A Picture of Murder

by T E Kinsey

  Mr Cheetham smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement. I’d have been willing to wager a substantial sum that it wasn’t his own idea, but it seemed churlish to challenge him.

  Once the soup and Welsh rabbit had been consumed, Edna and Dora cleared the table and brought in tea and cake in lieu of pudding. Dora, as always, said nothing and reacted with only a curt nod when the film folk thanked her. She studiously ignored Barty Dunn, and the bass player returned the favour. But I had seen her look of surprised recognition when she had brought in the main course, so I knew it was merely an act.

  The cake and tea didn’t last long, and the conversation wound down as the film folk made their excuses and headed back to their base in the morning room to finalize their plans for the evening. Once they were gone, Lady Hardcastle addressed the musicians.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘what say we adjourn for now and reconvene at half-past seven for cocktails and reminiscences? We’ve put your instruments safely away, but I’m sure we can amuse ourselves. A few hands of cards, perhaps?’

  ‘Sounds grand, m’lady,’ said Skins. ‘Tell the truth, I’d welcome an adjournment. And maybe forty winks. I’m wagged out. Not sure what it is, but travellin’ always does for me.’

  ‘For us all, dear. You go and have a rest. We need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, or it won’t be fair when we thrash you at cards.’

  He laughed. ‘Right you are,’ he said.

  ‘We’ve got some interesting news for you as well,’ said Barty as he opened the door to leave. ‘From your brother.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘How intriguing. Can you not tell us now?’

  ‘It can wait,’ he called from the hall.

  At half-past seven we were in the drawing room. Lady Hardcastle had acquired a card table and four surprisingly comfortable chairs from B Maggs & Co in Bristol. She wasn’t ordinarily given to shopping in ‘department stores’, but we had popped in on a whim during a trip to Clifton, where, still driven by impulse, she had bought these few items of furniture. We had used the table for our regular two-handed evening card games, but this was its first test as a table for four. It performed rather well, and the comfortableness of the chairs attracted compliments from both musicians.

  ‘You’ll not distract us from your awful play by talking about the furniture, Mr Skins,’ I said. ‘I make it ten tricks to three . . . So that’s four points – and the game – to us.’ I marked down the score on the little notepad with a triumphant flourish.

  ‘Course, if we was playin’ a proper game,’ said Skins, ‘we’d ’ave thrashed you. You’d be signin’ over your whole fortune before the evenin’ was out.’

  ‘And what do you consider to be a “proper” game?’ asked Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Poker, Lady H. You wouldn’t stand a chance.’

  Lady Hardcastle gave a half-smile and turned to me. ‘Do you remember playing poker in that club in Berlin?’ she said. ‘How much did we win from Herr Armbrüster?’

  ‘Ten thousand marks, my lady,’ I said. ‘Which would be about five hundred pounds, I think.’

  Skins’s jaw dropped. ‘A monkey? At cards?’

  ‘Well, that and the free use of his brothel, but we politely declined that charming offer.’

  The two men laughed.

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Barty. ‘I have some news, and a message from your brother.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I do hope he’s not setting up a brothel. I had rather hoped Lavinia was going to be a calming influence on the silly boy.’

  Barty frowned. ‘No, my lady, nothing like that. It was you mentioning Berlin that reminded me.’

  ‘Aha,’ she said. ‘Our good friends in the German Empire are up to no good again, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said. ‘But he’s looking into the doings of one German in particular. Some bloke called—’

  ‘Burlingham,’ interrupted Skins.

  ‘No,’ said Barty. ‘Günther Ehrlichmann.’

  This time, it was our jaws that dropped.

  ‘I think someone might be making mischief,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said Barty. ‘But that’s who the bloke we met in the Rag-a-Muffin a few nights ago said he was,’ said Barty.

  ‘A nightclub?’

  ‘Ragtime nightclub, yes,’ he said. ‘West End of London. It’s written out like Rag-a-Muffin to emphasize the “rag” bit.’

  ‘And you met a fellow there who claimed to be Günther Ehrlichmann?’ she asked. ‘He introduced himself to you? Did he say why?’

