The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  ‘My dad was always talking about him. He used to cut out newspaper stories of his robberies. I think he was trying to understand how he went about it. There was a lot to admire and learn. Of course, when it turned out that this chap Hadleigh was a toff, well my dad felt let down and threw the cuttings in the fire.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I think his view was that we’d never be invited to the houses he was able to rob, sir. Mr Hadleigh was probably a friend of his victims and knew what to look for and where to find it. Me and my dad and Dan never had that luxury unless we were lucky.’

  ‘Yes, I can see the problem,’ added Kit, ‘You’d have limited knowledge of the target which meant you had to lower your sights on what you could nab.’

  Miller laughed. It never ceased to amaze him, his master’s fascination with the underworld and his complete lack of censure towards him over his past.

  ‘None of this is to detract from Mr Hadleigh, of course. The man was a genius. He could crack safes all right. Just because you know where the loot is doesn’t mean you’re going to just take it. What’s that thing you say at golf, sir? None of the robberies was a gimme.’

  This time Kit laughed.

  Miller continued, ‘And the Belgravia robbery. Well, we talked about that one for weeks, when he was chased over the rooftops by the ‘rozzers’. He didn’t always swan in through the front door carrying bubbly.’

  ‘True,’ acknowledged Kit. “I’d forgotten about that robbery. Just around the corner. Although wasn’t there some doubt if that was him? They didn’t find the card.’

  ‘It was him all right, sir. We all thought there was something going on between him and Lord Ravensdale’s wife. She knew it was him and hid the card. If you remember, sir, the lady in question was somewhat younger than her husband. She was at the court every day during the trial.’

  This made Kit smile, ‘Interesting theory.’ Very interesting, thought Kit and quite plausible also. ‘There were a number of ladies present throughout the trial if I remember.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. Must be something in the daredevilry that attracts the ladies,’ pointed out Miller with a grin.

  ‘This was your own experience, Harry?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly say, sir.’

  Kit looked at Miller archly and then his thoughts returned to his own lady. The thought of not seeing Mary was weighing on him a little and it was barely eight o’clock in the morning. The next few days were going to drag. This much was certain. However, looking on the positive side, it showed how much his life had been turned upside down by a girl of twenty-one. If he was not discombobulated, he certainly wasn’t completely recombobulated either.

  Miller seemed to read his mind and asked, ‘Are you seeing Lady Mary today?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no. Apparently Esther is unwell down at Richard’s place, so Mary is going down to act as a nurse.’

  ‘She’ll know all about that, sir,’ said Miller with a grin.

  Kit laughed, ‘I know. So that leaves me at a loose end, today. I think I’ll lunch at Sheldon’s. You can have the afternoon off if you like just in case there’s anything from yesterday you wanted to follow up on.’

  Any comment Miller might have made was interrupted by the arrival of Sam who came scampering into the room and hopped up onto the bed to lick Kit ‘good morning’. Having completed his salutation to Kit he turned to Miller and barked loudly.

  ‘In a good mood,’ said the two men in unison.

  -

  Mary rose from the bed and went to the window. It was light, in a manner of speaking. A grey shroud in the sky was doing a splendid job of absorbing every particle of light. The sound of rain against the window and the stinging cold of the room made her dive beneath the bed sheets again, glad she didn’t have another morning of tailing a suspect. Agatha and Betty had other plans.

  She lay back in the bed and wrapped the blankets around herself tightly. The thought of one day snuggling up next to the warm body of Lord Kit Aston almost made her giggle. How she wished she could do it now. She happily played with this thought for a few moments. The danger of indulging herself in these dreams was the sense of impatience that arose simultaneously. Only two months ago the thought of marriage was as far from her future as lion taming. Such is the madness of love. Such joyful madness.

  Her mind went back to the hospital, that day when the orderlies had brought Kit in. Just another poor soldier with another horrific injury. A man more likely to die than survive. Yet survive he had.

