“If he was,” Alicia said.
* * *
“And you’ve never seen anything at all with another name on it, Alicia?” Inspector Howard Pinkerton asked as he sat with Cecily and Alicia in the blue-and-white sitting room at Cavendon. “No letters, legal papers? What about a passport?”
“No, because I’ve never traveled abroad with him. Never traveled at all, actually, except to come up here. But he must have a passport, Uncle Howard, because he goes to New York quite a lot.”
“Charlie mentioned that yesterday, and I checked immediately with the Passport Division. There is no passport application in the name of Adam Fennell. It is an invented name, and I wish I had a way of finding out who the heck he really is.”
“What about his fingerprints?” Cecily asked.
“I have nothing to compare them with. Nevertheless, I did want my boys to get fingerprints from the bedroom and bathroom Fennell used here, from Aunt Charlotte’s room, and the attic, at your suggestion.”
Cecily took the record book out of her handbag and placed it in front of him. “And then there’s this. It’s the Swann record book for the years nineteen thirteen and nineteen fourteen, and, if Fennell’s touched it, his prints will be there. The only other prints will be mine and Charlotte’s.”
“I understand. In the meantime, I want you both to know I have people checking up on Fennell everywhere, finding out everything they can about his work, his social life. From what I’m learning, he sprang into the center of the film industry as if from another planet. No one had heard of him or known of him until that day. About ten years ago. He’s the mystery man.”
“He told me that he was from London and had lived in Bryanston Square, on the other side, as a child, that his father was a woman’s doctor. A widower, who brought him up. He said he had never lived anywhere else…”
Alicia stopped speaking, staring out of the window, her head tilted on one side, as if she were listening to something no one else could hear.
Howard exchanged a questioning look with Cecily and raised a brow; Cecily merely shrugged, shook her head, seemingly as baffled as he was.
Finally, Alicia brought her gaze back to Howard and said slowly, “I have a very good ear for voices and accents, perhaps because I’m an actress, and in the inner recesses of my mind there is an odd echo of Fennell’s voice. The voice that comes out when he’s angry or frustrated. He shouts and yells, and in doing so another voice emerges. It has an underlying accent I detected.”
Alicia paused, took a drink of water, and finished, “I think he might have been brought up in the north of England, probably Manchester.”
“That’s some talent you have, my dear.” Howard looked at her admiringly. “I’ll have his picture sent up to the Manchester Metropolitan Police. You never know, he might not have a record, but occasionally a cop recognizes a face, the face of … a person of interest, shall we say. That’s something to go on, and, of course, we have the slippers. That Lady Gwen saw them on someone’s feet at one o’clock in the morning is some sort of miracle. Observant little girl, I’d say. And according to the death certificate from the doctor, Aunt Charlotte died around that time.”
“That’s correct,” Cecily answered. “And I can drive you over to see Dr. Ottoway, if needs be.”
“That would be a good idea,” Howard answered. “Now, let’s go upstairs again. I’d like another prowl around, and we can see how my lads are doing, taking all those fingerprints.”
They went into the bedroom Fennell had used, because Howard’s colleagues had already covered the entire room taking fingerprints. It was now empty of cops. He opened the cupboard door and immediately saw the slippers again, and looked across at Alicia, who wouldn’t come into the room, just stood in the doorway. “I can’t bear the stink of his cologne,” she had confided in Cecily.
“And you say he only wore them in this room?” he asked Alicia.
“Yes. I wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise, or take them to London. He stole them, that was the way I saw it, and he had also embarrassed me. By the way, I’ve just thought of something, Uncle Howard. I believe Eric saw him taking those slippers out of the hamper.”
“I’ll have a chat with Eric later. I’ll get one of my boys to bag the slippers. I have to take them away.”
He was looking at Cecily as he said this, and she nodded. “That’s fine. We’ll do everything we can to cooperate with you.”
Howard peered into the cupboard. “He left some shirts here, too, and a jacket.” Immediately Howard began to feel in the pockets, and after a split second, he exclaimed, “He left his pen.”
