A Poisoning In Piccadilly

by Lynda Wilcox

  “Oh, do please carry on,” Eleanor said.

  “So, what’s this about then, my lady.” Penny glanced again at Eleanor’s card and slid it along the dressing table top to Polly.

  “New Year’s Eve at the Rudolph.”

  The Dashwoods exchanged a glance.

  “Never had that happen before,” said the irrepressible Polly. “Havin’ a man die like that, I mean. The producer here always says get out there and slay ‘em when it’s our turn to go on. Huh! Bet he wouldn’t like it if we flaming well did.” She wiped her hands on a cloth and picked up a lipstick.

  “Hush, Poll.” Penny turned away from the mirror and looked steadily at Eleanor. “Are you the lady he was dancing with? Was it your husband?”

  “Yes, and no. I’m not married. I’d only met the gentleman that evening, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate what a shock it was to have him die in my arms.”

  “Gor blimey, yes.”

  “I saw in the papers that they think he might have been poisoned?”

  Penny made it a question and Eleanor nodded. “Yes that’s right.”

  “Well, I’m very sorry for you, and for his family if he had any, but I still don’t see why you’re here. What’s it got to do with us?”

  Eleanor had come to see the Dashwoods as a result of the previous evening’s musings, alone in her apartment. She was probably wasting her time, but it was a line of enquiry she hadn’t thought of before and an avenue that she considered ought to be explored. It had never occurred to her that the sisters would be unwilling to talk about the events of New Year’s Eve.

  “I’m sure as her ladyship would be suitably grateful to us.” Polly elbowed her companion.

  “Oh, oh yes, of course.”

  Eleanor opened her bag and took out two one-pound notes. Penny waved them away at the same time that Polly snatched them from her fingers.

  “Give them back this minute, Polly.” Her twin looked stern. “I ain’t answerin’ anythin’ I don’t have to, lady or no lady. It’s the police’s job to ask questions.”

  “And have they asked you anything?” asked Eleanor.

  “Not really,” Polly said, before the other had a chance to speak. “Wanted to know if we’d seen anyone acting suspiciously around your table. I ask you!” She sounded incredulous, as if it were a stupid thing for the police to ask. As perhaps it was. “How were we to know which table it was? Can’t make out faces too clearly in the semi-darkness.” She offered the notes back to Eleanor who shook her head.

  “Keep them.” Penny’s mention of the police had given her an idea. “So, you’ve spoken to Chief Inspector Blount and know what he’s like. I’d never met Mr Eisenbach before that evening, but he seems to think that I killed him. He’s had me at Scotland Yard for an interview.”

  “Lumme!”

  That was Polly, clearly sympathetic, but Penny appeared to be softening slightly, too.

  “I bet that was no fun.”

  “Look,” Eleanor said, laying her cards on the table. “This may be a wild goose chase, but from your positions on the stage, you had a commanding view of the whole ballroom. Will you cast your mind back and tell me what you remember seeing?”

  Penny shrugged. “A sea of jiggling bodies and waiters with trays, mostly.”

  “No, wait Pen, we could see a lot more than that.”

  Surprised that it was Polly who took her enquiry seriously, Eleanor turned towards her.

  “Close your eyes,” she instructed. “What do you remember? What do you see?”

  Polly did as she was told. “Light and dark. People as dark silhouettes standing in the doorway, lit by the lights in the lobby behind them. There was light from the cloakroom hatch as well.” She opened her eyes. “Do you remember, Penny, we saw that attendant chap going through everyone’s pockets.”

  “Golly, yes! We laughed at that and thought he was after their loose change in case he didn’t get any tips.”

  “That’s right. Was that the sort of thing you were after, your ladyship?”

  Keeping the excitement from her voice, Eleanor chose her words with care. “Yes, that’s the sort of thing I meant. Can you remember what time this was?”

  Polly wrinkled her nose. “No, but we could work it out. We’d just sung Who’s Sorry Now? and that’s about a quarter of the way through the set, so...” She glanced at her twin. “Say about ten o’clock time?”

