by Caron Allan
‘Mrs Dunne, it is my sad duty to deliver some tragic news. I’m afraid you must prepare yourself for a shock. I’m sorry to tell you that your husband, Mr Archibald Dunne was attacked last night as he was walking along Mortlake Gardens, and I am sorry to inform you that he died before help arrived.’
He observed Mrs Dunne closely as he said this. After several seconds’ delay, she dropped her sewing and gripped the arm of the sofa, the knuckles of that hand showing white. She gasped, then moaned, ‘No! It cannot be true!’ And fell back against the cushions in a swoon.
Hardy ran to call for the maid, seeing no bell-pull in the room. He could not be perfectly sure Mrs Dunne was unconscious. Everything about her seemed so controlled. In his limited experience—the women in his immediate family not being given to swoons—the body was apt to simply crumple and fall. Mrs Dunne had seemed rather to lay herself neatly back and close her eyes.
She rallied as soon as the maid loomed over her, and as Hardy left his card and his sympathies, he felt the looks both maid and widow sent after him were more calculating than grief-stricken.
At the front door, he turned and went back along the hall to the back stairs, and went down in the gloom, hoping to find a cook or other servants. Might as well speak to them now and get it out of the way, he thought. But the kitchen was empty, although the boiling kettle indicated someone expected to be back there presently. He took a seat at the table and waited. Finally, the tall, red-eyed maid he’d already met returned. She was surprised to see him sitting there.
‘I’d like to speak to the staff,’ he told her. ‘Just a few questions.’
‘I’m all there is,’ she said in a quiet, trembling voice. ‘They don’t keep no one else, I does it all, cleaning, cooking, errands, you name it.’
‘How is Mrs Dunne?’
‘She’s gone to lie down.’
But as soon as he began to ask her questions she burst into tears, seemingly unable to hold herself in check a moment longer.
‘Now then, there’s no need to upset yourself. I just need to ask you a few questions.’ His words seemed to have little impact and it was a few minutes before the sobbing began to subside.
The maid sniffed and scrubbed at her face with a damp cotton handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve.
‘I’m sorry Sir, I really am. It’s—it’s just been such a terrible shock.’
‘I’m sure it has. But I expect you realise I need to ask a few questions. Now then, have you worked for Mr and Mrs Dunne long?’
‘Only six months or so. It’s my second position. I was with a gentleman and his family what went to India and I didn’t want to go with them, though they would of took me, they asked me to go, but I didn’t want to go so far away from my mother as she’s not as young as she was. Then I got this job.’
‘And how is the job? Do you like it?’ Hardy asked her. She shrugged her shoulders.
‘It’s all right. Not so hard as the other one, but then there’s no children here.’
‘And Mr and Mrs Dunne, are they easy people to work for?’
‘Mrs Dunne, she’s not very strong, Sir, and she needs a bit of looking after. If I had anything to say it would just be that p’r’aps he doesn’t look after her as well as he oughter. She’s not very strong.’
Hardy hid a smile. The maid’s manner of talking seemed to be a rather circular one.
‘I see. And were Mr and Mrs Dunne on good terms?’
‘Well. I don’t really like to say, but...’ The maid paused and looked down at her apron, her restless hands pleating and smoothing out the rather grey fabric. For a moment Hardy thought she had finished speaking but then in a quiet voice she said, ‘To be honest, he has been staying at his club. It’s because of a bit of a spat they had. They’re regular ones for screaming at each other. Or was, I should say. But Madam said he was coming home, though he was only back the two nights and away again last night...’ the maid bit her lip and although tears welled up in her eyes again, she continued to speak. ‘She said as they’d talked about things and he’d decided to come back home. But then, last night, before dinner, he left again.’
‘So he came back again, and was here for two nights, then last night, the night he died, he had decided to move back out again? Had they had another row?’
‘That’s right. Although I don’t know about the row. They always did shout at each other something rotten and she was always one to pick up on every little thing. And very disrespectful to him, she was, even though she’s my employer and I shouldn’t say such things. But of course, I don’t know nothing of what it was about—they wouldn’t hardly talk to me about their private business, of course. But she was always on at him, I don’t think he wanted to be here.’
