Something Wicked

by David Roberts

  ‘It’s Jack Amery with Stille,’ Verity shuddered. ‘Did he really try to kill me? It all seems rather fantastic somehow.’

  ‘I don’t think there can be any doubt of it,’ Edward replied soberly.

  ‘He was a wicked man,’ she said, remembering the savage killing of her little dog when their paths had first crossed three years earlier. ‘I’m glad you killed him.’

  ‘Although I didn’t really mean to,’ Edward replied weakly, not much liking to be congratulated as a killer. ‘But you’re right. He was a wicked man who was working for a wicked regime. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.” Compared to Major Stille, Macbeth was an innocent.’

  Verity moved on, glancing at several other photographs hanging nearby. ‘There’s a lovely one here of Guy Black.’

  Edward went over to look. Guy had just finished his first heat and was chatting to his father who looked justly proud. Edward examined the small crowd in the background.

  ‘Hold on a minute, I’m sure that’s Dr and Mrs Booth – Hermione Totteridge’s sister and brother-in-law. They were the last people I expected to be here. I wonder, V . . . I think we should go back to the launch. I’d really like to talk to them. I might be able to spot them from the river.’

  George Bushell reappeared and Edward took the envelope he proffered. ‘Thanks, old chap. I’ll frame it. Can’t stay to chat. I’ve just spotted a photograph of some people I know who I didn’t think would be here,’ he explained. ‘Very good photographs! As you say, the historical record . . . quite invaluable.’

  Through his binoculars, Edward saw that Harry’s launch was at the start near Temple Island so he and Verity flopped down in deck-chairs to await its return.

  ‘You don’t think they are in any danger?’

  ‘The Booths? Probably not. I just had a moment of panic. I have to admit my tussle with Stille has left me rather nervy. I keep having to tell myself that now he’s dead, we don’t have anything to fear.’

  ‘But I say, what about Roderick Black’s launch? Isn’t it called the Henley Hornet . . .? Oh, I say . . . Bees, flies, hornets . . . You don’t think there will be another murder, do you?’

  ‘No, it’s just a coincidence but I need to get to the Booths before they do anything silly.’ He smiled but Verity could see that he was worried. ‘Stay with me, will you, V? I need to keep a close eye on you until I’m sure the man who has killed at least four people is behind bars.’

  Glancing at his programme, Edward saw they were just in time to see Eton challenge Radley for the Ladies’ Plate. ‘Gosh, we almost missed this. I hadn’t realized what the time was. You’ll enjoy this, V.’

  Verity pouted and was about to say she would go and see if she could find Kay Stammers when she changed her mind. If she loved Edward, as she had told herself she did, surely she could be patient and share his pleasure.

  It was a few minutes before the two crews were visible through Edward’s binoculars. ‘They’re neck and neck! Come on, Eton!’

  As Edward watched the race, Verity watched him. She was surprised and touched to see the years fall away as he stood and cheered his old school. The weariness and strain which had marked his face ever since she had returned to England with tuberculosis were replaced – at least for a minute or two – by boyish enthusiasm and gathering excitement as the two eights fought their way down the course. To cries of ‘Well wowed, Wadley!’ from a stout gentleman on their left and ‘Go for it, Eton,’ shouted even more loudly by Edward, the two eights hove into view.

  Suddenly Verity, too, was excited. ‘Come on, Eton,’ she heard herself screaming in a most unladylike manner. She wondered what on earth she was doing egging on a school she abhorred as embodying everything she hated about the English class system. Then she saw the eights, not representing anything but themselves – young men striving their utmost to overcome the opposition – as she constantly strove to overcome the obstacles that stood in her way to becoming a first-class foreign correspondent. She would cheer them for what they were – young men at the peak of physical fitness doing their duty as they might soon be called to do in a much more dangerous world far from the calm waters of the River Thames.

  ‘Go for it, Eton!’ she screamed again and Edward glanced at her in surprise and delight. The Radley eight were a canvas ahead at the halfway point. The race seemed to be over bar the cheering and flag-waving but then the Radley stroke caught a crab – or, if not quite a crab, slid on his seat and scooped up air instead of water. The Eton cox screamed his lungs out and a couple of minutes later the Eton boat crossed the winning line a whole length ahead of its rivals.

