Ngaio Marsh - Tied Up in Tinsel

For

my godson,

Nicholas Dacres-Mannings, when he grows up

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Hilary Bill-Tasman of Halberds Manor Landed proprietor

Staff of Halberds

Blore Butler

Mervyn Head houseman

Nigel Second houseman

Cooke (Kittiwee) Cook

Vincent Gardener-chauffeur

Tom Odd boy

Guests at Halberds

Troy Alleyn Celebrated painter

Colonel F. Fleaton Forrester Hilarys uncle

Mrs. Forrester The Colonels wife

Mr. Bert Smith Authority on antiques

Cressida Tottenham Hilarys fiance

The Law

Major Marchbanks Governor at the Vale

Superintendent Wrayburn Downlow Police Force

Superintendent Roderick Alleyn C.I.D.

Detective-Inspector Fox C.I.D.

Detective-Sergeant Thompson Fingerprint expert C.I.D.

Detective-Sergeant Bailey Photographer C.I.D.

Sundry guests and constables

When my sire, said Hilary Bill-Tasman, joining the tips of his fingers, was flung into penury by the Great Slump, he commenced Scrap-Merchant. You dont mind my talking?

Not at all.

Thank you. When I so describe his activities I do not indulge in facezie. He went into partnership in a rag-and-bone way with my Uncle Bert Smith, who was already equipped with a horse and cart and the experience of a short lifetime. Uncle, by the way, is a courtesy title.

Yes?

You will meet him tomorrow. My sire, who was newly widowed, paid for his partnership by enlarging the business and bringing into it such items of family property as he had contrived to hide from his ravenous creditors. They included a Meissen bowl of considerable monetary though, in my opinion, little aesthetic value. My Uncle Bert, lacking expertise in the higher reaches of his profession, would no doubt have knocked off this and other heirlooms to the nearest fence. My father, however, provided him with such written authority as to clear him of any suspicion of chicanery and sent him to Bond Street, where he drove a bargain that made him blink.

Splendid. Could you keep your hands as they are?

I think so. They prospered. By the time I was five they had two carts and two horses and a tidy account in the bank. I congratulate you, by the way, upon making no allusion to Steptoe and Son. I rather judge my new acquaintances under that heading. My father developed an unsuspected flare for trade and, taking advantage of the Depression, bought in a low market and, after a period of acute anxiety, sold in a high one. There came a day when, wearing his best suit and the tie to which he had every right, he sold the last of his family possessions at an exorbitant price to King Farouk, with whom he was tolerably acquainted. It was a Venetian chandelier of unparalleled vulgarity.

Fancy.

This transaction led to most rewarding sequels, terminated only by His Majestys death, at which time my father had established a shop in South Moulton Street while Uncle Bert presided over a fleet of carts and horses, maintaining his hold on the milieu that best suited him, but greatly increasing his expertise.

And you?

I? Until I was seven years old I lodged with my father and adopted uncle in a two-roomed apartment in Smalls Yard, Cheapjack Lane, E.C.4.

Learning the business?

You may say so. But also learning, after admittedly a somewhat piecemeal fashion, an appreciation of English literature, objets dart and simple arithmetic. My father ordered my education. Each morning he gave me three tasks to be executed before evening when he and Uncle Bert returned from their labours. After supper he advanced my studies until I fell asleep.

Poor little boy!

You think so? So did my Uncle and Aunt. My fathers maternal connections. They are a Colonel and Mrs. Forrester. You will meet them also tomorrow. They are called Frederick Fleaton and Bedelia Forrester but have always been known in the family as Uncle Flea and Aunt Bed, the facetious implication having been long forgotten.

They intervened in your education?

They did, indeed. Having got wind of my fathers activities they had themselves driven into the East End. Aunt Bed, then a vigorous young woman, beat on my locked door with her umbrella and when admitted gave vent to some very intemperate comments strongly but less violently seconded by her husband. They left in a rage and returned that evening with an offer.

To take over your education?

And me. In toto. At first my father said hed see them damned first but in his heart he liked them very much. Since our lodging was to be demolished as an insanitary dwelling and new premises were difficult to find he yielded eventually, influenced, I daresay, by threats of legal action and Child Welfare officers. Whatever the cause, I went, in the upshot, to live with Uncle Flea and Aunt Bed.

Did you like it there?

Yes. I didnt lose touch with my father. He patched up his row with the Forresters and we exchanged frequent visits. By the time I was thirteen he was extremely affluent and able to pay for my education at his own old school at which fortunately, he had put me down at birth. This relieved us to some extent from the burden of an overpowering obligation but I retain the liveliest sense of gratitude to Flea and Bed.

I look forward to meeting them.

They are held to be eccentric. I cant see it myself, but you shall judge.

In what way?

Well Trifling departures from normal practice perhaps. They never travel without green-lined tropical umbrellas of a great age. These they open when they awake in the morning, as they prefer their vernal shade to the direct light. And then they bring a great many of their valuables with them. All Aunt Beds jewels and Uncle Fleas stocks and shares and one or two very nice objets dart of which I wouldnt at all mind having the disposal. They also bring a considerable amount of hard cash. In Uncle Fleas old uniform case. He is on the reserve list.

That is perhaps a little eccentric.

You think so? You may be right. To resume. My education, from being conventional in form, was later expanded at my fathers instance, to include an immensely thorough training in the more scholarly aspects of the trade to which I succeeded. When he died I was already accepted as a leading European authority on the great period of Chinese ceramics. Uncle Bert and I became very rich. Everything Ive touched turned, as they say, to gold. In short I was a have and not a have-not. To cap it all (really it was almost comical), I became a wildly successful gambler and won two quite princely nontaxable fortunes on the Pools. Uncle Bert inspired me in this instance.

Lovely for you.

Well I like it. My wealth has enabled me to indulge my own eccentricities which you may think as extreme as those of Uncle Flea and Aunt Bed.

For instance?

For instance, this house. And its staff. Particularly, you may think, its staff. Halberds belonged from Tudor times up to the first decade of the nineteenth century, to my paternal forebears: the Bill-Tasmans. They were actually the leading family in these parts. The motto is, simply, Unicus, which is as much as to say peerless. My ancestors interpreted it, literally, by refusing peerages and behaving as if they were royalty. You may think me arrogant, said Hilary, but I assure you that compared to my forebears, I am a violet by a mossy stone.

Why did the family leave Halberds?

My dear, because they were ruined. They put everything they had into the West Indies and were ruined, very properly I daresay, by the emancipation of slaves. The house was sold off but owing to its situation nobody really fancied it and as the Historic Trust was then in the womb of time, it suffered the ravages of desertion and fell into a sort of premature ruin.