  “That sounds about right to me.” Penny agreed. “We were supposed to finish at one o’clock — not that we got that far, mind you — and we came on stage at nine.”

  Eleanor made a rapid calculation of her own. By ten o’clock, most if not all of Ann’s guests would already have arrived at the Rudolph. They would long since have divested themselves of coats and wraps which would have been hanging up ready to be collected at the end of the evening. If the attendant was in the cloakroom the whole evening, then he too might have observed something useful.

  She brought her attention back to the Dashwoods.

  “Did you notice anything else odd, or untoward, particularly on the dance floor or at the tables?”

  “Well, the attendant was talking to a sharp faced chap at one point. He was leaning on the cloakroom counter, resting on his elbows, watching the room, and the coat bloke seemed to be talking into his ear.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I can’t help you with the rest of the room though. I don’t think I saw anything unusual there, not until...well, you know.”

  “I saw one bloke snorting coke,” said Penny. “He sat at a table to the right of the stage. He was on his own, but a couple of other chaps and a girl joined him shortly after.”

  “Were they all taking cocaine?” Eleanor knew the habit was gaining in popularity, although it had never appealed to her. Even so, she was surprised that the drug had been taken so openly.

  “I don’t know,” Penny admitted. “I got distracted by that trumpeter of Delaney’s who kept pinching my arse.” She flushed. “Begging your ladyship's pardon.”

  Eleanor waved it away. “Do you work with Delaney often?” she asked.

  “Yeah, from time to time.” Polly stood up and took off her robe, dropping it on the chair behind her. She showed no embarrassment at being seen in her underwear as she lifted a dress off its hanger and slipped it over her head. “He’s a good bloke,” she said, once her head was free of fabric. “We don’t mind working with him, though the band are a bit free with their hands, if you get my meaning.” She winked at Eleanor who smiled back.

  “In the military place I worked in during the war, the girls called it Desert Disease,” she said.

  “Eh?” Penny said, pulling on the hem of her twin’s dress to bring it down over waist and hips.

  “Wandering palms.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one,” Polly said, pulling off her bandeau and brushing her hair. “I like that. I might pass that on to Rowley Robinson. He calls himself a comedian, but he can’t half use some new jokes.”

  “Yeah, well, Reggie Clark is going to have that trumpet shoved where the sun don’t shine if he keeps treating my rear end as his own private property.” Penny turned again to Eleanor. “Going back to what you said earlier, some of the band might have seen stuff at the Rudolph that night. They’re sitting down, so their view is level with other people.”

  “That’s true,” Eleanor said. “Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that.” She got to her feet. “Right, I’ll leave you good ladies in peace. You’ve been very helpful. Thank you so much for your time.”

  “Did you hear that, Pen? Good ladies, she called us. Haven’t been called that in a long time.”

  Polly dissolved into fits of laughter, and Eleanor slipped out the door.

  Back on the street she reflected on her encounter. She had been sincere in her thanks to the Dashwoods, but had she actually learned anything? Enough, perhaps, to make a visit to the Rudolph hotel seem like a good idea.

  To save time, she hailed a taxi, but even so she was too la
te.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” wailed a tearful receptionist. “I’m afraid you can’t see the cloakroom attendant. Harry Lamb has just been murdered!”

  Chapter 22

  Eleanor gripped the edge of the desk and took a moment to steady herself.

  “Oh, no. When did this happen?”

  “Sometime this morning. The police have just arrived and are in there now.” With a nod of her neat head she indicated a door to her right marked Staff Only.

  “Good,” Eleanor said, briskly. “Then I’ll go through. I have some information the police might think relevant.”

  She did not wait for permission but strode to the door and into the service corridor beyond. Finding her way from there was easy, she just followed the sound of Chief Inspector Blount’s booming voice.

  “Confound it, doctor! How long has he been dead?”

  Further down the passage a door stood open. With a degree of caution Eleanor peered around the jamb. Inside Blount loomed over a man kneeling beside a body. The dead cloakroom attendant lay on his back, his arms above his head as if trying to reach the counter. The hatchway above him was closed, blocking the view into the ballroom.

