Forgotten Murder

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  ‘That wouldn’t be how I’d start the conversation, I agree,’ said Jack. ‘However, they might remember something odd or out of the way. The thing is, we’ve got hardly anything to go on at the moment, so what we need are some facts.’ He stood up and stretched his shoulders. ‘Betty, my darling, shall we do a little house hunting? I must admit, I’m curious to see Saunder’s Green for myself.’

  ‘I can get you an order to view,’ said Jenny. ‘That’s easily done.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jack. ‘There’s a few other things I want to find out first, though. For instance, who owns the house? Did it belong to Mrs Trenchard? The lady who had it last, I mean?’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘No, she rented it. It actually belongs to a local firm, Ezra Wild and Sons. They’ve been going for donkey’s years. They’re builders who own quite a bit of property in Stowfleet and the surrounding area. We do a fair bit of business with them.’

  ‘And should we be prospective buyers or prospective tenants?’

  ‘You’ll have to be tenants. It’s for rent only. It’ll be about one pound, ten shillings a week, I imagine.’

  ‘So we’d better look modestly affluent. Do Ezra Wild and Sons have an office in Stowfleet?’

  ‘It’s nearby, in Weston Cross. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘They’ll probably have a record of who rented the house before the Trenchards. Unless Wilson and Lee have a record?’

  ‘I can certainly have a look,’ said Jenny. She looked at Jack and Betty ruefully. ‘I’m putting you to an awful lot of trouble,’ she said guiltily. ‘After all, it could be nothing more than a bad dream.’

  Jack smiled. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’ Jenny shook her head. ‘And,’ continued Jack, ‘neither do I. I’m going to assume you saw something years ago that frightened you badly and that you can’t explain. I want to know what it was.’

  On Monday morning, Jack and Betty drove to Stowfleet and met Jenny in the Tudor Rose Café for lunch.

  ‘I’ve got the names of the previous tenants of Saunder’s Green House for you,’ she said over her cheese and onion pie. ‘They were a Mr and Mrs R. Sutton, the Misses E. and H. Holt and Mr and Mrs B. Nelson. The Nelsons had the house when it was first built, in 1882. They left in September 1895 when it was taken by the Suttons. They had it until November 1897 and in the January of 1898 the Misses Holt took it. Colonel and Mrs Trenchard arrived in April 1911.’

  Jack jotted down the names and dates in his notebook. ‘Do any of those names mean anything to you?’

  ‘They don’t, I’m afraid. Mind you, if any of these people really were friends of my mother, I might not have known their surname. Mum had a lot of friends in Salterbeck and I always called them Aunty Mildred and Aunty Sarah and so on when I was small. I really am sorry to put you to all this trouble,’ she repeated apologetically. ‘Do you actually want to see the house or are you going back to Chandos Row?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Betty. ‘I want to see the house.’

  ‘Okay. Do you want to go after lunch?’

  ‘Not right away,’ said Jack. ‘First of all, I want to visit the builders who actually own the place. They might be able to tell us something we haven’t gleaned yet. If you sort out the viewing order, we’ll call into Wilson and Lee’s later.’

  The offices of Ezra Wild and Sons (established 1853) clearly belonged to a very prosperous firm. Idyllic artists’ impressions of ideal homes, all with the benefit of electricity, available from Ezra Wild’s new development of Resthaven on the outskirts of London adorned the walls. A sound investment, as the posters said, for a mere £1,250.

  The elderly clerk seemed disappointed that Major Haldean and his wife weren’t interested in one of the splendid new houses, but instead had fixed their attentions on Saunder’s Green.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked the clerk mournfully. ‘Mr Laidlaw himself has personally supervised the building and fitting out of all our Resthaven houses and I can assure you that the quality and conveniences simply cannot be matched in an older property. Resthaven, sir and madam, carries Mr Laidlaw’s personal guarantee of quality.’

  ‘Mr Laidlaw?’ enquired Jack. The way the clerk said the name gave the impression that anyone who didn’t instantly recognise it was hopelessly ill-informed.

  ‘Mr Laidlaw,’ repeated the clerk in shocked tones, ‘owns the company.’ He backed up his words by pointing to the sign where the legend ‘Ezra Wild and Sons’ had, written in gold italics underneath, ‘Prop. Andrew Laidlaw’. ‘He is a master builder, sir, and you can rest assured that there are no finer houses for the price to be found in the whole county.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Jack, pressing his point, ‘it’s Saunder’s Green we’re interested in.’

