by Clara Benson
A Case of Suicide in St. James’s
A Freddy Pilkington-Soames Adventure 5
Clara Benson
A Case of Suicide in St. James’s
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When Douglas Westray, the son of an eminent aircraft manufacturer, is found shot dead in a locked room at a society ball, it seems obvious that it’s suicide—after all, he had two failed engagements behind him, and had lost the family firm a prestigious prize through his own neglect. But not everybody is convinced—including Freddy Pilkington-Soames, who soon discovers that there are still questions to be answered. Why was Douglas wearing the wrong shoes when he was found? What is the connection with a near-disaster at an air show? And was Freddy’s narrow escape from death under the wheels of a car an accident or something more sinister? Assisted by his old friend, the wayward and irrepressible Lady Gertie McAloon, and pestered at every turn by rival reporter Corky Beckwith, Freddy finds himself drawn into a world of sabotage, blackmail and shady deals which threaten to scupper the success of a new fighter plane before it even gets off the ground. But there’s more at stake than just money, and now it’s up to Freddy to untangle the clues and unravel the dark secret of a murderer who has already killed at least once and will think nothing of killing again.
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Contents
A Case of Suicide in St. James’s
From the Clarion of Thursday, 19th of June, 1930
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Books by Clara Benson
© 2019 Clara Benson
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The right of Clara Benson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author
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A Case of Suicide in St. James’s
From the Clarion of Thursday, 19th of June, 1930
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Lady Browncliffe is to give a dance for her daughter, the Hon. Patricia Nugent, at her home in St. James’s Square this evening. The Artie Squires band is engaged to play, and an al fresco supper will be served in the garden. It was recently announced that Miss Nugent is to marry Thomas Chetwynd, the son of Air Chief Marshal Sir Thomas Bryce Chetwynd, Chief of the Air Staff.
Chapter One
It was two o’clock on a slow afternoon in the middle of June, and Fleet Street was drooping in the heat. The ground was parched and glaring, the buildings dusty and the smells unsavoury. Motor-cars practically coughed in the dry air, while horses limped along instead of trotting, their heads flopping forward and their coats gleaming with perspiration. Everywhere windows had been thrown wide open—although it was doubtful if this was of utility to anyone except burglars, since there was not a breath of a breeze to be felt. After an interminably chilly spring, summer had arrived with a vengeance, and those who had complained most vociferously of the cold were now afforded the pleasure of complaining about the heat instead.
In the offices of the Clarion, that beacon of truth and righteousness, half the employees had either managed to wangle themselves some time off, or resorted to underhand methods to ensure they were given stories about society picnics and children’s charabanc trips to the sea, that they might escape the stuffy indoors and enjoy the glorious sunshine. Not so Freddy Pilkington-Soames, who had essayed a gambit which had not paid off, having, during the previous week’s torrential rain, ruthlessly cheated a fellow-reporter in order to obtain a story which would keep him indoors. Unfortunately, the story in question, involving a long-standing feud between two rival Chambers of Commerce, which had begun over a minor matter of policy and had descended into finger-pointing and name-calling between grown men who ought to have known better, quickly proved to be so insufferably tedious that Freddy had ever since bitterly regretted not taking the lawn tennis assignment instead—especially since the weather had almost immediately cleared up, and his bested colleague was now spending each afternoon enjoying the hospitality of the All-England Club and returning to the office every evening in a cheerfully well-oiled condition. In addition to this patently inequitable state of affairs, Freddy had also been saddled with the task of compiling the paper’s Social Diary, since the girl who usually did it had gone on holiday, leaving the job to him with what he considered to be unduly malicious glee. The assignment was not in itself unpleasant, but he had in the course of his duties discovered one or two fashionable social events to which he had unaccountably not been invited—including a party thrown by his own mother—which put him in a worse mood than before. The heat was stifling and the work exasperating, and to top it all he had a ringing headache which was entirely his own doing, caused as it was by his unwise decision to stay out drinking until four o’clock that morning.
The day was not going well, and the air showed no signs of cooling. Freddy reached over to push at the window, although it was already almost as far open as it would go. He glanced around, and found that his section of the news-room was almost deserted. He threw down his pencil. It was too hot to work, and he was feeling the soporific effects of a large lunch; surely it could do no harm to take forty winks? He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk in front of him, closed his eyes gently, felt the heat surround him like a caress, and prepared to be comfortable.
He was rudely interrupted in his preparations by a female voice, which was at once familiar and impossible to ignore.
