Death at the Wychbourne Follies

by Amy Myers

‘Did she have a regular escort?’

  ‘Not as far as I recall. She liked dining at Romano’s and went there often with different escorts. She was always very reticent about her life outside the theatre and she did have a problem with stage-door johnnies pursuing her – my apologies, Arthur. I remember your attending the Gaiety after some performances.’

  ‘But hardly, my dear Katie, with designs upon the virtue of Gaiety Girls,’ he laughed.

  Lady Kencroft smiled. ‘Mary Ann’s problem with admirers was serious,’ she added. ‘She must have been scared, because I remember she asked me on one occasion if she could leave the theatre with Charles and me before taking a cab home. She always arrived at the stage door in a cab.’

  ‘If she was being threatened, then that could have led to her murder,’ Nell said.

  ‘I suppose so.’ Lady Kencroft looked worried. ‘It may seem strange now, but her disappearance was never much discussed after the police visits stopped. Long before her body was found, we had all privately decided she had been murdered, and that just confirmed it. The strange thing was that Mary Ann wouldn’t have dined at Romano’s with someone who scared her.’

  ‘Could that have been Mr Rocke?’ Nell asked. ‘You said he was very fond of her.’

  ‘Good heavens, no. Far from it. He was a refuge not a threat. One longed to throw oneself into his arms and sob one’s heart out.’

  Nell laughed. ‘Did you do that?’

  ‘Back then in the nineties, yes. I was very fond of Charles, but he was so attractive and we Gaiety Girls were all eager to marry into the peerage that he and Gerald were much sought after. But Charles chose me, and now I wonder why I was so jealous. Tobias was our linchpin, holding us together. Alice isn’t the sobbing sort, but even she confided in Tobias. We all did. Lynette used to alternately weep and rail about Neville and they married not long after Mary Ann disappeared. Constance too sought Tobias’s help. She was so much in love with Hubert, who took not the slightest notice of her in that respect, although he was forever telling her what a great career on the stage lay before him. Tobias advised her to stick with it, but I’m not sure that was the right advice. They too married shortly after that terrible evening. Neville was pally with Tobias too – I presume because he saw him as someone who could open career doors for him, even though he opened them very efficiently by himself.’

  ‘Did you know Mary Ann’s family?’

  ‘No, she never talked of it. I had the impression she lived on her own, though where I have no idea.’

  Tobias Rocke, friend to everyone, very fond of Mary Ann. Did he see himself as her protector? Nell wondered. If so, wouldn’t he have gone to great lengths to find out if she had enemies – and perhaps found one?

  ‘I don’t believe Gentle John killed Mr Rocke,’ Sophy said firmly. It was impossible to get on with her work for the local Labour party with this new cloud hanging over Wychbourne Court, but it was hard to get either Helen or Richard stirred up over it, Helen because she spent her time mooning over the latest London club gossip and Richard because his new passion, Miss Smith, had taken over whatever brain power he had.

  ‘Leave it to the police.’ Helen yawned. ‘They seem satisfied.’

  ‘But what if they’re wrong?’ Sophy said. ‘There were a lot of odd people here at the time.’

  ‘Jenny Smith says—’ Richard began.

  ‘And she’s one of them,’ Sophy snapped.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Helen reproved her. ‘Richard’s got a pash for her. How do you fancy her for a sister-in-law?’

  ‘Rotten.’

  Richard flushed. ‘She’s a good sport.’

  ‘More importantly, she’s a good hairdresser,’ Helen drawled.

  Sophy tried again. ‘This Gentle John business is serious, Richard. Ma and Pa are both involved in it.’ If only Rex Beringer hadn’t had to return to London. He was the most sensible one among them.

  Richard frowned. ‘It’s over. They’ve arrested John Palmer. One good reason we should go on fussing, Soph?’

  ‘Don’t call me Soph,’ she said crossly. ‘Good reason? Yes. I saw Tobias Rocke talking to Gentle John and his wife after the Follies and heard a bit of what he was saying. It was something like “Let’s have a little chat, Ethel, darling. Now. I’ve been having such a good time chatting with my old friends, but only one or two seemed really pleased to see me again, and I doubt if you are. What a sense of power that gives one.” Then they all walked off together.’

  ‘Did you tell the oh-so-polite inspector about this?’ Helen asked, for once concerned.

