Murder on the Mary Jane

by Evelyn James

  Clara was starting to see the man in a new light. It seemed he was somewhat at the mercy of his senior employees and felt the need to mollify them. Here was a man who knew he could not run his company himself. For that matter, considering the stony silence of Simon and Elias, she guessed they would not be running it any time soon. The result was that he was dependent on men like Henry and Charles and that gave his senior managers a power over him that was simply remarkable.

  Clara squirrelled this information away in her memory for future reference.

  “Did Henry Kemp seem happy in Hove?” Clara asked.

  Arthur Noble seemed a little fazed by the question. His employees’ happiness was not a great concern of his unless it damaged the business.

  “I only really saw him twice a week for the company meeting. Monday morning and Thursday afternoon. He was always very proper and efficient at those.”

  “You had not noticed his drinking?” Clara pressed.

  Charles Walsh seemed to flinch a little at the question, Arthur Noble, however, did not hesitate this time.

  “I had no cause for concern in that department. Henry might have liked an odd tipple here and there, we are wine importers. We go to tastings and regularly must sample our own produce,” Arthur Noble’s tone had taken on a superior edge once again. He seemed to have lifted his head and be staring down his nose at the others round the table. “I noted at once, for instance, that the champagne served tonight was not from Noble and Sons, nor was it of a quality to compare with what we would supply.”

  Captain Pevsner was more amused than insulted by the remark and did not take it to heart.

  “I imagine you like to reward your employees’ hard work, Mr Noble,” Clara was playing to the man now, as a means to get him to speak more freely. He was arrogant, but insecure, and liked having his arrogance fed. “Which is why you arrange evenings like this?”

  “It is traditional. My father began the practice,” Arthur nodded, he glanced at his silent sons. “When I leave, my boys will continue what I have started.”

  Simon and Elias made no comment on that.

  “Did you spend the night together once you were onboard?” Clara asked him.

  “It was a bachelor evening, aside from Miss Dodd, who is always very welcome,” Arthur Noble cast a sideways look at the secretary. “Miss Dodd worked for my father before he retired. She is part of the family.”

  Clara was somewhat amused at how Arthur Noble kept repeating that phrase. She wondered what Miss Dodd felt about being an honorary part of this ‘family’? Perhaps she and Charles Walsh could have thought up a lot better way to spend their New Year’s Eve. Or, rather, they could think up other people they would much prefer to spend it with.

  “So, you stayed together as a party during the evening?” Clara wanted to pin down that information.

  “Well, there was not really much else we could do,” Arthur Noble babbled, seeming confused by the question. “We ate, we listened to the music. Miss Dodd was gracious enough to partner me in a slow waltz.”

  Charles Walsh had been growing more and more restless as his boss talked. Clara had her eye on him. He seemed to want to say something, but was not quite prepared to speak up. His fingers fidgeted on the table, and he was chewing on his lower lip, as if trying to keep from speaking.

  “Can you tell me what you all did when the evacuation was announced?” Clara asked Arthur Noble.

  Noble suddenly grew animated, he pulled himself up and thrust out his chest.

  “Quite the moment!” He declared, looking at Captain Pevsner with a smile. “I was in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve in the war. I used my father’s yacht. We came across the odd mine in our time, I tell you. When I heard what was happening I offered my services to Captain Pevsner. I was a good shot in the war and my eyesight remains near perfect, according to my personal optician. Captain Pevsner, however, felt I was too important to risk my life in such a fashion and insisted I must preserve myself by heading for a lifeboat.”

  Clara couldn’t help but glance at Pevsner, who was resisting the urge to smirk. His amusement was palpable. Pevsner would know how to play to his guest’s inflated ego to get him out of his way.

  “Instead, you took charge of ensuring your party was safely evacuated?” Clara suggested to Noble, pampering his sense of self-worth.

  Arthur Noble had puffed himself up like a peacock and it was fascinating to watch.

  “I did indeed. Nothing could be more important than the lives of my employees. Unfortunately, by going to offer my assistance to Captain Pevsner, I had had to separate from the others. I told Charles to get everyone in a lifeboat.”

