After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery)

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  The silence was absolute.

  ‘Miss Wingate,’ said Bill, ‘made a full statement to us of what she saw and, as a result of that statement, we are proceeding with an investigation.’

  ‘They believe me, Colin,’ said Betty in a small voice. ‘They don’t think I’m making it all up.’ She stuck her chin out defiantly. ‘I told you so.’

  ‘I think the less you say, the better,’ said Colin icily. ‘It’s a great pity you didn’t talk to me before running to the police.’

  Betty’s eyes glinted dangerously. ‘I did talk to you. And you told me I was dreaming.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Excuse me, Askern,’ said Bill, ‘but why are you so sure nothing occurred?’

  ‘Because it’s all complete and utter nonsense, that’s why! I was there, at the cottage. I even went and got the police because Betty was so sure she’d seen God knows what. There was nothing there!’

  ‘Bodies can be moved,’ said Jack. ‘In this case, we’re fairly certain it was.’

  Mrs Askern gripped the table. ‘Colin,’ she said, in a voice brittle with control, ‘go and get your father.’ She looked at Bill and Jack and shuddered. ‘And perhaps these … these gentlemen had better wait inside the house.’

  ‘Shall I take them into the morning room?’ asked Betty.

  Mrs Askern shuddered again. ‘Just as you please.’

  ‘You’d better come with us, Miss Wingate,’ said Jack quickly. Out of sheer humanity he didn’t want Betty to be left alone with either of the Askerns at that moment.

  ‘I’ll talk to you later, Betty,’ said Colin Askern grimly as he pushed his chair back from the table.

  ‘And that,’ said Jack, as the three of them trooped into the morning room and Betty clicked the door shut behind them, ‘is what being sent off with a flea in your ear feels like. Whoa, easy there!’

  Betty Wingate had broken into sobs.

  Jack hesitated for a moment, then put a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Hold on. I’ve got a handkerchief somewhere. Go on, dry your eyes with that. I’m not surprised you were upset. It’s rotten when no one believes you, isn’t it?’

  Between sobs, Betty agreed that was exactly it.

  ‘We believe you, though.’

  ‘But Colin was so angry!’ She gulped for breath. ‘Why have you come back? Now, I mean?’

  ‘Because,’ said Bill, ‘I’ve got official permission to do so. That was pretty hard evidence we uncovered yesterday, Miss Wingate, and it needs acting upon.’

  ‘There … There wasn’t very much. I was thinking about it all yesterday and there wasn’t much.’

  ‘We can’t expect to find dripping daggers and bloodstained footprints every time we turn up, Miss Wingate,’ said Jack encouragingly.

  There was an attempt at a giggle between the sobs.

  ‘It would be very satisfying if it was so, but sometimes evidence is just little bits and pieces that look like nothing much. Why, Bill here once solved a murder because of a pin. And there was a burglary at Signora Bianchi’s last night. That’s evidence of something not quite as mother makes going on.’

  Betty dried her eyes. ‘Burglary? What burglary?’

  Jack and Bill explained.

  ‘But that proves I’m not making it up,’ said Betty, indignation mixing with relief. ‘They have to believe me now!’

  ‘Whether they do or not, it certainly needs explaining. Now, why don’t you go and have a wash and tidy up before all the Askerns pile in on us? There must be a bathroom somewhere and I’m sure you’ve got some face-powder or whatever in your handbag. Keep the handkerchief,’ he added hastily as Betty attempted to give it back. ‘Go on. You’ll feel much better afterwards.’

  ‘When did I solve a murder because of a pin?’ asked Bill with interest once Betty had left the room.

  ‘It was Sir Ernest Childerton, if you recall, and it wasn’t so much the pin, it was the note attached to it that gave the game away, but I thought she needed cheering up,’ said Jack wandering aimlessly round the room. He paused beside the bookcase. ‘I feel really sorry for that poor girl. I’m glad she came to you, Bill. I want to see her proved right.’

  ‘Don’t take your eye off the ball, Jack. What we’re actually here to do is to solve a murder, not cheer up young ladies, however pleasant they may be.’

  ‘She is nice, isn’t she?’ said Jack, taking a book from the shelf and idly thumbing through it. ‘Very nice indeed. Hello! There’s a brief biography of Mr Askern senior in here.’

