Lessons in Keeping a Dangerous Promise
Summary:Cambridge Fellows Mysteries #13
Jonty Stewart and Orlando Coppersmith like nothing better than being asked to solve mysteries, but when they get commissioned to help someone fulfil a vow he made to a late comrade in arms, matters start to cut too close to home for both of them.
An Act of Detection
Summary:Alasdair & Toby Investigations #1
Stars of the silver screen Alasdair Hamilton and Toby Bowe wow the post WWII audiences with their performances. But when they depict Holmes and Watson life starts to imitate art. They get asked in by a friend to investigate a mysterious disappearance only to find a series of threatening letters—and an unwanted suitor—make real life very different from the movies.Then there's an unpleasant co-star who's found murdered during an opening night. Surely detection can’t be that hard?
The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse
Summary:An Alasdair and Toby and Cambridge Fellows Mystery #1
Alasdair and Toby Investigations #3
Cambridge Fellows Mysteries
Alasdair Hamilton and Toby Bowe are the darlings of post-war British cinema, playing Holmes and Watson onscreen and off. When they’re called on to portray their fellow amateur detectives—Orlando Coppersmith and Jonty Stewart—not only do they find distinct challenges in depicting real people, they also become embroiled in solving a century-old murder.
How did a body lie undiscovered so long in the Stewart family vaults, who’s been covering up the murder ever since and why was the victim killed in the first place?
Lessons in Keeping a Dangerous Promise
Original Review April 2023:
Not sure why it took me so long to get to Lessons in Keeping a Dangerous Promise as Charlie Cochrane's Cambridge Fellows Mysteries is one of my absolute favorite series and Jonty and Orlando definitely rank high on my Top 10 ships list. I hate to keep saying it but unfortunately my reading mojo still hasn't quite returned after it fell way down during Covid. Slowly but surly it's creeping back and I have quite a list of stories to catch up on, well Dangerous Promise was one of them.
Despite it taking me way longer than normal to read Jonty and Orlando's latest case, I loved it as much as ever. The pair just never get old. For a couple of reasons, this latest case put before them hits home more than some of their others. Having been asked to prove the guilt or innocence of a curate who has been accused of being a little too friendly with a few of the young boys in his parish and when it's a fellow veteran of The Great War who brings the case to them, how can they refuse?
I still miss the contributions by Jonty's parents into their cases but Lavinia has stepped in and does her share of assisting that brings a level of fun spirited moments to the story that only a sister can. Readers of Cambridge Fellows will know that Jonty has a sad history with being messed with in his youth in a similar way the young curate has been accused of, I can't imagine how difficult that could make the case but at the same time I think it gives the pair a sense of needing to know the truth. If guilty than punishment is needed so the boys can heal but if innocent then the stain of accusation must be removed so the man can heal. Which is he? Guilty or innocent? Well, by now you know my answer to that: you have to read to discover for yourself.
Jonty and Orlando are as delightful as ever. The heat has always been mostly off-page but the chemistry and love between the men is undeniable. They have what I like to call a "snark and cuddle" quality about them. "Snarky" may be a bit overstated but their quips with each other makes their cuddle time even more "awwwww"-inducing. In Dangerous Promise this element that makes their relationship so amazing is just as prominent as it was in Lessons in Love when they first met way back in 1905.
For those who have yet to dive into this cozy historical mystery series, don't let the number of entries scare you. Once you start you won't want to stop. I've been reading them as published as there was none of the novellas and still had 2 full lengths to come when I discovered Jonty and Orlando. Each entry is it's own mystery, there are the occasional past case references but the author keeps the reader updated enough so you won't be lost if you hadn't read that particular referenced case. The main ongoing elements is the growing relationship between Jonty and Orlando obviously but also friendships and family, those are factors that are important to me to be read in order but not a necessity. The author keeps a chronological order on her website if you'd like to read them that way. However you choose to read it, you will never be lacking in highly addictie fun that keeps you guessing right up to the reveal.
An Act of Detection
Original Review September 2019:
Original Review September 2019:
The Case of the Overprotective Ass
This pair was just as fun and fascinating to read as they were the first time around in the author's Home Fires Burning duo. I loved reacquainting myself with the boys and although I recalled the outcome, I was never bored or put off having remembered the ending. Sometimes mysteries just cannot be revisited, knowing the whos and whats and whys just don't make it fun but not Charlie Cochrane's mysteries, I can reread them for years to come.
Home Fires Burning containing The Case of the Overprotective Ass
Original Review February 2015:
Both tales are amazing. It's the simplest and easiest way to describe it. In This Ground Which Was Secured At Great Expense, you can't help but feel what Nicholas is going through. Not only is he dealing with the heartaches of war but he's also has his heart set on a man he didn't reveal his feelings for before leaving. He's given a chance at exploring physical love when he has a new tent mate in Nicholas. In The Case of the Overprotective Ass, we see 2 actors entertaining post WW2 audiences with Sherlock & Holmes but they are given a chance to play detectives for real. Alastair and Toby share similarities with Miss Cochrane's famed Orlando and Jonty from her Cambridge Fellows series, but they are definitely their own pair. Both tales, although shorter than what I would like, are most enjoyable and very entertaining reads.
