Hotel du Barry

by Lesley Truffle

  Cat sat up straight. ‘No, Henri, that’s just not possible. Eddie is utterly incapable of killing anybody. Admittedly she seems to be a bit unhinged lately. But a killer? No way, it’s clutching at straws.’

  ‘Jim drilled spy holes in the ceiling of Edwina’s apartment and by lifting a few floorboards in the old nursery could hear everything. And even though he heard nothing incriminating he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’s implicated in their deaths.’

  Cat turned to Mary. ‘Surely you don’t think Eddie’s a killer?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think, Cat. Jim was only going on his gut feeling. But he couldn’t shake his hunch that Edwina had hired thugs to punish Chef and they overdid it.’

  The door opened and they all jumped.

  The barman entered. ‘Ready to order, Mr Dupont?’

  Henri glanced at the wine bottle. ‘Yes, we’ll have another bottle of the same and please tell Alphonse we’ll go with the Ploughman’s Lunch. Heavy on the pickles and cheeses. Is that all right with you, ladies?’

  Mary grinned at Cat. Henri was used to being in charge and it was great being looked after for a change.

  As the door closed, Cat turned an anxious face towards them. ‘But what about Gary Smythe? We still don’t know what Jim found out about him. Mary, you described him as a psychopath, so why not consider the possibility that Smythe went after Jim?’

  Mary nodded. ‘Or perhaps Smythe’s lackeys did his dirty work. I guess we won’t know until Jim’s well enough to talk.’

  There was a lengthy silence as they each grimly considered the possibility that he might never come out of his coma. Jim Blade was the heart and soul of the Hotel du Barry and none of them could imagine their lives without him. He not only cast a long protective shadow over everyone in the hotel, but he was the one man they all trusted unconditionally.

  The only sounds were the logs crackling in the grate and the voices of the rowdy drinkers coming up through the floorboards. Henri broke the silence. ‘I get your point about Smythe, Cat. But rather than sit on our hands, we need to consider other suspects. If for no other reason than that they might be in cahoots.’

  Cat jumped up and stood with her back to the log fire. ‘But the detectives reckon a young man pushed Daniel off the roof! It could easily have been Smythe. Not one of those witnesses mentioned a female being sighted on the roof that night.’

  Henri paced the floor. ‘Good point. Smythe might have had duplicate keys made before Danny sacked him. And he would know how to get into the Hotel du Barry unseen.’

  Mary said, ‘True but we need to join up all the dots. Eddie’s androgynous, volatile and strong. We also know she got snaky whenever Daniel brought up the subject of divorce. Only minutes before the party started in the Winter Garden, Sebastian overheard them arguing about it again.’

  Cat drained her glass of wine. ‘But that was normal behaviour for them. I grew up with the two of them constantly bickering. Divorce has been on the cards for years. They tried to hide their animosity from me but I always knew what was going on. In a perverse way I think that Daniel actually enjoyed the skirmishes. He told me that he, his father and the other two sons fought like a motherless wolf pack. It’s just how the du Barrys evolved after Lucinda du Barry died. Besides, what about Michael? Eddie wasn’t even in Venice when he drowned.’

  Henri replied, ‘Michael may have been poisoned by mistake. Perhaps Edwina was slowly poisoning Daniel before he went to Venice?’

  Cat said, ‘Look, for as long as I can remember she’s kept poison at home. Eddie’s got a genuine fear of spiders, moths and silverfish and she’s obsessed with killing kitchen mice. You should have seen the stink she kicked up on my sixth birthday, when Danny visited the pet shop and brought me home two white mice.’

  Mary said, ‘I remember that, the battle raged for days until Danny gave them to the porter’s son. But Cat, if someone has the means and the motive for murder, you have to at least consider it a possibility.’

  ‘Not in this case. Bertha keeps rat poison in the maids’ kitchen. And you can find stashes of domestic poisons all over the labyrinth. Blimey, if Smythe wanted to do a little poisoning he wouldn’t even have to bring his own. And you know what? He still has girlfriends at the hotel. I did a little investigating and it turns out that Bessie Blackwell is still stuck on Smythe. Just about every Sunday she cooks him dinner and he stays the night. She also does his washing and ironing.’

  Mary winced. ‘Gawd, how could she? It’s like she’s playing mother.’

