The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society

by Jason Blacker

  “So when did you meet her then?”

  “I met her the next morning when I was serving breakfast at 8.”

  “She was here right at 8?”

  “No, she arrived a few minutes later. Félix, Richard and his wife Myrtle were here then.”

  “And did she say very much to you?”

  “No. I said good morning and asked what she’d like for breakfast and her answer was all that she said. Though she did thank me when I brought the food through for her.”

  “And do you remember what she had for breakfast this morning?”

  “She had a poached egg, a slice of toast and some cheese. She also drank a cup of tea.”

  DCI Milling nodded. He didn’t think Pearl would be able to offer and drops of wisdom. She likely didn’t see anything.

  “Do you know when she left the table?”

  “I’m afraid not, Inspector. I was in the kitchen for most of the morning. The next I heard or saw of that poor girl was when Elmer came in to get me to call the police.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “Some time before 10. Between 930 and 10 I should think. I don’t have a watch on me.”

  “So you called the police and then what did you do?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I called the police and then I went into the living room and waited with Richard and Myrtle.”

  “Félix wasn’t there?”

  “No, Richard told me he’d gone out with Elmer to lead the police in.”

  “But eventually you did go out and have a look, didn’t you?”

  Pearl nodded her head.

  “Yes, Richard kept looking out the window. He saw you all come over the fell and then he encouraged us all to go outside and to make ourselves available in case we could help at all.”

  DCI Milling smiled. The last thing he needed was onlookers trying to think they were being helpful.

  “It’s terrible, absolutely terrible what happened to that poor girl,” said Pearl.

  Her eyes started to tear so she brought her apron up to her face to dab at them. Frances reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue to offer instead. Pearl was grateful for that.

  “You don’t think any of us are in danger, do you, Inspector?” she asked hopefully.

  DCI Milling looked at her firmly.

  “I shouldn’t think so, no. But I’d recommend taking precautions just in case. We aren’t entirely sure of the motive just yet, though we do believe the murderer was German.”

  “So now the Jerrys have infiltrated our shores to kill us on our own soil,” said Pearl in disbelief.

  “I’ll keep the shotgun close to the bed, Pearl,” said Elmer behind her.

  She ignored him.

  “How can those bloody Jerrys be here amongst us, Inspector, it is very unnerving. We should bloody well put them all in camps as far as I’m concerned.”

  “We did inter most of them,” said Frances. “But not every German is a threat to our security or to our people generally. Many have come to escape Hitler. Many don’t support him at all.”

  “But how do you tell, my Lady? How do you tell? They’re all the same.”

  Frances and DCI Milling didn’t say anything to that.

  “Speaking of the German,” said DCI Milling. “We have a name of Edsel Schmidt for him. Likely not his real name, but a name he might be using. In the last few weeks have you noticed any Germans around here?” asked DCI Milling.

  Elmer and Pearl shook their heads.

  “I haven’t,” said Pearl. “A Jerry would stick out like a sore thumb in these parts.”

  She craned her neck to look back at her husband.

  “No. Like Pearl said. A German would stick out around these parts and I haven’t heard any nor heard any mention of any either.”

  DCI Milling nodded his head.

  “Very well. If anything else comes to light, please be sure to call us. And perhaps most importantly, and don’t tell anyone this, but if your guests leave before they’re scheduled to, let me know as soon as possible.”

  “You don’t think any of them had anything to do with it, do you, Inspector?” asked Pearl, leaning across the table and speaking in a hushed voice.

  DCI Milling smiled at her and shook his head.

  “No, Mrs. Nisbet, we don’t. But we do however, like to know where our witnesses are if we have anything further to ask.”

  Pearl nodded.

  “That’ll be all,” he said. “If you’d leave us be for a few moments.”

  Pearl stood up and she and Elmer left the kitchen and joined the others in the large living area. They had closed the door behind themselves. DCI Milling turned his chair to face Alfred and Lady Marmalade.

