Beth handed James a handful of small black and white photographs of three young men, all with dark hair and open-necked shirts. They flicked through them. They stood quite some distance from the camera and were raising their beers to whoever was taking the photograph. Their smiles were wide and the expressions on their faces radiated youth, vitality and freedom. Beth continued reading:
‘I so wish I had the funds to rescue you from the clutches of Father. I can’t believe he won’t allow you outside. Good God, you are no different to me, Boyd. I cannot understand him. How can he believe that he is acting in a Christian way? Since Mother died, he appears to have become mad. Keep in touch with Lucy and Suzie and ask that they visit you often. I know it is difficult with them being so far away, but encourage Suzie to spend her days with you. She mustn’t allow the atmosphere in that house to dampen her spirit.
I have met a girl, Jayne. She’s very nice and works as a secretary here in the company.
I’ve enclosed some Indian sweets for you. I hope you like them.
Study hard, baby brother, there is a life waiting for you here. Once I have the funds, I will come for you.
Calvin’
‘Oh dear,’ Beth said as she replaced the envelope. ‘Isn’t it terribly sad that Christie Cameron locked his son up like that?’
Kushal agreed with Calvin’s questioning of Christie’s faith. His eyes were earnest. ‘Boyd is a thoughtful and articulate young man. I am sure that he will suffer the same discrimination with his paleness as those of us with dark skin.’
‘Mmm,’ said James, ‘I hate to say it, Kushal, but I believe you’re right. The vast majority of us rarely see beneath the surface. I confess I was one of those people in my younger days. My father was quick to expel that from me.’
After a moment of contemplation, Beth went through what they had so far. ‘Calvin is in gainful employment and loving Bombay. He’s desperate for Boyd to join him and Josh has emigrated.’
They each took letters, examined them and read snippets out here and there. Calvin continued to describe the sights and sounds of Bombay, the bars and clubs he visited with Josh and mentioned, in passing, the lady he’d been courting. Although they must only have been around seventeen or eighteen, Calvin and Josh had grown up fast. Boyd presumably loved the Indian sweets his brother had sent as he continued to receive boxes of sweets, along with clothing. James hushed everyone.
‘Listen to this. This is two years ago:
Josh and me are starting our own business. This city is on the rise and people are flocking here. Although Father would never believe me, I did manage to learn quite a bit about building a business in my few years at home. Josh left the cargo business and has been working as a builder on land several miles north of here. He’s seen many opportunities for a more professional building company. We launch the company in June. You will also have seen that I’ve mentioned a lady friend. Well, we are engaged to be married. I believe this may build bridges with Father. I have written to him to tell him my good news. Perhaps this will lighten his mood toward the world and you in particular.’
Kushal rested his elbows on the armchair and brought his fingers to a steeple.
‘It is my belief that Calvin was perhaps the disappointment in the family. I think you refer to this being as the black sheep.’ He sat forward. ‘Many of his letters are most entertaining and he and Josh are visiting many clubs and bars. I wonder if womanising is behind the family split?’
Beth put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh goodness, you don’t think he got a girl into trouble, do you?’
The Indian pulled a face and said that the idea wasn’t out of the question.
‘That makes perfect sense,’ said James. ‘He gets a girl into trouble. She’s either gone ahead and had the baby or, God forbid, made the decision to visit one of those dreadful backstreet doctors you hear about. Either way, Christie Cameron would disown his son for that behaviour.’
‘Oh, how awful,’ said Beth.
‘Calvin indicated in an earlier letter that he had to prove himself to make amends. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps getting married, settling down and starting a business would bring his father round.’
Kushal agreed. ‘You are correct. Your detective friend let slip that Christie had changed his will recently. Calvin now benefits, whereas he did not before.’