  Henri lowered his chin and gave Mary a questioning look.

  She laughed. ‘Bessie’s always had a thing for crims especially those who’ve done time in the slammer. And I guess committing sins of the flesh with the likes of Smythe would have to be more fun than attending Sunday Mass.’

  Henri shook his head and picked up the wine bottle. ‘Who would like more wine?’

  As he was refilling their glasses, they heard the sound of men yelling and cheering. Mary and Cat rushed to the window and down below they could see the Salmon and Ball clientele congregating around a gnarled old oak tree. A barefooted lad was trying to scale the tree while holding a tankard of stout in one hand. Those assembled cheered and jeered as he struggled to claw his way up the tree. Old Pete was master of ceremonies and he waited with a notepad and pen poised at the ready. When the lad fell flat on his back – with his tankard raised – Pete bent down, carefully examined the tankard and jotted something down.

  Cat said, ‘Come quick, Henri. Tell us what’s going on.’

  Henri peered out the window. ‘Ah, that would be this week’s bet and that’s young Pete on the ground. The winner will be the geezer who climbs up and down the trunk without spilling too much Guinness. There won’t be many contestants because the older drinkers know that one needs strong toes to get up the tree using only one hand.’

  Mary gave him a sly look. ‘Am I mistaken, or do you happen to know quite a lot about this?’

  ‘These are my people. And I too was once a penniless lad with limited prospects. Those young chaps down there? If they’re lucky enough to even have a job, it usually involves heavy manual labour for shite wages. There’s not much fun to be had locally, so they make their own.’

  Cat asked, ‘Henri, is this a frequent pastime in this neck of the woods?’

  ‘The bet is different each week. Jim and I were enjoying a beverage in the front bar recently and when I went to the Gents lavatory I couldn’t get in the door. Most of the clientele were in there having their erect members measured. Our resident carpenter was doing the honours with his tape measure.’

  Cat and Mary exchanged incredulous looks.

  Henri shrugged. ‘The same chap wins every time, despite most of his nutritional needs being met by copious amounts of stout. He swears by it.’

  Cat looked perplexed. ‘But aren’t any of them interested in sport?’

  ‘A few of them are, if you count competitive darts. Look, the way I see it, what happens here is a better option than the cock baiting and cruel dog fights that are held in the back alley behind the Pig and Thistle. That’s one thing I do admire about Edwina, she investigated those three bellboys who were exploiting starving stray dogs by setting up dog fights on the sly. She sacked the lads and took full responsibility for the dogs. And Edwina also quietly channels a lot of time and money into the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.’

  They sat down and Mary said, ‘Edwina’s a mass of contradictions. I’ve been typing up Otto Rubens’ research on the psychological profile of multiple killers. You know what? Edwina’s got similar characteristics. She behaves like an outsider who feels unloved and goes to extreme measures to punish those she thinks have betrayed, hurt or wronged her. Most staff are terrified of her because of her irrational outbursts and rages. They reckon she’s bonkers.’

  Cat shook her head vehemently, ‘To be sure, Eddie’s got a massive chip on her shoulder, gets worked up easily and is devoid
of empathy, but I refuse to see her as a murderess. Can we now talk about something else?’

  Mary said, ‘What’s the story with Thomas Rodd?’

  Cat sighed. ‘She’s really dark on him and she won’t take his phone calls. Thomas keeps sending her love letters from Dublin and roses by the dozen, but she swears she’s over him. She’s lying. The other day I caught her chopping the heads off the roses he’d sent and burning his letters on the balcony.’

  Henri said grimly, ‘That explains all the decapitated rose heads, burnt paper and martini olives we keep finding on the canvas awnings and pavement. Edwina must be hurling them from her balcony when she’s primed on gin. I just assumed those debutantes in suite 828 were enacting voodoo rites again to undermine their rivals.’

  Mary laughed. ‘I really miss working at the Hotel du Barry.’

  Henri said, ‘Well, Maurie du Barry used to say that nobody ever really leaves. Not even the dead folk.’

  Mary turned to Cat. ‘Just one last thing about Edwina. Jim reckons she loves you as much as she can love anyone but she doesn’t know how to express it. It’s just possible that when Chef attacked you, Eddie felt he was attacking her own. Maybe she sent a couple of hard boys after him and they accidentally drowned him in his own bathtub.’

