Sweet Poison

by David Roberts

  ‘But surely you would not want to make public Larmore’s unsubstantiated allegation about the Bishop murdering General Craig?’

  ‘No, but it is evidence that Mr Larmore’s mind was disturbed just before he committed suicide and we might need to let the coroner read it or part of it. It would not be necessary to mention the Bishop by name.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Edward acknowledged. At this moment the Inspector’s telephone rang. He picked up the receiver angrily and shouted, ‘What is it? Didn’t I say I wasn’t to be interrupted?’ He listened for a few moments and then said to Edward, ‘Miss Verity Browne is downstairs.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sorry, Inspector, I hope you don’t mind, I asked her to meet me here. We have finished, haven’t we?’

  The Inspector grudgingly agreed they had. ‘Nothing more on Lomax’s death and who attacked Miss Weaver, I suppose?’ Edward inquired.

  ‘No. We are still trying to trace Captain Gordon. We think he may have something to tell us. That’s another inquest you will have to attend, Lord Edward.’

  ‘Yes, I don’t seem to be bringing people much luck, do I?’ he replied with studied innocence. ‘Oh, another thing, Inspector – may I know what Larmore said in his letter to the police?’

  ‘He said he was killing himself because he had nothing to live for, but for his wife and children’s sake he hoped it could be kept quiet.’

  ‘I am so sorry for that poor woman,’ said Edward. ‘She was at the seaside with the children, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but she is back in London now, staying with friends. She asked me to ask you to telephone her. I think she wanted to hear from your own lips what her husband said to you.’ Pride handed him a telephone number on a slip of paper.

  ‘Oh golly,’ said Edward.

  ‘Yes, it won’t be easy,’ said Pride with satisfaction, showing him out.

  Verity, Edward considered, was looking as fresh as May in a smart blue and white suit with huge lapels which might have seemed mannish on someone less feminine. Her small black hat was lightened by a white feather. Her lips were scarlet and he had a feeling this amounted to a challenge. If he disapproved, she would see it in his face. In fact, he wanted to kiss her but that would undermine their business relationship, he thought, and probably earn him a slap, so he contented himself with complimenting her.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said casually. ‘This is the outfit I usually wear to impress old men. Not you,’ she added hastily, seeing the look of hurt in his eyes, ‘I mean Lord Weaver.’

  ‘I see,’ said Edward smiling broadly. ‘Look, I’ve got lots to tell you. Where can we go to talk?’

  ‘It’s such a lovely day,’ said Verity, ‘why don’t we sit on a bench in those little gardens by the House of Commons? You know, where there is that new statue of Mrs Pankhurst. Max needs a walk in any case.’

  ‘And how is Max?’ said Edward genially, putting out his hand to stroke the dog’s head. He withdrew it quickly as Max snapped at his fingers.

  ‘Stop it, Max,’ said Verity firmly. ‘The trouble is I have taught Max to distrust aristocrats. You can’t say I was wrong.’

  It was indeed a day to be outside and instead of sitting they walked through the gardens, paying brief homage to Emmeline Pankhurst, to the river which in the sunlight looked deceptively clean and sparkling. They talked earnestly to one another, exchanging information and speculating on the two eyewitness reports of the Bishop having passed General Craig the poisoned port. Once or twice, passers-by glanced at them, wondering if they were lovers but deciding their faces were too serious for that unless their dalliance was illicit.

  ‘I hate the idea of you going to the German embassy like that, Verity,’ Edward was saying. ‘They may seem like buffoons with their strutting up and down and their railway porter uniforms but they are dangerous, you know. A friend of mine who has been living in Berlin says that we don’t know half of what is going on over there. People disappear and are never heard of again and they are threatening to kill all the Jews. Well, of course, they won’t do that, but it is still pretty unpleasant.’

  ‘I know,’ Verity said sombrely, ‘David was saying very much the same thing.’

  David! The name spoiled Edward’s mood. Verity noticed him scowl and asked innocently what was the matter.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Edward lied, ‘but isn’t it time we got a cab to Fleet Street?’

