English Rose (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 13)

by Frank Howell Evans

  “One evening when my husband had got to sleep and I was in my own room, I heard distinctly the tick-tack of a clock. All the clocks had been stopped, as Inspector Watkins advised and I had made up an excuse to send Stephen’s pocket watch to the repairer. You can understand how I felt, when I heard that tick-tack. I was frenzied. I turned my head in all directions and decided that the sound came from my husband’s room. I ran in there. He was asleep! The tick-tack was there. But where? I turned here and there like a fool. The room was dark and it seemed absolutely impossible for me to turn on the light, because I thought I couldn’t take the time for fear that the bomb would go off in those few seconds. I threw myself on the floor and listened under the bed. The noise came from above. I sprang to the fireplace, hoping that, against my orders, someone had started up the mantel-clock. No, it wasn’t that! It seemed to me now that the tick-tack came from the bed itself. Stephen woke up just then and asked, “What is it, dear? What are you doing?” I cried, “Listen! The tick-tack. Don’t you hear the tick-tack?” I tried to pull him out of the bed, but I was too weak from fear and I fell back with him on the bed, crying, “Help!” He pushed me away and said, “Listen.” The frightful tick-tack was behind us now, on the table. There was nothing on the table, except for the night-light, the glass with the sleeping medicine and a porcelain vase in which I had placed with my own hands that morning the flowers, which Carswell had brought that morning. I stuck my fingers among the flowers and felt a resistance. The tick-tack was in the vase! I took the vase in both hands, opened the window and threw it as far as I could into the garden. There the policemen found it and dismantled it. Truly, Mr. Poiret, that day we were near death, but God watched over us.”

  Lady Hassocks made the sign of the cross.

  “And Mademoiselle Kimberley?” inquired Poiret. “She must also have been very frightened.”

  “Kimberley wasn’t here that night. She had been invited to a party by Ian’s parents. She slept at their house, as had been planned. The next day, when she learned of the danger her father had escaped, she threw herself in her father’s arms, crying and declared that she would never leave him alone again. Her father told her how I had saved his life. She embraced me, saying that she would never forget that. She said, “I couldn’t love you more if you were truly my mother.”

  “Madame,” said Poiret after a moment of silence, “who is allowed on the first floor?”

  “Only myself and Kimberley go there.”

  “Madame, it is necessary to take Poiret there at once.”

  “At once? Into my husband’s bedroom?”

  “Please to go to the bedroom of your husband at once.”

  She hesitated, but seeing the expression of anguish on Poiret’s face, she relented. She led Poiret to the first floor, in deep silence. Nothing broke it except the arms manufacturer’s restless moaning.

  Poiret was led through the warm, perfumed boudoir of a woman, then, beyond, through two doors opening on the dressing room which was between Mrs. Hassocks’s room and the arms manufacturer’s. A night lamp illuminated the bedroom of the old man. It was frightening to see the excellent Stephen Hassocks, the kindly patriarch of the family, the faithful spouse of Lady Hassocks, the adored papa of Kimberley, the friend of Judge John Colliver, celebrated for his drinking, the friend of the amiable wool-merchant, Christian Cooper and the friend of the Member of Parliament, Richard Monk.

  At that moment a hoarse sigh heaved Hassocks’s huge chest and Poiret, standing in the doorway of the dressing room, watched, but it was no longer the arms manufacturer that he was looking at. It was something else, lower down, beside the wall, near the door. The heavy-set man tiptoed lightly across the floor in order to not make any noise. Behind Poiret Mrs. Hassocks raised her arms, as though she wished to stop him. Poiret crouched down beside the door and stuck his thumb between the floor and the door and moved it from left to right? He rose again and returned. Mrs. Hassocks grabbed Poiret roughly by the arm and pushed him into the dressing room, ready to burst out in anger, when a moan stopped them.

  “Remove them all! Take your time. Do your job.”

  It was the sleeper speaking. The mouth, which had refused to negotiate with his striking workers, moaned.

  Lady Hassocks and Poiret listened in horror as the arms manufacturer continued his speech.

