‘So you had not met Miss Beckett until yesterday?’
‘No.’
‘I understand that you had what one might call a bit of a falling out,’ said Inspector Deacon.
‘Oh, that. Really it was nothing, Inspector.’ Lady Celia laughed a high, artificial little laugh. ‘The girl was a little impertinent, that’s all, and understandably I took great exception to her attitude.’
‘I believe it had something to do with the silver gown?’
‘Yes.’ There was a cold edge to the woman’s voice as she called the incident to mind. ‘The girl, she looked very pretty in it and … well, I wanted to wear it too. I knew that I wouldn’t look as beautiful in it as she did, because I didn’t have her figure, but I thought it might be quite fetching on me. The girl, she was dreadfully unkind about it. She made a face behind my back. I saw her reflection. Silly girl, she’d forgotten that I was looking in the mirror. Well, I’m afraid it made me act in rather a beastly way towards her.’
‘You insisted that she didn’t wear the dress, I believe?’
‘Yes. It sounds so spiteful and mean-spirited when you say it now. But really she was dreadfully unkind and I was very angry about it. Of course if I’d known then …. But I didn’t … If I could turn back the clock … But whatever you think of me, Inspector, I wouldn’t kill someone because I had caught them making a face at me.’
‘According to a number of witnesses, you were quite livid when Miss Beckett appeared in the dress at the end of the show. I’ve been led to believe that you demanded that Madame Renard dismiss her on the spot.’
‘Again, Inspector, not my finest hour. But it appeared to me at the time that the girl was deliberately trying to upset me. But as I’ve said, I bitterly regret the way I behaved towards her. I should have risen above it, as my old governess would say.’
‘Perhaps you would be so good as to tell me your movements from … let’s see, the point when Miss Beckett returned to the dressing room and you spoke to Madame Renard about the girl losing her job.’
‘Well, I was very annoyed, I have you know. So I’m afraid I gave Madame Renard rather a talking to. I had to fight my way through the crowd to get to her, even though she was standing fairly near me. I was none too pleased, I can tell you. I’m afraid I wasn’t very quiet about it, giving Madame Renard a piece of my mind, so to speak. Taking her to task and all that. Bertram … Mr Thorpe, caught my eye and looked at me rather disapprovingly, but I couldn’t stop myself.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘Well, I think that was when the fire broke out. Everybody was awfully frightened, I remember. It was such a silly little fire, but people will panic, won’t they? Anyway, it was soon put out. Mr Thorpe and some of the other men saw to that. Bertram mouthed to me that I wasn’t to worry, that everything was in hand. But the evening was completely ruined, so we decided that it was time for us to take our leave.’
‘Did you say anything to Madame Renard about your going?’
‘Oh, no. She had her hands completely full. I intended to send her a little note today.’
‘By which door did you leave?’
‘The shop door. The one that faces the street. I expect we were two of the first to leave. Most of the people were trying to get out through the storeroom. They were afraid of passing the curtains, I think. Awfully silly of them.’
‘And you came straight here?’
‘Oh, yes. Mr Thorpe escorted me home and then left for his service flat. It had been quite an eventful evening and we were both tired. Of course we didn’t realise at the time how eventful it had been. Poor girl. I didn’t particularly take to her, but even so it’s a frightful shame. Now, Inspector, is that all? May I go now?’
Lady Celia was already up out of her chair and halfway across the room before the inspector had a chance to reply.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘Well, I can’t say we’ve learned very much from Lady Celia,’ said Inspector Deacon as soon as the door had closed behind the retreating figure of the woman in question.
‘No,’ said Rose slowly. ‘It was rather disappointing. I should like to stay here for Mr Thorpe’s interview if I may. He might be a little more forthcoming.’
‘It will be up to him whether or not you stay,’ said Inspector Deacon rather gruffly. ‘Sergeant, go and ask the fellow to step in now, will you?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sergeant Perkins, although it was with some reluctance that he left the room.
