by Amy Myers
Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly, and she’d have to be fly to get past this spider of a police inspector. Right. Nell mustered herself ready for the challenge. She was about to knock on the door when it was pulled open from the other side. Chief Inspector Melbray, clad in overcoat and hat and carrying his usual murder bag, was all too clearly taken aback at her unexpected appearance.
For once she had the upper hand because it was left to her to open proceedings. ‘May I talk to you?’ she asked politely.
A long hesitation, and then he held the door open for her. ‘Come in, Miss Drury. I can delay my departure for a while.’
She walked into the spider’s parlour, waited as he placed his murder bag on the floor and took off his coat and hat – reluctantly, as if hesitating to commit himself to a tête-à-tête. He didn’t suggest that she sit, but at least he helped her off with her coat. She chose one of the upright chairs at a small table to sit down and he sat on the bench some way away. Nevertheless, she felt in command for once, despite the inelegant wellington boots.
‘You’ve finished your work here?’ she asked.
The question was redundant, as there was no sign of anything left other than the pub furniture, adorned by a tired aspidistra, a pile of old magazines and a huge old picture book on the life of the late King Edward VII, which she remembered once leafing through.
‘I was just closing down here.’ Another unnecessary statement. Good. He was still leaving it to her to make the running – unusual for Chief Inspector Melbray.
‘I heard that you’ve arrested John Palmer.’
‘That’s correct.’ Perhaps that steadied him, for he seemed back to his usual crisp self. ‘In view of your interest, might I enquire whether you intend to take up your role of private investigator again?’
How could she answer that? Only by evading it. ‘It seems so unlikely that Gentle John—’
‘Do you have evidence of his innocence, Miss Drury?’
This pointless fencing match could go on all day and she wasn’t going to let him escape that way. It was time it ended, it was time for the head-on shock, and the time was now.
‘I want to know why you keep calling me Miss Drury. It was Nell last year.’
He flushed. She expected that he would reply with some trite comment, such as that he was at work now, but he didn’t.
Instead, he moved to sit down opposite her at the small table. ‘I owe you an apology, Nell.’
‘A second one? You apologized to me on Sunday.’
‘It’s the same one extended. I didn’t expect to come to Wychbourne or to see you again.’
‘Not relevant,’ she whipped back. ‘What happened to that picnic lunch I was promised?’
‘If I said the offer was still open, would you accept?’ he countered.
Neat, she thought. He was putting the carving knife back in her hand. ‘Not unless you explain your icebox behaviour.’
He managed a smile which promptly then disappeared. ‘I decided the lunch would get us nowhere, Nell. You’re working here in a place you love at a job you love. I work in London at a job to which I’m dedicated twenty-four hours a day and though I don’t exactly love it, I’m part of it. Is that still the case as far as you’re concerned?’
‘Well, strike me down with a coconut,’ she answered slowly. Where might this be leading? ‘Yes.’
‘Suppose a picnic lunch led to another and then another,’ he continued levelly. ‘Would you be ready to give up Wychbourne Court?’
She was silenced. Give it up? How could she? She was needed at Wychbourne; it gave her all she needed to fulfil her dreams and, equally important, she was a part of it, just as he was of Scotland Yard.
‘No,’ she answered. The ramifications rushed through her head like peas bursting out of their pod. ‘Not yet anyway,’ she quickly amended.
‘And nor could I give up my job for Kent. Not yet anyway.’
‘Could we be friends and see what happens?’ she said uncertainly. What on earth was she saying? Acknowledging that there could be something more?
‘Friends? What happens if you deliberately leave a saucepan of milk on a lit gas stove?’
‘It boils over,’ she said crossly.
‘I’m not good at boiling over, Nell. I can’t risk it.’ A long pause. ‘There is, I grant you, such a plan as simmering.’
‘Until it gradually boils away,’ she countered. That didn’t appeal.
‘That is the danger,’ he replied gravely. ‘It could burn the pan too. Could you risk that?’
‘That’s unfair,’ she shot back at him.
