Hasty Death

by Marion Chesney

  I am silent in the pub,

  I am silent on a bally peak in Darien;

  For I stuff away for life

  Shoving peas in with a knife,

  Because I am at heart a Vegetarian

  No more the milk of cows

  Shall pollute my private house

  Than the milk of the wild mares of the Barbarian

  I will stick to port and sherry,

  For they are so very, very,

  So very, very, very Vegetarian

  —G. K. CHESTERTON

  The fact that the earl and countess agreed to their daughter’s attending Angela Stockton’s lecture accompanied only by her new companion was prompted by parental weariness. Where had they gone wrong? They had supplied her with the best governess—or so they had believed—and the fact that they saw very little of her until she became of an age to be a débutante could not surely have created any problem, for she had been brought up as a lady of her class.

  They had enjoyed their visit to Nice, the long miles separating them from their unruly daughter having largely served to put Rose out of their minds. Angela Stockton’s lecture seemed a safe enough place for her to be seen. Also, there was the carrot of Mrs. Stockton’s marriageable son.

  Luncheon was to be served before the lecture. Mrs. Stockton’s impressive home was in Knightsbridge. Daisy, self-conscious in her new grand clothes supplied from Rose’s wardrobe, felt she would have enjoyed the outing better had not Lady Polly sent her lady’s maid, Humphrey, to keep an eye on them. Daisy was conscious the whole time of Humphrey’s hot and jealous eyes.

  A fork luncheon was served in a long dining-room. The other guests were women of indeterminate age, some of them wearing very odd clothes, consisting of cotton embellished with cabalistic designs. There were a few men, mostly reedy and starved-looking.

  Mrs. Angela Stockton greeted them warmly. She was dressed in black velvet with stars and moons embroidered in silver around the hem of her gown. A heavy silver belt was around her waist and silver necklaces jangled from her thin neck. She had hair of an improbable shade of red, piled up and held in place with what looked like two ivory chopsticks. Her heavily rouged mouth was surrounded by a radius of wrinkles. Her eyes, outlined in kohl, were very large and pale blue.

  “I am flattered that one so young and beautiful should grace my humble home,” she said. “May I introduce my son, Peregrine.”

  Daisy reflected that Peregrine looked like a stage-door Johnny. He had thick black hair, well-oiled, and a thick luxuriant black moustache. His waistcoat was a violent affair of red and gold silk.

  Rose and Daisy moved on into the dining-room. “Rabbit food,” hissed Daisy.

  They helped themselves to nut cutlets and salad. There was no wine, simply jugs of water.

  Daisy and Rose sat down at a table. “It’s quite tasty but they might at least have served the nut cutlets hot,” complained Rose. “And this house is abominably cold.” She signalled to Humphrey and asked her to fetch her fur coat from the anteroom where they had left their outer wrappings. “Miss Levine’s coat as well.”

  Humphrey glared at Daisy and then went off, returning shortly with their coats.

  “That’s better,” said Rose. “I think we should hear what the lecture is about and then talk to Mrs. Stockton afterwards. We cannot ask her outright about the ten thousand pounds or she will ask how we came by our information. But we can get to know her and find out if there is anything about her, any weakness, that would cause her to be blackmailed.”

  “You could get close to that son of hers easily enough,” said Daisy. “He’s leering at you across the room.”

  “I don’t think I could bear it.” Rose speared a lettuce leaf and looked at it gloomily. “I am going to be quite hungry after this. Did you see any bread?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “Then it’s more nut cutlets, I’m afraid. Oh, look, they are serving coffee and tea at that other table.”

  They helped themselves to more cutlets, but found that the tea was camomile and the coffee, dandelion.

  “I’m sure it’s all very healthy,” mourned Daisy. “What I’d give for a pint of beer and a meat pie.”

  At last they were summoned to the lecture, which was to take place in a drawing-room on the first floor.

  “Who is Rudolf Steiner anyway?” asked Daisy as they took their seats.

  “I asked Jarvis this morning. Pa’s secretary is a fund of knowledge. He said that Steiner is an occult philosopher.”

  “Occult? Witches and warlocks?”