James reached in for the next letter and held the envelope up. ‘Oh I say, this one is typed.’ He unfolded the letter to reveal type that had, in places, created tiny holes in the flimsy paper:
Dear Boyd
I have a typewriter! It’s in our office here in Bombay and I am trying to get to grips with it. I type with my two index fingers and it seems very time-consuming, but the more practice I have, the better.
Business was slow but is now on the up. I stay mainly in the office and get orders and do the paperwork. Josh is out on site making sure everything is being done properly. I haven’t seen him for about two weeks as it’s easier for him to stay there than keep coming back to the city. But we finished working on a block of accommodation last week and that’s given us some more contracts. I’m putting money by every month now. I do not want you to travel by boat. The journey is long and arduous and you would be unhappy and lonely. Air travel is the way forward, so I propose flying back to England to get you. I have enough for my return flight. I just need to save enough for your ticket. I think I will have enough funds soon.
My other expense is Jane. I enclose a picture of her at our wedding. She’s lived in India all her life. Her father was in the army and her mother was a seamstress. They’re both dead now. I was most surprised to receive a short note from Father congratulating me. I felt no warmth from his words, but he would not have written this if my news had not touched him in some way. I wonder what sort of reception I will have when I eventually knock on his door. It’s surprising what we do for love, isn’t it?
Why is Father thinking of moving? He knows no one in the south of England, only a couple of men at the Wendover. What is he thinking? Has something happened? You mentioned Cavendish in your letter. I looked at an atlas and see that it is a tiny village in Sussex. But perhaps moving would be good. At least you will be closer to Lucy and Suzie. There are too many bad memories in that old house. Don’t let it unsettle you, Boyd. I will get you over here. I cannot wait any longer and I don’t care whether it puts me in debt.
I’ve enclosed a headband that many young Indian men wear. Best not let Father see you in it, he would probably think it beneath you.
Take care of yourself, little brother. I will be in touch about flights.
Calvin’
‘Well, that was written six months ago,’ said James.
‘Interesting,’ mumbled Kushal.
James remained silent and waited for him to continue.
‘I am thinking thoughts that I should not be thinking.’
‘Well, whatever you say, Kushal, will remain between the three of us,’ said James.
‘These letters are showing an almost desperate need to have Boyd in India. I am wondering if he is already here?’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean something’s changed in his circumstances?’
Kushal remained silent.
‘Perhaps,’ said Beth, ‘he’s not doing as well as he says in his letters. The last couple seem to be full of how successful he is.’
Kushal congratulated her on that insight. ‘Often people will exaggerate the positives when the exact opposite is occurring.’
‘And killed the father to get the inheritance?’ replied James. ‘How would he know he’s a beneficiary? If the will was changed recently, would he know? But that does appear to coincide with Calvin wanting to get Boyd across to India.’
‘Perhaps Christie mentioned the will in his congratulatory letter.’
The telephone rang. James walked over to the desk and picked up the receiver. He then waved it at Kushal, who leapt up and took it from him.
‘Hello? Yes.’ He appeared
deep in thought. ‘Thank you very much. You are most helpful.’ He replaced the receiver. ‘As far as the authorities can tell, Calvin Cameron had not left India at the time of his father’s death. But, he has now left Bombay by aircraft and should be in the country now, depending on the route he has taken.’
Kushal stacked the letters in the shoebox and replaced the lid. Beth began tidying up.
She gave James a ‘chin up’ smile. ‘Let’s put this behind us for this evening. We have the theatre to attend.’ She sat on the sofa by Kushal. ‘Will you be all right on your own tonight?’
Kushal’s eyes lit up. ‘I do not own a television and I see that 77 Sunset Strip is on this evening. Many people I know speak of this programme. Am I able to watch it?’
James grinned and promised Kushal that he would, most certainly, be able to watch it. As Beth tidied away, James explained how to switch the television on and which buttons to use for the channels and volume. He’d liked to have watched it himself as it was proving to be an entertaining private detective series. But he had The Mousetrap to see that evening and a mystery of his own to solve here in Cavendish. Perhaps Agatha Christie would provide some inspiration.