  “If there is one thing that does bother me,” said the Inspector, “it is in reference to you.”

  “You mean this German chap asking who owns the largest piece of land here?”

  DCI Milling nodded.

  “It may just be an overreaction, but I’d like to leave you with one of my men at Avalon at Ambleside,” he said. “Just to be sure.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, Inspector,” said Frances, “Alfred is here and so to is Reginald Murray my groundskeeper. Not to mention my housekeeper.”

  “I really must insist,” said DCI Milling.

  “As would I,” said Alfred. “Of course I’d gladly protect you with my life, but I’d rather err on the side of caution in making sure that this Edsel chap has no chance of interfering with you, my Lady.”

  “But I don’t know Minnie Shelford. We’ve never met. How could I possibly be a threat to him?”

  “Because he doesn’t know that,” said DCI Milling. “Consider it a favor for me if you will.”

  Frances looked from DCI Milling to Alfred and back again.

  “Very well, Inspector. If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I insist you and your men come over to Avalon for lunch and let me take a closer look at this cryptic note that Ms. Shelford was supposedly trying to get to me.”

  TWELVE

  Code Mode

  ON their drive over, Lady Marmalade had insisted that Alfred join them for lunch. He wouldn’t have done so otherwise, but in matters like these she considered him more of a partner than her butler, and she’d prefer that he acted that way. It would just make things more awkward if he was serving them while at the same time trying to offer his advice and input.

  DCI Milling, DS Fox and Constables Swales and Davies arrived a short time after Frances had returned to her home.

  Beatrice Loftley, Avalon at Ambelside’s housekeeper, was used to making larger lunches and dinners at the spur of the moment. So it was no surprise when Lady Marmalade informed her that Alfred would dine with her and to prepare an extra three places for the police.

  Frances invited them all into the living area where Beatrice served tea from fine china. Once they were all settled Frances spoke.

  “Perhaps I might have a chance to look at that note, Inspector, before lunch?”

  “Yes, of course,” DCI Milling nodded towards DS Fox who passed over an envelope to Lady Marmalade.

  “Do you have pen and paper?” asked Frances.

  “I do, my Lady,” said Alfred.

  Frances opened up the envelope gently as if it might have been holding a most delicate butterfly. Inside was the well-wrinkled piece of paper that they had earlier determined was written on the pad that Elmer had left in Minnie Shelford’s room at the Nisbet home. Frances took it out and put it on the side of the table which was in front of her.

  Alfred came around and stood at the edge and wrote down the letters exactly as they appeared. It took him some time to be sure. He checked and then double checked his work. It wasn’t as easy as it might have seemed at first. Here is what the scramble of letters on that sheet of paper looked like:

  HRRIYHXDIDEKPTYMYCLOHAMHJZSB

  MHJZSPYHMBFSPNAZGTEBAUIAKT

  It was just two lines of unpunctuated lett
ers without spaces. Frances frowned looking at it. You couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. You couldn’t even try and pronounce it really. It meant nothing to her. After a while she looked up and then opened up the envelope for a second time and took out the other piece of paper that had been in Minnie Shelford’s purse. This one was not crumpled. It was only neatly folded. She unfolded it and put it down next to the cryptic note. She looked up at Alfred.

  “Did you get this one already?” she asked.

  “I did, my Lady. But let me be doubly sure.”

  He flipped back a few pages and found the wording. He double checked it. He had not made any errors. However, to make it easier for him, he flipped to the current page and under the cryptic string of letters he wrote what was on it, in neat, easy-to-read penmanship. He copied it verbatim as he had done before with all punctuation as it was.

  “Lady Frances - , If you have this then it seems the worst has happened to me. Please find the answers in the note.”

  Frances looked down at the two pieces of paper side by side.

  “Why would she have left such a cryptic note?” she said, speaking mostly to herself.

