Something Wicked

by David Roberts

  ‘Definitely murdered?’

  ‘In the most barbaric and sadistic manner. His drill was used to penetrate his ear . . . quite disgusting. I can hardly bear to think about it. Chief Inspector Pride is investigating the killing and I have every confidence in his thoroughness and professionalism. I have known him for several years. He investigated the death of General Craig who was poisoned at my brother’s dinner table,’ he added, in case Treacher thought he was presuming to judge where he ought not to.

  ‘Pride said there was an entomological connection between the deaths.’

  ‘Yes, Inspector,’ and Edward proceeded to outline it.

  ‘Mouches – flies!’ Treacher chuckled. ‘I grant you that completely passed me by.’

  ‘Flies, yes, although I believe that in the area in which the wine is made mouches also means bees.’

  ‘Bees . . . flies . . . fascinating!’ The Inspector sounded unconvinced.

  ‘As I said, in the cold light of day it all seems rather tenuous but I wondered if – purely to satisfy my own curiosity – you would permit me to look at your case notes or, if that is not possible, to talk to those who discovered the bodies.’ He saw the look in Treacher’s face and hurried on. ‘I just want to see if there was anyone or anything they had in common – someone they all knew, for instance. You weren’t looking for a connection – there was no reason why you should – but Silver gives us that initial link.’

  Treacher hesitated. ‘It’s most irregular, Lord Edward, but as a favour to Chief Inspector Pride for whom, like you, I have considerable respect, I will permit it though, as you will understand, this has to be on the basis of absolute confidence. If the press were to get hold of it . . .’

  ‘I promise, Inspector. As it happens, I have a valid reason for being down here. I am staying with an old friend, Lord Lestern. And furthermore . . .’ he felt a cad for using Verity but thought she would understand, ‘my fiancée is recuperating from a bout of TB at Leonard Bladon’s sanatorium. Do you know it?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve met Dr Bladon. A very pleasant gentleman. I am sorry to hear about Miss Browne.’ Edward was startled. ‘Chief Inspector Pride apprised me of the situation,’ Treacher explained, sounding momentarily embarrassed.

  ‘There was another thing I wanted to ask you, Inspector. As you know, when Mr Herold was found by his wife she also found a sheet of paper on his body on which someone – presumably the murderer – had written “buzz, buzz” – possibly a taunting reference to the way he died. When Mr Silver was found there was a similar taunt that seemed to refer directly to me.’

  ‘Yes, so Chief Inspector Pride informed me. It’s the motto on your family’s coat of arms, I understand.’

  ‘Which can be roughly translated as “eagles don’t catch flies”. Was there anything similar found on the bodies of Miss Totteridge or General Lowther?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Treacher said, stroking his chin. ‘As it happens, a piece of paper was found on Miss Totteridge. I’m afraid I took no notice of it at the time. It was a quotation from Shakespeare, so my wife told me when I mentioned it to her – from a sonnet, I think she said, “So shall thou feed on Death”.’

  ‘“. . . that feeds on men, and Death once dead, there’s no more dying then,”’ Edward murmured. ‘You found just those first six words – not the rest of it?’

  ‘No, just that first bit on a page torn out of her horticultural diary. She kept a day-by-day record of what she did in the garden – what she planted, what died, what needed attention . . . I’m a bit of a gardener myself and I found it very interesting. There’s no doubt she had a remarkable knowledge . . .’

  ‘So how did she manage to poison herself?’

  ‘You’ll see from my notes. She was testing out a new insecticide for a chemical company.’

  ‘A new insecticide? What kind exactly?’

  ‘It’s called DDT. Here . . .’ He riffled through his notebook. ‘Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane – a proper mouthful and I don’t know how to pronounce it. Anyway, it’s going to be the new wonder drug, apparently. It’ll kill everything from malaria-carrying mosquitoes to greenfly.’

  ‘And human beings.’

  ‘Only if they drink it in their tea.’

  ‘In their tea?’

  ‘Yes, we found traces in the bottom of her cup.’

  Edward carefully replaced his cup in the saucer. ‘Didn’t that make you think it could be murder?’