‘So this is what you do all day, is it?’ it said, and before he could collect his thoughts he felt his feet being pushed sideways off the desk, to land on the floor with a thump. He opened his eyes and sat up in some indignation, and saw before him, sitting on the desk in the exact spot his feet had formerly occupied, Gertie McAloon, second daughter of the Earl of Strathmerrick. She was wearing a wisp of a frock which floated like gossamer, would certainly not stand up to vigorous washing, and had no doubt cost an enormous amount of money, and she looked as cool and fresh as an early spring day.
‘Hallo, beast,’ she said amiably.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said. ‘Oughtn’t you to be at your family stronghold in the North just now, rampaging through the heather and striking mortal terror into the hearts of the Scots?’
‘Not this year. After the floods last winter half the East wing collap
sed, and they’re still digging people out. The works won’t be finished until next year,’ said Gertie. ‘It’s a dreadful bore, but Father says the insurance won’t cover the work so we can’t afford to go anywhere else. I suggested he try and make up the difference at roulette, since at least that way we’d get a week in Monte Carlo, but he didn’t seem to think much of the idea, so here I am, still in London.’
‘So you are.’
‘You might make an effort to be happy to see me. You’re looking awfully glum.’
‘Wouldn’t you be in my position?’ said Freddy. ‘You can leave this infernal building whenever you want. I have to stay here until six and pretend to work.’
‘Poor you! Yes, I expect it is rather beastly. We must find a way to cheer you up. I know—let’s have a wild affair!’ she suggested brightly.
‘My dear girl, I’m absolutely stony at the moment and couldn’t possibly afford you,’ said Freddy. ‘And besides, haven’t we already tried that?’
‘Have we?’ she said blankly.
‘Yes, don’t you remember? It was last summer at that ridiculous do at what’s-her-name’s—Priss’s friend and her ghastly husband. It lasted about two days.’
‘Oh, was that you?’ said Gertie. ‘I thought it was Mungo.’
‘Did you? It was obviously very memorable, then.’
‘It was profoundly unsatisfactory, as I recall. Tremendously dull. Hardly worth bothering, in fact.’
‘If this is your attempt at cheering me up it’s failing signally,’ said Freddy pointedly.
‘Yes, but—look here, are you sure it wasn’t Mungo?’
‘Not unless you were carrying on with him at the same time. Not that I’d put it past you, but since he was in Baden-Baden all last summer, I should say it’s unlikely.’
‘Oh,’ said Gertie, disconcerted. ‘Well, then, never mind, we’ll forget that. But you’ll still be my bodyguard at this party tonight, won’t you?’
‘Which party? What are you talking about?’
‘Tatty Nugent’s, of course. That’s why I’m here. She’s just got engaged to the Chetwynd boy and they’ll be sailing about together looking fearfully smug because she swiped him from me quite shamelessly, and it won’t do at all to let her think she’s won, especially since I ended it all with Douglas. I only got engaged to him as a sort of revenge, but it would never have worked, and after a week I began to feel rather stupid and thought I’d let him go gently, but he took it badly, which is absurd because I was sure he’d only asked me on the rebound, but he got awfully grumpy, and now he looks daggers at me and makes pointed remarks whenever I see him, and he’ll be there tonight making me feel uncomfortable, so I need someone to protect me, which is why I thought of you.’
‘I think you must be speaking Norwegian, because I didn’t understand a word of that,’ said Freddy. ‘Have you been getting engaged again? How many times is that now? The Clarion gives discounts for multiple advertisements, you know.’
‘Don’t be impudent. This is only the fourth—well, that’s not counting Johnny Peverell, but there wasn’t time for an engagement as such there, so I suppose you’d call that one an elopement, and Father had it annulled anyway, which was all for the best, I dare say, even if he was astonishingly good-looking, as he really didn’t know how to hold his fork properly and his vowels were frankly appalling.’
‘Johnny Peverell? The racing-driver? Why didn’t I know about that?’
‘It was quite the least interesting thing I did last year,’ said Gertie airily. ‘But never mind that. Are you coming or not? You are invited, I take it?’
‘Yes, but I was thinking of giving it a miss.’
‘Whatever for? That’s not like you. Are you sickening for something?’
‘No, I—’ began Freddy, but got no further before there was an interruption in the form of Jolliffe, a fellow-reporter of Freddy’s, who had been out all morning.
‘Freddy, why aren’t you outside in this glorious weather?’ he said as he came in. ‘I’ve been watching the “Birtles’ Bathing Beauties” contest by the boating lake in Regent’s Park. They’re all delightful-looking girls, I must say, and they were looking very fetching in their bathing things.’
