English Rose (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 13)

by Frank Howell Evans

  Poiret inquired, “Why did Monsieur Ian say to Monsieur Adam, “We will return together?” Do they live together?”

  “Yes, they share a small mansion not five minutes away from here. Ian chose it because of that.”

  Carswell came to announce breakfast was ready. They found Kimberley already at table and she poured them coffee and milk, eating away all the time at a huge dish filled with eggs and bacon and a sandwich of marmalade and cheese.

  “Tell me, mama, do you know what gives me such an appetite? It’s the thought of the way poor Inspector Watkins must have taken the dismissal of his men. I would like to see the expression on his face.”

  “If you see him,” said Poiret, “please not to inform him that Monsieur Hassocks, he will go for the long stroll this afternoon, because he would send to us an escort of the policemen.”

  Lady Hassocks sprang to her feet, but Kimberley spoke first.

  “Papa! A stroll outside of these walls? Oh, that is going to be lovely! I must run and talk to papa.”

  “Your father’s room is locked,” said Lady Hassocks brusquely as Kimberley stood up.

  “Yes, I know,” Kimberley replied testily. “You have the only key. It will be you, who murders him.”

  She left the table without waiting for a reply and went into her room.

  Lady Hassocks looked at Poiret, but he continued his breakfast as though nothing had happened.

  “Can it be possible that you speak seriously?” she demanded, sitting down. “A stroll? Without the policemen? We have just received again this morning a letter saying that my husband will die within forty-eight hours!”

  “Forty-eight hours?” said Poiret, soaking his bread in his chocolate. “C’est possible. They will try something very soon.”

  “My God, how do you know? You speak with confidence.”

  “Madame, it is necessary to do everything Poiret, he tells to you, how do you say, to the letter.”

  “I ask myself why I let you send away the policemen. But here, at least, I know what to do in order to feel a little safe. I know that downstairs with Nursemaid and Carswell we have nothing to fear. Not a bottle or a package is brought into the house without having been opened by Carswell.”

  “Madame, they will try to murder your husband within forty-eight hours. Poiret, he wishes to save your husband.”

  “I should call Inspector Watkins. He will be on my side. He will not allow this insanity.”

  “Here, it is the idea,” said Poiret. “This afternoon, you, Madame, will go with Monsieur Hassocks in his rolling-chair. Everybody, they will follow. Everyone, you understand Madame? Everyone, who wishes to come, he must be invited to come. Only those, who wish to remain behind, they should be allowed to do so.”

  “But, who will guard the house?”

  “No one, Madame. The servants in the cottage, they can watch from the cottage those, who enter the mansion, but only from the cottage. They must not interfere with them and say nothing to them, nothing at all.”

  In the course of the morning John Colliver and Christian Cooper arrived at the mansion. The arms manufacturer was already on the patio. Adam and Ian arrived shortly after and inquired in their turn how he had spent the night without the policemen. When they were told that Stephen was going for a walk that afternoon they applauded his decision.

  “Bravo! We will all be there,” exclaimed Cooper.

  The arms manufacturer made them stay for lunch. Kimberley appeared for the meal in rather melancholy mood. A little before lunch she had held a double conversation in the garden with Adam and Ian. And Poiret, but he was not welcome or invited.

  Kimberley had given a book to Ian.

  “Here is your book. I don’t want any more of them. The ideas make my brain hurt. How are you?”

  Ian, a good-looking young man with melancholic eyes, said, “Kimberley, there is not an hour that I can call truly good, if I spend it away from you.”

  She touched his hand for a moment and looked into his eyes.

  “What did you do last night after you reached home?” she demanded. “Did you stay up?”

  “I obeyed you. I went to bed.”

  “Yes, you should get your rest. This hectic life is impossible. Lady Hassocks will get us all ill.”

  “Yesterday,” said Ian, “I could have wept, because I could hear Adam snoring in his room. He seemed happy.”

  “Are you jealous, Ian?”

  “You laugh? I don’t find you yourself half the time. It’s Adam, who has changed you. I won’t rest easy until I’m your husband. I don’t understand your manner with Adam at all.”

