Down To The Abbey (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 12)

by Frank Howell Evans

  He was busily engaged in arranging those pieces of cardboard which had puzzled Will during his first visit. Then he took a small notebook from a drawer, wrote a name or two in it and then closing it said with a deadly smile, “There, my friends, you’re all registered, though you little suspect it. You’re all rich and think that you’re free, but you’re wrong, because there is one man, who owns you, soul and body and that man is Leonard Berrick and at his order, high as you hold your heads now, you will crawl to his feet in humble abasement.” He struck the bell on his writing table and the last sound of it had hardly died away, when Captain Haven stood on the threshold.

  “You asked me, sir,” he said with deference, “to complete my report looking at young Mr. Skegness and it so happens that the cook, whom he has taken into his service, is on our list. She has just come in to pay us the ten shilling, which she owes us.”

  Berrick made a little grimace. “You’re an idiot, Haven,” he said, “to be pleased at so trivial a matter. I have often told you that there is no such thing as luck or chance and that all comes to those, who work methodically.”

  Haven listened to his master’s wisdom in silence.

  “Go and fetch her,” said Berrick.

  In another moment the woman appeared and Berrick at once addressed her with the air of friendly courtesy which made him so popular among the women of her class. “Well, my good young woman,” he said, “so you’ve got the sort of position you wanted, eh?”

  “I hope so, sir, but you see I have only been with Mrs. Samara Herstmonceux since yesterday.”

  “Samara Herstmonceux! That is a fine name, indeed.”

  “It’s only a fancy name and she had an awful row over it with master. She wanted to be called Daphne, but he insisted on Samara.”

  “Samara is a very pretty name,” observed Berrick solemnly.

  “Yes, sir, just what the maid and I told her. She is an impressive one.”

  Not seeing how to utilize any of this, Berrick made a gesture of dismissal with his hand, when the woman said, “Stop, sir! I have something to tell you.”

  “Well,” said Berrick, throwing himself back in his chair with an air of affected impatience, “let us have it.”

  “We had eight gents to dinner, all swells. Mrs. was the only woman at table. Well, sir, there was one gent, who was a blot on the whole affair. He was tall, shabbily dressed and with no manners at all. He seemed all the time to be sneering at the rest. When the others played cards, he sat down by my mistress and began to talk.”

  “Could you hear what they said?”

  “I would think so. I was in the bedroom and they were near the door.”

  “Dear me,” said Berrick, appearing shocked, “surely that was not right?”

  “I have the right to know about the people, whom I engage with,” she said defiantly. “They were talking about a Mr. Will, who had been the lady’s friend before and whom the gentleman also knew. Mrs. said that this Will was no great shakes and that he had stolen twelve thousand shilling.”

  Berrick pricked up his ears, feeling that his patience was about to meet its reward.

  “Can you tell me the gentleman’s name?” he asked.

  “The others called him “The painter.”

  This explanation didn’t satisfy Berrick.

  “Look here, my good young woman,” he said. “Try and find out the gentleman’s name. I think he’s the painter, who owes me money.”

  “All right! Rely on me. Now I must be off, because I have breakfast to get ready,” and with a curtsy she left the room.

  Berrick struck his hand on the table. He called Haven into the room.

  Berrick said, “Before twenty-four hours have gone by I must know everything about Skegness senior. I want to know on what terms he is with his son.”

  “I will set Dolin to work, sir.”

  “And as young Skegness will doubtless need money, arrange to let him know of our friend Mr. Bostall, the director of Scotland Fidelity Assurance.”

  “But that is Mr. Davidson’s work.”

  Berrick paid no heed to this, so occupied was he by his own thoughts.

  “Go back to your office, Haven. I hear some clients coming in.”

  The man, however, didn’t leave.

  “Pardon me, sir,” he said, “but I have my report to complete.”

  Berrick laughed.

  “Still the soldier, huh? Still keen to fulfill your duty, no matter what. Very good. Sit down and go on.”

  Delighted by this remark, Haven sat down and said. “Yesterday there was nothing of importance, but this morning Menlowe came in.”

  “He has not lost Claire Innerleithen, I trust?”

  “No, sir! Far from that. He has even got into a conversation with her.”

  “That’s good. He’s a cunning little devil.”

  “He told me that he was about to find out, who she was and where she got her money from. But I ought to warn you against the young scamp, sir, because I have found out that he steals from us.”

  Berrick rolled his eyes. Men of his ilk did not mind sharing the crumbs falling of their table with their underlings as long as they stayed loyal.

  “Very well,” answered Berrick, “if this is the case, he will have a taste of prison food.”

  Haven nodded and left the room, but almost immediately reappeared.

  “Sir,” he said, “a servant from Mr. Yelvertoft is here with a note.”

  “Send the man in,” said Berrick.

  The domestic was immaculately dressed and looked what he was, the servant of an aristocrat. His high collar almost reached to his ears. His face was clean shaved and of a ruddy hue. His coat was obviously the work of a London tailor. His appearance was stiff.

  “My master,” he said, “ordered me to give this note into your own hands.”

