A Death at Crystal Palace

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘Merry, what can you remember of where you were?’ I asked. Merry leant against the wall and mutedly shook her head.

  ‘They kept her blindfolded on the way there,’ said Rory. ‘And when they did take it off, the place was kept very dark. They tied her to a pipe with a length of rope just long enough that she could tend to the babies.’

  ‘Did they say anything that might help?’ I asked Merry. ‘Anything at all?’

  Again Merry shook her head. She seemed almost in a daze and I began to fear they had harmed her in other ways.

  ‘From what Merry remembers,’ said Rory, ‘it appears they spoke German.’

  ‘Those bloody Huns!’ said Bertram. ‘It’s all of a piece. They are devils.’

  I struggled for words. Bertram, now in a fit of passion, made little sense. His wits had flown away on a tide of anger. Rory sat grim and despairing, while my poor Merry was a pale shadow of herself. I could not think of what to do.

  I knew that we must hurry to the house of Porter’s mistress and see if there was any truth in our idea she was involved with Klaus Von Ritter and that this evidence must be discovered before breakfast tomorrow or we risked sending an innocent man to the gallows. But how could we leave Merry and Rory? How could we abandon Richenda and her babies? I could call Hans. I strongly doubted Richenda had called him even now. But how could he aid us being so far away? An idea crept up on me and I was trying so hard not to look it full in the face. I looked over at Bertram, who had paused mid-rant. His complexion had become ashen and I knew he had had the same thought.

  ‘If this is Richard’s plan -’ he began.

  ‘Do not say it,’ I begged. ‘There is nothing we can do.’

  But Bertram would not shy away from the real awfulness. ‘If it is,’ he said, ‘then now he has the babies and Richenda. All that stands between him and the ownership of Stapleford Hall. Hans would have no claim and Amy is adopted. He may have hoped to capture her too in the first instance, but now Richenda alone and the babies is as good a bargain as he can hope for.’

  I nodded miserably.

  ‘Dear God,’ Merry spoke for the first time, her words like ice through my heart. ‘He means to kill them all.’

  I turned away and choking back the tears that threatened to engulf me, I made for my bedroom. Richenda and her children were in mortal danger somewhere in the metropolis and we had no idea where they were.

  ‘Did she not even give you a hint of where she was going?’ begged Bertram to Rory.

  ‘She said only that the voice on the telephone line made her swear on the lives of her children she would say nothing.’

  ‘She would need to get a cab,’ said Bertram. ‘Have you tried to find out which she took, or where it went?’

  Rory nodded, ‘And I’ve paid several boys to keep enquiring. Nothing yet.’

  ‘The butler,’ I said, pivoting on my heel, ‘The one at the inn. What did he have to share?’

  ‘I left him unconscious,’ said Rory. ‘Whoever hired him scared him more than a beating at my hands.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ said Bertram.

  Rory shrugged hopelessly. ‘I didnae try and lug him back. I thought… there had been no telephone call… I didnae know…’

  At this moment the air shattered with the ringing of the telephone apparatus. All of us froze. The bell rang three times. I picked up my skirts and ran for it.

  ‘Yes,’ I yelled into the mouth piece. ‘What?’

  Michael’s voice came on the line. ‘Euphemia?’

  ‘Oh, thank God. I thought you were the kidnappers,’ I said. ‘They have Richenda and the babies. They are going to kill them.’

  Michael hesitated for a mere second. ‘Do you know who killed Von Ritter?’

  ‘No, you beastly man, and I don’t care,’ I cried. ‘Did you not hear what I said!’ And I broke into heavy, ugly sobs. Through them I heard the sound of a muttered conversation on the other end of the line with Michael saying, ‘Hysterical. No idea.’ Then a different voice spoke on the line. ‘Euphemia?’

  ‘Fitzroy! Eric! Oh, thank God.’ I began half laughing, half crying.

  The others crowded around me, and I felt Bertram’s hand on my back. I took strength from it. ‘Eric, we need your help. We believe Richard to be behind the kidnapping and he has tricked Richenda into going to him alone. It is all about that wretched will and Stapleford Hall.’

  ‘I am aware,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Now, Euphemia, I need you to take yourself in hand.’ Then with surprising gentleness and a professional thoroughness that showed the logical working of his mind, he had me take him through the events of today.

