Murder at the Dolphin Hotel

by Helena Dixon

  ‘That makes absolutely no sense. Why can’t these people, whoever they are, just come out and say what it is that we’re supposed to have that isn’t ours?’ Kitty shook her head. ‘And, even if I did know, then how would we be able to return whatever it is?’

  ‘Kitty, are you sure your mother didn’t leave anything behind?’

  ‘Only me, and a bag of clothes.’ She was aware that her voice held a note of false gaiety.

  Matt rubbed his hand across his chin. ‘And you can’t think of anything a guest may have left behind that’s gone unclaimed?’

  Kitty laughed. ‘False teeth, walking sticks, umbrellas and a set of golf clubs once but nothing of any value. No gems or gold bullion.’

  ‘Well somebody thinks you have something that belongs to them, that’s for sure. Though you’re right, how you are supposed to give whatever it is to them I’m not certain.’

  ‘The whole thing is completely mad. How am I supposed to return something I don’t have, and don’t know what it is, to people I don’t have any way of contacting and who are obviously dangerous?’ It was like being trapped in a penny dreadful novel. She rolled her head slightly, trying to ease the tension knots at the base of her skull.

  ‘From this latest message, I’d say we’re about to hear more from them.’ Matt took an empty brown paper bag from the drawer of the bureau and eased the letter into it with the paper knife. ‘I’ll run this down to the police station. If you think of anything or if you hear any news that might shed any light on it, let me know.’

  Matt left Kitty to eat a belated supper while he took the latest letter across town to the police station. The night had drawn in now and the air held a chill from the river. Matt shivered and tucked his hands in the pockets of his overcoat as he walked. The streets were quiet, with only the occasional dog walker out and about by the area known as the ‘boat float’, a small inshore marina near the town centre separated from the river by a road bridge.

  His route took him past the dock for the lower ferry and he wondered why Mr Smith had given instructions to someone to go there. Had he gone himself to meet someone? Or to collect something? Was he connected to the body in the river? Usually it was a busy place during daylight, with the river ferry doing a brisk trade in both vehicles and foot passengers. He made a mental note to come back in the morning to talk to the ferry crew. Maybe they had seen or heard something.

  The river flowed inky black; the silence only broken by the gurgling slap of the current against the side of the docked ferry. A familiar tingle between Matt’s shoulder blades triggered a sense that he was no longer alone as he passed the closed-up green and yellow striped booth advertising Mr Farjeon’s motor coach excursions to Dartmoor.

  Years of training had taught Matt not to give any outward sign of awareness, but he listened carefully for clues, poised and ready for a possible threat as he slowly turned to continue towards the police station. He kept to the same pace as before, conscious that someone was following in the shadows behind him.

  Matt stopped in front of a shop window as if studying the contents, whilst using the reflection of the darkened glass to try to see who his follower might be. He pretended an interest in the selection of fancy goods and listened. He thought he caught a glimpse of someone whisking swiftly out of sight, but they were too far away to give him more than a blurred impression of a dark coat with a flash of red.

  He was almost at the doors of the station when he sensed his follower had gone. Clearly whoever it was had no wish to get too near the police.

  The desk sergeant greeted Matt affably, remembering him from his earlier visit, and took the bagged letter from him.

  ‘Your Mr Smith turned out to be a very interesting man, Captain Bryant. Wanted by police in four countries.’

  ‘Really? Any connection to your murder victim?’ Matt leaned against the counter while the paperwork was completed.

  ‘He’s refusing to talk at the moment but we think they were in the same line of work. They’ve remanded him in custody till the bigwigs from London get here to question him. Seems his real name is Gerald DeVries; he’s something of a specialist in his field.’

  Matt signed the forms acknowledging that he had received a receipt for the letter. ‘And what is Mr DeVries’s field?’

  The sergeant took back his pen and closed his file. ‘Gem cutting. Precious stones, diamonds, mostly.’

