by Rhys Bowen
I was about to put them back when I realized I might be handling evidence and I was busily leaving my fingerprints all over them, and all over the room! I couldn’t believe my stupidity. I didn’t know whether the police could test things like money for fingerprints, but I wasn’t going to take a chance. Hastily I wiped the roll with my apron and put it back. Then I went around the room, wiping every surface I had touched.
There was a notepad beside the telephone. It appeared unused, but as the light struck it I could tell that there was an imprint on the top sheet as if the writer had pressed too hard as he wrote. I went over to the window and held the sheet up.
It said, R—10:30!
I wondered if the police had torn off that top sheet. Even the least intelligent policeman would be able to deduce that R meant “Rannoch.” Things didn’t look good for Binky unless I could find out where these large sums of money came from.
The room revealed no more secrets and I made my way back onto the ledge, carefully closing the window behind me. I started to crawl back. I had just reached the window of number 315 when I heard voices in the room. I froze. To my horror I heard someone say, “Isn’t it stuffy in here?” and there came the sound of the window being opened. I scrambled to my feet and stood to one side of the window, pressing myself against the drainpipe, holding on for dear life. A young sandy-haired man looked out. I heard him say, “There, are you satisfied now?” and he moved away again. Now I had to risk crossing an open window or going back into 317 and risk being seen coming out.
I decided on the latter. As I tried to kneel down again the drainpipe moved with me. It started to come away from the wall. I clawed at the stonework on the building and grabbed on to it. I suppose I must have screamed because a voice behind me asked, “What the devil are you doing?” and it was the young man with the sandy hair peering out of the window.
“Sorry, sir. I dropped my feather duster out onto the ledge when I was shaking it,” I said. “And when I climbed out to get it, I couldn’t get back in again.”
“My dear girl. A feather duster isn’t worth risking your life for,” he said. “Here. Give me your hand and come inside here.” He helped me step down into his room.
“Thank you, sir. You’re most kind,” I said in what I hoped was an Irish accent.
He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a sovereign. “Here, that should buy you a new feather duster so that you don’t get into trouble.”
“Oh, no, sir. I couldn’t.”
“Take it. I’ve had rather a successful week, as it happens.” He forced it into my hand.
“Thank you, sir. Very generous of you.”
I nodded to the young woman who appeared from the bathroom and made a hurried exit. There was no sign of the Irish maid.
I hummed to myself as I put on my mack and made my way down the stairs. A sovereign for my pains. Maybe I should think of working in a hotel!
Chapter 21
Rannoch House (minus body)
Monday, May 2, 1932
My grandfather was waiting for me, standing under the awning while the rain came down. Unfortunately he had nothing much to report. I told him about the five-pound notes and suggested that he should call the police with an anonymous tip about de Mauxville’s gaming. I felt the least I could do was treat him to lunch, and almost had to drag him to Lyons Corner House. I tried to be jolly and bright but he looked worried and preoccupied the whole time. When we parted company he looked at me long and hard. “Take care of yourself, won’t you, and if you’d rather come and stay with me, then you know you’re more than welcome.”
I smiled at him. “That’s sweet of you, Granddad, but I have to stay in town to keep an eye on Binky, and to find out things.”
“I suppose so,” he said with a sigh. “But watch out for yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” I said with more bravado than I felt. I looked back once and saw him standing there, watching me.
When Belinda did her Lady Macbeth routine down the stairs about two o’clock, I told her of my decision to move back to Rannoch House.
“Georgie, are you sure?” she asked.
“I went back this morning. All traces of the body have been removed and it seems silly to go on sleeping on your sofa when I have a perfectly good bed of my own.”
“I think it’s awfully brave of you,” she said, but I could tell she was relieved.
“I do have one teeny favor to ask,” I said. “Do you think you would mind keeping me company tonight? I’m not sure how hard it will be and I’d really appreciate knowing you were there with me for the first night at least.”
“You want me to stay at Rannoch House?” I could see she was struggling. Then she said, “Of course. Why not? It’s about time I had an early night with no parties. I saw bags starting to form under my eyes when I looked in the mirror.”
So that evening, after the press and any gawkers had gone home, we made our way up the steps and into the house.
“This place has always struck me as creepy at the best of times,” Belinda said. “It’s always so cold and damp.”
“Compared to Castle Rannoch it’s a furnace,” I said, laughing uneasily because I too found it cold and damp. I was about to suggest that we go back to Belinda’s comfortable mews again, until I reminded myself that a Rannoch never runs away from danger. We undressed and prepared for bed, then I went downstairs and poured us both a Scotch to bolster our spirits. We sat on my bed, talking about anything rather than turning the light out.
