A Death at a Gentleman's Club

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘There must be a lot of places to hide papers in a Gentlemen’s Club,’ said Richenda. ‘There are even cubbyholes for each member behind the desk.’

  ‘That seems a little too obvious,’ I said. ‘But it is somewhere to start.’

  We returned to Evans’ front desk, where we found the man with his top buttonhole undone drinking a cup of tea. He shot to his feet when he saw us and tried to stow the tea quickly out of sight. We all heard the sound of a mug falling over, then rolling off the edge to smash on the ground behind the desk. Evans’ expression said it all.

  ‘Can I help you, ladies?’ he said in most weary voice.

  ‘We need to look in all the members’ partridge holders!’ said Richenda excitedly.

  ‘She means pigeonholes,’ I corrected.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ said Evans, aghast.

  ‘We are on the business of the Crown and we can do whatever we want,’ said Richenda. ‘Do you wish me to fetch some of the men to explain this to you?’

  I glanced at her in alarm. However, it had the desired effect on Evans. ‘I give up,’ he said, throwing up his hands. ‘No one ever told me there would be days like this working here. I’ll be in my cubby if I’m needed.’ He retreated into the back room where the ledgers had been kept. We heard the sound of a bolt being thrown.

  ‘You know we cannot really do whatever we want,’ I said to Richenda.

  ‘Poo!’ said my soon to be sister-in-law. ‘He doesn’t know that.’ She flipped up the desk top with a little difficulty and went through to the pigeonholes. She began to pull things out.

  ‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘We must do this properly. We don’t want to find something incriminating and then not remember which pigeonhole it came from.’

  Richenda sighed. ‘Sometimes you are no fun,’ she said. But she joined me in going through the items present in careful sequence. We found the usual number of letters sent directly to the club. ‘Bills their wives don’t know about or love letters from mistresses,’ said Richenda. ‘We should open them.’

  ‘We have no authority to do so,’ I reminded her. I ignored the face she pulled at me and went back to the task. It seemed that the Reverend W. Goodie liked to keep socks in his pigeonhole; fortunately they were clean, if overly darned. We also unearthed a number of newspapers, but despite our initial excitement, when they were unfolded they proved to be no more than they purported to be. Although we did see that Mr F. Richards tended to mark a lot of horses on the racing pages. There were also tickets for the club’s Christmas Ball, already purchased. Tickets for concerts and theatre plays, which again made Richenda comment about these obviously not being for legitimate family. She also added it was about time she paid a visit to Hans’ club. However, a few worried questions on my part proved that Hans, ever sensible, had never told her which one he belonged to. I thought this wise as, between the death of his first wife and marrying Richenda, we both knew he had had a number of mistresses - and, well, it is not for me to comment further.

  A number of the gentlemen also kept mints, boiled sweets, and even cigarettes in the pigeon holes. I could only presume they handed them in so they didn’t have to share with other members. A few had left their shoes and were likely wearing slippers, which I thought rather a good idea. Some of the clergymen had left small books of prayers and even religious chains stowed here. Richenda held up one cross admiringly. ‘It’s very pretty, but I expect it would easily dangle in your soup. The chain is rather long.’

  The most intriguing thing we found in an unmarked pigeonhole, was a posy of dried roses and violets.

  ‘I wonder which pigeonhole belonged to your father,’ said Richenda.

  ‘Who is to say he even had one,’ I said. ‘There are certainly fewer spaces than there are members. Perhaps it is a privilege for older members.’ But I couldn’t help tracing my finger along the edge of the wooden racks, wondering if they had ever held mementoes that my father too had held.

  ‘Well, Wilkes, Prendergast, and Davenport don’t appear to have one,’ said Richenda.

  I checked the list I had complied as we went through. ‘Cole-Sutton has several packets of boiled sweets…’

  ‘Liquorice and lemon,’ said Richenda. ‘What? I was being thorough!’

  ‘They could have been poisoned,’ I said. ‘This isn’t a game, Richenda. In this building is a person who has killed and is likely to kill again. He knows we are seeking him. He isn’t going to let us find him easily and he will have no compunction in killing us if we get too close.’

