The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(20)

Arthur glanced at the tiger again. It seemed to be looking longingly at his exposed leg. He could hear Bernadette’s voice in his head. “You silly old bugger. Why did you climb the bloody fence?”

“Elsie. No,” a man’s angry voice suddenly bellowed out. “Get off. Bad girl.”

The tiger, or tigress as Arthur now knew, turned her head to face the shout. Then she glared back at Arthur. They stared at each other and shared a moment. She was undecided. She could tear his head off at any time. Eating this white-haired old man would be a treat. A bit gristly, maybe, but she could cope with that.

“Elsie.” There was a thud and a thick, bloody steak landed on the grass a few inches from his ear. It must have been tastier than his head because the tigress gave him a haughty I’ll let you go this time glance and then sauntered off.

Arthur didn’t like to swear but...shit. He released his breath as a loud whoosh.

He felt a strong arm push under his back, helping him to sit upright. He tried to assist all he could. His arm hung loosely by his side.

Beside him, squatting down, was Lord Graystock. He had put on a blue shirt and matching waistcoat adorned with small mirrors that glinted in the sun. It was the same hue as his blue trousers. “What the bloody hell are you doing, man?”

“I just wanted to...”

“I should call the police. You’re trespassing on private property. You could have been killed.”

“I know,” Arthur rasped. He looked down at his arm. It looked like he’d been paintballed with a splat of scarlet.

“That’s just a scratch.” Graystock huffed. He rolled up his trouser leg to reveal a melted wax patch of skin reaching from his ankle to his knee. “That is a proper injury. You were lucky. Tigers aren’t pets that you can come and stroke, you know.”

“I didn’t come to see the tigers.”

“No? Then why were you playing wrestling with Elsie?”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth. The accusation that he was playing was ridiculous. “I came to see you.”

“Me? Ha! Can’t you ring the doorbell like a normal person?”

“I’ve traveled a long way. I couldn’t go without speaking to you.”

“At first I thought you were one of the local youngsters playing dare. A couple of times I’ve caught a poor teenage lad, hanging by his T-shirt from the railings, terrified and begging for help. You’re lucky that Elsie just wanted to play with you.” He sat back on his heels. “Don’t you think you’re too old for acrobatics?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You’re not one of those animal rights activists?”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m a retired locksmith.”

Graystock grunted. He helped Arthur to his feet. “Let’s get you inside and get you a bandage for your arm.”

“I think I may have twisted my ankle, too.”

“Well, don’t even think about trying to sue me. A journalist tried it once, when one of the tigers wanted to play and scratched his shoulder. I’ll warn you now that I don’t have a penny to my name.”

“I’m not going to sue you,” Arthur said. “This is my own fault. I’ve been an idiot.”

*

The manor smelled of damp, furniture polish and decay. The entrance hall was all white marble and the walls were lined with portraits of Graystock’s ancestors. The floor was paved with black-and-white-checkered tiles like a huge chessboard. An oak staircase swerved from the center of the hallway. The manor was run-down. Arthur couldn’t imagine paying ten pounds to look around it, but that was the price displayed on a desk opposite the door as they walked in. The house had been grand once. But now paint peeled from the ceiling mural of swooping cherubs and swathes of red curtain.

Graystock led the way and Arthur limped a few paces behind. He wasn’t sure which part of his body hurt the most.

“The house has been in my family for years. I only use a few rooms now,” Graystock said. “I can’t afford to live here but I don’t want to move out. Come through.”

Arthur followed him into a dark room stuffed with leather armchairs and in which roared a real open fire. Over the stone mantelpiece was a Pre-Raphaelite-like painting of a lady in a white flowing dress. She was sitting on the grass with her arms draped around a tiger that nuzzled under her chin. He peered more closely to make sure that it wasn’t Miriam. It wasn’t.

As he lowered himself into a comfy green leather chair next to the fireplace, Graystock poured brandy into a tumbler. “No, I...” Arthur protested.

“You’ve stared death in the face, man. You need a drink.”

Arthur accepted it and took a sip.

Graystock sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire. He took a swig from the neck of the brandy bottle. “So why are you here, prowling around my garden and upsetting my girls?”

“Girls?”

“My tigers, man. You got Elsie overly excited.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I’m here to ask you about my wife.”

“Your wife?” Graystock frowned. “Has she left you?”

“No.”

“Was she one of my harem?”

“You really had a harem?” He thought of Bernadette telling him about Graystock’s lifestyle—of wild parties and orgies.