by Lynda Wilcox
Feeling that she had no more to learn from Ann, she took her leave soon after.
She hailed a taxi and returned home, crushed by an odd sense of defeat, her visit to Ann a failure, She remained ignorant of so much about Eisenbach’s murder and could see no way to plug the gaps in her knowledge.
If Tilly’s luck talking to the servants was as bad as her own in questioning Lady Ann, and had thrown up nothing new, then she was stymied.
The investigation would be over before it had barely begun.
Chapter 11
“Tilly, I’m home.” Eleanor’s voice echoed around the entrance lobby. “Make me a cup of tea, will you?”
She walked into the drawing room and shivered as she slipped off her coat. The fire was low and she immediately went in search of her maid in the kitchen. Then the bedrooms, then, simply to be thorough, the small room she kept as an office-cum-study.
The flat was empty.
“Drat! Where has she got to?”
Filling a kettle and putting it to boil was no hardship, any more than adding more coal to fire was beyond Eleanor’s talents, but a feather of worry fluttered in her breast as she looked at the clock on the mantelshelf.
Where was Tilly? She had expected her back by now.
She made her tea, carried it through to the drawing room, and sat in her chair by the fireplace cradling the cup in her hands.
The minutes ticked by while she gave some thought to driving to Lord Ripley’s place on the morrow. The peer lived about an hour’s drive from London. That should give her ample time to pick Howard’s brain about his father, assuming she could deflect him from monopolising the conversation. The thought of listening to an hour-long monologue on nothing but car parts filled her with dread.
She might do murder herself in that case.
With an ear cocked for the opening of the front door, she let her mind drift.
Nearly an hour passed in fruitless speculation as to who had murdered Eisenbach and the whereabouts of her maid.
“This won’t do. She should have returned long since.”
The best place to start looking for Tilly would be the Ritz. She donned her coat again, left a note for her maid, and set out into the gloom of early evening.
Eleanor walked down Piccadilly checking every face while her mind was engaged in concocting a plan of campaign. It wouldn’t do to waltz into the Royal Suite and demand to know what they had done to her maid. She needed a pretext, a story that would cover up her real reason for being there.
To be on the safe side, she had herself shown up to the suite and exchanged a few words with both the receptionist and the bell boy in the hope that they would remember her.
In the event her cleverly thought out pretence was unnecessary, for the door was answered by an attractive young man with sandy coloured hair atop an athletic frame. He introduced himself as Teddy Jensen, the late Mr Eisenbach’s secretary and invited her to step inside.
“I’m afraid that Mr Howard and Miss Caroline are not here, my lady.”
“Oh, are they not?”
“They have been invited to dine with the Ambassador at the American Embassy. May I take a message for them?”
The secretary’s smile was almost cat-like. Had she entered the lion’s den? Mere imagination, she told herself. I’ve been too long without food.
Behind Eleanor’s own smile her brain raced. She could leave a message, but that would not help her find Tilly nor would it ascertain if the maid had actually called at the Ritz and entered the suite herself. Although if someone, or something had prevented her from even reaching the hotel, she had no idea where to start looking.
“No, that’s all right. I shall be seeing Howard tomorrow. I sent my maid around earlier with a list of suitable places for Carolyne to buy certain items she’d mentioned on my previous visit, and as I was passing thought I could add a few more to it that have come to mind since.”
It was the thinnest of fabrications, sounding lame even to Eleanor’s own ears, so it came as some surprise when the secretary gave her the answer she’d hoped for.
“Oh, yes, my lady. Your maid was here earlier to speak to Miss Carolyne. Then she and Louise went out on an errand together.”
“Louise being Carolyne’s maid, I assume?”
“Indeed, my lady. Louise Leclerc. I’ve no idea how much longer they will be. Would your ladyship care to wait for Louise’s return?”
His voice drawled, as though bored by this English lady and her desire to see someone who was not on the premises.
