by Caron Allan
Alistair had returned to the conversation by now, and he nodded, and said, ‘Shame about his engagement. He was madly in love with some girl who, as soon as the money dried up, wasn’t seen for dust. Left the fellow flat less than a month before the wedding. That couldn’t have helped the financial situation, all that money spent and everything cancelled at the last moment.’
‘How awful,’ Dottie said, ‘poor Sergeant Hardy!’ A uniformed arm leaned across and removed her plate. She smiled up at Greeley and thanked him, adding softly, ‘Tell Mrs Greeley that mousse was truly divine. I don’t know how she does it.’
Greeley nodded and leaned closer to whisper to her, avoiding the notice of the other guests, ‘I’ll tell her you said so, Miss Dottie, to tell the truth she was a bit worried how it would turn out, she hadn’t tried that recipe before, but the fishmonger let her down at the last minute.’ They exchanged a conspiratorial smile, then he moved on.
‘What about Archie Dunne? Did you know him too?’ she continued, turning back to Charles and Alistair.
‘Sadly no. He was a couple of years above us at Oxford. Of course one knew of him. His reputation.’
‘His reputation?’
‘Terrible philanderer. Made Henry VIII look quite the monk.’
Dottie thought about this, then on impulse, she revealed to Charles and Alistair the information George had gleaned from the cigarette girl at the theatre.
Alistair laughed. ‘What rot!’
Dottie was somewhat taken aback. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘First of all, he’d never be concerned about anything Susan got up to. She has always been more than a little odd, and frankly he could hardly bear to be in her company for more than half an hour, if the gossip at the club is anything to go by.’
‘Yes, and also,’ Charles chipped in, ‘that just sounds like something out of a play or the music hall. Pretend to be his girlfriend so he could follow his wife? No one would fall for that rubbish for a moment. Mark my words, that young lady was pulling old George’s leg.’
He seemed so certain, and with a full stomach and in such genial company, Dottie found herself admitting that he was right, it didn’t sound at all likely now she thought about it.
‘So had he a special interest in any particular young lady at the time of his death, according to the talk at the club?’ she asked.
‘I was afraid you might ask that,’ Charles said, and for the first time he looked uncomfortable. He delayed the moment of revelation by taking a long drink of his wine, then glanced across the table to where George and Flora were laughing with their guests. For what seemed like an hour, Dottie couldn’t breathe. Then she managed to tear her eyes away and looked back at Charles with a look of concern.
‘You can’t mean...?’
‘What? No, no! Heaven forbid!’ he said hastily, and Dottie’s shoulders slumped in relief. ‘No, not a bit of it, sorry to make you think...’ he took another drink. ‘Though I hardly like to say.’ He exchanged a look with Alistair who nodded. ‘It is a little close to home—but certainly not as close as that.’
Dottie fixed him with a look and said firmly, ‘Just tell me, Charles.’
Another look passed between the two men then Charles said hastily, ‘Look, I don’t say there’s anything in it, it’s just what chaps are saying, what everyone is saying.’
‘And?’ prompted Dottie.
‘Well, the word is that Archie Dunne had taken up with Diana Gascoigne.’
She grabbed his arm. She whispered, ‘Diana Gascoigne? George’s sister?’ He nodded ruefully.
That gave her cause to think. And as the next course was served, and the servants were coming and going and guests were exclaiming excitedly over their plates and laughing and chatting, she thought furiously. Diana. And Archie. She thought about the odd things Diana had been saying in her room, crouched over her needlepoint.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Charles was saying, clearly feeling he needed to make amends. ‘Perhaps I oughtn’t to have said anything. I didn’t want to upset you. Y-you won’t say anything to old George?’
‘No, it’s quite all right, Charles. Don’t worry about that.’
‘It’s what I’ve heard, that’s all. Eh, Alistair, that’s what everyone’s saying? Archie Dunne and Diana?’
