly,’ she added, watching fear creep across his features. ‘Maybe tomorrow, before we go to visit Enid for her fist debrief of the case. We won’t go until after lunch – give her time to settle in, so there’ll be plenty of time in the morning. The funeral’s not till Wednesday, so we’ve got time on our hands, and nothing planned to fill it. Are you up for it, old chap?’
    â€˜Only if you ride it first, so that I can see it’s not wild and dangerous, as it was when you tried it out before.’
    â€˜Of course I’ll demonstrate,’ she assured him, pleased to be able to demonstrate how proficient she had become at controlling the bloody-minded contraption in so short a time. ‘I’ll give you a performance, explain everything, then you can have a go – and if you wear