by Granger, Ann
‘My cousin agreed willingly. It was all settled and he left. I heard from him from time to time, not very often. For a while he lived in Italy, then in the south of France. Then came a period of silence. I was wondering whether to make enquiries when the matter became urgent. Flora turned nineteen last autumn. A most eligible young man, the younger son of a peer of the realm, presented himself as suitor. Flora fell in love. The young man’s family approved. Of course she is still very young, but my wife and I are sure the attachment is genuine. Naturally, the young fellow first came to me to ask permission to offer for her hand—’
‘And you had to tell him that Flora’s natural father was still alive and as she’s not yet one and twenty, permission had to be sought from him,’ I interrupted.
He nodded. ‘Yes. That’s when things became very difficult. I wrote to Thomas at the last known address in France because I believed him to be in that country. I explained what had happened and assured him the young man was no fortune hunter. I asked that Tom write, giving his consent to the marriage, and with the letter properly attested by a notary public. There would be no need for him to come home.
‘I sent the letter to his last known residence. It was returned to me, apparently unopened. I wrote others, but received no reply. In desperation, I wrote to our embassy in Paris. I eventually received intelligence from them that Tom was last heard of living on the outskirts of the French capital. But he was no longer registered as living there; and where he was the embassy could not say. They had not been informed of the death in France of any British subject of that name. We assumed, therefore, he was still alive. But the Continent is full of travelling Englishmen. He could have returned to Italy, decided to see the Swiss Alps, been taken with an impulse to explore the Austrian or the Turkish empires, gone, in fact, anywhere.’
Tapley took out a fine lawn handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘I told the young couple that they must, in any case, wait until Flora was twenty-one before any marriage could take place. That gave me a little time. First of all I established, through enquiry in this country, that Tom was still drawing an income from his investments here, so was still alive. But, and here’s the distressing thing, it had all along been a very modest income. He could barely have been living in comfort all those years. He wanted, I am sure, to leave as much as possible of his fortune for Flora. The poor fellow stinted himself in every way.’
‘He certainly presented a down-at-heel appearance,’ I told him. ‘His clothing was shabby. The clothes press in his lodgings contains only a change of linen. He had only one coat. If he spent any money, it was on second-hand books.’
Jonathan Tapley closed his eyes. ‘Poor Tom,’ he murmured again. ‘He was the kindest, most good-natured fellow, and his own country persecuted him.’
This was not the time to discuss the law regarding homosexual acts. Jonathan Tapley had been right in saying both he and I were bound to uphold the law as it stood.
Jonathan Tapley sat back as if bracing himself. ‘I then received a severe shock. Failing to get a reply from France, I contacted the firm of Harrogate solicitors who handled, still handle, all of Tom’s business in this country. I learned that Tom had visited them early last year, January, in person. He had returned to Britain! You can imagine my reaction – my stupefaction, you might say. He told the solicitors he had not yet established a permanent address here and would let them know as soon as he had one. They were still awaiting his notification. They had assumed I would know where he lived. Between us, you might say, we had lost him.’
The curious disappearance of Thomas Tapley was throwing up all manner of possibilities. Why had he chosen to behave in this way? Because he feared his cousin Jonathan’s disapproval when it was discovered he’d come back to England, breaking the arrangement made nine years earlier? He did not know, of course, that Jonathan was looking for him or that his daughter, Flora, wished to become engaged. But even when he had quitted the rooms rented from Mrs Holland in Southampton and had established himself more permanently with Mrs Jameson in London, Thomas still hadn’t informed his solicitor of his address – or his cousin, who lived across town in the more fashionable area of Bryanston Square. Tom Tapley had also misled Mrs Jameson when he had told her he’d wished to return to London because he had previously lived there. But it seemed he’d lived in the North before leaving for the Continent. His wish to return to London was because here he had a daughter. Had he intended to contact her and then lacked the courage?
‘Mr Tapley,’ I said briskly, ‘I take it you were in correspondence with your cousin while he was abroad.’
