The Price of Silence

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  ‘He is American,’ said Anthony. ‘He’s a neutral, after all.’

  She dismissed neutrality with a wave of her hand. ‘Many Americans fight.’ Her eyes grew fierce. ‘I am Belgian, Monsieur, Belgian, I tell you. My country has been taken by brutes. Paul is American, yes, but his father is German and Paul supported Germany.’

  ‘Did he?’ asked Anthony, genuinely startled.

  Many Americans of German descent did support Germany, he knew. That was understandable, but to find an American in London who supported Germany was virtually unthinkable. Anti-German feeling was so ugly, it wasn’t, perhaps, so surprising that Diefenbach had left the country. There had been anti-German riots and some deaths in the East End of innocent shopkeepers who had a German name above their shop doorways. Even, revolting as it was, little Dachshund dogs had been stoned for the crime of being a German breed. ‘That must have made life interesting,’ he said cautiously.

  She gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘Mr Jowett, he tried to persuade Paul otherwise. As did I,’ she added grimly. Her mouth set in a straight line. ‘You English do not like the Boche. I hate them. I am a Broussard, a Belgian, once more. I do not care to be associated with the Diefenbachs. Perhaps it is better that he is far away.’

  Anthony nodded. ‘Perhaps.’ There must be some reason why a bunch of crooks are so anxious to find him though, he thought. They aren’t motivated by extreme patriotism. ‘Excuse me, Madame Broussard, but is there any reason you can think of why anyone should want to contact your husband? Urgently, that is?’

  She seemed surprised. ‘No. His affairs, they will be in order. He always saw to that. He is methodical, yes? Perhaps the bank? But no. Paul will have set affairs in order there, too. If there is anything urgent at the bank, they can always cable his papa.’ She shook her head. ‘I cannot help you.’

  And really, there didn’t seem anything more to add. Apart from hearing of Paul Diefenbach’s pro-German sympathies, they didn’t seem to be any further forward.

  Another blind alley.

  Anthony was much happier to receive a note that afternoon from Stephen Mayer, Sir Charles’ tame solicitor. Both Eileen Chadderton and Winnie Bruce, previously employed as servants in the Jowett household, had seen the advertisement in the newspapers and would call at the solicitor’s office at three o’clock the following day.

  With any luck they would be able to show a way forward.

  ‘Pro-German sympathies, eh?’ said Sir Charles thoughtfully.

  They were in Stephen Mayer’s office, awaiting the arrival of Eileen Chadderton and Winnie Bruce. Anthony intended to slip out when the ex-servants arrived. He wasn’t needed and the fewer people who could associate him with this business the better.

  Sir Charles, on the other hand, with the agreement of Stephen Mayer, had arranged to act as clerk throughout the meeting, to get a first-hand account of what was said.

  ‘Pro-German,’ repeated Anthony. ‘That’s what his wife said. And obviously, I wondered if that was significant. After all, we know there’s some sort of plot that involves the occupied territories.’

  ‘You think the Germans are at the back of this?’ asked Sir Charles.

  Mr Mayer cleared his throat. ‘If you’ll excuse me for commenting, gentlemen, that doesn’t make sense. You say that Paul Diefenbach has pro-German sympathies. If the plot, whatever it is, had been orchestrated by the enemy, they would hardly employ crooks of the like of Stevenson and the rest to lay hands on him.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘If the Germans are involved, surely Diefenbach would do the orchestrating, so to speak.’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed Anthony. ‘I was toying with the idea that Diefenbach had somehow got himself over to Germany or the occupied territories, but the Germans wouldn’t chase one of their own. They wouldn’t need to.’

  Sir Charles shook his head. ‘He was on the passenger list for the Union Castle, sailing to New York. We checked. It’s a puzzle, though,’ he added in frustration.

  Mr Mayer was about to answer, when a bell on the desk rang. ‘That’ll be Miss Chadderton and Miss Bruce,’ he said. ‘Perhaps this interview will provide some answers.’

  Mr Mayer stood up as Eileen Chadderton and Winnie Bruce were announced.

  ‘Ladies,’ he murmured, taking their hands in turn and bowing over them with old-fashioned courtesy. ‘Thank you for coming.’ He turned to his clerk. ‘Kelly, a chair for Miss Bruce and Miss Chadderton please.’

