by Graham Ison
The Reverend Percy Lovejoy, looking as though he was thoroughly enjoying himself, began the service. The bride and groom made their responses in a firm voice that implied they really meant what they were saying. The parties retired to the vestry and signed the certificate and the register, and suddenly it was all over.
The bride and groom emerged from the church into a brief shaft of March sunlight that had managed to penetrate the clouds. A number of Charles Spencer’s fellow officers lined both sides of the pathway and formed an arch with their drawn swords. Confetti was thrown, photographs were taken, and with much laughter the entire group made its way to the Royal Oak for the reception.
Mindful of Alice’s advice that he should keep his speech short, and to remember that he was not about to give evidence at the Old Bailey, Hardcastle stood up to welcome the guests. He said a few complimentary words about Maud and made the usual trite comments about gaining a son rather than losing a daughter before proposing the toast to the bride and groom.
As the wedding breakfast was served, Henry Wade, the landlord, hovered close by, conscious that Alice Hardcastle was casting a critical eye over every dish. But even she could find no fault.
Charles Spencer was every bit the suave army officer when it came to delivering his speech. He thanked Ernest and Alice Hardcastle for arranging the reception and making all the other arrangements, but in saying how appreciative Maud and he were of everything they had done to make this day such a success, he acknowledged how much his new father-in-law had contributed. Alice Hardcastle coughed discreetly. Laughing, Charles quickly added that he was about to learn that the real strength of any family rested with the lady of the house, and he knew that today’s major contribution had come from his new mother-in-law.
As was customary on these occasions, the best man, Captain Geoffrey Wainwright, spoke in less-than-glowing terms about his brother officer, saying that he didn’t deserve such a talented, beautiful girl as the new Mrs Spencer, and that he regretted that he hadn’t been wounded himself, otherwise he and Charles might today have been occupying opposite places.
But then he caused a brief stir. Reading the cards and telegrams of congratulation, he picked up a blank piece of paper, frowned and pretended that it too was a telegram. ‘This is addressed to Captain Charles Spencer, MC, The Loyal North Lancashire Regiment. You are to report forthwith to the regimental depot at Fulwood Barracks, Preston, for immediate embarkation.’
There was a hubbub of conversation. The shocked look on Charles Spencer’s face was matched by Maud’s crestfallen expression.
But then, smiling, the best man relented. ‘The telegram goes on to say that Captain Spencer is to leave his new and attractive wife in the sole care of Captain Geoffrey Wainwright for the seven years Spencer will be in India.’
In the laughter that followed, Charles Spencer was heard to make dire threats to the detriment of Wainwright’s well-being.
After the formalities were over, Hardcastle shared more than one large whisky with the vicar and moved on.
Sighting Marriott and his wife, he crossed the room and slapped Marriott on the back. ‘Glad to see you here, Charlie, old man,’ he said cheerfully. ‘And this must be Linda.’ He beamed at Marriott’s wife and shook hands with her. ‘It’s nice to meet you at last, Mrs Marriott.’
‘Her name’s Lorna, sir,’ corrected Marriott.
‘So it is, m’boy, so it is.’ Hardcastle laughed and moved on.
‘I thought you said he was a miserable old devil to work for, Charlie,’ said Lorna.
‘And he usually is, love, but I’ve never seen him drunk before.’ Marriott shook his head, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. ‘D’you know, that’s the first time he’s ever used my Christian name. In fact, I didn’t know he even knew it.’
As the reception drew to a close and talk was of the departure of the bride and groom for their honeymoon, Charles Spencer approached Maud’s parents and thanked them once again for making the day such a great success.
But then he surprised his father-in-law. ‘I’m pleased that you arranged for Percy Lovejoy to conduct the service, sir,’ he said. ‘That was very thoughtful.’
‘It was pure coincidence, Charles,’ said Hardcastle. ‘It just so happens that he’s the vicar of Saint Anselm’s.’
‘And a very happy coincidence it is, too, sir, in the circumstances. He won the Military Cross for venturing out into no-man’s-land under enemy fire and bringing a wounded officer back to his own lines.’
‘I didn’t know that, Charles,’ said Hardcastle. ‘He never mentioned it.’