  ‘No. He didn’t ask to interview me and I’d forgotten it anyway. And when they arrested Gentle John I thought I might make it worse if I told them. Now I’ve had second thoughts because everyone seems to think Mr Rocke couldn’t have been killed for quite a while after that.’

  ‘And what, dear sister, will you do about these second thoughts?’

  ‘Tell Nell,’ Sophy said firmly.

  Nell eyed Mrs Fielding warily. She had that look on her face that meant she was longing to impart information, and probably bad news. Lunch in Mr Peters’ Pug’s Parlour provided an excellent time for her doing so.

  ‘They’re coming back,’ Mrs Fielding announced in tones of doom. ‘All of them.’

  ‘Staying here?’ Nell asked, as Mrs Fielding was obviously referring to the Gaiety guests.

  ‘They are, Miss Drury. The inquest’s Wednesday, tomorrow. And no doubt the guests will be expecting the best of everything again.’

  Nell immediately began planning in her mind. The fishman hadn’t yet called. With any luck he’d be carrying crab in his van – and maybe some halibut and turbot. That would be good. The peach house was closed for forcing purposes, but there’d be pineapple and with her existing stock she could serve oranges with ratafia cream. That would be a start anyway.

  The menus had to wait, though. When she returned to her Cooking Pot retreat, she found Lady Sophy patiently waiting for her.

  ‘Why do you need all these cookery books?’ she asked, leafing through Nell’s precious hundred-year-old copy of Mrs Rundell’s Domestic Cookery. ‘You must know quite enough recipes already.’

  ‘We build on the shoulders of giants,’ Nell quoted pompously.

  Lady Sophy giggled. ‘I don’t think Mrs Beeton is much of a giant except in the size of her book.’

  ‘Which is why I don’t build on her,’ Nell shot back. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Lady Sophy hesitated. ‘Something I haven’t told the inspector.’

  ‘Then tell me,’ Nell said, heart sinking, and she listened with horror as Lady Sophy recounted her story. This was not going to help Gentle John but she couldn’t be the judge of that.

  ‘What shall I do?’ Lady Sophy asked.

  ‘He’ll have to be told,’ Nell said, rapidly thinking it through, ‘but I’ll do what I can.’

  Lady Sophy was grateful, but that was premature, Nell thought. It would be a risk, but she would try tackling Ethel Palmer before breaking the news to Chief Inspector Melbray.

  On her way out, however, she ran straight into Lady Clarice who beamed at her with pleasure.

  ‘My dear Miss Drury, the most extraordinary event has taken place in the west wing. It was Tobias Rocke. I have no doubt of it.’

  ‘His ghost?’ Nell interpreted this. ‘Is that possible? He didn’t live or die at Wychbourne Court.’

  ‘That is true. But Mr Trotter suggested Mr Rocke’s sad spirit might have fled up here. It is my belief he is anxious to tell us something about his death. Could it be that he has come with a message about one of the guests who were here last week? Mr Trotter considers that is possible and has kindly offered to return to the Court after the inquest tomorrow. My brother tells me that their guests will be staying overnight. I would be so grateful if you could accompany us while we seek to find out if Mr Rocke will honour us again. The spirits trust you.’

  Once again Nell had to accept graciously. It seemed a small thi
ng to do, doubtful though she was about this new reputation she had acquired. It brought back her mistrust of Mr Trotter, unfortunately. A word about the darkroom with Lord Richard might be in order, she thought as she made her way down to Mill Lane and Ethel Palmer.

  ‘Your friend Mrs Squires wants me to help,’ she explained after Ethel Palmer had somewhat reluctantly invited her into Birch Cottage. ‘But it’s now emerged that your husband did have a motive for killing Mr Rocke, which is not what you told me earlier.’

  ‘Maybe, but he still didn’t kill him,’ Ethel said defiantly.

  Nell noted her crossed arms – a bad sign, from someone from whom she was hoping to extract truth. ‘I’ve also heard that you were talking to Mr Rocke after the Follies ended.’

  ‘Talking’s not against the law. We may have said a word or two to him.’

  Nell had had enough. Time for plain speaking. ‘If you get caught out on the witness stand, you’ll condemn your husband, Mrs Palmer. So better to tell the truth, no matter how bad it might look.’

