The Mantle of God

by Caron Allan

  ‘Just a moment. I need a quick word with Mrs Smedley-Judd. Is she still in there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Stay here, Frank, and don’t let anyone in. I’ll only be a moment.’ He tapped on the drawing room door and put his head round. ‘Sorry to trouble you again, Mrs Smedley-Judd. May I just ask, do you have a key to Mr Smedley-Judd’s art collection room? I’d very much like to quickly check something in there if it’s not too much trouble.’

  If she was surprised, she hid it well, yet Hardy was convinced she was surprised. That, and possibly alarmed. She immediately offered him an apologetic smile and shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. Only my husband has a key to that room, and as you know, he isn’t at home at the moment. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind returning another day? It might be best to arrange a specific time with him so you can be sure not to miss him.’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Smedley-Judd, that’s no trouble at all. Well, thank you very much for your time and for the tea, of course. Good day.’

  They got in the car and Hardy told Maple what he had learned.

  ‘Cor lumme,’ Maple said. Hardy agreed.

  ‘It’s certainly very interesting.’

  They returned to the police station. Whilst Maple dispatched a constable to the Smedley-Judds’ to take the statement from the maid, Hardy wrote up his notes. He paused to look at his watch. He had a little less than an hour and a half before he had to be at Miss Medhurst’s. Plenty of time to go home, have a wash and a shave and change his clothes before going to meet her. He just didn’t feel like moving.

  ‘So did you find out anything from Mrs Smedley-Judd?’ he asked Maple.

  ‘Apart from the fact that I’m the spit of her favourite nephew? Not really.’

  Chapter Eleven

  AS IT WAS, HE ARRIVED home a full hour before he was due to meet Daphne, but he was reluctant to get ready to go out. He sat in the kitchen in a daydream, thinking too much about too many different things. If his mother had been there, no doubt he could have confided some of what he was feeling to her. It struck him yet again how very silent the house was without her. How he wished she could have lived long enough to enjoy the greater comfort his improved income would have afforded them, after all their recent years of hardship and worry.

  He made a pot of tea, but had no sooner poured out a cup than he remembered something he had neglected to do, and was forced to make a hurried visit to the Manderson home. He had something on his mind.

  He rang the bell at twenty minutes past six. Janet answered. He had known Dottie would not answer the door, knowing they would all be getting ready for dinner, but he couldn’t help the pang of disappointment he felt at not seeing her.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Janet, I know it’s a dreadful time of day to call. I wonder if Mr or Mrs Manderson could spare me just a couple of minutes?’ She was helping him off with his coat, his hat already on the hallstand.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll go and check, Mr Hardy. One of them will probably be able to see you,’ she said and opened the door to the drawing room, indicating he should wait in there.

  He felt a sense of shock on entering the room and seeing Dottie seated on the sofa on the far side, a book in her hand, her hair shining and smooth under the beam of the electric light. She wore a rather fetching navy dress with a white collar, both colours suiting her delicate complexion as well as her lovely figure. She looked up and slowly blushed pink when she saw him. He crossed the room to shake her hand, horribly uncomfortable at arriving unannounced, yet his heart was pounding and he felt elated just to see her.

  ‘Good evening, Will—er, Inspector Hardy. Are we expecting you? I’m afraid I’m dining at Flora’s this evening. They’re calling for me any time now.’

  He was staring, but couldn’t help himself. He stammered an apology then added in a more measured tone, ‘Um, no, I’m afraid I called on the off-chance of speaking with your father or mother. I confess I completely forgot what time it was.’ Liar, said his conscience, and her eyes said the same. Huge eyes. Deep, velvety soft brown eyes. More like pools, drawing him in, making him forget...

  ‘Inspector! Janet tells me you need a quick word about something?’ Mrs Manderson, as forbidding as usual, spoke from the doorway. He turned to offer her a slight bow, not quite sure how to proceed. It occurred to him now he had come on a fool’s errand. Instinct told him she would not listen to his request.

