A Bloody Hot Summer

by Trevor D'Silva

  “Did she have any gentleman callers?”

  “If she did, she probably got ’em in without me or anyone knowing. She sometimes got right dressed up to go out, littlun too. Adele came back with chocolates and a stuffed bear once.”

  He took out the envelope that Lord Fitzhugh had received and asked Mrs. Potter if the handwriting on the note belonged to Frida Wilson, but she couldn’t confirm it. Dermot thanked her and left.

  — — —

  Dermot reached home just as it was getting dark. His mother had kept his dinner out for him and he devoured it because he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He went to his room, looked at his notes, and read the files he received from Oswald Gardner. He wondered why the Northams claimed to be pro-British during the Boer War and the Great War and then spied for Germany? Was it a coincidence that they both worked at St. Cuthbert’s Hospital where Lord Fitzhugh had his surgery just before he died? Did Allan find out something about his father’s death and that is why they killed him then made him a scapegoat by framing him as a spy? Nothing made sense.

  Chapter 10: Entering the Limelight

  Dermot got up early the next day and drove back to London. He wanted to get to the London Library before it got crowded. He went into the reading room where two men were already there, reading the newspapers. Dermot walked to the front desk. Miss Cartwright, seated at the desk, raised her head and smiled at him.

  “Good morning, Detective Carlyle. You’re up and about early, I see.”

  Miss Cartwright was middle-aged and had worked at the library for nearly three decades. She was gifted with an exceptional memory and knew where every document and book was kept. Dermot knew he could always rely on her. Dermot greeted her and told her that he needed information on the Second Anglo-Boer War. Miss Cartwright told him to have a seat and went away. She returned a little while later wheeling a trolley stacked with papers and books and parked it next to Dermot. She informed him that there were letters, articles, and testimonies from both British as well as Boer soldiers. The books were written after the war and would provide him with the historical background of the war. Dermot thanked her. She smiled and went back to her desk.

  Dermot looked through the newspapers and articles that were chock-full of the heroic exploits of British and colonial soldiers and also information about the various battles fought. Dermot also read some obituaries of the mostly young British men who had perished in the conflict.

  As Dermot continued perusing, he stumbled upon an article about concentration camps that had been started by the British to intern the Boer farmers and their families. This aroused his curiosity and he read further articles about the shocking conditions of the camps. He noted that there was a concentration camp at Kimberley. The pictures of the emaciated internees sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t believe that the civilised British Empire would treat Boer women and children in such a horrendous manner.

  There was an article about the De Villiers’ mine explosion and also the subsequent lawsuit for fraud brought by the Middleton & Price Insurance Company against Lord Fitzhugh. He perused the article and found that the company had paid a sum of one hundred thousand pounds to Lord Fitzhugh when he won the case. There was another article where he was interviewed when he returned home from South Africa after winning the case. He mentioned how much he had missed Meadowford Village and how he wanted to spend the rest of his days there.

  Suddenly, an idea flashed through Dermot’s mind. He got up and spoke to Miss Cartwright and then she disappeared into a room, closing the door behind her. Dermot perused through more articles about the war and noted certain points that interested him. When Miss Cartwright came back, she placed a newspaper from July, 1857, in front of Dermot.

  “I forgot about this. You were right,” she said excitedly. “Lord Fitzhugh was interviewed when he returned with his family after escaping the mutiny. The article is on the second page. Thomas Sutton, who worked for the London Times, interviewed him. There’s also an artist’s rendition of the family’s escape in the caravan and of the grieving mother of William and Theo Fitzhugh.”

  After she left, Dermot read the article and found that it matched with what Flora Ainsworth had told him. He looked at the artist’s drawing of the grieving mother and felt sorry for her. Dermot read a few more articles, letters, and portions of books. After he had finished, he thanked Miss Cartwright for her help. As he was about to walk away, he asked her what she meant when she said ‘I forgot about this’ when she handed him the newspaper.

  Miss Cartwright tapped her forehead. “I know it’s been a long time, but this lady came here several years ago. She was reading the newspapers and then asked me for the same newspaper from 1857 about Lord Fitzhugh’s escape from the mutiny.”

  “Interesting… What happened then?”

  “She started sobbing after reading the article. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. People stared at her and when I asked her what had upset her and she only said ‘All lies, all lies…’ She took her things and walked out. I never saw her again.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Very plain looking. Maybe middle-aged. Nothing unusual about her.”

  “Do you remember when this happened?”

  “I think it was before Lord Fitzhugh died. I remember the newspapers had stories about him being close to death’s door.”

  Dermot thanked her. He knew that Miss Cartwright’s phenomenal memory was always right.

  — — —

  As Dermot walked towards his car, he saw someone familiar on the opposite side of the road. He realised that it was Pippa. When he had interviewed her, she had told him that she had a flat in London, that she worked for Selfridges on Oxford Street selling perfume, and that she also shopped at Oxford Street using some of the inheritance she received from her father after his death. However, now she was quite some distance away from Oxford Street where she usually shopped. Dermot decided to follow her.

