“They’re coming for you, Ernest. Just hold on tight, they’re coming for you.”
FIFTEEN
Marmalade Park
FRANCES and Alfred had moved back to Marmalade Park that very day that Swales had been stabbed. It was a Monday and it was her home she needed to be at now. There was the farm she called Cornish Hollow in Cornwall amongst others, but she didn’t feel like being in the country anymore. Not until they had captured the German, who by all accounts had almost murdered two people.
On Tuesday morning, that being yesterday, she had received word from DCI Milling that Swales was in a stable but serious condition. He had been transferred that Monday afternoon to the hospital after having been seen by a doctor in Windermere who had done what he could to staunch the bleeding. It had been a bad stabbing. A smaller artery had been nicked and his lung had been punctured. Because of that he had lost a lot of blood. However, the surgeons remained hopeful for a full recovery if he could make it through the next few days.
Frances was sitting at a table in a front room of Marmalade Park. Reginald and Bea had stayed up at Avalon at Ambleside to oversee the rebuilding which would take some time due to not only the rations but all the other destroyed buildings in the many major cities around Southern England. She had come back down to London primarily to continue working on the case. She was determined to head on up to Bletchley Park this afternoon and see if they couldn’t help her with the cryptic note.
Of course, Amelia had insisted that her mother come back down to London immediately. The whole event had given her quite the shock. And so here she was, in London with her two beloved children and her son-in-law. They were sitting together, overlooking Hyde Park, which even in the middle of this maddening war was still a tranquil place.
“It must have been so awful, Mother, to have that man practically dying in your arms as our beloved home was succumbing to flame,” said Amelia.
Alfie was eating a scone with jam and clotted cream. The cream had been a special delivery from her farm in Cornwall. Archibald Slattery always made sure that Marmalade Park and Avalon at Ambleside had the choicest bits, and the war was certainly no exception.
Declan was putting a dollop of clotted cream over some smeared jam on a scone for himself. The scone was still warm to the touch.
“It wasn’t that bad, my darling. I was in no danger, but the poor man didn’t look so good when the ambulance came which seemed to take hours. Besides, you’re dealing with that every day, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I’m trained for it, Mother. St. Mary’s has all the proper equipment and clothing for Alfie and I. I’m not having the injured bleed all over my lap as I lay upon damp gravel and watch my home burn down.”
Amelia was clearly upset by the whole event. She was upset at how close her mother might have been to personal injury, and she was upset that her mother didn’t even acknowledge that. She was also upset that the family’s primary summer home was now burnt to the ground and with it all those wonderful memories.
“Ames is right, Mother,” said Declan, ganging up on her. “I don’t think you realize how close you might have been to becoming injured yourself.”
He took a bite of scone and grinned at his sister.
“Really, Mother dearest,” continued Amelia, “I wish you would reconsider this sleuthing business. It’s just getting much too risky.”
“I know you’re both very concerned,” said Frances. “But I didn’t feel the least bit worried for my safety. Constable Swales was there…”
“Who was almost murdered,” said Amelia. “An actual policeman, almost murdered in our own home.”
“Yes, my darling, but Alfred was there and from what he says it sounds like he might have taken a bite out of the German.”
Frances looked back over her shoulder.
“Isn’t that right, Alfred?” she asked.
“Yes, my Lady. I do believe I might have grazed him at least with some shot.”
“Well, thank God you were there, Alfred. Really,” said Amelia, offering him a grateful glance. “But I should rather hope that you reconsider this business. It’s getting too dangerous. Back me up, Decky.”
Amelia looked over at Declan plaintively.
“Not if you insist on using that horrible nickname,” he said.
“Sorry, it’s not meant poorly you know. But really, shouldn’t Mother reconsider?”
Declan finished chewing a mouthful of scone, looking from his mother to his sister. His mother was staring out the window at Hyde Park. She seemed only half involved in the conversation. After some time Declan shrugged.
