Forgotten Murder

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  He glanced from the card to Jack then back again, before looking up, enlightenment dawning. ‘Excuse me, Mr Haldean, am I addressing Major Haldean, by any chance? Were you in the Flying Corps during the war?’

  Jack nodded in surprise. He’d been a perfectly decent pilot – or a lucky one, he reminded himself. There wasn’t a lot of difference between the two, but he certainly hadn’t been a well-known one. As the handful of pilots who had been household names were, by and large, dead, notoriety as a pilot wasn’t something he’d ever aspired to. So where on earth had Mr Laidlaw come across his name?

  ‘I’ve always been interested in aviation,’ said Mr Laidlaw, ‘but it was my brother who was really keen. I don’t suppose you ever ran into him during the war? Archie Laidlaw.’

  Jack thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think so.’

  Mr Laidlaw nodded sadly. ‘It was just a thought. He transferred from the infantry and was mad keen to fly, but he didn’t survive for long. He was going to come into business with me after the war but it wasn’t to be. He was a fine man,’ he added with a sigh.

  There was an awkward pause.

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that, sir,’ said Jack quietly.

  Andrew Laidlaw shook himself. ‘Poor Violet, my wife, was terribly cut up over it. She was very fond of Archie.’ His face twisted. ‘Our son was named after him. He was carried off by the flu just after the war, poor little chap. Violet never really got over it. After little Archie went, she never really rallied. She spent too much time dwelling in the past. In the end it was quite a blessed release.’

  ‘That’s dreadful,’ said Betty with shocked sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Mr Laidlaw.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Haldean,’ said Mr Laidlaw quietly. ‘It was a real blow. Still, life goes on, eh?’ Andrew Laidlaw shook himself, as if to draw a line under the conversation. ‘I’m still trying to think where I know your name from, Major Haldean. It was definitely something to do with aviation.’ He looked up and snapped his fingers together.

  ‘Got it!’ he said, his face broadening in a smile. ‘You were the chap who sorted out that mess at the Lassiter Aircraft company, weren’t you? I remember reading about it in the newspaper. Your war record was mentioned in connection with the case. And weren’t you the one who worked out exactly what was going on at Hunt Coffee?’ He chuckled reminiscently. ‘My word, that case made a stir, all right. You write books too, don’t you? That is you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Admit it, Jack,’ said Betty, beaming at Mr Laidlaw. She liked it when people recognised Jack’s achievements. ‘Your fame has gone before you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it fame, Betty,’ muttered Jack deprecatingly.

  If Andrew Laidlaw knew who he was, it might be awkward to use the excuse of the Trevelyans being old friends of Betty’s mother. Mr Laidlaw knew him as someone who poked his nose into matters that were, strictly speaking, none of his concern, and, what’s more, seemed rather impressed by his doings. He might as well trade on that fact.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Mr Laidlaw,’ he said, returning the smile. ‘I’ve got a bit of a puzzle on my hands at the moment and my wife and I wondered if you could help. I don’t suppose it’s of any great importance, but a friend of my wife’s asked us to look into it.’

  Betty gave him a sweet smile and a slight nod. The message that the Trevelyans were no longer friends of her family was received and understood.

  Andrew Laidlaw drew himself up expectantly. ‘I’ll do anything I can to help, Major Haldean. What do you want to know?’

  ‘It’s about one of your houses. Saunder’s Green.’

  ‘Saunder’s Green?’ Andrew Laidlaw looked blank for a moment, then nodded intelligently. ‘Oh, yes. In Stowfleet. I know the one. It’s an old house. We have quite a number of properties such as Saunder’s Green on our books. That one was built by my father-in-law, Arthur Wild, back in 1880 or so. What about it?’

  ‘Well, one of my wife’s friends is certain she knew the house and the people who lived in it years ago. 1907, to be precise. There was a family called the Trevelyans who rented it from the actual tenants, the Misses Holt, for the summer. There was an incident, an unpleasantness, to call it no more than that, which happened while the Trevelyans were living there. We wondered if you knew what had actually happened?’