“I don’t believe it!” Alicia cried. “Please show it to me. If it’s the pen I think it is, it will be the best source for fingerprints, because he wouldn’t allow anyone to touch it. He loved that pen. It has a special nib, and he was so fussy about it. He himself filled it with the ink.”
“Then it’s a jewel,” Howard answered, took out a clean white handkerchief, and holding it, he carefully lifted the fountain pen out of the inner top pocket of the dark jacket.
Walking across the room, he held out the handkerchief and showed her the pen.
“That’s it. I am certain there will be only one set of fingerprints on it. Fennell’s.”
“Then this will be my source, knowing they’re his and only his. My team can compare the fingerprints from the rooms here and identify Fennell’s by using the pen.”
“This is a lucky break,” Cecily said. “Now, let’s go up to the attic and look at the trunk.”
* * *
Elise sat with Charlie and Howard Pinkerton at a corner table in Le Chat Noir. Charlie had invited them to dinner to thank them for their help and to sum up all their findings.
“Not that we know very much about Fennell and who he really is,” Elise said. “But we are now aware he’s a possible murderer, a suspect in Aunt Charlotte’s death.”
“I already have a warrant for his arrest on suspicion of murder, if we do find the bastard,” Howard said. “And Elise, you’ve been a fantastic help, finding out as much as you did. You’ve made my job easier.”
“I second that,” Charlie interjected. “You’re one hell of an investigative reporter. Thank you. I just want to say that I don’t know how you’ve managed to finish the great series on the Festival of Britain. Jimmy Maze told me he’s thrilled with it.”
Elise beamed at them both, and looking across the table at Charlie, she added, “I got up at four o’clock in the morning to work on my series, then I went trotting around to interview those friends, so-called, of Fennell’s. You know, he’s been very clever. No one suspected him of being a fraud. Just the opposite.”
Charlie nodded, cut into a piece of his fish, ate it, and said, “Very good sole, as usual.” After a sip of his chardonnay, he continued. “I couldn’t believe it when you told me Fennell’s flat was empty, and that it was only a rental. He must have done a moonlight flit, as we call it in Yorkshire.”
“Or Wilson did it,” Elise suggested. “The first time I went to Bryanston Square, Wilson was there, as you know. He told me Fennell was abroad for an indefinite period. However, the flat did look as if it were closed down, dust sheets around.”
Howard said, “When one of my boys went to see Wilson, at your suggestion, Elise, the landlord said the flat was up for rental again. The butler had obviously moved very fast.”
“Same with the Wardour Street office,” Elise reminded them. “One day the receptionist was there telling the same story, the next she was also gone. The office was closed.”
“Obviously Fennell plays everything close to the vest,” Charlie said. “Because Felix and Constance Lambert were stupefied when they heard on the grapevine that Fennell had closed his office and gone abroad.”
“Constance told me they’d had enormous respect for him. They are heartbroken that Alicia and your family have been conned by him, that he caused so much trouble for you.” Elise shook her head. “God knows where he
is.”
“Not in New York,” Charlie announced. “I just spoke to my friend Oliver Kramer a few hours ago. He’s a very good freelance journalist, and he’s been doing a bit of snooping around for me. Tonight he told me Adam Fennell has not been seen in Manhattan lately. Not since before Christmas. And now it’s the end of March.”
“Perhaps he might never come back,” Elise said softly, looking at Howard.
“That’s a strong possibility,” Howard replied. “But if I do find out where he is, Scotland Yard will have him extradited back to Great Britain. Depending on the country he’s in, of course, and their laws.”
“I understand,” Charlie murmured. He was reflective for a moment or two, before continuing. “Aside from wanting to see you both, to thank you, I must add that I think now is the time we must cease and desist. In my opinion, there’s nothing else we can do. What are your thoughts, Elise? Howard?”
“Ladies first,” Howard said, glancing at the young reporter, giving her a warm smile.
“I agree with you, Charlie. But let me just say that I’m always here if you need me,” Elise answered.