This pair was just as fun and fascinating to read as they were the first time around in the author's Home Fires Burning duo. I loved reacquainting myself with the boys and although I recalled the outcome, I was never bored or put off having remembered the ending. Sometimes mysteries just cannot be revisited, knowing the whos and whats and whys just don't make it fun but not Charlie Cochrane's mysteries, I can reread them for years to come.
The Case of the Undesirable Actor
When I originally read Alistair and Toby in another of the author's collections I knew I wanted more. Now we got it. I won't speak for the mystery as I don't want to give anything away but there are plenty of twists and turns to keep you guessing right up to the reveal. As for the boys themselves, there are no doubts whatsoever how they feel about one another and though they can't love openly in 1950s England they can do so behind closed doors and that's enough for them. The friendships, the bickering, the romance, the banter, all blended with mayhem make this an absolute reading gem.
Overall Duet Review:
Let's face it, on the surface the idea that two actors playing Holmes and Watson trying their hands at a little real life detecting sounds like a cliche joke but it is really a perfect setup. Character driven fun mixed with loads of mayhem and set in a pretty accurate historical setting(I can't speak from personal knowledge that this is how the acting community behaved in 1950s London but knowing the author's love of history I'm willing to accept this as spot on) just makes her stories a joy to lose yourself in. Rom Com + Romantic Suspense = You Can't Put It Down.
Original Review February 2015:
Both tales are amazing. It's the simplest and easiest way to describe it. In This Ground Which Was Secured At Great Expense, you can't help but feel what Nicholas is going through. Not only is he dealing with the heartaches of war but he's also has his heart set on a man he didn't reveal his feelings for before leaving. He's given a chance at exploring physical love when he has a new tent mate in Nicholas. In The Case of the Overprotective Ass, we see 2 actors entertaining post WW2 audiences with Sherlock & Holmes but they are given a chance to play detectives for real. Alastair and Toby share similarities with Miss Cochrane's famed Orlando and Jonty from her Cambridge Fellows series, but they are definitely their own pair. Both tales, although shorter than what I would like, are most enjoyable and very entertaining reads.
The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse
Original Review April 2023:
Again, I can't believe it took me nearly 7 months to read The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse especially since it involves one of my all-time favorite mystery solving duos, Jonty Smith and Orlando Coppersmith, and another of Charlie Cochrane's amateur detecting duos that is definitely climbing higher and higher on the same list, Toby Bowe and Alasdair Hamilton. Can only lay it down to my slowly returning reading mojo that took a hit during the pandemic. After catching up on the most recent adventures in their individual series I couldn't not jump in and boy am I glad I did!
I'll be honest, the first time I was introduced to Alasdair and Toby wayback when in The Case of the Overprotective Ass(originally appearing in the author's Home Fires Burning duet which I read in 2015) I never imagined they would get to play Jonty and Orlando onscreen(in the book but oh wouldn't it be wonderful if it was really on our screens?) but now that she has combined the two and that is exactly what A&T are preparing to do, it seems such an obvious crossover. Hindsight, right?😉 I've read many stories where authors have linked some of their series together, in both small and huge ways, and though Undiscovered Corpse may not be the most original it is definitely one of the most satisfying.
When the pairs meet to discuss personal idiosyncrasies that should be included but also left out, i.e. the subtle and not so subtle looks of longing A&T often sneak into their portrayals of Holmes and Watson that somehow go unnoticed to many but not the knowing and watchful eye of J&O, discussion turns to the undiscovered corpse found in the Stewart vault in 1914. Unable to let that delicious morsal go the four men are off and running. Obviously trying to discover the truth from nearly 40 years prior, especially considering the poor Drayton had been lying their unnoticed for decades already, is not going to be easy.
What great mystery is easily solved? Let's face it, if it's easily solved than it probably doesn't deserve the "great" moniker.
So as you are well aware I won't spoil anything which means no details of the mystery will be found here. Will the foursome find anything definitive? Unlikely but perhaps. The fun for me is in the hunt and they definitely do a lot of hunting. I will say that for some, Undiscovered Corpse may be confusing or a convolution of too many possibilities but for me it's the many possibles and the chemistry between our four MCs that makes for such high level fun.
The above mentioned chemistry is highlighted in the bouncing of ideas off each other but it's also a growing friendship. A&T more than once ponder if they will ever be able to live as J&O but as they are in the public eye it seems a very far in the future possibility but you know it gives them hope when they see what the older pair have carved out for themselves. It's this very generational "gap"(for lack of a better term) that leaves historical in the LGBTQ genre appealing to me. I love history anyway but in LGBTQ stories it reminds us just how far society has come, we have a long way to go acceptance and equality wise but it makes me appreciate where we as humans are and heightens the hope that one day loving who we wish will never be questioned or looked down on.