  “Only about an hour, I’d say.” The doctor grunted and turned the body over. “Hello! That’s interesting.”

  Eleanor felt the bile rise to her throat at the sight of a pool of blood beneath the dead man.

  “So, what you’ve got in your hand didn’t kill him, Chief. He was stabbed.”

  He got to his feet and Eleanor stared at Blount. On his open palm reposed a little glass vial. Too far away to read the label, she recognised it as a small medicine, or poison, bottle.

  Blount let out a string of curses as Eleanor stepped inside the cloakroom and into his line of sight.

  “Good afternoon, Chief Inspector. Another murder?”

  “Lady Bakewell?” He looked her up and down. “Yes, it’s another murder, and you’re on the spot again. Well, well.”

  Touché! Eleanor felt her cheeks go warm. “Yes, I came to see him” — she pointed to the remains of the cloakroom attendant — “to ask about New Year’s Eve.”

  “Did you indeed? Well you can’t do so now, and you can’t stay here, this is a crime scene. I’d like to talk to you, though, so will you go and wait for me in the Lounge. I shan’t be long.”

  Eleanor nodded, suddenly feeling nauseous. “Very well.”

  Back in the lobby, she glanced around for the hotel’s lounge, then made her way instead to the Reception desk again.

  The manager looked harassed as he berated his still tearful employee. “Really, Miss Trent, that will do. What will our guests think to see you in such a state? You are lowering the tone of the entire establishment. If you don’t compose yourself immediately, I shall be forced to send you home, without pay, until such time as you are fit to represent the Rudolph again.”

  Not surprisingly, this callous attitude did nothing to console poor Miss Trent, who burst into a fresh bout of weeping. Eleanor seized her opportunity.

  “Lady Eleanor Bakewell.” She extended her hand to the manager, who bowed low. “Do you have another member of staff who could relieve Miss Trent and cover the reception desk for half an hour or so? I’ll be more than happy to buy her a cup of tea. She must have had quite a shock.”

  “Um, well yes, I suppose Gladys in the office could do that. It is most kind of your ladyship.”

  “Not at all. Come along, Miss Trent, and dry those tears.” She put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “A nice cup of tea is what you need.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Miss Trent sniffled and wiped her eyes on a sodden handkerchief. Eleanor took a clean, dry cotton square from her pocket and handed it over.

  A few minutes later, ensconced in a quiet corner of the lounge and unaware that she was the subject of a gentle and kindly interrogation, Miss Trent was indulging herself in a cream cake to accompany her tea.

  Lady Eleanor — who Miss Trent would later tell her sister was a real fine lady with exquisite manners and a beautiful smile — took her time with the girl. She expected Chief Inspector Blount to leave her kicking her heels while he went about his business, and made good use of her time in the interim.

  “There. Feeling any better?” she asked, as the last morsel of cake disappeared inside Miss Trent’s rosebud mouth.

  “Much better, thank you, my lady.”

  “You poor thing. Was it you that found Mr Lamb?”

  For a moment Miss Trent’s bottom lip trembled, but fortified by cake, tea, and genuine sympathy, she soon rallied. “Yes, my lady.”

  “What took you into the cloakroom?”

  “We had a delivery of cloakroom tickets this morning. They come in a big box, they do.” Her hands sketched a rough rectangle in the air. “They were put by the side of my desk in Reception and when Harry came in, I told him to take the box with him. I kept falling over it, you see.”

  Eleanor nodded. “It seems a little early for him to be at work. I take it the cloakroom is only open when the ballroom is in use?”

  “He occasionally helps out with portering when we’re busy. It earns him extra cash, though he seems to have been in funds since the new year. I heard him turn down an extra shift only yesterday.”

  So, Lamb had had plenty of money lately. Was that significant?

  “Perhaps he was a betting man and won it on the horses.”

  “I don’t know. I think he would have said if he had. He bragged enough when he had a win on the new football pools.”