  “No, something to do with the world of the spirit.”

  Mrs. Stockton stood on a stage which had been erected at the end of the room. “My lord, ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “As you know, like Mr. Steiner, we are all dedicated vegetarians. Meat corrupts the body and banishes us from the world of the spirit.

  “As our great teacher said, ‘The soul which gives itself over to the inner illumination recognizes in itself not only what it was before the illumination; it also recognizes what it has become only through this illumination.’ ”

  “What does that mean?” whispered Daisy.

  “Blessed if I know,” said Rose, burrowing deeper into her furs.

  Despite the warmth provided by the fur coat given to her by Rose, Daisy could feel the tip of her nose turning pink and her feet were like two blocks of ice.

  Mrs. Stockton’s words drifted in and out of her brain. “ ‘No one is hindered from making fruitful in the natural and social realms that which is brought over from the wellspring of spiritual life by those who have the right to speak of the principle of initiation,’ so speaks the master.”

  Then Daisy began to become uneasily aware of gas building up under her stays. She realized she would need to get out of the room before she delivered herself of what her family in the East End would call a “real knicker ripper.”

  She murmured an excuse and edged out of the room, trying to walk and keep her buttocks firmly clenched at the same time.

  Daisy went down the stairs and stood in the hall, but before she could relieve herself of gas, an arm went round her waist and a voice in her ear said, “Looking for me, my pretty?”

  She swung round and found Peregrine Stockton smiling down at her and twisting his moustache like a stage villain.

  “I needed some air,” said Daisy. Her eyes, which were green and slightly prominent, felt as if they would burst from their sockets and roll across the floor like two marbles.

  “What about a kiss for a poor chap?”

  He tried to slide his arm around her waist again, but Daisy backed off and then exploded. A loud sound like a raspberry echoed around the hall and Daisy stood there with her face flaming.

  “Hem, well, jolly cold day, what,” he said, backing away. “Get back to hear Mother’s lecture, what.”

  He darted off up the stairs. Daisy was scarlet with mortification. Her first day out as a companion in all her grand clothes and she had disgraced herself. She trailed miserably back up the stairs. But the first thing that struck her when she entered the drawing-room was that she was far from being the only sufferer. The effect of nut cutlets and raw vegetables on so many middle-aged and elderly digestive systems was taking its toll.

  She joined Rose, who was sitting with a scented handkerchief pressed to her nose.

  “There’s an awful smell in here. What is it?” whispered Rose.

  “Essence of fart,” whispered Daisy. “It was them nut cutlets.”

  “Daisy, you must not use these crude Anglo-Saxon words.”

  “What should I have said?”

  “Shhh, I’ll tell you afterwards.”

  Mrs. Stockton was now lecturing her audience on the benefits of vegetarianism. Then she asked for questions. One middle-aged man who looked fit and healthy, certainly compared to the others about him, rose to his feet. “I am a vegetarian,” he said. “But I think people should be told that there are many attractive and hot vegetarian dishes which
are just as good as meat. Eating too many raw vegetables can be upsetting to the stomach.” A sudden volley like gunshot from the ladies behind him interrupted his speech. Daisy emulated Rose, and pressed a handkerchief to her nose. The gentleman tried to go on, but his face suddenly creased up with laughter. He tried to control himself but a great guffaw burst from his lips.

  “The lecture is finished,” shouted Mrs. Stockton. There was a polite smattering of applause.

  Mrs. Stockton then positioned herself at the door of the drawing-room to say goodbye to her guests.

  Rose shook her hand and said, “I wonder if I might consult you. I am very interested in vegetarianism.”

  “Indeed?” Mrs. Stockton gave a gratified smile. “If you would care to wait until I say goodbye to everyone, then we can have a cosy chat.”

  Rose and Daisy retreated back into the drawing-room. At last Mrs. Stockton begged them to follow her to her study.

  “You may wait here for us, Humphrey,” ordered Rose.

  Mrs. Stockton led them across the landing and into a room where the walls were draped in black velvet and a scented candle burnt on a table, also draped in black.

  “Now, where shall I begin?” she began brightly.

  A butler entered with a card on a tray. “A Captain Cathcart to see you, madam.”

