Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman

by Tessa Arlen

  Clementine laid her hand on his forehead. It felt incredibly hot, and she tried to decide whether he was really ill or had just come to the end of the line. Well, it amounted to the same thing, she thought. An hour with Ewan would have been grueling to a sensitive boy like Oscar, she had no doubt.

  “Have you eaten breakfast at all, Oscar?” She kept her voice low.

  “I have no appetite.”

  “Mrs. Jackson is on her way with something that should do the trick. I will look in on you again, but for now just rest and let nature take its course.”

  Oscar nodded his thanks and his eyes swam.

  Clementine stroked his hair out of his eyes and off his forehead, smoothed the sheets and blankets comfortably across him, and eased a softer pillow under his head. Then she went to the wardrobe at the far end of the room, pulled out an eiderdown, and tucked it around him.

  There was a tap on the door and Mrs. Jackson came in. With the calm efficiency Clementine so appreciated, Mrs. Jackson helped Oscar to sit up and gave him a glass of water with Beechams Powders. As he was shuddering the powders down, she slipped a hot-water bottle under his feet, the most comforting feeling in the world when one is clenched up with cold. Mrs. Jackson took away the empty Beechams glass and gave him a two-handled cup from which small puffs of steam carried the deliciously rich aroma of hot, beef tea.

  “Well, Mr. Barclay, it’s been an upset for us all, no wonder you feel out of sorts,” Mrs. Jackson said as she watched Oscar cautiously sip his beef tea.

  “We’ll leave you to rest, Oscar. Just give Mrs. Jackson a ring if you need anything and I’ll look in on you again later.” Mrs. Jackson opened the door for her and they left Oscar to sleep.

  Clementine felt decidedly triumphant as she turned to her housekeeper.

  “I will pop along and see how the poor boy is doing after luncheon. Please be sure that a tray of something delicious and heartening is taken up to him at one o’clock. Something comforting, tell Mrs. Thwaite. What did the boys love when they were home from Eton, apart from treacle tart?”

  “They liked sausages and mashed potatoes with pickled onions, m’lady,” was Mrs. Jackson’s unhesitating reply.

  Clementine shuddered. “Well, I am sure Oscar wouldn’t. Ask Mrs. Thwaite to come up with something tempting. I always like a little roast chicken when I’m feeling off. You set him back to rights again; afterward I can have a nice little talk with him and find out what he’s all about.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Before she changed to go down to the dining room for luncheon, Clementine paid a visit to Oscar, who had just finished a tender blanquette de veau and had obviously rallied considerably under their kind attentions. Always appreciated for his beautiful manners and fastidious appearance, Clementine was pleased to see that Oscar had bathed and was sitting by the fire, dressed in a velvet-and-silk padded robe over his pajamas; he had even had the energy to shave.

  “My dear boy—how are you feeling now?” she asked, taking a seat in the chair next to him and looking appreciatively at his made bed and the overall tidiness of the room.

  “I feel so much better, thank you for your kindness, Lady Montfort. Your housekeeper has taken such good care of me.” Clementine noticed that although he had lost the reduced look of bone-tired weariness, there was a resolute grimness about him now.

  “Maybe you should continue to rest until tomorrow. But in the meantime is there anything I can bring you? Books, newspapers? Please ring for anything you need. I am sure your friends will want to look in on you later!”

  “Thank you—you are too kind to me, as you always have been.” He was genuine in his appreciation, she thought. Oscar had always been such an effortlessly nice boy.

  “Goodness, Oscar—don’t mention it, my dear. You must have had a pretty rough time of it with that ghastly policeman. What a nasty bully … worse than being back in school I should imagine,” and she laughed so that the bogeyman didn’t creep into the room and their conversation.

  “Quite,” agreed Oscar, though rather weakly.

  “Just doing his job, Oscar, after which he will up and leave us alone. You see, they have to carry on as if we are all suspects—that is the purpose of an investigation.” She laughed again, inviting him to join in. “Did he grill you so very horribly?”

