“Sometimes things of that nature just pop out.” It was as much comfort as Poppy thought she should give. “When will you know how things stand? If you want to say anything more on that point, that is.”
“By next Tuesday at the latest, at least that’s what their attorney, Titus van Boew, tells me.” She took a handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and dabbed at the tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Miss Thornton.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” said Poppy. “In your circumstances, I’d probably be hanging from the light-fixtures, and howling at the moon. Your composure is a lesson to me.” She had a quick sense of Chesterton Holte drifting along the ceiling, but was uncertain if he had come in with her.
“You’re very kind,” said Missus Plowright.
“You certainly need this resolved,” said Poppy, hoping to get their interview moving once again; she wrote Titus van Boew, doing her best to conceal her astonishment that Madison Moncrief’s estate should be handled by a criminal attorney. “I trust that Mister van Boew has been available to advise you.”
“Yes. He has, and I have followed his advice, although I do hate being so trammeled.” She sniffed, wiped her nose, and folded her handkerchief neatly. “Where were we?”
Poppy chose her words carefully. “You were about to tell me how the current investigation has burdened your family.” She held her pencil poised.
Missus Plowright nodded. “Yes; that’s right.” She sighed. “The worst of it is being away from my family. But the on-going public attention is troubling, and the press may not be on the doorstep hour on hour now, as they were for the first week after Madison’s…death, but I hesitate to leave the house.” Suddenly she turned to Poppy, her face exposing the depth of her chagrin. “I didn’t mean you, Miss Thornton. You’re being reasonable, and not at all intrusive. Please don’t take my remarks personally.”
“Oh, I won’t,” said Poppy. “And I can understand your feelings in regard to many of my colleagues.”
“You would, wouldn’t you? After what you went through,” said Missus Plowright, still conscience-stricken. “I fear I’m making a hash of this.”
“You’re doing fine,” Poppy assured her, and pressed on, “What in particular has been most difficult for you?”
Missus Plowright answered at once. “The not knowing. If only Louise had told me she was leaving, or sent me a letter when she arrived wherever it was, I wouldn’t feel so rudderless. I have a thousand questions I want to ask her before I proceed, but all I’m left with is speculation, and that does no good. I dislike floundering, and that’s all I’ve been able to do since she…went away. I love my sister dearly, but there are times I would like to shake her, and although I am deeply distressed by her absences, I still want to—” She stopped, chagrined.
“Understandably,” said Poppy.
“And Mister North, from the District Attorney’s office. That man will drive me to drink. I don’t go two days without an impertinent call from him. You would think I were the criminal not that Louise or Madison could be called criminals.”
“I know Denton North,” said Poppy, “and I agree with you about him.”
Missus Haas appeared in the doorway, a tray laden with a teapot, cups-and-saucers, a milk jug, a sugar-bowl, two folded linen napkins, and a plate of six napoleons. “Shall I put this on the table, Missus Plowright?”
Neva Plowright looked up. “If you would, please, Missus Haas.” She nodded in Poppy’s direction. “Do you mind if it’s only napoleons?”
“Not at all. With everything that Missus Haas has to do here, I’m impressed that she has had the time”—and, she added to herself, the inclination—“to go to the French bakery.”
Missus Haas shot a look of gratitude toward Poppy as she put the tray down. “I’ll be in the laundry if you need anything more. You’ll have to ring.” She indicated the bell that sat on the small end-table next to the settee. “Shall I plan dinner for seven, Missus Plowright?”
“Whatever is convenient for you, Missus Haas,” was her answer; she looked toward Poppy. “It’s Assam; I’m afraid that’s all we have.”
“One sugar and a little milk, then, if you would,” said Poppy, and wondered how well- stocked the kitchen and pantry were. If Louise had left her affairs in total disarray, which Poppy suspected she had, keeping the household running must not be easy.
