by Jack Treby
‘There were tensions, though? With regards to the business?’
‘A few,’ Hopkins admitted. ‘We were meant to be disentangling it all. Mrs O’Neill wanted to sell everything off, to divest herself of all her husband’s stocks and the various assets. She didn’t have the aptitude to keep it up. She wanted to cash everything in.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘Sir Richard saw it as a golden opportunity. He thought she would leave it all to him to sort out and he would make a mint, but it turned out she wasn’t the soft touch he supposed. She brought in a lawyer to handle the contracts, someone who knew what they were doing.’
‘Lord. Sir Richard can’t have been happy about that.’
‘He wasn’t. The last thing he wanted was a level playing field. He had hoped to make a tidy profit. He was very angry about that. With a lawyer involved, he wouldn’t receive a penny more than he was entitled to.’
‘And you think that may be why he chose Mrs O’Neill as a scapegoat?’
‘I think it must have been, at least partly. She was the obvious person to blame. The letters to her husband; the references to his business practices; the personal attacks. It all fitted. And so, gradually, I came to accept what he said, that she must be behind it all. By the time Christmas came, Sir Richard was sick of the sight of her. When she announced that she would be coming with us to Europe, he was apoplectic. That was the last thing he wanted. I heard him discussing it, with her ladyship, and Lady Jocelyn felt exactly the same way. She was no fonder of Mrs O’Neill than he was.’
‘Ironically,’ I said, ‘I think the poor woman only wanted to go to Europe to get away from all these malicious letters.’
‘Yes, I suppose that must be true. But it didn’t seem that way at the time. The atmosphere over Christmas was stifling.’ Hopkins shivered at the memory. ‘We all wanted to get away from that damned house. Excuse my language. And when we came to New York, Sir Richard made sure we stayed in a separate hotel. But somehow, the letters continued to arrive.’
‘Through the post?’
‘Yes. And that was proof positive as far as Sir Richard was concerned. Mrs O’Neill had come with us and the letters had come too.’
‘They were sent from New York?’
‘Yes, for the two or three days we were in town.’
‘And all the time, Sir Richard was typing them up himself?’ My mind boggled at the audacity of the fellow.
‘He must have prepared them ahead of time, before we left Boston. He would have had plenty of opportunity. People were often out of the house during the day. ’
‘Did no-one ever see him using Mrs O’Neill’s typewriter?’
‘I imagine so, but we all used it. That was the thing. Sir Richard had his own typewriter, but I was on that most of the day, typing up his correspondence. The Reverend Hamilton-Baynes did a fair amount of typing too, as did his wife. We wouldn’t have thought twice about see anybody on it. At that point, we hadn’t connected any of the letters to that particular typewriter. But then, when we got to New York, things changed. I mean, with Sir Richard. Enough was enough, he said. He wasn’t going to put up with this nonsense any longer. It was time to teach Mrs O’Neill a lesson.’
‘I see.’ That sounded ominous. ‘And what did he suggest?’
‘He wanted to give her a dose of her own medicine. Imagine her face, he said, if she started receiving letters that she hadn’t written herself. Think how that would unnerve her. He almost laughed when he suggested it. But even that wasn’t enough. I didn’t realise at the time how deeply Sir Richard must have hated that woman.’
‘It sounds like, by this stage, the whole thing had become far more than mischief making.’
‘It had,’ Hopkins agreed. ‘He was getting more and more audacious. More vindictive.’
The release valve was becoming an open sewer. ‘He must have been bottling up his anger for years,’ I said. ‘Not just at the people here, but at the world in general. At his sister, and perhaps his own guilt, over what he had done all those years ago.’ I suppose it did make a kind of sense. ‘But to send letters to Mrs O’Neill, in retaliation for the letters he had written to himself...that’s insane.’
‘And the worst of it is, Mr Buxton, it was all just a preamble. He was drawing me in, I see that now. It was part of the game, slowly entangling me in his schemes, getting me more and more involved with it. Against my better judgement, I agreed to help with the letters, to give Mrs O’Neill a taste of her own medicine, as he put it. But that wasn’t enough. Sir Richard had something much more unpleasant in mind. We really needed to put the wind up her, he said, make her fear for her life.’