Howard nodded in agreement. “We should stop; you’re correct, Charlie. We’ve done everything we can. For the moment. Life is funny in my line of work. You never know what might turn up. You think you have a cold case, and then suddenly it becomes hot again.”
“Seemingly, Adam Fennell has disappeared into thin air. On the other hand, something odd could happen to reveal his whereabouts,” Charlie agreed.
Howard grinned. “It’s happened before in my years at the Yard. Anyway, changing the subject, I was thrilled to read all those wonderful reviews Alicia received for Broken Image. The critics are raving about her.”
“And the film is doing well,” Charlie exclaimed, sounding pleased. “It’s cheered her up. She’s been awfully despondent about Aunt Charlotte’s death and introducing Fennell into the family. Guilty feelings, of course. Miles and Cecily, all of us actually, have given her a lot of support. And the producer of Broken Image, Mario Cantonelli, has offered her a part in a new film of his. And he’s no fan of Fennell’s, by the way.”
Elise smiled. “Alicia told me. But Mario’s certainly a fan of hers. She has the lead again in this new production. She’ll start filming later this year. Prophecy, it’s called.”
“I’ll prophesy this,” Howard said. “Alicia will be fine. She’s an Ingham and Ingham women win. They always come through every rotten thing that happens to them. And with flying colors.”
Charlie laughed. “That’s a good way of saying it, Uncle Howard.”
Elise looked at Howard and then at Charlie, and announced, “I have some news of my own. I’m getting engaged to Alistair. We’re going to be married in the autumn.”
Both men looked surprised, and before Charlie could stop himself, he exclaimed, “But what about your career in Fleet Street? It’s meant so much to you.”
“Alistair doesn’t mind if I work for a few years, Charlie. Until we want to start a family.”
“Congratulations,” Howard said, and Charlie repeated the same word.
“Greta is giving an engagement party for us in two weeks, in the middle of April. I do hope you will both come, and Aunt Dottie.”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Charlie exclaimed, grinning at her.
“You know very well we’ll be there.” Howard squeezed her arm affectionately. “Dottie has hinted that there was something in the wind, something special about to happen.”
“My other good news is that Alicia has agreed to attend the party, thanks to Cecily, who persuaded her. Because we all know she hasn’t been going out,” Elise murmured.
“Things are getting back to normal with her.” Charlie lifted his glass, and so did Howard.
In unison the two men said, “Congratulations, Elise,” and clinked their glasses against hers.
Forty-four
Greta Chalmers was doing a quick tour of her house in Phene Street before the guests arrived. This was her routine checkup to make sure everything was in its place and looked beautiful.
Because Christopher would have to remain downstairs in his wheelchair, Greta was paying special attention to the library, located across the hall from the dining room.
The library was rarely used these days, but the housekeeper had thoroughly cleaned it earlier in the week. Carrying a slender glass vase holding only three pink roses, Greta moved several photographs slightly on a bookshelf and put the vase in front of them, now in a hurry.
At that moment, the doorbell rang; it was Arnold Templeton with his brother, Alistair. After greeting them both, she took them upstairs to the sitting room, where a waiter served the two men glasses of white wine.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Greta said. “And Elise will come down shortly, Alistair. She’s just finishing dressing.”
Alistair grinned at her. “I know we’re early, but I couldn’t wait to get here, to see her. And thank you for giving us this engagement party, Greta.”
Arnold looked at his brother, and said in a joking tone, “And don’t forget to thank me. After all, I introduced you to Elise.”
There was laughter and a bit more brotherly teasing, and then Greta hurried back downstairs. She returned to the library, lighting the votive candles on some of the bookshelves. After she glanced around one more time, now satisfied, she walked down to the kitchen, popped her head around the door. “Everything all right in here, I’m sure,” she said.
The new caterer, Minnie Harris, nodded. “I’m on time. And I haven’t burned anything yet, Mrs. Chalmers.”
