The newspapers! It was that bad a scandal. He must get Verity to look in the files.
‘I never heard . . .’
‘They said if Mr Hobbs had been looking after his house properly it would never have happened. It nearly killed him.’
‘What might never have happened?’ Edward said in frustration.
‘Godfrey Tilney, he was a bad boy too, but at least he wasn’t in our house,’ she continued, as if he had not spoken. ‘It was a bad time but the next year . . . we had some good boys. You . . . we always liked you. So well-mannered, always so courteous. I remember once I tripped and fell down the stairs and you . . . you tried to catch me . . . and I rolled on top of you. I might have hurt myself . . . but you caught me . . .’ She mopped her eyes: ‘. . . a good boy.’
Godfrey Tilney! There was a connection after all. Miss Harvey was not going to tell him what she knew about Stephen Thayer’s ‘scandal’ but she had told him more than she had meant. It was bad news, shameful news, and she did not want to be reminded of it. He thought the best thing was to leave it for the moment. He would find out what the papers reported at the time and then, if necessary, come back with some specific questions.
He finished his tea and got up to go. ‘It has been so nice talking to you about old times, Miss Harvey. I hope I haven’t upset you with my questions but it is important. I must go now as I have to meet my nephew. I am sure I’ll be back soon and, if I may, I will visit you again. Here is my card. If you remember anything about Stephen Thayer which you think might help me discover who did this dreadful thing, I would be so grateful if you could telephone or write to me.’
‘Oh, are you going, Lord Edward?’ said the old woman and, for a moment, he thought she might bribe him to stay with a little information but the moment passed.
‘Yes but, as I say, I’ll be back. Now I’ve found you, Miss Harvey, I’m not going to lose sight of you again.’ She looked slightly worried by this remark but said nothing. ‘Perhaps I can bring my nephew to meet you next time,’ Edward said. ‘It would be good for him to hear what the school was like before he was born. Really, a historian ought to interview you for your memories.’
Edward left the little house and walked down to the Cockpit wondering if he had stumbled on something interesting or whether he was following a false trail. He would ask Thoroughgood if he remembered anything of the scandal and he must find out what Chief Inspector Pride had discovered. Maybe the murder had already been solved and no one had bothered to tell him.
It amused Edward, when he pushed open the glass door of the tea room, to see Verity and Frank deep in conversation at a little table in a corner. His first thought was that they looked like lovers and he had to check a surge of ridiculous jealousy. They were both leaning forward so that their heads almost touched and were ignoring the scones covered in clotted cream and strawberry jam on the plate in front of them. As he walked towards them, he saw that Verity had a smear of cream at the corner of her mouth and, for a moment, he wanted more than anything else in the world to bend over and kiss it off her. He was actually standing beside the table before they noticed him and jumped apart almost guiltily. He imagined that this might be how the dead felt, aimlessly hanging about in the corners of the lives of loved ones left behind on earth – invisible, frustrated, inconsolable. He pushed away such morbid imaginings and said, meaninglessly, ‘Well, here we are then.’
‘We were talking about Spain,’ said Frank brightly. ‘It sounds most awfully interesting. Verity says in the holidays I can come and see for myself what’s happening. She says I ought to join theYCL.’
‘The what?’
‘The Young Communist League. What do you think?’
Edward frowned and Verity giggled nervously. ‘Only if your parents agree,’ she said, as though she had just remembered that Frank was only a boy. She made haste to change the subject. ‘Did you get anything useful out of your Dame?’
‘Yes, I did, at least I think I did. Apparently there was a terrific scandal which actually got into the papers and resulted in several boys being sacked, including Stephen Thayer.’
‘What about Tilney and Hoden?’ Verity said.
‘She mentioned Tilney was another “bad boy” but said nothing about Hoden and I didn’t press her. She really didn’t want to talk about it.’
‘So what was the scandal?’ Frank inquired.
‘I don’t know. She clammed up. I think she was ashamed of it.’
‘Why? It was nothing to do with her, was it?’
