A Woman Unknown

by Frances Brody

‘She was at the races. You will have noticed her, a well-made aristocratic-looking woman, nicknamed the Viking Queen. She’s been Runcie’s mistress for years, long before he met Philippa. I can’t see her running out on him.’

  ‘The hotel staff know Miss Windham. Last night Mr Runcie was here with a different woman, passing as his wife.’

  My thoughts raced. A new mistress, or was this liaison to provide Philippa with grounds for divorce?

  ‘How did he die?’

  Marcus took a deep breath. ‘He was murdered, strangled in his bed. The local police surgeon just gave me his report.’

  ‘That’s horrible.’

  ‘I think we can say he probably did not suffer. It would have been quick. He had been drinking heavily. My guess is that he was sound asleep. There was no sign of a struggle. Whoever killed him knew what they were doing.’

  Marcus raised his hands to his throat and touched his thumbs to his shirt collar. ‘He or she put pressure on the carotid arteries, enough force to kill him and no more. The bruising was either side of the windpipe.’

  The news shocked me, but what surprised me was Marcus’s frankness in giving me details of the death.

  ‘Poor Everett.’

  ‘The manager reported the death to the local CID and they knew I was here.’

  ‘You’re taking over the investigation?’

  ‘Yes. Leeds CID put in a call to the Yard. I’ve spoken to my boss. The paperwork is on its way. The local men are going over the scene now. Photographs, prints, inch by inch inspection. It’s a room on the second floor.’

  At the races, I had resented the fact that Marcus did not confide in me. Now he was doing so, and I could think of nothing to say.

  Marcus looked at me steadily, as if judging whether to say more. ‘I’m hoping you might help me. You’re friends with Mrs Runcie. You knew the pair of them, and perhaps their friends and associates. Do you have any thoughts, however wild, as to who may have done this?’

  Now I understood why Marcus had given me details of the murder. He was asking me if I knew anyone who might be an enemy of Runcie, and a competent strangler.

  My mind went blank. I felt slightly sick and was glad to have stuck to toast for breakfast.

  I shook my head. ‘There must be people who hated him for losing them money, with his schemes. He sold shares in an abandoned mine, abandoned because it was worked out. I’m not sure whether it was intentional, or whether he was duped himself. But surely someone who wanted revenge, or was angry, would want to confront Everett Runcie, not kill the man while he slept.’

  ‘That would seem logical.’

  ‘So, not a crime of passion?’

  ‘Before I do any theorising, I have a lot of information to gather.’

  ‘But Marcus …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You have a once-suspected murderer staying in the hotel, the New Yorker. Could there be some connection? Isn’t it too much of a coincidence that Hartigan chose this hotel? Perhaps there were American investors who lost money in one of Everett’s schemes.’

  Marcus frowned. ‘How do you know Hartigan was suspected of murder?’

  I felt my cheeks redden. ‘I didn’t ask anyone, someone at the racecourse saw him and told me, a friend who works on a newspaper. They get to know everything.’

  Marcus nodded. ‘I’ve thought about Hartigan. He would not have known that Mr Runcie would stay here.’

  ‘But Everett Runcie stays here if he stays anywhere. You said so yourself.’

  ‘Because it is the best hotel. The same reason that Hartigan chose it.’

  There was a tap and the door opened.

  Marcus called to the person to wait.

  I took that as my cue to leave and stood. ‘Is that it, Marcus? Sorry not to be more help, but if I think of anything I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘That isn’t it, Kate. There are a couple of things. Leeds constabulary have one woman police constable, presently otherwise engaged. Will you talk to the chambermaid who found Mr Runcie?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Her name is Mildred. She’s seventeen. The manager has her in his office now. No one has been able to get a word out of her. She’s in a state of shock. If you could calm her down and get a straight story, I’d be very grateful.’

  Mr Naylor, the manager, a short spoon-faced man with rimless spectacles, spoke as if the chambermaid was not there. ‘Forced a drink of tea down her. She stops shaking for a minute, and then she’s off again.’