How he’d have liked to have been a fly on the wall listening to those two. Miss Simpson would put her case pretty well, he thought. Yes, and she was liable to be even more outspoken without him there. He’d like to see that, so he would. As to the inspector, he thought he’d give in to her demands. Anyone could see that he wanted to, he just didn’t think it was proper to do so. And of course he was concerned about her. He didn’t want her to go investigating by herself. Who knew what sort of trouble she’d get herself into? It wasn’t so much this case, it was the ones that would follow when he might not be there. Why, according to Miss Simpson, this case was almost done and dusted, although he personally hadn’t a clue who the murderer was and thought it unlikely he ever would have, no matter how many more interviews they had. He thought not one of them had been enlightening or produced anything of particular significance. The inspector now, he’d probably got a better idea of it all. Quite as bright as Miss Simpson, he was. Now where was this Thorpe fellow? The last he’d heard he was in the breakfast room, wherever that was. He’d ask one of those fancy footmen …
It might have surprised the sergeant to know that, following his immediate departure from the room, there was an uncomfortable silence. The inspector went to the far side of the room, ostensibly to look out of the window. Rose fiddled with the catch on her bag as if she were looking for something within. A few moments passed and still they were both employed in their self-imposed, rather useless occupations. When the silence was more than either of them could bear, it was Rose who rushed in on it with nervous speech.
‘Please don’t be against me,’ cried Rose, tugging at the inspector’s arm, before stopping short and colouring visibly.
Inspector Deacon turned. He had not heard her approach, and now he did not know quite what to say.
‘I’m not against you,’ he mumbled. However, he would not look her in the eye.
‘Yes, you are. But we haven’t got time to discuss it now. We must hurry. Don’t you see? Bertram Thorpe will be here any moment and I need your assurance that you’ll let me speak. I need to ask him one or two questions. You must permit me to do so without interrupting, or asking me to be quiet, or threatening to evict me from the room if I so much as open my mouth to breathe.’
‘Miss Simpson,’ began the inspector. To her horror she saw that he was desperately trying to keep a straight face.
‘This is no laughing matter, Inspector. I am being deadly serious. I need to be allowed to ask a few questions and then … well, I shall know who the murderer is.’
The look on the inspector’s face turned from laughter to surprise. He stared at her in earnest for a moment. She herself could hardly breathe. What would have happened next, what the inspector would have said, if anything, Rose was never to know. For the door opened and in walked Bertram Thorpe, with Sergeant Perkins following behind.
‘Ah, Mr Thorpe,’ said Inspector Deacon rallying. ‘Do take a seat. This is Miss Simpson. You may remember her from last night’s fashion event? I wonder, would you have any objection to her remaining? She is something of an amateur sleuth who has been engaged by Madame Renard to investigate this sad affair.’
With the inspector’s words ringing in her ears and the look of utter astonishment on the sergeant’s face, Rose rushed in to make the most of her advantage.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Thorpe? Lady Celia was most eager that I be present at your interview. I was present at hers. She absolutely insisted upon it.’ She gave him her most charming smile.
‘Well … I don’t know. I’m not sure,’ said Bertram Thorpe rather hesitantly. ‘But If Lady Celia thought it was all right, then I daresay –’
‘Thank you so much, Mr Thorpe.’
Rose was very tempted to position herself opposite Bertram, in order to catch any change of expression on his face as he answered the questions put to him. She decided, however, that it was best not to test the inspector’s patience and tolerance too far. Instead, she opted to sit a little away from the inspector, which provided her with a good view of Bertram’s profile. She was reminded again of how very ordinary in appearance she had thought him when she had first laid her eyes on him the previous evening. Having a better view of him as she did now, she realised that she had been doing him a disservice. True, there was nothing particularly distinguished about his features, but he was above average in height and slender in build. There was also a quiet composure about him, even now when he was clearly frightened. Only his hands betrayed any signs of nervousness, picking at imaginary bits of fluff on the top of his trouser leg. It occurred to Rose that he had much to be frightened of.
