Mrs. Wendell, however, did not seem to notice anything odd as she blabbered on about Claire Baker.
“There are rumors,” Mrs. Wendell’s shrill voice said. “Rumors of the two sneaking off into the gardens. It is an absolute disgrace.”
“It is,” Petunia agreed as she continued to stare at Beatrice. They were discussing Claire and the actor, Guy Finlaw. Rumors had spread like wildfire around London about the actor and Claire. Petunia had tried to speak with Claire about it, but Claire was quite happy with her new uninhibited lifestyle. She let Petunia know as much by telling her to stay out of her business and pry elsewhere.
Something was terribly wrong with Claire, but Petunia had no idea what. Even Paul Watson seemed stumped by Claire’s unruly behavior. He’d confided in Petunia the other day that neither Richard nor Claire would hear of his concerns and perhaps Petunia would have better luck since she and Claire had grown close over the last year. But Petunia had no luck. She thought Claire’s behavior was a complete shame and worried that she had something to do with it. After all, Petunia was the one who told Claire to go to Paris and enjoy her riches.
But she did not approve of Claire’s gallivanting with that Finlaw fellow even if he was famous. Claire’s behavior had led people to believe he and Claire were having an affair. Now they were back in Paris filming the rest of the production, but their adulterous waves still rippled through London.
“I find it quite odd that Richard sees nothing wrong with the behavior,” Mrs. Wendell said. “Then again, I did hear a rumor about him consorting with a blonde woman. I certainly would not be surprised.”
“I don’t know,” Petunia said. Frankly, she was bored with talk about Claire. She had so much on her mind. For one, Sébastien had telephoned Petunia to tell her that according to his sources, Phillip was not working on a job in the countryside. Also, no one had seen or heard from Phillip since his return to the countryside. Moreover, while she had told the ladies about her secret and had not received any new threats, she still worried for her life. But today, what interested Petunia more, was Beatrice. The girl hadn’t said a word all evening. When Petunia saw Beatrice nervously pick at her sandwich, she simply could not take an ounce more of the girl’s behavior. “Beatrice, would you care to tell us why your mind is burdened, Dear?”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Beatrice said quietly.
“There most certainly is,” Petunia argued.
“I assure you, there’s not. I’m just tired.”
“I don’t believe you, Beatrice.”
“I am afraid I quite agree with Petunia, though I hadn’t noticed it before.” Mrs. Wendell gripped at the neckline of her dress. “There is something certainly wrong.”
“All right all right!” Beatrice cried. “I’ve ended things with Wyatt.”
“You have?” Mrs. Wendell smiled.
“Tessie,” Petunia scolded. “There, there my dear. What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” With pleading eyes, Beatrice said, “Please don’t ask me about it.”
Petunia worried Beatrice was going to reveal that she was with child and it was Constable Wyatt’s responsibility. The girl looked positively devastated after all.
“Whatever it is,” Petunia comforted, “We won’t tell a soul, Beatrice. You can trust us, your aunt and me.”
“It’s true. If there’s something wrong. If you’re in trouble, we can help you.”
Petunia had never seen Tessie Wendell so compassionate, but she knew she was telling the truth. While Mrs. Wendell was a vicious gossip, she was always fiercely loyal to her own.
“I won’t talk about it,” Beatrice shook her head. “Not to a single soul. I’m sorry.”
With that Beatrice jumped up from her chair and hurried out of Petunia’s drawing room.
“I sure hope she isn’t with child,” Mrs. Wendell said nonchalantly, and then as if nothing happened, took a sip of her tea.
46 Suspicious Payments
1927
“Sir,” Mr. Waldorf said, “I know you said never to disturb you, but there are two policemen here to see you.”
“Send them into the library, Mr. Waldorf,” Aldous said. “Thank you.”
“Very good, sir.”
Mr. Waldorf walked away, and by the time the policemen reached the library, Aldous was waiting for them.