  The clerk sighed and accepted the inevitable. ‘You’ll have to get an order to view from Wilson and Lee in Stowfleet, I’m afraid, sir. They act as our agent in Stowfleet. Now if you were looking to buy a property, a house on our really excellent new development at Resthaven, for instance, I could arrange to have you shown round.’

  ‘We’re interested in Saunder’s Green,’ said Betty firmly, taking a hand in the conversation, ‘because I think I used to know the house when I was little.’

  Jack and Betty had decided this beforehand, to give them a reasonable excuse to ask about the former tenants of Saunder’s Green House.

  ‘I’m sure my mother’s friends used to live there,’ she continued. ‘I don’t suppose,’ she added, with a winning smile, ‘it would be possible for you to tell me who lived there years ago? I’d love to know if it really is the house I remember visiting.’

  Betty’s smile was shameless in its appeal. The clerk sighed and capitulated. A ledger of lettings was produced from the office at the back. The tenancies of the Suttons, the Holts, the Nelsons and the Trenchards were confirmed.

  Betty’s face was a picture of disappointment. ‘I’m sure none of those people were my mother’s friends. I must be mistaken, but I could have sworn I knew the house.’

  ‘Did any of the tenants sub-let it?’ asked Jack.

  The clerk adjusted his spectacles and squinted at the ledger. ‘Yes, I believe you’re right, sir.’ He turned the page. ‘Here we are. A Mr and Mrs M. Trevelyan. The Misses Holt sub-let the house in 1907, but that was only for a matter of four months, from the April.’

  ‘Trevelyan?’ said Betty musingly. ‘I wonder if that was the name? There aren’t any other sub-lettings, are there?’

  The clerk shook his head. ‘No, Miss. That’s the only sub-let we have on record for Saunder’s Green. There’s a note here about it. “Sub-let while renovations and building work carried out.” There’s another note on the file … Ah, yes, of course. That was a very busy time. All our properties in Stowfleet were renovated and brought up to date in the summer of that year. That was when Mr Arthur Wild was with us, of course. He had some very advanced views. It was his idea to add indoor plumbing, gas, facilities for a telephone and a garage to all his properties.’

  ‘A garage?’ said Jack in surprise.

  The clerk looked at him with an indulgent smile. ‘Yes, indeed, sir. Mr Wild was a very keen motorist. You would think the cars of those days to be hopelessly antiquated, I know, but I remember Mr Wild saying there would come a day when every household would own a car. Do you own a car, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘All our Resthaven properties have a purpose-built garage, complete with electric light and power.’

  ‘It sounds as if Saunder’s Green has a garage too,’ said Betty, not wanting the clerk to be diverted onto the subject of Resthaven once more.

  The clerk sighed. ‘I imagine it does, madam. Mr Wild had vision. Remarkable vision, but I imagine the building works are the reason why the Misses Holt let the house. I remember the Misses Holt in their latter years. They were most particular. They were two maiden ladies and very much of the old school. They wouldn’t have cared to stay in the house while any work was carri
ed on.’

  ‘I wonder if they were the people your mother knew, Betty,’ said Jack.

  ‘They could be, I suppose.’ She flashed another winning smile at the clerk. ‘Thank you for all your help. You’ve been very kind.’

  ‘Not at all, Madam,’ said the clerk gallantly. ‘It’s a pleasure.’

  Jenny smiled brightly at them as the bell clanged above the doorway of Wilson and Lee. ‘How did you get on at Ezra Wild’s?’ she asked in an undertone, as she passed them the order to view.

  ‘We’ve got another name,’ said Jack quietly. ‘A Mr and Mrs Trevelyan were there in the summer of 1907. The house was sub-let to them for four months. Does that name mean anything to you?’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘No, I can’t say it does.’

  ‘If the dates we worked out are accurate, then the people you visited were either the Holt sisters or this Mr and Mrs Trevelyan.’

  ‘That’s something to know. You’ll find,’ she added in a louder voice for the benefit of Mr Southwick, who was passing the desk, ‘that Saunder’s Green has plenty of space and, of course, benefits from a well-established garden. The house is on the telephone. We’ve told Mrs Offord, the housekeeper, to expect you.’