  ‘Really? What’s the book?’

  ‘It’s a history of the firm. Privately printed, of course. I say, Bill, listen to this! It says that Mr John Cedric Askern studied art in Milan before joining the firm. That was when the original Lythewell was in charge.’

  ‘Milan?’ asked Bill sharply. ‘And Signora Bianchi’s an Italian.’

  ‘Yes, I thought you’d be interested. It could be a coincidence, of course.’

  ‘Or it could be a link. What else is in that book?’

  ‘Nothing much about Mr Askern that I can see. There’s that perfectly hideous painting from the chantry as a frontispiece. The firm was established in 1866 … Great success … Daniel Vincent Lythewell, after studying in New York, took control of the firm following his father’s death in 1898. Snapshot of Daniel Lythewell on the deck of the SS Concordia, also snapshot of John Askern with Whistler.’

  ‘Whistler? Oh, the artist, you mean. The chap who painted his mother.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  The door opened and Jack absently pocketed the book.

  Daphne Askern, together with John and Colin Askern, came into the room, followed, rather to Jack’s surprise, by Daniel Lythewell.

  ‘Where’s Betty?’ asked Colin.

  ‘She’ll be joining us in a minute,’ said Bill. ‘Mr Lythewell, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I was with Mr Askern when Colin telephoned, Chief Inspector, and I must admit to my share of curiosity. Do I understand that you think there is some truth in this extraordinary tale of young Betty’s?’

  ‘Of course there isn’t any truth,’ said Colin vigorously. ‘It’s just a storm in a teacup. Furthermore—’

  Mr Lythewell held up his hand and Colin subsided into angry silence. ‘If there is any truth in the story, Mr Rackham, may I ask what you want with us?’

  Daniel Lythewell, thought Jack, was definitely wary. That was understandable. Colin Askern was angry and defensive, Mrs Askern looked apprehensive, but John Askern … John Askern looked frightened.

  Bill smiled. ‘In the first instance, Mr Lythewell, nothing very much. We conducted a search of Signora Bianchi’s cottage and found a photograph of her which, I believe, is your work, Askern.’

  Jack produced the photograph.

  ‘Yes, that’s mine,’ agreed Colin reluctantly.

  ‘As Signora Bianchi is currently missing, if I can put it like that, I want your permission to use it in the official police investigation.’

  Colin hesitated. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘No. I have the greatest regard for Signora Bianchi and I don’t want to see her image posted up for everyone to see. She wouldn’t like it. And,’ he added, holding out his hand, ‘as it’s mine, I’ll have it back.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Askern, this is the only picture of the Signora we have. I’ll need to hold on to it for the time being, even if we can’t reproduce it. I’ll let you have a receipt for it, of course.’

  ‘But nothing’s happened to her!’ broke out John Askern. There were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘She’s gone away for a few days, that’s all.’

  ‘As you say, sir,’ said Bill smoothly. ‘Tell me, sir, were you personally acquainted with Signora Bianchi?’

  John Askern licked his lips before replying, ‘No.’ Beside him, Daphne Askern moved uneasily. ‘That is, I met her once or twice, but I wouldn’t call that an acquaintance.’

  ‘I see.’ Bill looked at him thoughtfully and decided to try a
shot at random. ‘I don’t suppose you knew her when you studied in Italy, by any chance?’

  There was no mistaking his reaction this time. Askern’s face was ghastly and he swayed on his feet. ‘No! No, I swear I didn’t! You’ve got this all wrong, I tell you.’

  Colin Askern reached out a hand to support his father. ‘Get me a chair for him, will you?’

  ‘Italy?’ repeated Daphne Askern in a stunned whisper.

  Mr Lythewell helped Colin escort Mr Askern to a chair.

  Bill waited until he was sitting down. ‘Mr Askern, where were you on the evening of Saturday the twenty eighth of April? Last Saturday?’

  Mr Lythewell cleared his throat. ‘Is that the evening my niece says she saw this … er … occurrence?’

  ‘It is, sir.’

  ‘I was here!’ broke out Askern desperately. ‘Daphne, tell them I was here.’

