‘Almost?’
‘Yes. But then all of a sudden she changed and became spiteful and vindictive. She said the most horrible things about Celia. She said how hideous Celia looked in her silver dress and she couldn’t think how I could possibly ever have considered marrying such a woman, money or no money. It brought me to my senses, I can tell you. My mind was firmly set. Sylvia could look very lovely when she tried, and be quite delightful and charming and all that. But underneath she wasn’t a bit like that. I knew that if I married her, once she had in her grasp all she wanted from me, my life would become a misery.’
‘How did she react when you told her?’
‘I didn’t, Inspector. I’m afraid I’m something of a coward. I was certain if I did tell her, she would make a scene. She would most probably have gone out of the room that very minute and told Celia all about us. I couldn’t take the risk.’
‘So you killed her?’
‘No, Inspector, of course not. What do you take me for? When I left Sylvia she was alive and well, I assure you. I decided that the wisest thing to do was to tell her the truth later when no one else was present. For one thing I’d have more time to soften the blow.’
‘Are you asking us to believe that you told Miss Beckett that you would break off your relationship with Lady Celia and marry her instead?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘That sounds a highly implausible story to me,’ said Inspector Deacon. ‘Shall I tell you what I think happened? I think you did tell Miss Beckett in no uncertain terms that your relationship with her was over. And I think, knowing what sort of a woman she was, she would not accept it. She went further and threatened to tell Lady Celia about the two of you. You could not risk that happening. You knew that she would always pose a threat to you for as long as she lived. So you decided to take matters into your own hands and put a stop to her. The little gold scissors were conveniently to hand and you stabbed her in the neck. She fell forward and hit her head on the chair back. You slipped out of the room and fortune seemed to favour you. In your absence the curtain had been deliberately set alight. It produced confusion and panic amongst the audience with people going this way and that trying to get out of the shop. It was easy enough for you to join one of the lines or clusters of people unobserved. You looked about for Lady Celia. You were keen to ensure that you were amongst the first to leave the premises so that you would not be there when the body was discovered.
‘No, Inspector, it wasn’t a bit like that,’ cried Bertram.
‘Wasn’t it?’ said Inspector Deacon, sounding sceptical.
‘No,’ said Rose. ‘You see Mr Thorpe didn’t murder Sylvia. Lady Celia did.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
A few days later and once again the little square room at Madame Renard’s flat was witness to a small gathering. Arguably the room was just as crowded as before, but it had lost its claustrophobic feel. On this occasion there was a sense of eager anticipation instead of one of fear and apprehension. The fact that Inspector Deacon and Sergeant Perkins were not separated from the others and were very clearly off-duty helped to lighten the atmosphere further. Rose dispensed coffee and cake and they were all tucking in with free abandonment.
Mary was sitting on the sofa. She was very much a part of the group this time. Gone was the haunted look, which had been replaced by an animated one. Happiness suited Mary well, so much so that Jacques, who was lounging on the floor idly by her feet, was wondering why he had never noticed before how very pretty she was in a quiet, unassuming way. He really found it most appealing. To anyone who would listen, Mary was eagerly informing them that Madame Renard had promoted her to chief shop assistant, a role which brought with it additional responsibilities. She personally would be appointing the new shop assistants who would be reporting to her rather than to Madame Renard, would you believe?
Rose joined Mary on the sofa, and the policemen pulled up the two wooden chairs.
‘Well, now that we are all assembled and the refreshments have been distributed,’ said Jacques through a mouthful of cake, ‘I really think you should begin, Rose, and tell us how you worked it all out.’
‘Yes, do,’ said Mary eagerly. ‘Start at the beginning and tell us exactly how you did it.’
‘Well,’ said Rose, pausing a moment to take a sip of her coffee, ‘I suppose that it all started when we found out that Lavinia would not be attending the fashion event.’
‘Yes, that rather put the fly in the ointment, didn’t it? I say,’ said Jacques, ‘did you ever find out why Lavinia was unable to attend? Was she really ill?’
