‘Is my face very bad?’ I felt it gingerly. It was sore but did not seem to be bleeding.
‘Just a bit more bruised.’ She reached up to tug my underskirts into some sort of order. ‘It’ll go down. Oh, your poor legs.’ She raised my left foot and I bent over and saw that my ankle was indented by angry rope marks. ‘Let me rub them better.’
She had lovely light yellow hair tied in a neat bun behind her hat and her fingers were long and soothing.
‘My toes are numb.’
She changed to the right leg and massaged the front of my shin, and I tried not to remember when another human being had last touched me so intimately. I would have done anything for a stiff gin, but I was frightened to eat or drink in Saturn Villa now.
I came out of my brief reverie. ‘I must go now.’
‘It will take a while for Colwyn to get you a cab,’ Annie forecast. ‘I’ll just tidy your hair a little while we wait.’
Annie stood up and went round behind me. She took my stray tresses and combed her fingers though them, gently teasing the tangles apart. ‘I always wanted a lady to brush her locks and talk about dresses and the like. Mr T is very kind but he don’t have much hair and he don’t know the first thing about fashion.’
I laughed. ‘I do not suppose he does.’
‘It’s good to hear you laugh,’ she piled my hair up, ‘after all you’ve been through.’
I tried to stop myself shaking. ‘What have I been through, Annie?’
And Annie tensed. ‘I don’t know, miss.’ She retied my ribbon and whispered, ‘I wish to God I did.’
And it occurred to me that I was not the only one who was trembling.
46
Pounce and the Dandelion Clock
AFTER ANNIE HAD done her best with me, Uncle Tolly returned.
‘Have you summoned the police?’ I asked, but the fact that Colwyn came in sheepishly behind him showed that they had not.
‘I am frightened of what they will do.’ Uncle Tolly ran in a circle.
‘You are frightened?’ I said scornfully. ‘I have been duped, smothered, tied up, beaten, thrown in a van, dragged across London and dumped on your floor, not knowing what was going to happen to me but dreading the worst, and you are frightened?’
‘If I might explain.’ Colwyn patted the air with his palms to try to pacify me.
‘No, you may not.’ I waved him away with a gesture that might have been Sidney Grice at his most imperious. ‘You may go out and fetch a policeman.’
The valet looked askance at his employer, who chewed at the end of his cravat miserably. ‘You had better do as she requests, Colwyn.’
‘Do not trouble with the cab,’ I instructed. ‘I shall wait for the police.’ My cheekbone was throbbing and my back was stiff from the kick. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Annie, but you may leave now. I wish to speak to your master alone.’
‘Oh, but…’ Uncle Tolly’s fingers seemed to have a life of their own now.
‘Alone,’ I said firmly as Annie left us. ‘Sit down,’ I instructed. ‘I am not in a mood to be towered over.’
Uncle Tolly slumped meekly in a balloon back, side-on to me, and I was struck by how receded his chin was. Those who believe in such things would have claimed it proved his weak character, but I found it difficult to believe that a man’s bones reflected his personality.
‘Explain,’ I commanded, even sounding like my guardian now.
‘It is all my fault.’ Uncle Tolly gripped his seat. ‘I was so upset by what has occurred between us…’ His hands splayed rigidly.
‘What has occurred between us?’ I asked.
The fire was dying.
Uncle Tolly tucked his legs under the chair. ‘I wish I knew.’ He tilted his face towards me like an anxious child hoping for reassurance.
‘That is one thing we have in common,’ I conceded.
He brightened briefly. ‘Shall I ring for tea?’
‘You shall not,’ I responded and his light was extinguished. ‘You shall explain exactly what has happened.’
‘It is all my fault,’ Uncle Tolly repeated, his fingers going limp. ‘I wanted to see you again. You are my only flesh and blood, March, and that may mean nothing to you because you are young, but when one’s life nears its natural span one starts to think of what one will leave behind.’ His bush-baby eyes welled up.
‘Family means a great deal to me,’ I said, ‘but you still have not explained anything.’