‘So what time did Mr Dunne leave? Did you see or hear him go?’
‘Yes Sir, I saw him coming down the stairs with his overnight bag at about half past six. He set the bag down so he could put on his coat, which I ran and held for him.’
‘Did he say anything?’
She fixed her eyes on her hands in her lap, and Hardy saw the splash of tears on the back of one hand. Her shoulders shuddered briefly then she looked up at him, eyes swimming, and in a broken voice said, ‘He said, ‘Thank you Leonora, you are always there to help me out. Well, I’m afraid I’m off again. It didn’t last long, did it?’ And then he put on his hat, picked up his bag and out he went. I shut the door behind him and went back into the kitchen to see how the potatoes were getting on.’
Hardy waited a heartbeat or two then said, ‘And Mrs Dunne? Was she upset or angry over him leaving? Did she go out at all last evening? Did she perhaps visit a friend or have some other engagement? Or did anyone come here?’
‘Oh no, Sir, Madam never goes out after dark. She’s a bit nervy, see, and well, she’s not very strong. She never talks to me about what she’s thinking or how she’s feeling, obviously.’
‘I see.’ Hardy felt a twinge of irritation. The Mrs Dunne he had seen so far seemed to be a rather determined, cold woman, and he wouldn’t have associated that with nerves or timidity. ‘So,’ he said, determined to dot all Is and cross all Ts, ‘you were both at home the whole evening and no one left the house after Mr Dunne went out and no one came to the house?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘Does Mrs Dunne own an umbrella?’
Leonora stared at him ‘An...? Beg pardon, Sir. A brolly, would you be meaning? No Sir. She’s got one of those white lacy things for the summer but not a proper brolly.’
‘Thank you, that will be all.’
As Hardy left he was aware of a deep sense of dissatisfaction with how that interview had gone.
Chapter Three
Dottie and her mother joined the luncheon party at a hotel almost in the West End, but it was not one of Dottie’s favourite venues.
The soup and the Dover sole were quite good, but the lemon meringue to follow was a dreadful disappointment, with the lemon filling being too runny and the meringue disintegrating into dust. Mrs Angkatell had declared she was too full for a lemon meringue, or even cheese or an ice, and said that she would have nothing more apart from her coffee, and Dottie wished she could give in to a childish urge to sit there glaring at the woman. Because the lemon meringue was not the thrilling end to the meal it ought to have been and Dottie was convinced Mrs Angkatell had known full well that the Royal served an inadequate sweet.
Other than that, from Dottie’s point of view, the whole lunch as an event was a complete waste of time. No one had any really juicy gossip except Dottie herself, and even though the two young women on either side of her were clearly agog for as much gruesome detail as she could impart, Dottie didn’t much feel like talking about what had happened to poor Archie Dunne. She felt angry at overhearing a niece of Mrs Angkatell say in a drawling, affected voice, ‘How awfully vulgar, involving oneself in a common street brawl.’
But she clamped her teeth together and refused to allow this remark to provoke her. Al
though later she admitted to Flora, ‘Oh I just wanted to slap her, the stupid woman!’
Finally, though, the meal came to an end and they left their table in the dining-room to wander into the hotel’s drawing-room where coffee was being served, or tea for those who preferred it, and the guests, twelve in all, had the chance to move about and sub-divide into more satisfactory little groups for conversation.
Dottie found a place beside a person she had known at school, and proceeded to ask her if she remembered Susan Moyer. She did. Not only that but she had been to the wedding.
‘Poor dear Archie,’ she said, ‘perhaps he wasn’t the most beautiful of men, and he was a hopeless dancer. But he was awfully sweet, always took the trouble to chat and make you feel welcome. And Susan—well, how will she ever recover from a shock of this kind? I’m sure I shouldn’t.’
Dottie murmured in agreement and waiting for her companion to finish piling sugar into her coffee and get on with ‘spilling the goods’.
‘Of course, she’s always been something of an oddity herself. Susan, I mean.’
