by Rhys Bowen
“She was probably telling you to go away and let her sleep,” I said. “There was nothing you could have done, Mildred. Honestly.”
“You’re too kind, my lady.” She managed a watery smile. “I think maybe the blue dress for dinner, as it is the plainest.”
“Mildred,” I said carefully, as she took the dress from the wardrobe, “I’m going up to London in the morning. If my business takes too long I may have to stay overnight at Rannoch House, but there is no need for you to accompany me. I’ll inform Lady Cromer-Strode that you’ll be staying on here, awaiting my return.”
“Very good, my lady,” she said and gave a secret smirk. Obviously she was having a good time and being well fed at Dippings.
Chapter 31
Dippings, Norfolk
Monday, June 20, 1932
Diary,
Two days in a row that I’ve been up at crack of dawn. I hope it isn’t becoming a habit. Luckily rain has stopped. Looks like lovely fine day. Unfortunately I won’t be enjoying it. I have places to go and people to see. I wish the queen didn’t have such faith in me. I haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to do!
I had the chauffeur drive me to Little Dippings Halt, the nearest railway station, to catch the eight o’clock train to London. Then I had to change twice before I caught the express from Peterborough to King’s Cross. Frankly it was a blessed relief to be away from people and it gave me time to do some serious thinking. I went through the various events—Tubby tumbling from the balcony, Hanni standing in front of Sidney Roberts’s body with a bloody knife in her hand and now this news that the baroness had died of a heart attack. The three tragedies seemed completely unrelated—an accident, a brutal, daring murder and a death by natural causes. Maybe they were just that but three deaths within a week were a little over the norm, even for the most violent of societies. And they had all happened since Hanni came into my life.
Which made me wonder whether the incidents were somehow actually directed at her: was there some kind of plot against her? I knew her father was no longer a reigning monarch, but he was no longer in favor with that funny little man Hitler, who seemed to be the rising star in German politics. And there was a move to restore him to his throne. Could this be some plan to discredit her father? I had heard that the German Nazi Party was ruthless and would stop at nothing to further its cause.... But if someone wanted to do away with Hanni, why not just stab her instead of a harmless young man like Sidney? Or was he so harmless? Why had he been invited to that party? Why had he come? They weren’t his crowd at all. He was clearly ill at ease there.
I tossed these thoughts around but still had come to no great revelations as we puffed into King’s Cross Station. I had intended to go to Rannoch House first, but then I remembered that my grandfather and Mrs. Huggins would probably not be there. So instead I caught the train east, out to the Essex suburbs. Granddad came to the front door, wearing an old apron, and looked astonished to see me.
“Well, blow me down with a feather,” he said. “What are you doing here, my love? I thought you was living it up on a country estate.”
“I told you the queen wanted me to try and solve this murder before the inquest, so I’ve left Hanni and come to see what you and I can do.”
“And I thought I told you, in no uncertain terms, that you was to stay well away,” he said with a frown, as he ushered me into his spotless little house.
“I can’t. Queen’s orders.”
“Then let her come and ruddy well solve it herself,” he said angrily. “Putting a young girl like you in harm’s way.”
He led me through into the kitchen, where he was obviously in the process of preparing his lunch. Runner beans, fresh from the garden, were being sliced on the kitchen table. He lit the gas under the kettle without waiting to see whether I wanted tea at this hour of the day.
“I won’t do anything silly, I promise.” I took a chair at his kitchen table. “Have you managed to find out anything yet?”
“Give us a chance, ducks. It’s been the weekend, hasn’t it? Mrs. Huggins and me, we had to pack up our stuff and scarper out of your posh house and get ourselves settled in at home. But I did ask a couple of questions of a bloke I know who’s still on the force in the city. I see him sometimes down the Queen’s ’ead. He couldn’t help much, mind you, but he did say these communists—most of them are harmless enough. They want a world that can never exist— equality for everyone, money shared around equally, jobs for all. Sounds wonderful, but won’t ever happen, will it? People are greedy, see. They don’t want to share. And my pal did say that the communists over on the Continent aren’t quite as idealistic and harmless. Russia’s sending out agitators, trained to whip up crowds, stir up hatred for the ruling classes, and get the people mobilized in action. There’s going to be civil war in Spain, he says. And that’s Russia’s aim. Topple governments one by one.”
