by Granger, Ann
Lizzie sat back and waited.
I had to confess my admiration. ‘My dear Lizzie, distinctive headwear with lavender roses, black crêpe gowns: the clues in this case seem all to lie with ladies’ clothing. What is a mere male detective to do?’
‘Exactly so,’ said Lizzie with quiet triumph. ‘It is as I told Superintendent Dunn. Scotland Yard needs some women employed there.’
Chapter Sixteen
* * *
Elizabeth Martin Ross
THE FOLLOWING morning I received a short note, posted early the evening before across town. It was from Flora Tapley.
Dear Mrs Ross,
I hope you will forgive my troubling you. I wonder if it is possible for you to meet me in the park in Bryanston Square, where we met before? I should very much like to speak to you.
Again, I apologise for presuming on your kindness. But I should be most grateful.
Yours sincerely,
Flora Tapley
Ben had left for the Yard. Probably neither he nor Dunn would approve my taking further active interest, but Flora’s request was a personal one. The poor child was clearly worried and not surprisingly!
We set out, Bessie and I. Bessie had assumed she would be coming along, too, and wouldn’t be dissuaded.
‘It’s a very funny business, missus. You need someone to look out for you. At least I’ll know where you are and what you’re doing. If anything horrible happens, I’ll be able to tell the inspector about it.’
‘Nothing horrible is going to happen, Bessie!’
Bessie’s small face contorted in a knowing sneer that added nothing to her already plain looks. ‘I don’t suppose as poor old Mr Tapley thought anything horrible was going to happen to him, not living with a respectable Quaker lady like Mrs Jameson. But he got his head bashed in, didn’t he?’
‘No one is going to bash – to knock me on the head in Bryanston Square!’
‘Not while I’m there to watch out!’ declared Bessie triumphantly, bringing her argument full circle.
So we went together. Flora was already there, waiting on a bench. Just as Bessie guarded me, so the suspicious Biddy lurked in the background to watch over Flora. Bessie promptly descended on the maid and engaged her in conversation.
‘It is very kind of you to come, Mrs Ross,’ said Flora, rising to greet me. ‘I am taking up your time. The fact of the matter is, I have no one to talk to, no one except Aunt Maria; and I can’t unburden my heart to her as I feel I can to you. I hope I am not presuming?’ she concluded anxiously.
‘Let us sit down,’ I invited, ‘and you can tell me everything on your mind. Don’t worry about taking up my time. I can stay here as long as you like.’
‘Well, I can’t stay too long!’ Flora managed a weak smile. ‘Or Biddy will run to tell Aunt Maria. The inspector will have told you that a French lady came to see Uncle Jonathan and told him she is my poor father’s widow?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, she went to Scotland Yard and, I believe, showed her marriage certificate. I understand it’s being checked but the police think there is little doubt it’s genuine.’
‘Both Aunt Maria and Uncle Jonathan are in a dreadful state about it,’ Flora said wryly. ‘It is because my father left no valid will, you see. He had made a will, but when he remarried in France, it was automatically revoked and he didn’t make another.’ She paused. ‘We went, Aunt Maria and I, to a hotel yesterday afternoon to meet my stepmother.’
‘What did you think of her?’ I asked, rather tactlessly.
‘Aunt Maria disapproved of her. She said afterwards that Victorine, that is my stepmother’s name, is “vulgar”. When Aunt Maria says that of someone, they have no chance of ever winning her approval. She also told Uncle Jonathan that Victorine was “brazen”. Uncle Jonathan can hardly mention her name for rage.’
‘But you?’ I persisted. ‘What did you think, Miss Tapley? How did you judge her?’
Flora’s cheeks reddened. ‘You see, dear Mrs Ross, this is why I asked you to come. I can speak so frankly and honestly to you and I couldn’t speak so to the others. I didn’t find her vulgar or brazen. She appeared rather more collected than I fancy Aunt Maria and I had expected, but I found her rather dignified. To tell the truth, I felt sorry for her, for Victorine.’
I must have shown my astonishment. Flora put out a hand and laid it on my arm.
