by James R Benn
“Because you knew that I had seen,” Lady Pemberton said. “I went to look for you in your room, but you weren’t there. By the time I got back to the top of the stairs, the body was gone. But I was certain I had seen it.”
“You were dreaming, Great Aunt Sylvia,” Meredith said, still clinging to this part of her story. “I told you so.”
“You were so solicitous, Meredith,” she replied. “Bringing my tea every morning after that until I didn’t know what time of day it was. A confused old lady. Inspector, I suggest a search of Meredith’s room. You may find sleeping pills or some such thing.” Lady Pemberton’s mouth was set in a grimace, which might have had as much to do with addressing a policeman as with Meredith’s gaslighting her. I’d been wrong about where Great Aunt Sylvia had seen something. It wasn’t from her window; it was from the staircase, minutes after Peter had been pushed down the stairs.
“Yes, I have sleeping pills,” Meredith said. “It’s not uncommon, not against the law.”
“I want to go to my room,” Helen said. “I have a terrible headache.”
“You stay put, Madam,” Inspector Grange said. “We haven’t finished here yet. Lady Pemberton, you are willing to swear to having seen a body at the bottom of the stairs the night Peter Wiley went missing?”
“Yes,” she said, with a firm nod.
“Crawford has already given his statement as to what occurred that night,” the Inspector said. “It matches the version given by Meredith Shipton, except of course in regard to his forcing the decision on the ladies.”
“This can’t be true,” David said. “Helen?” She turned away. There was nothing she could say. She wasn’t a very good liar.
“This is all Father’s fault,” Meredith said to no one in particular. “If he hadn’t gone and got Julia Greenshaw pregnant, none of this would have happened. He drove mother to an early grave with his duplicity and left us with this intolerable situation. I hate him more than I ever did.”
“You stupid, stupid girl,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, shaking her head wearily. “You directed all your venom and hate at your father, waving that letter like a knife in his face. But you never read it carefully, did you? Never gave him the slightest benefit of the doubt?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Meredith asked.
“Julia said the child would always remind her of their time together at Ashcroft House,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, her eyes clenched shut. Then she opened them. “Which was true enough. But she never said Peter was her child. Your hatred for your father clouded your judgment, not allowing you to read between the lines. Rupert was not the father. Ted Wiley was. Your own mother bore him.”
“What?” Helen said. “Impossible.” Meredith looked thunderstruck.
“Ted Wiley was the one who made his way through the hedge, right into the arms of Louise Pemberton. She didn’t leave Rupert because of his brief affair with Julia. She left him so that he would not know of her pregnancy, and returned to forgive him only after the birth. For all the love you profess for your dear mother, you murdered her only son.”
Meredith opened her mouth, ready to deny everything, but the certainty of Great Aunt Sylvia’s statement had hit her hard. Her shaking hand went to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Meredith Shipton and Helen Martindale, I am arresting you for the murder of Peter Wiley,” Inspector Grange said with a glance at Constable Carraher. “Take them away.”
“I’ll call Farnsworth,” David said, standing as the women were led away by the arm. “He’ll know what to do.” As soon as Helen was gone, he stalked off without looking at anyone.
“I’ll be back to talk to the butler and Mrs. Dudley,” the Inspector said. “We need to determine what they may have known about this affair.” With that, the inspector and two constables drove off with their three suspects, leaving Kaz and me alone with Great Aunt Sylvia, Edgar, and three very nervous staff.
“Alice, please return to your duties, that’s a good girl,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. Alice skedaddled. “Now, Williams, what did the inspector mean?”
“I can only think, Lady Pemberton, that he refers to the night Miss Meredith came downstairs to tell us this would one day be a Pemberton household again. She had us fetch an excellent bottle, a 1934 Chateau Mouton Rothschild, in fact. She seemed very happy.” Williams had the look of a man who was glad to have a reasonable explanation.
“That was the night before Peter was killed,” I said. “Her happiness supports Crawford’s claim that she planned this all along. Maybe Helen’s push simply hurried things along.”
“Very well,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “Please pass all of this along to Inspector Grange when he asks. You are dismissed.” Edgar took that as his own cue and bolted as well.
“We are very sorry, Lady Pemberton,” Kaz said, bowing. “It was not our intention to bring this pain down upon you.”
“The truth is painful,” she said. “But as I have discovered, no more or less painful for having been spoken. At least I spared them the final truth about their mother. It wasn’t illness that took her. It was suicide. There, the last family secret is now told.”
“Did she love Ted Wiley?” I asked.
“Yes. Or was infatuated, perhaps. But his love was not as strong. It only took a thousand pounds and steamship tickets to America to break his bonds with Louise.”
“What about Julia?” Kaz asked.
“She went along with the plan because she knew there was no future for her with Rupert. She did love him, and she played her part well. Although as you heard, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him directly. She let him think the child was his. A kindness on her part, I suppose. The ring came from me. I thought that even a bastard Pemberton should have some acknowledgment of his birthright.”
“You let Meredith think it was Sir Rupert’s child,” Kaz said, as gently as he could.