  A gardener, carrying shears entered the garden, saw the two and left.

  “Why do you delay our marriage? Why?”

  Kimberley stayed silent.

  “How much longer? Tell me or I swear I will murder myself at your feet.”

  She smiled.

  “Or I will murder Adam. On my word!”

  “I swear, Ian, that the date of our marriage does not depend on Adam.”

  Ian, a little consoled, held her hand lingeringly to his lips. She pulled her hand away and went into the house.

  It was about half an hour later, when she spoke to Adam in the garden.

  “Well? Have you told him?” asked Adam.

  “It’s necessary to have patience. I have to have it myself.”

  “He’s stupid and provoking.”

  “Stupid, no. Provoking, yes, if you wish. But you also, you are provoking.”

  “Kimberley! Kimberley!”

  Kimberley began to leave, but Adam placed his hand on her shoulder, stopped her and said, looking her direct in the eyes, “There will be a letter from Roxy this evening by a messenger at five o’clock.” He made each syllable explicit. “Very important and requiring an immediate reply.”

  After lunch the gentlemen played poker until half-past four, which was the “chic” hour for a stroll on the boulevard. Poiret had asked Lady Hassocks to leave exactly at a quarter to five. Kimberley came from her room to join them for the walk. Her face looked worried.

  They left the mansion noisily. Poiret noted that the servants were standing at the gate. Lady Hassocks pushed the rolling-chair herself. The arms manufacturer was radiant. He had Kimberley at his right and at his left Colliver and Cooper. The two young men followed, talking with Poiret, who had monopolized them. The conversation was about the devotion of Lady Hassocks to her husband and about Kimberley’s love for her father. Poiret made them talk.

  Ian Spencer Esq. explained that this exceptional love was accounted for by the fact that Kimberley’s own mother, Mr. Hassocks’s first wife, died when she was still very young and accordingly Stephen Hassocks had been both father and mother to his daughter. He had raised her with a lot of love and care.

  Kimberley was seven years old when Hassocks bought a bankrupt rival in Sheffield. The arms manufacturer believed that the eye of the master fattened the calf, so he decided to relocate to Sheffield with his daughter, where they lived on neighborly terms near the family of Lord Rossington, one of the richest landholders in Sheffield. Lord Rossington had a daughter, Lady Hassocks, who was magnificent to see, like a beautiful wildflower. She was always in excellent humor, never spoke ill of anyone in the neighborhood and not only had the fine manners of a big city dame, but a great, simple heart, which she lavished on the little Kimberley.

  The child returned the affection of the beautiful Lady Hassocks and it was on seeing them always happy to find themselves together that Hassocks dreamed of marriage. The nuptials were quickly arranged and the child, when she learned that Lady Hassocks was to wed her papa, danced with joy. Then misfortune came. Lord Rossington, who speculated on the Stock Exchange for a long time without anyone knowing anything about it, was ruined. Lady Hassocks went one evening to inform Mr. Hassocks of this sad news and tell him she would understand it if he wished to break off the engagement. In response Mr. Hassocks said, “From today I consider you my wife, Lady Hassocks and yo
u may consider me your husband.”

  The arms manufacturer was already even at that time immensely rich. Hassocks wished to give his wife a large allowance, but Lady Hassocks declined it.

  “It all belongs to Kimberley,” she insisted. “I accept the position of her mother, but on the condition that she shall never lose a shilling of her inheritance.”

  “That means,” concluded Ian, the solicitor, “that if Mr. Hassocks died tomorrow she would be poorer than Job.”

  “Then his money is the sole source of wealth of Lady Hassocks,” thought Poiret aloud.

  “It’s easy to understand why she is all over him,” said Adam Ashby, exhaling the smoke of his small cigarette. “Look at her. She watches him like a hawk.”

  “What do you mean, Adam?” asked Ian curtly. “You believe her love for him is based on money? You must not know her very well to dare utter such a thought.”

  They had exchanged these latter words tranquilly continuing their walk and smoking their Turkish tobacco. Poiret walked between them. He didn’t look at them. He didn’t even pay attention to their quarrel. He only had eyes for Kimberley, who left her place beside her father’s wheel-chair and walked past them with a little nod of the head, seemingly in haste to go back to the mansion.

