"Mortimer, John - Rumpole on Trial" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)

The boy ran home to tell his father and stepmother, for Jonathan was the son of Lord Sackbut by his first and divorced wife. In due course, the police, the ambulance, the pathologist, Dr Matthew Malkin, and Lord Sackbut himself, gathered by the lake. They were joined by Dr Hugo Swabey, the local coroner, and Mr Pringle, the coroner's officer.

Swabey, as I got to know him, was a self-important and officious man in his sixties, dressed as though anxious to give the impression that he was a local squire or country landowner, although his clothes were far too new for the role.

Pringle, the officer who accompanied him, was a stout and elderly ex-policeman with a Yorkshire accent and a perpetual, inappropriate smile. The coroner welcomed the pathologist, told the police he wanted the deceased's personal effects sent over to his office as soon as possible, and spoke with careful politeness to the castle owner. 'Good morning, my Lord. I thought it right to get my inquiries going as soon as possible.

I must ask you, have you seen the body?' 'Yes, of course,' Richard Sackbut told him. 'My boy found it.' 'Can you help us, then. Anyone you can recognize?' ". 'No. No, of course not,' Lord Sackbut told him. 'No one I've ever set eyes on.' And with this he got into his Range Rover and drove back to the castle.

For our weekend visit, Hilda seemed to have packed a wardrobe that would have seen us through a long summer holiday. Our taxi from the station dropped us outside the main entrance at the West Gate. As I staggered in with our suitcases, the attendant told us to leave our luggage with him and said, 'The rest of you've gone up. Hurry along.' So we climbed the wide stone staircase and found ourselves in a great hall with narrow windows, bare of furniture except for suits of armour and brutal-looking weapons arranged in great circles on the walls. In the distance we saw a group of people and a man in a dark suit who was signalling to us and calling out, 'Over here, my party!' 'Why does he call it "his" party, Rumpole?' Hilda was puzzled, and I let her wonder on as the man showed us the view from a window. 'From here you get a good view of the East Tower. See that narrow window up at the top there?

That's what they called My Lady's Boudoir. Little room where they say the yth Baron Sackbut locked up his lady wife on account as she'd got overly familiar with the steward. Not a very comfortable boudoir, by all accounts.' 'Is the family about?' Hilda cut him short by asking.

'Lord and Lady Sackbut are in residence,' he told her.

'Yes. They occupy the East Wing, which was built as a family mansion in the year 1792. We will now go down to the moat and the formal gardens. Come along, my party.' But Hilda had seen a door beside which a notice read private apartments, no admission. 'In here, Rumpole!' She gave the order as she led the way through it.

'Madam!' the tour guide said, 'that's not open to the public.' 'We are not the public,' Hilda said as she swept out of view.

I followed murmuring an apologetic 'She Who Must...' to the outraged guide.

Through the magic doorway we found ourselves in a long passage which led to the open door of a drawing-room. When we reached it, we found it comfortably furnished, with chairs and sofas, a big fireplace and family pictures on the walls, a line of Sackbut faces, predominantly male. High windows opened on to the terrace of the castle. Sitting in a window seat a pale boy was alone, reading a book. He looked up and peered through his glasses as Hilda approached.

'We are the Rumpoles. We have been invited for the weekend,' said Hilda.

The boy stared at Hilda silently.

'Is your mother... I mean, is Rosemary?' 'They're not back yet, I'm afraid. There's only me.' 'Oh, well. I'm Hilda Rumpole. This is my husband,' said Hilda. Jonathan put down his book carefully, having turned down the page, and advanced on Rumpole with his hand stretched out. 'Good afternoon, sir. I'm Jonathan Sackbut.' 'Horace Rumpole.' We shook hands.

'I'm Rosemary's cousin, you know.' Hilda made her position clear.

'Once removed,' I added.

'Really, Rumpole, don't let's go into all that.' At this moment, a young woman came in and called from the doorway, 'Auntie Hilda!' She had a rather solemn, sad face and floating brown hair. Her youth made her attractive; in middle age her looks might harden. She talked in a brisk manner with the brightness of youth.

'Oh, Rosemary, there you are at last!' Hilda was relieved.

'I'm sorry. Richard's driving the lorry back from Welldyke Show. I took the car. I was terrified of keeping you waiting.' And Rosemary told me, 'You must be Uncle Horace.' 'I've got no alternative.' 'Jonathan,' Rosemary spoke to the boy for the first time, 'I hope you've been entertaining the Rumpoles.' 'Not really.' He picked up his book and went out on to the terrace. Rosemary looked after him. Theirs, I thought, was not an easy relationship, stepmothers have a difficult time.

'Let's see if we can rustle up some tea.' Rosemary pushed a bell near the fireplace. 'Richard was so disappointed you couldn't come to the wedding.' 'Were we asked?' I wondered.

'Of course! Well, I'm sure you were. We sent out so many invitations... Perhaps you were away?' 'We're hardly ever away. Are we, Rumpole?' 'Oh, hardly ever,' I confirmed Hilda's evidence.

'You know, Rosemary dear, it was so funny when we arrived.

They treated us like members of the public! Wasn't it funny, Rumpole?' 'Oh, hilarious,' I agreed.

'You would like a cup of tea, wouldn't you. Uncle Horace?' Rosemary was clearly trying to make up for the absence of a wedding invitation.

'Well, if you have got anything in the nature of a bottle of red. Nothing of any particular distinction. Peasants' claret would be perfectly acceptable.' 'Rumpole!' She Who Must Be Obeyed was not pleased.