On the Fiddle: or The misadventures of two small-time crooks

By Jane Lockyer Willis

Melanie and her partner Henrietta are two small-time crooks who have chosen crime as their hobby rather than their living. From the sleepy village of Mallowmarsh, Mel plans to steal a valuable double row of pearls belonging to the late, wealthy Claribel Louise. These she intends either to sell on, or give as a present to her partner Henri whom she rightly believes would rather not take part in these dodgy, amateur escapades. But try as she may to pull off the perfect crime, Mel's efforts turn to dust giving rise to chapters of humorous misadventures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TSL Publications
• Release date: Nov 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781913294939

Book preview

On the Fiddle

or

The misadventures of two small time crooks

Jane Lockyer Willis

Copyright

Published in Great Britain in 2020

By TSL Publications, Rickmansworth

Copyright © 2020

ISBN: 978-1-913294-93-9

The right of Jane Lockyer Willis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

Dedication

To Jonathan

PEARLS BEFORE SWINE

Claribel Louise was buried wearing her pearls.

‘Selfish, if you ask me,’ snapped Melanie. ‘She could have left them to Bertie. I wonder why she didn’t, he could have made quite a bit with those.’

‘What’s it to us?’ replied Henrietta. ‘She wasn’t married to the man.’

Melanie raised her eyebrows, tapped her neck and winked.

‘We could, you know, Henri.’

‘Oh! Mel. We wouldn’t dare!’

‘Why not? You always envied them like crazy.’

Henrietta blushed. ‘I admired them.’

‘Same thing.’

‘We’d be put away. Probably for life.’

‘Nonsense. We’ll swap ’em and no one will know.’

And that is exactly what they did.

*

Before I go on with my story, I need to give a little background.

The late Claribel Louise, Clary to her friends, was during her lifetime amiable and pretty with an affectionate nature. She had acquired the double string of south-sea pearls, insured at around one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, by marrying into money. Three times she had tied the matrimonial knot thereby accruing a small fortune. The necklace was a gift from her third husband who died soon after, leaving her richer than ever. Thrilled and touched by his generosity she wore it constantly and when she died requested that she be buried wearing the necklace.

All three husbands had been deadly dull and as I said, immensely rich. But money is not everything, and Clary, secure in her Regency mansion nestling on a sizeable estate in the Cotswold village of Mallowmarsh, pined for love. A trip to the circus did it. There she watched Bertie the Clown tumbling, juggling and tight-rope walking as he engaged his audience with knockabout humour and colourful costumes. Claribel was enthralled. For the first time in her life she was having fun. From a strict upbringing with Victorian-styled parents, early life had revolved around inflexible time-tables, humourless nannies and pretentious living. As an only child, Claribel had longed for disreputable playmates but instead was obliged to play with the repressed children of their class. Now presenting itself for the first time in her life was an opportunity to revisit her youth and have some fun. And so after the show was over Claribel arranged a meeting with Bertie. They took to each other like toast and jam and thereafter she was smitten. He had come from the very environment she had in her innocence envied, the boys and girls of the streets: At last she could recapture a youth she had been denied. Claribel adored him. No one had ever made her laugh like Bertie. His clown’s make-up made her giggle. His wise-cracks made her howl. His funny walks made her split her sides. But fate was cruel. At sixty-eight, having finally found a match made in heaven, Claribel Louise died of the very thing she had enjoyed most … laughing.

This now brings us in line with the plot hatched by Mel, with Henri in tow. Both had been friends of the deceased who was, at the start of my story, laid out in Claribel’s library for friends to come and pay their last respects.

The two women, armed with intent and a double string of artificial pearls hidden in Henri’s coat pocket, were ushered into the hushed sanctum by a steward who stood at a respectful distance whilst they took out handkerchiefs and gave little sniffs and moans of grief. Henri then distracted the steward by saying that she felt unwell and could she please have a glass of water. Reluctant at first to leave them alone, she further announced that she was going to be sick. That did it. The steward rushed, white faced to the nearest tap which was thankfully for them, three corridors away. The two women, tense, excited and with hands shaking then exchanged the real pearls clasped around Claribel’s slender neck for the double row of fake. It was a grizzly act. Neither would look the deceased in the eye as she lay regal and still, dressed in a midnight blue velvet evening gown. The footsteps returned, and agitating to be off, Henri inadvertently glanced at Claribel’s face. Her skin of alabaster evenness in life was equally smooth in death, but it was her mouth that brought her up with a start. Was she imagining things, or did Claribel smile?

*

‘No regrets then Mel?’

‘Oh yes! It was a very wicked thing to do. We’ll go to hell, for sure.’ Claribel’s small enigmatic smile still lingered in Henri’s mind. What if she knew of their crime? There was no telling with the dead. As with each dubious escapade, the guilt was now creeping over her like evening shadows. She recalled the steward’s look of surprise as the two of them had rushed past him muttering excuses while he stood mouth agape, the requested glass of water held limply in his hand. Once out of view they had shot down the stairs and out through a side entrance leading onto a back lawn which took them to the open field beyond.

‘Move it Henri. We’d better get home quick. And don’t get too fond of those pearls because we’ve got to sell ’em, remember.’

‘Well, at least let’s wait until after the funeral.’

Melanie, seized her arm.

‘Don’t be stupid! You don’t imagine that we can attend the funeral after what we’ve done, do you?’

‘We’ve got to attend. It’ll look odd if we don’t.’

Melanie sulked and kicked the grass about. Henrietta was naive. Had she forgotten the stress and worry they’d endured to get this far? All that quick lightning research: going to the library and wading through back dated Tatler magazines for pictures of Claribel so as to take photos of her necklace on their mobiles; visiting every flea market within fifty miles in search of a near match.

‘You’re not regretting this, are you, Mel? You’re looking ever so glum. It was your idea remember? Here, you try them on. Cheer yourself up.’

They dodged behind a Hawthorn bush and Henri withdrew the necklace from her pocket gently, reverently as though it were the Holy Grail. She undid the clasp and hung it ceremonially around her friend’s thick, short neck.

‘There!’ She stood back. ‘How do you feel?’

Mel looked down on the pearls as though they might bite.

‘Well?’

‘I don’t feel a thing.’

‘Not deliciously precious?’

‘No. I do not feel deliciously precious. Listen up! We go to our usual fence, sell for the best price he’ll offer, then split the cash fifty fifty. Get this thing