  Mildred sat in the corner of the office, arms folded across her chest. She was chubby, with a country girl’s apple-shaped face, now pale. The poor child could not stop shivering.

  I went over to her. ‘Hello, Mildred, I’m Mrs Shackle-ton. Shall we go to your room, and you can perhaps have a lie down, get over your shock?’

  She nodded, throwing a nervous glance at the manager.

  He seemed relieved to be rid of her. ‘The lady’s right. You do that, Mildred.’

  I reached out to give her a hand up. ‘Come on then. Let’s go to the lift.’

  The manager cleared his throat. ‘She’s on the top floor. Staff use the back stairs.’

  I smiled at Mildred. ‘Well then, let’s not be staff. Take your pinny off.’

  She fumbled, and I helped loosen the bow. Once she had unclipped her headpiece, she was no longer a chambermaid, just a pale young woman in a black dress.

  Mr Naylor opened his mouth to object, and then thought better of it. I took advantage of his silence to ask him for hot sweet tea and a bed warmer to be sent up.

  The lift attendant opened the door to let us step inside, giving Mildred a sympathetic smile.

  Leaving the lift, we walked along a corridor to the back stairs, and up to an altogether shabbier world.

  It was a plain room: two narrow beds, neatly made with dark blankets, a washstand, and a wardrobe that had seen better days. On the small table between the beds lay a penny dreadful novel, and a magazine.

  I helped Mildred onto the bed and unlaced and removed her shoes. ‘How old are you, Mildred?’

  She did not answer straight away, and then through chattering teeth, she said, ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘Coming up sixteen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When is your birthday?’

  ‘July 20th.’

  So Mildred was just over fifteen, and not averse to telling the odd fib. Marcus would not have pulled ‘age seventeen’ out of the air.

  I tucked the blanket over her. She had stopped shaking.

  After a few moments, a plump young woman arrived, carrying a tea tray and a silver slipper, filled with boiling water and wrapped in red flannel.

  ‘Excuse me, madam, I’m ordered to fetch this.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I took the bed warmer and slid it into the bed by Mildred’s feet.

  The chambermaid set the tea tray on the washstand. ‘Oh Mildred! What a horrible thing to happen.’ Mildred brightened, as if suddenly realising the drama of her situation. Her friend continued, turning to me. ‘We share this room. I’m Jenny. You’ve put her on my bed but I don’t mind.’ At the door, Jenny turned to her roommate. ‘Mrs McT says you’re not to worry about work today, Mildred.’

  I did not interrupt Mildred’s tea-drinking or foot-warming, but flicked through her magazine as she began to revive.

  The magazine was a few months old; one that published the doings of society people. A picture of Everett and Philippa Runcie took me by surprise. The Runcies, according to the article, were taking part in an Easter egg hunt on their estate, to which the children of estate workers and bank staff had been invited. If Everett and Philippa Runcie had decided to divorce as long ago as April, it did not show in their smiling faces.

  Soft footsteps creaked on the landing. I stepped outside. The man, a waiter, had the same country complexion as Mildred would have when she regained her colour, and the same straw-coloured hair.

  ‘I’m Mildred’s uncle, madam. I want to see her.’

>   ‘You shall see her, but not yet. I believe this area is out of bounds for male staff.’

  It was a guess, but it did the trick. He raised his voice. ‘I’m her uncle I told you.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Mr …?’

  ‘Heppelthwaite, Archie Heppelthwaite.’

  ‘Well, Mr Heppelthwaite, I’m appointed to take care of Mildred, until she recovers from her shock.’

  He looked beyond me, to the end of the corridor. For a moment, I thought he might try to rush past me. He said, ‘She’s not up to interrogations. She’s a child.’

  ‘I know that, Mr Heppelthwaite. I’m not a policewoman, I’m a trained nurse. You’ll be the first to speak to her when she’s ready.’

  That was a lie, but he was not to know that.

  He nodded, turned and walked away. Something more than avuncular interest was at stake here, of that I felt sure.

