by David Field
‘What’s he doing?’ Abigail asked in a hoarse stage whisper.
‘Setting fire to his hat,’ Esther chortled quietly.
A small blow for Marianne, she thought. And I’ve only just started.
‘I don’t have an appointment, I’m afraid,’ Esther explained to the starchy-looking middle-aged lady in the nurse’s uniform who was guarding the front desk, ‘but Dr. Weinberg was recommended by a friend and I’m on my lunch break from work.’
‘That’s all right, my dear,’ the nurse reassured her. ‘The doctor doesn’t have anyone with him at present, so I’ll just nip into his consulting room and enquire whether or not he can see you on spec.’
A few minutes later, Esther was seated in front of Dr Weinberg’s long desk, preparing to conduct her second deception of the day as she looked across as pathetically as she was capable, wringing her hands nervously in her lap as she surveyed the sleek aquiline features of the man in his mid forties with a stethoscope draped across the lapels of his white coat and an encouraging smile on his thin lips.
‘What can I do for you, Mrs Jacobs?’
‘Miss Jacobs.’
‘My question remains.’
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Most women who consult me are. Do you wish me to supervise your ongoing pregnancy and final delivery?’
‘You may not have got my drift,’ Esther replied. ‘I’m Miss Jacobs.’
‘And why should your lack of marital status be of significance to your physical state?’
‘I don’t want to be pregnant,’ Esther replied in what she hoped was a suitable tone of desperation.
‘And what makes you think I can assist in that ambition?’
‘You were recommended by a good friend of mine — Marianne Ormonde. She intended to accompany me in person by way of introduction, but unfortunately she died a few weeks ago.’
‘And in what way did this Miss Ormonde suggest I might be able to assist you?’
‘I think we understand each other, Doctor,’ Esther insisted in a slightly more determined tone. ‘The only remaining question will be the size of your fee.’
‘I need to examine you first,’ Dr Weinberg replied. ‘How far gone are you?’
‘Three months, so far as I can tell. I’ve missed two monthlies and I’ve been experiencing morning sickness.’
‘Very well, go behind that screen and take off your outer dress and all your underclothes below the waist. Then lie on the table in there and call me when you’re ready. I’ll get Nurse Frobisher in here while you’re getting undressed.’
Fifteen minutes later, Esther was grateful that she hadn’t attempted this subterfuge without being pregnant and equally grateful for the professional opinion that the child was sitting correctly in her womb and was probably about the size and shape of a bean. The doctor sounded reassuring about the baby’s general health, so her journey had been of value to her, as well as to two Scotland Yard detectives who would soon be in a position to take an unethical doctor out of circulation.
‘You are indeed near the end of your first trimester, Miss Jacobs, and if I understand the reason for your referral by your friend, you don’t wish to progress to your second. Would I be correct?’
‘Yes.’
The doctor studied her face for a moment before changing the subject. ‘From your facial features, and of course your name, would I be correct in believing that we share the same Semitic ancestry?’
‘I’m Jewish certainly — what of it?’ Esther demanded defiantly.
‘Did you consult your rabbi before coming to visit me?’
‘Why should I? I’m not Orthodox and the rabbi isn’t the father of the child. The only person I consulted was the father and I need to know how much, since he’ll be paying.’
‘Thirty guineas, plus two days in my clinic next door at a further ten guineas a day, so fifty guineas in total. Payable in advance, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Esther confirmed, with a facial expression that combined relief with gratitude. ‘When can it be done?’
‘Nurse Frobisher can make the appointment, so see her on your way out.’
‘Thank God I was never placed in the same position as those poor girls who really need to get rid of their disgrace,’ Esther said as she hugged Jack tightly in the hallway. ‘I felt so guilty and even though the doctor seemed nice enough it all felt so dirty. Will he go to prison for a long time?’
‘A few years anyway,’ Jack informed her, ‘but the real hardship will be that he’ll be struck off, which means that he’ll never be able to practice medicine again. Not legitimately, anyway. But tell me about Ormonde’s reaction to the hat.’