  ‘But we are nothing to him!’ said Richenda, paling.

  ‘We are a threat,’ I said.

  Richenda sat down. ‘I am not sure I wish to continue in this.’

  ‘Chapelford,’ I continued, ‘had half a packet of cigarettes and two silk handkerchiefs. Lovelock had several bottles of ink.’

  ‘How would I know if I had been poisoned?’ said Richenda.

  ‘I’d think you’d know by now,’ I said as I put back the last items.

  ‘That’s comforting,’ said Richenda in a worried voice.

  ‘Right, where shall we try next,’ I said.

  ‘I meant it. I should stop this,’ said Richenda. ‘I have children. They need me.’

  I bit my tongue before I could suggest she should have thought of this earlier. Preferably before she had forced her way into Bertram’s motor car. ‘The best action you can take is to help me conclude this affair quickly. The longer it takes, the more danger we are all in. Simply withdrawing from the investigation won’t take you off the killer’s list. In fact, he might think you had found something.’

  ‘How do you do this?’ said Richenda. ‘I know this is not your first time involved in an investigation.’

  I thought for a moment. ‘At first, I did not have much of a choice, but I suppose as time has gone on I have become accustomed to this work. It is rewarding.’

  ‘I am glad to hear you say so,’ said a male voice behind me. I turned to see Fitzroy. I felt a very male urge to swear, but I did my best to smile sweetly. He gave me a wry grin, easily reading my thoughts. ‘Did you have any luck, ladies?’

  ‘I thought you would want a list,’ I said, passing him the paper. ‘I can’t see anything that sheds any light on the matter, but you may well see something I have missed.’

  Fitzroy ran his eye down the paper and shook his head. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘The sweets are only sweets,’ I said. ‘Richenda ate two…’

  Fitzroy raised an eyebrow and finished for me, ‘And isn’t dead yet?’ He turned to the woeful Richenda. ‘That was unwise,’ he said. ‘But I seriously doubt Cole-Sutton’s confectionery was poisoned. I expect you will live.’

  Richenda gave a little mournful sniff. I saw the edges of the spy’s lips twitch and had to bite my own lip not to laugh out loud. Our eyes met, and I felt the heat come into my face. I understood Fitzroy all too well.

  ‘Well then, carry on,’ said the spy, and walked past the policeman straight out the front door.

  ‘Has he gone home?’ asked Richenda.

  ‘I never bother asking where he is going,’ I said, trying to hide my face from her.

  ‘I suppose a policeman would never answer to a civilian.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said.

  ‘Why, Euphemia! Your face is scarlet.’ Her puzzled eyes searched my face and then she glanced over to the door. ‘Are you fond of that policeman?’ she asked astonished.

  ‘Of course not,’ I said.

  Richenda did not look convinced. ‘Where is Bertram?’

  ‘He’s showing my brother his motor car. We should try the reading room next.’

  ‘I think I will come with you after all,’ said Richenda. ‘I don’t want you getting into any trouble.’

  I ignored the implication. We methodically searched through the newspapers left on the reading stands and the ones still on the poles. Neither of us spoke. There was only the rustling of paper and the crackling of the small fire in the hearth
. Apart from us, the room was empty and showed no sign of recent occupation. As we searched, my mind wandered between trying to put together the small pieces of information I had gathered and the awkward admission that, more often than not, I felt comfortable in Fitzroy’s company. Something that, only a year ago, I would have never thought possible. Bertram was right, we needed to separate our lives from the spy if we were ever to have a normal relationship. Fitzroy interfered too often in both our lives - and my private thoughts.

  ‘Have you found anything?’ Richenda said. ‘You’ve got the oddest expression on your face.’

  I put back the last paper. ‘I have found nothing here either. I do like your idea of him moving things around, but I fear our culprit continues to be well ahead of us. I think it is time we braved the smoking room. If nothing else, I can convince the members to leave us to our search by opening the window. I thought they would die of apoplexy last time I opened the sash.’