  Most of the nurses had been aware of him. There was a sense of mystery owing to the three identity cards with different names and nationalities. There was also the story of how he had been saved from the middle of No Man’s Land. And of course, there was no denying his beauty. A face so refined and god-like it seemed an absurd joke he should be found amid such brutality and dehumanising ugliness.

  The question of his origin, German or otherwise, was laid to rest after he awoke. When he had spoken, his voice, as well as his manner, had more than lived up to his looks and confirmed his country of birth. To find such refinement in the pitiless context of a military hospital, near the front, was rare. Mary had felt drawn to him from the start.

  But the hospital was a never-ending conveyor belt of misery. The terrible consequences of man’s inhumanity were fed through daily. The ward was not a place to recuperate. You were patched up and sent away. Day after day. But this was the life Mary had volunteered to live, for reasons, that even now, she could never quite explain.

  It certainly was nothing so banal as rebellion. But nor was it a vocation. She had left nursing six months after the War had ended. She and Esther had dealt similarly with the grief of losing their father.

  At first the pain of loss had inevitably shredded the secure life they had both known. Denial was impossible. So many had lost fathers, sons, and brothers. To deny would have seemed an insult to their sacrifice. Instead, a prolonged period of anger followed that resolved itself, Mary realised, in a desire to do something. Both she and Esther decided that life could no longer continue at Cavendish Hall as it once had. Each, in their own way, went to war.

  A machine gun rattle of rain against the window brought Mary back to the here and now. She rose and made herself ready for breakfast. Downstairs she found, as ever, Agatha up and attacking the day with gusto. Betty had arrived also. Events were about to move forward rapidly. This was confirmed as the two elderly ladies looked up expectantly at Mary’s arrival.

  ‘Take a seat, my dear, Betty has some wonderful news.’

  Betty certainly looked like she had wonderful news. Her eyes were bright, and she looked, as far as its possible for a septuagenarian to look, like a teenage girl desperate to share the latest jape with her friends. Betty leaned forward, as did the others, and reported the latest.

  ‘As you know, I spoke to a lot of the girls and found out who lived at the address Caroline Hadleigh visited in disguise. The house belongs to an American banker who lives there with his wife. Herbert Rosling, not sure if you know him.’ The two ladies shook their heads. ‘Anyway, he’s been over here for a few years, certainly since before the War, and heads up the London office of the Anglo-American Bank. I gather Mrs Rosling is something of a harridan which has resulted in a high turnover of domestic staff.’

  ‘Well done, Betty,’ commented Agatha, and Mary nodded in agreement.

  ‘There’s more, trust me,’ replied Betty. ‘It turns out that Flora Atwood’s maid has a sister in service there as a house maid. I spoke to the young lady in question and she told me that she is terribly unhappy.’

  Agatha clapped her hands in delight, ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘I most certainly did. I told Flora’s maid that I would offer the young lady five pounds to leave her position immediately and I also offered to find her another more suitable position, which I have, incidentally.’

  ‘Bravo,’ cried Agatha, ‘You know what this means, Mary?’

  ‘Yes, I should g
o down there as soon as possible and offer my services. Can you write me a reference, Betty?’

  Betty took a letter out of her handbag and handed it to Mary, saying, ‘Already done.’

  Mary took the letter from Betty and read it over. She grimaced good naturedly at one point, ‘Mary Tanner?’

  ‘Yes, couldn’t resist it. Well, I mean, Kit was banging on about this nurse for a year before you finally met again.’

  ‘He was?’ asked Mary, happily surprised.

  ‘Can we get a weave on please,’ interrupted Agatha, ‘How are you with accents? Your voice is too refined to be a maid’s.’

  Mary demonstrated that she could easily pass as a Londoner but without being too pearly queen.

  ‘Jolly good,’ complimented Betty, ‘You have a definite facility. The stage’s loss…’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mary smiling. Then she frowned for a moment, ‘I’ll need a disguise. What happens if I meet someone I know, which is unlikely, but we should be prepared.’

  It was Agatha’s turn to look triumphant. She went to the dresser at the side of the room and extracted from the drawer a blonde wig.

  ‘Try it on.’

  Mary put the wig on. It was clearly new and styled fashionably.

