Free The Last Pleasure Garden by Lee Jackson Page A

Sergeant. Yes, forgive me,’ says Webb, turning and offering his hand to the clergyman. ‘Pleased to meet you, Reverend. Now, perhaps you could tell us what is the matter? I gather you have received another little missive.’
    â€˜Not quite, Inspector. Perhaps if you might come with me.’
    The policemen follow Reverend Featherstone who,signalling to his juniors to continue, quits the schoolroom and leads them outside. He walks in the direction of the main buildings.
    â€˜Have you worked here long, sir?’ asks Webb.
    â€˜Three years or so, Inspector.’
    â€˜And do you find it rewarding work?’
    The Reverend Featherstone smiles indulgently, as if humouring his interlocutor. ‘It is my calling, Inspector. So, yes, of course I do.’
    â€˜I would not be responsible for a mob of children if you paid me, sir. I expect the younger boys are the worst, eh?’
    â€˜Inspector, I fear your work must have engendered an unfortunate cynicism. One must simply show them a firm hand. Then one earns their respect.’
    â€˜Ah, well, of course,’ replies Webb.
    Featherstone leads the two policemen into the main quadrangle but not to his suite of rooms. Instead, they turn down a rather dark corridor, to a small box-room, tucked away from public view, where the college’s servants keep their cleaning utensils.
    â€˜My wife would not have it in our rooms, Inspector. The smell, you see? I thought it best to leave it here but the servants have complained. The sooner you remove it, the better.’
    â€˜Complained of what, sir?’
    Featherstone frowns, and retrieves a rolled-up newspaper from a nearby shelf. Gingerly, he unwraps it with his fingertips, revealing the rather ripe carcase of a scraggy-looking plucked chicken – minus its head.
    â€˜Pungent, I’ll grant you,’ says Webb.
    â€˜Here, Inspector,’ says the clergyman, proffering a piece of paper.
    Webb takes it and reads the contents.
    Watch out, old bird!
    THE CUTTER
    â€˜This is everything?’ says Webb incredulously. He casts a rather irritated glance at Bartleby.
    â€˜Is it not enough, Inspector?’ asks Featherstone. ‘I mean to say, I have no great concern for my safety, but you must take this sort of thing seriously. If some party, whether it is Mr. Boon or not, is hounding me in this way – however ridiculous it may be – well, surely it is a criminal matter.’
    â€˜I should not make wild accusations, sir,’ suggests Webb.
    â€˜But surely you must look into it.’
    Webb nods. ‘Well, of course, sir. I can assure you I will give this matter the attention it deserves. You have my word.’
    Reverend Featherstone looks relieved. ‘Mrs. Featherstone will be so glad, Inspector.’
    Webb nods. ‘Thank you, sir. It is an . . . interesting development. We can find our way out – no need to accompany us – your students will be missing you. Sergeant . . .’
    â€˜Sir?’
    â€˜Be a good man and bring the evidence, will you?’
    Bartleby casts his eye over the dead bird and grimaces, holding his breath.

    â€˜I have never, Sergeant, wasted my time in such a ridiculous wild goose chase.’
    Sergeant Bartleby begins to speak, but is cut short.
    â€˜Don’t even contemplate that remark, Sergeant.’
    â€˜No, sir. One moment, sir?’ he says, spying a familiar figure crossing the college quadrangle and running back, before the inspector can reply.
    â€˜Miss? Miss Budge, isn’t it?’ asks the sergeant.
    Jane Budge looks up, startled. ‘Can’t you leave me be?’
    â€˜I am sorry. I did not introduce myself when we met – my name is Bartleby, Sergeant Bartleby.’
    â€˜Sergeant? And I thought you was a chief inspector,’ replies Jane Budge sarcastically. She looks at the newspaper in the sergeant’s hand, her nose curling up. ‘Lor, if that’s your fish supper, I’d take it