  ‘I discounted the idea. Who would want to kill the old lady? I assumed she’d just made a mistake and dropped some in her tea.’

  ‘But you found the paper with the quotation about feeding on death?’

  ‘Not until after the inquest, I’m afraid.’ Treacher looked uncomfortable. ‘Miss Totteridge’s sister, Mrs Booth, was clearing out the house. It’s going to be sold which is a shame as her garden is so well known. Anyway, she was sorting out Miss Totteridge’s clothes for a jumble sale. She decided to burn her gardening clothes which were too dirty to be of use to anyone. That’s when she found the piece of paper in a pocket.’

  ‘In a pocket of . . .?’

  ‘The boiler suit she always wore to garden in.’

  Edward bit back a question as to why Miss Totteridge’s clothes had not been thoroughly searched when her body was found. He did not want to antagonize Treacher if he could help it. ‘What about the General? Was any note found on his body?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ the Inspector said, sounding distinctly unhappy. ‘No, that’s not quite correct now I come to think of it. I believe the housekeeper did show me something. I’m afraid I . . .’

  Edward did his best to save Treacher’s blushes by not appearing to attach much importance to his oversight. Instead, he said lightly, ‘Would you mind if I nosed around, Inspector, and talked to his housekeeper? I’m sure you did a very thorough job but now this connection has turned up . . .’

  ‘By all means, Lord Edward, if you think you might find something I missed.’

  Hearing the tone of his voice, Edward decided not to ask any more questions for the moment. He knew only too well that if Treacher felt he was out to make him look a fool or, worse still, incompetent, he would do everything he could to prevent him finding out anything.

  ‘I am most grateful, Inspector,’ was all he said.

  When had finished telling Verity about his interview with Inspector Treacher and what he had discovered from a preliminary examination of his case notes, he saw that she was eyeing him speculatively.

  ‘What is it, V? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘I was just thinking what a bore it must be for you to have to waste time with me when you could be investigating. I know I’d hate it.’

  ‘It’s not as bad as all that,’ he joked. ‘In the first place, I love you and would rather be here than anywhere else and, in the second place, I find it clears my brain to tell you everything. Anyway, you’re my partner in sleuthing – you always have been and always will be.’

  ‘Good answer. I can’t fault it but still . . .’

  ‘I know you’re bored and . . .’

  ‘The truth is I’m more angry than bored. There’s so much I want to do . . . to report. Oh God, I’m sorry. I mustn’t be pathetic. I’ve no reason to be sorry for myself beyond the obvious one.’

  ‘You’re not lonely, are you?’

  ‘No! The girls I share with are nice. Jill’s a bit of a goose but Mary Black’s intelligent. I can talk to her about politics and the international situation though she’s a great supporter of Chamberlain so we argue like anything. Lots of people have promised to come and see me. Adrian and Charlotte are coming later this week as a matter of fact. You know Charlotte’s new novel is a bestseller?’

  ‘I didn’t. What’s it called? I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Secret Relations. She said she’ll bring me a copy. We missed the launch party, don’t you remember? I thought about sending for Basil but apparently Bladon won’t have dogs here so
that’s no good.’

  She looked so gloomy for a moment that Edward longed to take her in his arms but he didn’t want to make her cry. Instead he said, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me for the moment.’

  Over the next few days, Edward went through Inspector Treacher’s case notes and, when not doing that, he sat beside Verity willing her to get better. Harry was a perfect host, allowing him to treat Turton House as an hotel and come and go as he pleased. Edward observed Verity closely and was encouraged to see how quickly she regained some colour in her cheeks. The dark shadows round her eyes began to fade and the sharp bones in her face softened. To him, she looked more beautiful than ever, her eyes so huge and black against the pallor of her skin, but it was a beauty which frightened him. And she was gentler – less ready to snap at him. She had always seemed so strong – indomitable was the word that came to mind whenever he thought of her – that finding her biddable, even resigned, made him uneasy. Bladon encouraged him to ‘take Verity out of herself’ as he put it. Edward had the impression that he too was worried that she might lose the will to fight her disease.

