A Poisoning In Piccadilly

by Lynda Wilcox

  She gave a feeble nod, too exhausted to protest or take offence at the way he ordered her about.

  She drank the remains of her tea and rang for Tilly to pour her another cup.

  “Who’s doing this, Peter? Who’s behind it all? Don’t your people know?”

  “Not entirely, no, though it’s clear there was a leak of Eisenbach’s intentions at his end. You may like to know that, following your suggestion, we are having Jensen checked out, The New York Police are gathering information on the secretary and trying to find an up to date photograph they can send us.”

  “How long will that take?”

  He shrugged. “Too long. Two or three days perhaps. I’ve arranged to have him watched in the meantime.”

  Eleanor made no comment about horses and stable doors, though she noted his apologetic look.

  “One thing I have wondered, is why the secretary, if he's the person behind all this, didn't steal the papers when they were on board the Laconia?”

  “Because Eisenbach had the forethought to pass them to the captain who kept them locked in the ship’s safe.”

  “Ah.” Eleanor stared into the fire. “You know, the more I hear of Mr Eisenbach, the more I wish I’d had longer to get to know him, or that I could have prevented his death.”

  “You could not have done that, my lady. He was already dying by the time he arrived at the Rudolph.”

  Eleanor nodded. She knew that. It did nothing to alleviate her sense of regret.

  “I assume you’ve checked that he didn’t do the same here?”

  “What, put them in the documents in the hotel’s safe, you mean?”

  “Exactly?”

  “Oh, yes, it was one of the first places we checked. The manager at the Ritz assured us that the only thing Mr Eisenbach deposited with him was a few items of Miss Carolyne’s jewellery.”

  “Could he —” Eleanor stopped on seeing Armitage’s raised eyebrow. That was the trouble with espionage. If you weren’t careful, you began to doubt everybody, including perfectly respectable managers of very prestigious hotels.

  “Sorry.” She gave a half-hearted laugh, eyelids drooping.

  He got to his feet. “Get some rest, my lady, and try and stay out of trouble. No, don’t get up,” he said, as she started to rise. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Eleanor was asleep before the door closed behind him.

  Chapter 25

  After a good night’s sleep and Tilly’s excellent cooked breakfast, Eleanor felt refreshed and restored.

  “Thank you, Tilly. I intend paying a couple of calls this morning, though it will mean my second best coat, I’m afraid. Never mind, I’m sure my friends will forgive me.”

  “I’ll come with you, my lady.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that. I’m sure you have enough to do.” Eleanor was prepared to argue the point, until she caught the look in her maid’s eyes.

  “Whatever I’ve got to do will wait. I’m coming with you. The Major may not care about you, but I do.”

  “As you wish.”

  Eleanor poured another cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. Was she mistaken in thinking that Major Armitage had called her ‘darling’, yesterday? Her brain must have been addled by the chloroform to cause such wild imaginings. Not for one moment would she consider it wishful thinking.

  She allowed Tilly time to do her chores, so it was just before lunch that they set out together for Knightsbridge, where Tommy Totteridge lived in a three-storeyed house. Tilly, clutching a pistol inside her muff, insisted they take a taxi, and Eleanor agreed. Although the weather had improved on the previous day, it was a fair step to Cadogan Square and, despite the reapplication of Tilly’s ointment, her knees still ached.

  “Why are you going to see Mr Totteridge, my lady?” Tilly asked, after giving the taxi driver the address. “Is he connected to this business?”

  “I thought he might have been at one time, though I expect he would be mortified if he knew that. However, I’m happy to admit that I was wrong. With any luck he might be able to supply me with some much needed information.”

  “And what about me? Is there anything I can do?”

  Eleanor finished delivering her instructions as they arrived and crossed the wide pavement in front of the house. She rang the bell.

  Tommy himself answered the door, beaming in delight at the sight of his visitors.

  “Eleanor, old girl! You’re just in time for a pre-prandial snifter. Come on up.”