  ‘I say,’ said Betty admiringly, ‘You really are quite a beautiful girl.’

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Mary and then glancing wryly at Agatha said, ‘Just as well my hair was quite short.’

  Agatha pretended not to notice Mary’s remark and picked up a shopping bag and brought it over to Mary.

  ‘I had one of the maids go to Marks and Spencer. She’s as undernourished as you,’ said Agatha looking disapprovingly at Mary.

  ‘Don’t listen to her, Mary. Kit’s a very lucky man,’ said Betty.

  Mary laughed and took the bag from Agatha.

  ‘I’ll go upstairs and change.’

  Mary left the two ladies. Betty turned to Agatha and said, ‘I hope we’re doing the right thing. Still, she seems full of enthusiasm.’

  ‘Of course, we’re doing the right thing. This may help break the case wide open. The police are getting nowhere if the papers are anything to go by. Jellicoe is coming in for a bit of criticism this morning.’

  ‘Yes, I did see that. I wasn’t just referring to the general. Specifically, it seems that Mr Rosling considers himself a bit of a lady’s man.’

  ‘How old is he?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘Nearer sixty than fifty, I understand.’

  Agatha harrumphed, ‘Well, I hardly think Christopher has anything to worry about on that score.’

  ‘Of course, Agatha, I’m not suggesting for a minute that Mary would ever be interested, but I understand it’s more a case of wandering hands and liberties,’ replied Betty meaningfully.

  Agatha thought for a moment and then said, ‘I haven’t known that young lady long, Betty, but I would not like to be in the man’s shoes who tried anything untoward with her.’

  ‘Tried what?’ asked Mary re-entering the room replete with frumpy tweed suit and blonde wig.

  Agatha and Betty looked at one another. However dowdily dressed she may have been, she was stunning.

  ‘Your new boss,’ said Agatha.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mary smiling. ‘I think I understand you. I’ll deal with him, don’t worry.’

  ‘Good girl,’ said Betty.

  At this moment Alfred knocked on the door and entered the dining room. Mary turned around to him and said, ‘Morning, Alfred.’

  Young Alfred reddened at the sight of the blue-eyed, blonde vision before him. His first attempt at speaking was a dismal failure, being dumbstruck became a choice not an outcome.

  ‘Close your mouth, Alfred, there’s a good boy,’ said Agatha.

  Chapter 15

  Sheldon’s, in the heart of St James in London, was a private club in which elitism and snobbery didn’t so much walk hand in hand as get chauffeur driven to the front door. Kit had been a member of the club since before he was born. This was courtesy of the rule that allowed children of members to have automatic right of entry assuming they had the great good fortune to be born a chap rather than a lady.

  Although Kit had never felt entirely comfortable in such a frivolous context, a feeling exacerbated following his return from the War, there was no denying the exceptional kitchen and a library that was well stocked with fine books and even finer brandy.

  The wood panelling walls were an art lovers dream, if one’s taste ran to horses, hounds, and fields. Occasionally the board of the club dealt with proposals, and even generous bequests to upgrade the quality of the art. These requests were dealt with summarily. Sheldon’s would never stoop to the vulgarity of Renaissance art; not now, not ever. Consequently, Titian was less likely to adorn the walls of the club than a portrait of a recent Derby winner.

  Such conservative tastes left Kit’s head shaking but also amused him greatly. He briefly considered the apoplexy that might accompany the installation of work by Picasso, or, his recently acquired friend, Duchamp.

  Lunch was, as ever, a marvel and had allowed him to catch up with one or two compatriots from the War. Although the club had more than its fair share of silly asses, this was more than compensated by the presence of some men who had fought alongside him in Flanders. If they knew of his secondment to Russia, they never alluded to it, nor to his injury. No one came back from the War uninjured. Everyone in the club had experienced loss of someone they knew.

  As Kit sat in the library, he heard raucous laughter emanating from the dining room. It was a group of young men he’d seen earlier. Perhaps three Englishmen and, what sounded like, an American. At a neighbouring table, looking a little displeased, Kit spotted Lord Wolf chatting with a small group of men. At the same moment, Wolf also noticed Kit and excused himself from the meeting. He stood up and walked over to join him.