Esther took great delight in describing Ormonde’s almost catatonic state when confronted by the deerstalker left on the dressing table and she was able to go through it all again an hour later when the knock on the outside door heralded the arrival of Uncle Percy with a delicious smelling paper parcel.
‘I stopped off at Farringdon Markets on the way back from Paddington. It’s fish with fried potatoes, and if you turn the oven on to keep them warm, we can have them for tea.’
‘I’m just back from Swindon,’ Percy announced over their mutual murmurs of contentment regarding the new delicacy that he had brought with him, although the smell was beginning to overpower the kitchen and Esther had insisted on opening a window, ‘and I’m delighted to be able to report that the cab driver there identified Ormonde from that photograph that Esther got for us. And thanks to her undoubted courage in rattling him with that hat of his, we’ve obviously had a good week. Plus, as an added bonus, we can consign Dr Weinberg to the labour queue. What did he say about Marianne Ormonde?’
‘As soon as I mentioned that she’d been the one to recommend him, he seemed to know that I was after an abortion,’ Esther advised them, ‘so I think we can conclude that she was too. And Ormonde’s just the sort of filthy deviant to have been responsible — if he ogles my body one more time, I can’t guarantee that I won’t shove a hatpin into where it’ll hurt most.’
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to go on torturing his mind?’ Percy asked with a worried frown.
‘But each time I do that we’ll be losing the evidence against him, surely?’ Esther queried. ‘He burned the hat that proved he’d been on the train.’
‘But that’s all it proved,’ Percy reminded her, ‘and we have other evidence to prove that, so don’t worry about losing that hat. The same’s true for the jacket buttons, so try him with those next.’
As Esther’s face fell at the mere prospect, Jack came to her defence. ‘She’s only just recovering from the business with the hat, Uncle. Remind us again why it’s so important to play these mind games with him.’
Percy sighed and put down his fork. ‘We convince him that his dead sister’s come back to haunt him, so that when we pull him in for questioning he’s in such a weakened mental state that he’ll be relieved it’s all over. He may even plead with us to stop the sister seeking her revenge. He wouldn’t be the first to seek police protection in exchange for coming clean on what he’s been up to.’
‘But protection from a ghost?’ Esther argued. ‘Have you ever known that before?’
‘Believe me,’ Percy assured her with a grimace, ‘the threat posed by a ghost is nothing compared with the prospect of being done to death horribly by former members of a gang that you’ve just peached on.’
‘You mean “no”, in other words?’ Esther insisted. ‘But if you can prove that Ormonde was on the train when Marianne died, why can’t you just arrest him now, without all this play-acting about ghosts and suchlike?’
‘Because,’ Percy explained with another long sigh, ‘he’ll just pretend that she committed suicide by jumping out of the carriage before he could stop her.’
‘He’s left it a bit late to pull that one, surely?’ Jack pointed out.
Percy nodded. ‘To trained and experienced police minds like ours, yes. But never under-estimate the stupidity
of your average jury, given that the man’s rich enough to employ the best legal brains in his defence. In the hands of someone like Charlie Gill or Marshall Hall, his silence becomes the shocked response of a grieving brother who somehow felt responsible for his sister’s suicide when, like the God-fearing man that he is, he wouldn’t condone her having an abortion after she fell pregnant to a local boy in Kemble.’
‘You should have been a lawyer yourself, Uncle Percy,’ Esther said appreciatively.
‘I value my soul too much,’ Percy replied with a sneer, ‘but you get the general idea?’
‘Yes, but do I really have to pull a stunt with the jacket buttons?’ Esther replied with a pouty face. ‘And so soon after the subterfuge with the hat?’
‘Yes, and no,’ Percy replied as he stared at the wall, deep in thought. ‘Yes, you do have to, but no, we’ll leave it for a day or two, to let him think that his dear dead sister was just playing a single prank on him. If we give him time to regain his composure, the shock will hit him even harder.’
‘Even though he’s a piece of disgusting slime, I almost feel sorry for him,’ Esther replied sadly. ‘If we manage to bring him in, will he hang?’
