The House on Vesper Sands

by Paraic O?Donnell

  ‘In our usual milieu,’ she said, ‘the gentleman and I would have been introduced by now.’

  Elf looked at her in mild distraction, folding away his greatcoat and signalling to a porter that he would sooner keep it by him. ‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose that is rather irregular. My colleague shares my habit of discretion in official matters, though we are much too dull, goodness knows, to warrant such excesses. Allow me, then, to present – let me see – Mr Brown. Mr Brown, this is Miss Octavia Hillingdon. She is the granddaughter of Felix Hillingdon, the great newspaperman, and now a journalist in her own right. I am pleased to think of Miss Hillingdon as a particular friend.’

  She studied him at some length, taking note of his coarse tobacco-coloured suit, his freshly clipped moustache, the tiny comma of dirt beneath his thumbnail. When she turned back to Elf he smiled blandly. The deception was a minor courtesy. She was not expected to believe it, but she was expected to spare them the awkwardness of pointing it out.

  ‘Mr Brown,’ she said curtly. He inclined his head and nudged the brim of his hat. ‘You also serve in some official capacity, I suppose?’

  ‘In a modest capacity,’ Elf interjected. ‘Rather like mine. Our sort are ten a penny in Whitehall.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe, Elf. And does Mr Brown also – how did you put it, exactly? Does he also have oversight of “certain police matters”? Without being a policeman himself?’

  Elf beamed. ‘We are fortunate to have cordial relations with Her Majesty’s various constabularies. And yes, we lend them our assistance in certain matters.’

  ‘It rather appeared to me,’ Octavia said, ‘to be the other way around.’

  Elf reclined in his seat and studied her with faint amusement. ‘How do you mean, old thing?’

  ‘I’m not an imbecile, Elf. You brought me to Strythe House because there were things you wanted me to see. Did you expect me to notice only what you wanted?’

  ‘Touché,’ he said. He had taken his gloves off and clutched them now against his chest. ‘I’m afraid I rather deserved that.’

  ‘You asked me to trust you, Elf, and I have. But there are limits. Strythe House is one thing, but I’m not about to trot behind you all the way across Kent with nothing more than your assurances. This train is for Deal, which isn’t far from Lord Strythe’s seaside residence. I have been looking into his affairs, you know, and I’ve tried to be thorough. I take that to be something more than a coincidence, but I have no intention of puzzling out the rest on my own. Unless you explain all this to my satisfaction, I’ll be getting off at the first stop.’

  Elf let out a languorous sigh. ‘Well, Brown,’ he said, ‘it looks as if the game is up, old chum. We shall have to be more forthcoming, if we are to remain in Miss Hillingdon’s good graces.’

  Mr Brown thumbed the corner of his mouth. ‘Looks that way,’ he said.

  ‘Miss Hillingdon has always been devilishly sharp,’ continued Elf. ‘I have relied upon it, in fact, and always intended to be frank with her when the time was right. These little adventures are splendidly diverting, of course, but one is obliged to conduct oneself according to certain methods. Very well, then, Wavy. Where ought we to begin?’

  ‘We ought to begin with why. Why are we going to Vesper Sands? His Lordship’s household sent for him there, but he wasn’t to be found.’

  ‘Goodness, you have been thorough, haven’t you? We’re going there because I promised to help you. When we spoke last night, you had a great deal on your mind. You’d been preoccupied as it was, what with our friend Strythe and his irregular doings, and then you’d been thrust into the Spiriters business, which turned out not to be entirely the product of Mr Healy’s daydreams. Your cup has been fairly running over, lately. And then there was the matter of this missing girl, of this …’

  ‘Miss Tatton. Miss Angela Tatton.’

  ‘Miss Tatton, yes. You wanted to find her, naturally, and for the noblest of reasons, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put aside these other mysteries. And why should you? Chances like these don’t come along very often. But what if you didn’t have to choose? I’m not sure about the Spiriters – not yet, at any rate – but what if I were to tell you that you could look for Miss Tatton and find out more about Strythe? And that all you had to do was stay on this train?’

