‘Lor’ now!’ cried Mrs Ruddle. ‘To think o’ that! Dr Vane’s daughter, is you, miss? Now I come to look at you, you ’av got a look of ’er. But it’s gettin’ on for seventeen years since you and the doctor left Pagford. I did ’ear as ’e’d passed away, and sorry I was-’e was a wonderful clever doctor, was your dad, miss-I ’ad ’im for my Bert, and I’m sure it’s a mercy I did, ’im comin’ into the world wrong end up as you might say, which is a sad trial for a woman. And how are you, miss, after all this time? We did ’ear as you’d been in trouble with the perlice, but as I said to Bert, you can’t believe the stuff they puts into them papers.’
‘It was quite true, Mrs Ruddle-but they’d got hold of the wrong person.’
‘Just like ’em!’ said Mrs Ruddle. ‘There’s that Joe Sellon. I Tried to make out as my Bert ’ad been stealin’ Aggie Twitterton’s ’ens. “’Ens,” I said. “You’ll be making out next as ‘e took that there pocket-book of Mr Noakes’s, wot ’e made all the fuss about. You look for your ’ens in George Withers’s back kitchen.” I says, and sure enough, there they was. “Call yourself a perliceman,” I ses. “I’d make a better perliceman than you any day, Joe Sellon.” That’s what I ses to ’im. I’d never believe nothing none of them perlicemen said, not if I was to be paid for it, so don’t you think it, miss. I’m sure I’m very pleased to see you miss, looking so well, but if you and the gentleman was wanting Mr Noakes-’
‘We did want him, but I expect you can help us. This is my husband and we’ve bought Talboys and we arranged with Mr Noakes to come here for our honeymoon.’
‘You don’t say!’ ejaculated Mrs Ruddle. ‘I’m sure I congratulate you, miss-mum, and sir.’ She wiped a bony hand on the mackintosh and extended it to bride and groom in turn. ‘’Oneymoon-well, there!-it won’t take me a minnit to put on clean sheets, which is all laying aired and ready at the cottage, so if you’ll let me ’ave the keys-’
‘But,’ said Peter, ‘that’s just the trouble. We haven’t got the keys. Mr Noakes said he’d make all the preparations and be here to let us in.’
‘Ho!’ said Mrs Ruddle. ‘Well, ’e never told me nothing about it. Off to Broxford ’e was, by the ten o’clock bus Wednesday night, and never said nothing to nobody, not to mention leave me my week’s money.’
‘But,’ said Harriet, ‘if you do his cleaning, haven’t you got a key to the house?’
‘No, I have not,’ replied Mrs Ruddle. ‘You don’t ketch ’im givin’ me no keys. Afraid I’ll pinch sommink, I suppose. Not that ’e leaves much as ’ud be worth pinchin’. But there you are, that’s ’im all over. And burglar-proof bolts on all the winders. Many’s the time I’ve said to Bert, supposin’ the ’ouse was to go on fire with ’im away an’ no keys nearer than Pagford.’
‘Pagford?’ said Peter. ‘I thought you said he was at Broxford.’
‘So ’e is-sleeps over the wireless business. But you’d ’ave a job ter get him, I reckon, ’im being’ a bit deaf and the bell ringin’ inter the shop. Your best way’ll be ter run over ter Pagford an’ git Aggie Twitterton.’
‘The lady who keeps hens?’
‘That’s ’er. You mind the little cottage down by the river, miss-mum, I should say-where old Blunt useter live?
Well, that’s it, an’ she’s got a key to the ’ouse-comes over ter see ter things w’en ’e’s away, though, come ter think of it, I ain’t seen ’er this last week. Maybe she’s poorly, because, come ter think of it, if ’e knowed you was coming it’s Aggie Twitterton ’e’d a-told about it.’
‘I expect that’s it,’ said Harriet. ‘Perhaps she meant to let you know, and got ill and couldn’t see to it. We’ll go over. Thank you very much. Do you think she could let us have a loaf of bread and some butter?’