  Clara’s eyes turned to Charles, she didn’t have to ask a question to get him talking, he was already desperate to speak.

  “That’s true,” he said. “Mr Noble said he was going to go see Captain Pevsner and inform him he was formerly in the RNVR and could be of assistance. He instructed me to ensure that everyone else went aboard the lifeboats.”

  “Where was Henry Kemp at this time?”

  “Henry had been standing at the edge of the sun deck,” Charles explained. “He had drunk a little too much champagne, or maybe it wasn’t the quality he was used to and it went to his head faster than he expected.”

  Charles was protective of his work colleague, even in death. Clara would have liked to get him on his own to discover what his true relationship with Henry was like.

  “Henry wasn’t in a great mood tonight. I thought something had upset him,” Charles continued. “When the evacuation was ordered and Mr Noble told me to see everyone on the lifeboats, I went up to Henry and said we were leaving and he ought to come. He protested, said he hated small boats and wanted to stay on the liner. I managed to persuade him that it would be best if he joined us, but, when we reached the lifeboats he became even more agitated. Every time I suggested he climb in, he pressed one of us to go ahead.”

  Charles sighed, slowly it was dawning on him that those last few minutes with Henry had sealed his fate. How different would it have been if he had just boarded a lifeboat?

  “Eventually we were all on the lifeboat and there was no one for Henry to tell to go ahead of him. A crewman tried to help him onto the boat, but I think he panicked. He went as white as a sheet and froze. Then he became angry and point-blank refused. He stormed off in a temper,” Charles looked miserable. “Henry was a proud man. He would not be seen to be scared. He would get angry rather than have people think less of him.”

  “Was that the last you saw of him?” Clara asked.

  “I started to get out of the lifeboat to follow him,” Charles explained. “But a crewman told me I mustn’t and that he would find Henry. I never saw him again. I assumed he had been put aboard another lifeboat.”

  “And when you returned to the liner, did you wonder where he might be?”

  Charles shrugged.

  “I did look for him, but I thought he might have gone off by himself. He might have felt embarrassed by what happened. Henry did sometimes go off to be on his own.”

  “All of you were on lifeboats while the mine was being dealt with?” Clara looked between them for confirmation. “You as well Mr Noble?”

  “What a foolish question, of course!” Noble snorted. “I went on a lifeboat after Captain Pevsner insisted.”

  “What happened to Mr Kemp?” Jane Dodd suddenly spoke.

  Her voice broke the tension of the room so abruptly that Arthur Noble seemed to startle. Jane Dodd had turned her attention to Clara. Previously she had concentrated on the table before her. She had a sharp and incisive gaze. Clara sensed that she had a strength to her that had enabled her to survive at Noble and Sons for the last two decades. She was certainly not a stupid woman, but she played things close to her chest.

  “Mr Kemp was stabbed down in the kitchens,” Clara explained, seeing no reason to honey-coat anything.

  She was interested in the reactions of the party.

  Miss Dodd did n
ot flinch, her stare remained firm and serious. Arthur Noble looked slightly sickened, though whether that was because his employee had been murdered, or because of the manner in which it had happened, Clara could not say. Charles Walsh looked miserable and hung his head, perhaps feeling responsible. Simon and Elias did no more than blink. Clara was starting to wonder if they actually had brains in their head, they seemed almost like puppets, brought along to perform by their father. If they thought for themselves, they certainly didn’t show it.

  “He was murdered?” Arthur Noble whispered the word.

  “Yes, and that is why I must discover what happened.”

  “It could not have been an accident?” Miss Dodd asked pointedly.

  Clara shook her head.

  “That seems extremely unlikely. Someone stabbed Henry Kemp, someone who did not leave the ship on a lifeboat,” Clara glanced around the table. “Did you know of anyone who might have felt animosity towards Mr Kemp?”

  “Enough to want to kill him?” Arthur Noble was astonished. “Henry was a tough negotiator when it came to wine contracts, but no one would kill him for that, surely?”