‘Lord. You mean, threaten to kill her?’ I had known the conversation would be heading in this direction, but it was still a shock to hear the words spoken out loud.
‘I’m afraid so. He wanted to make her sweat, to make her think the whole world was conspiring against her, to pay her back for everything she had done to him. He had read the papers over Christmas, about the bombings on Boxing Day and afterwards...’
‘The bombings?’
‘Yes.’ Hopkins drew in a breath. ‘He’d read about the anti-Mussolini campaign and he thought...oh, Mr Buxton, it was mad, but he thought...why not make use of that?’
‘Good God.’ I blinked in horror. ‘You mean the bomb? The hoax bomb at Leopardi’s? That was Sir Richard?’
Hopkins nodded shamefacedly. ‘It was his idea.’
‘Good grief.’
‘It wasn’t intended to cause any actual harm. The idea was to frighten her off. That and the note sent to her hotel room. It would put an end to this nonsense altogether, he said. Put a stop to her odious campaign.’
‘But in reality he was just feeding his addiction?’
‘The letters weren’t enough any more. He wanted to frighten her half to death.’
‘But to go to such lengths...’ I shook my head.
‘It was madness,’ Hopkins agreed. ‘And I told him so. I said I wanted nothing to do with it. Sir Richard didn’t like that at all. He said I was nothing but a coward. I had no backbone. What was I worried about? No-one was going to get hurt. It was just a practical joke. But you know what the atmosphere was like in New York, these last couple of weeks. The paranoia, when the bombs started going off. We could have ended up in jail, or worse. It was mad. Utterly insane. But Sir Richard wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
‘He threatened you?’
‘He told me he had no use for someone who wouldn’t obey orders. I’d be out on my ear. Me and Miss Simpkins. He’d make sure neither of us ever worked again. He even threatened to call the police and accuse me of theft. Have me hauled away to prison.’
‘That was a lame threat,’ I suggested. ‘You had as much on him as he did on you. Massaging the books.’
‘But who would believe me? That’s the thing, Mr Buxton. Sir Richard is a peer of the realm – he has friends in parliament – and I’m just a secretary. They’d side with him. I’d end up in prison and he’d walk away without a stain on his character. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘You could have said no.’
‘I tried to, please believe me. I did try. But you don’t understand how persuasive he can be. How frightening.’
‘I know a bully when I see one.’
‘One moment, he’d be raging and the next he was utterly reasonable. It was just a prank, he assured me, time and time again. Nobody was going to get hurt. It was just a bit of fun. And it would teach Mrs O’Neill a thorough lesson. She would never write another letter to anyone ever again. He kept telling me that, over and over.’
‘And so you finally agreed to help?’
‘He wore me down. And I agreed to it, yes. God forgive me. I wish I could say it was the worst thing I’d done. Oh, Mr Buxton, that man. The way he twists everything.’
‘But you did it? You prepared the package?’
‘Yes, to my shame. It wasn’t that difficult. We’d read
all the details in the papers. I made it the same size and shape as the original bombs. Even gave it the same return address.’
‘But with Mrs O’Neill’s name plastered across the front?’
‘Yes. That was the most vicious part of it. Sir Richard wanted there to be no doubt it was aimed at her. And then, that last evening, I...I put on a heavy coat and a pair of gloves, and I left the parcel at the side door of the restaurant, where someone was bound to notice it. I was so scared that I would be seen. But I was lucky. Nobody saw me do it.’
I pursed my lips in distaste. ‘That was a damned foolish thing to do. You heard what happened when the package was discovered?’ All hell had broken loose. ‘Somebody might have been seriously injured.’
‘I know. I know...’ He sniffled. ‘It was so stupid. I should never...I should never have agreed to do it. If it wasn’t for Jenny...’
‘Miss Simpkins, she knew nothing about this?’
