by Jack Murray
She’s eventually caught Caroline as she turned into Sloane Gardens. Making a note of the house number she waited for twenty minutes for Caroline to reappear before dark clouds suggested the best plan was shelter and warmth.
‘We’ll have to get you into that house Mary,’ said Agatha, when Mary had finished.
‘How do you propose I get in there? As a maid? And what do I tell Kit? I mean he and I have plans over the next few days,’ pointed out Mary.
‘You’ll have to bail out I’m afraid. No option. Needs must and all that.’
Mary looked troubled by this idea. ‘I see that but what shall I say? Don’t forget, it’s St Valentine’s Day. I imagine my intended would be keen that we spend it together. Besides which, I’m not keen on lying to Kit. It wouldn’t exactly set the right precedent for our future together.’
‘Oh nonsense, a good marriage is built on deception. What would be the point of trust otherwise?’ said Agatha, which settled the matter in her mind, if not Mary’s entirely.
Betty glanced at Agatha askance. Mary merely frowned and then a thought occurred to her, ‘We need a credible excuse. We don’t know how long will be needed.’
‘Good point and I think I may have a solution that fulfils both your need not to lie to Christopher and allows us time to put together our case.’
‘Go on,’ prompted Mary.
‘If you remember, my dear,’ said Agatha, leaning forward, ‘I laid the foundations already by suggesting Esther was unwell. I think you should ask Esther to extend her stay in Sussex claiming a fictitious illness. You, of course, shall visit to provide nursing. I seem to recall, young lady, you have some experience in such matters.’
Mary smiled sheepishly at Agatha.
Betty continued, where Agatha had left off, ‘You should see Kit today as planned. Anything otherwise on St Valentine’s Day will arouse suspicion. Break the news about Esther. In the meantime, Agatha and I will apply ourselves with assiduity to securing you a position in the household.’
‘Do you think you can?’
‘Leave that to us,’ said Betty with a surprising degree of confidence.
At that moment Fish appeared in the room. He looked somewhat ill at ease. Agatha looked up at him and said, ‘Well come on Fish, out with it. We’re all friends here, I’m sure.’
‘There’s a gentleman to see Miss Simpson. A police constable.’
Mary eyed the two elderly women. Neither looked surprised so much as guilty. Agatha glanced at Betty.
‘Ahh, they did say they would pay us a visit dear,’ said Agatha to Betty, and then addressing Mary she added, ‘I forgot to mention. Our trip in the car was not without incident.’
‘What happened?’ asked Mary, her brow furrowing.
‘Well, Betty managed to get us to Eaton Square without any problems. However, it was rather a long wait,’ said Agatha.
‘So I brought along something to sustain us,’ continued Betty. “I thought that some brandy would do the trick. The car was rather cold.’
‘It did more than the trick dear, you were one over the eight,’ admonished Agatha, although not unkindly. ‘If you hadn’t stumbled at the young man’s feet, he’d never have known.’
‘Yes it was unfortunate timing, I grant you. Still, the young policeman was remarkably good about it. Clearly recognised breeding when he saw it.’
‘He clearly recognised you were too whiffled to drive, if you ask me.’
Betty ignored Agatha’s jibe and continued, ‘Anyway, he kindly brought us home.’
‘The young policeman?’ asked Mary, a smile growing on her face. The two ladies had withheld this incident in their brief update earlier. ‘Is there anything else you haven’t told me,’ continued Mary in the manner of a schoolmistress.
Betty seemed oblivious to the situation, but it was clear that Agatha was somewhat embarrassed that they had been found out.
‘Well, this is the interesting part of the story, Mary,’ said Betty, ‘The young detective had just come from Caroline Hadleigh’s house.’
Mary was stunned by this news, ‘But this changes things, somewhat. If they’re investigating Caroline, then should we be interfering in a police matter?’