  ‘What? But why would the missing girl be in Kent?’ Mr Brown cocked his head at this, as if he too were curious. ‘You aren’t suggesting that Lord Strythe—’

  ‘Steady on, old thing. No, nothing of that kind. As for the girl, well, the circumstances seem rather peculiar, but we shall return to that in just a moment. The police have been sniffing around Strythe all right, but only because people keep plunging from his battlements. They were first called to the house on Thursday morning, after the seamstress was found.’

  ‘Her name was Esther Tull,’ said Octavia. ‘Aged thirty-seven years, of Charlotte-street, Bethnal Green. That dreadful Inspector Warnock had all the particulars at the ready, though I’m not sure he’d got them first-hand.’

  ‘Well, no. Warnock has his uses, but when there’s a delicate bit of business at the home of an earl, well, he’s not the sort of chap you’d send. No, it was a man from the Yard, and the thing seems to have aroused his curiosity.’

  ‘He suspects foul play, you mean? But Lord Strythe himself was not at home.’

  ‘So I gather. As to the circumstances of the death itself, the coroner must have his say in the first instance. In the meantime, the fellow who was sent to the house has begun making discreet inquiries. And this is where the missing girl comes in, curiously enough. Now, I have only the sparsest of intelligence as yet, but this policeman seems to have turned her up, and in circumstances we haven’t yet accounted for. It may be that he was looking into the Spiriters too, although it wouldn’t be entirely regular if he were. That’s being investigated by local chaps in Whitechapel, where it hasn’t really gathered any steam. As far as they’re concerned, it’s just a spate of missing persons cases. Of course, it may be that this fellow simply stumbled upon the Tatton girl quite by chance, but in that case I’d have expected him to hand her over to the boys at Leman-street. Instead, he seems to have taken the rather bewildering step of keeping her with him. He and his sergeant took the first train for Deal this morning, Miss Tatton in tow.’

  ‘But why? Why would this policeman keep her with him?’

  ‘Well, it’s a puzzle, as I say. Again, it may simply be that he has more than one iron in the fire. But even so, it can hardly be convenient. If he’s going to go poking around in Lord Strythe’s affairs, the last thing he ought to do is draw attention to himself.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Octavia. ‘If he suspects some wrongdoing, then surely he is acting within his powers?’

  ‘Well, it rather depends, you see. It’s a question of proper grounds. As things stand – or rather, as they stood – nothing more than an unexplained death had been reported. A sad case, of course, but one that might well prove to be nothing more than a doleful little suicide. Scotland Yard is not in the habit of making work for itself. It is certainly not in the habit of provoking scandals involving peers of the realm unless they cannot in all decency be avoided. No, our man has got a sniff of something, but no more than that. Until he has built a case like the hull of a dreadnought, he is on his own.’

  ‘Even peers of the realm are subject to its laws. And to the scrutiny of the press, for that matter. What do you know about this policeman? Is he likely to be proven right?’

  ‘You may well ask,’ said Elf. ‘He is Inspector Henry Cutter of the CID. A well-regarded chap, if rather more feared than loved among the ranks. He made his name with the investigation of a rather gruesome and distressing case, though I imagine it was before your time. In the pages of the tawdrier publications, it was known as “The Slaughter of the St Johns”.’

  ‘I’ve heard it mentioned,’ Octavia said. ‘Wasn’t there some connection to a cabinet member?’
/>
  ‘To the Home Secretary, no less. Dr St John was his brother-in-law. Yes, it was a thoroughly nasty affair, and took a good deal of unpicking. There aren’t many who could have made a go of it as he did, and he’s been given quite a bit of leeway ever since – rather too much, in the view of some. He has a weakness for certain exotic cases, you see, and his methods tend towards the unorthodox. Still, even Cutter is not given free rein. Indeed, I have it on good authority that until this morning he was on the point of being called in for a talking-to.’

  ‘What do you mean, “until this morning”? What was it that changed their minds?’

  ‘Why, the most recent tragedy at Strythe House, of course. Since it now appears that Lord Strythe himself may have met an untimely end, they must be seen to spare no effort. Inspector Warnock is hardly fit to investigate a break-in at a henhouse, but he need only mind the shop until Cutter returns. Inspector Cutter, meanwhile, has taken himself off to Kent to ask impertinent questions, and there’s no reason now to haul him back.’