Freddy, who had spent the morning listening respectfully to elderly gentlemen in a stuffy room while sitting on a hard chair, glared. Jolliffe did not notice, and went on:
‘I’d have been back earlier, but I had to stay and talk to some of the witnesses. It’ll make quite a nice little story, I dare say, and Mr. Bickerstaffe will be pleased the Clarion was there to catch it and get one up on the Herald.’
‘Witnesses? What witnesses?’
‘Oh, it was that ass Corky Beckwith. He decided to try and jazz the story up a bit, but ended up being the story himself!’ Jolliffe began to laugh. ‘He pretended to trip while he was passing the line of girls and shoved about five of them in the lake. I think the idea was that he’d dive in and rescue them, but it was as clear as daylight that he’d done it on purpose, and as it turned out they could all swim anyway. He did his best—jumped in and got hold of one of them, but she was having none of it and socked him one on the jaw. Then all five of them turned on him and held him under, and if it hadn’t been for a passing bobby I expect they’d have drowned him. How we all hooted! Such a shame you missed all the fun.’
It was indeed. Freddy would have given a not inconsiderable amount of money to have witnessed the spectacle of Corky Beckwith making a fool of himself, and was about to say so sourly when Jolliffe spotted Gertie and said:
‘Hallo, Gertie, I didn’t realize you were here.’
‘Hallo, Reggie,’ said Gertie. ‘So this where all the young men of London spend their days, is it? Funny, I had no idea so many people had to work for a living. I’m just trying to persuade Freddy to come to Tatty’s party. Do be a sport, Freddy. If you won’t I’ll have to ask Reggie. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Reggie?’
‘Er—’ began Jolliffe.
‘And that would never do,’ she went on. ‘He’s far too tame. Look at him—he’ll be demanding cocoa and falling asleep by ten o’clock.’
‘I say,’ protested Jolliffe mildly.
‘Oh very well,’ said Freddy, who was not about to stand for the indignity of being rejected in favour of Jolliffe. ‘We can go together if you like, and I’ll protect you from this—what’s he called again?’
‘Douglas Westray, his name is.’
‘Westray? Any relation to Sir Stanley Westray, the aeroplane manufacturer?’
‘It’s his son.’
‘And you got engaged to him to make Tatty Nugent jealous but ditched him almost immediately because you realized you didn’t care for him in the slightest?’
‘More or less,’ admitted Gertie. ‘Doug and Tatty were rather the thing for a while, but then she decided Tom Chetwynd was a better prospect, even though she knew I’d had a crush on him for simply months. I’m sure Tom doesn’t care a ha’penny for her, but he’d got himself tangled up with some unsuitable girl, and his pa threatened to disinherit him if he didn’t get rid of her then pushed him into marrying Tatty instead. Doug was pretty cut up about the whole thing—he and Tom have been the best of friends practically since birth—and I felt sorry for him and wanted to annoy Tatty, so I thought it couldn’t do any harm. But it would never have worked. He’s handsome in a brooding sort of way, but no fun at all. So I gave him the boot after a week.’
‘I don’t suppose that made him feel any better.’
‘No, it didn’t—although you’d think it would have, since it was perfectly obvious we weren’t suited.’
‘So am I to expect that he’ll be in a foul temper and wanting to punch somebody? By whom I mean me?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Gertie. ‘He’s not the type—and besides, he was only invited on condition that he promised to behave like a gentleman and not cause trouble. He’ll probably just hang around like a bad smell, gazing mournfully at us and ruining the mood.’
>
‘Isn’t he more likely to hang around Tatty, if he was in love with her?’
‘Now there’s a thought,’ said Gertie, brightening. ‘Do you know, I shouldn’t be surprised if he did. I do hope you’re right, then I can watch the spectacle from afar and enjoy it.’
‘Full of the milk of human kindness, aren’t you?’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Gertie vaguely. She slid down from the desk. ‘All right then, I’d better be off. I’ll be there about eight. Dress decently so I won’t be ashamed to be seen with you. You’re handsome enough in a dim light. Sir Stanley and Lois Westray are bringing me, to keep me out of trouble, Mother says, although you’d think she’d have given up trying by now in the face of the evidence.’
‘Isn’t your mother coming?’
‘No, she’s taking Priss to some do or other—which reminds me: she said to ask you to lunch on Sunday, as she hasn’t seen you for ages.’
‘But I thought she didn’t like me. I’m pretty sure your father doesn’t, at any rate.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about him—he’s up at Fives, living in a cottage and supervising the work. It’s a good thing, really, as it means I won’t have to tell him about Douglas. He’s started going slightly green in the face every time I announce my engagement.’