‘No, he’s not the type to,’ said Spencer, ‘but the wounded officer in question was me. And as you know, Maud took over and nursed me back to health.’
THIRTEEN
It was some three weeks after the wedding, by which time the newly-weds had returned from their honeymoon in Cornwall and settled into a house in the officers’ married quarters area of Aldershot, that Charles Spencer was notified of an opportunity in Germany.
‘I’ve been offered a job that’s come up on the staff in Cologne with brevet promotion to major,’ Spencer explained to his in-laws during a brief visit he and Maud paid to Kennington. ‘As it’s a step up, albeit without the pay for the rank, I’d be a fool to refuse, and there is excellent accommodation there. I’m sure that Maud will love it.’ He glanced at his wife as if seeking reassurance. ‘It’s a beautiful city.’
Alice Hardcastle was not so sure, but now that Maud was a married woman, she would have to make up her own mind. Alice knew from her father’s frequent moves in India that army wives were treated in much the same way as camp followers had been a century earlier. But she also realized that Maud, being an officer’s wife, would enjoy conditions far superior to those which Alice’s mother had endured at the hands of the British Army in India. That was forty years ago; things might be different now. And occupied Germany was not India.
However, the domestic upheaval of Charles and Maud was not to worry Ernest Hardcastle, for on Tuesday the fifteenth of April, he was summoned to New Scotland Yard to see Detective Superintendent Frederick Wensley.
‘She’s gone again, Ernie.’
‘Who’s gone again, sir?’
‘Lily Musgrave.’
‘She seems to be making a habit of it, sir, but surely this time we can hand it over to the Uniform Branch to deal with, can’t we?’
‘It could be a little more serious this time, Ernie,’ said Wensley, waving Hardcastle to a chair. ‘It seems she told her father she was going to spend the weekend with Captain Oscar Lucas at Epsom. When Musgrave contacted Lucas, Lucas confirmed that she had been there that weekend but had left on the Sunday evening. That in itself strikes me as a bit odd. Are we to believe that she returned to London alone? And if so, how? There are times when the younger generation baffles me, Ernie. If you or I had left a girl to make her own way home, that would have been the end of that romance.’
‘What was the date of the weekend she went to Epsom, sir?’
Wensley glanced down at a notepad. ‘She arrived there on Friday the fourth of April and left on Sunday the sixth, but it was some days later before Musgrave got in touch with Lucas. You know this Captain Lucas, of course.’
‘Yes, sir, I know Lucas and I wasn’t very taken with him. He’s said to be suffering from shell shock but I’ve got my doubts about that.’ However, Hardcastle knew nothing of the condition that had affected so many soldiers and was only now being taken seriously, albeit reluctantly, by the army’s high command. ‘In view of what I discovered about those parties she’d been to, sir, I suppose it’s possible she’s turned professional and joined her mother on the stage at the Brighton Hippodrome. To be perfectly honest, I think Marie Faye’s way of life would appeal to Lily. When I went to see Miss Faye last month, she was entertaining an ageing stage-door johnnie in her dressing room, and I think I interrupted a bit more than just a chinwag.’
‘I wondered if that’s where sh
e might’ve gone, Ernie,’ said Wensley, ‘so I spoke to the Chief Constable of Brighton and asked him to make urgent enquiries. He called back within the hour to say that one of his officers had interviewed Marie Faye and she claimed not to have seen her daughter in months.’
‘Does the Commissioner know about this latest turn of events, sir?’
‘I mentioned it to him but he’s no longer interested. I think the information you obtained about Musgrave, coupled with what he’s now heard from other sources, made him decide not to have anything further to do with the man. He said we were to deal with this latest Musgrave affair in the same way as we would deal with any other enquiry.’
‘That’s something, I suppose, not to have the Commissioner on our backs.’
‘But even so, I’m giving it to you, Ernie, because at least you know something of the background to the case.’
‘When were we told that she was missing, sir?’ Hardcastle was not at all pleased to be saddled once again with finding the missing Lily Musgrave but it would have been unwise to protest, particularly to Wensley.
‘Yesterday morning.’
‘So Musgrave waited about a week before making up his mind there was something to worry about.’
‘I think it shows what sort of parent he is,’ commented Wensley.
