A Sorrowful Sanctuary

by Iona Whishaw

  Now Lane approached Mrs. Enderby and was rewarded by that lady turning away from a plump woman encased in pink chiffon whose mouth was permanently set in disapproval. Mrs. Enderby smiled at Lane in delight.

  “Mrs. Enderby, how lovely to see you,” said Lane, meaning it. The icy reception from the lady of the house had nearly undone her.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes, my dear. Look at you! Every woman pales next to you. How is Eleanor’s little Alexandra getting along?”

  “She’s splendid and, surprising for one so young, an excellent little guard dog. She was certain when they came back from somewhere the other day that someone had been in the house. She had her little ears down and was growling ferociously.”

  “They are very loyal, and quite indomitable, the wee highlands. And had someone been there?”

  Lane frowned. “Yes, unfortunately. While they were away someone had been in and helped themselves to some rather priceless antiques. Priceless in and of themselves, but especially priceless to the Armstrongs.”

  “Oh, dear, yes! I’ve heard that’s been going on, but I thought it was more at our end, near town. I’d no idea it had gone so far up the lake! I’ve taken to locking all my doors. I’ve told William to let no one in we don’t know. Have the police been able to do anything?”

  “Nothing yet, I’m afraid.” Lane looked across the terrace and down the stairs to the well-coiffed garden. “Lorimer got a puppy too. I guess it wasn’t invited to this do,” she said.

  “That was the very thing I was wondering about myself.” Mrs. Enderby leaned in and whispered, “I’m not over-fond of the man. Bit of a humbug if you ask me. He wouldn’t get my vote, I can tell you.”

  Lane laughed. “I’m glad to hear it. Those are my sentiments exactly. Look at all these servants. He’s got much too much money.” Then she frowned. There was a man in the black-and-white uniform worn by all the servants in the house standing at attention by a side table with hors d’oeuvres laid out. He looked familiar. Her brain whirred so that she nearly missed what her companion was saying.

  “But he didn’t come by it all honestly, you mark my words.”

  “There does seem rather a lot of it, certainly,” Lane said. “Mining or logging interests?”

  “And then some, if the rumour is to be believed. He used to work for one of the railway companies before the war. I only get invited to these soirees because I’m a member of the local bourgeoisie. He must know I can’t abide him. He’d better be treating that dog properly, that’s all I can say.”

  Later, supper over, Lane was feeling slightly giddy as she watched the couples begin to drift onto the dance floor cleared in the great central hall. A small orchestra at one end of the room had begun playing popular show tunes. Darling, who stood with his arms crossed next to her, leaned in and said, “Shall we?” and offered his hand.

  Lane looked at him in surprise and felt her face grow warm. “I didn’t know you danced.”

  “I’m not a complete heathen, you know. I was young once, and at university. Dancing was very de rigueur on Saturday nights.” He led her onto the floor and put his arm around her, his open hand warm on her back.

  “You trot a pretty good fox,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s you or the champagne, but dancing suddenly feels like the most wonderful thing in the universe.”

  “It’s me,” he assured her, pressing her closer.

  Lane was readying an answer when she stopped suddenly, holding Darling’s hand tightly. “I’ve remembered. He’s over there looking at me.”

  Darling, alarmed by this sudden change in her tone, searched toward where Lane was looking, but he saw only one of the servants turning away with dishes in his hand. “Who? What have you remembered?”

  “He’s the phone man. I’m certain of it! And it’s just dawned on him as well. He was staring at me as if he were trying to place me.”

  Darling pulled her to the edge of the dance floor. “Are you—”

  “I saw him at the inquest too!” she exclaimed, interrupting him. “I noticed him because he threw his cigarette on the floor and stubbed it out and left it there. I thought what swinish behaviour it was. He was impersonating a phone man and now is impersonating a waiter. Can he be ‘casing the joint,’ as I’ve heard it called? Lorimer should know he may have an imposter here eyeing his knick-knacks.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Why did you phone the police?” Carl’s voice down the line sounded desperate, angry. “You’ve only made everything worse.”

