Foxden Hotel (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 5)

by Madalyn Morgan

  Henry’s brow creased in thought. ‘But something has spooked Hawksley. Since the beginning of the year he has sold two houses in London and one on the south coast - and we don’t know where the money from any of the sales is. Nor do we know what he plans to do with it. So, until we know exactly what he’s up to, MI5 is keeping a low profile.’

  Henry looked at Bess. ‘My advice to you is do the same. And stay away from Sir Gerald Hawksley and his daughter Katherine.

  ‘And there’s something else,’ Henry said. ‘I told you Hawksley bought stables for his daughter last year. Well, he also accepted a seat on the board of governors at Lowarth’s Grammar School.’ Bess’s eyes widened and she looked at her brother-in-law in disbelief. ‘It’s true,’ Henry nodded. ‘It’s to get in with the local worthies, integrate with business people. He says he’s putting down roots because he wants stability for his daughter. We think he’s doing the opposite and one day he’ll disappear.

  ‘He has even joined the Lowarth lodge of Freemasons - which,’ Henry said with a sardonic smile, ‘is the lodge your Sergeant McGann goes to. Hawksley’s putting up one hell of a smoke screen.’

  Bess laughed. ‘Poor old McGann. He won’t be so cocky when his fellow Masons find out his pal, Sir Gerald Hawksley, who you can guarantee McGann has been cosying up to, is a Nazi sympathiser.’

  ‘Nor when he finds out the Metropolitan Police are sending up a detective inspector to take over the Sutherland case.’

  ‘What?’ Bess and Frank said at the same time.

  ‘Yes. I don’t have the details - they’re still with the Leicestershire Coroner - but because of Sutherland’s connection to Hawksley and the fascist movement there’s a possibility that on the night he drowned there was foul play. Detective Inspector Masters will inform Sergeant McGann tomorrow. Masters is six months away from retiring on a good pension and, according to my boss, was content to sit behind a desk and shuffle papers until he left. But when he heard someone from his division was needed to take charge of an enquiry into David Sutherland’s death, he volunteered for the job.

  ‘He’s ex-Army, won medals for bravery, and has at least one medal for Gallantry from the Met. He’s got a reputation for being a bit of a bulldog. He’s a good copper and gets results. If he hadn’t joined up in 1940, he’d probably be a Chief Superintendent now.’

  ‘Fancy volunteering to put himself in danger, when he could spend the rest of his time on the force taking it easy.’

  ‘My boss at MI5 reckons he has an agenda, which is another reason I’m here.’

  Frank laughed. ‘McGann won’t like working with a detective inspector from London. The arrogant little bugger thinks he knows it all.’

  ‘Detective Inspector Masters will have the pleasure of informing Sergeant McGann of many things that he won’t like when he takes over the case.’

  ‘I’ll drink to McGann having his nose put out of joint.’ Frank drained his glass. ‘And what about you, Henry?’

  ‘DI Masters knows I work for MI5, but as far as McGann’s concerned I’m attached to Military Intelligence. If he asks me why the military is involved, I’ll say we had a tip-off that a couple of men have been seen in the grounds of one of the old top-secret communications facilities in the area, and I’ve been sent up here to check it out. I’ll have to tell him I have clearance to assist with police enquiries, or he might try to stop me.

  ‘And, to ensure McGann doesn’t tell Hawksley during a trouser lifting at a Free Mason’s meeting, I’ll tell him it’s all very hush-hush and in no circumstances should he talk about the case, or my part in it, to anyone. Whether he swallows it or not, I don’t really care. But I’m as big a fish in my field as Masters is in his, so if he thinks he knows something the DI doesn’t know, he might just be conceited enough to keep shtum. I expect he’ll delight in getting one over on a high-ranking officer, and at the same time think he’s in my good books. We’ll see.’

  That night, having left the sleeping hotel in the capable hands of Mr Potts, the night porter, Frank followed Bess up to their small suite of rooms. ‘What did Henry mean today, when he said stay away from Hawksley and his daughter?’ Frank asked, climbing into bed.