  ‘That poor boy at stroke,’ Edward said. ‘He’ll never forgive himself for letting his crew down. He’ll dream about that mistake for as long as he lives. I feel for him, I really do.’

  Verity was struck by his essential good nature and sympathy for the losers. She knew she would never care a toss how victory was achieved so long as it was achieved. She certainly wouldn’t bother herself worrying about the losers but Edward – who so demonstrably wanted Eton to win – had immediately voiced his concern for the feelings of the Radley crew. It was a small thing, but it made her doubly sure that he would never let her down.

  He saw her look at him and said, ‘What?’

  ‘I was just thinking how much I loved you.’

  He looked puzzled. ‘Because we won?’

  ‘No, because you cared about what must be going through the minds of the losers.’

  ‘Oh, V . . .’ he began and then stopped suddenly. ‘I say, isn’t that Dr Booth over there?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never met him.’

  ‘Wait for me here. I’ll just see if I can have a word with him.’

  He walked quickly in the direction of the tent to which he thought Dr Booth was making. At first, he could not see him and was turning to go back to Verity when he heard a voice calling him.

  At a little table by the tea tent, Violet Booth and her husband were sitting eating sandwiches and drinking lemonade.

  ‘I thought it was you,’ Edward said. ‘May I join you for a moment?’

  ‘Of course,’ Mrs Booth said, waving towards a spare chair.

  ‘I didn’t know you were interested in rowing.’

  ‘Oh yes, Lord Edward,’ Dr Booth answered. ‘Living where we do, on the coast . . .’ His voice trailed off into silence.

  ‘I think you know why we are here,’ his wife said quietly.

  ‘I think I do. It’s because of your niece and Peter Lamming, isn’t it?’ She nodded her head. ‘You were James Herold’s nurse, were you not, Mrs Booth?’

  ‘I was but it’s not what you think,’ she replied, looking intently at Edward as though interrogating him. She laid a hand on his arm but withdrew it quickly, perhaps fearing it was too intimate a gesture. ‘It’s not what you think,’ she repeated.

  ‘Is it not? By the way, I should tell you that Mrs Herold is here. I don’t know if . . .’

  ‘I’m going to talk to her . . . explain,’ Mrs Booth said in a firm voice, ‘but not quite yet. This evening perhaps.’

  ‘You’re staying in Henley?’

  ‘At a bed and breakfast,’ her husband replied, perhaps deliberately not saying exactly where.

  ‘And General Lowther?’

  ‘We had nothing to do with the General’s death. You must believe me,’ Mrs Booth said, a glass half-raised to her lips. ‘Although we sent a wreath.’

  ‘I don’t quite understand . . .’ Edward said gently.

  ‘Of course you don’t,’ Dr Booth interrupted him. ‘After you visited us . . . Violet and I . . . well, we had a good chat. We talked about things we ought to have discussed long ago.’

  ‘You told me a lot I didn’t know, Lord Edward,’ Mrs Booth broke in. ‘We felt we had to do it for my sister . . .’

  Just as he was about to ask her to explain what she meant, Edward sensed someone had come up behind him. Looking round, he saw it was Roderi
ck Black. After he had been introduced to the Booths, Black said, ‘I hope I’m not interrupting, Corinth, but I was wondering if you and Miss Browne were going to watch my son win the Diamonds.’

  ‘Good heavens, is that the time?’ Edward said, looking at his watch. ‘Yes, if we can find Harry. We left him to stretch our legs and the last time I saw him he was up near Temple Island.’

  ‘Well, why not watch the race from my launch? I wanted to have a word with you anyway.’

  ‘Thank you. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I owe Guy for rescuing me from the island. Win or lose, he’s a fine boy. By the way, I wonder if there would be room for Dr and Mrs Booth to watch it with us.’ Black looked dubious and Edward wished he hadn’t suggested it.

  ‘I don’t want to sound inhospitable but I rather doubt there would be room . . .’ he began.

  ‘It’s a very kind thought, Lord Edward,’ Dr Booth said, coming to his rescue, ‘but we haven’t quite finished our lunch. I think we’ll watch from the stand. I gather your son has a good chance of winning, Mr Black. You must be very proud.’

