She was a well-spoken, attractive woman, with short blonde hair, classic high cheekbones, and a slender frame. Tayte thought she looked about his age, or more likely she was a little older but was aging better. She looked settled in for the night, in jeans and a long jumper that hugged her figure, and she wore little to no makeup, which was another plus to Tayte’s mind. Overtly beautiful women had always made him feel uncomfortable for some reason, and Davina Scanlon was no exception.
She led them into the sitting room, which was a modern space with exposed wooden flooring and a leather three-piece suite, plain walls adorned with colourful abstract paintings, and here and there an item of antique furniture that threw the environment into contrast. They sat around a glass coffee table, and Davina curled her legs up beside her. A glass of red wine sat on the occasional table at her elbow. She picked it up and swirled the wine.
‘Can I offer either of you a glass?’
Tayte would have loved a strong black coffee, but he got the idea that it was wine or nothing.
‘No, thank you,’ both men said together.
Davina sipped her wine and held on to it. She looked across at Tayte, studying him momentarily. ‘So, what did you want to talk to Lionel about?’
Tayte realised that he was still on the edge of his seat, briefcase between his legs. He put it to one side and settled back. ‘I wanted to ask whether he knew anything about a past relative called Alice Stilwell. Your husband’s great-grandfather was Alice’s uncle by marriage to a woman called Cordelia Metcalfe.’
Tayte went on to explain again the curious situation that had brought him to England, wondering as he did so this time what it was about Alice Stilwell’s life—and perhaps more importantly, her apparent death—that someone today seemed keen to leave buried in the past. He concluded with his account at the gates of Hamberley earlier that day, where Raife Metcalfe had so vehemently turned him away.
‘Ah, Raife Metcalfe,’ Davina said. She stared into her wine as though the mention of his name had distracted her. Her next words made it apparent to Tayte that it had. ‘I was with Raife and his wife the night Lionel was murdered.’ She looked up. ‘They’ve gone all Palladian and wanted Lionel and me to source some pieces for them—for Hamberley. Early Georgian and Chippendale from the middle period, Hepplewhite from the latter. Lionel should have been with us that night. If he had—’ Davina paused and looked away, raising the back of her hand to her eye as if to catch a tear. ‘Excuse me.’
‘Please take your time,’ Bishop said. ‘If it’s too difficult, just say so. We can come back another time.’
‘No, it’s all right. I want to talk about it—want to help if I can. You just keep going over the alternative scenarios, don’t you? ‘What if’ this and ‘if only’ that. But nothing changes. If only Lionel had got along with Raife like he used to. That’s why he didn’t want to go with me that night—why he wanted me to handle everything.’
‘Do you know why they didn’t get along?’ Bishop asked. Clearly the suggestion that a level of enmity existed between the two men was news to the detective.
Davina shook her head. ‘No, and it’s too late to ask Lionel now, of course. You’ll have to see what Raife has to say about it.’
‘I will,’ Bishop said, casting a glance at Tayte.
Having met Raife Metcalfe once was enough for Tayte to want to avoid sharing a dinner table with him. He pulled the conversation back to the reason he was there.
‘I discovered from the 1911 census for England and Wales that your husband’s great-grandfather, Oscar Scanlon, was living at Hamberley at the time.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You know?’ Tayte hadn’t expected that. For Davina to know where her husband’s great-grandparents lived a hundred years ago indicated a special interest. Tayte thought it also showed great promise, and he wondered whether Davina might know something about Alice Stilwell. He found himself smiling as he asked her how she knew Oscar Scanlon was living at Hamberley.
‘Family history used to be something of a hobby,’ Davina said, ‘although I’ve not dabbled for a few years now.’
‘In your research, did you come across Alice Stilwell née Metcalfe?’
‘Yes, of course. Her time wasn’t so long ago, was it.’
‘No, barely beyond living memory.’
Tayte pulled his briefcase up onto his knees and opened it. From inside he withdrew an envelope, and from inside that he produced the gold picture locket his client had let him hold on to. He held it up by the chain and watched it spin for a moment as it drew everyone’s attention. Then he opened it and passed it to Davina.