‘Nothing’s fair in love and crime, Nell. Shall we simmer for a while?’
‘We can try.’ Why the buttered parsnips did she feel like crying? After all, he could easily find another blinking saucepan and boil the beastly milk with someone else – and so could she. If she wanted to do so! But what did she want? Then Alex made her feel even worse by kissing her hand lightly.
‘Let’s declare a truce then.’ A pause. ‘Is that what you really came here for?’
‘Perhaps,’ she admitted. ‘But I would like to know why you’ve arrested Gentle John.’
‘Usual terms? Confidentiality?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because his boots had mud on them, he lied about his movements and we found one of those light mackintoshes with blood on it screwed up in a bush near the lychgate. There was also a glove in the lychgate half buried in snow, the pair of which we found when we searched his home. No blood on that, but there wouldn’t necessarily have been any. We’ve also searched the guests’ luggage, which revealed nothing helpful to the case.’
‘Did you find the knife?’
‘Only the stone you saw.’
‘And that’s all?’ she asked bravely.
‘No. Last Thursday night at the Coach and Horses and in a state of inebriation, John Palmer remarked to the world in general that he would like to wring the bastard’s neck. The bastard under discussion was Tobias Rocke.’
That was still a long way from murdering him, she thought, after recovering from her dismay. What on earth could have roused Gentle John to such a state of ungentleness?
‘How did you first pick on him as a suspect?’ she asked.
‘Going too far, Nell.’
‘Accepted,’ she said ungraciously, ‘but why would he want to kill Tobias Rocke?’
‘Ah. Slipping up on our detective skills, are we, Nell? You’ve interviewed poor Ethel Palmer, I take it?’
She nodded.
‘Did she mention that Tobias Rocke was her first husband?’
‘What?’
‘Or that as far as we can check, they never bothered to get divorced?’
Holy mackerel, she thought dizzily, as she walked back to the Court. Some days just turn you upside down and shake you inside out. She apparently now had a new ‘friend’, Chief Inspector Alex Melbray, who had revealed a whole new side to himself. No, she was wrong. It wasn’t new, it had just unexpectedly returned, a possibility she hadn’t faced. After all, she hardly knew him and had moved on from their first meeting. On reflection, was that true? What she could not deny was that his image had an annoying way of popping up time and time again – but nothing more surely, despite the way she’d quickly changed that ‘no’ to a ‘not yet’? Anyway, there was no drama about it. After all, the case as far as he was concerned was over.
Alex – no, she must think of him as the chief inspector, or she’d become confused between the two roles – thought the murderer of Tobias Rocke had been found, and now she realized that Gentle John had a strong motive for killing him, what more was there for her to do? It seemed as though Ethel might have been bigamously married to him with or without his knowledge, and so he could have killed Tobias Rocke in a sudden rage or if Mr Rocke had threatened to expose them. Ethel must have lied about his movements to her; either they had not returned home with each other or Gentle John had left again after their return.
/> Where did this leave her, Nell, though? She had more or less promised Mrs Squires that she would help prove Gentle John innocent. Did that mean she should take it at least a little further? (It might even lead to that picnic lunch with Chief Inspector Melbray.)
Stop this, Nell Drury, she told herself. Concentrate on Gentle John. Never mind the motive, did the facts fit?
If he had planned to kill Tobias Rocke, then he would have waited until Mr Rocke was about to walk or drive home and instead persuaded him to walk with him along that footpath past the porch as the quickest way to his home. Then he would have killed him. The problem with that theory was that the body would have been found well before Jethro saw it, as so many people must have been leaving the Coach and Horses at about that time. Perhaps Mr Rocke went back to Birch Cottage with Ethel and Gentle John. That was a thought. When they’d finished talking, John Palmer could have made some excuse to escort him back towards the gates to Wychbourne Court and killed him on the way.
But why would they have stopped in the porch? It wasn’t snowing at that point. Did John Palmer come to the Follies equipped with a knife or did he pick one up at his home? Why use a knife at all? Gentle John was a tall and very strong man, Tobias Rocke was short and hadn’t looked a man of much physical strength.