  Henri added, ‘And perhaps Edwina knew Jim suspected her and she wanted to put him out of action for a while. So she sent the same thugs after Jim.’

  The door opened and the publican brought in a laden tray. ‘Here we go, Henri. I thought you might like to try my lady’s sweet pickle relish with your Ploughman’s Lunch. Old Pete reckons it’s so sublime you could offer it to the devil, instead of handing over your soul for immortality.’

  Henri rubbed his hands in anticipation. ‘This looks delectable, Arnaud. My word, you certainly know how to cook and dress a ham. Ah, the aroma of your freshly baked bread. Splendid. Ladies, do not make mention of Arnaud’s wonderful cooking at the Hotel du Barry, or our guests will be abandoning us, just so they can live high on the hog at the Salmon and Ball.’

  Arnaud beamed. Compliments from his old friend Henri, were the equivalent of being awarded a prestigious Michelin Star. ‘Bon Appétit!’

  Arnaud’s Ploughman’s Lunch was a cornucopia of Britain’s best produce augmented by French and Swiss cheeses. Camembert, double Brie, Cheshire and Gouda cheeses nestled up to slabs of cured meats, slices of pink ham, fat curls of butter, chunks of bread and a broad selection of homemade chutneys, pickles and relishes.

  Mary seriously doubted if England’s ploughmen ever got to devour such a splendid feast. They probably had to make do with a heel of dry bread and a cheese rind if they were lucky. Poor sods.

  Henri didn’t speak until Arnaud’s footsteps died away.

  ‘Cat, we wouldn’t be here right now if Jim hadn’t been attacked. Personally, I think the law should be involved. I kept telling him that but he wouldn’t bloody well listen.’

  ‘No. Jim’s absolutely right, there is no indisputable evidence. I suggest that we wait and see what Scotland Yard comes up with.’

  Henri spoke slowly. ‘Bear with me for a minute. You know we could still keep an eye on Edwina. If she’s guilty, it’s inevitable that she’ll crack at some stage. Doc Ahearn is concerned about her mental stability. You know this, Cat, but you’re loyal by nature and don’t want to admit it.’

  Nobody spoke or made any attempt on the food. Cat stared at the fire. She looked up with tears in her eyes. ‘You’re right, Henri. We fight like wild animals but she’s always been a big part of my life. Since the Chef business Eddie’s been trying to make it up to me. I know she wants us to start over but she doesn’t know how to go about it. I can’t help but feel sorry for her.’

  Mary touched Cat’s cheek. ‘Listen, here’s an idea. How about we come up with a plan that would flush out a guilty person but leave the innocent unscathed? That way you wouldn’t be trying to bring Eddie down, you’d be trying to put her in the clear. What do you say?’

  Cat smiled. ‘All right, I’ll agree to that as long as everyone keeps an open mind. And Mary, there’s something else I want to know.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Cat looked Mary straight in the eye. ‘I wish you’d tell me how Sean’s going. I miss him like mad and don’t believe all that shite about you not knowing where he is. There’s no way he wouldn’t be writing to you.’

  Mary drained her glass. ‘Fair enough. He writes regularly. Sean’s doing all right for himself in Texas. He’s thrown in his career as a gigolo and is hell-bent on becoming an oil man. They must have seen him coming, because he suspects the prospectors sold him a dodgy claim. He won’t admit defeat and keeps right on drilling. That’s our Sean, always pursuing the impossible dream. You know, Cat, I only ever lie to you because I want to protect you.’

  Cat stared into the fire. ‘I understand.’

  Henri snapped his fingers. ‘Just had a thought. Eddie told me this morning that she’s fed up with her fortune teller and asked me to find her another. What about the fortune teller you consulted? Could she be persuaded to leak us information on Eddie’s concerns?’

  Cat glared at him. ‘Henri, Lilith isn’t a fortune teller. She’s a witch with psychic powers.’

  Henri nodded sagely and Mary elbowed him. ‘Don’t be like that. She’s the real thing. But we must be honest with her. Nobody in their right mind would mess with Lilith.’

  Cat leapt up suddenly and knocked over her wine glass. ‘I’ve got an idea! It’s so twisted it will probably work. There is a way to clear Eddie of all suspicion. But let’s eat first and talk later.’