“My dear, I’m dying to hear the details on last night,” Belinda said. “I almost woke you when I got home. You did have a lovely smile on your face so I could only conclude that Mr. O’Mara had revealed to you the mysteries of life and love.”
“He wanted to.”
“But you didn’t?”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t. As a matter of fact I did. Very much.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I just couldn’t go through with it. I realized that he wasn’t suitable husband material and I had this horrible vision of ending up like my mother.”
“But she’s had plenty of husbands.”
“But I want somebody who’s going to love me and stick with me for the rest of my life.”
“Darling, how terribly old-fashioned. And someone has to relieve you of this frightful burden you carry. Who better than Darcy?”
“You can recommend him, can you?”
She looked at me and gave a delightful peal of laughter. “Oh, so that was it! You thought that Darcy and I—and you didn’t want to tread on my toes. Aren’t you sweet.”
I didn’t like to mention that I didn’t want shop-soiled goods.
At that moment a great blast of wind came down the chimney. The storm had been building all day and we looked at each other in alarm.
“You don’t think his ghost is lingering here, wanting vengeance, do you?” Belinda asked.
“Castle Rannoch is full of ghosts. I’m used to them.”
“Really? Have you ever actually seen one?”
“Sort of. You know, when you are aware of something out of the corner of your eye.”
“Does it really go awfully cold before they appear?”
“You can’t tell at Castle Rannoch.”
There was a clattering noise on the street below.
“What was that?” Belinda asked nervously.
I went to the window. “I can’t see from here,” I said.
“It sounded as if it was close. Maybe in your basement area.”
“It’s probably only a cat or a rubbish bin blown over. But we can go down and see.”
“Are you mad? A killer has been in this house.”
“Belinda, there are two of us, and we’ll take something to hit him with. The house is full of weapons. Take your pick.”
“All right.” She didn’t sound all right at all, but suddenly I felt very angry. My whole life had been turned upside down. My brother
was suspected of a crime and I wanted this over. I stamped down the stairs, grabbing an assegai that a family member had brought back from the Boer War.
We made our way down to the kitchen, not turning on the light to warn whoever it was. Halfway across the kitchen floor a shadow of a man outside the window was thrown across the room and we leaped into each other’s arms.
“Enough stupid bravery. Call the police,” Belinda hissed and I couldn’t help but agree with her. We crept to the phone and dialed 999, then waited clinging on to each other as if we were in a storm-tossed ocean. At last I thought I heard shouts and a scuffle and then a thunderous knock at our front door. I opened it a crack and saw with relief two constables standing there.
“We’ve caught someone snooping around your house, my lady,” one of them said. I recognized him as the constable from the other night.
“Good work, Constable. It may be the man who broke in and killed the Frenchman. Where is he?”
“Bring him over here into the light, Tom,” my constable instructed.
A fellow constable appeared, forcing in front of him a man in a raincoat.
I looked at him and let out a shout. “Granddad! What are you doing here?”
“You know this man, my lady?”
“It’s my grandfather.”
He released Granddad. “Sorry, sir, only the young lady called us to say she heard noises outside.”
“No offense, Constable. My granddaughter had no idea that I’d be here.”
“I’m glad you are here now,” I said. The constables departed and Granddad came inside. We all poured ourselves another Scotch to calm our nerves and sat in the morning room.
“What were you doing here?” I asked. “You scared us to death when we saw your shadow outside.”
He looked sheepish. “I was worried about you, so I decided to come and keep an eye on you. Just in case.”
“You think I’m in danger?”
He nodded. “Listen, my love. I’ve lived in London all my life and I can only think of one or two accidents on the tube lines. People don’t fall off platforms very easily.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that somebody might be trying to kill you.”
“Kill me—why?”
“I’ve no idea, but it did cross my mind that the person who murdered that Frenchie might have thought he was killing your brother.”
“Oh, surely not.” Even as I said it I realized that they were about the same build.
“Well, I for one am glad that your grandfather is here,” Belinda said, getting up and yawning. “Let’s make a bed up for him and we can all get some sleep.”
I lay listening to the storm blustering outside, the rain peppering the windows, the wind howling down the chimney. Given the perpetual gales at Castle Rannoch I should have been immune to a mild London storm, but this night I was so tense that I jumped at every noise. I tried to tell myself that, now Belinda was sleeping beside me, now my grandfather was here, everything was all right. But he had injected a new and alarming facet into this nightmare: the suggestion that someone was trying to kill me. Also that someone might have mistaken de Mauxville for Binky. I racked my brains but I had no idea who or why. We weren’t the sort of people who had enemies. We were too far from the throne to warrant bumping us off. We were well behaved to the point of being boring.
