‘How many children did Mrs Mowbray sell?’
‘Don’t know the exact number. An awful lot. Started producing them at the age of sixteen, apparently. Thirty, thirty-five thousand pounds sterling, that’s what she charged per child, I do believe. Not bad. That was quite a lot of money at one time, especially for that class of person, but Mowbray’s husband blew it all, on drink and gambling and trips to Thailand. One shudders to think what he was after in Thailand, though that’s neither here nor there. Then the husband died, of his excesses, one imagines, that’s why Mowbray needed to get a job. To tell you the truth, I never really liked her. A calculating, grasping sort of person. Hard as nails and as dishonest as they come.’
‘Not the kind who commit suicide?’
‘Was it ever suggested she committed suicide, Hugh? I thought that was an accident. She was probably drunk when she fell to her death. I am not sure she drank, but she might have. Anyhow, good thing she’s gone, if you ask me. I feel absurdly relieved.’
‘Why relieved?’
‘Why? Now that Mowbray is dead, there will be fewer chances of any Mowbray children going to Half Moon Street. Fewer chances of Penelope meeting one of her brothers and falling in love with him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I am a crazy old thing, I know, but I used to wonder what would happen if one of the Mowbray boys decided to track his mama down, the way Penelope had done. What if he turned up in Half Moon Street and met Penelope? Two good-looking young people. Passionate, impulsive. Apparently all the children were exceptionally good-looking. What if neither Penelope nor the boy realized they were brother and sister?’
‘Go on.’ Antonia’s heart was thumping in her chest.
‘It is a most unlikely kind of scenario, I must admit, but I suffer from insomnia, what I call my tango nocturne, so there is very little for me to do at night, but indulge in strange and frequently lurid thoughts. Is incest still the ultimate taboo, I wonder? What do you think, Hugh?’
‘I am sure that for most people it is.’
‘Can’t be worse than cannibalism, surely? The Bible’s full of incest. Adam and Eve’s children did it—must have done, when you think about it—then the children’s children must have done it—I mean, who else was there? This now is the apocalyptic scenario. One of Mowbray’s sons has tracked her down, but of course, like Penelope, he uses the name of his adoptive parents. He speaks with an American or New Zealand accent. He arrives at Half Moon Steet. It happens to be Mowbray’s day off. It is Penelope who opens the door. The boy doesn’t tell her whose son he is.’
‘Why not?’
‘Say, Mowbray has instructed him not to tell since the master has strictly forbidden relatives of members of staff to come into the house. And of course Penelope introduces herself as “Lady Tradescant”. The Mowbray boy and Penelope are violently attracted to one another. They start an affair—’ Bettina broke off with a little cry. ‘My dears, the look on your faces! One might have thought that it really happened.’
‘Well, it did happen,’ Antonia said as they were driving back to Hampstead. ‘That’s what I thought. The circumstances of their meeting may have been different, but the fact remains that they did become lovers. I noticed the resemblance, but of course I couldn’t be sure. Well, now we know for sure they are brother and sister. Poor Vic.’
‘People often choose partners who look like them, haven’t you noticed? I don’t think it’s a conscious thing,’ Payne said. ‘Liz Hurley and Hugh Grant might have been brother and sister.’
‘Perhaps it happened exactly as Bettina suggested … He introduces himself as “Vic Levant”. He speaks with a Canadian accent. His mother is not there when he and Penelope first meet.’
‘Penelope must have realized what had happened the moment Vic told her whose son he was. He was visiting his mother, remember? So it seems Penelope plunged into the affair with her eyes open while he remained in the dark. Poor chap. I imagine she fancied him wildly. She doesn’t seem to be a particularly responsible or moral person.’
‘Bettina did say that Penelope liked doing wild and reckless things. Perhaps it gave her a thrill—the secret knowledge she was breaking one of the greatest taboos?’
‘How long did the affair go on for?’
‘A couple of months. It’s just ended.’ Antonia frowned. ‘She must have persuaded him not to tell his mother about it.’
‘Mrs Mowbray must have realized what was going on,’ Payne said.