“I’m just as worried as you are, Ames, but I would allow Mother to make her own decisions in these matters. She takes Alfred along on most of these excursions of hers and I am sure he would give his life before allowing anything untoward happen to Mother.”
Amelia sighed.
“I just know that Daddy wouldn’t agree. He’d put an end to it.”
“You forget, my darling,” said Frances, “that your father helped and encouraged me in the beginning of these investigations. In fact, he got me the introductions to Scotland Yard.”
Amelia pinched her mouth into a scowl and shook her head.
“Well, I’m sure that at this stage he wouldn’t have it any longer.”
Amelia was sitting to her mother’s right. Frances put her hand on her daughter’s forearm.
“I appreciate your care, darling. And I promise I won’t put myself at undue risk. Is that a good compromise?”
Amelia looked at her mother sternly for some time before nodding.
“Yes, I suppose. I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”
Frances smiled at her and nodded.
“Not likely,” she said. She turned to look back out the window. The sun had spilled into the room and given a false sense of warmth. It was chilly outside, but not terribly so. A cardigan would probably suffice to keep you warm. The wind was quiet and the sun majestic.
“I’m going up to Bletchley Park this afternoon,” said Frances, announcing her plans for the first time.
“What’s up there?” asked Amelia, knowing full well the sorts of things that happened at Bletchley Park.
“Well, this poor woman, Minnie Shelford, who called herself Mary Sorrows at first, left a cryptic note for me, and I believe it might point towards the German who killed her.”
“I think now is the time to tell us this story from the beginning, Mother. Seems like you’ve been hiding more than you ought to,” said Declan.
“Yes, I agree,” said Amelia, “and it might just help me to feel better about this awful business. Don’t you agree, Alfie?”
This coming late summer, Alfie and Amelia would be celebrating ten years of marriage together. Even after this decade with his beloved wife, Alfie knew better than to offer unsolicited opinions when it came to her family’s matters. So he usually kept those opinions to himself. Though he was a congenial fellow as a rule.
“I would certainly be interested to hear what you wish to share, Frances,” he said.
“Thank you, Alfie, I think you’d make a terrific politician,” said Frances. That was not the first time he had heard that said. And though it might have been colored with humor, it was also meant with sincerity. He had the temperament to make a great statesman.
“Then we are all in agreement, Mother,” said Declan, “tell us about this latest case. As much as you can in any event. All we know so far is that you were called in by DCI Milling from the Cumbria Constabulary to help with this woman who was murdered not far from Avalon. And because it wasn’t far from Avalon they wanted to have a bobby watch you just in case. Now that doesn’t sound like the whole story does it, Ames, Alfie?” said Declan looking between the two of them.
Frances took the last sip of her tea. Then she poured more into her teacup from the teapot on the table between them. Declan put the rest of his scone in his mouth and wiped his hands together over the plate.
> “I was called, because DCI Milling knows that I’ve been a help in cases before. You might not remember them, but Elmer and Pearl Nisbet own a sheep farm not far from Avalon.”
“I think so,” said Declan, “he’s a tall, thin chap. They’re still going, aren’t they?”
“Yes, it appears so. Though they’ve taken to renting their rooms out for holidayers. On Saturday evening just past about 11pm a young woman knocked at their door unannounced looking for a room to rent for the night.”
“That by itself seems quite queer,” said Alfie. “You’re saying she had no reservation and she was unaccompanied.”
“It is the modern world now, darling,” said Amelia to her husband.
“Yes, but still. I shouldn’t be happy if you were out in the middle of nowhere at 11 o’clock at night.”
“I’m with Alfie,” said Declan, “I shouldn’t be happy to have you out at eleven at night traipsing around. It’s not appropriate and more than that it’s dangerous.”
Frances waited patiently until her children had finished chiming in.
“If nothing else it was odd. She’s a grown woman granted, but I too would rather not have you out and about on your own at that time of night, Ames,” said Frances.