‘I am trying.’ He wrapped his feet behind the front legs of his chair. ‘I wrote you letters but they did not say what I wanted them to. I asked Colwyn to plead my cause but he said you would not trust him after he tried to stop Mr Grice and the police. I begged Annie but she reminded me that she had hurt you. I spoke to Cyril…’ He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘Who?’
‘My coachman.’ Uncle Tolly showed me his profile. ‘He said he knew two men who could persuade you for ten pounds. It seemed rather steep to me but, if they could bring you back to me and give me a chance to make amends, it would be money well spent. I cannot tell you how shocked I was when I found what they had done.’
A grandfather clock chimed the hour from another room.
‘You do not really have any dogs to set on people, do you?’
Pound would have given up waiting by now. I hoped he would not think I did not care. He probably assumed that Mr G had detained me.
‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but I have always found that ruffians are afraid of them.’
The wind was rising. I could hear it moan over the chimney top.
‘Or a shotgun?’
‘No.’ He checked his half-hunter against his grandfather clock and clucked. ‘One is slow or the other fast.’ He put his watch to his ear. ‘Or mayhap one is slow and the other fast.’
‘Where is Cyril now?’ I paddled my feet up and down, hoping it might get the blood flowing properly. ‘The police will need to speak with him and I would certainly like to hear what he thought he was up to.’
Uncle Tolly rattled his watch. There were silver charms on the chain – a horseshoe, an old boot, a rabbit’s foot. ‘He has gone to see his niece or aunt or sister-in-law, I think.’ He patted his waistcoat. ‘Now what did I do with the winding key?’
‘Never mind about your watch,’ I told him. ‘Exactly where is your coachman?’
He found the little key and held it up with a cry of triumph but, catching my expression, put it sheepishly away.
‘I do not know exactly,’ he mused, ‘not exactly.’
‘When is he expected back?’ I would have given a gold sovereign to be able to kick off my boots and scratch my feet.
Uncle Tolly took one last lingering look at his half-hunter and dropped it back into his pocket.
‘I do not know exactly,’ he repeated, ‘not exactly.’ But seeing that his answer was not satisfactory, he explained. ‘I rarely use my carriage so when I need Cyril, I send a note to Black’s the Ironmongers. I believe the shop is owned by his brother, and Cyril helps out there when he is not here. He usually comes within the hour.’
‘Excellent.’ I rubbed my legs surreptitiously against each other. ‘Then I suggest you do so now.’
‘Shall I wind my watch first?’
‘Now.’ I shook my finger sternly and Uncle Tolly leaped out of his chair as though it had been set on fire and there was a pail of water behind his desk.
‘I shall need a pen.’ He rifled through the clutter. ‘Here we are. And ink… yes, yes, and paper.’ He opened and shut a few drawers before coming out with a solitary creased sheet. ‘Yes… What shall I write?’
‘What do you normally write?’
He sucked the feathered end of his quill. ‘I always put Dear Cyril,’ he declared.
‘And then?’
He picked a fragment of something from the tip of his quill and launched into, ‘I trust this finds you as well as I find myself, which is tolerably good. I hope your aunt or niece is—’
‘Just put Cyril, come urgently.’
‘But that will make him anxious,’ Uncle Tolly protested, putting the quill back in a brass stand.
‘The man had me kidnapped,’ I shouted. ‘Write it.’ I got up painfully.
Uncle Tolly shuddered, snatched his quill from its stand and plunged it into his inkstand. ‘Dear…’ He scratched out something. ‘Dear… Oh dear, shall I just quickly wish him the very best to start with?’
‘Cyril, come urgently.’ I hobbled over.
‘Indeed, indeed.’ He redipped his pen. ‘Please… come… urgently.’ He wrote very slowly and with great deliberation as if carving his words into marble. ‘How shall I sign it?’
‘In your usual way.’
His usual way took a considerable time and I leaned across to see what he was doing. He was drawing squirls and ornamentations all around the page.