  “Clear away the ingrates. The factory must be returned to production as soon as possible. Whitehall will be pleased!”

  Stephen Hassocks’s fist shook above his bed. It seemed that he was about to strike. Poiret saw Lady Hassocks trembling, trying to keep herself from crying.

  Hassocks heaved an immense sigh and his breast descended under the blanket. His fist relaxed and fell. His head lay still. There was silence. He sighed. Then he began to move wildly. At last he sat up and screamed, “I destroyed them all! What have I done?” He began crying uncontrollably.

  “Stephen! Stephen!”

  Mrs. Hassocks caught him in her arms, holding him tightly, comforting him. Still he continued talking. She put her hands over his mouth to make him stop.

  “Do you hear? What do they say? Look, Lady Hassocks!”

  The arms manufacturer seemed to slowly come out of his nightmare. Then, suddenly he was silent and pushed away his wife.

  “It’s that confounded sleeping medicine,” he said with an immense sigh. “I’ll drink no more of it.”

  With one hand he pointed to the large glass on the table beside him, still half full of the sleeping medicine, out of which he drank a little each time he woke up. With the other hand he wiped the perspiration from his face. Lady Hassocks stayed near him, suddenly overpowered by the idea that he might discover they were not alone.

  But Poiret was careful not to move or say anything. He barely breathed. He now understood the emotions of the arms manufacturer’s friends when Kimberley had sung in her low, sweet voice, “Good night,” to her father. His friends had probably been made aware by Mrs. Hassocks’s anxious talking of his insomnia.

  Poiret cursed his curiosity, because it was his desire to solve the mystery, that had brought him to the mansion and which had placed him in the trembling hands of Lady Hassocks after he promised her his help. But should he help protect this man? He had shown pity for the delirious distress of the woman. But there had been more curiosity than pity in his motives. And now he had to pay, because it was too late now to withdraw. He had sent away the policemen and he alone stood between the arms manufacturer and the vengeance of his enemies. He could desert, perhaps! That one idea brought him to himself. It roused his spirit. Circumstances had brought him into a camp that he had to defend at any cost. Justice required it of him.

  The arms manufacturer slept now or at least his eyelids were closed. Maybe he was trying to simulate sleep in order to reassure his wife, who was on her knees beside his pillow, still holding her husband’s hand in hers. She rose at last and led Poiret to a little guest-room where she urged him to get some sleep. He replied that it was she, who needed rest. But agitated still by what had just occurred, she insisted on her request being followed.

  “After such a scene I would have nightmares, if I was to go to sleep,” she said. “Poor unhappy man! He cannot tear his thoughts away from it. It’s his worst punishment.”

  Poiret stopped her short. They heard the floor creak under a step downstairs. He wished to go downstairs, but he had not time. The floor creaked a second time. Mrs. Hassocks walked into the hallway and with an anguished voice called down the staircase, “Who’s there?”

  There was silence. Then the calm voice of Kimberley answered, “It’s me, Kimberley.”

  Mrs. Hassocks responded, “All is well, Kimberley. Your father is resting. Goodnight.”

  They heard Kimberley’s step cross the drawing room and the sitting room. Then the door of her room closed. Lady Hassocks, followed by a dumbfounded Poiret descended the stairs. When she reached the dining room she pointed her flashlight on the sofa, where her husband always reclined. The sofa
was in its usual place on the carpet. She pushed the sofa back, kneeled on the floor and raised the carpet, laying the floor bare. She examined the floor carefully. After she had made sure nothing had been disturbed, she rose, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. She put the carpet hack in place, adjusted the sofa and sat down on it with a sigh.

  “Nothing at all,” she said.

  “Why, Madame, did you examine the floor?”

  “Please, Mr. Poiret, don’t see in my acts anything mysterious. Whenever I have the chance I examine the flooring.”

  “Madame,” demanded the detective, “what was it that your daughter, she was doing in this room?”

  “She probably came for a glass of mineral water. Look! The bottle is still on the table.”

  “Madame, it is necessary that you tell to Poiret everything. Why, Madame, did you think to examine the floor?”

  Lady Hassocks sighed.

