by Caron Allan
‘You’re quite the flatterer, like your father,’ she said with a smile. A crocodile smile, Hardy thought. ‘You know just how to get round a girl, don’t you? Well I doubt if I saw anything you haven’t already heard from someone else, but ask away, young man.’
‘Are you a close friend of the Smedley-Judds?’
‘Ian Smedley-Judd, do you mean? No not really, I wouldn’t say we was close friends. But I did design dresses for Sylvia Smedley-Judd and her daughter, for the daughter’s coming out ball, and her twenty-first birthday, and the party for her engagement to Lieutenant Newton-Spencer. Mrs Smedley-Judd has been coming to me for years, of course. A good client.’
‘Do all your clients become your friends?’
‘Not really, just a few, that’s all. Most clients like to keep a distinction between their friends and their ‘suppliers’. But over the years, what with taking a woman’s measurements and chatting, and seeing her on every special occasion throughout her life, you gets to know people, and with a few of them, you gets to form a kind of bond. Not quite friends, but we understand each other.’
‘I see,’ Hardy said, and he did. It made perfect sense to him that someone in Mrs Carmichael’s position could become a close acquaintance, a confidante, even an ally. As she said, not quite friends, but in some respects, even closer. ‘So, you attended the party given by Mr and Mrs Ian Smedley-Judd at their home in Kensington, and also the party of a Mr Norris Smith two weeks before in Oxford.’ Was it his imagination or did she seem surprised to be asked about that one? ‘Then also last week, you were invited to Mrs Emmeline Foster’s dinner party in Hemel Hempstead. That is correct, isn’t it?’
She hesitated, clearly trying to decide what would be the best thing to say. In the end though, she agreed, adding, ‘Although I wasn’t able to go to Mrs Foster’s owing to a bad cold.’
‘Yes, so Mrs Foster said. Still you seem much better now.’
‘I’m fortunate in having a good constitution,’ she said, and leaned forward to take another sandwich from the plate. She bit it in half, swallowed the first piece immediately and jammed the second in right after it. The slight delay allowed her to recover her poise somewhat.
Hardy said, ‘Coming back to Mr Smedley-Judd’s party, did you know many of the other guests, when you got there, or was it a group of strangers?’
‘I knew a fair few of the ladies, not so many of the men,’ Mrs Carmichael said. She cut herself a slab of cake that almost filled her plate, and she proceeded to eat it quickly, with her fingers, clearly relishing it, and dropping crumbs all about her. ‘Never could afford cake when I was a kid. Or bread too, half the time. These days, cake is pretty much all I fancy. And it’s not as though I need to worry about my figure anymore.’
Hardy smiled politely. Maple took a macaroon and bit into it, groaning with pleasure, and saying, ‘Whoever makes your cakes, Mrs Carmichael, is an out-and-out marvel.’
Mrs Carmichael grinned at him. ‘That’s Pamphlett. She’s a whizz in the kitchen. Missed her calling working as a machinist for me for the last twenty years. A bit of a grouchy old stick but a heart of gold. Her first name’s Anabelle, but you’ll never catch her using it. Don’t know why she takes such a masochistic pleasure in using that awful surname of hers.’
‘Did any of the robbers seem at all familiar to you?’ Hardy asked, desperately in need of getting things back on track. It was supposed to be an interview after all, and he had plans for the evening. Not that he was looking forward to the prospect of an evening in Daphne Medhurst’s company. The very thought of it was enough to make him want to smash something. Mrs Carmichael laughed, however, all her chins wobbling.
‘Think I could see through the wool of their balaclavas, do you? Or do you think I designed the balaclavas myself, from my new ‘Robbery a la Mode’ collection?’ Before he could give the defensive answer on the tip of his tongue, she laughed again and said, ‘I’m just kidding you, ducks. My, but you look like your father when you’re annoyed! No ducks, they didn’t do nothing nor say nothing that rang a bell with me. Mostly I was just upset about my rings and my bracelets.’
Hardy stirred his tea, using the time to collect his temper and to think. Maple cleared his throat and chipped in, ‘And did you notice if any of the robbers had a tattoo on his wrist at all?’