‘How so? I don’t remember her all that well. I knew her sister Muriel a little better.’
‘Oh Muriel, she’s a perfect pet. In fact, I’m seeing her next week, on Saturday. Her people are giving a ball for her, it’s her engagement party you know, to some boffin from one of the big universities, I can never remember which. Why don’t I see if I can wangle you an invitation? There’s always room for one more at those sorts of things. Or should I ask for two tickets? I believe I heard your name linked with the Honourable Peter St Clair St John, he’s quite the catch,’ she said with a sudden sharp sideways glance that took Dottie by surprise. She felt herself blushing.
‘Oh well, I don’t know, erm—perhaps two tickets would be a good idea. I’ll drag someone along, even if it’s only Flora.’
‘That’s quite all right, I’m sure no one will mind. Although...’ she paused. ‘I mean...’ she said with a quick frown. ‘It will go ahead, won’t it, now that their other daughter’s husband has been found dead in an alley?’
‘It wasn’t an alley, it was Mortlake Gardens, which is a perfectly pleasant neighbourhood, or at least, it was until...’
And then Dottie was just about to add that no, on reflection she was convinced it wouldn’t go ahead, what a shame, when her companion gave a huge smile and said happily, ‘oh of course it will go ahead, it’s not as if they care too much about Susan’s feelings from what one hears, and anyway, they could hardly cancel something like that at such short notice. It’s on the 2nd, but I’ll pop the details in the post to you.’
Dottie had her doubts, but they were not to be voiced. Her mother reminded her of the time and they made hurried farewells of Mrs Angkatell and the rest of the party.
It was just on half past four as Dottie got off the bus and ran the forty or fifty feet to Carmichael and Jennings, Exclusive Modes for Discerning Ladies. Inside the door, Mrs Carmichael, proprietress and possessor of unsightly ankles, told Dottie she was late and not to dilly-dally as the preview would be opening in less than half an hour. ‘And half of ‘em is here already, for Gawd’s sake,’ she pointed out.
Dottie dived into the back regions of the warehouse to find her spot amongst the other girls. Her first model was a smart two-piece costume in the finest, softest tweed. The main attraction of this outfit was the new lapel shape and the dainty peplum at the back. The skirt flared slightly, and kicked out at the back in a manner both young and stylish. Dottie passionately craved such a creation for her own wardrobe, but her allowance had already been gobbled up by all the other things she just had to have and would not permit any further extravagance. And it wouldn’t come out of her modest wage either, as she’d already spent that too.
She patted her hair into place and fixed her make-up, swiping a soft powdered brush across her cheeks and nose to take care of any unfortunate shine, then regarded herself critically in the mirror. Not too bad, though she said it herself.
‘It’s the suit they’ve come to see, not you, missy,’ grumbled Mrs Carmichael. ‘Now you lot, stop chattering and giggling, there’s work to be done.’ And she chivvied the eight mannequins into position behind the curtain, and when she was absolutely satisfied, she stepped out in front of them to introduce the new mid-season range.
*
Later, when Dottie got home, she remembered she’d forgotten to ask her friend why Susan Dunne was considered odd. Or rather, she had asked, but the subject had been changed and she had somehow not managed to obtain an answer.
Poor Susan Dunne, Dottie thought, as she mounted the steps to the house. By now she would have been told that she was a widow. It was awful to think of an acquaintance suffering such grief. She wondered if there was anything she could do to help. Dottie was about to hunt in her coat pocket for her latchkey, but the door opened and beyond it she saw Janet’s smiling face, and the maid’s expression told Dottie she had been keeping a look-out for her—she was clearly bursting to impart some news.
‘What is it?’ Dottie obligingly asked as she and Janet wrestled off her coat.
‘Oh Miss. It’s that nice Honourable Peter. He’s been here, he hoped to take you dancing.’
‘Blast! But I’m sure I told him I had the preview this evening. I suppose Mother forced him to stay and have tea with her, or some such thing?’