While Missus Plowright poured out the tea, she said, “My husband is taking the train up this weekend. It seems an age since I’ve seen him, though it is only sixteen days. We’ve had four phone conversations while I’ve been here this time. I dislike the need for spending so much when the post is so reliable, but he says he misses the sound of my voice. Well, he’ll be able to hear it for his entire visit.” Her laugh was self-conscious, and she hurried on, “To celebrate his visit, I went to Butterworth’s yesterday and bought a new dress and a hat. I don’t want to look a complete hag when he arrives. Napoleon?” She held out the plate with one hand and Poppy’s cup-and-saucer with the other.
Poppy put down her notebook, accepted her tea, and selected one of the elegant pastries to put on the broad sauce next to the cup. “Thank you. This looks very good.”
“Oh, yes; for ordinary occasions, I am quite fond of French pastries. There is something about their flavor and texture that hints at the forbidden, and they make me feel so self- indulgent,” said Missus Plowright, and poured herself some tea, adding three lumps of sugar. “I have a dreadful sweet- tooth.”
“It’s easy to do with such delicious pastry,” said Poppy, taking a sip of the tea; it was too hot, so she set the cup-and-saucer on the end-table.
After a brief nod, Missus Haas withdrew, leaving Missus Plowright alone with Poppy and the tray of afternoon tea.
“She’s been a great help, staunch, self-sufficient, and steady as a rock,” Missus Plowright confided, leaning a bit forward and lowering her voice. “I know Louise thought well of her, but never said what a treasure she is. That’s very like Louise; taking people for granted.”
“Do you mean your sister did not appreciate Missus Haas?” Poppy asked, to be sure.
“Oh, certainly Louise undervalued Missus Haas. She is a most capable woman, reliable and trustworthy. For the most part, I can leave her to her own devices.” She put two of the napoleons on her saucer with her teacup. “The few times I’ve had to supervise her, she complied without complaint, and has often made respectful suggestions as to how we might begin to pack up the house, and deal with general maintenance; for the most part, they have been quite sensible recommendations. She works tirelessly, and I need not bother myself about minor chores or regular tasks being done. When I am away, I don’t have to worry about how she is managing without me, for she’s proved to be trustworthy. She is unflagging in her dedication to Louise, being careful to preserve all confidences entrusted to her. Her good judgement is beyond reproach. I’m afraid I’d make a wretched farrago of all that has to be done on my own; Missus Haas has no such problems. I have no idea what Louise wants to keep, what she wants to store, or what she would like me to dispose of; Missus Haas has been a great help in making those kinds of decisions.”
Thinking of Missus Flowers’ careful handling of Aunt Jo, Poppy said, “Housekeepers always know more than we give them credit for.”
Missus Plowright wiped her fingers on her napkin, glancing wistfully at the remaining napoleons. “Very true. Mister Plowright tells me that he leaves the running of the household to me, but I would be lost without Missus Carew, and I know Louise never gives a thought to all that Missus Haas does.”
“I’m sure you can resolve household matters… and with Missus Haas’ help, you can sort out your sister’s affairs appropriately,” Poppy said, convinced that Missus Plowright needed reassurance. “If you decide in ways that Louise would not like, then she should have left you instructions, shouldn’t she.”
This simple observation brightened Missus Plowright’s mood. “Yes, she should have. You’re
right. But forethought is not in her nature—never was. She’s been governed by her impulses since she was a baby.” She picked up the second of her napoleons and bit into it, taking care to wipe her mouth with her napkin after the bite. “So good.”
“So you think her departure was impetuous?” Poppy was half-expecting Missus Plowright to object to this question, and was dumbfounded when Missus Plowright laughed. “You don’t think it was planned? Since she apparently left the country, that isn’t something that can be done on the spur of the moment, is it?”
“Gracious, no, but I do think it was a sudden decision. She was fretting about the funeral, and having to maintain the decorum of grief, so she left. I know that some people have claimed that there was some sort of plan between Louise and your cousin, but that is so unlike Louise. For one thing, if such a plan had existed, she would have told a dozen of her friends about it, swearing them to secrecy, naturally; half of Philadelphia would have known about it in a week.”
