A True and Faithful Brother

by Linda Stratmann

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  On the following morning, much to her surprise, Frances received a visit from Vernon Salter. She was tempted to ask him how he had obtained permission from his wife to leave the house, but refrained. He made a stumbling apology for the manner in which she had been dismissed the previous day, but she waved it aside. ‘I assume that Mrs Salter wishes the accusation against you to be forgotten as soon as possible.’

  ‘She has forgotten it already, but I think she is the only person who can. Alicia believes that once she has put something out of her mind, it no longer exists.’

  Frances was alone, since her assistant had gone out to strike terror into the hearts of erring men. She had been busy planning her own cases but now she put her papers aside and freshened the teapot. There was enough hot water for two more cups, and Salter gulped the tea gratefully.

  ‘Are you able to explain the housekeeper’s sudden change of story? Or is that better not discussed?’ Frances asked. If there was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice he appeared not to notice it.

  ‘Mrs Barrett has been a loyal servant for many years, and I can only assume it was that loyalty that prompted her new testimony. But I am not sure if it was a good or bad thing. I have been freed of course, but it might have been better if I had been tried and acquitted, then I could not have been tried again. Inspector Payne made it very clear to me when I was released that he still suspects I was involved in my father-in-law’s murder and will be watching me carefully. Even if he accepts that I have an alibi for the crime itself, and I don’t think he does, he might still believe that I have lawless associates who acted for me. He is biding his time, and means to arrest me again as soon as he sees his chance. But I can assure you, I know nothing at all about it.’ He glanced longingly at the teapot, but it was empty.

  ‘Shall I ring for more tea?’ asked Frances.

  ‘No, please don’t trouble yourself. I hardly know what I want or should do. Would you believe they questioned me about my father’s silversmith’s tools? They seemed to think I still had them, but of course they were all sold years ago.’ Frances poured him a glass of water from the carafe. He looked as though he needed it.

  ‘I assume that you do not wish to engage me to discover the real murderer?’

  He almost choked on his drink. ‘Oh, I would never ask you to do such a dangerous thing! But would you be prepared to find out what further enquiries the police are making about me? And listen for any rumours or gossip that might not come to my ears?’

  ‘Of course. After all I was engaged to gather information in your defence, and will gladly continue to discover anything that might assist you further.’

  ‘Alicia says she is sure that the real murderer will be found soon, although she does not say how, since she does not trust the police. Frances …,’ he paused, ‘may I call you that?’

  She took a deep breath. There were no reasonable grounds for her to object. ‘You may.’

  He gave a smile of grateful relief. ‘Thank you. If I am to live under this cloud we must keep our connection secret; I would not have you damaged by it. The same is true of your brother Cornelius. But think of my other dear children! When I was arrested we had to take them out of school and send them to the country with tutors, but that is hardly satisfactory. The police have questioned my friends, my business associates, and my brethren in Mulberry Lodge. They know nothing against me – there is nothing to know – but it is far too easy to sow the seeds of doubt.’

  ‘I do understand. I will go and see Inspector Payne; he may be willing to tell me something.’ Frances didn’t say so, but she doubted it, although she knew she had to try.

  ‘And I must go to see Rosetta. I have written to tell her my good news but I know her mind will not be at rest until she has seen me.’

  ‘Do you spend a great deal of time away from home?’

  Vernon looked embarrassed. ‘Truth to tell, Alicia and I have nothing in common except the children. She has her own circle of friends and amusements, and I have a separate life.’

  ‘Was she very close to her father? I have detected few signs of grief in her.’

  ‘That is her manner. Do not mistake apparent coldness for lack of feeling. The firmer her speech and actions the more she feels.’

  ‘One thing I should investigate is the reason why your father-in-law suspected you of an action he clearly deplored. It might go some way to explaining his movements that night, and lead the police to his murderer.’

  He emptied the water glass and shook his head. ‘I wish I could enlighten you, but I can’t.’

  ‘What would you say were his main concerns? The things he might have taken risks for?’

