by Lynda Wilcox
“No, silly. Remember I was asking about those initials at Sabrina Rutherford’s party, and Totters said they stood for the Rother Rowing Club? I’m looking for a man there.”
“Darling! You should have said! If you’re man hunting, I’m your girl.”
Eleanor shook her head, suddenly sombre. “Except this one might be a killer.”
“We’ll face that if we come to it. I’ll take my pistol just in case.”
“I didn’t know you’d got one.”
Ann laughed. “A gift from Papa, in case some weak-chinned youth starts getting too fresh.”
She listened with a degree of attention to the instructions that Eleanor gave her, agreed that she could do what was asked of her, and within an amazingly short space of time was ready to go. That was still three times as long as Eleanor would have taken — Ann was notoriously dilatory — but Eleanor used the time to go over the plan again.
They crossed the Thames at Tower Bridge and turned east and Eleanor nosed the Lagonda down streets that had become very familiar during the past few days.
She pulled up outside the compound and pointed to the club house.
“That’s where we’re going.”
“Rightee-oh! Ann got out of the car and surveyed the wooden building. “So, let me get this straight. Tell me again exactly what it is you want me to do.” She pulled her cloche down around her ears, tilting it slightly. It made her look coquettish — perfect for Eleanor’s purposes.
“We are going to go in and ask for the club secretary. Then, I shall ask if Martin Cropper is a member here.”
“And if he’s not?”
Eleanor grimaced. “Then, I’m afraid, you distract him while I try and check the membership records to see whether I recognise any other name.” She stared down, rubbing the toe of her shoe over the grass.
“You don’t care for subterfuge, do you, darling? Do you ever think you might be in the wrong job?”
“All the time!”
Ann nodded, though it dislodged her hat and she had to reposition it. “Poor you. All right. I think I can manage that.”
Slipping her arm inside Eleanor’s, she started along the path through the compound just as a pair of double doors at the far end of the building opened and a couple of young men came out dragging a canoe between them.
“My, my!” Ann nudged her friend as she ogled the skimpily clad duo in their singlets and shorts. “They could float my boat any day.”
“Ann, behave yourself.” Despite the ache in her heart, Eleanor laughed.
“I always do, darling.”
“No you don’t. You got us thrown out of Wimbledon for canoodling in the men’s locker room.”
“Yes, I know, but Bobby was worth it.” The irrepressible Ann waggled her eyebrows. “A shame that he blamed me for that and wouldn’t speak to me again.”
Eleanor ignored these romantic reminiscences and called a greeting to the two men. One of them returned it cheerfully enough, but the other had his head averted and appeared more concerned with getting their boat onto the water than in stopping for a chat. A relieved Eleanor carried on into the building.
The large interior held three doors; the office lay ahead of them, while the two doors on the end wall led to male and female changing rooms respectively. The main room was empty, but voices could be heard coming from the office.
“You won’t forget what you’ve got to do, will you?” Eleanor murmured.
“Of course not, silly. You only reminded me a moment ago and I’m not that forgetful.” Ann sounded hurt.
“Sorry.” Eleanor put a hand on her friend’s arm. “I’m just feeling rather nervous, that’s all.”
Her intention of taking a look at the membership register while the secretary’s back was turned, went against the grain. It was not something that a nice girl — and a duke’s daughter at that — would do. The spying she had been involved in during the war had been born out of a desperate necessity and directed against a deadly and powerful foe. What she planned on doing that afternoon seemed merely sneaky by comparison, and the very thought of it left Eleanor feeling soiled and unclean.
Ann gave Eleanor a nudge, but before she had the chance to say anything the door suddenly opened and a man in slacks and a navy blue blazer appeared. Eleanor immediately noted the crest embroidered on his breast pocket. It removed any doubt that they had come to the right place.
