by Dawn Harris
‘No, Johnny would never be that irresponsible. He knows we’d set up a thorough search if he went missing.’ He got to his feet, promising to let me know the instant he had any news. ‘Try not to worry, Liddy. We’re doing everything we can to find him. In fact I called Scotland Yard in before coming here.’
After Lang had shown Arthur out, he removed the breakfast things and I went up to my bedroom to make myself presentable before going to see Monica. I sat at my dressing table, staring unseeingly at the mirror. Where was Johnny? What could have happened to him? Arthur believed the King and Mrs. Simpson were mistaken about seeing him in a car with a beautiful redhead, yet I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that he was wrong. That the man they’d seen was indeed Johnny. And Arthur was simply trying to keep my spirits up.
I knew he’d turn London upside down to find Johnny. But I couldn’t sit around waiting, it would drive me mad. Monica and Jean were also in desperately worrying situations, and the best thing I could do now was to help them, if I could. And I set off for Bruton street.
When I arrived, Jean was already with Monica. Emily was there too, and I was thankful to see her bruises had almost gone. Despite their own troubles, they were all extremely concerned about Johnny. I tried to put on a brave front, telling them about the huge search going on right now, before asking Monica how her father was.
Tears sprang into her eyes, and her voice shook as she said, ‘Oh, you know – he seems optimistic, but deep down he’s scared stiff. His barrister says all the evidence is circumstantial and the police have no real proof.’
‘Well, that’s true. They can’t have proof. He’s innocent.’
‘Yes, I know, but I don’t trust that Superintendent Burns. He seems so confident daddy will be found guilty.’
Emily brought some tea and biscuits then, and when I asked how things were at home, she said, 'Much better now I’m going to and from work by car. Mrs. Carmichael has been so kind, fixing that for me.’
‘Nonsense,’ Jean declared. 'It's the least I can do.’ Monica and Emily looked rather puzzled by that remark, unaware of how much Jean wanted to atone for helping Mosley.
'We see a lot more policemen round our way now,’ Emily added happily.
‘Good,’ Jean said, in a manner that told me this was down to Arthur’s influence.
Emily had more good news, telling us her cousin, who had been out of work since Christmas, was now a steward on the “Queen Mary,” Cunard’s beautiful new liner, which had sailed on its maiden voyage to New York last month. ‘He’s so thrilled. His wife’s expecting their first child in August. You can’t imagine how relieved he was to get that job.’
‘That’s wonderful news,’ Jean said. ‘Where did he work before?’
‘In a restaurant. Until the Blackshirts smashed their windows and terrorised the owners into moving away.’
‘That’s awful,’ Monica declared angrily. ‘Why doesn’t the government stop Mosley?’
‘Freedom of speech,’ I responded witheringly.
Jean said, ‘I’m so sorry, Emily.’ And, jumping to her feet, she went over to a side window and stood looking out.
The telephone rang at that moment, Monica answered it and began talking to a customer, while Emily collected the tea things and took them into the kitchen. I walked over to Jean, and to my astonishment saw tears streaming down her face. Dabbing at them with her handkerchief she murmured, ‘What have I done, Liddy? I’ll never forgive myself. That poor man put out of work because of Oswald’s Blackshirts. And I was actually supporting them.’
It wasn’t easy for any of us to keep cheerful that day, and Mr. Taverner’s trial was to start in the morning. Emily and Jean promised to be at the Old Bailey and I arranged to pick up Monica in good time, as we both had to give evidence, of course. I tried not to think about Johnny. And that it was always redheads Archie had gone off with too. It did no good to think about that, but I simply couldn’t get it out of my mind.
That evening I was reading the newspaper and listening to Geraldo and his orchestra on the wireless when Inspector Nabber called. Lang showed him in, and he sat down opposite me, refusing my offer of tea, or any kind of drink, insisting he couldn’t stay long.
‘I’ve come to make the arrangements for tomorrow at the Corner House, and to tell you I’m involved with the search for Mr. Alverstone.’ I started to interrupt but he stopped me. ‘I promised Mr. Carmichael I’d tell you how things stand at present. I’m afraid there’s no easy way to say this, but....’