  “What of his private life? Do any of you know about his life outside of work?”

  Charles Walsh looked up with sad eyes.

  “Henry was a closed book. His private life was just that. Our association began at eight o’clock in the morning at the offices of Noble and Sons and ended at five o’clock. Apart from events such as this, arranged by Mr Noble, I never saw Henry outside of those hours.”

  “He did not talk about his family? Or what he was planning to do in his free time?” Clara asked in some surprise, even the most private of people usually gave some glimmer of what they did in their non-work-hours.

  “He never mentioned anything to me,” Charles confessed. “When we talked, it was always about work. I sometimes used to ask about what his plans might be for the weekend, but he always had a habit of deflecting questions rather than answering them. He was clever like that.”

  “He had a bicycle,” Arthur Noble volunteered. The news that Henry had been stabbed had obviously shaken him and he was now trying to be helpful. “I believe he was a member of a cycling club. I only know because I was once driving my car through Hove’s countryside and I spotted him. He had a flat tyre and I offered him a lift. He would only go as far as the bus stop, however.”

  “He wouldn’t let you take him home?” Clara asked, wondering if that was significant.

  “Henry said he did not want to inconvenience me and that the bus would get him near enough to his home for him to walk the rest of the way.”

  “What about his parents?” Clara enquired. “Do you know their names? They will have to be informed.”

  Arthur Noble cast looks at his employees, but no one said anything. A grimace came onto his face.

  “I don’t know their names, perhaps Miss Dodd has them in Henry’s employee records, but that is back ashore.”

  “Henry never mentioned his parents to me,” Charles added. “If I had not learned from Mr Noble that he had moved here to be near them, I would have assumed they were dead.”

  “And none of you can say if he had an enemy? Or if he was arguing with someone at the party tonight?”

  Everyone at the table shook their heads. Clara had learned all she could. She thanked them all for taking time out of their evening to speak to her and then said they could return to the party. They were all deflated as they walked out of the cabin. Arthur Noble, in particular, had lost his bluster. As he made his way back on deck, he had to squeeze past a woman in the corridor. Or rather, she flattened herself against a wall and Noble walked past without acknowledging her.

  The woman glanced at the open door to the cabin and quickly darted in.

  “I am looking for…” her eyes darted around the room and alighted on Bert who was still working over Pevsner’s puzzle. “Herbert!”

  Bert glance up sharply.

  “Mum!”

  He flew from the chair and to his mother, who grabbed him up in her arms. Bert’s mum began to weep softly.

  “I have been looking for you everywhere!”

  Clara looked to O’Harris and smiled. At least that was one problem resolved.

  Chapter Eight

  Bert Nightingale proved to actually be Herbert Nightly.

  “But I always call him my little nightingale,” his mother explained. “Bert Nightingale, I call him.”

  Hence the small boy’s confusion. Mrs Doris Nightly had bought the tickets for the New Year’s Eve party as a special treat and to change what was usually a sad day for her and Bert into something special.

  “My husband was killed on New Year’s Eve,” she said forlornly. “I always think of him on New Year’s and it was making the whole thing so sad for Bert. I wanted to change that. It is just me and him now, and we need to make the most of it.”

  With her profuse thanks for taking care of her son, Mrs Nightly departed with Bert. He grinned and waved at them over his shoulder, before they disappeared around a corner.

  “At least that is sorted,” O’Harris smiled.

  “Just our Henry Kemp mystery to deal with,” Clara nodded. “And a mystery it truly is. We have no idea who might have wanted to kill him.”

  “I ought to get back to my guests,” Captain Pevsner excused himself. “Feel free to use this room as your headquarters for the evening.”

  Alone together in the cabin, Clara and O’Harris mused over the case.

  “He must have encountered someone on the ship he knew,” O’Harris said out loud. “We can exclude anyone from Noble and Sons as they were all together.”

  “There are over two hundred passengers on this liner,” Clara said thoughtfully. “Not to mention the crew. That is a lot of potential suspects. Assuming, of course, this was something that had been brewing a while and was not due to a sudden argument.”