‘Oh yes, he was here a good hour, poor bloke. He’s ever so good-looking, Miss. And I think he’s really keen on you. He was that disappointed you wasn’t here, I could see it in his eyes. Lovely eyes he’s got, has the Honourable Peter. He left his card for you, Miss.’ Janet produced this now with a flourish and turned it over to show the message. ‘He wants to meet you at the Savoy,’ Janet went on to explain, turning the card towards the light to better read the elegant handwriting, her forefinger following the line of script. ‘On Wednesday next, says he’ll meet you at eight-thirty in the lobby.’
‘So I see,’ Dottie commented wryly.
‘But he said special to tell you it was because he had a late meeting somewhere with someone, he did tell me but I’ve forgot. But that’s why he’s hoping you won’t mind making your own way there in a cab, though he said to be sure and tell you he’d bring you back home hisself after dinner. I told him you’d be happy with that, as I knew you were free on that evening.’
‘Sounds like you had quite a chat.’
‘Oh we did, Miss, he’s just like what a young gentleman ought to be—so dreamy and romantic.’
‘Not to mention having an important position at the Admiralty and a very nice house in Twickenham,’ added the rather more prosaic Dottie.
‘He’s just perfect. And Miss, I was thinking, if you marries him, can I go with you and be your maid? Only I know Mrs Manderson has been really, really good to me, and I am really, really grateful. But I would so like to live in Twickenham, I really would, everyone says it’s really, really nice there.’
‘So I’ve heard. Janet, I’d love you to come with me, but one thing at a time—let’s see if he still likes me after our dinner next week.’
‘Is that you Dorothy? What on earth is taking you so long?’ her mother bellowed. Dottie grimaced and quickly turned to the mirror to pat her hair into place. Why did it insist on sticking out in all directions like that?
‘Yes, Mother, I’m back. I gather we had a visitor,’ she said as she went in the direction of the great lady’s voice.
‘We still have a visitor, Dorothy,’ her mother called back, sounding rather put out.
Her face alive with hope, Dottie turned an inquiring eyebrow upon Janet who sniffed and shook her head.
‘It’s only a policeman,’ she said dismissively, and hurried away with Dottie’s coat.
*
The detective sergeant from the previous night stood up as Dottie came into the room, and he held out his hand to her. She shook it automatically then wondered why. It was hardly a social occasion. Her mother sent a glare in her direction whilst her
father handed her a glass of sherry.
Blushing furiously Dottie said, ‘Good evening, Sergeant. I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting?’
‘Well in a way you have,’ he replied, not looking at her, ‘but it doesn’t matter. After all, you weren’t expecting me.’
She managed not to say the first retort that came to her lips, especially as her mother was present, and opted instead for a neutral smile. She waited.
‘I’d just like to ask you once again whether you saw anything last night. I believe you said you had just been set down by a taxicab, and you were making your way to your sister’s house?’
‘Why on earth...?’ her mother began crossly, but Dottie swiftly hissed in a low voice, ‘Because I didn’t want to take Peter to Flora’s.’
To which her father immediately responded, ‘Then why...?’
Repressing a sigh, she said, ‘Because I told the cabby the wrong house number! I was thinking of Aunt Adelaide’s. Then I thought I might as well walk and enjoy the fresh air, that’s all.’
She turned back to smile at the sergeant. ‘Yes, that’s right. I noticed one of the streetlamps was out—it was quite dark just there and I didn’t see the man at first.’
‘But then you did see him, and you attempted to help him?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I thought I told you all this...’ She hadn’t meant to sound so haughty, but was embarrassed to be discussing it in front of her parents.
‘Yes, I’m sorry, I just wanted to hear it again. I want to make sure nothing has been missed. The inquest has been set for next Wednesday morning, at 10 o’clock. It’ll be held in the hall of St Peter’s church just along the road from your sister’s house. You will have to attend, I’m afraid, you’ll be called to give evidence, as it was you who found the deceased.’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ Dottie said, looking worried.
‘It’ll just be a formality, there’s nothing to be concerned about. Now if you could just go back over what you told me last night. Start with the moment that you first saw the body.’