  ‘What do I do?’ I asked him.

  ‘You continue with the task entrusted to you, to discover who killed Von Ritter. The lives of millions rest on your actions. You must go to this woman and see if your theory holds up.’

  ‘But -’ I began.

  ‘My dear girl,’ said Fitzroy, ‘I do not ask this because I am a callous man, but because I am unable to do this myself. Michael and I will be engaged for a while longer here. I cannot tell you any more, but I do not take your despair lightly. I am truly sorry, but you have a duty as a subject of the British Empire to serve your King and Country.’ I could feel tears rolling down my face. Fitzroy continued, ‘The lives of thousands, all of them fathers and sons, rest on how you deal with the situation with the delegation. If it is possible a member of the British diplomatic service is at fault and we do not find this out first, the results will be catastrophic.’

  It was at this moment that the final piece fell into place in my mind. Porter, described by more than one as wanting to be the centre of attention; a man who was rising in power due to his determination of will and his belief in himself; his belief that he was better than anyone else; who thought the world revolved around him. How might such a man take the stealing of his mistress?

  I swallowed. ‘Is there anything you can do?’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Let us hope we have a little time on our side. If I can discover where Merry was taken then you, or even I, may be able to get there in time.’

  ‘But she was blindfolded,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ said Fitzroy, ‘But she has her other senses. You have always spoken of her as a smart girl. If she is prepared to be questioned closely I may be able to narrow down where they are. But it will take time. I can spend the time if I remain where I am. I cannot leave. You must continue your investigation. By the time you have your results I will hope to have something for you.’ He paused and then said with a sincerity rarely heard in his voice. ‘I cannot promise anything, Euphemia, but I will do my best.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said and passed the listening piece to Merry. ‘He needs to talk to you. You can trust him. I believe he is our only chance.’ Then I fetched my coat. ‘Come, Bertram, we have a woman to interview.’ I left Rory staring after us. Further explanations could wait. Time was not on our side.

  Of course, in the carriage, Bertram made me tell him all, but we had time even as the horses sped through the night to the address written on the contract. He listened and to my surprise did not react in anger. ‘I see what he is trying to do. It is a long shot, but I think the better of him for trying.’

  ‘Where could he be that he cannot leave?’ I said.

  Bertram rubbed his temples with his fingers. ‘I gave that some thought while you spoke with him and I remembered that he said something about the King meeting the delegation? That it was a spur of the moment thing?’

  I nodded. Realisation dawned. ‘Do you think he is with HIM?’ I said in awe.

  ‘I suspect, and I have no doubt he will never reveal this to us, but I suspect that he and the King were on the way to the Exhibition in a discreet manner when the news of Von Ritter reached them.’

  ‘So, he is hiding the King until this all blows over?’

  ‘That is my guess,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Where?’ I said. My curiosity in that moment blotting out e
verything else. ‘Where do you hide a king in times of trouble or potential trouble?’

  ‘Somewhere we could not even hazard to guess,’ said Bertram. ‘And we should keep it that way.’

  The cab pulled up outside a neat block of flats opposite a small French restaurant. Bertram got out and paid the driver. Then he took my arm and walked across the road. ‘I think we can trust the neighbourhood.’

  ‘Bertram, we do not have time,’ I protested.

  ‘When did you last eat anything? We cannot keep going without food. We can spare half an hour for some light refreshment. I do not think we will be seeing much sleep this night.’

  I sighed. ‘Half an hour then. You will have to tip the waiter more than normal for speedy service.’

  ‘Err, Euphemia, about that,’ said Bertram. ‘After paying the cabbie I do not have…’

  I smiled for the first time in what felt like a very long time. ‘I will pay, Bertram. You can take me to dinner tomorrow when we are celebrating.’

  So, although my mother would have disapproved most strongly, I bought us both a simple, but nourishing supper of soup, fish and iles flottantes. I suppose, in hindsight, it could have been thought of as akin to nursery or invalid food, but we both enjoyed it immensely. Bertram huffed a little when I skipped the meat course, but I did not waver in my resolve.

  Although we stuck to our time limit, by the time we left, the sky had turned that dark purple velvet colour that only appears above the intense light thrown by city lamps. The street was quiet enough that I could pause in the middle of the road and look up at the stars.

