A Poisoning In Piccadilly

by Lynda Wilcox

  Was it? There must be any number of men who would love to marry a millionaire’s daughter, though the cynic in Eleanor said love would seldom be the reason for any proposal. Privately, she thought Eisenbach had been wise to be wary. He had seemed a sensible man. A man who had loved his daughter, wanted to protect her, and who had probably taken the trouble to check out the claimant to Carolyne’s affections before he acted accordingly.

  Now, though, his headstrong and spoilt daughter looked likely to get what she wanted. Eleanor hoped she wouldn’t live to regret it, as fervently as she hoped Carolyne hadn’t killed to achieve it.

  “So, what happened?” she asked.

  “His company moved him to the West coast.” She grimaced. “I know that Dad arranged it. He was good friends with the company chairman and I think Dad gave Ethan money to go, as well. He could be very persuasive in order to get what he wanted.”

  It didn’t say much for Carolyne’s beau that he could so easily be bought off — though that fact seemed to have escaped the smitten young woman. How innocent and naive she was. Eleanor felt both jaded and worldly-wise by comparison.

  The orchestra’s saxophonist stood up to play a solo. The mellow notes, smooth as syrup, made her hips want to sway at the same time as they dissolved her spine. She glanced around the smoke filled room, then back at the girl opposite.

  “I hope it all works out for you, Carolyne. You deserve some happiness after what’s happened here in London.”

  “Yeah, thanks. It doesn’t seem real somehow.” She lifted her glass, stared into the contents, and put it down again. “How could Dad have been murdered? It must have been a heart attack or something.”

  “Did he have a heart condition?”

  Carolyne blew out her cheeks. “I don’t think so, though his doctor had said he should take it easy and not work so hard.”

  Eleanor nodded. Had the indigestion that Eisenbach had suffered earlier on New Year’s Eve been the onset of a heart attack? It was possible. Then again, the police had probably had a post-mortem done and they’d seemed convinced he’d been poisoned. On that basis she could dismiss the idea that Eisenbach had died from natural causes.

  “Howard said your father had complained of indigestion. Was it something he regularly suffered from?”

  “Not that I was aware off. Besides, he was fine when we came to go out, laughing and joking and teasing Howard about Lady Ann.”

  “Oh?”

  Carolyne smiled at the memory. “Yeah, he was saying that Howard was sweet on her. I reckon it’s the other way round.”

  Eleanor knew it was neither and drained her glass. The club was beginning to fill up, so she signalled to the waiter for more drinks.

  “Is Howard staying put tonight?”

  “Put? Oh, you mean at the Ritz?” She tilted her head in question and on Eleanor’s affirmative nod said, “No, I think he was going some place called the Royal Automobile Club.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m a member there too. He'll get a warm welcome and will be able to dine well and talk about cars to his heart's content. What about your staff? I suppose they get time off, do they?”

  Carolyne nodded. “Dad arranged it that they should. Also he said that if they stayed within the confines of the Ritz anything they ate and drank should be put on our bill.”

  “That was very generous of him,” said Eleanor, who was well acquainted with the expense of the Ritz. The hotel prided itself on being luxurious and luxury does not come cheap. “So, where do you reckon they’ll be tonight? Have they had the opportunity to do any sightseeing on this trip?”

  Eleanor had her own reasons for wanting to know everything about the three other members of the Eisenbach party, including their whereabouts. If Carolyne thought it odd to be expected to know about the movements of the household's servants, she was too polite to say so. She answered readily enough.

  “Yes, quite a bit. I’ve not noticed Jensen around so much since Dad’s death. I suppose there must be less for him to do.”

  Eleanor leaned forward as if to confide something. “Personally, I find him rather attractive. Had he been with your father long?”

  “Oh, he’s a dreamboat right enough.” Carolyne grinned. “He’s very sporty and athletic, too. We often played deck tennis together on the Laconia. Louise is quite a good player as well, so she and Jensen, and Howard and I made up a foursome on a couple of occasions.”