Crowds spilled out of the theatres and onto the streets of London. As people passed one another, snippets of conversations could be heard about plays they’d seen, films enjoyed and restaurants either visited or yet to drop into. The evening was dry, but chilly, and a number of couples huddled outside bustling pubs, watching the traffic. Black cabs buzzed alongside red double-decker buses and bicycles weaved between them. A policeman, wearing his traffic band, took control of the queues building up along Shaftesbury Avenue.
James steered his group to The Salisbury in Covent Garden. It was a lively pub that his father had frequented because of his wartime friendship with the landlord. Built at the end of the nineteenth century, it was a triumph of gleaming mahogany, etched glass, bronzed nymphs and art nouveau light fittings.
He caught the landlord’s eye then nudged Beth and the Merryweathers in the direction of the far window, where they found a small round table and four stools.
The landlord lifted the bar shelf and, throwing a tea towel over his shoulder, greeted them both. ‘Lovely to see yer, your Lordship.’ He bowed to Beth. ‘Lady Harrington and guests. Haven’t seen you in an age.’
‘Rarely come up these days,’ said James. ‘How’s your father?’
The landlord winced. ‘Died last year. Heart attack we think, but his body was tired. I think he was ready to go.’
James expressed his condolences. Their respective fathers had both served in the Great War and an unlikely friendship had been forged between the two of them. Much like his friendship with Bert; some people were able to cross the classes and mix easily. The landlord leant on the bar.
‘What can I get yer?’
‘Two gin and tonics and two whisky and gingers.’
‘Coming right up.’
‘D-did you say B-Bert was joining us?’ said Stephen.
‘Yes,’ said James. ‘I believe he has more dress-material for the ladies.’
‘That’ll be for the wedding.’ Anne clasped her hands together and beamed at Beth. ‘I do so love a wedding.’
As the drinks arrived, Stephen told James that Dorothy Forbes had joined the sewing group for the bridesmaid dresses and that Rose and Lilac Crumb were tasked with decorating the church. Although the December wedding was a couple of months away, James complimented everyone on their organisation and particularly picked out Stephen for his delegation skills.
‘You certainly seem to know how to handle those Snoop Sisters, Stephen. I think you’re the first to have been able to integrate them into the community.’
‘M-many a lost sheep s-simply needs to feel loved.’
‘Oi, oi,’ came Bert’s familiar greeting. He called out for a pint of IPA and dragged a stool across. ‘And ’ow was The Mousetrap?’
‘Wonderful,’ said Beth, ‘although none of us guessed the end and the cast have sworn us all to secrecy.’
Bert pushed his cap back. ‘That’s why Agatha’s the best.’ He pushed a large package across to James. ‘Material.’
James secured it between him and Beth. ‘How much do we owe you?’
‘Nothin’ Jimmy boy. Call it a wedding present for GJ and Cath.’
‘But what about travel expenses?’
‘What travel expenses?’
They all laughed and James had to chuckle with them. Bert had the uncanny knack of getting something for nothing, or was able to barter and provide a service in return. He wondered if Bert ever paid full price for anything. He thought probably not.
‘So, ’ow’s the investigation going?’
‘Slowly,’ said James. ‘George took young Boyd in for questioning and—’
‘Boyd! He wouldn’t ’urt a fly, would he? Can’t ’ave him locked up.’
James leant toward him. ‘How do you know?’
Bert’s eyes shifted left to right. ‘Just what I’ve ’eard, that’s all. And Beth told me about ’im when she met ’im. That’s not yer fella.’
Anne and Beth thanked him for the material and told them what they could about the play. James studied Bert. His behaviour over the last few days had been decidedly shifty. And what was this confidence about Boyd, a boy he’d never set eyes on? He took advantage of a break in the conversation.
‘How do you know Boyd is not the chap? Do you know something?’