‘No, I don’t expect it was but Thayer was in her house, in her charge. She knew Hobbs, our housemaster, was worse than useless so she must have felt doubly responsible for the boys in her care.’
‘So what happens now?’ Verity said impatiently. ‘I must go back to Madrid on Monday.’
‘Well, today’s only Thursday. If you could spend tomorrow seeing what the New Gazette has in its files, it could be just the lead we are looking for. Oh, and we need to go and talk to Barrington, the butler, tomorrow. You are coming with me? Then, we all go to the funeral on Saturday. You’re sure you feel you want to, Frank?’
‘Yes, I do. Charles needs me. Look, I’ve had a letter from him. It’s what I wanted to talk to you about. He left it for me when his aunt came to take him home. I had only had a few words with him when we heard the news and there was so much we didn’t have time to say to each other.’
Frank dragged out of his trousers’ pocket a crumpled sheet of lined paper covered in a childish scrawl. Edward began to read and, seeing that Verity had sat back in her chair obviously not wanting to look as though she was prying, he asked, ‘May I read this aloud?’
‘Yes, of course. I want Verity to know everything.’ Frank leaned forward over the table again. Spontaneously, he put out his hand to the girl who, at that moment, seemed only a little less of a child than he. She smiled at him and took his hand in hers, but said nothing.
Edward took a sip of the tea which had been put in front of him by the white-smocked waitress and began to read. ‘ “Dear Frog . . .” ’
‘He calls me Frog because he says that’s what I look like,’ said Frank.
‘And what do you call him?’ Edward inquired.
‘Charles. I call him Charles,’ Frank said in surprise.
Edward began again: ‘ “Dear Frog. Thank you for being so sweet to me when I had the news about my father. He was murdered you know. Isn’t that awful? I mean, he was the gentlest, most wonderful father I could ever have had. I can’t believe anyone wanting to kill him. Perhaps it was all a dreadful mistake. Chief Inspector Pride doesn’t think so though. He says they will catch whoever did it. He thinks it might be one of the people he did business with. He says he has ‘got some names’, whatever that means. I do hope you can come to the funeral and bring that nice uncle of yours. I don’t know why but I think I trust him. I do miss you, Frog. Love, Charles.” ’
‘I don’t think I ought to go with you to the funeral,’ said Verity after they had sat in silence for a moment. ‘It’s a private affair and I don’t even know Charles.’
‘No, please,’ said Frank. ‘I would like it so much if you came. I want to introduce you to him.’
‘Yes,’ said Edward, ‘we’ll all go, Connie, me, you and Verity. I’m sure Charles won’t mind.’
When the time came for them to say goodbye, Frank took his uncle aside for a moment, with a polite apology to Verity. ‘Uncle Ned . . .’
‘Yes, Frank?’
‘You will find out who killed Charles’s father, won’t you?’
‘The police . . .’
‘No, I don’t think the police . . . they don’t have the same reason to find out as we do.’
‘I’ll do my utmost,’ Edward said, holding out his hand.
‘I do so like Verity,’ Frank said confidentially. ‘Is she your girlfriend?’
In his bright, candid eyes, Edward saw neither prurience nor vulgar curiosity but the benevolent interest of a child wantin
g those he loved to be happy.
‘Not exactly,’ was all he could manage. Frank raised his top hat. It was not quite their style to kiss, or even hug, but uncle and nephew shook hands gravely. Edward felt another surge of jealousy as he watched Verity kiss Frank on both cheeks, holding her hat by the brim so it did not fall off.
Part Three
14
‘I’ve found it!’ Verity’s excited voice squeaked down the telephone line. ‘Edward, are you there? I’ve found it!’
‘What have you found?’ he said, taking the cigarette holder out of his mouth.
‘There’s quite a fat file of reports and it’s really hot stuff. I’ll come round later, shall I, and you can give me a bite of lunch? I’m absolutely famished. I’ve been working here since eight and I didn’t have time for breakfast.’
‘What’s the date?’
‘April 8th 1936 – why do you want to know?’