  “Yes, he did rather. Made me feel I hadn’t a leg to stand on.” Oscar believed quite evidently that he didn’t, Clementine thought.

  “Oldest trick in the book,” she said, as if she were interrogated every day of the week for all sorts of crimes. “Wants to throw you off guard, make you feel panicky, trick you into all sorts of indiscretions. He was awful to poor Ralph.”

  Always confide in the person you want information from, she said to herself. She instinctively knew that if you wanted to invoke other people’s trust, you extended trust to them. Another wily trick absorbed by osmosis from her father, the adroit governor general; she mentally sent her thanks.

  “Really?” cried Oscar. “Good to hear I’m not alone.”

  “Oh yes, practically accused him outright, said he had all the motive in the world.”

  “No! What a nerve.”

  “Yes, all nerve but no brain. What about you, did he nail you up as his favorite suspect?”

  “Well, I think I am a suspect, by my situation alone, you see.” She watched him jump nervously to his feet and straighten his brushes on the dressing table; then he turned to her. “I have no alibi for the time of Teddy’s death. I was not with Harry and Ellis, who were playing billiards until breakfast, or with anyone … really. I left the ball towards the end and went for a stroll to clear my head. Walked through the gardens, it was a beautiful night before the storm came. I ended up in the orchid house just before dawn. We used to play there when we were young.”

  “Anyone see you? The gardeners as you were leaving, perhaps?” Clementine was on alert, hoping that Oscar would confide.

  “No,” Oscar said. “It was all quiet, I didn’t see a soul. It was warm and the tropical plants made me feel as if I were somewhere else entirely other than England. When we were boys, Harry, Ellis, and I played Rafting the Amazon, in the orchid house. We used to catch hell from the gardener in case we damaged something … All that seems so long ago now.”

  Clementine caught the longing in his voice for a time when he had been sure of his friends, and comprehended that all Oscar needed was to talk to someone—someone who was not going to judge or criticize him. Hard though it was not to ask questions, she took a leaf out of Mrs. Jackson’s book, contained herself and waited.

  “One summer, when we were about eight or nine, we made an enormous anaconda from bird netting, which we stuffed with newspaper and painted a lurid yellow with black bands. It had a great floppy head, and must have been about fifteen feet long. We went up to the orchid house with Lord Montfort’s old canoe: Teddy, Harry, Ellis, and I. Teddy liked to be the snake. The game was to get us out of the canoe and then he would try to sneak up behind us, wrap the anaconda around us, pulling tight. If we couldn’t fight free by the count of twenty we were crushed to death and eaten. It was great fun.”

  Clementine reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Those days will return, Oscar, the pleasant and simple ones. Not the way they were when you were boys, but the straightforward days of living everyday life. Studying at Oxford, being with your friends. You will earn your degree and find your place in the world, meet a lovely young woman to share your life with.”

  “No,” said Oscar, “not for me.”

  “No return to Oxford?” Clementine wondered if Oxford held many bad memories.

  “I don’t see the point really, now it’s all gone so wrong.”

  “Maybe not immediately, but perhaps you need to finish it off, just for the sake of it. To help put you back in the swim of things.”

  “Yes I suppose…”

  “What are you reading, law?”

  “Greats…”

  “Ah
, the classics. Perfect for a career in the diplomatic. That would be such a wonderful life, full of travel. You could revisit your Amazon adventures.” She was being as careful as she could be.

  Oscar smiled. “I don’t want to be defeatist, Lady Montfort, but I am not sure the diplomatic would take someone like me.”

  “Oh, because of the gambling thing you mean? You know Ralph is pretty close with the chancellor; he could have a word on your behalf, and maybe square things there for you, when most of this fuss and bother has died down. All undergraduates get up to silly nonsense. People do understand, you know.” She was not sure they did. More than likely, Oscar would end up somewhere like Kenya, along with all the other untouchables whose families didn’t want them around.

  “Oh, the gambling is one thing, but I basically don’t think I fit very well, and the diplomatic is all about that … y’know … fitting in.”

