The Gentleman Vanishes

by Matthew Costello

  Just crowds of people getting off the train and heading back to their cars; then Archie and a couple of other volunteers searching the train — and finally the police car arriving from the village.

  If Bernard was going to be found — looked like it all depended on her and Jack.

  Last night, in between making supper for Daniel and prepping for her pitch, she’d managed to find an address for Archie Reynolds — and also made an appointment to see Doctor Finch.

  She’d found the illness online — a neurological disorder that seemed to match Bernard’s symptoms.

  But she’d found barely anything about the Mandeville family — and made zero progress on the mysterious Ms Grisoni.

  Hardly what you call leads, she thought. Maybe I need to get Grace to help?

  Normally she kept her assistant well out of any investigations she and Jack were pursuing. Not that she wasn’t terrific at it — she was! But Sarah knew that sometimes they slipped across the line of what was technically legal, and she didn’t want to lead Grace into trouble.

  She turned onto the main road and headed up towards the village. Soon as she got this pitch out of the way — the investigation could begin.

  *

  Jack pulled up at the entrance to Mandeville Towers, wound down his window and pressed the button on the security intercom.

  “Yes?” came a male voice after a few seconds: Jack recognised it as Seddon the butler.

  “Jack Brennan. To see the family.”

  “You don’t appear to have an appointment, sir.”

  “No, that’s right.”

  “I’m afraid you must have an appointment, sir.”

  “They’ll see me. Just ask them. Okay?”

  The line clicked off and Jack waited. A minute went by. Then another. He was about to press the button again, when the gates slowly opened.

  But before he could drive through, a small red car sped out of the drive, and paused beside him, waiting to join the main road.

  Jack looked across.

  In the driving seat: Seddon’s daughter, Mary. He stared — but she didn’t catch his eye, and after a few seconds drove off.

  Shame, he thought. I was looking forward to having a little chat with her as well.

  He drove through the gates, then up the long drive to the front of the house. As he climbed out of the car, the door opened — but instead of Seddon, Jack saw the young brother, Theo.

  He looked like he’d been up all night, hair tousled, shirt out under a crumpled suit.

  “Come for your advance payment, hmm?” he said, leaning against the doorway as Jack climbed the steps and stood in front of him.

  “No. Not at all. Just had a couple more questions, Mr Mandeville, if you don’t mind.”

  In the hall, Jack could see Seddon hovering behind Theo.

  “Mind? I don’t mind. But don’t expect me to answer them. I’ve got better things to do.”

  “I’m sure you’re a very busy man, Mr Mandeville. Perhaps your sisters are available for a chat?”

  “They’re not here. Buggered off. Gone shopping, probably. That’s all they do, these days you know. Shopping. Always shoppity-shopping.”

  Jack watched the guy sway slightly.

  Only thing keeping him up is that doorframe, he thought.

  He smiled. “Tell you what, Theo, why don’t I come in and wait for them?”

  And with that he gently ushered Theo into the house where Seddon stood watching. Jack nodded to the butler to shut the door behind him, then he put a hand on Theo’s shoulder:

  “You go relax, Mr Mandeville, and I’ll have a little chat with Seddon here while I wait for your sisters. Hmm?”

  “Be a long bloody wait,” said Theo with a shrug. Then he wobbled away down the hall, towards the sitting room. “Shop for England, those two.”

  Jack waited for him to go into the sitting room and shut the door behind him. Then he turned to Seddon and smiled:

  “Well, Mr Seddon,” he said. “Tell you what? Why don’t you and me both find somewhere quiet we can have a little chat hmm? Figure there’s things you need to tell me …”

  *

  Sarah sat in the crowded waiting room of Cherringham surgery waiting to see Dr Finch.

  She looked around the room — recognising many of the other patients. Mums, kids, friends — village people she’d worked with or passed by over the years.

  There was an unspoken rule at the doctors — just an understanding nod, a smile; the limit of socialising, whereas anywhere else there’d be a full-on catching up and gossip and giggles …

  You never knew what issue someone was bringing to the local doctor …

  She looked up at the clock: two-thirty. The doctors always running late, rushed off their feet …

  “Sarah Edwards?” came a voice from the door to the consulting rooms. She got up — Dr Finch was there, smiling, ushering her in.

  “How can I help?” he said, as she sat down opposite him at his desk. She watched him tap at his computer — presumably to bring up her records.

  She’d decided not to waste any time with some fake symptoms so she came straight to the point:

  “I’m kind of here under false pretences, doctor.”

  “Oh yes?” he said, now sitting back and looking at her carefully, his head slightly to one side as if he was studying some kind of medical conundrum. And was that a half-smile she could see under the stern countenance?

  Peter Finch. Single. Forty. Tired but still good-looking.

  Sarah had forgotten how she used to feel about the genial country doctor when she’d first come back to the village after her divorce.

  But now she remembered why. Those brown eyes …

  She snapped herself back into work mode.

  “You see … Jack Brennan and I are investigating the disappearance of Bernard Mandeville. You were his doctor, yes? I was hoping I could ask you some questions about him?”