  “You must tell him I am otherwise engaged.”

  “The gentleman said it would only take a few minutes.”

  “What can he want? Oh, do show him up.” She smiled at Rose. “Another of my admirers, no doubt, but I confess I cannot quite place the name.”

  “Captain Cathcart,” said Rose, “is a private investigator.”

  “Oh dear, how common. I must get rid of him immediately.” She reached out to ring the bell, but at that moment Harry was ushered into the room.

  “I should not have allowed you to come up,” said Mrs. Stockton. “I do not entertain persons.”

  “Just one question,” said Harry. “Good afternoon, Lady Rose, Miss Levine. Mrs. Stockton, was Mr. Pomfret blackmailing you?

  “Who, pray, is Mr. Pomfret?”

  “The young man who has just been murdered. The young man to whom you gave ten thousand pounds.”

  Rose studied Mrs. Stockton’s face. It had become almost mask-like. “Ah, yes, I remember now. He was interested in setting up a series of lectures on vegetarianism. A worthy cause. I always support worthy causes.”

  “Mr. Pomfret was a loyal member of the Beefsteak Club. They hold dinners every month and a great quantity of beef is eaten.”

  “Then he must have reformed. Please leave. Lady Rose, you must forgive me, but my exertions this afternoon have given me the headache. Perhaps another time?”

  “Certainly,” said Rose. “Would tomorrow afternoon be convenient?”

  “I should be honoured. Shall we say three o’clock? Yes? Good. Now, if you will excuse me. Captain Cathcart, do not come here again.”

  “Let’s go to my office and discuss what we have,” said Harry as they walked down the stairs.

  “I’d best get rid of Humphrey,” said Rose. “We’ll never get any privacy with her around. She disapproves of Daisy and she is jealous.”

  Miss Jubbles surveyed the arrivals with gloom. “Tea, please, Miss Jubbles,” said Harry pleasantly as he ushered Daisy and Rose into the inner office.

  Miss Jubbles felt a lump in her throat as she opened a cupboard and took out the pretty cups and saucers reserved for guests. She went out into the corridor and into the toilet, where she filled the kettle at the sink. Once back in the office, she pulled out the gas ring by the fire, lit it, and placed the kettle on it.

  She arranged three cups on a tray, then milk and sugar and a plate of Abernethy biscuits. The kettle boiled. She put tea-leaves into a fat yellow china teapot. Miss Jubbles stared at the tray. Sugar tongs. She had forgotten the sugar tongs. She went back to the cupboard and her eye fell on a packet of powdered senna pods. Miss Jubbles suffered from constipation. All at once she thought she saw a way of getting rid of these unwanted guests.

  She poured three cups of tea, but to two of the cups she added a spoonful of the senna powder.

  Miss Jubbles carried the tray in. She carefully placed the two already poured cups in front of Daisy and Rose and then poured a cup for Harry.

  “Thank you, Miss Jubbles,” said Harry. “That will be all.”

  Miss Jubbles retreated.

  Rose raised her hand to pick up a cup, but Daisy said, “Don’t drink it.”

  “Why?” asked Rose.

  “There’s some sort of powder floating in it. I bet that Jubbles female put something in our tea.”

  “Come now,” said Harry. “This is not the theatre. She would not dare.”

  “Then get her to drink it.”

  Harry looked amused. “Very well, Daisy. If it will put your silly fears at rest.”

  “You can’t call her Daisy anymore,” protested Rose. “Now she is my companion, you must address her as Miss Levine.”

  Harry went to the door and opened it. “Miss Jubbles, would you step in here for a moment?”

  Miss Jubbles came in and stood there meekly, her hands folded.

  “Miss Jubbles,” said Harry, picking up Rose’s cup. “Please drink this.”

  “I r-really d-don’t feel l-like drinking tea at the moment,” stammered Miss Jubbles.

  “It’s simply to put Miss Levine’s fears at rest. She thinks there is something in the tea.”

  “Why, that is ridiculous,” said Miss Jubbles, turning red. “I’ll show you.” She picked up the cup of tea and drank it down.

  “There!” she panted.

