Catherine was a bit uncomfortable being left alone with her host.
“Are you ever going to let me call you Catherine? Don’t you think we have progressed beyond Miss Tregowyn and Dr. Harry?”
“I suppose,” she said. “But you still don’t like my poetry.”
“I will call you Catherine in spite of that fact. Or perhaps you prefer Cat?”
“Not really. That’s a school name. I’m grown up now.”
His eyes sparkled. “You certainly are. Now. Tell me about this Rafe person.”
She sighed. “I have known him since I was ten years old. I developed a pash for him then and have had one ever since.”
“And how does he feel about you?”
“The same. But there are issues between us which are private, and I’m not comfortable discussing them. Even with him.”
“Sounds messy and uncertain.” They were sitting on a marshmallow-like leather loveseat, and he began to play with a tendril of her hair, triggering an electric fizz through her scalp down to her heart.
“Please don’t do that,” she said.
“You can’t deny that there are feelings between us, Catherine.”
“I know,” she replied, lacing her fingers and squeezing them until the knuckles were white. “But we can’t act on them. At least, not now.”
“All right. But if your true intention is to refrain from enticing me, then I must warn you that you had better go upstairs. Right now.”
She rose with jerky movements. “Goodnight, Dr. Harry.”
“Goodnight, Catherine. It has been a splendid day.”
She didn’t sleep well that night.
Chapter Seventeen
Catherine insisted that Dot take the front seat next to Dr. Harry on the drive back to Oxford the following day. She listened vaguely to their conversation, which was drowned out in parts by the motor. Because of her lack of sleep, her head ached abominably.
When they pulled up at the Randolph, Dr. Harry assisted her to alight.
“Thank you very much,” she said. “We did have a good day yesterday. It was lovely to see your home.”
She shook his hand and walked through the Randolph entrance.
“There is a message for you, Miss Tregowyn,” said the desk clerk.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking the envelope he held out to her. Dot followed her, and they went up to their rooms.
“I must have a bath and change immediately!” she proclaimed, forestalling Dot’s effort to chat. “I’m a complete grime!”
“Aren’t you even curious about your message?” her friend asked.
“It’s probably Rafe, and at the moment I must get out of these clothes.”
“All right. I’ll do the same,” said Dot.
When at length she emerged from the bathroom in her dressing gown smelling of gardenias, she took up the envelope and opened it. It was not from Rafe, but from the dean—a request to ring her no matter when she arrived back at the hotel.
“Oh, golly,” she said to herself. Going down the hall, she rang the number given in the message.
“Hello?”
“Dean, this is Catherine Tregowyn returning your call.”
“Yes, Miss Tregowyn. I must tell you that Miss Gwendolyn Fellingsworth rang me yesterday to ask whether I was aware that you and Dr. Bascombe were searching for Lady Rachel Warren on behalf of the college.”
Silence.
“I am afraid we led her to think that, yes,” Catherine said, finally.
“I insist that you stop this ridiculous investigation into matters which are no concern of yours. What you did was unconscionable. I also must insist that you stay away from Somerville College and Oxford altogether.”
“Were you aware that Lady Rachel had a nervous breakdown and is now in seclusion because of the incident with Dr. Chenowith?” Catherine asked.
“I was. But it is, I repeat, none of your concern.”
Catherine saw red. “I will stay away from Somerville, but you have no authority over me, Dean. I will continue my investigation.”
She rang off and went to Dot’s room in a fury.
Her friend, also in her dressing gown, was at her desk writing letters.
“The message was from the dean. She heard from Gwendolyn Fellingsworth and commanded that Dr. Harry and I should cease the investigation. She wants me to stay away from Somerville and Oxford.”
“Crikey! What did you say?”
“Basically, I told her she has no right to tell me what to do. But I think we’re done here for the time being. Do you mind giving me a lift to my flat?”
“No, of course not. I have to go back down to London today because of work tomorrow morning. Did she know Dr. Harry was with you?”
“Yes.”
Dot said, “I think you ought to ring him and tell him what happened. He may get called on the carpet as well.”
“Good idea.”
She took up the telephone and asked for the exchange to put her through to Dr. Harry Bascombe of Christ Church College. After several clicks, she was informed that Dr. Bascombe was on the line.
“Catherine?”
“Yes. Listen, I’m afraid I’ve just had a rather unpleasant conversation with the dean.” She related the substance of her phone call. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to make trouble for you, as well. I thought I ought to warn you.”
“The devil!”
“Yes. So I’ve decided to leave Oxford for the time being. I’m going down to London.” She gave him her address and telephone number. “I’ve written Margery, so I expect to hear from her in a few days. Please let me know what you find out about Dr. Waddell and whether or not they pick up Dr. Stephenson.”
“I shall. What a bother that you have to leave Oxford.”
“If I think it’s necessary, I’ll come back up.”
“Right,” said Dr. Harry. “I’ll stay in touch, meanwhile.”
“Please. I want to continue this investigation.”