  Andrew Laidlaw stared at them in shock. ‘Those Trevelyans,’ he whispered. He looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. For a long moment he said nothing, then, bracing himself, sat up and reached for the silver cigarette box that lay on the desk. ‘Do you mind?’ he muttered, looking at Betty. She shook her head. ‘Please, help yourself,’ he added, lighting a cigarette.

  Jack lit Betty’s cigarette and waited expectantly.

  ‘I haven’t thought about the Trevelyans in years,’ said Mr Laidlaw. ‘When I read the names you’d written on your card, I certainly didn’t connect them with the family who lived in Saunder’s Green. Tell me, Major Haldean, who wants to know about the Trevelyans? Who is your client?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack with a smile to take away the sting of refusal. ‘I promised I wouldn’t say.’

  Mr Laidlaw shook his head in irritation. ‘I suppose you’ve got to keep that sort of thing confidential. I would like to know who’s interested, though. It’s twenty years ago now and that seems an awfully long time to wait before dragging up old scandals.’

  ‘So there was a scandal, then?’

  Andrew Laidlaw took a deep breath then, getting up from the desk, crossed to the door and made sure it was properly shut.

  ‘I would like you, Major Haldean, to treat this as confidential. There was indeed a scandal, a scandal that affected my own family. When you first mentioned the Trevelyans, I honestly had not made the connection but the Trevelyans of Saunder’s Green …’ He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

  ‘My wife, Violet, passed away in February,’ he said, returning to his desk. He gestured towards a silver-framed photograph of a middle-aged woman with a kindly, if rather vacant, face on the desk. There was a black ribbon looped round a corner of the frame. Obviously that was the late Mrs Laidlaw.

  Mr Laidlaw followed Jack’s gaze. ‘Poor Violet.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘All I can say is that I’m glad she’s not here to be worried about the whole sorry business once more. Caroline Trevelyan was my wife’s cousin. They were very close, more like sisters than cousins. She would’ve been terribly upset.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Betty softly. Mr Laidlaw looked so upset himself she felt a real stab of sympathy for him.

  ‘I haven’t thought of this for years,’ he said with a sigh, ‘but I remember it well enough. The Trevelyans were supposed to be moving to New Zealand. They had given up their house in London when, at the last minute, some complication arose and the move had to be postponed. As it happened, the tenants of Saunder’s Green House – I forget who they were – were very unhappy about living in the house while the repairs and alterations that my father-in-law, Arthur Wild, deemed necessary, were carried out. To cut a long story short, we offered the tenants another house while the building work was underway and the Trevelyans, who had been staying in a hotel, moved into Saunder’s Green until they could sail for New Zealand.’

  He gave a humourless smile. ‘I remember Violet was delighted. As I say, she and Caroline Trevelyan were more like sisters than cousins, and here was Caroline, close at hand. I wish they had gone to New Zealand,’ he added bitterly.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another one. ‘Caroline left her husband. One day, without a word to anyone, she simply vanished.’ He breathed out a long mouthful of smoke. ‘I actually saw Caroline Trevelyan that day,’ he said eventually.

  ‘You did?’ asked Jack alertly. ‘Did she seem upset or worried, sir?’

  Mr Laidlaw shook his head. ‘Not at all. That’s why I was convinced, right from the start, that there was more to Carol
ine’s disappearance than met the eye. I needed to see her in connection with some of the works. I forget exactly what now, but I know we needed to put scaffolding up and it was probably to warn her that was going to happen.’

  He smiled briefly. ‘She invited me in for coffee. With Caroline being so close to my wife, our relations were much more informal than is usual with my clients, you understand. There was another woman with her, an old friend. I can’t remember her name, but we had quite a merry little party. That would have been about eleven o’clock or so. We chatted for a while.’

  His smile faded. ‘I remember enjoying the break from work.’ He sat up and looked at Jack earnestly. ‘The point is, Major Haldean, that Caroline Trevelyan was completely herself. Happy, even. When we got the news that she had disappeared, I, for one, wasn’t at all surprised when Michael, her husband, was implicated.’

  ‘When you say “implicated”, what do you mean?’ asked Jack slowly.

  Andrew Laidlaw looked him squarely in the eyes. ‘Do I have to spell it out for you?’