  The two women swapped startled glances with each other, more alarmed than reassured by the solicitor’s stately manners, but they allowed themselves to be escorted to chairs pulled out for them by Mr Kelly, a stout man dressed in sober black but with very twinkling eyes.

  The temporary Mr Kelly summed up the two women. They were nervous, but that wasn’t to be wondered at. Although both were well-dressed, in what were obviously new clothes, they looked tired. Edith Chadderton, at a guess, worked in munitions. Munitions workers were the highest paid of all factory girls, but their appearance suffered. Eileen Chadderton’s complexion already showed that yellow tinge which had earned munitions workers the nickname of canaries.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable, ladies,’ he said reassuringly. ‘There’s some good news on the way. It’s a matter of a legacy.’

  They looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension.

  ‘I told you,’ said Eileen Chadderton triumphantly to Winnie Bruce. ‘I told you it was something like that. It couldn’t be nothing else.’

  Mayer cleared his throat. ‘Now, ladies,’ he said, steepling his fingers together, ‘I understand you were both lately in the employ of Mr and Mrs Jowett of 4, Pettifer’s Court, Northumberland Avenue. Is that correct?’

  Once again the two women swapped glances. It was Eileen Chadderton who answered. ‘Indeed it is, sir,’ she said, leaning forward earnestly. ‘Me and Winnie, we kept in touch afterwards. We always got on, didn’t we, Winnie?’

  Winnie Bruce nodded in agreement, obviously still feeling too abashed to speak.

  ‘Well, last night, Winnie came round and said had I seen the advert in the paper? We were surprised, because we hadn’t worked for the Jowetts above a six month and we hadn’t looked for anything, but I said, well, you never know, they were a generous couple, and here’s hoping.’

  ‘I liked it there,’ said Winnie Bruce, speaking for the first time. ‘They were nice.’

  Eileen Chadderton took up the conversational baton. ‘We both liked it, didn’t we, Winnie? Yes, we had some good times.’ Her face fell. ‘You know about the tragedy?’

  Mr Mayer nodded.

  ‘I was shocked,’ said Eileen.

  ‘Awful, it was,’ intoned Winnie.

  ‘Awful,’ repeated Eileen. ‘Never in a million years would I have believed that Mr Jowett – and him such a nice, well-spoken man too – would ever do such a thing. I’d have sworn he thought the world of the mistress, I would, honestly. It’s my belief there’s more to that than meets the eye, and I’ll go to my grave thinking so. And now poor Captain Knowle, slain in his own house by his own servant, and him a war hero and all.’

  Tears came into her eyes and she sniffed as she dabbed them away with her handkerchief.

  Those were real tears, Talbot noted.

  ‘Awful,’ whispered Winnie Bruce in a croak.

  ‘Did you know Captain Knowle?’ asked Mayer.

  Eileen nodded. ‘We did, didn’t we, Winnie?’

  Winnie Bruce’s expression changed from solemnity to distress. ‘Yes, we did. He called regular and was always polite, you know? He was very fond of his mother and the master, which is as it should be.’ She sighed deeply and repeated what seemed to be her favourite word. ‘Awful.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ declared Eileen with feeling. ‘When I saw the photograph in the paper of that hideous man who slaughtered the poor captain, I nearly screamed, and poor Winnie, you took on ever so, didn’t you?’

  Winnie couldn’t speak but nodded earnestly.

  Talbot cleared
his throat. ‘I saw the photograph in the newspaper too, miss. He was a rough-looking customer.’

  ‘Yes, but we’ve seen him,’ said Eileen Chadderton.

  ‘You’ve seen him?’ repeated Sir Charles. His pulse quickened. This was an unexpected lead. ‘Was he with Captain Knowle?’ He had intended, at the start of the interview, to leave all the talking to Mayer, but this was too good a chance to miss. He gauged that neither Eileen Chadderton nor Winnie Bruce knew enough of legal practice to be surprised at being questioned by a solicitor’s clerk. His confidence was justified.

  ‘No, he wasn’t with the captain,’ said Eileen, turning to him. ‘I was surprised when I saw in the paper that he was the captain’s valet because I knew the captain had a valet who acted as a nurse-attendant. I said to you, didn’t I, Winnie, why ever has the captain changed his valet? It was worse for him, poor man, that he ever did such a thing.’

  ‘Indeed it was,’ agreed Talbot. ‘But you say you saw his valet, this man, Stevenson?’