My above statement is further proof that as always, Charlie Cochrane respects the past with the nitty, gritty, and her own brand of witty details of yesteryear(on multiple fronts) but those details never appear as a school lesson, The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse is cozy, entertaining fun of the highest variety.
For those wondering about reading the individual series, Cambridge Fellows Mysteries and Alasdair & Toby Investigations, prior to Undiscovered Corpse? You don't. As a series-read-in-order kind of gal, I can't imagine not having read them but it is not at all necessary. The chemistry between our two couples is never in doubt, minor mentions of previous cases pepper throughout but don't play a part in the investigations. I will warn you though, if you are unfamiliar with either or both the established series, your taste will be piqued and want to devour all their great cases. You won't be sorry, they are all brilliantly delightful, which is an odd description for murder and mayhem but no less truthful. As they say in one of my favorite shows(completely different genre but no less accurate): This is the way.😉
Lessons in Keeping a Dangerous Promise
Jonty Stewart looked through the window of his study at St Bride’s college, transfixed by the scene playing out in the court below. Dr Panesar—polymath, pioneer aviator and who knew what else—was trying to catch a wounded pigeon, a pigeon which didn’t appear to want to be caught.
“That’s quite a kerfuffle.”
The voice sounding over his shoulder was so familiar, Jonty barely registered surprise at its owner’s arrival in his room. Anyway, he’d seen Orlando Coppersmith heading across the court and guessed he would be arriving soon.
“Another victim of Hotspur, do you think? Or Mrs Hotspur?”
“Quite likely. They’re doing a marvellous job of keeping the flying vermin under control.” Orlando patted Jonty’s shoulder while they both observed their colleague’s progress. St Bride’s took a great deal of pride in the pair of peregrine falcons which had deigned to nest on the chapel tower and which dived down on their prey at a terrifying rate.
The college took an equal pride in its pair of amateur sleuths, who’d solved mysteries and murders ancient and modern, including a commission from royalty.
“Not far to look for a culprit in the case of the plucked pigeon.” Jonty cuffed his lover’s arm. “It feels a long time since we had a proper case, though. I can’t believe the world has turned virtuous all of a sudden.”
“I will be extremely vexed if it had.” Orlando snorted. “I’m not asking for a murder—it makes me feel very guilty when I’ve been yearning for one and it subsequently lands in our laps, as it were—but a code to unravel or a crime from long ago would be most gratifying.”
Jonty had heard that refrain many a time, either here in college or by their own fireside. While Orlando always had his mathematics and the challenge of trying to get the principles of same into the noddles of his students, it didn’t provide quite the intellectual stimulus of a real-life mystery. “Well, given the way the universe seems to work—or the machinations of Mama sitting on her heavenly cloud forcing the angels to organise a case for you or else she’ll report them for having grubby halos—no doubt some perplexing mystery will soon fall into our laps. A nice, tricky one, with no corpses or other distressing quantities.
An Act of Detection
The Case of the Overprotective Ass
London 1950
Chapter One
“Not so haughty, milady. You’re on the Swift Apollo now and the captain’s word is law.” Toby Bowe was a handsome man, but the innate cruelty in his voice was reflected in his expression, coarsening his naturally good looks. His slim mouth was curled in a leer and his blue eyes shone dark.
“Captain? You’re not fit to bear the title. You’re a black-hearted pirate and I won’t bow to your commands.”
“You won’t? What if you were made to?” Toby loomed over his prisoner. “Your fine Commodore Neville can’t come to your aid here. Look at the ocean, milady—there’s not a sail to be seen.”
“You’re not worthy to sup at the commodore’s feet, you scurvy knave…”
“Scurvy, am I? Just wait, you saucy wench…oh, I can’t go on with this, Alasdair. How can anyone talk such twaddle? Even Fiona can’t believe in any of it.”
Toby laid down his script with a sigh and ran his hands through the sort of unruly hair that even a pirate would have been ashamed of. His dark blond locks—usually slicked back with Brylcreem for the better depiction of fighter pilots or His Majesty’s soldiers—were hanging rakishly loose. “Why do we get given such rotten scripts?”
“I don’t think the studio’s bothered about the quality of dialogue so long as the cinema goers suspend disbelief.” Alasdair Hamilton, ‘The Man with the Golden Frown’, employed his trademark expression. The trio of Bowe, Hamilton and Fiona Marsden were the darlings of post-war British cinema, a touch of glamour and excitement in a world where austerity still hadn’t been shaken off. And when they weren’t lighting up the screen, they lit up the gossip columns, story after story and photo after photo of their latest exploits. Toby (hair carefully controlled on these occasions) was generally depicted with some heiress to a retail empire on his arm while Alasdair squired one of the minor European royals, usually chosen because the olive shades of her skin brought out the dark auburn of his hair.
Landseer wasn’t bothered if people said they went for formula over art, Alasdair always getting the girl, Fiona, and Toby suffering nobly as second fiddle. Toby didn’t complain, not given the off-screen perks; Fiona always got Alasdair by the time the credits rolled, but Toby kept him to go home with. Somehow or other the newspapers never seemed to get wind of that juicy little tidbit.
