‘Tell me,’ she whispered, ‘is that a black wig, or all her own hair?’
‘I believe it is part of her theatrical make-up.’
‘Indeed. Such an odd individual.’
Elma was clearly very curious, gnawing her lip, a habit I noticed when she was anxious. To satisfy her curiosity I told her that Mrs Hengel had been very impressed by the sight of Solomon’s Tower visible from the circus at Queen’s Park.
‘She often wondered who lived there and so on. As she had never been inside I invited her to call.’
Elma sniffed disdainfully. ‘Such curiosity, Rose. So very ill-bred. Quite rude. One never blatantly engineers an invitation.’
Regarding her serious expression, I had difficulty not laughing outright or refraining from observing how ill-bred it was to display such curiosity about my visitor.
But Elma did sound cross and even a little jealous of my new acquaintance and I couldn’t resist an impish remark. ‘A pity you didn’t meet. Had you come earlier, I am sure she would have been delighted to tell your fortune.’
Elma looked at me solemnly. ‘I have had my fortune told many times and I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘Neither do I.’ I smiled, the moment was over. ‘Shall we have some tea?’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gathering my facts together later, I thought, logically, the bank clerk’s death in the hold-up and Miles Rice’s injury might well have been accidental, outcomes of attacks which were not meant to be fatal and could be classed as manslaughter. However, the two suicides so carefully planned and identical – considering the lack of farewell notes and taking into account further evidence, including their religious beliefs – suggested murder. Then the curious assault on the novice at the convent by a lurking strange man – was this related to the other cases?
My thoughts turned again to Joey the Clown, suspicions reinforced by the fact that he was not living with the other clowns at Sheridan Place and was a relative newcomer to the circus. This indicated that he was a man of mystery with perhaps very sinister reasons for being so.
There existed two possible sources of valuable information. First, that somehow I should engineer an interview with the clowns so that I could dig deeper, and second, that I should talk to Hodge who, according to his statement, had discovered his master lying in a pool of blood.
Elma had arrived on her now almost daily walk from the Grange with Rufus. She looked pale and more anxious than ever, gasping out that she was so distressed at Felix not recovering consciousness she wasn’t sleeping at night.
‘I’m so afraid in the house these days, Rose. And the servants are not much consolation, so remote in their quarters up there in the attics.’
Pausing, she studied me, biting her lip as she whispered tearfully, ‘I expect it has also occurred to you that I might be the next victim.’
The thought had never occurred to me and she added, ‘Whoever attacked my husband may be lurking about awaiting the right opportunity.’
I wasn’t sure how she had reasoned out that some enemy of Felix might wish to include her in his revenge but when I said so she brushed it aside.
‘I have heard sounds downstairs during the night and – guess what – yesterday I found a window in the drawing room left unlatched,’ she said dramatically.
I was in no doubt that Rice Villa had its own reasons for feelings of unease: the fate of Felix and the assumed break-in calculated to arouse terrifying prospects in the minds of vulnerable servants.
I said consolingly, ‘An accident. One of the maids might have been cleaning the windows—’
‘No,’ she interrupted, ‘that cannot be. You are quite wrong. And Hodge who is very particular since Felix’s attack is meticulous about checking windows and doors most carefully before retiring to his room upstairs.’
‘How is Hodge?’
She shook her head sadly. ‘A very unhappy man. I am afraid if my husband dies this will be the end of him. Felix was— is his whole life. An absolutely devoted servant.’
‘Have you told him of your fears – that you believe you might also be in some danger?’
‘Of course, but he thinks I am merely overanxious about security. Overanxious, I ask you! Who wouldn’t be in my situation?’ she demanded angrily.
In an effort to placate her, I said, ‘There is something you could do. Get Hodge – or your housekeeper – to sleep on the same floor as yourself, in one of the guest bedrooms, perhaps.’
Her eyes opened in a horrified expression. ‘Good gracious, I couldn’t possibly allow that.’