She was quite sure that Alex – no, Chief Inspector Melbray – had been thinking along the same lines. He had given one parting shot, as she’d left.
‘Nell, we had to arrest John Palmer, because of the evidence. But there might be more to the story of Tobias Rocke than has emerged so far.’
Perhaps he wasn’t overlooking Mary Ann Darling after all.
SEVEN
‘Pray enter, Nell.’
She obeyed with pleasure. Tuesday morning, and Arthur Fontenoy was just the person to talk to about the arrest of John Palmer. If anyone could make sense of this, it was Arthur. In a sense, he was an outsider. He wasn’t part of the Ansley family and yet he was close to its interests, and on good terms with them all (save the dowager, of course). Nor was he part of the village, although he was generally trusted.
‘I am honoured to see you, Nell,’ Arthur continued. He ushered her into Wychbourne Court Cottage. The word cottage was a misnomer, in Nell’s view, as it had three storeys and was built in elegant Georgian-style red brick. Arthur led her to her favourite room in his home, which was his den; this was full of memorabilia of the Ansleys, his own family and of his great passion, the London theatre. ‘Although Chief Inspector Melbray has vanished along with the snow, the Follies are over and that poor man has been arrested, do I deduce correctly that you consider this terrible business of Tobias Rocke’s death is far from over and that is what brings you here?’
‘It is, Arthur.’
‘Nevertheless, it does seem a coincidence that Tobias’s murder is attributed to the husband of a lady who was Mary Ann Darling’s dresser. I do recall there was a rumour going around the Gaiety when the dresser first arrived that perhaps Tobias was secretly married to her; that was made all the more fascinating because of his apparent infatuation with Miss Darling. He was known to the cast as the keeper of secrets and his marriage seems to have been one of them. Dear Ethel. Of course I remember her in the past, but we don’t talk of old times when we meet in the village.’
That was a relief. She could talk to Arthur without betraying police confidentiality. Nell remembered Ethel Palmer’s hesitation when asked if she and Gentle John had talked to anyone after the Follies ended. Her answer had been yes, but only briefly. Tobias Rocke’s name – unsurprisingly – had not been mentioned.
‘This is going to be sticky,’ she began. ‘If he was known as a keeper of secrets, isn’t it also a coincidence that he was murdered just as people who might have confided in him gathered together. On the other hand, if he had kept the secrets so long, why bother to kill him now?’
‘Reminders of the past can be uncomfortable.’ Arthur frowned. ‘Look at all these smiling photographs of mine. Ellen Terry, Henry Irving, Ellaline Terriss, and with them Alice Maxwell, Hubert Jarrett, dear Neville Heydock – none of them would want the past raked up, no matter how insignificant or innocent their secrets might have been or, indeed, still are. None of us would like that. It’s possible therefore that John Palmer took advantage of Tobias being on his own to eliminate the threat to his respectability and his children’s legitimacy. I doubt if there was ever a divorce, with the laws as they were both then and now. Nevertheless, I take your point, Nell. Do you still think Mary Ann might be relevant?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nell said in frustration. ‘As murder was suspected, Mr Rocke might have known who killed her, but how do I find that out now?’
There must be something she could do to prove or disprove Gentle John’s innocence or guilt, but what? Inspector Melbray – yes, thinking of him that way came quite easily to her – couldn’t take Mary Ann’s case any further, but perhaps she could. The key had to be Tobias Rocke himself and if Mary Ann’s death had been the touchstone for his murder, then his relationship with her could have been the reason for his death.
‘But I’ll do my best to do so,’ she added.
‘My dear Nell,’ Arthur commented, ‘there will be no stopping you once you have set foot on the trail. A caveat, though. Impediments may block your path.’
She saw his point immediately. ‘The Ansleys’ involvement. But Lady Ansley wasn’t at the Gaiety when Mary Ann disappeared.’
