by Graham Ison
‘Have you gone raving mad?’ The woman who demanded that she be called Lady Henrietta stared at Wood, apparently unfazed by his awesome statement.
‘I shall now take you to Cannon Row police station, madam.’
‘My lady,’ said Hilda Naylor imperiously. ‘I’m addressed as my lady.’
‘Please yourself,’ said Wood, and hailed a cab.
‘Splendid!’ exclaimed Hardcastle, when Wood informed him of the arrest of Lady Naylor.
‘Her Ladyship’s in cell number three, and Sir Royston’s in the one next door to it, sir,’ said Marriott.
‘Ask Mrs Cartwright to see me, Wood.’ Hardcastle reached for his pipe and began to fill it.
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ asked the station matron as she stepped into the DDI’s office a few moments later.
‘There’s a prisoner in number three cell, Mrs Cartwright, name of Lady Naylor.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I want her thoroughly searched. Sergeant Marriott will wait outside the cell door and take possession of anything you find.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Mrs Cartwright.
Bertha Cartwright was far more formidable a woman than appeared to be the case when she was taking the DDI his tea. On those occasions she always seemed to be a mumsy sort of woman, concerned about the welfare of her soldier son and little else.
‘On your feet,’ she bellowed, as she strode into the cell.
‘How dare you shout at me like that,’ shrieked Lady Naylor, ‘and, I’ll have you know, I’m addressed as my lady.’
‘I don’t care if you’re the Queen of Sheba, but all the while you’re locked up here, I’ll address you anyway I like, dearie. Now then, get that frock off.’
‘I’ll do no such thing, you fat cow.’
Mrs Cartwright stepped across the cell, and delivered a stinging blow to Lady Naylor’s face. ‘Do it. Now.’
There was no further argument, and within minutes Lady Naylor was standing naked and shivering in the cell while Bertha Cartwright examined her clothing.
‘I shall make a very strong complaint to the highest authority about you,’ said Hilda Naylor when the matron had finished, and had told the prisoner to get dressed again. ‘You clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with.’
Without another word, Mrs Cartwright left the cell. ‘Nothing, Mr Marriott,’ she said. ‘Has anyone been through her handbag?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Marriott. ‘I think the station officer put it straight into the prisoners’ property store.’
‘Better have a look, then, love,’ said the matron.
The station officer produced Lady Naylor’s handbag, and Mrs Cartwright emptied it on to the desk in the front office.
‘There’s a bunch of keys, a diary, some sort of account book, a lace-trimmed handkerchief, a pencil in a silver holder, and some visiting cards in a silver case.’ Mrs Cartwright identified each item as she moved it from one side of the table to the other. ‘Oh, and there’s a separate key here, Mr Marriott.’
‘I think Mr Hardcastle might be interested in that, Mrs Cartwright,’ said Marriott.
‘This is only thing that the matron found that might be of interest, sir,’ said Marriott.
Hardcastle took the key and examined it closely. ‘Was that the only key, Marriott?’
‘There was a bunch of keys, too, sir, but I suspect they’re for the Washbourne Street properties that Sir Royston owns.’
‘Get your coat and hat, Marriott.’ Hardcastle stood up. ‘We’re going to conduct a little test.’
It was half past eight when Hardcastle and Marriott arrived at Artillery Mansions.
Hardcastle knocked loudly on the caretaker’s door. ‘Mr Harris,’ he said, ‘has anyone called at Lady Sarah Millard’s apartment since I was last here?’
‘No, sir, no one,’ said Harris.
‘Not a Major Millard by any chance?’
‘No, sir, no one.’
‘Did you perhaps see a woman calling here on, say, Thursday the nineteenth of last month, or even early in the morning the next day?’
‘No, Inspector. Like I said when you found that poor lady’s body, I never saw anyone go up there.’
‘Very well,’ said Hardcastle, and he and Marriott made their way up to the first floor.
‘D’you think we’re in luck, sir?’ asked Marriott.
‘Any minute now and we’ll find out,’ said Hardcastle, and producing the key found in Lady Naylor’s handbag, he tried it in the lock. ‘Aha!’ he exclaimed as the door swung open. ‘You’re an educated chap, Marriott. What was it that Greek fellow said? Wasn’t he called Archie someone?’
