by Caron Allan
Dottie was rather surprised by the vehemence of Penny’s words. She certainly still looked quite annoyed. ‘What did he say?’ Dottie asked, genuinely interested in Penny’s conversation for the first time that day.
‘Oh, it was nothing really. It was more in the way he said it. Of course, you weren’t there, and you’ll probably think I’m just being silly.’
‘I’m sure I won’t,’ said Dottie, feeling guilty about telling such an outright lie.
‘Well, he said to me on the way back, ‘Miranda hasn’t changed a jot, still treats everyone around her like dirt.’ Not that he said dirt. I shan’t repeat what he did say.’
‘How rude,’ Dottie said, hiding a smile.
‘Wasn’t it? And so like him. He always thinks he is in the right.’
‘What was it that your sister said to make him attack her like that?’ Dottie wondered for a moment if she’d been too strong, but it was clear her choice of words exactly coincided with Penny’s resentment.
‘Oh, it was just that stupid thing with Reggie, when she hadn’t recognised him, that’s all. But of course, Reggie was offended, and kept going on about shaking his head and saying, ‘After all I’ve done for her’. So that meant Gervase was annoyed with Miranda. Not with his own dear brother, mind you, oh no! No, he decided it was entirely Miranda’s fault. Really, as much as I adore Gervase, he can be quite ruthless and cruel.’
Seeing Dottie’s look of surprise at this, Penny said, ‘Oh yes, my dear. He has quite another side to him than you, as a casual acquaintance, will have yet seen.’
Dottie felt like slapping her, seeing the calculated, crafty look in her eyes as she made a show of hesitating to speak so frankly. Penny dropped her gaze to her hands, playing restlessly with her dress button. ‘Oh yes,’ she added, softer still, ‘He has a very different side to him in private. You probably don’t know this, but he and I were once... but as soon as I saw how he could be, I turned to Dear Arthur. It’s true Arthur was never quite as dynamic as Gervase, nor as good-looking, but he was such a gentle soul, a truly good man.’
It was quite a performance; Penny was certainly an accomplished actress. Dottie privately dismissed it all as rubbish. In a second, she thought, Penny will beg me not to mention any of this to Gervase.
Even before Dottie had finished this thought, Penny put a hand on Dottie’s arm and said, ‘I-I’d be grateful if you didn’t say anything to Gervase. I’m sure you can keep a confidence. We girls need to stick together, don’t we, and I wouldn’t want him to be angry with you.’
‘Of course,’ Dottie said smoothly. ‘I completely understand.’
Mr Michaels, Gervase’s butler, greeted Dottie like an old friend, which Penny immediately noticed. She pursed her lips but said nothing. Dottie knew it had been filed away to be brought out later, probably at a time when it would cause embarrassment to either Dottie herself or to Gervase.
She was glad Algy was there, though not quite so glad that Mike was there too. But fortunately, both men appeared to be more or less sober, and neither seemed in the mood for ribald jokes and offensive remarks. She wondered if Gervase had warned them about their language beforehand. To Dottie’s great surprise, it was a very pleasant evening.
After dinner they went into a little room at the back of the house, a kind of billiard room and study combined. Mike and Penny partnered Algy and Dottie at billiards, which Dottie had never played. So long as someone told her which ball she was supposed to be aiming for, she was all right, as it turned out she was quite a good shot. Penny became a trifle sulky as she failed to gain as much admiration as Dottie and in the end, Dottie felt it would be diplomatic to let Gervase take her place. Immediately Penny pouted to have her way and become Gervase’s partner against Algy and Mike. Dottie sat in an armchair nearby, dividing her time between cheering them all on and looking through Gervase’s books.
Once the billiards was over, the others came to sit down with Dottie, and Michaels came in with a tray of drinks. At some point one of the men, following on from a discussion about a book Gervase had recently read, introduced the subject of space travel and the possibility of men journeying to the moon in spaceships.
‘Nonsense,’ Penny said, dismissing the subject out of hand. ‘It is an insane idea. Who knows what could happen if men travelled beyond their own planet?’