I relived that moment on the tube platform, trying to remember if I had seen any vaguely familiar face in the crowd, but the whole thing was just one big blur. One thing was very clear, however: but for that giant of a workman standing on the platform beside me, I should be dead by now.
Then I realized something else: the accident on the boat the night before. I sat up in bed, every muscle tense. It had been no accident. I might be clumsy, but how could a rope have wound itself so tightly around my ankle that I couldn’t undo the knot, unless somebody had deliberately tied that rope? I realized that I had been sitting on the side of the boat, with loads of other people standing and sitting around me. We’d all been having a good time and truthfully I would probably not have noticed if someone had eased a rope around my ankle and then given me a shove at the right moment. Someone I knew, then. One of my own set. I felt cold all over.
“Belinda,” I whispered and nudged the shape beside me.
“Mmmm,” she grunted, already deeply asleep.
“Belinda, wake up. I need to know who was on that boat.”
“Wha . . . boat?”
“The one I fell off. Belinda, wake up, do. I need to know exactly who was on that boat. You were there the whole time.”
She turned over, grunting, and half opened her eyes. “The usual crowd,” she said, “and some friends of Eduardo. I didn’t know them all.”
“Tell me who you did know. People who knew me.”
“I really don’t know who knew you. Whiffy Featherstonehaugh, for one. And Daffy Potts was there, and Marisa, the girl who got so drunk at the wedding. Apart from that I can’t really say. Now can I go back to sleep?” And she did.
I lay listening to her breathing. Whiffy Featherstonehaugh. Wasn’t he the one who had helped Eduardo with the ropes, climbing on board at the last minute with a rope in his hand? But what kind of grudge could he possibly have against Binky or me? I did remember that he hadn’t been wet when he spoke to me. He had not dived in to save me.
Chapter 22
Rannoch House
Tuesday, May 3, 1932
I woke with a start as a hand touched me.
“It’s all right, my love. Only me,” came my grandfather’s calm voice, “but you’re wanted on the telephone.”
Sun was streaming in through the window. The storm had blown itself out during the night. I got up and slipped on my dressing gown, then I padded downstairs to the front hall.
“Hello?”
“Georgie, it’s me, Binky,” came the voice. “I’m at Scotland Yard. They’ve arrested me.”
“Arrested you? They’re mad. They have no evidence. They are just clutching at straws. What do you want me to do?”
“For one thing get in touch with Prendergast. I tried phoning but there’s nobody in their office yet.”
“Don’t worry, Binky. I’ll come to Scotland Yard immediately and get things sorted out. It’s that bumbling Inspector
Sugg. He can’t see an inch past his face. We’ll have you out of there in no time at all.”
“I hope so.” Binky sounded desperate. “I jolly well hope so. I mean, hell’s bells, Georgie. This shouldn’t happen to a chap. It’s humiliating, that’s what it is—being dragged in like a common criminal. They’ve even taken away my Conway-Stewart fountain pen with the gold nib that I got for my twenty-first. Apparently they thought I might want to stab myself with it. And I shudder to think what Fig will say when she finds out. In fact, hanging sounds rather preferable to facing her.”
I had to smile in spite of the gravity of the situation. “Hang on, Binky, and don’t say anything until our solicitor is with you. I’m coming over right away.”
I rushed upstairs and threw on a smart town suit—the sort of thing I’d use for opening bazaars. One had to look the part today. Then I wrote out a message for Young Mr. Prendergast and asked my grandfather to telephone his office on the stroke of nine thirty. I managed to drink a few sips from the cup of tea Granddad pressed on me then hailed the nearest taxi for Scotland Yard, which I entered like a ship in full sail.
“I am Lady Georgiana Rannoch. I have come to see my brother,” I said.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” I was told by a burly sergeant. “He’s being interviewed as we speak. If you’d care to take a seat and wait?”
“I wish to speak with Inspector Sugg’s superior officer immediately,” I said. “It is vitally important.”
“I’ll see what I can do, your ladyship,” the sergeant said.
I sat and waited in a grim hallway. After what seemed like hours I heard the brisk tap of shoes on the floor and a man came to
ward me. He was wearing a well-tailored suit, crisp white shirt, and a striped tie. I couldn’t immediately identify the school but I wasn’t going to hold that against him at this point.
“Lady Georgiana?” he said. He sounded as if he’d been to the right sort of school.
I got to my feet. “That’s right.”
“I’m Chief Inspector Burnall.” He held out his hand to me. “Sorry to keep you waiting. If you’d like to come this way?” He led me up a flight of stairs and into a spartan office.