‘Yes. I don’t suppose it would have been possible for them to keep it secret from Mrs Mowbray. Not for long. And what does Mrs Mowbray do when she tumbles to the fact that her son and daughter are having an affair? I can’t quite see her as being outraged, horrified or disgusted—can you?’
‘No. I wonder if she struck some sort of a deal with Penelope? Perhaps she asked for hush money? In return for not telling Vic. Penelope doesn’t want to end the affair. Penelope is enjoying herself too much. She allows herself to be blackmailed for a while, but then—’
‘Then Mrs Mowbray becomes a liability?’
‘Yes. Mrs Mowbray keeps asking for more and more money. When she cooks the accounts and Sir Seymour sacks her, she asks Penelope to do something about it—persuade Sir Seymour to give her another chance. Penelope refuses. Penelope has had enough of her mother. Mrs Mowbray threatens to tell Vic … Maybe she threatens to tell Sir Seymour as well?’
‘Yes. Vic is a sensitive decent soul,’ Antonia said. ‘The type who would almost certainly have broken up the affair in horror and revulsion if he had learnt the woman he wanted to marry was his sister.’
‘He wanted to marry her?’
‘Still does! That’s what he told me. He sounded extremely serious about it.’
‘Bettina said Penelope was like her mother in some respects. Perhaps she takes after her mother in every respect? Calculating, amoral, as well as immoral, hard as nails.’
‘Hugh, what if that girl told the truth after all? I mean Daisy Warren. She reported to the police that she over-heard an argument between Mrs Mowbray and Penelope. Mrs Mowbray was threatening to tell Vic about something. Daisy had the impression it was something important. She then saw Penelope and Mrs Mowbray go up the stairs. Shortly after, Mrs Mowbray fell to her death from one of the top-floor windows … It all fits in.’
There was a silence. Major Payne spoke.
‘What I think we should do is go back to the very start of this affair. We need to re-examine all the known facts. We should look closely at the order in which certain events took place. We should also give the death of Petunia Luscombe-Lunt some very careful consideration …’
34
The Face of Trespass
It was the following morning. Feeling dizzy and dazed and looking incredibly haggard after yet another tango nocturne, Bettina Tradescant had managed to drag herself to her study.
She sat drinking strong black coffee and talking into the telephone.
‘What do you mean, sweet child, you have no such friend? She said she was a good friend of yours. Her name is Antonia, but I found her frightfully decent. She is Hugh Payne’s wife, you know. He is a Talleyrand-Vassal. Odd thing, names. You were never a St Loup before you married, but you chose a name that suited you.’
‘There’s some misunderstanding, Bets.’ Penelope Tradescant’s smile was half exasperated, half amused. That happened often when she talked to her patroness. ‘I have no friend called Antonia Payne. Nor Antonia Talleyrand-Vassal.’
‘But you must do, Pen dear. Why should she lie? She was a very pleasant woman, if a little primly dressed.’
‘Wait a minute. A woman called Antonia did come yesterday, but she said that she worked for some Bond Street jewellers. She introduced herself as Antonia Rushton. What she wanted to talk about was Seymour’s ring.’ Penelope frowned. Something was going on.
‘Well, she said nothing about the ring, though I dare say both she and Hugh stared at it a good deal. She mentioned the police. She wa
s apparently there when the police came to see you about your late femme de ménage, correct?’
‘She was, but—’
‘There you are! So it’s the same woman! Sorry, my dear, I keep forgetting that Mowbray was your mama.’
‘This woman—Antonia—wasn’t there when the police talked to me,’ said Penelope slowly. ‘She’d gone by then.’
‘Well, she seems to know all about you. She knows Mowbray was your mama. This is all terribly confusing and I’ve got a headache. What I am trying to say, Pen, is that she must be a good friend of yours.’
‘The policemen came to talk about my mother’s death. If they knew we were mother and daughter, they said nothing about it. How did this woman know about it?’
‘Don’t ask me. I have no idea.’