  ‘As long as one assumes,’ Octavia said, ‘that the remains we examined belonged to Lord Strythe.’

  Elf studied her for a moment. ‘Well, quite,’ he said. ‘One must keep an open mind, after all. I must say, Wavy, you have quite the gift for intrigue.’

  He was about to say more when they were disturbed by a rattling at the door. A man in a drab black coat entered, uncovering his head with a diffident flourish. ‘Do excuse me,’ he said. ‘The mechanism proved troublesome – the door handle, that is to say – though perhaps the fault is in my own creaking apparatus. The indignities of age, you see. But never fear, I shall be as quiet as a mouse once I have taken my seat.’

  The passenger turned from the door, making a shuffling bow to the company. He removed his scarf – revealing a clergyman’s collar – and was on the point of unfastening his overcoat when Mr Brown interrupted.

  ‘That seat is taken.’

  The clergyman greeted this with a look of mild perplexity, blinking above his spectacles at each of them in turn. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.

  ‘That seat.’ Brown pointed to it. ‘This compartment. They’re taken. You’re in the wrong place.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the clergyman. ‘Oh, dear. What a dreadful muddle.’

  He was in his middle fifties, Octavia judged, and had about him the genteel shabbiness that is tolerated in churchmen of a certain age. ‘You must forgive me,’ he continued, buttoning his coat again. ‘The porter guided me almost to the very door, yet I have contrived to go astray. At my age, you see, one navigates a perpetual fog.’

  Elf opened the door for him. ‘My associate is a little brusque in his manner, I am afraid. It is only that we are transacting some private business. Otherwise we should have been very glad to have the pleasure of your company.’

  ‘Not a bit of it, not a bit of it.’ The clergyman bowed as he retreated to the passageway. ‘I should never get on in business, I fear, being so much occupied with the eternal. I must wait rather longer for my rewards.’

  He paused in the doorway and studied each of them in turn. His expression was benign, in the practised manner of clergymen, and curiously immobile. His features, once he had arranged them as he wished, might have belonged to a waxwork figure. ‘Goodness me,’ he said, glancing at the window. ‘How the snow hastens the gloom. It is hardly more than two o’clock, yet the darkness is all but complete.’

  Elf closed the door behind him and stood for a moment in thought. As he moved to return to his seat, he caught sight of something and stooped to pick it up.

  ‘How tedious,’ he said, rising. ‘Our absent-minded friend seems to have dropped something. Brown, old fellow, would you be awfully obliging?’

  Elf held out what appeared to be a small and unmarked medicine bottle. Mr Brown studied it for a moment, then glanced in the direction of the passageway. He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I didn’t notice either,’ said Elf, as if in reply. ‘We were distracted, perhaps, and it is rather a tiny article. In any case, it seems the gentlemanly thing to do. Return it to him, will you. With my particular compliments.’

  ‘Your particular compliments?’

  ‘Just so.’

  Mr Brown seemed satisfied by this. Retrieving his hat, he excused himself with a perfunctory nod and stepped neatly into the corridor.

  ‘Yes, a curious fellow,’ Elf mused. ‘And faintly familiar, it seems to me, but perhaps my imagination has been stirred by all this excitement. Now then, I find I have quite lost the thread of our conversation.’

  ‘We were talking about the death of Lord Strythe,’ said Octavia. ‘Or the appearance of it, at least, which will put this Inspector Cutter on a longer leash.’

  ‘Yes, precisely. And whatever the truth of the matter, it will do Cutter no harm if that appearance is kept up for a while. The longer he has a free hand, the more you yourself may discover. I ought to have explained things a little better before bundling you aboard this frightful train, but I’ve had your best interests at heart. You do see that now, I hope?’

  Octavia looked away in weariness. They passed the dockyard at Woolwich, where some scaffolded hulk loomed in the grey air. ‘And what about you, Elf? What about your interests? You do have some continuing interest in the matter, I take it? You and Mr Brown aren’t taking a holiday by the sea?’

  He smiled faintly, extending one hand to examine his fingernails. ‘We shall keep a watching brief, nothing more.’

  ‘Really, Elf? I still have no clear idea of what it is you do, but I’ve seen you and Mr Brown around policemen. Scotland Yard may not be interfering any longer, but how can I be sure this Cutter will be allowed to do his job?’

