The Thief of St Martins

by Caron Allan

  ‘Plants do have meanings, don’t they?’

  ‘That isn’t exactly what I was getting at, though. I was saying, I suppose, that it looked intentional, deliberate.’

  He nodded. ‘I understand. But also, in old wives’ tales, or old sentimental romances and such, plants have meanings, like jealousy or admiration. Don’t they? Are they are symbolic. That’s what you meant about the pansies, isn’t it?’

  She was looking doubtful. He began to think he’d completely misunderstood what she had said. But then she said, ‘Yes that’s true. But were these symbolic? I’m not really sure. I didn’t take time to notice particularly how they were arranged. I mean, it all happened so quickly, and I just couldn’t believe that Aunt Cecilia was dead. And I was frozen, I’d just jumped into the lake like a complete idiot instead of going for help, not thinking how cold the water would be. Not realising of course that she was already beyond help. Then the others arrived, and everyone started shouting that I’d done it, that I’d killed my aunt.’

  He nodded. ‘That is what makes me think that one of them did it.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘Well surely you’ve thought about it too, Dottie? Realistically, it seems most likely to have been one of them. I mean, who else could it have been?’

  ‘Yes but...’

  ‘I’m certain that one of them then attempted to kill Norris Clarke to cover their tracks. It seems likely he saw something. Perhaps he even tried a spot of blackmail. Until he wakes up, we just don’t know. And that’s if he wakes up. But if he saw something, it seems safe to assume the killer realised, and went after him. And who better placed than a member of the family? More specifically, someone living in this very house.’

  She was gnawing on her lip, thinking about what he’d said. But she didn’t seem to disagree.

  ‘Be careful Dottie,’ he warned her softly. ‘Don’t discuss anything with anyone. I’m worried about your safety. I didn’t want you to stay here, but when I mentioned it to your mother...’

  She gave him a wobbly smile. ‘I expect she said something like ‘nonsense’.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what she said. So don’t take any risks, please. And if you think of anything, anything at all, no matter how small or seemingly irrelevant, let me know straight away. Even if it’s the middle of the night. I certainly won’t mind if you keep me up all night. I mean...’ Too late, he heard the double entendre. But she just smiled.

  ‘Thank you, William.’

  ‘I might want to talk to you again about these flowers. That’s an idea that intrigues me.’ He shrugged. ‘I just don’t know if it’s relevant.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better go.’

  She put a hand out to touch his arm. ‘William.’

  ‘What is it?’ He almost said, darling. For a brief second he thought he had said it, but then he heard his words on the air as if delayed by some seconds and realised he had not said it after all. He forced himself to concentrate.

  ‘I think I know who killed Aunt Cecilia. And attacked Norris.’

  He nodded and chose his words carefully, not wanting to offend her, but needing to make it clear she was not a police officer. He said, ‘Any information you can give me will of course, be very welcome. But I as I said just now, I must ask you not to tackle or confront anyone with any suspicions you may have.’

  ‘I know Flora told you about what happened last summer,’ Dottie said. ‘She said you were very angry...’

  He nodded. ‘Well yes, I was. Not with you, Dottie, d—er—but with him. With Parfitt. He ought not to have allowed it.’

  ‘I see.’ She dropped her gaze, fidgeting with her bracelet.

  ‘It’s not because you’re a woman,’ he said. ‘It was completely unethical. But more than that, he could have been placing you in grave danger. It was also highly illegal. It’s exactly the kind of thing that could completely wreck a conviction; a trial could be overturned, and a guilty person could be acquitted because of some illegal aspect of the process. As a police officer, I’m not allowed...’

  ‘It’s all right, William, I understand.’

  He wasn’t convinced. But he said, ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘Actually it’s more that there’s something I need to show you. Come upstairs.’

  At the top of the stairs she went first to her own room to fetch something, then she led the way to Imogen’s sitting room, knowing Imogen was in her bedroom having a nap.

  ‘We need to be quiet,’ she said barely above a whisper. He nodded.