The preliminary questions began, and Rose found her mind drifting off to a vision of a woman in a silver gown, her head held high, and a smile playing about her lips in acknowledgment of the appreciative glances bestowed upon her. She was descending the stairs and parading around the room with a poise and elegance that Rose had not known Sylvia to possess. I think it’s just the sort of dress that would make a man fall in love with a woman, don’t you… or propose marriage …
‘Had you ever met the deceased before, Mr Thorpe?’ asked Inspector Deacon, cutting into her thoughts.
‘The deceased?’
‘Yes. The girl who was the mannequin. You may remember her? Her name was Sylvia Beckett.’
‘I’d never met her before, Inspector.’ Bertram said, averting his gaze slightly.
‘Well –’ began the inspector.
‘You’re lying, Mr Thorpe,’ said Rose. ‘You happened to know her very well indeed. You were her young man, weren’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you can be talking about.’ Bertram’s eyes were darting around the room. He looked wildly at Rose and then at the inspector and the sergeant, as if he were trying to find an ally amongst them. ‘How can you think …? It is madness what she’s saying –’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Rose sharply. ‘It’s no use denying it. You are the young man of whom Sylvia spoke of to all of us. To Mary, Jacques and myself. The young man with prospects.’
‘It’s all nonsense, what you are saying,’ said Bertram. ‘Why, I’m all but engaged to Lady Celia.’
‘And that I think,’ said Rose, ‘was the issue.’
‘Come, Mr Thorpe, it would be far better if you were to tell us the truth,’ said Inspector Deacon, making a good attempt at concealing his own surprise. ‘We’ll find it out anyway, you know we will. It’s a habit we have. It would be much better if you were to tell us in your own words.’
‘I … oh, all right. What’s the use of my denying it?’ Bertram put his hand to his head. For a moment it looked as if he might weep. ‘What I will say in my own defence is that I had ceased to be her young man ... I’d broken off our relationship. I did so as soon as I met Lady Celia but … well, the girl, she wouldn’t accept it.’
‘Mr Thorpe, I should warn you –’
‘No need, Inspector. I know my rights. I’m a solicitor after all. I had fully intended to lie about knowing Sylvia, only I can’t, not really. It seems rather a rum sort of thing to do to the girl, don’t you think? She deserved better than that.’
‘Yes, she did. Now, sir, initially you said there was no attachment. Now you would have us believe that an attachment of sorts had existed but that you had subsequently ended your relationship with Miss Beckett. Is that correct?’
‘Yes. Sylvia … she was being very difficult about it. It was all my own fault of course. We had talked of marriage. But then I met Lady Celia.’
‘Whom you considered a much better marriage proposition?’ suggested Inspector Deacon. There was a slight coldness to his voice that was not lost on Rose.
‘You needn’t look at me like that, Inspector,’ said Bertram indignantly, his colour rising. ‘It had nothing to do with Lady Celia’s title or money, if that’s what you’re thinking. I happened to like her better, that’s all. She didn’t ask or expect anything of me, and she wasn’t at all vain. After Miss Beckett, you have no idea how refreshing that was.’
‘Perhaps that’s because she didn’t need to be,’ said Rose.
‘You’re quite right, Miss Simpson, she didn’t. But what I found quite remarkable was that she was quite happy to settle for someone like me. She’d had a whole host of other suitors, but she had turned them all down. What she saw in me, I can’t imagine.’
Neither can I, thought Rose, but she decided not to voice her thoughts out loud. Instead she said:
‘You must have given Sylvia some hope. You still saw something of her, didn’t you?’
‘How did you –’
‘She was making someone steal clothes for her from Renard’s. She wanted to look her best when she saw you.’
‘I told you. She was being damned difficult about it. I had to see her. I tried to make her see reason, but she wouldn’t. You know what her sort are like, Inspector, easy to acquire but damned impossible to get rid of.’