‘No, idiot. What’s the date on the newspaper reports?’
‘Oh, yes, I see what you mean – July 12th 1917. It’s sensational . . .’
‘Good girl! Don’t try and tell me any more over the phone. I was thinking of going round to Stephen’s house to see if I can talk to the butler, Barrington. I gather he’s still there.’
‘Oh, I’m afraid I can’t come with you. I’ve got a meeting with Weaver in half an hour and I daren’t miss that. In any case, I’m not very good with menservants. I seem to remember I rather messed things up last year when we interviewed General Craig’s valet.’
‘No, you didn’t, but if you trust me to go it alone . . . Anyway, I rather doubt he will have anything useful to report.’
‘That’s OK by me. I’ll come round about one. Bye.’
‘Verity, I’ve told you before about “OK” . . .’ He stopped and shook the receiver but it was dead. Verity was not in the mood for a lecture on the English language from anyone, especially him.
Edward pulled on the gold chain around his waistcoat and looked at his hunter; it was almost ten thirty. ‘I say, Fenton, Miss Browne’s coming to lunch. Can you find another chop?’
‘Without difficulty, my lord.’
‘Oh, and make sure there’s champagne on ice. I think we may need to do some celebrating.’
‘Indeed, my lord. Might I inquire if congratulations are in order?’
‘What? Ah, no . . . don’t be an ass, Fenton. I simply mean we’re making some headway in our investigation. I’m going round to Belgrave Square to talk to Mr Thayer’s butler, Barrington. He may slam the door in my face, of course.’
‘Hmm.’ Fenton coughed.
‘Got a cough?’
‘No, my lord. I was about to say that I might be of some assistance. Mr Barrington is an old friend of mine.’
‘Good heavens! I never knew that.’
‘We both belong to the . . . to the Pipe and Port.’
‘The Pipe and Port? What’s that when it’s at home?’
‘Well, my lord, that’s precisely the point. It’s a club for gentlemen’s personal gentlemen, butlers and other senior staff of gentlemen’s establishments.’
‘You amaze me. Do you mean to tell me you go out to this club on your days off?’
‘Yes indeed, my lord. When I am at leisure . . . I trust you have no objection?’
‘None in the world. It just strikes me how unobservant I am. All these years you have been in my employ and I never knew . . .’
‘There is no reason, my lord, why it should have come to your attention. I mentioned it merely because, as I say, Mr Barrington is also a member.’
‘What a coincidence!’
‘Not really, my lord. A gentleman of Mr Thayer’s eminence in the world of banking would be very likely to have a butler of sufficient seniority to be eligible for the club.’
‘I see,’ said Edward, feeling that in some undefined way he had been put in his place. ‘And Mr Barrington . . . is a good egg?’
‘He is highly respectable and respected, my lord.’ Fenton drew himself up another couple of inches.
‘I mean, he’s not likely to have bashed his master over the head with a jade Buddha?’
‘Certainly not, my lord. If I were to telephone Mr Barrington, he might be more . . . approachable than if you went to the house unannounced.’
‘A good idea, Fenton. This is going to be a spiffing day, I can tell. We’ll probably have the whole thing cleared up before tonight.’
‘That is very much to be desired, my lord.’
‘Nothing special I should know about Mr Barrington? Is he married? Does he drink?’
‘My lord!’
‘I’m sorry, Fenton. I seem to be in good spirits today. You haven’t talked to him yourself about poor Mr Thayer’s death?’
‘No, my lord. I was going to ask you whether I could be of any assistance in this respect but you forestalled me. I believe that Mr Barrington has been – or I should say was – employed by Mr Thayer for the past four years. His character is of the highest and I can asseverate that he would not be party to any action which might be in any way suspect. And no, my lord, Mr Barrington is unmarried.’
‘Excellent, Fenton. Yes, please do see if he would be willing to talk to me this morning. I would be much obliged.’