  Chapter Nine

  Mrs Treadwell didn’t telephone and Matt’s attempt to contact her on the number she’d given him went unanswered. Mrs Craven remained resolutely unconscious but stable at the cottage hospital and there was no more information forthcoming from the police.

  Matt’s enquiries at the lower ferry also drew a blank. No one had seen or heard anything. No one of Mr Smith’s description had called there that they could recall, and no one had enquired about collecting any goods. He arranged to meet Kitty in her grandmother’s suite for luncheon so he could update her.

  ‘This is so frustrating. What are we going to do?’ Kitty had her arms folded as she stood at the window.

  ‘The only thing we can do – wait. Sooner or later they will contact you again. I think they are probably already watching us.’ He told Kitty about his shadow from the previous night.

  She rubbed the tops of her arms as if trying to physically remove contamination from her body. ‘That is so eerie. Should we tell the police? What if they attack one of us?’

  Matt swallowed at the signs of panic etched into her delicate features. Once upon a time, before Edith, he would have reassured her straight away. He would have made a joke and promised she’d be safe if she stayed by his side.

  ‘We’ll simply have to be careful. Don’t leave the hotel without telling me. Have someone trustworthy with you whenever you go out.’

  She left her post by the window to sit beside him on the couch. ‘That’s it? That’s all we do?’

  He couldn’t meet her gaze. ‘We wait. We behave absolutely normally, and we’ll hear from them. It’s the way blackmailers and villains always work.’ He knew that all too well.

  Kitty shivered. ‘You sound as if you have plenty of experience with this kind of thing.’

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. A shadow fell across his face and she sensed his thoughts were a million miles away from the Dolphin Hotel.

  ‘Matthew?’ She placed a hand on his arm. His hand fisted and the muscles of his forearm bunched beneath her touch.

  Taken by surprise at his reaction, she snatched her hand away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kitty, I think I’m a little jumpy after last night.’

  ‘That makes two of us then.’ She kept her tone light although irrationally his reaction had hurt her. As soon as her grandmother called, she intended to try to learn more about Matt’s background. So many things about him didn’t add up, and with the sinister turn of recent events, she needed to know if she could truly trust him. For all she knew, he could have been the one calling the mystery intruder on her grandmother’s telephone.

  After Matt had gone, Kitty picked up the file on her mother’s disappearance that he had been studying so closely the previous evening. The familiar ache started in her chest as she stared at the faded envelope. It had been years since she’d read the contents. She’d only really looked at the file properly once before, when she was eighteen, shortly before she’d officially been launched into Dartmouth society.

  She slid the contents of the file out into the space where Matt had been sitting moments earlier. Her mother’s face gazed up at her from the top of the pile. The black and white photograph had faded with age, her mother stiff and formal in an old-fashioned dress, with the longer skirts and fussier hats that had been the order of the day.

  The picture must have been taken shortly before she disappeared because she was wearing a bracelet made from papier mâché beads that Kitty had given her for Mother’s Day a few weeks earlier. The setting seemed familiar and she guessed it had been taken
locally.

  ‘What happened, Mother? Where did you go?’ A sudden breeze shook the window frame, sending a shiver along Kitty’s spine.

  She had been too young when her mother vanished to have many memories of her. Snatches of songs she must have sung to her, the scent of a particular perfume her mother had always worn, and jumbled scraps of disjointed scenes were all she had.

  She knew that they had lived in London before her mother had returned to the Dolphin and somewhere in her mind, she seemed to think she had been on a ship. Kitty sighed as she read the meagre collection of facts and witness statements that various detectives had collected.

  She had often wondered if part of the reason Mrs Craven disliked her was because of her physical resemblance to her mother. They shared the same blonde-brown hair and wide blue-grey eyes. That was all they shared, though. Elowed had been a free spirit, where Kitty was cautious and restrained. Elowed had flouted convention where Kitty was obedient and followed the rules.