  ‘Not a cab,’ said Verity, ‘I feel like a bus. I’m a woman of the people, don’t forget, not an effete aristocrat like you.’

  ‘With a flat in Hans Crescent and a father who drives a Rolls Royce,’ Edward returned unpleasantly.

  ‘You know my secret,’ Verity said lightly. She was abashed but also rather relieved Edward knew where she lived.

  ‘I didn’t really spy, but after all you did give me your telephone number which is a Knightsbridge exchange so . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not ashamed of being rich – well, comparatively rich. It means I am better able to help the cause. Communists, you know, don’t believe everyone should be poor. They believe everyone ought to be rich.’

  ‘I thought you believed in redistributing wealth?’

  ‘I do and so does Father, but we are not idiots. We live in a capitalist world where wealth is power. One day that will all be gone but, since it exists, we have to work with it and it would be stupid to throw away power when we need power to overthrow the system.’

  ‘That sounds like David talking,’ said Edward meanly, and immediately regretted saying it as he saw Verity colour. ‘I’m sorry. All I meant was – and I was thinking of Nazis – if you touch pitch you can easily be defiled. I expect David would say the ends justify the means but I always think the means determine the ends. Look, there’s a bus! Run!’

  ‘Verity! Lord Edward! I had no idea you were coming, Lord Edward, but I am delighted to see you.’ Lord Weaver, taking the cigar out of his mouth, levered himself out of his chair and came out from behind his huge desk to greet them. ‘I have been leaving messages for you all over the place.’

  ‘How is Hermione?’

  ‘Hermione, I am glad to say, is much better – sitting up in bed and asking to see you. Her mother wants to see you also and thank you for what you did, as do I. But what sad news about Peter Larmore!’

  ‘Yes. In fact I was going to bring him to see you today.’

  ‘See me?’

  ‘Yes, you see I bumped into him at my squash club and he was in a bad way. Apparently he owed a lot of money and . . . well, may I tell you something in complete confidence?’

  ‘Of course, but if it’s the story going round Fleet Street that he had sold some secret papers to the Germans – that fellow Friedberg in particular – you are too late. I’m afraid all the world knows it – by that I mean a dozen influential editors and of course his political masters. Nothing could have stopped it being in the gutter press today except his death, and we would have had to follow suit.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now it’s in no one’s interest to publish it. It might damage the government’s negotiations with Chancellor Hitler if we are seen to smear his personal envoy, Friedberg. We wouldn’t want that. Let’s hope the Daily Worker doesn’t get hold of it,’ Weaver added meaningfully. ‘They are outside the pale and have their own axes to grind.’

  ‘If you mean, will I write about it, the answer is no,’ said Verity. ‘We don’t persecute dead men and their living families.’

  ‘I was sure that was the case,’ said Lord Weaver smoothly. ‘But you said you were going to bring him to see me, Lord Edward?’

  ‘Yes, I was sure you would do what you could to help him.’

  ‘I am touched by your faith in me but I fear there was nothing anyone could do for Larmore. I will see if there is anything I can do for Celia and the children. I think you’ll find people will rally round. But as I began to say, I wanted to talk to you about something much more important, at least to me: what you did for Hermione. You saved her lif
e – it was nothing less – and Blanche and I owe you a great deal, Lord Edward.’

  ‘I only did what Lady Weaver asked me to do.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be modest, Lord Edward. We are both greatly in your debt. You found her just in time. She was almost in a coma and in another two or three hours she would have been dead. There’s no doubt about it: she owes you her life.’

  Edward was now thoroughly embarrassed and to change the subject asked Lord Weaver if he had heard anything of Captain Gordon.

  ‘No,’ he said gravely. ‘I have not. The police will trace him soon, I am sure. I feel very much to blame that the Cocoanut Grove, which I think you know I own, should have been used to disseminate drugs.’

  ‘I guessed as much,’ said Edward.

  ‘Yes, the police are quite sure of it.’

  ‘And how is Miss Pageant?’ said Edward, deciding that this was a good moment to try and clear up one mystery. ‘She is a most talented singer.’

