As the Inspector departed – taking the bag with him – he said, ‘Oh, one thing more, Mr Scannon does not seem to know if Mrs Harkness had any living relatives.’
‘I never heard her speak of any. She must have a lawyer who could tell us.’
‘I suppose so. I’m going to London tomorrow to go through her flat. There may be official letters there with a lawyer’s adddress.’
‘The owner of the flats will have dealt with her solicitors presumably.’
‘Yes, and if the letters Mrs Harkness stole are not here, then the next place to look is in the poor woman’s flat even though she told you she always took them with her. She just might have thought Haling Castle was not a good place to take such dangerous documents.’
The Inspector hesitated and then said, surprisingly, ‘I was wondering if you would like to accompany me. You seem to be the nearest to a close friend she had – unless we look toward royalty – and no doubt you would like to find these letters, or whatever they are, before they get into the wrong hands.’
‘Thank you, Inspector, that is very thoughtful of you. I would certainly like to come with you.’
‘I’ve got some work to finish off here. If I were to pick you up tomorrow morning we could catch the nine o’clock.’
‘I’ve got a better idea, Inspector. Why don’t I run you up to town in the Lagonda? She needs a spin and that way we’ll be independent of the railway timetable.’
‘Well,’ said Inspector Lampfrey, considering the offer and finding it good, ‘if you’re sure you don’t mind . . . ’
‘It would be a pleasure,’ Edward said.
Dannie and Boy Carstairs did not return from their ride until eleven fifteen, muddied and windblown. Edward and Scannon had been in the drawing-room, the latter making a series of telephone calls, when they heard the sound of the horses in the drive. They followed them to the stables, Edward hoping for a quiet word with Dannie before Inspector Lampfrey got to her. Watching the two of them dismount, he was struck by what a good-looking pair they made. For the first time he found he could appreciate what it was women saw in Carstairs. It wasn’t just that he was tall and muscular with a fine head topped by a leonine mane of hair, it was more his air of physical command which was not quite English. It was not just his haircut – most Englishmen had their hair cut short and then smothered it in oil – it was his air of being at home in his body. Englishmen, even if they had not been in the war, carried themselves like soldiers, erect in bearing and marching rather than walking. Carstairs loped rather than walked and on horseback slouched in the saddle as any Boer would who spent whole days on his horse. Edward, trying to put into words what made Carstairs different, could only come up with the word simian and, while he found the man faintly repulsive, he understood Dannie might find him attractive.
Carstairs slipped out of the saddle with grace and economy of movement and then went over to Dannie and helped her dismount. She had no need of help but she permitted what was almost an embrace as she slid between his arms. Edward thought he saw him whisper a word in her ear as she did so.
‘Whatever’s the matter,’ Dannie began. ‘I’m sorry we’re late but we haven’t missed anything, have we?’
Edward thought it was a rather odd thing to say but perhaps it was clear from Scannon’s excited manner that something was amiss. Their host poured out the news to them and though they made all the right noises, expressing shock and dismay, Edward was convinced they already knew Molly was dead. There was something in Carstairs’ tone of voice – Dannie, as was her custom, said very little – which gave him the strong impression that he was acting.
Unfortunately, before Edward could have his private talk with Dannie, the Inspector materialized and she and Carstairs were whisked away to be interviewed. He paced around the garden smoking furiously until Dannie reappeared looking a little shaken.
‘Oh, there you are, Dannie,’ he said. ‘Could I have a word with you?’
‘Not now, Edward, I must shower and change before lunch.’
‘Please, this won’t take long.’
With evident reluctance, Dannie allowed herself to be drawn into the garden. It was raining very slightly and her hair glinted with a fine mist.
‘Cigarette?’ he said.
‘No. If it’s about last night, I’m sorry. It was a mistake.’
Edward grimaced. He wasn’t sure he liked being ‘a mistake’.
‘Did you go into Molly’s bedroom last night while I was asleep?’