‘Archimedes, sir, and eureka was what he said. It means I’ve found it.’
‘Exactly, Marriott.’ Hardcastle walked into the apartment and glanced around. ‘Well, no sense in hanging about here,’ he said. ‘We’ve got what we wanted, and I reckon Lady Naylor’s going to have a bit of a job explaining why she had that key in her possession.’
When the two detectives had returned to Cannon Row police station, Marriott produced the necklace found in the basement of 143 Washbourne Street.
‘What about this, sir?’ he asked.
‘Ah, yes, the necklace. We forgot to show that to Mr and Mrs Drake.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Marriott was always mildly amused that the DDI tended to include him in any failing on his own part. ‘But Mrs Hampton, the cook at Grosvenor Gardens that Wood interviewed, might know if it’s Lady Naylor’s.’
‘Quite right, Marriott,’ said the DDI, and shouted for DS Wood.
‘Sir?’ Wood appeared almost immediately.
‘Take a trip round to Grosvenor Gardens and ask your friend the cook if she’s ever seen this necklace before, Wood. And don’t waste any time.’
‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Wood.’
‘I’m sorry to bother you so late in the evening, Mrs Hampton, but it is rather important.’
‘Come in, Mr Wood. Kitty and me was just having a cup of cocoa. Perhaps you’d care for one. There’s a bit of cold mutton as well, if you’d like some.’
‘Thank you, that would be very nice.’ Wood, never one to pass up the offer of a free meal, followed the Naylors’ cook into the warm kitchen.
‘Hello, Mr Wood.’ Kitty the parlour maid was seated beside the fire knitting, and reading a magazine.
‘There you are, Mr Wood,’ said Mrs Hampton, putting a cup of cocoa and a plate of meat on the kitchen table. ‘Now, what can I help you with?’
‘This,’ said Wood, taking the necklace from his pocket.
It needed only a glance for Mrs Hampton to identify it. ‘Why, bless you, that’s Her Ladyship’s,’ she said. ‘She’s not here at the moment, thank the Lord, but I can return it to her if it would save you another journey.’
‘It’s not that simple, Mrs Hampton. You see, it’s what we call evidence.’
‘Evidence? Whatever do you mean? Are you saying it was stolen? Was it that man you told us about, the one who pretends to be from the gas board?’
‘Not exactly.’ Wood glanced from Mrs Hampton to Kitty and back again, and concluded that he could take them into his confidence. ‘Earlier this evening I arrested Lady Naylor, and my guv’nor arrested Sir Royston.’
‘Arrested?’ Mrs Hampton put her hand to her mouth. ‘Whatever for?’
‘In connection with the murder of a prostitute at the end of last month.’ Wood decided that he need say no more than that; in fact, he might have said too much.
‘Well, I never did. I always knew that woman wasn’t to be trusted.’ It seemed that Mrs Hampton had already decided that Hilda Naylor was guilty of the crime for which Wood had arrested her.
‘But I’d be glad if you kept that to yourselves,’ continued Wood, glancing at Kitty as he spoke. He knew that domestic servants had a propensity for gossip, particularly with those below stairs in adjacent houses.
Mrs Hampton emitted a hollow laugh. ‘Your secret’s safe with us, Mr Wood,
’ she said, ‘much as I’d love to shout it from the rooftops.’
It was close to eleven o’clock by the time that Wood reported back to the DDI.
‘Well, Wood, you took your time. What news?’
‘Mrs Hampton positively identified the necklace as belonging to Lady Naylor, sir.’
Hardcastle laughed. ‘I thought she would.’ He took out his hunter, briefly wound it and dropped it back into his waistcoat pocket. ‘I think we’ll let the Naylors have a night in the cells to think it over, Marriott. And then in the morning, we’ll see what they have to say for themselves.’ He stood up and put on his coat and hat. ‘See you at eight o’clock tomorrow, Marriott.’
On Hardcastle’s instructions, Sir Royston Naylor had been placed in the interview room. Languishing in an uncomfortable cell overnight had not, however, in any way reduced his boorish attitude. If anything, it had increased it, but before Naylor had a chance to protest at his detention Hardcastle flung the necklace on the table.
‘Seen that before, Sir Royston?’
