by Jack Murray
Inside he found Aunt Agatha and Betty Simpson. There was no sign of either Cavendish sister. Kit felt somewhat foolish clutching the flowers. He looked at the two elderly ladies. They were sitting in front of a book with newspaper cuttings.
‘Hello ladies. What are you cooking up?’
This question seemed not to find favour with Kit’s aunt. Noting the reaction, Kit decided to ask what was really on his mind.
‘Where are Mary and Esther?’
‘Good question. Apparently not with you it seems.’
‘Apparently not.’ Now it was Kit’s turn to feel irritated. He threw the flowers onto the chair.
‘So, while you’ve been off detecting with Betty…’ said Kit angrily.
Agatha stood up which stopped Kit in his tracks. There is something about an aunt approaching you, anger in her eyes, that can reduce even the most heroic of men to a quivering, fearful wreck inside.
‘There’s no use in being angry at me. You’re the one that disappeared for the day. No telephone call, no interest in sharing what you were doing. I may no longer be a young woman in love, but my memory of the experience was a strong desire that I not be kept at arm’s length.’
All of which was true but hardly fair. Kit was tempted to point out he’d been effectively kidnapped. However, he, too, was angry and he certainly did not want to be seen to be making excuses. This left him with precious few options. None of them good.
‘Goodnight,’ said Kit and left the room, then the house in search of a taxi.
Betty looked up at her friend and said, ‘Well, part of me is glad to see he’s not perfect. He’d be a bit boring otherwise.’
Agatha smiled but, in truth she was upset. Not with Kit, however. All men were fundamentally children to her. Eggshell egos housed within powerful bodies made for a catastrophic cocktail sometimes. She was woman enough to make allowances for good looks and a sense of humour. Kit had both in abundance. ‘Useless’ had too, once upon a time. No, her worry concerned Mary.
After Betty had left, Agatha sat by the window, the flowers lay heavily on her lap. It was as dark inside the room as it was outside. An hour passed. Then another. Finally, she saw a car pull up outside the house. The Cavendish sisters emerged from the car; both laughing. They said goodbye to two young men in the car before dancing up the steps of the house. Agatha heard the front door opening.
-
‘Sssh, Mary,’ said Esther. She was one stop past squiffy but not quite stewed to the gills. Mary had been careful to drink less but certainly had shipped enough to be unusually courageous. This was to be tested in a moment.
Mary whispered back, ‘I suspect Aunt Agatha is…’
‘She is,’ said Agatha emerging from the room. Oddly, and more worryingly, her tone was not angry. In fact, an astute mind would have detected a base note of sadness. Mary had such a mind and instantly sobered. She looked down at the flowers in Agatha’s hand and knew what was coming next as sure as she knew that tears were less than a broken heartbeat away.
‘From Kit,’ said Agatha, handing the flowers to Mary. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ She turned and left the two girls standing in the entrance hall.
Alone together.
12
Esther wisely stayed in bed the next morning to nurse a hangover and avoid the inevitable post-mortem from Aunt Agatha. Mary, on the other hand, went to face her five foot destiny with a combination of pluck and no little dander. If you were to ask her what she was feeling, she would have been hard pushed to put a finger on it, but she was feeling something, and Aunt Agatha was not going it all her own way. Nor, indeed, Kit, for that matter. Such were her thoughts as she stepped lightly down the stairs towards the dining room for a breakfast that she had no hunger for.
As she reached the room, Natalie approached her with a telegram. All at once Mary’s spirit rose several and a half fractions. She tore open the envelop and read the note.
‘Oh.’
A frown crossed her face. Mary inhaled deeply then she entered the dining room. Agatha was sitting by the table drinking tea. Eyes straight ahead, Mary went to join her. Agatha looked at her strangely, at least if one eyebrow raised could be so described. Mary sat down and waited for Agatha to say something.
Oddly, at least for Aunt Agatha, she was silent. Mary frowned a little bit more. Then she heard a light cough emanating from the direction of the window. Mary turned to see Kit sitting in an armchair. There was a newspaper on his lap.
