Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4)

by Margaret Addison

  There was an awkward silence while Mrs Berry appeared to be considering her options.

  ‘Please make your mind up quickly whether or not you intend to tell us the truth,’ Rose said. ‘If you’d rather speak to the police, I am sure that can be arranged. Mary, perhaps you’d like to telephone Scotland Yard and ask to speak to Inspector Deacon. I am sure that gentleman will be most interested to hear what Mrs Berry has to say for herself.’

  Mary was slow to respond, staring at the telephone on the desk. Rose’s words had however had the desired effect on the proprietor who almost threw herself on the telephone so that the instrument could not be used.

  ‘No … wait. Do you promise me I shan’t get into any trouble?’ Rose nodded, although she doubted if she was qualified to give that assurance. ‘I shall tell you everything if you promise not to tell my staff or customers. I don’t really know where to begin,’ added Mrs Berry sounding flustered.

  ‘Suppose I tell you what I know or rather what I’ve surmised,’ said Rose. ‘I think Marcel Girard had arranged with you to exhibit his designs at Thimbles, am I right?’

  ‘Yes, he hadn’t shown them before, so he said, and they really were rather good. We were planning our own fashion event at which to unveil them,’ said Mrs Berry. She leant forward. ‘Of course, it would have been a far superior event to the one held at Renard’s last night.’

  ‘Jacques Renard mentioned that Thimbles were interested in showing Monsieur Girard’s designs,’ said Rose. ‘Marcel must have mentioned it to him. He told me that you were snapping at his heels to exhibit his work.’

  ‘Did he indeed?’ said Mrs Berry with a look of disgust. ‘Well he needn’t think we’ll be showing his designs now, not now he’s showing them in every Tom, Dick or Harry dress shop. Exclusive to Thimbles, they were to have been, his designs.’

  ‘But you found out about the Renard’s fashion event?’

  ‘Yes. Purely by chance, I might add. One of my customers, she also shops at Renard’s. Not that she ever finds anything there worth buying of course. Much prefers my garments, I can tell you. ’

  ‘That would have been Mrs Milton?’

  ‘Yes. I was telling her all about our fashion event and then blow me if she doesn’t tell me there’s going to be one held at Renard’s and of the same designer, would I believe? Well, I certainly didn’t believe it until she produced that invitation of hers and showed me. There was his name, bold as brass. You could have knocked me down with a feather.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Well, I tell you, I was minded to go straight to Harridges and have it out with Monsieur Girard, I can tell you,’ said Mrs Berry. ‘But then I said to myself, no Ivy, don’t be too hasty. Because I remembered, you see, that Mrs Milton had left her invitation in the shop. I’d put it in a drawer of my desk meaning to give it to her when she next frequented Thimbles. Not that she needed it as such, having told me that she wouldn’t be going as she had a prior engagement. Well, I decided I’d go in her place, that’s what I’d do. A nice shock it would be for young Monsieur Girard to see me there, I thought. It would serve him right.’

  ‘It was a shock to him,’ said Rose. ‘I saw his face when he spotted you in the audience. He kept mainly to the storeroom after that. I expect he was afraid that you’d make your way over to him and make a scene.’

  ‘Well,’ continued Mrs Berry. ‘I’m not so sure I’d have done that seeing as some of Madame Renard’s customers are also mine. I wouldn’t have wanted them to think I was some sort of fishwife. Wouldn’t have been the done thing at all, me making a spectacle of myself. No, I said to myself, Ivy, you bide your time, and that’s what I did. Those designs Monsieur Girard showed at Renard’s, they weren’t particularly good. Not his best work, I’d have said. The ones he was going to show at Thimbles, why, they were far superior.’

  ‘So you had forgiven him for the deception?’ prompted Rose.

  ‘Well I had and I hadn’t,’ answered Mrs Berry. ‘But then of course he ruined it all by having that girl come out in that silver gown. The show had all but finished and when she made her entrance I saw at once what he was doing. Leaving his best designs to last. You should have seen the audience, mesmerised by that dress, they were. I thought, hello Ivy, that’s just the first of many, that is. He’ll have her parading out in a number of gowns like that one and who’ll want to come and see the fashion event at Thimbles? Because I can tell you that he hadn’t shown me any designs like that.’