  She only gave him half her attention as she attempted to fix a corsage to her shoulder. Dottie crossed the room help her mother with the pin. Standing side by side, he couldn’t help thinking how alike they were, and yet how different. Dottie was taller by some four or five inches, and far more slender than her mother. Dottie was softer and gentler in manner, and yet, who knew? Perhaps Mrs Manderson had also been soft, girlish, gentle and shy once upon a time. Now she was a formidable woman, forceful, domineering, confidently in command of her household. And her plans would not be thwarted.

  Nerves made him rush his request and he didn’t present his argument in the best manner, but she began to shake her head almost immediately, though she allowed him to ramble on, and she didn’t stop shaking it until he drifted into silence. Then she said, ‘I cannot possibly cancel our plans. The party invitations have already gone out. The food has been ordered. Several guests have already accepted. It is going ahead. That’s the end of the matter.’

  ‘But Mother...’ Dottie began. Mrs Manderson held up a hand.

  ‘Nonsense, Dorothy. And now, I must finish getting ready for dinner. Good evening, Inspector.’

  Mrs Manderson swept out of the room, with the air of one carrying all before her. Dottie watched her mother with a mingled expression of embarrassment and admiration.

  ‘Golly,’ she said.

  ‘Quite,’ Hardy responded.

  ‘I’m so sorry...’ She shot him a fraught look.

  ‘It’s my fault. I knew she’d say no, and I can’t say I blame her. I just felt I had to... Never mind, forget about it. Look, I must go or I’m going to be late. Please give my regards to your sister. Enjoy your dinner, and don’t let this upset you.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To the cinema. To see that wretched Desert thing.’

  She knew immediately what he meant, and was upset. She treated him to a cool, distancing look that could have come from her mother. ‘I see. Well, give my regards to Miss Medhurst. I hope she enjoys the film.’ With that, she swept from the room.

  ‘Golly,’ said Hardy, though privately he said a great deal more.

  Dinner at Flora and George’s that evening got off to a tricky start. Dottie arrived upset and angry, and was immediately closeted in her sister’s morning room whilst she let off steam. Flora looked on in amusement.

  ‘Dottie, darling! Do calm down. It’s only the pictures.’

  ‘You know what Daphne’s like at the pictures!’ Dottie stormed. ‘As soon as the lights go down, she’ll be all over him. He won’t stand a chance!’

  Flora was trying not to laugh but it wasn’t easy. The very thought of Hardy as the helpless innocent victim of Daphne Medhurst’s amorous intentions filled her head with ludicrous images. Half-laughing, half-serious, she held out her hand to her sister, pushing her back down onto the seat.

  ‘Dottie! Be sensible. Put yourself in his position. Would he behave like this over your dinner with Dr Melville? I hardly think so.’

  Dottie appeared to consider this for a moment or two then burst out with, ‘But that wasn’t in the dark! And anyway, he doesn’t even know about Melville. Does he?’

  ‘I doubt it. But even if he did...’

  Dottie sighed and sank back against the cushions. She ran frantic fingers through her hair, making it stand out in such a way that Flora felt inclined to pass her a mirror.

  ‘I suppose,’ Dottie admitted, ‘that I’m making a bit of a fuss. But honestly Flora, Daphne Medhurst... Once she gets him in her clutches...’

  ‘I’m sure y
our favourite police inspector can defend his own virtue without your help,’ Flora pointed out.

  Dottie had been on the point of saying that he wasn’t her favourite police inspector, but saw from Flora’s expression that she wasn’t taken in for a moment. Dottie sighed again, and in a small voice, she said, ‘I just don’t like to think of her kissing him.’

  Flora leaned back beside her and patted her knee. ‘I know Dottie, but after all, it’s just a couple of kisses. Surely you can spare her a couple of kisses when you’ll have him all to yourself forever?’

  Blushing, Dottie hotly declared not only that it could ever happen, but that she certainly didn’t want it to. Laughing, Flora pulled her to her feet.

  ‘Come on, you. My poor husband is waiting for his dinner.’

  Things started to go awry from the moment he arrived late at the Medhursts’ home. He had not changed out of the rather sober suit he wore for work. Daphne gave him a pointed look and a sniff of disapproval. He told her that it was because he had been busy with work and had run out of time. Obviously he couldn’t tell her he hadn’t felt like making an effort.