‘I, er—’ The entrepreneur clipped on a pair of pince-nez and peered closely at the item of jewellery. ‘No, I can’t say that I recall having seen it before.’
Hardcastle laughed. ‘It belongs to your wife, doesn’t it? And I suggest you bought it for her.’
‘I suppose it’s possible.’ Naylor was hesitant in his reply, and Hardcastle knew instinctively that he was prevaricating.
‘Let’s stop beating about the bush, Sir Royston. That necklace was found alongside the murdered body of Annie Kelly in the basement of one of your properties, number one-four-three Washbourne Street.’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about it.’ By now all the fight had left Naylor.
‘I suggest that you murdered Annie Kelly and deliberately left that necklace there to throw suspicion on your wife.’
‘I told you, I know nothing about it,’ said Naylor desperately.
‘You didn’t get on with your wife, did you, Sir Royston.’ Marriott had been fully briefed by DS Wood about the latter’s conversation with Mrs Hampton, the cook at Grosvenor Gardens. ‘In fact, I’d suggest that you regret ever having married her.’
‘Not at all, I—’
‘I have it on good authority that you and she were always fighting,’ Marriott continued, ‘especially at your London house, and probably at Kingsley Hall, too.’
‘The truth of the matter is that you were deceived by Hilda Mullen into believing that she was pregnant: the oldest trick in the book,’ said Hardcastle. ‘And that’s why you married her. It wouldn’t do for a man who had been knighted by the king to have an illegitimate child around the place. Particularly when he had hopes of a peerage.’
‘Then you discovered that you had made Annie Kelly pregnant.’ Marriott joined in again, pressing Naylor. ‘And she started making demands that you divorce your wife and marry her, or at least provide her with a substantial sum of money. But you couldn’t be sure that she’d stay quiet, even if you paid up.’
‘I didn’t know anything about her being pregnant.’
‘Well, the post-mortem examination of that poor girl revealed that she was two months up the spout, and that the sprog was yours,’ said Hardcastle brutally. Neither he nor Dr Spilsbury had any way of knowing if that were the case, but the DDI guessed that Naylor would not be sufficiently knowledgeable to know it either.
‘I think I ought to send for my lawyer,’ said Naylor.
‘I haven’t finished yet,’ said Hardcastle, ‘and I’ll tell you when you can see a solicitor. Now I turn to the matter of the late Lady Sarah Millard.’
‘What about her?’ asked Naylor listlessly.
‘You’d been having it up regularly with her while her gallant husband was at the Front fighting for King and Country. But it came as a bit of a surprise when he turned up at Cadogan Place waving his pistol and threatening to kill you. And if the publicity that followed that unpleasant incident wasn’t enough, Major Millard was going to divorce his wife and cite you as co-respondent. And that, Sir Royston, would certainly have put the kibosh on any hopes you had of settling your arse on the red benches of the House of Lords. So you decided that the only way to deal with that little problem was to murder Lady Sarah.’ Hardcastle decided that it would not help him to secure an admission from Naylor if he mentioned the key to Lady Sarah Millard’s Artillery Mansions apartment that was found in Lady Naylor’s handbag.
‘This is preposterous,’ exclaimed Naylor, but he was clearly rattled by Hardcastle’s allegations.
‘Very well. Put him down, Marriott, and we’ll see what Her Ladyship has to say about the matter.
At their first meeting, Hardcastle had formed the opinion that Hilda, Lady Naylor, was a feisty woman. In similar vein to her husband, her confinement overnight had done little to diminish her arrogance.
She began speaking the moment that Hardcastle and Marriott entered the interview room. ‘You obviously know who I am,’ she said haughtily, ‘and I’ll warn you that I intend to complain to the highest authority. Sir Royston has some very influential friends in Whitehall, and if you think you can just arrest me on a whim, well, you’re much mistaken, Inspector.’
‘That was quite a speech for someone who started out life as an uneducated scullery maid in Brighton, who was sacked for thieving and then went on to become a factory girl who married the boss.’ Hardcastle took out his pipe and began slowly to fill it. ‘And all that swimming you did must’ve given you some pretty powerful muscles.’ It was not a casual observation; he had a very good reason for saying it.
