Death at the Wychbourne Follies

by Amy Myers

  ‘Mary Ann and I had a private room and as far as I know no one saw us come or leave. Certainly not those in the restaurant. Fortunately for my reputation, I did meet Signor Romano himself who could verify that I had returned after Mary Ann’s departure. He was surprised to see me alone as he knew I’d arrived with Mary Ann, but as Romano was used to such surprises he showed the utmost discretion and I wasn’t questioned by the police. I had chatted to Signor Romano for ten minutes or so before returning upstairs to have a reviving brandy. The usual waiters weren’t on duty that evening, so the Roman, as we called him, brought it up himself and we talked of the lovely Mary Ann. I couldn’t know of course that that would be her last appearance. I suspected that she would not return, although not for such a terrible reason.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Jarrett were in the room next you,’ Nell remembered. ‘Did they not see you?’

  ‘Luckily, I think not. Hubert was greatly attached to Mary Ann and it hadn’t been the first time that Mary Ann was dining there and he managed to be seated in the adjoining room. His attachment was not reciprocated. I always – I know you are the soul of discretion, Nell – thought that Constance was second best for him; he married her very shortly after Mary Ann’s disappearance.’

  Another persistent suitor then, Nell thought. ‘Mr Murano told me today that Mrs Jarrett joined Lady Kencroft, Miss Maxwell and Mrs Reynolds in the restaurant later on that evening, because Mr Jarrett had left early.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’ Lord Ansley frowned. ‘I suspect that Hubert merely walked off in a huff having realized that Mary Ann had slipped away. I can’t believe he was the mysterious lover in the cab. He’s an odd fish though.’

  Nell hesitated. ‘Mr Rocke was a great admirer of Mary Ann too.’

  Lord Ansley looked at her. ‘And where does that take us, Miss Drury?’

  She grimaced. ‘I don’t know. It’s hard to see how he could have been too persistent an admirer because he was married to Ethel then.’

  ‘I don’t believe that would have greatly inhibited Tobias’s life,’ Lord Ansley said drily. ‘But then who knows with Tobias? He remains the best kept secret of all.’

  TEN

  Nell felt like a yo-yo, whirled between the story of Mary Ann Darling and raspberry dumplings – that being the particular recipe her eye had fallen on. True, raspberries were out of season, but would it work with raspberry preserve? Back to Mary Ann: did Lady Ansley know the story? She could always fall back on whip syllabubs. Good standby. And what about that other favourite of Dr Johnson’s, veal pie with plums and fish sauce, for an entrée? What could have happened to Mary Ann after she set off in the cab with her lover? Had she met her death at his hands? Fruit – she must find some fruit. How would that have affected the Gaiety? Stop this, she ordered herself. Daily life deserved her full attention – even if Mrs Squires was late again.

  It was because of Ethel once more that Mrs Squires bustled in breathlessly at ten thirty on Sunday morning. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Drury. Ethel’s in a real lather.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Nell asked, alarmed. Ethel’s situation had been bad enough already without more trouble.

  ‘I can’t think what’s come over her,’ Mrs Squires lamented. ‘Mr Rocke’s funeral is tomorrow and she’s running around like a dog with two tails. I don’t know how we’re going to manage either.’

  ‘How we’re going to manage?’ Nell frowned. ‘It won’t affect us much here if the family has to go to London to attend.’

  ‘No, they’ll be here, won’t they? The funeral’s at St Edith’s. It’s all arranged.’

  ‘Here in Wychbourne?’ This didn’t make sense. Gentle John was in prison awaiting trial for the murder of a man from whom Ethel appeared to have parted with little regret and must have even less regard for him now.

  ‘Ethel thought it best, there being no one else to make arrangements at Earl’s Court. That’s where Mr Rocke lived, and the housekeeper there wasn’t going to lift a finger, so Ethel said. Mr Rocke’s to be buried in the new cemetery.’

  ‘New’ was a misnomer, but everyone called it that, although it had been opened thirty years ago when St Edith’s churchyard had been closed for new burials, and a separate cemetery consecrated further up Mill Lane.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Nell said. ‘Why can’t his heirs arrange the funeral?’