‘Why not? This is an emergency.’
‘Hodge would be simply horrified at such a suggestion. He is very much aware of his proper place and, for servants, that is in their own quarters. We couldn’t possibly have any of them sleeping…in the guest rooms! That would never do, most embarrassing for everyone.’
I wasn’t impressed by the logic of all this snobbery in the face of mortal peril. I thought for a moment.
‘Then why don’t you tell the police? If you are in danger, they will see to it that you have protection.’
She looked at me wide-eyed. ‘I cannot possibly do that, Rose. After all, I have no evidence – it is just a feeling…’ her voice dropped to a whisper, ‘a horrible premonition that someone is out to kill me too.’
Leaning over she grasped my hand. ‘Please…please, Rose, I can’t bear to be on my own just now – please say you will come and stay just for a day or two, so that I can get a good night’s sleep,’ she wheedled. ‘I would be so grateful. I am so afraid. You just can’t imagine…please…’
And so I agreed, my motive, alas, not merely to give Elma reassurance, but also that this would provide an ideal opportunity to strike up an acquaintance with Hodge and see if there was anything more he could tell me, perhaps some detail that he had overlooked, considered too trivial to mention in his interview with the police.
I wasn’t particularly hopeful, but it was worth a chance, I thought, hastily packing my valise into the bicycle carrier for an overnight stay.
Standing by, Elma eyed my activities with consternation. Perhaps afraid I would change my mind, she said in a stricken voice, ‘You do travel light, Rose. Are you sure you have quite enough? And why that machine? Is it necessary? We could hire a cab.’
I shook my head. ‘If you don’t mind walking and won’t be offended, then I promise to push the bicycle.’
She looked extremely uncomfortable at the idea, shaking her head doubtfully, unable to think of the right words to dissuade me.
I said, ‘I find this a very useful and convenient means of travelling across Edinburgh.’
Defeated, she shrugged. ‘You must please yourself. You are certainly a very original young lady, very up to date. A bicycle, and I noticed that you have a typewriting machine,’ she added in a tone of surprise.
‘Which I rarely use, I’m afraid. It was a gift from my stepbrother and I haven’t quite accomplished the necessary art – by the time I find the letters and correct all my mistakes, I could have written several letters by hand.’
Rufus began his chorus of indignation at the sight of Thane who had reappeared, watching us preparing to take our departure.
‘You don’t lock up before you leave?’ She sounded shocked as I closed the kitchen door.
‘No need. I have nothing worth stealing, Elma. And Thane guards the house – don’t you?’ I said patting his head. ‘He learnt long ago how to let himself in and out by lifting the latch with his nose.’
She gave a sniff of disapproval but soon returned to her former pleasant role as a prospective hostess, as we walked full of chatter about clothes she wanted me to look at, and my favourite dishes which she would instruct should be prepared specially.
It all sounded alarmingly as if she was expecting a longer stay than she had proposed. However, on that first day in Rice Villa, while Elma was taking her bath, I got my opportunity to have a word with Hodge, a tall string of a man, wit
h an enlarged Adam’s apple, turned-down mouth and a singularly unhappy expression.
He was also very nervous, despite a desperate attempt to maintain his dignified role as a gentleman’s valet with all the aplomb of many years’ service.
I began with sympathy for his predicament and said how horrendous it must have been, adding gently that sometimes it can be a help to talk about it.
I was a little taken aback to say the least when he replied, ‘Of course, madam, you are used to asking such questions in your capacity as a private detective.’
How on earth did he know that? Had Elma told him? I listened carefully and he described the events of that afternoon, the horrific discovery of his master lying injured – his eyes filled with uncontrollable tears – and how, when he found the french window open, he presumed that sir had a visitor who had entered informally.
‘What reasons had you for that?’ I asked.
‘Sir had asked me to lay out two glasses and make sure that the whisky decanter was at hand. He stressed that it should be his best brand.’
‘Did you tell the police this?’