  ‘Why, I am glad you think so, Lord Edward,’ said Weaver, waving his hand. ‘I must admit I am – what do you call it – parti pris? She is just in the next room.’

  Edward started to get up from his chair, unable to disguise his astonishment. He had never expected Lord Weaver to be so candid about his relationship with the girl. Weaver went over to a door disguised as a bookcase. He opened it and called, ‘Amy, come and say hello to Lord Edward and to Verity Browne.’

  Amy Pageant came in looking cool and beautiful, her large eyes bright with anticipation and a smile on her wide mouth which made Edward’s heart turn over. ‘Amy, you know Lord Edward and Miss Browne, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said coming over to shake hands. ‘Isn’t that good news about Hermione, Lord Edward?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ he replied. Her American accent made him think of jazz, black coffee and Manhattan cocktails. Suddenly, seeing Amy beside Lord Weaver, Edward noticed something. Before he could stop himself he said, ‘You must be related!’

  Lord Weaver smiled and said, ‘How very perceptive of you, Lord Edward. Yes, Amy is my daughter but how you recognized it I do not know – me with a face like a turnip and she being the most beautiful girl in the world. I’m sorry, Miss Browne, but you must let an old man have his fancies.’

  Verity said, ‘No, you are quite correct, Lord Weaver, Amy is very beautiful. Lord Edward has admired her very much since he first saw her perform at the club. But tell us, there has to be a story here.’

  ‘Well yes, there is as a matter of fact,’ said Lord Weaver, uncharacteristically shy but nevertheless putting his arm protectively around his daughter’s waist. ‘I can see the investigative journalist coming out in you. My first wife died in childbirth and to my enduring shame I left Amy to be brought up by two unmarried aunts of mine in Corner Brook. Now I guess that was very wrong of me and must sound heartless, unfeeling. All I can say in mitigation is that I was truly distraught when my poor wife died and in my madness I kind of blamed the innocent little baby for it. Crazy I know, but I was crazy.’

  Weaver glanced at Amy who returned his gaze fondly. ‘Oh, Pa,’ she said softly, ‘don’t blame yourself.’

  ‘But I do,’ Weaver said energetically, ‘and of course I paid for it by losing out on seeing my baby grow up. I guess I thought, as a pushy young man out to make a million dollars, that I could not cope with having a baby girl to look after, but I see now I was wrong – very wrong.’

  ‘And why “Pageant”?’ inquired Edward.

  ‘That was my mother’s maiden name,’ Amy replied.

  ‘So how . . .’ Verity began.

  ‘So how come we got reunited?’ Weaver said, grinning broadly. ‘I’ll tell you how. One of the old aunts died and the other got kind of feeble and so she wrote me asking what she should do. At first I didn’t know what to do. For one thing, I didn’t know if Blanche would wear it. I mean, I never got on so well with Hermione and I guess I thought if I suddenly produced a long-lost daughter then Hermione might get to hate me and then Blanche . . . To tell the truth, I asked the Duke what he advised.’

  ‘You asked Gerald?’ said Edward amazed.

  ‘Why yes, sir, I did. The Duke is a very wise man in my estimation and so is the Duchess – wise, I mean. I told them that when I first had the letter I thought I was being blackmailed but the more I thought of it the more I wanted to see how my baby had turned out. And now I know,’ he said, gazing fondly on his daughter who smiled back.

  ‘You paid for everything anyway, Pa, so how could there be blackmail? I would not want you to think, Lord Edward, that my father had left me to fend for myself. I was as well educated and well looked after as I possibly could have been.’

  ‘I don’t mean money blackmail, sweetheart. I was terrified about Blanche. I am so fortunate to have found such a wonderful woman, Lord Edward, I really dreaded something coming between us but as it turned out I need not have worried. As I told the Duke at Mersham, before dinner – before poor Craig died – I had taken his and the Duchess’s advice and told Blanche everything. She was just wonderful and was only cross with me for not having told her about Amy years ago.’

  ‘Since you are being so frank with us, Lord Weaver,’ Edward said, ‘might I ask how your stepdaughter took the news?’