“That’s obviously why there was so much fuss when Princess Hanni appeared to be involved in an incident at a communist meeting place, even though I’m sure Sidney was one of the harmless sort.”
“There are some nasty pieces of work among them,” Granddad said. “Look what they did when they took over Russia. Killed their own grandmothers without a second thought. Murdered your poor relatives, didn’t they? Down to the smallest nipper. Lot of savages, if you ask me. Of course, you’d never get the British people to rise up like that. We’re too sensible. We know when we’re well off.”
“I hope so,” I said. “But I really don’t think that this murder had anything to do with communism. It just happened in the wrong location. I suspect it was something quite different—someone with a grudge against Sidney Roberts, or it may be to do with drugs. Perhaps Sidney owed money for drugs and hadn’t paid up.”
Granddad smiled. “They wouldn’t kill him for that, love. You don’t kill the goose that lays the golden egg, do you? Threaten him, break his kneecaps, but keep him alive to find ways to get the money. That’s what the drug peddlers would do.”
I shuddered. “I was wondering whether Gussie Gormsley was peddling drugs. He lives awfully well and there were some hints that his money is ill gotten. But I can’t see Gussie breaking anybody’s kneecaps.”
“Can you see him stabbing anybody?”
“Frankly, no. I don’t think he’d have the skill, for one thing. And if the murderer could only have escaped through an attic window and across the rooftops—well, Gussie’s a little heavy for that sort of acrobatics.”
The kettle let out a shrill whistle and Granddad poured the boiling water into the teapot. “So what had you planned to do, now that you’re here?”
“I’ve no real idea. Go and interview Sidney’s parents, maybe have a chat with Chief Inspector Burnall and see what he has found out.”
“You think he’d welcome that, do you? Poking your nose into his investigations?”
“I’ll be subtle, I assure you. I’ll visit on the pretense of asking whether a date for the inquest is set and letting him know that Hanni needs to return to Germany soon—oh, and I think I should attend one of the communist meetings— incognito, of course. Sidney did invite Hanni and me to come to one, so I’m sure they’re quite safe. I could look around and see who is there and what is said.”
Granddad shook his head and made a tutting sound.
“It will be all right, Granddad.”
“Just as long as them blackshirts don’t bust in on it and turn it into a right old punch-up. They like doing that sort of thing, you know. Another bunch of hooligans, if you ask me. And that Oswald Mosley—calls himself a gentleman? Well, no English gentleman I know behaves like that. Wants people to go around saluting him, like that Hitler!”
“What would you do?” I asked him. “You’ve helped to solve real cases, haven’t you?”
“I was mostly just on the beat,” he said. “But I did work with some good men, and I did learn a thing or two. I remember old Inspector Parks. He had some fine old sayings. For instance, he used
to say, ‘Start with what you know. Start with the obvious.’ ”
I frowned, thinking. “Well, the obvious is that three people have died in a remarkably short space of time, but only one of them was a murder, so that’s the one we should be looking at.”
“Another of his old sayings was ‘If anything seems to be a coincidence, there’s probably more to it.’ So was anyone present at all three of these suspicious deaths?”
“Only Hanni and I. Oh, but wait, we were away when the baroness died, on a trip to Cambridge with Edward Fotheringay. Gussie was present when Tubby fell off the balcony and was in the house when the baroness died.”
“And you say you suspect he might be making some money from supplying drugs to his friends?”
“It did cross my mind.”
He nodded. “That’s something I could look into for you. I know a couple of blokes who might know a thing or two about the drug trade. Go on, don’t let your tea get cold.”
