by Jack Treby
She hesitated. ‘It’s really not my place to say. It was all such a long time ago. It’s horrible that anyone should bring it all up like that, all these years later.’
‘Was it something that happened to her before she was married?’
Mrs Hamilton-Baynes looked away in embarrassment. ‘You must forgive me, Mr Buxton. It’s really not something I can talk about. It’s a...a private family matter.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’ But my curiosity was peaked. What could the letters have alluded to? An indiscretion of some kind in Lady Jocelyn’s youth? It was difficult to think of a woman like that ever being young. An inappropriate relationship, perhaps, before she was married? That might be enough to upset a woman of her elevated position. Or maybe – I struggled not to smile at the thought – the result of such a relationship? A child out of wedlock had the potential to be ruinous for someone like Lady Jocelyn, even in this day and age.
Jennings waddled across with the second course, saving Mrs Hamilton-Baynes from any further embarrassment. We waited as he carved out the beef and for the next few minutes there was a contented silence as we tucked merrily away.
Hopkins was still looking a little preoccupied, however, and it was he who eventually broke the silence. He wiped his lips with a napkin and cleared his throat. ‘Tell me, Mr Buxton, do you...do you believe that Mrs O’Neill was really responsible for all of these letters?’
I put down my fork. It was an honest question and it deserved an honest answer. ‘It looks like it, I’m afraid. It was definitely her typewriter. And the only other person who could have had access to it was our Miss Wellesley.’ Mrs Hamilton-Baynes was about to protest but I held up my hand. ‘And of course she couldn’t possibly be involved. The letter writing started long before she came along. But this attack on Lady Jocelyn.’ I could not let the matter drop. ‘The details...of course, it’s a personal matter. I wouldn’t dream of prying. But who...who else would have known about it? Whatever it was?’
The vicar’s wife was looking a little flustered. ‘That’s the peculiar thing, Mr Buxton. Nobody could have known. It was only myself, her father and one of the servants.’ Mrs Hamilton-Baynes spoke in a whisper, her eyes darting guiltily across the hall to where Lady Jocelyn was sitting; but the Reynolds Suite was well out of earshot. ‘I only know the truth because Jocelyn confided in me at the time. If Susan – Mrs O’Neill, God rest her soul – if she was responsible for these letters, then how could she possibly have known about something that happened back in England such a long time ago?’
‘Her late husband...what was his name? Ulysses O’Neill,’ I suggested. ‘He was a close friend of Sir Richard’s, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘Was it possible that he knew?’
Mrs Hamilton-Baynes shook her head emphatically. ‘No. Richard would never have told him anything like that. Not about the family. And I don’t think Mr O’Neill would have had any interest in discussing matters of a personal nature.’
‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘No, I never did. I’m just going on what Susan told me about him.’
‘I met him once,’ Hopkins volunteered. ‘Briefly. We came over on a business trip, just after the crash.’ That would have been late 1929 or early 1930. ‘I’d just started with Sir Richard then.’
‘What was he like? Mr O’Neill?’
Hopkins considered. ‘Quite a larger than life character, I would say. Rather exuberant and full of beans. Mrs O’Neill was somewhat in his shadow, I felt.’
‘Well, she certainly came out of her shell after he died,’ I observed dryly. ‘Perhaps Sir Richard did tell him about his sister. Or the servants gossiped. That’s usually the way of these things.’
‘Sir Richard doesn’t usually take servants with him on foreign trips,’ Hopkins pointed out. ‘I only come with him because he has business to conduct. This has been a working trip for us, Mr Buxton, not a holiday.’
‘Did Sir Richard know about...about whatever had happened?’
Mrs Hamilton-Baynes gave a half-hearted nod. ‘But he would never talk about it. He would never discuss it with anyone. It was too shameful, for all of them.’
‘For them?’ That was an interesting choice of words. ‘You mean, Sir Richard was involved in it, whatever it was?’ So not a pregnancy then, or an illicit affair. ‘It was something he did as well?’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t really...it isn’t...’.