  “Quite possibly because it identifies her murderer,” offered Alfred.

  “But then surely the best place to have taken that information, if she was really fearful for her life, would have been to the police.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was just worried about being followed,” said Alfred.

  “Perhaps. But then again, it is the police with whom you talk, not me. Why would she choose me?”

  “You’re certain you’ve never met this woman in your life?” asked DCI Milling in a tone that was more helpful than it was interrogative.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say with one hundred percent certainty. I do meet a lot of people socially. But she’s certainly not someone I’ve met more than once, or whom I would’ve remembered.”

  Frances looked down at the notes. From the one to the other.

  “What I think I can say with some certainty is that both notes were written with the same hand.”

  “Yes,” said DCI Milling, “I believe we ascertained that at the Nisbet house.”

  “I’m trying to gather my facts, Inspector,” said Frances.

  She did not look up when she responded to him.

  “I’m not an expert in ciphers,” she said to herself. “But this surely has to be a cipher. But why is it in capital letters?”

  She looked up at DCI Milling.

  “I think I’ll send a copy of this down to Scotland Yard at the end of the week and see if they can make heads or tails of it.”

  DCI Milling nodded.

  “That’s probably best. It’s doubtful we have anyone at Cumbria who’d do a better job than Scotland Yard, though I’ll show it around just in case. You never know. We may get lucky.”

  Frances nodded and smiled at the Inspector.

  “What I do know, Inspector, is that in order to decrypt a cipher you need a key. Not a real key of course but a key nonetheless that unlocks the jumble of letters. And it doesn’t look like we’ve found the key.”

  “She might have left the key in London,” offered Alfred, “just in case the text was taken from her.”

  “Quite possibly. We’ll have Scotland Yard see if they can’t find it.”

  Beatrice walked into the room and announced that lunch was served.

  “Thank you, Bea,” said Frances. She stood up. “Gentlemen, if you’d like to come with me.”

  DCI Milling came over and put the sheets that were after all, evidence, back into the envelope and he handed it back to DS Fox.

  At the table that could usually seat eight, they all gathered up towards the one end where Lady Marmalade sat. Alfred, being her right hand man, was seated at her right. DCI Milling was seated at her left and the others were down from there.

  Water was served from a large glass pitcher that Beatrice kept on the dumbwaiter. Wine was available but Frances did not offer it to the men for she knew they were working. She didn’t have any herself for it was not going to make things any easier for her guests.

  “As I’m sure you’re all aware, we are under rations at the moment, though you won’t know it from the meal. At least I hope not.”

  “And what are we eating, my Lady?” asked DS Fox.

  “We’re having steak and kidney pie, though the kidney has been replaced with rabbit. Vegetables will be ample and there’ll be plenty more if you need.”

  As if on cue, Beatrice brought in the plates of food. Upon each plate was a small pie that was not much larger than three inches across. It was almost lost amongst the green beans and the roasted potatoes. Though nobody complained.

  Beatrice however, had been complaining under her breath in the kitchen. She had planned on making one 8 inch steak and rabbit pie until she’d been informed of the guests. She had saved up bits of butter and some of the flour from the previous weeks rations for just this purpose. But having to make six individual pies meant the pastry was exceptionally thin and she and Reginald would be going without. Their lunch and dinner would yet again be potatoes and green beans unless she could get Reg to bring in a pheasant or something. Though everyone was getting the same idea and those birds as well as the rabbits around here were becoming as rare as hen’s teeth from the over-hunting.

  So potatoes and green beans it would be. At least for her lunch. She wouldn’t tell Lady Marmalade though, for she’d be admonished for not putting some aside for the staff.

  “I’m going to leave Constable Ernest Swales with you, Frances,” said DCI Milling, nodding in the direction of Swales. “As we discussed.”

  “Thank you, Inspector,” said Frances. “We have a spare room.”