They looked at one another for a few moments in silence.
‘Good morning,’ said Kit.
-
Sergeant Wellbeloved put the morning paper down and looked at Detective Inspector Bulstrode. The Detective Inspector’s grin was wider than the Thames. The colour of his teeth certainly resembled London’s famous waterway. Bulstrode lit another cigarette and looked at the paper his sergeant had set down.
‘Good news, I say. This is going to be a big one. I’ll let his highness deal with it.’
Wellbeloved smirked at this. A smirk, even at the best of times, ranks lowly in the food chain of bonhomie. It’s certainly preferable to a leer, but only marginally so. Perhaps it is the suggestiveness that offends. The smirker is either giving the deliberate impression of being in possession of knowledge that the beholder is unaware, or he is being slyly conspiratorial. Neither situation is likely to present the smirker in the best light.
Such was the man that Bulstrode was addressing. Neither man took much joy in the appearance of the other, but they had formed a brutally effective partnership. Their methods required less high profile cases in order to reap the success they had enjoyed this past decade or more.
‘So, everything is sorted then?’ asked Bulstrode.
‘So, I understand. They even took Aston to see some priest yesterday.’
Bulstrode shook his head. He didn’t know what the game was there, and he no longer cared. It was someone else’s problem now and not before time. He picked up the case file and handed it to Wellbeloved.
‘Can you bring it up to Jellicoe with my compliments?’
Wellbeloved’s smile turned into a cackle so repugnant that even Bulstrode recoiled. The laughter was brought to a temporary halt by the sudden onset of coughing as he left the office. Just after Wellbeloved departed, the phone rang. Bulstrode answered it and listened for a few seconds. A smile spread over his face. Awaiting Wellbeloved at Jellicoe’s office would be an unpleasant surprise.
-
‘Sir, with all due respect, I must protest,’ said Jellicoe in a manner that showed more passion than the Commissioner could ever remember seeing from the, normally, imperturbable Chief Inspector.
Commissioner and former Brigadier-General William Horwood put his hands up in the manner one does when one wants to convey that it is out of one’s control. The fact that this particular proposal was not only within his command but had also been his idea was something he neglected to mention to the increasingly irate Chief Inspector. Apparently, a similar idea had been heading his direction anyway. Can there be a finer feeling in the world than equalising before the other team scores? Probably, but at that moment the Commissioner couldn’t think of any.
‘James, it is only temporary.’
Jellicoe’s response was as succinct as it was explicit in conveying his dismay. The Commissioner felt his temper rising but fought to keep control. To be fair to the man before him, Jellicoe was not normally given to displays of insubordination. However, the last expletive-filled sally had stepped perilously close to mutiny in the former soldier’s eyes and was long past the point of outright insubordination.
Commissioner Horwood remained silent. This effectively closed the subject. Jellicoe glared at him for a moment and stalked out of the office.
-
Kit walked over to the table and sat down on the other side of Mary. The relief Mary had felt at seeing Kit slowly dissolved as she began to feel she’d landed in the middle of an inquisition.
‘
Thank you for the flowers. They were lovely,’ said Mary. Her face gave no indication that she thought anything of the sort.
‘I was feeling guilty,’ admitted Kit.
‘So, you should.’
‘In point of fact, no, I shouldn’t,’ said Kit. His tone was sharp.
This stopped Mary in her tracks. She suspected that Kit had been forced to attend meetings to which he could not, realistically, invite Mary. It was hardly fair to blame Kit and yet she did. On the other hand, she’d had equally good reasons for her night out with Bobby Andrews. However, Kit was going to have to work harder to hear them.
‘So, tell me where you are on the case.’
The word ‘you’ stung Kit. Mary could see the hit had landed and immediately regretted it.