‘Forgive me, Mrs Hamilton-Baynes. It is none of my business.’ The woman was now becoming seriously agitated. Perhaps it was time to pull back a little. ‘I’m afraid I have rather an enquiring mind. Best just to ignore me.’ I had no desire to cause her any distress. I lifted a hand to summon the waiter, gesturing to the empty glasses. Jennings poured out some more wine for my companions; then he took my tumbler and padded off for a refill. Mrs Hamilton-Baynes sipped nervously at her drink, clearly regretting having spoken of the matter at all.
At the other table, a little way away, Lady Jocelyn and Sir Richard were leaning in and talking to each other. Sir Richard must have said something to annoy his sister, as she pulled away sharply and threw what looked like a barbed remark straight back at him.
The waiter returned with my whisky and soda. A little too much soda, this time. That was a couple of shillings less on the tip he would be receiving at the end of the trip. I took a gulp regardless. It was time for a change of tack. ‘So what is Sir Richard like as an employer?’ I asked Mr Hopkins.
‘Very good,’ the secretary answered, loyally. ‘He has his quirks, as any businessman does, but he’s always very attentive.’ The testimonial was well-rehearsed. ‘He’s been good to me. Mr Buxton.’
‘When he doesn’t send you off running errands for Lady Jocelyn?’
Hopkins was not smooth enough to disguise his irritation at that. That damned cat had caused him far too much trouble on this trip. A hand slipped unconsciously to his cheek. The claw marks had not yet fully healed. ‘I do sometimes end up in the middle rather,’ he admitted.
‘They argue a lot? The brother and sister.’
Hopkins hesitated. ‘It’s not really my place to say, Mr Buxton.’
‘I must confess, when I was first introduced to them, I thought they were married. That kind of bickering is what you’d normally see between a husband and a wife.’ I gazed across at the couple. Whatever the cross words had been, they were now both sitting in cold silence. The Reverend Hamilton-Baynes was tucking into his beef in apparent ignorance, as the two of them focused frostily on their knives and forks. ‘Not like a brother and sister at all,’ I said.
Mrs Hamilton-Baynes choked suddenly on her wine and I thought I saw a flash of fear in her eyes as Hopkins rose up to assist her. His help wasn’t necessary, however, as the woman quickly recovered. Lady Jocelyn, at the far table, looked across in concern, but I gave her a reassuring wave and mimed that everything was all right. Then I returned my attention to the vicar’s wife. Brother and sister, that was all I had said. ‘They are brother and sister?’ I asked, suspiciously.
‘I...yes, yes of course,’ Mrs Hamilton-Baynes stuttered, putting down her glass.
I had the feeling now we were getting close to the nub of the matter. ‘The letters...it was something to do with...?’
‘They have always been very close,’ Hopkins put in, as he resumed his seat. His frown was now a mirror of my own.
And at that moment, the penny dropped. ‘They weren’t...too close? Is that it?’ I leaned forward, all thoughts of the beef now forgotten.
Mrs Hamilton-Baynes was staring at her wine glass. ‘They were both very young,’ she mumbled, her voice barely audible. ‘They had no idea what they were doing. It was just foolishness. The exuberance of youth.’ The vicar’s wife was starting to tremble, her grip tightening on the glass. She looked up at me then, in some distress. ‘You mustn’t...you mustn’t say anything. You mustn’t tell anyone. Oh my goodness. It would destroy
her. It would destroy her if anyone knew.’
‘She and Sir Richard?’ I could scarcely bring myself to say the words. ‘They were...together? I mean, intimately together?’
Mrs Hamilton-Baynes nodded, her face as pale as a ghost.
A brother and sister. Oh, lord.
Chapter Thirteen
‘They were discovered, by the housekeeper,’ Mrs Hamilton-Baynes continued, unable to stop herself now, though her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘The two of them. They were...they were...’ She took another gulp of wine and nearly knocked the glass over as she returned it shakily to the table. ‘They were in bed together. Without clothes and...and in a state of...yes, some intimacy.’
Mr Hopkins was appalled. ‘Sir Richard? And her ladyship?’ It was clearly the first he had heard of it.
‘How old were they?’ I asked, leaning across the table.
‘He was seventeen. She was thirteen.’
