by Evelyn James
She glanced at them for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes, I wrote those,” a look of concern came upon her face. “Has something happened?”
“I am afraid so,” Clara said sadly. “Might we come inside and explain?”
“I think you best,” Patricia agreed. “You will have to bear with me.”
She moved unsteadily back from the door, allowing Clara and O’Harris to enter.
“My maid has the day off,” she continued, turning around awkwardly and heading into a room on her right. “I won’t be able to offer you tea, I’m afraid.”
“No matter,” Clara reassured her. They followed Patricia into a sitting room handsomely furnished with large sofas and several tall bookcases. There was a fire crackling in a large hearth with a tiled surround. Abstract lilies and irises curled across the shiny tiles in deep greens and purples.
“I broke my hip back in November,” Patricia continued as she gingerly lowered herself onto a sofa. “It is taking forever to heal. Please sit.”
O’Harris and Clara sat on the sofa opposite.
“I am not used to inactivity,” Patricia said with a disagreeable sigh. “Fortunately, I am fond of reading, though even that is trying my patience.”
Clara could not help but look at the many bookshelves in the room and estimated there had to be a thousand books, at least, upon them.
“What do you read?” She asked.
“Everything,” Patricia shrugged her shoulders. “Science, history, gardening. There is a little bit of everything. Not much fiction though. I like to read something I can learn from.”
Patricia Youngman picked up the book that had been left on the sofa when she rose to answer the door.
“This one is about the Ancient Greeks and the first democracy. Are you a keen reader?”
“Yes, but I rarely get the time,” Clara smiled. It felt to her as if they were dodging around the real issue, pushing it out of the way with pleasantries. She decided it was time to be blunt. “We have some news concerning Henry Kemp.”
“Is he all right?” Patricia asked anxiously.
Clara’s face spoke for her. Patricia groaned.
“Was it the drink?”
“Mr Kemp was attacked last night,” Clara explained. “He was stabbed and sadly did not survive. We are trying to find out the motive for this attack and thought you might be able to assist us.”
Patricia accepted this information almost calmly, but she fell silent for a long while. Eventually she looked up.
“You found my letters to Henry,” Patricia pointed to them, still in O’Harris’ hand. “Henry was concerned about his mother discovering them and he made me only sign with my initials. I was not supposed to write my address on them either, but I forgot once or twice. Habit, you see.”
“Fortunate for us,” Clara admitted. “You seem to have been the one person Henry confided in, at least that is what I am hoping.”
Patricia gave a sad smile.
“Henry’s life had not turned out as he had intended. I dare say that is the case for most of us,” Patricia looked around her living room. “I have this beautiful home and enough money to keep me comfortable until the day I die, but even I have regrets. I had plans to marry and have children. I was convinced that that was the path I would follow in my life when I was a girl. But the man I loved died and I never found another.”
Patricia shrugged her shoulders.
“I understood what it was to have your plans for the future snatched from you and for you to be unable to do anything about it. I connected with Henry in that sense.”
“How did you meet?” Clara asked. “Henry, from what I have been told, did not have much of a social life?”
“He had a social life,” Patricia grinned mischievously. “He kept it secret from his mother, and I suppose from those who he felt did not need to know. Henry was a member of the Brighton and Hove Cycling Club. We meet every Sunday when the weather is reasonable and go on cycling tours about the county. Henry did not always participate in those, but he did attend our evening meetings and was very good at writing articles for the club magazine. I met him through the club.
“I have been a cyclist for much of my later adult life. It is a fabulous way to keep fit, unless, of course, you go for a ride on your bicycle in November and slip on some ice. I hit the ground rather hard and, well…”
Patricia rubbed at her hip.
“My doctor was furious. But I have cycled through every winter since 1891. Henry was understanding, thankfully.”
“I grasped, from your letters, that you and Henry had been friends for a while and he would visit for Sunday tea?” Clara asked.
“That is true,” Patricia was still rubbing her hip as if talking about it reminded her that it hurt. “Henry would come around after the club cycle. He preferred talking to people one-to-one, he found groups slightly intimidating. I can’t even recall now how it all began, but it became quite a habit. I enjoyed his company. I will miss him dreadfully.”
Patricia’s face became ashen.
“Murdered,” she whispered to herself, then louder. “I am finding it hard to contemplate such an idea. I have never known someone to be murdered before. Not anyone I knew, anyway. I have known a lot of people who have passed on. The older you get the more it seems to happen, but to have his life snatched away…”
She tailed off and seemed to lose herself in her own thoughts.
“When we first arrived, it almost seemed as if you had been concerned for a while something might happen,” O’Harris interjected.
“Oh,” Patricia came back to herself. “I suppose that had been on my mind. Henry was struggling. I can think of no better way to describe it. Life had taken a turn he had not expected and he was not coping with the idea that he had plateaued and could expect little more from the future. He felt trapped and also finished. I tried to talk him around, but I saw he was sinking. And, of course, there was the alcohol.”
“You knew he was drinking heavily?” Clara asked.
