Blood Ties

by Oliver Davies

  “Might it be worth starting with Lord Hocking?” Mills suggested. “Let him know what we have learnt about Sebastian first? Give him a chance to elaborate before going to the family?”

  “We can try,” I allowed, “but at this point in time all this beating around the bush is wasting time and my patience.”

  “And a very precious resource it is.”

  “Let me handle the family,” I told him, taking a gulp of tea. “I want to start off down this painting route of yours. Talk to Maud, she seems to know Selene the best. Find out what other paintings in that place Selene was fond of, or any that Richard favoured.”

  Mills nodded, and at the same leant back in his chair, peering out the open door, “Sharp’s here.”

  I pushed myself up and skirted around him to the doorway, jogging after her as she made her way smartly to her office.

  “Morning, ma’am,” I greeted her cheerfully. She glanced round, an eyebrow flicking up in surprise,

  “You’re chirpy this morning,” she said, opening her door and piling in. She took her coat off, shaking off the scant trickle of rain and passed it to me to hang on the stand in the corner and leant on her desk. “Well?”

  Her face didn’t change as I filled her in. For those unfamiliar with our own dear Superintendent, it was hard to know what she thought of you, or your plans. Her face revealed nothing. But I watched her as I spoke, and noted the slight quirk of her mouth, the angle of her head. She liked my plan, that was relief. Half of my troubles in life were convincing Sharp to trust my plans.

  “You’re pinning a lot on this,” she told me when I finished, her arms folded across her chest, “on this hidden message in the back of frame business.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t imagine Selene wouldn’t have made some effort to tell Sebastian’s father about him,” I replied. “Even if the chance might be that they never found it, she did something. The opportunity was there. And I can’t think why else anyone would take the painting, if not to sell it. Proof that Lord Hocking or his brother have an illegitimate child from a woman who was quite poorly treated by the family could land them a hell of a lot more money than just the painting alone.”

  “Vindicta,” Sharp muttered. “You think this whole thing is about Selene?”

  “I do.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “And yet you don’t suspect Sebastian himself as being the driving force behind this? If anyone wanted revenge for Selene, surely it would be him?”

  “That’s a fair idea,” I told her, “and not one I’ve completely disregarded. But there were plenty of people in that house who cared about her. Maud, for one.” Maybe even the butler, I had begun to think. A young girl, probably not far from his own daughter in age, in a great big house. Maybe he took her under his wing.

  “So, your plan of action?” she asked, walking around her desk to sit herself down, dragging her hair back from her face and clipping it up.

  “Head back to the house, open up this whole Sebastian business properly, and see if there any other paintings that might have drawn out thieves back to the house the other day.”

  She nodded, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Solid. Do us a favour before you go?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Fetch me a coffee, will you?”

  I looked at the shadows under her eyes and smiled. “Late night?”

  “Have you ever had an eleven-year-old vomiting all through the night?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “Coffee,” she ordered, “then be on your merry way.”

  I bowed to her, shuffling from the room and headed over to the kitchen. Mills joined me just as I left her office again, even gave her a few biscuits for good measure, and we trundled out of the station to his car.

  “She on board with everything?” Mills asked as he started up the car.

  “More or less,” I answered, “but if we don’t start to wrap this up soon, she’ll start breathing fire. I don’t doubt HQ have already been on the bell this morning.”

  Mills let out an annoyed breath between his teeth. “As if they could do it any faster.”

  “It’s a competitive world we live in, Mills,” I answered, sipping at my tea.

  “I called ahead,” he told me, “whilst you spoke to Sharp. Told the family we’d be coming in, just to make sure that they were all actually there and staying put.”

  “Good. Henry?”

  “Is in. Only Eloise will be out, taking the children to some baby reading group or something at the local library.”

  I nodded. I sometimes preferred the element of surprise, but in this case, Mills was right. We needed them all there.

  The house looked somewhat dismal when we arrived. The thin sheet of rain fell around it gloomily, leaving it damp and cold looking. The rain seeped into the sandstone, turning it grey, and the windows looked miserably out onto the path.

  As we pulled up in front of the stairs, Dennis opened the front door, hovering under the alcove as we jogged from the car and up into the house.

  “Inspector, sergeant,” he greeted us, shutting the door behind us with a loud, firm clanging. The foyer was empty, the lights not on and with the surrounding rain it was grey and not unlike a Bronte novel. All we needed was a mad man in a long coat and dog.

  “The family are all in the living room,” Dennis informed me, no doubt with a nice burning fire to keep the chill out.

  “Thank you,” I offered, shrugging my damp coat off. “I wondered if Mills here might have another audience with yourself and some of the maids? We have a few questions about Selene Whitlock.”

  Dennis looked surprised, his white bushy brows going up into his white bushy hair. “Certainly,” he answered quickly, “please follow me, sergeant.”

  Mills gave me a tight-lipped smile and strolled after the butler, leaving his coat behind. I hung mine up and rolled my shoulders back, gritting myself up for this particular encounter. I walked into the hallways until I could hear the noise of the family. They were, as suspected, huddled around the fireplace, scattered on the sofas and chairs. Rose sat crossed legged on a large floor pillow by her father’s knees. The visitors were not present, I was happy to see.

