by Jack Murray
‘No sir, I haven’t seen anyone else come. She’s only been here a couple of weeks though, so I don’t know from before then.’
‘How long is she staying?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I can find out.’
Hammett handed him another dollar, ‘You do that, Cyrus.’
Cyrus thanked Hammett profusely while Hammett turned and started to walk back towards his car. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man reading a newspaper in the fashion of someone who was new to tailing people.
The newspaper was upside down.
Hammett went to his car. Once inside, he sat and thought for a moment. It was clear he was not the only one tailing the girl. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the man was looking at him. He had seen him when he crossed over the road initially. He was young, the suit was ill-fitting, and he had a small head.
It was obvious that when he left, the man would either try to follow him or, more likely, try to find out more from Cyrus. For the time being it was a waiting game. Neither could move until Miss Collins made a move herself.
-
Ella-Mae walked into the library carrying a telegram. In the corner sat Alastair reading the evening newspaper. She watched him flick over the page, his eyes partially covered by half-moon glasses.
‘This just came.’
‘What is it?’
‘I believe it’s called a telegram,’ said Ella-Mae very slowly, emphasising every syllable of the last word.
Alastair shook his head and snatched the telegram from his housekeeper. He glanced at it and then looked up, ‘They’re on their way.’ He was delighted and gripped the piece of paper to his chest.
‘Can’t wait,’ said Ella-Mae. It was difficult to say if this made her happy or sad. Alastair made a face at her. Then he turned and looked out the window. The evening sky was a glorious riot of turquoise and salmon pink. Alastair rose from his seat and opened the French doors of the library. He stepped out onto the patio and walked towards the end of the garden which provided a spectacular view over the bay.
His mood was mixed, as it often was these days. Missing Christina was one thing, but as delighted as he was by the impending arrival of his sister and nephew, he couldn’t shake off the weight that lay heavy on his chest. Or was it fear? Then he realised it was guilt. He doubted. It was a feeling. Fleeting, perhaps. It was unmistakable and he had to know the truth. Actions have consequences. He, of all people, knew this. For a moment he thought of his brother, Lancelot. Thirty years since they’d spoken. The ultimate betrayal. But who betrayed whom?
He sat on a bench at the end of the garden and looked up at the sky. The pinks were slowly dissolving, and the turquoise had a purplish tinge suggesting evening would soon transform into night. It was still warm. He removed his tweed jacket and set it down on the free space where once she had sat with him on so many magical evenings like this.
A gin and tonic appeared magically beside him. Alastair spun around and shivered, ‘I’m convinced you are of the undead.’
‘You’ll be joining me soon, then,’ replied Ella-Mae as she walked away.
‘Maniac,’ said Alastair, sampling the gin. He raised his eyebrows and smiled with pleasure. ‘Very good.’ He lifted the glass to his lips again.
‘Hey, pops,’ shouted Algy from the library causing Alastair to spill a few drops of the gin. He turned around irritably. Setting the drink down he dabbed his shirt with a handkerchief extracted from his trouser pocket.
Algy was soon beside his father. He looked like a friendly dog, only the wagging tail was missing. Alastair glanced ruefully at him, ‘I do wish, oh never mind.’
‘I’m going out now, pops.’
‘Yes, you go, my boy. This young lady of yours is transparently better company than I.’
Algy looked sympathetic, ‘Don’t say that, pops. You know how it is. I’m sure you were young once.’
‘Perish the thought,’ responded Alastair, picking up his gin again, a smile of anticipation returning to his face.
‘See you late, pops,’ laughed Algy. A few seconds later he headed back to the house leaving Alastair alone on the bench with his drink. The sky was painted a greyish purple now. A bird flew across the cloudless sky. He followed it for as long as he could. Perhaps he was worrying too much about nothing. Hadn’t it always been so? He was the worrier. Lancelot never. Consequences meant nothing to him. He acted without restraint. Stole without guilt. Loved without caring.
Alastair often wondered if he envied his brother’s freedom from shame. He was a scoundrel. Nothing less but nothing more, either. He couldn’t bring himself to hate Lancelot. Next year, he would go to Kit’s wedding. How could he not? They would meet again. They would speak once more. It would begin again as it had ended.
