The Mantle of God

by Caron Allan

  The robber half-turned away from Dottie then reached up to snatch a silver and pearl hair-ornament from Dottie’s hair, and held it up to look at in the lamplight. His sleeve rode up as he held it. There was a mark on the inside of his wrist, not quite covered by a small patch of make-up. Dottie gasped. He turned to lock eyes with her, then following her eyes, he saw what she had seen. For Dottie it was as if the world and everything it contained had stopped still for a second. Her mind struggled to understand what she had seen, and the gunman in the centre of the room, the ringleader, looked across at his colleague and Dottie. ‘What’s up?’ he demanded.

  Dottie breathed again, trembling from head to foot, and gave the smallest pleading shake of her head. What would he...?

  ‘What is it?’ the ringleader insisted.

  There was another long pause then the man with the bag gave himself a slight shake, and said, with his unmistakable accent, ‘Nothing. I just thought for a moment she was going to faint.’

  The ringleader laughed. ‘Let her faint, spoiled brat. Get on with it.’ And the robber moved on to the next couple, who were already hastening to pull off their valuables and hold them out.

  Finally, they had gone around the whole room. Even Sergeant Maple had had to give up a watch and chain and coins to the value of almost a pound. Danny Paige, standing there in his uniform, blending in about as well as a lighthouse on a dark night, had given up a small cigarette case and a silver St Christopher charm on a thin chain.

  ‘All right,’ the ringleader shouted, ‘everyone down on the floor. Count to two hundred before any of you move, or you’ll live to regret it. But not for long,’ he added with a chuckle.

  Danny Paige saw his chance. In a flash he grabbed the still-steaming soup tureen off the table and flung it at the ringleader, flooring the man in one swift motion and sending soup splashing up the wall and over the floor. But behind him, a robber levelled his pistol and with only the merest hesitation, fire three shots in rapid succession full into the young policeman’s back. Margie screamed and buried her face in Janet’s neck, and Flora, without even a murmur, slid to the floor in a dead faint. Dottie broke out in sobs, and Maple uttered a howl of rage.

  But it was all to no avail. One robber helped up the ringleader, whilst the other three, rushing to the front of the room, trained their guns once more on the crowd, and the rebellion was squashed.

  ‘As I said,’ the ringleader snarled, not needing to raise his voice in the shocked hush of the room, ‘get on the floor. Now. Count to two hundred, or there will be even more that will never rise up again.’

  As the guests all lay on the floor, some of the ladies being helped by those around them, some of the ladies, in spite of the threatening situation, being careful of their gowns, the robbers began to retreat to the doorway. The door slammed shut. The first two bold men immediately got to their feet, and a shot rang out in the hall and everyone screamed and fell flat on the floor again.

  Silence fell on the room. After a few moments, heads began to lift again, and M’Dear Monty, whom Dottie would forever remember for this brave deed, got to his feet and went to the door. A lady gasped, ‘No!’ but he grasped the handle and eased the door open. Seeing nothing to alarm him, he went out into the hallway with Dottie’s father following him. Inside the room, it felt as though everyone held their breath. Maple and the Reverend Trent bent over the lifeless body of Danny Paige.

  Presently the words came back to them from her father, ‘It’s all clear. They’ve gone. I’m phoning the police.’

  Suddenly everyone was up and talking loudly. Some men, ashamed now of having been cowed, talked loudly about what they would do when they got their hands on the devils who had perpetrated the crime. Hanging was too good for them, was the common consensus. Dottie, clinging numbly to her mother, was horribly afraid she was going to be sick. She ran from the room and only just made it to the bathroom in time.

  When she came out, Janet was there. ‘Are you all right Miss? I’ve put Miss Flora into your room to lie down, Mr Gascoigne was worried about her colour. And Mr Manderson says the police is on their way. And Cook is putting on the kettle to make tea for everyone, though Mr Gascoigne and Sir Montague is handing out whisky to the gents, and some of the ladies too, I don’t doubt. Is there anything you want me to do?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dottie, ‘Stay with Flora, make sure she’s all right. I’m going downstairs.’