  ‘Alicia, his grandchildren, his charities, his Lodge. Alicia was always first. Lancelot, within the confines of the law, of course, would have done whatever she wanted, her happiness was all to him.’

  ‘The foundation of his suspicions may well be the conditions of the marriage contract, which mentioned the consequences of infidelity, bankruptcy and crime. When we last spoke you assured me that you were innocent of all three.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘But your father-in-law might have thought otherwise. He mentioned but did not describe his concerns to Mr Marsden, but he does not seem to have asked anyone to help him establish the truth behind his suspicions. Why do you think that was?’

  Salter was thoughtful. ‘From what I know of my father-in-law, I can only suppose that he wanted any enquiries to be as discreet as possible, hoping that he would ultimately find that his suspicions were unfounded. He would have been most distressed to have inadvertently spread rumours that would have upset Alicia only to find there was no truth in them. So whatever it was, he kept it to himself.’

  ‘Unfortunately we know nothing of what steps he took or was about to take in pursuit of information.’

  He gave a despairing sigh. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Did he ask you any questions recently – questions which might have seemed unremarkable at the time, but if we examine them, they might reveal what was on his mind? I suppose it is hard to remember what might have been a very casual conversation.’

  ‘He never asked me about my relations with Alicia. He knew what they were. About a week ago he asked how my business was. I told him it was doing well.’

  ‘He didn’t offer you a loan?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He didn’t agree to an increase in the annuity?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Had he suspected impending bankruptcy, might he have assisted you financially?’

  ‘I suppose he might have done, but he didn’t, and in any case, I was not about to go bankrupt. I may do so in future, of course,’ he added mournfully.

  ‘From what you say, Mr Dobree most probably did not suspect either marital difficulties or bankruptcy. So we are left with one last condition of the contract. Might he have suspected you of something criminal?’

  ‘He might. I don’t know what.’

  ‘Because I can’t help thinking that all the secret creeping about and walking through locked doors suggests that he was looking into some criminal activity. Whether this has anything to do with you, we can’t know, unless Mr Marsden knows something he isn’t telling us.’

  ‘Alicia sent a very firm letter to Mr Marsden,’ said Salter in a tone that suggested this was a fate he would not have wished on any man.

  ‘I doubt that he will share anything with me, but I suppose I will have to try. Mr Marsden may be passing on material to your new solicitor, Mr Kingsley, but he is not likely to speak to me either. Your father-in-law must have kept papers and correspondence at home.’

  ‘He did, but after the will was read the executors called and took everything away. Or so I understand. I was in police custody at the time.’

  ‘Who are the executors?’

  ‘Members of Mulberry Lodge, I believe.’

  ‘Have you seen the will?’

  ‘No. Alicia and I are due to meet Mr K
ingsley and the executors soon to discuss it.’

  ‘Find out as much as you can for me. If you can secure your father-in-law’s papers once the executors are done, they may contain some clues.’ He nodded.

  Frances pondered the problem for some time. ‘Tell me about your business,’ she said.

  ‘I buy and sell items of silver. I’m no great expert, but I know enough to see a good bargain and I know what price to pay. I have customers – collectors – who tell me what they are looking for. I go to sales – bankrupt estates, house clearances and similar. I buy mainly small pieces such as tableware. I don’t have a shop; I hire part of the strong room of a business called Kensington Silver. They often buy from me, but I also visit other businesses. My papers are all kept in a study at home. I’ve no secrets.’

  He suddenly frowned and looked thoughtful.

  ‘What have you recalled?’

  ‘About three months ago I was at a sale of a deceased gentleman’s effects and purchased a snuffbox and some other items, a sauceboat, teaspoons and a cream jug. Not long afterwards I saw a list of items that had been stolen and suspected that the snuffbox I had bought was amongst them. I took it to the police and they confirmed that it was. Of course I had documents to show I had bought the lot in good faith. I told the police as much as I knew and I heard no more of the matter.’

  ‘Did you mention this to your father-in-law?’