‘No one has any sympathy for her in her grief. Aunt Maria said not a word of consolation and when I began to express sympathy, Aunt Maria interrupted me and signalled me to silence. I think Victorine must be so lonely in that nasty hotel. It is such a cramped place, not very clean, and smells dreadfully of kitchen odours. Not good kitchen odours, like freshly baked cakes, just unpleasant ones like cabbage water. I wouldn’t wish to stay there. I think Victorine does not have very much money. That is one reason why I think Uncle Jonathan is unkind to oppose her claim for something from my father’s estate. I think it must be very unpleasant and hurtful to know everyone dislikes you.’
‘Perhaps that does not worry her so much, as it would worry you or me,’ I said with some asperity, ‘if it is true.’
‘Oh, it is true. Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Maria don’t like her. I think your husband and the other man, Superintendent Dunn, don’t like her much. The people in the hotel don’t like her. I could tell that from the way they looked at her. Think how awful it must be not to have a single friend in a strange city.’
‘My dear Miss Tapley,’ I said firmly. ‘You are probably right. Being generally disliked must make some difficulty for Mrs Victorine Tapley socially. But it is her difficulty and not yours, do you understand? You have a very kind heart. Don’t let it mislead you. You are not required to redress the balance all by yourself.’
‘You see?’ said Flora with a sad smile. ‘Even you don’t like her, and I do not believe you have met her.’
This was said with such a childlike spontaneity that the words contained no sarcasm.
‘I stand corrected,’ I said ruefully. ‘I shouldn’t judge the lady. I have never met her. But let me put it another way. If someone is disliked by everyone, perhaps it is because they are not a very nice person.’
‘We don’t know she is not a nice person,’ objected Flora. ‘She told us how she nursed my father when he was ill. He became very muddled after his illness, she said, and suspected everyone of plotting against him. Then he disappeared from their house on the outskirts of Paris and she has been seeking him ever since. Only think how worried she must have been. Now she’s discovered he’s dead. It is so sad, Mrs Ross. How can we not pity her?’
What could I say? In the event, I said nothing, and that is very unlike me, as Ben will tell you.
Flora grew brisker and continued, in a businesslike way, ‘Arrangements are being made for my father’s funeral. The service will take place at St Marylebone parish church, at the top of the High Street, so I trust you will not go to St Mary’s Church in Wyndham Place in error, although that is nearer to our house. Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Maria were married at St Marylebone and we have always worshipped there. After the service we shall all go, with the coffin, to the Brookwood Necropolis railway station and travel by train out of London to Surrey as a funeral party. My father will be buried there, in the Necropolis burial ground. A plot is purchased and final arrangements are being made. I do hope that both you and Inspector Ross will come.’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘I will see you are sent proper notice.’ Flora took my hand. ‘Dear Mrs Ross, thank you again for coming and listening to me. I do so value your support. I must go back to the house now. I will see you at the funeral.’
‘What do you make of all that?’ I asked Ben that evening.
He had listened carefully to what I’d had to say and his expression had grown steadily more sombre. ‘I don’t like it; I don’t like any of it.
‘See here, Lizzie, if Flora’s kind heart makes her generous towards her stepmother, Victorine will have sensed it ins
tantly. From her point of view, she will already have won a valuable ally in the matter of the disputed estate. She will use any advantage ruthlessly. Jonathan Tapley is Flora’s guardian, of course, and Victorine won’t win him over. He is her implacable enemy.
‘Moreover, she faces another problem. Jonathan Tapley will use all his legal skills to contest her claim and if necessary spin things out through the courts. Legal processes are notoriously slow. It could be many months before the estate is settled, perhaps a year or more. It’s not unknown! If it’s true that Victorine has limited funds, then she does indeed find herself in a very difficult situation. Even to stay in that cheap hotel will be eating away at her reserves. She may find herself forced to return to France, at least for a while. If she does that, and the estate is not yet settled, she will be at a great disadvantage, having abandoned the field. Napoleon did the same at Waterloo, and look what that cost him! Who would represent Victorine in any court proceedings? She probably can’t afford a lawyer. Desperate situations sometimes lead to people taking desperate measures. Victorine is very clever and, frankly, as hard as nails. Of course I am worried on Flora’s account.’
