The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  Alfred, meanwhile, was desperate on three fronts. Firstly, he regretted not bringing his notebook so that he could jot down his ideas as he listened to the three men in the back. He was also beginning to feel a little peckish, again. By now, in any normal circumstances, he should have been home with his feet up, enjoying his supper. More pertinently, it would have allowed him the opportunity to pay a visit. Right now, he was at bursting point.

  As Kit and Ryan were chatting, a taxi pulled up outside the Rosling household. Ryan alerted Kit to the arrival, ‘I wonder what’s going on here?’

  The question was answered a few minutes later when the front door opened, and a couple descended the steps.

  ‘Looks like the Roslings are having a night out,’ commented Ryan.

  Kit nodded. He was looking closely at Mrs Rosling and what she was wearing.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked Ryan, noting the how Kit was staring at the couple as they climbed into the taxi.

  ‘I’m not sure, sergeant,’ replied Kit. Then more to himself, ‘This might be a good night for a robbery.’

  Chapter 22

  This day was proving to be one major hassle after another for Wag McDonald. He looked down at the man who, it seemed, was chiefly responsible for introducing so many complications into his life. On the ground Abbott lay a whimpering mess. McDonald was almost tempted to whimper also because things were certainly a mess.

  The cigarette operation was a nice earner for very little effort and could, if managed properly, run for years. The key was to avoid being greedy and nicking just enough to avoid suspicion. Young men were always wanting to get rich quick. Slow and steady. That was your man.

  Now, there was a strong possibility that the police were aware of this activity and he had a problem on what to do with Abbott. Lurking at the back of his mind like a flasher in a park at midnight was the thought that Johnny Mac was either losing it or, worse, no longer to be trusted. The Ulsterman would be a very big problem, literally. And all because of some idiot getting greedy and selling some snout in a pub. Yes, Wag McDonald felt like whimpering. A criminal empire pieced together from the factions of south London was potentially at risk.

  Rage boiled within him and he walked over to the prone Abbott and snarled, ‘You’ve really messed up my day, son.’

  Abbott groaned. McDonald wasn’t sure if this was in sympathy, sorrow or if he was sore from the various broken ribs and cuts. On reflection he felt it was the latter. Without thinking, he kicked Abbott causing further moans from the injured man. McDonald had never been one who subscribed to the view that it was bad form to kick an injured man when he was down. He nodded to his brother, Wal, to come over.

  ‘We need to tidy this up a bit. Get rid of him.’ Wal looked surprised by this. His brother shook his head, ‘I don’t mean that. Can’t we give him something to do down at the track? Keep him out of trouble for the moment. Tell the boys to keep an eye on him, mind.’

  -

  Johnny Mac sat in his office. He was also unhappy about the situation. Ryan was a problem. Continuing to use him was a dangerous game but the alternative was worse. His brother would know where he was working. The prospect that he knew of the other operation did not bear thinking about. This would have to be confronted sooner or later.

  From time-to-time Rusk made his presence known to Ryan, without saying anything. The objective was intimidation. To be fair it was working quite well but not through any lack of physical courage on Ryan’s part. It was clear to Ryan they knew that he knew about the other operation. The question Ryan was weighing up was whether to come clean on this or to play stupid. In a list with very few limited options, this was distinctly unappealing. For the moment, it would be better to keep things close to his chest.

  The noise in the factory was close to deafening at times. Conversation was impossible unless you were within a few feet. The new job assigned to Ryan was mostly solitary. Clearly trust had been broken. He was not to be allowed near anyone else until Johnny Mac and Rusk were sure of him. This was unlikely to be any time soon. It would have disappointed the two men to learn that Ryan actually enjoyed not having to interact with anyone. His own company was all he wanted for the moment. He would have thanked Johnny Mac in any other circumstance

  The workers around him, a bit like himself, lacked a certain refinement. However, most looked like they would break the law without batting so much as an eyelash. Ryan was obviously no blushing innocent on this score either, but he reconciled his conscience with an image of his young son. This resolved any moral ambiguity he unquestionably felt, or would feel, in the future. Keeping his boy alive was the only thing that mattered.

