by Lynda Wilcox
Chapter 11
Armed with the information gleaned at Sabrina Rutherford’s party, next morning Eleanor called for the car to be brought round and drove south of the river in search of the Rother Rowing Club.
It didn’t take too long to discover the club’s whereabouts. As its name suggested, it lay in Rotherhithe, on the banks of the river Rother, a small tributary of the Thames.
She parked a short distance away and observed the low wooden clubhouse surrounded by a wire fence, which at this hour of the morning — it was barely half past ten — appeared deserted. A padlock hung on a chain threaded through a pair of gates and appeared to be secure. Unsure of what to look for, if and when she did gain entry, Eleanor tapped her fingers on the Lagonda’s steering wheel as she tried to come up with a plan of campaign.
Would Martin Cropper have been a member here? She ought to have asked Mary that, but had been reluctant to visit the widow when she still had no answers for her. Mary had made no mention of her husband having an interest in rowing, or any other sport or, for that matter, any real social life — outside of an after work drink in the Crown and Anchor.
If Tommy Totteridge’s explanation of the letters was correct, then the man who Martin had been seen talking to outside the pub was a member here, even if the murdered man wasn’t. That didn’t mean that Mr Rower — as Eleanor was beginning to think of him — was guilty of anything, just that, as far as anyone knew, he had been the last person to see Martin alive.
“And, if I find him, then what?” she muttered. “I can hardly come right out and ask if he’s a murderer.”
As she watched the front of the building, a man suddenly appeared around the far corner and approached the gate. Eleanor gunned the motor and edged forwards.
“Good morning,” she called. “When does the club open, please?”
The gatekeeper, an old man in a dark suit and cloth cap looked up in some surprise. He smiled at the sight of the attractive blonde in the big car.
“Good morning. Not until twelve-thirty, ma’am. Every day’s the same, twelve-thirty till four pm from October to April, though we don’t close until eight o’clock during the summer.”
“Thank you. Can you tell me the name of the membership secretary, if they have one?”
He looked offended at the thought that the club may have lacked such a necessary functionary, though he answered readily enough.
“That’s Mr Harry, ma’am, Harry Grenville. He’ll be here in another hour or so, if you’d like to call back then.”
“Thank you.”
He touched his cap to her and she turned the car around and drove back towards Rotherhithe high street, determined to return later.
In the meantime she would acquaint herself with an area of London she barely knew and pass the time by doing a little shopping cum sightseeing.
She needed a pair of long gloves, the last pair having been ruined by red wine splashes that Tilly swore would never come out, and the ones in the draper’s window looked enticing. She went in and bought them, together with a pair of day gloves in soft leather for her maid, then added three pairs of silk stockings.
With her purchases wrapped and paid for, Eleanor left the shop laden with parcels. They didn’t stay in her hands and arms for long.
“Oof”
A tall figure walked into her and the packages went flying upwards, and scattered all over the pavement. Cursing under her breath, she bent to retrieve them.
“Madam, I am most awfully sorry. Here, let me. It was entirely my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. So clumsy of me. How many parcels did you have? Is that all of them? Yes, I believe it is. No, wait! There’s one more over here.” The parcels were placed back in her hands. “Really very sorry. I don’t think there’s any damage. Won’t you let me buy you a cup of tea by way of recompense? It’s the least I can do, and there’s a nice little tea shop just around this corner.”
Eleanor stared upwards at the verbose figure, wondering when she’d be allowed to get a word in. Dark, dangerous eyes twinkled back at her. She caught the familiar warning they flashed at her.
“You really should be more careful and look where you are going,” she said sternly. “However, a cup of tea would be most welcome, thank you.”
It was odd, Eleanor reflected as she fell into step with the man beside her, that no matter how many times she told herself that she did not wish to see Major Peter Armitage ever again, she still ended up in quiet little cafes with him. Perhaps the man from British Military Intelligence had a fondness for tea and coffee. He certainly had a fondness for interfering in her otherwise well-ordered life, and her resentment of that fact made not a blind bit of difference.
She risked a glance at him as he held the cafe door open for her. His hair was cropped close against a well-shaped head with good cheek bones, though a small scar marred the right-hand side of his chin. He wore an impeccably cut suit that showed off a trim waist and hips.
Curse the man, he’s got a better figure than I have, Eleanor thought. She enjoyed his rear view for a moment longer, as he led the way to a table. By the time he turned and held a chair out for her, she was gazing demurely down.
“Was that entirely necessary?” Eleanor murmured as she took her seat and placed her parcels on an empty chair.
He picked up a menu, not looking at her. “It pays to be careful.”
Taking a cigarette case from her bag, she plucked one out and lit it. What did he want with her this time? He wasn’t here by chance. It had been too neat an ambush for that. Any other man would have called on her at her apartment, but not someone as cloaked in cloak-and-dagger as Major Armitage.
“So, what would you like?” He put the menu down and finally looked at her.
“An explanation, though I suppose that would be too much to ask for.”
His lips twitched. “You’ll settle for tea?”