  ‘I think I did; in fact, yes, I am sure I did. I remember saying how relieved I was that my papers were in order.’

  ‘I assume that the items your father-in-law wore or carried on the night of his death, the things that could have identified him immediately, have not been found? If they had the police would have asked someone to look at them and confirm they are his.’

  ‘I have heard nothing about it, so I suppose not.’

  ‘Please describe to me what these things would have been?’

  ‘There was his apron – it was white leather edged with blue silk, decorated with three silver set squares, and two sets of silver tassels. A light blue collar made of silk, with a set square attached to it. Two breast jewels on coloured ribbons. He also wore a signet ring with a set square and compasses in gold on blue enamel.’

  ‘Did you know your father-in-law had a slight defect in one foot?’

  ‘No, I’m not sure anyone would have known other than his shoemaker and manservant.’ He gazed at Frances with ill-concealed pride. ‘I am so relieved you have agreed to help me!’

  Frances was not yet willing to adopt a daughterly manner. ‘I will do what I can. But since I have been politely shown the door to your house, or perhaps I ought to say your wife’s house, how am I to contact you if I need to?’

  He smiled ruefully and handed her a card with the words V. Salter, Fine Silver, and a post office box number.

  With no great expectation of success, Frances went to Kensington police station and asked to see Inspector Payne. She had to wait in the station for an hour, where she was stared at and occasionally jostled by the less honest and more desperate of Kensington’s inhabitants, but at last he appeared and ushered her into an interview room. He did not look pleased to see her, but then he never looked pleased about anything. Frances sat down, but Payne did not trouble himself to do so.

  ‘Is this about the Dobree case?’ he snapped.

  ‘It is, but as yet I have no further information. I must advise you, however, that I was recently engaged by Mrs Salter to gather evidence to assist in her husband’s defence against the charge of murder. Although he has since been cleared of the crime, I am making further enquiries to help repair the damage to his reputation.’

  ‘Was it down to you that Salter’s housekeeper changed her story?’

  ‘No, that was as much a surprise to me as it was to you, but I am glad of it, as it means that an innocent man will not be tried for murder. There has, however, been the inevitable effect on his public and business standing and also consequences for the children of the family. I have come to ask you if you are confident that the real killer will be found soon. Have you made good progress?’

  ‘I am not about to reveal anything to you about police work. All I can tell you is that we are continuing our enquiries.’

  ‘The various things that Lancelot Dobree was known to wear or carry about his person – have they been found?’

  ‘They have not, but we are checking all possible locations.’

  ‘Do you have a suspect?’

  It was clearly one demand too many. ‘Miss Doughty,’ said Payne irritably, ‘I need to explain something to you. It is the police who ask the questions, not the other way about.’

  Frances could not resist a smile. ‘I have been told that many times. But we are not enemies or even rivals. We both want the murderer to be caught. And if I do stumble across anything that you might find useful, I will of course let you know.’

  He looked sceptical. ‘That is very kind of you. Now, unless you have something to tell me, I had better get on with some proper work.’

  Frances had no alternative but to leave, but she paused and faced him one last time. ‘Inspector, please be open with me. Do you still consider Vernon Salter to be a suspect in the murder of Lancelot Dobree?’

  ‘I am not ruling anyone out. That is all I have to say.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As Vernon Salter had feared, he was still, despite everything, a suspect. Frances, who had ceased making her enquiries when paid off by Alicia Salter, was now obliged to resume them. She had been about to question the staff of the tavern who had been present on the night of Lancelot Dobree’s disappearance, and that was to be her next step.

  As Frances reached the tavern she saw some boys running up and down the High Street distributing pamphlets, and had no sooner descended from her cab when one of the publications was thrust into her hand. She had expected it to be either a moral tract, an advertisement for hair oil or a diatribe against the government, but it turned out to be something closer to home. Not only that but on reading the first few lines she recognised the high moral tone of the author who had signed himself ‘One Who Loves Justice’. She put it in her bag for later detailed perusal, knowing that she would find it unpleasant reading.

