by Granger, Ann
Jonathan Tapley may be angry now, I thought ruefully, but he’ll be furious when Ben arrives on his doorstep this evening.
We had arrived in Bryanston Square, an elegant and spacious area with many smart carriages rattling up and down it. Fashionably dressed people sauntered along its pavements.
‘I can’t see a cab,’ said Bessie, putting a hand to her eyes to shield her gaze from the sun. ‘We’d do best to go on down to Oxford Street.’
‘I wish I knew,’ I said, scrutinising the rows of black-painted doors, ‘which house belongs to the Tapleys.’
At that moment a boy, not Joey but a street urchin of similar type, ran past us, brushing up against me. I gripped my reticule, fearing he meant to snatch it. But instead, to my surprise, I felt some sharp-cornered object pressed into my hand. I opened my fist to find nestling on my palm what appeared to be a small, oblong card similar to a visiting card. The boy had already disappeared in the crowd.
‘It will be advertising something,’ said Bessie knowledgeably.
I read the legend on the little card aloud. ‘Horatio Jenkins. Private Enquiry Agent. Discretion Assured.’ It was followed by an address in Camden High Street.
‘Yes, it is advertising something,’ I said slowly to Bessie. I turned it over. Printed on the reverse in pencil were the three words, would be obliged.
‘But I am not quite sure what,’ I added and put the card in my pocket.
Inspector Benjamin Ross
I had mixed feelings when I set out that evening to call on Jonathan Tapley and his family at home, unannounced. I didn’t underestimate the man’s intelligence. He would probably be expecting something of the sort. But a clever fellow like him would have made his preparations for the event, should it happen. He would have his answers to any questions ready and so would Mrs Tapley and Miss Flora. The older couple would not have neglected to prime her. She, too, had a real vested interest in not upsetting the applecart. Her future marriage was at stake. If, indeed, the murder had not already resulted in the marriage being indefinitely delayed; and perhaps never now taking place.
I timed my ring on the doorbell very carefully. Dinner should be over. The butler, who opened to me, gave me a look that clearly told me I should have presented myself at a tradesman’s entrance. He took my card as if contact with it would contaminate him. After a glance at it, he whisked me indoors and closed the front door smartly behind us before anyone passing by saw me, and disappeared to tell his master that I was even now sullying the parquet with my boots.
He returned quickly and led me to a small back parlour when I was shut in and again left alone. After a few minutes, however, footsteps approached and the door flew open to reveal Jonathan Tapley, choleric with anger.
‘This is unacceptable, Inspector Ross!’ He marched into the room and the door clattered shut behind him. ‘We are a family in mourning. You and I have twice spoken already, once in your office and once in mine. There is no reason whatsoever for you to come here, at this time of the evening, and disturb our family meal.’
‘You are still eating?’ I asked. ‘I am so sorry. I left it late enough to avoid disturbing you before you’d finished, or so I thought.’
He snorted at me and, had he been a bull, would have pawed the ground. ‘Did you, indeed? Well, you are here. Sit down and tell me what you want. Be quick about it, if you please.’
‘I have a couple of points to clear up. And I would like to meet the ladies, sir, if that is convenient.’
‘No, it is not convenient, damn it!’ he shouted at me.
Above our heads the glass drops in the chandelier tinkled in the disturbed air. Perhaps that sobered him.
‘It can hardly be convenient,’ he said more moderately. ‘The ladies are in deep shock after hearing of my cousin’s death.’
I nodded sympathetically. ‘But one of them, Miss Flora Tapley, is the deceased’s next of kin, his daughter, no less. I understand the shock she and your wife must both be feeling. But you will understand, Mr Tapley, that I have to talk to her. It cannot be avoided. I am the officer in charge of the investigation. I do not, naturally, expect the young lady to come to Scotland Yard. I thought you’d appreciate it if I came here.’
‘Did you, indeed?’ he returned sarcastically, knowing he was being outmanoeuvred.
