by Caron Allan
‘Yes. Do you know this—his wife?’ Dottie asked. ‘I’ve seen her at Mrs Penterman’s tea and she came to our ball, but I’ve never spoken to her. Is she a nice woman?’
‘Oh she’s lovely. A very sweet girl actually, and of course, fabulously wealthy. No, sadly I can’t find anything about her to disapprove, and you may be sure she knows nothing of you, it’s nothing personal on her side. I feel sure this was all his mother’s idea, dear Gloria is something of a schemer, I fear. I can only hope Cyril’s worthy of the girl. Oh he’s very charming, of course, and as a nephew he is a delight, but as a husband... Between you and I, Dottie, I’m beginning to wonder if Cyril’s not something of a bounder, as we used to say in my youth. Things are beginning to reach my ears. Well, time will tell, I suppose. We may yet come to feel that you’ve had a fortunate escape. Now, what was it you really wanted to talk to me about?’
It was a relief to change the subject, and Dottie had decided to be completely open. She told Mrs Gerard all about the cloak, and the message attached to it by an unknown hand at the Moyers’. And the murmured comments and the pictures.
‘Actually,’ Dottie concluded, ‘I was wondering if you had seen anyone wearing anything similar, or had heard of anyone talking about a gold cloak?’
‘But that’s not what you asked me the other evening?’
‘Oh no. No, I also wanted to know if you had heard any gossip about Archie Dunne and my brother-in-law George’s sister Diana. Someone told me that it was well-known that there was...’ she sought for the appropriate word, ‘an involvement there. And I was just wondering if it was true. I know I’ve got no business asking such a thing, but...well I don’t feel I can ask George, or Diana herself for that matter.’
‘Hmm. You’ve had a busy time of it lately. Finding men dying in the street, upsetting widows, getting into trouble with your lovely gold cloak, listening to gossip, losing potential suitors.’ It was all said quite without malice, and Dottie could hardly pretend it wasn’t all true. She said nothing, and Mrs Gerard hesitated, then added, with a gentle smile, ‘No wonder you look worn out. I don’t suppose you felt much like sleeping last night.’
‘No.’
Mrs Gerard set down her cup and leaned back in her chair. She seemed to be thinking. Finally, she said, ‘Yes, I believe I have heard some gossip about Archie and Diana. I think it is probably common knowledge. By the time these things reach my ears, everyone else has usually already heard. In this case, everyone except her own family, I should imagine. I don’t know how they contrived to meet one another. No doubt some arrangement had been made. It’s all very sordid. He was more than ten years older than her, not to mention a married man. A nice fellow, as a matter of fact, though a natural philanderer. Anything in a skirt, as they say. I should think she’s very upset, and his death is likely to complicate matters as the families socialise quite a bit with one another, so Diana and Susan necessarily must be running into each other on a regular basis. But I suppose in time it will all be forgotten. At least, I hope so. One hopes these foolish childish obsessions will wear out in time, and that Diana will settle down into a good marriage. Susan was a fool to have married him, but he was such a charmer, and of course, her family have pots of money, whereas his were...’
‘The familiar old story,’ Dottie remarked sagely.
Mrs Gerard nodded. ‘Indeed.’
‘I wish I knew who’d killed Archie, though, and why,’ Dottie said. ‘It would be awful to think he was killed by someone he knew.’
‘Better than an opportunistic crime merely after his pocketbook, committed by a stranger who will kill again and again.’
Dottie shivered and looked alarmed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘I should think it was either a jealous husband or an angry father, myself.’
They sat quietly for a moment. Then Mrs Gerard asked if Dottie would like more coffee. Dottie declined. Mrs Gerard then invited Dottie to take a tour of the house, and as they went, the change of subject soothed her and she found herself genuinely interested in the beautiful old house. What George and Flora’s modern home lost in character and charm, it made up for in comfort and convenience. Mrs Gerard’s home was four hundred and fifty years old and was large, sprawling and cost the earth to heat and light the long corridors and dark rooms, but charm it possessed in abundance.