  The two women nodded in agreement.

  ‘Oh, yes, we’ve seen him,’ said Eileen darkly. ‘And what’s more, if you could get hold of Annie Colbeck, her that we used to work with, she’d tell you more.’

  Talbot silently cheered. To have the topic of Annie Colbeck introduce itself so naturally was more than he could’ve hoped for.

  ‘I don’t want to sound as if I’m speaking out of turn,’ continued Eileen, ‘and I don’t wish to sound unkind, I’m sure, but I hope as how she hasn’t been remembered in no will. Apart from not deserving it – I’m sure you won’t mind me speaking plain – she wasn’t there above six weeks and it wouldn’t seem right.’

  Talbot mentally congratulated himself on his restraint on not advertising for Annie Colbeck. Although it seemed the most straightforward way of enticing her in, it would definitely have aroused suspicion.

  ‘Not right at all,’ echoed Winnie Bruce.

  ‘Did you not get on?’ asked Talbot, more as a conversational gambit rather than seeking the answer to an obvious question.

  Eileen Chadderton sniffed censoriously. ‘Get on? Not half we didn’t, not with her.’

  ‘She gave herself awful airs,’ opined Winnie Bruce.

  ‘And graces,’ completed Eileen Chadderton. ‘Although what she had to be so pleased about, I do not know. I mean, we didn’t know then what we know now, but to be courting that man, that horrible, rough man, who ended up a murderer. Well, I can hardly bear to think of it and why the poor captain had such a man in the house I can’t think.’

  Stephen Mayer raised an eyebrow. ‘Courting?’

  ‘Yes, courting,’ affirmed Eileen vigorously. ‘Courting, they were, although she denied it. I seen them together, more than once, walking out together, and thought then, you don’t know what you’re taking on, as he looked the sort who wouldn’t think twice about raising his hand to a girl, no matter how sweet on him she was. But she said they weren’t walking out and couldn’t a girl have friends without a load of nosy parkers asking questions about it.’

  ‘That’s Annie,’ agreed Winnie Bruce. ‘Sharp, she was.’

  ‘You could never have a proper chat to her like you could with Winnie, here, say,’ continued Eileen. ‘She never said nothing about where she came from or who her family were, nothing at all.’

  ‘She spoke French,’ offered Winnie Bruce unexpectedly. ‘She said she’d lived in France and didn’t half think herself posh on the strength of it. She thought it was a proper comedown, being a housemaid, with her able to speak French and all. She said she ought to be a lady’s maid, as she could speak French, so I thought, well, go and be a lady’s maid then, and leave us all in peace.’

  Winnie Bruce glanced round, obviously startled she’d been surprised into saying so much, then subsided into silence again.

  Sir Charles nodded. Here was the proof, not that he thought proof was needed, that Anthony Brooke had been correct in his deductions about the woman in the church.

  What’s more, she’d been seen with Johnny Stevenson. She could’ve been courting, to use Eileen Chadderton’s expression, but Talbot thought it was unlikely to be romance that drew them together. Both Stevenson and Annie Colbeck were part of the gang. Was Annie reporting to Stevenson? Or was it, perhaps, the other way round?

  He dragged his attention back to the conversation.

  Eileen Chadderton snorted in disagreement at the idea of Annie Colbeck being a lady’s maid. ‘You need training, proper training, for that. I can’t speak any foreign lingo, but I wouldn’t be seen dead with a type like Stevenson.’

  ‘Was she a good worker?’ asked Sir Charles. It was a bit of a blow to find that Annie Colbeck had been so tight-lipped about her origins, but he wanted to keep the conversation going.

  Eileen Chadderton wrinkled her nose. ‘She’d get away with what she could. She never put her heart and soul into her work. Mrs Harrop – she was the housekeeper – thought she was bold. Mrs Harrop didn’t like her attitude at all. It was chippy, you know? Mind you, Mrs Harrop was in charge and didn’t like us to forget it.’

  ‘So how did she get the job? If Mrs Harrop didn’t care for her, I mean?’

  Eileen Chadderton laughed. ‘It’s easy enough to see you haven’t got to staff a house, and no mistake. I stuck being in service because I liked Mr and Mrs Jowett, who always treated us fair and square, but what with the war and the factories wanting girls, there’s not many now who choose service.’