  ‘Ethel is the heir, Miss Drury. He never made no will and had no children so it all goes to her, so the solicitor says. She was still married to him by law, but as he’d changed his name and she’d had no word from him since he told her to hop it, she’s been told she was entitled to think him a goner. Ethel says it’s her due to get his money as he treated her so rotten.’

  His heir? Another shockwave hit her. Assimilating this information was making her mind feel like an unset jelly. To Nell’s dismay her immediate thought was to wonder how much Ethel might be inheriting.

  Mrs Squires must be reading her mind. ‘Don’t know how much she’s going to get, but a tidy sum, Ethel thinks.’

  What, Nell wondered, would Chief Inspector Melbray think of this, because with this revelation the noose around Gentle John’s neck would surely tighten? The inspector might well suspect Ethel of complicity in the murder, remembering the notorious Thompson and Bywaters case in which Mrs Thompson was hanged for inciting her lover to murder her husband.

  Mrs Squires was still talking. ‘Ethel’s going to do him proud, she told me. Tomorrow afternoon it is.’

  ‘We’re not holding the funeral gathering here, are we?’ Nell was even more alarmed. The thought of Jethro striding through the Great Hall as if he owned it was not appealing.

  ‘No, Miss Drury. Ethel’s fixed it with the Coach and Horses to serve a nice sandwich tea.’

  Thank goodness for that, Nell thought, although Mr Hardcastle was hard put to it coping with the Follies, a murder, an inquest and now a funeral all in ten days or so.

  ‘Everyone will be eating here in the evening, though,’ Mrs Squires blithely continued.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s what Lady Ansley said while you were out Friday.’

  Lady Ansley hadn’t mentioned it yesterday morning, Nell thought. Who exactly was ‘everyone’? Lady Ansley’s silence was one more instance of how far from normal ‘normal’ life was at present. She took a quick look at the menu she was about to present to Lady Ansley. The fishman had promised oysters for Monday and she’d planned on using the cold lamb from today’s roasts for Mrs Leyel’s lamb à la Marie recipe, which involved a curry sauce. That wouldn’t do for the threatened ‘everyone’. Oh well, curly kippers, she would cope somehow. But would Lady Ansley?

  Lady Ansley was contrite. ‘I’m sorry for not telling you yesterday about the funeral, Nell. It all happened in such a flurry on Friday, and since then so many people have been telephoning and causing problems.’ She pulled a face. ‘However Constance came to marry Hubert Jarrett, I’ll never know.’

  ‘Mrs Squires told me Ethel has booked the Coach and Horses for tea, but what about the evening?’ Nell asked with foreboding. ‘She said that everyone would be coming here.’

  Lady Ansley sighed. ‘Not quite everyone, just those who were staying here for the Follies, but that’s quite enough. Mrs Palmer seems to be quite determined to hold the funeral in the village, firstly as she’s inheriting the estate she feels she should do so, even though he behaved like a bastard – I’m afraid that was the word she used – to her during the time they were married. No, they were still married of course. I mean while they lived together as man and wife. The second reason is that not only is she naturally convinced that Gentle John is innocent, but that “one of them”, as she put it, meaning my guests, is guilty.

  ‘Oh, Nell,’ she continued, ‘what else could I do, but ask our friends to dine here and stay overnight? I fully expected them to refuse, but because they’re all coming to the funeral, they all accepted. Isn’t that surprising?’ Lady Ansley asked.

  Nell agreed, privately w
ondering which of them thought they should be there, and which of them thought it would look strange if they weren’t – especially if one of them were a murderer.

  ‘Mrs Squires informs me that the sandwiches will be made at the Coach and Horses and she’s been rallying helpers,’ Lady Ansley continued. ‘Muriel offered too, and so did all three of our guests’ servants. Your Kitty suggested that she’ll be there as well, as I do hope you will be, Nell – although you won’t be making sandwiches of course. Chief Inspector Melbray will be joining us for dinner tomorrow evening, although not staying overnight. Perhaps he sees so much hobnobbing with the suspects as a step too far.’

  Lady Ansley could well be right, Nell thought. ‘And Mr Trotter?’ she enquired in the hope of bringing a smile to Lady Ansley’s face.

