A Bedlam of Bones by Suzette Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

this is raked up, I’m done for!’
    ‘I am sure it won’t come to that,’ I ventured reassuringly. ‘And besides, I gather they are getting much softer on that sort of thing nowadays. There’s so much more to …’
    ‘Look, Oughterard,’ he said bitingly. ‘Having led a life of such sheltered and singular rectitude, presumably you are unable to grasp the straits that I am in. The merest hint that the Bishop of Surrey and Berkshire once had a fling, however fleetingly, with one such as Nicholas is enough to scupper both my boat and my pension – and Mrs Clinker can kiss goodbye to being Vice-President of the National League for Darning and Elocution. She’s set her heart on that, and I shan’t hear the end of it.’
    ‘Goodness,’ I exclaimed, ‘I didn’t know there was such a thing. Whatever do they—’ I broke off hastily. No, this was not the time to pursue such curiosities. Instead, assuming an air of cool efficiency, I said, ‘Well, I had better take a look at the letter then.’
    He hesitated, slightly surprised at my tone. ‘Er – yes, of course. I suppose you had better.’ He rummaged in his desk, produced an envelope and passed it over in silence. It bore a central London postmark, date-stamped ten days previously. Like the envelope, the single sheet of white paper was neatly typed:
    Sir,
It has come to my notice that you were once a naughty boy with a bit of fluff at Oxford. First lecturing post, wasn’t it? And he an undergraduate at Merton. Well, ‘boys will be boys’ – except of course you weren’t a boy, were you? Twenty-eight, twenty-nine – an Oxford don who, as many would think, ought to have known better. Tut, tut! Still, I expect you enjoyed it all right. Gave you a thrill, did it? Walking on the edge, all that sort of thing! Do you think of it now sometimes, when you traipse around in your Mickey Mouse mitre all rigged up like a Christmas tree? Or is it swept under the rug like the filthy bit of dirt it is? Mud sticks. Dirt sticks. And make no mistake, I’ll stick too.
Yours faithfully,
Donald Duck
P.S. Your old friend has been doing pretty well forhimself I hear. Have sent him a note too – he’ll probably relish a trip down memory lane.
     
    I handed the letter back to Clinker. ‘Seems to have a fixation with Walt Disney,’ I remarked drily.
    ‘Hmm,’ he replied dismally. ‘Bastard.’
    He was right. It was a vicious little note, mean and low, and I suddenly began to take the bishop’s plight seriously.
    ‘As you say, he’s not actually asked for money,’ I mused. ‘I wonder what he has in mind.’
    ‘What he has in mind,’ fumed Clinker, ‘is to play silly beggars with me, soften me up and then go in for the kill and take me for everything I have. I’ve read about this sort of thing. That’s what they do – keep you on hot bricks. But of course that’s not something you would be aware of.’
    Oh no? I thought, recalling the French nightmare. *
    ‘I take it that the police would not be a good thing?’
    ‘Too right they wouldn’t!’ he yelped. ‘Not at this stage at any rate, though God knows it may come to that …’ He groaned.
    ‘But who could it be?’ I asked. ‘Who would have known about you and Nicholas at Oxford? Although I suppose the writer needn’t have actually been there himself – it could have been dug up recently. Doesn’t he say “it has come to my notice”? Unless of course that’s simply a blind, or a façon de parler.’
    ‘A façon de Christ Almighty!’ cried the bishop. ‘No, I’ve no idea who it could be! Perhaps Ingaza has. Why hasn’t the wretched fellow contacted me? He must have received that note by now. What on earth is he doing?’
    ‘Languishing,’ I replied absently.
    ‘ What? Well he has no business to languish. He ought to be here, giving constructive advice. He’s not in my address book – have you got his number?’
    ‘Oh yes, I’ve got his number all right.’
    ‘Well ring him up then! Tell