  Bess, having already settled down for the night, turned over and pushed herself up on her elbows. She looked at her husband and felt her cheeks flush. ‘I did something stupid today, Frank.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘I went to David Sutherland’s funeral.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You know? But how?’ Bess demanded. ‘Did Henry tell you?’

  ‘No. I followed you.’ Bess shot Frank a look of disbelief. She was about to ask him why he had done such an untrusting thing, but he answered her before she could formulate the words. ‘To make sure you didn’t get into trouble.’

  ‘But the abattoir?’ Mimicking Bess, Frank pretended to be shy and bit his lip the way Bess had done. ‘You didn’t go to the abattoir, did you? You are as bad as me, Frank Donnelly!’

  Bess leaned into her husband and kissed him. ‘I do love you, Frank,’ she said, wriggling down in the bed and wrapping her arms around him.

  ‘And I love you, Bess,’ her husband said, lifting her body to his.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lowarth police station, the police house where McGann and his family lived, and the Magistrates’ Court, had been built in an oddly shaped triangular block. Surrounding a courtyard, the narrow building looked as if it had been squeezed in between the Leicester Road and the Gilmorton Road. It consisted of the main door to the police station - with a window on either side - that faced down Market Street, the police house that looked onto Lower Leicester Road - and the public entrance to the Magistrates Court on Gilmorton Road. Bess suspected there were cells there too. Not to imprison criminals long term, but holding cells to keep prisoners in until they came up before the Bench.

  Lowarth Magistrates’ Court was held on Thursdays. According to Elsie Bramley, Foxden Hotel’s housekeeper who was in charge of the domestic staff, the public gallery was always full. She knew this because her day off was Thursday and she was a regular attendee.

  Bess and Margot sat in the narrow corridor outside Sergeant McGann’s office waiting for him to return from the railway station where, according to Constable Peg, he had been ordered to collect a detective inspector from the Metropolitan Police in London. ‘And he is not best pleased,’ the constable said.

  ‘How do you feel about working with a policeman from London, Constable?’ Bess asked.

  ‘I’m looking forward to it. I don’t want to work in Lowarth all my life, like Sergeant McGann. Nothing against Lowarth, like, but if I stay here I won’t get promotion until the sergeant retires - or dies.’ The constable’s face coloured. ‘I didn’t mean…’

  ‘We know what you meant,’ Bess said, smiling at him reassuringly. ‘And what does Sergeant McGann think about a detective inspector coming up from London?’

  The constable shrugged his shoulders. ‘I bet he’s seething,’ Margot said. ‘Go on, you can tell us. We won’t say anything, will we Bess?’

  ‘Ignore my sister, Constable Peg, she’s being nosey.’

  ‘Mrs Burrell’s right.’ The young policeman looked nervously over his shoulder at the door. ‘He’s fuming,’ he whispered, conspiratorially. ‘When the Metropolitan Police telephoned to say they were sending someone up to take over the Sutherland case, Sergeant McGann straight-way rang the Chief Constable. He told the chief that sending someone up from London was as good as telling the people of Lowarth that his superiors had no confidence in him. He said it sounded as if they didn’t think he was capable of dealing with a drowning.’

  ‘I don’t like the man, but I can imagine how he feels,’ Bess said.

  ‘And military intelligence is sending someone up too. The sergeant called him a pen-pusher, a bloody conchie, who most likely sat in an office while our brave boys fought for their country.’

  ‘Which of the armed forces did Sergeant McGann serve in?’ Bess asked.

 
‘He didn’t. How he tells it, he was too young to fight in the first war, and too old to fight in the last one.’

  Margot looked at Bess, her face like thunder. Bess moved her head slightly from left to right, to warn her sister not to react. Margot smiled through gritted teeth. ‘Between them, the policeman from London and the man from the military might bring your boss down a peg or two. The arrogant B,’ she said under her breath.

  ‘How much longer are we going to have to wait? If neither Sergeant McGann, or the DI from London are here, it’s pointless us being here.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be long now, Miss.’ The bell on the counter in the police station dinged and the constable left, gesturing that he’d be back.

  ‘Fancy McGann calling Henry a conchie. Ignorant bugger.’

  ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall when McGann finds out the military man is Henry Green, the local butcher’s son, born and bred in Lowarth.’ Bess looked at Margot and they both burst out laughing.

  ‘Quiet! I can hear voices,’ Margot said. The door at the end of the corridor opened and a man in his mid-fifties, about six feet tall and well-built, with fair, greying hair, breezed in smiling. Behind him, looking as if he had stood in something unpleasant, was Lowarth’s sour-faced Sergeant McGann.

  The Detective Inspector introduced himself to Bess and Margot, thanked them for waiting and asked if they would bear with him a little longer. He looked at Sergeant McGann who, breathing through flared nostrils, led the inspector into his office.

  Margot began to giggle and Bess elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Shush, they’ll hear you.’ Margot mouthed sorry and did her best to keep a straight face. But when Bess made a show of reading notices on the Police Public Information board, she burst into laughter. Bess, seeing the funny side, laughed with her.

  ‘Haven’t seen you do that for a long time,’ Margot said, when she had stopped giggling.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Laugh.’

  ‘No, well there hasn’t been much to laugh about recently. But after today, things should start getting back to normal. Ena’s coming up at the weekend, which will be nice. And the hotel’s full at Easter.’

  ‘Bill and me are looking forward to coming to Foxden at Easter. I wish we could come over more often, but with the school…’

  ‘I know. I don’t expect you to run the dancing school, look after Bill, and--’ Margot started to laugh again. ‘What now?’ Bess asked.

  ‘You, saying I look after Bill. It’s him who looks after me.’

  ‘Of course he does, what with you being a princess an’ all.’

  ‘Miss Dudley?’ the Detective Inspector called, taking Margot and Bess by surprise. They both stood up as he approached.

  ‘Sorry,’ Bess said, ‘we are - were - both Dudley before we were married.’ She put out her hand. ‘I’m Bess Donnelly now and this is my sister, Margot Burrell.’

  Detective Inspector Masters gave the sisters a sparkling smile. ‘Pleased to meet you both. Thank you for coming in at short notice. Now,’ he said, looking at Margot, ‘I believe it was you, Mrs Burrell, who had the most to do with David Sutherland in London?’

  ‘Yes. I worked with his girlfriend at the Prince Albert Theatre.’

  ‘Then perhaps if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs Donnelly, I’ll interview Mrs Burrell first?’

  ‘My sister and I both spoke to David Sutherland at the hotel on New Year’s Eve, Inspector, and we were interviewed together by Sergeant McGann.’ Margot looked nervously at Bess.

  ‘Don’t worry, Margot, I’ll be here if you need me,’ Bess said, and sat down. Margot wrinkled her nose and followed the inspector into Sergeant McGann’s office.

  Detective Inspector Masters pulled out a chair from beneath Sergeant McGann’s desk. ‘Take a seat, Miss Dudley.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Margot sat down and the Inspector walked round to the other side of the desk. Before sitting down in Sergeant McGann’s chair, the London policeman heaped together an assortment of papers that were spread over McGann’s desk, stacked them into a rough pile, and put them on the window ledge. When the desk was clear, he took several large brown envelopes from his briefcase. ‘Sergeant McGann’s notes,’ he said and, smiling, lined them up side by side across the width of the desk.

  There was something familiar about the London policeman. Perhaps it was his accent. Margot returned his smile. He was friendly and courteous where Sergeant McGann was remote and self-important. The inspector opened the first of the envelopes, took out a handful of photographs and smiled again. Something McGann never did.

  ‘These photographs were taken on New Year’s Eve by a local newspaper man. Would you look at them and tell me if you recognise anyone from the time you lived and worked in London?’

  London? It had been four years since she was last in London for any length of time. ‘Do you mean from the time I knew David Sutherland?’

  ‘Yes. Anyone who might have been around when Sutherland was walking out with Miss Trick?’

  Desperate to find someone, to save Bess from being questioned, Margot scrutinised each photograph. ‘Sorry, there’s no one from those days other than myself and Sutherland.’

  ‘How about someone who hadn’t been invited to the New Year’s Eve party? A stranger perhaps, or someone who is somewhere that they shouldn’t be?’