“Don’t I always?”
“No, sometimes you have coffee.” He grinned. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, my lady. I do hope there was nothing breakable in your shopping. I’d hate to think that I’d done any damage.”
She waved a hand. “No, just a few items for Tilly and myself. There’ll be no harm done there.” Though she might do harm to the major if he didn’t answer her question. What was it about the man that brought out such violent tendencies in her?
He gave the order to a waitress and then sat back and surveyed Eleanor. “I meant it, you know. It is good to see you. Are you working on a case at the moment?”
“Are you?”
“Of course. Aren’t I always?”
Surprised at his honesty, her eyebrows rose. “And I suppose that little charade just now was because you need my help?”
“Perhaps. Or maybe it was because I just enjoy running into you.” He laughed at his own joke and Eleanor, aware that the waitress was approaching and the major was waiting until she’d been and gone, smiled too.
“So, how did you find me?”
“Oh, the Lagonda is very distinctive.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her car wasn’t the only Lagonda in London, and the capital was a big place.
As if he divined her thoughts, he added, “It’s the only one I know of that’s driven by a beautiful blonde.”
“Really, Peter! Do you think me so susceptible to flattery?”
“Not at all.” The smile vanished and he was serious again in an instant. “Does the name Sergei Leonov mean anything to you?” He picked up the cup the waitress had deposited in front of him and took a sip.
Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t think so. Should it?”
“Probably not. He’s a Russian anarchist who we believe is in the country intending to cause mayhem at the Empire Exhibition.”
“But that’s taking place in Wembley, well north of the river. What are you doing in Rotherhithe? Or are we in Southwark? I’m not sure where the one ends and the other begins.”
A shutter fell behind his eyes. “Information recei
ved. What about you? Why are you here?”
Despite the temptation to give him his own answer back again, Eleanor told him about Martin Cropper. “His wife wants me to find out who killed him, so that’s what I’m doing.”
Armitage shrugged, apparently unconcerned about the fate of the painter. “Good luck. They’re a rough lot around here, you know. I trust you’ll be careful.”
She thought him elitist, but did not say so. Southwark may have a low reputation; it was no reason to tar all its inhabitants with the same brush. There were some she considered rough in Piccadilly and Knightsbridge.
“Actually,” he said, “there is something else I wanted to ask you. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to dinner at the Watermen’s Hall tomorrow evening?”
“Is this business or pleasure?”
“Well, it was going to be strictly the former if I went on my own, but I’m sure that would change if you came with me.”
She laughed. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. Tell me more about it.”
“Well, I’m convinced my quarry is somewhere close to the river and no one knows the Thames with its docks and wharves better than the Company of Watermen and Lightermen. I’ve known their current Master, William Pearce, since the war and I’ve asked him to arrange this dinner for me. I want to hear what these people have to say.”
“And who are these people, exactly?”
He gathered his thoughts and gave a brief outline of the Company’s long and illustrious history while they drank their tea.
Eleanor listened attentively, as she always did when the major talked. Once upon a time, in the dark days towards the end of the war, his instructions and commands had saved both their lives. Calling herself Ella Rowsley, she had volunteered for a desperate mission behind enemy lines under Peter Armitage’s command.
Together with Tilly and three other male volunteers, they had pulled off a daring rescue, committed acts of sabotage that had ultimately saved Allied lives, and generally made a nuisance of themselves to the enemy.
In the resulting mayhem, Eleanor and Peter had briefly become lovers. She didn’t regret it, though she did try to forget it, for while she’d trusted him with her life, she wasn’t ready or willing to do so with her heart.
“So,” she said when he had finished speaking, “the watermen move people along and across the river, while the lightermen do the same for cargo. Have I got that right?”
“Lightermen used to help unload ships that hadn’t managed a mooring at the dockside, but in a nutshell, yes.” He smiled across the table at her, like a teacher pleased with a particularly sharp pupil.
“And do you expect your Mr Leonov to be in attendance at this dinner?”
The major shrugged. “No, I shouldn’t think so. The Master’s guests will be business men in the main and I can’t see how Leonov could infiltrate them. Like I said, something tells me that if he’s here at all yet, he’ll be staying close to the river, and who better to tell me what’s happening along and around the Thames than the Company of Watermen?”
“I don’t know, Peter. It’s a long river, a big city, and there’s any number of places your man could be.” She tapped the table with her fingers. “It would make more sense for him to be holed up somewhere around Wembley, surveying the lie of the land there.”
“Well, be that as it may, will you come with me on Thursday? Please?”
If it had been a purely social occasion she would not have hesitated, but the thought that he might be using her did not sit well with Eleanor.
“Am I to be your camouflage?”
For a moment the scar stood out livid on his chin. “Not a bit of it.” His face softened. “I really would like your company, you know, and there’s a slap up meal involved, in case Tilly isn’t feeding you properly.”
She laughed. “Why didn’t you say? Of course I’ll come with you in that case, though I would suggest that neither of us make any mention of that comment to my maid.”
He held up a hand. “Heaven forfend. I’ll call for you on Thursday, then. Around seven-thirty.”
