A Particular Eye for Villainy: (Inspector Ben Ross 4)

by Granger, Ann

  ‘Inspector Ross seemed very certain he would catch the scoundrel who murdered my papa,’ said Flora now. ‘Do you think he will?’

  ‘He’ll do his very best,’ I assured her.

  ‘That’s what he said to me. But I am afraid that he won’t. Poor Papa. I wish I could have spent more time with him.’

  A tingle ran along my spine.

  ‘When you were a child, you mean?’ I prompted cautiously.

  ‘Oh, yes, then, of course. But I was thinking of recently, after he returned to London. But there was so little time.’ She gave a muffled sob and sniffed into a handkerchief. ‘Is Biddy looking? I hope not. She reports everything to Aunt Maria.’

  I had been so startled at her words that I’d stopped in my tracks I gasped, ‘You knew he’d returned to England?’

  Flora blushed a deep red and looked far younger than her nineteen years. ‘You won’t tell, will you?’

  I had to be truthful. ‘It may be necessary to tell Ben – to tell the inspector. But he’s very discreet, Miss Tapley. How did you find out that your father was in London – and when?’

  ‘Oh, only very recently, just a couple of weeks before – before someone killed him. I knew that Uncle Jonathan had been writing to Papa in France to get his consent to my marriage to George. But the letters were unanswered. Uncle Jonathan then wrote to some solicitors in Harrogate who manage Papa’s affairs. They told him he had returned to this country, but they had no address. It threw both Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Maria into a regular panic. But, as Papa had not contacted us, they decided he had probably returned to France.

  ‘But I kept hoping that one day he’d come to see me. Then it happened. I had gone to the circulating library. It is about the only place Aunt Maria let me go alone and now she won’t even let me go there. Well, on that day I was in the library when a gentleman came up to me and spoke my name. Just like that, “Flora?” in a questioning way. He wasn’t young and he sounded nervous. He looked a little down-at-heel; but one does see a number of elderly gentlemen like that in the library, particularly on cold days. But he knew my name so I turned round and saw it was my father. I knew him at once even though it was such a long time since he left.’

  Flora fell silent. ‘I was very moved and so was he. He had tears in his eyes and it was all I could do not to throw my arms round his neck. We went outside the library lest anyone notice. He explained he had returned to England because his circumstances in France had altered.’

  ‘In what way?’ I asked.

  Flora frowned. ‘He didn’t explain and there was so much we wanted to say to one another, and so little time, that I didn’t ask. He said he was so very pleased to see me and so grown. I asked him why he had not come to our house and where he was living. He said he had no wish to meet Uncle Jonathan just yet. He begged that I would not tell either his cousin or his cousin’s wife that he was still here in England. There was something that had to be settled first. I asked if he’d received any of the letters sent to France but he said not. I told him I was to be married. It came as a great shock to him. He asked who the young man was and begged me not to be hasty. We couldn’t linger talking longer. We were both afraid of being observed by some busybody who would tell Aunt Maria.’

  Flora glanced over her shoulder. ‘Is Biddy watching?’

  I looked towards the bench. Bessie was talking earnestly and Biddy seemed rapt. What on earth was Bessie telling her? Something lurid about police work, I suspected. At any rate, it was having the desired effect. Biddy had forgotten she was supposed to be keeping an eye on Miss Tapley.

  There was another bench nearby, unoccupied, so Flora and I sat down on that.

  ‘That’s when I had my brilliant idea,’ said Flora with satisfaction. ‘Papa didn’t want to come to our house. To meet him in public elsewhere would be risky. So I would go to him where he was living.’

  ‘But how could you?’ I protested. ‘You would be seen!’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Flora complacently. ‘I thought of a way round that. I have a friend, Emily Waterton. Her brother is away at Eton. He is fifteen, much my height, and slender in build. While he’s away at school, some of his clothes remain in a closet in their house. So I went to Emily and told her I was planning a practical joke. I would dress as a young man, persuade Joliffe the coachman to drive me across the river to near where my father told me he lived, and get him to wait for me with the carriage round the corner. Of course, Emily would have to come too; it depended on that. Joliffe probably wouldn’t have driven me there if I were alone. But if Emily came along and waited in the coach while I went to see Papa, Joliffe might agree, thinking it some prank. Emily is such a good sport and when we were at school she was always into mischief.