I suddenly became tired of the whole silly game. Perhaps it was the sarcastic tone that did it. ‘Come, now, Mr Tapley,’ I said briskly. ‘You can’t be so very surprised to see me. We have both of us spoken the lines this piece of theatre has called upon us to speak. You have expressed indignation. I have been apologetic. Now I need to ask questions. It is what, as a detective, I do. My first question – I am sure easily dealt with – concerns your own whereabouts at the time Mr Thomas Tapley died. You will understand that this is necessary to exclude you from enquiries. No doubt you can tell me and give me the names of witnesses. Then we can move on.’
I thought, as I ceased speaking, that he might throw me out, or have a couple of footmen do it. But to my surprise he merely gave a very mild snort. He assessed me again through narrowed eyelids and said, ‘I begin to feel you may be in the wrong branch of the law, Inspector Ross. You would have made a very good courtroom lawyer. You stick to the point and know when to drive it home.’
I made no reply. He sat down at last and said, ‘Thomas died the day before news appeared in the evening newspapers, you have told me. Have you been able to establish what time of day the fatal attack took place?’
‘The victim died between five and seven of the evening, according to the medical man who attended to certify death.’
He nodded. ‘I was in court all the day in question and I set out for my chambers in the Gray’s Inn Road around four. I arrived there about half past four. I had lunched lightly and was unsure if I should be late home that evening or not, so I sent out the page for half a roast fowl. The boy will confirm the time. I ate hastily in the room where you and I had our conversation. I had arranged a case conference and expected the interested parties at any moment. They arrived and our discussion started at around a quarter past five and continued until well gone six. I will write down their names. It must have been half past six when I left my chambers and hailed a cab. Again, the clerk will confirm that. It was a little after seven when I arrived home here. My wife and the servants can confirm that! The traffic was heavy that evening. A cart had overturned in High Holborn, shedding its load and causing mayhem not only there but also in all the surrounding streets. I was told the horse had dropped dead in the shafts, poor beast. You may check all this easily. The police attended the scene. Dinner was about to be served, so I washed hurriedly and sat down to dine with my wife and Flora. Afterwards I went to my study here and continued to work on the papers I had brought home with me. It was then nine o’clock or thereabouts. My wife, Flora and my staff here can vouch for my presence. Harris, the butler, brought me some coffee a little later, about ten. I told him no one need wait up for me. But by that time, as I understand you, my cousin had been dead some hours.’
‘That seems to take care of it,’ I said. I had taken out my notebook and written all this down. ‘Now, if it’s convenient, I should like to talk to the ladies, in particular Miss Flora.’
He stood up and reached for the bell rope. But then his hand fell by his side. ‘I will go and fetch them,’ he said.
He wants to be sure they have all the right answers in their heads before I see them, I thought.
I had expected him to return with the women, but when the door opened only the two ladies entered with a rustle of skirts. The older led the way. She was a stately woman in black taffeta embroidered with jet beads and with a ruffle of black lace on her head. She looked me directly in the eye as I rose to my feet but not a muscle of her face moved. I was put in mind of some Greek statue.
The younger woman had cast her eyes down. She wore black silk, but no jet beads. The only decoration on her dress was a bunch of ribbons at each shoulder. Around her neck
was a simple gold chain and cross.
They sat down, side by side, on a gilded bench in the style of the previous century. The older one folded her lacemittened hands and the younger one simply placed one hand on top of the other on her lap. Her hands were small, plump and childlike but I had noticed on entering that she was nearly as tall as her aunt. Perhaps her late mother had been tall, because Thomas Tapley had been a short man.
I bowed politely and, as I did, the door of the room closed quietly behind the ladies. I didn’t know if Jonathan stood behind it in the hall, or Harris, the butler.
‘I am sorry to have disturbed your evening,’ I said by way of opening the conversation. It seemed I would have to start. Neither woman showed signs of speaking. I had not been invited to sit down so I took it upon myself to do so.
Maria Tapley answered, her voice as expressionless as her face. ‘I dare say it cannot be helped, Inspector.’
