Gallows Court

by Martin Edwards

  ‘Lawrence Pardoe.’ Plenderleith rolled the syllables around on his tongue, his expression making clear that they tasted bitter. ‘Made Midas look like a pauper. Inherited a fortune, and unlike most sons similarly blessed, he didn’t fritter it away, but devoted himself to increasing his wealth.’

  The reek of tobacco made Jacob’s sinuses sting. ‘How much was Pardoe worth?’

  Plenderleith stubbed out his Woodbine, and immediately lit another. A tall, skeletal man of forty, he was painfully thin, and it was rumoured that each day he smoked more cigarettes than he consumed calories.

  ‘Not the faintest idea, laddie. If I were a guessing man, three million would be a conservative estimate, but I leave guesswork to the politicians elected to determine our mis­erable destinies.’

  Jacob whistled. ‘I wonder he bothered to work at all.’

  ‘Money begets money. And the begetting becomes addictive, laddie.’

  Like smoking, Jacob almost said, but he stopped himself just in time.

  ‘The Good Book says it all: lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt. Be thankful you’re spared the nightmare of worrying about punitive taxation and death duties.’

  ‘I’ll console myself with that next time I pay my rent. Did you ever meet Pardoe?’

  ‘Once or twice, but we only exchanged a few words. He was aware of my reputation, and gave me a wide berth. In that, of course, he was not alone.’

  ‘Was he honest?’

  ‘Lord, no, laddie. You can’t handle so much money and remain unbesmirched. Even if you salve your conscience through acts of benevolence. If you’re asking whether I expe­cted him to slaughter a defenceless woman, the answer is no, but that is simply proof of my tendency to be over-generous. Where rich financiers are concerned, one should always assume the worst. I can’t claim to have discovered any shocking examples of infamy on his part. But they’ll be lurking somewhere in the tangled undergrowth of his financial affairs, depend upon it.’

  ‘He wasn’t ostentatious, and doesn’t seem to have had expensive hobbies. Was there no gossip about him?’

  ‘He kept himself to himself. By the dismal standards of rich men, he seemed not to make many enemies.’

  ‘So despite his prominence in the world of finance, you never found out much about him?’

  Plenderleith bridled, and Jacob felt a buzz of satisfaction: the shot had hit its target. ‘Very little, laddie. As you know, I write nothing that is not supported by verifiable fact. I never rely upon unsubstantiated hearsay.’

  ‘So you did hear something?’

  ‘Tittle-tattle, nothing more.’

  ‘I’d be really grateful…’

  ‘I didn’t tell you this.’ The older man glared. ‘Mind, if anything comes of it, I expect a promise of due acknowl­-edgement.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jacob said meekly. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  With exaggerated caution, Plenderleith folded his lean body over the desk, and breathed in Jacob’s ear. ‘Not long ago, I heard a whisper that someone was asking about Pardoe. A private detective was covertly making extensive inquiries about his activities. I couldn’t ascertain why someone would be so interested in Pardoe. A disappointed investor might have an axe to grind, but Pardoe didn’t indulge in extravagant schemes destined to make paupers of participants with more money than sense. But whoever instructed the investigations must have been serious. You need deep pockets to engage this fellow. He’s said to be the smartest enquiry agent in London, and by far the most expensive.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  Plenderleith’s mirthless smile gave a glimpse of nicotine-yellowed teeth. ‘Leviticus Shoemaker.’

  9

  ‘Kind of you to see me,’ Inspector Oakes said, as Mrs Trueman served Darjeeling and scones. ‘I’m sure you have many calls on your time.’

  ‘Dear me, no. I lead an uneventful life.’ Rachel gave a nod of thanks as the housekeeper left them. ‘To spend tea time with the coming man at Scotland Yard is a novelty.’

  ‘You grew up on a small island, I hear.’

  ‘Yes, Gaunt’s a wild place. Given to some long-forgotten Savernake many years ago by a grateful monarch. The establishment has never been afraid to reward loyalty and discretion.’ She smiled. ‘Though a bleak rock isn’t much of a prize. As I grew up, the fishermen’s cottages in the village at the far end of the causeway seemed like the last word in sophistication. Places where families talked to each other, and laughed and cried together.’