‘There’s even a priest-hole,’ Mrs Gerard told Dottie, leading her to what had once been an upstairs parlour, and she smiled in delight at Dottie’s childlike enjoyment as the panel moved, revealing the place. ‘It was in frequent use during the civil war, I understand. Our family were of Catholic origin and our history dates back to the days of the Conqueror. There is another, smaller one in the servants’ hall in the back of the house downstairs.’
By the time they had meandered all over the house, neglecting neither attics, cellars nor priest-holes, lunch was served, and so they moved into the dining-room where the forbidding countenances of many generations glowered down upon them and gave Dottie the urge to hurry her meal.
‘A grim lot, aren’t they? You might not think it to look at them, but they involved themselves in enough scandal to disgrace or offend half the top families in the country. To my mind that makes them seem a bit more human and a bit less daunting. And so I don’t mind them glaring at me while I eat my lunch. But they can be a bit much for outsiders to take. And those two on the end lost their heads, literally, during Elizabeth’s reign.’
‘Our family portraits are in the library,’ Dottie said, ‘I don’t think any of them were executed though. They’re so grimed up it’s hard to tell what they even look like.’
‘Best way,’ Mrs Gerard agreed. ‘Tell me about your work at Carmichael’s. You must meet a lot of people.’
‘Yes, but not always nice people,’ Dottie said ruefully. The remainder of the meal passed with her recalling various incidents and examples of bad behaviour on the part of “top” families, as Mrs Gerard was pleased to call them. They lingered for some time after the meal was over before moving into the drawing-room, whose windows faced west and often allowed a view of a lovely sunset, although with the current grey skies and drizzle, it seemed unlikely this evening’s sunset would be a glorious one. They talked easily on fashion and literature, and travel.
‘I’m going away next week. Always try to get away for January and part of February. Tunisia, this time; sometimes I go to Morocco or Egypt, it depends on what suits me at the time. So I shan’t see you for a while. I hope you’ll take care of yourself, and no doubt you’re far too sensible to pine for a young so-and-so like my nephew appears to be. Once again, I’m so very sorry, but you may yet feel that things turned out for the best.’
‘Possibly,’ Dottie said, wondering if it was time to leave. But Mrs Gerard said, ‘let me just ring for tea, and then you can tell me about that cloak business again.’
The same maid who had served them before came now with a tea tray. Clearly Mrs Gerard did not keep a large staff. It wasn’t truly time for a full afternoon tea, and so there were no accompaniments to their drink, for which Dottie was grateful as she was still full from her lunch. But the hot drink was welcome.
She briefly summarised the business with the cloak. She had left out many details, uncertain how much she wanted Mrs Gerard to know.
‘It sounds rather fishy,’ Mrs Gerard said. ‘Go back to Liberty’s and ask the girl how many customers bought the cloth and what they said they were going to do with it.’
‘I’ve done that,’ Dottie admitted.
Mrs Gerard gave her an appraising look. ‘Kept that bit back, didn’t you? Which makes me wonder what else you’re not telling me.’
There was a moment’s silence. Dottie, feeling like a traitor, was about to reveal all when Mrs Gerard said, ‘so who did the shop girl tell you had bought the stuff?’
Dottie told her.
Mrs Gerard nodded. ‘Odd that the girl who works for Susan Dunne bought some more of the cloth. Think she wanted to
make herself a copy of her mistress’s? If she had bought it on Susan’s orders, she wouldn’t have paid cash, she would have put it on their account.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘That picture’s an odd thing too. You say it was exactly the same picture in both houses?’
‘Yes, even the frames were alike. Though they were prints rather than paintings, you know, just copies.’
‘Hmm. Wonder where they got them from. You might find out. Though whether that would tell you anything, I don’t know. Perhaps do a spot of research on this Queen.’
‘What about the messages?’ Dottie asked.
Mrs Gerard was attentive. ‘Messages? I thought there was only one?’
Dottie, blushing and annoyed with herself, told Mrs Gerard about finding the pin the second time, although with no message attached, and about the whispered message at the Moyers’.