‘No, nothing at all. At least, not until today. She would have been appalled. She could see how distracted I was, but the same was true of everyone. We were all out of sorts because of these letters.’
‘And after the bomb, you sent the note to Mrs O’Neill at her hotel?’
‘Yes. That was what we agreed. By this time, we’d noticed the misalignment of the key on Mrs O’Neill’s typewriter. The misplaced “W”. Sir Richard had spotted it. I suppose he must have known about it for some time. We didn’t have access to her typewriter any more, so we typed up the note on Sir Richard’s Olivetti, adjusting the barrel slightly when we typed the “W”, to mimic the style of the original.’
‘And you delivered the letter?’
‘Yes. I passed by the Alderley later that evening and handed it to a bellboy, with instructions to deliver it after everyone had gone to bed.’
‘That was risky. Letting him see you.’
‘I did my best to disguise myself. I told him it was a billet-doux. A love letter. I gave him a few coins. I even put on an American accent when I spoke to him. Not a very good one,’ he confessed.
‘He might still have recognised you, if Mrs O’Neill reported the matter to the police.’
‘We didn’t think she would. The police would have interviewed her already, about the bomb. That was part of the punishment. Or the mischief. But she wouldn’t be able to tell them anything about the letters, without incriminating herself. That was what I thought, anyway. As for Sir Richard, it must have amused him no end, frightening the life out of her like that, but knowing full well she wouldn’t say a word to anyone.’
‘And as it was a hoax, the police wouldn’t waste too much time investigating,’ I said. ‘Even so, Sir Richard was sailing pretty close to the wind.’
‘He was. He was becoming more and more reckless.’
‘And having terrified Mrs O’Neill half to death with the bomb, you then sent the note to add salt to the wound?’
‘It was intended to underline the message: stop now or suffer the consequences. I hoped...I hoped that would be the end of the matter.’
‘But it wasn’t?’
‘No. Far from it. Things seemed to get worse, when we boarded the Galitia. Sir Richard became ever more erratic.’
‘You began to suspect him?’
‘I began to worry about him. Other letters started to arrive, ones that apparently came from Mrs O’Neill. And then Sir Richard took exception to your friend Harry Latimer. He didn’t like the cut of his jib. Or yours, Mr Buxton, if I’m honest. He didn’t like the way Mr Latimer flirted with Mrs O’Neill. Wouldn’t it be funny, he said, if he were to receive a nasty letter too, warning him off. I couldn’t understand that. Why would Sir Richard want to send a letter like that to a person he hardly knew? It made no sense at all.’
‘Not if he was the innocent party,’ I agreed.
‘But he kept telling me how necessary it was. Think how perplexed Mrs O’Neill would be, he said, if other people started receiving letters she hadn’t written. It would help to put an end to this nonsense. And despite myself, even then, I believed him.’
‘And so you became his post boy?’
‘Yes.’ Hopkins grimaced. ‘It seems absurd now. He had me skulking about the ship, pushing envelopes under doors. I said to him, it will look suspicious, me creeping about like that, so he suggested I let Matilda out of the Reynolds Suite and pretend I was trying to find her. He’s never liked that cat. And she was always getting out anyway.’
‘So that was what you were doing, when I bumped into you after breakfast on the first morning? You were delivering one of these letters?’
‘To Mr Latimer, yes. I was mortified, later on, when I heard he had died. But Sir Richard wasn’t at all ruffled about that. He didn’t seem to care that Mr Latimer had passed away. Forget it, he said. We had nothing to do with his death. But he was becoming ever more unstable. When Mr Griffith came to talk to us, I didn’t know what to say to him. I managed to keep my nerve. Thank goodness, he didn’t ask me about the letter. He didn’t seem to know anything about that, or any of the correspondence.’
‘No. There was a wall of silence. Sir Richard even asked me to keep quiet about it,’ I recalled, with some embarrassment.
‘And somehow the note ended up in Mrs O’Neill’s handbag.’