  People all around were hurrying to escape the blazing sun, but Pippa calmly headed towards her destination. She walked for some time and then stopped in front of a door. She knocked and it opened a few seconds later. He saw her greet someone and then enter. After the door closed, Dermot surreptitiously walked to the door and read the notice on it. It was the back door of a theatre.

  “Pippa’s an actress?” he said to himself and smiled. “Nobody mentioned it.”

  Dermot decided to investigate and walked around the building towards the front door. The door was locked. He knocked and the cover of the grille opened. He could barely see the face of the man on the other side.

  “Who is it?” the man asked.

  “This is Detective Dermot Carlyle from the Metropolitan Police. Is the theatre open?”

  “No, we open on the thirtieth of next month for the production of A Mistress at Hand. You’re welcome to come then. We’re only rehearsing the play now.”

  “Can I come in? I’ve never been to a play rehearsal before. I’m sure you won’t object, unless you’re doing something illegal,” he said, smiling.

  The man hesitated, then said, “All right, you can come in and see. But you must be careful. If anyone asks, I will say that you would like to see how we perform before you decide to join us. Nobody needs to know that you’re from the police. Once you’re satisfied that there’s nothing wrong, please leave us alone.”

  “You have my word, sir.”

  The grille closed and, a few seconds later, the door opened. Dermot walked in and he noticed that the man was slightly taller than him with a clean-shaven face and he wore a tweed hat. He held out his hand and Dermot shook it. He introduced himself as Francis Abernathy and he owned the theatre. He came from Leeds, along with his acting troupe, and was tr
ying to market his play, which he co-wrote with the director. He bought the theatre building more than a year ago and then renovated it. He then asked Dermot to follow him.

  Dermot followed Francis inside and they walked down a corridor.

  “Normally I’m not at the theatre,” Francis said. “I go around London and the suburbs to get some publicity for the play. If we have success on the opening night, then we can stay on in London.”

  He opened the double doors and they both walked in. Dermot found himself inside a large auditorium with several rows of seats. The actors were getting ready on the stage in front. Dermot and Francis sat in the last row, which was not well lit. The director of the play was sitting in the front, along with some of the cast. He gave the go ahead and the rehearsal commenced.

  “We have a talented cast and some joined us in London,” Francis whispered to Dermot.

  Dermot watched the rehearsal and then he saw Pippa. She was playing the role of Celestine, the French mistress, in the play. She played her part to perfection.

  “She’s wonderful, isn’t she? One wouldn’t say she’s British with that French accent,” said Dermot.

  “Yes, that is Philippa Fitzgerald. She’s talented and charming.”

  Dermot looked at him and realised that Francis liked Pippa. “I thought her name is Pippa Fitzhugh, or is Philippa Fitzgerald just her stage name?”

  Francis looked stunned. “Her family doesn’t approve of her acting. She cannot reveal her real name.”

  “I understand. Mum’s the word. Now, have other actors shown any interest in her?”

  “Not really, but she’s seeing this painter fellow. He’s a lot older than her. Don’t know what she sees in him. Some girls like older men, I reckon. He’s been here twice and some of the other actresses have said that they find him very attractive.”

  Dermot could detect some jealously and silently chuckled, wondering whether Pippa knew that Francis liked her.

  “He doesn’t mind her acting?”

  “Not at all, he is very Bohemian.”

  Dermot wondered what Pippa’s aunts would say if they ever found out that she was acting. He looked at his watch and realised that he had to leave. He thanked Francis and wished him success with his play. Francis invited him to come on the opening night.

  “I will try my best. Cheerio!”

  Dermot left the theatre and walked back to the London Library where he had parked his car. He then drove home to Meadowford.

  — — —

  Dermot rang the doorbell of Major Havelock’s modest home. Gerda let him in and showed him into the living room. The walls of the room had many trophies that Major Havelock had brought back from countries he had been stationed in or visited during his career in the British Army. Dermot looked around with awe. Lion and tiger heads mounted one wall and deer antlers mounted the other. Swords, daggers, and guns were either in a display case or mounted on the remaining walls.

  “I see that you are admiring my souvenirs,” said Major Havelock as he walked into the living room.

  “Yes, Major Havelock. I’ve never seen so many on the walls of a living room. You must’ve had many adventures.”

  “I did. India, Africa, the Middle East, and South America – all have their own souvenirs to offer. I always felt I needed to bring a little piece of those places back with me, either to reminisce or to show off to the people who have never set foot out of Meadowford. If it were not for this damn leg, I wouldn’t have retired early and probably would’ve become a general.” He walked towards Dermot, wincing in pain. “Let me tell you one thing… the wounds you get when you’re young do come back to haunt you in your later years.”

  Dermot pointed to two medals in a display case and asked him about them. Major Havelock told him that the King’s and Queen’s South Africa Medals were bestowed on him for his services during the Boer War.