He shook his head. ‘If I had thought there was any significance to this request, I should have done so, but the doctor said the cause of sir’s injury was a heart attack. As the two glasses were an everyday order at that hour from sir and madam when they were at home, it did not strike me as unusual in any way.’
I had noticed that Elma enjoyed whisky in a discreet fashion, since it was considered unladylike and a small glass of Madeira or a sweet sherry were more appropriate to her role in society.
I asked Hodge, ‘When you noticed the open window, did you see anyone in the garden?’
Hodge opened his mouth and then hesitated, shook his head. ‘It was dark and rainy. I didn’t think to look outside – I was too upset.’
I looked at him and he avoided my eyes and turned away quickly. ‘Is that all, madam? I have nothing else to tell you.’
Throughout our interview he had looked nervously towards the door as if expecting some interruption. His hesitant manner suggested that he knew more than he was prepared to tell, although there could have been an innocent reason for this, perhaps involving one of the servants.
As he was leaving Elma entered the room and said, ‘You may go, Hodge.’
‘Very good, madam.’ He bowed stiffly and was gone.
‘I heard you talking to him,’ said Elma. ‘Your usual sympathetic self,’ she smiled warmly. ‘You are such a dear good person.’
‘We were discussing what happened – that afternoon. I thought it might help him to talk about it.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Surely he didn’t want to go over all that again, meeting you for the first time. That is really too much,’ she said crossly. ‘He is just a servant after all and should have more control over his feelings. He should know his place,’ she added indignantly.
‘I am afraid I rather led him into it.’ I hesitated before adding, ‘You know, Elma, from what he said – or rather didn’t say – I have a strange feeling that he was telling…well, not lies, but not the whole truth either, perhaps protecting someone.’
Elma looked astonished. ‘I wonder who on earth it could be. One of the maids, I expect, thinking she would lose her job for leaving the window open. I’m afraid, if that was the case, I would have dismissed her on the spot and poor Hodge knows that. I can be very stern and unrelenting in matters of disobedience and carelessness.’
After a pleasant supper of soup, poached salmon and an apple sponge pudding, we settled to a peaceful evening playing cards, at which Elma excelled. She had amazing luck and I, alas, have never been a successful gambler. Had we been playing for money I would have been considerably out of pocket, I thought, as I retired to the splendid guest bedroom with its cosy fire.
Glad to be alone in this unexpected luxury I read a few pages of Jane Austen’s Persuasion before snuggling down into the soft pillows and warm eiderdown.
No sound disturbed my slumber.
At breakfast the next morning a somewhat agitated Elma met me, waving a piece of paper.
‘I have just received this message from my brother Peter. He is arriving from London by train and wishes me to meet him with the carriage at Waverley Station.’ With a deep sigh she added, ‘He will, of course, be most anxious to visit Felix immediately when he hears what has happened. They have always been very close.’
She regarded me, for a moment, smiling steadily. ‘I am unaware of his plans, but no doubt he intends on staying for a few days.’
And unless I had misinterpreted the pause that accompanied her words I felt it indicated very clearly that my visit was to be cut short.
She had hardly finished speaking when we heard a man’s voice in the hall. Elma clasped her hands together as the door was thrown open and a young man appeared.
‘Peter!’ With an exclamation of delight she flung herself into his arms. ‘You are early, I wasn’t expecting to see you until we met at the station.’
They kissed and Peter disengaged himself from her embrace. ‘I got an earlier train,’ and, as if aware of a third party for the first time, he winked in my direction. ‘What a greeting, eh? My sister is always unrestrained in her affections.’
Elma sprang away from him. ‘We have a guest, Peter. This is my dearest friend, Mrs Rose McQuinn.’
He came over, smiling, and bowed over my hand. ‘Enchanted, my dear.’
And as I looked at him, I had the oddest feeling that we had met somewhere before. A moment later it fell into place. He bore a strong resemblance to the young man I had glimpsed greeting Elma when we were leaving the theatre.