‘One side’s empty, as you can see,’ he said. ‘The picture on the other side shows who I believe are Alice’s children, Chester and Charlotte.’
Tayte watched as Davina studied the locket. She turned it over and read the inscription.
‘True love will hold on to those whom it has held.’
Tayte thought he heard Davina sigh as she read it, and he imagined the words had rekindled thoughts of her husband. He hadn’t thought about whether such a sentiment might upset her, but now that she’d read it, he hoped she might take comfort from it.
‘It’s a lovely phrase,’ she said as she handed the locket back.
‘Yes, it is,’ Tayte agreed. ‘I looked it up. It’s from a love poem by a Roman philosopher called Lucius Annaeus Seneca.’
‘Do you mind?’ Bishop said, holding out his hand for a closer look. ‘Great words can really stand the test of time, can’t they?’
Tayte passed it to him. Then he handed Davina a photograph. ‘This is my client’s grandmother, Alice Dixon. Do you have any photos of Alice Stilwell I could compare it with?’
Davina took the photograph and gazed at it for a few seconds. ‘I do have some old photographs somewhere, but I doubt there are any of Alice.’
‘Do you recall ever seeing any? Maybe you recognise her from a picture you might have seen somewhere? At Hamberley perhaps?’
‘At Hamberley?’
Tayte thought she almost laughed at the notion.
‘No,’ she added. ‘I’m sorry.’
Tayte took the photograph and the locket back and put them away again. ‘I should like to see those old photographs you mentioned. Your research, too, if that’s okay.’
‘Yes, of course, but I can’t think where it all is at the moment. You’ll have to come back once I’ve had time to look. Tomorrow afternoon should be okay.’
‘That’s great,’ Tayte said. He thought Davina could prove to be a mine of information about Alice and her family, and he wanted to keep the line of communication going now that DI Bishop had opened the door. He reached inside his jacket and handed Davina a business card. ‘My cell number’s right there in case you want to call me in the meantime. I’m staying locally at the Holiday Inn.’
Bishop stood up. ‘Well, thanks for seeing us, Mrs Scanlon.’
Tayte rose after him, but he didn’t want to leave things there. He was hopeful that tomorrow afternoon would prove to be very fruitful, but tomorrow seemed too long to wait with nothing new to go on, and from the way Davina had reacted when he’d asked whether she’d seen any photographs of Alice at Hamberley, he sensed she had some idea as to why Raife Metcalfe had reacted the way he had towards him.
‘Before we go,’ he said. ‘Do you have any idea why I received such a cold reception at Hamberley when I went there earlier? Specifically, when I asked about Alice Stilwell?’
Davina drew a deep breath and slowly let it go again. ‘Yes, I’m sure I do. If there’s any truth to what I once heard about Alice Stilwell, I expect Raife Metcalfe thought he had a very good reason to turn you away.’
Chapter Six
Sunday, 19 April 1914.
After her unexpected encounter with the Dutchman the previous night, before returning to the dinner party, Alic
e Stilwell had rushed to her children to make sure they were still safe in their beds. After Raskin’s bold appearance at her family home, she fully believed that whoever was holding her husband hostage could get to her children again wherever they were. The encounter had also made it imperative that she change her mind about accompanying her son on his day out to the dockyard. Chester had been pleased that she wanted to go—her father had not. At first he would hear none of it.
‘But you’ve never shown any genuine interest,’ he’d said, ‘and besides, I no longer consider the dockyard to be a place for girls.’
The exchange had made it clear to Alice that her father still could not, or stubbornly would not, regard her as the woman she had become since leaving Hamberley, so in reply Alice had stamped her motherly right on the matter.
‘If my son is to go at all, I really must insist on accompanying him,’ she had said, and there was nothing Admiral Lord Charles Metcalfe, for all his authority, could say about it. If he wanted to take Chester to the dockyard, Alice was going with them.