“We have unfinished business in other areas, as well.”
Not knowing how to reply to that, she rang off.
Catherine packed up all her things and carried them down to Dot’s waiting motor car. It wasn’t until she was riding down to London that she remembered Rafe. He was to have come up to Oxford this week. She must remember to call him from the flat and tell him of her change of plans.
* * *
The city seemed a bit steamy and grimy after the rarefied air of Oxford, but she was glad to be back in her flat just the same. The dean’s actions were probably justified, but they annoyed her. What should she do while she was awaiting Margery’s letter?
Frustrated, she culled through her mail. It was Cherry’s day off, so she didn’t even have her maid’s company. But her publisher had sent a new contract, so there was that to see to.
As she perused the document, she suddenly remembered she needed to make contact with Chenowith’s Bloomsbury coterie. Glancing at her mantel clock, she saw that it was already 6:00. Probably not the right time for a visit on Sunday night. And, to tell the truth, she was not feeling her best after two long drives and her confrontation with the dean. It would wait until tomorrow. She returned to her contract.
After marking several spots in red pencil, she inserted the document into a long envelope and addressed it to her solicitor. Then she made herself a cup of tea and opened a tin of soup for dinner. Later, after leaving the door on the latch for Cherry, she crawled gratefully into her own bed. Only then did she remember that she hadn’t called Rafe.
Getting up, she padded out to the sitting room on bare feet and put a call through to his house a few blocks away. His butler informed her that Mr. St. John was out for the evening. She left a message for him stating that she was back in London.
For a change
, she slept soundly that night. There were no dreams of a piratical professor or a tanned almost-fiancé just returned from Kenya.
She woke to Cherry, bringing her a cup of tea.
“The sitting room is a right mess, miss,” she said. “What were you doing in there last night?”
Catherine blinked. “Mess? The sitting room?” As the words penetrated, she threw back her blankets and bolted out of bed. Without even pausing to don her dressing gown, she went into her sitting room where Cherry had already opened the blinds.
Papers were strewn everywhere, and her safe hung open. Her hands flew to her throat. Someone was in here while I was asleep.
Kneeling on the floor, she gathered up the scattered pages. Her first thought was that it was “S’s” manuscript they were after. If so, then Professor Stephenson was the culprit.
However, the pages of the dead poet’s manuscript were all there in a bundle with an elastic around them, just as she’d left them. In fact, all of her papers were there. As far as she could tell, nothing had been taken. Instead there was a note in bold, block capitals, left on her writing desk: Cease your investigations or the next time I break in, it won’t be to tamper with your safe.
She felt a twist of fear in her abdomen. What were they looking for? They could so easily have killed me as I slept! Would they have, if they had found it?
Cold and vulnerable, Catherine stood shivering in her nightgown.
“What are you going to do, miss? Ought’n we to ring for the coppers?”
“What time did you get in last night, Cherry?” she asked.
“Ohh. The door was on the latch! That’s how he got in! It was just before midnight. I didn’t see or hear anything.”
“Did you lock up, as usual?”
“I did.”
“Very well,” Catherine said. “Come help me get buttoned into something, and we will call the police.”
* * *
The sandy-haired sergeant constable and his skinny superior, viewed the safe and the door, dusting for fingerprints. There were none. The note held none either.
“Obviously wore gloves,” the skinny detective constable said. “I notice you’ve got a bandage on your head. Suppose you tell me what’s happening here.”
“I’m involved in a murder investigation up at Oxford,” she said. “I only got home to my flat yesterday. The woman who was murdered was called Dr. Agatha Chenowith, a professor at Somerville College,” Catherine explained.
“Who cracked you on the head?”
“We are almost positive it was Dr. Anthony Stephenson of Merton College. It is a long story, but he was gone when the police went to bring him in for questioning. There is also another suspect, Dr. Christopher Waddell. He is a don at St. John’s College, but he has also disappeared. This could be his work. You will want to talk to Detective Chief Inspector Marsh at Oxford. He has been handling the case.”
“Did you spin the dial after closing the safe last time you opened it?” asked the policeman.
Catherine thought back to the day she had been here with Dot. “I can’t remember. It’s one of those things you do automatically, though.”
“Well unless this were an expert safecracker, I’d say that you forgot this time,” he said. “Have you checked over the rest of the flat to see if he tampered with anything else or if anything else is missing?”
“I have,” Catherine answered. “My jewelry and silver are all there. And so are my papers. If he was looking for something, he didn’t find it.”
The detective fixed her with a steady look from his brown eyes. “What do you think he was looking for then?”
“I haven’t the least idea.”
“Hmm.” The policeman ran a hand over the back of his head. “Well, I will talk to Detective Chief Inspector Marsh about this, but I can see that I don’t have much of a case here as it stands, however, if you were to be murdered . . . Now that would be a different story. I would advise you to leave this to the police, Miss Tregowyn. Have you got someplace else you can stay until they catch the murderer?”
Catherine had no desire to leave her flat. “I will think about it.”