“Anyway,” Alasdair got up from the chair where he’d been taking Fiona’s part and ran an elegant finger along his friend’s sleeve, “you’ll be a wonderful pirate king.”
Toby snorted. “Judging by the costume sketches, I’m more Prince Rupert of the Rhine than Long John Silver. Perhaps if La Marsden’s dress shows enough cleavage, the people who’ve paid good money to see this tripe won’t notice how the plot’s been stolen and the dialogue resembles…” He struggled for an adequate metaphor. “Something you’d scrape off the ship’s head. It’s worse than your costume.”
Alasdair swiped the side of his lover’s head with the script they were supposed to be learning. It was a lovely day, the sun streaming through the drawing room windows, and no amount of either hard work or insults were going to spoil his mood. “The wardrobe girls think I’ll look very authentic.” He raised his left eyebrow—the one newly ensured with Lloyd’s and said to be worth fifty thousand pounds in box office takings. “Do you suppose that any officer in King George’s navy wore quite so much braid or so many flounces?”
“I think you’ll look like the Queen of the May. Not unattractive, though.” Toby stroked his friend’s chin. “Better than La Marsden.”
“At least you get to kiss her in this film—that makes a change.”
“And is that any sort of a consolation? Especially when she blacks my eye straight afterwards. I’d rather,” Toby’s fingers started to insinuate themselves under Alasdair’s collar, “be kissing the commodore.”
“Have you ever come across these modern acting theories? About inhabiting the role?” Alasdair, rather unsportingly, broke the clinch and the romantic mood.
“They’re worse tripe than this bloody script. Why on earth do you ask?” Toby was tetchy. It wasn’t fair, really. Under the constant scrutiny of the gossip columns, they had to be jolly careful to wangle any time together and rehearsing was a perfect excuse to be alone. They had to make the most of it—they should be making the most of it right now—and someone was insisting on ruining the mood.
“Because I thought we could employ it here, see if we can make this wretched script come alive.” If there was a bit of a spark in Alasdair’s eye, Toby didn’t notice it.
“Thinking myself into the role of Pirate King, you mean?” Toby shut his eyes and imagined a little frigate, all elegant lines and a Jolly Roger at the masthead. “It might work…”
“Ah. I had more in mind that I’d be the pirate for this particular exercise. You, my love,” Alasdair gently withdrew himself from smacking range, “need to find some empathy with Lady Jennifer.” He suddenly pounced, grabbing Toby and pushing him towards the Chesterfield. “Now, milady, you’ll find out what life aboard a pirate ship is really like.”
Toby shrieked. An impressive, feminine shriek, a good octave above his normal register. “Scurvy knave, unhand me.” He tried to swat Alasdair’s arm away, half-heartedly; the settee was big and comfy.
“Sheathe your claws, ma’am. I’m tired of grog and I mean to drink from your lips tonight.”
“Oooooooooh.” Toby gave a marvellous impression of Fiona’s standard on-screen response to anything frightening or annoying or surprising. Ex-public schoolboys were said to find it particularly stimulating, because it reminded them of sick bay and Matron. “Touch me not, my name’s…actually temptation won’t really work, will it, Alasdair, cut that line…touch me not in the name of Saint Hyacinth!”
“Don’t call on yer saints to ‘elp ‘ee now, missy.” They were at the edge of the Chesterfield now and one slight tip was going to send Lady Jennifer into grave peril and Toby into delight.
“Elp ‘ee now, missy? You’ve gone awfully common all of a sudden—distinct shades of Mummerset, as well. I thought Black-Hearted Fitzroy the pirate king was supposed to be rather posh, wrong side of the noble blanket and all that? Gone to the bad when the love of his life died of smallpox? That’s how I’ve been trying to play him.”
“Oh for goodness sake, are you going to allow me to try to ravish you or not?” Alasdair, giving up on the script entirely, grabbed his lover’s face between his hands and kissed him heartily. “Anyone would think you didn’t want to be snogged.”
“Lady Jennifer doesn’t.” Toby grabbed the script, fanning himself with it demurely as he went back into role. “Prithee, sir, do not divest me of my maidenhead.”
“That’s never in the script—the censor wouldn’t allow it.” Alasdair grinned. “If you’re going to improvise, at least do it realistically.”
“Spoilsport. Oh prithee, sir, do not molest me.” Toby looked coyly over the top of the thick wodge of paper. Lady Jennifer might be saying no but Toby was a different kettle of fish. That settee was calling and it was singing a dirty song. “Actually, Alasdair, if you were Fitzroy, I’d be inclined to say to hell with the Commodore, cast aside my corset, put on breeches and join your pirate band.” Toby threw down the script and threw himself onto the Chesterfield.
Alasdair sat down next to his lover, worming his arm around Toby’s waist, squeezing the succulent flesh lurking just underneath his silk shirt. “I’d say there’s nothing like it, milady. Especially if you get to share the captain’s hammock.”
“There’s an idea. That could be modern acting at its very best.” Toby reached up and ran his fingers through his Alasdair’s hair. “Come on, the script can wait.” He pulled his friend’s face towards him. “And if you’re a good boy, while we’re about it, you can talk to me like a pirate.”