“No, that’s fine, thank you.” Eleanor had so many questions she wanted to ask. How long was it since the maids had left? Did he know where they were going? Had they left before Howard and Carolyne, and in that case who had dressed the latter? Perhaps she’d done so herself and worn something without intricate fastenings. Most people didn’t have someone else to help them dress, when all was said and done.
She took her leave and tried to still her rambling mind, but it continued to throw questions at her.
Were the maids still in a shop somewhere? And was she now looking for one lost maid or for two?
On a whim, at the bottom of the staircase she turned to her right and went into the tea room hoping that her quarry might be there, but only an elderly lady at one table and a young couple at another met her gaze.
Worry gnawed at her insides, together with hunger. It was now nearly seven o’clock and a few flakes of snow fluttered down from the darkness above. She hurried home, let herself in, and almost sobbed in relief at the sound of Tilly’s sweet voice singing in the kitchen
Like any anxious parent relieved that its missing offspring had decided to show up, she marched in and showed how much she cared by berating the young woman.
“Where have you been? Why didn’t you call me and let me know where you were? What have you been doing all this time?”
With the greatest difficulty she stopped herself from bursting into tears.
“I’ve been doing what you told me to do. Here, keep still, or you’ll rip the buttons off that coat.”
Taken in hand by her maid, she let Tilly divest her of the bulky outer garment then fetch her a strong drink. The fire roared in the grate and she sat down beside it and allowed herself to relax.
“I’ll serve dinner in ten minutes,” Tilly said. “Perhaps I may be permitted to join you on this occasion and I can let you know what I’ve learned while we dine.”
As anxious as she was to hear what Tilly had been up to, Eleanor readily agreed to the plan. She let the maid get on with her work while she attacked the small plate of cheese biscuits that Tilly had brought in with the drink. She nibbled absently, her attention on what the Eisenbachs were up to.
The American ambassador would give them what help he could, though it seemed unlikely Howard and Carolyne would be able to take their father home before the police investigation was concluded. Ambassadors could smooth many paths, but even they weren’t allowed to circumvent the law of the land.
In the meantime there was a murder to be solved. Some member of the Eisenbach party must be guilty. But why? Why?
Eleanor’s head swam. She was drinking too fast on an empty stomach, and that did not aid clear thinking. She put her glass down and her head back.
Tilly was as good as her word and served up a warming beef stew that she had left in the small oven before she’d set out.
Eleanor ate heartily and in silence until the worst of her hunger was satisfied.
“This is excellent, and just what the doctor ordered. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my lady. I have apple pie and cream for dessert.”
“Wonderful! Now, tell me how you got on. I can possess my soul in patience no longer.”
Tilly’s tale was simply told. Rather than employ any subterfuge, she had remembered Eleanor’s account of her meeting with Carolyne and used the direct approach in getting access to Mademoiselle Leclerc.
“I recalled you saying that she wa
nted to buy suitable clothes now that she was in mourning, and I jotted down a few names and addresses and took it with me to the Ritz.”
Eleanor waved a fork at her maid. “Clever thinking, old girl.”
“When I arrived at the hotel, Mr Howard and Miss Carolyne were just leaving. She introduced me to Louise, and asked if I could take her to one or more of the establishments you recommended, so after they’d gone the two of us did just that. Then, knowing that you wanted more information, I persuaded her to have tea at Lyons Corner House in the Strand. Mam’selle Leclerc is quite voluble when she gets going and seemed happy to talk about her fellows and her mistress. She’s also exceedingly partial to cake, and I’m afraid I spent nearly two shillings, my lady.”
“That’s quite all right. Tea and cakes is a small price to pay for information. So, what did she tell you?”
“Firstly, that Mr Eisenbach, not Carolyne, employed her and paid her salary. She thought he was a kind old man, with what she described as excellent manners and thoughtful ways.”