  He closed the door behind them and led the way to a curving staircase. He had his foot on the first step when Eleanor restrained him with a hand on his arm.

  “I hope you don’t mind if my maid accompanies me, Tommy. I don’t expect you to attack me, but someone did yesterday.”

  Tommy’s eye’s widened and his brows shot up to his hairline. “I say! Attacked you? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I am now, thanks.”

  “Good-oh. Well, by all means bring her with you. The more the merrier, eh, what? She can sit with us, or my man will make her a cup of tea in the kitchen, whichever suits.”

  He led the way into a spacious drawing room and offered Eleanor a seat.

  Then he excused himself to make a phone call. He went out pulling the door closed behind him.

  While she waited for his return, Eleanor wondered if she had done the right thing in coming to see her friends. The last thing she wanted was to put either of them in danger, but dangerous times call for desperate measures. If she could get away without mentioning the word espionage, then she would, but if it became necessary then she would tell them the whole story.

  If Tommy and Sophie were in peril, they deserved to be warned of it.

  “Sophie’s here, by the way,” said Tommy on his return after a scant minute or two. “She’s in the kitchen with Barnet, my man of all work, sorting out menus, or something. I’ll take your maid through and let Sophie know you’re here.”

  “Thanks, Tommy.”

  “You know, Eleanor old thing, I’m glad you’ve called.” Tommy walked back in and flopped on a sofa. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, since I saw you at Olivia’s party.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “Dashed if I can remember.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Tommy Totteridge! What are we going to do with you?”

  “I say, Eleanor.” Tommy gave a rueful grin. “Be fair. I’ve had a fair bit to drink since then, and I’ve been to sleep a time or two as well, you know.”

  “Look, it’s not my place to preach to you, or tell you how to live your life, but don’t you think it’s about time you settled down and got a job?”

  She knew that the Totteridge family were related to the Duke of Oxford and independently wealthy, but the economy had only just begun to recover after the war, and Tommy often seemed to spend money like it was going out of fashion.

  “I’ve got a job!” Tommy’s look of chagrin vanished as he beamed at her. “I start at the end of the month.”

  “That’s wonderful news. What will you be doing.”

  “I’m going to be a reporter for the Daily Clarion. They want someone to cover Arts and Entertainment and are giving me a month’s trial.”

  “And do you know anything about those subjects?”

  Tommy pulled at his lower lip with thumb and forefinger. “Well, I’ve got a degree in Fine Arts, though you may not believe it. Spent most of the war drawing charts and maps for the War Office. That was more technical drawing than fine art, so it didn’t get me far, but I can waffle on about it if need be. As for entertainment, that’s a cinch. A quick report after a night at the theatre should keep the paper happy.” He grinned. “I’m not so keen on opera, but then, I doubt it’s something that appeals to the Daily Clarion’s readers, either. I foresee me visiting quite a few jazz clubs, mind you.” He laughed. “Actually, I’m quite looking forward to being gainfully employed again.”

  “Good for you, old thing.”

&nb
sp; “What about you? Will you always be a lady of leisure?”

  He lifted a monogrammed box off a side table and offered his guest a cigarette.

  Eleanor took one and thought about Tilly’s suggestion that she became a private enquiry agent. She hadn’t got as far as placing an advert yet, which was probably all to the good — she was hardly distinguishing herself as a detective. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for it.

  “I don’t know, Tommy. If all else fails, I could return home to Derbyshire and be a shepherdess.

  “Eh?” Tommy’s face reflected his confusion before it relaxed into a smile. “Ah, that’s right. The duke breeds sheep, doesn’t he?”

  “Well, to be fair, Father actually does a lot more than that, but that’s where a lot of his income comes from, yes. He’s just built a hotel and golf course on the land and the place has been besieged by American players since it opened.”

  Tommy clicked his fingers. “Got it!”

  It was Eleanor’s turn to be bemused. “Got what?”

  “What you were asking me at Olivia’s birthday bash. You remember? The American that stopped me and asked me where Collingwood Place was.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Well, I knew it sounded familiar, though I couldn’t think why. Then he showed me this little map book thing and I forgot about it. It’s just come back to me.”