‘I’d better go and see him, then, sir.’
‘Keep me informed, Ernie.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Irate at having been given what he believed to be a footling enquiry, Hardcastle stormed down the corridor and across the courtyard to his police station. As he passed the door to the detectives’ office, he shouted for Marriott.
‘That bloody Musgrave girl’s gone missing again, Marriott.’ Hardcastle repeated what he had been told by Wensley. ‘Why the hell her damned father can’t use a bit of discipline to keep the silly little bitch under control, I don’t know. But now we’ve got to start looking for the wretched girl simply because her father can’t be bothered. For a start, Marriott, we’ll go and interview Musgrave, and then I’ll work out where we go from there.’
‘I’ll get my hat and coat, sir.’ Marriott decided that it would be unwise to fuel the flames of Hardcastle’s anger any further. When the DDI was in a bad mood, it boded ill for anyone who got in his way, and that included the detectives under his command.
‘Good morning, Inspector. I thought we might be seeing you again, sir. I take it you wish to see the master. Step inside, sir, and I’ll enquire if he’s at home.’
‘Don’t bugger me about with all that “I’ll enquire if he’s at home” claptrap, Crabb,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I’m not in the mood for it. Find him now, and I don’t care if you have to drag him out of bed, no matter who he’s sharing it with.’
‘Yes, sir, of course, sir,’ said Crabb nervously, and ushered the detectives into the morning room before dashing off in search of his master.
It was only a matter of minutes before Austen Musgrave appeared wearing a gold silk dressing robe with black lapels and maroon slippers with turned-up, pointed toes that lent them a vaguely oriental appearance.
‘Inspector Hardcastle, how good of you to come so promptly.’
‘A bit quicker than the ten days it took you to inform the police that Lily was missing, Mr Musgrave,’ said Hardcastle bluntly.
‘Yes, well, the fact is that this time Lily told me where she was going. I think that after her last little escapade which finished up involving the police, she realized that she should keep me informed of where she would be. And she told me she was spending the weekend with Captain Oscar Lucas and his family at Epsom. As Lucas is the son and heir of Lord Slade, I naturally thought it would be perfectly all right. I mean, what with him being a peer of the realm and all that.’ Musgrave emitted a nervous little laugh.
‘Ye Gods!’ exclaimed Hardcastle, staggered at the man’s naiveté.
‘I telephoned Lord Slade’s residence last Friday and spoke to Captain Lucas. He said that he hadn’t seen Lily since Sunday the sixth of April when she left Epsom.’
‘I suppose the Commissioner didn’t tell you what Lily had been up to when she was with Lucas and his ex-officer friends,’ said Hardcastle, deciding it was time to tell Musgrave about his daughter’s reckless behaviour, no matter what the Elephant thought.
‘No, I haven’t spoken to Nevil since my conversation with him the first time Lily went missing, Inspector. I tried calling him two or three times but I was told that he was unavailable. Anyway,’ continued Musgrave airily, ‘I suppose Lily was just out enjoying herself like all young women these days.’
‘She was acquainted with a group of men she met at the VanDoo Club, a Soho dive. These men would take it in turns to escort her to dinner at a West End restaurant, usually on a Saturday,’ said Hardcastle, relishing the moment, ‘and by way of payment, she would then entertain them at one of the men’s houses by standing on a table and taking all her clothes off in what has been described as a seductive manner.’
If Hardcastle had imagined that Lily’s father would be outraged by this revelation, he was disappointed.
Musgrave threw back his head and laughed. ‘I can see she’s following in her mother’s footsteps,’ he said. ‘That sort of entertainment is very popular in the United States, you know, Inspector. Over there, they call the girls burlesque strippers.’
‘In short, then, Mr Musgrave,’ said Marriott, contributing to the interview for the first time since he and Hardcastle had arrived, ‘you have no idea where your daughter might be.’
‘No, I’m afraid not, Sergeant,’ said Musgrave cheerfully. It appeared that he was not in the least bit worried by his wayward daughter’s activities or her disappearance, but nevertheless expected the police to find her.
‘We’ll do what we can to trace her, Mr Musgrave,’ said Hardcastle, ‘but I can’t make any promises. In law, she is of an age when she can please herself what she does or where she goes. If, for some reason, she doesn’t want to be found, then she won’t be. And even if we do find her, we’re not allowed to tell you where she is if she doesn’t want us to.’