‘Mr Charles is with his aunt in Fulham, my lord.’ Barrington was a large, grave-faced man of indeterminate age who spoke of Fulham as though it was beyond the bounds of civilised society. ‘I understand Mrs Cooper . . .’
‘That’s the aunt?’
‘Yes, my lord . . . I understand the lady has not yet decided whether to move into this house or remain in Fulham.’
‘And you would stay here if that were to happen . . . if she and her nephew were to make this their home?’ He saw Barrington frown and he wondered if he had gone too far. ‘I’m sorry, I am prying into something which is by no stretch of the imagination my business.’
‘No, my lord. To be truthful, I have not yet made up my mind.’ The butler’s mask of imperturbability slipped. ‘A gentleman’s establishment is what I am used to but on the other hand . . . if it is not presumptuous of me to say so, I am very fond of Mr Charles.’
‘I quite understand, Barrington. I am sure you would be very much missed if you do decide to leave.’
The butler bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. Edward made a mental note to reward Fenton when he returned home. It was clear that he must have spoken well of his master if Barrington was prepared to confide in him to this extent. He was very grateful that Verity had decided not to accompany him. He had no difficulty imagining the impression she would have made on this solid, rather forbidding figure. She would hardly have been able to resist the opportunity of telling the butler to throw off his shackles and join the revolution, and Barrington would not have been amused. Edward had the impression he had not been amused since the death of Queen Victoria.
‘To get back to the reason I am taking up your time, Barrington. As an old friend of Mr Thayer, I am naturally anxious to discover who did . . . who killed him. You must have been appalled to discover the body of your master in the way you did.’
‘Indeed, my lord, it was a very great shock. It was not of course I who found the body but the house parlourmaid, Betty. She came into the room – this room – and did not immediately see the master. It was only when she opened a curtain and the light fell on the fireplace that she saw his body.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She screamed, my lord. I came to see what the noise was and there was my poor master.’
‘Is Betty still here?’
‘No, my lord. With Chief Inspector Pride’s permission, I sent the girl back to her mother in Tooting. She is highly strung and finding Mr Thayer dead affected her spirits.’
‘Of course, it must have done. What other staff are there, Barrington?’
‘Apart from myself and Betty only the cook, Mrs Harris. She has gone to stay with her sister until it is decided what is to happen here.’
‘Did Mr Thayer have a chauffeur?’
‘He used to, my lord, but at the end of last year he dispensed with his services. He explained to me that he was feeling . . . “hipped” was the word he used, and had decided to take more exercise.’
‘But he couldn’t walk all the way to the City?’
‘He walked some of the way, I believe, and then either took an omnibus or a taxi. If I may say so, my lord, he had very simple tastes. He disliked show.’
‘That’s interesting, Barrington. As I remember him at school, he was a colourful figure, a bit of a dandy. But perhaps that was just how he seemed to us younger boys. It sounds as if he was getting a little eccentric.’
‘Particular in his habits is how I would put it, my lord.’
‘Now, let me see: only you, Betty and Mrs Harris live in? It seems a small staff for a house of this size?’
‘Yes, my lord, but we had no difficulty bringing in outside help when Mr Thayer entertained.’
‘Was that often?’
‘No, my lord. The master seldom entertained at home. I think he used his club a good deal.’
‘He was a member of White’s, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, my lord, and he was often away . . . abroad. I think he kept this house largely so that Mr Charles should have a home to go to in the holidays.’
‘There was no female to . . . to look after Charles in the holidays?’
‘No, my lord. Mr Charles’s nurse, of whom he was very fond, died this time a year ago. Mrs Cooper was good enough to come last holidays to help sort out his clothes and that sort of thing but, if I may say so in confidence, my lord, I do not think Mr Charles . . . liked the lady.’
Edward was suddenly struck by the loneliness of the child. His father was dead and his new guardian was a middle-aged lady who probably had no wish to take on the burden of looking after a boy at her time of life and, from what the butler said, he had no particular affection for her. It made him quite determined to take his nephew’s friend under his wing. He knew Connie, when she heard what the position was, would also be concerned.
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