  ‘Cutter is his own man, I assure you. If he weren’t, I’d know a good deal more about what he’s up to. He’s certainly not the sort to make himself amenable to fellows like me. I shall be obliged to keep a certain distance while you and he become acquainted. Of course, you’ll have to ingratiate yourself with Strythe’s sister first. Did you know about Lady Ada? Rather miserable sort of existence she’s had, by all accounts, and I’m not sure it’s left the old girl entirely untouched. In any case, I’ll remain in the offing. The man we found this morning will be examined by the surgeon, and his identity will be confirmed, one way or the other. It will be at least a day or two, I imagine, before word reaches us, and in the meantime, well, gather ye rosebuds, as it were. All I ask is that you keep me informed, and that you do nothing for now to dispel the impression that Strythe is dead. Dear me, what’s all this now?’

  The train was shuddering to a halt amid a violent clamour of chains and shrieking metal. Soon the whistles of the guards could be heard, and a commotion of raised voices.

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Elf, releasing the arms of his seat ‘Are you all right, Wavy? I fear you were thrown about.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Octavia said. ‘They were braking hard, that’s all. Go and see what the matter is.’

  He crossed to the door and put his head out. ‘You there,’ he called. ‘I say, you there, guard. What the devil is all the fuss about? Why have we stopped?’

  Octavia joined him at the door, where a guard stood with his cap under his arm. He was no more than fifteen or sixteen, and breathless and grimy from some heavy work. ‘Which there’s been an accident, sir,’ he said, casting an anxious glance along the passageway. ‘I’d best get on, sir, begging your pardon. All hands is wanted.’

  ‘What sort of accident?’ said Octavia. ‘Is anyone hurt?’

  ‘I’d as soon not say, miss, if you won’t take it amiss.’

  A sooty grease obscured half the youth’s face, so that at first Octavia had paid no attention to the remainder. She saw now how pale it was, and how grave and sunken his eyes appeared in his boyish face.

  ‘You’ve had a shock,’ she said. ‘But I had seen a dead man before you had your breakfast this morning. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘Well, miss, sir.’ The boy took his hat from under his arm and b
egan worrying at its peak with his thumbs. ‘We passed the train for London a ways back, when we was just out of Woolwich. Only the London train don’t stop there, no more nor this one does, and so it were running all out – upwards of forty mile an hour, easy. And it seems a gentleman put out his head for a nip of fresh air at just the wrong moment. Must have been hard of hearing, Mr Downes reckons, or he’d have heard it coming.’

  ‘Where is he?’ said Elf, who spoke now with evident agitation. ‘You must take me to him. How severe is the injury?’

  The guard began to speak, but hesitated. ‘Sir, we ain’t found – we ain’t found everything yet.’

  ‘Everything?’ Elf looked at him as if he were raving. ‘What are you talking about, boy?’

  The youth looked in discomfort from Elf to Octavia, lodging his hat under one arm. ‘Which, sir, the trains was both at full speed. The gentleman’s head was took off his shoulders, and it must have been carried a good way, for we ain’t found it yet.’

  It was after eight o’clock in the evening when at last the train arrived at Deal. It had stood on the track outside Woolwich for over an hour while the grim business of the accident was attended to, and had been made to wait a further half an hour outside Faversham, where the platform was occupied by a goods train from Whitstable.

  Octavia had gone with Elf to inspect Mr Brown’s body – she had insisted upon it, though he grew strangely vehement in his objections. It was official business, he said, turning and barring the passageway when he saw her following. Mr Brown’s death had occurred in the service of Her Majesty’s Government, and was now a matter of the utmost sensitivity.

  ‘Is that why you kept his real name from me?’ Octavia said, finding a hardness in her voice. ‘And wasn’t he on official business this morning, too, when he showed me the body at Strythe House? You were quite content to have me witness that.’

  The carriage had been emptied of other passengers, and one of its doors stood open to the cold. Mr Brown’s body was slumped in front of the other, at the far end of the corridor. It puzzled her at first, the lapsed mass that remained. Only when his feet came into view could she begin to make sense of it. There. She saw where the heaped parts were curtailed, how they had folded helplessly upon themselves.