‘Sir?’ Dicks said on entry. ‘I brought a pot of coffee.’
‘Excellent!’ I commended him. ‘Where’s Dawkins?’ I asked as he placed the tray next to my pilfered prize.
‘Confined to the kitchen, sir, by Mrs Dawkins. He’s on potato-peeling and washing-up. She made him wear an apron and all. Looks a proper Charlie and serves him right.’ He was pouring coffee as he said this, and taking a good look at the box.
‘You are not to say a word about this, Dicks.’
‘No, sir.’
‘The box, I mean.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Need to open it.’ There were biscuits with the coffee – orange and something, almonds possibly.
‘Is that why you’re asking after Dawkins, sir?’
‘Mm,’ I said between mouthfuls. ‘Send him up and tell him to come prepared. If he so much as whispers a word of this, he’ll be straight in front of the Brigadier and then the beak. Make that clear, Dicks.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ He went off, grinning.
Dawkins had a black eye, which didn’t do anything to improve his lank looks. ‘Don’t know why ye think I can open locks. I’m not a thief, ye –’
‘Dawkins,’ I told him, ‘not a word. Just open it.’ I indicated the lock with my biscuit.
He opened his mouth to whine, noted the expression on my face and closed it again. He withdrew a set of blacksmith-made rods, each curved to form a handle and trimmed to taper down and end in thin hooks or the shape of an ’s’ or that of a notched tooth. I watched Dawkins carefully: he placed one pick in the lock and twisted it around until I heard a faint click. Then he inserted a shorter one and did the same. On the third click, the lock opened.
‘Done it,’ he said, and moved to open the box.
‘Don’t touch it,’ I told him sharply. ‘And hand over the lock picks.’
That startled him. He grabbed them and stepped backwards. ‘Not on your nelly.’
‘Your position in this house, or the lock picks. I’ll not leave a thief’s tool in the pocket of a chap like you. Make up your mind, Dawkins.’
It’s rare to see loathing in the eyes of one’s fellow man, outside of war, that is, but he really did wish me grievous ill at that moment. A thud at the threshold made us both swing around. The stout figure of Mrs Dawkins filled the doorway, her arms crossed, her apron floured and a look of vengeance in her eyes. Dawkins barely hesitated; he flung the set of picks in my direction and stomped from the room a beaten man.
Tubbs jumped on the prize; they made a pleasant jangly noise. I scooped them off the floor delighted with my booty. I may not have accumulated much evidence during the investigation, but the lock picks were to be added to my detecting kit and I had an underemployed butler at home who could teach me the basics once I returned. I picked Tubbs up, patted him on the head and opened the box.
Chapter 19
There were two items within, I picked up the one that most interested me — a pistol. It was a very neat little .25 calibre Walther automatic. I turned it over in my hands, pulled back the slide part way and seeing no round in the chamber, ejected the loaded magazine. I sniffed it, it hadn’t been fired in some time and that came as rather a disappointment. I wrapped it carefully in one of my handkerchiefs and pushed it into the back of my desk drawer.
The other item was a ledger. It wasn’t very old, nor unusual, being bound with black leather and stamped with gold lettering stating that it was indeed a ‘Ledger’.
Book-keeping had never appealed to me but in this instance I was prepared to give it my undivided attention. The book had little to say for itself on the flyleaf, but once opened into the ruled and lined pages of the ledger itself, it revealed all. The first date was over a year ago, the left-hand column was headed ‘Item’, and next to it was ‘Prov’, presumably for ‘Provenance’. Then ‘Own’s Price’ which I took to be Owner’s Price, followed by ‘Paid’, ‘Sold’, ‘Comm’ and finally ‘Profit’.
Thankfully it was all in English, presumably to enable Jarvis to share its details. Hiram walked in as I was trying to add up some of the numbers.
‘I’m supposed to tell you about your best man duties,’ he drawled. ‘so here, old man, you take this and hand it over when I tell you.’
I raised my eyes from the book and regarded the handsome box he was holding out to me. He opened it to reveal a finely wrought gold ring.
‘Sure you trust me with that, old chap?’