  ‘Makes you feel a bit small, does it not?’ said Bertram. ‘That as specks within God’s great creation, we and our troubles are insignificant.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, night sky never fails to make me feel blessed that I am a part of this, no matter how small. Do you not feel blessed to see and be part of such beauty?’

  Bertram’s rather romantic response almost caused us to be run down by a carriage.

  We were let into the flats by the doorman, who seemed to think nothing of visitors arriving at all times of the day and night. Fortunately, the contract was detailed enough to name the flat number, but he did not even trouble to ask us.

  ‘We must look respectable,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Or just unrespectable enough,’ I said. ‘Maybe he saw us kissing outside.’

  ‘Good heavens, but then he would think that you… that I… I must set him right at once,’ said Bertram. It took me a little effort to prevent him from doing so.

  ‘We are not meant to be drawing attention to ourselves,’ I said.

  We knocked on the door of apartment 4A. I admit I expected it to be neat and functional, but I was unprepared for the lavish sight that met our eyes when the door opened. A neat little maid, scarcely thirteen years of age, opened the door. Behind her I saw the long narrow hall was hung with white silk and a luscious Chinese rug that ran the length of the hallway. Two prints hung, one each side of the hallway. They were both clearly Old Masters, but their subject was not one that was normally seen in the drawing room and left no doubt of the occupation of the lady owner of this place. Bertram coloured beetroot on seeing them.

  ‘Is Miss Anderson at home?’ I enquired.

  The little maid bobbed. ‘It is late, madam, but I can see. Who shall I say is calling?’

  I decided to get right to the nub of the issue. ‘Please tell her it is friends of Baron Von Ritter.’

  The maid looked as if she would have asked our names, but I interrupted her. ‘Perhaps there is a room where we may wait while you enquire? We can hardly stand on the doorstep, can we?’

  This had been what she clearly intended us to do, but I looked down my nose the way my mother has taught me. She is less than five feet tall but can make a Duke cry with one sharp sentence - or so she claims to have done in her youth. Though she has never told me what the Duke did to earn such a rebuke.

  The maid took us into a small ante-room. It too was white, but this time there was a profusion of mirrors on the walls. Candles with crystals hung around them were strewn around two white painted tables in what I presume was meant to be the French style. There was also a plumply padded chaise longue, on which sat a riding crop, and a pair of leather armchairs. Unaccountably the room made me feel uncomfortable.

  ‘I do not like this,’ I said.

  ‘It is exactly the kind of place where a certain kind of lady would entertain,’ said Bertram. ‘Let us stay standing.’

  I forbore asking him how he knew this because an amazingly beautiful woman had entered the room. She was of moderate height and build, but her skin was porcelain white, her long, free-flowing hair darker than a raven’s wing, and her eyes the colour of jade. She wore a shimmery silver silk gown and, I would have laid money, nothing else. Beside me Bertram caught his breath and then tried to change it into a cough. I ignored him.

  ‘I do not believe we have been introduced,’ said Miss Anderson in a well-modulated voice that barely hinted at her background.

  ‘I am sorry to tell you that Baron Von Ritter is dead.’

  She sank dramatically down onto the chaise longue and actually uttered the words, ‘You lie!’

  ‘I am afraid not,’ said Bertram. ‘He was taken ill at the exhibition at Crystal Palace and passed away.’

  Miss Anderson sat up. I thought I saw a calculating look in her eyes, but it was gone in a moment. ‘Poor Algernon,’ she said. ‘It will have ruined all his plans. Did he send you to tell me? We were to meet tomorrow at six p.m. at the Chelsea tea rooms. He must be dreadfully upset. It is all too tragic, though I hardly knew him, of course.’

  Bertram threw me a confused looked. ‘I say, I thought when we mentioned his name you came over all distressed.’

  ‘I am extremely compassionate,’ said Miss Anderson.

  ‘I expect you were glorious on stage,’ I said.

  Miss Anderson rounded on me. ‘Look, what d’you want?’ she asked, her accent beginning to slip. ‘Does Algernon need me to go to him?’

  ‘Would he normally send a couple to escort you?’ I asked.

  ‘Not like you two, he wouldn’t. What’s going on?’