Jonathan looked discomfited for a moment. ‘Not regularly, I confess. Perhaps only once a year, to let him know Flora was well and there were no changes in our situation. He seldom replied.’
‘That is regular enough. There are people living in this country who don’t correspond with their relations more frequently than that. Did you, at any time, travel to Europe and visit him there? When was the last confirmed sighting of him in France, Italy or any other country before he returned here? This is very important. It would help us narrow down the most likely date of his return. Was it just before he visited his solicitor in Harrogate last January, or earlier? There is a second question. Did he take abroad with him all his personal documents, those relating to his investments, for example, or a copy of his will? Nothing was found at his lodgings.’
‘That one I can answer easily. He must have had some personal documents with him; but most items of that nature are lodged with the firm of Newman and Thorpe of Harrogate, the solicitors in question. They have represented my cousin’s interests for many years and it would be a wise move for a man living a wandering life, staying in lodgings and hotels. I suggest you contact Newman and Thorpe. I shall shortly be writing to them myself. I understand I am an executor of his will. I can answer your question about the last sighting of him in Europe, but only to raise another mystery.’
He got to his feet and began to walk up and down the room, hands clasped behind his back again.
‘The year before last, I happened to run into an old acquaintance, a fellow I’d been at school with. We chatted about this and that, catching up on our news as one does, when suddenly he floored me with a remark I really hadn’t expected.
‘“By the way,”’ he said, “I ran into Tom Tapley recently. Isn’t he a cousin of yours?” I was staggered – and alarmed. Had Tom broken his promise to stay out of England? Where? I asked at once. “Walking on the beach at Deauville,” he told me.
‘It seemed Parker, the chap’s name, had been walking along the seafront at Deauville. Coming towards him he’d seen a gentleman with a female companion on his arm. Nearing them, he recognised Tom whom he’d met a few times in London some years before. He’d hailed him asking if he wasn’t Tom Tapley? Tom had acknowledged it and asked what brought Parker to Deauville. Parker explained he’d come for the horse racing. Tom had replied that he was resident now in France, and was in Deauville to recuperate following a period of poor health. They agreed the air on the Normandy coast was invigorating. Parker wished Tom a speedy return to good health and they parted. It was Parker’s impression Tom didn’t wish to stay and talk more. He thought Tom not best pleased at the encounter. Both parties experienced some embarrassment.’
‘And the lady?’
‘Oh, that, in Parker’s view, was the oddest thing. All the time they spoke, the female was clinging to Tom, while at the same time simpering and giving him, Parker, the glad eye. I am quoting Parker. But Tom didn’t introduce her, which was very odd. She was French, in Parker’s opinion, well turned out, and of what the French call “a certain age”. Let’s say, over forty. But her bold attitude and worldly air made him uneasy. Frankly, in his opinion, she was of the demi-monde. He was very surprised because he knew Tom wasn’t interested in women, not in that way. He was the last fellow you’d expect to see with a courtesan.’
‘What did you make of it?’ I asked.
‘I s
upposed Tom had found another older woman to take care of him. But I shared Parker’s unease. Other older ladies who’d taken him under their wing had always been of irreproachable reputation. Well, now, perfectly respectable people do visit Deauville! I believe the Empress Eugénie has been seen there. But it is also known, although perhaps less than its sister-resort of Trouville, as the sort of place fellows take their mistresses. Seaside towns tend to have a racy reputation, in this country also. That was what flummoxed Parker.’
‘Did you write to your cousin about it?’
‘I set pen to paper, but I tore up the draft of my letter. It was not my business. My cousin was a free man. Besides, what if Tom wrote back saying the woman was the wife of a friend, whom he was escorting as a favour? I’d sound a perfect fool if I wrote suggesting otherwise. One thing Tom certainly never had was a mistress.’
‘Just one last question, Mr Tapley,’ I said, preparing to scramble out of the depths of the armchair. ‘You came to see me as soon as you read of the discovery of a body. What made you think it might be that of your cousin?’