She might just as well have said, ‘I dare say you know no better,’ because that was what she meant.
I turned to the younger lady. Because her head was tipped forward, my eyes looked at the centre parting in her light brown hair. It fell in straight shiny wings either side of her face before it was twisted into a small knot at the back of her head. A black ribbon had been tied round the knot and the ends dangled to rest on the nape of her neck. A disturbing image came into my head: one of Henry VIII’s wives, Anne Boleyn I believe, putting her head on the block and telling the executioner that her neck was very small.
‘I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Tapley. Your father was briefly a neighbour of ours, of my wife’s and mine.’
At that Mrs Tapley narrowed her eyes and the young woman looked up, surprised.
‘But I can’t say I knew him at all, really,’ I confessed. ‘I only saw him a few times in the street. I believe my wife exchanged a few words with him from time to time.’
She smiled uncertainly. She had a rounded chin and wide-spaced brown eyes beneath straight dark brows. When she was older she would be called handsome. Now she was striking, rather than beautiful, and had I been an artist, I would have wished to sketch her.
‘Thank you for your sympathy, Inspector Ross,’ she said.
There was little point in talking to Maria Tapley. She was there in the role of duenna and her husband’s spy. I concentrated on Flora. I sensed she was now well disposed towards me. There was none of the hostility that flowed from her aunt. I might just as well think of the Tapleys as uncle and aunt to Flora, since the girl herself did. After all, Lizzie called Mrs Parry ‘Aunt’ though the lady was no blood relative. It was a convenient term. I ought not to have suggested to Jonathan Tapley that he and his wife had sought to blur the relationship with the young girl they’d taken in.
‘I am sorry if what I have to ask you causes you any pain,’ I said. ‘But it is the way of police investigations that questions must be asked and answered. You didn’t know your father very well, I understand?’
‘I was only just ten when he left England,’ she said. ‘He called here on my tenth birthday to wish me happiness and good fortune and give me a present.’ She touched the gold cross and chain at her neck. ‘It was this. He also brought a little ivory-inlaid box. He said it was made in India and was for my “jewellery”, as he called it. At the time I had only the necklace he’d just given me, and a little silver bangle from my christening. Being a child, I burst out, “But I don’t have jewels!” He laughed and said, “One day, dear Flora, you will have diamonds, just see if you don’t!”’
She gave a sad little smile and fell silent. I thought about these words of Thomas’s. Had he meant that one day, when he was dead, she would be rich? He had only drawn a small amount in living expenses all those years. Jonathan had suggested it was because he had wanted to leave Flora a decent inheritance. Had he wanted to leave her seriously wealthy? I must contact those solicitors in Harrogate, I thought. Just how much was Thomas Tapley worth? Money is one of the oldest motives for murder.
‘Did he give any hint that he might be going away? Do you recall anything?’ I asked as gently as I could.
‘I remember everything he said,’ she returned simply.
I heard a rustle of taffeta as Maria Tapley shifted a little beside her on the bench.
‘He said he would be going away soon. He hoped I would be a good girl and mind my kind relatives who had taken me into their home. Also that I’d say my prayers before I went to bed and remember him in them.’
I saw the glitter of a tear in her eyes. She looked down again, blinking.
‘Is this quite necessary?’ Maria Tapley said harshly. ‘The events of a child’s tenth birthday? What relevance can they have to the dreadful thing that has happened now?’
‘I never know what might be relevant, Mrs Tapley, so I have to ask about everything,’ I returned. But I didn’t look at her as I spoke. I was watching Flora. She had produced a lace-trimmed scrap and dabbed at her eyes. Then she put the inadequate handkerchief away and looked fully at me. The tears had gone.
Her ‘uncle and aunt’ have trained her well, I thought. She has been taught it is bad form to show emotion. Poor child. Perhaps Lizzie is right. Thomas should have stayed here, tried to avoid being caught up in scandal, and brought up his child himself with the help of a governess. Perhaps Jonathan and Maria had persuaded him too easily that he was doing best by his daughter in abandoning her. Thomas had been newly bereaved and vulnerable. I couldn’t help but remember that they, a childless couple, had also served their own interest in getting him to surrender Flora.