“I still say a regatta is a good idea, Grenville. Get the local businesses involved. They could always sponsor it, if you don’t think the club can afford it. I — oh!” He stopped at sight of the two young women standing in the main hall. “Sorry. I didn’t realise there was anyone here. Grenville” — he glanced back over his shoulder — “you’ve got visitors.”
“Hello.” Ann stepped forward. “I’m Lady Ann Carstairs and this is Lady Eleanor Bakewell. Are you in charge?”
The man in the doorway shook his head. “No, I’m just a bloke who likes to mess about in boats. An ordinary member, in other words. You want Grenville in there.” He jabbed a finger toward the office door. “He’s the top dog at the Rother Rowing Club, or at least, he likes to think so.”
He grinned, then walked past them to the door where he stopped and addressed them again. “You’ll forgive me saying so, but you don’t look like rowing types, so whatever you’ve come to ask him, he won’t be interested. Even if it would make the club some money. Good day to you.”
He went out, clearly disgruntled.
Eleanor shrugged, tapped on the office door, and without waiting for an answer walked straight in.
Ann was right on her heels and once more introduced them both.
“Hello, Mr Grenville, is it? This is Lady Eleanor Bakewell, and I’m Lady Ann Carstairs. I’m a party organizer, and I’ve called to see if your clubhouse is for hire.”
The man on the far side of the desk was older than Eleanor had expected with a tonsure of grey hair and a pair of faded blue eyes that at first looked stern, but then softened as he gazed at them. Ann was wearing her winsome look, and Grenville gave every appearance of being susceptible to winsome young ladies. He ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar and then smoothed down his tie.
“Well now, we do hire out to our members on occasion — for birthdays and other celebrations — so I suppose we could do so to non-members.”
Ann perched on the edge of the desk and swung a shapely leg back and forth. “Yes, I think an acquaintance of ours might be a member here?”
“Oh, really?”
Eleanor quickly followed up Ann’s lead. “Yes, Martin Cropper.”
Grenville’s brow creased in thought. “Cropper, Cropper. No, I can’t say that I recall the name.”
“How many members do you have?” Eleanor’s heart sank at the thought of trawling through hundreds of names.
“Oh, around a hundred and fifty I would imagine, though not all of them are active. Some of our members are real sportsmen, some mere dabblers.”
“Do you remember them all?”
“Of course,” he snapped. “I’m not senile.”
Eleanor had spoken without thinking. She bit her lip and murmured an apology. Better to leave it to Ann.
“I’d love a memory like yours.” Ann pronounced, fluttering her lashes. “I’m not clever like you at all. I have trouble recalling all my siblings.”
The secretary smiled, putting his hand on two huge ledgers to the right of his desk blotter. “Yes, I like to think I’ve a good memory for names and faces.”
“Well, now,” said Ann. She crossed her legs and clutched her knees. “Would you be so kind as to show me around, and we can talk details like capacity, fees, and so on.”
Eleanor expected him to point out that with only one large room there was little enough to show, but Grenville got to his feet with alacrity, clearly thrilled at escorting the vivacious Lady Ann around his domain.
“I see you have a large expanse of lawn. That would be useful in the summer. Does it
stretch very far? I was thinking perhaps we could put a jazz trio on it.”
Eleanor caught Ann’s wink as she and Grenville passed out of the office. She gave them a moment or two, then rounded the desk and immediately set to work.
She opened the top ledger and groaned at the spidery handwriting. No attempt had been made to list the names in alphabetical order, although addresses, telephone numbers, even dates of birth were all noted, together with the date they joined the club.
With a pounding heart and one ear listening for sounds from outside, she turned the pages, scanning for names she recognized, while her fingers fumbled with the thick heavy paper.
She had nearly reached the end when Ann’s tinkling laugh sounded very close at hand, and in her haste to close the ledger, the huge tome slipped on to the floor with a loud crash. As Eleanor bent to pick it up, the door flew back with a bang. Grenville stormed into the office.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?”