  Eleanor wanted to box his ears and tell him to shut up waffling. She leaned toward him. “And?”

  “Collingwood Place is where Ferret Fortescue has his flat. What a coincidence.”

  A coincidence? Eleanor wasn’t so sure.

  “That’s interesting. How long have you known Fortescue, Tommy?”

  “Oh, we were at school together, or so he tells me. Can’t say that I remember him, but there were a dashed lot of others, don’t you know. Ha!”

  “Such as? Who else might remember him.”

  “Hmm.” Tommy’s brow furrowed in the effort to think. “Let’s see, there was Jonners — George Johnson, who’s now an MP, you know. Bugsy Bugthorne was also in our class, I think. He went into his family’s shipping business. Oh, and Harold Harcourt.”

  “Harkers, I presume?” Eleanor said. She found the nicknames that public schoolboys gave each other rather silly.

  “Certainly not.” Tommy frowned. “That was the Classics tutor’s name.” He sighed and gave a shake of his head. “We lost a lot of them, you know. Some at Ypres, more at the Somme.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  The casualties at those two battles alone had wiped out half the young men of the Commonwealth. Tommy had been wounded, but at least he’d survived, even if he had lost most of his schoolmates.

  “So, when did you meet Fortescue again? Recently, I mean?”

  Tommy shook his head. “Sorry old girl, haven’t the faintest.”

  “Well, within the last few months, say, or longer ago than that?”

  Although he appeared to give the question due consideration, Tommy still looked doubtful. “He’s just around.”

  “Here you are, get this down you.” Sophie approached bearing a tray with three glasses of champagne. One was already half empty. She offered the tray to Eleanor who murmured her thanks.

  “Thank goodness you’re here.” Tommy latched onto her like a drowning man to a life raft. He took the glass from her outstretched hand. “How long have we known old Ferret?”

  “Freddy? Not that long. You said you were at school with him.”

  “Can you remember when you first met him?” Eleanor sipped at her own glass.

  “It was last year. Hmm. I think it was at Pinkie Carson’s do. Yes, I’m sure it was, and that was last September.”

  Eleanor, who was not a fan of Philip Carsons, an up-and-coming British tennis player, had not attended, but with his memory thus jogged, Tommy hastened to agree with Sophie.

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” Sophie grinned. Eleanor suspected that, even before they’d had their lunch, she was more than a little tipsy. “What do you want to know for?”

  “It’s Eleanor. Got some bee in her bonnet about him, that’s all.”

  “Actually, it’s to do with the party on New Year’s Eve. Can you remember what you did that evening?”

  “Was that the night that American died?” Sophie asked, then went on without waiting for a reply. “I danced with his son, who was quite a dreamboat.” She laughed at Tommy’s outraged face and pecked his cheek. “He’s worth millions, too.”

  “How long did you dance with him?” Eleanor put the question before Tommy had the chance.

  “Oh, quite a bit. Totters was in the bar and didn’t want to dance, so...”

  “Was Fortescue with him?”

  Sophie pushed her lips forward. “Not all the time. I remember seeing him talking to someone at the table next to the Eisenbach’s and also lounging against the cloakroom counter talking to the attendant.”

  Eleanor gasped and the sip of champagne she’d just taken went down the wrong way. Coughing and spluttering, she whipped a handkerchief out of her pocket, and turned away from her friends, as much to hide her delight as to recover her poise.

  Sophie had put a name to the man the Dashwoods had noticed. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place and she filed it away, to be gone over and pondered on in peace and quiet.

  “Are you all right?” Sophie patted Eleanor’s back.

  “Yes, sorry. It just went down the wrong way, that’s all. I’m not used to champagne this early in the day. Are you sure it was Freddy Fortescue you saw talking to the attendant?”

  Sophie took a step back, but nodded. “Oh, absolutely, darling. His long nose is unmistakable.”