‘Oh rather,’ Alistair said, dipping his head in the characteristic manner that made him seem much older than he really was and was also very doctorly, Dottie thought. ‘Yes, that’s why I for one was not particularly astonished when she went and called off her engagement to that other fellow, that Jeremy Wotsiname. Because everyone knew she and Archie... In fact, I’d been half-expecting Dunne to leave his wife, he was reported to be so besotted with young Diana. I did hear that he went round to the Gascoignes’ to have it out with Diana, but her father saw him off, threatened him with a horsewhip if he dared to show his face again.’
‘That sounds like a lot more than just gossip, it sounds as though it could be genuine,’ Dottie said, thinking aloud. They looked at her in concern.
‘You won’t say anything, will you?’ Charles said again, with a worried glance down the table. ‘Wouldn’t want poor old George to know I’ve been bad-mouthing his little sister.’
Chapter Seventeen
Inspector Hardy took the newly-promoted Detective Constable Frank Maple with him when he went to Archie Dunne’s flat. They travelled by taxi-cab from the police station and got out a little along the road from Richmond Villas, the modern block where Dunne’s flat was located.
‘It also explains where he was going the night he was killed. This road leads off Mortlake Gardens,’ Hardy remarked. ‘Clearly he was on his way here that night.’
As they walked the remaining few yards, in spite of the miserable weather Hardy formed the opinion it was a pleasant area. Almost immediately Maple said exactly that, adding, ‘And it looks a sight better kept than Dunne’s proper home too.’
Hardy paused to fish the key out of his jacket pocket, still in a small envelope in case he should lose it or mistake it for his own. ‘Just what I thought myself,’ he said, ‘and you’d think Mrs Dunne would be happier in a modern flat rather than that dark, scruffy place.’
‘Women don’t usually like dark places,’ Maple said, ‘dark places are often damp and that brings in the insects—earwigs, spiders and whatnot—women don’t like those.’
‘I bow to your experience in that,’ Hardy said with a laugh. The outside door was open when he turned the handle, and just as well as the latchkey wouldn’t have fitted that lock. They went into a dim hallway, with stairs going off to the right and ahead of them, a front door with a number 2 in the middle of it, and to the left, a door bearing the number 1.
‘I presume flat 4 is on the next floor,’ Hardy said, and he moved across the black and white tiles, so like those in the entrance of the house where he and his family were currently living, and he started up the stairs.
Sure enough flat 4 was the one facing them across the hall as they reached the landing. Here the floor tiles had given way to a cheap but clean dark green carpet; light streamed in at a window and lit a somewhat dusty but otherwise healthy-looking aspidistra in an enormous painted clay pot. The landing’s painted walls were dull but clean, and once again, Hardy was struck by the thought that if the quality of the furnishings and decorations were not of the highest standard, the place was, at least, quite clean and reasonably well-maintained.
Maple was about to ring the doorbell of flat 4, but Hardy stopped him and slipped the key into the keyhole and turned the door handle. The door opened with a slight creak and from within, Hardy heard a muffled curse and voice of a frightened-sounding woman called out, ‘Who’s there?’
The inner hall of the flat was dark, and heading in the direction of the voice, Hardy collided with a small, fair-haired woman in a negligée.
‘If it’s about the rent, I told you...oh!’ she said. ‘You’re not the landlord.’
‘No, Miss. We’re the police
,’ Hardy told her. ‘Who are you?’
‘Erm...’ Clearly she was debating whether to make up an alias or to tell the truth.
‘I don’t want to arrest you for hindering a police investigation, but I shall if I have to,’ he warned her. Maple moved forward, his hand going to his pocket as if reaching for handcuffs.
She exhaled heavily, her shoulders sagging. She turned and headed back into the room, saying over her shoulder, ‘Oh very well. I’m Diana Gascoigne. You’d better come in.’
So here was ‘D’, Hardy thought triumphantly, and hard on that a soft voice told him he’d known all along that Dottie Manderson couldn’t have been the mistress of Archie Dunne.
The room was sparingly furnished but with some nice pieces. The view from the window was of a small private park such as those scattered all over London, for the exclusive use of residents of the street or cul-de-sac where it was situated. A soft, gentle snow had begun to fall.
‘So now you know,’ Miss Gascoigne said with a hint of defiance, ‘I’m the ‘other woman’. Have you been looking for me?’