  Jack gave a low whistle. ‘Murder?’

  Mr Laidlaw shrugged. ‘The case never came to court but Michael Trevelyan made himself scarce. The implication is obvious, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Did you know the Trevelyans, sir?’ asked Jack. ‘You said Mrs Trevelyan was your wife’s cousin. Were they friends of yours as well?’

  Mr Laidlaw shook his head. ‘Not really. Although Violet was very close to Caroline, she never got on with her husband, so we didn’t meet them socially.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘I must say I never had any quarrel with Trevelyan. In fact I rather liked the man at first but, as I say, Violet didn’t care for him. Maybe I was unduly influenced by my wife’s opinion, but possibly the best way to put it is that I came to be wary of him. Although perfectly agreeable at first, I suspected he could have an evil temper if roused. Not that I had much to do with him, you understand. I did meet him, but only for what you might call business purposes. I discussed the alterations to the house with Michael Trevelyan, but that was all. Not that, of course, he had any say in the matter. It was my wife, Violet, who suggested they live there and they got the house at a peppercorn rent. She put it to her father – Arthur Wild was Caroline Trevelyan’s uncle, of course – and he agreed. It was my father-in-law who supervised most of the building work. I only called in occasionally from time to time to see how the work was progressing. Then, of course, this awful business happened and after a while it became clear that Michael Trevelyan was, as I say, implicated.’

  ‘I’m still not sure how he was implicated,’ said Jack. ‘Did the police find any evidence?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you with those details,’ said Mr Laidlaw. ‘I believe there was some, but what I can’t say. You appreciate, Major Haldean, it’s a long time ago now. It was extensively reported in the press, that I do know. My wife was subject to some very unwelcome attention from journalists. Trevelyan was apprehended, as I believe, in London, but the case never came to court.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he managed to give the police the slip, that’s why. Goodness knows where he got to. We had the police at the house – Saunder’s Green – but they couldn’t find any evidence of what had happened to Caroline Trevelyan. Speaking personally, I was relieved about that. My poor wife was upset enough as it was, without having to confront any physical evidence. She was convinced for years that Caroline was still alive, but I’m afraid she was deluding herself.’

  ‘What do you think happened, Mr Laidlaw?’ asked Betty.

  He stubbed out his cigarette. ‘What could I think?’ he demanded. ‘What could anyone think? My father in law had no doubts upon the matter, but he held that it was a case of least said, soonest mended. Privately speaking, he always thought it was just as well that Trevelyan had managed to escape. Naturally enough, he was upset about his niece’s disappearance, but she was gone and there was no bringing her back and he dreaded the whole sorry business being dragged into court.’

  ‘Why did he want it hushed up?’ asked Betty innocently. ‘After all, as you say, Mrs Trevelyan was his niece.’

  Mr Laidlaw looked shocked. ‘The publicity, dear lady! We are a commercial firm and Saunder’s Green House was then a valuable property. Since then, I’m glad to say, we’ve expanded.’ He gestured to the plans of Resthaven on the wall. Betty still looked puzzled.

  ‘Would you like to live in a house where you knew a murder had been committed?’ he demanded.

  Betty shook her head. ‘No, I don’t suppose I would,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t think I’d ever feel entirely comfortable.’

  ‘Exactly, Mrs Haldean. You’ve answered your own question.’

  He gave an irritated sigh. ‘Damn! To have this whole wretched affair dragged up again after all these years is bad enough, but if the story gets about again, I have no doubts that Saunder’s Green House is finished as a commercial proposition. Quite frankly, I might as well knock it down. Even then I’d probably have a job to sell any houses built on the site. I would be very obliged to you both if you would refrain from starting any unsubstantiated rumours.’

  ‘I can promise you we won’t start any unsubstantiated rumours, sir,’ said Jack sincerely. Substantiated ones, he added to himself, were something completely different. ‘One more question. Did the Trevelyans have any children?’

  ‘Children?’ Mr Laidlaw looked surprised. ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember any. As I said, Caroline Trevelyan was my wife’s cousin but I hardly knew them.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘I’ve been very frank with you, Major Haldean. Can I ask you to drop this enquiry? No good can be served by dragging up what happened in the past.’