  ‘Hello, Kit, I think I recognise that post meal glow, ’laughed Wolf, patting his own stomach.

  ‘It is rather special here, Anatoly is a marvel,’ agreed Kit shaking Wolf’s hand. ‘Any news on the necklace?’

  Wolf’s face darkened, ‘You’ve seen the papers?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Kit, ‘They seem to be giving Jellicoe a hard time. No mention of the Phantom yet. I suppose it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘I know you have a high regard for him, Kit, but I have to say I’m not impressed. They have no leads, no clues, nothing. It seems to be drifting like they’re waiting for something to happen.’

  Kit’s sympathy lay with Jellicoe. He liked the Chief Inspector and certainly did have a high regard for his capability. It seemed to Kit that both the newspapers and Wolf were doing Jellicoe a disservice. The police could only follow certain lines of inquiry such as speaking to known felons and fences. If the diamonds had not appeared on the market or had found their way into an individual’s hands directly from the robber, there was little Jellicoe could do. This was a crime, unlike other crimes, where the imprint was clear but the trail completely obscure.

  ‘Kit, I know this is probably unfair to ask of you, but would you be able to speak to this chap Jellicoe? He doesn’t seem to want to keep me informed. Yesterday I spoke to his sergeant. I had the distinct impression Jellicoe was avoiding me.’

  ‘I can’t imagine he would do that, Peter,’ responded Kit.

  ‘Well, he may have been angry. I must admit I spoke to the Commissioner regarding this matter,’ admitted Wolf. There was something in his tone which suggested to Kit he had regretted his actions.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thank you, Kit. I shall leave you and return to the music hall in there,’ replied Wolf indicating the party of young men. Kit smiled sympathetically and returned to reading the newspaper. Half an hour later, Kit went down the steps of Sheldon’s and was met by Harry Miller in the Rolls.

  ‘Where to, sir?’

  ‘Scotland Yard, I think, Harry.’

  -

  Mary spent most of the journey to Sloane Squ
are staring out the window, quietly amused by Alfred’s fascination with her. It took her mind off the slight nervousness she was feeling. What she was about to embark upon was uncommon. She would go undercover rather as Kit had done in Russia, only this time to catch a criminal. She wondered what Kit would make of it all. He would just have to get used to it, she concluded. She hoped he would.

  Her thoughts then turned to Caroline Hadleigh. If it were true that she was the new Phantom, Mary found herself torn. On the one hand it would be quite a coup to catch a criminal, a kleptomaniac even, who had evaded the law for six months. On the other hand, she was a young woman like herself. Her father was in prison and her mother was dead. If she was the Phantom, Mary wondered what could possibly be driving her to take such risks. Was she trying to clear her father? Or was nature merely taking hold? Mary was less sure of this. But the prospect of finding out was intriguing and exciting in equal measure.

  She glanced up at Alfred just in time to see his eyes dart away. The impact on Alfred was clear. She wondered if this would create problems in the interview with the housekeeper, Miss Carlisle.

  Alfred drove up into the square and found a spot at Mary’s instruction to set her down. It was far enough away from any shops or cafes to avoid being seen, but close enough to the house so that she did not get soaked by the never-ending drizzle.

  Exiting the car, Mary walked around the corner to the house. It was nearly nine in the morning, just in time for her appointment. The red brick house was five stories high, with an exuberantly tasteless Palladian-style set of pillars adorning the front door at the top of half a dozen steps. To the right of these steps was another set of steps leading to the basement floor. This was for the tradesmen and staff.

  Mary hesitated for a moment then moved to the right and descended the wet metal steps slowly, fearful of falling. She knocked on the door and waited. Finally, it opened, and she was greeted by a woman Mary guessed to be anywhere between fifty and ninety. Her hair was tied back tightly into bun with a small net enclosing it. She was never going to be mistaken for a ballerina though. Her pinched expression registered immediate disapproval of Mary. An auspicious start, she thought with amusement.