Kit briefly summarised the day’s events. Every sentence increased the feeling within Mary that she was being unfair. In truth, the problem she was facing went beyond Kit’s control. It was a problem that she and every other woman faced. If Kit could have involved her, she suspected he would have. Albeit reluctantly. She thought about the telegram in her hand. This would be incendiary.
After Kit had finished there was silence. He deliberately avoided asking her where she’d spent the evening and with whom. It was equally obvious Aunt Agatha had told him. The ball hadn’t so much bounced into her court as exploded in it. Mary studied Kit’s face.
‘Have you that list with you? The one that Mr Churchill gave you?’
Kit looked confused, however he reached into his inner pocket and placed it on the table. Mary looked down at it and then took a pen that was sitting near Aunt Agatha and wrote one other name on the list.
Kit was astonished. He took the piece of paper in his hand and studied the list again. Slowly a smile spread over his face and he looked at Mary. By now Agatha, whose patience levels were on a par with a hungry lion staring at a herd of antelope catching forty winks on the Serengeti, was ready to explode. Kit handed her the note before the pocket Vesuvius erupted. It took a moment.
‘Oh.’
‘Indeed,’ said Mary, unable to keep a note of triumph in her voice.
‘Clever girl connecting the Earl of Gresham to the Honourable Mr Andrews. What did you have to do to obtain the name?’ asked Kit. There was a slow smile on his face. This caused an unspoken rebuke from Aunt Agatha, although she was too curious to scold.
‘Nothing you need worry about my dear, but my feet are killing me.’
‘He’s a good dancer?’
‘Wonderful.’
‘I gather he’s good looking.’
‘His eyes flash. I kid thee not. In fact, he asked me to go dancing with him tonight again.’
‘Did he? And what did you say?’
‘I said I’d let him know. I’m waiting to see if I receive a better offer.’
Kit felt a stab of remorse. He knew that his day would require him to be away from Mary. Additionally, he felt ashamed that he’d not told Mary the full truth of his discoveries. He hadn’t mentioned any connection with Satanism or the detail behind the recent murder of the young woman. As he desperately fought for a way to introduce the topic, inspiration struck.
‘Aunt Agatha,’ said Kit. ‘What have you been up to? I saw you with Betty Simpson last night. This can only mean one thing.’
Aunt Agatha managed the improbable feat of looking innocent, offended and sly, all at the same time. Even Mary marvelled at how she managed this. Years of practice, she supposed.
‘I’m glad you asked, Christopher. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’ve cracked the case, but we’re certainly a lot further ahead than what I’ve heard so far.’
It would be fair to say that Agatha was more than gratified by the surprise on the faces of both the young people in her presence. A brief ‘that’s-told-you’ followed. She leaned forward, licked her lips and began.
‘As you know, Betty and I have, over the years, collected cuttings related to…’
‘Gruesome murders,’ interjected Kit.
This was met by a stare from the two women.
‘Ignore him, Aunt Agatha.’
‘I shall. Betty and I returned to unsolved murders specifically related to young women. I’m sad to report there are so many. It’s heart-breaking. I’m not in any way attaching blame to you, Christopher, but your sex has committed an untold number of crimes against women.’
It would have been impossible for any man not to have felt intense shame. Mary looked at Kit sympathetically and held his hand.
‘The cases date back at least twelve years but that is when Betty began to collect the details. This has, almost certainly, being going on for longer.’
‘I’m sorry to ask, but did the papers provide any details on the nature of the murders?’
Agatha shook her head.
‘No, this is what we found interesting. Normally there is some indication of murder weapon or cause of death.’
Kit looked at Agatha and then Mary. He hesitated before finally saying, ‘This tallies with what I know of the murder of Enid Blake. It seems likely her death was part of a ceremony.’
‘A sacrifice?’ said Agatha, incredulously.
‘Yes. There were markings on her body associated with Satanic symbols.’
Kit could feel the pressure on his hand grow as Mary digested this news.
