Mischief in St. Tropez

by C. G Oster

  Means of leaving would be limited after the ships sailed, the consulate had said. Lady Pettifer had learned that some of the older residents were staying put anyway. Many had nothing to return to and would be destitute in England without income or shelter. Taking the risk of staying was simply the easiest option. Dory felt inordinately sorry for them, knowing they had to face down whatever storm came this way.

  How bad could it be, some asked. Except there had been worrying reports about the Germans actually attacking civilians in some town up north. It was perhaps the most shocking thing Dory had ever heard and Lady Pettifer had grown increasingly dismayed. That was not within the rules of warfare, but the Germans seemed to have little regard for honor in war. Staying put with such a force coming, might be a disastrous decision. Still, they refused to change their minds.

  Chapter 26

  T he story around Baron Drecsay was like an onion, uncovering new layers the deeper she dug, but the layers never seemed to present themselves fully. There were a number of people who were financially better off with the baron dead, but none of the sums involved were big enough to justify murder, and none of the players appeared disturbed enough to kill someone for such a paltry sum.

  “Nothing stands out particularly,” Lady Pettifer said as Dory wrote out all the things they had learned. “Even Marie Chard, if she was the one who stole the jewelry. It could be that she robbed the baron while he was at the masquerade. But then she couldn’t have snuck into the party unseen and killed him. Lady Tonbridge’s butler would never let a girl like that in if she simply appeared at the door without an invitation. Let’s face it: she’s a girl with a certain reputation and Lady Tonbridge would never abide having such a girl at her party.”

  “All our other suspects were at the party, but none seem to have a credible reason for killing him.”

  “I have a feeling we will never know who the killer is until we establish proper motive.”

  “Maybe I need to talk to Marie again,” Dory said with a sigh. “She knew him best. I didn’t ask her about any of the properties other than the land in Antibes.”

  “I suppose we could try to see if anyone has sold the baron’s jewelry,” Lady Pettifer said, reaching for a biscuit from the tea tray.

  “I don’t mind telling you it’s getting quite frightening driving through Cannes now. The place is full of soldiers. There’s probably more in Nice.”

  “No doubt. Perhaps we should think of them as being here to protect us.”

  Dory wasn’t entirely convinced by the assertion.

  “I have to admit,” Lady Pettifer stated. “It is the perfect time to commit a murder. No one has the time to look into it.”

  “Except for us. Poor Baron Drecsay ended up with inept investigators,” Dory lamented.

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You are doing more for this man than anyone—probably more than he deserved, to be completely honest.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Dory said.

  “No, I suppose not. We must persevere. You should go speak to the girl. Take Livinia with you.”

  With a smile, Dory wondered if Lady Pettifer was so keen for her to speak to Marie simply to get rid of Livinia for a while. Livinia’s boredom was trying for all of them.

  After finishing her tea, Dory rose and went upstairs in search for Livinia.

  *

  Again, Livinia drove and Dory sat with her hand clenched over the top of her door. At least Dory ended up driving home whenever they went on one of their outings. Alcohol invariably appeared somewhere and Livinia was quite happy to hand over for the return journey.

  Charlotte Ginsborough was the person Livinia was determined to see. Dory vaguely knew the girl, but had never had much to do with her.

  This time, there appeared to be more people in Nice—simply walking or standing around in groups. The crowd in front of the consulate was even larger, and some had their bags with them. Surely the ship wasn’t coming right now.

  “They’re not British,” Livinia said as they slowly drove past.

  A frown marred Dory’s face. Why were they there, she wondered. They were seeking visas to go to Britain. “Do you think they’re Belgians?”

  “I think they might be Jews,” Livinia said. “They’re not waiting around to find out what the Germans will do to them. Poor sods. They’ve had to leave everything and run.”

  Dory craned her neck to watch as they drove past. “There’s so many. Do you think the ships coming will take them all?”

  “I guess that depends on how large the ships are.”

  Now she watched all the people on the street and many of them looked foreign. Their dress wasn’t right for the climate, and they tended to wear what looked like their sturdiest clothes, and there were children—lots and lots of children.

  “Where shall I drop you?” Livinia asked.

  “I can hop out here and take the tram to Riquiers,” Dory said and Livinia pulled over. They agreed to meet again in two hours.

  The tram was also full of people, strangers who were consulting maps. They had all their suitcases with them. Dory expected they had all come down on the train. The BBC had mentioned bombings in Rotterdam and Dory expected all these people fled from there. It wouldn’t just be Jewish people—everyone needed to escape the Germans. Each night the news got worse and worse. Insanity seemed to be progressing relentlessly, and here were the people escaping it. It was the first true sign that everything they heard on the wireless was true. The people running away from the madness were sitting all around her.

  Getting off at Riquier, she made her way to Marie’s house and knocked. No one answered. They weren’t home or weren’t answering. She stated it was her, but still no one came to the door. Had they left?