  They were on the way down again half an hour later when Drysdale called to them from the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Excuse me, inspector. There’s a call from the hospital.’

  Dottie’s heart was in her mouth as she rushed after Hardy and saw him snatch up the receiver.

  ‘Hello? Yes, this is Inspector Hardy. Ah, Doctor... Yes. Yes? I see. Absolutely, yes. I see. I see. Yes. Quite. Yes of course. Well thank you.’

  It was, she thought, the least informative conversation she’d ever heard. But he didn’t look grave. Or did he? He could be so hard to read sometimes. He hung up the receiver and looked at her.

  ‘What is it?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Oh William! What...?’ She was afraid to ask.

  ‘Norris Clarke woke up ten minutes ago. The doctor says I can go and speak to him for five minutes at the most.’

  She almost hugged him. She folded her arms. ‘Oh that’s wonderful! I must go and tell Imogen! Will you ask the doctor to let her see him? She’s been beside herself.’

  ‘Of course. Bring her down after lunch. I’m sure they won’t mind letting her see him for five minutes.’

  She beamed at him. ‘Thank you!’ She turned and ran upstairs to wake Imogen.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  It was later that afternoon that he returned to the house and asked to see her again. Hardy was holding an envelope. Going over to the nearest coffee table and pushing a host of tiny ornaments and detritus out of the way, he tipped the contents of the envelope onto a dirty lace-edged cotton mat.

  Dottie came to look. ‘The bits of the wreath?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve got more of them if you’d like to see them. You might call this a representative sample. I’m afraid some of the plants aren’t in a very good condition. I suppose we weren’t sure either of the best way to preserve them, or even if there was any need to do so. Could you take a look, tell me any that you recognise?’

  She immediately grabbed something and held it up.

  ‘This is a sample from one of my designs! Not that it looks like it now, poor thing. It was ruby satin. Now it’s a dingy brownish scrap.’

  He took it and placed it in a small envelope and wrote on the front.

  Dottie poked amongst the rather dry stems, trying to extract some more or less intact flower heads, badly crumpled and faded, and some of the different types of leaves she could make out.

  ‘These two bits are definitely the pansies you’ve already mentioned. These little bits look like...’ She raised a piece to her nose and sniffed. ‘Yes, that’s rosemary. It’s still quite fresh.’

  ‘Does it come from the gardens here?’ He was leaning back, watching her closely, looking very definitely at her, not at the plant samples on the table. His arms were folded across his chest and he leaned against almost the only bare patch of wall in the room.

  She frowned, trying to remember. ‘I’m not sure. I can’t remember seeing any. I know it’s stupid but I think I’ll have to actually go outside and look. Shall I make a list? Then I can check for each plant and let you know if I find it?’

  He came forward now, reaching into his pocket. ‘It’s all right. I’ll write it down in my notebook. We’ll go out together if you like. It would be a help to have you with me, but I don’t like to ask you to do all the work. So what have we got? Pansies, yes? And rosemary?’

  She confirmed those two, and examining the samples, added, �
��This white one is some sort of daisy, like you see in pastures, the tall sort. I remember dancing in a field of daisies and buttercups. I must have been about four I suppose. We’d gone somewhere, and Flora and I wandered off to explore.’ She was smiling at the memory. Then glanced up and caught his eye. ‘I don’t remember anything other than the sublime joy of being surrounded by all these tall flowers, almost as tall as I was. I thought I was a fairy princess.’ She shook herself, brought herself back to the world of now. ‘This daisy—it’s odd, the colours are very bright but it’s completely dry...Oh! Of course. This must be from the display in the drawing room. As you go in, the two big urns of dried flowers. I believe there are daisies amongst those.’

  She was moving, on the point of leaving the room to check, but he said, ‘Shall we look in a minute? Let’s finish these first.’

  ‘Of course.’ She went back to the coffee table. ‘Let me see. Well these two are some sort of herbs. They’ve got fancy leaves and a strong scent. But I’m afraid I don’t... June might know. Or Guy. They are herbs experts.’ Seeing his surprise, she quickly told him about the book Guy had given June, and about the lengthy tour she had endured of June’s herb beds.