‘Yes,’ Rose said. ‘She had chicken pox! Don’t laugh, Jacques, it’s not nice. According to Cedric, she was literally covered in spots and wouldn’t let anyone see her. He was sworn to absolute secrecy, as were the servants. The last thing in the world she could do was model clothes.’
‘Poor Lavinia,’ said Mary. ‘I do hope she hasn’t been left with any scars.’
‘One or two very small ones on her face. She is quite convinced that her looks are ruined.’
‘That sounds like our Lady Lavinia,’ said Jacques. ‘But do go on, Rose. We want to know how you solved this case. How did you know that the murderer was Lady Celia?’
‘Well, I didn’t at first of course. But there were a few things that struck me as rather strange from the very start. To begin with I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Lady Celia had decided to model the garments at the fashion show in place of Lavinia. She and Lavinia weren’t great friends. I rather got the impression that they disliked one another. And Lady Celia wasn’t a bit interested in clothes and her build was not suited for that of a mannequin. She must have known that the garments, which had been made to Lavinia’s measurements, would never fit.’
‘Yes, I thought that was a bit odd myself,’ agreed Mary. ‘From what little I saw of her, she struck me as very bored by the whole thing.’
‘Another thing that struck me as rather surprising,’ continued Rose, ‘was that Sylvia knew that Lady Celia Goswell was one of the daughters of the Marquis of Perriford. Her picture had appeared so infrequently in the society pages that few people would have been familiar with her name and certainly not with her father’s title.’
‘Sylvia knew, didn’t she, that Lady Celia was a rival for the Thorpe chap’s affections?’ said Jacques. ‘I suppose Lady Celia had also found out about Sylvia?’
‘Yes, she must have done. Unbeknown to Bertram Thorpe, of course,’ said Rose. ‘I think Lady Celia was curious to meet her rival. Lavinia’s illness gave her the perfect opportunity to do so. I remember that she was very keen for me to point Sylvia out to her when it was first mooted that the girl model the outfits.’
‘It must have upset her dreadfully when she saw how beautiful Sylvia looked in your silver gown, Jacques,’ said Mary. ‘No wonder she was so furious with Sylvia for making a face at her behind her back and why she insisted that she should not be allowed to wear the dress. It also explains, doesn’t it, why she was so angry when Sylvia did wear the gown. She really did make the most frightful scene, demanding that the poor girl be sacked.’
‘That’s all very well,’ said Sergeant Perkins, stretching out his legs in a comfortable fashion. ‘But I still don’t see how you worked out Mr Thorpe was her young man, Miss Simpson. Everything falls into place once you knew he was, as you’ve just shown us, but how did you get there in the beginning, that’s what I’d like to know. You’re not telling us that it’s just because he called out her name, are you?’
‘No, Sergeant. There were a couple more clues that Sylvia herself let slip. She knew that the silver gown made her look like a princess and she was absolutely determined to wear it at all costs, even if it meant losing her job. I couldn’t understand why she would take such a risk and then I remembered what she had said to me. 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 … That is why she wanted to wear the dres
s. She was fairly certain that Bertram Thorpe would be attending the fashion event and she wanted him to choose her over Lady Celia. She felt fairly sure that he would, if he saw her in that dress.’
‘I suppose it must have seemed to her a risk worth taking,’ said Mary. She sounded rather doubtful. ‘But he might not have turned up.’
‘Yes, but he did, and he almost succumbed to Sylvia’s charms,’ said Rose.
‘And then he remembered what Sylvia was really like when she wasn’t wearing my gorgeous gown to mask her imperfections,’ said Jacques. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, you’re quite right to look so appalled. I was being flippant, which was beastly of me. You know I was fond of Sylvia, warts and all.’
‘You must explain to us, Rose, how you knew that it was Lady Celia who killed Sylvia and not Bertram Thorpe,’ said Inspector Deacon, who had all the while been listening attentively. ‘I’ve been trying to work it out myself. It seems to me that the facts are such that it could just as easily have been either one of them. It is perhaps fortunate for us that Lady Celia has made a confession.’