  Eleanor took a sip of tea. “I’m sorry, you were telling me about that box of tickets.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, when Harry came in, I asked him to take it through — it’s fairly heavy and I’m not really supposed to leave the desk. He said he’d be back for it in a minute, but when he never returned, and me stubbing my toe on it every time I moved, I went to remind him. That’s when...when...”

  “It’s all right, Miss Trent. Please don’t go upsetting yourself again. I think you’ve been very brave and borne up well under a considerable shock and strain. Really, I am most surprised that the manager should have taken the tone he did with you. You are clearly a credit to the Rudolph. He should be valuing employees such as yourself, not upbraiding you for a very natural reaction and a show of human feeling.”

  Miss Trent preened under this flattery. “Your ladyship is very kind.”

  “Not at all. It was obvious that you needed a break and something to fortify you. Providing you with tea was the least I could do. We women must stick together.”

  The receptionist so far forgot herself as to smile broadly and simper. “Oh quite, quite.”

  “Did you know Mr Lamb well?” asked Eleanor.

  “Oh no, barely at all. I always found him a bit too flash, if you get my meaning. I wondered a time or two why Mr Weaver, the manager, gave him a job, especially when he’s always at pains to employ people who are well-presented and well-spoken.”

  “No doubt he had his reasons,” Eleanor said, and made a mental note to find out what they were. “I don’t suppose you saw anyone go through that door in the lobby after Mr Lamb had gone through it to the cloakroom?”

  Miss Trent screwed up her blotched face in an effort of memory, but shook her head. “No, it was quite busy around then, we had several guests wanting to check out, and a family from Liverpool waiting to check in. I’m afraid I never noticed.”

  “Is that the only entrance to the corridor?”

  “No, there’s a door at the far end that leads to various offices and the housekeeping area.”

  So, the killer could have come from either direction.

  When Miss Trent had left to return to her desk, Eleanor poured herself a second cup of tea and took stock of what she’d learned.

  It wasn’t much, and each time she thought she was getting closer to understanding Mr Eisenbach’s death, some new fact or piece of information came along that knocked her ideas into a cocked hat and made a mockery of her
thinking.

  Was the murder of Harry Lamb, ex-cloakroom attendant at the Rudolph Hotel, connected with what had happened on New Year’s Eve? It was too much of a coincidence to think otherwise. What part had he played, then?

  The Dashwoods had seen him checking pockets, yet Eisenbach was not such a fool as to leave vitally important papers in his coat. Maybe the singers were right in their assumption that Lamb had merely been after loose change. Such trivial pickings would not account for his sudden extra income, as described by Miss Trent, though. There had to be another reason for that.

  Eleanor sipped her tea and thought about pickpockets. Major Armitage had assumed that Eisenbach had the papers on his person on the night he was killed. Eleanor doubted that, but if for some reason he had, then a pickpocket might have tried to lift them. That was the reason behind her asking Ann if any of her friends did party tricks.

  What, though, if as well as taking money out of people’s coats, Harry Lamb was also putting something in? Was that how the spies were passing things on?

  Eleanor followed this line of thought for a while, drumming her fingers on the table, before deciding it was unprofitable and discarding it.

  She glanced at her watch; it was well past lunchtime. Miss Trent might have had her cake, but Eleanor had eaten nothing since breakfast. She was about to signal to a waiter when Chief Inspector Blount finally put in an appearance.

  “Well now, my lady.” His stern face looked down at her. “This is the second murder I’ve been called to and found you on the spot. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t arrest you immediately?”

  Chapter 23

  Eleanor surveyed the Chief Inspector coolly. “None whatsoever, Chief Inspector. In fact I can think of any number of reasons why you should. Just as many as you can, no doubt.” She stood up. “However, I’ve missed my lunch and, I rather think, so have you. In that case, if you have no objections, why don’t you interrogate me over a nice plate of egg and chips in the dining room?”

  For only the second time in his life — the first being when his wife, the sainted and much put upon Thelma, had agreed to marry him — Blount was left speechless. About to demur and assert his authority, he meekly fell in behind Eleanor as she sailed from the lounge and into the Rudolph’s main restaurant.