  “Inspector,” Lord Hocking rose as I walked in, offering me a hand to shake.

  “Lord Hocking. Everyone, thank you for this.”

  “Have you found our painting, Inspector?” Lady Hocking asked as I sat myself down on an old wooden chair.

  “Not yet, Lady Hocking. But we’re making fast work on figuring out who might have taken it. There is something, delicate, that I have to discuss with you on that front.” I looked at Lord Hocking, who was quick to catch onto my meaning and shook his head.

  “Must you?”

  “If you want to have your painting returned, Lord Hocking, then yes.”

  He waved a hand, a little pompously. “Oh, let them have it!”

  “Darling!” his wife objected.

  “Let them! It’s hardly worth all this, is it?”

  “What is it?” Rose Hocking asked. Her father looked down at her, but it was me her attention was fixed on. “What do you know?”

  “There was a maid who worked here,” I began, and Lord Hocking deflated slowly in his chair, “back before any of you were born.”

  “Selene,” Lady Hocking quickly snapped. “Is this about her?” she demanded of her husband.

  He gave a slow, solemn nod, his hand finding Rose’s. She clung on to him but kept her gaze on me.

  “Who’s Selene?” Rupert drawled from where he sat, legs spread akimbo before the fire.

  “The girl father loved before he met mother,” Henry replied quietly. The family and I all looked to him.

  “You knew?” Lord Hocking asked.

  Henry looked offended. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “Father was in love with someone else?” Rupert asked.

  “Most people have more than one girlfriend, Rupes,�
� Rose pointed out. “You should know.”

  “Well, what happened to her?” he asked.

  “She left the house,” Lord Hocking told them, “and I met your mother.” He sent her a loving look which she half-heartedly returned.

  “Well, then,” Rupert asked, “what’s she got to do with all of this?”

  “She is the reason your uncle Richard left,” Lady Hocking told them. I was pleased that she was taking over, this really wasn’t a comfortable situation for me to be in.

  “Why?” Rose asked.

  “He loved her too.”

  “Eugh,” Rupert looked disgusted, “you shared her?”

  “Rupert!”

  “I’m sorry, mama, but really? You and Uncle Richard fell out over a girl?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Lord Hocking snapped, and at this, his wife looked surprised.

  “How so?” Lady Hocking asked.

  “Selene Whitlock had a child,” I told them quietly, “only she never made it known who the father was.”

  There was a brief pause, a lull in the room that was peaceful. And then all hell broke loose. The siblings were shouting over one another, Lady Hocking too, all of them at Lord Hocking who waved his hand a few times and stood up, looking at me.

  “We never knew whose the child was. Never even knew who the child was.”

  “His name is Sebastian,” I told him, “and he has very little interest in any of this.” I waved my hand around the room. “But it’s my belief that is someone were aware of his existence and his relation to you, they might use that information against you.”

  “You’ve met him?” Lord Hocking asked.

  “I have.”

  “A child?” Lady Hocking leant back into the sofa; her hands twisted together. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes pinched shut. It complicated things, if Sebastian was older than he was, and from the look on his face I’d wager he was thinking just that.

  “Blackmail,” Rose muttered, her eyes flicked once to her oldest brother.

  I nodded.

  “How would they know?” she asked.

  “It’s my suspicion that Selene left some confirmation. Somewhere important, where it was likely you might find it.”

  “In the painting?” Rupert realised. Smart boy, I noted, smarter than he let on.

  I nodded. “Only, we’re not entirely sure which one.”

  Right on cue, Mills appeared in the living room. He looked at the faces of the family with a small wince and turned to me. “The art that Richard Sandow liked best is down in the cellars.”

  “In storage,” Lord Hocking supplied. He looked pale, slightly sick, but was still standing proud. “You think they took the wrong painting?”

  “It’s possible. If they picked the wrong brother.” I turned to Lady Hocking. “May we search the cellars?”

  She nodded, looking rather faint and Rupert shuffled himself across the sofa to wrap an arm around her. She leant into his side.

  “By all means, Inspector. Put this nasty business to an end.”

  Nineteen

  Mills

  I left Thatcher to meet the family. I knew he was doing it on purpose, shouldering the brutal force of such a conversation, but there would be little I could do to persuade him otherwise even if I wanted to. Which in complete honesty, I didn’t. Dennis, who had happily perked up at the mention of Selene led me down to the warm kitchen where the maids were already gathered, sitting around with a pot of tea between them, Daria ironing in the corner.

  “Ladies,” Dennis greeted them as we strolled in, “Sergeant Mills here has a few more questions for us. I fear Lara might not be able to help. She hasn’t been here long.”

  “That’s fine,” I answered, taking a seat at the huge wooden table, the surface nicked and grooved over years of use.

  “What’s this about, sergeant?” Maud asked me cheerily. She looked different, back in her stiff, severe uniform, hair tightly smoothed into place, shoes shining like a new penny.

  “Selene Whitlock.”

