by Jack Murray
The sombre man who looked like the King spoke first.
‘Thank you, Miss Evans, for joining us. My name is Chief Inspector Jellicoe. And I have with me Sergeant Wellbeloved and Lord Christopher Aston, who is helping us in this matter.
Lydia Evans looked at the three men. It did not take a super sleuth to work out who was the lord. Her nervousness was gradually dissipating. There was a seriousness about the Chief Inspector that she felt drawn to. If diligence was a person, it would look something like this.
‘I understand that you have some information related to the recent movements of Miss Tunstall.’
‘Yes. I met her a few times at the refuge.’
‘Where was this?’
‘On Wootton Street. Y’know. Near Waterloo Station.’
Jellicoe glanced at Wellbeloved and asked, ‘Have we been to this one?’
Wellbeloved consulted his notebook. He flicked through a number of pages and came to the one he wanted. He scanned through it.
‘Not yet, sir. I think it’s one of the smaller ones. We’ve been following up on the larger ones.’
Jellicoe nodded but he didn’t seem happy. This was not a reflection on Wellbeloved for once. Manpower. There were simply not enough people on the ground.
Lydia Evans glanced towards Kit. There was a look of surprise on his face.
‘That’s the one where Mary has been going.’
Jellicoe turned to Kit in surprise.
‘Lady Mary has been helping out at a refuge.’
‘Lady Mary?’ asked Lydia. ‘You know her?’
Kit coloured a little for reasons who could not explain.
‘We’re to be married next year.’
For the first time, Lydia smiled. She looked at Kit and said truthfully, ‘She’s an angel, sir.’
Jellicoe raised his eyebrows and decided to get the meeting back on course.
‘Miss Evans, would you be prepared to accompany us to this house so that we can meet the people there and find out more about Patty Tunstall’s last days?’
‘Of course, sir.’
Lydia Evans felt something new at that moment. It was a feeling that she’d not had in such a long time.
Hope.
-
Hope turned to disbelief on her journey to Wootton Street.
‘You’ve never been in a car like this before,’ asked Kit.
‘No, sir,’ said Lydia Evans, truthfully.
They were in Kit’s Rolls Royce. Lydia Evans looked like a child on Christmas Day. Her trips in motor cars had been few enough. None were like this. The leather upholstery felt so soft, so comfortable. She wanted to cry. With happiness. Lord, what a story she would have to tell her friends.
They drove through the morning traffic with a swiftness that was at once terrifying to Lydia Evans as well as depressing. She didn’t want this journey to end. For the first time in her life, she was a Princess riding in a carriage with a handsome Prince. It was fantasy of course but while it lasted, she wanted to enjoy every second.
Her face, so fearful before, lit up. Kit smiled at her, but his heart felt heavy. Not only for his passenger who would soon return to the harsh reality of her life but also for Mary. What would she say? What would she think when they burst in upon her?
He wasn’t sure what they would find. If Mary was angry, then so be it. There was a wider issue: her safety. He was not at risk. She was. It was that simple. The victims were women. Young women. Many not yet twenty one, which was significant. Mary was very much a potential target. But still it gnawed at his conscience. Both Kit and Lydia were dreading the end of the journey for entirely different reasons.
‘That house over there,’ said Lydia Evans pointing to a redbrick terrace. It was a large house and seemed to have been made by joining two terraces together. Miller pulled the car over, directly in front. A police car driven by Wellbeloved drew into the space behind.
‘Shall I stay in the car, sir?’ asked Miller, clearly aware something was afoot.
‘No, Harry. Perhaps you should join us, initially.’
Miller helped Lydia out of the car and the four men followed her to the house. Jellicoe looked at the young woman expectantly and she obliged by knocking the door.
It was answered by an older woman that Kit did not recognise. The woman looked at Lydia Evans.
‘Hello Lydia, is everything all right?’
‘Yes, Miss Dinsdale. These gentlemen are from the police. Can we come in?’
Miss Dinsdale’s eyes widened in alarm, but she immediately stepped back and watched as Lydia Evans and the men entered the house. Lydia was first through the door followed by Kit.