  She shook her head dismissively. ‘It’s the servants who choose the house and the mistress nowadays, not the other way round, and so it should be, I say. I can’t deny I miss having a room and meals all found, as you might say, but the wages don’t match up and I’ve got my freedom, such as you never have in service. I wouldn’t go back.’ She laughed once more. ‘Catch me, I don’t think, and Winnie thinks the same.’

  ‘Was she recommended for the job?’ persisted Sir Charles.

  ‘Not that I know of.’ She eyed him warily. ‘Are you interested in Annie Colbeck? Special, I mean?’

  Sir Charles thought quickly. Eileen Chadderton was bright enough to need a reason for his interest. ‘If she knew Stevenson, the police might want to talk to her.’

  Eileen put her head on one side, considering. ‘Yes, I suppose they might, although what they hope to find out, I don’t know. No, I don’t know as how she was recommended.’

  ‘She came from an agency,’ said Winnie Bruce. ‘I’d told the mistress as how the work was too much for me, in that big house and she said that a new girl was coming from an agency.’

  ‘Which agency was that?’ asked Sir Charles with a smile.

  Eileen Chadderton and Winnie Bruce looked at each other. ‘Which one?’ repeated Eileen, puzzled. ‘How should I know?’ Sir Charles heard the unspoken question: why are you asking?

  ‘I thought you might have heard the name,’ he said easily.

  Inwardly, he was alive with excitement. Here, at last, was the chance to get hold of some genuine information about the shadowy Annie Colbeck. Even if she’d left the agency – which, in view of the conversation Father Quinet had overheard, seemed likely – they were bound to have some information about her. They might even have her address and they’d certainly be able to give a description. He put these thoughts to one side. He had to give Eileen Chadderton a reason for his question.

  ‘If she was walking out with Captain Knowles’s valet, Stevenson might very well have used the same agency himself.’

  Both Eileen Chadderton and Winnie Bruce accepted this fairly specious argument at face value, but to his disappointment, Eileen shook her head. ‘I can’t bring it to mind. Funnily enough, it was the master who suggested the agency, I do remember that, but I can’t tell you the name.’

  ‘You did know it,’ said Winnie Bruce, speaking to Eileen. ‘Which agency it was, I mean. Mrs Harrop mentioned it. You said she’d said something funny about it, but I can’t remember rightly what it was.’

  ‘Did I?’ asked Ei
leen, frowning. ‘D’you know, you’re right, Winnie. Whatever was it? It wasn’t the name of a person, such as Clarkson, who I used to be with, or Booth.’

  ‘I was with Miss Booth’s,’ put in Winnie. ‘That’s not it.’

  ‘No. Was it the Reliant? It was something like that.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘The Diligent, that’s it!’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Winnie. ‘Diligent. That means working hard, doesn’t it? You said so. You said that Mrs Harrop said if Annie Colbeck was their idea of diligence, they should buck their ideas up. It made me laugh, that did.’

  ‘It tickled you, I remember,’ said Eileen. ‘Yes, Mrs Harrop said Annie Colbeck wasn’t much of an advert for them, as far as diligence went. Very cutting, she was.’

  The Diligent. Sir Charles concealed his satisfaction with difficulty. With both women agreeing on the name, it sounded as if he had a real, hard fact at last.

  Eileen sighed and shook her head with a smile. ‘It’s done us good to talk about the old days, hasn’t it, Winnie? It’s a pity it all ended as it did, but we had some good times.’ She sighed once more, as if drawing a line under the past and looked at Mr Mayer. ‘I don’t want to appear forward, but I think you said there was some good news for us?’

  Mr Mayer cleared his throat. ‘As executor of the late Mr and Mrs Jowett’s estate, I am instructed to tell you that you have each been left a legacy of fifty pounds.’

  Both Eileen and Winnie gasped. Fifty pounds amounted to nearly a year’s wages for a servant. Eileen’s eyes rounded. ‘That’s very generous. I wasn’t expecting nothing. Winnie, yes, that’s only as it should be, but I’d only been there a few months. That’s very generous indeed.’

  It would, in fact, have been very generous but was actually (with Sir Charles’ sanction) a present from the Government. And, he thought with satisfaction, as he sat back and listened to Eileen and Winnie’s exclamations of delight, to get the name of Annie Colbeck’s agency was worth a hundred pounds of government money and no mistake.

  ELEVEN

  ‘So what are you going to do now?’ asked Tara that evening as she poured out the coffee.