  ‘He did, and he did. He got up after our set and sidled over to us.’

  ‘Slithered, more like,’ said Skins. ‘Nasty piece of work.’

  ‘Yeah, he wasn’t the pleasantest bloke we’ve ever met,’ said Barty. ‘So he slithers up and says, “I have been looking for you two fellows for some time. I have frequented a lot of these . . . ‘nightclubs’ in search of two particular ‘musicians’. You know Lady Hardcastle, yes?” So I says, “Yes, what of it? How do you know us?” And he says, “I have read about you in the newspapers. You were involved in an affair at a country house last year. Murders and jewels, I believe.” He was German. Really thick accent. So I says, “That’s right.” Wasn’t any point in lying. So he says, “When you see Lady Hardcastle next, tell her Günther Ehrlichmann sends his regards.” And then he slithers off.’

  ‘What did he look like?’ I said.

  ‘Tall, thin, blue eyes, white hair, hooked nose.’

  ‘He sounds similar, my lady,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but . . . ’ she said.

  ‘We didn’t think nothin’ of it,’ said Skins. ‘But the next night, in comes this tall English bloke with a sort of familiar look about him. He hands us ’is card and introduces himself as Harry Featherstonhaugh. He says, “Good evening, gentlemen. I believe you know my sister.” And I thinks to meself, “Aye, aye, here’s Barty about to get his comeuppance. Some aggrieved brother come to settle old Barty’s hash for dallyin’ with ’is dear sister.” But he seems to see where my mind’s goin’ and he smiles and says, “Lady Hardcastle.” So we let him buy us a drink and sat down with him.’

  ‘He bought you a drink?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Did you check his card thoroughly? You’re sure he wasn’t an impostor?’

  Barty laughed. ‘No, he was the real thing. We had quite a chat about you and Miss Armstrong later on.’

  Lady Hardcastle raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Nuffin’ indiscreet, like,’ said Skins hastily. ‘Just a few reminiscences about the emerald thing. And then he filled us in on the stuff about the racing driver – you know, all the juicy bits what didn’t make the papers.’

  ‘I’m sure he embellished wildly,’ she said.

  ‘It sounded just like the sort of thing you’d get up to,’ said Barty. ‘Anyway, before we got to all that, he said he was with the Foreign Office and that his men had been following this German bloke for a few days. They’d told him that the German had been seen talking to us the night before.’

  ‘He asked us what he’d said. So we told him,’ said Skins.

  ‘I’d have liked to have seen his reaction,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘He was quite calm, actually,’ said Barty. ‘He just said that if we could contrive to find a way to drop in on you in the next couple of days, we should pass on this Ehrlichmann’s message. We should also tell you that he was handling things and you shouldn’t worry.’

  ‘So your train didn’t really break down?’ I said.

  ‘It did, as a matter of fact,’ said Skins. ‘Harry – he told us to call him Harry—’

  ‘He does that a lot,’ I said.

  ‘Well, Harry seemed to reckon it wasn’t all that urgent, so we was going to drop in on our way back from Gloucester. When we had a bit more time, like. When the train broke down, we thought we could kill two birds.’

  ‘And you’re absolutely certain that the man w
ho came up to you, the man my brother was following, was called Günther Ehrlichmann?’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘There can be no confusion? No misunderstanding? Nothing misheard or misremembered?’

  ‘No, my lady,’ said Barty, seeming slightly unsettled by her sudden intensity. ‘That’s the name, all right.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘The trouble is, Günther Ehrlichmann is dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ said Skins. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure, dear,’ she said. ‘I shot him myself.’

  For a few moments, the only sound I could hear was the ticking of the hall clock. Eventually, Skins spoke up again.

  ‘You never did!’ he said. He turned to me. ‘She never did, did she?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ I said. ‘Surely you must have some inkling of who we used to be?’

  ‘You told a few tall tales when you put us up for the night after Wally died,’ he said. ‘But I just thought you was layin’ it on a bit thick. Playin’ to the gallery, like.’