‘I’m sure the Commissioner would want you to make an exception in this case, Inspector,’ said Musgrave smoothly.
‘One of the rules that govern the police force in this country, Mr Musgrave,’ said Hardcastle, ‘is that the Commissioner can’t tell me how to investigate a crime. I’m only answerable to the law. But as a member of parliament, you’d know that. Good day to you.’ And with that, Hardcastle left Musgrave wondering why his daughter’s disappearance had been described by the DDI as a crime.
Once the two detectives were outside and Hardcastle was peering, in vain, for a cab, Marriott asked, ‘What’s next, sir? Do we go to the In and Out Club and see Lucas again? If he’s there, of course.’
‘No, we don’t, Marriott. We’ll start our enquiries where they ought to be started. At Epsom. And we’ll start this afternoon.’
With no regard whatever to the amount of money that it was costing the Receiver to the Metropolitan Police, Hardcastle and Marriott took a cab first to Brixton police station, the headquarters of W Division, with the intention of going on to Epsom afterwards. It was a matter of courtesy that Hardcastle should inform DDI Fowler that he was making enquiries on his bailiwick.
‘So, that’s the situation, Connie,’ said Hardcastle once he had explained the latest twist in the Lily Musgrave affair.
‘Sounds like a right lash-up to me, Ernie,’ said Fowler, pouring more whisky for A Division’s DDI and his sergeant, ‘and I’m not sorry you’ve copped it. I must remember to buy the Elephant a drink next time I see him.’ It was a standing joke among senior CID officers that Wensley only occasionally took a drop of alcohol and that it would cost little to buy him a drink. ‘Out of the goodness of my heart, though, I’m willing to lend you Gandy, as he’s familiar with that neck of the woods.’
It was Detective Sergeant Harold Gandy who had prepared the report for Hardcastle when Lily Musgrave first went missing.
‘Thanks all the same, Connie,’ said Hardcastle, ‘but I’ve given up pussy-footing about. If Lucas doesn’t come up to snuff I’ll probably nick ’im for obstruction.’
Fowler laughed. ‘That’s more like the Ernie Hardcastle I knew. I thought for a minute you’d gone soft up there on your poncey A Division.’
Slade House lay about halfway between Epsom High Street and the famous racecourse that was home to the Derby. A long drive led up to the house itself, and the extensive stables were some way behind it, together with an exercise paddock.
The butler who opened the door was wearing morning dress so old that it had faded to grey in places. He must have been well past sixty years of age, was stooped and gave the appearance of someone who should have retired from service years ago.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
‘We’re police officers,’ announced Hardcastle, ‘and we’re here to see Captain Lucas.’ He did not for one moment expect to find Lucas there on a Tuesday and his visit was primarily to speak to Padraig O’Reilly, the head stable lad. But he was to be surprised.
Staggering a little and holding on to the door for support, the butler stepped back a few paces. ‘Do come in, sir. I’m sure the captain’s about somewhere.’ His croaky voice seemed to match his decrepit physique. ‘I thought for a moment you might be wanting to see His Lordship but he’s in Ireland. He spends most of his time there, you see, on account of the horses. He’s very keen on the horses, is His Lordship, sir. Oh, yes, very keen. He even had a horse running in the Derby afore the war.’ He paused to give the matter some consideration. ‘Yes, 1913, that was. Same race as that one when that young lass threw herself in front of the King’s horse, that were, sir. Killed herself, she did.’ The butler nodded knowingly.
‘Yes, I’m sure that’s all very interesting,’ said Hardcastle, fearing the butler was embarking on a discourse about racing that could go on for a while, ‘but we are a little short of time.’
‘Ah, yes, you would be, sir,’ said the butler. ‘It’s amazing how the time flies, particularly when you’re getting older. Tempus fugit, as they say.’ All the while he was speaking, he was shuffling towards the inner part of the house. Eventually he opened a door. ‘This is the morning room, sir. If you’ll wait in here, I’ll see if the captain’s about.’ He paused. ‘Of course,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘he might be in London. Soon find out, though.’