‘I realised that it must be one of them but, as you say, it was difficult to determine which one. I am fairly certain now that Bertram Thorpe suspected Lady Celia’s involvement in Sylvia’s death, but had no wish to incriminate her. I think he felt he was in part to blame for what she’d done.’ Rose paused a moment to take another sip of her coffee, which was rapidly going cold. ‘It’s Marcel Girard I have to thank for arriving at the truth. The information we gleaned from his interview and to a lesser extent from yours, Jacques, and also from Bertram Thorpe’s, helped considerably.’
‘What did you learn from us precisely, Rose?’ asked Jacques.
‘After you came out of the storeroom, following your conversation with Marcel about the silver gown, you fully intended to go to the dressing room and see Sylvia. You didn’t because someone else was already in there with her. You said she sounded excited. According to Bertram Thorpe’s own account, as far as Sylvia was aware he had agreed to give up Lady Celia and marry her. It therefore made sense to assume that Bertram Thorpe was her visitor. Now, when we come to Marcel’s account, it is a different picture. I think we can safely assume that Mr Thorpe returned to the shop shortly after you did, Jacques. It was then that Lady Celia took the opportunity to visit Sylvia. She was still in the room with her when Marcel came out of the storeroom. I have two reasons for supposing this. Firstly, Marcel heard Sylvia give what he described as an awful and malicious laugh. It is just the sort of laugh Sylvia would give when telling Lady Celia that Mr Thorpe had decided to marry her.’
‘Well, I can well imagine she might have liked to gloat about it in front of Lady Celia,’ said Jacques. ‘It’s just the sort of thing Sylvia would do. But I wouldn’t say it was very conclusive. Would it stand up in a court of law do you think, Inspector?’
‘There’s more,’ said Rose quickly. ‘When you visited Marcel in the storeroom to discuss the silver gown, you told him about the scene Lady Celia was creating in the shop. Marcel had taken a particular dislike to the woman and consequently resolved to stay in the storeroom. From what I can gather, he subsequently got rather bored and changed his mind. He decided to go to the dressing room and chat to you and Sylvia. On his way, he looked through the arch into the shop. He gave us a very detailed account of what he saw. He saw you, Jacques, trying to put out the fire and your mother shouting instructions to Mary. He did not see Sylvia whom he rightly deduced was still in the dressing room and –’
‘Ah … I think I know what you’re driving at,’ cried Jacques. ‘The one person he wanted to avoid at all costs was Lady Celia. It stands to reason then that the one person he would notice when he looked through the arch was Lady Celia, yet she is the only person he didn’t mention seeing. For the very simple reason that she wasn’t there. She was in the dressing room with Sylvia.’
‘Bravo, Mr Renard,’ said Sergeant Perkins. ‘Perhaps you might consider a position in the police force.’
‘I think not, Sergeant. It’s the life of a fully-fledged designer for me. Whoever set fire to the curtain,’ he paused to cock an inquisitive eyebrow at Rose, ‘obviously very much regrets their actions. They have paid Mama very handsomely for the damage, so much so in fact that she has decided to undertake major alterations to the shop and this flat in order to create for me my very own design studio.’
‘Yes, Madame Renard is very excited about it all.’ enthused Mary. ‘She has been talking about the House of Renard. She thinks that soon we will be able to move to larger premises and have a more fashionable address.’
‘Yes, we’ll give Thimbles a run for their money, see if we don’t,’ agreed Jacques. ‘Mama was afraid that she would lose customers but actually the opposite has been true. She received so many enquiries about my silver gown that she made Elsie run up a copy and has displayed it in the shop window for all to see. You probably saw it when you came here, Sergeant? You wouldn’t believe how many orders we have received for it. I was very cross with her at first. It seemed such an awful ghoulish sort of thing to do.’
‘I admit I had some reservations about it,’ said Mary. ‘But really, I think Sylvia wouldn’t have minded. She loved being the centre of attention, didn’t she? You’ll think me very silly, but I almost feel that her memory will live on in that dress.’
‘Well, all I can say is that I am glad some good has come out of all this,’ Sergeant Perkins said. The others concurred and there was a slight pause.