‘Oh, this is difficult.’ He reached for a cardboard box with pounce pencilled on the side, took off the lid and sprinkled a thick layer of the cuttlebone powder all over his letter to dry it. The pounce must have been used for blotting before as it was already blackened. ‘Oh, that is much too much.’ Uncle Tolly picked up the sheet of paper and blew, and the powder flew into his face and over my dress. ‘Oh, I am so sorry.’ He looked about and offered me a grubby cloth.
‘Do not worry,’ I assured him. ‘I have a handkerchief.’
‘But it will be ruined.’ He crooked a finger. ‘I have the very thing. Wait there, March, and do not move or it will spread all over you. Oh, this silly, naughty stuff.’ He stepped out and tossed the box into the fire and it flared with an audible whoomph. ‘One moment, one moment.’
Uncle Tolly scampered across the room to behind his map table and bobbed down, and I could hear him rooting about underneath it.
‘Can I help?’
A flame shot up the chimney. It crackled and cascaded sparks before it died.
‘No, thank you, March, I have found it.’ He bobbed up like a jack-in-the-box, his cap tilted forward and his hair strands poking out like a dandelion clock. ‘Here we are.’ He waved it triumphantly – a massive and ancient service revolver.
‘Is that loaded?’ I asked warily and he peered down the barrel.
‘It certainly is. In fact I loaded it myself last night.’
‘Be careful,’ I begged and he lowered the gun to point straight at me.
Uncle Tolly giggled. ‘Oh, March, it is perfectly safe – unless I pull the trigger.’
‘Then please don’t,’ I beseeched.
His hand was steady now. I stepped to one side and it followed me.
‘I should like to tell you how Geoffrey died,’ he chattered. ‘He was on his knees at the time, imploring me.’ Tolly’s voice rose into a mocking shriek. ‘No, please don’t shoot me, please. And I put the gun to his heart like this and he screeched again – No, please. I don’t want to die. But I pulled the trigger like this.’
He fumbled with the safety catch.
‘Uncle Tolly,’ I cried out. ‘For heaven’s sake—’
I saw the finger tighten and blanch. The trigger must have been very stiff and at first I thought he could not manage as he strained to pull it, but then I saw the trigger move. It was only a fraction of an inch but enough for the hammer to click back and fall.
47
The Drowning of New York
EVERYTHING WAS STILL. Uncle Tolly stood with a smoky haze hanging in front of him.
I cried out. I know I did but I could not hear it.
And Uncle Tolly moved. He saw the blood gushing though the padding of his smoking jacket and mouthed something. It might have been Mother.
‘Gosh,’ Uncle Tolly said. I heard that as if through cotton wool. He snatched at the table to support himself. The slap of his hand was quite clear.
I rushed towards him but at that moment the door flew open and Colwyn stood there.
‘Help me,’ Uncle Tolly gasped, swivelling round and staggering two paces back and one forwards. ‘Mar—’ He fell on one knee and, letting go of his desk, toppled on to his side behind it.
‘Uncle Tolly!’ I ran forward but Colwyn was there before me.
‘Shit.’ Colwyn kneeled beside his employer in the three-foot gap between the table and the wall. He rolled Uncle Tolly on to his back and I saw the black cavity in my relative’s chest, and two pumps of blood, then one last welling flow.
Uncle Tolly’s legs jerked and his lips struggled around a foaming word that was never to be formed. He was lying on a large map of a coastline with the words New York in block capitals before the dark fluid drowned them.
‘Do not disturb him,’ I warned and stepped forward.
‘Let him alone.’ Colwyn got up, his trousers and coat drenched and his hands dripping.
‘Get a towel – anything – take off his cravat. We might be able to staunch the bleeding.’
There was a rasping sigh.
‘Too late for that.’ He eyed me venomously.
‘I have experience with wounded men.’
‘I’ll bet you have.’ Colwyn snatched up a letter opener. ‘Get out of this room.’ His voice was as hard and sharp as the steel he held.
I have fought a few men in my time and occasionally bettered them. They expect me to be weak and timid and I am neither. But the assured way the valet handled that knife – his knees slightly bent and his intent gaze – was enough to convince me that I stood no chance against Colwyn. I backed out into the hall and he followed, shutting the door behind him and standing with his back to it.