  ‘Oh Miss, are you sure you should? What if they was to come back?’

  ‘They won’t,’ Dottie said, ‘they’ve got what they came for.’ She could see the body of the young constable, a tablecloth already draped over him, and Maple still sitting beside him on the floor, his head in his hands. Tears started in her eyes.

  Glancing up, she saw Mrs Gerard at the top of the stairs, peering over the banister. The old lady’s face was grave. Dottie ran up to take her shaking hand and help the woman back down the stairs.

  Half an hour later, another uniformed constable opened the Mandersons’ front door to the detectives. Mr Manderson’s library was placed at their disposal, and almost immediately, once Janet had set down the tray of coffee and sandwiches on a side table next to Mr Manderson’s largely untouched collection of the works of Walter Scott, they began to bring in the guests, two at a time, to take statements.

  Her parents were the first to be seen. Dottie was still shaken and upset, but wanted to keep busy so she made herself useful in the kitchen with Cook and Janet, cutting sandwiches and making more coffee, whilst Margie ran in and out with plates and cups and the like. Hopefully with the resilience of youth, Dottie thought, Margie would recover from the ordeal, but for now, she wouldn’t stop talking about what had happened.

  ‘Ooh Miss,’ she said, her eyes gleaming with yet more tears, ‘when he held that gun to your throat, I thought you was a goner for sure. Like that poor young fellow...’

  Dottie’s eyes widened, and the image of it sprang from her memory like an ambush.

  Seeing Dottie blanch, Cook snapped at the youngster, ‘Margie, for the dear Gawd’s sake, get these sarnies upstairs before people starve to death.’ When the girl had gone, Cook came to put a hand on Dottie’s arm. ‘She don’t mean any harm, Miss Dottie.’

  But Margie, thus spoken to, simply ran from the room in a fresh flood of tears.

  ‘It’s all right, she’s too young to know how to deal with it.’ Dottie managed a faltering smile at Cook who patted her arm. Dottie turned to collect a couple of plates, and carried them up the short few steps to the drawing room, where everyone was gathered, the dining room having been closed off. Anything to keep moving, to stop herself from thinking about it. A wave of nausea came over her, and at the turn of the stairs she had to pause and take some deep breaths until the feeling went away. By the time she reached the drawing room, she was composed once more and she took some time to help Janet pass around the food and the coffee and generally ensure the guests were kept busy and felt looked after.

  Another twenty minutes went by before Dottie was summoned. She felt rather nervous and paused outside the door to pat her hair into place and straighten her gown. The constable who was acting as both messenger and usher glanced at her as if wondering why she was hesitating, but then the door was open and she was being shown in, and a nice older gentleman in a dark blue suit was getting to his feet, holding out his hand to her and saying, ‘Do come in, Miss Manderson, I gather you’ve had a rather disastrous birthday party this evening.’ The understatement was delivered with a gentle smile and her first thought was, ‘He’s rather sweet, like an uncle or an old friend of Father’s,’ and her second thought was, ‘I’d forgotten it was my birthday.’ She said this to the detective who nodded and replied,

  ‘No doubt not what you’d expected of the evening. I’m Chief Inspector Barrie, and I’m standing in for Inspector Hardy while he’s away for the Easter holidays. I’d like to ask you a few questions about anything you might have noticed. I hope you don’t mind, all this has been r
ather trying for you and I expect you’re a good deal shaken up.’

  But his initial avuncular chatty manner soon disappeared and he took her over and over her statement about the events of the evening, leaving her exhausted and tearful. It was as if he thought it was her fault the robbery had occurred, which chimed exactly with her own self-recriminations, as she thought of all the opportunities they had had to cancel the wretched party.

  Eventually all their guests had been permitted to leave, the musicians had been paid twice over as compensation for the perils they had faced, and the Gascoignes’ staff had been sent home to Mortlake Gardens, whilst the Mandersons’ own staff were sitting in the warm kitchen, too tired to discuss the evening any further, and having one last hot drink before retiring for the night.

