by M C Beaton
“And when you found that out, that was when she became boring?”
“Don’t inflict your middle-class morals on me, my dear, dear chap. One has to look after oneself in this wicked world. My tailor’s bills alone would keep someone like you in luxury.”
“Were you intimate with her?”
“I do not go around seducing virgins.”
“So you say the reason you were in the west tower was because you lost your way? I find that hard to believe.”
“Think, dear Super, just think what this wretched place is like at night. Hedley’s father went to great expense to get gas piped to the castle and now everyone who is anyone has electricity. The gaslight all over the house and in the corridors is turned off at night and we are all expected to collect our bed candles from the table in the hall.
“I turned left at the first landing instead of right, that is all. A simple mistake. I must inform you, I am known to the crowned heads of Europe and am not in the way of having my word doubted by a common policeman.”
Kerridge comforted himself with a sudden vision of himself, three stone lighter, and twenty years younger, manning the barricades while the limp body of Sir Gerald hung from a lamppost.
“Sir Gerald, I would advise you to co-operate with the police. We are now looking on the death of Miss Gore-Desmond as murder.”
Gerald got languidly to his feet. “Oh, do let me know how you get on. Will that be all?”
“For the moment.”
Gerald swarmed out. “Insufferable little tick,” raged Kerridge. “I’ll bet he did it.”
“Doesn’t look to me as if he could do anything with any woman,” said Judd.
“Oh, that kind would lay the cat if there were money in it. Get the cook up here and then the rest of the kitchen staff. It’s going to be a long night.”
♦
Fortunately for Rose, her mother had instructed the doctor to see her after he had examined the policeman. The sympathetic doctor reported back to Lady Polly that it would be unhealthy to keep her daughter confined to her room and might bring about a crise de nerfs.
She went down for a late breakfast. There were only a few guests present. Rose knew that her mother, like some of the others, preferred to take breakfast in her room.
She helped herself to kidneys, bacon and toast and found a seat next to Harry. He had barricaded himself behind a copy of the Times but lowered it and said, “I see last night’s ordeal hasn’t taken away your appetite.”
“Do you think someone was really trying to get to me?” asked Rose.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Perhaps it was just another trick by that precious pair, Freddy and Tristram.” As if on cue, the door opened and Cur-zon announced portentously, “Mr Pomfret and Mr. Baker-Willis. Mr. Kerridge wishes to see you.”
Grumbling and throwing nasty looks at Rose, the pair left the room.
“I wish that might turn out to be the case,” said Harry. “But no. They wouldn’t risk anything at all with a murder investigation underway. Kerridge is getting the full pathology report today. I hope he’ll let me know if there was anything interesting in it.”
“Have you seen Kerridge this morning?”
“No, but I saw him last night. He’s probably catching up on some sleep. He wants it to be Gerald Burke.”
“Why?”
“It seems Gerald was seen on the stairs of your tower instead of his own and around the right time. Someone called to John. The footman put down the tray with the tea and went back to see who was calling. That must have been the time when the tea was drugged. Mrs. Trumpington takes laudanum to help her sleep, so does Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone. There’s a bottle kept in the still-room downstairs. Poor Kerridge. There have been so many phone calls from this castle complaining to people in high places, and that includes Kensington Palace, that he is under tremendous pressure.”
Curzon entered again and approached Rose. “Lady Hadshire wishes your presence, my lady.”
“Can’t it wait until I have finished my breakfast?” demanded Rose.
“Her ladyship said it was extremely urgent.”
Rose sighed and whispered to Harry, “Meet me in the library after luncheon.”
Harry nodded. Rose went up to her mother’s room to find her father there as well.
“Sit down, Rose,” ordered her father. “This is a bad business.”
“I do not think anyone will try anything again, Pa, and we will soon be out of here.”
“That is not why we summoned you. We learned that you have been seen talking to Captain Cathcart at breakfast.”