Penelope Tradescant put down the phone. A sudden, terrible sense of loneliness and shame possessed her and she stood very still, her hands clasped before her. Then the feeling passed. Once more she picked up the receiver and dialled a number.
‘It’s me. Something’s up. Listen. You don’t happen to know a woman called Antonia, the wife of someone called Hugh, do you? It’s all very odd. She came here pretending it was about Seymour’s ring. She’s been pumping Bettina—Seymour’s sister—for information. I think she has been nosing round, finding things out. I don’t like it, Beau.’
‘Nosing around? Did you say “Hugh”? I wonder now—’
As they were having breakfast, Antonia asked, ‘What was it that put you on the right track?’
‘I believe it was the curious incident of Petunia Luscombe-Lunt’s phone call.’
‘But Petunia Luscombe-Lunt is dead! You just checked—she couldn’t have made that phone call!’
‘That was the curious incident.’
Payne then told Antonia what he planned to do.
‘He is dangerous, Hugh. Must be. A man possessed. He’s already committed a cold-blooded murder. He didn’t hesitate to drown a helpless elderly man in his bath.’
‘I am perfectly aware of it, my love. Well, he is a driven man.’
‘Do you think Madden will cooperate?’ Antonia asked after a pause.
‘I don’t know. He is a very strange fellow. A first-class liar, among other things. He might already have dispatched his “grandpa” beyond the land of Morpheus and into Hades—or wherever it is old sinners like Dr Fairchild go.’
Getting into his car, Payne drove to Mayholme Manor once more.
This time he saw a police car parked outside the main entrance. So, he thought, it’s begun for real.
He didn’t meet anyone as he crossed the hall and went up the stairs. The door to Dr Fairchild’s room was closed and he knocked on it. The door opened and Madden appeared.
‘Major Payne? I thought you were the police,’ he said expressionlessly.
‘May I?’ Payne went past Madden and entered the room. ‘I hope you don’t mind frightfully.’
‘I do mind frightfully.’
‘You haven’t yet told the police your story then? Of the person you saw emerging from Sir Seymour’s bathroom?’
‘No, I haven’t. The police inspector and his sergeant are with the Master. The news is that they have decided to conduct a PM on Sir Seymour’s body.’
‘You and I are perhaps the only people who know for certain that Sir Seymour was killed. I have always liked the idea of being ahead of the Law. Where is Dr Fairchild?’ Payne had seen the empty wheelchair.
‘He felt rather unwell last night and was taken to the hospital. I am afraid the excitement of meeting you proved too much for him.’
‘Nothing to do with whatever it was you pumped into his bloodstream?’
‘I don’t know. It is true that I gave Grandpa a slightly larger dose than usual.’ Madden spoke absently. ‘He seems to be responding well to treatment. They told me he was having an inhalation session. He is taking lungfuls of pure oxygen out of a special oxygen tank. Oxygen relieves stress, purifies the blood and revitalizes all the internal organs. The whole thing costs a fortune of course. I expect Miles will soon be back as good as new. On the other hand he might not be.’ Madden walked up to the window and stood there, looking out.
Payne said, ‘I don’t believe it was Bettina Tradescant you saw coming out of Sir Seymour’s bathroom, Madden.’
He didn’t turn round. ‘It was Miss Tradescant I saw.’
‘Perjury is a very serious offence. You are lucky I am not the police. But the police may come knocking on this door any moment now.’
‘I am not afraid of the police. I will try to make myself scarce before they decide to talk to me.’
‘As an albino you might find it difficult to hide,’ Payne pointed out.
‘Difficult but not impossible. Why do you think it wasn’t Miss Tradescant I saw?’
‘I managed to establish that between five to eight and twenty-five minutes past eight, which is the approximate time of the murder, Bettina Tradescant was confined to the downstairs lavatory. The door handle had got broken off and remained in her hand. She couldn’t get out.’
‘How did you establish that?’
‘At least three stewards ran to her rescue and they are prepared to testify to it, if necessary. They all happened to notice the time.’
‘Why would I keep insisting it was her I saw coming out of the bathroom?’