  “You must have had a smooth passage.” Eleanor didn’t fancy the idea of tennis in late December, and in the middle of the Atlantic, at that.

  Carolyne laughed. “Oh, the Laconia is equipped with indoor courts, thank goodness. It was a bit too wild to venture on deck, though Howard went up a time or two and so did Jensen, because Howard said he saw him up there.”

  Was it intentional that Carolyne had failed to answer the question regarding Jensen's length of employment? Did she have something to hide regarding the secretary? Eleanor’s brain seethed with possibilities, most of them ludicrously far-fetched. She tamped down the wild thoughts and re-phrased her original enquiry.

  “Have you known Jensen long?”

  Her companion took a sip of her Gin Rickey. “No, he only joined us before we sailed. Dad’s regular secretary was in an automobile accident and unable to travel.”

  “Oh, you were lucky to get a replacement so quickly, then. Good secretaries are hard to find these days.” Eleanor had no idea if this were true, but it kept the focus on Jensen. “Where did your father find him? I trust he supplied references.”

  Carolyne was beginning to look bored. “I suppose so. I think Dad used an agency.”

  Eleanor left it there and changed the subject. She’d had a good run for her money and learned a lot more than she had a right to expect.

  Much later that night, she lay in bed and reviewed the evening, wondering if a twinge of guilt weren’t in order. She didn’t feel she had been entirely fair with Carolyne. The sole purpose of the visit to the nightclub was so she could pick the girl’s brains and get as much information out of her as possible. To achieve that she had been less than honest, and it went against the grain.

  She rolled over, placing her feet close to the hot water bottle that Tilly had thought to provide.

  Did it matter that the information was needed in a good cause when the methods used to obtain it were underhand, almost deceitful?

  It was scant consolation that Carolyne had confessed to enjoying herself. On the taxi ride back to the hotel she’d enthused over the famous American film star who’d bumped into their table, spilt their drinks and replaced them with a complimentary bottle of champagne, and gone into raptures that the Embassy had been graced that evening by the Prince of Wales, together with members of his set and assorted hangers-on.

  She had thanked Eleanor very prettily and offered to return the favour whenever her ladyship might visit New York, going so far as to suggest that she stay with them in the Eisenbach mansion.

  Telling herself that she had done Carolyne a good turn, given her a few hours respite from the grief and troubles that hung over and around her, Eleanor settled herself to sleep. Tomorrow she must come up with a way to interview the next of her suspects — Theodore ‘Teddy’ Jensen.

  Chapter 15

  Buying a birthday present for someone that you don’t know well always poses a dilemma. How much one should spend is the first worry. Too little and the recipient will think you cheap, too much and they’ll either consider you are being flash, or wonder what you want from them in return.

  Flowers are nice, but seldom last much longer than the actual birthday, and are of no use at all if intended for a hay fever sufferer.

  The same could be said for perfume and it was all too easy to buy a bottle that would languish on the dressing table, uncared for and unused

  Jewellery is a good choice, but often expensive and may not appeal to the taste of the celebrating individual.

  It is, at least, easier to buy for a female friend than a male one. In that
case you must hope he isn’t teetotal and then settle on a bottle of Scotch.

  Eleanor left Bellevue Mansions the following afternoon with these thoughts in mind and scoured the shops for something suitable for Olivia Drew-Stenton. She had left the purchase very late — the party was that evening — but the thought of going empty-handed never occurred to her.

  “Perhaps a nice box of chocolates will do the trick,” she murmured. “I’ll go and visit Anton.”

  Her favourite chocolatier had just the thing and she was retracing her steps towards Shaftesbury Avenue and Piccadilly when she spotted a familiar face. Tommy Totteridge stood at the corner on the opposite side of the street and Eleanor had been about to go across and join him when she noted his companion.

