Mischief in St. Tropez

by C. G Oster

  The place was full of people waiting, some in line, others apparently to receive something. This was going to take a while.

  A number of different languages were spoken—from German, to French, and other languages she couldn’t identify. Everyone was calmly waiting, slowly moving toward the desk.

  “Can I help you?” A woman said behind the desk when it was Dory’s turn. They were all women, Dory noticed. That was a change from the last time she’d been here—which admittedly was some time ago.

  “I need to send a telegram?”

  “Where to?”

  Dory had trouble getting her mind working. “Uhmm, the British High Commission in Palestine.”

  “That is a more unusual request,” the girl said and pulled out a printed form. “Write here and bring it back,” she said and dismissed Dory to serve the person behind her.

  “Right,” Dory said and moved along. For a moment she felt silly. Here she was, trying to gain information about a piece of land when these people were obviously planning their flight to safety. How could she invest so much time in the death of one aristocrat when there was so much need for attention elsewhere? In a way, it felt wrong, but she also knew that the murderer was probably happy about the distraction the war caused. The idea that someone was benefitting from this war felt even more wrong.

  Taking a moment, she devised the telegram as concisely as she could, asking if the Commission knew of a cartographer working in the area, and if there was anything of note about the land that Baron Drecsay had purchased.

  It could be that they paid little attention to her request. Should she state that the baron had possibly been murdered because of this land? Then it occurred to her that it was unlikely that she and Lady Pettifer would be here by the time they replied—if they replied.

  Please respond to DI Ridley at Pirbright Camp. The ‘please’ would cost extra, but she just couldn’t bring herself to not write it. There was no one else to send it to. Vivian was God-knew-where. She, Lady Pettifer and Livinia would be on a ship for the better part of a month. She would have to use Ridley as a gathering point for any information at this point. She asked for a second telegram form and sent one to him too, saying that she was just about to board the ship to England.

  Palestinian property purchased by baron after meeting cartographer returning from region, she wrote. High Commission to send details to you while at sea. Regards, Dory.

  Hopefully he would figure out what that meant.

  Chapter 28

  A nd then the ships came. They could see them from the house. Two massive merchant ships, slowly sailing towards Nice.

  “We best be going,” Livinia said, sticking her head out the window above them. “Is everything in the car?”

  “I might be best not to take so much with you,” Lady Pettifer said.

  “Who knows when we’ll ever get to see it again?” Livinia said as if Lady Pettifer had suggested something ridiculous.

  “You might not be able to find someone to carry the trunk, my dear.” With a snort, Lady Pettifer turned her attention back to Dory. “And here we are screaming like fishwives.”

  Dory had already placed her small suitcase in the back of the car. There were some things she was leaving behind. A pair of shoes and some clothes—especially the party clothes. What use would she have of those in London when war was raging all around them? Dory still didn’t know if they were heading toward a more dangerous situation than they were leaving, but it felt important to be at home and not stuck on foreign soil.

  “Best go see to Mr. Merton,” Lady Pettifer suggested. “Try to see if you can convince him to come with us.”

  With a nod, Dory rose and hurriedly walked over to the path that led to Mr. Merton’s property. It would take a few minutes to get there, but eventually she reached the stone two-story house. It was nowhere near as grand as Lady Pettifer’s villa, but the old man seemed happy enough here.

  A knock on the door was met with silence. “Mr. Merton?” Again there was silence. Had he gone to meet the ship on his own? He had been so adamant he wasn’t going to go.

  “Mr. Merton?” she called as she walked around the house, finding Mr. Merton standing in his chicken coup with his trousers rolled up and wearing wellingtons. “There you are?”

  “Miss Sparks,” he grumbled. He had never been remotely pleasant, but Dory had grown to expect that.

  “We are about to leave for the ship. Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

  “Some bunch of Jerrys aren’t going to chase me off my land,” he stated pompously. “Never.”