‘Go over there.’ He jerked his head at the statue and I edged towards it. ‘Well, miss,’ the last word was delivered with a sneer, ‘looks like you’ve really done it this time.’
‘Colwyn,’ I said. ‘You must listen to me. Your employer shot himself.’
Colwyn cackled mirthlessly. ‘And why would he do that?’
‘I do not know. He just did.’ I took a step towards Colwyn but his raised left hand was enough to halt me. ‘There is a faint chance he might still be alive.’
‘And there is a faint chance you might get out of here alive, but I would not wager on either event.’
I tried again. ‘I used to be a nurse. I want to help him.’
‘Or finish him off.’
‘Why on earth would I kill him?’
Colwyn shrugged. ‘Perhaps that cocky little glass-eyed man you dragged along last time can tell us, but Mr Travers Smyth’s last will and testament seems like a damned strong reason to me.’
‘I am quite well off—’
‘You are now,’ he agreed grimly, ‘for all the good it will do you.’ He reached out and pressed the button on the wall and a distant bell vibrated.
I knew there was no point in pleading with him so I stood as tall as I could and said, ‘Colwyn, I believe that you care about your master and, though I hardly know him, so do I. So I am going back into that room to see if there are any signs of life and if I can staunch his bleeding.’ I looked him in the eye with much more confidence than I felt.
Annie came into the hall.
‘Fetch a doctor and the police,’ I commanded.
Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Colwyn! What has she done to you?’
‘It is Mr Travers Smyth,’ he told her in disbelief. ‘Run out, Annie, and get the police… Use the front way for cripes’ sake.’
Annie rushed out, the wind gusting sycamore leaves on to the floor.
‘Have you forgotten that I was brought here by force?’ I reminded the valet, but he waved the knife furiously.
‘So you say. How do I know that you did not arrange the whole thing?’ He lowered the knife to hip height. ‘How do I know that you did not arrange that yourself to get in and give yourself an excuse to kill him? He would never have had you brought here like that – never.’
‘I cannot debate this with you now.’ I walked up to Colwyn, so close that the tip of his knife brushed my dress. ‘I am going back into that room,’
I vowed. ‘If you want to stop me, you will have to stab me and try explaining that to the police.’
Colwyn ruminated. ‘Very well,’ he said at last and went to open the doors.
48
The Black Pool and the Terrible Crater
IT WOULD ALL be a trick again, I knew that. Uncle Tolly would be sitting by the fire, savouring his amontillado. He would spring up with the tassel of his smoking cap dangling and declare, ‘March, how lovely to see you.’
But there again was Uncle Tolly on his back in a black pool with that terrible crater in his breast.
I kneeled in that stickiness and took his wrist and pressed my fingertips to it and put my ear to that gaping mouth, but I was playing a part. When you have seen death often enough, you know it. You know it by the glazed eyes and that awful emptiness that turns a man into a husk. A dead man is more motionless than a boulder for the rock never moves and so shows no lack of it.
His cap had come off and lay knocked over like a begging bowl in its owner’s gore. The gun was still clenched in his right hand and I noticed the smell of gunpowder now.
I got up. What else should I be looking for? I could not think.
Colwyn was crouching now. He had thrown the knife down and I surreptitiously slid it under the table with my toe.
‘Leave him alone,’ I warned, but he was straightening his master and folding the arms over the chest.
‘It is about something you can’t understand,’ he muttered. ‘It is a question of respect.’
‘It is also a question of not interfering with evidence,’ I tried to reason and Colwyn bowed his head.
‘This is not a clue,’ he said quietly. ‘This is Mr Ptolemy Travers Smyth, one of the finest gentlemen who ever lived.’ He passed his fingers over Uncle Tolly’s eyes to close them but they crept open again.
‘I have some coins,’ I offered.
‘Blood money,’ he spat and got to his feet.
I wandered over to the desk and picked up the letter with its final exuberant flourish.
Death Descends On Saturn Villa (The Gower Street Detective Series) Page 15