  I eyed her up. Bertram seemed baffled, but I recognised a businesswoman in Miss Anderson. ‘I think it might be helpful if we all laid our cards on the table. We believe the Baron was murdered. Would I be right in thinking he had asked you to go to Germany with him?’

  ‘How is this any of your business?’ snapped the woman.

  ‘I only want the truth. Whatever that may be,’ I said. ‘Tell me the truth and I will hand over your contract from Bosenby’s to do with as you wish. You can keep the contract, or you can tear it into bits and break with Porter.’

  Miss Anderson tilted her head to one side. ‘I’ll tell you whatever you want if you have that to bargain with.’

  Bertram took it from his pocket. Miss Anderson made a grab for it, but I intercepted her. ‘I do not want to be told a fairy story, Miss Anderson. I want the truth and only the truth. If I cannot confirm your story, you will not get your piece of paper.’

  ‘And how are you going to confirm it?’ said Miss Anderson. ‘If he is dead and there is no one to confirm it?’

  ‘Friedrich Gottlieb,’ I said.

  Miss Anderson shot to her feet. ‘If I told Klaus once I told him a thousand times, that good-for-nothing son of his was after his money. Why else should he care about Klaus and me? It’s not as if Klaus is cheating on his mother, seeing as he comes from the wrong side of the blanket anyway.’

  ‘Interesting,’ murmured Bertram.

  ‘Your relationship with Porter and Ritter,’ I said. ‘Please clarify.’

  Miss Anderson moved to an armchair and opened up a hidden panel. She took out a cigarette and asked Bertram for a light. ‘I do not smoke, madam,’ he said. ‘Please answer my lady’s question.’

  Miss Anderson pulled a cruel and mocking face for a moment. She lit the cigarette herself a
nd inhaled. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Finally, she spoke. ‘All right, if I am to come clean I might as well tell you the whole lot. Porter is a nice enough gent. On the rise in the right circles.’

  ‘About to drop you, was he?’ said Bertram.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Miss Anderson. ‘He likes things tidy. His wife is for making the children. I’m for entertainment. Those are his words, not mine. Only it isn’t very enter-bloody-taining for me.’ Her eyes glazed slightly as she took on a reflective tone. ‘He provides well, but he likes things done a certain way.’

  ‘I don’t think we need to hear,’ said Bertram.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Miss Anderson, ‘I don’t kiss and tell. Let’s just say that when you’re going through the same performance for the hundredth time and you find yourself wondering if the fish you have in the kitchen will stretch to another day, then the excitement of the adventure is on the wane.’ She stubbed out her cigarette in a small silver ash tray and stood up. ‘Don’t you get it? He was no bleedin’ fun. And there was I, tied to him with that dreadful contract for the rest of my natural life. Of course, I broached the matter, but Algie doesn’t like change, does he?’ She ran her hands over her forearms. ‘He come on a bit rough, if you know what I mean. Left me in no doubt that what is his, is his for life.’

  ‘So, Von Ritter was your way out?’

  Miss Anderson wrinkled her nose and to my surprise gave a little sniff. ‘I suppose that is what I thought at first, but he was a good bloke, Klaus. He liked a laugh and he knew how to treat a lady. The real laugh is Porter took me to meet him at Bosenby’s to show off. “Look what I have.” Very much his style. But someone turned up that he had to talk to and I was left with Klaus.’

  ‘You made your plans in one night?’ said Bertram. ‘That seems like too much of a fairy tale to me.’

  ‘This was months ago. Klaus has been in and out of the country on business and well, he and I, we took up with one another. I explained it was against my agreement, but he seemed a harmless old man. I didn’t think he would actually want to do - you know.’ she jerked her head. ‘Boy, was I to learn not to judge a book by its appearance. Klaus was a right Casanova, I can tell you. He knew how to please women, that man. Said he’d had a lot of practice. But that wasn’t it, and you can call me a liar to my face if you want, but I liked him. We had fun together, and when he suggested I might enjoy myself in Germany being with him, and I thought about it compared to my life with Algie - well, the choice was obvious. And now the poor old blighter’s gone and died. I hope it was a disgraceful exit.’ She gave us a watery smile. ‘That’s what he would have wanted.’