  It succeeded. ‘That I don’t know and I’m not going to ask. He’s staying at the Coach and Horses. Lady Clarice can invite him to dinner if she wishes, but I imagine the prospect of having to face my son’s onslaught again will deter him. Richard talks of getting his activities investigated for fraud. Oh dear, I’m getting to the point where I just want to hold my wrists out and say, cuff me now, Inspector, just don’t ask me any more questions.’

  Nell laughed. That was more like her ladyship. It cheered Nell up too – as did the prospect of seeing Alex again. Just in the interests of proving Gentle John’s innocence of course.

  Lady Ansley hesitated. ‘I know my husband talked to you yesterday. He has told me the whole story too. Thank goodness, Nell, thank goodness.’ She flushed, as she must have realized this sounded as though she had suspected her husband of involvement in abduction or even murder.

  Nell echoed the thank goodness. Lord Ansley was the rock of Wychbourne and at present Wychbourne needed all the rocks it could muster.

  St Edith’s was a large church for a small village such as Wychbourne but its ancient stained glass and the pews dating from centuries past gave it a comfortable feeling. For centuries it had looked like this, Nell thought, and we’re just temporary visitors. There had been plenty even more temporary visitors here today. The service over, the congregation was spilling out into the churchyard. The Reverend Higgins had seemed somewhat overwhelmed by the fashionable gathering that had poured in by motor car or taxi cab, the women clad all in black or the now acceptable dark violet, the men in their stately mourning coats. Not only were the actors and actresses she had seen at Wychbourne Court here, but many more, together with journalists from national and local newspapers, plus, it seemed, most of Wychbourne village, chiefly men, as the old habit of men-only funerals was dying hard in Wychbourne.

  Nell watched them paying their condolences to Ethel – surely only lip service in the circumstances? They moved slowly, like carved figures on the chiming clocks that emerge ritually on the hour, each playing their part. The only person who looked human, she decided, was Chief Inspector Melbray, sombre in black suit and tie. For the most part people were heading for the Coach and Horses rather than to the cemetery for the burial.

  ‘Nell, are you going to the pub?’ Alex caught up with her, walking alongside her towards the Coach and Horses. ‘I’ve another mission for you.’

  ‘Another Romano’s?’ she asked, intrigued. ‘I enjoyed that.’

  ‘This one may not be quite so enjoyable, but it could be interesting. There may be a chance to find one or two of those secrets Tobias Rocke held before they get thrown away. Ethel Palmer isn’t wasting time. Tomorrow she’s going to inspect Tobias Rocke’s home in Earl’s Court. It’s an imposition, I know, but I’d like you to go with her – I’ll explain to Lord Ansley. My men have finished there and so have I. We found the usual papers, some relating to his marriage, but nothing that suggested any line of enquiry other than the ones that lead to John Palmer. I can’t help feeling that if there is more to this story you might possibly sense a clue there.’

  ‘Relating to blackmailing activities?’

  ‘Certainly including that.’

  Nell wavered. ‘I’m not trained.’

  ‘You can spot a fly in the soup, can’t you?’

  She laughed. ‘That I can do. Done then.’ She was already looking forward to it, Ethel or no Ethel. Piecing together Tobias Rocke’s life might be a fascinating task.

  ‘I’ve checked the Darling investigation records, Nell. You’ll be interested to know that Tobias Rocke couldn’t have been responsible for her abduction or murder that night. He didn’t return home until two in the morning, because he had dined at your old stomping ground, Nell. The Carlton Hotel, confirmed by several reliable witnesses at the time.’

  ‘Mistake over the timing?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘I think not. One of his fellow diners was Marie Lloyd of music hall fame and another a rising young officer, now a fellow chief inspector in the City of London police. I spoke to him and he assured me that Rocke was indeed at the Carlton with him. He only left the table for a while to see Marie Lloyd safely into a cab. I can’t confirm that as Marie Lloyd is no longer with us, but my colleague remembers it clearly because it became such a talking point with Mary Ann’s disappearance reported two days later. We have to assume that in all probability Tobias Rocke did not murder Mary Ann Darling at least on that night unless he had several accomplices. Marie Lloyd would not have been one of them.’

  ‘And yet Mary Ann was scared of him.’