  Berrick examined this model servant closely. He was a stranger to him, because he had never supplied Sir Yelvertoft with a domestic.

  “Is a reply needed,” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, then wait a little.”

  Berrick, opened the note and read the following, “My dear friend. Baccarat has served me an ugly turn and in addition to all my ready cash I have given an I.O.U. for three thousand shilling. To save my credit I must have this by twelve tomorrow. Am I wrong in looking to you for this trifle? I don’t think so. Indeed, I have an idea that you will send me over and above, so that I may not be left without a coin in my pocket. How goes the great affair? Devotedly Yours, Alfred Yelvertoft.”

  Berrick growled angrily. Yelvertoft was absolutely necessary to him. Berrick stood up and slowly took from his safe five notes of a thousand shilling each and gave them to the servant.

  “Do you want a receipt?” asked the man.

  “No, this letter is sufficient, but wait a bit,” said Berrick. He took a banknote from his pocket, placed it on the table and said in his most honeyed voice, “There, my friend, is something for yourself.”

  “No, sir,” answered the man. “I always ask wages enough to prevent the necessity of accepting presents.” And with this dignified reply he bowed and walked rigidly out of the room.

  The blackmailer was absolutely thunderstruck. In all his thirty years’ experience he had never come across anything like this.

  “I can hardly believe my ears,” he said, shaking his head.

  Suddenly Haven appeared on the threshold.

  “What, you here again!” cried Berrick, angrily. “Am I to have no peace today?”

  “Sir, Will Platts is here.”

  At the half-open door stood Will. He was pale. His clothes were in disorder.

  “Ah, sir!” he said, as he caught sight of Berrick.

  “Leave us, Haven,” said the latter, with an imperious wave of his hand. “And now, my dear boy, what is it?”

  Will sank into a chair.

  “I’m lost forever.”

  Berrick took his chair nearer to that of Will and said innocently, “C
ome, tell me all about it. What can possibly have happened to affect you like this?”

  Will replied, “Selma has deserted me.”

  Berrick raised his hands to heaven.

  “And I’m accused of theft.”

  “Impossible!” screamed Berrick.

  “Yes, sir and you are the only person in the world, who can save me.”

  “But what can I do?”

  “After our conversation,” began Will, “I went back to the boarding house on Pollard Street and on the mantelpiece I found this note from Selma.”

  He held it out as he spoke, but Berrick did not take it.

  “In it,” resumed Will, “Selma tells me she no longer loves me and begs me not to try to see her again.”

  Berrick watched Will attentively and came to the conclusion that his words were too smooth for his grief to be sincere.

  “What about the accusation of theft?”

  “I’m coming to that,” answered the young man. “I was determined to leave the boarding house on Pollard Street, with which I was more than disgusted. I went downstairs to settle my outstanding rent with Mrs. Clemens, when she asked me with a contemptuous sneer, where I had stolen the money from?”

  Berrick secretly chuckled over the success of his plan.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “Nothing, sir. She asserted that she was sure that Selma and I had robbed Old Man Davidson.”

  “But did you not deny this charge?”

  “Selma changed the five hundred franc banknote that Old Man Davidson had lent me at the shop of a grocer named Pinner and this fool was the first to assert that a policeman had ordered him to watch us.”

  “Old Man Davidson?” resumed Berrick, “I know him. He’s the kindest gentleman in the world, but hardly rich. He was charitable with money that really belonged to others. When he sent in his accounts, the deficiency was found. He probably lost his head and declared that he had been robbed.”

  All was too clear to Will and a cold shiver ran down his spine as he saw himself arrested, tried and imprisoned. Will’s behavior was precisely what Berrick had expected and he felt that the moment had arrived to strike a final blow.

  “You must not give way to despair, my boy,” he said. Berrick took his arms and shook him roughly. “Rouse yourself. A man in your position must help himself.”

  “Selma,” Will murmured.

  Berrick frowned. “What?” he said. “Have you no pride?”

  “I have a position at twelve thousand shilling a year now. She will…”

  “Stop dreaming! There is no such position,” Berrick said rudely.

  Will was about to faint as he saw himself again reduced to beggary.

  “But you said…” he looked at Berrick.

  “I was just testing you.”

  “Then all is lost!”

  Berrick said, “Listen, boy, I have taken a great liking to you and I will do all I can to further your future. Why not find a wife for you among those heiresses, who have a million or two to give the man they marry? I know of just one such an heiress. My friend Dr. Willoughby, will introduce her to you. She is nearly as pretty as Selma and has the advantage of being well-born and well-educated. And if her husband would happen to be a poet or a composer, she could assist him in becoming famous.”

  A flush came over Will’s face. This would solve all his problems.

  “Well, sir, what do you want me to do?” asked Will after a short pause.

  Berrick stood up and looked down on the young man. “I want absolute obedience from you,” he said, “a blind and undeviating obedience.”

  Richard Blake was the best-known dressmaker in London. The haughtiest dames didn’t shrink from entrusting to him the secrets of their figure, which they even hid from their husbands. They endured without shrieking the touch of his coarse hands as he measured them. Many a time had he heard the most aristocratic lips say the words, “I will die, Richard Blake, if my dress is not ready.” On the evenings of aristocratic balls a long line of cars blocked up the road in front of his shop and the finest women in London crowded the showrooms for a word of approval from him.