Mrs Gerard was deep in thought. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed once for half past three, and again Dottie wondered if she ought to go. Mrs Gerard said, ‘Clearly there is something strange going on. It doesn’t seem likely this fabric has been purchased for what one might term ‘normal use’. If it had been, we would have seen people wearing it, and you wouldn’t have had those messages. So it’s a secret and something to be protected and hidden. We need to know more.’
‘Flora and I are planning another visit to Susan Dunne this evening. I’m hoping she will be able to tell us something, so long as she agrees to see us of course. She got rather agitated last time and ordered us out. And of course, I don’t really know her apart from through Muriel.’
‘Then perhaps go to see Muriel, or ask her to invite Susan and you to her home?’ Mrs Gerard said. She stood up. ‘I do hate to be rude, dear, and it has been so lovely to see you. But I need to have my nap before dinner. Do take care, dear, and I’ll see you when I get home again after my trip.’ She gripped Dottie’s arm in a tight clasp that conveyed strong emotion.
Dottie kissed Mrs Gerard on the cheek. From nowhere the maid reappeared with her coat and hat, and Dottie departed.
Upon reaching home, and reassuring her parents that she was perfectly well, she immediately went to telephone to Flora. Flora’s maid Cissie answered and whilst Dottie waited for Cissie to find her mistress and bring her to the phone, Dottie leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. How she wished this day was over. Yet there was still an evening with her parents to get through.
‘Hello? Dottie?’ Flora sounded anxious, Dottie thought.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ Dottie said, and realised her voice sounded low and dispirited. She made an effort to inject a little life into it. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’m so tired, I don’t think I can face going out to see Susan Dunne. Can we go tomorrow instead?’
‘Of course we can. Are you all right? You sound awfully tired. How was lunch at Mrs Gerard’s?’
‘It was very nice, I had a lovely time. But look, I really am so tired. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. What time?’
‘After lunch, about two o’clock?’
That’s fine. I must go, see you tomorrow.’
After saying goodbye and hanging up the receiver, Dottie decided that she would follow Mrs Gerard’s example and she too went for a nap before dinner. What a relief she didn’t have to go out again! And she felt doubly relieved that now she could just put her head on her pillow and let everything go.
Chapter Nineteen
After her nap and a quiet dinner with her parents, Dottie was feeling much more herself, and vaguely restless, she went into the library, curled up in a comfy elderly leather armchair and telephoned to her sister again. Flora immediately bombarded her with questions about how she was feeling and what she was going to do.
‘Do?’ Dottie laughed bitterly. ‘What do you mean? There’s nothing to “do” about Cyril Penterman except forget him. It’s not as though we were engaged. Life goes on exactly as it did before I met him. Honestly Flora, you’re as bad as the parents. They’ve been watching me like hawks all through dinner, and talking to me in hushed tones as if I were on my deathbed. It’s driving me round the bend. I was hoping for some good old-fashioned common sense from you.’
At the other end of the line, Flora rolled her eyes at her husband and hastily apologised. Dottie said, ‘Listen Flora, I want to go and see Susan. Shall we go tonight or...’
‘Tonight?’ her sister protested. ‘But...’
‘Oh very well, we’ll go early tomorrow. She’s quite likely to be at home first thing in the morning.’
Again Flora protested. ‘You know I don’t do early mornings at the moment.’
‘Well, it’s either tonight or tomorrow morning—you choose.’
‘But...’
‘Let’s make it tonight. It’s only a quarter past eight; if you leave now, you can be here in five minutes. We would be at Susan’s by a quarter to nine, possibly a little earlier. That’s a perfectly acceptable time to arrive on someone’s doorstep for coffee.’
‘I need to change first,’ Flora said, sounding slightly put out, ‘Now it’s no use complaining. If you want me to come—or should I say—if you want me to take you, you’ll have to give me a few minutes to sort myself out. I’m not fit to be seen.’ She put down the phone to end any argument. She huffed at her husband in annoyance and grumbled all the way upstairs to her dressing-room where she flung open all the doors of her wardrobes and stared petulantly at her outfits.