  ‘Rocke could have been a rejected lover or the importunate lover who followed her everywhere, but that doesn’t make him a murderer, unless after her disappearance he discovered her whereabouts and killed her. If so, why no outcry from the true lover?’

  ‘But Tobias might have known who killed her.’

  ‘Indeed he might. An excellent victim for his blackmail. Keep your eyes open at his house, Nell. You might find something we missed.’

  ‘You’re flattering me,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘I never flatter anyone,’ he said simply, and once again she felt wrong-footed.

  Funeral gatherings were strange occasions, Nell thought, looking round the room, which was even more crowded than on the night of the Follies. Either conversation flowed as people relaxed, or they remained as formal as the service itself. This one had elements of both. Tables lining the walls held glasses and drinks, sandwiches and cakes. Mrs Squires, her team and the guests’ servants, even the guests themselves, were busy taking small trays around the gathering and offering drinks. There was no sign of Lady Helen, but Lord Richard and Lady Sophy (and Miss Smith) were busy helping too.

  ‘I’m hunting for clues, Nell,’ Lady Sophy hissed at her as she floated by with a plate of what looked like salmon and cucumber sandwiches.

  ‘You need a magnifying glass for clue-hunting,’ Nell retorted amiably, ‘not plates of food.’

  She braced herself to walk over to murmur appropriate words to Ethel, who looked flushed and out of her depth.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Drury,’ she said stonily. ‘Inspector Melbray said he’d asked you to accompany me tomorrow. I don’t know why, I’m sure. They’ve finished their investigation, he said, but I’m to leave everything in the house until the solicitor says it’s legally mine. I’ve no objection to you coming, though. The housekeeper will still be there and that husband of hers.’

  ‘It must be hard for them as they lived in.’

  ‘Not my fault if he didn’t leave them nothing,’ Ethel snapped. ‘What will you be looking for there, Miss Drury?’

  ‘Anything that might help show who killed Mr Rocke. I don’t believe that was Gentle John.’

  Ethel had the grace to soften a little. ‘It wasn’t. He’s no murderer and nor was Billy.’ She hesitated. ‘Billy wasn’t home that night Miss Darling disappeared, but he didn’t kill her. Not his way of doing things.’

  ‘What was his way then?’ Nell asked, but there was no reply.

  Nell was glad to reach the warmth of the Wychbourne Court kitchens. Here, she thought with relief, she knew exactly what she was doing. It was all very well for Alex Me
lbray to think of her as a makeshift detective, but detective work, like cooking, needed ideas to follow through, and she couldn’t be as sure of the outcome. Talking of cooking, tonight’s dinner required attention. She needed to check that Muriel had cleaned the mussels of their beards and hadn’t let any open ones slip through before cooking. And, Nell remembered, she hadn’t checked that there was enough parsley available. There was an old saying that parsley takes so long to germinate that it goes nine times to the devil before it springs up and Mr Fairweather was in full agreement with that.

  ‘They’re saying in the village, Miss Drury, that you’re going to find out who really killed Mr Rocke,’ Kitty observed trustingly.

  ‘Are they indeed?’ Nell replied shortly. ‘Are they also saying who it was? And who’s going to do my work when I set off in my deerstalker?’

  Kitty took the point. ‘No, Miss Drury.’

  She looked crestfallen and Nell apologized. She shouldn’t be adding to the tensions in the kitchen; she should calm them. As it was, Kitty was dreaming of her boyfriend, Michel was casting passionate eyes on Miss Smith, Miss Smith was sitting like a cuckoo in the midst of the servants’ nest, Mr Peters seemed to think the end of civilization was near because Miss Smith was consorting with Lord Richard, Mrs Fielding was perpetually up in arms, and the family itself was not in much better shape. Lord Richard was spending too much time trying to please Miss Smith instead of taking care of his estate work, Lady Helen was floating around dreaming of the next London party and Lady Sophy was running around trying to save the Labour party and organize her sister’s love life, ignoring the fact that she was far more suited to Mr Beringer than Lady Helen. To crown it all, even Mr Briggs seemed to have taken a fancy to Miss Smith and was pathetically trying to please her with apples acquired from the apple store.

  Detective indeed, Nell scolded herself. Physician, heal thyself, she ordered. Just get moving. Her next step was dinner; the one after that was serving coffee in the drawing room.