Not all that young then. It was not unusual for siblings to share a bed in their formative years, but this was an altogether different proposition. I do not consider myself to be a prude. I make a point of not condemning other people’s sexual peccadilloes, no matter how perverted, so long as they are discreet. Lord knows, I have done some pretty disreputable things in my time, and what people get up to behind closed doors is their own affair. But some activities are simply beyond the pale. ‘And the housekeeper?’ I asked, trying to focus on the pertinent facts.
‘She summoned their father, Sir Robert. Apparently, it had been going on for some time. Sir Robert was appalled; and he blamed Richard, of course. The boy was beaten to within an inch of his life. The two of them were separated. They weren’t allowed to see each other again. Not until they were both married. And soon after that, Sir Robert died.’ Mrs Hamilton-Baynes rested her hands on the edge of the table. For all her reluctance to discuss the matter in public, it was clear there was some relief to be had in speaking of it at last. ‘The housekeeper is still alive – she lives in America now – but apart from that nobody ever knew.’
‘But Lady Jocelyn confided in you?’
The vicar’s wife nodded. ‘She had to talk to someone. She was sent to stay with us, for the rest of the summer. She was just a little girl. She was so upset but she wasn’t allowed to show it. But she would always confide in me. And I’ve kept the secret, for over thirty years.’ Mrs Hamilton-Baynes wiped a tear from her eye.
‘Does your husband know about it?’
‘No. He has no idea. I would never tell him. How could I?’
‘But somebody found out? Mrs O’Neill perhaps?’
‘She must have done,’ Mrs Hamilton-Baynes agreed.
Hopkins lifted a hand to his mouth, utterly aghast. The revelation had fair taken the wind from his sails. ‘I knew it had to be something bad,’ he muttered. ‘But I never thought of anything like this.’
‘You weren’t aware of the contents of the letters?’
‘No. And I’m beginning to understand why.’ He shot a brief glance at the far table. It was difficult to reconcile the sober, bespectacled Sir Richard with the idea of such deviance, let alone the severe and aloof Lady Jocelyn Wingfield.
‘You mustn’t say a word,’ Mrs Hamilton-Baynes pleaded, the shock of what she had told us beginning to reassert itself. ‘Ernest, you must promise.’
The secretary was happy to agree. ‘It’s not my place,’ he said, his eyes still wide. ‘This business, it gets worse and worse.’
He was not far wrong. ‘And Mr Griffith? She told him about all this?’
The woman gazed down at her cutlery. ‘I don’t think so. I overheard them talking about it beforehand. I think they may have lied to him.’
‘They concocted a story?’
‘You mustn’t blame them, Mr Buxton. Jocelyn couldn’t tell anyone about this. She just couldn’t. And all the letters had been destroyed.’
‘Do you know what the story was?’
‘I’m afraid not. Perhaps a youthful indiscretion?’ That would have been shameful enough. ‘But Jocelyn couldn’t have told him the truth. She couldn’t bear the shame, Mr Buxton. If any of this ever came out – even a whisper of it – it would be the end of her. It would be the end of both of them. That’s why…that’s why it has to be kept quiet.’
‘Of course,’ I nodded gravely. ‘You can rely on us, Mrs Hamilton-Baynes.’
Hopkins and I left the restaurant shortly afterwards. The vicar’s wife returned to the main table, conjuring up a weak smile when she greeted her husband.
‘This is a strange business,’ I reflected, after we had made our farewells. ‘You really didn’t know?’
The secretary was adamant. ‘I had no idea.’ His face was still pale from shock, as we headed out onto the foyer. ‘Sir Richard...it doesn’t seem possible.’
‘People’s private lives are always messy,’ I said, keeping my voice low as we passed by the little shop. ‘We all do foolish things when we’re young.’ We arrived at the elevator and Hopkins pulled back the gate.
‘Yes, but not...incest.’ He shuddered at the word.
‘No, that’s a whole other matter,’ I agreed. We stepped into the lift and I pressed the button for B Deck.
‘Do you have any brothers or sisters, Mr Buxton?’ he asked. There was a whirr as the compartment began to ascend.
‘No, no, I don’t.’
‘I have three brothers and a little sister. The thought of...’ His face screwed up in horror.
‘Best not to dwell on it,’ I said. ‘The past is the past, Mr Hopkins. And it won’t bring Mrs O’Neill back, to rake over it all like this.’