“Yes. So?”
“Rose, he is not a suitable man for you to consort with.”
Rose felt herself becoming very angry indeed. “Is that all you can think of? It looks as if there might have been another attempt on my life last night and all you can think of is suitable or unsuitable men.”
“It is for your own good. Captain Cathcart has been useful to me, yes, but as a worker, a tradesman if you like. You are not to speak to him again.”
Rose stared at them and then an idea formed in her head. A splendid idea. Blackmail.
“It would be such a pity if His Majesty were ever to learn how you engaged the services of Captain Cathcart to stop his visit. How the Kensington Palace set would throw up their hands in horror. Just think of it! My social disgrace would be as nothing compared to yours.
“My acquaintanceship with the captain is innocent. I am not in the slightest romantically interested in him. But he is the only one I can talk to about the murders. If I am reduced to confining my conversation to prattling gossip with the other men, goodness knows what I might let slip.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” gasped Lady Polly.
Rose got to her feet. “Well, let’s see how it goes, shall we? Now I must go and finish my breakfast.”
♦
Daisy was sitting in her room. Her sewing basket was on a table beside her and a basket of silk stockings to be darned was at her feet. But she had found a bound copy of six months’ issues of Young England in the library and was reading a serial about Roundheads and Cavaliers and felt she simply could not stop until she got to the end.
There was a knock at her door. She hid the volume under a cushion and went to answer the door. Becket stood there. “You shouldn’t be calling on me in my room, Mr. Becket. They’ll all be down on us like a ton of bricks.”
“Nobody saw me. The captain says he won’t be needing me this morning and told me to get some fresh air.”
“Amazing. It’s raining stair rods.”
“I don’t think he noticed.”
“Well, come in. But if my lady comes back you’ll need to disappear sharpish.”
“I’ve heard rumours that Sir Gerald Burke is the villain.”
“That pansy!”
“You never know. He might just look like a pansy. He’s got a nasty manner with the servants. Curzon says he’s always complaining about one thing or the other.”
“Curzon says! How did you get so friendly with old frosty-face?”
“He was complaining about you. He was going to complain to Lady Polly. I had to stop him somehow.”
“How did you do that?”
“I said you were Lady Polly’s illegitimate daughter.”
“What!”
“A lot of that thing goes on. You see, most of these aristocrats have arranged marriages, so they’re allowed a bit of license after the children are born. If one or the other has an illegitimate child, it’s hushed up. The only shame is in being found out. Old snobby Curzon was quite melted. ‘I see that must account for her free and easy manner,’ says the old goat. ‘Breeding will out’.”
“I don’t know that I like being called a bastard,” said Daisy doubtfully.
“An aristocratic one. Look at all the dukes and earls who got their titles on the wrong side of the blanket. Also, he’ll never breathe a word. He worships his betters, as he keeps calling them.”
Daisy began to laugh. “You are a one. I forgive you. My lady’s ever so upset. Her parents are threatening to send her to India. Now what about your master marrying my mistress?”
“Won’t do. He thinks she’s the most unfeminine woman he’s ever come across.”
“If we could get them together some way…”
“It’ll be difficult. When all this is over, she might be packed off to India and never see him again. And yet, I feel they are suited.”
“She won’t go to India. We have a plan. We’re going to find some way to get to London and become businesswomen. We can both type.”
“But that would reduce your lady to the ranks of the middle class.”
“What’s wrong with that? My lady says the middle classes have morals.”
“My master might consider her unsuitable for marriage.”
“What! A man who goes about blowing up things! He might think she’s too good for him.”
“I’d better go before I’m caught here,” said Becket. “I’ll let you get on with your sewing.”
“I hate sewing,” said Daisy. “I’d rather type any day.”
♦
After luncheon, Rose hurried to the library, followed by Daisy. She waited impatiently for Harry. The minutes ticked past. Daisy searched the shelves for another bound volume of Young England.