‘Gerald was, however. I was not. I do agree with you that the gathering here for the Wychbourne Follies might have provided a perfect opportunity to ensure secrets of any sorts remained secret for ever. Nell, to use Mr Horace Walpole’s excellent word, serendipity has provided another perfect opportunity in that Lady Kencroft, whom I find it impossible to consider a murderess, is shortly to arrive here for a chat. I suggest you delay your departure and join us. Shall we adjourn to the morning room?’
To Nell’s pleasure, Lady Kencroft looked delighted to see her when Arthur ushered her into the morning room twenty minutes later. Slender and tall, her pleated day dress and cloche hat were the epitome of fashion and yet her sparkling eyes and lively manner made that seem of little importance. Take care, though, Nell warned herself. I’ll be stepping back into her past here, and Lady Kencroft’s view of it, like those of the others at this reunion, could have been coloured by time.
‘I know from Lady Ansley that you are a force for good, Miss Drury,’ Lady Kencroft greeted her, ‘and also how much she relies on you – much needed at the moment. Arthur tells me you’ve been chatting and I’m very willing to help if I can, especially as Lord Ansley does have doubts about John Palmer’s arrest.’
‘As we have, Katie,’ Arthur replied. ‘Do you mind talking about Tobias?’
‘Not if it unravels any of the truth. It was all terribly hush-hush at the time but the story going around was that Tobias was a married man. I can’t believe that is true, though, because Tobias was so very fond of Mary Ann Darling. Oh dear.’ Lady Kencroft pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid it was Gertrude’s remark that put a pigeon among the cats – my own reversal of the usual order. She was the pigeon and positively devoured as a result; she is still suffering from it. Mary Ann’s disappearance has always been such a closed book. I don’t even talk to my husband about it, although there’s no reason at all that I shouldn’t. Do you really think that it’s relevant to Tobias’s death?’ she asked anxiously.
‘One can’t help but think that his death at this reunion is intriguing,’ Arthur murmured.
‘Be careful where you tread,’ Lady Kencroft said lightly. ‘My husband was very fond of Mary Ann too, and so were we all.’
‘Did you think she was murdered?’ Nell asked. Was this one of the impediments Arthur had feared? That guests’ affection for Mr Rocke would stand in the way of the journey to the truth?
‘Oh, Miss Drury,’ Lady Kencroft replied, ‘as she vanished so completely, we suspected it, especially when her body was found later. She did arouse
passions in people. And yet she was the sweetest girl. She never actively stirred them up.’
‘Did you see her after the performance that night?’
‘Briefly, yes. I was dining at Romano’s and so was Charles, although we were not married then and were sitting at separate tables with our respective escorts. In the nineties, Romano’s was in its heyday. I gather it’s declined since the war, but then it was such a lovely place. So unexciting outside, but inside! My dear, it was a stage all of its own. More diamonds to be seen than in Barney Barnato’s mines. More champagne than the cellars of Cliquot-Ponsardin. The waiters were straight from The Merry Widow – Romano’s was a Lehár operetta of its own, such frolics. And Signor Romano himself was such a character. The Guv’nor, Mr Edwardes, had an arrangement with Signor Romano that all we Gaiety girls could dine there half price so that’s where we took our escorts. We were the attraction, part of the entertainment in the most respectable way, of course.’
‘Were you dining near Miss Darling?’ Nell asked.
‘No. Charles and I were both at tables in the ground-floor restaurant, where one came to be seen, whereas Mary Ann was dining in one of the private rooms upstairs. I did see her briefly in the ladies’ cloakroom.’
‘Did she seem worried or upset?’ Golly, Nell thought, I’m beginning to sound like the great Chief Inspector Melbray himself.
‘Not worried. Excited, I think. Something might have been on her mind, because although she chatted to me she wasn’t really there.’
‘Who was she dining with?’ Nell asked hopefully. ‘Could it have been Mr Rocke?’
‘I doubt it. He seldom came to Romano’s. I didn’t see Mary Ann arrive that evening, and although I caught a glimpse of her as she left with her escort the rear of one tail-coated gentleman looks much like another.’