  ‘The next meeting I had with Papa I explained my plan. We met not far from here, near St Mary’s church. We didn’t risk the library again. He was alarmed at first but I persuaded him it was really very simple. He told me there would be an afternoon that week when his landlady went to one of her meetings. She was a Quaker lady. If I would come and wait in the street, he would look out for me. I was not to ring at the door because the housemaid there was “a sharp little baggage”, that’s how he described her. She might know, if she looked at me closely, that I wasn’t a boy.

  ‘So that is what I did. I didn’t stay long. Just long enough to see the rooms where Papa was living. We spoke briefly about my marriage. He said, if I were really certain in my own mind about it, he would write a letter of consent – or go and see Uncle Jonathan and sign any necessary document. But he wanted me to think it over very carefully. “Once you are married, my dear,” he said, “I can do nothing for you. Nor can Jonathan. You will be quite in the power of your husband and his family. You say they are a titled family, with a position in society. You will live very comfortably no doubt, moving in a fashionable world with many entertainments and every material thing you could wish. But these alone cannot guarantee you happiness. I would wish, above all, to know you happy. So, please, be very sure in your mind about your love for the young man.” What he said impressed me very much. I said I would think carefully and let him know.’

  Flora fell silent. ‘But I never saw him again. Before I could arrange it, Uncle Jonathan brought us the dreadful news.’ She looked towards the bench where the two maids waited. Biddy was now looking our way. The girl got to her feet.

  ‘She’s coming to tell me it’s time we went home,’ said Flora. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Miss Tapley,’ I said quickly, ‘did either your uncle or your aunt discover anything of this escapade? Did they learn your father was living in London?’

  ‘Oh no! Uncle Jonathan knows nothing of my dressing up and having Joliffe drive me in the carriage, with Emily, across the river. But Aunt Maria found out. Joliffe told her, in the end. He was frightened that if it came out, and he’d said nothing, he’d be turned away and with no references to get a new position. Aunt Maria ordered him to keep quiet about it and not tell Uncle Jonathan. She quizzed me dreadfully. I swore it was just a prank played by Emily and me on a girl we’d been at school with. She didn’t believe me. She accused me of forming another attachment, not to George, but to someone altogether unsuitable. She insisted on knowing where I had met this person, so I told her, quite truthfully, at the library.’

  Flora pulled a face. ‘I thought she would faint away with horror. She demanded to know if I were quite out of my wits. She said, “To behave scandalously! When my husband and I have taken such pains to put you in the way of a very suitable match. The young fellow you ran off to see in secret, on the other hand, will have the worst of motives. These bounders hang about in museums, art galleries, public exhibitions, even libraries I don’t doubt, on the lookout for unaccompanied young females!”

  ‘She lectured me for nearly an hour. I felt like a damp rag at the end of it all, but I didn’t confess the truth. She still doesn’t know it was Papa I visited. I kept that and his presence here in London a secret. If Aunt Maria wants to b
elieve I am such a noodle I’d let myself be bamboozled by some rake, met by chance and bent on seduction, well, then let her. It is often much easier to let people think what they want, you know. She warned me Uncle Jonathan must never find out; and I must never risk my reputation so foolishly again, or no truly eligible young man would ever think of marrying me.’

  Flora sighed. ‘Since then, she has kept me so close to her I might as well be shackled like a convict.’

  ‘Miss Flora?’ Biddy was standing before us, giving me mistrustful looks.

  ‘Yes, Biddy,’ said Flora briskly, rising to her feet. ‘We must get back or Mrs Tapley will be worried. My dear Mrs Ross,’ she held out her hand, ‘it has been a real pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the kind words and sympathy about my father. To think that you knew him a little and to learn that he was living comfortably in such respectable lodgings is a great comfort. My regards to Inspector Ross.’