‘Yes, we have,’ Hardy told her, and he took a seat on the sofa opposite her, and a little uncertainly, Maple sat next to him and got out his little notebook and neatly sharpened pencil.
‘I think you’d better give me an alibi for the night Archie Dunne was killed,’ Hardy said.
She lit a cigarette with shaking hands, waving the match to extinguish the flame and flinging it into the ashtray on the arm of her chair, next to her needlework. Her voice trembled as she spoke.
‘Well, I was here, wasn’t I? Like an idiot I just sat here waiting for the man who never came, and wondering why he was so late.’ Her voice broke on the last word and she took a drag of her cigarette. ‘I can’t prove it. No one else knew, or saw me here. I have my own key, of course, so I can come and go as I please. I’d been here most of the afternoon. I’d cooked. Can you believe it? Me! Cooking a meal for my Lord and Master like some good little wife. But that’s love, I suppose. If you’d told me a year ago...But no, to answer your inevitable next question, no one saw me.’
There was a long silence. Hardy watched her, waiting for something more. At last, the silence too much, she burst out, ‘Well surely you don’t think it was me? I’ve lost—well, everything, that’s all. I’ve only lost everything—my future with the man I loved, that I worshipped, even. Why would I...? Whoever did this, they’ve destroyed my life, taken everything,’ she repeated, her voice dying away.
‘I believe there may have been another woman in Dunne’s life as well as yourself,’ Hardy said, watching her face carefully. But she was neither surprised nor upset by the news.
‘That girl from the theatre? Oh yes, he told me about her. But I wasn’t his keeper, you know. I knew there were—would always be—other women. But he loved me, I knew that. He would always come back to me. He was going to divorce Susan and marry me as soon as he was free. I didn’t mind sharing him, even with Susan, not really. I wouldn’t have minded if he never married me, it was only because of the baby. He said he didn’t want the child to be illegitimate. He couldn’t give me an engagement ring, that would have been noticed. But he gave me a brooch, partly as a gift because of the baby and partly as a birthday present. It’s in the bedroom on the dressing-table. You can check if you like.’
Hardy nodded to Maple who left the room, returning almost immediately with a small jewellery box. The brooch was there. Hardy saw immediately that it was a match with the other items he had brought away with him from the jeweller’s. If he’d had any doubts, her next words would have clinched it.
‘He’d just taken the other bits of the set in to be cleaned for me, for my birthday as well. They’ve been in his family for donkey’s years. But he hadn’t given me the other bits, they will still be at the jeweller’s if you want to check. I think I have the name of the chap here somewhere.’
‘Don’t trouble about it, I already know about the jewellery,’ Hardy told her. ‘And the baby, is it his?’
‘Well obviously it’s Archie’s! I mean, what do you take me for? No, don’t answer that. I know what you must think of me.’
‘I’m sorry Miss Gascoigne, but I had to ask, you know. I don’t doubt your word in the slightest. When is the baby due?’
‘Not until June. He—Archie—was so excited. Every time he saw me, he’d stroke my stomach and say, ‘how’s my little chap?’ We used to joke, I’d say why did he think it was a boy, that I was sure it was a girl, and that I was going to call it Henrietta, after my great-aunt, just to tease him...’ She bit her lip, and sighed again, and shielded her eyes with her hand. ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked, scarcely above a breath. ‘I suppose it’s inevitable all this will come out.’
‘I don’t think even the police can cover up a baby,’ Hardy said. ‘I’m very sorry. I’ll do what I can, of course, But I’m sure that Mr Dunne’s family, and your own, will help you.’
‘Oh Mummy and Daddy will hit the roof, but they will stand by me, I don’t doubt that. I expect I’ll mysteriously develop pneumonia and be sent off to some place miles away at the seaside for six months or so, then come back looking quite marvellous, and get on with my life, whilst some total stranger...’ She bit her lip, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She looked at him. ‘Please don’t say anything official, not until I’ve told them. I’m begging you. Let me tell them first in my own way. I couldn’t bear for them to find out from a policeman.’