  Mildred had been listening. ‘Was that Uncle Archie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He wanted to know how you are. I told him you are doing well.’ I made a guess. ‘I expect he got you the job here.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Spots of colour had returned to her cheeks. She struck me as much recovered.

  ‘Was today the first time you saw a body, Mildred?’

  She shook her head. ‘I saw my grandma, and a neighbour, and the farmer’s son when he had a bad accident.’

  So death was not new to her. ‘All the same, it’s a shock. But perhaps you can tell me about it now.’

  I hoped she would, before the uncle came trotting along the corridor again.

  Her face clouded. ‘I want to go home. I want to go away from here. I never wanted to be a chambermaid.’

  ‘What did you want to be?’

  ‘A waitress. That’s what I wanted to come as, but I was too clumsy.’

  ‘In another year or so, who knows what you will be able to tackle? If you show what you are made of by telling me what happened, you’ll be well thought of.’

  She considered. ‘I want to talk to my uncle.’

  ‘Later, after you’ve told me what happened this morning.’

  After a long time, she said, ‘I took the morning tea tray to the door at about six. There was a newspaper as well, for Mr Runcie, The Times.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘When I knocked, the lady said to leave the tray by the door. I waited a minute because I thought Mr Runcie might call out for me to bring it in and put it on the washstand, and I’d get a tip.’

  ‘Did you see her, the person who called out to you?’

  She shook her head. ‘As I got to the end of the corridor, I heard the door open. She drew the tray inside. I only saw her hand.’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘I thought that’s goodbye to my tip. I went back later, about eight o’clock, and knocked. When there was no answer, I opened the door. There was just one person in bed. I said, “Shall I come back, sir?” He didn’t answer.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘He was lying on his back, but there was a stillness about him, summat not right. I took one look and ran for the housekeeper.’

  ‘Had you seen Mr Runcie before?’

  Mildred’s lower lip began to tremble. Her throat and neck turned pink. She clasped her arms tightly to her body. ‘I saw him last November, when it was too foggy for him to go home, and then he was up early in the morning and going to his office.’

  ‘And has he stayed between last November and this month?’

  ‘I think so, but not on my floor.’

  ‘Which is your usual floor, Mildred?’

  ‘The third floor.’

  I took a guess. ‘So, you had swapped with Jenny?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was there a particular reason?’

  ‘I just felt like a change.’

  ‘Was it because your uncle suggested it?’

  She said nothing.

  ‘It will come out if he did, and there would be no harm in it. I expect he wanted you to have a good tip.’

  She gulped. ‘Yes. That was it.’

  ‘When I picked up your magazine just now, it fell open at the photograph of Mr and Mrs Runcie.’

  ‘I was too tired to read it.’

  ‘So you just looked at the pictures?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t see the lady in the room, only heard her voice. If you had seen her, you would have known she was not Mrs Runcie.’

  ‘I don’t know who she was.’

  ‘What did your Uncle Archie tell you about Mrs Runcie?’

  ‘That she was an American, and well off.’

  ‘The person who said to leave the tray by the door, what sort of voice did she have?’

  ‘Ordinary, not posh.’

  ‘And not American?’

  She shook her head. ‘From round here.’

  ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, Mildred, but you must tell the truth because a dreadful thing has happened. A man is dead. Not telling the whole truth counts as a crime.’

  She began to cry. ‘Uncle Archie said I would get a good tip, because I might be asked what I saw when I brought the tea.’

  ‘What did you expect to see?’

  ‘Mr Runcie, sitting up in bed with a woman who was not his wife.’

  ‘Which you knew, because you had seen her picture in the magazine your uncle gave you.’

  After writing Mildred’s statement, I walked slowly down the stairs and along the third floor corridor to the room Marcus occupied. From inside, I heard voices, tapped on the door, opened it and popped my head round. The furniture had been shifted to turn the suite into an interview room. I caught a glimpse of a constable at a table, conducting an interview.