  Mrs Offord turned out to be just the sort of person they expected from Jenny’s description. ‘Won’t you bring your car into the garage, sir?’ she asked, looking at the Spyker parked on the drive.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine in the open,’ said Jack. ‘It’s not going to rain but thank you for the offer.’

  The tour started. ‘We saw the house when we were driving through Stowfleet,’ said Betty chattily. ‘I can’t remember for sure, but I think my mother used to know the people who lived here.’

  ‘Would that be Colonel and Mrs Trenchard, Miss?’ asked the housekeeper.

  Betty shook her head. ‘No. I think the name was Trevelyan.’

  ‘They must’ve been before my time,’ said the housekeeper. Her brow furrowed. ‘I can’t recall ever hearing of any Trevelyans living here. Two maiden ladies had it before the Colonel and his wife. Now what were they called? I used to hear stories about them, about how strict they were with the staff. Hoxton, the old gardener, he used to say how easy-going the Colonel and Mrs Trenchard was in comparison. Now what were they called?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jack easily. ‘They don’t sound like your mother’s friends, do they, Betty?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Unless – were they fond of children, do you happen to know?’

  ‘Not by the tales I’ve heard,’ said the housekeeper with a smile. ‘They liked a place for everything and everything in its place and that’s difficult with children, isn’t it? Now the Trenchards, they had grandchildren, and it was a treat when they came. Shall we start with the upstairs first?’

  The tour progressed at a leisurely pace, starting as Jenny’s had done, with the kitchens and then progressing up to the attics. Jack drew Betty to one side, ostensibly to admire the view from the dusty attic window. ‘Can you get Mrs Offord out of the way for a few minutes?’ he whispered.

  Betty nodded. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said, turning to the housekeeper, ‘but would it be possible for me to use the … er … facilities?’ adding with an embarrassed and not entirely assumed air. ‘I’m afraid I really need to go.’

  ‘Of course, Miss. Do you want me show you where it is?’

  ‘Yes, please. I don’t think I’d be able to find it by myself,’ adding, completely unnecessarily in Jack’s opinion, ‘have you seen all you want to up here, Jack?’

  ‘Not quite,’ he said, thinking fast. ‘I think one of these rooms would do nicely for my woodwork.’

  ‘You’ll find the garage much better for woodwork, sir,’ said Mrs Offord, with irritating helpfulness. ‘All kitted out, it is, with a bench and everything that’s needed. The Colonel liked to turn his hand to a bit of carpentry. He made the bookcase on the landing and was a dab hand at all sorts of joinery. Why, there’s no end of things he made, now I come to think of it.’ She drew a deep breath, clearly ready to enumerate items of Colonel Trenchard’s handiwork.

  Jack’s expression nearly made Betty giggle. ‘Can we go, Mrs Offord?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, of course, my dear. You follow me.’

  They clattered off down the uncarpeted stairs, Mrs Offord listing the Colonel’s carpentry achievements.

  As their voices faded, Jack crossed rapidly to the ottoman which he knew from Jenny Langton’s description contained the old jack-in-the-box and toys and started to quickly rummage through it.

  Betty emerged from the lavatory to find Mrs Offord pointing out the Colonel’s bookcase to Jack on the landing, obviously gratified by Jack’s apparent absorption in mortise and tenon joints.

  ‘Did you find anything?’ she muttered, as Mrs Offord escorted them along the landing to the main bedroom.

  ‘Yes,’ he hissed. ‘Tell you later. My word, Mrs Offord,’ he said as she opened the door, ‘this is an excellent room.’

  ‘It’d be just right for a young couple such as yourselves,’ she said indulgently. ‘This used to be the Colonel and Mrs Trenchard’s room. The poor mistress couldn’t get upstairs for the last few years, but she used to say to me to make sure everything was kept nice and, of course, I always did.’

  ‘You certainly have done,’ said Jack, looking around the meticulously clean and tidy room. Mrs Offord looked pleased, but accepted the praise as her due.

  ‘Are you intending to stay on as housekeeper?’ asked Betty. It was the sort of thing that a prospective householder would want to know.