“And I shan’t be. I’m a married woman now and I have a very brave chaperon to take me about,” said Amelia, kissing her husband on the cheek. Alfie smiled.
“Well,” said Frances, “if we can move on from social mores and back to the task at hand.”
They all nodded.
“She arrived late and it seemed odd. That’s been ascertained. The next morning she left abruptly after breakfast and was found dead between a half hour and one hour later by Mr. Nisbet as he was walking his grounds tending to his sheep who had recently been lambing.”
“And she had been stabbed you said,” confirmed Declan.
Frances nodded sadly.
“Yes, quite brutally in fact. Mr. Nisbet had come upon the German as he was in the act. I fear it would have been even more barbaric.”
“And how do we know he was German?” asked Amelia.
“There were three other people staying at the residence that evening and next day. A Frenchman by the name of Félix Delastelle had been offered a ride to the farm by a German man who was apparently waiting for his cousin. By all witness accounts, including Mr. Delastelle’s, this German appears to be the man who Mr. Nisbet came upon stabbing Ms. Shelford.”
“Sounds to me like this Frenchman might be involved,” said Declan. Amelia and Alfie nodded in agreement.
“Yes. We’ll be looking into that, though he certainly wasn’t the one who stabbed her.”
“Why not?” asked Amelia.
“Because I’m certain that Mr. Nisbet, who saw the killer, would have identified him as the Frenchman renting a room at his farmhouse if it had indeed been him.”
“Did Mr. Delastelle get a name from this German?” asked Alfie.
“He did. The name given was Mr. Edsel Schmidt. I’ll be sharing that with Scotland Yard if DCI Milling hasn’t done so already. Though I doubt that’s his real name.”
“Why would a German want to kill a poor young woman?” asked Amelia.
“If we find that out, my dear, we’ll likely be much closer to the killer. This young woman, who used the name of Mary Sorrows…”
“Yes, but you said her real name was Minnie Shelford. Can we stick with one name,” said Declan.
“Very well, let’s use her real name then. Ms. Shelford, whom I haven’t met, had a crumpled up note in her hand that we later determined was indeed meant for me.”
“How did you know it was meant for you? Did she say?” asked Declan.
“She tried to say it, I believe, with her last breaths. Mr. Nisbet said she said something like ‘mar… mar… laid’. At first I thought she was looking for someone like Marlaid or Marlade. But we couldn’t think of anybody with that name in the Lake District.”
“So how did you become certain it was for you?” asked Amelia. “I mean, in hindsight, it does seem like she might have been trying to say Marmalade.”
Declan and Alfie nodded.
“Later, we went to the Nisbet home and had a look at her room upstairs. She had only brought one suitcase with her which wasn’t packed heavily either. This was the other strange thing about this poor woman. She told Mr. Nisbet that she was there to escape the noise of London, but she only wanted a room for one night.”
“I can see how you’ve taken to this, Mother,” said Declan. “It is quite the puzzle.”
Frances smiled wistfully at him and nodded her head.
“In her suitcase we found another note and official government identification. It seems she works at HMS Pembroke V as Second Officer Telegraphist Minnie Shelford.”
Declan nodded seriously. Amelia looked from him to her mother.
“Where is HMS Pembroke V?” she asked.
“That’s Bletchley Park, Ames,” said Declan.
“Oh I see,” she said, still not quite knowing what to make of it. “Why would she come out to see you at Avalon if she didn’t know you? And why didn’t she just go to the police, preferably the military police if she felt her life was in danger?”
“Those are good questions, my dear, and ones to which I don’t have the answer yet. However, I didn’t know her but that doesn’t necessarily mean she didn’t know me. But more importantly, how did she know where I was? Only Alfred, Ginny and the three of you would have known I was going up to Avalon for a rest.”
“I’m sure working at Bletchley Park, Mother,” said Declan, “would have given her access to your whereabouts if she’d wanted to find out.”