  She set off with Biddy trotting along behind.

  ‘What do you think, missus?’ asked Bessie hoarsely.

  ‘I think,’ I told her, ‘that Miss Flora Tapley is altogether a remarkable young woman.’

  I also hoped she didn’t allow herself to be badgered into marrying the spineless George. For this spirited and enterprising girl it would not be a happy situation. Thomas Tapley had been able to spend little time with his daughter, but he had rendered her great service in making her see that.

  I don’t know what made me look back as we left the little park. Perhaps I only wanted to see if Flora had gone into the house. But there, unnoticed by me while I’d been in the park, was a man standing beneath a tree. He was quite still and his check tweed suit blended well into the dappled shade thrown by the branches above his head. I dare say I wouldn’t have noticed him if I had not seen him only a little earlier. He wasn’t eating an apple this time or doing anything but stand there, watching. As before, he caught my gaze on him and he put a hand to the brim of his felt hat and touched it politely in salutation, inclining a little as he did.

  I felt an unwelcome tide of red creep up my neck to my cheeks and turned quickly back. Good heavens, Mrs Ross; I said to myself, trying to laugh away my unease. At this stage of your life, respectably married and turned thirty, you have literally attracted a follower!

  But I wasn’t amused, not one bit.

  We had not long arrived home, Bessie and I, when a loud rattat was heard at our front door. For one awful, foolish moment, I thought the wretch in the tweed suit had followed me even to my own home. I listened apprehensively as Bessie went to answer it.

  A small commotion resulted during which Bessie could be heard declaring, ‘Well, you’re not walking over my clean floor tiles in them boots! Take them off and leave ’em there. You ought not to have come to the front door, anyway. You ought to have gone round the back to the kitchen.’

  A young man’s voice, aggrieved and faintly familiar, retorted, ‘I didn’t go to the kitchen door because I didn’t come to see you, did I? I came to see Mrs Ross. Is she here? ’Cos if she is, why don’t you go and tell her.’

  ‘Don’t you give me orders!’ snapped back Bessie. ‘That uniform don’t give you the right to come barging into a respectable house with them muddy boots on.’

  ‘Who is it, Bessie?’ I called.

  More rustling and grumbling from the hall and then the door opened. Bessie appeared first, flushed with determination. Behind her loomed a uniformed figure.

  ‘It’s that Constable Biddle,’ said Bessie. ‘Wanting to see you.’

  ‘Do come in, Constable,’ I said, getting up to welcome him. ‘Have you brought me a message from my husband?’

  Biddle shouldered his way determinedly past Bessie and stood before me in his stockinged feet with his helmet under his arm. ‘Yes, ma’am. Inspector Ross has sent a message by the telegraph to the superintendent. He’s coming back to London tomorrow morning. He asked if someone could let you know, ma’am. So Mr Dunn said as I should come here and tell you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your coming so far out of your way. I’m sure Bessie will give you a cup of tea, won’t you, Bessie?’

  Behind him, Bessie rolled her eyes at me. However, she led him away and a few minutes later the murmur of voices from the kitchen, interspersed with the occasional unexpected giggle from Bessie, led me to understand peace and harmony had been restored.

  So Ben wouldn’t be home tonight. It was a pity, as I’d so much to tell him. I could tell Biddle all about it now, and ask him to pass it on. But it was a lot to explain to a young constable like Biddle. I didn’t know how garbled the account would be by the time it reached Superintendent Dunn. Besides, the news that I’d been investigating (‘interfering’ as Dunn would no doubt call it) would much better come from Ben. Dunn already thought I took too much interest in police matters. I could imagine his initial reaction, although he wouldn’t be able to deny I’d learned several facts material to the investigation.

  Ben would be home tomorrow and I’d be able tell him then. I wouldn’t tell him about the fellow in the tweed suit, of course. He would only lecture me on the folly of walking around the streets with no specific purpose and only a sixteen-year-old housemaid as escort. Besides, I wanted to put the man right out of my mind. Nevertheless he was lodged there, a disconcerting image with his dark eyes gleaming and his white teeth biting into the shiny green apple.