‘Why should I do that?’ she prevaricated.
‘You know very well why. Don’t pretend you don’t know why I am in this ghastly house.’
‘To make love to me, or at least that was what I hoped.’
She spoke with the cool lack of emotion which made him think of an actress in rehearsal, not bothering to do more than walk through her part.
‘And you were happy to make yourself available to me? Is that right?’
His voice was scathing and she glanced at him with something approaching interest. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said evenly.
‘I think Joe Weaver is your lover and he . . . gave you permission to let me make love to you.’
‘That’s not very flattering. You seem to be accusing me of whoring. Is that how you normally speak to the women you have slept with? Perhaps you don’t have much experience of making love to any other kind of woman.’
Edward, attempting to hide his anger, said, ‘That’s not what I meant. Do you have any feeling for me?’
She turned her lovely head and looked at him. ‘We are two grown-up people without wives and husbands to betray. Is it not possible to go to bed with each other for the simple physical pleasure of it? If you are asking “do I love you?”, the answer is no and nor, I hope, do you love me. But if you mean did I enjoy myself last night, then the answer is “yes”. Does that satisfy your male vanity?’
Once again Edward had to restrain himself from doing or saying something he would later regret. ‘It’s not a question of male vanity, Dannie. I just wanted to know if . . . if you felt anything for me. I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.’
She let the ghost of a smile curl her lips. ‘Oh Edward, I thought you were more intelligent than the others. Do you think I want to hear you tell me I’m beautiful? Is that what you tell Verity Browne? I think not.’
Edward felt as if he had been slapped in the face. ‘What I say to Miss Browne,’ he said as pompously as he could manage, ‘is nothing to do with you. Did you take anything from Molly Harkness’s room last night?’
Dannie stopped walking and Edward also halted. The rain had begun to fall more heavily now and beat on the rhododendrons like the pulse which beat in Edward’s head. ‘I did not,’ she said at last.
They heard the sound of the gong from inside the house summoning them to luncheon. With scarcely another word they returned to the house. Just before they went in the front door, Edward grabbed Dannie by the arm: ‘Can I see you again? I don’t even know where you live.’
‘Let go my arm,’ she said icily and stepped into the hall to be greeted by Leo Scannon.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Dannie, you’re soaking. Edward, how could you let Dannie get so wet?’
The next day Edward picked up the Inspector from Marlborough police station. Lampfrey seemed a little embarrassed as he stowed himself in the passenger seat and no doubt, Edward imagined, he had had to endure some ribbing from his colleagues. When Edward asked him if he were comfortable he just grunted but as soon as they were on the main road, he began to cheer up. The rain had ceased so they had the hood down which made conversation difficult.
‘Grand car, this, my lord. I’ve never been in a Lagonda before.’
‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it,’ Edward said, overtaking a farm wagon at speed and narrowly missing a dog which chose that precise moment to chase a rabbit into the road. ‘It has a 4467cc six-cylinder Meadows engine and is said to do a hundred, not tha
t I’ve ever tried to do anything like that. However, I’m thinking of taking her over to Germany to try her on one of the new autobahns. I suppose one has to give Herr Hitler credit for building some real roads. Even our main roads are quite inadequate for the modern automobile. But I’m sorry, I’m being a bore. Are you interested in motor cars, Inspector?’
‘In theory, my lord. On my salary I can’t afford one but the missis is wanting me to get one of those Austin Sevens. Nothing like this, of course.’
‘No, but it’s a sturdy little car. You could do worse.’
‘We’ve got four Wolseleys in the force,’ Lampfrey added as an afterthought, ‘but we need more. The criminals all seem to have cars nowadays. Careful, my lord!’
‘I say, I hope I ain’t scaring you, Inspector,’ Edward said as he wrestled the car back on to an even keel. ‘That damn fellow oughtn’t to be allowed a bike. Do you think we should arrest him for riding without due care and attention, or something? No? Oh well, you’re probably right.’
