by Evelyn James
“You have my word, Sir, that no harm will befall you for speaking the truth.”
Mr Greene did not look convinced. His face betrayed every bit of his nerves and Clara was certain he was about to back down and refuse to talk. What happened next took everyone by surprise.
Arthur Noble rose from his chair and the movement attracted Greene’s attention. He looked even more frightened as his benefactor stood before him. Arthur Noble was still red in the face from his heart attack, he was breathing deeply just from standing up, but he spoke firmly to Mr Greene.
“You have my protection, Mr Greene. I want to hear the truth of this matter. I want to know what my son did. You need fear nothing, Mr Greene. Upon my honour, you will suffer no repercussions, do you understand?”
Mr Greene seemed dazed, as if the sight of Mr Noble, a man he owed everything to, had stunned him. Then he nodded slowly.
“I understand,” he croaked.
“Father!” Simon Noble protested.
Arthur Noble turned sharply, the colour in his face shading to an unpleasant purple hue.
“Do not call me father, after what you have planned!” He yelled at Simon. “I did not raise you as my successor, for you to sell my company – the family company – the second you could, to get your greasy paws on my money. Your grandfather must be turning in his grave! He was so glad the day you were born, thinking that Noble and Sons’ future within the family had been secured for another generation. Instead you have betrayed us all!
“And as for your attack on Mr Kemp – do you know how hard it is to find managers of his calibre? He was worth a dozen of you, my boy!”
Simon Noble took a pace backwards. Up until that moment there had been a glimmer of hope that all might be resolved, that his father might come around. Now he understood that everything was to be taken from him. He kept backing up, until his legs hit the sofa beneath the porthole and he collapsed unceremoniously onto it.
Arthur Noble had turned back to Mr Greene.
“What did you see?” He asked him.
Mr Greene had watched Simon stumble away in astonishment. He looked Arthur Noble in the face, his trembling had stopped. Resolved, he spoke;
“I happened to walk past the kitchen doorway and I saw Simon Noble arguing with another man. Mr Noble picked up a knife and he thrust it at the other man. The other man gasped and then fell to the floor. I… I was afraid to stay any longer.”
No one spoke after Mr Greene had finished. Arthur Noble slowly returned to his seat. He seemed satisfied, in a strange way. Elias Noble had been hovering in a corner. He stepped forward, closer to the table.
“I would like to retract my confession,” he said quietly. “Simon told me what he had done and gave me the key. He said, if anyone asked, I was to say I had killed Mr Kemp, as no one could prove it and it would never go to court.”
“What did he promise you in return?” Clara asked him.
Elias hung his head.
“Simon told me he was going to sell the company when he inherited it. If I helped him, I would get a share of the profits.”
“Why did you not come to me?” Arthur Noble asked his son, his tone had lost its fire, it sounded more disappointed than anything else now.
“I didn’t think you would believe me,” Elias said simply.
Arthur Noble looked bleak. Clara surmised that he realised that was true enough. Without hard evidence, Arthur would not have wanted to believe his eldest son and heir was about to betray him.
“Well,” Inspector Park-Coombs broke the silence, “I think that about wraps things up. Simon Noble, I am arresting you for the murder of Henry Kemp.”
Simon Noble laughed miserably.
“Stupid fool! He would have kept his job, you know? He was one of the company’s main assets. Why did he have to be so bloody loyal?”
~~~*~~~
They were once more leaving the Mary Jane. Captain Pevsner was stood at the bottom of the gangplank looking up at his old liner. He looked forlorn and lost. A man who had glimpsed into his future and disliked what he saw. Clara and O’Harris met him as they walked from the ship.
“Thank you for all your assistance, Miss Fitzgerald,” Captain Pevsner held out his hand for her to shake.
Clara appreciated the gesture; a lot of men would not have offered.
“What happens now, Pevsner?” Captain O’Harris asked. “Are you really going to scrap her?”
Captain Pevsner stared up at his ship. The sun had broken through the rain and gave the old vessel a gentle golden glow.