  Dory spent an hour sitting in the doorway to see if either Marie or her mother returned, but they didn’t come. Eventually Dory had to give up. This trip had been a dud, a waste of time, so she returned to the spot where Livinia was supposed to pick her up and waited yet again. Sitting down, she watched people. Well, all those empty hotel rooms that the visitors to the coast had deserted in the autumn would be filling up again, but these people weren’t here for a pleasant time, they were running for their lives. This all sat very heavily. Some would secure visas and leave, others would have to stay. The Germans were still very far away, so people were safer down here than in their homes. Hopefully it would stay that way.

  Livinia finally arrived and was perfectly intent on driving back as well. “People are pouring out of every train that arrives,” she said. “It must be an uncomfortable journey all crammed in like sardines. What did you learn from Marie?”

  “Nothing. She wasn’t there.”

  “Maybe she left. The Belgians are all trying to come here and we’re all trying to leave.”

  “All these people,” Dory said. “Where are they all going to go?”

  “Maybe they have family in Britain.”

  “Maybe. Although if your town is being bombed, I think you’d go even if you didn’t.”

  “Charlotte is waiting for the ships, too. She still thinks Drecsay was a spy, but she couldn’t really say why.” They had clearly been talking about it. “She did mention something funny, though.”

  “What?”

  “When I mentioned Palestine, she recalled some cartographer that Drecsay had made an acquaintance with some while back. Last year, she said. Anyway, this man had just come from Palestine.”

  “A cartographer?”

  “Something such. Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure, but she said he was the type of man who thought well of himself and always wore jodhpurs. Adventurer type.”

  “Did she catch a name?”

  “No. She just mentioned she’d seen them speaking in cafes a few times. Drecsay liked to frequent a café that was close to her apartments. Not that they really knew each other. She said Drecsay was always very polite and friendly.”

  To an heiress like Charlotte? How was that not a surprise.

&
nbsp; A cartographer, Dory thought, trying to turn this over in her head. Why would Drecsay make the acquaintance of a cartographer who’d just come from Palestine? The question kept presenting itself over and over again, but no answers appeared.

  The sun was still warm as they returned and Lady Pettifer was sitting on the covered patio with her tea.

  “All of Nice is full of Jews,” Livinia said when they arrived. “They’re coming down on the trains.”

  “Poor things,” Lady Pettifer said. “I suppose they will now face the same persecution as those in Germany, stripped of their jobs, wealth and property.”

  “The stories from Poland say they can fare worse,” Dory said with a shudder. Magazine articles she’d read mentioned horrific things that the Germans did in Poland. People were right to flee.

  “So what did you learn?” Lady Pettifer asked.

  “Well, Marie was not at home, but Livinia’s friend mentioned Drecsay befriending some adventurer type who had just returned from Palestine.”

  “A cartographer,” Livinia added.

  “A cartographer?” Lady Pettifer said with surprise.

  “I’ll just get Mr. Henri’s notes,” Dory said and went to retrieve them from the desk in the study. Returning, she sat down and turned to the sheet mentioning the property in Palestine. “Oh,” she said. “It appears the property was bought last year. In the autumn. So a random property in Palestine was bought just as he made the acquaintance of some adventurer type coming from there. That seems too much of a coincidence. They have to be linked.”

  “Unless Countess Tirau noted the relationship and bought him a property on a whim,” Lady Pettifer. “She seemed to be of that unique disposition.”

  “I’ll call Mr. Henri to see if he knows something about how the property came about.” Rising again, she walked over to the phone and asked for the operator in Marseille so she could be put through to his office.

  “What do you want, Miss Sparks?” he said with annoyance when his secretary put her through. Dory hadn’t expected the tone.

  “I am sorry if I am bothering you, I just wanted some more information about Baron Drecsay’s property in Palestine.”

  With a sigh, she heard him sit down. “Umm,” he said after a while as if trying to recall something from a very long time ago. “Yes, the property. They bought it not so long ago.”

  “Was it the countess’ idea to buy it and how did she find it?”

  “I think this one was actually Drecsay’s idea. He was very specific about the land he wanted, had coordinates.”

  “Coordinates? So the countess bought it at his request?”

  “I believe so. I cannot be assured. But as opposed to the other properties, Drecsay came to see me personally to make sure everything was in order. Now, I’m sorry, I can’t help you more. I have a hundred things to do. It seems the whole country wants to request exit visas.”

  “Oh, of course. I won’t take more of your time.” After a quick goodbye, she hung up. All those people who had come off the trains were seeking the help of solicitors to secure exit visas. The man had to be run off his feet. She fully understood how annoying she would be at such a time. If she had the chance, she would send him a bottle of wine for the trouble.

  Dory returned to the patio. “Mr. Henri recalls that Baron Drecsay initiated this purchase.”

  “So it was different from the other properties,” Lady Pettifer said. “It is still land in the middle of nowhere. Useless for all intents and purposes. What would a cartographer want with such land?”

  “Well, we don’t know why he wanted it,” Dory said, pointing out the assumption, “but it seemed Drecsay bought this land based on his conversations with the cartographer.”

  “If we just knew his name,” Lady Pettifer said.

  “The High Commission in Palestine might know if any cartographers were surveying in the district,” Livinia pointed out.