Eleanor got to her feet and held out her hand. “I look forward to it,” she said.
Chapter 12
Eleanor did not go straight home. Now that she knew of the existence of the Rother Rowing Club, she called at Bakewell House to speak to Joe.
“He’s out in the garden again, my lady.” Mrs Minshull bobbed a curtsey from behind an ironing board. A neat pile of folded clothing sat on the dresser behind her. “Joe always was an outdoor sort and he’s in that there garden most days once he’s done his morning chores. I’m not complainin’, it gets him out from under my feet and the fresh air is doin’ him a world of good.” She put the iron upright. “If you’d care to take a seat, I’ll fetch him in for you.”
“No, that’s all right, I can see you’re busy.” Eleanor pointed at the garments still awaiting Joe’s mother’s attention in a wickerwork basket at her feet. “I just want a quick word, and I have something for him.” She produced the contents of her pocket to show her and was rewarded with a beaming smile.
“Thank you, my lady.”
To call the area at the rear of the house in Berkeley Square a garden was to flatter it in Eleanor’s estimation. If she’d had her way it would have been filled with roses and sweet-smelling dianthus, blousy poppies and tall hollyhocks, with a few fruit trees trained against one wall and a patch of grass and a comfortable bench against another. One day, she had promised herself, she would have such a garden, though when that would be was as great a mystery as the one that currently occupied her thoughts.
Joe, however, was clearly happy in the square plot outside the back door. He looked up as Eleanor stepped through the door and gave her a grin of welcome.
“Hello, my lady.”
“Hello there, Joe. How does your garden grow?”
He leant on his hoe. “It’s coming along nicely, thank you.”
“And what about you? Are you doing nicely, too?”
The boy admitted that he was, a fact that he attributed to Tilly giving him butter to spread on his toast.
“I don’t remember ever tasting it before and I’ve persuaded me mum to buy it now instead of that other cheap stuff that tasted horrid. She agrees with me about butter tasting better, but says we can’t squander money on fripperies.” He frowned. “Not sure what thems is, but at least I look forward to meals now.”
“That’s good to hear. Perhaps these will help in that regard.” She drew several packets of seeds from her pocket and held them out to him.
“Coo! Not half.” He took them from her and turned the packets over in his hand, “What have we got then?”
“Radishes, because I remember you said your mum liked them. There’s also lettuce, tomatoes, and peas.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He clutched the packets to his chest for a moment, then tucked them into the pocket of his trousers. “I shall get these planted in a day or so. The book I’m reading says the soil has to warm up a bit before you go planting. I don’t know how you tell whether it’s warm enough, but a few sunny days might do it, eh?”
He looked at the sky where a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds. A blackbird hopped onto the wall and sang cheerily. Joe grinned.
“Is there anything else that you need, Joe?” Eleanor asked. “Pots? Tools? A cold frame?”
“No, thank you, my lady. Just at the moment I reckon I’ve got all I need.”
Eleanor wished that she could say the same, or be so easily pleased, but she had work to do.
“Well, if there is, do let me know. Now, the other reason I’ve come to see you is about that little errand I asked of you.”
She brought him up to date regarding her morning’s visit to the Rother Rowing Club which caused him to wrinkle his brow and shake his head.
“I ain’t never heard of it, my lady, and I ain’t had the chance to go and see Bowzer yet neither.” He looked at the ground, kicking at a clod of earth with one boo
t.
Eleanor had no doubt he was spending most of his time in the garden and didn’t blame him for that. He didn’t have the acres of parkland to roam about and play in that Eleanor and Tilly had been privileged to enjoy when they were his age, but he was obviously in his element.
And he was also prepared to work, she noted. He might have better living conditions than previously, and no need to sell papers on the street any more, yet in his own small way he was still providing for his family.
“That’s all right,” she said. “I can see you’ve been busy out here. I had the letters wrong when I came to see you before, anyway. It’s not so urgent now that I’ve found the place, but I’d still like you to ask your friend about it. See what information you can glean for me, please, but don’t go taking any risks.”
Joe ran a grubby finger across his chin. “If you’re thinking of going again, maybe I could come with you, my lady. You’d be driving there, I s’pose?”
His expectant, hopeful face gave away the fact that he was angling for a ride in the Lagonda. Eleanor laughed. “Well, I shan’t be returning immediately, but perhaps later. I shall probably have to visit the place several times before I get to the bottom of things. Once you’ve spoken to your friend, come and let me know what he has to say, then we can plan our campaign and perhaps go together. I was also thinking that you, your mum and Georgie might like a day out at the Empire Exhibition when it opens. We’ll take Tilly along, too. There’s room for us all in the car.”
He beamed, clapping his fingertips together in excitement. “Oh, I’d would love that, and so would Mum. Thank you, my lady.”
It was not an idle promise and, although she would probably visit Wembley with her parents, according to the Times newspaper there would be so much to see and do that one visit would barely suffice. If that were so, she’d be happy to go again and take Tilly and the Minshull family.