  Lady Hardcastle looked at our guests appraisingly for a short while. ‘I confess I do play to the gallery most of the time,’ she said at length. ‘It amuses me no end to offer oblique hints about our past deeds – or “misdeeds” as we often like to characterize them. But I seldom speak about them directly. I can usually invoke “state secrets” or “discretion is the better part or whatnot” if people become too curious, but, for the most part, I just don’t want to.’

  ‘Then we should leave it at that,’ said Barty. ‘We don’t want to pry.’

  Skins nodded his agreement.

  ‘Ah, but I fear you might have become . . . how shall we say . . . “embroiled” in matters you might have preferred to have left well alone.’

  ‘We ain’t afraid of some sly-lookin’ German in a club,’ said Skins.

  ‘If he really is Günther Ehrlichmann,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘or even if he’s just associated with him in some way, then you really, really, don’t want to have anything to do with him. And now that whoever he is knows who you are, and has connected you to me, I’m afraid “embroiled” rather sums it up. I think it’s only fair that you know the tale.’

  ‘Only if you want to,’ said Skins.

  ‘We owe it to you. I might leave the telling of it to Flo, though. She has a knack for the telling of tales. It’s her Welsh blood, I think.’

  ‘Strictly speaking, I’m only half Welsh,’ I said. ‘But I’m happy to take on tale-telling duties if you’ll agree to another round of brandies.’

  ‘When have you ever known me to turn down a brandy?’

  I pretended to think for a moment. ‘Do you know,’ I said, ‘I’m not certain you ever have. Do you think you might have a drinking problem?’

  ‘A dipsomaniac? Me?’ She, too, pretended to contemplate this possibility. ‘It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? But I think not. I just like a glass of brandy now and again.’

  ‘. . . and again . . . and again . . . and again,’ I said.

  ‘If you insist, dear,’ she said, holding out her glass. ‘Now shut up and tell our tale.’

  ‘Shut up and tell our tale?’

  ‘Did we ever properly research the modern legalities of beating obstreperous servants?’

  ‘I think we decided you were going to try not to embarrass our guests too much,’ I said. ‘Does everyone have a drink? Shall I begin?’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘I was seventeen years old when I first met Lady Hardcastle,’ I began. ‘I’d been working for a family in London as a housemaid when she stole me from them.’

  ‘I thought you was a circus kid,’ interrupted Skins.

  ‘Born and raised,’ I confirmed. ‘But Mam wanted to go back to Aberdare when Mamgu – my grandma – was ill. Actually, she lived in Cwmdare, but no one’s ever heard of that.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of Aberdare, neither,’ said Skins.

  ‘Well, now you have, haven’t you? She took me and my twin sister Gwenith with her, but our dad and our brothers stayed with the circus for a few years more. We went to the local school until we were thirteen, and then we had to make our way in the world. Gwenith took to life in the town and started helping at the grocer’s shop where our mam worked. But I wanted to see more. We grew up on the road, and I couldn’t imagine settling in one tiny town for the rest of my life, even if it were somewhere as wonderful as the Welsh valleys.’

  ‘So you moved to London?’ suggested Skins.

  ‘Not at first,’ I said. ‘I worked in Cardiff for a couple of years, for a family called Williams. I learned a lot there. It was tough, mind you. I’d been used to doing as I pleased, and here I was in a strict routine with drudgery as far as the eye could see. It’s not a barrel of laughs being a scullery maid. But they had a library.’

  ‘Where you could skive?’ said Skins.

  ‘Where I could read. I loved the big towns when we were on the road. We’d turn up and set up in a park or a field. Next morning, I’d cadge a ride into town and try to find the library. I’d stay there all day until someone from the circus came to turf me out. They always knew where to find me. I missed that when we settled. There was a library in Merthyr Tydfil but it was a bit of a trek. In the Williams’s house, all I needed was a bit of time to myself. It was easiest when the family was away, but I took my chances. I got away with a lot.’

  ‘Until you got caught,’ said Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘That just made it easier,’ I said. ‘I became Mr Williams’s little project.’

  ‘Saw himself as a bit of a whatchamacallit, did he? A philanthropologist?’ said Skins.

