Chapter 12

Inspector Charles stirred his cup of tea and pursed his lips as he considered what he had seen having arrived at Matilda’s home. “Your assistant,” the man said before taking a sip of his drink. “She seemed to be in some discomfort when she brought the tray in with the tea and biscuits.”

“Hurt her ribs, and quite careless of her. Bad cut too, Inspector. Fell off the tandem. Silly girl, but she is recovering nicely. Please, have a biscuit with your tea.”

“Fell from a bike made for two, yet you yourself madam have not a scratch. How interesting,” he said, taking a sip of his tea.

Matilda laughed lightly. “I was born lucky, Inspector.”

“I have no doubt. In the mean time I take it this, ah, undergarment business was resolved happily.”

“Indeed. Sorry to have bothered you with it. No big deal. Turned out the model, this Diana was staying at the cottage along with Miss Turner of all people. Crossed wires, that was all. They were guests of a theatrical agent and a voice coach staying there. You know these show-business types and their love of the secluded and the dramatic.”

The man frowned. “No, I don’t. And as for the biscuit ... thank you but no. Eating on duty is not approved.”

“But you aren’t on duty, are you, Inspector? If you were we’d be having this conversation at the police station.”

“Very perceptive of you, Mrs Minerva. But yes, you are right. This is unofficial but I am not entirely happy with your story of shall we say, misunderstandings over ownership of the, ahem, corset—”

“Girdle, Inspector. A special girdle that every woman would love.”

The police officer coloured up a little. “Not my cup of tea,” he said briskly. “So you wish me to believe that this item, this girdle as you insist on calling it, was returned to the rightful owner.”

“Indeed. The owners of the Ultratight business, were happy to have it returned so the testing for durability, stretch and, well, that all-important degree of comfort can continue unabated. The location of the lady testing it was in doubt but that was simply a matter of communication within the company. Now Ultratight and Son can continue developing this splendid constrictive though supporting delight.”

“I see. Hmmm ... Tell me, the milk in the small jug on the tray ... Would that be from Fulsome Diaries by any chance?”

“No, a local farm. But why do you ask, Inspector?”

“Strange happenings in Resterford of late. First the Harvest Hotel is seeking a new manager after the last one left in a great hurry, and at the same time Fulsome Dairies closed down, quite without warning. Plus, further afield a gun shot was heard, out by Layham Lake the other night. That wouldn’t be anything to do with you and this strange affair, would it?”

“Goodness, no! Poachers, I suspect. Always out there at night.”

“Perhaps.” The police officer put down his cup and saucer on the tray. “One day I fancy you might tell me the truth about this.”

“I can only tell you what I know, Inspector. You know I am more than happy to help our great police force whenever I can.”

“Hmmm ... How about the fact that the film people without a by-your-leave packed everything up and left Lady Carden’s Mansion inside an hour, abandoning the shoot at the same time? I heard from one of my constables who follows such matters that the film company suddenly decided to make their film somewhere else. Somewhere more accommodating. Safer, perhaps. Odd too that a production assistant—some continuity girl, whatever that is—went missing before the film people left, though Lady Carden assures me there was no foul play involved and the girl simply got lost in the mansion. Also, an angler at the lake complained yesterday of a steel milk churn floating in the lake with apparently a big dent in it. All very odd, wouldn’t you say, Mrs Minerva?”

“I can’t comment on the actions of thespians and directors as I merely watch the films at the Rialto, not participate in their productions. But as for the churn, well, odd indeed. Those things are expensive. A cow kicked it perhaps.” The woman stifled a smile as she finished speaking.

The Inspector did not look happy. “Expensive enough to be driven on the back of a film company lorry, I gather, when it has no place in the script of the film?”

“Absolutely. I can see though that you have been making your own enquiries of the film’s scriptwriter.”

The man surveyed Matilda with narrowed eyes. “Hmmm,” was all he said before he got up. “I must warn you, off the record as I have no proof, that law-abiding citizens must be very careful when handling a firearm, Mrs Minerva. Fingerprints, and all that business. I mean, there might be cause for me to drag the lake bottom if I think a gun has been thrown in there.”

“Yes, though I suppose bringing in frogmen that would be another drain on your already overstretched budget, Inspector.”

“Precisely that which may save you this time. Good day, madam.”

“Good day, Inspector.”

The continuity girl was called Celia and dressed in a new pristine white girdle and matching brassiere she looked lovely tied up in the hole outside in the garden. She looked up as Matilda leaned over the grate covering the hole, though her gag prevented her saying anything. Her eyes radiated gratitude however.

“You can come out soon, Celia, but for now I think you will be fine in there. I don’t think it will rain but, well, if it does you will cope. Slaves have to endure all privations, when all is said and done. Especially new recruits.”

The bound girl nodded. Since she had discovered how much she liked being tied up and left alone she made no objection when Lady Carden, having discovered the secured and silenced female in her pantry had handed the young woman over to Mrs Minerva for ‘training’ as she put it, though perhaps it was a bribe for keeping matters at the mansion hushed up.

The less-than-normally mobile Eleanor was standing next to her Mistress, looking down too. “Is she to replace me?” The slave asked, anxiety in her voice.

“No, slave. Your position is safe, though I wouldn’t dismiss the idea of a second hole being dug and covered by a grill. Had the bullet however done more than merely graze your side and cracked a rib I fear I might have needed a replacement for you. But even if I did, training a new slave takes time.”

“Yes, mistress. Thank you. May I ask a few questions though, about the investigation?”

“Go ahead, slave.”

“When did your suspicions begin about Miss Sommers?”

“Ah, that was at the Rialto cinema of all places. While you were entertaining the vicar’s wife while bound in bed last week, I went along to watch Sommers’ newest film, ‘A Lady Of Pride.’” A ho-hum drama but I noticed then that our actress was carrying a little more weight than usual, or rather, she was shunning her famous profile shots. I later consulted a copy of your favourite film magazine and noticed several advertisements for girdles. Now you may say that is for the audience, but I suspected it was aimed at the stars themselves. The demand for a trim figure, girdle assisted, is always high. The advertisers had understood this, and stars have money to burn on image.”

“How did you know what Miss Sommers was doing at the Harvest Hotel?”

“The mystery of Violet Sommers staying at the Harvest Hotel and why Porrett made the journey into Resterford-On-Water and then back out to meet Sandra—Miss Horvath—in the lay-by is easily explained, once you understand the actress’ position, slave. Like all women in her highly-visible world she felt it necessary to keep a good profile. A real profile. The Diana girdle—one which I intend to avail myself off when available via Mrs Gibbens—was her safety device, if I may call it that. After all, her box office appeal is dependent on being supposedly every male movie-goer’s dream girl; slim, innocent and yet beguiling. An illusion, as always, but a lucrative one.”

“She needed the girdle then,” said Eleanor as her mistress indicated she should go and stand by a tree with arms round the slender trunk in order she could be bound there.

“True. She was obsessed with her shape. She felt the pressure of up and coming younger actresses pressing her for parts but having got wind of the Diana model, incredibly she sought out Porrett. I suspect that our Joan Willforth had inadvertently let something slip about her sister modelling a sensational new undergarment. Thus Violet Sommers hatched a desperate plan. Now of course a travelling salesman of such modest means as Porrett would have been overwhelmed that a well-known film star had a use for him. But, Porrett was a greedy man. He planned to extract more money from our worried actress. He was supposed to meet Gale Reed—our Miss Sommers—at the Harvest Hotel. But, to keep her happy, he arranged to deliver more Ultratight and Son girdles to her, though when she tried them on and found them not to be this exceptional Diana model she threw them aside. Hence the discarded girdles.”