Poppy waited while Missus Plowright finished her napoleon, then asked, “Has Mister Eastley been any help to you? I’ve assumed he would be, for Louise’s sake.” Julian Eastley had been Louise’s frequent companion during her marriage to Madison Moncrief, and although Eastley was devoted to her, there was never a whisper of scandal about his idolatry. “He adored your sister, just adored her.”
Missus Plowright took a sip of tea, then shook her head. “No, he has not been helpful; he said it was too painful to be here, in this house. He’s gone back to his place on Godwin Lane. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in weeks. He didn’t come to Madison’s funeral, though he did send a memorial wreath to the church. He hasn’t phoned the house in over a month, and I am just as glad that he has not, for I wouldn’t know what to say to him.” She had another sip. “I know he is reckoned to be a great hero—and he may well have been, in the Great War—but his conduct has left me with a very poor opinion of him.”
Poppy was surprised to hear this, but did her best to conceal her reaction to this news. “How unlike him.”
“Missus Haas told me that he phoned once when I was home in Baltimore. She thought he might be drunk, because he was weeping. I suppose I ought to feel sympathy for him, but given his behavior, I can’t.”
“If he has behaved so poorly, there is no reason to sympathize,” Poppy assured her. “Have you had other visitors?”
Missus Plowright nodded. “Your aunt has been kind enough to call twice, to commiserate with me on the lack of information we both have had from our missing kin. Then Isme Greenloch has visited once, but she seemed to be searching for some shreds of gossip rather than to provide support to me, not that I blame her for her curiosity. The same with Eulalle Kinnon, although she only phoned; I’m sure the operator listened to everything we said, and no doubt told her friends. I had a very nice note from Fernald and Bernadette Stanton, but they have not come by. Isadora Pearse sent a note, but said that she would be unable to call. I can understand her reluctance, given the situation with her son; seeing me would likely be a reminder of the missing.”
Poppy could think of nothing to say, so she once again changed the subject. “How much longer do you plan to be here?”
“On this visit? I think I will have to be here until the end of next week. I’ll have to consult with Mister van Boew, but I trust he will understand my desire to return to my family, at least until there is some progress on Madison’s estate. I have obligations at home, you know.” She took a third napoleon from the plate. “I’ll probably ruin my appetite for dinner, but I can’t resist them. I hope you don’t mind.”
“They are excellent,” Poppy agreed, even though she had done little more than taste her own. “You’ve had a great deal to contend with, Missus Plowright.”
“That I have, but someone has to do it, and as I am the eldest, the responsibility falls to me.” She said this without any trace of self-pity, which Poppy attributed to what was probably a life-long pattern with the sisters. “But I will be glad when it’s over.”
“With good reason, it seems to me; to have your brother-in-law killed and then your sister vanishes—that’s a lot to bear,” said Poppy, and drank the rest of her tea, preparing to make her excuses. “If you hear anything about your sister, will you let me know? I don’t mean for the paper; we’re still looking for my cousin, and Louise might know where he’s gone.”
“Certainly. You seem intelligent; you will know what to reveal, and what to keep private.” Missus Plowright took a sip of tea, clearly buying time while she made up her mind how to go on. “I spoke with Rudy before I left Baltimore, and he hasn’t heard anything from Louise, either. He’s in Florida, you know.”
“Rudy?” Poppy asked, trying to remember who that was.
“Our brother. Well. Half-brother. Our mother was married twice. Rudolph Norman Beech. I don’t suppose you’ve met him. When Louise went away, I thought that perhaps she had gone to Rudy, but she had not.” Missus Plowright sighed. “They were very close as children, but that…faded when Rudy was sent off to school in the sixth grade; he’d had tutors before that.”
