Cassandra exclaimed and pressed a handkerchief over her mouth. Huge eyes appealed to Joe for understanding.
‘I say, steady on, old man! It’s surely a bit premature to be thinking about unpicking the admiral’s arrangements …’ Joe began to murmur, but was firmly interrupted by Marland.
‘Au contraire! Not a moment too soon. One more term of bullying and beatings and they risk breaking the boy’s spirit. They’ve already broken his hide. The lad’s cut raw by the last effort to make him like the Navy. It won’t do. He has his mother’s sensitive nature. And he’s not a born sailor like his brother.’
Everyone in the room turned to look at the born sailor. John, blushing at the attention, defiantly put an arm along his brother’s shoulder. ‘We can’t all be a Nelson. I’m not, never will be. But I love the Navy.’ He spoke in sharp phrases, clearly embarrassed by William’s outburst and directing his remarks to Joe. ‘It’s a tough system, sir, but I agree with Cousin Seb — I must survive it and try to change the things I don’t like. And I can survive because I love the life. Billy can’t because he doesn’t. Could never … I mean …’
Cassandra, sniffing and exclaiming, hurried across the room to clasp both of her boys to her bosom. They stood, arms at their sides, enduring the show of affection for a count of ten.
Cousin Seb lit a cigarette and looked on, narrowing his eyes against the smoke. Joe had waved away the offer to join Marland in a cigarette and helped himself to a slice of cake. He knew he ought to be relieved that Cassandra and the boys were being cared for and, it seemed, cared about. This was one self-imposed burden he could now slip from his shoulders. Yes, it was all turning out well. He couldn’t account for the feeling of foreboding he was experiencing.
With everyone finally herded back to the tea tables, the conversation began to flow on more conventional topics. Eventually Cassandra broached the question of the admiral’s funeral and, at a suitable moment, Joe inserted the information he’d come to deliver. Everyone fell silent to hear his announcement.
The Yard had completed its investigation of the murder, he told them, and the trial of the two perpetrators was to be held at the earliest possible date. He left a space for their reaction and unobtrusively watched for any sign of dissent.
Marland interrupted Cassandra’s whispered thanks. ‘Hang on a minute, Commander. You’ve skipped a paragraph. Wasn’t there a question of a third assassin? The girl in the taxi? The high-calibre bullet that finished off my uncle? Cassandra tells me she voiced her suspicions to the police.’ He shot a glance at Lily, who nodded back.
Sandilands looked a warning and spoke crisply. ‘We are indeed aware, but this is not perhaps the place, Marland, or the time-’
‘Nonsense! If it’s the boys you’re concerned for, forget it. They know how their father died. They’re au fait with the case. Cassandra and I see no reason to hold back the details from them.’
The boys nodded. Cassandra nodded. Joe realized that he was addressing a unified family and refocused his delivery.
‘Very well. The pathologists’s report upheld Cassandra’s assertion. She was not mistaken. However, the girl in the taxi has been exonerated by the cabby, who has had a lucid interval or two in his hospital bed and has made a statement saying that it was not she who pulled the trigger.’
‘Glad to hear it. Common sense — and science of course — have prevailed, then. Not a woman’s crime, shooting in the street. Sure you’d agree. But if not her, nor the cabby, then who did pull the trigger?’ Sebastian persisted. He was clearly not going to let Sandilands off until he’d revealed all he knew.
‘The solution, as it often is, was staring us in the face,’ Joe admitted with a shamefaced grin. ‘The killers have been questioned at length and have made full confessions. The tougher one of the pair, in the end, admitted that he was issued with two guns, just in case one jammed. Sensible precaution.’
Marland gave an understanding nod. ‘Makes sense.’
‘Fleeing to the taxi, the gunman noted that the admiral was still on his feet, selected his more powerful weapon and shot again. Unnecessary, as Dr Spilsbury is of the opinion that the two Webley bullets would have done for him in minutes anyway. But, in the heat of the moment, the villain must have seen it as a wise precaution. We haven’t recovered the gun. We assume it was thrown out of the window somewhere between here and the police station where they were arrested.’ He noted that Lily looked aside as he told his fluent lies.