  “I won’t need a room, my Lady,” said Constable Swales. “I’ll be keeping an eye on the property and the home throughout the night.”

  Frances looked at him as if he’d just cursed at her.

  “Then I must insist you rest after lunch. Certainly until dinner.”

  Constable Swales nodded and smiled thinly. He wasn’t a good sleeper at the best of times and he certainly couldn’t sleep during the day.

  “Then that’s that,” said Frances, finishing up her stingy pie. Though what it lacked in size it certainly made up for in taste. She sometimes thought that Bea was perhaps the better cook over her Ginny at Marmalade Park in London. Though perhaps that was only because she never spent enough time here at Avalon at Ambleside to get used to Bea’s cooking.

  “Can you tell me what sort of a knife was used to murder Minnie Shelford?” asked Frances, putting her knife down next to her fork.

  “I can show it to you before we leave,” said DCI Milling. “It is in the car.”

  It was more a question directed at DS Fox, who nodded in agreement.

  “It is certainly German, and appears to be perhaps German military issue. It is a dagger with a fifteen centimeter blade I’d say and a black handle. There is a metal stamp of an eagle over the swastika in the middle of the handle and the SS bolts as a silver metal stamp at the top of the handle.”

  Frances nodded. “So he does appear to be German then. We’ll have to see if he’s actually using his real name.”

  “I’ll be making those inquiries with Scotland Yard first thing in the morning,” said DCI Milling.

  “And if this is his own dagger, then we might be looking for someone in the Schutzstaffel.”

  “The Secret Police?” asked DCI Milling.

  “Possibly,” said Frances. “If he’s in the Gestapo, though I don’t think they usually advertise the fact. Regardless, the Schutzstaffel is worrying enough and they oversee the Gestapo in any event.”

  “Then we’ll definitely be seeking the help of Scotland Yard,” he said.

  Frances nodded solemnly and silently for a moment.

  “And the sooner the better,” she said.

  THIRTEEN

  Night Watchman

  IT was after dinner. A dinner with
yet another small and stingy portion of meat. Bea had made a meatloaf, though it seemed it was more loaf than meat. Though Frances didn’t mind. These were hard time after all and everyone had to do their part for the war. And to be fair, there were vegetables aplenty from the garden here that Reginald had coaxed into quite the output. They had, of course, plenty of beans and potatoes. Those lasted through the winter. Soon there’d be more varied vegetables on hand. But there were enough potatoes in any event to feed Ireland if need be.

  Besides, Declan had admonished her for complaining about the meat rations, the only time she had was at the beginning of the rationing. He’d said it would be better for her in any event to be eating less meat and to be eating more vegetables. She’d lost a few pounds since the rationing began which she wasn’t upset about. Middle age had left it’s softness around her waist, though no one would dare call her fat. Not because she was The Marchioness of Sandown. No, it was because she wasn’t fat. There was a difference between being soft and being fat.

  Heading towards 10pm, Frances came by to see how Constable Swales was doing. He was a tall man. Not quite as tall as Alfred, but also not quite as old. Being in his early thirties, at least that’s how old Frances thought him to be, put him quite behind Alfred’s 61. He was also soft, though leaning towards being fat. Though he carried it all in a small tummy in the front.

  Frances found him out back, just off the kitchen smoking a cigarette and sitting on a wooden bench with Bea. Bea stood up and curtsied before Frances could wave her off. It wasn’t necessary, but Bea sometimes forgot that Frances was not as uptight about the royal courtesies as others might have been.

  “How are you doing, Constable?” asked Frances, standing before them. Constable Swales had stood up. He had a full and bushy black mustache on his long face that seemed to have been drawn out slowly but steadily by the passage of time.

  “I am well, my Lady. Just made myself comfortable with the perimeter of your home. I’ll be touring it on the hour every hour until sunrise, so you’re aware. The remainder of the time I shall be touring the inside of the home. I’ll be vigilant and thorough, mum.”