Ben gave a muted growl. ‘I am worried on my own, also. All this means increased pressure on me to conclude the murder investigation. I can’t let that drag on. Nor can I see any court deciding the matter of the estate while Tapley’s murderer has not been named. I shall be pursued by a veritable pack of interested parties: the family, the widow, Dunn, the press, public opinion and the lawyers. In the meantime, I am concerned, as you are, that Flora is vulnerable. I don’t doubt that. We must trust Jonathan and his wife to prevent Victorine playing on the girl’s sympathy. But from your account of Flora dressing up to visit her father in disguise, it seems to me she can be a resourceful young lady, too.
‘By the way, the French Embassy has informed us that the marriage certificate appears to be completely in order. We have not yet heard from the French police.’
‘I have yet to meet Victorine,’ I said. ‘I’m looking forward to it, but it will have to be at the funeral.’
‘As to the funeral, I should attend anyway, as investigating officer. Now we’re invited to attend by the deceased’s daughter, I shall be spared having to lurk in the background, trying not to offend by my presence.’ Ben smiled grimly. ‘As for Victorine Guillaume Tapley, well, I have not yet played all my cards.’
Inspector Benjamin Ross
The following day, with the help of Sergeant Morris and Constable Biddle, I scoured London seeking a hotel where anyone named Hector Mas had been a recent guest. We drew a blank at each enquiry. We were told of several French visitors who had registered at all manner of establishments, expensive and cheap. We managed to speak to one or two who were still there, and establish none was our man. Of the others, none sounded likely to have been the fellow we sought. They were too old, too young, had been accompanied by their wives, or were known to the hotel staff from previous visits. We described Victorine Guillaume to the staff, but no one remembered seeing her. Morris remarked to me that he thought Victorine the sort who’d be remembered.
‘And this chap, Mas,’ Morris went on, ‘he could either have stayed in a private house or, most likely, some sort of bed and breakfast establishment, a rooming house, or a public house with a bed or two to rent. There are hundreds of them, sir, in London. We’d need a dozen men to go round them all and take probably over a week about it. Even then, if Mas paid the owners a couple of guineas to deny he’d ever been there, they’d be happy to oblige.’
‘So, what sort of a man was he, Morris?’ I asked.
‘One who was up to no good,’ opined Morris. ‘That’s my view of it, sir. But, there again, he might be what they call eccentric, or just very thrifty. But my best bet would be, he don’t want to be noticed.’
The following afternoon I was able to set in motion, with Dunn, a little plan I had hatched. I was confident of its success but knew I’d look a fool if it failed, and the best-laid plans, as the poet wrote, can go so very wrong. I know he wrote something Scottish, but I cannot quite recall what it was. I should ask Lizzie. She would know the reference. At any rate, he was right.
Victorine Guillaume had been requested to come to the Yard at two that afternoon. I waited with Dunn in his office. The door of my office, a little way down the corridor, was left open. Anyone coming to see Dunn would have to pass by it.
Accordingly, a few minutes before two, I was waiting nervously with the superintendent. A thump of boots announced Constable Biddle who appeared, red faced, to tell us, ‘The lady’s on her way up, Mr Ross, sir – and Mr Dunn, sir!’
Perhaps reflecting he had got the names in the wrong order of seniority, Biddle’s face grew even redder.
‘Yes, yes! Get yourself out of sight, boy!’ snapped Dunn.
Biddle vanished. He had barely disappeared when a lighter footstep heralded our lady visitor. We could see her, through the open door of Dunn’s office, coming along the corridor towards us, clad in her mourning attire. She had just passed by the open door of my office when a voice from within that room boomed, ‘Bless my soul! If it isn’t Miss Guillaume. A great pleasure to see you again, mademoiselle, and a great surprise!’
Victorine gasped and spun round as a gentleman in a tweed suit emerged from my office, hat in hand, and bowed to her in a military manner.
‘Major Griffiths, ma’am, if you remember me?’ he identified himself. ‘You called at my home, The Old Hall near Harrogate, together with your brother, some time towards the end of last year.’
She may have been taken by surprise, but she was aware that Dunn and I listened from his office and she was not so foolish as to deny it. I had to admire the quickness with which she rallied.