  ‘It must have been lonely for you, as an only child. Your mother had died, and your father… wasn’t well.’

  Rachel shrugged. ‘For a time, a distant cousin lived there too. We were much the same age, but… she died. I must confess, I didn’t miss her. I had the sea to swim in, the rocks to climb, and books to learn from. Even in winter, when we were cut off for days on end, there was always the joy of escape… into my imagination.’

  Oakes shifted in his chair. Something in her tone made him feel ill at ease. ‘London must seem very strange to0 you.’

  ‘Didn’t someone once describe it as a great cesspool into which all the idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained?’ The gleam in Oakes’ eye told her that he recognised the allusion. ‘I plead guilty to being an idler. Quiet pleasures amuse me. Word games. Chess problems.’

  Oakes followed her gaze to the inlaid chess table. ‘I admired this house the last time I came, but it’s all the more appealing now it bears… your hallmark.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘You called on the previous owner in a professional capacity, I believe?’

  ‘You’re very well informed. Yes, I arrested Crossan. He relished showing off the swimming pool and underground gymnasium, even though he couldn’t swim and was morbidly obese. He liked owning things beyond the reach of ordinary mortals. Such as police inspectors.’ Oakes buttered a scone. ‘His boastfulness destroyed him.’

  ‘A cautionary tale. More tea?’

  ‘Thank you, but no. I remember Crossan’s horde of flunkeys, dancing attendance on him. How different he must find his new life behind bars. You, on the other hand, evidently prefer to rely on… a skeleton staff.’

  ‘My wants are simple, Inspector. I don’t require a large entourage to cater to them.’

  ‘Your modesty does you credit.’

  ‘I’m lucky. My servants are exceptionally capable.’

  He gave her a curious glance. ‘You seem to treat them almost on equal terms.’

  ‘Remiss of me.’ She smiled. ‘Sometimes, I wonder who is really in charge. Me – or them.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Forgive my asking, but your house­maid, who showed me in…’

  ‘You’re curious about her disfigurement?’

  ‘Her looks are very striking,’ Oakes said. ‘Before her face was damaged, she must have been…’

  ‘A beauty?’ Rachel said. ‘In my opinion, she still is, but her looks were a curse. She attracted the attention of a wicked man, who was driven to fury when she resisted his crude advances.’

  ‘Acid?’ She nodded. ‘I’ve seen such injuries before, on poor girls in the East End. Vitriolage, they call it. I hope to blazes the blighter who ruined her looks was caught.’

  ‘Rest assured,’ Rachel said. ‘He received his just deserts.’

  Oakes seemed about to ask something else, but Rachel’s expression made him change his mind. ‘Another development since my last visit is that your windows now have steel shutters. Even on the upper floors.’ He indicated the window overlooking the square. ‘The lock on the front door impressed me as well. One of those new-fangled American jobs. And I see you’ve invested in the latest Rely-a-Bell alarm. I’ve never seen a private home so well protected. You must feel as secure as the Bank of England.’

  ‘You’re observant, Inspector.’ Rachel returned his smile. ‘You’ll, therefore, have noticed my taste for works of art. They were not inexpensive, and I mean to keep them safe. Burglars can look
elsewhere.’

  His crisp nod reminded her of a fencer saluting an opponent who has parried a sabre thrust. ‘Very wise.’

  ‘Now, do enlighten me. What brings such a busy man to my door?’

  He finished his scone. ‘You’ve read the newspaper reports about the death of Lawrence Pardoe?’

  ‘It’s impossible to escape the story in the press today.’

  ‘On the face of things, his case bears curious similarities to that of Claude Linacre.’

  ‘Really? Linacre suffocated Dolly, whereas Pardoe used a scarf to strangle Mary-Jane, and then decapitated her. The homicidal equivalent of chalk and cheese.’ She lowered her eyelashes. ‘I’m sorry. Does my tasteless turn of phrase distress you?’

