Read Online Clubbed to Death by Ruth Dudley Edwards - Free Book Online Page B

with the Commander on the gallery one afternoon: the other usual suspects were missing. He was in highly sociable mood and, bereft of any equals, was addressing me on the subject of the decline of western civilisation and the loss of old standards. When he’d been banging on for several minutes about immigration, infiltration, dilution of the great Anglo-Saxon race and a lot more of the same, I seized the opportunity, rather neatly I thought, to observe that indeed things had come to a pretty pass when the name Patel was as common as Smith in England.
    ‘ “One of the reasons I like this club, sir,” I said, “is all these extraordinary old Anglo-Saxon names that one rarely comes across any more. I never thought to find in the same establishment a Gooseneck, a Ramsbum and a Blitherdick.”
    This observation caused the Commander to fall into roars of drunken laughter at the innocence of this poor poltroon of a servant. “It takes an egghead,” he cried, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Anglo-Saxon, my arse. They’re jokes. Way back at the beginning of the club’s history there was a Ramsbottom as hall porter, and the wags in the club shortened it to Ramsbum. Ever since, the hall porter is always called Ramsbum. Same thing with Gooseneck. The first head waiter had the silliest name of any applicant: Goosen, not very silly I grant you, but enough. So because he had a scraggy neck he was christened Gooseneck.”
    ‘ “So Blitherdick?” I enquired.
    ‘ “Blatherwick originally. Quite a distinguished name.”
    ‘ “Excuse me, sir,” I said, “but don’t people mind being given these names?”
    ‘ “Mind? Mind?” he said. “Bloody cheek they’d have to mind. Should be honoured bearing the names of their distinguished forebears. You young people, no idea have you? No sense of history. Don’t know what the…” And then mercifully he lost interest and fell asleep and I was able to go back to my researches in the library.
    ‘I must pause in a minute. It is almost half-past six and I am due to meet Sunil in our room for a quick snack. Ellis has sent us some veal and ham pie and a few half-bottles of champagne: 1 must keep playing on his guilt. Sunil won’t drink the champagne of course. He spends all his free time studying and he doesn’t cloud his brain. He may be a secular Indian, but by Christ, sorry, by Ganesh, he’s got an Indian attitude to work. He says he will have time enough to relax and carouse when he’s had a smash hit with his first novel. I said I hoped it wouldn’t involve him in being menaced by hoards of vengeful Hindu fundamentalists. He said if I thought he was going to be the Hindu Salman Rushdie, I was mistaken: he saw himself more as a Hindu P. G. Wodehouse. Anyway, he pointed out, by and large Hindus have a sense of humour. So have I, but sometimes it gets sorely strained. Yesterday, I incautiously sat down in the library in a chair just vacated by Colonel Fagg, and discovered later that the back of my entire uniform was covered in snuff. I had to go upstairs and take the uniform off to brush it, as otherwise it would have been deduced that I had sat in the chair of a gentleman. Perhaps when I leave here I’ll join the Class War party, though I’ll have to insist they spare Ellis when the revolution comes…’

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    ‘The Vice-Admiral’s back, sir.’ Pooley was so excited he was almost squeaking. ‘He says he’s free any time this afternoon.’
    ‘Vice-admiral? What vice-admiral?’
    ‘Vice-Admiral Sir Conrad Meredith-Lee, sir. Don’t you remember? The chairman of ffeatherstonehaugh’s general committee?’
    ‘Oh Lord, yes. That again. All right, Ellis, I expect I can find time this afternoon. Let’s say three o’clock. I presume you want to come?’
    Pooley nodded wordlessly.
    ‘Where does he live?’
    ‘Albany, sir.’
    ‘Mmmm,’ said Milton. ‘Very nice too. Pick me up at two forty-five. ’ He bent his head once more to the pile of paper