  “Look, Eleanor.” Tommy’s voice was plaintive. “What is all this about? You’re asking a bally lot of questions again, just like you did the other day.”

  Eleanor smiled at them both. “Mum’s the word, my children, but I promise I’ll tell you in a day or two. When you’re sober.”

  Chapter 26

  Eleanor prised Tilly away from Barton only after a show of reluctance on her maid’s part — the pair in the kitchen were busy swapping recipes and comparing notes on the best way to prepare a coq au vin.

  “So what did you manage to find out,” she asked, once they had secured a taxi back to Bellevue Mansions. “About Ferret Fortescue, I mean, not chicken in wine.”

  “Barton doesn’t like him. Say’s he’s not a gentleman. He’s caught him listening at doors and eavesdropping on Mr Totteridge’s phone calls before now. Apparently, Mr Totteridge entertains regularly and has a mix of friends, but this Fortescue chap always seems to show up at everything. Sometimes without an invite.” Tilly sniffed at this appalling lack of politeness and good behaviour.”

  “That’s interesting. You had no trouble getting Barton to talk then?”

  “No, my lady. I started off by saying that the lunch he was cooking smelled really appetising, and asking him what it was, and that got me into his good graces.”

  “Tilly, you’re a marvel.”

  Eleanor felt well pleased with their morning’s work until they arrived home to discover the front door jemmied open and the flat ransacked.

  “Bloody hell!” An incensed Tilly, seeing the devastation within, so far forgot herself as to swear in front of her mistress. “What bastard has done this?”

  Eleanor thought she knew, but held her tongue. “Come on. We’d better put this place to rights and try and work out what they’ve taken. Then, I suppose I ought to call the police.”

  Grim faced, the pair set about restoring their home to some sort of order. In the drawing room cushions had been ripped apart and scattered, clothes tumbled out of drawers and wardrobes in the bedrooms, while papers and books littered floor and desk in the study.

  Even the kitchen had not escaped their attention and Tilly sobbed at the mess on the floor and the state of her cupboards.

  “I’m so sorry, Tilly.” Eleanor held the weeping
maid in her arms.

  “Somebody will be, if ever I get hold of them. I suppose they were after —”

  Eleanor pressed a finger against her maid’s lips. “Yes. So console yourself that they didn’t get what they came for.”

  “Good.” Tilly pulled free of the embrace and wiped her eyes.

  “Will you make a start on clearing up, and I’ll phone a locksmith and a carpenter to come and repair or replace the door. Then I’m going to pop downstairs and speak to the doorman. He should have seen who came into the building.”

  The doorman, stepping out of his cubby-hole in the lobby, expressed himself mortified at the news that Eleanor’s apartment had been burgled, but insisted that no one had gone upstairs since she and the maid had left earlier that morning.

  “Well, only Miss Carruthers in Apartment 8, and she’d only gone out for a morning paper and I don’t think —”

  “No, no.” Eleanor hastened to agree. The occupant of Apartment 8 must be seventy-years-old if she were a day. Besides she was a prim, pince-nez wearing spinster and a most unlikely candidate for owning, let alone wielding, a crowbar. “I don’t think we can accuse Miss Carruthers of the crime.”

  “Has much been taken, your ladyship?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve left my maid putting the place to rights. I’ve phoned for a locksmith and a carpenter, they should be here before long.”

  “Right you are, my lady. I’ll keep a look out for them.”

  A shame he hadn’t done that earlier. Eleanor's thoughts were sour. “Did anyone call at the building? A tradesman, perhaps, or the postman? Anyone at all?”

  The doorman tugged at an earlobe. “Not as I recall, your ladyship. Oh, wait. There was a gentleman who asked for directions, but he weren’t ‘ere above a moment or two.

  Eleanor’s pulse quickened. “Please will you tell me exactly what happened? Start by describing this gentleman.”

  Somewhat taken aback by these instructions, the doorman replied readily enough.

  “He was an American gentleman, tall and slim and with sandy coloured hair. He asked the way to Bricknall Avenue.”

  “Did you leave your place here?”