‘No, I’m not at all familiar with that sort as you put it,’ said Inspector Deacon. There was no mistaking the coldness in his voice now. ‘But it would suffice to say for our purposes that you treated Miss Beckett rather shabbily and she had become something of an inconvenience to you?’
‘Yes,’ said Bertram rather sulkily. ‘You could put it like that.’
‘I do. You knew where she worked, I suppose?’
‘Of course.’
‘It must have come as quite a shock then to find that Lady Celia intended to go there last night to model some gowns?’
‘Of course it was the most frightful shock. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Under the circumstances, I would have thought it rather unwise for you to go to the event yourself.’
‘I didn’t want to, but Celia insisted. I couldn’t think of an excuse why not to go. She put me on the spot rather. She announced it at lunch yesterday. It did occur to me later simply not to turn up. I nearly did just that. But I knew there’d be no end of trouble if I didn’t show up. As it was, I left it until the very last minute to arrive. If I’m honest … well, I was rather afraid that Sylvia might take the opportunity to speak to Celia about her and me if I wasn’t there to stop her.’
There was a brief pause while the others digested Bertram’s remarks. If the man in question realised that he had said something potentially incriminating, then he made no sign of it. Instead he looked at the inspector rather pathetically, as if he hoped the man might be sympathetic to the predicament in which he had found himself. But Inspector Deacon was not such a man. He did, however, take the view not to pursue this particular line of questioning, much to Rose’s surprise.
‘I’d like you to tell me about last night. What you did, whom you talked to, that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, very well, Inspector. Where would you like me to begin, from the moment I arrived?’
‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Let us go from when Miss Beckett appeared in that silver gown, shall we? Unless of course you spoke to her earlier in the evening?’
‘No. of course not. I didn’t speak to her at all.’
‘Are you sure about that, Mr Thorpe? You have an unfortunate habit of averting your gaze when you’re lying,’ said the inspector.
‘I tell you I didn’t speak to her.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you, sir.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Rose. ‘I think you went and saw her as soon as she had returned to the dressing room in that dress. You haven’t asked me how I knew you were Sylvia’s young m
an with prospects. There were one or two things that Sylvia did which suggested it. But you also gave yourself away.’
‘Did I?’ Bertram looked surprised.
‘Yes. You called out Sylvia’s name when you saw her in the silver gown. I suppose it was an involuntary action on your part. At first I thought Jacques had said it. But he didn’t. He spoke immediately after you did which confused me. Particularly when I turned around and saw him standing there behind me. But you were there too. You were standing next to him.’
‘Excuse me for interrupting,’ piped up Sergeant Perkins, ‘but I’m not sure I follow … for my notes –’
‘When Miss Beckett appeared in the dress, Mr Thorpe exclaimed “Sylvia!” and Monsieur Renard immediate followed with “Good lord!”’ clarified Rose. ‘I thought Jacques had said both sentences. It was only when I was thinking back on things early this morning that I realised that they had in fact been said by two different people speaking consecutively.’
‘You’re right, Miss Simpson. I did go and see Miss Beckett. Her appearing in the gown like that … well, it rather took the wind out of my sails, I can tell you. I wanted to see her. Celia was busy taking that poor proprietor to task as if it were all her fault. I remember standing there wondering whether Celia would notice if I went across the floor and through the arch. I was weighing up the risk of doing such a thing when the audience suddenly surged forward. Everything became rather chaotic and I decided to take my chance. I was almost deterred when I saw the young man who had said “Good lord!” having apparently reached a similar decision. Anyway, I followed him out at a slight distance, and was relieved to see that he went to the room next door. I went to the dressing room.’
‘How did Sylvia receive you?’ demanded the inspector.
‘Very well. She looked overjoyed to see me in fact. She said that she had hoped that I’d be there.’ Bertram stared at the floor. ‘I can’t tell you how lovely she looked. I thought I loved her. For a few minutes I did. I forgot all about Celia. Why, Sylvia almost made me agree to marry her.’
Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4) Page 28