‘Do you think Lady Celia planned to kill Sylvia, Rose?’
‘No, Mary, I don’t. I think she saw Bertram Thorpe leave the shop and go into the dressing room. She waited for him to return and then went to confront Sylvia, probably to tell her to leave him alone. Sylvia then laughed in her face and told her that it was she Mr Thorpe was going to marry. I believe Lady Celia picked up the scissors in a fit of rage. I don’t think she really meant to stab Sylvia with them.’
‘And it wasn’t that that actually killed her,’ said Sergeant Perkins. ‘It was hitting her head on the chair back that did her in, wasn’t it, sir?’ He looked at the inspector for agreement. ‘I don’t reckon they’ll hang her, do you sir?’
‘No,’ said the inspector. ‘I believe there’ll be a recommendation for mercy. Her father will no doubt employ the best barrister in the country to conduct her defence. He might even argue that it was an unfortunate accident that had little, if anything, to do with his client.’
‘I’d like to see him try!’ snorted the sergeant. ‘Me, I think they’ll send her to prison for a few years at least. According to Mr Thorpe, he’ll be waiting for her when she comes out. He feels that guilty about it all, so he does. And, for what it’s worth, I think he’s right to. If he hadn’t been carrying on with the two of them, this tragedy would never have happened.’
‘Rose,’ said Jacques, ‘would you mind if I have a quiet word?’
‘No, of course not. Why don’t you carry through the crockery and you can dry while I wash up.’ Rose looked about the room. Mary was busy chatting happily to the two policemen. It seemed to her that Mary was making quite an impression on the young sergeant. ‘I don’t think the others will miss us for a while.’
They made their way into the other room and pulled back the imitation linen curtain to the makeshift kitchen-cum-bathroom. Rose set to washing up the crockery, piece by piece, in the sink before handing each item to Jacques to dry with a tea towel.
‘My mother took your advice. She told me the secret she’s been keeping hidden all these years.’
‘I’m so glad. It will be a weight off her mind your knowing.’
‘She thought I would be terribly shocked to hear that she and my father were never married. Her name’s really Aubert not Renard, but then of course you knew that. She said she and my father planned to elope but that my father was killed in a motor accident before they could marry. I’m not sure that I believe that bit of her story,’ Jacques paused a moment in the act of drying
a cup, ‘but she must have loved him very much to give me his name, Jacques Renard, don’t you think?
‘Yes, I do.’
‘All these years she has pretended to be a widow. I don’t know how to tell you how grateful I feel to her for all she has done for me. It can’t have been easy for her bringing me up by herself while building up her business. She did it all for me, you know.’
‘Were you very shocked to learn the truth?’
‘That’s what’s so funny. I think I’ve always known it, without knowing, if that makes any sense. You see, it had always seemed rather strange to me that we had no living family or relatives to speak of. My mother never really liked to talk about them. It was as if they belonged to a past, forgotten life.’
‘In a way, I suppose they did.’
‘It was rather careless of my mother to leave that letter lying out on her desk addressed to Madame Aubert, wasn’t it?’ said Jacques. ‘Is that what made you guess the truth?’
‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘I couldn’t understand why she had been so upset when I picked up some of her papers that had been scattered on the floor. I’d glanced at them idly when gathering them up, as one instinctively does without thinking, and she practically snatched them away from me. From what you said in your interview, she reacted in a similar way when she caught you going through her papers looking for your sketch. I racked my brains trying to remember what I’d seen and remembered that a piece of correspondence had been addressed to a Madame Aubert and I wondered whether she was in fact your mother. If she was, there was really only one logical explanation as to why she would pose as Madame Renard.’
‘I see. You put two and two together and came to four, just as Sylvia must have done,’ said Jacques. ‘You’re awfully clever, Rose, but I expect you already know that. No, don’t try and protest, a woman really must accept a compliment when it’s given.’ He became serious. ‘One thing has been worrying me terribly about all this. I know Sylvia had her faults, but I can’t quite bring myself to believe that she sunk so low as to blackmail my mother.’
Murder at Renard's (Rose Simpson Mysteries Book 4) Page 29