  When Frances explained what she wanted to Mr Neilson, he readily agreed, acknowledging that the combined memories of his staff might provide a clue as to the fate of Lancelot Dobree. He hesitated to speak ill of any of them, but his comments as Frances made her list gave her some interesting insights. This done, the little office was made available to her and she sat at the desk with her notebook and pencil while the staff members were sent in one by one.

  The first to arrive was Mrs Robson, the cook. Aged about forty she had supervised the tavern kitchens for some five years, and had the unstinting good opinion of her employer. Her family consisted of two daughters in service and a husband who suffered from a mysterious illness that rendered him incapable of work. Her responsibilities were to consult with the bar manager Mr MacNulty regarding what food was to be ordered and dishes served, and prepare luncheons and dinners with the assistance of the general maid, Minnie, who she was training up to be a cook, and the scullery maid Lizzie whose position in life was unlikely to advance beyond her present status. To Mrs Robson’s recollection, the night of Mr Dobree’s disappearance had begun like any other on which a Lodge met at the tavern and the gentlemen stopped to dine. The kitchen had been advised in advance of the numbers and their requirements, and it was confirmed that all the gentlemen but one were to dine that evening. She had been working in the kitchen all the time, and had seen nothing of importance. Lizzie and Minnie had been there too, working under her direction, and both young women had gone back and forth to the dining room taking dinners to tables and clearing plates. The only other staff member she had seen was Mr Capper, who delivered new stock to the pantry.

  Lizzie, who Frances interviewed next, was a nervous girl of about twenty, with the bony leanness and reddened hands that spoke of
a young life mainly spent in peeling vegetables, scrubbing floors and scouring plates and pans. All her family were in service. She agreed that Mrs Robson had not left the kitchen between the hours of five o’clock and the end of dinner service. She herself had been continuously busy and noticed nothing of any significance.

  Minnie was a robust and capable-looking girl of about twenty-five, who told Frances that she was always very busy throughout the dinner service, and the night of Mr Dobree’s disappearance was no exception. She had not, as far as she could recall, seen Mrs Robson leave the kitchen during that time. When waiting at table she had overheard some conversation amongst the Masonic gentlemen about Mr Dobree, who had left unexpectedly early. All the diners had been mystified as to the reason, and they were discussing what to do with the property he had left behind.

  ‘Are you looking for the murderer of Mr Munro?’ asked Minnie, suddenly.

  ‘No, but if you have any information which might lead to the criminal, do let me know.’

  ‘I don’t, I just thought it was a shame as he was so young. He often used to come in for a pie or ham and potatoes at luncheon, and he had a very pleasant manner with him.’

  ‘Did he eat alone?’

  ‘Sometimes, although he and Mr Weber – the manager of the confectioner’s shop – often sat at the same table; they seemed to be very friendly.’

  ‘What kind of things did they talk about?’

  ‘Oh business usually; how good or bad things were. The price of houses, things like that.’

  ‘Did Mr Munro ever mention Mr Dobree or the house at 2 Linfield Gardens?’

  ‘Not that I heard.’

  Mr MacNulty, the bar manager, was a short round man of about fifty-five who confirmed that he had worked at the tavern for fifteen years, and at other establishments for twenty years before that. The implication in his tone of voice was that this commendable record of service entitled him to be not only respected as a valued employee but above any suspicion of underhand activity. MacNulty readily confirmed that he was the only man apart from Mr Neilson who had keys to the safe, keys that he kept secured to his person, adding that in all his time at the tavern nothing had ever gone missing from the safe. The back door of the building, the one that led directly out into the alley, was always locked except when deliveries were coming in. On those occasions, either Mr Neilson unlocked the door with his own key, or if Mr Neilson was not available, MacNulty unlocked it with the spare key held in the safe. The door was always relocked immediately once the deliveries were in. On the day that Dobree had disappeared there had been an afternoon delivery and it was MacNulty who had unlocked the door.