  ‘I’m not talking about how the murders were committed,’ he retorted. ‘Linacre and Pardoe belonged to the same circle. The artist banked with Pardoe’s, and both of them had a stake in the theatre where Dolly Benson sang in the chorus. Both crimes suggest perverted passion. Each of the victims was an attractive woman…’

  ‘Yet Mary-Jane Hayes was twice the age of the Benson girl, and Pardoe was twenty years older than Claude Linacre,’ Rachel interrupted. ‘As for the social connection between the murderers, wouldn’t it be more startling if two rich Londoners were not acquainted with each other?’

  ‘I hadn’t taken you for a believer in coincidence, Miss Savernake.’

  ‘Didn’t you attend the same great university as both murderers? I wouldn’t be astounded to learn your family has entrusted its money to Pardoe’s Bank for the past half century. The world of privilege and power is small and incestuous, Inspector.’

  A pink tinge coloured his cheeks. ‘You sound like someone preaching socialism at Hyde Park Corner.’

  ‘My point is not political. I merely suggest that anyone seeking to link the two crimes needs to present a compelling case.’

  ‘You interested yourself in the Chorus Girl murder. What about the death of Mary-Jane Hayes? Did that arouse your curiosity, too?’

  ‘What makes you ask, when Pardoe is dead, and news of his confession is splashed across every front page?’ She folded her arms. ‘It’s not as if Scotland Yard took any notice when I told you who murdered Dolly Benson.’

  ‘Granted, Miss Savernake. In our defence, for a young lady to accuse a cabinet minister’s brother of a grotesque crime is… unorthodox. Scepticism was inevitable. What the newspapers haven’t printed is that this time, we were alerted to Pardoe’s death by an anonymous telephone call. You didn’t make it, by any chance?’

  She looked him in the eye. ‘No.’

  Oakes put down his cup. ‘Are you sure, Miss Savernake?’

  ‘I’m not accustomed to having my word doubted, Inspe­ctor.’ She stood up, and pressed a bell on the wall. ‘It was bad enough when my attempt to help Scotland Yard was rebuffed. If that is all…’

  He rose. ‘I must apologise if I have offended you. I didn’t mean…’

  The door swung open, and the maid with the spoiled cheek came in. ‘Inspector Oakes is leaving, Martha,’ Rachel said. ‘Please don’t let him forget his hat and coat.’

  Awkwardly, Oakes held out his hand. ‘Thank you for sparing me a few minutes, Miss Savernake. I hope our paths will cross again.’

  Rachel’s expression gave nothing away. ‘Stranger things have happened, Inspector. For now, goodbye.’

  *

  On leaving the City editor, Jacob returned to his desk. A telegram had arrived from Mrs Elvira Mundy, matron of the Oxford Orphans’ Home. She was willing to see him at half past ten the next morning. She proposed a cup of tea at Fuller’s in Cornmarket.

  Jubilant, he confirmed his agreement by return, and was still congratulating himself when a message came from Peggy, the permanently bored young woman who guarded the Clarion’s staff from unwelcome visitors.

  ‘Lady to see you.’ Peggy sighed, irritated at being disturbed in her enjoyment of a magazine. ‘Name of Delamere.’

  ‘Never heard of her. What does she want?’

  ‘Said needs to speak to you urgently.’

  ‘What is so urgent? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘Dunno,’ she yawned. ‘I’ll tell her you’ve gone home for the day, shall I?’

  ‘Surely she explained what she wants to see me about?’

  ‘Not really. Only that it’s about someone called Rachel Savernake.’

  *

  ‘Well?’ Trueman demanded, ten minutes after the Scotland Yard man had left Gaunt House.

  ‘Levi Shoemaker was right,’ Rachel said. ‘Oakes is a good detective, and he noticed the shutters, even if he hasn’t grasped the full scale of our renovations. He suspects me of something, but doesn’t know what.’

  Trueman took a seat. The leather armchair seemed inadequate for his immense physique. ‘You sent him off with his tail between his legs, Martha tells me.’

  ‘He’s had a civilised upbringing, and possesses excellent manners. A wretched handicap for a detective. He asked if I’d called the Yard about Pardoe’s death, and when he challenged my denial, I brimmed over with righteous indignation. He was too embarrassed to think of asking if someone else telephoned the police on my behalf. Such a well turned-out, capable fellow. I loved making him blush.’