Greta laughed, appreciating the young woman’s humor. When the doorbell rang again and people walked in, she was surprised to see Cecily, Miles, Alicia, and Charlie arriving together. She ushered them inside, sharing warm greetings with them, and said, “Please go up to the sitting room.”
As the Inghams trooped upstairs, the door opened and Victoria walked into the hall and went to hug Greta.
There were only two steps into the house from the street, and Alex Poniatowski managed the wheelchair expertly, bringing Christopher into the hall.
“I think you should go into the library,” Greta told Alex. “Everyone will be down here later, since we’re eating across the hall. Now, what would you like to drink?” The two men asked for champagne, but Victoria declined. Greta stepped into the dining room where another small bar was being serviced by a waiter and ordered the champagne.
Returning to the library, Greta said to Victoria, “Cecily and Miles are upstairs with Charlie and Alicia, if you wish to go and say hello.”
Victoria looked at Greta knowingly and nodded. Turning to Christopher, she said, “I’ll be back in a moment. I know Alex is longing to meet Alicia Stanton.”
“Oh come on, don’t make a big fuss,” Alex exclaimed, nonetheless looking pleased.
Christopher began to laugh and said, “Alex, you’re blushing.”
Victoria and Greta left the two men sipping their glasses of champagne the waiter had handed to them. They stood huddled in a corner of the hall. “Alicia might not like him,” Victoria said in a low voice. “She’s really off men, after that awful Fennell. She’s confided in me a lot lately.”
“Cecily asked me to make sure we introduce Alex, just to see how Alicia reacts to a new face. That was the way she put it. Nobody’s matchmaking, Victoria. Cecily and I just want to make Alicia understand there’s a big wide world out there.”
“A world full of men, hey?” Victoria laughed with some hilarity.
“And some nice men, which I think Alex is, and obviously not everyone is like that hateful Fennell,” Greta shot back. “But don’t bring her down now. Let’s wait until just before supper. I’ve seated her next to him at the table. Also, perhaps we should give everyone time to relax.”
“I’ll just go up and greet them,” Victoria murmured. “Is that what you want me to do?”
“That’s right.” Greta looked at the front door
and spotted Aunt Dottie and Uncle Howard coming in, followed by Victoria’s sculptor friend, whom everyone thought was a model she was so beautiful.
After hugging the last arrivals, Victoria took hold of her friend’s hand. “Come upstairs. I’ve got a lovely surprise for you.”
A moment later Victoria was greeting Miles, Charlie, Cecily, and Alicia before introducing her friend. She said, “This is Phoebe Bellamy, everyone. I think some of you already know her, because her sister is married to Harry. But I don’t think you’ve met her, Charlie.”
Everyone was smiling because Charlie was staring at the tall girl with long auburn hair and freckles all over her face, appeared to be mesmerized by her.
Charlie had never seen anyone quite as beautiful, and he was silent for a moment longer, before saying, “Are you the famous Phoebe whom Harry Swann knocked off her bicycle at Cavendon years ago? You’re Paloma’s sister, aren’t you, and also a Jollion?”
“That’s me,” Phoebe answered, laughing. “But I’m not famous like you, Charlie. I love your historical books, by the way.”
“Do you really? Shall I get you a glass of champagne, Phoebe?” he asked, his face full of smiles.
“I’d love it,” she answered. “I’ll come with you, shall I? Help you to carry the drinks.”
As they walked across to the bar together, Cecily looked at Alicia and said, “Hopefully, we might have found a suitable girlfriend for Charlie at last.”
* * *
It happened after supper, when a small group gathered together for coffee in the library. Christopher sat in his wheelchair, Alex stood beside him, talking to Alicia, who was also standing with her back to the bookcase. Victoria, Charlie, and Phoebe were sitting on a large sofa at the other side of the room.
Everyone was happy, very jolly, and the dinner had been a smashing success. Spring leg of lamb, new potatoes and peas, and a whopping great trifle, which Elise had said was the trifle to end all trifles. There had been many toasts, jokes, a lot of teasing, and much laughter. A wonderful time had been had by everyone.
Secrets of Cavendon Page 34