‘I sure do. You keep it safe until I place it on the finger of my wedded bride.’
I placed the box carefully in my waistcoat pocket. Thoughts of ball and chain entered my head, but I refrained from mentioning them.
‘This calls for a drink.’ I rose to ring the bell but he held up a large hand.
He smiled broadly. ‘I brought along some good bourbon to mark the occasion.’
He pulled out a hip flask from the pocket of his blue suit and offered it to me. It was raw and strong and numbed the tongue as it went down. I coughed, he laughed.
‘You doing your accounts?’ he asked, indicating the ledger open on the table.
‘No,’ I replied, and spilled the beans about my search of von Graf’s rooms. He raised his brows and grinned, then leaned in for a closer look.
‘This item here,’ he said, placing a thick finger on the page, ‘horse and plough, one man, field, trees, artist unknown, framed – it must be a painting.’
‘Provenance, B.C., probably being Braeburn Castle,’ I said. ‘Owner’s price £100, sold £220.10s.6d, Comm £10.10s.6d, profit £110.’
‘By profit, they mean their profit, not the owner’s,’ Hiram growled.
‘My interpretation entirely,’ I agreed. ‘I assume Comm. to be a commission paid to an individual or a gallery.’
Hiram picked up a chair from beside the fire and came to sit next to me at the desk and we worked through the ledger. There were other items from elsewhere, denoted only by initials, such as C.C., L.M. and F.H.
The descriptions were primarily for paintings although a few items of silver were included. A Goblet, Flagon, Chalice and a Gilt Communion Cup were sold late last year – probably the very items purportedly stolen by Bartholomew. The thought of it made my blood boil. We spent another thirty minutes trawling through the ledger; I made notes in my own book of some of the sums involved.
‘I reckon they defrauded the Laird of over ten thousand pounds,’ Hiram calculated.
‘Agreed – but we may have to ask Florence if she recognises these descriptions, just to be certain the artworks were indeed from the Castle.’
‘Yeah,’ Hiram drawled. ‘But if von Graf comes back, I’ll be asking him exactly what these figures mean and I won’t be doing it kindly.’
‘Looking at the amount of money involved, I doubt he’s coming back. A man could live like a king in some countries with the sums they’ve made,’ I remarked.
‘And he’ll have all the loot to himself now,’ Hiram added.
‘Damn,’ I sighed. ‘I hate to think he’s got away with this.’
‘Are you giving this here ledger to Swift?’ Hiram asked.
‘Yes, it’s vital evidence I’ll hand it to him when he arrives.’
‘Meanwhile, I’ll show it to the gals.’ He reached over to pick up the ledger.
I placed my hand on it. ‘Not just yet, old chap. Give me some time, would you? Need to think this through. And I’m not sure we should involve them for the moment. As you said, their minds are full of wedding frocks and flowers. We don’t want to spoil it for them.’
He stopped, straightened up and shook his head. ‘I can only agree with you, Lennox. But you know them thieves have been robbing people blind. Back in Texas I’d be rounding up a posse right now,’ he drawled.
I had no idea what a ‘posse’ was, but it sounded ominous, and if von Graf should show his face in the house again, he would be afforded a very unpleasant welcome.
Hiram left, his jaw tight with anger. I looked around for
a suitable hiding place and, lacking imagination, could only think of Fogg’s basket, so that’s where I put it. Having disturbed the two animals, I decided to take Fogg for a spot of fresh air to blow a breeze through my thoughts. I dropped Tubbs in my pocket as he probably needed an outing too.
The evidence of the thefts excited and perturbed me in equal measure. Seeing fraud laid out in neatly inscribed columns, with the profits from their thievery listed just as any other honest enterprise would be accounted, seemed to make it all the worse. As cold a crime as any I’d heard of, and it had been committed upon trusting, decent people who had given the scoundrels shelter, food and friendship.
Fogg ran through the grass ahead of me as we headed toward the water meadows. Our steps took us in the opposite direction to the chantry and graveyard, where no doubt Swift and his team would be performing their dreadful task. Death was no stranger after four long years of a war which at times had resembled a daily massacre, but that was in a distant land. Here I was at a home I’d known as a child, and the crime had been perpetrated upon people for whom I felt great affection. I was grateful not to be involved in the exhumation.