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Rose, although she already knew.

  ‘I wasn’t going to let him get away with that, not likely,’ said Mrs Berry. ‘I know it was very wrong of me, but I had to do something to stop him. I was standing by the candelabra and it gave me the idea. Only the fire took hold rather more than I thought it would. I screamed. It did the trick all right. Everyone was running here and there and Monsieur Girard couldn’t show any more of his gowns. They were putting the fire out quickly, I’ll say that for them, but the place smelled of smoke and burnt cloth. If he’s contrite I daresay I might let him show those evening gowns at Thimbles after all.’ Mrs Berry crossed her arms and looked rather smug. ‘Anyway, no harm’s been done has it? I’ll pay Madame Renard for the curtain, of course I will. I’ll give her a bit more to show goodwill. But if it’s all the same to you I’d rather you didn’t tell her –’

  ‘You really don’t know what you’ve done, do you?’ said Rose. She found that she was trembling. ‘You did cause harm. Far more than you could ever have imagined. A woman is dead. Don’t you see? You caused a distraction and someone took advantage of that opportunity to commit a murder. They killed the girl that was the mannequin. If it hadn’t been for you, she would most probably still be alive today.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  ‘Miss Simpson, fancy seeing you here,’ said Sergeant Perkins with genuine warmth as Rose and Mary were ushered into the drawing room of the Goswells’ London residence. ‘And you too, Miss Jennings. I’d have thought you’d both be still tucked up in bed, what with the night you’ve had. Me, I could hardly open my eyes this morning. It seemed as if I’d just shut them for a few seconds and I had to get up again.’

  ‘Where is Inspector Deacon, Sergeant? I’ve something awfully important to tell him,’ said Rose hurriedly.

  ‘He’s having a quiet word with Beeswick, miss. He’s the butler here, you know. The inspector, he’s asking him a few questions such as the time Lady Celia returned here last night and the like … ah, here he is now. Sir, we have a couple of visitors.’

  ‘So I see. Miss Simpson, what on earth are you doing here?’ said Inspector Deacon, in a not altogether friendly tone. It somewhat amused Rose to note that his annoyance did not appear to extend to Mary, who was watching their exchange with interest.

  ‘It’s nice to see you too, Inspector,’ said Rose, giving him something of an indignant look. ‘I thought you might be interested in knowing that I’ve discovered the identity of the person who set fire to Madame Renard’s curtain.’

  ‘The woman who screamed?’ asked Sergeant Perkins earnestly.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one, Sergeant,’ said Rose cheerily. ‘But if the inspector would rather not know or perhaps, being a policeman, has found out already for himself, then we’ll be on our way. Come on, Mary. It appears that all our efforts this morning have been wasted.’

  ‘Rose … Miss Simpson, wait a minute.’

  ‘Oh, have you changed your mind, Inspector? I’m so glad,’ said Rose, taking a seat and smiling sweetly. ‘You see, I’d like to be present when you interview Lady Celia, if you have no objections of course.’

  ‘We’ll have to see about that,’ said Inspector Deacon. ‘But first I’d like to hear what you have to tell us about the woman who set fire to the curtain.’

  Rose proceeded to give a brief summary of their excursion that morning, including her reasoning for undertaking the journey, and what Mrs Berry had to say for herself when confronted.

  �
�Well, I never!’ exclaimed Sergeant Perkins. ‘And you deduced all that from those interviews with Mr Renard and Mr Girard, did you? She must have been worried, that proprietor woman, when you accused her of starting the fire. I bet she thought she’d got away with it. Well, I would have put the fear of God into her myself, I can tell you. A wilful bit of damage that was, to say nothing of being damned dangerous.’

  ‘Rose did,’ said Mary. ‘Put the fear of god into her, I mean. Mrs Berry looked ever so worried.’

  ‘Just right. It was a nasty, spiteful thing she did,’ said the sergeant. ‘I think she should be prosecuted, so I do.’

  ‘I promised her I wouldn’t tell Madame Renard,’ said Rose. ‘She’s going to pay for the damage, and … well, I thought it was more important to find out whether the fire and the murder were connected. Mrs Berry wouldn’t have told us anything if she had thought it would get her into trouble. At least we now know there wasn’t any connection other than that the murderer took advantage of the distraction caused by the fire.’