  Dottie and her parents, along with Sergeant Maple, stood silently in the hall, watching as the body of the young constable was carried outside and driven away. Dottie’s mother, not usually given to such gestures, had patted Maple’s arm and told him he shouldn’t blame himself. Though they knew he would continue to do so, because as he said to Dottie, ‘What am I going to tell Bill when he comes back?’ She shook her head. She had no idea what she was going to tell him either.

  Chapter Sixteen

  WILLIAM HARDY HAD COMPLETELY forgotten there was such a thing in the world as leisure, and he couldn’t shake the slightly guilty sense of indulgence he felt at not being at work. An evening walk along the river with his family, followed by a concert at the bandstand had been a wonderful distraction.

  A terse interview with his superiors had left William in no doubt as to the official view of him taking three days off in the middle of an investigation, but he had remained uncharacteristically stubborn, citing the need to deal with his late mother’s legal affairs and to spend some time with his grieving siblings. A reluctant agreement had been forthcoming, and so here he was, listening to an open-air concert in a small Derbyshire country town.

  He had started the day with a late breakfast of huge proportions, and had watched the younger members of the family, gathered at his uncle’s home especially for the holiday, as they foraged for Easter eggs around the house and grounds.

  Although eggs were not traditionally hunted until Easter Sunday, his uncle had taken great pains to explain to the children that they had special permission from the King to hunt for them on Saturday as the King knew they were going to be sailing with Aunt Cassie’s brother and his wife for the Caribbean on Easter Monday and had to be in Liverpool the night before. The adults had exchanged sly, conspiratorial smiles over this announcement. Edward, now fifteen, had been sceptical but was still young enough to be persuaded to join in the fun.

  Even Eleanor had taken part, under the guise of ‘helping’ the smaller children as she too professed to be too old for such nonsense. William smiled as he heard his brother exclaiming more than once that something ‘Jolly well wasn’t fair’. He heard Eleanor laughing too, and he was struck by how happy she was, and how refreshed, by this visit to Derbyshire.

  His aunt and uncle joined him at the garden door as he watched the game.

  ‘Bill, we really need to speak to you about Eleanor,’ his uncle said.

  William turned. ‘I’m so grateful to you, Uncle Joe. It’s been an age since I’ve seen her so light-hearted. She’s completely transformed.’

  ‘It’s our pleasure. We’re just glad to be able to help.’

  ‘Bill, dear, we have reason to believe that a young cousin of my brother-in-law is interested in Eleanor. Romantically, I mean.’ His aunt said. Hardy mentally meandered through the relationships.

  ‘She’s only just eighteen,’ he cautioned.

  ‘Well, yes, but...’

  ‘And how old is this fellow?’

  ‘He’s twenty-four. And of a good family. A nice boy, not brash, not bullying. His father owns the mill at the other end of town. They’re Quakers, but that’s not a problem, is it? Better than being a drinker.’

  ‘Yes indeed.’ Hardy turned back to look out at the foragers; his brother’s further indignant exclamations reached his ears.

  ‘The thing is, Bill, she’s happy here. And she has prospects. We’d like her to stay with us if you’ll allow it.’ His aunt came and put her hand through his arm, and stood beside him looking out into the grounds.

  ‘I’m very grateful to you both,’ he repeated, ‘but I have a duty...’

  His uncle held up a hand. ‘Don’t say that. It’s been a pleasure to have her here—and young Edward. And if you can manage to care for yourself in London, we’d like to keep her with us. She already seems very attached to this young fellow, and we’ll keep an eye on the situation, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘Do you know if she has any provision under the terms of your mother’s will? It would be as well to clarify the situation, in preparation for the future,’ his aunt asked.

  William sighed. ‘It’s not a lot, I’m afraid. The investments haven’t done very well, and Mother’s income has suffered as a result. Mother left her money jointly between Edward and Eleanor...’

  ‘Nothing to you or Celia?’ his Aunt Cassie asked, and he could tell she was a little shocked. He smiled.