“Do, Miss Tregowyn. And don’t go thinking you’re smarter than the police. This murderer has already killed once. He has nothing to lose by doing it again.”
A chill swept over Catherine. He’s right.
The policeman left her with his card. “Call if anything else happens. But please consider lodging somewhere else for a while.”
* * *
As soon as the police left, Catherine rang Dot at her office.
“My flat was broken into last night. I never heard them. I was asleep the whole time!”
“Crikey!” said Dot. “What did they take?”
“Nothing. But they got into the safe and went through all the papers.”
“Did you call the police?”
“I did. They’re going to call Marsh at Oxford, but there were no fingerprints or anything helpful.”
“I’m calling Dr. Harry right now,” vowed Dot. “You need protection.”
Her pulse quickened. “Actually . . . I thought maybe you’d let me stay with you,” said Catherine.
“There’s no room. My cousin’s up from the country for fittings at the dressmaker for her wedding. She’s got the couch. I’m calling Dr. H. right now.”
Dot rang off.
Catherine paced her sitting room. She did, and she didn’t want Dr. Harry. Right now, her feelings scattered about her like the papers on the floor. Bending down, she began to pick them up.
The telephone rang. She answered. Of course, it was Dr. Harry.
“I’m coming down right away,” he said. “I can’t believe you slept through that!”
“I can’t believe whoever it was attempted it while I was home. But the door was on the latch, so he must have known!”
“Obviously, he was prepared to deal with you if you woke up. Be grateful he didn’t wake you on purpose.”
* * *
Cherry insisted on setting the sitting room to rights and hustled Catherine off to the corner bakery to lay in some pastries and sandwiches. Before she left, Catherine looked in her mirror. She was wearing the first thing she had found that morning, and it wasn’t particularly flattering. She changed into a cocoa brown and white dotted frock with a dropped waist and pleats. Then she was tempted to change back. She was nothing more than a vain woman! What difference did it make what she wore for Dr. Harry?
After purchasing some French croissants and chocolate eclairs, Catherine also bought some ready-made chicken sandwiches and a carton of chutney. There weren’t any pubs near her house, and Dr. Harry was bound to get hungry.
As she was on her way back to the flat, carrying her bounty, she ran into Rafe. Her heart dropped to her middle.
“Rafe! What are you doing here?”
His face lit with his killer smile. “Got your message this morning. It’s good to see you, Cat.”
“I’ve been run out of Oxford by the dean. Not that she has the authority. But it was the prudent thing to leave. There is something I probably should have told you,” she said, nodding to the doorman as she entered her building.
His brow furrowed. “By that look on your face, it sounds like a story I need to hear. I’ve come to take you to lunch.”
“I’m sorry. I’m expecting company,” she said, indicating her shopping bag.
“I’ll settle for dinner then.” Leaning down, he kissed her on the cheek.
Just that moment, Dr. Harry sauntered into the lobby. He stopped short. Catherine’s feelings rioted. What was she supposed to do with these two men?
She said. “Here he is now. Dr. Harry Bascombe, meet Rafael St. John. Rafe, this is my colleague, Dr. Harry. We have been working on unraveling this mystery together.”
The men shook
hands, and she watched them size each other up. Rafe was the taller and more imposing of the two.
“Why don’t we go upstairs?” she said. “I have sandwiches and chutney. Also, some eclairs—chocolate.”
“My favorite,” said Rafe. She threw him a quelling glance. Staking his claim over chocolate eclairs? This was ridiculous.
They went up in the lift, and everyone was very quiet as the operator worked the controls.
“I like your building,” said Dr. Harry finally.
“My family has had the flat forever,” she said. “But I’m the only one who uses it. My brother has rooms which he prefers when he is in town, and my parents are quite content in Cornwall.”
When they entered her domain, Cherry was putting out the tea things.
“Oh, Mr. St. John! I didn’t expect you. I’ll just bring another cup.” She took the shopping bag from Catherine. “And I’ll put these out. Won’t be a moment.”
Catherine explained to Dr. Harry, “Cherry has been with me since before I was a deb. She thinks of herself as one of the family. She even criticizes my poetry. You have something in common.”
She resolved to keep her hat on, though it would seem strange. She didn’t want Rafe seeing her bandage until she had told him about Dr. Stephenson.
The men settled down on opposite vanilla-colored leather sofas. Catherine took the chair between them. This situation was surprisingly uncomfortable. She was worried far too much about what each of the men was thinking.
She said to the Oxford man, “Rafe has just returned from a year in Kenya. He was there with my brother, William.”
“And what did you think of the colony?” asked Dr. Harry.
“Marvelous place,” said Rafe. “I could settle there easily, but I’m afraid Catherine would miss England too much.”
“Oh?” Harry said, raising his brows. “I wasn’t aware you were going to be married.”
“There is nothing settled,” Catherine said. As Cherry set down the extra cup and the tray of sandwiches and plates, Catherine began to pour tea. “How do you take your tea, Doctor?”
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