‘No, I don’t think...’
‘Only some people have told us they caught a brief glimpse of something. It might have been word ‘duck’, or something like that.’
She shook her head quite emphatically. ‘No, I didn’t see anything like that. Perhaps you’re looking for a sailor whose been laid off, then?’
‘It’s possible,’ Hardy said. ‘We’re exploring a few different ideas at the moment. Er—when the men went upstairs at the parties you attended, did you hear anything they said to one another about that? Or see what they brought down with them?’
She shook her head again. ‘Can’t say as I did. Sorry, Inspector. And now, if you don’t mind, it’s time for my nap. Got to make the most of the weekends, haven’t you?’
The two policemen came away feeling discouraged.
‘I don’t feel like we’re getting anywhere,’ Maple grumbled. Hardy was inclined to agree.
‘Though I got the distinct impression she wasn’t being completely truthful. I’m certain she knows more.’
‘Threw her a bit, us knowing about that Foster do she was invited to but never attended. Such a shame thumb-screws are out of fashion.’ Maple got into the driver’s seat. Hardy got in beside him, still deep in thought and without even thinking about it, began to go through his sheaf of papers again.
‘Ian Smedley-Judd,’ Hardy said, ‘Let’s take a drive round there and see if we can find out anything. Someone has to know something, surely. Sooner or later we’re going to find out what that is, I really believe it. This Smedley-Judd was invited to four of the parties, that we know about, and actually attended three, including his own and his brother’s of course. If anyone can help us, he can.’
‘Probably him what done it,’ Maple said with a laugh. ‘If this was a book, it would be the last person you thought of, and in this case the last person to think of would be the host of the party.’
‘It’s always a lot easier in books than in real life,’ Hardy complained.
‘At least we’ve had our tea,’ Maple observed with satisfaction. ‘Did that old bird really know your family then? Sounded like she knew your old man pretty well.’
‘A bit too damned well,’ was Hardy’s terse response.
In less than half an hour, they halted the car outside the Smedley-Judds’, and Hardy only had two and a half hours until he was due to arrive at Daphne Medhurst’s home to escort her to the cinema. Their conversation with Mr Smedley-Judd was unlikely to take more than an hour at the absolute limit, which meant there was nothing to keep Hardy from his assignation with Miss Medhurst. He was still not looking forward to the evening. Why on earth had he let her talk him into it? On balance, he felt he’d rather go to the dentist.
Mr Smedley-Judd was not at home, the butler informed them, but Mrs Smedley-Judd was in the drawing room and was happy to see them. Or at least, as it transpired, she was happy to see Maple.
Hardy had noticed before Maple had this effect on ladies of a certain age. His big size and schoolboy looks made them view him as a large, hungry child needing to be mothered. Consequently, as soon as the policemen sat down, she rang for tea and began to tell Maple he reminded her of her nephew Michael, her younger sister’s boy.
Hardy had a brainwave. Leaving Maple to charm as much information as he could from the delightful Mrs Smedley-Judd, Hardy made his way along the hall to the back stairs and down into the kitchen, where he made the acquaintance of the cook and showed he too could turn on the charm with the lady in charge of that domain, and he coaxed out of her a cup of tea, with a large slab of cherry cake precariously balanced in the saucer.
Hardy reminded the cook of her former mistress’s el
der son, it appeared. ‘Always in my kitchen, he was, when he was down from Eton or wherever, telling me he was starving,’ she said with a laugh. ‘You young fellows don’t eat half as much as you should.’
He asked her if she’d mind telling him a bit about the night of the robbery. ‘I know you’ve already been through it all,’ he said, ‘and believe me, I’m very sorry to have to take you through it all again, but I think my sergeant and I have missed something. Perhaps if you and I put our heads together, we might come up with something useful.’
By now he had all seven of the regular staff gathered about him. They were warm, they were welcoming, with none of the suspicion or dislike of the police he often encountered. They could see that, in spite of his cut-glass accent, he was one of them—his cuffs were fraying, his shoes down at the heels, his jacket elbows were wearing thin.
They had quite a lot to tell him.