“Did he have any idea where she might have gone?”
“He said that in her last letter, she told him that she wanted to travel. She had said something about South America—she didn’t want to go back to Europe until it had recovered from the Great War, according to Rudy. But she might have changed her mind; the last time she and I spoke, she was thinking about Australia.”
This coincided with what Poppy had heard from others. “Australia, or South America. That doesn’t narrow it down much, does it?”
Missus Plowright gave a little shrug. “And she might not be in either place. It depends on whatever whim she had.”
Poppy closed her notebook and put it back in her purse. “I’m sorry, but I have another commitment in twenty minutes. I want to thank you for being so forthcoming, and for receiving me so graciously. I will make every effort to be circumspect in what I write, and will see to it that you have a copy of the Clarion in which my story on our meeting occurs. And if I learn anything that may be of use to you, I will notify you of it promptly.” She did her best to smile. “I trust you and your husband will have a pleasant reunion this weekend.”
“I’d be grateful for that.” Missus Plowright held out her hand. “It was kind of you to visit me, Miss Thornton. I had reservations about talking to you, but I can see now that I had no cause for concern. You are aware of how to manage delicate matters like this one, particularly since a member of your family seems to be directly involved, along with my sister.” She set down her unfinished napoleon. “If I learn anything more that might be useful to you, I will pass it on to you, and hope that it benefits us both.”
Poppy made her farewells and left the house without encountering the redoubtable Missus Haas on her way. As she drove toward the police station, she felt more perplexed than ever about Stacy and Louise Moncrief—so much so that she was disappointed when Chesterton Holte did not make his presence known, if he were with her; she wanted his opinion on what had just transpired, so that she could make up her mind about all that Neva Plowright had told her, and what Poppy surmised she had withheld.
SEVEN
THE PRESS BRIEFING HAD BEEN LATE IN STARTING, BUT HAD BEEN COMPARATIVELY short, and had consisted of Commissioner Elmer Smiley introducing the men who were investigating the robbery, starting with Inspector Ned Harper, who was in charge of the case; Harper, in turn, introduced the four men working under him, all of whom promised speedy results without admitting that so far, they had no leads and no clues as to the culprits’ identities. They spoke with enthusiasm about fingerprints and two footprints, but evaded questions about progress in identifying either; Poppy duly copied down their various remarks, and left the briefing as soon as it ended. Back at the paper she had handed her notes to Lowenthal after writing a quick summary of her meeting with Missus Plowright and those she had taken at the briefing; she had left the building at quarter to four, u
nlocked the right-rear door of her auto before getting behind the wheel, then drove as rapidly as possible to the train station, where she caught sight of Aunt Esther waiting on the curb, two suitcases and a trunk at her side.
Esther Thornton resembled her sister Josephine Dritchner to the extent that she had the same badger-grey hair and was much the same height and build, and the same shape of nose, but in demeanor and style, she was much more like their brother, Poppy’s late father—hale at seventy-two, inquisitive, clever, and capable—and seeing her gave Poppy a brief but intense pang of sorrow.
From behind her, Chesterton Holte said, “She is very like him, isn’t she.” He had known Beresford Oliver Thornton for less than a day, but his recollection of Poppy’s father was acute; they had met over lunch at an inn near Liège, had spent a pleasant hour comparing their impressions of the progress of the Great War and sharing tales about their homes—Thornton’s in Philadelphia, Holte’s in Halifax, Nova Scotia—and by the end of the afternoon, both of them were dead.
Aware now that he was with her, Poppy looked into the rear-view mirror and saw only a shimmer that might have been a reflection of sunlight. “In many ways,” she responded, jockeying for access to the curb.
“I can see how your Aunt Jo might not approve of your Aunt Esther,” Holte remarked with a trace of amusement in his tone. “Between them, they must have driven their parents to madness, being so opposite.”
Living Spectres: a Chesterton Holte, Gentleman Haunt Mystery Page 8