  “Why do you say you don’t fit in, Oscar?” She thought she knew. She thought she had it buttoned down the other evening, but she wasn’t too sure.

  “Because I don’t. I fit in to half a life but not a whole one. I am at ease in a certain type of world, but not one that everyone accepts. I am not bad at games and sport, but I don’t make friends easily … I … Oh, God, listen to me, I sound so self-pitying. That’s what Teddy used to say: ‘Don’t be such a bloody girl, Oscar,’ and stuff like that.”

  “Well, Teddy was a frightful bully sometimes,” said Clementine, grateful that Oscar had brought up Teddy, “and probably not your kindest friend.”

  “No, he wasn’t always kind, but I certainly knew where I was with him. Teddy didn’t care about a thing. I care too much about far too many things. I was useful to Teddy, but I don’t think he cared for me really, not the way I did for him.”

  A warning bell was clanging away in Clementine’s head, so she said nothing but nodded.

  “Teddy included me in all of his life, whether I wanted to be included or not. I went along with it because I didn’t want him to exclude me. I had no choice: it was accept the bad with the good. He made me unhappy and he often scared me, but his friendship counted more than anything else. Now he is gone I feel rather lost.”

  Clementine decided that now was the time to push him.

  “Is it friendship when someone makes you feel scared and unhappy, I wonder?”

  “What? No … well, no … probably not. He could be so very cruel, but so much fun.”

  “And you loved him very much, Oscar, in your good, loyal way.” She said this with such genuine understanding that Oscar could only nod. She leaned forward and put her hand on his arm and gave it a firm and sympathetic squeeze.

  “I cared for our friendship more than anything else in the world, and look what he did to me. He betrayed me. He knew I cared about him and he betrayed me. I wish I could find some way to forget that part, but I can’t seem to.”

  She was appalled. Like most women of her background and upbringing, it was hard for Clementine to cope with the sight of a man falling apart in front of her. It made her feel panic-stricken. But she had learned a thing or two about getting a grip in the last two days: “And,” she said quietly, “he blackmailed you.”

  Oscar’s head came up—and he looked at her in horror.

  “Oh my god, how did you know? Who told you?”

  “You did just now, my dear. You see, Teddy was a blackmailer by nature: he was ruthless, opportunistic, and unprincipled, all perfect attributes for a successful blackmailer. You were not his only victim, you know. I am so sorry you have been through such a terrible time of it.” She looked away, giving him time to compose himself.

  “Yes. I am heartbroken he is gone, and quite devastated he died in such an awful way, but there is such incredible relief that he has no power over me anymore. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He got up from his chair to find a cigarette, but did not light it, even though Clementine indicated that he might smoke.

  “Yes, I think I do understand. You gave this young man your friendship and trust and he treated you shamefully. Very charismatic young men like Teddy can be lethal unless they have honor and compassion to balance out all that easy charm—qualities which you have, Oscar, but Teddy lacked. Young men who are narcissistic and selfish usually create absolute havoc in other people’s lives, especially those who are unfortunate enough to love them. You know all of this, Oscar. Allow yourself to see Teddy for what he was, and accept it, so you will be free to go on with your life. There is no blame.” But she added to herself, Unless you killed him.

  It was almost as if she’d spoken her last thought. Oscar’s face sharpened and he straightened up.

  “But go on as what … Teddy’s murderer? Because that is what that policeman is trying to prove.”

  “But how can he? Just because you don’t have an alibi for the time of Teddy’s death.”

  “Because I have a perfect motive. You said it yourself, blackmail.”

  “Not all victims kill their blackmailers, Oscar. If this were the case, perhaps there are half-a-dozen people in the house who could have killed Teddy. And anyway, Ewan doesn’t know about your blackmail, does he? No, I didn’t think he did. Well, my dear, you must simply keep your head and remain calm. It is a pity you were alone in the orchid house.”

  “Well, I was until about half past four.”

  She saw him wince; he had given himself away.

  “Oh really?” She resolved to tread carefully.