Yes, they said, they had all heard a car. The sound had come from the rear alleyway which led to the mews. There were only ever three cars garaged in the mews. The Alleyns’, who were away at present in the north, and they had taken their car with them. Mrs Henderson from the house at the end of the street, who was too poorly to go out in her car. And the sound hadn’t come from Mr Smedley-Judd’s own car, as that was locked away in the garage as it was most days and evenings.
‘He doesn’t use it much when they’re in town,’ said the butler. ‘Mostly he sends for it if we go down to Hertfordshire, or if they go away for Christmas or the summer holidays.’
The young footman, certainly no more than twenty or twenty-one, had little to contribute about his attack. His back had been turned—a fact that Hardy remembered from the statements—as he had been in the butler’s pantry, attempting to telephone for the police.
‘Hit me from behind, the blighter,’ said the footman, and Hardy dutifully examined the site of the injury, the swelling now greatly diminished, on the side of the young man’s head, completely hidden by his thick mane of dark hair.
‘Still, we did pretty well out of it all round,’ the butler Morris chimed in.
‘Indeed? How so?’
‘The youngster had five pounds from Mr Smedley-Judd, on account of how he tried to help out by calling the police, only to get clouted for his trouble. And all of us got a rise in our wages, due to his gratitude for our loyalty, and out of his concern that we might give notice. True enough, people sometimes leave a place if there’s a robbery or some such, but what I say is,’ said Morris, settling back in his seat with the air of a sage dispensing wisdom to an eager group of acolytes, ‘what I say is, we’re the lucky ones, ‘cos we’ve been done, ain’t we? It’s all the other places what wants to look out—you never know who might be next.’
Hardy allowed an admiring pause to follow this pronouncement before asking, ‘I don’t suppose any of you remembers anything about the men, do you? I mean, one could hardly expect you to, it was all so frightening, and everything happened so quickly.’
No one said anything. They exchanged looks and shrugs. For a moment Hardy thought his enquiries were over, but he noticed the little between-maid glancing back and forth and fidgeting.
Hardy said to the girl, ‘Have you thought of something?’
She was nervous, and glanced at Mr Morris as if for permission to speak. The butler seemed to consider for a moment then inclined his head slowly, and the girl’s relief was obvious. Clearly Morris enjoyed a traditional butler’s status in the household.
She spoke in a soft, childish voice, her words stumbling over each other. Hardy judged her age to be fourteen or fifteen, and she was a shy little thing, unused to being the centre of attention.
‘Well, I’m not saying it’s anything for definite, but I did just notice this one thing, and it mightn’t mean anything, and I don’t want to get anyone into trouble, nor myself neither, as I wouldn’t not never dream usually of saying nothing...’
She paused for breath and Hardy, mentally reviewing what she’d said and realising she hadn’t said anything yet, smiled at her and said, ‘No of course you wouldn’t, but it is everyone’s duty to help the police as much as they can in cases such as this.’
She blushed beetroot red and nodded.
‘So, if there is anything, even something very small, something that seemed a bit odd, or you noticed, just tell me and I’ll decide whether or not it’s important.’
‘But what if it gets the master into trouble?’
‘Why on earth should it, girl?’ Morris said sharply, and in the corner by the stove, the parlour-maid was heard to say, ‘Tell the truth and shame the devil, that’s what I was always taught as a girl.’
Still blushing furiously, the between-maid hung her head.
‘What’s your name?’ Hardy asked her.
‘Ellen, sir. Ellen Miller.’
‘Well Ellen, just tell me what it was you saw, and let me worry about what it means. I promise you won’t get into any trouble.’
She bit her lip, and he was unsure if she would speak at all. Then in a rush, she blurted out, ‘It was the bag, sir. And I know I wasn’t supposed to be in there, but the door was open and I wanted so badly to get a look at the Holy Mother, she’s so beautiful.’
Mr Morris wasn’t pleased. ‘Ellen Miller, I told you last time! You had no right...’
She burst into tears. ‘I know, Mr Morris, I know. But I just wanted a quick look, that’s all. She’s so beautiful. I didn’t think it would do no harm!’ She ran from the room.