  “Major Dodds recommends that everyone leaves. You can come back when things are settled again.”

  “What’s he going to do? Come down here and drag me away?”

  “No, of course not. He’s only thinking with your best interest at heart.”

  The man grumbled again. “Well, you can tell him where he can stick it.”

  “I take it that’s a no, then.”

  “Damned right.”

  Dory sighed. Nothing was going to convince the man, but was he the one making the wiser choice? “If you run out of supplies, Lady Pettifer’s stores are still well stocked.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. My chickens won’t stop laying because the Jerrys are making a hoo hah.”

  “I hope so,” Dory said absently. “If you’re sure?”

  “Off you go. Run like scared little rabbits.”

  “Alright, then. If you insist.”

  He turned his back on her and Dory made her way back to the path. That was a waste of time even before she started, but she supposed they had to try.

  Livinia was downstairs by the time Dory got back, dressed in a summery dress with yellow lemons printed on the material. She looked impossibly smart. “You’ll help carry my trunk, won’t you, Dory? If it comes to it.”

  “Sure,” Dory said.

  “See,” Livinia said as if turning to Lady Pettifer in victory.

  “We had better get going if we are going to beat the ships to Nice,” Lady Pettifer said. “Mr. Fernley? Are you ready?”

  “Just about, madame,” he called from inside. He had spent the morning placing sheets over the furniture along with Babette from the village. Babette would essentially be the caretaker while they were gone. She normally served that role when Lady Pettifer left for England, but it would be longer than just over the summer this time.

  Babette appeared carrying Beauty in a cage and placed it in the back.. “The house will be dusted every week,” she said with assurance.

  “I know I can trust you, Babette. Take all the perishables when you leave. I don’t know how much we have. And if you should ever need to, you can take from the stores as required.”

  “Thank you, Madame,” she said with a quick nod. “I will lock up when you go.”

  They walked through to the hallway, where Lady Pettifer grabbed her handbag and umbrella. It looked out of place in this weather, but you always needed an umbrella where they were going. “Goodbye, house. I shall miss you. Hopefully it won’t be too long before we’re reunited.”

  Guiseppe from the village was there, too. He was to drive them and then return the motorcar to the house. “And we go,” he said, holding his brown cigarette between his fingers as he drove. A veteran of the Great War, he drove better than Livinia did, even as he didn’t have ready access to a car otherwise.

  The acrid smoke from the cigarette wafted back to them occasionally, but telling a French man not to smoke was a waste of breath. Mr. Fernley sat in the small folded up seat at the very back of the car with Beauty. It was unusual to have the butler and the dog with them on an outing, but this wasn’t just some outing—they were all fleeing France just like everyone else.

  “I wonder if we will see Lady Summernot after all, or if she managed to secure passage prior. I hope Clara Winch manages to make it down. She is so old. Mr. Fernley, perhaps we should go past her apartments to see if she needs assistance. Her knees are dreadful.
”

  “Of course,” Mr. Fernley said behind them.

  There was a nervous tension in the car. No one spoke and Guiseppe threw his cigarette over the side of the door and lit another.

  *

  The port was on the other side of Nice, and there were abandoned cars as they drove closer. Quite a few people were leaving everything behind without an expectation that they were coming back. Guiseppe was made to detour down a road where Mrs. Winch lived, and Mr. Fernley climbed out and rang her bell. No one answered.

  “That puts my mind to rest,” Lady Pettifer said. “Perhaps she took a taxi.”

  “They are having a busy day, I expect,” Livinia said.

  Driving on, they reached the port and it was inordinately busy. A crowd was waiting and a man stood with a clipboard, searching for names. Dory recognized him from the consulate. As British citizens, they didn’t need the exit visas that the French or Belgians sought. Technically, they weren’t emigrating.

  French policemen were standing nearby, watching the people swarm around the gateway manned by the consulate man. Everyone was trying to get his attention, to speak to him, some with money in their hands. There were people here without visas, Dory realized. Desperate to get away, they tried to plead.