  She also knew that Mrs Craven suspected that Elowed had never married Kitty’s father, although the file contained confirmation from Somerset House of her marriage in London to Edgar Underhay, gentleman.

  Perhaps if her mother hadn’t vanished, she would have been different, maybe Elowed herself would have changed, settled down and stayed at the Dolphin. Kitty stared at the photograph. Did her mother hold the clues to all the strange events that were happening now?

  She flipped through the files. Elowed’s bank account had been untouched, her passport still in her room when she’d disappeared. She hadn’t packed a bag or taken any of her clothes with her. Not that they had discovered that until later. It seemed that one fine spring day she had walked out of the hotel, leaving Kitty with her grandmother, and had simply disappeared from the face of the earth.

  Elowed’s friends had all been quizzed – those that had come forward at least – pictures placed in the press, even a slot on the radio; nothing. Kitty’s grandmother had hired three different investigators over the intervening years and all of them had drawn a blank. For a time, every unidentified female body that had turned up in the river had sparked both a hope and a fear that it was Elowed.

  The police had listed her as a missing person but that was as far as it had gone. The war and the shortage of manpower had categorised the case as being of low priority. With her mother’s history of taking off whenever she wanted, they had been reluctant to take the missing report seriously at all at first. It had only been later when Elowed had not reappeared that they had intensified their efforts to find her.

  As for her father; if it weren’t for the proof that there had been a marriage, then Kitty would have struggled to believe in his existence. There were no pictures or mementos, no correspondence. Maybe her mother had destroyed them if the marriage had been unhappy. Her grandmother had always been dismissive whenever Kitty had asked about him. She knew he hadn’t enlisted to fight during the war but didn’t know why. He remained a shadowy figure on the periphery of her life. She wondered if he were still alive and if he was, whether he ever thought about her.

  Kitty stashed the documents back inside the envelope but left the photograph of her mother on top of the bureau. She really ought to frame it and place it in her room with the other picture she had of her. She took a seat at the window and stared out at the scene below. River life continued much as it had for many centuries, despite the drizzly afternoon. Pleasure craft had replaced many of the trade vessels which had once sailed up the river to unload their cargo. The ferries were busy plying their trade, both upper ferry and lower crossing the river, one at each end of the town, carrying cars, small vans, horse and carts and foot passengers. The ferries ran on huge chains which held them in place against the current. A plume of steam from Kingswear station on the opposite bank signalled the imminent departure of a steam train taking trippers off around the county.

  She rested her head against the glass. She’d watched this scene play out a thousand times. Her grandmother always said that Elowed had been a restless spirit. Kitty sighed, remembering the times when she too had felt confined by the small town and sense of obligation placed on her shoulders. It was certainly weighing heavily on her now.

  The telephone on the side table rang out, breaking her thoughts. ‘Kitty?’

  Her heart skipped when she heard her grandmother’s voice. ‘Grams, how are you? How is Aunt Livvy?’

  ‘We’re both fine. Livvy is asleep and I’m not so I thought I’d call you and make sure you were managing.’

  ‘Grams, there’s so much going on here.’ Kitty told her everything that had happened, including the news about Mrs Craven.

  ‘I knew you were keeping something from me when I called to say I’d arrived. I also have a number of missed calls from Matthew, judging by the pile of messages next to the telephone that the help has left for me. I assume this was why he was attempting to contact me?’

  ‘Probably. He wanted to know more about Mother and the day she disappeared.’ Kitty fought to keep her voice from wobbling, anxious not to give her grandmother any indication of how unsettled she felt.

  ‘Hmm, it sounds as if he thinks this funny business is connected to Elowed after all, then. I wonder why he’s changed his mind. I’ll have to call him tomorrow; it’s getting too late here now and I must confess I’m rather tired and in need of a rest myself.’ Her grandmother sounded thoughtful.

  ‘Grams, how much do you know about Matthew? He is okay, isn’t he?’