Hardy felt annoyed. He said to Morris, ‘Why did you...’ but then gave it up. He sat back. ‘Does anyone know what she’s talking about?’
They all looked at each other. He felt certain they knew. If he wasn’t firm now, they would conceal that knowledge. He needed to know what they knew.
‘You must tell me. Anything you know could be crucial to this case. It could prevent other robberies. Even other injuries. Next time, a footman or butler might not get away with a nasty bump on the head. It could be far worse.’
Mr Morris cleared his throat. It seemed he was to be their spokesman.
‘The girl’s talking about Mr Smedley-Judd’s collection. It’s in the room next to his study. Mr Smedley-Judd is a dedicated collector of religious art.’
Hardy felt as though a bell rang in his brain. He found he was holding his breath. Morris continued, ‘None of us is allowed into the room. Mr Smedley-Judd keeps the door locked as some of the items are very old and delicate, and some are very valuable. But well, he sometimes forgets to lock it, I suppose. Ellen was brought up in a convent, she’s an orphan—she’s quite fond of some of the things she used to see in the church. It seems she has taken the opportunity of popping into the room for a look around.’
‘What kind of art is it?’ Hardy asked. Morris shrugged.
‘Well, you know. Pictures, statues, candlesticks, chalices and such. Gloomy stuff for the most part. Not that I’m a religious man myself, but I suppose if you are, well, no doubt it means more.’
There were one or two nods of agreement. But no one seemed to know anything more. Hardy asked the housekeeper to take him up to Ellen’s room to talk to her.
They found the girl sitting on the floor beside her bed, no longer crying, though the tears till marked tracks down her cheeks. She was holding a rosary and praying softly.
Although the door was open, and she was a junior servant, Hardy knocked on the door and waited on the landing until she invited him to enter.
He sat on the floor next to her. ‘So you grew up in an orphanage?’ he asked. She nodded.
‘Yes, but the nuns were kind to me.’
‘And you like to see the statues and so on.’
‘I like to see the Virgin Mary. She looks so kind. And she knows how hard things can be. I ask her to help me, like the nuns taught me. They told me she’s sort of everyone’s mother, not just the Baby Jesus’s.’
‘I’m sure that’s true,’ Hardy said. ‘I lost my mother recently.’ He had felt al
l right at first, had been going to say more, but suddenly the sense of loss hit him again and his voice wavered, and he couldn’t continue. Ellen patted his hand. After a pause he said, ‘So what was this about a bag?’
She bit her lip again. The housekeeper, seated on the opposite bed, no doubt belonging to the other maid, leaned forward and said, ‘It’s all right, Ellen. You can tell the inspector.’
‘Well it was there in the room, under the little side-table just inside the door. It’s the table what has got the big chalice-cup thing on it. I just thought it was odd, that’s all.’
‘What kind of bag?’
‘A black leather one, like a doctor’s.’
‘And are you saying it’s not usually in there?’
‘I’ve never seen it before. But it was the same kind of bag and I just thought...’
He shook his head, not understanding. ‘The same as what?’
‘The ones what the robbers had. I saw it. I’m sure–at least, I’m sort of sure—it’s the same one. It’s got a bit of fluff caught in the loop where the handle’s attached to the bag. A bit of green thread stuff, like it’s got snagged on something. It’s just a tiny little piece, but I saw it straight away.’
Hardy regarded the girl. There was no doubt in his mind that she was telling the truth. He turned to the housekeeper.
‘If I send a policeman over to take this down in a statement, will you see to it that no one else knows about it? I want you to keep this information strictly to yourselves. Don’t talk about it with the other staff or even the Smedley-Judds. This could be vital information.’
They promised him solemnly not to breathe a word, Ellen gripping her rosary tightly as she did so.
‘Do you have a key to this collection room?’ Hardy asked the housekeeper. She shook her head.
‘Only Mr Smedley-Judd has that. I’m sorry, Inspector.’
Hardy nodded, then thanked them and went back downstairs. Maple was waiting in the hall, his face still bearing a liberal scattering of crumbs.
‘Ready, Guv—er, Bill?’