Catherine said, “You choose something. My mind is entirely taken up with something else. I am not at all in the mood for a party.”
“Oh, miss, what’s wrong then?”
“It’s just this mystery I am entangled in. It’s turning out to be much more involved than I thought.”
“I’m that sorry, miss. I hope you can see your way clear soon.” Cherry opened the wardrobe and began flipping through “cocktail” dresses. “I think this one will do,” she said, pulling out an apricot silk frock with a fitted skirt that flared at the knees. “You have a scarf that will go with this that I can tie over your head with a bow over your ear. The hair is finally starting to grow in, but it looks awful.”
Rafe arrived just as Cherry was putting the finishing touches to Catherine’s make-up. She sprayed herself with gardenia scent as her maid went to answer the door.
“Darling, you look lovely,” Rafe greeted her. “As always.” He kissed her lightly on her powdered cheek.
He looked fabulous in a white dinner jacket. “I thought we might go to Carmichael’s after the sherry party.”
“I’m really tired, Rafe. And not looking forward to this. But I think it’s important that I go.”
“Any reason why it’s more important than any other Oxford cocktail party?”
“The reason for it.”
“Ah, yes. The Teutonic legends. You think it might have something to do with Waddell?”
He opened the door and they walked to the lift.
“It may. Jennie, my scout, called and she found something important in Dr. Chenowith’s rooms. She’s leaving it at the porter’s desk. We can pick it up on the way to the party.”
The lift arrived and they suspended conversation.
When they walked out into the lobby, Rafe said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Waddell made the leap from those old pagan philosophies to Hitler.”
“Not much of a leap. We already knew he was a fascist and that he wanted a stronger government in England.”
They reached the street. “But I don’t understand why a woman like that would even marry Waddell,” said Rafe.
He handed her into his car, and went around to let himself in. The top was now up, she was glad to see.
“She’d been badly burned by Margery’s husband after an affair that lasted over a long period of time. I think the idea of marriage came along right as she was on the rebound from that disaster.”
“Ah,” said Rafe. “Poor woman.”
“I am sorry she was murdered, but she wasn’t a nice woman, Rafe,” said Catherine.
“So, what are you hoping to find out tonight?”
“I’m just going to keep my ears open. It seems to me there must be some overlap between these ancient Teuton lovers and the modern-day Aryan worshippers.”
“That makes sense. I’ll keep an ear to the ground, also.”
* * *
The Old Common Room at Balliol was a space used for a variety of purposes. At present, it was set up for a comfortable sherry party, with deep sofas and upholstered chairs brought in. There was a little stand with a microphone, and a couple of waiters moved around with trays full of sherry glasses and canapes.
The only person not drinking sherry seemed to be Dr. Williams, who held the much-beloved cup of tea he preferred to any other beverage. It was well known that he bought it from a Chinese import company in the City.
When Rafe and Catherine arrived, Dr. Harry welcomed them at the door. “The undergrads are going to take the stand at eight o’clock. I’ve noticed a few men I recognize from the Bird and the Baby who used to drink in the St. John’s contingent with Waddell. Don’t know all their names, but I’m going to try to find out.”
“Good idea,” said Catherine.
“I’ll see if I can detect anyone else here who might have belonged to that Nazi cult. I might have to pose as someone in favor of the philosophy. Turning up here for this news about Teutonic legends might give me a little credibility. I’ll see you two in a bit.”
“Good,” said Catherine, looking about her. A moment later, she said to Rafe, “I don’t recognize anyone except Dr. Williams and the Somerville Dean. I imagine my tutor, Dr. Sargent, would have been here if she were not in the South of France.”
A waiter came by with a tray of baby shrimp canapes and another of sherry. Rafe and Catherine helped themselves. She frowned.
As soon as the waiter walked away, she said, “Do you think that’s wise, Rafe?” She put her hand on the arm holding the drink.
“It’s only one sherry. I can handle it, Cat.”
“All right.” She forced her mind into the matter at hand. “I think Dr. Williams is such a popular professor that some people come to Balliol just to study under him,” Catherine said. “He’s enthusiastic and entertaining. I don’t know how he’s managing his job at Whitehall with his professorial duties.”
“He works at Whitehall? You mentioned that before, but I didn’t quite take it on board. What does he do there?”
“Something hush-hush, apparently. I have no idea. He did mention to me that he is going to Germany next month to look at some early Teutonic document. Perhaps he’ll do a bit of spying while he’s there,” she said sotto voce. “Let’s split up and make some friends.”
Rafe agreed.
During the next half hour, she met scholars in Old English and Early Teutonic languages, German myth and legend, English myth and legend, but no one she could identify in any way as being a likely candidate for the “Nazi club,” as she privately called it. She and the dean steered clear of one another.
Suddenly, the proceedings were disturbed by the horrible sound of someone falling to the floor, crockery crashing, and violent vomiting. Everyone stood back from the scene but began to gather on the fringes. Rafe found her. He could see over the crowd.
“It’s a man with white hair and a goatee.”