  ‘Hermione? Hmf! That wasn’t so easy – she said some pretty terrible things to both her mother and me. However, I guess she’ll get over it.’

  ‘You don’t think – forgive me if I am being impertinent – you don’t think taking drugs was her way of hurting you both – taking her revenge for plucking another daughter out of the hat, so to speak?’ Edward had deliberately spoken crudely but Lord Weaver seemed unruffled by his words.

  ‘I don’t think so – I pray that it is not the case. I’m afraid she had been taking dope for some time. We had – her mother and I – tried everything to stop her.’

  ‘What had you tried?’

  ‘Well, Blanche kept her with her as much as possible and tried to distract her. I told her I would not increase her allowance unless she promised not to spend the money on dope, but it was no good.’

  ‘Did you take her to a doctor?’ Verity asked.

  ‘No, she refused – said she was not ill, just bored.’ He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘But what do I know? I feel such a fool, but then men are fools, are they not, Miss Browne?’

  ‘Well, yes, they mostly are, I suppose,’ Verity agreed, smiling. ‘And I’m going to be a fool too and turn down your kind offer to work for the New Gazette. As you know, I am a member of the Communist Party – not a very good member and not typical, I suppose, as Lord Edward has been telling me, but I do have principles and I want to be true to them.’

  ‘But Miss Browne – Verity – we would give you your own by-line and let you declare your political point of view.’

  ‘That’s very good of you, Lord Weaver, and you are destroying all my prejudices against newspaper tycoons, whom I have to believe to be ruthless capitalists with no regard for anything but money, and that’s not fair of you, but seriously I think your readers would feel, quite correctly, that I was airing my views in the wrong pulpit.’

  ‘Well,’ said Weaver, shrugging his shoulders, ‘it is my loss. I have never said this to anyone before but if you change your mind there will be a job waiting. Mostly, if someone says no to me, I say goodbye for ever but you’re special, Miss Browne.’

  13

  Wednesday Evening

  While Verity had been making her goodbyes to Lord Weaver, Edward had taken the opportunity of inviting Amy to dinner before her show at the Cocoanut Grove. She had accepted and Edward had felt delight, excitement and guilt. He had not, he told himself, deliberately made his invitation to Amy when he knew Verity was otherwise engaged but, truth to tell, he did not want her to know what he had done. It was ridiculous really, he reassured himself. His relationship with Verity, as she would be the first to admit, was an uneasy friendship based on the desire they shared to get to the bottom of a
mysterious death – nothing more. He was not her lover – he strongly suspected that David Griffiths-Jones enjoyed that position – so he would take out to dinner any girl he pleased. In any case, he wanted to ask Amy what she knew about Captain Gordon’s activities. So why did he feel guilty?

  That evening, before going back to Albany to change, he called in at King Edward VII, the private hospital in Beaumont Street where Hermione Weaver was recovering. He knocked at the door of her room and was bidden to come in by Lady Weaver who was sitting by her daughter’s bed flicking over the pages of Vogue.

  ‘Lord Edward!’ she said with evident pleasure. ‘This is so kind of you.’

  Edward shook hands as well as he was able from behind a dozen roses he had bought in Marylebone Lane. ‘Gosh, I needn’t have bought these,’ he exclaimed ruefully, looking at the array of vases filled with flowers on every shelf and ledge. ‘How are you, Hermione?’ he said gently. ‘You must still be feeling rotten but really, you know, you are almost looking your old self.’

  ‘Oh dear, Lord Edward, I hope not,’ she answered, her voice weak and rather growly. ‘I think I must have lost a stone in weight.’ She tried to smile but the smile turned into a cough. When she recovered, she said, ‘Please forgive my voice but by the time they had finished putting tubes down me they left my throat sorer than the worst sore throat you ever had.’

  ‘That will soon pass, I’m sure,’ Edward said, sitting down beside her on the seat vacated by Blanche who said she was going to stretch her legs. He took her hand gently in his and said, ‘I hope the police haven’t been harassing you. I gather from Inspector Pride that you didn’t see who it was who attacked you but perhaps you don’t want to talk about any of that.’