‘That was your revenge for being hit across the head with a handbag. Sounds petty and trivial put like that, but then quite a lot of crimes are committed for incredibly petty and trivial reasons. Dr Fairchild did say that you had a grudge-bearing, rather vindictive side to you.’
‘Grandpa thinks he knows me so well.’ Madden’s pale lips twisted into a sardonic smile.
‘I suppose he does, even though he is not your grandpa.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This is none of my business of course, but I have been wondering. It isn’t only that you slipped up and called him “Miles”. The clues are mainly psychological. The kind of waspish badinage and droll teasing he subjected you to while at the same time he was clearly upset by your lack of attention suggested an abandoned lover rather than a grandfather. His obsession with the Duchess of Windsor was also suggestive. After all, she was the fag-hag par excellence. She had some unusual affairs—the notoriously homosexual Jimmy Donahue, the Duke himself, according to some sources, and so on.’ Major Payne regarded Madden thoughtfully. ‘This raises a curious question—are albinos exclusively attracted to albinos?’
‘No, they are not, if you must know, but it helps,’ Madden said sullenly. ‘We have been together for thirty years. I was eighteen when he picked me up. He was not always like that. I mean a perfect nuisance to others and an abject misery to himself. There was a time when he was fun to be with. Well, he is old.’
‘I suggest we don’t waste any more time, Madden. Sorry. “Madden” is not your real name, I keep forgetting. I won’t press you to tell me your real name—that is of no importance.’
‘Madden is my real name. Miles was being silly. You don’t really think I killed Sir Seymour, do you?’
‘As a matter of fact, I don’t. You saw someone come out of Sir Seymour’s bathroom —not Bettina. A man wearing an orange habit and black gloves. The times tally,’ Payne went on in a thoughtful voice, ‘You said you saw him at about ten past eight. Travis saw a figure answering that description cross the downstairs hall at about quarter past eight and go out through the front door. You said that the front of the person’s habit was wet. This is also confirmed by Travis.’
‘Why are you so sure it was a man?’
‘That’s what you said first. You first referred to a “man”, then you switched to a “person”.’
Madden shrugged. ‘A slip of the tongue.’
‘The man’s face is the very essence of the unmemorable. He has brown hair and round eyes. He also had a little moustache, which he has since shaved off since he feared a moustache would help identify him. He shaved it off in a hurry ea
rlier that same morning. He was nervous because of what he was going to do, so he wasn’t careful enough and cut himself. On his upper lip there was a nasty little scar.’
‘You are making things up as you go along, aren’t you?’
‘Tout au contraire. Haven’t you heard of the art of deduction? When I asked you to describe the person in the orange habit,’ Payne went on, ‘your hand went up to your upper lip and your face twisted. For a split second it looked as though you were going to be sick. Dr Fairchild did say you were squeamish about blood and blades—that’s why you left the Foreign Legion. You reacted to the memory of that nasty little scar you spotted on the man’s upper lip. The scar has now almost healed and is no longer visible, but the killer still has a shining upper lip, or at least did yesterday.’
‘Actually, I saw no one. You are wrong about everything.’
‘You are changing your story yet again?’ Payne shook his head. ‘Is that wise? As a matter of fact, I came to ask for your help.’
‘I have nothing more to say to you.’
‘You’d rather speak to the police inspector? Bloodied but unbowed, eh?’
‘If the police ask me about it, I’ll say I saw nobody.’
‘What about the ring? What if I told them that it was you who stole the replica?’
‘It would be your word against mine. Miles—if he is still alive—will say it never happened. Miles loves me. There are no other witnesses.’
‘You don’t want to hear my proposition?’
‘No. I am not interested. What proposition?’ Madden crossed his arms.
Payne told him.
‘I see. Sleuthing capers. Setting traps. It’s the kind of thing that never works in real life. The answer is no,’ Madden said.
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘I must say I am disappointed, old boy. You sure you won’t reconsider?’
‘Adieu, Major Payne.’
The Curious Incident at Claridge's Page 19