  Henri passed around the plates and they attacked the food with gusto. More wine was poured and for a few minutes they forgot their worries and enjoyed the warmth of the room and the simple ease of being with old friends. They clinked glasses and Henri piled another log onto the fire. Sparks shot up the chimney and disappeared into London’s smog.

  Somewhere in the heavens a group of gods caught hold of the sparks and listened intently. Excellent news. It looked like the Hotel du Barry saga was finally getting resolved. Even better, the gods and archangels would be able to defend their favourite mortals and meddle in the outcome. But if they weren’t careful Lucifer might try and poke his oar in as well. Fortunately the gods still had the upper hand and the guilty parties had best brace themselves for the gods’ next act. It would be bloody: guilt, intrigue, deviancy, subterfuge and tears would push tempers to the limit. Martinis would be flung in faces, accusations made, inebriated women would scream, sober men would weep and reputations would either be made or destroyed. And when it was all over? Justice would be carried out as befitting the crimes. For Daniel du Barry had been one of their own and the gods didn’t take kindly to having him stolen from them so soon.

  Cat left the Salmon and Ball and went straight to the hospital. Having maintained the lie that she was Jim’s daughter, she was entitled to visit him throughout the day. She ran up three flights of stairs and arrived breathless in his ward. There was little change in Jim’s condition but the blue-black bruises had yellowed and some of the swelling had subsided.

  Matron informed Cat, ‘Your father’s injuries are not as serious as we initially thought and his prognosis is better than expected.’

  ‘Great. Matron, it’s very important that his employer, Mrs Edwina du Barry, doesn’t have access to my father. She gives him high blood pressure and my mother fears it might increase the possibility of him having a heart attack.’

  ‘Of course, I understand. Mrs du Barry can be difficult. I’ll continue to monitor Mr Blade’s visitors and limit them to immediate family. Incidentally, your aunt telephoned a few minutes ago to see how he was. She’s very anxious about her brother and will be in to see him tomorrow morning.’

  Cat rubbed her forehead. ‘Uh huh. Which aunt was that?’

  ‘Mary Maguire.’

  ‘I see. Thank you.’

  Cat thought she heard Jim snigger behind her but when sh
e looked, his face was impassive. Matron straightened his pillow and left.

  Cat sat down next to the bed and took his hand. ‘Jim, we really need your help. I’ve come up with a plan but it’s leakier than a kitchen sieve. I need your expertise. Please, please wake up.’

  She sat there until night began to creep across London but Jim didn’t stir. Finally Nurse Chong stuck her head around the door. ‘I’m sorry, Caterina, but all visitors must leave now.’

  When Cat stood up she clipped a metal dish and it crashed to the floor. Jim flinched. She distinctly heard him whisper, ‘Too tired now . . . but I’ll be all right tomorrow. Tell my woman the bear is back in the game.’

  Then Jim rolled over and went back to sleep.

  29

  Extortion, Blackmail and Gin

  It was eight o’clock in the evening. Lilith bustled around her parlour getting ready for her next psychic reading. It was chilly and Hamlet, Medea, Aphrodite and Hecate were curled up in front of the open fire. Hamlet was wide awake as usual, whiskers twitching and tail moving restlessly. Lilith had no need for a watchdog with Hamlet on the job. When he tensed up, she knew for certain that Mrs du Barry was on the front porch and about to ring the bell.

  Sure enough, when Lilith opened the door Edwina was standing there in an elegant white fur coat. She looked nothing like the portrait Lilith had seen in Vogue magazine. Her piercing blue eyes had faded to a cold grey and now resembled the haunted eyes of a white wolf. Edwina’s platinum-blonde hair had been nurtured by a skilled hairdresser but it was lifeless against the deathly pallor of her skin. Her manner was cagey but polite. When Edwina removed her fur coat, Lilith was shocked to see razor cuts on the inside of her arms.

  Hamlet was on full alert. He kept his distance but his eyes never once left Edwina’s face. Lilith made her client at home and lit several red candles. Taking Edwina’s hand in hers, she closed her eyes and allowed the silence to lengthen. When Lilith spoke, her voice was deeper, as though tunnelling up through time. ‘I sense you’re unhappy in love. What do you want to know?’