  He gave credit to approved customers and also, it was whispered, lent money to them. But woe to the woman, who allowed herself to be entrapped in the snare of credit that he laid for her, because the woman, who owed him was practically lost, never knowing to what depths she might be degraded to obtain the money to settle her account.

  It was to this man’s magnificent shop that Berrick led Will after a hearty breakfast. Will, who was a little nervous at finding himself among such splendor, hesitated in the doorway, but Berrick took hold of his young friend’s arm and whispered in his ear, “Keep your eyes open. The heiress is here.”

  The ladies were at first a little surprised at the invasion of the room by the male element, but Will’s extreme beauty soon attracted their attention. The hum of conversation stopped and Will’s embarrassment increased as he found a battery of twelve pairs of eyes directed full on him.

  Berrick, however, was at his ease and on his entrance had made a graceful though rather old-fashioned bow to the fair inmates of the room. His calm was due to the contempt he felt for the human race in general and also to his muffler, which hid the sneer, which curled his lips. When he saw that Will still kept his eyes on the ground, he tapped him gently on the arm.

  “Look to the right,” Berrick said, “and you will see the heiress.”

  A young woman, not more than nineteen, was seated near one of the windows. She was not as beautiful as Berrick had described, but her face was a very striking one nevertheless. She was slight and brunette. There was an air of restrained voluptuousness and passion about her.

  Will looked at her. Their eyes met. Will was immediately fascinated. The young woman’s emotion was so evident that she turned aside her head to hide it.

  “What do you think of her?” Berrick asked.

  “She’s adorable!” answered Will, enthusiastically.

  “And immensely wealthy. Would you like to know her name?”

  “Tell me, I beg of you.”

  “Rhiannon.”

  Will was in seventh heaven and now boldly turned his eyes to the young woman, who was following his every movement owing to the numerous mirrors in the room.

  The door was at this moment opened quietly and Richard Blake appeared on the threshold. He was about forty-four and too stout for his height. His red, pimply face had an expression on it of extreme arrogance. He was dressed in a ruby velvet coat, with a cravat with lace ends. A huge diamond ring blazed on his coarse, red hand.

  “Who is the next one?” he asked, rudely.

  A lady, who had been talking loudly sprang to her feet, but the tailor cut her short, because catching sight of Berrick, he crossed the room and greeted him with the utmost cordiality.

  “What!” he said, “is it you that I have been keeping waiting? Pray pardon me. Pray go into my private room.”

  They went into the hall leading to his private rooms. Blake was about to follow his guests, when one of the ladies moved forward.

  “One word with you, sir, for goodness sake!” she whispered.

  Richard Blake turned quickly to her.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “My bill for three thousand shilling falls due tomorrow.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t meet it.”

  “That is not my problem.”

  “My husband will learn all.”

  “Then he will pay me.”

  “Don’t say that, sir! He has paid my debts once already.”

  She seized his hand and strove to carry it to her lips.

  “If you’re afraid of your own husband, go to someone else’s,” he said roughly and tearing himself from her, he followed Berrick and Will.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked, as soon as he had closed the door of his room with an angry slam.

  Will looked at him in disgust. If he had possessed three
thousand shilling, he would have given them to this unhappy woman, whose sobs he could still hear in the hall.

  “It’s most painful to watch,” he said.

  “My dear sir,” said the tailor, “you attach too much importance to these hysterical outbursts. You cannot imagine what a woman will do in order to get a new dress, in which to outshine her rival. They only talk of their families when they are called on to pay up.”

  “Perhaps,” Berrick said, looking at Will’s face intently, “you’ve been a little hard.”

  The tailor answered, “I know my customer and tomorrow my account will be settled and then she will demand I make her another dress and we will have the whole comedy over again.

  “I had,” said Berrick hesitantly, “I had meant to glance through the books, but you have so many customers waiting, that I had better defer doing so.”

  “Is that all that hinders you?” answered Richard Blake, carelessly. “Wait a moment.”

  He left the room and in another moment his voice was heard.

  “I’m sorry, ladies, very sorry, on my word, but I’m busy with my silk merchant. I will not be very long.”

  “We will wait,” answered the ladies in chorus.

  “That is the way,” said Richard Blake, when he reentered the room. “Be civil to women and they turn their backs on you, try and keep them off and they run after you. Business has never been better,” continued the tailor, producing a large ledger. “Within the last ten days we’ve had orders amounting to eighty-seven thousand shilling.”

  “Good!” answered Berrick. “But let us have a look at the column headed “Doubtful.”

  “Here you are,” answered the arbiter of fashion, as he turned over the pages. “Miss Mona Chalgrove has ordered five dresses, two dinner and three morning.”

  “That is a heavy order.”

  “I wanted for that reason to consult you. She doesn’t owe us much, perhaps a thousand shilling or so.”

  “That is too much, because I hear that her friend has problems. Don’t decline the order, but avoid taking fresh ones.”