“That describes half the professors at Oxford,” Catherine said, moving toward the commotion. She heard a shout.
“It’s Dr. Williams! Someone fetch a medico!”
“Dr. Williams!”
“Dr. Williams!”
Catherine ran out of the room through its only inner doorway looking for a telephone. There was a small pantry filled with trays of food. It had a telephone. She rang 999. While she waited for an answer, she spotted the colorful box which held Professor William’s tea.
“I need an ambulance at Balliol. Old Common Room. Someone is violently ill. It was very sudden.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Catherine made one more call.
“Sergeant, I’d like to speak to Detective Chief Inspector Marsh. This is Miss Tregowyn. I am in the Old Common Room at Balliol. I suspect there’s been a poisoning.”
When Marsh came on the line, Catherine said, “I think there’s been another attempted murder. Another of the members of the sherry party at Somerville, Dr. Williams, has just collapsed at another sherry party here at Balliol in the Old Common Room. He vomited violently and fell to the floor. I suspect poisoning. I’ve rung for an ambulance. He was drinking tea. Is it alright if I impound the source of his tea before someone can make away with it?”
“I’ll be right there,” said the Detective Chief Inspector. Use a napkin or something to remove the tea, so as not to disturb fingerprints. I’ll ring the ME. Don’t let anyone clean up the scene. Why do you think there is a connection to Dr. Chenowith?” he asked, his voice brisk.
“I have further evidence in that case that links them. With Dr. Waddell also.”
“More amateur sleuthing!”
“Please save the lecture for later and just come,” she pleaded.
* * *
The professor, still alive, was carried away to the Radcliffe Infirmary by ambulance. Fortunately, the arrival of the police had preserved the detritus
of his illness and the broken teacup.
Catherine told Marsh, “I know the tea seems odd at a sherry party, but it was his characteristic beverage.” She handed him the tea box, shrouded in a linen napkin.
“It’s time you told me what made you suspect poison,” Marsh told her.
“It will take a while for me to explain,” she said. “It’s complicated.”
“All right. But you will tell me later. Now. How many people left the room before we got here?” he asked.
“It’s hard to tell. Most of them were anxious about the professor, and I think they stayed around to see what the ambulance crew said. He is very beloved. By the way, he also works at Whitehall. But I suspect you already know that.”
“Does your theory embrace that fact?”
Catherine was slightly taken aback at the aggressive question. “I don’t know. It might. I’m just not sure at the moment.”
Dr. Harry found her moments later. “What do you think is going on?” he asked.
“I believe it’s everything we’ve found out is connected. Dr. Williams must somehow be connected to that Nazi group. I must have been wrong to have put him above such things.”
“But wouldn’t the government know that? Wouldn’t they have checked him over thoroughly before giving him a sensitive job?”
“Yes. It’s very puzzling.”
“I have it!” said Dr. Harry. “What if he’s infiltrating the group on behalf of the government?”
“That makes sense,” said Catherine. “That’s brilliant!”
“I do try,” he said.
“Try what?” asked Rafe as he came through the door. Catherine immediately registered the blank look on his face that came when he had been drinking too much.
“To make sense,” said Dr. Harry.
“And he occasionally does,” said Catherine. “He thinks Dr. Williams was infiltrating the clandestine Nazi group on behalf of the government.”
“And this was attempted murder, of course,” said Rafe with a little laugh.
Catherine felt her heart drop to her middle. She should have known better than to bring him to a party where any kind of alcohol was offered in abundance.
She explained her theory about the tea. “I’m not versed in poisons, but it would be easy to poison his tea with arsenic, I should think.”
“That’s what’s in rat poison, right?” asked Dr. Harry.
“I think so,” said Catherine. “The only problem is, it doesn’t work immediately. The rats crawl away to die.”
“The poison may have been in that box of tea for a while,” said Dr. Harry. “He may have been being poisoned a bit at a time if it was in his tea. It may just be coincidence that he finally collapsed here tonight.”
“Well, I suspect the evidence will tell,” said Catherine, wrinkling her nose at the memory of Dr. Williams’s being sick.
She saw Rafe grab another full glass of sherry from a tray on the table when he thought she wasn’t looking. Quelling her uneasiness, she watched the guests who were standing about in groups talking or sitting on the furniture.
Detective Chief Inspector Marsh came up to her. “My men are interviewing the guests. Let me take you to the college office. I’ve arranged for a room there. It’s just across the Garden Quad.”
She set off with the policeman, leaving Dr. Harry and Rafe behind.
* * *
“So,” she concluded, having told the Detective Chief Inspector about their trip to the Isle of Man, the Waddell-Chenowith marriage, and the things she had learned about the former’s pro-Hitler leanings. She had also explained Waddell’s passion for all things Aryan and his probable Teutonic studies connection to Dr. Williams.
“I must swallow my pride and thank you for this,” the Detective Chief Inspector said. “Since Waddell’s death is not being investigated by my office, there is no way I would have made the Chenowith-Waddell connection. Have you informed Scotland Yard?”