  He stood up and stretched his shoulders. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I do have other matters to attend to.’

  He escorted them to the door but hesitated before opening the door. He looked at them and tried to smile, obviously trying to make up for his curtness. ‘It’s a funny thing. When I realised who you were, Major Haldean, I felt rather pleased. I thoroughly enjoyed reading about the Lassiter affair and so on in the papers.’

  He rubbed his face with his hand. ‘It’s quite different being actually involved, even obliquely. I must remember that in future,’ he added wryly.

  ‘Do you really fancy one of those Resthaven houses?’ asked Jack, glancing down at the prismatic brochure Betty had tucked under her arm. He tilted his head to read the cover. ‘“Resthaven! Make this house your Home.” You don’t intend to, do you?’

  ‘Of course not, silly,’ said Betty with a giggle. ‘Although Mr Laidlaw certainly wanted me to,’ she added as they walked back to the car. ‘Besides, it was you who said they wanted to look round Resthaven. You nearly convinced me.’

  ‘That was mere persiflage, sweetheart. I thought you were sincere.’

  ‘Well, I was really. All that fresh air and sunshine looks lovely, even if it’s stretching it a bit to say Resthaven’s in London. I rather liked him, Jack, and I did feel sorry for him, when he told us about losing his brother in the war and his son to the flu and then his wife as well.’

  ‘Yes, so did I. It must’ve been tough for relatives during the war,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t think it ever occurred to me when I was in the thick of things to think how the people back home were feeling. Now, in some ways, I think they had it worse than we did. Especially parents.’

  He slipped his hand into Betty’s and grinned. ‘Perhaps it’s because I can imagine being a parent myself. I’ll teach the boys to climb trees.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ said Betty. ‘Can I just say, though, that I used to climb trees when I was a child.’

  ‘Did you?’ he said in surprise.

  ‘Yes. Girls do, you know. Some girls, anyway. But the difference, Jack, between men and women, is that girls get over wanting to. Talking of girls, I suppose we can tell Jenny that we’ve solved her mystery for her.’

  ‘Have we?’

  Betty looked puzzled. ‘I’d
say so. After all, she thought something scary had happened at Saunder’s Green House and, thanks to Mr Laidlaw, we know what it was. That poor woman, Caroline, disappeared. It seems obvious, although Mr Laidlaw was a bit reluctant to say so, that her husband bumped her off, the horrible man.’

  ‘And how is that scary?’

  ‘Well, of course it’s scary, Jack.’

  ‘What? Just hearing that someone had disappeared? This is a little girl of about four years old we’re talking about, remember. She wouldn’t know anything about it. No one would spell the details out to a kid of that age.’

  ‘No, of course they wouldn’t,’ said Betty thoughtfully. She clutched at his arm. ‘Jack! She must’ve witnessed the murder!’ She drew her breath in. ‘Poor Jenny! That’s horrible. She must’ve been in that little tree house and seen it all. Oh, the poor child. She must’ve been so scared that she remembered it as seeing a monster.’

  Jack said nothing for a time but walked in silence until they reached the Spyker. ‘There’s a lot to be said for that idea,’ he said, when they reached the car. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s more or less what I thought myself.’

  ‘Mr Laidlaw said there was another woman there when he called in that morning,’ said Betty. ‘That must be Mrs Langton, Jenny’s mother.’

  ‘Yes … It’s odd she never mentioned anything to Jenny about it. After all, it’s the sort of thing you’d remember.’

  Jenny Langton agreed. They had decided to have dinner together in Kettners in Soho, a welcome change, as Jenny said, from boarding-house fare.

  However, despite an excellent steak and kidney pie, Jenny hardly noticed the food. ‘I witnessed a murder?’ she said incredulously. And then, going straight to the salient point, added, ‘But how come my mother didn’t say anything? I mean, you’ve worked out that I’d visited Saunder’s Green House with my mother so she must’ve been there. Wouldn’t she give the hue and cry? I mean, even if she didn’t see anything, she would have realised her friend, this Caroline Trevelyan, had disappeared. You don’t go and visit someone for the day and have them vanish without saying a word.’