The men enjoyed a good-natured debate, going from travelling through space to the notion of time travel. After a second round of nightcaps, they were each saying who they’d like to go back in time to meet. The men of course chose military figures. Penny wanted to go back and meet Cleopatra, which Dottie wasn’t particularly surprised to hear. When it was Dottie’s turn, she wasn’t quite sure what to say. She had no interest in meeting old soldiers and war-mongers. It was purely on a half-joking impulse aided by too much sherry that she said, ‘What about Richard Dawlish? After all, I’ve heard he was terribly good-looking. Penny said she adored him, and obviously Miranda was engaged to him, so...’
‘So what?’ Gervase’s tone was quite sharp, she noticed. She realised she must be a little tipsy, but it was too late, she’d introduced the subject. The air about her was tight with strain, and she knew it was the topic that caused the sense of everyone being on the alert.
‘So... perhaps he gave the rest of you some unwelcome competition?’ She tried to keep her tone light and teasing.
‘But he was...’
Dottie held a hand up to Gervase. ‘If you’re going to insult him purely because of his skin colour, I’m not going to listen to you.’
‘You’re so liberal,’ he grumbled, but he smiled at her. Penny was watching her closely. Mike and Algy were also simply watching, not saying anything, which she found a little odd.
‘Yes, and proud to be.’ Dottie said in reply to Gervase. She thought for a moment and added, ‘I wish I could have met him, he sounds like such a nice interesting fellow.’
‘As a matter of fact, he was,’ Gervase said, grave now, a cleft between his brows as he frowned, remembering. ‘It was all very sad. I wish he had talked to me—or to Algy, he knew Algy better than the rest of us.’
On an impulse, Dottie said, ‘How wonderful it would be to go back in time to that night and stop him from doing what he did to himself.’
‘Yes indeed.’
She reached out her hand to Gervase, and he caught it and brought it to his lips for a soft kiss right in front of everyone. In a slow, meditative voice she said, ‘I wish I could have been there. I so wish I knew what happened that night.’
‘You do know,’ Penny pointed out. ‘I’ve told you all about it.’
‘I mean in depth,’ Dottie said. ‘Because really, when you think about it, it’s very odd. Everyone says how very moral he was and all that. Yet he killed himself. How did he go from one extreme to the other like that? It’s a complete mystery. Did the police never think it could have been simply an accident? Some kind of joke that went wrong?’
‘No. That was quite out of the question.’ Gervase said, his tone brooking no argument, but Dottie sent him a querying look.
Algy said, ‘He was a jolly good chap, as a matter of fact. I was frightfully sorry about what happened. Still am, actually.’ He looked down into his almost-empty glass. ‘I’d like to go back in time to see him, too. Feel like I let him down, letting him kill himself like that, and not being with him.’
‘Just to know what was really going on in his mind, what he was thinking,’ Dottie said. ‘I’d just so like to know.’
Chapter Twelve
‘WHAT ON EARTH IS THIS?’ Dottie asked, staring down at the manila folder Gervase had just dropped onto her lap. It was just before lunch and she was rather surprised to see him at this hour. He stretched out on the sofa beside her, reaching an arm round her and craning his neck to nuzzle behind her ear. She slapped his knee. ‘Behave yourself and pay attention!’
With an exaggerated sigh, he withdrew arms and lips and sat up straight. It was as well he did for just then P
enny came into the room and sat down, looking very interested in the folder on Dottie’s knee. Gervase said, ‘Well, you were interested in Richard Dawlish’s death, so I brought you the original case file to look at. Strictly between us, of course. I thought it might interest you, though there were some pretty ghastly photographs...’
‘Were?’
‘I removed them, of course. Not at all the sort of thing a young lady would want to see.’
‘Hmm,’ Dottie said. Then, ‘Gervase, dear, surely you’re not allowed to just take police files away with you?’
‘I’m the Assistant Chief Constable, I can do what I like, more or less.’ He gave her a self-satisfied smirk and received another slap. She had an overwhelming sense of impropriety, yet her curiosity was so strong, she just had to take a peek.