“We only returned this afternoon from the Isle of Man. Besides, Detective Inspector Underbridge informed us that he had no use for amateur sleuthing.”
“I shall inform them, but you need to put your pride in your pocket in this instance, Miss Tregowyn. They shall probably be in touch with you.”
She thought again of Jennie’s message. No matter what the hour, she needed to retrieve whatever the scout had found from the porter’s lodge.
* * *
When Catherine returned to find Rafe, she discovered him happily drinking yet another glass of sherry extolling the virtues of Africa to Dr. Harry. How many had he consumed? Fear and the old feeling of helplessness clutched at her.
“Dr. Harry, may I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course,” he said.
They moved off to the other side of the room. She felt the heat of Rafe’s eyes following her.
“Rafe has no tolerance for alcohol,” she said. “Just how much sherry has he had?”
“You think he could get drunk from sherry?”
“He can get drunk from anything alcoholic,” she said.
“Well, he seems pretty merry to me. He had a couple of glasses while you were with Marsh. But then, so did I.”
“I don’t imagine it affects you the same way,” she said. “I don’t know if I trust him driving to London in this condition.”
“Come now. You’re too hard on the man.”
Catherine felt her patience snap. “You don’t know him like I do. Did he have anything to drink the night I left you together on the Island?”
“Now that you mention it, he didn’t. I remember thinking it was odd.”
“He’s drinking another glass now. Can you help me get him to the Randolph?
“I’m sorry. Of course. I’ll do anything I can.”
But Rafe wasn’t having any of it. In a loud voice, he threw off Dr. Harry’s hand on his elbow, “What are you doing you insufferable little tick? Who gave you the right to touch me? I’m Rafael St. John! Of the Wiltshire St. John’s!” He drew Catherine unwillingly to his side. She knew enough not to try to extricate herself. “You’re poaching on my preserve, you louse. This bit of stuff is mine! She’s been mine for eons. All I have to do is crook my finger and she comes running. Haven’t you learned that by now? You count as nothing.” He tried and failed to snap his fingers. “Nothing.”
Rafe had never spoken this way in her presence. Her blood boiled. Is that what he really thought? His bit of stuff? All he had to do was crook his finger? In vino veritas?
All the guests that remained were looking at them. She yanked herself out of Rafe’s arms and he reflexively cuffed her on the chin. Catherine only barely kept her balance.
“Keep your hands off her, you bounder!” cried Dr. Harry. Coming up behind the man, he grabbed Rafe’s forearms and forced them behind him. He began to frog march him out of the Old Commons Room.
But Rafe was strong. Again, he pulled away, his face red with fury. “You think she cares about you,” he said. “But I’m all she’s ever cared about. She belongs to me.” He socked Dr. Harry in his eye.
One of the burly police sergeants who had been questioning the remaining guests advanced on them. “Need some help, miss?”
“Yes, please,” Catherine said, deeply ashamed of the situation. “Can you lock him up for the night? He’s clearly a public nuisance.”
“I saw him strike you,” said the sergeant. “Do you want me to book him for assault?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. Just lock him up until he’s sober.”
“With pleasure,” said the policeman, taking his handcuffs off his belt.
Once he was cuffed, the belligerence seemed to leave Rafe. Catherine and Dr. Harry watched him go, in between two policemen, out into the night.
Catherine sank onto the sofa, mortified and deeply hurt. For so man
y years, she had been protective of Rafe during his bouts of drinking. And so many times he had promised to quit. But his words of this evening painted an ugly picture. She writhed at the remembrance.
His drunkenness was a nightmare she had lived too many times, but he had never struck her. She swore to herself she would never put herself through this again. Yet, below her anger dwelt pain so deep she was afraid to feel it.
“Could you take me to the Randolph?” she asked Dr. Harry. “I don’t think I’m up for a train ride to London tonight.”
“Of course,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They said nothing while riding in Dr. Harry’s Morris motor. After arriving at the hotel, he parked in front and walked her inside to register.
Once she had her key, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” she said. “I only want to be alone.”
“I’ll call for you in the morning and take you back to the City.”
A small ember of light burned in the darkness reigning inside her mind and heart. “You must have other things to do.”
“Nothing as important as you,” he said, walking her to the lift.
“You are so kind to me.”
“You deserve nothing but kindness.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Would eight a.m. be too early?” he asked.
“That would be perfect,” she said. “Goodnight, Dr. Harry.”
“Surely it should be Harry by now.”
“I like Dr. Harry. Think of it as an endearment,” Catherine said with half a smile.
After he left, she took the lift up, feeling an intense need to speak with Dot. But such matters as these shouldn’t be discussed long-distance where the exchange might listen in. But how could she bear the fresh pain in her soul?
Close to tears, she unlocked her door and went straight to the bathroom, where she began running a bath.
Desolation fell upon her as she thought of how there was no going on with Rafe ever again. The ups and downs were at an end.
An Oxford Murder Page 21