‘Johnny.............’ I stopped, suddenly feeling very breathless. ‘He --- he’s not dead?’
‘Not as far as we know. I’m sorry cariad, but I believe Mr. Alverstone has been kidnapped.’
CHAPTER TWENTYSIX
‘Kidnapped?’ I whispered, my heart pounding like a two-ton sledgehammer.
‘That’s how it looks.’
‘But --- he – he was seen with..........’
‘A redhead? Yes, I heard about that,’ he said in a matter of fact manner. ‘And you, being a woman, naturally thought the worst. Really cariad, how could you think that of Mr. Alverstone? He’s not that sort of a man.’
‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ I muttered.
‘That’s because it’s true,’ he assured me with a smile. ‘Things aren’t always what they seem.’
‘Do you know Johnny then?’
‘We’ve met.’
‘You said that about Arthur Carmichael.’
‘Well, in a sense we’re all in the same business. Real gentleman, both of them. The kind I’d trust with my life.’ I began to choke up and when he asked what was wrong, I could only shake my head at him. Whereupon he promised softly, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find Mr. Alverstone. Now, I’ve spoken to the bodyguard who was with the King on that day and...’
Regaining control of my feelings, I cut in, ‘I suppose you know him too?’
‘Of course. As Mr. Alverstone mixes in the same circles as the King, the bodyguard knows him well by sight, and said he was definitely the man in the Mercedes. But the King was wrong about one thing – the bodyguard said Mr. Alverstone did not have his arm round the redhead. He sat bolt upright and looked far from happy. He said the redhead was rather ugly, and was sitting beside Mr. Alverstone on the back seat, but sideways on, and was much shorter than him.’
My heart lifted at those words, only to plunge to the depths again as I realised what it meant. 'The redhead was part of the kidnap.’
‘In my opinion, yes.’
‘Did the bodyguard get the number of the Mercedes?’
The Inspector smiled. ‘No. He only saw them for about three seconds. The car went past in a line of traffic, and he had no reason to think anything was wrong.’
I gave a sigh. ‘A pity.’
‘Indeed.’ I sat staring into space for a moment or two and he asked softly, ‘What are you thinking, my lovely?’
I blinked at him and then burst out laughing. ‘What did you call me?’
‘My lovely,’ he repeated, with a smile. ‘Sorry. It just slipped out. It’s what I call my wife.’ And he carried on, his eyes glinting with mischief, ‘So tell me, what are you thinking?’
‘Well – that they must have used a gun to get Johnny into that car – and maybe that’s why the redhead was seated sideways on. She was probably digging the gun into his ribs. That’s if she........’ I stopped and stared at him.
‘Yes, cariad?’ he encouraged.
‘If it was a woman. I mean, it could have been a man wearing a wig. That would explain why the bodyguard thought the redhead was ugly.’
He clapped his hands in approval. ‘Well done, Mrs. York. We’ll make a detective of you yet.’
‘I suppose you’d already worked that out?’
‘Yes, but I have been in the police force for twenty-five years.’
‘Do you know who the redhead is?’
‘I’m assuming it’s Ebenezer, the second messenger.’
I thought for a moment, then asked, �
�You said the redhead was ugly and shorter than Johnny?’
He nodded. ‘The bodyguard thought so.’
'The man I saw at the Corner House was taller than Johnny, and quite reasonable looking.’
‘Ah,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Then – who---?’
We looked at each other for a moment, then I suddenly burst out, ‘I know who it was. It’s Muller, that loathsome German diplomat I told you about. He’s decidedly ugly, rather fat and only about five foot, three. He also has a silly moustache like Hitler.’
‘Presumably he shaved it off, or he’d look even sillier in a dress.’
Despite my fears for Johnny, I started to giggle at the vision of a man with a moustache in woman’s attire. ‘Was he wearing a dress?’
'The bodyguard thought so, but wasn’t sure.’
‘What was the chauffeur like?’