  Captain O’Harris shrugged.

  “We can’t exclude that, either.”

  He strode back and forth across the room for a few minutes, then he turned to Clara with a boyish grin on his face.

  “I like being your assistant, Detective,” he chuckled. “I can see why you do this, it is both frustrating and intriguing at the same time.”

  “There is that element to it,” Clara agreed with her own soft smile. “Helping people find justice plays its part as well but, at the root of it all, is a deep desire to solve the puzzle. I won’t deny that. This one, however, is proving a real teaser. There seems to be nothing to get your teeth into, no real lead to chase down.”

  “I thought Charles Walsh wanted to say more than he felt he could with his employer present,” O’Harris suggested.

  “Yes, I had that impression too,” Clara pulled a face. “Jane Dodd, for that matter, seemed to have something on her mind. Getting them alone will be the tricky part.”

  Clara paused and then smirked.

  “On the other hand, I rather doubt Simon and Elias Noble had minds, let alone anything on them!”

  “I can see why the company needs good managers,” O’Harris agreed with a roll of his eyes. “Arthur Noble is just a figurehead, oh, and the one who gets all the money from others’ hard work!”

  “Still, it would be interesting to get the sons alone and see if they have any views on Henry Kemp. One day they will inherit the business and you would imagine their father is preparing them for the role by involving them in the day-to-day running.”

  “You mean his twice weekly meetings?”

  “Yes, those,” Clara gave a sarcastic snort. “What a way to live! I wonder how he spends the rest of his time?”

  “Eating?” O’Harris postulated.

  Clara was going to reply when there was a polite knock on the cabin door, which remained open. They both turned, Clara feeling a little embarrassed about her idle talk and wondering if it might be one of the Noble and Sons party behind them. It was not. It was a crewman.

  “Captain Pevsner has instructed th
at anyone who saw Henry Kemp on the liner during the evacuation ought to speak to you,” the crewman said. He was no more than a lad, probably sixteen or seventeen. He still had that slightly high pitch to his voice that signalled he was only just progressing out of childhood and into adulthood. “I saw him and thought I should tell you.”

  Clara welcomed the young man into the cabin. He wandered in a little uncertainly and it was plain that, on any other day, the captain’s private cabin would be considered strictly off-limits. He looked around him with something akin to awe, before taking a chair at the table that Clara offered him.

  “Let’s begin with your name,” Clara suggested.

  “Ronald Long,” the crewman answered promptly. “Though everyone calls me Ronnie.”

  “And what is your role on the ship?” Clara asked.

  Ronnie shrugged his shoulders.

  “I am technically the cabin boy, I suppose. I get all the odd jobs. I do a lot of mopping, but I am also learning the ropes ready for promotion. I want to make a life out on the sea, maybe have my own liner one day.”

  Clara liked his ambition. He was a bright boy and clearly keen. She hoped his future panned out as he wished.

  “You saw Henry Kemp after the evacuation of the Mary Jane was announced?” Clara asked.

  “I did. He was at the food tables on the sun deck, muttering to himself.”

  “Was this after he had refused to get into a lifeboat?”

  Ronnie scratched at his head.

  “Maybe. No one else was on the sun deck, except the band. Captain Pevsner instructed them to keep playing no matter what,” Ronnie shrugged his shoulders, as if to say he had not understood the point of that.

  “What were you doing during the evacuation?” Clara changed tack.

  “Captain Pevsner wanted me to make sure everyone had left the ship. I went with the steward below to knock on all the cabin doors and check they were empty, then I came back on deck to see if anyone was still about.”

  “Which was when you saw Henry Kemp?”

  Ronnie pulled a face.

  “I did try to get him to leave the ship. I went up to him and asked him if he was aware of the evacuation order,” Ronnie sighed. “He told me to clear off, and then he asked me for champagne. The waiters had all boarded lifeboats by that point, so there was no one around to offer him a drink. I explained again that the ship was being evacuated and he replied that that was no excuse for a man to risk becoming sober.”