  At first, when he discussed the investigation with her – if that was what it amounted to – he could see that it was an effort for her to concentrate but gradually she became interested. The sun shone and the temperature crept up into the high seventies. On the fourth day of her stay he asked Bladon if he could take her out in the car for an hour or two.

  ‘She’ll tire easily,’ he warned. ‘She needs rest above everything but that doesn’t mean a little fresh air wouldn’t do her good. Take her out by all means. Just be careful and don’t overdo it.’

  Tenderly, Edward put Verity in the car and wrapped a thick plaid travelling rug round her knees. She made some small protest about ‘not being at death’s door quite yet’ but let him have his way which was in itself a sign of how weak she was. Driving slowly, he took the back lanes to Phyllis Court. He had telephoned the secretary, Mr Bruce-Dick, to ask if he and Verity could become temporary members for the summer. Edward thought he should make it clear why Verity was in Henley and explained that she was recuperating in Bladon’s sanatorium after having been diagnosed with TB. Bruce-Dick listened to him in silence and Edward felt called upon to add that she would not expect to use any of the club facilities except to sit in the garden. She would not swim, have massages or in any way spread infection to members or staff.

  Bruce-Dick hummed and hawed, understandably hesitant about allowing Verity to contaminate the club, but in the end agreed that Edward could become a temporary member and Verity, as his guest, could use the deck-chairs and even the tennis courts, should she be strong enough to play, but nothing more. To eat in the restaurant might, he thought, be a step too far.

  ‘You understand my position, Lord Edward? I don’t want to sound unsympathetic but it would not be fair on members and might damage the reputation of the club if . . .’

  ‘I quite understand,’ Edward said soothingly, ‘and I am most grateful. I promise Miss Browne will keep away from your members and their guests.’

  It was after eleven when he parked the Lagonda in front of the clubhouse and, arm in arm, they strolled over to the tennis courts where several figures in white were slamming balls back and forth. He tucked her into a deck-chair and draped the rug over her despite her protests that she was quite hot enough already. Edward then left her to beard Bruce-Dick.

  That proved not to be as difficult an interview as he had feared. Although Bruce-Dick was elderly, he was no fool and studied Edward with interest. Since he had spoken to him on the telephone, he had made a few enquiries and was impressed by what he had heard. It helped that he had been in the same regiment as Edward’s brother Frank who had been killed in the first few days of the war in France.

  ‘He was a splendid chap. Terrible tragedy that he was the first of our young men to go. And you, Lord Edward – I heard a rumour that you were working for the FO and detecting crimes . . .’ He became almost roguish. ‘The Duke – does he . . .?’ Seeing Edward’s face, he quickly changed the subject. ‘Miss Browne is, I believe, a famous foreign correspondent. My dear wife was quite overcome when I told her you were visiting us. She would be delighted if you . . . if both of you . . .’ he added bravely, ‘would care to dine with us one night.’

  Edward, rather sourly, was reminded of something Verity had once quoted at him. She had been reading The Ordeal of Richard Feverel and Meredith, who was obsessed with the nature of snobbery, had noted – rather acutely, Edward considered – that ‘the national love of a lord is less subservience than a form of self-love; putting a gold-lace hat on one’s image, as it were, to bow to it.’ He thought this was a case in point. Had he but known it, Emily Bruce-Dick had gone quite pink when she suggested to her husband that he might proffer the invitation.

  ‘That is very kind of her,’ Edward said, with as sincere a smile as he could muster, ‘but Miss Browne is recuperating – as I mentioned – from a slight bout of TB and is not allowed out of the sanatorium for more than an hour or two at a time.’ He noticed that Bruce-Dick was trying not to look relieved. ‘But I, on the other hand, would be delighted to come.’

  Bruce-Dick beamed with pleasure. Phyllis Court was not short of aristocrats among its members but Lord Edward was someone rather special – not just the son of a duke but famous in his own right – and Bruce-Dick had visions of appearing in the illustrated papers arm in arm with his new friend.