  Spotting them, the consulate man waved them forward. Somehow, Mr. Fernley and Dory had ended up carrying Livinia’s trunk, while also carrying their own luggage, and Beauty’s cage on top. To Livinia’s consternation, she ended up carrying Lady Pettifer’s luggage.

  They had to jostle through the crowd to the front where they presented their passports. The man carefully checked each one and ticked off their names on the clipboard before giving Lady Pettifer a note and telling her to give it to the man at the top of the gangway. “Go through,” he said.

  They walked through to join an even larger crowd. There had to be at least a thousand people there—more even. A ship was berthed next to the port and a string of people were walking up the gangplank.

  It was not a passenger ship. There would be no comfortable cabins for them to retreat to like they had had on the voyage over two years back. This was a standard cargo ship—and they were the cargo.

  With a sigh, Dory surveyed the scene. It was going to be an extremely uncomfortable voyage back to the UK. Mr. Fernley went to register Beauty with the ship’s crew. Luckily, Lady Pettifer had had the foresight to sort the dog’s papers as soon as the war had initially been declared. Taking her would mean a month’s quarantine when they arrived in Britain, but who knew how long this war would last, Lady Pettifer had said when they’d talked about what to do with Beauty. If it really would take years, Lady Pettifer didn’t want to be without the comfort of her dog.

  It took a good hour to reach the gangplank and they had to awkwardly scramble up while carrying Livinia’s trunk. Dory’s heels were skidding slightly until they found grip. It was an uncomfortable assent, and Lady Pettifer was exhausted by the time they made it onboard.

  The ship was entirely functional. As expected, there were no passenger cabins. Most had to find their places crammed together in large storerooms where they had to find space where they could. This was what the Government could spare at the moment—a ship at its barest minimum. Lady Pettifer was led to a small room with two births on top of each other and a small porthole. There was barely enough room to walk and the three of them together filled the whole cabin.

  “Your trunk will have to be outside,” Lady Pettifer said.

  “Everyone will rifle through it,” Livinia whined. “I’ll be surprised if I have anything left by the time we reach England. This is horrific. There are three of us and two beds.”

  “I can sleep on the floor, I suppose,” Dory said. “With some blankets, I’m sure it will be comfortable.”

  “Perhaps we can form a mattress with some of your clothes,” Lady Pettifer suggested to Livinia. “Then they will be inside the cabin after all.”

  Livinia wasn’t pleased with the suggestion, which wasn’t surprising considering how dusty the floor was. The porthole didn’t open, so there was no way of clearing the mustiness. They must be occupying the sleeping quarters of some burly and sweaty sailors.

  Looking around, Lady Pettifer sighed. There was nowhere for them to sit other than on the lower bunk. “I have never before been subject to the Government’s hospitality. Admittedly, it is grim, but we must be grateful that they are evacuating us, and that they have given us one of the cabins. Not everyone is given that consideration.”

  Chapter 29

  T hey were served soup with rolls the next day after what could only be described as an uncomfortable sleep. Lady Pettifer snored at close quarters, it turned out. The cabin also remained disturbingly warm during the night, made worse as the Mediterranean sun rose in the morning.

  As soon as they woke, they opened the cabin door to try to get some air in. It did help even if there were the occasional wafts of marine diesel. The smell of the sea was lovely. The Mediterranean was a deep blue color and the water rushed against the hull of the ship when Dory looked down over the railing.

  All of the external walkways were crowded with people seeking respite from the dark and dingy storage rooms. Some even chose to sit down along the walls and spend the whole day there, slowly watching the coastline move past. The second ship wasn’t far behind them, looking like a great leviathan swimming along the water. It wasn’t a particularly beautiful ship.

  Three weeks on board this ship was going to be trying, probably more so because Livinia was distinctly unhappy with the setup. Luckily, she found an acquaintance in another part of the ship, so she spent periods of time away from them.