  Then when they finally came out of the picture-house that Sunday evening following the tedious offering that was Deserts of Arabia, Hardy and Miss Medhurst were no longer on speaking terms.

  As they waited to cross the road with the rest of the cinema’s clientèle, Hardy attempted a last effort at gallantry by offering her his arm. Her response was to tut loudly and half turn away, leaving a wide gap between them that was rapidly filled by others who didn’t realise they were together. The onset of the rain brought out the umbrellas, and soon Hardy lost sight of his companion amidst the streams of people pushing and scurrying to get out of the weather and get home.

  When he reached the other side of the road, Hardy paused and turned to look about for her—she ought to be easy to spot, tall and slender, in her smart, bright peacock-blue coat, the matching hat barely covering her bright, certainly dyed he admitted now, auburn waves.

  He couldn’t see her. He felt annoyed, and was tempted to simply give up and go home. But he had not been brought up to act in such an ungentlemanly way, and having satisfied himself she was not on his side of the street, he crossed back again to the cinema side and continued to look about for her. A taxi left the nearby rank and drove off, but he couldn’t see who was inside. After several minutes of scouring the rapidly thinning crowds, he was forced to conclude she had gone. Swearing under his breath, he debated once more what to do.

  He was still tempted to just go home, but decided to walk to her house, if only to have the pleasure of giving her a piece of his mind when he saw her.

  From her position in the back of the cinema entrance hall, Daphne Medhurst smirked to see Hardy so put about. Serve him right, she thought. Boring old stick, younger than her, not that you’d know it, he was so old-fashioned. A girl wanted a bit of fun. At their age they ought to be past all that politeness and arm’s-length stuff. She had shocked him with her boldness, she knew that. But if you liked a chap—or thought you did, she reflected now somewhat ruefully—why not let him know, that was how she saw it. No good waiting until you were married then finding out you’d got yourself lumbered with a monk or a woman-hater. She wanted a red-blooded man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it. She leaned a little to her right, and could see Hardy walking off down the road.

  Behind Daphne, further back in the gloomier part of the foyer, a man watched her from behind a newspaper. Clearly the girl had had a spat with the copper and had given him the push, which made things much easier for him. Very much easier. He folded the newspaper and made his way towards her.

  ‘Surely you haven’t been stood up, a gorgeous armful like you?’

  Daphne turned to look at the man who addressed her. She had been going to give him a set-down but thought better of it when she took a good look at him. A tall, good-looking man, grinning admiringly at her like that. And he was clearly well-to-do, his accent could cut glass and his suit was definitely bespoke.

  She gave him a rueful look. ‘Apparently, he didn’t think so,’ she said, dropping her eyelashes and giving him that sly glance upwards that men liked so much.

  ‘Well his loss, I’d say, and a chance for someone else to convince you there are still some red-blooded men left in the world.’ He held out his arm.

  She hesitated for a few seconds. But he’d used the same words back at her that she’d thought herself, and the smile he gave her was flattering.

  He leaned towards her and in a stage whisper said, ‘Come on, let’s paint the town red, sweetheart!’

  She laughed then, and took his offered arm. ‘Oh, go on then.’

  They went out and down the steps into the now-deserted street. William Hardy was nowhere to be seen.

  She wasn’t there. That much was plain the second Hardy got to the house. Major Medhurst, clearly confused as to why his daughter’s escort should arrive back without her, stood back to allow the young man into the house. He invited him to wait in the little sitting room where there was a roaring fire and a chess game in progress.

  The Major had no partner, he was playing both sides by the simple expedient of turning the board around after each move. He invited Hardy to sit. Hardy, agitated, sat, albeit on the edge of the chair. He didn’t know quite what to do. Neither did he want to alarm the older man.

  ‘Had a tiff, I suppose?’ the Major suggested. Hardy cleared his throat and admitted it was so.

  ‘Easily done, with the ladies,’ the Major said, very much along the lines of explaining the strange behaviour of an exotic species. ‘Trouble with us chaps, always putting our foot in it.’