“She is passed her time,” Pevsner said sadly. “Better she go to her rest with grace and under her own power, than to be towed in because her engines have failed and her hull is as leaky as a sieve. She deserves dignity.”
Captain Pevsner smiled wistfully.
“I suppose the same goes for me. Time to become a landlubber.”
“I wish you all the best Captain,” Clara told him. “I am glad I was able to join you for the last voyage of Mary Jane.”
Captain Pevsner looked surprised.
“Really? Considering all that happened?”
“Really,” Clara assured him. “I am only sorry I could not have resolved the situation more discreetly, but hopefully it has not soured things too much for you.”
“I have come to think of it as a fitting final drama in the saga of Mary Jane. She has seen some times, you know. I hope to God we never see the like again,” Captain Pevsner gave them a naval seaman’s salute. “Safe sailing, you two.”
O’Harris and Clara returned the farewell and then began walking back towards O’Harris’ car.
“Miss Fitzgerald?”
Clara turned and saw that Charles Walsh was running up to them.
“Mr Walsh.”
“I wanted to say thank you, for solving this mystery,” Charles Walsh came to a halt before her and looked suddenly nervous. “It’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it? Thanking you for discovering my employer killed my colleague.”
Walsh gave an anxious cough.
“I think Miss Dodd would very much have appreciated it. I regret not being able to stop her from doing… what she did.”
“You did not expect her to toss herself overboard,” Clara reminded him gently. “That was her decision.”
“I suppose,” Walsh tapped his feet and was clearly keen to be moving on. “Mr Noble approached me a short while ago. He wants to promote me into Henry’s position. I feel slightly odd about it. Dead man’s shoes, and all that.”
“Don’t,” O’Harris said. “Henry would not have minded. And the company needs a steady hand in the difficult times ahead.”
“Yes,” Walsh shook his head, as if he didn’t really believe what had happened. “Neither Simon or Elias Noble will inherit the company now, or so I have been told. It is going to Mr Noble’s daughter who I have never met. Hard to think of the company in a woman’s hands.”
“Don’t knock it,” Clara winked at him. “Women are fully capable of doing a man’s job.”
“Oh, yes, it is not that,” Walsh quickly corrected himself. “It’s just… will they have to rename it Noble and Sons and Daughter?”
Charles Walsh grinned at them. He gave them a jolly farewell then hurried off, heading for his own home before the evening closed in. Clara would be glad to get to her house too. She followed O’Harris to the car and slipped inside when he opened the door. The captain climbed in the other side and gave a sigh.
“To Miss Fitzgerald’s house, Jones.”
The car slowly rolled off.
“Quite a remarkable New Year’s,” O’Harris mused, relaxing back into the leather seat. “I’ll not forget this one in a hurry.”
“Sorry about that,” Clara said.
“Nonsense! Best New Year’s I have ever had!” O’Harris remarked. “But I do have to ask one thing.”
“What is that?” Clara smiled at him.
“Did I do all right?”
Clara laughed.
“You were absolutely fine!”
“A worthy side-kick?”
“Positively!”
O’Harris beamed, his smile stretching from ear-to-ear.
“Good. Glad to be of assistance. And, if you ever need someone to back you up in the future, I’ll happily take up the task. I’ll be the Watson to your Holmes.”
Clara was grinning now.
“Next time I might even get paid for solving the case,” she chuckled. “I rather did this one out of a sense of duty.”
“Well, personally, I am expecting a complimentary crate of champagne and wine from my import company, if they have any sense in the matter,” O’Harris raised an eyebrow.
“I think Charles Walsh will arrange something,” Clara agreed. “Still, how about we end our first day of 1922 in a rather quiet and boring fashion?”
“Sounds delightful,” O’Harris said in amusement.
“Dinner at mine then?”
“Perfect.”
“Jones, you’ll join us too?”
Jones, who had not really been listening to the conversation, heard the invitation and was almost startled enough to run the car into a lamppost. O’Harris reached forward and patted his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, old boy, you’ll get used to her,” he said mischievously. “She is rather unconventional.”
“I shall gladly take that as a compliment,” Clara smiled.