  “It was the night after the attempt with the bouquet, Mr. Poiret. It seemed to me I heard a noise on the ground floor. I hurried downstairs and saw nothing suspicious at first. Everything was shut tight. I opened the door of Kimberley’s room softly. I wished to ask her if she had heard anything. But she was so fast asleep that I had not the heart to awaken her. I opened the door of the patio and all the police officers, all, you understand they were all asleep. I was just leaving the dining room when I noticed that the carpet on the floor was wrinkled. It was if the sofa had been moved carelessly, trying to replace it in the position it usually occupied. Prompted by intuition, I pushed away the sofa and I lifted up the carpet. At first glance I saw nothing, but when I examined things closer I saw that a strip of wood didn’t lie well with the others on the floor. I was able to lift that strip and I found that the nails which had fastened it to the beam below had been freshly pulled out. I looked under the strip, but there was nothing there. I spread the carpet back again carefully, put the sofa in its place and in the morning sent for Inspector Watkins.”

  Poiret interrupted her.

  “And you have not, Madame, spoken to anyone of this discovery?”

  “To no one.”

  “Not even to your stepdaughter?”

  “No,” said Lady Hassocks in a husky voice, “not even to my stepdaughter.”

  “Why, Madame?” demanded Poiret.

  “I would not,” replied Lady Hassocks, after a moment’s hesitation, “have spoken to my daughter any more than I would have said a word to my husband. Why add to the anxiety? They have already suffered so much.”

  “And what is it that Inspector Watkins said?”

  “The inspector said to me, “You interrupted the person, who was trying to hide something under the strip. Act as though you haven’t noticed anything. Don’t speak of it to anyone. And watch. Let Mr. Hassocks continue to sit in his usual place and let no one suspect that we have discovered their plans.”

  “Did anything happen after that, Madame?”

  “Three days later, about eight o’clock, when the police officers were walking around the house, outside and after I helped my husband to bed, I felt drawn even against my better judgment to the dining room. I lifted up the carpet and examined the floor. The board could not be lifted up. Three nails held it in place.”

  Lady Hassocks stopped, as if overcome, she couldn’t go on anymore.

  “Madame?” insisted Poiret.

  “I asked the policemen if anyone had entered the ground floor. They all denied having gone in there. Neither had anyone come out from it.”

  “C’est curieux. How could anyone come out if no one, he has entered?”

  “I’m just saying,” she said with a sob, “that Kimberley during this time had been in her room.”

  “In her room on the same floor. But if Poiret, he understands you correctly, Madame, then from the previous time you examined the floor until the time that you noted that the nails, they had been put back, no other person could have entered the dining room except for you and your stepdaughter, Mademoiselle Kimberley.”

  Lady Hassocks took Poiret’s hand as to keep from fainting.

  “Mr. Poiret,” she moaned, “Inspector Watkins told me that he was sure, absolutely sure of the agents he stationed here. My sole consolation, do you see, sir, now that you have sent away those men, all I can hope is that Inspector Watkins was wrong about his men. The alternative is too horrible to think about.”

  She broke down and sobbed.

  Poiret put his hand on her shoulder and said, “We must not be, how do you say, rash, Madame. This evening we have not yet spoken about the little hat-pin.”

  Mrs. Hassocks didn’t hear him. When she was calm again, she wiped the tears from her eyes with her perfumed handkerchief and looked up, but she couldn’t see Poiret. He had left. She rose from the sofa, picked up her flashlight and went upstairs to her bed to catch a few hours of sleep.

  “Good morning,” said Lady Hassocks merrily, “My husband slept splendidly the latter part of the night. He didn’t touch his sleeping medicine. I’m sure it’s that dreadful medicine that gives him such frightful dreams. And you, Mr. Poiret, you haven’t slept an instant. I heard you walking through the house. I slept so peacefully, hearing your footsteps. Thanks for the sleep you have given me.”

  Lady Hassocks talked to Poiret, whom she had found the next morning tranquilly smoking his cigarette in the garden.

  “You don’t look very bright this morning, sir. You are worn out. I have just prepared the guest-room for you. Your bed is waiting for you. Is there anything you need? Tell me. Everything here is at your service.”