“Good afternoon. Please make yourselves comfortable. Mr. Waldorf, have the maid bring up some tea.”
“Is your son, Roger, here?”
A tired Aldous rubbed his face with his hands.
“Roger? Why, yes I believe he is. Forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm. We’ve just returned from America yesterday.”
“Not to worry. We hoped to speak with Roger, as something from the pending Agatha Bates case has surfaced.”
“Of course,” Aldous said indifferently. He rang the bell, and soon Mr. Waldorf returned.
“Mr. Waldorf, please fetch Roger.”
“Of course, sir.”
Mr. Waldorf disappeared again, and as a maid brought the tea, and served it, Aldous asked, “Is there something I can help you with before Roger gets here?”
“Well,” one of the policemen said trying to phrase his words correctly, “We’ve been put on the Agatha Bates case. Strange case you see as there is no body. But she was declared dead, so we believe her to be. We’re doing our best to find the murderer, but it seems we may have stumbled upon something that involves your son.”
Aldous kept quiet.
Roger sauntered into the room without a single flinch at the sight of the detectives. He took a seat.
“Roger, we’ve found something very interesting that we need you to explain.”
“Of course.”
“You see, Phillip Pennyworth is our leading suspect in Agatha Bates’ murder.
“So I’ve heard, but I also heard he was released from prison since no one could prove he had anything to do with the murder.”
“Oh, but we will,” the second police man said. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“Well, I can’t see what this has to do with me.”
“That’s interesting because we believe you’re involved somehow,” the first policeman said, narrowing his eyes. “You see, Phillip Pennyworth’s employer has confessed that he was blackmailed into covering for Phillip’s whereabouts when he went missing. Since that time Phillip has once again disappeared, yet he is still receiving payments.”
Roger was tight-lipped then. He looked nervously toward Aldous who returned a questioning look.
“So there’s no confusion in what we’re trying to say, Roger Loxley, the payments are coming from you. We’re quite sure you know where he is, and we’re quite sure you’ve been paying him.”
Roger drew in a deep breath and looked at Aldous’ still inquisitive eyes.
“Roger? What is this about?” Aldous asked.
“I really shouldn’t say, Father. Not now.”
“Oh, but you should,” the policeman said. “And you must. You can confess now or at the police headquarters...”
“Excuse me gentlemen. This conversation ends now. Until my son’s lawyer is present. Good day.”
“Have it your way,” the first policeman said. “But we will get to the bottom of this.”
With that, the policemen exited the Loxley’s library.
47 The Baker on Jermyn
1927
“I don’t see why you would have any connection to Phillip Pennyworth with regards to Agatha,” Aldous said as he sipped a glass of claret.
“I’m afraid they may have found out something I myself didn’t know,” Roger Loxley said, his face turning a sickly shade of white. The policemen were gone for just an hour, and now Roger, Aldous, and the lawyer, Mr. Darrow, sat in the Loxley’s library discussing the policemen’s accusations.
“What is it?”
“I had no idea. It was right under my nose the whole time.”
“No idea about what?” Aldous asked
.
“For the last seven years I’ve been blackmailed anonymously.”
“What?!” Aldous cried. “Why on earth...”
“Seven years, Mr. Loxley,” the lawyer said, “And never a word to anyone? What reason would someone have to blackmail you that you wouldn’t tell a single soul?”
Roger looked at his father again and back to Mr. Darrow.
“Please don’t tell me this is about the incident....”
“I’m afraid it is,” Roger answered.
“We took care of this situation years ago. How? Why are you still being blackmailed?”
Aldous felt his throat constrict.
“One blackmailer told me he was there and he saw me. The second said he was told and would ruin me if I refused to pay.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t you tell me this?”
“The blackmailer ensured me that if I told a single soul, he would go to the police and have me arrested. At the time, you thought it was over and had just planned to go to America. I didn’t want to burden you with it.”
