She didn’t seem to have listened.
He tried a more direct approach. ‘I’m told the Beau Nash Society dress up in period costume and you’re a member.’
‘A very junior member,’ she said from a million miles away.
‘Do you mind talking about it?’
‘I made my promises sometime last year.’
‘Promises?’
‘First you attend as a novice to see if you like it and if the members approve of you. If all goes well, you’re invited to an initiation ceremony when you promise to abide by the rules.’
‘Like a nun taking her vows?’
‘No,’ she said with a click of her tongue. She was getting her confidence back with this change of topic. ‘Not a bit like that. There’s nothing quasi-religious about the society. We have a mutual interest in the Beau, that’s all. He drew up a list of rules for the proper conduct of people using the Assembly Rooms, and the society did the same. Simple as that.’
‘Dressing up for meetings and suchlike?’
‘That’s in the rules, yes.’
‘But you don’t dance and gamble like the Beau?’
‘Sometimes at the annual ball we do. Mostly we invite speakers to address us on aspects of eighteenth-century life in Bath and Tunbridge Wells, where the Beau was MC. And we do all we can to safeguard his reputation.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that at risk?’
She raised a faint smile. ‘Between ourselves, it wasn’t all that good in his lifetime. We stand firm against anyone who takes liberties. His name is a brand in Bath. There used to be a Beau Nash cinema in Westgate Street and a Beau Nash pub at the top of Milsom Street. They both have new identities now.’
‘Did your society have something to do with that?’
‘They like to think they did. The Beau would have hated his name being used to sell things.’
‘Difficult to control.’
‘Of course.’
‘In the eighties there was a Beau Nash nightclub behind the Abbey in Kingston Parade.’ He realised as he spoke that she wasn’t even born in the eighties. ‘Long before I arrived here. But I was treated once to a Beau Nash brunch in the Pump Room.’
‘In the Pump Room?’
‘He wouldn’t have known what a brunch is.’
‘How ridiculous. Are you kidding?’
‘No. It struck me as funny at the time.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s no longer advertised,’ she said. ‘Those Pump Room people should be ashamed of themselves. Anyway, the Pump Room didn’t exist in his day.’
‘What about the Beau Nash bedroom in the Royal Crescent Hotel?’
‘The society knows about that. I don’t think anyone is so misguided as to believe he ever slept there. Like the Pump Room, the Royal Crescent wasn’t built until after his death.’
‘A bedroom isn’t so stupid-sounding as a brunch. Would he have objected? I thought he was in his element in bedrooms.’
She didn’t comment.
‘Is that your main activity?’ Immediately he turned the colour of a ripe Worcester apple. ‘Stop. I’d better rephrase that. Is that the society’s main object, suppressing the use of his name?’
‘Not at all. It’s not even in the rules. Simply something we keep an eye on.’
‘Your members must have some clout.’
‘Some of them do. It’s regarded as an honour to be invited to join.’
‘Councillors, local gentry, peers of the realm?’
‘All of those.’
‘How many altogether?’
‘I’m not sure. They aren’t all active.’
‘This is what interests me. One of them may be not active. Inactive, in fact.’
‘The skeleton?’ she said, eyes enormous. ‘One of our members?’
‘I have to ask.’
‘You’re seriously suggesting the skeleton could have been one of us?’
‘It’s a man in a frock coat and breeches with a Beau Nash hat and wig. We have to explore every possibility. Do the men all dress like that for the meetings?’
Estella shook her head. ‘The president. Only the president wears the white tricorne and black wig. We call him the Beau. It’s like a badge of office.’
‘Passed down from one president to the next?’
‘I couldn’t tell you that. I’ve never asked. The rest of us all supply our own costumes, so I would imagine they do the same.’
‘Must be expensive.’
‘It is. I had to get a gown made specially. Fortunately my parents helped out with the cost. Some of the ladies wear something different each time. I can’t possibly keep up with that, so I change the accessories — the hat and wig and necklaces. It’s a challenge. As the only black woman I stand out.’
‘Do the men change their costumes?’
‘Those who can afford to.’
‘How long has the society been in existence?’
‘I don’t know. Like I said, I’m one of the newest members.’
‘Who’s the current president?’
‘Sir Edward Paris, who built half of modern Bath as far as I can make out.’
‘I met him only this week.’ Tempted to add ‘pompous ass,’ Diamond chose for once to be tactful.
‘Funnily enough,’ Estella said, ‘he looks rather like the real Beau when he was about the same age.’
‘Is that a factor in choosing the president?’
‘No. He can be anyone approved by the members.’
‘Anyone who owns half of Bath?’
‘I guess that helps.’
‘How is he chosen? By election?’
‘I’m not sure. Ed was already in office when I joined.’
He noted the ‘Ed’ and was pleased he’d been discreet. ‘It’s a bit sexist, isn’t it, just having men for president? Aren’t the lady members eligible?’
She smiled. ‘I don’t think the society is ready for a cross-dressing Beau. But let’s give them credit. They’re not racists. They welcomed me to their ranks.’
‘I’m sure you know more about the real Beau than the rest of them put together.’
‘I thought I did. I’m so glad I didn’t speak to anyone about this nonsense.’ She finished her coffee. ‘I’d better get back.’
‘I’m truly sorry for the disappointment,’ he said.
‘I needed to know. If the skeleton had gone into the book, illustrations and all, that would have screwed up my reputation as a scholar. And I have learned something every other biographer has missed — the reports of his burial inside the Abbey. No one has nailed that before.’
For some minutes after Estella had left, Diamond remained at the table reflecting on what he’d heard. Then the call signal on his mobile jerked him back to the here and now.
He fumbled with the thing and almost dropped it. ‘Yes?’
‘Am I speaking to Mr. Diamond of the Bath police?’
‘You are.’
‘Janice Bale.’
He was usually good with voices and hopeless with names. He couldn’t place this lady.
‘Marks in Time.’
He still didn’t get it, but he said, ‘Right,’ in the expectation that she would fill him in and she did.
‘The Marks and Spencer company archive at Leeds. Your undergarment.’
‘The Y-fronts? Do you have a date for me?’
‘We studied all the pictures you sent and we can confirm that this particular design in pure white cotton with the elasticised leg opening has been widely retailed for a very long time, since at least 1952.’
‘As early as that?’
‘It was always popular. However, the selvedge is more modern, no earlier than 1970.’
‘That helps.’
‘And the St. Michael label in that particular design wasn’t introduced until 1989.’
‘Excellent. Was this line of pants replaced at some point?’
‘No, but the label changed in 1995.’
‘Brilliant. We’re looking at a six-year interval, then.’