With Kit.
7
RMS Aquitaine, July 1920
The RMS Aquitaine cut through the waves of the Atlantic Ocean on the first morning at sea. The liner had set sail from Liverpool the night before, its first voyage carrying commercial passengers in five years. It had operated as an armed merchant cruiser during the War. The carnage in Flanders had somewhat undermined demand for luxury cruises.
Mary and Kit stood by the rails on deck looking at the horizon. The morning sky overhead was an intense ultramarine blue. Every so often a mischievous cloud would drift lazily into view and then disappear again without explanation.
The sea below hissed and groaned and slapped against the full one thousand foot length of the liner. Waves dived beneath the hull, sloughing under the ship, ensuring a gentle rise and fall. The colour of the sea was a dirty greenish hue, bubbling white foam that dissolved into navy, further away.
Mary’s eyes shone with excitement as she stood by the rails of the ship. She breathed in deeply and looked up at Kit.
‘I’d propose to you now,’ said Kit.
‘If I wasn’t already spoken for?’ smiled Mary. She looked around at a bird flying alongside the ship. It seemed to be following just them. Kit and Mary looked at the bird and laughed.
‘Do you think Aunt Agatha sent it to check on us?’ grinned Mary.
‘I wouldn’t put it past her, my love. Are you excited?’
‘Very. We’re on an ocean liner going to America. There’s bound to be a murder or a jewel robbery.’
‘I think you’ve been spending too much time in Aunt Agatha’s library. When we’re married a course of improved reading may be in order.’
Mary executed a perfect salute before grinning. ‘You have to admit, though, it’s probably not without precedent.’
Kit rolled his eyes but could not suppress a smile. The couple turned and looked out again at the vast ocean. After ten minutes they walked to the end of the ship to view better the enormous four tilted stacks, each billowing smoke into the cloudless blue sky.
Around the upper deck they could see many of the first-class passengers promenading. Mary could have stayed all day watching them pass, inventing stories for each. Around eleven, they made their way to the lounge, where they had arranged to meet Agatha.
The lounge was inspired by classical architecture: ceiling murals overhead supported by Ionic columns that descended to the floor. Agatha was sitting in the middle of the lounge, giving orders to Natalie. Mary glanced up archly at Kit before grinning at his innocent shrug.
‘Ah, you’ve arrived,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ve ordered tea and biscuits; I hope you don’t mind.’
Kit sat down after Mary, facing outwards. Agatha soon began what, Kit suspected, would become a recurring topic of conversation for the voyage, at least until the liner had docked in New York with the same number of passengers disembarking, who had come on board.
‘I don’t like the look of him,’ said Agatha indicating what, to Kit, looked like a perfectly innocent man of forty or so. Yes, his hair was a poorly judged length, and the tie was more colourful than good taste permitted, but a murderer?
‘Yes,’ agreed Mary, ‘I noticed him on deck, earlier. Deci
dedly fishy. White slaver I should say’
‘Indeed, looks the sort,’ said Agatha nodding sagely although her knowledge of this mercantile class, even after many years spent in the Middle East, was decidedly sketchy.
Kit picked up a newspaper and made a great show of ignoring the two ladies and their invariably criminal-themed comments, mostly directed at the male passengers. He read more about the case he had picked up on when holidaying in Scotland, about a murder associated with a medium.
A few minutes of character assassination were followed by Agatha’s impression of the liner. She motioned her eyes upwards and said, ‘Not sure about the attempt at Tiepolo on the ceiling but altogether an improvement on some of the ships I’ve been on. Kit, I noticed there is a fencing room. If your leg is up to it, you might want to have a go.’
‘It’s been years. I suppose I’m pretty rusty,’ said Kit from somewhere behind a newspaper. Mary frowned at Kit for a moment. Kit realised he was heading towards an iceberg. He lowered the paper and apologised. ‘Sorry, I was looking at a story on a murder in York last week.’
Mary immediately brightened up and then in a heartbeat looked crestfallen. ‘Not much use if we’re on a boat heading to the other side of the world. With any luck there will be a few more.’