  ‘Er, yes, indeed,’ Hardy agreed, adding, ‘Then we got separated in the crowd outside the picture-house. I didn’t see which way Miss Medhurst went. I waited for a few moments, then I realised she must have come home. At least, I thought perhaps...’

  The Major nodded, seeming completely unconcerned, and said, ‘Well, no doubt she’ll be back shortly. Play a game of chess while you wait, then when she gets home, I’ll leave you to make it up with her.’

  They began to play. Or rather, Hardy, unable to concentrate on the game already in progress, allowed his queen to be captured almost immediately.

  ‘I’d been playing for over two hours,’ the Major commented.

  Hardy apologised, adding, ‘I really think Miss Medhurst should be back by now.’

  ‘Nonsense, dear boy. No doubt met up with some girlfriends and gone for a late supper at someone’s house.’

  Hardy stared doubtfully at the Major. ‘Would she do that?’

  ‘Oh yes, always bumping into girls she was at school with, that sort of thing. Large circle of friends. Not out of the ordinary for her to come home in the early hours. I never worry about her. You know what girls are like with time-keeping.’

  Hardy bit his lip, trying to decide what to do. The Major waved the brandy decanter at him, but Hardy declined. He made up his mind and got to his feet.

  ‘I’m sorry, Major, I’m afraid I really do have to leave. It’s almost midnight and I’ve got to be up early for work in the morning.’

  The Major clicked his tongue. ‘My God, yes, I know what that’s like. Up at the crack of dawn. Reveille. No bugle to get you up out of bed though, I’ll be bound.’

  Hardy forced a smile and tried to sound hearty. ‘No indeed, an ordinary alarm clock for me! Well, thank you for your hospitality. Er... I’m very sorry, once again for the unfortunate...’

  ‘Not at all, not at all. Ladies, eh? ‘Leave ‘em alone, and they’ll come home, bringing their tails behind them’, that’s what we used to say. Young fillies, what? Like to keep us fellows on our toes, keep us guessing. Well, goodnight, young man, goodnight.’

  Outside in the street, a light frost made every surface glisten. The street was dark. It was empty. Of Daphne Medhurst there was no sign. Hardy was seriously discomposed. With his sense of duty unfulfilled, he made his way home,
alternately angry with himself and angry with her for the position she’d put him in.

  He saw no one resembling her on his journey. Once he reached his house, he left his coat in the hall and went immediately to the telephone. He put a call through to the Medhursts’, waiting a full two minutes for the Major to answer.

  ‘No, she’s not here yet,’ the old gentleman replied to Hardy’s question, ‘But I expect her momentarily.’

  ‘Will you telephone or please ask your daughter to telephone me as soon as she arrives home, it would set my mind at rest. It doesn’t matter how late it is.’

  The old man assured Hardy he would do so. Hardy slept in a chair in the sitting room, in case the telephone bell should ring.

  Finally at a quarter past six in the morning, the telephone rang.

  As Hardy stood looking down at the dead body of Daphne Medhurst half an hour later, he was aware for the first time of what it was to feel a cold fury. The alleyway where her body had been dumped was littered with rubbish and stank. She had been deposited in a bricked-up doorway. No care had been taken to straighten her clothes. Her humiliation was complete in death. Her dress was bunched up, revealing pudgy white thighs above darned stockings. Her undergarments, in contrast with the smart outer wear, had evidently like the stockings, seen better days. Clearly the rumours about her wealthy status were unfounded. Her hat lay on the ground. Someone had stepped on it and crushed the crown.

  He felt protective of her, a strange, belated sensation given the way he’d felt as they left the picture house the previous evening. He leaned over to pull her dress straight and neat to her knees. Over his shoulder he said to Maple, ‘Ask the doctor if she’s been interfered with, or violated at all.’ Even as Maple nodded and made a note, Hardy thought to himself, I can’t believe I’m asking that about a woman I took to the pictures. The something struck him. ‘Where’s her bag?’ Only now had he noticed it was missing.

  Maple shrugged and cast about him helplessly. ‘Perhaps she didn’t have a bag with her,’ he said.