  “Lovely girl,” Dennis sighed. He looked, for once, human. His face drawn with sadness, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he sat down beside Maud, who shook her head, troubled.

  “She really was. A little ray of sunshine.”

  “You knew her well?” I asked Dennis.

  He gave a nod. “She was only a young thing when she came. All nervous and bright eyed. Not much older than my own. We all cared for her like our own, didn’t we?” he asked Maud, who nodded enthusiastically.

  “We were sorry to have her leave.”

  “Did you ever meet her?” I asked Daria.

  “I came a few months before she left. She was great. Helpful, took the blame for me a few times,” she said sheepishly towards Dennis, “when I broke one or two things.”

  “They talk about her,” Lara told me, “all the time. I love the stories.” She smiled. “She sounded great. It’s quite the shoes to step into.”

  “You’re doing terrific,” Maud assured her, taking her hand. Even Dennis nodded, but there was a wariness in his eyes. He’d seen what happened when a maid here got caught up with the family, if Rupert and Lara were as close as I suspected, he’d be likely keeping a close eye on her.

  “We know that she was fond of the painting in Lord Hocking’s study,” I explained, “the one that’s been stolen. But we were wondering if there was anything else in the house she was fond of. Any paintings belonging to Richard, for example?”

  “All of Master Richard’s things were taken down into the cellar,” Dennis told me.

  “There were a few things she was fond of,” Maud said, “but she never made mention of them. Not once.”

  “Did she ever talk about leaving a message behind? A message about who it was that got her pregnant?”

  “A message?” She scrunched her face in thought. “I don’t believe so. Why?”

  “We think that it might be why the painting was stolen. If Selene left some indication over whose child she bore, somebody might have the notion of using that against the family.”

  “She never did say.” Dennis shook his head. “Don’t think she wanted the attention that would come with it all, you know?”

  “Was there anything she and Richard particularly had in common?” I tried. “Any places on the estate? Any views or books, anything?”

  “They both read a lot,” Maud recalled. “It’s what they bonded over at first. Spent some time in the library together.”

  “Course there're hundreds of books in there,” Dennis pointed out. “If she left him a message in one of them, it’d be a nightmare to figure out which.”

  I nodded. “There might have been a favourite of hers?”

  “You could check the old ledger,” Lara suggested.

  “Ledger?”

  She nodded. “In the library. Lord and Lady Hocking let us read anything, save the special editions, so long as we log it in and out. If you go back far enough, maybe you see which ones she took out.”

  “Are they in the library?”

  Dennis shook his head. “They will also be in the cellars, I’m afraid. After Master Richard left, Lord Hocking more or less erased him from the house. The library was almost swept clean. His favourite chair, his blanket.”

  “Any paintings?”

  “I believe so,” Dennis thought, “but you must excuse me, sergeant. I’ve worked here for several decades and have seen numerous paintings come in and out. I don’t think I could tell you just how many are even in the house as we speak.”

  I smiled. “That’s alright. Just any way we can narrow it down, would be a huge help.”

  “She liked the view from the library,” Daria piped up. “I remember she told me once when we were cleaning. She stood at the window and just stared out. Said it was one of the best views in the world.”

  “Where does the library look out to?”

  “Down towards the lake,” Dennis informed me, “and the sun house.”

&
nbsp; “Like the painting?”

  He smiled. “She was fond of the lake.”

  I nodded and made a small note in my book. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to check the cellars.”

  “You’ll need her Ladyship's permission,” Dennis informed. “I’m afraid I would feel uneasy taking you down myself.”

  “No problem,” I said, standing up. “I’ll fetch Inspector Thatcher too. Get another pair of eyes. Please let me know if you think of anything else that might be useful.”

  They all nodded and gave Dennis a swift smile, making my own way back up to the house, finding my way to the living room. Luckily, a chorus of shouts led the way. I suspected Thatcher had filled them in.

  I made my way to the living room as it died down, Thatcher’s voice calm as ever.

  “It’s my suspicion that Selene left some confirmation. Somewhere important, where it was likely you might find it.”

  “In the painting?” Rupert’s voice.

  “Only, we’re not entirely sure which one,” Thatcher replied.

  I entered the room then, to a weirdly pleased looking Thatcher. Rupert sat, open mouthed, staring at his mother who had sunk back like a wilted flower. Henry sat with his hand bunched up to his head, somewhat in pain. Lord Hocking was standing, face flushed and also somehow grey looking. Rose sat on the floor, staring at the fire.

  “The art that Richard Sandow liked best is down in the cellars,” I told Thatcher.

  “In storage,” Lord Hocking said. “You think they took the wrong painting?”

  “It’s possible,” Thatcher confirmed, “if they picked the wrong brother. May we search the cellars?”

  Lady Hocking nodded, Rupert holding her close. “By all means, Inspector. Put this nasty business to an end.”

  Thatcher nodded in thanks and we walked from the room, down the hallway where our thief likely escaped, and into the cold, dusty maze of cellars.

  “How’d that go then, sir?”

  “Better than I thought it would,” he answered. “They didn’t seem all that surprised.” He froze, glancing back over his shoulder to the steps with a frown.