‘Mmm … probably picked up and kept or sold on. There’s a market for such things,’ Marland said. ‘I see. Sounds reasonable to me.’ He looked questioningly at each boy in turn, silently gathering their views before continuing. ‘As you say then, all done and dusted. Case closed. And now that your chaps have finally released the old bird, we’ll be able to move on and finalize our plans for the funeral. Cassandra didn’t want the State ceremony that was on offer. I have that right? Do correct me if I assume too much.’
‘Oh, yes. I couldn’t bear it. And I don’t believe Oliver would have expected it. He was, at heart, a plain sailor, a modest man, you know.’
Sandilands and Marland exchanged astonished looks and indulgent grins over her head.
‘All the same, it was so kind of the prime minister and Their Majesties to offer. But, in the end, we’ve decided on a small service for family and friends to be held in the church at his family seat in the country, next Saturday. We’re so hoping you’ll be able to come, Joe.’
‘You won’t be the grandest guest there, sir,’ said William. ‘Not by a long chalk! Tell him, Mama!’
‘Shh! Don’t brag, William. Anyway, it was a charming gesture. The king and queen have made it understood that if we were to send them an invitation they would be pleased to attend the ceremony.’
‘The king and queen?’
‘Yes. And such of their offspring as are staying with them. It’s only just down the road from them after all … a mile or two.’
‘Cassandra, where exactly are you planning to hold the funeral?’ Joe asked carefully. ‘I had imagined Westminster. Or St Martin’s …’
‘I’ve just told you, Joe. Weren’t you listening? At St Mary’s, Upper Dedham. Had you forgotten that Oliver was, like his hero Nelson, a Norfolk man? And — isn’t it surprising how these things turn out? — the royal family has gathered together for the next few weeks in Sandringham. Not their usual annual progress — one might have expected them to be up at Balmoral by now, surely? Odd, that … but conveniently for us, that’s where they are — in Norfolk.’
‘Surprising, indeed,’ said Joe. ‘But — convenient? Not so sure about that.’ He caught the flare of alarm in Wentworth’s eyes and began to get to his feet.
Chapter Thirty-Two
He clamped Lily’s arm under his and set off at a fast lick up the boulevard towards the taxi rank in Grosvenor Place. The scene he’d just witnessed had disturbed him and he wondered how much of the undercurrent had been picked up by the sharp young woman trotting at his side. He decided to find out. He’d come at it crabwise.
‘Well, what did you make of Cousin Seb, then?’
‘A dangerous man, sir.’
‘Really? In what way?’
‘In the way a sixteen-point stag is dangerous to any rival. He’s marking out his territory, bellowing about the place and making sure of his hind.’
‘Great heavens! You make that genteel drawing room sound like a Scottish moor in the rutting season.’
‘A good analogy, sir. And if I were you, I’d pause for a moment to count up my own points. Because it’s your eye he’s planning to poke out.’
So it was out in the open. She’d seen that much at least.
Joe stopped and turned her to face him. ‘I’m not sure I understand your implications,’ he began, ‘but I am quite certain I don’t like the sound of them. The chap’s no more romantically interested in Cassandra than am I. If that’s what you’re suggesting. Good Lord! Attractive woman, of course, and not short of a
bob or two, but the man’s totally unsuitable. A good five years younger than she is for a start. No money to speak of. And somewhat of an assertive character. Men with a high kill rate in their fighting years rarely settle down to peaceful domesticity, you know. No — too much of a daredevil for comfort.’
‘Exactly, sir. A modern man. A nice change for Cassandra. You forgot to add good looking — if you can accept the Ramon Novarro moustache. But with those heart-melting hazel eyes who’s going to quibble about a ’tache? He’s a bit bashed about but he’s energetic, and I’d say exciting. I bet he’s got the tickets for Venice booked already. Yes, Venice … that’s where he’d take her. Lucky woman. I envy her.’
‘Good Lord!’ Joe said again faintly. ‘Perhaps you should register an interest? Join the hinds? But — seriously — ought I to warn Cassandra of her danger?’