Hardy promised he would give her time, adding, ‘I don’t believe I’ll need to speak to your parents about this, in any case, Miss Gascoigne.’
He got to his feet. He held out his hand to her. She shook it, a little surprised, and with the air of one sealing a pact.
‘Well good day, Miss Gascoigne, thank you for your assistance. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. Take care of yourself. We’ll see ourselves out.’
The two policemen walked to the corner of the street and in Mortlake Gardens, hailed a cab. As they drove away, Maple said, ‘Phew, what a turn up! D’you reckon she’s telling the truth?’
‘Yes,’ Hardy said, ‘I do.’
*
It was fortunate that Flora was not the sort of woman to be offended by gossip of a scurrilous nature about people who were part of her wider family. It was the day after the dinner party, and Dottie had told her what Alistair and Charles had said about Diana.
‘Don’t let George hear about it, though. You know how protective he is of his family honour,’ she said, and indeed Dottie did. She promised to keep what she’d been told to herself, but making the most of George being out for the day, she felt no compunction about asking Flora what she made of it.
‘I’d say it sounds exactly like the sort of thing Diana would do, to get involved with a married man. Her family proudly hail her as a ‘free thinker’, but I’ve always thought she was an immodest little madam. As Cook would say, she’s no better than she should be. And she does have quite the reputation, I understand, though she’s only, what, twenty?’
‘Twenty in March,’ Dottie confirmed, ‘she’s only two weeks younger than me. I must admit I’m a bit shocked, but it does fit in quite nicely with our little mystery. It certainly makes me wonder if she was with Archie Dunne that night. Because now I’ve had the chance to think about it a bit more—about what that cigarette girl told George, you know Alistair was right, it does sound remarkably idiotic. Talk about a tall tale. Who would do anything like that? Go up to a girl he didn’t even know and persuade her to back him up if anyone asked why he’d been out all evening?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid we swallowed a big fat lie there. At the time, it just didn’t occur to me to doubt her story.’
‘I bet if we’d spoken to her, we’d have known immediately that she wasn’t telling the truth. George is too gullible by half. It’s because he’s so jolly decent, he doesn’t have our nasty suspicious minds,’ Dottie added, and her sister nodded ruefully. Do
ttie got up. ‘Well, thank you for the tea. I’ve got to dash, I told Mother I’d only be an hour, and I’ve still got to buy all the things she asked for. You will be there at the tea tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I’m sure I shall. I’m feeling so much better now I’m taking Cook’s advice and getting up slowly in the mornings, and having lots of sweet tea and toast. I shall weigh a ton by the time this baby arrives, and the sugar will probably rot all my teeth—but at least I shan’t be sick in the mornings. Certainly by afternoon I’m fine.’
Dottie kissed her goodbye and hurried out. She quickly completed the purchases for her mother then took the opportunity to pay a flying visit to Liberty’s. It was a huge relief to find the same woman at the sales counter.
‘I see that gold cloth is all gone,’ Dottie said to her. The assistant smiled.
‘Yes indeed, Madam. Very popular it was, although we don’t seem to be able to get anymore. Were you wanting a bit extra?’
Dottie reassured her on that score. Then she asked, ‘Was all the fabric bought by ladies to make up cloaks, do you know? Only I’ve had a number of comments about mine.’
‘Well I’m only guessing about the cloaks, as one or two of them bought the patterns too, but I don’t know if that’s what they were all using it for. Some said they hadn’t made up their minds, but that the stuff seemed too nice to pass up. Mind you, most of the ladies sent their maids to buy the stuff, so the girls mightn’t have known how it was to be made up. In fact, yes, I think most said they hadn’t decided what they were going to do with the material. I think it was me said about the cloak and how warm and comfortable it would be for going out in this damp weather.’
‘Yes, it was lovely,’ Dottie said. ‘Actually, it’s getting a bit embarrassing. So many ladies I know now have these cloaks, my sister’s husband says we all look like witches from the same coven. But you know what men are like!’
The assistant smiled politely. Then she said, ‘Well Mrs Dunne is a very religious lady, so no one could ever think she would be involved in anything like that devil worship, or anything.’