  ‘I am, Dr Booth. Even though I think Burk is likely to win, Guy will certainly give him a run for his money.’

  Edward rose to leave. ‘I’ll see you both later. We mustn’t keep everyone waiting.’

  ‘Where’s Miss Browne?’ Black asked as they walked towards the river.

  ‘She’s just . . . Damn it, where has she gone? I left her sitting here while I went to talk to the Booths. I told her not to move and now she’s vanished.’

  ‘No, there she is with her friend, Miss Stammers.’

  ‘Verity, I thought I’d lost you. Miss Stammers . . .’ Edward’s voice was cool. He still, unfairly, blamed her for taking Verity up in her Tiger Moth and almost killing her. ‘I was just going to watch Guy’s race. I don’t know where Harry’s got to but Mr Black has kindly invited us to watch it from his launch.’

  ‘Roderick, please!’ Mr Black insisted.

  ‘If you don’t think us rude, Mr Black – Roderick – Kay and I will watch from the bank,’ Verity said.

  There was no time for him to argue and, in any case, she could see that he was keen to have Edward to himself.

  On the launch, Edward found Mary Black, the Bruce-Dicks and their daughter, Sybil. As he drove the launch towards the start, Black beckoned Edward to sit beside him.

  ‘I wanted to thank you . . . congratulate you . . . on ridding us of that man Stille. I don’t know how much he told you but I got too far in with Mosley’s crowd – Jack Amery and his merry band. I was stupid, I realize that now. I thought Hitler had something to offer us. I still do, as a matter of fact, but it’s all too late. I can see that now. We’ll have to fight him this year or next. Stille blackmailed me into handing over some secret documents . . . nothing really sensitive, you understand.’ He shot Edward a glance to see how he was taking his confession but Edward remained impassive.

  ‘Anyway, Guy found out and made me go to Scotland Yard. They were going to use me to trap Stille . . . arrest him red-handed as he took the stuff I had left on Temple Island but you got there first. Damn glad you did. Much rather he was dead than merely deported. Scum like that always comes to the surface eventually. Do you blame me?’ He glanced again at Edward. ‘I blame myself. I was an arrogant fool. I hated Communism so much and still do. Not Miss Browne, of course, but the Party. It’s a disease – more deadly than TB – and, if we catch it, it’ll destroy England just as it destroyed Russia. My idea was that Hitler would do the job for us. Go to war with the Soviets and they could fight each other until both sides were exhausted, but I see now that it was a pipe dream. As long as, when war comes, we don’t have to fight alongside the Russkies. I couldn’t stomach that.’

  ‘I’m glad it’s all over,’ Edward responded non-committally. ‘Hey! There’s Guy.’ Gratefully, he turned his attention to the race which was just about to start.

  Black took the launch round the island so it was positioned behind the umpire’s launch. Edward saw that, although there was a notice on the apron of grass which formed the island’s ‘prow’, there was no sign of a police guard. There might, of course, be a constable dozing inside the temple but he would surely be outside on such a glorious day watching the activity on the river. There was, he supposed, nothing much to guard. Stille’s body had been removed and the temple thoroughly examined. There was no doubt about what had happened and, although the Janus statue was still lying on its side, it was no longer blocking the stone steps to the roof.

  The gun was fired and the race began. At first their sculls seemed almost relaxed as Burk and Guy used long, lazy strokes to propel their fragile craft over the tranquil water. Then, at the halfway point when they were level pegging, the American seemed to pull away. Just when Edward thought it was all over, Burk seemed to falter and, in less than a minute, Guy was once again alongside him. The last few hundred yards saw a battle of wills acted out on the most public of stages.

  Perhaps it was because of an unspoken feeling among those watching that this would be the last regatta before war and these young men, striving on the river that ran through this quiet English town, might soon be fighting on a foreign front, but the struggle seemed, at least to Edward, unbearably poignant. This was English decency on display, honest rivalry that men like Major Stille could never understand.

  Still neck and neck, the two pairs of splashing sculls came down over the finishing line. The flag was waved and the race was over. But who had won? Could it even have been a dead heat? There was an agonizing wait while the officials deliberated. And then the announcement. Burk was declared the winner. A groan from Black was followed by a burst of applause which even he had to join in, knowing that it was for his son as much as the winner. The American had triumphed but the courage and sheer guts of the challenger had captured the hearts of the watching crowds.