‘That’s the point, Mary,’ replied Agatha, ‘The way he said goodbye to her on the doorstep suggested to me that either investigation techniques have changed or…’
‘Caroline Hadleigh’s sweetheart is a detective,’ concluded Betty, ‘Excuse me, hello constable.‘ Betty stood up to receive the policeman, who was standing at the dining room door.
Agatha looked at Mary and said gravely in a stage whisper, ‘I don’t think Christopher really needs to know of this unfortunate incident, Mary. I don’t want him to think Betty a bad influence.’
‘I quite understand,’ said Mary with as straight a face as she could manage under the circumstances.
Chapter 13
February 15th, 1920: London
Early morning. It was still dagger-dark. The sun would not rise for another three hours. Sheets of sleet curved craftily into the faces of the workers as they left through the factory gate. Each cold drop stinging their faces beat a reminder of their place in life. A lorry went passed them, narrowly avoiding a puddle by the side of the pavement. This brought up an ironic laugh for those who had narrowly escaped a soaking.
Ryan turned and looked at the lorry pass. It turned into the factory, causing workers to skip out of the way. A few grumbled in appropriately undiplomatic language. The driver didn’t look like he was in a mood to stop for anything least of all an inattentive pedestrian.
‘Unusual,’ commented Ryan.
‘What?’ asked Abbott.
‘The lorry. Deliveries and collections are usually during the day, aren’t they?’ observed Ryan.
‘Who knows?’ replied Abbott in his curious mid-European accent. He looked at Ryan with his big moon eyes, a trace of irritation, ‘You shouldn’t worry about these things.’
The two men, for better or worse, were work mates. Ryan would not have chosen Abbott nor, he suspected, would Abbott have chosen him. But they were bound together now, after only a few nights by their secret.
Ryan had thought about Abbott’s idea. Stealing cigarettes and selling them on the black market was hardly lucrative but it was possible to make some money. Each created hidden compartments in their trousers and shirts. Each evening, the plan was for Ryan to hand over their swag and Abbott would sell it wherever he could. They split the profits sixty five, thirty five in favour of Abbott. Ryan was relaxed about this, although they shared the risk, Ryan did not have the wherewithal for selling also. The two men hurried to a building which provided a degree of shelter against the weather.
‘Quickly,’ ordered Abbott, looking about nervously.
Ryan emptied his pockets and handed over close to one hundred cigarettes. Enough to make some money but not so many to raise suspicion. Swiping so many cigarettes over eight hours was not so difficult, they’d found.
‘That’s it,’ said Ryan, checking his pockets one last time.
They went their separate ways, into the darkness.
-
Harry Miller walked into Kit’s room and opened the curtains. Outside the sky was grey and rain fell with a depressing swagger, bouncing off the street, saturating the air and splashing anyone unwise enough to be outside, defended inadequately by an umbrella.
‘What’s it like?’ asked Kit from a underneath pre Cambrian number of blanket layers.
‘Wet. Whether its sleet or rain, it’s hard to tell, sir,’ replied Harry placing a cup of tea by Kit’s bedside table.
Kit finally surfaced and had a sip of the tea. He wasn’t quite sure what the day held for him. Mary had told him the previous evening that she was going to Sussex to tend Esther. The prospect of her leaving, if only for a few days, was grim indeed. The last couple of weeks since she her recovery had, quite simply, been the happiest of Kit’s life.
‘How was your evening off?’ asked Kit wi
th a grin.
‘Without looking at Kit, Miller removed a tweed suit from the wardrobe and placed a recently ironed shirt with it. He glanced at Kit and replied, ‘Oh it was a pleasant evening, sir, thank you.’
Kit probed a little further, ‘Must have been a lot of couples around.’
‘Yes, we couldn’t get a seat anywhere.’
‘We?’
Miller turned to Kit and grinned guiltily, ‘You should be a detective, sir.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing, Harry.’
Miller looked at Kit while brushing down the jacket, ‘I’m sure something will turn up. Is there nothing new on the diamond robbery?’