  “Are you leaving us?” Ian asked her.

  “Oh, I will rejoin you. I forgot my umbrella.”

  “Let me go and get it for you,” proposed Adam.

  “No, no. I will return right away.”

  She was already past them. Poiret looked at Lady Hassocks. Her face was pale as wax. But no one else noted her emotion. She continued pushing her husband’s wheel-chair.

  Poiret asked the young men, “The first wife of Monsieur Hassocks, the mother of Kimberley, she was rich?”

  “No. Mr. Hassocks,” said Ian, “married her for her beauty. She was a beautiful woman from Nottingham, of excellent family besides.”

  “Bon!” said Poiret. “The day that Monsieur Hassocks, he dies Lady Hassocks, who now possesses everything, will have nothing and the daughter, who now has nothing, will have everything.”

  “Exactly that,” said Adam.

  “That doesn’t keep Lady Hassocks and Kimberley from deeply loving each other,” observed Ian.

  So far the walk had been along pleasant open scenery. On one side was The English Channel and on the other side were bright gardens guarded by garden gnomes, trees and newly-cut grass, which gave a seasonal fragrance. An adorable scenery which seemed to have been created centuries back for the amusement of the tourists and preserved, immaculately trimmed and cleaned from generation to generation for the eternal charm of such an hour as that.

  They had reached the boardwalk and the waves rippled to the prows of small sailboats, which moved gracefully like huge seagulls under the pressure of their great white sails.

  Along the boulevard drove at walking pace the double file of luxurious automobiles in which the great personages of Folkestone saw the view and let themselves be seen. Skilful drivers held the steering wheels. Lively young women, negligently reclining against the cushions, displayed their new Parisian dresses and kept young gentlemen busy with salutes. No talking was heard. Everyone was kept busy looking. There was in the pure, thin air only the noise of the waves and the seagulls flying low overhead. And all that so beautiful, charming and silent, it all seemed more a dream than reality. The transparence of the sky and the transparence of The Channel blended their two colors so that one couldn’t see where the horizon met.

  Poiret looked at the view and looked at the arms manufacturer and in his soul there was a sense of infinite sadness, because he remembered the terrible words he had spoken in his nightmare in the night.

  “Peut-etre,” he thought, “the nightmares, they have not come into this corner. Poiret, he does not know any place lovelier or happier in the world.”

  Meanwhile the little group around the arms manufacturer’s rolling-chair had attracted attention. Some passersby greeted them and the news spread quickly that Mr. Hassocks had gone for a walk along the boulevard. Heads turned as cars drove by. The arms manufacturer, noticing how much excitement his presence produced, begged Lady Hassocks to push his chair behind a shield of trees where he would be able to enjoy the spectacle in peace.

  He was found, nevertheless, by Inspector Watkins, who was looking for him. He had gone to the mansion and been told there that the arms manufacturer, accompanied by his friends and the Frenchman, had gone for a walk along the boulevard. Watkins had left his car at the mansion and had taken the shortest route after them.

  He was a solid, clear-eyed man. Watkins contented himself with honest performance of his duties, confining himself to ridding the streets of its criminal elements and sending to prison as many as he could of them, without lowering himself to the behavior which, more than once, had given grounds for social reformers to maintain that it was difficult to say whether the police played the part of the law or that of the criminal party.

  This afternoon Watkins appeared very nervous. He greeted Mrs. Hassocks, paid his compliments to Mr. Hassocks, grumbled at his imprudence, praised him for his bravery and then at once picked out Poiret, whom he took aside to talk to.