  Marcus stepped into the corridor, where I told him what Mildred had said and handed him her statement. ‘You need to talk to Archie Heppelthwaite, one of the waiters. He is Mildred’s uncle. He told her to swap floors with another chambermaid, so that Mildred would earn a decent tip from Runcie, for seeing him with his co-respondent.’

  Marcus almost hid his surprise, only the slight parting of his lips gave him away, but he kept his jaw from dropping. ‘The Runcies are divorcing?’

  ‘It’s common knowledge.’

  I handed him the key to Mildred’s room. ‘Somebody ought to keep an eye on Mildred, until you’ve interviewed the uncle.’

  ‘Wait here a sec, will you?’ He went back inside and returned a moment later. ‘It’s in hand. Someone will be by her door. I’ve sent for Heppelthwaite. We’ve spoken to him once. He was on duty last night in the dining room. That man has some explaining to do.’

  ‘You said there was something else I might help with?’

  As we walked down one flight of stairs, he said, ‘I need to find the woman who was with Runcie last night.’

  ‘Lots of people must have seen her.’

  ‘She was slim, dark-haired and petite. I’d like you to take a look at what she left behind. There’s a gown and shoes still in the wardrobe.’

  A uniformed man opened the door to the room on the second floor. I looked at the bed where Runcie had lain. It seemed so strange to think that we saw him alive on Wednesday, fed up about not backing a winner, and being rude to his wife.

  Small things can sometimes be the most disconcerting. There was a dent in the pillow where Runcie had rested his head. The other pillow was plumped up. A bolster lay on the floor.

  ‘What is it?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘Why is the bolster on the floor?’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t like a thick pillow.’

  Marcus went to the wardrobe. Carefully, he lifted out a green satin evening gown and hooked it over the wardrobe door for my inspection. ‘Take a look at this. What do you make of it?’

  There was something familiar about the sleeveless green dress with its round neck and a matching tie ribbon. ‘Am I allowed to touch it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s
elegant. There’s no label.’ I looked at the hand stitching on the hem and seams. ‘My guess is that she made this herself, or a friend did.’

  ‘Didn’t have it made for her by a dressmaker?’

  ‘If it had been done professionally I would have expected a label, and the stitching would be more uniform. The side seams are neat. When she got to the hem she was in a hurry, or impatient to have done with it. My old sewing teacher would have said you’d see these stitches from the school gate.’

  I looked at a pair of low-heeled strapped shoes. ‘They look expensive without being expensive I’d say.’

  He nodded. ‘You’re probably right. I’m having the maker’s name checked, and the local outlets.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ I looked again at the dress, trying to think why it was familiar. ‘Mrs Sugden pores over the patterns that are syndicated in the local paper. This was one she had sent for, and offered to make up for me.’

  ‘Thanks, Kate. Every little helps at this stage.’

  But we both knew that did not take us very far.

  Marcus hung the dress back in the wardrobe. We left the room. I did not feel that I had been of much use, apart from taking Mildred’s statement.

  At the top of the stairs, he said, ‘Thanks again. I’ll walk you to the door.’

  Dismissed.

  ‘I don’t suppose you want me to interview the waiter, given that I’ve talked to his niece?’

  Marcus laughed. ‘No! Absolutely not.’

  ‘Pity. He’ll lie.’

  I felt a pang of disappointment. In spite of everything I have achieved, about which Marcus is very well aware, I was surplus to requirements. In Marcus’s eyes, solving a murder is boys’ work.

  We were almost at the door when Marcus said, ‘I’m going to interview Anthony Hartigan myself. That means I have to break my cover. I’ll need someone else to keep an eye on him.’

  My spirits rose. ‘I can do that. I have my car outside, and I’m good at sitting in hotel lobbies, sipping a cocktail. It’s my speciality.’

  ‘No, Kate. He’s dangerous. And he’d be onto you in a flash.’

  ‘So someone else will take over from you?’

  ‘We’re at full stretch. But it occurs to me that your Jim Sykes might step in, if you can spare him. He’s trustworthy and knows the area. If you agree, I could have him sworn in as a special constable.’