  Margot shook her head. ‘I don’t know who had an invitation, who had called in because it was the opening of the hotel, or who were guests staying there. Sorry not to be of more help.’

  ‘That’s fine, Miss Dudley. I mean, Mrs Burrell. Thank you. It isn’t often the police are lucky enough to have a photographic record of the events leading up to a crime. It was a long shot, but worth asking.’ The inspector took a notebook from the second envelope. ‘You and your sister gave statements to Sergeant McGann about the disagreement between David Sutherland and Sir Gerald Hawksley on New Year’s Eve - and the events afterwards,’ Margot nodded. ‘Do you have anything to add? Has anything come to mind since that night that could help us with our enquiry?’ Margot shook her head. ‘The smallest thing, something that you might think is insignificant, could be very important.’

  ‘No. Nothing,’ Margot said.

  ‘Then thank you for your time, Mrs Burrell.’ The inspector stood up, took a card from his pocket and gave it to Margot. ‘If you remember anything, anything at all, that you think could help us find David Sutherland’s killer, would you telephone me?’

  Killer? Sutherland was killed? Margot got to her feet, but was too shocked to move. She watched the inspector walk across the room to the door and open it. She heard him ask Bess to come in and take a seat. His voice sounded distant and it echoed, as if he was speaking in a tunnel.

  ‘Mrs Burrell?’ The inspector calling her name brought Margot out of her daze. She began to walk to the door, but halted half way across the room. She needed to warn her sister, tell her the shocking news that Sutherland’s death had not been an accident. She started to walk again. Although she had found her feet, she hadn’t found her voice.

  At the door, Margot looked back. Bess was already seated. ‘See you in Mrs Crabbe’s café,’ Bess said. Margot nodded, but didn’t answer, and with a pleasant but professional smile that said both thank you and goodbye, the inspector closed the door.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs Donnelly.’

  Bess smiled nervously. ‘I told Sergeant McGann everything I knew about David Sutherland on New Year’s Eve. I’m not sure I can add anything that would be of help.’

  ‘Perhaps not. However, due to recent developments, I’d like to show you some photographs that were taken that night. Would you to tell me if you recognise anyone from your time in London.’

  Bess looked through the photographs carefully and shook her head. ‘It’s been ten years since I lived in London. I came back to Foxden in October 1939. I honestly don’t think I would recognise anyone that I didn’t know really well from that time,’ she said, laying down the photographs.
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  ‘Thank you.’ The inspector flicked through the photographs, taking some out. ‘Your sister said there were local people in the public bar who were nothing to do with the New Year’s Eve party.’ Bess nodded. ‘I don’t expect you to know everyone who visited the hotel that night, but is there anyone in these photographs who looked out of place, seemed odd to you, or was acting suspiciously?’ Bess shook her head. The inspector handed her the rest of the photographs. ‘If you don’t mind looking through them again? Does anyone strike you as being in the wrong place - an invited guest, or a member of the staff? Someone who is somewhere they shouldn’t be…?’

  ‘Except for David Sutherland you mean?’ The inspector gave her a lopsided grin. ‘No,’ Bess said, ‘everyone’s where they should be, where I remember them being at the time.’ There was something not quite right, but Bess couldn’t put her finger on it. She stacked the photographs and placed them on top of the envelope. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I have your statement here.’ The policeman laid his hand on Sergeant McGann’s notes from New Year’s Eve. ‘It is often the case that witnesses remember things at a later date, or when they are on their own, that they hadn’t thought of when they were interviewed with someone else. Witnesses to the same thing at the same time sometimes rely on each other. I’m sure that isn’t the case with you and your sister. Nevertheless, if there is anything you’d like to add to your original statement?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Bess wrung her hands beneath the desk. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t.’

  ‘Thank you. If you think of anything…’

  ‘I shall be sure to let you know.’

  ‘If I need to speak to you again, Mrs Donnelly, would it be all right if I came to the hotel?’

  ‘Yes of course, Inspector. I’m always there. Some days are busier than others and some times of the day are busier, but if you let me know before you come, give me a couple of hours’ notice, I’ll arrange for cover.’