  His eyes hardened as he thought of the child. Just at that moment Rusk was passing and saw the look on Ryan’s face.

  ‘What do you want?’ snarled Rusk.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Ryan glaring angrily back at Rusk. This caught the little man by surprise. A slow smile crossed his face.

  ‘Back to work.’

  Ryan did so. He resolved to keep his head down and give them nothing more to complain about. The years in the army had taught him when to take orders as well as when and who to confront. Johnny Mac was out of the question, but Rusk was another matter. He might even enjoy that.

  -

  ‘We’ll be late,’ said Rosling, entering his wife’s room after a brief knock. His tone was curt. Twenty years of marriage had reduced conversation between them to a combination of implicitly barbed comments, mutual directives, and sometimes impressively informed conversations about business or current affairs. To be fair, the latter formed most of their discourse, mostly to the benefit of the husband.

  Although any attraction he once had for his wife had died gradually in the icy tundra of her personality, he was never less than awestruck by her intellect. If he was not the most obvious candidate to support the aspirations of the suffragette movement, Rosling would happily have put his wife on the board of the bank, such was the respect he held for her acumen. The attraction may have died but mutual esteem was high. It even made those occasional moments of disagreement an interesting challenge for rather than a manifestation of hostility.

  ‘They will expect us to be late. It’s courtesy on our part,’ responded his wife fixing an earring. Beside her, Caroline Hadleigh, put a pin in her hair.

  Finally, Mrs Rosling stood up and turned to face her husband. Duty called for Rosling to proclaim how beautiful she looked and to take her hands and demonstrate his undying affection. He did so with a practiced ease but also with enough sincerity to make it seem less like a ritual than a mark of respect between the two leaders.

  ‘Are you not wearing the diamonds tonight?’ asked Rosling, as he noticed a gold necklace around her neck: a crucifix.

  Mrs Rosling glanced at Caroline and then at her husband before saying, ‘I think such a show of wealth would be inappropriate given that we are with the Archbishop tonight.’

  Rosling laughed sardonically, ‘The church is never backward in showing off its wealth, my dear.’

  ‘My point exactly.’

  Rosling smiled and nodded. He looked at her again with a respect and affection that was undisguised. She was a formidable woman. A man such as he could have no better partner. As they walked out of the room together, they discussed what, if anything, Rosling could gain from the evening in return for what the Archbishop would, no doubt, be asking for the church.

  As they descended the stairs, Rosling spotted Mary waiting at the door with Grantham. As much as he tried, it was impossible not to allow his gaze to travel up the slim figure of the new maid. She helped him with his coat, as Caroline did the same with Mrs Rosling.

  ‘The cab is outside, sir,’ said Grantham.

  Neither spoke as they walked outside into the moon-cold night. Rosling took his wife’s hand and they descended the steps together slowly, fearful of making any slip that might cause them both to fall.

  -

  Mary glanced at Caroline as the
door closed. Caroline’s face broke into a grin. They both moved towards the stairs leading to the servant’s quarters. As they descended, the grins became a fit of giggles.

  ‘I rather think Mr Rosling is smitten, Mary’

  ‘I wish he wouldn’t be so obvious. I think men are like dogs, sometimes. You can see their tails wagging.’

  ‘I’m sure she knows,’ replied Caroline.

  ‘Why does she put up with it?’

  ‘They do get on well, you know. It’s strange, I know, but they seem to have reached an accommodation.’

  ‘I’ll never do that,’ said Mary, ‘God help the man who thinks he can look at other women and be with me.’

  Caroline regarded Mary for a moment before saying, ‘Somehow I don’t think you need worry on that score, Mary.’