  Gradually the arms were uncrossed, to Nell’s relief. ‘He came back home with us,’ she said sullenly. ‘Said he wanted to talk to me about the old days. Then he went off and we didn’t see him no more. And my John didn’t know about me being wed before anyway.’

  From the refolded arms and grim expression, Nell knew she’d get no further, so she tried a different tack. ‘Were you already married to Mr Rocke when you went to work for the Gaiety?’

  ‘Yes. He got me the job. No one knew we was wed. He said it was better that way. He had a twitchy nose where Miss Mary Ann was concerned and wanted me to keep him informed of every blessed thing she did. And he wasn’t Tobias St John Rocke when he and I got wed. He was plain Billy Wagstaff. He said that wouldn’t do for the London stage, so he went posh.’

  An interesting side to the keeper of secrets, Nell thought. ‘Were you still together with Billy after you left the Gaiety?’

  She shrugged. ‘No. While we was there he told me he wanted to split. Too dangerous for women in London, he said, and he’d a career ahead of him; he’d see I was all right for money, but I was on my own. I didn’t mind leaving, not after Miss Mary Ann had gone. Billy and I had only a couple of rented rooms and he forgot all about the dosh he promised me. When his lordship heard I was being turned out of my rooms, he said I could have one of his cottages, so I comes here and meets my John, and we got wed in a year or two. I didn’t see anything wrong in that, and no one was going to know about Billy and me here, not even his lordship. Billy had changed his name when he came to the theatre but I just stayed plain Ethel Wagstaff.’

  ‘Didn’t anyone at the Gaiety know?’

  ‘There may have been rumours but no one really knew. We kept it dead quiet. You could have knocked me down with a feather when his lordship told me last week Billy was coming here with some of the old Gaiety folk. John wanted to go and gawp at them, so I thought why not? No one knew except us that Billy and me had been wed.’

  ‘Did you know what happened to Mary Ann? Your Billy must have been as upset as you were over her disappearance as I’ve heard he was fond of her.’

  ‘And didn’t I know it. Always pushing me for every little detail.’

  One more try. ‘Are you sure you didn’t see who Mary Ann dined with that night? Wouldn’t her escort have come to the dressing room door to meet her?’

  ‘Never saw him if he did.’ Then she reconsidered. ‘Could it help my John if I tell you?’

  ‘It might.’ Nell held her breath.

  ‘I’ve kept my mouth shut all these years. It were him, weren’t it. Lord Ansley.’

  ‘You wanted to see me, Miss Drury?’ Lord Richard poked his head round the door of the chef’s room. He came in, clutching his brow mockingly. ‘Please tell me you’re not going to scold me over my attentions to Miss Smith?’

  ‘Not today, your lordship,’ Nell replied demurely. She was glad of his arrival; it was a distraction from Ethel’s revelation about Lord Ansley. She was still reeling from its implications.

  ‘You’re not a servant and you’re not humble, Nell Drury. What’s up?’

  ‘Timothy Trotter is up.’

  ‘Ah. Our spook-chaser. Pity he never quite catches one. I take it you have doubts?’

  ‘Let’s say there are interesting coincidences between published photographs of the spirit subjects before their death and those taken after by Mr Trotter.’

  Lord Richard laughed. ‘Really? What ho, as Bertie Wooster would say. Spirit photographers have been debunked before now.’

  ‘How would our Mr Trotter be falsifying the photos?’

  ‘Double exposures, perhaps. I’ve heard of that. Images of the subject cut out, photographed and the plates doctored. There were some scraps of paper and cardboard in the darkroom with pictures of people and all sorts of other things on them. He was certainly busy there all day. The pater doesn’t trust him an inch.’

  ‘You saw Mr Rocke coming out of that darkroom. Do you think he could have discovered Mr Trotter’s little secrets?’

  He looked at her in admiration. ‘I say, Nell, that is a thought.’

  Hanging over her like a dark cloud was the thought of having to relay all her new information to Alex Melbray before tomorrow’s inquest. Late in the afternoon, Nell plucked up her courage to put through a trunk call to Scotland Yard to see if she could meet him before the inquest began.

  To her relief, he sounded amused. ‘A picnic lunch already, Nell? In the snow and ice?’ He told her that he would be visiting Wychbourne Court after the inquest, but nevertheless he would be arriving early and could manage a brief meeting.