‘Indeed I do, Major! May I ask what brings you here?’
‘Well, it’s all rather unexpected for me, too,’ returned the major cheerfully, ‘I admit I seldom come to London these days. The fact of the matter is, I have travelled down this morning to attend the funeral of my landlord, Mr Thomas Tapley, later in the week. I mean also to spend a few days looking out my old haunts. I never knew Tapley personally but I have lived in his house for a number of years. All my household staff know of the family. It seems right to show my face, pay my respects. Poor Tapley was murdered, you know. That is why I am here at the Yard, asking how the investigation progresses.’ Griffiths leaned towards her and added in a confidential tone, ‘And I don’t mind telling you, my dear Miss Guillaume, that I was also dashed interested to see the famous Scotland Yard, what?’
Well done, Major! I thought as I walked down the corridor to join them.
‘Ah, madame!’ I greeted her. ‘So you know Major Griffiths? This lady, Major, is the widow of your landlord.’
‘Is she, b’gad?’ replied the major, frowning. ‘You didn’t make yourself known as such, ma’am, when you called on me with your brother. I feel I was remiss in not offering you more hospitality at the time. I should have done, had I known.’
‘You were quite hospitable enough, thank you, Major Griffiths,’ said Victorine icily. ‘Inspector Ross, I understand I have an appointment with Superintendent Dunn. Please excuse me, Major Griffiths.’
‘Delighted to see you again, ma’am, delighted,’ he said.
Clearly Victorine was not delighted, but she swept past him and into Dunn’s office.
I lingered long enough to murmur, ‘Thank you, Major Griffiths. I was a little afraid you might not recognise her.’
‘Well, she wasn’t all in black when I saw her last,’ admitted Griffiths. ‘And her hair was a different colour, I fancy, reddish. But she isn’t the sort of woman one forgets. I knew her the moment I saw her pass the doorway of your office there.’
‘Again, my thanks for waiting and identifying her. Perhaps you would give us a little more of your time, and sign a statement to the effect that she called on you in Harrogate and in what circumstances? Sergeant Morris will look after you. If you are to attend Tapley’s fun
eral, I’ll be meeting you again, sir.’
‘Thought I should attend the funeral,’ Griffiths repeated. ‘Proper thing to do. I confess I’m also interested to see if I can find out what’s likely to happen about my tenancy. Glad to have been of service, Inspector.’
I joined Dunn and Victorine Guillaume in Dunn’s office. Victorine was seated on the chair where I’d first seen her. Her dark eyes sparkled with anger as she watched me enter. Dunn looked relieved to see me. However, I was not prepared, this time, to carry the burden of the interview. I stationed myself by the closed door, and waited in silence.
‘Ah, yes, Ross . . .’ mumbled Dunn. He then straightened up and, turning to Guillaume, began briskly, ‘Well, madame, I am sorry for the little subterfuge, but it seems you have not been entirely frank . . .’
He got no further. She turned that blazing gaze from me to him and Dunn visibly blanched.
‘I am also very sorry, because I believe that neither you, Superintendent, nor you, Inspector Ross, has behaved as a gentleman should.’ The dark eyes flashed at me again, ‘Particularly in your case, Inspector!’
‘I am afraid, madame, I am only a simple police officer,’ I said. ‘I have never made any claim to be a gentleman.’
‘It is as well!’ she said icily.
‘Now, look here, madame . . .’ Dunn wrested back control of the conversation. ‘You have not been frank with us, you know. You cannot blame us for our little trick. This is a murder inquiry. You should not keep information of any sort from us. You should have told us you travelled to Harrogate in search of your husband. You did not go unaccompanied. You presented yourself under false colours, madame, at The Old Hall. We should like to know why.’
‘Pah!’ She threw up her hands. ‘I do not keep secrets! I simply did not know you wished to be told all this. You have misunderstood. Why should my visit to Harrogate be of interest to you? My poor husband was not there and he had been living, I now know, here in London. He was murdered here. There is no connection with Harrogate, only a wasted and expensive journey made by myself. Of what interest or use is all that to you? I am not accustomed to being interrogated by the police.’