  I laughed but decided not to correct him. ‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘He came home and found me sitting on a cushion on the floor by the fire, completely lost in Emma. I thought I was going to get the sack, but he sat down with me and talked to me about Jane Austen. From then on, I was encouraged to read whatever I wanted. Books, magazines, newspapers – whatever he had. He talked to me about what I’d read. As I said, I was his project. But it worked against him in the end. I saw an advertisement in the newspaper one day. An agency in London was looking for reliable staff.’

  ‘Sounds like you’d been there a while, though,’ said Barty.

  ‘A couple of years,’ I said. ‘I still have the clipping from the newspaper. It was the 12th of July 1892, so I was fifteen. I replied to the advertisement, and within a month I’d packed my bags and my very lovely reference, said my tearful goodbyes and was on a train to Paddington.’

  ‘Where you were immediately engaged by Lady H,’ said Skins, apparently keen to get the narrative moving.

  ‘Not immediately, no. I said we met when I was seventeen, remember? I spent two years working for Sir Clive and Lady Tetherington—’

  ‘Very good friends of mine and Roddy’s,’ interrupted Lady Hardcastle.

  ‘Such good friends that when you were short of a lady’s maid, you swanned in and pinched one of their maids,’ I said.

  ‘It was worse than that,’ she said. ‘I pinched the very best maid they had.’

  ‘You’re too kind,’ I said. ‘But the upshot was that by 1894 I was working for Lady Hardcastle as her lady’s maid.’

  ‘Quite a jump, that,’ said Skins. ‘Housemaid to lady’s maid, and all at seventeen. I always said you was remarkable.’

  ‘Remarkably useless,’ I said. ‘I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I had Sir Roderick’s valet to help lead me in the right direction, but mostly I just fumbled my way through it all and hoped for the best. He was a kind man. Jabez Otterthwaite. Yorkshireman—’

  ‘I should hope so, with an ’andle like that,’ said Skins.

  ‘I wonder what became of him,’ I said.

  ‘He didn’t want to come with us when we were posted to China,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘So Roddy gave him a splendid reference and sent him on his way.’

  ‘“Posted”? Sounds like we’re getting to the meat of the story,’ said Barty. ‘Not that I mind hearing about you,’ he
added swiftly. ‘It’s just . . . you know . . . ’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘But I thought that if I were going to tell the tale at all, I might as well tell the whole tale.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘I think she’s right. If we’re going to tell this tale, I ought to tell you my story, too. Do you mind, dear?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You carry on. I’ll slice some more cheese.’

  ‘Splendid idea,’ she said. ‘Is there any Stilton left? I do love Stilton.’

  I went to the kitchen to fetch more biscuits and to hunt for the blue cheese.

  ‘Now then, where were we?’ said Lady Hardcastle when I returned. ‘Ah, yes. Me. I grew up in London, as you might have guessed. Papa was Permanent Secretary to the Treasury and Mama was . . . Well, she was Mama. And a jolly fine job of it she did, too. Harry is my older brother – by two years. He took an unremarkable degree at King’s College, Cambridge and then followed our father, Sir Percival Featherstonhaugh, into the civil service. I was supposed to finish my education at home, attend some ghastly finishing school in Switzerland, and then marry someone exactly like Papa or Harry so that I could be a devoted wife and mother just like Mama. But I was so terribly jealous of Harry. He went away to school while I was stuck at home with a succession of increasingly out-of-their-depth tutors. When it was announced that he was going up to Cambridge, I managed such a spectacular sulk that they eventually relented and agreed that I could apply to Girton College. It’s a women’s college in Cambridge, but it’s not part of the university. I usually play that down. I studied for the natural sciences tripos and did passably well.’

  ‘Extremely well, in fact,’ I said. ‘If they awarded women the same degrees they award to the men, she’d be fêted throughout the land as a scientific genius. The things she knows would make your head swim.’

  ‘Hardly,’ she said with a laugh. ‘But I grant that we worked just as hard as the men for none of the acclaim. But still. While I was there, I saw quite a bit of dear old Harry, and that meant I also met his pals. And one of his pals was Roderick Hardcastle. I’d like to say it was love at first sight, but the truth is we just sort of grew towards each other. By the time he went down and joined the Foreign Office, we were engaged to be married.’