  Why was he talking to Mr Eisenbach’s secretary?

  Eleanor stepped back into a doorway and watched as Jensen appeared to give a small rectangular object to Totters, who looked at it and then gave it back with a nod. The two men then separated.

  Puzzled and deep in thought, Eleanor turned up her collar and hurried away from the spot, letting her feet lead her toward Piccadilly. She turned the corner, head down, and found her way blocked. Unable to halt she bumped into a tall figure.

  “Oh!”

  “Hello there,” said a deep voice. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t see you.”

  The smile on Major Armitage’s face seemed to suggest that was just how it should be.

  “It’s Lady Eleanor, isn’t it? Look here, are you free? There’s a snug little tea room just along the way if you fancy a cup of tea. I’d quite like to talk to you.”

  Eleanor didn’t need to ask him what about. She acquiesced with just the right amount of hesitation. “Why, yes, I suppose so. Thank you.”

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and Eleanor was surprised to feel the same frisson of fear and excitement she’d had all those years ago whenever he was near.

  The cold winter day hastened toward darkness. Street lamps flickered on, helping to dispel the gloom. Inside the café it blazed with electric light and Armitage guided Eleanor to a table away from the door.

  “There. That should do nicely.”

  He held her chair for her and signalled to a mob-capped waitress before taking the seat opposite.

  Eleanor removed her gloves and gave him a shy smile. He bent towards her.

  “Forgive me, my lady, but I can’t help feeling that we’ve met before.”

  Delighted that her wartime disguise had fooled him, she hid a secret smile.

  “Yes, of course we have. We met the other day at Scotland Yard.”

  Clearly dissatisfied, he shook his head, but before he had time to reply the waitress appeared at their table.

  “What will you have?” Armitage asked.

  “A weak tea, please.”

  He gave their order and waited until the waitress was out of earshot before speaking again.

  “That wasn’t the occasion I meant. Besides, I’m not sure you called yourself Lady Eleanor Bakewell back then.”

  On their last encounter Eleanor had trusted him with her life. She looked at him sombrely, debating whether to do so again. The rendezvous she had observed between Jensen and Totteridge convinced her. At the very least it was time to let him know she knew who he was.

  “It is my name, Major Armitage.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I see.”

  She felt her way gingerly, quicksand might lie ahead.

  “No, Peter, I don’t believe you do.”

  He sat back, a crease between his brows, his dark brown eyes scanning her face. She could tell he was trying to place her. It shouldn’t take him long if he was still part of Military Intelligence and his memory should be up to the task, despite the passage of years.

  “You had dark hair,” he said.

  Eleanor nodded. “I did.” It had taken weeks to get the dye out and her blonde tresses to grow back.

  The waitress returned with their order. When the girl had gone she gave him the name of a village and a date.

  His gaze softened. “Of course.”

  She laughed. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t say, ‘I would have known you anywhere’.”

  He joined in with her laughter. “I must be slipping in my old age. I hadn’t realised that you had worked under a nom-de-plume.”

  “Let’s keep it that way, shall we? Please?”

  She had no desire to resurrect Ella Rowsley — the name she had taken in those difficult times. Her mother had always called her Ella, and the surname came from a village on her father’s estate. It had been a natural one to choose.

  “As you wish.” Armitage added a spoonful of sugar to his tea. “I take it you are no longer involved in our line of work.”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Nevertheless, I could use your help again.”

  “The Eisenbach business, I assume.”

  Even though she had kept her voice low, Armitage still scanned the room with a keen glance.

  “Sorry,” he said, catching her look. “This place is known to be safe, at least as safe as anywhere is, but you can’t be too careful. Yes, it’s the Eisenbach business.”

  “Safe? Peter, you’re scaring me. I left all that spy stuff behind when the Armistice was signed. I don’t want to be involved again.”