“Yes, I did,” she said. “I had the Pemberton name to protect, and Louise was born a Pemberton. A sin of omission on my part, but a sin nevertheless. But who among us would not transgress to protect family honor?”
“But it comes at a high price, Lady Pemberton,” Kaz said. “If Peter was not Sir Rupert’s son, he did not inherit Ashcroft. Which means Meredith and Helen won’t either, correct? That leaves David and Edgar with nothing, and the property with the government.”
“Not quite, Baron Kazimierz,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, appearing distressed and mischievous at the same time. “I once told you Louise did not change her will. That was not entirely correct. Farnsworth did not complete it, as I said. But Louise had a new one drawn up in India. She sent it to me, along with her suicide note. That is how I learned of her death, and I have kept that secret from Meredith and Helen to this very day.”
“The will named Peter Wiley as her child and left everything to him,” I guessed.
“Indeed. I have kept it safe all these years. I had no wish for the world to know of these sordid affairs, and I never imagined that the discord between Rupert and Meredith would fester so. However, I also have no wish for the government to take over Ashcroft House. I will take the document to Farnsworth and make certain the family maintains control. Such family as remains. Perhaps there is hope for the next generation.”
“Perhaps Edgar will turn out to be a good father,” I said, seeing no need to add without Meredith. “David needs a purpose in life as well.”
“Yes,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, nodding. “It was Meredith who wanted to keep the children at boarding school, not Edgar. And David mentioned wishing some of his fellow patients could visit. Perhaps healing will be a fitting role for Ashcroft House for the remainder of this terrible war. I shall speak to them both about it.”
“Did you suspect anything?” I asked, taking advantage of her momentary openness. Not that it mattered. I had no desire to put this strong but sad old lady behind bars.
“No, I truly thought I had been seeing things. After all, a minute or so later there was no one there. I must
have seen Peter moments before Crawford took him away. I should have questioned Meredith’s sudden kindness in bringing me my morning tea, but I had waited so long to see the good side of her that I fear I set any suspicions aside.”
“It seems that Helen was not as eager as Meredith in this,” Kaz said.
“She was always the meek one. I’m more surprised that she pushed Peter than I am that she went along with Meredith. She always did whatever her older sister said. And it explains her sudden embrace of David, now that I think of it.”
“She needed a safe harbor,” I said. “He was it, scars and all.”
“And now he has another wound to deal with. Gentlemen, I must take my leave of you. I need to consult with David and Edgar about what we will do next. Farnsworth is a reliable family solicitor, but we may need a sharper mind in this matter. Baron Kazimierz, I hope you and David can still be friends. He is a decent man, and he needs what help he can get.”
“Perhaps after some time has passed,” David said from the doorway. “Not today.” He looked away as we passed, leaving us with the memory of his scarred and immobile face.
Outside, Big Mike was waiting for us.
“What happened?” he asked as we climbed into the jeep.
“Mrs. Mallowan was right,” I said.
CHAPTER FORTY
IT WAS A long ride back to London. After we’d filled Big Mike in on what he’d missed, Kaz and I managed to sleep, even sitting on Uncle Sam’s uncomfortable seats. We got to Norfolk House in Saint James’s Square in the late afternoon, and I grabbed a cup of joe and got to work typing up my report.
It wasn’t that I liked paperwork. It was because I knew Diana was in town, and this was her last night before her upcoming mission. I had to see her. I did the two-finger dance over the typewriter keys and ended up with three pages of army-style police report, along with two carbon copies, before five o’clock. Seventeen hundred hours, for those who prefer army time.
“Good job, Boyle,” Colonel Harding said, standing over me as I put the reports in a file to be stored away where no one would ever read them. “And completed paperwork, too. This calls for a celebration.”
At that moment, Diana Seaton entered the office. There were a few rows of desks between us, and the sunlight lit the frosted glass behind her, giving her severe First Aid Nursing Yeomanry uniform an ethereal glow. She stood silently, both of us grinning like schoolkids, neither moving for fear of breaking the spell.
“Sorry, Colonel, I have a date,” I said, rising from my seat.
“Hold on, Boyle,” Harding said, his hand on my shoulder, forcing me back down, his free hand signaling Diana to stop where she was. “I didn’t know Miss Seaton was in town.”
“What’s wrong, Colonel?” I said. “She wrote me a few days ago. She only has tonight before—before she has to leave.”
“That’s a problem, Boyle,” Harding said, facing me and leaning on the desk. “I know she’s leaving on a mission. We have a hard and fast rule here. No BIGOT can have contact with personnel destined for enemy territory prior to D-Day. No exceptions.”
“Colonel, I’m not going to spill the beans, don’t worry.”
“It’s my job to worry, Boyle. And I trust you both. But the rule is for everyone. I can’t make an exception. It’s too important.”
“Colonel,” I whispered. “She may never come back.”
“The answer is the same,” Harding said. “I’m very sorry.” He left to speak with Diana, who stood rigid, moving only to wipe a tear from her cheek. If I wasn’t such a tough guy, I would have bawled my eyes out. But I didn’t. I watched her as Harding left and signaled an MP to stand between us. We gazed across empty desks for ten minutes or so until she turned and vanished behind the opaque glass.