  Hardy made notes in his notebook on a separate page. ‘Something else to check,’ he said cryptically.

  ‘And—ow! Yes, this one is a nettle! So not a herb really.’ She sucked her stung finger.

  ‘Didn’t they used to be used for something years ago? Something to do with cheese? Or dyes?’

  She shook her head. ‘No idea. I can’t really help you. William, I think you’d be better off with June.’

  ‘I might speak with her later. Anything else?’

  ‘Not really. This is one of those woodland spring or early summer plants. It looks vaguely pinkish. Is it campion, or something?’

  He shrugged.

  She said, ‘The thing is, these don’t all come out at the same time, and certainly not in December and January. Perhaps they are all from the dried flower arrangement? Anyway, that’s all I can really tell you.’

  He snapped his notebook shut and put it away. She helped him scoop up the plant pieces and put them back into the envelope.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s quite all right.’

  ‘Let’s go and look at those dried flowers.’ He stepped aside to allow her to go in front of him and enjoyed watching her figure as she crossed the hall to the drawing room.

  The urns contained an identical assortment of grasses mainly with just one or two flowers. Some of the grasses were painted with silvery paint to give them a more ornamental look, Dottie supposed. Amongst the displays there were also some thin branches from a fir tree, with tiny cones still present here and there, also painted silver.

  They identified the daisies but that was all. It was disappointing. Outside, the weather had turned, and rain lashed the windows.

  ‘It looks as though our tour of the grounds will have to wait.’

  He sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ she said and ran upstairs. When she came down, she held out a book to him. He took it, puzzled, and looked at the title. ‘Hamlet?’

  ‘The Ophelia connection, remember? I found that in Imogen’s room. She’s been reading it lately. And quoting from it. Her favourite bit is the ‘get thee to a nunnery’ bit that Hamlet says to Ophelia. I think it struck a chord with Imogen. Because she feels that she’s ‘on the shelf’.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘The thing is, Imogen told me last night that she is the thief.’

  ‘We already knew that,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Yes, but now she’s confessed. And given me my designs back, which I am incredibly grateful for.’

  ‘Oh Dottie, I’m so glad about that,’ he said. ‘But why is this significant?’

  ‘Someone wanted to make it look as though the wreath was made by Imogen. That’s why it had the bit of fabric sample from one of my design sheets.’

  ‘That odd bit of brownish stuff?’

  She smiled. He wouldn’t say that if he saw the garment made up, she thought. She would quite like to see his face when he saw it made up. And on someone. Herself, perhaps. How would the cool Inspector Hardy look then, when he saw her in a ruby red satin nightgown? She shook her head slightly, made herself concentrate.

  ‘Imogen knows quite a lot about plants. I know that because when Guy and June showed us their herb collection, she explained some things to me.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘So, she was the thief. She is a bit over-excitable, emotional even. She desperately wanted to meet me and sent a secret invitation. She’s been so unhappy about her affair with Norris.’

  ‘And? You think someone wanted her to look as though she was depressed? Suicidal?’

  ‘Well I think someone wanted to make it look as though she was the killer. Or maybe to hint at her being deranged.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t know...’

  ‘Look at the inscription. I think that tells us quite a lot, don’t you?’

  He opened the book and looked at the flyleaf.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘Gathering us all together in one room, inspector? Do you aspire to being immortalised in detective fiction some day?’ Guy sneered as he took his seat.

  From the opposite end of the sofa, Lewis said, ‘Everyone knows police colleges use Mrs Christie’s novels as a blueprint for their training programmes.’

  They laughed. It had a sarcastic ring to it. Leo, not to be outdone by his younger brother or his father, chipped in with: ‘I hope he’s not going to make us all sit in a train. That seems to have become the norm these days, but my wife suffers terribly from motion sickness.’ He placed a hand on June’s knee and smiled at her. Dottie realised that was the first time she’d witnessed any kind of affectionate contact between them. Not that June appeared to welcome her husband’s touch. Rather, June crossed her legs and leaned away from Leo, a somewhat fixed smile in place.