They entered into a large room. There were several young women there with children. Kit’s mouth dropped open in shock. Mary turned to him. She was standing with Isabelle Rosling and two older women. Mary’s eyes narrowed and one eyebrow arched upwards alarmingly. Kit calculated around seventeen questions were contained in this one look.
But that wasn’t what shocked him.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ The tone was as peremptory as the irritation was familiar.
‘Hello, Aunt Agatha,’ said Kit in as breezy a manner as he could manage. ‘I was just about to ask you the same question.
32
A few hours earlier…
Mary gazed out of the drawing room window which overlooked Grosvenor Square. It was a ghastly morning. The rain was not especially hard but the street, the grass, the trunks of the trees and even the air seemed sodden. Mary sipped at her tea and watched Aunt Agatha and Fish walking together through the park in the middle. Poor Fish thought Mary. Agatha was doing all the talking.
The two septuagenarians had arrived at the exit to the park. They crossed the empty road towards front of the house. A minute or two later, the door to the drawing room opened and Agatha stepped in.
‘Ah, glad I found you, Mary.’
‘Awful day.’
‘Ghastly. Tell me,’ said Agatha, closing off any further discussion of Britain’s unfortunate susceptibility to merciless meteorological vicissitudes, ‘are you planning to visit the house at Waterloo today with Mrs Rosling.’
‘Yes,’ replied Mary. ‘There’s nothing much I can do on the case at the moment.’
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
Mary grinned at her adopted aunt. Just when you thought you could no longer be surprised by this lady, like any good poker player, a game at which Aunt Agatha was peerless, she always had a card up her sleeve. It took a moment for Mary to remember that this was cheating, but no matter, she always astounded.
‘Of course, Aunt Agatha. I’m sure Mrs Rosling would be delighted to meet you.’
To give Agatha her due, the look on her face suggested that she doubted this immensely. She recognised that Mary was exaggerating the truth not to mock her but because she was considerate. She loved this about Mary. Not that she would say. Mary walked the fine line between gentle teasing and esteem with unerring ease. She would miss her when she left to be with Kit. Miss her so much, in fact.
‘I’m sure she’ll be enchanted.’
Nothing in Agatha’s voice suggested she either believed this or, indeed, cared.
Mary broke out into a fit of giggles. This forced Agatha to leave the room, lest she start laughing too, claiming the need to get ready. Just as the old grandfather clock struck eight, Mary and Agatha set off driven by Bernard, Agatha’s some time chauffeur.
‘We’ll be back late afternoon,’ said Agatha to Natalie, before she left. ‘You should take the day off.’
‘Thank you, madame,’ replied Natalie hiding her delight. She had intended asking that very thing for today. She closed the door and clapped her hands in delight. She went to the phone and dialled a number.
Downstairs she heard some music begin to play on a gramophone.
Jazz.
-
‘Haymaker’ Harris was snoring peacefully in the car as Mary and Agatha walked down the steps of the m
ansion before stepping into the new Bentley driven by Bernard. He hadn’t meant to stay the night. Once Mary had returned back to the mansion, he was effectively off duty. However, these days he felt fatigue more. The cold weather wasn’t helping either. He’d taken a few nips of brandy from his hip flask to stay warm. Soon he’d fallen asleep.
It was now mid-morning and ‘Haymaker’ was dreaming that he was in the ring giving Georges Carpentier a good beating. The Frenchman’s unquestionably elegant ring craft was proving of little use against ‘Haymaker’s’ speed and power. The fight was just about to reach a devastating conclusion when…
‘Haymaker’ awoke to the sound of a tap on the passenger side of the car. It was a policeman. The two men regarded one another for a few seconds. In that time both wondered if they’d met before. The policeman quickly assimilated ‘Haymaker’s’ features: the cauliflower ear, the nose and the slightly hooded eyes. This was not a man who was likely to be an inhabitant of one of the most exclusive locations in London. The policeman tapped the glass once more. No further inquiry was required.
‘Hop it,’ advised the policeman.