  Dermot and Major Havelock sat facing each other on armchairs. The armchair creaked under the weight of the old soldier. He looked at Dermot sternly and his blue eyes shone like diamonds. Then, in a gruff voice, he said, “I don’t think you came here to ask me about these souvenirs. So out with it, Detective.”

  Dermot smiled at the brusqueness. “I understand that you served with Lord Fitzhugh in South Africa during the Boer War?”

  “Yes, I knew him from here. Despite his advanced age, he volunteered to fight for his Queen and country, to subdue those Boers and help the British get their foothold in South Africa. A great man indeed.”

  “I’m sure,” Dermot said, nonchalantly. “Was there anyone who held a grudge against Lord Fitzhugh when he commanded his regiment near Kimberley?”

  Dermot could see that the question caught the major by surprise. Major Havelock thought for a moment. “No, we fought regular battles and he was a good general. The soldiers he commanded loved and respected him.”

  “I was told that you were close to her Ladyship. So, at the party, did she say anything unusual to you?”

  “She said she had discovered that someone at the party wasn’t being honest. She wanted to enjoy her party and planned on confronting that person the next day with the evidence she had.”

  “Was she talking about a man?”

  “Yes, I believe so. I think she was talking about Arthur. He has always been a funny one. Lilian had a hard time disciplining him as a child. There was one instance when he was ten…”

  “Yes, I know that he is a hard person to deal with, but that does not mean that he would murder his own aunt.”

  “Listen, Detective, when you’ve lived as long as I have and seen the things I’ve seen, nothing in this world will surprise you. He did say that Doris was his favourite aunt during the toast, but those were mere words. He’s getting his inheritance since Doris is now dead.”

  Dermot thought for a second. “I think you’re right. People have killed for a lot less. I thank you for your time, Major Havelock.”

  As he got up to leave, Major Havelock said, “I hope you find whoever did this to poor Doris. I shan’t show him any mercy and would like to hang him from the lamp post in the village square.”

  — — —

  The next morning, Dermot and Inspector Enderby went to Fitzhugh Manor. Inspector Enderby had placed two of his constables as guards the previous day and he wanted Dermot to meet them. The two constables went towards the two men when they saw them approaching. Inspector Enderby introduced them to Dermot. Andrew Barnaby was a young constable who had just joined the police force. He was of medium height and had red hair. Terence Jenkins was taller and had jet black hair.

  “They will each work twelve-hour shifts and then be replaced by Constables Blackwood and Clarke. Jenkins will guard the front door, while Barnaby the backdoor, and he will make his rounds around the manor every two hours,” explained Inspector Enderby as he handed Dermot a slip of paper containing the names of the four constables.

  “Who’s Aindrea Barnaby?” asked Dermot as he read the names.

  “Me, sir. Me mum’s Scottish and Aindrea is Scottish for Andrew,” said Barnaby.

  “Anything suspicious, Jenkins?” asked Inspector Enderby.

  “No, Inspector. Very quiet and no one suspicious has come close to the manor. Just the regular staff and people who live here. Of course, the fellow that’s courting Miss Fitzhugh comes and goes frequently.”

  “What about the backdoor, Barnaby?”

  “Just the kitchen staff and people who deliver groceries. Nobody else. All have been checked and they’ve been coming here for many years. No one out of the ordinary.”

  “Very good! Remember your training and if anything out of the ordinary happens, or you get wind of
any information, you know what to do.”

  The two constables nodded.

  “How are the occupants of the manor?” asked Dermot.

  “They’re nice, Detective. The maids bring us our meals and tea. Miss Carter knows when I make my rounds and she likes chatting with us,” said Constable Barnaby.

  “The only person that’s mean is that grumpy battleaxe, Mrs. Endecott. I think any man that meets her will reconsider marriage and be happy being a confirmed bachelor,” said Constable Jenkins.

  “You don’t say… I’ve heard that Lady Fitzhugh was very kind. Wish somebody murdered Mrs. Endecott instead of her Ladyship,” said Barnaby.

  Dermot masked a grin, but Inspector Enderby looked furious.

  “Barnaby, you’re new here so I will let that go. Never joke about murder again. Is that clear? By God, I will make sure you’ll be shovelling dirt by the roadside for the rest of that miserable life of yours.”

  Barnaby’s face turned as red as his hair. “Sorry, sir, it’ll never happen again. I promise.”

  “Good. Now get back to your stations, you two.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the two constables. As they turned to leave, Dermot winked at Constable Barnaby to let him know that he understood why he had made an uncharitable comment about Lilian Endecott.

  Chapter 11: Tea Time in the Library

  Miss Carter entered the bedroom, carrying a glass of milk.

  “Feeling better, Hector?” she asked.

  “Yes, Miss Carter. I’ve been taking my tonic.”

  “Good boy, Hector. The doctor knows what’s best for you.” She placed the milk next to Hector and looked inside the bathroom. “Let me take that glass on the sink,” she said as she walked inside the bathroom and took the glass.

  “I’m glad you’re taking your tonic. Your mother wants you to get better. She worries about you.”