  ‘Well done, Miss Simpson. It seems you’ve put us all to shame,’ said Inspector Deacon quietly. Unless she was mistaken, there was a touch of coldness to his voice.

  ‘I didn’t mean … ’ began Rose, her cheeks burning. Although quite what she didn’t mean, she didn’t know.

  ‘We shall have to interview the woman ourselves of course. I’m afraid that we can’t just take your word for it. We’ll have to satisfy ourselves, but it won’t be the first thing to do on our list.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence, which was thankfully interrupted by Inspector Deacon being called into the hall by the butler.

  ‘Don’t worry, miss,’ said Sergeant Perkins sympathetically. ‘By all accounts the inspector’s not quite himself. Hasn’t been ever since the shooting. Sergeant Lane’s been that worried about him, I can’t tell you. The inspector, he does appreciate your efforts though, whatever he says, but he doesn’t feel he can let on. Doesn’t think it would be professional like. We’re not in the habit of encouraging amateur sleuths, they’d put us out of business! All joking aside, miss, he’s only concerned for your safety. I reckon myself he holds you in pretty high esteem.’

  The sergeant was very tempted to say a bit more, but rather unusually for him he thought better of it, and held his tongue. He didn’t want to be responsible after all for letting the cat out of the bag. He wouldn’t be thanked for doing that. And by all accounts Miss Simpson had a nice young man, although whether anything would come of it, he really wouldn’t like to say. It wasn’t often that you heard of a member of the British aristocracy marrying a shop girl, was it? Although that was not to say it was unheard of. Some of them had married chorus girls and actresses in the past, hadn’t they? Created quite a scandal if everything he had heard about them was to be believed.

  ‘Sergeant Perkins,’ said Rose, ‘didn’t you hear me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, miss, you caught me daydreaming. I told you how I hadn’t had enough sleep, didn’t I? Now, what were you saying?’

  ‘I was saying how frightfully important it is that I be present at the interviews of Lady Celia and Mr Thorpe. He’s still here, isn’t he, Mr Thorpe, I mean? The footman said he was.’

  ‘Yes, he’s still here. Her ladyship summoned him first thing this morning.’

  ‘You see, I’m pretty sure that I know who the murderer is. That’s to say I think it’s one of two people, and ... well, as I’ve been fortunate enough to attend all the other interviews, I’d like to be present for Lady Celia’s and Mr Thorpe’s also. You do understand, don’t you, Sergeant?’

  ‘I do indeed, miss. And all I can say is, well I never. You knowing who the murderer is and all.’ Sergeant Perkins’ eyes were as large as saucers. ‘And I don’t doubt for a minute you’re right. If you’re half as good as you were over that fire business, well, the case will be as good as solved by lunchtime.’

  ‘I don’t think the inspector will appreciate you saying so,’ said Rose. ‘I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t mind being quiet about it until after the interviews. But I was wondering whether you could help me. You see, if I could have a quick word with Lady Celia before she is interviewed, I think she’ll agree to me accompanying her and then Inspector Deacon … well, he really won’t be able to object, will he? Not if Lady Celia requests it.’

  ‘You’ll get me into trouble, miss. I’d like to help you, of course I would but –’ began Sergeant Perkins. Rather fortunately for him, he was interrupted by the sound of the door being opened. Lady Celia walked into the room.

  ‘Hello Rose. Beeswick said you were here. Don’t tell me, you’re doing some investigating, aren’t you? How wonderful.’

  ‘Yes, I am, Lady Celia,’ said Rose quickly. ‘I’ve attended all the interviews and I should like to be present at your interview and Mr Thorpe’s as well, if you don’t have any objections of course.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely, why should we possibly object? I should hate it if you were to leave us out,’ cried Celia. ‘Gosh, I’ve never seen an amateur detective detecting, so to speak. How thrilling.’

  ‘Lady Celia … ah, Miss Simpson, still here?’ enquired Inspector Deacon, appearing at the door.

  ‘Yes, Inspector. Lady Celia would like me to accompany her when you interview her. I’m sure you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly, Miss Simpson. How very foolish of me to have made the mistake of leaving you in here alone.’ Rose wondered whether he had forgotten the presence of the sergeant lurking in the corner, or whether his choice of words was intentional. Certainly Sergeant Perkins looked rather sheepish.