‘No-one noticed him, I’m afraid.’ Taking out his notebook and pencil he made notes, then turned a page and began doodling. Like he had on the Isle of Wight when he’d first started asking awkward questions. And I wondered what was coming next. ‘Now about Mr. Alverstone – I want you to tell me everything you can about him. For instance, what is he working on at present? Do you know?’
’I can’t tell you that,’ I protested.
‘Have you signed the Official Secrets Act?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Well, I have. If we’re to find him........’
‘He’s looking into the activities of the British Union of Fascists.’
‘Oh come on, Mrs. York,’ he chided. ‘You can do better than that. Half the secret service is spying on Mosley and his Blackshirts.’
I searched for a way to hint at what he needed to know, without breaking my promise to Johnny. 'All I can say is, he refused to tell me what he was working on, apart from watching the Fascists, and I teased him by trying to guess. I said the most unlikely thing I could think of........’
‘And it was true?’
‘Yes, and he made me swear not to tell anyone.’ He frowned at me and I suddenly saw that I could get round it by explaining Jean’s part in it all. In any case I had to do so before the police saw her leave that letter in Hyde Park tomorrow. 'There is one thing I must tell you, Inspector. I should have told you before. In fact I almost did on the Isle of Wight, but we were interrupted.’
He didn’t answer, but when he leant back in his chair and waited, the words stuck in my throat. Only then did he urge, 'I can’t work with one hand tied behind my back, cariad. Who are you trying to protect?’
I gave a little gasp. ‘How did you......?.’
‘It had to be that. You told me everything else in great detail, except for the woman in Hyde Park. Which one of your friends is it?’
There was no going back now, and I took a very deep breath. ‘All right. It’s Jean Carmichael.’
I saw the shock in his eyes, but he quickly controlled it, and started doodling again. ‘Have you spoken to her about it?’
‘Not until last Thursday evening. Before that, like you, I thought she was being blackmailed.’
‘Hmmm,’ he reflected thoughtfully, finishing the doodle with a flourish. ‘Thursday - wasn’t that the day you saw the man from the Corner House walking with that German diplomat, Fritz Muller? Who you described as----’ he consulted his notes, ‘short, fat and ugly.’
‘Short, fat, ugly, and loathsome,’ I corrected. ‘Do get your facts right, Inspector.’
He inclined his head with an amused smile. It was seeing Ebenezer, the second messenger, with the German diplomat that first made me doubt the Greenes were blackmailing Jean. That was only four days ago, but it seemed a lifetime.
I told him that Jean’s father had suffered a fatal stroke on hearing his Jewish financial director had falsified the company’s accounts and escaped abroad with the proceeds. ‘Her mother survived another two years, but she was never the same, and I’m afraid it set Jean against all Jews. Sir Oswald Mosley was a friend of her family, and naturally he encouraged her in that view. He said she could help his cause by passing on anything Arthur told her about how the government meant to deal with his organisation and with Hitler.’
‘I see. And how long has she been doing that?’
‘About three months. Until Emily, one of Monica’s models, was beaten up by the Blackshirts. She liked Emily, but hadn’t realised she was Jewish, and was so upset by what happened to her, she instantly stopped helping Mosley. He’d assured her the Blackshirts didn’t beat up anyone and she’d believed him. Luckily she’s been too busy recently to tell Mosley about her change of mind yet. But you needn’t worry - she’ll do her part in Hyde Park tomorrow. She’s promised to leave a letter for Ginger as usual.’
‘Good.’ And he thanked me for telling him. ‘It can’t have been easy for you.’ Quietly he warned, ‘She’ll be arrested, cariad.’
It made me feel sick to think of it. ‘She knows that.’
‘So,’ he mused, thinking things out, ‘if this second messenger is in cohorts with Muller...’ He looked up at me and I held his gaze steadily, silently urging him to say what I could not, without breaking my promise to Johnny. ‘The information is probably going to Berlin too.’
I let out my breath in relief. ‘Jean had no idea that was happening. Truly.’
He asked carefully, ‘I take it Mr. Carmichael is unaware of what his wife has done?’
‘Totally.’
‘You haven’t given him a hint?’
I glared at him, furious that he could think such a thing of me. ‘No, I have not,’ I burst out, trying to hold back the tears that kept threatening every time I thought of what Arthur would have to go through.