Kaz and I were driven to the Dorchester, where another MP escorted us to Kaz’s suite and said he had orders to stay outside our room until tomorrow. I got him a chair. Why should this poor slob suffer for enforcing Harding’s rule? And I couldn’t blame Harding much either. It did make sense, and he and I both knew I’d find a way to break loose and see Diana if I wasn’t under guard. Not that Kaz’s suite was such a bad lockup. We had a drink and put our feet up.
“Think you’ll get in touch with David?” I asked, trying to think about anything except Diana.
“Yes, I think so. If only to see how he and Edgar do with life at Ashcroft House. It will be difficult with the trial, but perhaps he’ll find a place where he fits in.”
“Both of them. Married life with Meredith couldn’t have been a bed of roses,” I said.
There was a knock at the door.
“Our jailer?” Kaz said.
“Maybe we should invite him in,” I said, heading for the door and making a fist as if to knock him out. Kaz laughed, which I always liked to hear.
“There’s a room-service guy here,” the MP said. Behind him was Walter, the Dorchester’s night manager. A decent guy, and not averse to a little black-market business now and then. He’d been on duty the day I first arrived in England, and he was always good to me, and he practically worshipped Kaz, as most of the staff here did.
“Come on in, Walter,” I said, wondering how come he’d pulled room-service duty. And who had ordered it.
“Yes, sir,” Walter said, pushing a cart into the room. There was a bottle of champagne on ice and two glasses, along with a vase of roses. The door shut behind him, and Walter winked.
“What’s going on?” I asked. Walter only smiled and lifted the white tablecloth. Out from under it emerged two shapely legs, followed by the rest of Diana.
“Thank you, Walter,” she said. “It was quite a smooth ride.”
“You’re welcome, Lady Seaton,” Walter said with a gracious bow as he placed the champagne and flowers on the table. “And now, Baron Kazimierz, your chariot awaits. We have another room prepared for you for the night.”
“Ah,” Kaz said. “Excellent! This is the kind of thinking that will win the war.” He gave Diana a peck on the cheek and then a hug, his fingers tightening on her shoulders.
He climbed under the cart and Walter expertly wheeled him out, telling the MP he’d be back with a tray of sandwiches on the house. Exactly the right thing to say, in case he’d had any thoughts about checking the cart. No GI would risk losing out on some decent Dorchester chow.
“Smart,” I said, moving toward Diana once we were alone. Even in her brown wool FANY uniform, she looked like a million bucks.
“We are trained to be devious in the SOE,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Are you concerned about disobeying Colonel Harding?”
“Rules,” I said, then kissed her. I never got to were made to be broken.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
A LONE BODY washed up on the beach at Slapton Sands, much as described in Chapter One, and was examined by the real Doctor Verniquet. The identity or nationality of the corpse was never discovered.
The friendly fire incident and the subsequent training disaster in Lyme Bay did happen as described. The dates and sequence were slightly altered to fit the demands of the narrative.
Charles Sabini was an actual racetrack criminal, the leader of a large gang specializing in extortion and gambling. He was interred as an enemy alien, but released in 1941. His son, serving in the Royal Air Force, was killed while his father was in prison for three years for receiving stolen goods. Sabini harbored a grudge against the British government for his perceived ill treatment and the death of his son. Charles Sabini died in 1950, in a far more peaceable manner than is depicted in this novel.
Agatha Christie’s country home, Greenway House, was taken over by the military early in the war. It was used as a naval headquarters for the 10th Flotilla, transports manned by the US Coast Guard for the Normandy D-Day invasion. Not that far from Greenway House, a young sailor named Yogi Berra served on a Landing Craft Support, Small (LCSS) Rocket Launcher. He and his crew took their thirty-six-foot craft to within three hundred yards of Omaha Beach, unleash
ing their twenty-four rockets at the enemy emplacements in the early hours of D-Day.
The disaster at Slapton Sands was the most deadly training incident in American military history. A total of 946 servicemen were killed, a total far worse than the approximately two hundred casualties incurred at Utah Beach on D-Day itself. Ten BIGOTs were on the ships sunk or damaged, necessitating a hunt for bodies and survivors, lest plans for the invasion fall into German hands. All ten bodies were recovered; the eleventh body is my fictional creation.
It was not only the potential capture of personnel with the BIGOT classification that worried Allied planners. Slapton Sands shares many of its terrain features with Utah Beach; if the Germans had determined that it was the destination of the transport ships, they may have inferred the location of the invasion. However, the attack occurred too far offshore for them to draw any conclusions about the purpose or destination of the convoy.
The map-making activities of Peter Wiley are based on the real-life contributions of Navy Lieutenant William Bostick, who created maps for both Utah and Omaha Beaches. He also developed a system of transparent overlays showing profiles of large and small landing craft. By adjusting the overlay on a graph of the beach slope, navigators could determine water depth and see where their craft would run aground. This is the “perspective” that Peter Wiley was seeking. William Bostick went on to a career in art and lived into his nineties.