“Ah, milady. Then I’ll be a-takin’ these here breeches of yourn and…”
Unfortunately, all pirate talk, real or feigned, had to be put on hold as Morgan, Alasdair’s incredibly discreet manservant, knocked loudly, gave enough time for those present to make themselves decent, then entered the room to announce that a Mr. Fisher was on the phone and seemed to be in an agitated state.
***
“The Old George theatre, please.” Toby settled himself into the cab, wondering how Morgan had managed to conjure one up so quickly and from almost nowhere.
“Actually, drop us in Trafalgar Square, if you would.” Alasdair settled down beside his friend. “I wouldn’t mind a few minutes’ walking and talking time before we face Johnny and whatever so-called crisis he’s dreamed up this time.”
“I suspect there won’t be any crisis at all. He’ll just be after money for charity. He usually is.” Toby watched the pedestrians struggling with umbrellas in the drizzle. London wasn’t at her best-behaved today, despite it being June. “We’ll be soaked through, in spite of our overcoats, but I’ll take the risk. I’ve always had a soft spot for St. Martin’s Lane, ever since Wings of Love débuted there.”
“Ah yes, of course.” Alasdair turned his gaze out onto the streets, too, thoughts turned inwards to a flood of memories.
Wings of Love had been the first production for the threesome, five years previously. Alasdair remembered reading the in-production press releases for the film with an ironic smile. The words that he was quoted as saying—I look forward very much to beginning filming, especially with so lovely a co-star—had been used as evidence of the likely blossoming of a classic on-screen partnership with Fiona Marsden, something that Landseer pictures would have loved. Worth pounds at the tills.
He’d never said the words, but they couldn’t have been more fitting.
Whichever bright spark in the press office had actually written his comments, they’d inadvertently hit on the entire truth, but it wasn’t La Marsden, as she was beginning to be called even then—though never to her face—who’d been the object of his anticipation. Right from the first meeting when they’d taken the pre-publicity stills, it had been Toby Bowe who’d got his leading man all of an internal flutter, on set and off.
Alasdair had heard of the term love at first sight, of course, although he’d pooh-poohed it as being fit only for a fairy tale. It had never happened to him, and therefore it couldn’t exist. But when Toby strolled into the room, a hint of swagger in his gait and a huge grin on his face, Alasdair had realised that such a thing not only could but did happen, and it had just come around the corner and thumped him one.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Not in public,” Alasdair whispered. Aloud, he said, “I was just thinking about Fiona’s dress, the one she wore for the opening night.”
“Dress? Is that what it was? I’ve seen more material in a handkerchief. Ah, we’re here.” From Trafalgar Square, they took to a series of small roads and back alleys to get to the theatre.
“I was worried the cabby was going to ask about Fiona. As usual.” Toby pulled up his collar.
“Tell me about it. Questions concerning Fiona always seem to end up with enquiries about whether we’re knocking around together.” Alasdair sounded cross, not just at the weather.
“I heard a rumour she’s got some sprig of the nobility on the hook. Maybe she’s given up on you at last.” Fiona would never catch Alasdair...but it was fun watching her try.
“Maybe. And maybe Johnny has given up on you, as well.” Alasdair gazed straight ahead, never giving Toby even a sideways glance. It was always the same when the topic of Johnny Fisher got broached. His attempted seduction of Toby in Brighton—and the various passes which he’d made before and after—were perennially held up and used in evidence against him. Alasdair couldn’t stand the man.
“I should jolly well hope so. He’s not even my type.” Toby drew his collar up even further. “I know what you’re up to, trying to delay our arrival at the theatre so you can work yourself up sufficiently for whatever scene you anticipate playing out. Well, I’m not prepared to dilly-dally about, not in this weather.” He broke into something like a trot and scooted along the street, bounding through the door of the theatre shaking the water off himself like a dog. Alasdair sighed and followed, at a more leisurely pace.
The Old George theatre sat back from St Martin’s Lane, trying to look both classy and brassy at the same time. It dated back to the Naughty Nineties and, inside, the opulence of the era hadn’t faded—neither bomb nor death watch beetle had got to it, nor had the damp risen in its walls or dripped into its timbers. It was currently riding a wave of popularity, giving theatre goers the sort of entertainment they craved. You could sail a damn sight closer to the wind than in the cinema, if you were canny enough.
Johnny Fisher had been left the place in his great uncle’s will, and a better legacy a man couldn’t have had. The theatre was in his blood—while he hadn’t been born in a trunk it had been a damn close run thing—and his family had expected him and his brother to enter what had been the Fisher profession these last four generations. Johnny had taken up his expected role quite willingly and trod the boards from Fleance through Ernest onwards and upwards. Now he picked and chose his stage roles, preferring to manage his little nest egg and to direct productions.
Johnny’s secretary, a lad with the biggest Adam’s apple Toby had ever seen, ushered them into his office—his splendidly opulent office—and Johnny produced a bottle of whisky. “Thank you for coming so promptly. I wasn’t interrupting anything vital, was I?”