Jonathan Tapley raised his black eyebrows. ‘My dear Inspector, my cousin had disappeared! He had failed to contact his solicitors with his new address, as he had promised. He had made no attempt to contact us, my wife and me. Though apparently in this country after an absence of almost nine years, he had shown no interest in visiting his daughter. The press report said the dead man was believed to have lived briefly in Southampton. It is a Channel port. It had already entered my mind that some misfortune could have befallen Tom. I can tell you that I was on the verge of consulting the police and reporting him missing.’ He hesitated.
‘At the risk of distressing you more,’ I said, ‘I must point out that if you had reported him missing, you and I would not be here now. Thomas Tapley lodged with a neighbour of ours, of my wife’s and mine, on the south side of the river, not far from the railway station. I should have recognised the name and put you in touch.’
Jonathan Tapley frowned. ‘That certainly doesn’t make me feel any better. But I was not to know that! Yes, I agree, I should have contacted the police earlier. But, don’t forget, there was also the possibility that he had not remained in England. He could have returned to France. That could have been the reason he sent no new address here to Newman and Thorpe.’
I thought that Mr Jonathan Tapley Q.C. was constructing a plausible explanation, others would call it an excuse, for his dilatoriness in contacting the police. I wondered if the truth were as simple as that.
‘Well,’ said Dunn thoughtfully when I reported all this to him. ‘So Thomas Tapley had something of a history. Perhaps instead of sending Constable Biddle round the coffee houses, you should have sent him round the bathhouses, Ross.’ He sat back and scowled at me.
I knew this didn’t mean I’d displeased him particularly. It meant he was thinking it all over and was about to pick on some aspect that worried him. He was choosing his words.
‘We must not offend Jonathan Tapley, Ross,’ the superintendent began slowly. ‘We must not appear to bungle any aspect of this investigation. He is an eminent barrister and if we make mistakes we should call down on our heads the wrath of him and all his brethren of the wig and gown. Besides, he has friends in high places. He has argued the interests of noblemen, members of parliament, fashionable society of all sorts. There must be no such errors. There must be no unnecessary scandal. No lurid tales in the popular press. All enquiries from now on must be handled with the utmost tact. Keep Biddle out of it, unless it’s interviewing housemaids. Morris can be trusted for most things, but not to deal with Queen’s Counsel. You’ll have to do the sensitive work yourself.’
‘We cannot rule out Jonathan Tapley as a suspect, sir,’ I said as firmly as I could without sounding argumentative, ‘unless, of course, he has an alibi for the time the fatal attack took place. We know approximately when that was. The doctor was certain Thomas Tapley had not been long dead when found. The courts would have risen for the day by then. But if Jonathan Tapley were at his chambers, others should have seen him. If he were at home his household should be able to vouch for him. But someone has to find out where he was and I suppose it must be me?’
‘Of course, it’s you, Ross!’ said Dunn crossly. ‘Weren’t you listening? You must do the sensitive interviews yourself. Go back and see the distinguished counsel again. If you can manage to interview him at his house, so much the better. The man isn’t a fool. He will be expecting you to ask him where he was at the time.’
‘And will have arranged to have an alibi, well before he came to see me at the Yard. As you say, sir, he isn’t a fool.’
Dunn squinted at me. ‘Do you seriously think he’s likely to have dashed his cousin’s brains out?’
‘It could be argued he has a motive. He and his wife look upon the young woman, Miss Flora Tapley, as their own. She is on the brink of a very advantageous marriage . . . to the younger son of a peer, no less. It represents the summit of their ambitions for her.’
Dunn harrumphed but I ignored him to continue. ‘He wanted his cousin to send written approval for the marriage. He didn’t want him to turn up here, claiming his rightful privilege, as father of the bride, to lead her down the aisle.’
Dunn muttered furiously under his breath again and jabbed a stubby finger at me.