Kit shook his head resignedly, ‘I don’t know. Chief Inspector Jellicoe is handling it now. I couldn’t ask you when we were in the car with Jellicoe, but what do you think of the Phantom? Professionally-speaking, of course.’
Miller grinned. He had once been a cat burglar. This was before the War. The conflict had ended what had been a reasonably successful career. The subsequent meeting with Kit and the offer of employment merely cemented what would have been his wish anyway, to end his career before the police ended it for him.
‘My dad was always talking about him. He used to cut out newspaper stories of his robberies. I think he was trying to understand how he went about it. Professionally-speaking, there was a lot to admire and learn. Of course when it turned out that this chap Hadleigh, was a toff, well, my dad felt let down and threw the cuttings in the fire.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I think his view was that we’d never get invited to the houses he was able to rob, sir. Mr Hadleigh was probably a friend of his victims and knew what to look for and where to find it. Me and my dad and Dan never had that luxury unless we were lucky.’
‘Yes I can see the problem,’ added Kit, ‘You’d have limited knowledge of the target which meant you had to lower your sights on what you could nab.’
Miller laughed. It never ceased to amaze him, his master’s fascination with the underworld and his complete lack of censure towards him over his past.
‘None of this is to detract from Mr Hadleigh, of course. The man was a genius. He could crack safes alright. Just because you know where the loot is, doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. What’s that thing you say at golf sir? None of the robberies was a gimme.’
This time Kit laughed.
Miller continued, ‘And the Belgravia robbery. Well we talked about that one for weeks, when he was chased over the rooftops by the ‘rozzers’. He didn’t always swan in through the front door, carrying bubbly.’
‘True,’ acknowledged Kit. “I’d forgotten about that robbery. Just around the corner. Although wasn’t there some doubt if that was him? They didn’t find the card.’
‘It was him alright, sir. We all thought there was something going on between him and Lord Ravensdale’s wife. She knew it was him and hid the card. If you remember, sir, the lady in question was somewhat younger than her husband. She was at the court every day during the trial.’
This made Kit smile, ‘Interesting theory.’ Very interesting, thought Kit and quite plausible also. ‘There were a number of ladies present throughout the trial, if I remember.’
‘Indeed, sir. Must be something in the daredevilry that attracts the ladies,’ pointed out Miller with a grin.
‘This was your own experience, Harry?’
‘I couldn’t possibly say, sir.’
Kit looked at Miller archly and then his thoughts returned to his own lady. The thought of not seeing Mary was weighing on him a little and it was barely eight o’clock in the morning. The next few days were going to drag, this much was certain. However, looking on the positive side, it showed how much his life had been turned upside down by a girl, not yet twenty one. If he was not discombobulated, he certainly wasn’t completely recombobulated either.
Miller seemed to read his mind and asked, ‘Are you seeing Lady Mary today?’
‘Unfortunately no. Apparently Esther is unwell down at Richard’s place, so Mary is going down to act as a nurse.’
‘She’ll know all about that, sir,’ said Miller with a grin.
Kit laughed, ‘I know. So that leaves me at a loose end, today. I think I’ll lunch at Sheldon’s. You can have the afternoon off if you like, just in case there’s anything from yesterday you wanted to follow up on.’
Any comment Miller might have made was interrupted by the arrival of Sam, who came scarpering into the room and hopped up onto the bed to lick Kit ‘good morning’. Having completed his salutation to Kit he turned to Miller and barked loudly.
‘In a good mood,’ said the two men in unison.
-
Mary rose from the bed and went to the window. It was light, in a manner of speaking. A grey shroud in the sky was doing a splendid job of absorbing every particle of light. The sound of rain against the window and the stinging cold of the room made her dive beneath the bed sheets again, glad she didn’t have another morning of tailing a suspect. Agatha and Betty had other plans.
She lay back in the bed and wrapped the blankets around herself tightly. The thought of one day snuggling up next to the warm body of Lord Kit Aston almost made her giggle. How she wished she could do it now. She happily played with this thought for a few moments. The danger of indulging herself in these dreams was the sense of impatience that arose simultaneously. Only two months ago the thought of marriage was as far from her future as lion taming. Such is the madness of love. Such joyful madness.