‘How horrible,’ said Mary. ‘How can people...?’ she left the rest unsaid. What rationale can one apply to murder? A crime of passion? Assassination? Revenge? Each had a twisted logic. The occult was another matter. Although the occult held no fear for her, she still shivered involuntarily. Premeditated execution or ritual slaying seemed to her another level of horror.
‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Mary.
Kit held his hands up apologetically, “I have to meet with Churchill. You don’t mind?’
‘Certainly not,’ smiled Mary. ‘I have a lunch appointment myself, as it happens.’
Kit’s face clouded over. He looked down at a telegram sitting on the table. Mary pushed it forward. Kit glanced at her and received confirmation that he could read it.
Moments later he said, ‘Good Lord.’
Mary smiled at him and raised her eyebrows.
‘Would someone please tell me what is going on?’ asked Agatha in the manner of someone who did not take kindly to telepathy as a form of communication.
‘Are you really going to lunch with her?’ asked Kit. He saw Agatha on the point of spontaneous combustion so added for her benefit, ‘Mrs Rosling. Remember Mary’s former employer from ‘The Phantom’ case?’
It was Agatha’s turn to exclaim ‘Good Lord’ along with standard aunt-like questions revolving around the separation of the subject individual from their senses, and such like.
‘I saw her yesterday. Briefly. And she saw me. I attended a meeting of Suffragists at Claridge’s. She was not a speaker but was at the top table. Anyway, when will you return from Whitehall?’
‘I think late afternoon.’
‘So, I shall finally have you to myself then?’ smiled Mary.
‘Well, perhaps you would like to join me for another appointment.’
‘With who?’
‘A priest.’
It was one of Mary’s more interesting attractions that her eyes could convey so much in the space of split seconds. First, they widened hopefully in perfect synch with her smile before narrowing suspiciously with a frown. Once again, Kit regretted that their marriage would have to wait until after Esther and Richard’s wedding and the anniversary of their grandfather’s death.
‘I neglected to mention, my visit last night with our gangland friends was to a Father Bernard Vaughan. He’s not exactly an admirer of your friend Doyle, Aunt Agatha.’
‘I hope you don’t think for one moment that it’ll just be you and Mary going on your own,’ said Agatha.
‘I wouldn’t dream of going without you and Betty,’ said Kit nobly. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘In fact, I’m rather depe
nding on you being there. It should be quite a meeting. Now, I must be on my way.’
Mary walked Kit to the door. For once Agatha deemed it wise that the two lovers should be left alone. Thankfully they were both at an age where moments of resentment merely act as a justification for further declarations of undying love. At least on the part of the man, that is. For one must always conclude, in these situations, that it was he who erred.
-
Mary returned to the dining room to find Agatha scouring the paper.
‘What are you looking for, Aunt Agatha?’ asked Mary. After eight months together in the house, Mary had license to ask questions that might have been considered impertinent.
‘I was expecting more news on the Medium Murders but there appears to be none. Tell me about yesterday. I haven’t seen Millicent in years.’
‘You’ve met her?’
‘I knew her a long time ago,’ replied Agatha enigmatically.
‘You were a suffragist?’
‘Had I been in the country more, I should have been. By the time I returned,’ Agatha stopped for a moment. The memory of a man swum into view.
‘I’d just lost Useless. I wasn’t ready to face the world again for a while. She’s around my age. I admire her tremendously.’
Mary nodded in agreement.
‘I want to do more, Aunt Agatha. I have a feeling Mrs Rosling will ask me to join. I shall.’
‘You should.’
‘I haven’t spoken with Kit about this.’
‘Why should you? You’re entitled to have your own interests. Anyway, he’ll do as he’s told and like it. I may be old and decrepit, but I’ve noticed how he looks at you. In this regard, men make dogs seem the very definition of impenetrability.’
Mary was less sure. A frown appeared on her forehead.
‘You say that, but I wish I knew what he was thinking sometimes.’
‘Not knowing is perhaps a lucky escape. My nephew may be best of breed, but that doesn’t mean he has escaped completely from the limitations of the species.’