  June was tense, her whole small frame was rigidly held in check. Dottie felt an unexpected flash of sympathy for her half-sister. There was a difficult scene ahead. The men coped with banter and silly quips, the women with silent control and tight-lipped patience.

  Hardy wisely chose to ignore all these jibes. He brought an upright chair over from its place against the wall and set it on the edge of the circle and sat down. He had his notebook in his hand and was about to address them. At a nod from Hardy, Sergeant Palmer closed the door and stationed himself in front of it, practically at attention.

  I don’t have a guilty conscience, Dottie thought, but even so this feels very ominous. She looked at William. His stare was blank and impersonal, fully concentrated on his work, leaving him with no energy for flirtatious glances. She would have been greatly reassured by a wink from him at this point, but nothing so unprofessional was forthcoming.

  Inspector Hardy cleared his throat. ‘Thank you all once again for sparing me some time. I’d like to explain why I asked you here.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Leo said, his tone pure sarcasm. He sent a glance around the room, inviting everyone to agree with him. ‘Is he actually going to do one of those tedious theatrical recaps, telling us all the stuff we either already know, or don’t give a fig about? As if he’s been very clever and solved a riddle that none of us mere mortals could fathom. Hardy, this really isn’t amusing any longer.’

  ‘Sit down, Mr Cowdrey.’ Hardy didn’t bother to soften his tone to something more polite. Sergeant Palmer took a menacing single step forward.

  Leo, somewhat taken aback, sat. The tension in the room palpably increased.

  Hardy had a moment of self-doubt. Perhaps this was a rather melodramatic way to do things. But better to say it all just once, to everyone, than to attempt to convey all the information multiple times and risk forgetting something vital. His moment of self-doubt passed. The audience were unaware it had even existed. He began.

  ‘You are all aware that Mrs
Cecilia Cowdrey was killed on the night of the second of January by a heavy blow to the temple. She was later taken in the gardener’s wheelbarrow down to the lake and put into the water, where her body was discovered at about half past ten the following morning by Miss Manderson.’ His eyes flicked onto her for the barest second and away again. In that time he noticed she was looking, as always, heartbreakingly lovely.

  ‘Miss Manderson jumped into the freezing water to attempt to haul Mrs Cowdrey’s body out onto the bank in the hopes that she may still be saved. However, unfortunately, life was extinct. Whilst Miss Manderson was doing this, her cousins—or should I say, half-siblings—came along and even though it was doubtless perfectly clear what Miss Manderson was attempting to do, they accused her of the murder of Mrs Cowdrey. Mr Guy Cowdrey took Miss Manderson back to the house and locked her in a cloakroom then summoned the police.’

  He paused here. Another brief glance around the room showed that whilst Leo, Imogen, Mrs Manderson and Dottie were watching him attentively, Guy, June and Lewis were all looking elsewhere. Guy was staring into the fireplace watching the flames silently devouring the logs. Lewis was gazing out of the window, and June was focussed on her hands that fidgeted in her lap with the lace edge of her handkerchief. Once or twice she shot Hardy an anxious look then glanced away.

  ‘As you know Miss Manderson was then arrested on suspicion of murder and placed in a holding cell until such time as the police had sufficient evidence to proceed against her. That is where I came into the case. I may say that I know Miss Manderson and her family quite well, and that I was absolutely convinced of her innocence even before I arrived. But I pride myself on my professionalism and try to never allow personal feelings to prevent me from carrying out a very thorough investigation of all the facts. To do so would be highly unethical and in violation of police procedure.’

  Dottie was stunned by this. It had never occurred to her that he would actually investigate her as a possible suspect. She felt cold and afraid, even though she knew he was certain of her innocence. She felt she had come all too close to complete disaster. All eyes were on her. Dottie looked back at them, feeling afraid. This was horrible. She felt she had to try to explain, yet what could she say?