‘Bless you, miss-mum-I can do that. I got a nice loafer bread, ’ardly touched, and ’arf a pound er butter at ’ome this minnit. And,’ said Mrs Ruddle, not for an instant losing her grasp upon essentials, ‘the clean sheets, like I was sayin’. I’ll run and fetch them directly, and it won’t take no time to get straight w’en you and your good gentleman comes back with the keys. Excuse me, mum, wot might your married name be?’
‘Lady Peter Wimsey,’ said Harriet, feeling not at all sure that it was her name.
‘I never!’ said Mrs Ruddle. ‘That’s wot ’e said’-she jerked her head at Bunter-‘but I didn’t pay no ’eed to ’im. Begging your pardon, mum, but there’s some of these commercial fellers ’ud say anythink, wouldn’t they, sir?’
‘Oh, we all have to pay heed to Bunter,’ said Wimsey. ‘He’s the only really reliable person in the party. Now, Mrs Ruddle, we’ll run over to get the keys from Miss Twitterton and be back in twenty minutes. Bunter, you’d better stay here and give Mrs Ruddle a hand with the things. Is there room to turn?’
‘Very good, my lord. No, my lord. I fancy there is not room to turn. I will open the gate for your lordship. Allow me, my lord. Your lordship’s hat.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Harriet, Peter’s hands being occupied with the ignition switch and the self-starter.
‘Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady.’
‘After which,’ said Peter, when they had reversed through the gate and were once again headed for Great Pagford, ‘Bunter will proceed to make it quite plain to Mrs Ruddle-in case she hasn’t grasped the idea-that Lord and Lady Peter Wimsey are my lord and lady. Poor old Bunter! Never have his feelings been so harrowed. Film-actors, by the look of you! No better than you should be! These commercial fellers will say anythink!’
‘Oh, Peter! I wish I could have married Bunter. I do love him so.’
‘Bride’s Wedding-Night Confession; Titled Clubman Slays Valet and Self. I’m glad you take to Bunter-I owe him a lot… Do you know anything about this Twitterton woman we’re going to see?’
‘No-but I’ve an idea there was an elderly labourer of that name in Pagford Parva who used to beat his wife or something. They weren’t Dad’s patients. It’s funny, even if she’s ill, that she shouldn’t have sent Mrs Ruddle a message.’
‘Dashed funny. I’ve got my own ideas about Mr Noakes. Simcox-’
‘Simcox? Oh, the agent, yes?’
‘He was surprised to find the place going so cheap. It’s true it was only the house and a couple of fields-Noakes seems to have sold part of the property. I paid Noakes last Monday, and the cheque was cleared in London on Thursday, I shouldn’t wonder if another bit of clearing was done at the same time.’
‘What?’
‘Friend Noakes. It doesn’t affect our purchase of the house-the title is all right and there’s no mortgage; I made sure of that. The fact that there was no mortgage cuts both ways. If he was in difficulties, you’d expect a mortgage; but if he was in great difficulties, he might have kept the property free for a quick sale. He kept a bicycle shop in your day. Was he ever in difficulties with that?’
‘I don’t know. I think he sold it and the man who bought it said he’d been cheated. Noakes was supposed to be pretty sharp over a bargain.’
‘Yes. He got Talboys dirt cheap, I fancy, from what Simcox said. Got some kind of squeeze on the old people and put the brokers in. I’ve an idea he was fond of buying and selling things as a speculation.’
‘He used to be spoken of as a warm man. Always up to something.’
‘All sorts of little enterprises, h’m? Picking things up cheap on the chance of patching ’em up for resale at a profit-that sort?’
‘Rather that sort.’
‘Um. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. There’s a London tenant of mine who started twenty years ago with a few second-hand oddments in a cellar. I’ve just built him a very handsome block of flats with sunshine balconies and vita-glass and things. He’ll do very well with them. But then he’s a Jew, and knows exactly what he’s doing. I shall get my money back and so will he. He’s got the knack of making money turn over. We’ll have him to dinner one day and he’ll tell you how he did it. He started in the War, with the double handicap of a slight deformity and a German name, but before he dies he’ll be a damn’ sight richer than I am.’