  “Poiret, he is not in need of anything, Madame,” said the detective smilingly, after the outpouring of words from the good lady.

  “How can you say that, sir? I want you to understand that I wish you to rest. Have you had breakfast yet this morning? If you don’t have breakfast promptly mornings, I will think you are annoyed.”

  Poiret did not reply.

  She continued after a deep sigh, “I was afraid that you would want to leave at once after what you heard last night. I don’t want you to have mistaken ideas about my husband. There is not a better man in the world than Stephen and he must have a good, a very good reason to sell weapons, when he’s so good at heart. These things are easy enough for wicked people, but for good men, for good men, who can reason it out, who know what they do and that they are hated by some into the bargain, it’s terrible, it’s terrible! I told him the moment he received the contract for the weapons, “You know what to expect, Stephen. Tell them you can’t do it.” I believe he was going to hit me, to murder me on the spot. “I! Betray my country in such a moment? This country to which I owe everything? What are you thinking, Lady Hassocks?” And he didn’t speak to me after that for two days. He had to be annoyed with my appeals and the pleading looks of Kimberley. In his own home! Kimberley attends lectures at the university, you know. And she knows many of the communists. Ah, life wasn’t easy for him in his own home, my poor husband. Besides, there was also Ian, whom I love. I shall be very happy to see him married to Kimberley.”

  “And Monsieur le Docteur, Adam?” questioned Poiret.

  “Oh, Adam only entered our lives recently. Whitehall sent him. But Adam has a heart of stone. He only knows his skeletons and his medicines. Truly, it seems his heart can only be touched by the sight of Kimberley. And that again has caused a good deal of anxiety to Stephen and me. It has caught us in a useless complication that we would like to end by the prompt marriage of Kimberley and Ian. But Kimberley, to our great surprise, has not wished it to be so. She keeps saying that there is always time to think of her wedding and that she’s in no hurry to leave us. Meantime she entertains herself with this Adam as if she didn’t fear his passion and neither has Adam the desperate air of a man, who knows the engagement of Kimberley and Ian is definite. They are mysterious, these young women, very mysterious, above all when they have that calm and tranquil look that Kimberley always has. Poor Kimberley! We were not like that in our time, si
r.”

  Kimberley entered the garden, happy, fresh and smiling like a woman, who had passed an excellent night. She asked after the health of the detective very prettily and embraced Lady Hassocks.

  “You have not stopped it, mama,” she said, shaking her head. “You are not going to be a little reasonable at last? I beg of you! What has given me such a mother? Night is made for sleep. Inspector Watkins has scared you. He makes himself important with his policemen and obsesses us all. I’m convinced that the whole vase affair was the work of his police.”

  “Mademoiselle,” said Poiret, “Poiret, he has sent them all away. All of them! Poiret, he is of the same opinion as you.”

  “Well, then, you will be my friend, Mr. Poiret.” She smiled at the detective, whose expression seemed to indicate that his heart had missed a beat. “I promise you, since you have done that we have nothing more to fear.”

  “Please promise me that, Kimberley!” said Lady Hassocks, her eyes filling with tears. “I want to forget everything. You love me like your own mother, don’t you, Kimberley?”

  “Like my own mother.”

  “You have nothing to hide from me, tell me so, Kimberley!”

  “Nothing!”

  She escaped further questioning by the appearance of Diablo, who had just been let out of his kennel for the day. Kimberley walked back into the house.

  “The dear child,” said Lady Hassocks. “She doesn’t know how much pain she has caused us. Her father said to me one day, “Lady Hassocks, I’ll tell you what I think. Kimberley is the victim of those wicked books. They have brainwashed all these poor students. It would be better for her and for us if she didn’t know how to read at all. But my dear little savage of a husband didn’t say what he really thinks, because he loves his daughter more than all the rest of the world put together. He suspects Ian is partially responsible for her newfound ideas. My husband has much more respect for Adam, because of his impregnable character and his granite conscience. More than once he has said, “Here is the son-in-law I should have. He would have spared me much anguish.”