Kit lowered the newspaper and looked askance at Mary. The smile on her face and on Agatha’s told him he was being jested with.
‘Very funny.’
Mary, took up Agatha’s suggestion, ‘I’d like to see the fencing.’
The newspaper lowered again. ‘I could teach you if you like,’ said Kit.
A grin erupted over Mary’s face, ‘Would you?’
Kit looked delighted and said, ‘I’d love to.’
Mary turned to Agatha who was staring at her future niece. Mary smiled innocently, tilting her head submissively and raised her eyebrows in the manner of an ingenue.
‘This should be interesting,’ said Agatha, more to herself.
-
After tea, Agatha retired to the garden lounge to read a book while Kit and Mary walked along the port side of the liner. Along the way they passed a small man with tawny skin, wearing a dark suit and a white panama hat. Mary looked at the man. He was looking at her unashamedly.
Mary turned around as they passed him. He also half-turned his head.
‘How odd,’ she said.
‘Really?’ asked Kit.
‘Yes, did you see how he looked at me?’ pointed out Mary.
‘I can hardly blame him for that. Most of the men and a goodly portion of the women are looking at you,’ pointed out Kit.
Mary smiled up at Kit and said, ‘Thank you for the compliment, but you know perfectly well that is not what I meant.’
‘You’re wondering why he didn’t raise his hat to you,’ said Kit glancing archly at his fiancée.
Mary stopped and turned to face Kit. Standing on her tip toes she kissed him gently on the lips. She narrowed her eyes and said, ‘I do love you, Lord Aston.’ Overhead a seagull squawked, causing Mary to widen her eyes in fear. She giggled embarrassedly as Kit put his arms around her. Looking up she said, ‘My knight.’
‘Strictly speaking, that would be a demotion.’
-
Luncheon was served in the dining room from midday. Kit and Mary arranged to meet Agatha around one o’clock. Arriving a few minutes early, they spied Agatha sitting beside Natalie, deep in conversation. Mary looked up at Kit and said, ‘I didn’t think Natalie’s English was so good. They both seem quite animated.’
‘So, I see,’ said Kit. He looked unusually troubled by what seemed a highly familiar interaction. ‘Of course, Agatha is fluent in French.’
Mary looked up at Kit and replied, ‘I’d forgotten that. In fact, I think it would be a good idea for me to speak more French. I’m depressingly out of practice.’
Kit glanced down at Mary. He seemed pensive. Mary frowned in response. By way of explanation, Kit said, ‘Perhaps it would be better to keep all interaction in English for the moment.’
Mary was surprised momentarily then grinned. She looked back at her future aunt and the housemaid who were still oblivious to their arrival. Her gaze straight ahead she said, ‘Curiouser and curiouser. I do love a mystery.’
Natalie saw them first and immediately rose to her feet. Agatha turned in the direction of Natalie’s gaze. If she was in any way surprised or dismayed by the early arrival of her nephew and his fiancée, she quickly dispelled it by slipping seamlessly into her normal bearing of heroically-controlled exasperation.
‘That will be all, Natalie,’ said Agatha, addressing the housemaid.
Natalie curtsied unnecessarily and went on her way. Kit glanced at Mary to confirm they should not say anything on the subject. Instead Mary took the opportunity to probe more into the politics of the family Aston.
‘Is Algy like his father?’
Well, unknown to Mary, this was a fairly incendiary opening gambit. Agatha shifted uncomfortably. This was picked up by Mary. She glanced at Kit who smiled beatifically.
‘Forgive me,’ said Mary, genuinely concerned. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘Nonsense, young lady, of course you did,’ replied Agatha. ‘And I don’t blame you.’
Mary looked non-plussed by this answer then grinned, ‘Well, yes. I did mean to pry. So, who’s first?’
Kit looked at his aunt and shrugged. Agatha picked up the gauntlet and said, ‘This family is,’ she stopped and looked at Kit for inspiration.
‘Byzantine in its politics?’ suggested Kit.
‘Thank you, Christopher, I shall think twice about asking you anything in future.’