Regarding the folder critically, she said, ‘My first thought is, I’d expected the file to be a lot fatter.’
‘Well, it was just a straight-forward suicide case, after all, not a juicy murder.’
She opened the folder and began to look through the sheaf of documents. There was the coroner’s report, tersely to the point: ‘verdict: open’ was the phrase near the top that just jumped out at her. There were the statements from about half a dozen witnesses, a full medical report, a police report, and along with a few other bits and pieces, that was just about the entirety. It made Dottie feel so sad to think that everything Richard had been, and all his achievements, could be boiled down into this thin folder of legal papers. She looked at Gervase.
‘May I read it?’
‘Of course. That’s why I brought it to you.’
‘But I mean, do I have to read it right now, or can I keep it for a few days?’
‘Keep it as long as you like, dear. It’s of no value now. Although, of course, I shall need it back at some point, to go back into our archives.’
‘Thank you.’ She was quiet, reflecting. ‘It’s not much to show for a life, is it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Like I said, it was a cut-and-dried affair, not some lengthy enquiry. I suppose next you’ll be wanting to see his effects? Clearly you mean to conduct your own investigation.’ He was laughing at her now, but she stared at him.
‘What effects? May I see them? Do you have them with you now?’
‘No of course I don’t, you goose. But it’s just a few items in an envelope, and I could fetch them for you, your worship.’ He bowed in mockery but she could tell he was pleased by her interest. She nodded, delighted, and he promised to get the items for her the following day.
Dottie ran upstairs to put the folder away in a drawer, bearing in mind it was a confidential police file, and not something that ought to be left just lying about. She so longed to sit quietly and read through everything right now, but she had to go back downstairs. Gervase finished his cup of tea then reluctantly said he must head back to work, which made Dottie laugh. He seemed slightly annoyed by that and she didn’t dare tease him about how little actual work he appeared to do. At the door, she reminded him about Richard Dawlish’s effects, and he promised to bring them round.
Penny was expecting Deirdre for lunch.
‘But Dottie, dear, I will perfectly understand if you would prefer not to join us,’ Penny said, ‘as you really hardly know Deirdre, and we’ll spend so much time talking about people you don’t know at all.’
Dottie took this to mean that they didn’t want her company, and she hardly minded. It would be restful to sit quietly in her room and read through the case-file on Richard Dawlish’s death without feeling guilty about not making conversation. If anything she was a little surprised that Penny hadn’t tried to get a look at the folder herself.
Therefore, on the stroke of twelve-thirty, as soon as Deirdre’s knock sounded at the front door, Dottie headed for the stairs, exchanging a smile with Margaret as she ran to let Deirdre in.
Dottie could hear the sound of their voices, of course, but she was too far away to make out what they were saying. It was quite pleasant to hear voices but feel no pressure to respond. She fetched the folder and went to sit by the window, taking the documents out one by one and laying them out neatly on a nearby little table.
The ink was blue-black, and still as fresh as when it had first been applied to the cover of the file. Fifteen years old and almost no dust or wear. No one had looked at this file since it had first been laid to rest in the store-room. No one cared what happened to Richard Dawlish, then or now, she thought. It was easier for everyone to believe he had been a social inferior, a nobody, who could be completely disregarded and forgotten about, consigned to an obscure shelf in a back room in some rambling old building.
She picked the papers up one at a time and began to read.
The police report was brief to say the least; Dottie read it twice through from beginning to end in less than a minute. The dismissive tone displayed only too clearly the bias of the police who had looked into Richard’s death.
‘A negro male was found to have hanged himself in the garden of the Honourable Norman Maynard, M.P. on the night of Saturday 7th June 1919. There were no signs of a struggle. No suicide note was found, but as it is commonly known that negroes are often illiterate, this is not surprising. The deceased was identified by members of the Honourable Norman Maynard’s household, specifically his son Group Captain Michael Maynard and Captain Algernon Compton, Hon. Maynard’s nephew. There may have been some depression or mental crisis following the deceased’s war-time experiences, or from his approaching deportation to the Caribbean as his service was now at an end.