‘I’m sure that’s not necessary. She knows what’s what. And the boys seem very happy with the new arrangements. I’d put quite some store by that. William’s a romantic but John is surprisingly mature for his years. He’s made his calculations and read the small print in the will, I’ll bet. The only point on which the boys are confused is what they perceive to be their mother’s warm attentions to you, sir.’
Joe started to walk on. ‘None of your business, Wentworth, but since you brazenly choose to air it, I’ll tell you — she’s a demonstrative woman who’s been married for donkey’s years to a chap who was mostly absent and when present was not the best at expressing emotion. When a sensitive and concerned fellow — that’s me — shows a little regard she responds with a shade too much warmth, perhaps. Stop sneering! I think I have enough experience of life to know the difference between genuine affection and a show of it.’
He left a pause to allow her to absorb the suggestion of his worldliness, angry with himself that he had even embarked on self-justification.
‘All that hand-clasping, sir?’
‘Yes, that. And the slightly calculated and over-long embraces … the pretence of intimate knowledge …’ Joe shook his head. ‘As a matter of fact, I prefer chocolate cake … No, all a sham … I regret to say,’ he added, to be tormenting.
‘Have you asked yourself why she would bother, sir?’
‘Can’t say I’ve given it much thought with all the other things screaming for my attention. Assassination trumps a languishing look any day.’ He sighed and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘And, at all events, you can put all this Milady’s Boudoir nonsense out of your head — we have more serious matters to mull over. Cassandra’s news was a bit of a facer, don’t you think?’
‘Glory be, yes! Norfolk! A selection of the royal family gathered together under one doubtless rickety church roof.’
‘And, before you ask — I had no idea. If our Morrigan gets to hear of this — and on the rambling grapevine that is English society, she’s probably had word already — she’ll be forging her invitation, hiding herself behind the arras or planning to blow up the church. Next Saturday. It’s tight, but she must be accounted for well before next Saturday.’
‘Morrigan! Entertaining load of cobblers you were dishing out for the Dedhams! The cabby ruled her out? Oh, yes? And have you investigated a connection between the possible Sinn Fein lady and the possible gent at number thirty-nine?’
‘Mountfitchet? He’s not as white as the driven snow. Bacchus managed to gain access to the gentleman in one of his more wakeful moments. Kicked out of his regiment for naughtiness of various kinds. But he hasn’t two working brain cells to rub together, nor a political bone in his body, which is English to the core. No Irish connections whatsoever. Dead end I’m afraid, Wentworth.’
Taxis seemed to be few and far between on a Sunday afternoon. And, annoyingly, the moment Joe had attracted the attention of one, Wentworth unhooked her arm from his and turned a stricken face to him. ‘Oh, my Gawd!’ she gabbled. ‘Sir! Ever so sorry. I’ve left my shoulder bag by the sofa back at the admiral’s.’ She looked to left and right, calculating distances. ‘I’ll nip back and get it. Straight in and out. Don’t you come — they’d haul you in again and offer us drinks and we’d lose another hour. Look, that taxi’s drawing up … don’t let it go. Hop in and I’ll see you back at the Yard. I can just stay on the doorstep and ask Eva to fetch it out for me.’
She was six steps down the road by the time he called after her. ‘I know what you’re up to, constable! Stay clear of the hazel eyes — and the antlers!’
The taxi was turning in to Victoria Street when he began to curse himself for all kinds of a fool. He’d seen her hang her battered old satchel on the hatstand in his office before they left. Too shabby to take out to tea in Mayfair?
‘Cabby! Back to Melton Square! Fast!’
Lily walked past the Dedhams’ house and went to tug on the door bell of the residence of Mr Ingleby Mountfitchet.
She didn’t much like the look of the manservant who answered. Untidy, unwashed she suspected, and displaying all the cold cunning of a polecat. She told him she’d been sent to meet Mr Mountfitchet. His master would be expecting her, she added, dropping her voice to a confidential purr and putting a foot over the threshold.
‘Don’t be daft,’ was the rude response. ‘He’s said nothing to me. It’s six o’clock on a Sunday. He’s in his room. Recovering. And he’s not asked for one of your kind as far as I know. You’ve got the wrong day. It’s Fridays he’s frisky.’ He began to swing the door shut.