‘Did your father ever write to you after he left for the Continent?’
‘No,’ she said.
She had control of herself now and if the fact was hurtful, she didn’t show it or let it echo in her voice. But I did wish I could discuss it with her more.
Why had he not written? I wondered. Why had he not visited more often before that sad tenth birthday parting? Jonathan had declared to me that Thomas had found the visits ‘difficult’. How did he know? Had they been rare because Jonathan had persuaded him that ‘a clean break’ would be best? That the little girl would settle more easily with her new parents if the original one made no contact? Of course, this was supposition on my part. It had been a tragic and difficult situation for Thomas and for the child. All the adults concerned had probably believed they had acted for the best. Perhaps they had? Who was I to criticise?
I reminded myself that it had not been such a clean break, after all. Flora had been three when given into the care of Jonathan and his wife. But it was not until Flora had reached the age of ten that Thomas had been persuaded to leave England for the Continent, never to return. Between the ages of three and ten, her father had had some contact. How had Thomas really felt on leaving his only child behind for ever as he boarded the packet for France?
And what of Flora’s feelings in all this? Had the child looked forward to his rare visits? From the few words she had spoken I had the distinct impression she had loved her absent papa, or at least loved the idea that she did have a real flesh and blood father somewhere.
I had no wish to distress the poor girl any longer. I got to my feet. For the first time some emotion showed on Maria Tapley’s marble features. She looked relieved.
‘Thank you both, ladies, for your forbearance,’ I said.
Maria jerked at the bell pull before Flora could answer.
‘Harris will see you out,’ she said crisply. ‘Come, Flora.’
In a swirl of black taffeta and glitter of jet she swept from the room. Flora gave me an apologetic look and hurried after her.
I was left alone in the room but not for many minutes. Harris arrived to show me out. He first held out a silver tray on which lay a white envelope inscribed with my name.
I opened it. It was the list of names promised me by Jonathan, individuals who’d seen him on the day of the murder. It was a very long roll call. I returned the sheet to the envelope and put it in my pocket.
/> ‘This way, sir,’ invited Harris.
I followed his rigid back to the front door and was ejected with as much courtesy as was absolutely necessary and no more.
However, I had not gone many steps when I was conscious that the door, behind me, had been opened again. A female voice called my name.
I turned as light footsteps pattered towards me and beheld, to my amazement, Miss Flora Tapley, holding up her black silk skirts and running in a way her Aunt Maria would not approve.
‘Inspector!’ she gasped as she reached me.
‘Take time to catch your breath, Miss Tapley,’ I urged her. ‘I can wait.’
She took a deep breath and scrutinised my face. I tried to look encouraging but obviously failed.
‘I only wanted to say, before you go, that you must find the man who killed my father,’ she blurted.
‘That’s my intention,’ I returned mildly. ‘That’s why I called tonight.’
‘You will not find the killer in our house!’ she retorted fiercely. Her cheeks glowed a deep pink, the smooth wings of hair had become a little dishevelled and she looked younger than her nineteen years. ‘I don’t know where you will find him, but you must! You must promise it!’
I didn’t reply at once but stared at her thoughtfully, which seemed to disconcert her.
‘Why won’t you?’ she demanded. She put up a hand and began nervously to tuck the straying strands of hair back into place.
‘Why not promise? Because I’d be a fool to do anything so rash. Detection isn’t a straight, smooth path. There are wrong turnings I may take. There will be many stumbling blocks and I might fall flat over any one of them. Some individuals may seek to mislead me. I am a man lost and feeling his way in a fog. But if I ask the right questions, get the right answers from the right people, the fog will lift and I’ll see my way. There is a desperate villain out there, Miss Tapley. His own life is at stake. He’s not going to make anything easy for me. But I’ll do my very best, Scotland Yard will do its best, I promise that.’