“So you’ve been taking your inheritance and spending it on blackmailers?”
“Yes.”
The library door creaked open then and Mr. Waldorf appeared.
“Detectives Wicksy and Barnes are here to see you, sir.”
“Send them in, send them in,” the troubled Aldous said and then turned to Roger. “Do you mean to tell me that my personal banker, Phillip Pennyworth, was one of your blackmailers?”
Roger nodded. “I had no idea. I only had a bank account number to deposit the money. There was no name or record. I investigated it myself. The only way the police found out was because he’s being thoroughly investigated.”
Aldous tried to contain his anger as the two detectives entered the room.
“It seems Phillip Pennyworth has been blackmailing my son about the incident for seven years. While I cannot imagine why Roger has neglected to mention it to me, I feel we must concentrate on finding the second blackmailer now.”
“You say that Phillip was your blackmailer?” Wicksy asked.
“I had two. One who said he saw me, and the other who was told.”
“If Phillip Pennyworth was the person who was told, then perhaps he or whoever he works for could be the murderer of Wendy and Louisa.”
“Which means we must find Phillip if we are to exonerate Roger.”
“If you didn’t shoot Wendy or Louisa,” Barnes asked stroking his thick mustache. “Then why would you give in to the blackmail?”
“Because I was afraid. I didn’t have the murder weapon, and I was frightened that whoever the blackmailers were did have it.”
“I think you might be right about that.”
“Don’t you have any witnesses that could clear your name? Perhaps we could clear your name for good a different way.”
“We’ve been over this a million times...I was too drunk to...wait.” Roger’s eyes widened as he paced the floor. “There may be one witness, but I don’t think he would remember me. A man, a shop owner, closed up shop, and was hurrying to catch a bus. I ran toward him and said I needed help. I was too far away, and although he looked my way, he didn’t seem to notice I was calling for help. He got on the bus and left.”
“Do you remember which shop?”
“Because I was drugged that evening, the details are very hazy. It may have been...the baker...on Jermyn. Yes. It was. I think. I ran there. He was closing up shop, I remember. The bus pulled right near his shop.”
Roger was breathing heavily.
“We’ll talk to the baker,” Wicksy replied as he scribbled some notes on his pad. “Some witnesses heard the second shot that day at exactly nine in the evening. The first shot was exactly three minutes before.”
“This murder was planned,” Barnes continued, “And so, if the baker saw you at nine, then it clears your name. Because the details are foggy, it’s considered hearsay. As soon as they can get concrete evidence, they can make an arrest. This has been a long time coming, and it’s about time we get justice for Wendy and for Louisa. In the meantime, we need to find Phillip Pennyworth and find that pistol.”
“Understood,” Aldous answered.
“Oh, and I think it’s time we had a chat with Paul Watson and let him in on what’s going on.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Barnes asked. “What if he doesn’t take it well?”
“If Roger’s other blackmailer feels threatened and tries to bring down Roger and Richard, it will be a whole lot worse for Paul Watson.”
48 Shooter Revealed
Paul Watson’s Journal
August 15, 1927—Eda returned home from Hemsby in the middle of July. I was thankful to have to her home.
Thanks to Oscar I became a house physician at Maudsley in the middle of June. I found comfort in my work. For a while, it helped take my mind off everything that had happened although I grew impatient wondering what new information the detectives had uncovered about Aunt Greta’s death and the items that I found in the tunnels of Kolney Hatch. My cousin, Bran, was still missing although they had a lead that he was somewhere in Turkey. The detectives wanted to visit Whitemoor again in late September as they were busy working on the Agatha Bates case.
One thing they did find was record of the Kolney family and the story of the mad Kolney twin who built Kolney Hatch as his lair. The ledgers showed hundreds of missing people who were never found, and the tunnels were once more investigated. I shuttered as I thought of the jester masks and bones I found in those tunnels. I never wanted to return.