‘We need to find our villain quickly. The longer this drags on, the more likely it is the press will get hold of the background. Only think of the players in this drama! Beautiful and pure young woman – I suppose Flora Tapley to be both – on the brink of marriage. Son of a peer. Eminent barrister. Mysterious Frenchwoman of dubious background seen with the victim on the beach at a Continental watering hole. Good grief, Ross, this business has all the ingredients of a shilling shocker!’
Chapter Eight
* * *
Elizabeth Martin Ross
‘IT’S MY opinion,’ I told Ben that evening, when he had summarised his talk with Jonathan Tapley for my benefit, ‘that he and his wife have been very selfish, even cruel. He practically forced his cousin Thomas into exile so that he might continue guardianship of little Flora. How dare he later write to his cousin requesting a letter, certified by a notary public no less, giving Thomas’s consent to the marriage . . . but forbidding the poor man to come to England, give his consent in person and even see his daughter married?’
Indignation at the thought of the injustice done to poor Thomas filled me and I went on energetically, ‘It would not, surely have caused any scandal now if Thomas had turned up? No one was going to remember an event that took place at Oxford forty years ago, or any rumours about his behaviour between then and leaving the country. He had been gone almost ten years!’
‘Jonathan and Maria Tapley weren’t so confident about that,’ Ben said mildly.
I was having none of it. ‘I’m not surprised Thomas slipped back quietly, without informing his cousin. He wanted to see his daughter; it’s only natural. I know if it had been my father—’
‘But he wasn’t Dr Martin,’ Ben interrupted me brusquely. ‘When your papa found himself a widower with a young child, he undertook to bring you up himself. Thomas handed his daughter over to his cousin like a shot. But he’s to be excused. Don’t overlook the difficulty of his position. Dr Martin’s daughter may be well informed and broad minded about sex but most nice young women are brought up lamentably ignorant. Suppose Thomas had been caught up in another scandal. Who would have explained it all to young Flora? Thomas understood the wisdom of going abroad. And don’t assume that you know his motives in returning home. If he wanted so badly to see his child, why did he linger first in Southampton with Mrs Holland, then at Mrs Jameson’s house as a lodger, without contacting Jonathan or trying to contact Flora?’
‘His nerve failed him,’ I suggested. ‘Poor man, the girl doesn’t even know what he looks – looked – like, or I suppose not. Or perhaps Thomas wanted to delay giving his consent?’
Ben gave
me a triumphant look. ‘You’re overlooking an important fact, Lizzie. Thomas didn’t know Flora was engaged and wanted to marry, because the letter Jonathan sent to his last address in Nice, with that news, was returned and further attempts to contact him failed. Thomas’s solicitors saw him in January of last year. He promised them his new address, as soon as he should have one, but he never sent it. You set too much store by Thomas Tapley’s complete innocence. Perhaps, instead of thinking of him as a scholarly old gent who resides with a Quaker landlady, you should try picturing him as a man who strolls on the beach at Deauville with a lady of dubious background on his arm!’
He concluded his objections with this bull’s-eye and waited for me to fire off mine at him.
I was ready. ‘He didn’t inform Jonathan because he knew what the reaction would be. The first letter was returned. Jonathan sent other letters afterwards, didn’t he? To anywhere he remembered Thomas ever having lived? Were all those letters returned to him? Who is to say one of them didn’t reach Thomas?’
‘Because Thomas appears to have already returned to England,’ was Ben’s prompt answer. ‘We now know that, after visiting the solicitors in Harrogate and fobbing them off with an unfulfilled promise to keep in touch, he returned to Southampton at the other end of the country. Why the hasty departure from Harrogate? Did he fear running into an old acquaintance or two who might remember him? From February to July, he lodged in Southampton. Was he thinking of returning to France? If so, it seems he abandoned the idea, because he came to London, but not with the intention of seeking out his cousin. From July until his death this spring, he lodged quietly with Mrs Jameson. Thomas, in the popular phrase, was lying low.