“I could hardly miss it,” Patricia shook her head as if the idea was absurd. “Anyone who knew him would have spotted that he was in a desperate state. He drank heavily these last few months. I was growing more and more worried about him. I feared he might do something reckless.”
“Was that what you meant in the letters by a burden being upon him and he needing to make a difficult decision?” Clara asked, fearing that Patricia would no more hold the key to this situation than anyone else.
“In part,” Patricia agreed. “But there was another situation that was causing Henry a great deal of trouble. It was the reason he was drinking heavily and I felt he needed to resolve that situation first before he could manage his own problems. While that burden was still upon him, he would have a reason to drink and drown his sorrows.”
“What was the problem?” Clara asked, hope returning.
Patricia hesitated.
“I was sworn to secrecy,” she said. “Henry would only tell me after I promised I would never speak of the matter to anyone. I know he is dead, but…”
“If this decision had an impact on his death, we must know of it,” Clara explained to her. “And, we can only know if it had an impact on his death if you tell us about it. If it is of no relevance, we shall not breathe a word of it.”
Patricia pressed her lips together, uncertain what to do for the best. She was still looking at the letters in Captain O’Harris’ hand.
“Do you have any suspects for his murder?” She asked.
Clara sensed that her answer would make up Patricia’s mind as to whether to speak or not. She could, however, only answer truthfully.
“I do. I believe he was stabbed by Simon Noble, the son of his employer.”
Patricia let out a long breath through her teeth.
“Now, that is unexpected!” She gasped. “But it makes my decision easier. If you want to know Simon Noble’s motive for wishing Henry Kemp ill, you can find it in the drawer of
that bureau over there.”
Patricia pointed to a bureau by the door. O’Harris rose and opened it. Under Patricia’s directions he opened a small drawer and removed several papers.
“Correspondence,” he said as he flicked through them. “Between Simon Noble and another company.”
“Another importation company,” Patricia specified. “Henry brought those papers to me just a couple of weeks ago. He asked me to keep them safe while he made his mind up on what he was going to do.”
“What do the letters say?” Clara asked. O’Harris was bringing the papers back to the sofa and handed them to her.
“In essence they are communication between Simon Noble and this other firm, Ignatius Importation, concerning the possibility of the latter buying the former,” Patricia stated.
Clara could hardly believe her ears.
“Simon Noble was thinking of selling the company!” She gasped.
“And Henry knew about it,” Patricia nodded. “I would say that goes a long way to giving Simon Noble a motive.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Here is an interesting little piece of information for you. I happen to be of the same generation as Arthur Noble’s father, Joshua Noble. He was just a few years my senior,” Patricia continued conversationally. “Joshua’s father was another Elias and he used to golf with my father. Hove is really more of a large village than a town, we might be connected to Brighton but we see ourselves as separate. You tend to know everyone who happens to be in the same social circle as you.”
“How well do you know the Nobles?” Clara asked.
“I knew the late Elias and Joshua the best. As I say, Elias and my father often golfed together. My father was involved in the Great Western Railway. He was a senior director. Both he and Elias were working men who understood what it was to have to strive hard for a fortune. They were sometimes looked down upon by those at the golf club who had merely inherited their wealth,” Patricia shrugged her shoulders, deeming this unimportant. “Joshua was five or six years my senior. I can remember attending a number of the same social functions as him as we grew older. He was always a remarkably arrogant young man.”
“That seems to be a trait that runs through the family line,” O’Harris noted somewhat sarcastically.
Patricia smiled.
“I know Elias and my father talked about the possibility of my marrying Joshua, but I had my heart set elsewhere,” Patricia’s smile became sad. “I find myself wondering, on occasion, what might have been had I married into the Noble family.”
“I don’t think you would have liked it,” Clara assured her.
“Probably not,” Patricia’s good humour returned. “In any case, Joshua married some heiress to another company and expanded the Noble firm. He died just over a year ago, you know. I remember reading his obituary in the newspaper. Over the years I had lost touch with the Nobles. After the death of my father there was no real connection between me and Elias, and Joshua moved in his own circles.
“I hadn’t given much thought to them for a long time, until I met Henry Kemp. Did you get to meet him before… Well, just before?”
“Unfortunately, my acquaintance with Henry Kemp occurred at a time when he was not at his finest,” Clara admitted.
“He was drunk,” Patricia said flatly. “Yes, that had become a problem for him lately. It was all the turmoil surrounding the discovery that Simon intended to sell the firm.”
Patricia paused.
“No, it was more than that,” she gave a gentle sigh. “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but he was struggling before then. Henry felt trapped. I was perhaps the only person who he felt truly free to talk to. I had no agenda, you see? His mother was oppressive and only wanted to keep him close for her own sake, while his father was just interested in an easy life. I am being blunt, I know.”
“I have met them both,” Clara replied. “I understand and I appreciate bluntness.”
Patricia was pleased to hear this and she sat a little more upright.