‘The medical officer arrived at the scene at 8.10am precisely and confirmed death. Photographs were taken of the scene. The body was then cut down and upon examination a preliminary time of death was reported to be between six and ten hours prior to discovery, so the man had hanged himself somewhere between ten o’clock on the night of the 7th June, and two o’clock the following morning. The coroner has been informed and a date for the inquest has been set at Tuesday 10th June 1919. Next of kin will be informed as soon as details are acquired.’ This document was signed by an Inspector A. E. Reed, and countersigned by Chief Inspector Edwin Parfitt, and dated Monday 9th June 1919.
Dottie took a piece of writing paper and began to make notes:
1. It was assumed from the outset that the death was suicide, even though there was no note.
2. It was assumed that Richard Dawlish was depressed or had suffered a mental breakdown.
3. They only gave themselves two days to carry out the investigation, which means they had no intention of carrying out a proper enquiry into Richard’s death. Because they had already decided what the cause of death was.
Next, she picked up the medical report. This was, of course, more in-depth, but somewhat technical and unpleasant. She confined her attention to the covering summary.
‘The deceased is a well-nourished adult West Indian male in good general health. The age is given as twenty-two. Following examination, death can be attributed to one of two causes, being either: asphyxia due to hanging, or due to the contusion on the front left temple which occurred either at, or immediately before death, causing bleeding into the brain. The wound yielded splinters of beech wood, which is consistent with the location where the deceased was found. It is possible the deceased bumped his head during the process of hanging himself, perhaps by attempting to use the seat of the swing as a means of reaching the noose, as the seat was broken and lying beside the tree trunk. The deceased had eaten a light meal some hours prior to the time of death, and had drunk a quantity of beer, possibly as much as two pints of beer in addition to a small amount of champagne, enough to slightly impair the senses and mental faculties.’
The coroner’s report surprised Dottie. The verdict was an open one and not, as she had assumed from what everyone had said, a definitive one of suicide whilst of unsound mind. The coroner had little to say other than that it was his sad duty to give a verdict but in view of the deceased’s exemplary war re
cord, and the alcohol in his bloodstream, he was recording an open verdict on the grounds that the deceased may not have intended to take his own life but had perhaps been indulging in some boyish horseplay under the influence of drink. The coroner offered his condolences to the late Lieutenant Dawlish’s fiancée and family in Jamaica.
Dottie sat back and thought about this last part. The wording was a bit odd. Did it mean he had another fiancée back in Jamaica, or was it supposed to refer to Miranda?
At least the coroner had tried to be kind, she thought. Everyone, including the police, had to have known there was a party on that night, and that the young people had been out at the pavilion to have their own celebration. That was surely widely known. So the coroner seemed to have allowed for the alcohol and the possibility that things had got out of hand.
Yet at the same time, it was perfectly clear, from what Dottie had been told, that the party had already broken up before Richard had died. But the medical examiner said sometime between ten o’clock, when presumably both the main party and that of the young people, were in full swing, and two o’clock in the morning. Even two in the morning wasn’t excessively late for a party, in Dottie’s experience. Especially such a special one. It seemed likely that there were still people around at that time. So how was it that no one had seen him die?
Or had they? Dottie stared into space. It seemed inconceivable that anyone could have known what was on Richard’s mind and yet have done nothing to try to help him or dissuade him. Was it possible that it was after all just some stupid game that had gone horribly wrong and been hushed up?
But everything she had heard about Richard made him sound so sensible, so responsible, not at all the kind of person to get involved in rash exploits under the influence of drink. Besides, two pints and a bit of champagne wasn’t a lot. She was willing to bet those around him had consumed far larger quantities of alcohol, if their present day drinking was anything to go by. Yet he had been decorated twice for valour. That required a special kind of daring, didn’t it? A scant regard for one’s own safety that was essential in times of war. She shook her head. She didn’t know what to think. She pulled out the sheaf of papers and extracted the witness statements.