  Vanessa Castle, who had felt wild with relief at the sound of her son’s voice on the phone, now felt growing anxiety. “What was I supposed to do? You disappeared like that . . . I was desperate. I thought you’d had an accident or something. When they took me to see that man who was shot, I was beside myself! I thought . . . where are you?”

  “What man? What are you talking about?”

  “The police. They found some man who was shot and they thought he might be you. He was in the hospital. Where are you? Why don’t you come home? What is going on with you?”

  “Then he’s not dead—if he dies, I’m done for. Did they say where they found him?” Carl’s voice was breathy and he was almost whispering.

  “I can’t hear you properly. He did die. Carl, do you have anything to do with him? Who is . . . did you . . .?” Vanessa Castle sat down, her words high pitched in her panic. “And that man. A man came in a big expensive car. He was asking for you. He said he wanted to find you because he had a job for you, but I didn’t believe him. I told him I don’t know where you are. Is someone after you? Carl, what have you done?”

  There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Vanessa thought he’d hung up, and was about to call out when he spoke. His voice was calmer, hard. “Listen, Mother, I’m all right. You can stop fussing. I have to go away for a while. I’m sorry about the car. Don’t tell anyone, anyone! Do you understand? I didn’t call, you don’t know where I am. Please say you understand, Mother!”

  “I don’t understand! If you’re in trouble, I can help you. Please, you must come home, then we can do something.”

  “No one can help me.”

  Vanessa sat, the receiver in her lap, the loud hum of the phone the only sound after the slamming down of the receiver where Carl was, somewhere, alone and in some sort of trouble. All she could hear, over and over, was her son saying, “If he dies, I’m done for.” Vanessa could not remember ever being so sick with fear.

  Lane stood at the edge of the whirling couples. The band played a tune from Oklahoma. She knew this only because she had seen the production in London earlier in the summer when Darling had miraculously been freed. A man in a white suit sang, “Your hand feels so grand in mine. People will say we’re in love . . .” She watched the table where the waiter had been, waiting for him to come back. Darling had disappeared into the crowd in search of Lorimer. Much to her dismay, she saw Lorimer approaching her, no doubt to claim his dance. She took a deep breath. Seeing neither the phone man she was watching for nor Darling, she pasted on a facsimile of a smile.

  “You are abandoned, my dear, by your careless companion. I see my chance!” He offered his hand. “What has happened to Inspector Darling?”

  “He went off to find you, in fact,” Lane said, frowning. “Did he find you?”

  “Not yet. I’m sure he’ll find me if I’m with you.” He smiled ingratiatingly and bowed. “Do you know what about?”

  She was tempted to tell him but thought Darling would not necessarily appreciate her interference. “I’m not sure,” she said noncommittally.

  “Well, then, let’s throw caution to the wind until I am clapped in irons!” Lorimer said, offering his hand again.

  Surprised that it was not slimy, Lane allowed herself to be escorted into the middle of the throng. She saw Mrs. Lorimer in the arms
of an elderly burgher nearby. She had the air of having spent the entire dance trying to keep an eye on her husband, and her face lit with angry triumph on seeing him escort Lane onto the floor.

  “Do you know what I find myself wondering?”

  Lane had no desire to learn what he was wondering. Lorimer was holding her unnecessarily close, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. “No,” she said politely.

  “I wonder if you are not a good deal too good for a policeman.” His hand curved around her waist. “He’s a little man. Provincial. You are surely made for grander things. Now I could . . .”

  Lane, her heart pounding with rage, would never hear what he could do—offer himself, a bit on the side? Find her a wealthy friend who could keep her in the style to which she ought to be used?—because one of the expressionless servants in white gloves came across the floor and whispered something in Lorimer’s ear.

  “My dear, I’m so sorry. This must be the summons from the inspector. Please forgive me. I shall make it up to you.”