Chapter 17
“My goodness, that was quick thinking on your part,” Ann said, as they strode from the building a few minutes later. “I thought old man Grenville was going to turn nasty and have your head off.” She repositioned her cloche at a more sensible angle and pulled it down around her ears.
Eleanor grimaced. The secretary had simmered down when she’d told him she had rounded his desk to look out the window and inadvertently knocked the ledger to the floor, but it had been a lame excuse. It was a wonder that Grenville had believed her. “I thought it a brilliant ploy of yours to carry him off like that, happy to leave me in the office. I wish I was that clever.”
They clambered into the car.
“Of course you are.” Ann reached down to straighten a stocking. “Stop being so modest.”
“I’m not.” Eleanor thumped the steering wheel with a gloved hand. “That was a complete waste of time. I only had chance to flick through the first ledger, and I didn’t recognize any of the names, so I’m no better off.”
She struggled putting the Lagonda into reverse gear and Ann laid a hand on her arm.
“Ah, but I am.”
Bemused, Eleanor twisted to face her friend. “How? Don’t tell me you’ve got a hot date with the secretary.”
“Ugh! Hardly, darling, I do have standards, you know. No, I discovered the name of a member we both know.” She grinned.
“Good work, darling.” Eleanor smiled as Ann preened, pretending to polish her fingernails on the breast of her coat. “Well, go on then, tell me.”
“Squidgy Rockfort.”
“Really? Oh, Ann, that’s brilliant. You make a far better detective than I do.”
“Nothing to it. His name was on a notice board on the wall of the main hall. He apparently holds some sort of club record. I stopped and asked Mr Grenville about it, hoping it would give you a little more time.”
“Well done! Now we’re making progress.”
“So, what else can I do?”
Ann appeared to be enjoying herself, and Eleanor hid a smile while she gave the question some thought. She turned the car around and was driving back to the main road before she answered.
“You could ask among your friends, see if any of them are members here, or know anything about the club. I’d never heard of it until I took on this case, but then, I’m not particularly sporty.”
“Nor me, though I’ll certainly ask around for you. And Squidgy?”
Eleanor shook her head. “You can leave him to me. I know exactly what I need to ask him.”
“Good luck.” Ann gave a coy smile. “And be gentle with him, he’s a softy.”
Eleanor dropped Ann in Bond Street and went home to Bellevue Mansions. Even before she had her coat off she telephoned to Tommy Totteridge for Squidgy’s number.
“Hang on, Eleanor, old girl. I’ve got it somewhere, but he’s away in the country at the moment and I’m not sure where.”
“Well, I’ll give his number a call in case anyone there can tell me where he is, but you’d better remind me of his real name. I can hardly go asking for Squidgy.”
She heard a laugh from the other end of the line. “Oh, I don’t know, darling. His real moniker ain’t much better. It’s Sebastian.”
“That’s not so bad.” Eleanor thought it a considerable improvement on his nickname. “How’s the ankle, by the way?”
“Oh, much improved, thanks, though it’s not fit for dancing on yet, much to Sophie’s disgust.”
Thanking Tommy, Eleanor rang off and called the number he’d given her. Assured that Mr Rockfort was due back in London the next day, she left a message for him to call her.
“Blast!”
“Is something wrong, my lady?” Tilly hurried forward in time to rescue her mistress’s coat which was in danger of being shrugged off her back straight onto the floor.
“Everything is wrong.” Eleanor lit a cigarette and flopped onto her chair. “I thought I was making progress when Lady Ann discovered that Squidgy Rockfort was a member of the Rotherhithe Rowing Club, but now I’m not so sure.”
“You don’t suspect him of murdering Mr Cropper, though, do you?”
“No, not Squidgy. Murder isn’t in his line, though I’d hoped he might give me the lowdown on any members that might stoop to murder. Except that he’s not the brightest button in the box and he’s not in town at the moment, anyway.” She waved her cigarette around. “Besides, I have the horrible feeling that I’m on a wild goose chase. Just because Martin Cropper was seen talking to a man wearing the rowing club’s blazer doesn’t mean that man stabbed him and threw him in the Thames. There are over seven million people in the capital, any one of whom could be the killer.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, Tilly. Give up, I suppose.”