‘Yes. That must have been when she discovered the body,’ I said. ‘Perhaps she tripped over it when she entered the room, before she even realised Harry was dead. She read it, thinking he was still asleep, and decided it was better for him not to see it. When she realised Harry was dead, she probably forgot all about it. And later on, she couldn’t say anything, because she had knowingly tampered with the evidence.’
‘Mr Latimer...his death...do you think that was really an accident?’ Hopkins asked. ‘You don’t think...?’
‘I’m sure it was,’ I said, the lie coming easily to my lips. ‘Doctor Armstrong did a thorough examination. It’s a devil of a coincidence but I don’t believe his death had anything to do with your affair. It certainly had nothing to do with Sir Richard.’
‘I hope not,’ Hopkins said, staring down at the water. ‘We’ve done enough damage, him and I, these last few days.’
‘But you say he was becoming more erratic?’
‘Yes. I was beginning to think that perhaps everything was not as he had told me. I’d spent some time with Mrs O’Neill, and she had never seemed in the least bit venal. Unfortunately, I had become so caught up in Sir Richard’s web of lies that I didn’t trust my own instincts. And now I had had enough. When Jenny got given her notice, he refused to lift a finger to help her. And it was partly our fault, letting the cat out like that. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anyone. And I was beginning to think he had been lying to me all along.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I confronted him. This can’t go on, I said. It has to stop.’
‘How did he react to that?’
‘He said I was a fool. Everything he had told me was true, but if I wanted proof, it was Mrs O’Neill I should be talking to, not him. Get the truth from her, he said. I didn’t know what to think about that. But his story never wavered. And I was angry too, to be put in this position, to have become so entangled, to have done such stupid things. If Sir Richard was right, and Mrs O’Neill really was behind it all, then it was all her fault.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I had to determine the truth, one way or another. Sir Richard knew I wasn’t likely to confront Mrs O’Neill directly, but there were other things I could do. The typewriter, for example. I hadn’t seen it since we left Boston. Back then, I didn’t know about the misalignment of the keys. But now I could take a close look at it, and see if it really was the one that was used. And maybe I could find some other evidence in her cabin which might prove her guilt.’
‘You broke in there, this morning?’
‘Yes. I waited until everyone was down in the restaurant, first thing. The door was locked but I slipped a piece of card down the
side.’ His face flushed with embarrassment. ‘I’ve seen it done in the pictures. I didn’t think it would work, but it did. I was worried that someone might see me, but there was no-one around in the corridor and I closed the door behind me. The room was empty. Just lots of clothes and some sporting equipment. I couldn’t think why she would have that. I scoured the room and found the note Sir Richard had written in her handbag. Then I checked the typewriter. I tapped out the letter “W” and a few others to see if it was out of step. And it was. And then...and then...Mrs O’Neill returned to the room.’ Hopkins was staring at his lap now, his body shuddering, his lower legs causing small ripples in the water below.
‘And what did you do?’
‘I...I hit her. Oh God, I hit her. I grabbed a shuffleboard disk from the shelf. It was all her fault, you see. She’d placed me in this impossible position. She’d forced me to confess to Sir Richard. And now she was going to find me rifling through her things. She would know that it was me who sent the bomb to the restaurant. She would know it was me who delivered the second note. I wasn’t...I didn’t really think about it. I just grabbed the disk with both my hands and...and bashed her with it, like a rock, to the back of the head. She fell straight away. A single blow. I didn’t intend to kill her. I really didn’t. I just wanted to knock her out. But...but it didn’t work out that way. I knew as soon as she hit the floor that she was dead.’
A brief silence fell. I didn’t know what to say. The poor idiotic fool. ‘So what did you do then?’ I asked quietly.
‘I pulled myself together, as best I could. I tried to make it look like an accident. I pulled her up against the sink and...and banged her head against it...’
‘To make it look like she had fallen.’
‘Yes. And then I left her there and...and hurried back to the Reynolds Suite. No-one saw me.’
‘What did you do with the shuffleboard disk?’
‘I tried to clean it. Then I slipped it into the reverend’s bedroom. I remembered he had his own set. It wouldn’t look out of place among them.’