  Over my dead body, she thought, as he led her to a plush seat on the opposite side of the room from where he had collected her. She waited until she had seen him hurry across the floor to the service door through which she had seen the phone man, as she now thought of him, disappear, and then she moved around the room to the place Darling had left her and would expect her to be. She sat with her legs crossed watching the dancing and mused on Lorimer’s joke about being clapped in irons. It was a jest made by a powerful man who knew he was immune to such a fate. No. That wasn’t fair. It could easily be the joke of a man who was as innocent as a lamb. And then, unbidden, the thought came to her that the phone man-cum-waiter was not a threat to Lorimer at all, but one of his henchmen. All right, “henchman” was a bit strong as well, and it implied that if there was a ring of antiques thieves, Lorimer was in on it. She shook her head. He was smarmy and not her cup of tea, but that didn’t make him the boss of a criminal gang.

  “Can’t even stay put where you’re told to,” Darling said, interrupting her flow of thought. “I saw you dancing with him looking pleased with yourself. Naturally I felt obliged to interfere.”

  “I was distracting the host by dancing with him. I need a bath. I hope you riffled through his files. There’s bound to be something unsavoury.”

  “Very funny. He was extremely grateful to hear he might have a criminal in his midst. He hired people for the evening, and Phone Man was among them. Lorimer gave me his name. Harvey Townsend. I left Lorimer on his way to dismiss the fellow and no doubt check the silver.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’m afraid I had the most uncharitable thoughts about Lorimer. I wondered, don’t you know, if Townsend was in fact a confederate, I believe it is called, of his. If you hadn’t arrived just now, I would have imagined Lorimer in charge of a criminal gang involved in all sorts, including the killing of Lazek.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? That’s why we’re the police and you’re not. I told Ames to come back at ten. Have we had enough?” Some older couples were making their way to the door where furs were being placed onto the shoulders of the ladies, very unnecessarily, Lane thought, in the middle of a warm August night, and beautifully brushed and rarely aired top hats given to the men. The whole thing had an air of a bygone era of grandeur. The music was picking up, and the room had become suddenly warm and noisy.

  “Yes, I think so. You don’t need to wait about to arrest Townsend?”

  “I shall put Ames on to investigating him in the morning. If he’s a seasoned confidence man, I expect he has a rap sheet. With any luck Ames is out front. He’s bucking for a promotion, so he won’t be late.”

  When they were on the steps of the curved driveway, they could see Ames waiting in the lineup of cars collecting people. Lane put her hand through Darling’s arm, prompting him to look at her.

  “You’re ridiculously beautiful,” he murmured.

  “Never mind that,” she said. “I’ve just remembered something. When I was talking to Mrs. Enderby, who doesn’t like Lorimer, I might add, she said that he used to work for one of the rail companies.”

  “And ridiculously annoying. What relevance does that have at this moment?”

  Lane leaned close to him so that she could feel the warmth of his skin. She smiled and nodded at a couple finally getting their car. “‘Bahn führer’ in the letter Lazek sent. ‘Train dictator.’”

  Darling looked behind them, where through the main entrance he could see the party going on. “You are a heady mix of intelligence and allure. Are you sure I can’t come to your hotel? That moves the needle considerably closer to a firm connection between Lazek and Lorimer.”

  “Under no circumstances. We are not married. The hotel is already struggling. It could not endure such a scandal. Poor Ames, he’s still three cars away. I think I was right to be uncharitable about Lorimer. Even if he is not the head of a criminal gang, somewhere in his past he’s done something appalling. Maybe he was the one Lazek confronted and possibly threatened.”

  “Since you will not let me make love to you, I shall get Ames to drop me at the station. I will not sleep tonight, so I might as well go through the files. I shall be arbitrary and imperious and make Ames come to work too, because I know you will feel sorry for him. Finally!”

  “Hello, Constable Ames. So nice of you to be on standby like this. I should warn you, the party has not improved the inspector’s temper,” Lane said sweetly.

  “No surprise there, miss. Though if I may say so, I would have thought being with you would have cheered him up.”

  “You may not,” said Darling.