  They reached the kitchen and conversation stopped immediately. Miss Carlisle sat at the kitchen table while Rose prepared a meal for the servants. She looked up at the new arrivals. They were smiling conspiratorially. She knew she would never know the source of their amusement. Was it her? Someone or something else? After only a day or two they were more intimate than she would ever be with them. They liked one another. That was plain enough. A wave of sadness swept over her. She did not have that closeness. It was something which she no longer felt capable of giving or comfortable in receiving. It had never been her way.

  The two young women in front of her had an easiness of manner, a youthful vitality, and a natural beauty, even Miss Hannah, that could not be denied. By dint of her role, or more likely, her life, Miss Carlisle was imposing and awkward in equal measure. Had it always been so, she wondered? Was there a moment in time when another path might have made her into someone different? Both girls had sweethearts. This much she knew. There had been no one in her life.

  As the two girls fought hard to suppress their smiles, Miss Carlisle felt like crying. In a moment she would reflect on later, with surprise, she wanted to tell the girls to leave. Not because she was jealous, nor because she felt she was being mocked. She felt neither of these dark emotions, or at least not at this moment. She wanted to tell them to choose another way of life. Service was safe, but it was an escape from life, from experiencing the world yourself. And the world was very different now for young women. There were choices. A bell sounded on the wall causing everyone to look up. Then another. And then another.

  ‘I thought everyone had left,’ said Miss Carlisle irritably.

  ‘They have,’ replied Caroline.

  Grantham walked into the kitchen, also, at this moment and said, ‘I think Mr Headley must have fixed the bells.’

  ‘I’ll go up and see if he’d like a cup of tea or something to eat, it’s quite late now,’ suggested Caroline, rising from the table. She looked at Miss Carlisle. A curt nod of the head provided confirmation that she could leave.

  ‘Don’t be too long,’ shouted Rose as Caroline went through the door, ‘I’m serving the dinner now.’

  Caroline smiled and replied, ‘Just start without me, please.’

  -

  About ten minutes after the departure of Mr and Mrs Rosling the front door opened again. This time a small, bearded man came out wearing a bowler hat and carrying a bag.

  Kit turned to Alfred and asked, ‘Is that the man who came earlier?’

  ‘Yes sir, I’m certain,’ said Alfred. ‘It’s the same man.’

  The man walked to the bottom of the steps and looked in both directions before choosing to walk in the direction of the car where Kit sat with the other men. As he drew closer, they could see he was wearing spectacles. Underneath his coat he wore overalls. The bag looked like something a workman like a plumber or an electrician might carry. As he passed, he looked at the Rolls first and glanced inside on his way past.

  Kit smiled and said, ‘It probably looks a little suspicious all of us in this car.’

  The others laughed in agreement. Although there were many other fine cars on the street, the Rolls was very distinctive. In this sense it was the perfect cover for surveillance. Kit looked at the small figure of the man recede into the distance before turning a corner and going out of sight.

  Something seemed out to place to Kit, but he couldn’t quite grasp what. He turned to Alfred and asked, ‘When did the man arrive?’

  ‘Around five, sir,’ said Alfred.

  ‘Can you remember from what direction he came?’

  ‘No sir, I may have been distracted,’ replied Alfred. In fact, he had been finishing the lobster and chips that Mary had brought out and had, only by chance, seen the man arrive. Alfred decided not to say this. There seemed to be a lack of heroism in such an admission and Lord Kit Aston looked every bit the noble hero of one of the penny bloods he loved reading. Another less-than-heroic admission would have been the state of Alfred’s bladder, which was reaching danger levels.

  Kit looked out the window and began tapping furiously on the door. Something was not quite right. Ryan looked at Kit and then to Harry Miller. Miller shrugged.

  ‘Sir, is something wrong?’

  ‘Yes, but I can’t put my finger on it. That man. It’s wrong. What we saw was wrong.’

  Miller smiled at Ryan. His boss was about to make a breakthrough. He’d seen it before. The tenseness, the frustration, the anger followed by the revelation.

  And then it seemed to hit him. Kit turned to Alfred and asked, ‘Alfred, when the workman arrived, did he go through the front door?’