‘Happy to help,’ replied Kit, grinning happily.
‘As I was saying,’ continued Agatha, ‘My nephew has chanced upon a young lady that I must confess, to your credit, I am keen that he keep hold of. For this reason, I’ve been mindful of sharing too much about the family’s ...’
‘Dirty linen?’ offered Kit as Agatha searched for the right expression.
Agatha glared at Kit and continued, ‘The more disappointing aspects of recent choices made by our senior family members.’
‘Father and Uncle Alastair fell out over a young woman: my mother. They haven’t spoken in over thirty years,’ said Kit, getting to a point that, despite Agatha’s protestations and by her standards, shilly-shallying, she seemed to be avoiding.
Agatha looked at Kit, but her eyes had softened. She took a deep breath to compose herself then spoke again.
‘Penny was in love with Alastair before she met Lancelot. However, Alastair did not count on the duplicity, the charm and, clearly, the advantage of his brother’s title. He stole her from Alastair using, I’m sure, all manner of tricks to turn her head. It caused a schism between the two that has never been repaired. I think Penny realised her error and spent many years regretting her decision. But it was too late. I don’t think I’m being unfair in this assessment, Christopher?’
‘I think you’re being too kind to my father. He acted like a scoundrel to win her and acted like a scoundrel ever afterwards. He treated her abominably. My mother was the sweetest and most generous person I have ever known, and he rewarded her by betraying her.’
It was there for a moment. A shadow. A look in the eye. Or maybe Mary imagined it. Agatha could be unreadable when she chose but for a moment, and it was just a moment, Mary saw something. She sensed Agatha knew Mary had seen the guard slip.
‘He treated her abominably,’ agreed Agatha. But the voice, like the eyes, is not always faithful to the message you want to convey. Mary wondered if Agatha, recognised what had passed between them unintentionally was, this time, a communication. The two women looked at one another for a few seconds.
Families have secrets, thought Mary.
Then, Kit spoke again breaking the link between Mary and Agatha. ‘Uncle Alastair left for America immediately before the wedding. He did not return. He went over to California to be as far away from England
as possible and met a young woman who had been ill-used by another man. He fell in love with Christina and raised Algy as his own child.‘
This clearly surprised Mary, ‘I hadn’t realised. Good for him.’ She saw Agatha nodding her head at this. Her eyes seemed moist, or perhaps she imagined this. A thought struck Mary and she asked, ‘But there were no other children?’ She looked to Agatha again. This time Agatha looked directly at Kit and let him continue the story.
‘No, alas not. I understand the birth was difficult and Uncle Alastair swore he would never put Christina through such an ordeal again.’
‘How sad for them,’ said Mary.
‘Uncle Alastair adores Algy, although you wouldn’t always know it. They adore one another, in fact, but they also drive one another crazy.’
Mary laughed, ‘Really? How so?’
Agatha rolled her eyes at this and said, ‘He’s a sweet boy but not the quickest horse in the race, if you take my meaning.’
‘Always falling in love,’ added Kit. ‘And I mean always. He’s been engaged several times. This isn’t the first time we’d made plans to go over for a wedding. We’re only over this time because Uncle Alastair said he thought it really would happen.’
Mary turned to Agatha again, but her face was once again, inscrutable. Her feminine sense told her this discussion was now closed. She moved on to other subjects as lunch was served. The story was far from complete. However, enough ground had been covered for the time being, perhaps more than Agatha had intended, or perhaps not.
8
A black automobile drew up outside the apartment building with the white stucco front. The car was an open-topped Ford. A young man wearing a white shirt and blue bow tie emerged from the car. He grabbed his hat and seersucker jacket from the passenger seat and headed toward the apartment building, allowing a very fat man to pass through first. Each doffed their hats.
From across the street, Dashiell Hammett looked on. He opened the file Geauque had given him. Inside, there was a photograph of a young man. It was very like the man who had just gone up into the apartment building. An open friendly face, even good-looking, light hair combed back off the forehead. Dark eyes, straight nose and a firm jaw. A man without enemies. A straight man concluded Hammett.