  Because it was hard for Lady Pettifer to stand for longer periods, she stayed in their small cabin more often than not. There were no seating areas. Every available space was now someone’s sleeping area, including the galley.

  It really was a far cry from the comforts of the trip to Nice, but at least they were on their way home. Dory knew in her heart that she wouldn’t be returning to Nice. It was time to go home, and she’d known that for quite a while. What she would do when she got there, she still didn’t know. Need had outpaced her planning.

  Returning to the cabin, Dory found that Livinia was back. “And I saw Mrs. Vismouth. You must go say hello to her at some point. I can show you where she is.”

  “Perhaps later,” Lady Pettifer replied. “I wish I had brought more books.”

  “Maybe we can create a library. I am sure hordes of people have brought books that they will finish. We can all swap,” Livinia carried on. Dory knew that Livinia was trying to cheer up Lady Pettifer and it was sweet that she was trying. She had the capacity to be sweet and considerate at times.

  “I think that is an excellent idea. I would actually suggest that you organize it.”

  “I suppose I could. Perhaps we can find a bookshelf somewhere that can be used for the purpose. At least that would give me something to do. I am bored out of my mind already.”

  “It’s only the first day,” Lady Pettifer said. “I for one am still trying to think what a cartographer could have said to sway Drecsay to purchase property in Palestine. Maybe he knew something that wasn’t general knowledge—such as an upcoming change in borders. There had to be a financial gain Baron Drecsay was hoping to realize. He had clearly stated that he had found some way of recuperating some of the family wealth. I just can’t see what a cartographer could have imparted.”

  “Well, Charlotte said it was a cartographer or something such,” Livinia pointed out and Lady Pettifer turned to her.

  “I thought you said it was a cartographer,” Dory said.

  “That’s what Charlotte said, but she’d really not the brightest. She couldn’t exactly remember what he was, but thought it was a cartographer or something like.

  Dory’s eyes sought Lady Pettifer and they both knew this changed things significantly. “He could have been anything,” Dory said.

  “Not just anyone would be out sur
veying in the deserts of Palestine. Maybe even someone acting on behalf of an organization who is interested. Which meant the land would be of interest to someone, and Drecsay decided to get it before they did,” Lady Pettifer said. “Or the man was a prospector.”

  A piece clicked into place and things made sense. The man was a prospector seeking something. Oil, gold, something. Absently, Dory’s fingers stroked across her lips as thoughts churned around her head. “And Terry Wilcott placed a lien against the property.”

  “That could simply be a coincidence,” Livinia stated. “Terry wouldn’t hurt anyone. He’s always had bad luck. Only he would accidentally involve himself in a murder. He’s on the ship, by the way.”

  “He’s here?” Lady Pettifer asked and Livinia nodded.

  “I think he was a bit miffed that Archie Wilshire didn’t give him a lift on his plane, but apparently there were weight restrictions and Terry couldn’t go.”

  “That is unlucky,” Dory said without fully meaning it.

  “Now, you better go see about that bookcase, Livinia,” Lady Pettifer said. “I think I would like a new book to read.”

  “Alright,” Livinia said and left.

  “It is sufficient motive for murder,” Lady Pettifer said.

  “The word of some fly-by-night prospector?”

  “People have killed for less.”

  They sat in silence for a while. “We don’t have any proof that Drecsay told Terry about his plans,” Dory pointed out.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Nor do I,” Dory agreed. “How do we proceed?”

  “We don’t have access to anything here,” Lady Pettifer said. “We are entirely cut off from everything while we’re at sea.”

  “Maybe Livinia’s friend can tell us more about what she observed and heard. Perhaps Terry was there at the time.”

  “Terry Wilcott is onboard this ship. We must be aware of that. If he is the murderer, then he might object to us asking questions about it,” Lady Pettifer said.