  With that fixed, there was just one more annoying job to do before the day was over – checking the outside game larder for tomorrow’s venison. The poor lighting in the kitchen yard made the covered path eerie at this time of night. Her pocket torch was helpful but hardly enough, and the rain was driving through the open side of the covered way. Nell picked her way carefully to the far end and over the gravelled yard and was much relieved when she reached the larder door. Immediately she opened it, though, she realized she was not alone. Sprawled on the floor, clasping a bottle in one hand, was a man whom she recognized, thanks to her torch. It was Jethro. What had he been helping himself to?

  ‘What the cackling cobnuts are you doing here?’ she exploded.

  ‘Having a quiet moment, Miss Drury,’ he sneered. ‘And yourself?’

  ‘Working,’ she said briskly.

  ‘Cooking ain’t work.’

  ‘Whereas poaching and pinching food are?’ she retorted. What now? Ignore him and continue with her task? She was uneasy, aware that he too was deciding his next move. She had the door behind her fortunately, but she’d be blowed if she was going to retreat without what she’d come for just because of his leering attitude.

  ‘Heard you were turning into a proper Sherlock Holmes,’ he said, watching her as she checked the venison.

  ‘Wrong. Get moving, Jethro,’ she said when she finished.

  ‘Who’s going to make me?’

  ‘Not me,’ she snapped. ‘But it will be a question of who comes to arrest you tomorrow if you don’t leave. Especially if that’s one of our pheasants I see in your bag.’

  ‘You mind your own business.’

  ‘Which you just informed me was detecting crimes.’ Nell was on guard now. He was on his feet and moving closer. She could even smell his breath.

  ‘Pheasants ain’t crimes. Not like murder. Not like the bloke as was killed. Surprised the rozzers don’t think I did it. I gets the blame for most stuff round here. But they arrested old Palmer and I’m told they charged him too. Did he do it? I ask. I could tell a story, I could. Shall I tell it you, Miss Drury?’ He stepped even closer and this time she did retreat.

  ‘Tell the police,’ she countered. She’d have to risk turning her back on him if she was going to reach that door.

  ‘Maybe I will,’ he shouted after her, as she successfully reached
the night air again.

  At least she had discovered why Jethro was out on snowy nights. He probably had other customers than his father for the contents of the Wychbourne Court larders, paying customers. It put a new twist on the medieval custom of feeding the poor from the rich man’s table.

  When she arrived at the Coach and Horses on Wednesday morning, arrangements for the inquest were already under way, with motor cars and vans outside the pub and officials very evident inside it. This, she suspected, was going to be no friendly chat, and definitely not an ‘Alex’ day. This was business and she was facing an awkward conversation. She steeled herself as she entered the downstairs room to which she was directed. The chief inspector was already there when she arrived, rising to greet her. Oh yes, she could see immediately that talk of picnics was off the menu. He came straight to the point.

  ‘Does this have to do with John Palmer or Mary Ann Darling?’

  Take the bold path, she thought. ‘Both.’

  ‘John Palmer has been charged, as I expect you know. And I have read the files on Miss Darling. An interesting case. She was last seen on Thursday 8 June 1893. Her body was identified two years later by Mrs Elsie Humbold, her landlady, who had originally reported her missing shortly after her disappearance. There was a note that this was in agreement with Mr George Edwardes, as there was no known family. The investigation at the time of her disappearance into whether foul play or suicide might be involved was then closed.’

  ‘What was the cause of death?’ Nell instantly asked. ‘Was she murdered? And if so who were the suspects? Was there another investigation?’

  ‘One of the things I like about you, Nell, is that you leap straight into the boiling cauldron. It must be all those potatoes you cook.’

  ‘This cauldron isn’t boiling,’ she said indignantly. ‘It’s had over thirty years to cool down.’

  He laughed. ‘Then why the eagerness to speak to me this morning? I’m delighted of course. Very much so. However, to answer your question: the coroner’s court verdict was cause of death unknown owing to decomposition. She had been identified through her jewellery, and with the passing of time the inquest failed to catch the attention of the newspapers, save for a few brief notices. In those days, cases of unfortunate women found drowned in the Thames were not uncommon. The Yard closed the file, having concluded that the investigations it carried out in ’ninety-three were satisfactory and a further one could not be repeated with any hope of their shedding more light on the verdict given by the coroner’s court.’