“Just going through a script, that’s all.” Alasdair’s voice seemed convincing, although a touch too airy and light to suggest complete candour. “Practicing our lines.”
“Ah, the glamorous life of the actor.” Johnny took an elegantly tooled silver case from his pocket and offered both men a cigarette. Both refused, although they encouraged their host to carry on in spite of them. “I have a favour to ask the two of you.”
“Which set of waifs and strays has caught your eye this time? Shall I get the cheque book out straight away?” Toby made an elaborate mime of reaching into his inside pocket.
Johnny laughed. “Not on this occasion, although keep me in mind next time I organise a war widows’ treat and want you to act in it.”
“I think I’d rather pay the protection racket money and just give you fifty quid straight up.” Alasdair rolled his eyes.
“As you wish. It’s only a theoretical question, at the moment.” Johnny lit his cigarette; it looked like an actor’s gesture, aimed at ladies in the front row of the circle. “What I do have in mind is all too real and all too puzzling.” He paused, his wrist and hand forming a stylish angle, clearly all for effect.
“Out with it, then.” Alasdair didn’t want Toby getting impressed with the grace of the actor-manager’s movements.
“My secretary has disappeared. He didn’t turn up for work just over a week ago and I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him since.” Johnny looked genuinely concerned, although he was such a natural actor that any appearances had to be taken with a whole cellar of salt, let alone a pinch.
“Then who was that lad who let us in? The one with the Adam’s apple?” Toby tipped his head towards the door.
“Haven’t we all got Adam’s apples?” Alasdair raised the uninsured eyebrow.
“Not ones the size of a melon, we haven’t. Not a bad looking lad apart from that.” Toby held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I can’t help noticing these things.”
“His Adam’s apple or the fact that he’s pretty?” Johnny said, grinning. “That’s Hampson. I got him from an agency the day after Robin disappeared, just to tide me over. There’s something about him I can’t quite pin down—he lacks a sense of humour and that unnerves me, I suppose. With Robin I could have a laugh.”
“A bit of friendly banter?” Toby nodded. “Makes for a good working relationship.”
“Exactly, but with Hampson, it’s different. There’s no point in teasing the unteasable. It’s like,” he reached over and tapped Toby’s hand, “trying to seduce the unseducable.” A glint in his eye suggested he was doing it in part because Alasdair would be miffed.
“That would be me, then.” Toby whacked the hand that was molesting him. “Any complaints about his work?”
“No, nothing on the business side of things. He’s doing fine, but he’s not the same.” Johnny tapped the ash from his cigarette into a marble ashtray. “And he’s not that way inclined, in case anyone’s got a roving eye. He’s far too interested in the chorus girls.”
“But he’s not Robin?” Toby’s question implied that Robin might just have been that way inclined.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Johnny had evidently caught the drift. “There was no ‘interest’ between us. He was just the best assistant I’d ever had. One hundred per cent reliable, too.”
“Until he went walkabout.” Alasdair sat back, enjoying his erstwhile rival’s discomfort. “Hardly counts as reliable, does it?”
“That’s my whole point.” Johnny sounded exasperated, although whether at his secretary or at Alasdair wasn’t clear. “If he’d been habitually late or tended to go off for a day or two, then I wouldn’t be so worried. I want to know if he’s in trouble of some sort and whether I can help.”
“I would have thought the police would be better suited to finding that out—why haven’t you contacted them?” Alasdair was finding this whole interview more and more perplexing.
“I did contact them. I’m not an idiot, whatever else you think of me. Don’t answer that.” Johnny stubbed out his cigarette forcefully. “I held fire that first day, just in case word came through. The second day I rang the police, after I’d checked his lodgings and had been told he’d left for work as usual the previous morning.”
“And the police said?” Toby was clearly trying to sound the sympathetic one of the pair.
“They said they had better things to do with their time than go hunting grown men.”
“Did they, by Jove? I’ll have a word with my father about how his officers are addressing the populace.” Toby grinned; when your father was the Chief Constable of the Metropolitan Police, you could make sure your friends were treated with a bit of common decency. However, embarrassing his father by being caught cottaging wasn’t something Toby was ever going to risk.
“Well, they didn’t use those exact words, but that’s what they meant. Unless there was evidence of a real crime—a ransom note or some other indication that Robin hadn’t just got fed up and gone—then they weren’t that interested.” Johnny opened his cigarette case, looked like he was about to have another, then slapped it shut and put it away. “If I’d found he’d had his fingers in the till, it might have been different, I suppose.”
“And had he?” Alasdair’s ears pricked up. “Been dipping his fingers in the till?”
“No evidence of anything like that. Straight as a die and everyone liked him.” Johnny shrugged.
“You’ve contacted his family?” Alasdair asked with a sniff. “That seems the obvious thing to do. Maybe his mother was taken ill and…”
“No mother,” Johnny interrupted the flow. “Nothing closer than a grandmother and she’s slightly gaga.”
Alasdair was beginning to be interested in the case. “I can’t deny I love an intellectual puzzle.”