Observing the startled expression I was unable to conceal, he frowned. ‘Something wrong, Mrs McQuinn?’
‘Oh, do call her Rose, Peter,’ said Elma and, aware of her anxious look which plainly indicated, more than any words, desperation that I should like her brother, I smiled and said to him, ‘No, of course not, I just thought we had met before somewhere.’
‘Impossible,’ Elma put in, ‘Peter returned from South Africa recently, and as I’m sure I mentioned, he’s been living in London. This is his first visit to Edinburgh for – oh, about two years, isn’t it?’ she added, looking at him for confirmation.
Peter nodded in agreement. I glanced at him again. The same flashy appearance, but that glimpse in the dark outside the theatre as Elma and I got into our carriage had been very fleeting.
‘I must have been mistaken.’
Peter was watching me, smiling. ‘We all of us have doubles,’ and putting an arm around Elma, ‘even twins.’
The advent of her brother was making Elma bite her lips more frequently than usual. She regarded him with ill-concealed anxiety. Despite his genial manner as the conversation turned to general matters regarding what had happened since they last met, I felt somewhat superfluous. After a polite interval, I announced that I would be going home.
‘You were to stay for a while,’ said Elma, regarding me doubtfully. She frowned. ‘Must you really go?’
But there was little enthusiasm in her voice. Now that she had the brother to whom she was so close, I was no longer needed for her protection. I took my leave, valise reinstated in my bicycle bag and, as they watched me from the front door, their arms about each other, I felt a sense of relief. She would be safe with him and, if this was to be a brief stay, then she wanted only his presence. I could understand her feelings, my own exactly: had Vince been at Solomon’s Tower on one of his rare and fleeting visits I would have resented the presence of a stranger.
I felt quite light-hearted, exceedingly glad to be going home again, as I bicycled through the Grange and headed through Newington.
The truth, which I hated to admit even to myself, was that although I had grown fond of Elma, who had so many excellent qualities, I didn’t warm to her twin at all. A fact I was sorry to realise and I even hoped that, for once, those first impressions had been wrong.
I didn’t like Peter. He
did not greatly resemble Elma – although this was most often the rule with different sex fraternal twins – apart from both being of roughly the same height, with fair hair and blue eyes, and I could imagine that, as infants, they looked like little picture book angels.
I was disappointed. I had expected some sort of affinity as I had with Elma. Instead, there was only the odd likeness to the man who had spoken to her outside the theatre. Perhaps that was the trouble: it persisted and, despite Elma’s assurances, I could not persuade myself that I had been mistaken.
After all, Elma should know much better than I who had spoken to her that evening, and since she claimed the man was a casual acquaintance, she was completely unaware of any resemblance.
As I reached home, with Thane there waiting to welcome me, I knew that I did not care for Rice Villa either. There was also something wrong about Elma’s luxurious home, something deep and disturbing that wealth could not disguise.
I wondered if it was haunted. It had a forbidding air of sinister depression, almost, I might add, of evil, yet it was only a few years old and Solomon’s Tower, by comparison, was a warm, serene and welcoming place, despite the many untold acts of violence and death its walls had witnessed during the past centuries of its existence.
I decided that Rice Villa would be worthy of a visit from the psychic Sara Hengel, but a more pressing reason for talking to her again was my endeavour to gather information about my prime suspect, Joey.
That was the night Leo, King of the Jungle, escaped from the circus.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was not until daylight next morning that the cage door was discovered swinging open. Leo, mercifully its sole occupant, was nowhere to be seen, which hinted that he had enjoyed almost twelve hours of freedom.
Panic ensued. What if he was already roaming the streets of Edinburgh in search of food – or prey? Should the authorities be notified?
‘No,’ said Fernando and Hengel together in agreement. They reasoned that it was unlikely Leo would go where there were humans, and police would bring guns, trigger-happy ready to shoot him, a valuable animal, on sight.
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