“I’d agree with that from my brief acquaintance with him, but he was hardly old. I thought him in his mid-fifties. What age is Louise?”
“About twenty, at a guess. She’s only been with Carolyne for a little over a year. I don’t think she cares much for her. I got the impression that she considers her mistress to have been spoilt.”
“And Howard?”
Tilly put down her cutlery, placed her forearms on the table, and leaned forward. “Ah, now. I rather think that Mam’selle is in love with Mr Howard. Her eyes and voice went all dreamy when she talked of him.”
“Oh, dear. She’s aiming rather high, I’d have thought. I can’t imagine he even notices her.”
“Oh, she admitted she does not have a lot of contact with him. I think it’s hero worship from afar.”
Eleanor nodded. That assessment made more sense. “Did she say anything about him having arguments with his father?”
“Yes. She knows about him wanting to be a racing driver and that he hoped to enter the Monte Carlo rally. I think she’d been hoping that Mr Eisenbach senior would agree to it and take the family over there. She said something about being homesick sometimes.”
“Does she come from Monaco? It is a separate country, although a lot of people think it’s a French province.”
“Sorry, my lady. I never thought to ask where she came from.”
Eleanor waved a hand. “No matter.”
They finished their meal and Tilly cleared the plates, carrying them out to the scullery and returning with the next course.
“Did you see the secretary when you were at the Ritz, Tilly?”
The maid cut two neat sections from the circular pie. “No, my lady. I saw everyone except him. The valet opened the door to me.” She placed a plate in front of Eleanor and handed her the cream jug.
“He is a rather handsome young man. I wondered what Mam’selle Leclerc had to say about him.”
“Not very much.” Tilly resumed her seat. “He only joined them just before they set sail from New York. The previous secretary wasn't fit to travel, having been involved in an accident.”
“Really? That’s unfortunate.”
“Indeed. I don’t think she cares much for the replacement. She says Jensen thinks a lot of himself, but doesn’t mingle, keeping himself to himself, as it were.”
“And the valet?”
If Eleanor had to put her money on one of the inhabitants of the Ritz Hotel’s Royal Suite being the murderer, her bet would be the valet. Eisenbach’s own man was in the best position to administer the poison, and if the dead man had been taking medication of any kind, then a simple substitution would have done the trick.
With this thought in mind she tucked into Tilly’s delicious apple pie with an unladylike gusto.
“The valet, Albert Golding, is an older man, older even than Mr Eisenbach according to Mam’selle. She described him as patient and gentle and said he was very quiet and devoted to Mr Eisenbach, but disapproving of the younger generation.”
Oh! That didn’t sound like someone likely to murder his employer. Damn!
Eleanor sat back with a sigh.
“Thank you, Tilly. That was a wonderful meal. Given what you’ve told me, it seems that I am going to have to revise my thinking about Mr Eisenbach’s death. I may have been on the wrong track all along.”
Chapter 12
After a restless night, Eleanor called for the car to be brought around and drove the short distance to the Ritz.
She had been hoping to call for Howard at the suite door and perhaps get a word or two with whichever member of staff answered her knock. Howard, though, had circumvented that plan and stood waiting, bouncing up and down in eagerness on the hotel’s wide steps.
“Good morning,” he cried, in answer to her tootle on the horn. He got in beside her and rubbed his hands together. “Bit chilly this morning.”
“You’ll find some rugs in the back.” She threw a glance over her shoulder, where Tilly sat demurely next to a pile of rugs and a picnic basket. Sitting, not so demurely, in her pocket was a small service revolver, a relic from the war. It was loaded. With a possible murderer in the car, she was taking no chances.
Howard shook his head. “I’m fine at the moment, thank you.”
“Well, if you need gloves, there are some on the shelf by your knee, though they may be a bit on the small side.”
The American returned her smile. “No, thanks, I have a pair here.” He pulled a pair of leather driving gloves out of the pocket of his overcoat and slipped them onto his hands. “It’s hardly the weather for picnics, I would have thought, unless you intend driving this beauty all the way to the south of France.”