‘Haymaker’ touched his hat and made ready to oblige. He still felt sleepy though. He rubbed his eyes. As he did this, he turned to the residence he’d been commissioned to watch over by Wag. A young woman was descending the steps. She was wearing a dark coat and one of those cloche hats all the women were wearing these days.
It was difficult to make out her features. Just as ‘Haymaker’ was able to rub the sleep out of his eyes, the window rapped again.’
‘All right, all right, keep your hair on,’ said ‘Haymaker’ turning to the policeman. When he turned back, he was aware of a large car drawing up to the young woman. Moments later she stepped into the car which sped away.
‘Haymaker’ hurriedly started the car and set off behind the other car. The policeman resumed his leisurely amble around one of the lesser crime hot spots of London, secure in the knowledge that it would remain so thanks to his intelligent intervention.
-
He’s in a rush, thought ‘Haymaker’ following closely behind the big car. It was a light coloured Bentley. I could certainly shift and did so when the road was clear enough. Once or twice ‘Haymaker’ had to acknowledge a few angry pedestrians who had been foolhardy enough to attempt crossing the road whilst he was trying to keep up.
Thankfully the journey was mercifully short, or perhaps they had been going unmercifully fast. They arrived at a destination just a few minutes’ drive away near Sloane Square.
A young man stepped out of the car. He was well-dressed. A ‘nob, no question thought ‘Haymaker’. Seconds later the young woman emerged from the car. She took the hand of the gentleman and stepped onto the pavement. She looked around at the houses. They were tall, four story townhouses. Second homes to rich country folk. ‘Haymaker’ could see two things immediately about her. She seemed impressed by the house. More problematically, she seemed not to be Lady Mary.
‘Bloody hell,’ said ‘Haymaker’ or something closely resembling it.
He stayed and watched her enter a big house with the young man. This put ‘Haymaker’ in a quandary. That he had to return and in double quick time to Grosvenor Square was clear. Equally clear was whether he should admit to Wag about his blunder.
An idea suggested itself.
Twenty minutes later ‘Haymaker’ was, once again, outside the mansion. After a short wait he spotted Bernard the chauffeur walking towards the house. ‘Haymaker’ leapt out of the car and stopped the chauffeur. The chauffeur glanced at ‘Haymaker’ suspiciously at first. However, he seemed to be driving a rather expensive car. Such things impressed Bernard.
‘Pardon me mate, but I just tried the house. No one is there,’ said ‘Haymaker’.
‘Their ladyships have gone to Wootton Street to a home for women.’
Of course, thought ‘Haymaker’, he should have thought of that. He thanked Bernard and returned to his car. Bernard looked at the former boxer speed off. He thought nothing more of the encounter.
-
Unless Mary missed her guess, she sensed that Aunt Agatha was a little nervous. This usually manifested itself when she was quiet and not dispensing opinions like confetti at a wedding. She’d noticed this more lately. Something was on her mind. Typically, with Aunt Agatha one got to hear everything that was on her mind except the one thing that was on her mind. Mary supposed all aunts were like this. Perhaps she would become like this, too. A humble chap, if he’d been present, might have pointed out that this was the very definition of being female.
They soon arrived at the Wootton Street house. Agatha followed Mary into the house. Isabelle Rosling was already there. With her was another woman that it took Mary a few moments to recognise.
‘This is Lady Mary, Millicent,’ said Mrs Rosling to Millicent Fawcett.
Then Agatha stepped into view.
‘And this is?’ said Mrs Rosling glancing at Mary. It had taken a few moments for Mary to get over seeing Millicent Fawcett at such close quarters. She nearly fainted a moment later.
‘Hello, Millicent,’ said Agatha.
‘Agatha?’ exclaimed Millicent Fawcett. ‘Is it really you?’
Mary’s eyes widened in perfect synch with her mouth. Mrs Rosling was no less astonished.
‘Yes. Older. Not much wiser probably.’
There was a moistness in Agatha’s eyes that was the final shock for Mary. Millicent Fawcett stepped forward and took both Agatha’s hands. The two women regarded one another for a few moments.
‘You left us. What happened?’ asked the Suffragist leader.
‘I married,’ replied Agatha.