They stopped at the Fox and Goose in Reading for refreshment. As they swung by the Huntley and Palmers biscuit factory, well over the speed limit, the Inspector was compelled to remonstrate with his chauffeur. ‘My lord, I must beg you to slow down and observe the speed limit. It would be highly embarrassing if we were stopped by an officer of a neighbouring force.’
‘Of course! How insensitive of me, but was I really going so fast? It’s the only problem with a car like this. It just refuses to travel at twenty miles an hour.’
Over a pint and a plate of ham and eggs the Inspector looked less formidable than he had done at Haling. Edward liked the look of him and decided on the spur of the moment to trust him. ‘I have a confession to make, Inspector.’ The policeman looked up from his food. ‘No, I don’t mean that sort of a confession but I have been less than candid with you.’
‘Indeed, my lord,’ said the policeman equably, resuming his attack on the ham.
‘I was not alone in my room last night. I can’t mention the lady’s name but . . . ’
‘Not to worry, sir,’ said the Inspector comfortably, ‘Miss Dannhorn informed me that she had spent the night in your bed and that during the night she had entered Mrs Harkness’s room with a view to finding the letters we’ve just been talking about. She said she didn’t find them.’
Edward was taken aback. Here he was indulging in a bit of conscience clearing and he’d been made to look a fool. ‘I . . . I didn’t know she had told you . . . ’ he said weakly.
‘You were trying to protect the lady’s honour?’ the policeman suggested helpfully.
‘Yes, I mean . . . well dash it! I suppose I must now be your main suspect. I had a motive for wanting Mrs Harkness out of the way. I have lied and obstructed you. Why don’t you arrest me now?’
‘So you think there has to be a suspect, do you?’
‘You mean, do I think her death was a tragic accident? No, of course I don’t. Nor do you, I imagine, unless you are stupider than you look and that’s meant to be a compliment.’
‘Thank you, my lord – taken as a compliment I’m sure. I want to wait for the medical evidence but, yes, it’s too convenient for too many people that the poor lady should have died when she did.’
‘And I’m the chief suspect?’
‘Have one for the road?’ the Inspector said, getting up to go to the bar.
They reached Molly’s flat in Trevor Square just after one and Inspector Lampfrey got out of the Lagonda with relief. He was exhilarated, never having travelled so fast before, but a little giddy as if he had just alighted from a carousel. Edward drove with élan and at a speed which, despite the Lagonda’s excellent suspension, had rattled every bone in his body. He wondered if he could survive a return journey, possibly in the dark, and began contemplating excuses for taking the train.
The flat was on the first floor in one of the larger buildings on the north side of the square. Most of the houses in the square were still family houses but a few – like this one – had been converted into flats. Lampfrey rang the electric bell and then knocked but there was no answer. There was either no one in the building or there was no one prepared to answer his stentorian summons so the Inspector let himself in with the dead woman’s keys. The flat was pleasant and airy. The drawing-room looked over the quiet square and there was a balcony upon which several flower pots stood containing nothing but some leggy geraniums. Everything was neat and tidy as though it was regularly cleaned. The other big room in the flat was the dining-room and that too was almost sterile in its cleanliness. There was a tiny kitchen, a bathroom and lavatory and, at the back, a bedroom.
There was a bureau in the drawing-room and it was to this that the Inspector went first. It was unlocked and seemed to invite inspection. Lampfrey went through it with great care but found little of interest. There were no letters, diaries – just a few bills including several from a local chemist which he pocketed. Edward had better luck. He had wandered into Molly’s bedroom. He had a pet theory that when women wished to conceal something they found a hiding place in their bedroom and, whatever its general validity, on this occasion he was proved right. Under the bed he discovered a small, black tin box. It was padlocked. He asked Lampfrey whether he should open it and, after thinking about it, the Inspector shrugged his shoulders and said he might as well. Edward found a screwdriver in a cupboard in the kitchen and with its help levered off the lock. Grunting with pleasure, Edward removed half a dozen letters tied in pink ribbon. They had to be love letters and he untied the knot in the ribbon with trembling hands. The first letter began ‘Dearest Molly’ and was signed ‘your loving David’.
