Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murders Read Free Page B

magistrates’ clerks, and were able, more often than not, to pull off some sort of victory. Our relationship had so far advanced that, when I saw a dance for junior members of the bar and their guests announced in the Inner Temple Hall, I decided in a moment of reckless extravagance on the hire of a dinner jacket and tickets, supper included, for self and Daisy Sampson.
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    We were waltzin’ together to a dreamy melody When they called out ‘Change partners’
    And you waltzed away from me.
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    Although I was slowly gaining some experience as a barrister, I had far less experience as a dancer. Miss Daisy Sampson was so unfailingly cheerful and tolerant, however, that I was able to stroll round the dance floor, keeping my arm around her waist and my feet out of her way, and I imagined myself entirely happy in the early part of that evening.
    And then, even as we danced, I heard a high commanding voice, the bray of an Eton accent, and turned to recognize Reginald ‘Reggie’ Proudfoot, who had been the prosecutor in some of our cases.
    â€˜Hey there, Rumpole! That girl’s far too pretty for you to be dancing with.’ At which the egregious Proudfoot advanced on us and, with an arm round Daisy, turned her into the dancing position, a process to which, I was sorry to notice, she offered little or no resistance.
    â€˜That’s as may be, Proudfoot -’ I was anxious to keep the proceedings polite - ‘but Miss Sampson is my partner.’
    â€˜Not now,’ he assured me. ‘It’s the “Gentlemen’s Excuse Me” and we’re fully entitled to carry off each other’s partners. I suppose you don’t go to many dances? You’ve got a lot to learn, Rumpole. A whole lot to learn.’ At which the abominable prosecutor waltzed away with Daisy while the singer in the band repeated the verse I have quoted above.
    I was walking moodily towards the bar when I heard another voice, clear as a bell but this time female, call, ‘Rumpole!’ I turned to see a fresh-faced and determined-looking young woman of my own age finishing an ice cream. I was, as I was so rarely to be in the future, temporarily lost for words.
    â€˜You are Rumpole, aren’t you? I heard Reggie Proudfoot call you Rumpole.’
    â€˜Well, yes,’ I had to concede, ‘I am Rumpole.’
    â€˜I thought so! And you’re in Daddy’s chambers.’
    â€˜Daddy?’ For a moment her description of our Head had me puzzled.
    â€˜I’m Hilda Wystan.’ She gave a final lick to her ice-cream spoon and put it down on the glass plate. Little guessing what the future held, I said I was pleased to meet her, or made some such neutral remark.
    â€˜I like to keep my finger on the pulse of chambers,’ she told me. ‘I often drop in to see how Daddy’s managing you all. Albert tells me you’re always before some Court of Petty Sessions. They must be keeping you pretty busy and you’re not such a white wig after all. Although, come to think about it, you don’t wear wigs in those inferior courts, do you? So your wig’s probably as white as ever.’
    I resolved to get hold of my wig and kick it around the dusty floor of the chambers’ cellar until all its whiteness had gone for ever.
    These thoughts were interrupted by Hilda Wystan. ‘So, Rumpole, if you’re so good at asking for things in front of the magistrates, aren’t you going to ask me to dance?’
    It was less a question than a command and I found myself obeying it. Hilda didn’t laugh so much as Daisy, but she uttered sharp orders such as ‘Left, left and left again’ or ‘We’re coming up to the corner now, so chassé , Rumpole. Please remember to chassé !’
    I saw Daisy Sampson laughing with Reggie Proudfoot’s friends at the far end of the hall as I was steered through several more dance numbers by Hilda Wystan, including