It was mid-morning by the time they arrived, and the fog that had greeted Alice from her bedroom window when she first rose was still present. It made the day feel colder than it might otherwise have been, and given the lack of any discernible breeze, Alice supposed it would linger. She pulled the astrakhan collar on her overcoat closer to her neck as they walked, Chester holding his grandfather’s hand while she trailed a pace or two behind with a young naval officer who had been assigned to them for the duration of their visit.
Alice thought him no more than Archie’s age, and thinking about Archie again made her wonder how he was today. He hadn’t remained long at Hamberley after dinner, declining a glass of brandy in the smoking room and making what Alice thought was far too hasty a departure. After the words that had passed between them on the terrace, he had clearly felt too embarrassed to stay, and Alice was sorry that there had been no chance to mend things between them. If there had been, she would have said that none of it mattered; that they were good friends and always would be. She supposed that however Archie felt today, he would have felt better if she’d had the chance to tell him that.
‘The dockyard is quite old,’ the young officer said, interrupting her thoughts.
Alice hadn’t caught his name because she wasn’t really paying attention when they’d first arrived. Her nerves had got the better of her as soon as they had passed through the main gates.
‘It was established as a royal dockyard by Queen Elizabeth I in 1567,’ the officer continued.
Alice already knew most of the dockyard’s history. She was no stranger to the place, and her father had been thorough with her education. But that was when she was a child. Now her father would repeat that education with Chester, the son Alice knew her father had always hoped for. She watched Chester’s little boots switch back and forth, wishing she had insisted he wear a coat over his sailor’s suit, yet understanding that he wanted to show it off in a place such as this.
As they continued, Alice tried to take the dockyard in through the veil of fog, but all she could discern were the dockworkers coming and going in their dark work suits and flat caps, and the indistinct shapes of those buildings that were once familiar to her: the huts and other structures where she knew a great many more people were busy earning their wage. Now and then she could see the disembodied heads of the dockside cranes as they came and went with the shifting fog.
Beyond the dry docks to their left, which were alive with activity, they passed an impressive block of structures that ran out to the edge of the River Medway. She heard her father then, who had been pointing out anything of interest to Chester, telling him now that they were the covered slips, No. 3 slip to No. 7, and that they were built in the days of sail to protect the wooden ships from the elements while they were being built.
‘The ship I thought you’d like to see, my boy, is just ahead,’ he said. ‘HMS Calliope. She’s too big for the covered slips.’
‘Where is she?’ Chester asked, peering into the fog. Then after a few more steps, his question was answered: No. 8 slip began to emerge, causing everyone to gaze skyward as first the support beams that loomed above the construction came into view, and then the ship itself.
Lord Metcalfe nodded and smiled to himself as though the sight of a Royal Navy ship being built from the keel up would never cease to impress him. He stopped walking and turned to Chester. ‘There she is, lad. It won’t be long now before the hull’s complete. What do you make of her?’
‘She’s very big.’
‘Big for Chatham these days,’ Lord Metcalfe agreed. ‘Her displacement will be nearly four thousand tons by the time she’s in the water, but she’s no more than a light cruiser.’
‘When are they going to launch her?’ Chester asked.
‘Not for several months yet, and of course she’ll have to be fitted out before she’s commissioned.’ Alice’s father turned to her now and continued to address them both. ‘Her keel was only laid down in January. It’s incredible what can be achieved in just a couple of months and round-the-clock shifts—even on a Sunday. In the House of Commons recently, I heard our First Lord of the Admiralty, the estimable Mr Churchill, say that there are currently around thirteen thousand workers employed in the Royal Dockyards.’
Alice just smiled, feigning interest so as not to dampen her father’s enthusiasm, but now that they had reached their intended destination, her thoughts were focused on how she was going to get away and go about her business. For the first time she began to question whether she could really bring herself to do what the Dutchman had asked of her. But given the stakes, how could she not?
Chester was still staring up at the side of the ship, clearly as impressed as his grandfather hoped he would be. ‘Are there any battleships?’