‘Here,’ he said passing it to the Inspector, ‘it’s from the King.’
Rather guiltily he looked at the other letters. They were all from the King and made it absolutely clear that, for at least three or four months the previous winter, he and Molly had been lovers. Edward and the Inspector looked at each other.
‘I can hardly believe he could have been so unwise as to have written letters like these,’ the Inspector said slowly.
A decent man and a loyal subject, he was profoundly shocked to discover his sovereign was, if not an adulterer, then a fornicator. He told himself he was being foolish, expecting his king to behave better than his subjects, but he was shocked. He shook his head. He was aware the rich lived by different rules from ‘normal’ people but he had been particularly put out to discover Lord Edward had slept with that strange-looking but undeniably handsome woman – Miss Dannhorn – though he had tried to conceal it. His first impression of Edward was that here was a thoroughly decent man. He knew he was old-fashioned but he did not hold with what Betty – his wife – called ‘loose living’ and it upset him that Edward was an immoralist. In his thirty years in the police he had seen depravity and corruption enough but – and he knew he was naive – he expected the upper classes and the aristocracy in particular to set a good example. He supposed he would be labelled a Victorian by his younger colleagues but this woman they called Dannie was, in his eyes, little better than a whore. He snorted. A mannequin! Wasn’t that what she called herself? As for his king, well, Inspector Lampfrey read biographies and enjoyed history. Intellectually, he appreciated that throughout history kings had had their mistresses. Why, he had only just finished Hume’s History of Great Britain but this was the twentieth century. What might have been acceptable behaviour for a king in the seventeenth century was surely not acceptable today.
Edward had confined his speculation to the practical and would have been amazed if he had been able to read the Inspector’s mind. ‘And having been so foolish as to have taken Mrs Harkness to bed,’ he said, meaning the King, ‘imagine treating her the way he did. He not only gave her the dynamite, he provided the fuse and the match to go with it.’
‘Well, I suppose these ought to be handed back to . . . to the Palace. Would you like to attend to that? I think it’s better that there should be no official record of them bei
ng found here.’
Edward nodded. ‘I’ll see to it, Inspector. There’s nothing else?’
‘Nothing as far as I can see, except this blotting paper.’ He held it out to Edward, who looked at it closely. ‘Can you make this out, my lord?’
‘Um, let me see. What’s this? “Dear . . . ” Is it “Dear G” or is it a C?’ He went over to the mirror in the hall and held the blotting paper up to it. ‘Yes, I think it’s “Dear G”. Then what’s this further down? “ . . . blame me”. Probably, “don’t blame me”. Hmm, interesting but damnably little to go on. Inspector, you’re absolutely sure there’s no drawer or anything you’ve overlooked?’
‘Look for yourself.’
Edward did so but the bureau contained no secret drawers. Edward went back to the bedroom. He looked round, scratching his head. He had an instinct that Molly was the kind of woman for whom her bedroom was her holy of holies and that it had not yet given up all its secrets. Whereas the drawing-room and dining-room were so neutral as to be featureless, the bedroom did have personality. There were some photographs on the chest of drawers: one of them of an army officer. Edward remembered that Molly had said her father had been killed in France in 1918. There was another photograph of the man he supposed to be her father taken on his wedding day. Molly’s mother was something of a beauty and it was obviously from her that Molly had got her looks. There was no photograph of her husband, hardly surprising perhaps, but there was one of a group of young people in tennis clothes. Edward could not be sure but it looked as though the picture had been taken at Muthaiga Club and he recognized one or two faces from when he had been in Kenya. When he looked closer, he thought he recognized Boy Carstairs in the back row just behind Molly.
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