  She watched Dr Finch absorb this request.

  “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you, Sarah.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Patient confidentiality, breach of understanding, data protection act, Hippocratic oath?”

  “Er, yes, all of those. Not the Hippocratic oath though.”

  “Oh, so we’re cool on that?”

  “Um, yes — we’re cool on that.”

  “Gosh that’s a relief!” said Sarah, grinning. Then she saw that Dr Finch wasn’t laughing along with her.

  Remembering he had a room of patients waiting outside.

  “Right, yes, of course,” she said. “But look — here’s the thing. He’s missing — could be anywhere — and it looks like it’ll be ages before the police really can find anything about it. Jack and I … we’re trying to help the family. So — we need to know exactly what’s wrong with him.”

  Another smile.

  “Can we not bend the rules just a bit here? It’s in his interest, after all.”

  “Sarah — I simply can’t do that.”

  Sarah knew he would say that — but hearing it charged her up.

  “You’ve done it before.”

  “What? I don’t believe I have.”

  “Sally Phipps — remember her? You asked me to find her that weekend.”

  Sally was a teenager pal of Chloe’s who’d come to the doctors for help and then run away, scared.

  “You told me all kinds of things about her …”

  “That was different.” He took a breath. “You know it was. She was still a kid …”

  “And it was you asking me, not the other way round?”

  “Not at all!”

  Sarah eased up. She needed Finch’s help. Not his antagonism.

  “I’m just saying — looks like that from where I’m sitting. I mean, I don’t recall you quoting data protection when we tracked her down and brought her home. Do you? Hmm?”

  A knock on the door — Sarah turned. The receptionist stood there, head round the door.

  “Everything al
l right, Doctor Finch?”

  “Fine, Anji. It’s not a problem.”

  The woman stared at Sarah for a second then nodded. Sarah watched her shut the door. She turned back to Doctor Finch.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry. Bit loud?”

  “A bit, yes.”

  “Sorry. Really.” she said. “But the thing is, I’m really worried about the old chap. And I’m thinking … you should be too.”

  “You don’t give up easy, do you, Sarah?”

  “Not when I think I’m right.”

  She grinned at the doctor, not letting him off the hook.

  But hoping she was saying the right words to make him relent.

  “Okay. Tell you what,” he said, “ask me your questions and I’ll answer the ones I can.”

  “Really?”

  Finally, she saw him smile.

  “Yes, really.” He looked at his watch. “And you’d better be quick about it. I’ve got a full waiting room out there.”

  “I saw. And — I knew you’d understand. Eventually.”

  He smiled at that as she took out her notebook.

  “I think the word is ‘surrender’, Sarah.”

  11. The Butler and the Guard

  Jack stood facing Seddon, who sat on the single chair in Bernard Mandeville’s bedroom.

  Haven’t asked a question yet and the guy’s already edgy, he thought. Good choice bringing him up here.

  He turned a page in his notebook.

  “The day Mr Mandeville disappeared, you were here working, yes?”

  “Correct.”

  “And how was Mr Mandeville?”

  “Normal.”

  “Happy?”

  “It’s not for me to judge whether he was happy or not.”

  “Nothing unusual that morning?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  Pulling teeth, thought Jack.

  “You live in the house, yes?”

  “In the servants’ quarters.”

  “With your daughter.”

  “Correct again.”

  “And you look after Mr Mandeville personally, hmm? Clothes, shaving, all the rest of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look after this room too?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack walked over to the chest and pulled out a drawer.

  “Not much in here, is there?”

  “Mr Mandeville has very few personal possessions.”

  “I’m thinking socks, underwear, that kind of thing. And the bedside drawers — empty. No books, nothing. Like somebody had removed stuff, taken it away.”

  He saw Seddon shrug.

  “Same in the bathroom. Got any thoughts on that?”

  “As I said — Mr Mandeville has few possessions.”

  “Not even a toothbrush? Razor? Where are they? Why aren’t they in the bathroom?”

  “I couldn’t possibly say.”

  “You don’t really say much at all do you, Mr Seddon?”

  Seddon shrugged again.

  “So, in the run-up to Mr Mandeville disappearing, any change you noticed?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing unusual happened?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Jack flicked back through his notebook, turning the pages slowly, until:

  “One thing I really wanted to ask you about.”

  He let Seddon wait.

  “I’ve been told a woman turned up at the house, couple of months ago …”

  He watched Seddon carefully. Was that a flicker of a tell in the eyes …?

  “We often have visitors at Mandeville Towers. The curious. Tourists.”

  “But … this one said she was an old friend of Mr Mandeville. Wanted to see him.”

  “It’s possible.”

  Jack watched Seddon shrug. He looked less edgy now. Not surprising — he was batting away questions like an old pro.

  “You didn’t speak to her?”

  “I may have done.”

  “Grisoni, her name, I believe,” said Jack, checking back in his notes. “Grisoni? That ring a bell, Seddon?”

  “It’s possible.”

  One more “it’s possible” and Jack thought he might lose it with the reluctant butler.