‘Sorry – I had to ask, my lovely. Some women can’t keep a secret.’
‘Well, I can. And I am not your lovely,’ I retorted in a stinging tone.
‘No,’ he agreed meekly. ‘I’ll try to remember that. And, at the risk of upsetting you even further, I must ask if Mrs. Carmichael is capable of keeping it from her husband until after tomorrow?’
I didn’t need to think about that. ‘Without question.’
‘Ah – that sort of a marriage, is it?’
‘On her side. Not on his. He adores her.’
‘I see. Is there anything else you haven’t told me?’
I shook my head and when he raised a doubting eyebrow, I promised, ‘Truly there isn’t.’
His soft brown eyes twinkled. ‘Good. Now we understand each other.’ And he went on, choosing his words with care, ‘Does Mr. Alverstone know what Mrs. Carmichael has been doing?’
‘Not yet. I was going to tell him last Friday at the Carmichael’s house party.’ Which told him exactly what Johnny was working on.
‘The day he was kidnapped. Yes, I see.’
We talked then about the murders and how they’d come about. It was clear to us both now that Muller and Ebenezer, the second messenger, were Nazi spies, who were willing to go to any lengths, including murder, to ensure Jean kept on sending them information. The system they’d set up, with Ginger collecting the letters, had worked smoothly for three months. Jean was happy with it and they didn’t want to rock the boat by changing something that worked well. Or Jean might have second thoughts. That was why Ginger had to be kept out of prison, to ensure that everything would carry on as normal.
To get Ginger out of prison on the Monday so that he could make the next pick-up on Tuesday in Hyde Park, they had to get the court case against him dropped. The only certain way to do that was to have George Crawleigh killed. Charlie Jones was hired to do it, but he killed Peter first by mistake, due to that bizarre coincidence of similar names and addresses. Then to stop the police setting up a manhunt for Peter’s killer, they planted false evidence connecting Mr. Taverner with that murder. Evidence that Superintendent Burns would use at the trial tomorrow to prove Mr. Taverner was guilty.
No doubt the Nazis believed everything was now back to normal. But there were two de
velopments of which they were, as yet, unaware. That Jean had decided not to send Mosley any more information, and Ginger had been arrested for his part in the jewellery robbery. Arrested, the inspector said, under his real name, so they might never learn of it.
Before he left, Inspector Nabber asked me to be at the Corner House by five tomorrow. I promised I would be and his parting words were, ‘By this time tomorrow I hope to have that villain in custody. But until then he’ll be at large, and he’s still out to get you. So, don’t take any chances, cariad.’
‘I won’t,’ I promised. After all, it was a simple enough thing to do. And I couldn’t see any circumstances under which I would not do that. That way I would be safe. Or so I thought. But life doesn’t always work out as we expect, does it.
I was still puzzled as to why they wanted to get rid of me. Was there something I knew that would give them away? If there was, I had no idea what it was.
In the morning Al drove me to the Old Bailey, and we picked up Monica on the way. Once there we were met by Jean and Emily, who then went into the public gallery. As witnesses we couldn’t go with them, and had to wait in a designated room. Monica didn’t expect to be giving evidence today, but she wanted to be there, to be near her father. I was called into the court that morning, and on entering the witness box I looked across at Mr. Taverner. He’d lost weight and his hair was greyer, but I was thankful to see his manner was that of a man who knew he was innocent and meant to prove it.
I couldn’t help thinking of people in the past who’d stood in that dock. People sentenced to death or transportation, for stealing a hat, or even a loaf of bread. Thank heavens that no longer happened, but I wondered how many other people on trial for their lives had been as innocent as Mr. Taverner. And who, I thought with a shiver, had still gone to the gallows.
Surely that couldn’t happen to him. British justice was the best in the world. The jury must see he was innocent. But if all went well later today at the Corner House, the truth would come out then. Even if Ebenezer refused to talk, there would be evidence at his home, once the police knew where he lived. If only the case hadn’t been brought forward, it might have been solved in time to prevent Mr. Taverner suffering the trauma of a trial.