  ‘Gentlemen do seem to enjoy the smell of smoke. I find it repulsive, but you’ve joined Bertram in our smoking room before. I did not think you minded it.’

  ‘This is nothing like that,’ I said opening the door. ‘There is a positive fug in here.’

  ‘You mean people might notice someone going in and out, but they couldn’t necessarily say who it was?’ said Richenda. ‘When did Lovelock die?’

  ‘Somewhere between when he took the key for the room, ten o’clock I believe, being his usual time, and when they tried to deliver his luncheon.’

  ‘You should double-check the time he took the key out,’ said Richenda. ‘It might give you a smaller window of opportunity. Unless the doctor can be more precise.’

  ‘I don’t think a doctor has been called. Bertram was asked to leave that until Fit - until the policeman arrived.’

  ‘I’ve heard you call him Fitzroy before,’ said Richenda. ‘I don’t see how his name could be a secret.’

  We walked along the corridor towards the smoking room. ‘There are so many pieces of this puzzle. I keep thinking that I can make them fit, but it is like trying to do a jigsaw where every time you get close to completing it, someone knocks the table over and you have to start all over again. I am certain there is something I am missing. If I could get that one piece…’

  ‘You could steady your table,’ said Richenda. ‘You do say the oddest things.’

  We stormed the bastion of the smoking room, side by side. Wilkes, Prendergast, and Cole-Sutton were still there. None of them looked pleased to see us. Wordlessly I went over to the window and opened it. Prendergast immediately extinguished his cigarette and left. I walked over to the fire and peered down into it. Fitzroy was right, it was smokier than usual. Not by much, by this point, but it may have been worse earlier. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Richenda begin to search among the few books and between the chess sets. Cole-Sutton stood to help her reach the tallest shelves, his cheery voice teasing her about not getting dust on her pretty red hair. Wilkes appeared to be watching them with some amusement. I looked perfunctorily through the papers kept beside the kindling. As I expected, there was nothing out of the ordinary there. It would have been dangerous to leave anything there as much in fear of it being burnt as discovered. I stood up and took stock of the room. Wilkes was now attempting to write in a notebook on his lap. Ash from his cigar trembled dangerously over his scribblings. I had a sudden mental image of the writing desks on the edge of the lobby, where a member could dash out a note or a telegram and hand it to the porter to have it delivered.

  As calmly as I could I got up and walked out. Richenda was playfully scolding Cole-Sutton. Neither of them noticed me close the door softly behind me. Wilkes appeared engrossed in writing his note. I found Evans back at the front desk looking less ruffled. At least he was enough in command of himself to offer me a token nod. I nodded back and made my way over to the first of the writing desks.

  It was more of a large writing slope. At the top was a niche for a bottle of ink. Small sheets of writing paper with the club’s address and motif at the top were clipped on one side. There were also envelopes, a storage space for pens, and a large blotting pad to write on. A member would write his message and then turn it over and press it against the pad to stop the ink smudging. When the blotting page had become too covered it was simply removed to reveal a fresh sheet underneath. With my fingers trembling I reached under the first two sheets of the blotting paper and encountered the rough edges of something. Doing my best to keep out of the eye-line of Evans I searched the desks one by one. My excitement grew as under each blotting pad I found sheets of written paper. There were also more stuffed between each desk and the wall. At the last desk, which was nearest to the door, I attempted to assemble my find. It was a surprising number of pages.

  The writing was small, cramped, and frequently scored through and overwritten. I could not positively say I had found the missing papers until I got them into some kind of order. I recalled Fitzroy’s entreaty for me not to read them and I had no intention of ruining my eyesight by trying. Fortunately, Lovelock had written with page numbers. At last I came to the title page. This was written in a much clearer script. It read ‘An account of the desperate events behind the Treaty of Berlin, taking place on the date of June 10th 1878.’