  Chapter 27

  T he Germans were bombing in England. The news was horrific and depressing that night. Dory wasn’t sure she had heard something this distressing since the war was declared. The British forces were in retreat, withdrawing to Dunkirk, the Germans hitting them with a constant bombardment. There was also a report stating that the Germans were massacring the inhabitants of a Belgian village called Vinkt. This was stated by the French radio. The BBC was curiously silent on the topic, which made Dory wonder what else they weren’t being told if it didn’t bear mentioning when innocent villagers were rounded up and massacred.

  The next day, Belgium surrendered with King Leopold being taken and interred by the Nazis.

  Each newspaper and radio news program were started with even more dread. The news only got worse and worse. The British were evacuating from the continent. There was too much bad news, and at the same time not enough news. They went for hours without hearing a thing, knowing something catastrophic could have happened.

  All along, the sunshine and serenity of Villa Bellevieu were as it always was. They had no visitors, nor did they go anywhere. It was almost as if they lived in a perfect, little bubble, interspersed by horridness coming through the wireless or papers.

  There was an unusual amount of cars driving along the coast road. They could see it from a specific spot in the garden, and it looked like quite a few military trucks. The whole country was on the move. The French had to be worried about the Italians, who so far seemed to want to stay out of this war, but Navy ships patrolled out at sea.

  A man named Bovis called from the consulate to inform them that the evacuation ships were on their way and would be there in about ten days. He stressed how they had to be there and that there would be no help from the Government from then on if they missed the ship. Dory assured him that they would be there.

  They could do nothing but wait. The international telephone lines were increasingly hard to book and mail stopped arriving. Dory tried to turn her attention to Drecsay, but there was too much worry. She had no luck trying to get hold of the High Commission in Palestine, and the mailman refused to take the letter she’d written, saying he could only deliver within the Vichy Government territory.

  “Perhaps if we cannot send letters, we could still use telegrams,” Lady Pettifer said. “We could send one to the High Commission in Palestine to see if they know this man, or if they are aware of anything noteworthy about this property that Baron Drecsay bought.”

  Dory nodded. “Then again, what could a cartographer tell Drecsay that would make him rush out and purchase the property?”

  “Well, Terry Wilcott had a lien on the property, so it’s now technically his. Perhaps we need to mention this in the telegram.”

  “It’s going to be expensive,” Dory said, trying to think of ways to say all that in as few words as possible.”

  “Now is not the time for frugality,” Lady Pettifer said and rose. “We are running out of time. The ship is here in mere days. Hopefully we will hear back.

  “I’ll drive into Cannes to the telegraph office and see if they can send it.”

  There was no point waiting, so Dory got in the car and took the coast road east. As before, there was an increased level of traffic. The French Navy had their port in Toulon, so it could be that many of them were going there. What did that mean? Were they preparing for something? By the look of it, they were. The most awful thing about this was that they knew so little. It was hard to decide what to do. The Germans were now bombing England and they had to wonder if they were safer where they were. The consulate seemed to think not.

  Their neighbor, Mr. Merton, had decided to stay put. The idea made Lady Pettifer uneasy, but he was a grown man—an elderly man—so he did have the right to decide for himself.

  These were such grave decisions and they could have catastrophic consequences if they proved wrong, especially if the most disturbing accounts of the German Army’s behavior were true.

  The drive to Cannes wasn’t so long. Cannes was not as busy as Nice, but there were still people who d
idn’t normally dwell there. Rooms were sought everywhere, she supposed, and there were plenty of rooms in Cannes. The cafes were also more busy than they had been a few days ago.

  The telegram office was in a brick building down one of the side streets. Dory parked along the main promenade and walked. The streets could be troublesome and it wasn’t worth trying to get into the township itself sometimes. Especially now that there were motorcars like black beetles parked everywhere, filled with family possessions—even mattresses strapped to roofs.

  The houses were not quite as grand on the side streets. But the town looked busy, as if it had to some degree recovered from the shock of what was happening.

  A piece of paper plastered on the wall of one of the building caught her attention and she passed it without really absorbing what it said in stark, black print. ‘Mort aux Juifs.’ Dory froze and stared at it, not believing what it said. Death to Jews. With a gasp, her fingers pressed to her mouth. This couldn’t be real? Could there be someone this callous in their midst—down here where things were sane?

  This piece of paper showed that there were. Around here was a person, or people, who wished ill on people they had never met, didn’t know—or worse, someone they did—a neighbor. How could this be? It was so unfathomable, she had always assumed that everyone else thought it was utter madness too, but the insidious hatred was rearing its ugly head here, too.

  Reaching out, she tore the paper down, unsure if she felt embarrassed as well as mortified. All those people who had come here for find sanctuary were meeting with the same hatred they had fled. It was beyond disappointing for find something like this. Instantly, suspicion formed about every person on the street. Had they put it up? Had they seen it and quietly agreed? Why hadn’t they torn it down?

  Feeling completely stunned, Dory kept walking to the telegraph office. It was just ahead of her and she had to focus. The shock of seeing a visual display of the hatred she couldn’t understand still clouded her mind.