  Mrs Offord’s face fell. ‘No, Ma’am. Mavis, the housemaid, might stay, but I don’t think I will. You see, even if the house was to be taken by a nice young couple such as yourselves, I’d grown to be that fond of the mistress, I don’t know as I could. I was used to all her little ways, you see. I know things have to change, but I don’t think I could bear to see the house as I knew it gone. I’m glad to say that the mistress left me enough to be comfortable on, so I told Mr Laidlaw that although I was happy to stay on to keep the place nice while people looked round, I wouldn’t want to stay once he’d found a new tenant. I hopes as how you don’t mind. I’m sure you’ll find someone else.’

  ‘That’s a real shame,’ said Jack with such feeling that even Betty was convinced. ‘Who’s Mr Laidlaw, by the way?’

  Betty was puzzled. After their trip to Ezra Wild and Sons, they knew who Mr Laidlaw was. He owned the place.

  ‘He’s the landlord, sir. I know as how Wilson and Lee say it’s owned by Ezra Wild, the builders, but it’s all Mr Laidlaw’s, really.’

  ‘I see. So there isn’t a Mr Wild any longer?’

  That was another thing they knew. What on earth was Jack getting at?

  ‘Oh no, sir,’ said Mrs Offord with a chuckle. ‘There hasn’t been a Mr Wild, or any sons, for a good number of years, for all that’s what the builders are called. Mr Laidlaw’s had it for as long as I’ve been here.’

  ‘I suppose he bought the business, did he?’ continued Jack.

  Mrs Offord shook her head. ‘No, he married into it, as you might say.’ She smiled. ‘I remember the Colonel saying that it should be called Ezra Wild and grandson-in-law or some such.’

  ‘That hardly trips off the tongue, though, does it?’ said Jack with a smile.

  Connections. That had been what Jack wanted to find out. Connections. He always did want to know how things joined together.

  ‘I suppose not, sir,’ Mrs Offord agreed. She sighed. ‘There’s some who would envy Mr Laidlaw, because he’s made the business prosper and no mistake, but he’s had his troubles, same as the rest of us. His poor wife died only a few months ago but she’d been ill for years, poor lady. Very devoted, he was. Nothing but the best for her, which is how it should be, and no children to leave it all to, which must have been a sorrow to both of them.’

  There didn’t seem much else to be said on the topic of the devoted Mr Laidl
aw. Jack and Betty allowed themselves to be led into more bedrooms and the bathroom.

  Out on the landing once more, Mrs Offord paused with her hand on a door. ‘This is my own room. I don’t suppose you want to see in, do you?’

  The answer was that Jack very much wanted to see the room. This was the room in which Jenny had been, in her own words, frightened by the tiles round the fireplace.

  ‘Would you mind?’ he asked with a smile. ‘Apart from anything else, you must have a terrific view of the garden from this side of the house.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ she said, opening the door. ‘It’s a nice room and I keeps it nice, even though I say so myself.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Betty impulsively as they went in, which earned them a smile from Mrs Offord.

  ‘Do you feel anything?’ Jack muttered to Betty. ‘Anything spooky, I mean?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, neither do I. Which doesn’t prove anything, I know, but it’s still worth noticing.’

  The sunlight flooded the room. Jack went to the open window, looking out on the magnificent cedar tree on the lawn.

  His attention was caught by dull squares of metal set into the brick of the window frame at regular intervals. ‘This room was a nursery once,’ he said, much to Mrs Offord’s surprise.

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  ‘Yes, it must’ve been,’ he said. ‘Look, this is where the bars were set into the window.’

  Mrs Offord peered at the window. ‘Well, fancy that! You’ve got sharp eyes, sir. All these years I’ve been here, and I’ve never noticed.’

  ‘You said the Trenchards had their grandchildren to visit. I suppose the bars were put up then.’

  ‘It can’t be that, sir,’ said Mrs Offord. ‘This has always been my room, ever since I’ve been here, with Mavis in the next room. Besides that, the three boys were too old to be in a nursery. Proper little scamps they were,’ she added with a reminiscent smile. ‘No, they slept on the other side of the house, next to the room their parents had.’ Her frown deepened. ‘They were too old to need bars at the window, or the Colonel would’ve had them put in. I never heard tell of a child living here, and that’s a fact.’