”Oh yes,” Toby said, “to see him with The Times crossword is to observe poetry in motion. Cinema acting hardly stretches anyone’s mental resources, does it?”
Alasdair nodded. “To take on a real investigation would be a challenge, and we could always say we were conducting research for The Hound of the Baskervilles.” If only it had been someone other than Johnny Fisher asking. “So why is it so important for you to find Robin? There’s every chance he’s just fallen into the Thames or run away to be a sailor or lost his memory. Whatever’s happened, he either doesn’t want to be found or has no choice in the matter.”
“Because it bothers me. Why should any decent, respectable man vanish into thin air unless something untoward has happened? And if nothing untoward has occurred, you tell me where he went. I want to make sure he’s safe and not in trouble. If he’s got himself in a hole, I’d like to help dig him out.”
“You can’t dig someone out of a hole, Johnny.” Alasdair looked smug at the muddled metaphor.
“I wish we could help, but I think you’re overestimating our capabilities. We may play Holmes and Watson on the screen, but we’ve no experience in real life.” Toby spoke softly, clearly afraid of treading on his friend’s dreams. “That’s assuming I’ve got the right end of the stick and you’re actually asking us to do some sleuthing on your behalf. The Case of the Disappearing Secretary.”
“Couldn’t you call it research or something?” Johnny smiled sweetly; he wasn’t daft, he knew he’d get further pleading with Toby than he ever would with his partner. “Getting prepared for The Hound of the Baskervilles?”
“So we’re to take to Dartmoor in search of your erstwhile employee, are we?” Toby’s eyes were bright—worryingly bright, as far as Alasdair was concerned.
“I hoped you wouldn’t have to go as far as that. I guess I just had London in mind…I hadn’t really considered what might be involved.” Johnny was suddenly serious, his normally happy-go-lucky outlook submerging under his genuine concern. “Look, don’t take this up if you don’t have the time or the inclination. It was a stupid whim anyway, thinking that you might succeed on a wild goose chase.”
“Stupid?” Whether he’d intended it or not—and whatever else he was, Johnny was a brilliant actor—he’d hit on just the right form of words, and approach, to get Alasdair to change his mind. If Johnny Fisher didn’t think Alasdair capable of something, then Alasdair was definitely going to prove him wrong. “If the police are disinclined to pay attention, then I don’t see why we couldn’t take an interest in the case, as we won’t be treading on their toes. It’s a couple of weeks before work starts on our pirate film, with just the premiere of A Scandal in Bohemia in between. I’d like to see how much headway we could make in that time.” He glanced at Toby. “Give us all the information you have and we’ll see where we get to.”
The huge smile Johnny broke into suggested he’d manipulated the whole situation to get the outcome he wanted, but Alasdair did his best to ignore the fact. “Wherever you can get has got to be better than total ignorance, which is where I am now. I’ll pay all your expenses, of course.”
“You will not.” Toby at last got the chance to speak. “Have this as a present from us, in honour of your new production. In return we want a couple of tickets for the best seats in the house, as soon as it’s bedded in. If you think it’s worth seeing, of course,” he added.
“Worth seeing? It’ll be the hit of the season.” Johnny slapped his hands on the desk. “Only shouldn’t that be four tickets—two for you and two for your alleged girlfriends of the moment?”
Toby groaned. “I suppose you’re right. Unless you get us a box, of course, and we can take my mother and sister along. People will assume that Alasdair’s got a thing for her and no young fillies will end up disappointed.”
“Won’t she be disappointed? Your sister, I mean?”
“Oh, no. She’s got her eye on a sailor boy and he quite likes it when he’s on a tour of duty and one of us squires her around town. Keeps the bees away from the honey. Now…” Toby tapped the arm of his chair, “information. We can’t start finding out anything if we’ve just got this chap’s first name.”
“I’ve kept a file.” It was right at hand, suggesting that the man had been well-prepared for this whole exercise, and confident—rightly—of seeing it through to the desired outcome. “Take it. And good luck.”
Alasdair rose, picking up the file and flicking through it. The first impression was favourable, at least in terms of legibility and organisation. Not a lot in the way of information, though. Maybe this wasn’t going to be easy as his offended audacity had hoped. “We’d best be amongst it, then. We’ll keep you up to date with what we find.” Still, he felt rooted to the spot, unwilling to take the first step on an uncharted road.
“Come on, we’ve got work to do, Sherlock.” Toby took his friend’s arm and guided him towards the door. “Although I’m lucky my Holmes thinks his Watson has a degree of intelligence. Quite a different set-up from the original.”
“You can say that again. Don’t remember Sherlock leaping into the sack with his beloved doctor.” Johnny held out his hand for his friends to shake. “Let me know as soon as you turn anything up. I know it’s an imposition, but I suspect you’re my only hope.”
The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse
Cambridge September 3rd 1952
“Good morning, Orlando. Lovely to see you.”