‘Leave it,’ replied Bert. ‘Don’t ge’ involved in this one.’
‘Is this something to do with Locksmith Joe?’
Bert forced a smile. ‘Locksmith Joe? Of course not, wha’ makes you think that?’
‘He’s dangerous, he’s in the area and I’m sure he was at the festival when Jeannie Cameron died. He’s a killer, Bert.’
Bert gritted his teeth. ‘He didn’t kill anyone. Locksmith Joe’s a robber, that’s all. A good one, too. He’d nick the salt off your chips if ’e could.’ He eyeballed James. ‘He ain’t a killer.’
James whispered in his ear, ‘I know your name cropped up in a robbery that he was involved in.’
Bert met his gaze for a second, gulped down the rest of his beer, said a curt goodbye and left the pub.
Beth looked on in horror. ‘Sweetie, what on earth did you say to him?’
James swigged his whisky as he watched his friend disappear into the crowds. ‘I’m rather concerned that Bert may be into something he’ll regret. He’s always confided in me and he hasn’t this time. Instead, I appear to have annoyed him.’
‘He’s e-either annoyed, James, or h-he’s fearful,’ said Stephen.
‘Of what?’
‘That you are too involved.’
‘That’s right,’ said Anne. ‘What did he say? Something like “leave it alone”.’
‘I know exactly what he said,’ Beth put in. ‘He said don’t get involved in this one.’
James slowly rotated his glass on the table. There was no choice. He would have to tackle Bert and the sooner the better. He didn’t want to think of his friend as being involved with this convict chap. And if Locksmith Joe was a killer, why was he so intent on wiping out the Camerons?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The following day James, accompanied by Charlie Hawkins, rang the doorbell at Cory House.
‘My kids wanted to come today,’ said Charlie, rolling his eyes. ‘To see the ghost.’
James laughed. ‘I take it they’ve never seen an albino before.’
‘No, they haven’t and neither have I, truth be told. But I know what’d happen if they came. They’d just stand and stare at him, poor tyke. They saw your Mr Patel in the village earlier and stood gawping.’
A young police constable answered the door and, recognising them, swung it open to allow them into the front room where Boyd was completing a jigsaw of the Houses of Parliament. His long-sleeved shirt was loose on his shoulders. His face lit up on seeing James, but wariness appeared when he sp
otted Charlie.
‘Don’t be alarmed, Boyd. This is a good friend of ours, Charlie Hawkins. He’s the local librarian and he’s brought you something.’
‘Hello Boyd,’ said Charlie. He stood his briefcase on a spare armchair, flipped it open and brought out two large books. He handed them to Boyd. ‘James tells me that you have a brother in Bombay. Well, these are some picture books I found in the library. I’ve enrolled you so you’ve got them for three weeks. I’ve to have them back by the date stamped at the front of the book.’
Boyd held the books as if they were antiques and took the library membership card from him. His index finger stroked the name written on it – Boyd Cameron. Charlie sat down opposite Boyd and went through membership of the library, its opening hours and where he could find it.
‘I live next door to the library,’ said Charlie. ‘If you want to visit when it’s not open, knock on my door and I’ll take you through.’
‘Thank you,’ Boyd whispered. He turned his attention to the books and opened the cover of the first one to reveal a large, colourful photograph of the Gateway of India. His eyes shone.
Charlie stood up and told James that he’d have to be going. ‘I’ve left the library shut and it should be open. Just wanted to meet the lad myself.’
There came a sharp rap at the door. James found himself at the front door before the constable and went ahead and opened it. A young man with a deeply suntanned complexion, dark hair and an open, honest face smiled broadly. He held a large suitcase.
‘Ah, hello. Is this the right place?’
‘The right place being?’
‘Cory House.’
Charlie said goodbye as James confirmed that this was, indeed, Cory House. He tilted his head. He couldn’t place the accent; it seemed to be a mixture of all sorts.
Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery Page 11