  The formalities over, Edward returned to find one of the tennis players sitting beside Verity and engaging her in conversation. Fearing that it might be too much for her, he hurried to her side. He was relieved to find her animated and enjoying the attention of the attractive young woman who rose to her feet when she saw him. She held out her hand.

  ‘Kay Stammers,’ she said, without waiting for Verity to introduce her. ‘You’re Lord Edward Corinth, aren’t you? We met briefly at Brooklands. You won’t remember.’

  ‘Of course I remember, Miss Stammers. I am so pleased to meet you again and have an opportunity to wish you luck at Wimbledon.’

  Kay Stammers had beaten Helen Wills Moody when she was only seventeen and won the Wimbledon women’s doubles with Freda James in 1935 and 1936. She had won the French Open and was confidently expected to win the women’s singles at Wimbledon. She was also an accomplished aviatrix who had learnt to fly at the London Aeroplane Club.

  ‘I am so thrilled to meet Miss Browne. I have just been telling her that, as soon as she is feeling stronger, she must let me take her up in my plane. Don’t look like that, Lord Edward. She would be perfectly safe and has just been telling me the doctors have prescribed fresh air.’

  There was something so frank and engaging about Kay Stammers that Edward felt himself relax. She was the sort of woman Verity liked – afraid of nothing and no one. She might be just the person to give her a new interest in life and stop her feeling as though her world had collapsed as a result of her illness.

  Edward found that it was not altogether true that Harry knew none of his neighbours. Returning to Turton House that evening, hoping to slip upstairs and have a bath before dinner without having to chat to his host, he was collared halfway up the stairs and introduced to a couple he disliked at first sight – Jack and Una Amery. He knew perfectly well who they were. Jack was the younger son of Leo Amery – a Conservative backbench MP and a strong opponent of the Prime Minister’s policy of appeasing Hitler instead of standing up to him. Edward had met him once with Winston Churchill but his son was of quite another complexion – unstable, a constant worry to his father, anti-Semitic and a strong supporter of General Franco.

  Jack had married an ‘actress’ – a prostitute in all but name – and it was his whim not to allow her to tell people that they were man and wife. She supposed it was because he was ashamed of her. Only a woman as submissive as Una could have tolerated living with him. His sexual tastes were fetishistic and perverse and he liked to treat her as his slave and humili
ate her. Edward had also heard that the man was a gambler and a cheat – a few years back he had been arrested in Paris on a Greek warrant for the fraudulent purchase of diamonds in Athens. The English papers had been full of it and Leo Amery had had to bail him out at some considerable cost.

  Edward tried to look enthusiastic as they shook hands but visibly failed.

  ‘You didn’t meet each other in Tanganyika?’ Harry asked, sounding surprised. ‘Great times, eh, Jack? No one to tell us what to do and what not to do!’

  ‘What were you doing there?’ Edward asked Jack Amery, attempting to be polite.

  ‘Making a film – Jungle Skies.’

  ‘Was it ever shown? I don’t remember . . .’

  ‘No, the bastards wouldn’t pay the money they owed me so it was never finished.’ Jack turned back to Harry. ‘I say, Henley’s the bloody limit! We stopped to buy some stuff for Una. I parked my car quite legally and then I’m fined fifty pounds – I mean fifty pounds! – and threatened with prison. I ask you!’

  ‘Fifty pounds!’ Edward exclaimed.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of him,’ Una interjected. ‘He’s had over a hundred fines for motoring offences, haven’t you, darling? And it’s never his fault.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t – not this time at any rate. Look, what I wanted to say is there’s a new club opened in Maidenhead . . .’ He stopped abruptly to address Una. ‘Teddy Bear, go and get the car, will you? I’ve just got something to say to Harry.’

  Taking the hint gratefully, Edward followed Una out to the car. ‘Why does he call you Teddy Bear?’

  ‘Oh, he’s obsessed with them. His favourite teddy goes everywhere with us. He’s in the car now.’ She giggled nervously. ‘He’s quite mad, you know.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. He thinks everyone’s out to get him. I mean, when we get home, he’ll make me get out of the car first and check there’s no one hiding in the bushes waiting to jump on him.’ She opened the glove box. ‘See?’