At last Harry entered, followed by Becket. “Any news?” asked Rose eagerly.
“Yes, very much so. Mary Gore-Desmond was not pregnant but she had secondary syphilis.”
“Then all Dr. Perriman needs to do is to produce old Dr. Jenner’s records,” said Rose, “and the police can find out if Hedley has syphilis.”
“Dr. Perriman says that Lord Hedley is not being treated by him for anything and Dr. Jenner’s old records are confidential. Sir Gerald Burke’s doctor in Wimpole Street was telephoned and said the same thing. His patients’ records are confidential.”
“Can’t he appeal to the Home Secretary to get a warrant to seize the records?” asked Rose.
“I think he’s trying. He says if he were requesting the medical records of Mr. Bloggs of The Larches, Jubiliee Road, Peckham, he’s get them Uke a shot. I’m beginning to understand why he’s so bolshie.”
“Where are Dr. Jenner’s records?”
“In Perriman’s surgery at Creinton.”
“Then we’ll just need to get them,” said Rose.
“And how do we do that?” asked Harry.
“Why, you break into his surgery and have a look.”
“My dear lady, I am not a criminal.”
“We could go over to Creinton. You could take me because I am not feeling well, and while the doctor is examining me, you can have a look around.”
“I should think your parents will have something to say if you go driving off with me,” said Harry.
“I won’t ask them. Daisy can run and get my coat and hat. Becket can bring the car round. You can support me out to it and say you are rushing me to the doctor.”
“It’ll look odd.” Harry looked at her uneasily. “Such as us always getting the doctor to come to us – we don’t go to him.”
“Oh, let’s try!” said Rose, betraying her youth by jumping eagerly to her feet. “Do put that book down, Daisy, and fetch my fur coat and the felt hat with the veil.”
♦
As a few of the men had gone off fishing and the rest of the guests were sunk in after-luncheon torpor, they were able to leave without any confrontation.
Creinton was a small market town and the arrival of a motor car caused a great deal of interest. Harry drew up before the doctor’s surgery, which was in the main square, and switched off the engine. “If I plan to burgle the good doctor,” he said, looking at the crowd which had gathered around the motor car, “I had better ride over. This thing attracts too much attention.”
They entered the waiting-room. There were three people waiting, sunk in that dismal torpor engendered by doctors’ waiting-rooms. This one was particularly dismal with its horsehair-stuffed black leather furniture, black marble clock and brown-painted walls.
A nurse built like a battleship came out. “Mr. Jenkins,” she said, and then her eyes fell on the new arrivals, just as a small tired-looking man rose to his feet. Her heavy face creased into a smile as she surveyed the glory of Rose’s sable fur coat.
“This is Lady Rose Summer,” said Harry. “She has been feeling faint and anxious while we were out for a drive and I really think Dr. Perriman should have a look at her.”
“Of course. Right away. Do sit down, Mr. Jenkins. Come along, my lady.”
Rose wanted to say she would wait, but Harry had a hand under her arm and was urging her forward.
In the surgery, while Rose explained about feeling faint, Harry’s eyes ranged over the room. Along one wall were wooden shelves containing cardboard files. As Dr. Perriman had only recently taken over Dr. Jenner’s practice, they would be all the files of Dr. Jennets patients.
He wandered over to them and then realized Dr. Perriman was addressing him. “Would you mind leaving us, sir? I need to examine the lady.”
“Of course,” said Harry.
He went into the waiting-room and then outside into the square where Becket was guarding the car. “I’m just going to see if there’s a way into the back,” he whispered to Becket. “Do you think you can hold the crowd’s attention?”
“Get Daisy, sir,” said Becket. “I’ve got my concertina in the car.”
Harry summoned Daisy while Becket located his concertina and took it out of the box.
“What’s going on?” asked Daisy.
“I think Becket needs your help to keep the crowd’s attention away from me while I see if there’s a way into the back.”