  “You see, Miss Levine?” said Harry. “I think an apology is in order.”

  “I am very sorry,” said Daisy.

  “You may go, Miss Jubbles.”

  Miss Jubbles retreated to her room and sat there miserably. She had already taken senna powder that morning and knew that this added dose would have dire results.

  “Now, where were we?” said Harry.

  “Discussing possible blackmail,” said Rose. “I think perhaps you went about it the wrong way.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “To bluntly ask Mrs. Stockton whether she was being blackmailed puts her on her guard.”

  “And how would you have gone about it?”

  “I have started,” said Rose. “I shall befriend Mrs. Stockton. I shall get close to her. In order to find out why she was being blackmailed, I have to understand her better.”

  “Very well. For my part,” said Harry, “I must visit Freddy’s parents and see if they are prepared to employ me.”

  “Who are his parents?” asked Daisy.

  “A certain Colonel and Mrs. Pomfret. I believe they are in town. They have a town house in Kensington.”

  “What about Detective Superintendent Kerridge?”

  “I phoned him with my lack of success with Mrs. Jerry and Lord Alfred and he said in that weary way of his that he should never have left it to amateurs and that he would see them himself.”

  Kerridge had had every intention of interviewing the suspects. It was his job. But he admitted to himself that he’d been cowardly in letting Captain Cathcart go first.

  Accompanied by Detective Inspector Judd, he set out to interview Lord Alfred Curtis. At least he knew that the young lord was expecting him. His secretary had made an appointment.

  The gas lamps had already been lit and a thin drizzle was falling as he was driven in the new police car to Lord Alfred’s residence.

  He climbed down from the car with great reluctance. He detested interviewing the aristocracy.

  To his surprise and relief, he was warmly welcomed. Lord Alfred rose to his feet and advanced on him with hand outstretched when Kerridge was ushered into a pretty drawing-room.

  “Do sit down, Mr. Kerridge,” said Lord Alfred. “Miserable evening, what? May I offer you something?”

  “Nothing, I thank you,” said Kerridge. “Do yo
u know why I am here?”

  “It’s something to do with poor Freddy’s death, is it not? I had that peculiar Captain Cathcart here earlier accusing me of being blackmailed by Freddy. Ridiculous! When a gentleman sinks to trade, it alters his very brain. Sees common little plots and conspiracies everywhere.”

  “We have ascertained that three people each paid Mr. Pomfret the sum of ten thousand pounds. We did think it might be a case of blackmail.”

  “Well, now I’ve calmed down, I can see why you might jump to that conclusion. But the man was on his uppers. Some people will gamble ferociously when they haven’t got the ready. Poor, poor Freddy. I never even thought to ask for an IOU, so it’s not as if I can even claim on his estate. Who are the other two?”

  “At this stage of the investigation, I would prefer not to say, my lord. Now, do you know of any enemies Mr. Pomfret might have had?”

  “The trouble is, one didn’t know him very well. There are a great number of people in the world one doesn’t know very well.”

  “And yet you lent him a vast sum of money.”

  “To tell the truth, I had drunk a little more than was good for me. It’s all coming back to me. It was in The Club. Everything was a bit jolly, and so when Freddy sprang the request on me, I gave him a cheque, almost without thinking. The claret at The Club is very good, but it does produce a dangerous feeling of euphoria. I was quite convinced at that time that he must be one of my dearest friends.”

  “And Mr. Pomfret specifically asked for ten thousand pounds?”

  “Oh, yes, just like that. Tristram Baker-Willis was there at the time. He did protest, you know. ‘I say, Freddy, that’s a bit steep.’ Those were his very words.”

  “Ah. Where can I find Mr. Baker-Willis?”

  “At this time, he’ll be at his diggings in Pall Mall, getting ready for the evening ahead.” He gave the detective superintendent the number in Pall Mall.

  “I think that will be all for the moment,” said Kerridge, rising to his feet.

  Tristram Baker-Willis was just as Kerridge remembered him. He had met the young man the previous year during investigations at Telby Castle. Tristram had a very white face, thick lips and black hair greased to a high shine. His waistcoat was a riot of brightly embroidered silk flowers.