  More laughter from the kitchen, Biddle joining in with Bessie’s squawks of merriment. I hoped I hadn’t started something there. It did occur to me with a pang of alarm that she might be telling Biddle of all our adventures that day. But no, Bessie would be discreet. She had her head screwed on the right way.

  A further peal of female laughter came from the kitchen. Well, I hoped she had.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  Inspector Benjamin Ross

  I TOOK the earliest train from Harrogate, was obliged to make only a single change en route, and arrived mid-morning back in London. I should perhaps have gone directly to Scotland Yard to make my report. But I decided to go home first, leave my bag there, and check that all was in order. As things turned out, it was as well that I did. I could not have anticipated all that Lizzie would have to tell me.

  ‘It’s a good job you come home, sir,’ said Bessie ominously, on opening the door to me.

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’ I asked in alarm.

  ‘You wouldn’t guess at it, that’s for sure,’ she continued, grabbing my coat. ‘Oh, we’re all safe and well, don’t fear. But we’ve had such adventures, the missus and me!’

  The first sense of relief on hearing all was well was immediately dispersed by the word ‘adventures’, and replaced with deep alarm.

  ‘Missus!’ called Bessie. ‘Here’s the inspector come home!’

  I wondered if Bessie would ever develop into the sort of well-trained maid who led new arrivals to the parlour and announced them with a respectful curtsy. But then Lizzie was running to greet me and I forgot about that.

  ‘Now then,’ I said, when I was seated with a cup of tea before my own hearth. ‘What is all this about adventures?’

  ‘I told Bessie not to say anything to you before I saw you,’ said Lizzie crossly. ‘But I suppose she couldn’t help it. Tell me first how you got along in Harrogate.’

  ‘I got along very well, thank you. Everyone was very hospitable and I learned one or two interesting things. I need to go as soon as possible to the Yard and report it all, so please, Lizzie, just tell me what you’ve been doing, Whatever it is or was, if it’s got any bearing on this case, I need to know before I see Dunn. I have a horrible feeling that it does have something to do with the case.’

  Lizzie folded her hands in her lap, took a deep breath and began. I suppose she expected me to interrupt frequently. But such was my dismay that I listened bereft of speech. This worried her rather more than my jumping up and shouting. I noted a distinct lessening of her confidence as she went on. But Lizzie being L
izzie, she stuck to her guns and reached the end of her account of her visit to Jenkins, and subsequent talk with Flora Tapley. I was aware that at some point Bessie had come into the room and was standing behind Lizzie in a protective attitude, watching me apprehensively.

  Silence fell, only broken by the ticking of the mantelpiece clock. It sounded unnaturally loud. Perhaps I was just stunned. I heard myself speak – or croak.

  ‘You had better come with me to the Yard, my dear. You can tell it all again to Superintendent Dunn yourself. He will have questions to put to you and you will have to write out a statement.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve done that already,’ said my wife, cheering up. ‘I wrote it all down last night.’ She got up and fetched a small wad of densely written papers which she handed to me. When I took her account and glanced through it in silence, she asked, ‘Is it official enough?’

  ‘If it’s complete and accurate and you’ve signed and dated it, as I see you have, it is official enough. You do realise, don’t you, that this –’ I brandished the wad of paper – ‘that your actions might spell the end of my career?’

  ‘I realise Mr Dunn will be angry with me,’ returned my wife. ‘But he’s an intelligent man and he won’t be able to dismiss the importance of what I found out, will he?’

  I rubbed a hand over my face and rose in silence. Truth to tell I was afraid to begin any speech for fear of not being able to stop. I went back to the hall and retrieved my coat from the hook where Bessie had left it. Behind me, I heard Bessie say, ‘He took it very well, didn’t he, missus?’

  I cannot, unfortunately, relate that Superintendent Dunn took it very well at all. His short spiky hair bristled more than usual. His complexion turned puce. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He seemed to experience some difficulty in breathing. I was wondering whether to summon help or, at the very least, a glass of water, when he found speech.