  Black hurriedly moored the launch and went to congratulate Guy. Edward and Bruce-Dick followed more slowly, not wishing to come between father and son.

  ‘A very game lad,’ Bruce-Dick opined.

  ‘Indeed,’ Edward said. It was not the English way to indulge in superlatives.

  After Guy’s race – it was announced that Burk had broken the record for the Diamonds by a full eight seconds, completing the course in eight minutes and ten seconds – Edward’s interest in the regatta was all but over. Having shaken Guy by the hand, he went off in search of Verity. He had a strange premonition that he ought not to have let her out of his sight. He told himself that Stille was dead so there was nothing to fear, but why did his heart say otherwise?

  He found Verity and Kay comforting Cathy Herold. ‘Oh, Edward – there you are! Could you take Cathy home? She’s had a rather unpleasant experience and she’s very shaken,’ Verity explained.

  ‘Of course, but what’s happened?’

  ‘Harry sort of jumped on her,’ Kay answered.

  ‘In the launch?’

  ‘Yes, they had moored behind the island, out of sight and were . . .’

  ‘We were kissing,’ Cathy sobbed, clutching a handkerchief to her face. ‘Nothing more, I promise, and then he tried to . . .’

  ‘He tried to rape her,’ Verity finished her sentence, speaking with quiet anger.

  ‘I told him to stop but he just wouldn’t. I told him I liked him . . . I did like him but it was all going too fast . . . I screamed and then . . .’

  ‘And then he hit her,’ Kay said. ‘Show Lord Edward your face.’

  Unwillingly, Cathy raised her head and took away the handkerchief. Edward saw there was a nasty bruise on her cheek.

  ‘Oh God! I’m so sorry, Cathy. I never thought he would be violent. How did you get away from him?’

  ‘I told him I would scream the place down if he didn’t take me straight back to the Stewards’ Enclosure.’ She managed a smile through her tears. ‘He seemed to believe me, so here I am.’

  ‘Let’s go to the first-aid tent and have that bruise looked at,’ Edwar
d urged her. ‘Do you want to make a formal complaint . . . to the police, I mean?’

  ‘No . . . I’m all right, Lord Edward. You’re all very kind but I’m not badly hurt. It was just the shock of it. If you can take me home, I’ll be all right, honestly. It was partly my fault. I shouldn’t have encouraged him.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Kay said. ‘When Harry’s being charming, one wants to give him anything. He did the same with me at the dance at Phyllis Court the other evening but I laughed him out of it. He said he wanted to take me to a secret place where we could be alone. I think he tries it on with every half-decent woman he meets.’

  Edward looked angry and anxious. ‘I’ll take you home, Cathy. Fenton’s around somewhere but in any case I think my knee is up to . . . Ah! There he is, just when we need him. Fenton, will you get the car? We’re taking Mrs Herold home. She’s not feeling very well. Will you two be all right?’ he added, turning to Kay and Verity.

  ‘Of course! Or would you like us to come with you?’ Kay asked.

  ‘Verity, you need to rest,’ Edward said bossily. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you came with me, Kay. A woman’s touch and all that.’

  14

  All the time he was with Cathy, Edward felt nervous and angry. Even though this was the Harry he had known in Kenya, he had tried to convince himself that the man had changed – become something better, softer, more mature. But now he was forced to admit that the leopard had not changed his spots – nor could he. Harry was still the vain, heartless womanizer who had viewed all women – married or not – as fair game. He had the old hunter’s belief in nature’s innate savagery and the scars to prove it. You killed or you were killed.

  As soon as he could, Edward left Cathy chatting away to Kay. They seemed to get along. Both were active, outdoor women with the same taste in men. It was not surprising, he thought, that their views on the world – which primarily meant men – were similar. Neither seemed to notice when he made his excuses, saying he had to get back to Verity. It was quite absurd, he knew, but he was convinced that some danger threatened her and that, in her condition, she would not be able to protect herself. He was not normally someone who set much store by hunches or premonitions but, this once, he was the victim of some terror – there was no other word for it – that had started as a vague fear and now had him by the throat.