‘No, lad, and more’s the pity. But that’s progress for you. They outgrew Chatham several years ago. The Medway is too shallow and too difficult for the new Dreadnoughts to navigate.’
When Alice’s father moved on again, still holding Chester’s hand as they went, Alice deliberately slowed down. ‘I suppose you’ve been in the Royal Navy since you were old enough to join up,’ she asked the young naval officer.
Her sudden interest seemed to take him aback. He smiled keenly. ‘Yes, I was fifteen,’ he said. ‘Family tradition, I suppose. I don’t think I had much choice in the matter, other than running away from home.’
‘Have you ever dreamed of doing something else?’
The officer drew a thoughtful breath. ‘No, I can’t say I have. The Navy treats me well enough.’
‘And what do you do when you’re not escorting admirals and their daughters around the dockyard?’ Alice asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess.’ A moment later, she added, ‘I know. You must be in charge of the whole dockyard, is that it?’
‘You flatter me.’
‘Well, maybe you’re only passing through, and you’re really the captain of a submarine.’
The young officer laughed at the idea. ‘Now you’re getting carried away. Besides, I’m too tall. I’d be forever bashing my head.’
Alice laughed with him. Then she asked the question she’d been steering him towards answering. ‘I suppose submarines are being built here now?’
‘Yes, indeed, and Chatham is well up to the task. New submarines have been coming out of No. 7 slip since C17 was laid down in 1907.’
At hearing that, Alice quickened her pace, and they soon caught up with her father and Chester again.
‘She’ll have a top speed of twenty-eight and a half knots,’ her father said, continuing to further Chester’s education of the C class light cruiser that was to be HMS Calliope.
At that point, Alice tripped over a rusty length of chain and fell onto her side. Both the young officer and her father were beside her at once.
�
�Are you hurt?’ the officer asked.
‘Get up with you,’ Alice’s father said, showing no concern and very little patience.
Together, they helped Alice to stand again, but when she put her weight on her left foot, she winced. ‘I think I might have sprained my ankle.’
She put her foot down again, and this time she winced more loudly and started to hop on her other foot.
‘Blast it!’ her father said. ‘I told you, you shouldn’t have come. Didn’t I say that?’
‘Yes, Father. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s too late for apologies now. You’ll have to go and get it looked at.’ He addressed the young officer. ‘Fetch some help, and have my daughter taken to the medical hut.’
‘I’m sure I can manage to take her there by myself, sir,’ the officer said a little too eagerly.
‘You’ll do what you were instructed to do and remain here with my grandson and me,’ Lord Metcalfe said. To Alice he added, ‘We’ll collect you when we’re ready to leave. And for Heaven’s sake, look where you’re going in future.’
Alice did not have to wait more than a few minutes for the young officer to return with help, which came in the form of a nurse and her orderly.
‘Be a good little sailor for your grandfather,’ she told Chester.
Then she limped away, keeping up the pretence until she was lost to the fog, which although persistent was gradually beginning to lift. They passed the Mast Pond on their left, where once the wooden masts and spars were seasoned in salt water to prevent the resin from setting and making the wood brittle. Ahead and to her right, she could see pale sunlight on the roofs of the covered slips, reflecting in the many windows that were designed to flood the interiors with daylight to work by.
‘We’ll soon have that ankle seen to,’ the nurse said as they went. ‘If it’s anything more than a sprain, we’ll have to run you to the hospital for an X-ray.’
When they drew level with No. 7 slip, which was the largest and rightmost of the five covered slips when looking towards the River Medway, Alice tried to take measure of the activity. This was where the young officer had said they built their submarines. She knew she would have to find a way to get inside unnoticed, and once there remain undetected if she was to go ahead with her plan. She could see that the area was busy with dockworkers, and once again she questioned her resolve to do what she had really gone there to do. She waited until they had passed the covered slips before making her move. Then gradually she began to limp less until she was walking normally again.
The Lost Empress Page 6