  ‘No sir, he went down the steps through the servant’s entrance.’

  Ryan nodded his head, following Kit’s line of thought before adding, ‘Perhaps they let him out of the front door because Mr and Mrs Rosling had left and the younger one’s not in the house tonight.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Kit, but he didn’t give any appearance to thinking it likely.

  Alfred was the first to see it. While all the others had looked at Kit, his attention had been drawn to the upstairs window of the house.

  ‘There seems to be a light moving around upstairs, look.’

  The four men craned their neck upwards to one of the front rooms upstairs, presumably the bedroom.

  ‘My guess is that it’s a flashlight,’ said Ryan.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said Kit.

  He looked at the young policeman. A decision would need to be made. Ryan’s heart began to pound wildly. If he went to investigate the game would be up for Caroline. But the game was already up wasn’t it?

  ‘Let me go,’ said Ryan after a moment. ‘I’ll say I was passing and saw a suspicious light.’

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Kit.

  Ryan stepped out of the car, relieved that he was still in control of the situation. If anything, this was an opportunity to speak to Caroline and warn her. As he walked towards the front door, he felt a wave of relief. There was a chance, just a faint chance that this desperate situation could be resolved before it spiralled completely out of control.

  Ryan flew up the front steps and was just about to knock on the door when he saw the two police cars arrive. He hesitated. From the front police car stepped Jellicoe with a uniformed constable. From the second police car, stepped a grim-faced Bulstrode followed by Wellbeloved.

  Caught like a fawn in front of a hunter, fear gripped the young man. He turned to the door and with a heart hanging heavy in his chest he rapped three times shouting, ‘Police, open up.’

  Chapter 23

  For Alfred, the arrival of the police was like the appearance of the US cavalry saving the day for besieged homesteaders in one of those westerns he’d grown up watching at the picture house. He nearly screamed in joy as Kit and Harry Miller exited the car and joined the other policemen on the steps of the Rosling household.

  Alfred was not a man to look a gift horse in the rear, and this was truly a gift from the gods. While the police hammered away at the front door of the house, Alfred virtually beat the car door down himself in his haste to get out. Exiting from the other side of the car, he move
d, with a rapidity surprising in someone so large, around the corner, to the road leading towards Sloane Square. It was deserted. This was his opportunity to siphon away his distress and he was going to take matters, quite literally, in both hands.

  The front door of the Rosling house finally opened. Grantham looked bemused at the sight on the doorstep. A tall, good-looking young man alongside a smaller man that, in any normal situation, Grantham would happily have crossed the street to avoid. They were joined by several other men.

  ‘Yes?’ said Grantham for wont of anything better to say.

  ‘Sir, we’ve reason to believe your house is being burgled,’ said Ryan, in a surprisingly loud voice.

  ‘You don’t have to shout young man, I’m not deaf,’ replied Grantham with as much dignity as he could muster.

  Bulstrode took decisive action and brushed the elderly butler out of the way. His next obstacle was Miss Carlisle. Even Bulstrode stopped momentarily when confronted with the glaring malevolence that was the housekeeper’s natural facial repose.

  ‘Yes?’ snarled Miss Carlisle. The servants were certainly spare with the questions, thought Bulstrode as he tore his eyes away from the middle-aged medusa and went up the stairs, followed by Ryan and Wellbeloved.

  Kit gently tugged Jellicoe and Miller back.

  ‘Harry,’ suggested Kit, ‘perhaps you should patrol the street in case the thief looks to exit from an upstairs window. If you search this floor, Chief Inspector, I’ll head downstairs to check the servant quarters.’

  Jellicoe readily agreed to this proposal and he and Kit went in different directions as Miss Carlisle and Grantham looked on in utter confusion. Seeing this, Kit stopped and explained the situation.

  ‘My name is Kit Aston. For reasons I cannot go into, this house has been under surveillance. We believe a thief may have been in an upstairs bedroom looking to take Mrs Rosling’s diamond necklace.’