That Hardcastle knew so much of her background momentarily discomfited Hilda Naylor, but she quickly recovered. ‘I don’t see that bettering myself is anything to be sneered at,’ she snapped.
Hardcastle placed the necklace on the table and sat back without comment.
For a few moments Hilda Naylor’s gaze was transfixed by the platinum dog collar necklet beset with diamonds. ‘What’s that?’ she asked eventually.
‘A necklace, Lady Naylor, and Detective Sergeant Marriott here found it close to where the body of Annie Kelly was found in the ruins of one of the Washbourne Street houses owned by your husband.’
‘Really?’ Hilda Naylor affected ignorance. ‘And what has it to do with me?’
‘It’s your necklace, Lady Naylor,’ said Marriott. ‘We’ve had it valued by a jeweller, and he put a price on it of about three hundred and fifty pounds. Hardly the sort of thing a prostitute could afford.’
Sir Royston’s wife sneered. ‘And what makes you think that it’s mine?’
‘It’s been identified by members of your staff, and they’re in no doubt that they saw you wearing it on several occasions.’
‘I suppose you’re talking about Drake, my former butler and that wretched little wife of his. Well, they’re lying. Just because I sacked them they’d say anything to make me look bad. I dismissed them because they were unreliable, often absent and insubordinate.’ Lady Naylor spoke cuttingly, as though any statements of an ex-servant and his wife were beneath consideration.
‘Your husband also identified that necklace as yours,’ said Hardcastle mildly, taking another of the unsubstantiated gambles to which Marriott had grown accustomed. ‘Furthermore, he said that he hadn’t seen you wearing it after Monday the twenty-fifth of September. And that, Lady Naylor, was the date of Annie Kelly’s murder.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything. I didn’t see it after that date either.’
‘So, you admit the necklace is yours,’ said Marriott.
‘It might be.’ Hilda Naylor, realizing that she had made a mistake, attempted to backtrack on her statement.
‘Are you suggesting that Sir Royston murdered this poor girl?’ asked Hardcastle.
‘I really have no idea, but he and I were both at Kingsley Hall that weekend. So neither of us could’ve done it.’
Hardcastle had no intention of revealing details of DS Wood’s conversation with Mr
s Hampton, a conversation that confirmed that Lady Naylor was in London on the Sunday prior to the discovery of Annie Kelly’s murder. It would be time enough to adduce that evidence at the trial. And Hardcastle was now, at last, convinced that there would be a trial.
‘You must have to have pretty strong hands to manage that horse of yours,’ commented Hardcastle in a disinterested way, as though he were merely making conversation.
‘I’m a good horsewoman, even though I say it myself,’ said Hilda Naylor, mistakenly assuming that Hardcastle was paying her a compliment.
‘Strong enough to strangle someone, I should think.’
‘What d’you mean by that?’
Hardcastle took another risk. ‘You were frightened that if Annie Kelly made a fuss about being pregnant by your husband it would put the kibosh on any chance your husband might have of getting himself a peerage. And I suggest that you decided to do away with Annie, and do away with the problem at the same time.’
‘Rubbish!’ Hilda Naylor almost spat her denial, but Hardcastle noticed that her cheeks had reddened.
‘And then there’s this.’ The DDI produced the key that Mrs Cartwright had found in Lady Naylor’s handbag.
‘What’s that supposed to do with anything?’ The woman cast a disdainful glance at the key.
‘It’s the key to Lady Sarah Millard’s apartment in Artillery Mansions, and it was found in your handbag.’
‘Nonsense! You must’ve put it there in some silly attempt to make me look guilty.’
‘Guilty of what, Lady Naylor?’ asked Marriott mildly.
‘I had nothing to do with that woman’s murder, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
‘Your husband seems to think you did,’ said Hardcastle mildly.
‘I don’t believe it.’ But it was fairly obvious that she did believe that her husband had made a statement implicating her in the murder.
‘Well, you’ll have a chance to argue it out at the trial. Put her back in her cell, Marriott, and then come back here.’
‘What’s next, sir?’ asked Marriott, when he returned from locking up Lady Naylor.
‘Get hold of Mr Collins in Fingerprint Bureau, and ask him to come over here as quickly as he can. I want him to take Lady Naylor’s dabs and compare them with those he found in Lady Sarah’s apartment.’