August 16, 1927, evening— Detectives Wicksy and Barnes stood at my door in the late afternoon wearing solemn expressions on their faces.
“Detectives,” I said welcoming them into my home. I had just returned from a busy day at the hospital. Eda was preparing dinner and had just made a fresh pot of tea.
“Good afternoon Paul,” Wicksy said, with a grave look on his face. He took off his hat and handed it to me.
“Is everything all right?” I asked, observing the detective’s downcast eyes.
“Well, yes. But...we do have something unsettling to tell you. Are you busy?”
“I see,” I said. I thought they were going to divulge something about Agatha’s murderer or perhaps about Aunt Greta’s death. “Come, into the drawing room and have a seat,” I offered. “Would you like tea?”
Wicksy nodded and took a seat. He and I each lit a cigarette and smoked it.
“All right,” I said, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten. I stood by the fireplace with too tense a feeling to sit.
“What do you know about your mother’s murder, Paul?”
“My mother’s murder?”
“Yes.”
“Walk us through step by step. Your version,” Barnes said, playing with his mustache.
My mother’s murder, something I’d try to bury for years, seemed to resurface at every turn.
“Well,” I said, taking a drag of the cigarette, “I was having dinner with Claire Baker when it happened. She wasn’t a Baker at the time, of course, she was...well, I was courting her. Or trying to anyway.” I rehashed the details in my mind before I spoke. “My mother worked at the florist. She worked there every day and was usually done by five or six o’clock, but that evening, for some reason, she had to work particularly late.”
I heard the door of the drawing room creak open then as Eda brought the three of us tea.
“This was an unusual occurrence,” I added.
“Did the florist ever say why she was working so late?” Barnes asked as he picked up his cup.
I shook my head.
“Someone had come in the day before to place an order.” I took a drag again. “Seven dozen orchids for a ceremony of some sort. It was too big to finish it in a day, but they needed it done, and so my mother was to be paid extra to finish it for the client.”
“Any idea who the client was?”
I shook my head.
&n
bsp; “I was seventeen at the time. I usually took the train to the shop and travelled home with my mother, but that night because I was out with Claire, Oscar Baker, a family friend, had asked Richard to escort her home.”
Barnes raised an eyebrow and looked at Wicksy whose eyebrows creased in a permanent furrow.
“Anyway, Richard was out drinking, and he said he forgot all about it. My mother began to walk to the train station through the park and someone attacked her. She died from two shots from a pistol, but no one seems to have been able to track down her murderer. However, I did read about the possible connections between her death and Louisa’s which I inquired about at the headquarters.”
“Yes, we are aware of that,” Barnes said, his mustache twitching.
Barnes exchanged a glance with Wicksy and gave a nod.
“Right. Well then, this is not easy to say, Doctor Watson. We ask that you bear with us in this explanation, as it is not sound, but we believe after all you’ve been through, you should no longer be kept in complete darkness.”
“Let me interject, Doctor Watson,” Barnes said, “I do not agree with Detective Wicksy. I believe no information should be disclosed until all evidence has been presented.” He looked at Wicksy when he spoke now. “Especially with this particular delicate situation. But, because my dear colleague has been known to have more sympathy than I, perhaps he is correct in sharing this information with you.”
The look on Wicksy’s face was one of genuine sympathy. My heart began to race. Had they found something that pertained to my mum’s death?
“First, let me preface my statement with this. Not a single soul besides Barnes, myself, and those involved know the information we are about to reveal. Secondly, what we are about to tell you is not the full story. Not even close. We have a theory, it is not sound, but we must finish our investigation of certain suspects in order to come to a full conclusion.”
“What is it?” I said nervously. My fingers shook, my breathing was heavy, my brow creased.
“The first bullet that pierced your mother came from a German Wheelock pistol, a rare specimen from the 16th century.”
Kolney Hatch: Buried Secrets (The Secret of Kolney Hatch Book 2) Page 16