I took a sip.
“So going back to the obvious—what exactly did you see with your own eyes?”
“Tubby falling. Not being pushed. Hanni standing with a knife in her hand...”
“So we have to consider the possibility that she was the one what stabbed him.”
I laughed. “Oh no. That’s impossible.”
“Why is it?”
“She’s a princess, Granddad. A young girl. Just out of the convent. Innocent and naïve.”
“Not too naïve to try to swipe something from Harrods,” he pointed out.
“But taking a handbag is one thing. Killing someone— I can’t believe that. For one thing, she looked absolutely stunned, and I really don’t see how she would have had time to do it, since I was only a few steps behind her, and for another, how did she come by the knife? It was quite long, you know. She couldn’t have hidden it inside her little handbag. And then comes the question of why. Why would a German princess want to kill a harmless lower-class young man she’d only just met and whom she rather fancied?”
Granddad took a slurp of his own tea. “Another of old Inspector Parks’s sayings was, ‘In a murder case the first question should always be, Who benefits?’ ”
I thought about this. “In Tubby’s case, we’d have to see who inherits the estate with him gone. In Sidney’s case, nobody. I don’t think he had anything to leave.”
“Not just monetarily. Who would benefit from his being out of the way?”
I thought again. “Well, I did hear that he worked with labor unions, to help them organize strikes. Maybe one of the big factory owners wanted him out of the way because he was a nuisance. That might make sense because the police think the efficiency of the stabbing indicated a trained killer.”
“And just how do you propose to find out who might have hired a trained killer?”
I put down my teacup. “I have absolutely no idea, Granddad. Frankly I don’t know what I’m doing, but I have to give it a try, don’t I? I really don’t want to start a new world war.”
Granddad put down his teacup and burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s a good one, that is. You—starting a new world war because a young bloke gets himself stabbed?”
“Look how the last one started! With one silly archduke being assassinated in a little unimportant country. People seem to think an incident involving Hanni and the communists might be enough to unsettle things in Europe. I don’t see how, personally, but . . .” My voice trailed off.
“You worry too much, love,” Granddad said. “You take yourself too seriously. You’re young. You should be enjoying yourself, not feeling responsible for other people.”
“I can’t help it. I was brought up with duty rammed down my throat.”
He nodded. “Well, I’ll see what I can do.”
“And I wondered if you might come back to Rannoch House with me. Just for a day or so. I don’t like the thought of being alone there.”
“Of course I will, my love. As long as you don’t expect me to dress up in that ridiculous butler’s outfit. But I don’t think you’ll get Mrs. Huggins to join us this time. Had enough of that kitchen of yours, she has. Said it gave her the willies working underground like a mole.”
“I quite understand. Of course she needn’t come. It’s just me. I’ve left my new maid at Dippings and Hanni’s staying there until things are decided for her.”
“So you and I best get working then.” He picked up the beans. “But first we need a good lunch. I was going to do lamb chops and new potatoes, with beans from my garden. How does that sound?”
I smiled at him. “Perfect.”
Chapter 32
After lunch we caught the train up to the Smoke, as my grandfather called it. Then we went our separate ways, he to Scotland Yard and I out to the western suburbs this time and to the address I had found for Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, Sidney’s parents.
The Robertses lived in a humble semidetached house in Slough. Its red brick façade was coated with the grime of endless coal fires and its pocket handkerchief–sized front garden sported one brave little rosebush. On the journey there, I had thought out how I should approach Sidney’s parents. I knocked and the door was opened by a thin little woman in a flowery pinny.
“Yes?” she said, eyes darting suspiciously.
“Mrs. Roberts, I’m here about your son,” I said.
“You’re not another of those reporters, are you?” She went to close the door again.
“No, I was a friend of his from Cambridge” (all right, so it was a small lie, but detectives are allowed a certain degree of subterfuge, aren’t they?) “and I wanted just to pay my respects and tell you how very sorry I was.”