‘No, you’re right,’ he agreed.
The cage jolted as we arrived at the correct floor. ‘Though how she found out about it all is beyond me. That typewriter of hers.’ I reached forward to pull back the cage door. ‘The black Olivetti in her cabin. She would have brought that with her from home, presumably.’
‘Yes, yes, she did,’ Hopkins confirmed, stepping out into the foyer.
‘Do you remember where it was? In the house, I mean?’ I hopped out behind him onto the spotted carpet.
‘I believe it was in the study. Why do you ask?’
‘I was just curious.’ I lingered for a moment by the gate. ‘Would anyone else have had access to it?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Mrs O’Neill was often out and we had the run of the place.’ He stopped, halfway between the lift and the stairwell. ‘You don’t think somebody else might have typed those letters?’
‘No, no. I don’t think that at all. Except...’ I shrugged. ‘No, never mind. My mind’s all over the place this evening. Well...’ I raised a hand. ‘I suppose I should bid you goodnight.’ The secretary would be heading off to the Reynolds Suite, on the port side, while I would be heading in the opposite direction. ‘Try not to dwell on it all, Mr Hopkins. Whatever Sir Richard and Lady Jocelyn may have done, it was all a long, long time ago.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Hopkins showed no signs of moving, however. It was almost as if he were waiting for me to leave first.
‘Not off to bed?’ I asked, in surprise. Surely he wasn’t planning on going dancing?
‘No, I...’ He flushed with embarrassment, indicating the starboard side. ‘I thought I’d look in on Jenny. Miss Simpkins. She’s moved into one of the middle rooms.’
‘Ah, yes. So I’ve heard.’
‘She can’t go back to Mrs O’Neill’s room tonight, now it’s all locked up, and Miss Wellesley has taken her place in the Reynolds Suite.’
‘You’re sweet on the girl?’
His cheeks flushed again. ‘Er...yes, I am. Lady Jocelyn isn’t at all happy about it. But anyway, I thought I ought to...to check up on her. See how she’s settled in. She’s had a bit of a rough day.’
‘Haven’t we all?’ We moved away from the stairs, heading around the corner into the starboard corridor. My room was halfway along. ‘Well, don’t keep her up too late,’ I said, as we came to my
door.
‘I won’t.’
‘And no gossiping,’ I had half a mind to call out, as he moved towards the connecting corridor. The last thing anyone needed was for Miss Jenny Simpkins to learn the truth about her former mistress. It would be all over the ship come morning. But the secretary was a sensible fellow. He would respect the confidence he had been given.
I dawdled for a moment outside my own room, my attention flicking back to the matter of Mrs O’Neill’s typewriter. It had not been an idle question I had thrown at Mr Hopkins. After all I had learned at supper this evening, I was beginning to wonder if the person who had killed Mrs O’Neill might not be Lady Jocelyn herself. Incest might easily be a motive for murder, if there was a chance of the matter getting out into the public domain. Could she have crept into Mrs O’Neill’s stateroom, perhaps to examine the typewriter and discover if that was the source of the letters? But why now? She would have had months to scrutinize it. Maybe it was only recently that the business of the misplaced “W”s had come to light. Not everyone had Maurice’s keen eye. Yes, Lady Jocelyn might well have slipped into the cabin to look and then perhaps been disturbed. She would have grabbed the nearest solid object, whatever it might have been, and silenced the woman forever.
Of course, the same might equally well apply to Sir Richard Villiers. He had just as much to lose. As the elder sibling, he was probably more to blame than the sister; and if the scandal was made public, it could be ruinous for both of them. Who would want to do business with a man like that, knowing such a thing about him?
There was one other candidate I had to consider. Much as I was loath to admit it, the vicar’s wife could just as easily be the guilty party. Mrs Hamilton-Baynes had been in a highly nervous and excitable state all evening – though “nervous and excitable” described just about everyone in the Reynolds Suite at the moment – and she had always done whatever she could to protect the reputation of her cousin. Was it possible that she had spoken out of turn – accidentally divulged the secret to Mrs O’Neill – and then realised that the woman was making use of the information? That would give her credible motive.