  Trueman laughed, a raucous, discordant sound. ‘Remember what else Shoemaker said. Oakes’ greatest failing is the same as Flint’s. They’ve been educated to respect wealth and social position, but what really makes them go weak at the knees is a pretty face.’

  ‘Let’s not speak too soon. We’ve not heard the last of the good inspector. Superintendent Chadwick is a crafty old fox. He’ll give me a wide berth, but I’m sure Oakes will be back.’

  ‘He’ll still be putty in your hands.’

  ‘You exaggerate my powers.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ Trueman bared his teeth. ‘The poor swine hasn’t a clue what he’s dealing with. But remember, Keary’s made of stronger stuff. This lunch isn’t a good idea. You can still change your mind and cancel.’

  ‘And miss a chance to sample the culinary wonders of Restaurant Ragusa?’ She shook her head. ‘I won’t become a prisoner in a gilded cage. You can drop me outside the front door, and pick me up there after I’ve said goodbye to William Keary. I’m looking forward to the lunch. It’s a chance in a lifetime.’

  *

  ‘Do you recognise me?’

  The woman’s voice was soft, as if she didn’t want Peggy to overhear.

  Nonplussed, Jacob put out his hand. He was incapable of correctly estimating the age of any woman, and sensible enough not to try, but he guessed she might be a year or two his senior. Slender, with short mousy hair in a bob, she had pale eyes and pleasant features that seemed stretched by tension. No rings adorned her fingers, nor was there so much as a freckle on her face to remember her by. It would be easy to walk past her in a crowd. He had no recollection of ever meeting her before.

  ‘I’m very sorry, but…’

  ‘To be honest,’ she said, gripping his hand, ‘I would be rather disappointed if you did realise who I am.’

  Her smile was tinged with gentle mockery. Jacob stared at her in bewilderment.

  ‘My name is Sara Delamere,’ she said. ‘You know me better as Nefertiti, Nubian Queen of Magic and Mystery.’

  10

  ‘Nefertiti?’ Jacob stretched out each syllable in a hapless attempt to cover his confusion.

  ‘Believe it or not.’

  He clapped his hand to his head. Behind her desk, Peggy was sufficiently intrigued to have abandoned Film Fun. She craned her neck in the hope of eavesdropping on a juicy nugget of scandal.

  A memory came back to Jacob of that final act in the show he and Elaine had enjoyed at the Inanity. Nefertiti, performing the cremation of Anubis. Was this the woman who had entranced him that night? With elaborate make-up and an exotic Egyptian costume, he supposed anything was possible. Nefertiti’s lithe body seemed immeasurably more provocative than Sara Delamere’
s boyish figure. He’d never have imagined that this slight woman could command a stage as the mistress of illusion, let alone haunt his thoughts as an unattainable figure of seductive beauty.

  ‘We spoke at the stage door – was it a fortnight ago?’ Her carefully modulated vowels did not quite disguise cockney origins. ‘Your companion collected my autograph.’

  Good Lord, she remembered him! At Elaine’s insistence, they’d queued so that she could add Nefertiti’s dashing scrawl to her collection of signatures of the stars.

  ‘Elaine, my landlady’s daughter.’ He felt compelled to add, ‘She’s just a pal.’

  Sara Delamere smiled. ‘I noticed a look of ownership in her eye when she put her arm in yours. I bet she thinks of you as more than just a friend. She struck me as a very nice young lady. And such gorgeous red hair. You’re lucky, Mr Flint.’

  ‘She’s… well, it doesn’t matter.’ Feeling inept, he asked, ‘So you are really Queen Nefertiti?’

  ‘Really, as I said, I’m Sara Delamere. But yes, I am an illusionist, and yes, my stage name is Nefertiti.’

  ‘You’ve certainly knocked the wind out of my sails. I’d never have guessed.’

  ‘In real life, I’m nobody’s idea of a Nubian beauty.’ She sighed. ‘I enjoy playing a part, but I keep my true self separate. I don’t want to lose it altogether.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s no danger of that,’ he said. ‘I’m flabbergasted you recall signing that autograph. You must be constantly besieged by fans.’

  Again the teasing smile. ‘Perhaps you should be flattered, rather than astonished.’