  “The Mandeville family sent her away — yes?”

  “If they say so, sir.”

  The guy like a clam. Inscrutable. No wonder people hired English butlers. They’d make great defence lawyers … and guard dogs!

  Jack decided to shift tactics.

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “Six years.”

  Jack watched him. Hmm — that didn’t make sense.

  He flicked back through his notebook.

  “Six? Strange. I heard it was only a year.”

  “Six years and three months, to be precise.”

  “And what about Mary?”

  “She joined the staff at the same time.”

  “And who hired you? Mr Mandeville? Or one of his children?”

  “Mr Mandeville was living here alone. He hired us.”

  “So, Lucinda and Eve and Theo — they’d already moved away?”

  “At that time, they were not yet part of the Mandeville family.”

  Jack stopped dead.

  What? Not yet …?

  It wasn’t often he got thrown sideways in an interview — but this was definitely one of those moments.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “You mean Lucinda, Eve and Theo are not Bernard Mandeville’s children?”

  “They are his step-children, Mr Brennan, to be precise. The children of his now-deceased second wife.”

  Jack scratched his head. “So when did they all move into Mandeville Towers?”

  “Just over a year ago, sir.”

  “And when did Mr Mandeville become ill?”

  Did Seddon’s eyes narrow at that? Another hesitation?

  “Not long after they arrived.”

  “Well that’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”

  Jack looked into the poker-face stillness of Seddon the butler.

  “I couldn’t possibly say, sir.”

  Jack was about to ask more questions but a furious ringing from some kind of hand bell echoed up to the room from downstairs.

  And a familiar voice, sounding slurred, said, “Seddon — where the bloody hell are you? It’s tea-time, dammit — where’s my tea?”

  Jack saw Seddon take a deep breath and stand up.

  “My apologies, Mr Brennan, but it appears my attendance is required.”

  “No problem,” said Jack. “I think we can catch up with further questions later, hmm?”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  He turned and walked to the door, then gestured to Jack to exit first.

  Jack gave him a nod in thanks and headed down the corridor — then stopped and turned.

  Time for just one more …

  “One last question, Mr Seddon.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re familiar with Mr Mandeville’s train layout upstairs?”

  Jack saw Seddon frown. Another tell, for sure …

  “Reasonably so.”

  “Any idea what’s happened to all Mr Mandeville’s locomotives?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Track that size. One locomotive. Eight controllers. Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  Jack saw that his question had hit home. Seddon didn’t have an answer — but he sure as hell knew something about the trains he wasn’t revealing.

  “I, er … they … perhaps they’re being repaired somewhere, sir?” he said, frowning.

  “All of them? At the same time?”

  “Um. Perhaps Mr Mandeville dropped them? Gave them away or …”

  And Jack knew Seddon was lying.

  Jack stared at him — then turned and headed away down the corridor.

  “Nice try, Seddon,” he said without turning. “But you’re going to have to do better than that when it’s the police asking the q
uestions.”

  And as he walked down the hallway towards the stairs, he knew Seddon was still standing at the door to Bernard Mandeville’s bedroom.

  Frozen.

  Finally … scared.

  Gotcha, he thought, and smiled to himself.

  *

  In the gathering dusk, Sarah drove slowly down Station Road looking for number 44. This little stretch of Victorian terraced houses sat on a dead-end at the edge of Cherringham by the main railway line to Oxford.

  Of course, she thought, it makes sense for Archie to live somewhere like this, with a daily view of trains whizzing by.

  She spotted the house — a plain little two-up-two-down with a tidy low-walled garden in front and a metal gate — and parked outside it.

  As she did, she saw a curtain slip to one side in the upstairs window and a face that she recognised briefly appeared — then hurriedly backed away.

  Hello Archie, she thought.

  Then she got out of the car, walked over to the house and rang the front door bell.

  No answer. The door had frosted glass — she saw shadows moving somewhere down the hallway.

  Another ring. Nothing.

  She stepped across onto the tiny square of grass and peered into the front window, face pressed against the glass: she just caught a flicker of movement and saw a man’s foot poking out from behind a small sofa in the corner of the room.

  She tapped on the glass.

  “Archie! Mr Reynolds?” she said.

  The foot edged slowly out of sight behind the sofa.

  Back to the front door — and now she held her finger locked on the bell.

  After another minute, she saw a figure approach and the door opened a crack.

  But it wasn’t Archie.

  No — a woman’s face had appeared at the edge of the door. Fifties, tired-looking. And scared, thought Sarah.

  “Archie’s not in.”

  “Um, yes he is,” said Sarah. “He’s hiding. Behind the sofa. I saw him through the window.”

  The woman shook her head.

  “You’ve got no right looking through our window.”

  Sarah softened her tone.

  “Look — I just need to talk to him.”

  “Well, you can’t. He’s at work. Go away.”

  The woman’s lie — actually humorous.

  “It’s important. It’s about Bernard Mandeville.”

  “Archie doesn’t want to talk about it. Got nothing to do with him. Stop interfering. And anyway — it’s none of your business.”