  ‘Oh, rather,’ said Lady Celia. ‘That’s to say, I should like Miss Simpson to be with me. I should hate to feel singled out. She was only just telling me how she had been present at all the other interviews.’ She turned and smiled at Rose. ‘I’ve heard Lavinia thinks very highly of your abilities, my dear. Now I shall have the opportunity to see if she’s right. Where would you like us to go, Inspector? I was thinking of the library. That seems rather fitting don’t you think?’

  The library proved very satisfactory with its abundance of straight back chairs, a large desk for the inspector to sit behind and a small writing table on which the sergeant was able to take down his shorthand.

  Once the preliminary questions were dealt with, Inspector Deacon proceeded to get down to the business in hand. Lady Celia, he noticed, was sitting very erect in her chair, her hands held daintily in her lap. That she was trying to give the impression of a thoroughly attentive witness, happy to answer all the questions he had to ask, he had little doubt. If he were to be uncharitable, he would say she was regarding the whole business as a bit of a game. And yet her smile was a little too fixed and, unless he was mistaken, she looked genuinely anxious. There was nothing uncommon about that, of course. People generally were nervous of being interviewed by the police as part of a murder investigation. It was expected and, had she behaved differently, it would have aroused his suspicions. Nevertheless, for the first time he wondered if she had something to hide. Rose too, he noticed, was watching the woman very closely.

  ‘Lady Celia, I appreciate that this must be distressing for you.’

  ‘No, Inspector, not really. You see, I didn’t know the girl. It’s very sad and all that, but not distressing. Unless of course …’ she paused so that she might lean forward slightly towards the inspector; he could almost feel her breath upon him, ‘… you are going to tell me that the murderer meant to kill me after all.’

  ‘No. We now have no reason to believe that Miss Beckett was not the intended victim. I’m sorry if we caused you alarm.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she sounded slightly disappointed. ‘But Beeswick told me –’

  ‘Yes,’ said the inspector quickly. ‘It was a possible line of enquiry that we were investigating. I should like to put your mind at rest that we are now satisfied that in all probability Miss Beckett was the intended victim. Now, perhaps you could tell me how you came to be at Renard�
��s last night.’

  ‘I’m sure Miss Simpson has already told you. I happened to be having tea with a friend of mine, Judith Musgrove, when Lady Lavinia telephoned to enquire if Judith could stand in for her as a mannequin. Judith couldn’t and so I offered to do so in her place. There’s no more to it than that, Inspector. I was just trying to do a good turn.’

  ‘You are a good friend of Lady Lavinia’s?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, Inspector. But it sounded as if it might be frightfully fun.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Rose. ‘You’re not a bit interested in clothes. You find them rather boring. You said so to me yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I say, that’s a bit harsh,’ said Lady Celia, colouring visibly. ‘And I have to say, I didn’t realise that you would be asking me questions as well as the inspector, Rose. Is this what is referred to as a two pronged approach? I’m not sure I like it. I don’t know which one of you to look at.’

  ‘Miss Simpson is merely here in an observational capacity,’ said Inspector Deacon. ‘She won’t be asking any more questions, will you, Miss Simpson?’ He gave her a warning look.

  ‘Oh, I don’t really blame her, Inspector. I suppose it’s what amateur detectives do, isn’t it?

  ‘Did you happen to know the deceased at all, Lady Celia?’ continued the inspector.

  ‘No, of course not. We didn’t move in the same social circles, as I’m sure you will appreciate, and I would never go shopping in a shop like Renard’s.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It sells ghastly ready-to-wear clothes, Inspector, and between you and me, the material they use is frightfully cheap, artificial silk and rayon, and that sort of thing.’

  Rose, her cheeks burning as if the insult had been directed towards herself rather than Madame Renard’s shop, focused her attention on a row of books on the far wall considerably above the inspector’s head. It was all she could do not to give some sort of a retort. Words flew readily enough to her lips, but she did not utter them. If she had, she would undoubtedly have been sent packing. Really, she had quite forgotten how very unpleasant and contrary Lady Celia could be.