George ambled in and kissed her on the neck, then asked if she wanted him to drive them, but she said no, she would drive. And after a few more minutes of deliberating, she selected some clothing and got ready.
It was a quarter past nine by the time they arrived at Susan Dunne’s doorstep, the weather was horrid and both Flora and Dottie were in bad moods with one another. Flora parked right outside the house and they hurried up the steps and pounded on the door, squeezing together under the porch roof to keep out of the rain.
Inside the house, there were lights were on, but for several minutes no one responded to their knock. Dottie saw one of the upstairs curtains twitch but couldn’t tell if it was Susan who looked out, or her maid. She couldn’t even tell if the person had glanced down to the front door and seen them huddled there, or only glanced at the road, which was deserted apart from Flora’s car parked at the kerb, and one other car a few doors down.
Flora knocked again ‘just in case’, as she said, though there was no earthly chance that their first knock had gone unheard, Mrs Dunne’s knocker was a heavy old-fashioned brass affair with a rap like the Day of Judgement. Again they waited.
Finally, they heard the sound of footsteps clattering along the hall. Dottie expected to see Susan herself opening the door, as the footsteps had sounded like those of someone wearing heeled outdoor shoes, but when the door was opened it was by the maid, Leonora. She held the door with her shoulder, only half-open. She wore a worried expression.
‘Is everything...?’ began Flora, but Leonora cut across her,
‘I’m terribly sorry, Madam, but I’m afraid Mrs Dunne isn’t able to receive visitors this evening. Erm—I’m afraid she’s not very well.’ This last bit was added in a near-whisper.
‘Perhaps we can help?’ Dottie suggested, and put a hand on the door to push it wider.
Leonora braced the door, and said firmly, ‘No, Madam, if you please. I can’t let you in, I’m afraid. Mrs Dunne can’t possibly see anyone this evening. If you’d like to leave a card or message? Then good evening, ladies.’
And she shut the door with a bang. They heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock and bolts being drawn across at both the top and the bottom.
Flora and Dottie exchanged a look, then shrugged their shoulders. Clearly they had no choice but to leave, and without another word, they hurried down the steps and got into the car.
‘Look,’ Dottie said, ‘someone’s looking out of the window upstairs.’ Flora leaned across to see.
‘Well, that must b
e Susan, Leonora couldn’t have got all the way up there so soon. I wonder if she really is ill or if that was just an excuse to get rid of us.’
‘Oh definitely a ruse, I should say,’ said Dottie. ‘Although, if she is expecting a baby, I suppose she might not be feeling too well.’
‘Hmm. If she is expecting a baby. Well, she didn’t let us in, and we can’t sit here all night. Do you want to go home or come back to ours?’
At that moment a loud rapping sound on the driver’s window beside Flora made both of them jump with fright. A figure in a hat and greatcoat stood there. It took several seconds for them to realise it was the policeman, William Hardy. Flora pulled her window down a little, not wanting to let in too much rain.
‘Yes, Sergeant, can I help you?’
‘I just wondered why you were calling on Mrs Dunne this evening?’
Flora and Dottie looked at one another, mildly irritated.
‘We just wanted to make sure she was all right,’ Dottie said, leaning across to speak to him. Further than that she was not prepared to explain.
‘Would you follow me, please? I’d like to speak with you both, but this isn’t the place.’
And he was gone. Again Flora and Dottie exchanged a look, this time of puzzlement. Dottie peered out through the streaming rain. Did he want them to get out of the car? But then a car pulled alongside theirs, and they could see he was in the driver’s seat. He signalled to them to follow him. Flora nodded and mimed ‘all right,’ and pressed the self-starter. They followed him all the way back to the police station, carefully observing all speed limits.
‘I do hope we’re not in any trouble,’ Flora said, ‘I don’t think George will be very happy if he has to come down to the police station to pay a fine for us.’
‘And you think Mother will be any happier?’
They parked the car and went up the steps to find Hardy waiting for them just inside the door.