‘I heard. You loved him?’
‘Completely.’
Millicent Fawcett nodded and turned to Mary. For the next few moments Mary chatted with Millicent Fawcett. Her voice shook as fought to control her emotions. For the rest of her life, she could not remember what she said. Some nonsense, she thought. The excitement was almost too great. The honour too deep.
It was clear, however, that Millicent Fawcett wanted to speak to Aunt Agatha, so, reluctantly, she kept things brief. At least she’d had the sense to do this, she thought afterwards. The two elderly women began to chat in quiet tones. Meanwhile, Mary turned to Isabelle Rosling.
‘My aunt only asked me this morning about coming.’
‘You had no idea that she knew Millicent. I could see as much on your face.’
‘She said she’d met her,’ said Mary grinning, but their unmistakable pride in her voice, ‘but I’d no idea it was like this. She’s full of surprises my Aunt Agatha. Well, strictly speaking she’s not my aunt. She’s Kit’s aunt. But…’
Mary felt Mrs Rosling take her hand, ‘I think I understand. Well, I’m delighted if she’s joining us.’
Mary began to chuckle. In fact, it took a little while for her stop. Mrs Rosling joined her laughing although she knew not why. Finally, both women found their composure once more.
‘Well, Mary, I think what you’re saying, without saying anything, is that I might regret her joining us.’
Mary shook her head, but the smile widened.
‘She’s certainly unique but I think she’d be an asset. It just won’t always seem so. She can be a tad crochety on occasion.’
And that occasion was just moments away as the door burst open. It sometimes seems that doors burst open when policemen, well, any man, arrives at a room. Mary was for, at least third time that morning, shocked as she saw Chief Inspector Jellicoe and then Kit enter the room. There was a women with them she vaguely recognised.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ asked Agatha, who was the first to regain her senses after the initial shock had subsided.
‘Hello, Aunt Agatha, I was just about to ask you the same question.’ Kit looked from his aunt and then back to Mary. He frowned slightly or was it a grimace? Mary could see he was uncomfortable about their entrance. She wasn’t sure if she was ince
nsed, surprised or sympathetic to his plight. She followed her heart.
‘Lord Aston. What a pleasant surprise,’ said Mary walking forward and kissing him gently on the cheek. ‘Are you here to help out?’
In the background she could hear Agatha whispering rather loudly, it must be said, for Millicent Fawcett’s hearing was not as acute as it had once been, about the new entrants.
Oddly it was Miss Dinsdale who saved the day.
‘Shall I get the gentlemen some tea?’
This eminently sensible suggestion was greeted with acclaim and allowed calm, rational explanation and an exchange of information to flourish. Chief Inspector Jellicoe and Sergeant Wellbeloved stepped forward and explained their presence. Over the next few minutes while Lydia Evans and Mrs Rosling, filled in the pieces of the jigsaw related to the last movements of Patty Tunstall, Kit took Mary aside.
‘My darling, I would have given anything not to intrude. I’d no idea this was the same place you were working until Miss Evans mentioned it.’
Mary took Kit’s hand and gazed up at him.
‘I know. I understand, I could see it on your face. I think you’re not quite so sure about Mrs Rosling. I wish you would see her as I see her. She’s a remarkable woman. I admire her tremendously.’
Kit smiled then kissed Mary on the top of her head.
‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been a bit of a fool. A jealous fool. If there’s anything I can do to support what you’re doing here, I will. I want to help.’
Kit grinned as he made this last point. Mary’s eyes narrowed.
‘Well, ignoring the implicit paradox of that statement for a moment, as you’re such a changed man...’ Mary was tempted to add that she was also a changed woman because of him but opted instead for a more romantic method of conveying both forgiveness and confirmation of their future. This lasted for a minute or two in the entrance corridor of the refuge. It was brought to an end by a polite clearing of a throat.
Aunt Agatha and Millicent Fawcett were standing looking at the couple.
‘This is my nephew, as I was saying, Millicent. Mary and he will be married next year. Although if they continue to conduct themselves like two animals in a field, we may have to consider moving the wedding forward.’