  “You see, Constable Ames, he is incorrigible,” Lane said, taking Darling’s hand in the dark of the back seat, her fingers winding through his.

  “The hotel, sir?”

  “No. This blasted party has scared up some things that need looking into. Drop me at the station, take Miss Winslow to the hotel, and then join me smartly. We’ve work to do.”

  “Sir.”

  “You can tell Miss Winslow your girl troubles on the drive. It will serve her right.”

  The street was deserted, the residents of Nelson no doubt turning in after listening to the ten o’clock news on the wireless, when Ames pulled up in front of the station. Darling turned to Lane to say something, but she put her hand on his lips and then kissed him softly. Ames looked doggedly ahead but was warmed by this overt show of their affection. It was a first, and he hoped it would not mean Darling would spend the next days storming about to cover the exposure.

  Disarmed by the darkness and her lips, Darling found himself already prepared to punish Ames for his own frustration and sudden vulnerability. “Back here pronto, Ames. We have work to do.”

  They drove in silence for some moments. Then Lane spoke. “Do you have girl troubles, Constable Ames?”

  “I don’t suppose they’re that bad. His majesty doesn’t much like hearing about them. He thinks I’m a lightweight, I expect.”

  “I don’t mind hearing about them at all, if that would help.”

  “It’s just that I thought things were pretty open and shut with Violet, you remember her, miss, from the bank.”

  “I do, yes. Has something happened?” Lane asked.

  “Not really happened. I simply don’t know if she’s the right one. Mother’s taken against her, and while I suppose I should take no notice, I do. She’s a good judge of character, my mother.” Ames turned down the hill and then pulled around the corner so that he was in front of the hotel.

  “What is she concerned about, do you think?”

  Ames switched off the engine and turned so that he could face Lane, where she was leaning forward in the back of the car. “I don’t know, to be honest, but I’m concerned. It was all about Violet saying it was all right to spank—‘thrash’ was th
e word she used—children if they are bad. I don’t hold with that. If I married her and we had children . . .” He left the thought hanging.

  Lane put her hand on his arm. She felt a wave of affection for him. “Ames, you’re absolutely right. I don’t hold with those old-fashioned children-thrashing ideas either. I was . . . well. The point is, if you married her and you fell out over how to bring up the children, it would be very painful for you.”

  “She seems to have given me the bum’s rush, anyway, because I told her I wasn’t sure I was ready to marry. But I’m a bit scared. She’s done it before and then come back all lovey-dovey. I haven’t told her I won’t ever marry her. In fact till this moment, I don’t think I ever told myself for sure.”

  “Poor Ames. You’ll have to break it off properly. Well, if it’s any consolation, I am completely in your camp. And I’m afraid Darling is in a mood. But perhaps working all night will help you forget about it for a while. Thank you—oh, blast! I’ve done something stupid! I’ve left my bag at the Lorimers’! I’m so sorry. Would you mind if we popped back up?”

  Delighted to be of further service to Lane and much uplifted by her support, Ames was happy to oblige. They wheeled around the corner and back up the hill. “Less time to be with him, if he’s in a bad mood. What did you two discover that made him want to go back to the office at this time of night?”

  “Well, for one thing, remember the phone man we thought might be behind the robberies? His name, apparently, is Harvey Townsend. He was passing himself off as a waiter at the party, so Darling told Lorimer that he might be at the house looking over what he could steal. I must admit, I did wonder if Lorimer doesn’t already know that about Townsend and has him on the payroll because of it. But the inspector said Lorimer was grateful to learn he had a possible thief in the house and went off to dismiss him.”

  “But you suspect Lorimer of something.”

  “I didn’t at first, but a woman I was talking to earlier, from that big Tudor house across the lake, she told me Lorimer used to work for one of the rail companies. Of course, I right away thought of Lazek calling the man he had confronted a ‘train dictator.’ But then, I’m prepared to believe any ill of Lorimer simply because I don’t like him. Not very scientific, I’m afraid. Just pull up here. I’ll nip in and pick up the bag. I know where I’ve left it.”