‘Most certainly,’ Percy replied, ‘but take it from an old detective dog, never — ever — start feeling sorry for your suspect. Just remember what he did to his sister.’
‘I’m beginning to think that he did more to her than just push her off a moving train,’ Esther replied as her face set in revulsion. ‘I don’t think their sexual antics were entirely voluntary on her part. It’s sickening!’
‘Keep those thoughts uppermost in your mind,’ Percy advised her. ‘And never forget that we’re doing all this for her.’
‘I’m not likely to, while I can still get the whiff of her perfume in the room I’m obliged to work in,’ Esther muttered.
Percy looked up sharply. ‘Can you still smell it?’
‘Did I not just say so?’
‘Do you know what perfume it is?’
‘No, but there are several large bottles, all with the same label, on the dressing table in the room. I can soon read the labels, why?’
‘Because the housekeeper at the country retreat near Kemble mentioned the lingering quality of the deceased’s perfume. “Tuberose” wasn’t it, Jack?’
‘I can’t remember the precise name of it,’ Jack admitted, ‘but I remember the housekeeper complaining that Marianne’s room reeked of it. But, as Esther asked, why might that be important?’
‘We might add ghostly smells to ghostly reappearances of objects connected with the death,’ Percy replied with a malicious grin.
‘I hope you won’t expect me to dress up as the deceased and leap out of the wardrobe or something?’ Esther replied jokingly. Or, at least, she hoped it would be taken as a joke.
‘I can’t imagine anyone who looks less like Marianne Ormonde that you,’ Jack reminded her reassuringly, in case Esther had unwittingly supplied Percy with another fiendish idea. ‘And you were the one who suggested that she looked a bit like Lucy.’
‘Yes, she did, come to think of it,’ Percy muttered. He took the photograph from the inside pocket of his jacket and studied it closely. ‘With her hair down differently, and perhaps dusted a little, so that it isn’t so strikingly fair as Lucy’s...’
‘I do hope I haven’t dropped your sister in for something horrible,’ Esther murmured as her head rested on Jack’s chest later that night. ‘I won’t be able to look her in the face at the christening if Uncle Percy gets her involved in all this as well.’
‘He’ll stop at nothing to get his man,’ Jack muttered ominously. ‘Nothing.’
‘Have you noticed anything odd about Mr Ormonde’s behaviour in the past few days, or is it just me?’ Abigail Prendergast asked as she poured the morning tea in the back room.
‘How do you mean?’ Esther replied, she hoped innocently.
‘Well, first of all there was that weird business with him setting fire to his hat, then he asked me while you were out on Friday if I’d heard or seen anything unusual in that back room that you work in, and then this morning he was very abrupt with me.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, I came in early, to complete the preparation of the new catalogue that he’s taken down to the auctioneer, and he came in carrying an overnight bag, and I merely asked, by way of polite conversation, if he’d spent the weekend at his country place in Wiltshire. He just about exploded on the spot, asked me what business it was of mine and told me to spend more time on my duties than speculating on where he’d spent the weekend. I’m a bit concerned that he might be suffering some sort of mental strain. Is the business secure financially? Only I really need my job here.’
‘Trust me, Abigail, the business is going from strength to strength, to judge by the Profit and Loss Account. But perhaps he’s got some personal concerns — like with a lady friend or something.’
Abigail sniggered. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard him mention a young lady, although — well, I think I told you what I suspected with his sister. But apart from her, I’ve never known him show any interest in another woman.’
‘Apart from us, you mean,’ Esther reminded her with a look of distaste.
‘Only once, with me. But what about you, cut off up there in that horrible bedroom?’
‘A couple of times, but I’ll be ready with my hatpin next time. But where do you think Ormonde had been, if not down at his country retreat?’
‘No idea,’ Abigail admitted, ‘although I know he has a club up in the West End where he often takes clients for lunch. I believe that those gentlemen’s clubs have bedrooms as well. Perhaps he stayed there, but he was most insistent that he hadn’t been down to Wiltshire. In fact, come to think of it, he’s never mentioned the place since Miss Marianne died. He’s never made any reference to her either, not since that lovely police constable was here that day.’