This was exactly what Lily wanted to hear. Her calculations and wild theories had been on the right lines. She wasn’t withdrawing now. She decided to make a scene. In her loudest cockney screech and waving her arms about, she pretended to lose her temper. ‘What the ’ell’s going on ’ere? I’ve come halfway across town for an encounter with Mr Mountfitchet … This is number thirty-nine, isn’t it? Well then, muttonhead, I’m the replacement for that last little disappointment. Besides, he owes us and I’m here to collect. Let me in or I’ll have to stand in the street an’ shout fire an’ rape an’-’
‘For God’s sake get her in off the doorstep, Warminster!’ The voice from the shadows at the end of the hall was lazy and amused.
The manservant stood aside, slammed the door behind her and grumpily moved off down the hallway.
Lily looked around to get her bearings. She was remembering a conversation with the ageing tart patrolling the Baze. ‘Before yer takes yer ’at off, dearie, yer checks yer exit. In case ’e turns nasty.’ Lily located the door knob and noted that the door was not locked.
The space in which she found herself hadn’t changed since Victorian times. She had an impression of tiled floor, mahogany furnishings, drooping drapery and dust-filmed plants struggling for survival in ornate pots. A grandfather clock whirred and clunked and began to strike six. There was about everything a sweet smell of rotting foliage.
The source of it moved quietly forward.
‘Well, well, let’s take a look at you, shall we?’
Ingleby Mountfitchet proceeded in accordance with his own suggestion. He stared long and critically at Lily. She stared back. He was in his forties and what Lily thought of as ‘going to seed’. Stooped shoulders, long unkempt hair, a pot belly and a dingy skin marred what might once have been a good-looking man. The impression of neglect was offset by the splendid Chinese lounging coat he was wearing. In brightly patterned silk and of loose cut, it was the perfect choice of garment for a Mayfair gentleman recovering from something unspecified on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Lily refused to speculate on what he might or might not have on beneath it. His breath stank fruitily of alcohol. Lord! Could that smell be cherry brandy? But he was by no means incoherent. She was relieved to see, as she gave him a professional evaluation, that his eyes, though rheumy, were perfectly focused. They swept her from head to foot and his lip curled.
This was the moment when Lily’s plan might very well falter. She stood tall and, aware that she had very little to tempt a man in the bosom department, stuck out her chin
instead. She peeled off her gloves and placed them on the hall table; a hatstand received her hat. She shook out her hair. That at least always seemed to get attention. She took a few nonchalant strides down the hall towards him.
‘Two out of ten,’ he sneered. ‘Blonde and young. But the rest … a bit of a disaster, wouldn’t you say? The upholstery? Oh, my dear! Someone’s rather skimped on the filling. They field the reserves on a Sunday, I take it? Or is Mrs Braithwaite running out of full-bodied recruits?’
Lily raised her eyebrows in scorn. ‘Mrs Braithwaite knows her business. She knows her clients. You should trust her. I’ve been specially selected for this visit. She thought you might be in need of a good whacking after your disgraceful conduct the other night. And I’m rather good at punishing wayward young gentlemen.’ Lily advanced on him aggressively, reached out, and grasped the loose collar of his robe in one hand. She tugged his face close to hers and snarled, ‘You upset one of our girls. One of our top-drawer first eleven. Can’t have that, can we? I think I’m going to have to send you up to your room and deal with you.’
While she spoke she passed her other hand round his back and slipped the sash of his gown from its moorings at his waist. Trying for a lascivious leer, she looped the length of silk playfully round his neck, encountering a bobbing Adam’s apple but no resistance.
‘Good boy,’ she breathed. ‘I usually use a warm silk stocking. This is what’s called a collier de soie. Tight enough for you?’ She pulled harder until he gasped and nodded. Gratified to hear his breathing growing faster, she put a hand in his oiled hair and pushed him roughly down on to his knees. ‘And this is the position I like my naughty boys to adopt. Stay down! Now, before I drag you off upstairs to administer your punishment’ — she nodded towards the sweeping staircase — ‘I need an apology to take back to the boss. I want to know what you did to make our girl run off in the night. You’re about to be blackballed, you know. You’d better make your side of the story convincing if you’re to do business with us again. We’re very particular who we deal with.’
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