Tilly sniffed. “And what will you tell Mrs Cropper?”
Eleanor scowled and drew on her cigarette. Trust Tilly to get to the nub of things. Ever since Major Armitage’s death Eleanor’s natural sympathy for Mary had grown into a sense of fellow feeling. She better understood the woman’s loss and desire for justice and retribution now. However, understanding it was one thing, being able to do something about it quite another.
“I’m sorry, Tilly. I don’t know. I’m bereft of ideas.”
“And the major’s murder?”
“What can I do about that?” Eleanor threw the remains of her cigarette into the fire. “The police are far better equipped than I am for solving that crime. They have the resources for finding the car, for instance. Besides, it’s their job.”
“I thought it was also yours.”
“Huh.” Eleanor flicked at her fringe in irritation. “Well, maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“Forgive me, my lady. I know this is a difficult time for you, but are you thinking things through properly?”
“Probably not.” Eleanor gave her maid a sharp glance. “You think I’m missing something?”
Tilly ran a thumbnail across her lips. “When did Mr Cropper die?”
“I don’t know, sometime after he left the Crown and Anchor pub that Saturday lunchtime.”
“Can you not narrow it down? When did they find his body? Could they tell how long it had been in the river?”
“All good questions, Tilly, and ones that I had never thought to ask.”
“Well,” Tilly said, holding out the coat she still clasped in her arms. “there’s no time like the present.”
Eleanor scowled at her maid and slowly got to her feet. “You’re right. I’ll have to go back to Thames Division. I hope that Sergeant Yates will be on duty. He was helpful last time I was there. Will you come with me, please, and we’ll take a taxi?”
“Very well, my lady.”
Unfortunately, when they reached Wapping High Street, Sergeant Yates was not on duty, and his replacement seemed disinclined to help them at first. At Eleanor’s request to see the medical report, he hemmed and hawed about it being against regulations.
; “You being a civilian, and all that, ma’am.”
Despite her pleading, he would not budge and Eleanor was fast losing her temper until Tilly came to the rescue.
“Never mind, my lady,” she said. “It looks as if you’ll have to go through official channels and put the request in via your friend, Detective Chief Inspector Blount at Scotland Yard.”
“Eh? What’s that?” The sergeant looked up from the papers on the counter in front of him. “Blount of the Yard? Is he involved in this case?”
“Peripherally, yes.”
The sergeant screwed up his face, but then nodded. Eleanor thought him unfamiliar with the first word and so had accepted the second.
“In that case,” he said, “I don’t suppose there’s any objection to you having a look at the doctor’s report. Just a look, mind.” He waved a pencil at them. “I can’t have you taking it away.”
“Of course not, sergeant.” Eleanor gave him her sweetest smile. “A look is all we need.”
However, once the neatly typed sheets were in their hands, she left most of the reading to Tilly, whose nursing experience could make more sense of it.
The maid took her time, shaking her head as she finished and put the report back on the desk. “Have you read it, sergeant?”
“Yes, though this is Sergeant Yates’ case, strictly speaking. Are you any the wiser?” His thin lips held the suspicion of a sneer.
“Yes, thank you,” Tilly answered with a bright smile. “I hope you find the killer.”
“I take it you’ve made no progress on that score,” Eleanor said.
He shrugged. “No, ma’am. Not a lot to go on, really, is there?”
Eleanor had to agree with him, though she still felt bad about making so little progress on her own.
“Indeed. Thank you for your assistance, Sergeant.”
She took Tilly’s arm and steered her towards the door.
Outside, she hailed another taxi and once she’d given their destination, sat back and surveyed her maid.
“That was an inspired bit of thinking on your part, Tilly, but what have we got to show for it?”