  So, we had been right, this was about the first team who had been sent out to Berlin. Could Lovelock have known Helios’ true name? Despite my promise, I could not help turning to the first page. I would only scan the opening paragraphs, I told myself. I would tell no one. My eye ran down the page. The script was difficult and the grammar tediously correct. The wording was overblown and grandiose. It was the fifth paragraph at the bottom of the page where I found the phrase ‘the intelligence person accompanying the envoy was known only as Helios. A bombastic individual, overly aware of his own worth. I and the others underrated both his ruthlessness and his skill. Josiah Martins, our linguist, stated from the beginning that he found being in the man’s company uncomfortable. He was the only one to express doubts over this star of the new intelligence department that had so recently begun operation. Josiah, who was my good friend since we met at college, saw deeper into the souls of others than many…’

  I forced myself to break off reading. I found myself clinging to the front of the desk. My legs quivered beneath me, but I was determined not to faint. Could this be true, that my father had formed part of that delegation? My mind refused to grasp the implications. Did this mean my father had been one of the civilian assets? Not Phlegon, obviously, but one of the others? Could it be that he had spent his life hiding from his past? Was this why he had always refused promotion? Had he tried to live a quiet country life to protect us - myself, my mother, and little Joe? Did my mother know? I felt certain she did not. She had hated my father’s lowly position. She recognised his genius and could never understand why he was content with such a limited lifestyle. It had driven a wedge between them. But was it all to protect us? Did he fear the past reaching out to claim him?

  I leaned heavily against the desk. Dear God, had he been murdered? Had Helios claimed him? I had to find Fitzroy. I had to tell him… I took a step and stopped. It felt like a thunder clap went off in my head. He knew! Of course, he knew! How hard had he tried to sideline me in this investigation? How kind had he been to me? Almost affectionate in his attempts to distract me. The lies. He had always lied, but these lies were damnable. Not telling me that my father was a member of the club so as not to distress me. He had manipulated me at every turn. Oh God! Oh God! He said he felt he had failed the assets. Fitzroy was responsible for my father’s death. He hadn’t been interested in an old case until he realised people were dying, and even then he had not been quick enough. I knew him well enough to know he was unusually intelligent. If he had truly focused his attention on this case I felt sure he could have saved my father. But it had not been of enough interest to him to prioritise.

  I dashed bitter tears from my cheeks. He had let Helios slip right past him and co
ntinue killing. My tears were flowing freely now. He did not want me to know because he knew I would - I would what? Hate him? That much was certain. Or was it simply that he didn’t want to lose an asset? My father had trained me in many unusual ways for a girl. Had he inadvertently made me of interest to Fitzroy because my skills were useful to him? The service had used my father and then Fitzroy, in turn, had used me. Everything. Everything from the very beginning had been a lie. Eric - Lord Milton to give him his true name - had controlled me at every turn. I had been foolish, weak and unbearably gullible. Bertram had been right all along, Fitzroy was not only dangerous, he was immoral and cared for nothing but his allegiance to the crown.

  The door to the club opened. I turned away. The doorman spoke. ‘Certainly, sir.’

  I heard the footsteps stop behind me.

  ‘Euphemia,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Are you all right?’

  I turned to face him. Then I slapped him as hard as I could.

  Fitzroy didn’t flinch. ‘Your father was Aethon. I warned him, really I did, but he didn’t listen.’

  I went to slap him again.

  18Ellie was our maid at the vicarage.

  19A romantic elopement that ended in much regret, was the whole truth of what I thought.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fitzroy Admits to The Unforgivable

  Fitzroy caught my wrist and held it tightly. ‘How much did you read?’ he asked calmly.

  ‘The opening page,’ I said. ‘Do not worry, I do not know any more of your grubby little secrets.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Let me go and I’ll give it to you.’

  Fitzroy released me, but took a cautionary step back so I could not strike him again. I thrust the papers at him. ‘Here is your precious manuscript. It is too short to be finished, and I doubt what there is of it names Helios.’

  ‘Not on the first page at least,’ said Fitzroy, without taking them.

  I pushed the papers at him again. This time he took them. ‘I told you not to read it,’ he said. ‘I knew this would only distress you.’