Eleanor laughed. “Not today. Tilly’s got a flask of hot tea and a game pie in case of need. To be honest, I suspect that George Ripley will offer us lunch. He’s a hospitable chap.”
She gunned the motor and the car surged down Piccadilly and through the streets of the capital onto the Edgware Road, heading north towards Hertford.
Much to her secret delight, apart from heaping praise upon her car and her driving skills, the American kept off the topic of automobiles. She asked after Carolyne, who he said was well, but homesick, and broached the subject of his visit to the solicitor.
“Yeah, that went better than expected, thanks. I’ve been given power of attorney, so that I can take care of things over here. I’ve also got access to money at last. That’s gonna be mighty useful.”
Did he not have his own money? Eleanor would never be so vulgar as to ask, but the question intrigued her. If Howard had been kept short of money while his father was worth millions, wouldn’t that be a motive for murder? She shook her head. No, Howard must have plenty of money if he was planning on buying a car.
Unable to make sense of the Eisenbach’s financial arrangements, Eleanor concentrated on driving. No doubt all would become clear once they got to Hertford.
As the name suggested, Priory House had once been home to the head of a group of Augustine friars. At the dissolution of the monasteries during the reign of Henry the Eighth, it passed into the hands of Lord Ripley’s ancestor and had been in the family ever since.
Eleanor nosed the car through the gates and along the drive that bisected the surrounding parkland, toward the low, spreading pile of stone with its turrets and gables.
“Jeez, what a house.” Howard looked bemused. “You Brits have some weird places to call home.”
“It used to be a priory, full of monks.” Eleanor told him as she brought the Lagonda to a halt before a massive arched wooden door, blackened by age. “Now it’s home to an old family friend with an engaging and boisterous family. And I hope you like dogs. I seem to recall they had four at last count.”
“Sure thing,” Howard said. “I’m fine with dogs, and horses, but I’ve come here to see the Bugatti.”
He rubbed his hands together, but Eleanor suspected this time it was in anticipation not beca
use of the cold.
They descended from the car as the house door opened and a middle-aged man appeared.
“Eleanor, my dear, how are you?” He took her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on both cheeks. “How’s the family?”
“Hello, George. Mother is well, thank you, and I left Daddy enjoying the case of Scotch that I bought him for Christmas.” She turned to her passenger. “May I present Mr Howard Eisenbach, who’s hoping to buy your Bugatti.”
The two men shook hands.
“Pleased to meet you.” His lordship beamed at the tall American. “You’ve made an excellent choice. It’s a cracking little racer and I’ve won with her at Brooklands a time or two. We’ll go and have a look at the car now, shall we? It’s round the back in the garage.” Lord Ripley took Howard by the elbow, steering him away.
He sounded like a smooth-talking salesman and Eleanor hid a wry grin. George didn’t need to go to the trouble when the young man was so eager to buy.
“You’ll stay to lunch, won’t you?” His lordship threw back over his shoulder at Eleanor. “That will give us a chance for Mr Eisenbach to take the Bugatti for a spin, put her through her paces, and see how well the car handles.”
The two men wandered off, soon engrossed in car talk.
“So, what do you think of our American acquaintance then, Tilly?” Eleanor murmured as the maid got down from the rear passenger seat. “Reckon he could be a murderer?”
“On the face of it, he seems charming. I can see why Mam’selle Leclerc is so taken. As for murder, I’m not so sure. Perhaps if he’d shot his father during a set-to...”
“Yes, exactly! He doesn’t seem the sort to cold-bloodily poison someone, does he?” She shrugged. “We’ll see. Take yourself off to the servants’ hall, Tilly. I’m going in to say hello to Clara and the children, before I excuse myself and rejoin the men. I want to hear what Howard has to say, especially about how he intends paying for the car, should he decide to buy it.”