  Daphne Askern looked bewildered. ‘Of course you were here, John. We had dinner and then you said you had some work to finish off, so you went into the study. I know you were here. I came to ask you about something or other, but you’d gone for a stroll on the terrace with your cigar. I looked around for you, then you came in through the French windows and told me that’s what you’d been doing.’

  Bill couldn’t help exchanging a satisfied glance with Jack.

  ‘Askern,’ said Mr Lythewell quickly. He’d seen the glance. ‘Don’t answer any questions. You’re obviously in no fit state to defend yourself.’

  ‘But there’s nothing to defend myself from,’ blustered Askern, some of his self-assurance returning. ‘I tell you, I hardly knew the woman. Why on earth should I take it into my head to run off and strangle her, eh?’

  ‘Did we say Signora Bianchi had been strangled, sir?’

  Once again the colour drained from John Askern’s face.

  ‘Betty told you,’ said Colin sharply. ‘Betty told me, at any rate, and I told you. Speaking of which, where the devil is she?’

  As if on cue, the door opened once more and Betty came in. She was holding something wrapped up in a towel in her hands.

  Colin gazed at the towel, then at her. ‘Betty …’ he began. There was real anxiety in his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Colin. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m tired of lies and I’m tired of having you not believe me.’

  ‘Betty, please!’

  ‘I was in the bathroom. I heard you and your father whispering on the landing. You were talking about “It” and you said “It” was in your wardrobe, so I went to have a look. I found this.’

  She unwrapped the towel. Inside was a black metal cash box with a red and gold line round it.

  They all gazed at the box. Colin swore. John Askern gave a frightened whimper.

  ‘It’s Signora Bianchi’s,’ said Betty. ‘It’s got her name on the bottom of the box. You’re the burglar, aren’t you, Colin? You broke into Signora Bianchi’s cottage. You stole this last night.’

  Colin Askern said nothing.

  Bill Rackham walked across the room and took the box from Betty’s hands. ‘Let’s see what’s inside it, shall we? Askern, have you got the key?’

  ‘Don’t give it to him, Colin!’ said John Askern urgently.

  Colin Askern shrugged. He looked utterly defeated. ‘What’s the point? It’ll be opened anyway.’ He reached in his pocket and, pulling out a key on a piece of string, passed it over to Bill.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bill, putting the box on the table and turning the key. ‘What have we got here? A passport for one Carlotta Bianchi and various papers … And look at this. A marriage certificate for Carlotta Santarelli and John Cedric Askern.’

  There was a strangled gasp from John Askern.

  ‘I take it,’ said Bill quietly, ‘that Carlotta Bianchi and Carlotta Santarelli are the same woman?’

  John Askern hid his head in his hands but Colin Askern nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘Marriage!’ yelped Daphne Askern. ‘Married?’ Her voice rose to a scream. ‘You were married to that woman!’

  Once again, Bill exchanged looks with Jack. ‘A concealed marriage seems like a pretty good motive for murder to me, especially in the light of everything else that’s gone on.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ began John Askern helplessly. ‘Daphne, please!’

  ‘Married,’ Daphne Askern repeated. ‘Oh, dear Lord, married!’

  Bill cleared his throat with an official-sounding cough. ‘Mr Askern – John Cedric Askern – I arrest you on suspicion of having murdered Signora Carlotta Bianchi, formerly Carlotta Santarelli. I would be obliged if you would accompany me to the nearest police station where you will be questioned. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say will be noted down and may be used as evidence at your trial.’

  ‘Let me tell you what really happened—’ began Askern.

  Lythewell cut across him. ‘No, Askern! Don’t say a thing. You’re not guilty of anything. I know that and when we get a lawyer we can prove it.’

  Once again the door opened. Kingsdown, the butler, stepped into the room. He attempted to get Mrs Askern’s attention, but she had collapsed into a chair, brokenly muttering, ‘Married!’

  The butler coughed and then coughed again. Colin Askern, distracted nearly to fury, swung round on him. ‘What the hell is it?’

  Deeply affronted, the butler blinked and drew himself up to his full height.

  ‘Signora Bianchi, sir.’

  ‘Who?’ yelled Bill.

  Everyone froze in their place.

  A woman, a beautiful woman, clearly the original of Colin Askern’s photograph, came into the room. She was naturally poised but warily on the defensive. As she gazed round at the stilled group, she drew back in puzzled surprise. ‘What is the matter? Is something wrong?’