Spring showers had been scudding across the sky throughout the day but the sun broke through the high clouds during my amble, sending a few warm rays to lift my mood. Fogg ran after rabbits and I stood quietly on a ridge looking down to the broad brook running through a shallow vale between low hills. Cows waded in the water, tugging tussocks of grass from the banks, and watched me, chewing vacantly, with probably not a thought in their heads.
‘Major Lennox.’
I heard my name called and turned around unhurriedly, having no wish to be disturbed. It was Miss Busby.
‘Major Lennox,’ she called again.
‘Greetings,’ I replied, trying to inject some enthusiasm into the sentiment.
‘Oh dear, you do sound rather downcast,’ she replied.
I smiled. ‘Touch of melancholy, perhaps,’ I ventured.
‘Any reason?’
‘The perfidious nature of Man, I suppose.’
‘And that comes as a surprise?’ she chivvied me gently.
I laughed.
‘They are excavating poor Bartholomew,’ she said as she fell in with me. We walked with unhurried steps along an earthen path, well trodden by hooves, upon the ridge. ‘I didn’t wish to remain nearby. And it is causing tremendous chatter in the village – I find it rather disturbing to my peace of mind,’ she said.
‘Mm …’ I replied.
‘Is it causing a ripple at the Hall?’ she asked.
I smiled again. ‘Lady Ruth has forbidden death and corpses. There are apparently “flowers and flounces” in abundance, but no ripples. And in truth it is better that way.’
She stopped. I turned back to look at her, brows raised in question.
‘It is more than the nature of Man troubling you, Major Lennox,’ she guessed.
‘Hum,’ I replied, then let escape a sigh. ‘Jarvis was a murderer and a thief,’ I said.
‘Indeed, and I suspect von Graf is too. They were working together, after all.’
We fell back to walking again, Fogg just ahead of us with his nose to the ground.
‘They met during the War,’ I told her. ‘Von Graf said he was working as a translator, but I suspect he was secretly buying art looted by the troops, and using his contacts in the trade to sell them. You know he owned his own gallery in Paris before the War?’
She smiled and nodded. ‘I do, Major Lennox. You told me.’
‘Did I?’
‘Rather knotty, you said, or something akin,’ she replied. ‘I take it you are puzzling over the mystery.’
‘Yes,’ I acknowledged. ‘Jarvis wasn’t a real chaplain. He’d stolen his brother’s identity. He and von Graf must have made the perfect partnership. A talented forger and a handsome art dealer, neither possessing any scruples between them.’
‘Yes,’ Miss Busby murmured.
‘They met Florence’s father during the War, and when it was all over they must have decided to go in search of pigeons for the plucking. Once they’d weaselled their way into the Laird’s confidence, they purchased his paintings at rock-bottom prices and sold high. Very high. Hiram and I calculated the amount they defrauded from the Braeburns to be over ten thousand pounds.’
‘Really? Such a sum would buy every house in Bloxford village.’ Miss Busby looked shocked. ‘How do you know the amount?’
‘I found their ledger hidden in von Graf’s room. Von Graf has vanished. Hiram and I think he’s bolted.’
‘Does it list where they were selling the works?’ she asked.
‘No, but they paid commission on some of the sales, which implies that it was a legitimate channel.’
She was silent for a while, digesting the news as we walked. We entered a wood, carpeted in bluebells; Foggy was intent on sniffing out squirrels and bounded through the flowers. The leaves on the trees were unfurling, casting shadows under the boughs, and we wandered through dappled shade and sunshine.
‘What about the tenor, Sir Crispin? Where did he fit in?’ she asked.
‘Another puzzle to pick through, Miss Busby. I’m afraid I don’t know yet.’
‘It was not a very complex crime, was it?’ she commented.
I looked at her quizzically. It had certainly caused tangled knots in my mind.
She smiled. ‘The fraud committed by Jarvis and von Graf was really very simple. They befriended the Laird, purchased his paintings and sold them on at a much higher price. Probably found other folk to fleece, too, and no doubt they’d done the same with the officers and troops during the War. But something changed – something drove them to murder Bartholomew, and eventually Sir Crispin, too.’