Harry found there was a narrow alley running down the side of the surgery. He paused and listened as Daisy’s voice, accompanied by Becket’s concertina, rose in song.
“Come where the booze is cheaper, Come where the pots hold more, Come where the boss is the deuce of a joss, Come to the pub next door.”
Harry grinned, remembering his tutor telling him that a Guards band had played just that song one Sunday afternoon on the terrace at Windsor castle, and Queen Victoria asked her lady-in-waiting to find out the words to the pretty air. It was with great reluctance that the bandmaster told her.
There was a tradesmen’s entrance at the side. Harry studied the door. It had four panes of glass on the upper half of the door. He could smash one and reach in and slide back the bolt, of there was one. He cautiously turned the handle. The door was unlocked. He stepped inside and examined the other side of the door. No bolts, only a large key in the lock. He extracted the key and went out and closed the door. Now for a locksmith.
A large crowd had gathered around Becket and Daisy. Daisy lad moved onto a sentimental ballad, “The Blind Organist.”
“The preacher in the village church one Sunday morning said: ‘Our organist is ill today, will someone play instead?’ An anxious look crept o’er the face of every person there. As eagerly they watched to see who’d fill the vacant chair. A man then staggered down the aisle whose clothes were old and torn, How strange a drunkard seemed to me in Church on Sunday mom; But as he touched the organ keys, without a single word, The melody that followed was the sweetest ever heard.”
By asking one of the few residents who was not listening to Daisy, Harry located the locksmith and handed over the key, saying he needed an extra one to the stables.
The locksmith chatted as he ground the key, saying he had taken over the business from his father, who had died only two months ago. “Funny, I always refused to go into the business,” said the locksmith, “although he trained me. But he left the shop to me, so here I am.”
“What was your trade before?”
“Sort of traveling carpenter. Bit of work here. Bit of work here. There you are, sir. That should do very nicely.”
Harry paid him and took the keys. As he hurried across th
e square, he saw to his horror that Rose and Daisy were now standing up in the car with their arms around each other, singing at the tops of their voices.
“Any old iron, any old iron, any-any-any old iron:
You look sweet, you do look a treat,
You look dapper from your napper to your feet…”
Harry hurried up the alley, opened the door and put the original key in the lock and sprinted back to the car just as Rose and Daisy were bowing before a burst of tumultuous applause.
Coins were raining into the car. Harry groaned and thrust his way through the crowd. “Show’s over,” he shouted. Daisy clambered into the back next to Becket, and Rose sat down in the front.
Harry switched on the engine. “Throw the money back,” he ordered.
“We earned it,” complained Daisy, but she and Rose and Becket scooped up handfuls of coins and threw them back into the crowd as they drove off.
“What on earth were you doing making a spectacle of yourself like that?” shouted Harry to Rose above the noise of the engine.
“It was fun,” said Rose. “Tremendous fun.”
“Dr. Perriman no doubt was called by his nurse to have a look at you performing and he will wonder if your adventures have turned your brain.”
“Did you find a way in?”
“Tell you in a minute.” Harry waited until they were clear of the town and then stopped and turned to her. “I got a copy of the key to the tradesmen’s entrance. I’ll go along tonight.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Rose, her eyes shining with excitement.
“No, you most certainly will not.”
“I’d be safer with you than in my room at the castle, policeman or no policeman.”
“We could be the look-out,” said Daisy.
“I don’t know what you were about, singing music-hall songs, Lady Rose,” said Harry.
“King Edward sings music-hall songs,” protested Rose. “His favourite is: ‘Hey, hi. Stop, waiter! Waiter! Fizz! Pop! I’m Racketty Jack, no money I lack, And I’m the boy for a spree!’”
“But just think if the doctor informs your parents of your behaviour!”
“Then it is up to us to find something dramatic in the records,” said Rose, “so that then no one will be able to think of anything else.”