  “You have sent my men away, Poiret,” he said to the consulting detective. “You understand that I won’t allow that. They are furious and quite rightly so. You have given publicly as explanation of their departure the suspicion of their possible participation in the last attack. That’s a load of humbug and I won’t permit it. My men are honest men and I resent you personally for treating them that way. I consider that you have abused the complete authority that the Prime Minister gave you. When I heard what you had done I went to find the Prime Minister, as was my duty and told him the whole thing. He was more than astonished. He asked me to go myself to find out just how things were and to give Mr. Hassocks the protection you have removed. I arrive at the mansion, not only find it open, but I’m informed that Mr. Hassocks is walking in the midst of the crowd, at the mercy of the first miserable communist. Mr. Poiret, I’m not satisfied. The Prime Minister is not satisfied. And within an hour, my men will return to assume their guard at the mansion.”

  Poiret listened to the end. No one ever had spoken to him in that tone. He was red and ready to burst.

  He said, “Poiret, he will take the train this evening.”

  “You will go?”

  “Oui! Monsieur, you can guard your arms manufacturer, the pride of your army all alone. Poiret, he has had enough. Ah, Monsieur Watkins, he is not satisfied! Ah, Monsieur le Premier Ministre, he is not satisfied! Allez! No more of it for Poiret. Monsieur, Poiret, he too is not satisfied and he tells to you, “Farewell!”

  Thereon he was silent, because he caught the glance of Lady Hassocks in the direction of the mansion. Kimberley had not returned.

  “If Lady Hassocks, she really loves Kimberley she must be suffering very much,” he thought.

  Watkins spoke, but Poiret didn’t hear him. His mind was again wrapped up in the mystery.

  “Poiret,” Watkins finished by saying, tugging his sleeve, “do you hear me? At least reply to me. I offered you my apologies for speaking to you in that tone. Look, at least explain your conduct. What do I tell the Prime Minister?”

  “Rien! Nothing at all,” said Poiret. And he sighed, “It is, how do you say, too bad, because we were to see something interesting.”

  Watkins looked at him. Poiret’s eyes had not left Lady Hassocks’s face and her pallor struck Watkins.

  “She is the brave woman,” continued the detective. “Poiret, he speaks of Mrs. Hassocks. Do not forget to present my condolences to her, when the terrible moment, it has come.”

  It was Inspector Watkins’s turn to be troubled. He coughed and said, “You believe, then, that Mr. Hassocks runs a great immediate danger?”

  “Poiret, he does not only believe it, Monsieur, he is sure of it. His death, it is the matter of hours.”

  “Mr. Poiret, have you discover
ed something?”

  “Mon Dieu, oui! Poiret, he has discovered something, Monsieur Watkins.”

  “Something no one else knows?”

  “Oui, Monsieur, otherwise Poiret, he would not be concerned. Something Poiret, he has not confided to anyone, not even to his notebook, because the notebook, you know, it can be lost and found by the police.”

  Poiret gave the inspector a look.

  “Oh, Mr. Poiret! What do you take us for? We’re here on special orders of the Prime Minister.”

  “Monsieur, Poiret, he knows you are an honest man. He will tell to you what he has discovered. He does not wish through any false pride on his part to keep you in the darkness about something which it may perhaps permit to you to save Mr. Hassocks.”

  “Tell me. I’m listening.”

  “But it is understood that once Poiret, he has told to you this he will depart?”

  “You feel that you couldn’t possibly,” inquired Watkins, more and more troubled and after a moment of hesitation, “you couldn’t possibly tell me that and stay here?”

  “No, Monsieur. Poiret, he prefers to go and leave to you the responsibility of which you spoke just now.”

  Getting more and more anxious by the long, hushed conversation between Poiret and the inspector, Lady Hassocks continually turned to them her anguished glance. Watkins read in Poiret’s eyes the extraordinary confidence that he had in himself.

  Watkins shook Poiret’s hand and said just one word to him, “Stay.”

  Having greeted the arms manufacturer and Lady Hassocks affectionately and the group of friends with one courteous movement of the hand he left.

  They decided to go back to the mansion. During all this time the arms manufacturer, buoyed by the walk, told stories of his trips abroad to his friends. As to Kimberley, no one had seen her.

  At the mansion, the arms manufacturer inquired about Kimberley, not understanding why she had left him during his first stroll outside, since they had arrived in Folkestone. The butler replied that the young mistress had returned to the house and had left again about a quarter of an hour later, going in the direction that the party had gone on their walk and he had not seen her since.