‘Perhaps he’s in mourning for her,’ Esther suggested. ‘From what I can tell, her bedroom’s just the way she left it.’
‘I couldn’t do what you’re doing,’ Abigail advised her with a shudder. ‘Work in a bedroom left by a dead woman, almost as if she’d just gone down the street for a few minutes.’
‘You mentioned one other time that you’d never been to their country place — were you ever invited to?’
Abigail shook her head. ‘No, I rather got the impression that it was their “special” place. You know, him and his sister?’
Just then they heard the front door opening and Ormonde’s voice calling out. Abigail went red in the face, placed her tea cup hastily down on the table and raced through into the salon.
‘Sorry, Mr Ormonde!’ Esther heard her say. ‘I was keeping an ear open for the door bell, honestly! It’s just that Esther made some tea and we were just talking about boyfriends.’
‘Perfectly normal, for two attractive young ladies like yourselves,’ Ormonde replied, ‘and I really must apologise for my outburst this morning, when I first came in. I spent last night at my club and I’m afraid that I didn’t sleep too well, so please forgive me.’
‘Of course,’ Abigail replied, as Esther came through to join them and offered to make some coffee for their employer. He accepted the offer with a smile and followed Esther into the back room, where she kept her distance while her back was turned at the sink, not wishing to invite any unwanted hands around her person.
‘Have you ever been to an art auction?’ Ormonde asked.
‘No, I haven’t, but I suppose I might need to learn something about them if I’m to be of value in New York,’ she replied casually.
Ormonde smiled invitingly as he offered to extend her introduction to the art world. ‘There’s an auction this coming Thursday, at the Regency Gallery in Bond Street. I’ve got a few Impressionists in there and copies of our complete catalogue will be available for those attending. Perhaps you might like to accompany me and deal with any potential interest?’
&
nbsp; ‘I’d be delighted,’ Esther assured him with as much enthusiasm as she could coax into her voice. She handed over the coffee and was about to head back upstairs when Ormonde looked up from the table with an almost despairing look on his face.
‘Are you happy working in that former bedroom of my late sister’s?’
‘Of course,’ Esther replied. ‘It’s very peaceful, back there away from the street noise. Plus there’s that lovely perfume that I can occasionally smell.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ormonde demanded sharply and Esther feigned surprise.
‘Nothing in particular, sir. It’s mainly when I first go in there in the morning and I can detect what must have been your sister’s perfume. “Tuberose”, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was,’ Ormonde advised her in a voice that was almost a croak. ‘But you only notice it when you first go in, you say?’
‘Mostly,’ she advised him with her best innocent look, ‘although there are times when it seems to grow in strength, almost as if someone was opening one of the bottles on the dressing table. I take it those were hers?’
‘Yes, they were, but they are never opened, so I’m at a loss to understand how you could smell them more strongly in the middle of the day. Does anything else unusual ever occur while you’re working in there?’
‘Such as?’
‘Anything. Noises, sudden changes in the air. Cold spots in the room. That sort of thing?’
‘Definitely not, although if I take your meaning correctly I can say that I don’t believe in ghosts.’
‘I wish I could say the same,’ Ormonde muttered to himself, then looked up sharply as he remembered that he had an audience. ‘Very well, don’t let me keep you from your work. And make a note for Thursday.’
The first three days of the week passed without further incident or unusual conversation and Esther made careful preparations for her next sleight of hand. She had the three very distinctive ivory buttons which, according to Percy and Jack, had come from Ormonde’s jacket during his struggle with his sister in the railway carriage. They were safely tucked into the pocket of her own jacket as she waited patiently for Ormonde to venture out onto the street in order to hail a cab, and then slipped as silently as she could across the room, took the buttons from her pocket and left them precisely where she had placed the deerstalker hat on the previous Friday. Then she hastened down the stairs with what she hoped was an eager smile just as Ormonde announced that he had a cab waiting, and with a cheery farewell to Abigail, who gave her a jealous look, Esther stepped out into the street and climbed into the cab.