Her mind went back to the hospital, that day when the orderlies had brought Kit in. Just another poor soldier with another horrific injury. A man more likely to die than survive. Yet survive, he had.
Most of the nurses had been aware of him. There was a sense of mystery owing to the three identity cards with different names and nationalities. There was also the story of how he had been saved from the middle of No Man’s Land. And of course there was no denying his beauty. A face so refined and god-like it seemed an absurd joke he should be found in the midst of such brutality and dehumanising ugliness.
The question of his origin, German or otherwise was laid to rest after he awoke. When he had spoken his voice, as well as his manner, had more than lived up to his looks and confirmed his country of birth. To find such refinement in the pitiless context of a military hospital; near the front, was rare. Mary had felt drawn to him from the start.
But the hospital was a never-ending conveyor belt of misery. The terrible consequences of man’s inhumanity were fed through on a daily basis. The ward was not a place to recuperate. You were patched up and sent away. Day after day. But this was the life Mary had volunteered to do, for reasons, that even now, she could never quite explain.
It certainly was nothing so banal as rebellion. But nor was it a vocation. She had left nursing six months after the War had ended. She and Esther had dealt similarly with the grief of losing their father.
At first the pain of loss had inevitably shredded the secure life they had both known. Denial was impossible. So many had lost fathers, sons and brothers. To deny would have seemed an insult to their sacrifice. Instead a prolonged period of anger followed that resolved itself, Mary realised, in a desire to do something. Both she and Esther resolved that life could no longer continue at Cavendish Hall as it once had. Each, in their own way, went to war.
A machine gun-rattle of rain against the window brought back Mary to the here and now. She rose and got ready for breakfast. Downstairs she found, as ever, Agatha up and attacking the day with gusto. Betty had arrived also. Events were about to move forward rapidly. This was confirmed as the two elderly ladies looked up expectantly at Mary’s arrival.
‘Take a seat, my dear, Betty has some wonderful news.’
Betty certainly looked like she had wonderful news. Her eyes were bright, and she looked, as far as its possible for a septuagenarian to look, like a teenage girl desperate to share the latest jape with her friends. Betty leaned forward, as did th
e others, and reported the latest.
‘As you know I spoke to a lot of the girls and found out who lived at the address Caroline Hadleigh visited in disguise. The house belongs to an American banker, who lives there with his wife. Herbert Rosling, not sure if you know him.’ The two ladies shook their head. ‘Anyway, he’s been over here for a number of years, certainly since before the War, and heads up the London office of the Anglo American Bank. I gather Mrs Rosling is something of a harridan which has resulted in a high turnover of staff.’
‘Well done Betty,’ commented Agatha, and Mary nodded in agreement.
‘There’s more, trust me,’ replied Betty. ‘It turns out that Flora Atwood’s maid has a sister in service there as a house maid. I spoke to the young lady in question and she told me that the young lady is terribly unhappy.’
Agatha clapped her hands in delight, ‘You didn’t?’
‘I most certainly did, I told Flora’s maid that I would offer the young lady five pounds to leave her position immediately and I also offered to find another more suitable position, which I have, incidentally.’
‘Bravo,’ cried Agatha, ‘You know what this means, Mary?’
‘Yes, I should get down there as soon as possible and offer my services. Can you write me a reference, Betty?’
Betty took a letter out of her handbag and handed it to Mary, saying, ‘Already done.’
Mary took the letter from Betty and read it over. She grimaced good naturedly at one point, ‘Mary Tanner?’
‘Yes, couldn’t resist it. Well, I mean, Kit was banging on about this nurse for a year before you finally met again.’
‘He was?’ asked Mary, happily surprised.
‘Can we get a weave on please,’ interrupted Agatha, ‘How are you with accents? Your voice is too refined to be a maid’s.’