  “I may not say who, because I would get someone else into terrific trouble if I said anything.”

  “Would that person be able to give you an alibi?”

  “Yes, they would. But at the moment, my opinion of myself stands pretty low and I don’t want to sink lower by splitting on someone who has every reason to trust me.” She saw an obstinate expression set in and worried that he was shutting down.

  Clementine felt almost agitated at this point. She yearned for five minutes with Jackson, she would know how to winkle this out of him. Clementine knew she had to go carefully and not panic him.

  “Well, think about it, Oscar. Rest now, eat a good dinner, and get a good night’s sleep. Think about what we can do next to clear your name.” Clementine got up from her chair and walked to the door, where she turned.

  “Whoever it is you are protecting, Oscar, might need you as an alibi too. After all, wandering around the grounds between four and six o’clock would put anyone on the top of that policeman’s list, unless you were with someone who can vouch for you. Now I must run.”

  As soon as Clementine got back to her sitting room she rang for Mrs. Jackson and waited for her impatiently. When Mrs. Jackson came, she related her conversation with Oscar. She was not going to let Ewan arrest a young man she had known since he was a child, just because there was no one else. The man must accept that Teddy’s unsavory life had been the ultimate cause of his death and leave her friends and her servants alone. Oscar had a perfectly sound explanation for where he had been at the time of Teddy’s death, silly boy, but he was determined to be a martyr. She was amazed at how men behaved quite stupidly and then called it being honorable.

  She became aware that Mrs. Jackson was only half listening to her.

  “I’m sorry, m’lady. Yes, I was listening to you, but I was also following my own train of thought. What time would that have been do you think, m’lady, when Mr. Oscar was in the orchid house?”

  “He got there at just after four and was there until just after a quarter to six. I think it was perhaps Violet he might have been with. Do you think it could have been Violet?”

  “No, m’lady, I somehow don’t think it could have been Violet. Before I say anything, I would just like to pop downstairs and follow up on a few things.”

  “Yes, well, Jackson, go ahead, but try and get this thing sorted out before tea. Chief Inspector Ewan is probably about to make an arrest, so we must hurry. The very last thing we need is for Oscar to be taken out of the house in a Black Mariah. It would be quite awfu
l.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Jackson practically ran to her parlor. Her mind was flitting about in an irritating way, so she sat down to order her thoughts. And when she was quite sure what she was to do, she rang for Elsie, who arrived looking both worried and defensive. Mrs. Jackson didn’t waste a moment.

  “Elsie,” she said, “I think it would be better for everyone if you told me the truth about where you were on the night of the ball when you finished work in the anteroom, and,” here Mrs. Jackson took an enormous risk, hoping not to scare Elsie into shutting down, “who you were with in the orchid house.”

  Mrs. Jackson knew the lower servants joked that she could see through brick walls, and now Elsie would no doubt believe it to be fact. She saw Elsie’s surprise and panic and knew the girl was not a natural liar. This is too easy, she thought as she watched Elsie’s pretty face crumple.

  “Please, Mrs. Jackson, don’t dismiss me. I can’t lose my place here.”

  “Well, my girl, you should have thought of that before. Now I think you had better tell me what you were up to.” Mrs. Jackson hardened herself; most of her really didn’t want to hear what Elsie had to say next.

  “Nothing. I was up to nothing, Mrs. Jackson. I was just spending a few minutes alone in the orchid house to take a breather. I know it’s against the rules. But please don’t tell on me. I can’t lose my place here, please, Mrs. Jackson.”

  Elsie looked so desperate that Mrs. Jackson felt disgusted with herself. Why did it matter after all? It wasn’t as if she cared for Ernie Stafford; his manner could be intrusive and she didn’t ever feel at ease around him. But now she had to know, if not for herself then for poor Mr. Oscar, sitting upstairs in his room, willing to be arrested so he could feel he’d done the right thing.

  “Come on now, Elsie. Just tell me the truth. What were you doing in the orchid house at half past four, and who did you meet there?” Mrs. Jackson kept her tone cool and her face expressionless.