“If he could not talk to his parents openly, he could certainly not talk to his work colleagues. He did not know how trustworthy they were, they might have reported any criticism he gave of the Nobles back to them. No, I alone was neutral and Henry talked with me,” Patricia’s smiled returned. “We met through the cycling club. That was another source of escapism for Henry. We happened to sit next to each other at a club meeting and we introduced ourselves. When I asked where Henry worked, he told me Noble and Sons. Naturally I explained that I used to know Joshua Noble and so we began to talk.
“That was just before Joshua passed away and Henry had met him a few times. We shared impressions of the man. Henry was reticent, but I was not! He soon discovered he could talk freely with me and we became friends. The more I grew to know Henry, the more I realised that he was in a terrible position. I forget the first time I invited him to Sunday tea, but it was after a cycle meet. He wasn’t sure at first, but I persuaded him.
“I liked Henry a lot. He was honourable, but that meant he placed others too often before himself. His parents in particular. Did you know he had a high-flying job in London?”
“I had heard,” Clara nodded.
“It paid him twice as much as he earned down here,” Patricia declared.
“That I did not know,” Clara responded, mildly surprised. “I was told Noble and Sons was the better paying job.”
“That is what Henry told everyone. Especially his parents. He didn’t want anyone to know the truth. He gave up a job that paid a lot of money, and which had huge prospects to come home and look after his mother and father. It was a sacrifice he made willingly, but not without regret. There was another thing he gave up when he came, something much more personal. His freedom,” Patricia became solemn. “Henry had only broken free from his mother’s grasp the first time with great difficulty. She detested him living in London and not being under her constant watch and full control. I have little time for that woman, I suppose you can tell.
“Anyway, his father was in an accident and lost both his legs. The impact was hard on his parents both emotionally and financially. Henry could have stayed in London and sent money to them. But, as I said, he was honourable and terribly loyal. He knew his mother was not coping and he felt guilty staying away. In the end he resigned his London position and moved to Noble and Sons. I know he missed London dreadfully, and his independence, but there was nothing he could do.”
“He could move away again,” O’Harris pointed out.
“You don’t understand the emotional burden his mother placed upon him. She would have made him feel so guilty if he had even proposed the idea. Leaving to serve in the war was hard enough. His mother made herself sick with worry, or so it appeared. I don’t think that woman has enough soul to make herself sick over someone. But she knew how to manipulate Henry.
“I think, also, the war knocked Henry for six. He saw things that shook him and maybe it made him feel bad about thinking of leaving his parents. There were fathers and mothers who would never see their sons again, and who would give anything for an opportunity to be together once more. He started to project those feelings onto his own mother. He always was far too generous to her.”
“How well do you know her?” Clara asked.
“I never met her,” Patricia replied. “But I didn’t like how she treated her son. Perhaps I would have found her company pleasant in person, you tell me, seeing as how you have met her?”
“I don’t think I could go so far as to call her company pleasurable,” Clara said carefully. “But then, I don’t think she is a person to encourage friendship.”
“She certainly did not encourage Henry to have friends. I was a secret, I know that. Poor Henry was in such a terrible position. He felt he had no future, only the endless trial of caring for his mother and father. He was just about coping, because he actually enjoyed working at Noble and Sons, not that the Nobles were the nicest of souls either. But the work
was interesting and he was doing well. Then he learned about the plan to sell the company and he was thrown into a new turmoil.”
“Why was that?” Clara asked. “Surely, if the company was sold, Henry would move with it as senior manager. Simon Noble was not selling because the company was in trouble, was he?”
“Noble and sons is doing better than ever,” Patricia agreed. “Selling it had nothing to do with the business itself, rather, it is to do with Simon Noble’s desire for instant money and not having to work for it. He has no interest in the firm and doesn’t want to run it. Selling it would not only provide him with a huge fortune, which he could comfortably live off for the rest of his days, but it would take away the chore of working for the company. Even if most of the working is done by people like Henry. I guess Simon Noble was too lazy to even be bothered about attending the twice weekly meetings, if he could help it.
“No, the reason Henry was so concerned stems back to that strong streak of honour he always had running through him,” Patricia gave a sad chuckle. “He was a man of another age. When Henry discovered Simon Noble’s plans he was torn because, on the one hand, he felt he should be loyal to Simon Noble, and yet, on the other, he knew how devastating the sale would be to Arthur Noble, and Arthur was the one who hired him.”
Patricia shifted a little in her seat.
“I ache after a while,” she explained apologetically.
“Can I get you something?” O’Harris offered. “A drink, perhaps? I feel rude sitting here without offering.”
Patricia waved the suggestion away.
“I would have been here alone had you not come knocking, and I would have coped just fine,” Patricia adjusted a cushion behind her and settled again. “That’s better. Now, I need to explain to you how strong a tie some members of the Noble family have with the company. Noble and Sons was founded in 1764 as a coffee importer. However, the rising duty on alcohol introduced an interesting side-line and they became involved, at arm’s length, with smuggling. Then the taxes on alcohol were reduced, coffee was not quite the grand thing it had once been and the second Mr Noble hastily moved into wine importation.