  He sipped his tea, replaced the cup in its saucer, and shrugged. “You’re already involved. Having a peace treaty doesn’t make us free of enemies, you know, and you’re ideally placed, within the aristocracy, to do some good.”

  So, that was it. That explained his sudden interest. He wanted to use her, just as he’d used Ella Rowsley, car mechanic turned spy. She began to wonder if their bumping into each other had been as accidental as it seemed.

  “King and country, eh?” It came out as a sneer that she didn’t quite intend. If anything her scorn was directed at him, not her country. “I only want to know who murdered Eisenbach. The man died in my arms, Peter. He wasn’t the first, that was in wartime, but I hope to goodness he’ll be the last. Have you any idea how that feels?”

  “Yes.”

  He made it a simple statement and she could have bitten her tongue off. Yes, he’d probably had men die on him, it was in the nature of the work he did that men would get killed. Yet somehow, chatting, socialising, then dancing with the American had made it all so much more personal. She sighed.

  “I don’t see what I can do to help you. I’ve told you, and the Chief Inspector, everything about that night. What more can I add?”

  “Everything? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Look, perhaps if you told me what this is all about, what your real interest is in the death of Mr Eisenbach, then we might get somewhere.”

  He appeared to consider this, drumming his fingers on the table, and staring directly into her eyes. She did not look away.

  “All right. I suppose it’s best. You might be in danger yourself.”

  Eleanor suppressed a shiver and drank some of the tea, which was good and hot, while he appeared to marshal his thoughts.

  “All right,” he said again. “As I assume you know, Eisenbach made his millions from steel. He, or rather the people who worked for him, have developed a new process that makes steel production easier, faster, and cheaper. At least that’s what he told us. He offered the details to the British government. We aren’t sure why.”

  “He wanted to help us. He was born here.” Eleanor remembered the conversation and the American’s reference to ‘the old place’.

  “Oh?” Armitage thought about this for a moment. “ Yes, I suppose that might explain it. We will certainly make good use of the process, if it works. The war bankrupted us and anything that helps set us back on our feet again...Anyway, as far as we know, he brought the details, including a formula, over to London with him, but was murdered before he could hand them on. His appointment at the Foreign Office was on New Year’s Day.”

  “And these de
tails, or whatever, have disappeared, I take it?” They must have done or Peter Armitage would not be involved, neither would he have sat in on her interview with Blount. They obviously thought she had them. Did they also think that, in spite of her previous service, she now worked for an enemy power? “Chief Inspector Blount asked about an envelope. You think he passed them onto me in that?”

  Armitage gave a brief nod.

  “But, we’d only just met. Why on earth should he do so?”

  “We don’t know.” He shifted in his chair. “We thought it likely that others might get to hear of his plans, so we arranged a password with him. Just in case there was some reason the meeting could not go ahead, or he was approached by the wrong side. You understand?”

  Eleanor understood perfectly. It bolstered her view that Armitage considered her a turncoat. She had thought he was taking her into his confidence because he trusted her, but what if he was trying to prove her an enemy agent instead?

  And how could she have got hold of the papers? She had no password to give Eisenbach. Besides, he would not have attended a party carrying a set of plans or a formula. He had worn an elegant evening suit and anything big and bulky would have ruined the lines of its tailoring and been easy to spot.

  “How big was this envelope supposed to be?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. We assume it must have been fairly small, the size that could be slipped inside the pocket of a suit or evening dress.”

  Eleanor wrinkled her forehead and shook her head. “I assure you, he gave me nothing, nor did I induce him to do so by giving him a password. I had none to give him.

  “My life has changed and moved on, but I assure you I would never betray...”

  Words failed her and she got to her feet, intending to walk out. He put a hand on hers.

  “Sit down, Ella. You are the last person I would doubt.”

  His tone as much as his words drew her back through time and she obeyed him in an instant. She was not his puppet any more and wouldn’t let him pull her strings, but when an order will save your life, it’s as well to do as you’re told.