‘The Gainsborough?’ I mooted.
‘But how did they discover it even existed?’ she asked.
‘Ruth Chisholm,’ I said. ‘She encountered them at Braeburn Castle. They helped her translate some of the old archives that are held there. There was mention that one of the Braeburn daughters married a Bloxford and had her portrait painted by Gainsborough.’
‘Hum,’ Miss Busby replied. ‘And Jarvis took the place of Bartholomew, elevating him to a position of trust. I imagine he and von Graf gained the confidence of the Brigadier just as they had gained the trust of the Braeburns and the Chisholms.’
‘Exactly,’ I said.
‘Does Lady Ruth realise she was duped?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said and added. ‘Possibly.’
‘Oh dear,’ Miss Busby said quietly. ‘If she has found out, it would bring consequences.’
‘Yes, and that is what has been troubling me. I doubt von Graf killed Jarvis, although I’ve been trying to convince myself that he did. No,’ I sighed, ‘I suspect it is someone much closer to home.’
Chapter 20
‘Ah,’ Miss Busby replied. ‘What a shame. I’d rather been enjoying our sleuthing, Major Lennox.’
I looked at her sideways. ‘What?’
‘Well, I am “close to home”, you know.’
That gave me pause for thought. We walked on in silence for a while.
‘I would be most surprised if it were you, Miss Busby,’ I finally replied.
She laughed.
‘Why did you find that amusing?’ I asked.
‘Because you had to think about it,’ she answered.
I smiled in turn, but then returned to my troubled thoughts.
Miss Busby remarked. ‘Is there someone you fear may be the culprit?’
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘It could be any one of them. Lady Ruth has not only revealed the centuries old secret of the Beauties to two art thieves — she has also introduced them into Bloxford Hall where they have committed murder. She may have been duped, but people have paid with their lives because of her actions.’
‘Do you think it may affect the marriage of Caroline and Hiram?’
I considered her suggestion, then shook my head. ‘No.
A hundred years ago it may have done, but not in this day and age.’
‘And yet, this house does not really live in this day and age, does it?’
‘You mean the Brigadier?’ I smiled. ‘He wouldn’t stand in the way of Caroline’s happiness, whatever the circumstances.’
‘But would everybody realise that?’ She asked.
That gave my mind a jolt. Miss Busby was indeed very astute, I hadn’t considered that at all.
‘The motive is the crux of all this,’ I mused aloud.
‘Indeed, Major,’ she replied. ‘The evidence may provide signposts along the way but the road is laid by reason. Who ever did this had a very compelling reason.’
‘But they all have reason, don’t they?’ I responded. ‘The actions of Jarvis and von Graf has affected all of them one way or another.’
‘Oh dear,’ she exclaimed.
I stopped and looked down at her, my brows raised in silent query.
‘Now I will look at my friends in rather a different light,’ she remarked. ‘And so will you.’
I let loose a sigh. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
The wind had picked up, the sun had vanished behind grey clouds and the rain began to fall at a resolute rate.
‘I think I must dash,’ she told me, ‘I don’t have an umbrella.’
‘Nor I, and my dog has a dislike of getting wet.’ Tubbs was beginning to fidget in my pocket, too.
We departed in different directions. Fogg became drenched and by the time we reached the front door he had taken on a dejected air.
‘Blanket,’ I told Benson as we dripped into the hall. Dicks appeared and rustled one up. He wrapped the unhappy hound like a swaddled babe and I shoved him under my arm and carried him up to my rooms. The fire was burning brightly, the oil lamps were lit, the sky had darkened, and it wasn’t long before Dicks reappeared with a hot toddy to ward off the chill. Dog and kitten stared into the yellow flames as we dried off, steam rising to mist the inside of the windows. I remembered I’d hidden the ledger in Fogg’s basket and retrieved it before it became wet. I had no wish to delve back through it, and tossed it under the bed with Lady Grace.
The Black Cat Murders: A Cotswolds Country House Murder (Heathcliff Lennox Book 2) Page 16