  There was the tiniest of pauses before her grandmother replied. ‘Matthew is the son of an old friend of mine, General Bryant and his wife, Patience. He is completely trustworthy, although he has endured a great deal. He has an exemplary war record and is very well connected. He was wounded twice during the war and suffered a great personal tragedy. After the war he remained in the army before moving into a government post. I hired him to ensure you would have someone to support you while I was away.’ There was a reproving note in her tone.

  ‘Did something happen to him during the war?’

  ‘He lost someone very dear to him.’ Her grandmother’s voice was hesitant, and Kitty guessed she was wondering how much she should tell her.

  ‘He mentioned someone called Edith?’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you about Edith. It was a terrible tragedy. I’m sure if Matthew wishes to share that with you, he will.’

  Kitty knew when to stop probing. ‘I’m sorry, Grams. I love you, give my love to Aunt Livvy and go and get some sleep now.’

  The telephone rang again as soon as she replaced the receiver.

  ‘I just had a tip-off from the hospital. Mrs Craven has recovered consciousness.’ The enthusiasm was back in Matt’s voice.

  ‘How is she? Did she say what happened to her? When can she have visitors?’ Questions tumbled from her lips; finally it seemed they might get some answers.

  ‘Hold your horses, the police are with her now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her great, gusty sigh of frustration must have resonated over the telephone.

  ‘My contact will get us whatever information she can, and we may be able to see Mrs C later this evening depending on her condition and if the police and matron allows it.’

  A tiny spear of jealousy nudged her in the ribs. ‘Who is your contact?’ Visions of Matt flirting with some pretty little nurse flashed through her brain.

  ‘A good detective never reveals his sources.’ There was a note of amusement in the fake American accent he used.

  Kitty was glad he wasn’t there to see the flush which had heated her cheeks. Why should she care about how Matt got his information or from whom?

  ‘By the way, I just got off the telephone from talking to Grams. She said she’ll call you tomorrow.’

  He mumbled something unintelligible into her ear.

  ‘I told her about everything that had happened. I think she’s quite tired from looking after Aunt Livvy.’ She wished she didn’t have the sense that she was bei
ng excluded from something. She wasn’t even sure why she felt that way, but there was something going on, she just knew it.

  ‘Can’t be helped, I suppose. Hopefully I’ll be able to catch up with her soon. Be ready by seven and we’ll see what we can find out from Mrs Craven.’

  Kitty hung up the receiver once more and picked up the file, ready to lock it away in the safe. The knock at the door made her start.

  ‘Come in.’ She had to stop jumping at every little thing.

  Cora poked her head around the door. ‘I brought you a cup of coffee. I thought you might want a drink about now. Reception said as you were in here.’ The older woman entered the room bearing a small circular tray with a delicate china cup and saucer and a plate with some biscuits.

  ‘Thank you, Cora.’ Kitty cleared the papers to one side as the woman set the tray down on the table.

  ‘That looks old, miss,’ Cora observed as she passed the photo of Kitty’s mother on top of the bureau.

  ‘It is; this is a picture of my mother taken when I was young.’ Kitty stared at the photograph.

  ‘Yes, of course… I’m not sure but that looks as if it might have been taken at Cullever Steps.’ Cora squinted at the picture.

  ‘Where?’

  Cora delved in her apron pocket and pulled out a small, black-rimmed pair of glasses. She placed them on her nose and took another good look at the photograph. ‘Yes, I’d say that was Cullever Steps, just below Scarey Tor on Dartmoor. Mr Farjeon takes trippers there in his motor coach.’

  ‘Golly, how can you tell?’ To Kitty, the picture could have been taken anywhere. She had guessed it was probably Dartmoor but she couldn’t have been so precise.

  ‘The stepping stones in the background. There’s a pool there too, look.’ Cora handed the photograph back before taking off her glasses and returning them to her apron pocket. ‘Good meeting place up there, popular with lovers. Lots of people used to go there before the war.’