  ‘I am to administer Edward’s money until he is twenty-one. And I assume Mother felt that Celia’s husband could support her well enough.’ He hesitated, then, wanting to be completely frank, he said, ‘Edward’s money is being used to pay towards his school fees, but due to Mother’s losses, it only covers about half the cost. By the time he is twenty-one, I’m not sure there’ll be anything left. As it is, Eleanor will only have about £120 a year.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ was his aunt’s sorrowful reply. ‘Still, I suppose it’s better than nothing.’

  He knew it was a disappointing figure, but there was nothing he could do about it. He sincerely hoped that Eleanor’s young man was not depending upon marrying a rich wife.

  The rest of the day was spent in relaxation, games and eating good food. After dinner, the ones who were departing for foreign shores early the next morning said their goodbyes and went home. William, Eleanor and Edward spent a leisurely evening with their aunt and uncle in the drawing room, talking of memories and old friends. It was a warm, lazy evening, and William couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d been so relaxed. When the ladies and Edward had gone up to bed, Uncle Joe invited William to take a nightcap with him in his office. Sitting in a worn leather armchair, William seized the opportunity to ask his uncle if he’d ever heard mention of a Muriel Carmichael in connection with his father. Joe Allsopp handed William a crystal tumbler containing a small measure of whisky, then turned to tidy the drinks tray. William—thinking like a policeman—was convinced his uncle was giving himself thinking time.

  At length Joe said, ‘Well, you’re a grown man. I’m sure as a policeman you know more than I about the weaknesses of men. In those days, with your father it was women.’ He halted, then shook his head and said, ‘Actually that’s not quite fair. I loved my sister—still do, though she’s left us—but I can’t pretend she was an easy woman back then. When Garry was rich, they were both so different. I suppose I wasn’t surprised to find that Garfield sought comfort elsewhere.’

  Joe came to sit opposite William on a wide, battered sofa. William nodded, thinking back to what Mrs Carmichael had told him. ‘But I thought he knew her before he met Mother. At least, that was the impression I formed.’

  ‘Who told you about it?’

  ‘She did.’

  Joe was a good deal surprised. ‘Muriel Carmichael’s still around? I see.’ He nodded to himself. He sighed, ‘Well, yes, it started well before they met. Then your mother came on the scene, a match was fixed up between both of the fathers. And somehow, your mother got to hear about this seamstress. She even went to see her. ‘Keep your hands off my fiancé’, or words to that effect. Your father promised to give Muriel up. His father had threatened to cut him off. But...well...’

  ‘He started seeing her
again?’ William hazarded. His uncle nodded.

  There was a silence as each of them pondered and tried to decide how much to say or to conceal. After several minutes, and casting a quick glance over his shoulder as if for eavesdroppers, his uncle said, in a low, confidential voice, ‘Look here, Bill. The thing is, looking back now, I realise your father really loved this girl. Class-wise they were no match, that’s true. But he was—oh, he was a different man with her—and by all accounts she had quite the head for business.’

  ‘Indeed,’ William said. ‘She’s been hugely successful.’

  ‘You know her quite well then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Still a looker?’

  ‘Not really, no, but she is an impressive woman, Very impressive. One wouldn’t want to underestimate her.’

  ‘See here, Bill,’ Joe said, ‘I said to him at the time, forget what your father says, forget about Isabel. My sister and I loved her, but like I said, a devil of a woman to live with, one imagines. Sorry, Bill, no disrespect to your mother. Oh, I know I should have stuck up for her, but I believed I was doing the right thing. I told him, ‘If you love this woman and she’s everything you say she is, marry her and tell the family to go hang.’ He drained his glass and got up to pour another.

  ‘But he didn’t, clearly.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry to say this, Bill, but your father was something of a moral coward. And he was never truly happy with your mother. And, quite obviously, as we now know he had no head for business.’ He sank down on the sofa again with a sigh, shaking his head at the memories. ‘He would have been so happy with that Muriel girl. But he had no backbone, your father.’

  ‘What about me?’ William asked suddenly. He hadn’t intended to ask such a question, but it was out now. His uncle turned to look at him.