I saw the wariness soften and crinkle into pure grief. “You’re welcome to come inside, miss,” she said. “What did you say your name was?”
I hadn’t, of course. “It’s Maggie,” I said, reverting to my maid’s name as I had done once before. Maggie MacDonald.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss MacDonald.” She held out her hand. “The hubby’s in the back parlor. He’d like to meet one of our Sidney’s friends.”
She led me down a dark hallway into a little room with the obligatory three-piece suite and piano, its top littered with Goss china pieces, little souvenirs from past day trips to Brighton or Margate. A man had been sitting in one of the armchairs, reading the paper. He jumped to his feet as I was ushered in. He was painfully thin and balding, wearing braces over his shirt. His face looked completely haggard.
“We’ve got a visitor, Father,” Mrs. Roberts said. “This young lady used to know our Sidney at the university and she’s come to pay her respects. Isn’t that kind of her?”
“Much appreciated,” he said and immediately I felt rotten about deceiving them. “Take a seat, please. And how about a cup of tea, Mother?”
“Oh no, please. I don’t want to put you to any bother,” I said.
“No bother, I’m sure.” She scuttled out into the kitchen, leaving me to face Mr. Roberts.
“So you knew our Sidney at the university, did you?”
“Yes, but I lost touch with him when we graduated, so you can imagine what a shock it was to read about him in the newspaper. I couldn’t believe it was the same Sidney Roberts that I had known. I just had to come to London and find out for myself what had happened.”
“It happened, all right,” he said. “Our bright, wonderful boy, his life snuffed out just like that. Doesn’t seem fair, does it? I went through the whole Battle of the Somme and I came out without a scratch, but I tell you this, miss, I’d willingly have sacrificed my life in a second in exchange for his. He had so much to live for, so much promise.”
Mrs. Roberts had come back in with a teapot under a crocheted cozy and three cups on a tray. Obviously this was one of those households where there is always tea ready. “Here we are then,” she said with forced brightness. “Do you take milk and sugar?”
“Just milk, please,” I said. She poured me a cup and the cup rattled against the saucer
as she passed it to me with an unsteady hand.
“I was telling her how I wished I could have traded my life for his,” Mr. Roberts said.
“Don’t get yourself worked up again, Father,” Mrs. Roberts said. “This has really been hard on him, miss. First losing his job and now this. I don’t know how much more we can take.”
I looked longingly at the door, fervently wishing that I hadn’t come. I also wished I could help them with money, although I rather suspected that they wouldn’t take it.
“I understand that Sidney still lived at home?” I asked.
“That’s right. He came back to us after the university,” Mr. Roberts said. “We were worried that he’d get a job far away and his mother was delighted when he said he’d be stopping in London, weren’t you, old dear?”
She nodded, but put her hand to her mouth.
“The newspaper said that Sidney was killed in the dock-lands area of London? What was he doing there?”
Mr. Roberts glanced at his wife. “He worked in a book-shop. All that education and he ended up working behind a counter like any of the other young men from around here. I’ll tell you, miss. We had such high hopes for our Sidney. He was such a bright boy, see. We scrimped and saved to send him to the grammar school and then he goes and gets a scholarship to Cambridge as well. He had the world at his feet, our Sidney did.”
His voice cracked and he looked away from me.
“We thought he’d go into the law,” his wife continued for him. “He had always talked about becoming a solicitor so we expected him to become articled to a good firm when he came down from the university. But no. He announces to us that he wants nothing to do with the bourgeois establishment, whatever that is.”
“It seems he got in with a funny lot at his college,” Mr. Roberts said confidentially. “You probably knew about them, if you was one of his friends there.”
“The apostles? The secret society? Is that who you mean?”
“That would be the ones. You’ve heard of them then?”
“I did hear something about them. And I know that Sidney was—well, rather idealistic about things.”