“Can we take a look at these notes you’ve mentioned?” asked Alfie, “if we’re allowed.”
“I don’t see why not. Alfred,” said Frances, looking over at him. “Do you still have your notebook with you?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
Alfred came by, and as he fished out his notebook, Amelia cleared the space from plates so that he might put it down in front of Alfie who was between her and her brother. Alfred fanned through the pages until he got to the last couple. He stretched out the notebook and lay it flat in front of Alfie.
“And this was originally in her own hand?” asked Alfie.
“Yes, sir,” said Alfred.
“And I suppose the police at the Cumbria Constabulary have the originals?” asked Declan.
“Quite correct, my Lord,” said Alfred.
The three of them looked down at Alfred’s notebook and Amelia spoke aloud Ms. Shelford’s note to Lady Marmalade.
“‘Lady Frances - , If you have this then it seems the worst has happened to me. Please find the answers in the note.’ And that other note is this jumble of letters?” asked Amelia, looking over at her mother.
“Yes, it is.”
The three of them looked at the cryptic note. Amelia mouthed some of the letters as if trying to form them into words.
HRRIYHXDIDEKPTYMYCLOHAMHJZSB
MHJZSPYHMBFSPNAZGTEBAUIAKT
“Cryptic indeed,” said Declan after a while. “Do you have any idea what it might mean?” He was looking at his mother.
Frances shook her head.
“What about you, Alfred?” he asked, looking at Alfred who was standing behind Alfie, still as a statue.
“I have no idea, my Lord. No idea at all. Though as Lady Marmalade suggests, it is most certainly a cipher of some sort.”
“And the reason you’ll be going up to Bletchley Park this afternoon,” said Declan.
“Yes, Dec, the sooner I can have this decrypted the better. This German has come after me already. Who knows how many others might be on his list.”
“I’ll be coming along, Mother, I do find this quite interesting,” said Declan.
“What about the papers?” asked Frances.
“My editor will manage for the rest of the day. I’ll ring him up before we go.”
“I’d be happier to know tha
t Dec is with you mother,” said Amelia, looking at Alfie for support.
“Quite,” said Alfie.
“Alfred will be going up with me too,” said Frances.
“Yes, but if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I’m fairly certain that Alfred doesn’t have the proper clearance to get into Bletchley Park,” said Declan.
Frances knew he had a point. Alfred wasn’t likely to be allowed into BP. So she said nothing.
“Splendid,” said Declan. “Then it’s settled.”
SIXTEEN
Gate Keeper
THE only time Walter Brimley liked to be up at GC&CS was when there was good news. And to be fair, there had been good news lately, especially with Ultra and the terrific inroads they were making into the Enigma encryptions along with Alan Turing’s bombe. But today was not one of those days that he wished to be at the Golf, Cheese and Chess Society. He stroked his bushy mustache and looked down at the young woman.
“What did you say her name was?” he asked.
Walter Brimley was looking over at the young man in military clothes. He was Captain Albert McBurney and he looked like an advertisement for the ideal Hitlerjugend. If his accent hadn’t been so posh, Brimley might have investigated him as a spy. Albert was as blue-eyed and blond-haired as any Nazi might envision the Aryan race. He was young, fresh faced and quite out of his league.
“Pelagia Paterson,” McBurney said. “With one T.”
It was the first time that Albert had seen a dead body, and he didn’t like it. The woman likely wasn’t attractive, but even still, the sight of her dead, like she was, with pale gray-white skin was unnerving. He knew how she had died. That was plain to see. In fact you’d have to be blind and an imbecile not to realize how she died. The rope was still around her neck and the burns were obvious.
“Who found her?”
“The farmer she stays with. A, uh, Mr. Herbert Smalley.”
“And where is he now?”
“I sent him home. He looked awful fidgety.”
“What did he tell you?”
The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society Page 9