Those words had been spoken first thing in the morning on numerous occasions and in many different settings over the best part of fifty years. From lips that had once been young and full, but which were now showing fine lines and downed with white, rather like the hair which crowned Jonty Stewart’s head. A full set of hair—he’d inherited his paternal grandfather’s locks rather than his father’s bald pate—yet the tawny gold had now all gone to be replaced with hoary silver.
“Lovely to see you, too.” Orlando Coppersmith turned in the bed, easing into a more comfortable position. He was currently beset with an issue concerning his left rotator cuff, or so the doctor had diagnosed, one that should get better with exercise. It had been a result of over-exertion in the garden and not, as Jonty told everyone, due to Orlando having dealt the bridge cards too vigorously.
“What does your diary have in store for you today?” The airy tone in Jonty’s voice as he asked the question immediately put his partner on alert.
“The usual. College business and the like given the arrival of students is hull up on the horizon. Why do you ask?”
“I’d like to suggest a slight change to plans dinner-wise. Are you free tonight?”
“Ye-es. Why?”
“I had a phone call last evening, when you were at your orgy.” That was another line which had been used innumerable times over the years, referring to Orlando being out playing cards. He’d learned to ignore it. “It was to invite us to dinner and a discussion.”
“A commission, do you think?” It had been a while since they’d had a really good mystery to get their teeth into. Odds and ends of investigations, yes, including ones bound up with the war that they simply couldn’t accept, because they’d have had little chance of fulfilling them. Finding where Aunt Elsie had hidden the family silver because she thought that Hitler would invade—said aunt having then been so inconsiderate as to get herself killed in an air raid before she could share the location of the treasure with the rest of the family—had been a typical kind of request. As were the string of entreaties to locate the whereabouts of men who’d been declared missing in action, at least one of whom Jonty had decided had likely taken a convenient opportunity to get away from home.
At least they could now decline the commissions with dignity, pleading old age and the inability to travel as far as they used to, alongside not being up to the physical challenge of digging up bomb sites to find Aunt Elsie’s spoons. These excuses might have been seen through had the applicants observed the pair of them working vigorously in the garden at Forsythia Cottage or indeed still almost as vigorously sharing the pleasures of the double bed.
“It’s not about a commission as such, although there’s a peripheral link to an old, unsolved mystery.” Jonty raised an eyebrow. “One we might have got involved with at the time had we not been otherwise occupied. No, this is something quite different and rather exciting.”
“Am I allowed a clue to whatever you’re on about?”
“Not a single one. I want you to come to this meeting with an open mind and if I drop the merest hint, you’ll mull it over all day. Suffice to say the discussion could lead us into pastures entirely new for us, which is rather nice at our time of life, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ll only say one way or the other when I know what these pastures new are and whether they’ll be green or arid.” Orlando was rather pleased with his analogy. “You’re not even going to make an indication as to whom I’m eating with?”
“No, because it risks giving the game away entirely. A knight of the realm. Title conferred as opposed to inherited. You’ve met him before, although that doesn’t cut down the field. Very nice chap, who has a proposal for us and—” Jonty cuffed Orlando’s arm. “That’s quite enough. You’re wheedling secrets out of me. I’m easing my stiff old bones out of this bed before you spoil all the elements of surprise.”
“Just one more question, then. Will this different and exciting whatever-it-is be the sort of thing to make me jump for joy or run away screaming?”
“I can’t imagine you running away screaming from anything, at this point in your life. Quite below your dignity. I might have to see if I can engineer it happening, simply for the novelty.” Jonty, now on his feet, stretched extravagantly, like a great cat rousing itself.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“True, oh light of my life, although that’s simply because I can’t formulate an answer. I’ve been weighing it up since last night and I honestly don’t know. All I can state with any certainty is that we’d be stupid not to explore the possibilities. Too young still to be stick-in-the-muds.” Jonty made an elaborate bow. “And now I exit, if not pursued by a bear, then pursued by your third degree. Patience, old man.”
“Patience my arse,” Orlando muttered, although he couldn’t help smiling. Whatever happened over dinner would turn out to be gratifying. If he liked this mysterious proposal, then it would add a new challenge to their lives and if he hated it then he could go into a pleasing yet dignified huff for at least twenty-four hours. And tease Jonty over his rashness for the next few weeks.
Despite the ache in Orlando’s shoulder, life was still good.
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Because wherever Jonty and Orlando go, trouble seems to find them. Sunny, genial Jonty and prickly, taciturn Orlando may seem like opposites. But their balance serves them well as they sift through clues to crimes, and sort through their own emotions to grow closer. But at the end of the day, they always find the truth . . . and their way home together.
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Be sure and check the author's website for a complete chronological list of novels, novellas, free short stories in the Cambridge Fellows Mysteries Universe.
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Cambridge Fellows Mysteries
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Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.
NEWSLETTER / KOBO / RIPTIDE
EMAIL: cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com
Lessons in Keeping a Dangerous Promise
An Act of Detection
The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse
Cambridge Fellows Mysteries
Alasdair & Toby Investigations Series
The Case of the Grey Assassin #2
The Case of the Deadly Deception #4
Alasdair & Toby and Cambridge