  No one answered.

  She shook her head impatiently, then turned to Colin. ‘Colin, tesoro mio, what is going on?’

  ‘Mother,’ he said weakly, ‘where have you been?’

  Seven

  ‘Mother?’ echoed Betty. ‘Colin, d’you mean to tell me Signora Bianchi is your mother?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to tell you any such thing,’ he said gruffly. He buried his face in his hands for a moment. ‘Look, this is just all too complicated to explain.’

  ‘I think you’d better try,’ said Bill grimly. ‘Signora Bianchi, where on earth have you been?’

  She looked at him coolly. ‘And who are you, to demand where I have been?’

  ‘Don’t get on your high horse, Mother,’ said Colin. ‘Not now. This is Chief Inspector Rackham of Scotland Yard. Would you believe he’s just arrested Dad for your murder?’

  She stared at him, open-mouthed, then threw back her head and laughed. ‘My murder! But I am not dead.’

  ‘I can see that, Madam,’ said Bill, whose patience was obviously being stretched very thinly indeed. ‘However, in view of the circumstances, it was a natural conclusion to reach.’

  Signora Bianchi gave an expressive shrug, pulled up a chair and, with complete self-possession, unpinned her hat, peeled off her gloves and sat down. She seemed very much at home.

  Daphne Askern gave an outraged shudder. ‘Impudence,’ she muttered.

  Signora Bianchi looked at her appraisingly. ‘You disapprove, yes? You are John’s wife, yes? You disapprove?’

  ‘I most certainly do! What are you doing here? Why did you come to Whimbrell Heath?’

  For the first time since Signora Bianchi had entered the room, John Askern spoke. His voice was little more than a croak. ‘They know we were married. You’d better tell them everything, Carlotta. I can’t think straight.’

  ‘Everything?’

  He nodded and she shrugged once more. ‘Very well. John and I were married in Italy. Hastily.’

  John Askern winced and Daphne Askern raised her eyebrows in horror. ‘Well, really!’

  Carlotta Bianchi gave a frank, open smile and Jack suddenly realised she was enjoying hers
elf very much. Wherever Signora Bianchi was, she was the centre of attention and that’s exactly how she liked it.

  ‘John was very respectable, a man of appearances, a man to whom the opinion of others mattered – oh, so much. Me,’ she added, with another expressive shrug, ‘I am not so, but I was young, and the good and holy nuns who brought me up, they said I should be married, so I was. However, John, he says it is wrong for me to entertain myself with parties and balls and I should think no more about dresses and affairs, but stay in our tiny house with no visitors and no society, just content with baby. Me –’ she crossed herself rapidly – ‘I am not the Blessed Madonna.’

  ‘No,’ growled John Askern, recovering some of his self-assurance. ‘You’re right there. You led me up the garden path, all right, but I married you fair and square, then you ran away with Marco Bianchi and left me holding the baby.’ He looked up at Colin. ‘You. So what could I do? I came back to England.’

  ‘You told me Colin’s mother had died,’ said Daphne Askern.

  ‘She was as good as dead to me,’ said John Askern. ‘Yes, I said she was dead. As far as I was concerned, she was in the past.’ He looked at Daphne pleadingly. ‘What could I say? It was all so long ago. It was fine. It’s been fine for years until she showed up again.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Why did you show up again, Signora Bianchi?’

  ‘I have my reasons,’ said Signora Bianchi proudly. ‘I wanted to see Colin. I knew he must be big and strong and I wanted to see my son.’

  ‘I’ll tell you why you showed up again,’ said John Askern. ‘Your precious Marco had died, you wanted to embark on another affair, but this time you wanted some money. You came here, shamelessly told Colin the truth, got him on your side …’

  ‘Not entirely, Dad,’ put in Colin.

  ‘Not entirely?’ repeated John Askern scornfully. ‘The woman bewitched you. You said I should give her everything she wanted. Well, let me tell you, my boy, I haven’t got the money.’

  ‘But you’re well-off.’

  ‘It’s my money,’ said Daphne Askern coldly. ‘Protected by trusts. Even if I’d known the truth of this disgraceful business – which I most certainly did not – I would never countenance handing money over to this woman.’ She glared at Signora Bianchi, then averted her eyes.