The Legacy (1987)

by Plante, Lynda La

  Smethurst, Humphrey George, Esquire, had a booming voice, and his flabby hand gripped Sir Charles’ in a pulverizing handshake. ‘Charlie, well, Charlie, sit down, sit down old chap, you must be Miss Jones, seat, take a pew all of you, be back in a tick.’

  They could hear his booming voice as he called for someone named Ethel to get the kettle on the boil for tea. He returned quickly, minus the gown and pulling on a Harris tweed jacket, almost the colour of his hair. His baggy trousers and heavy brogues were covered in mud. His Old Harrovian tie had worked its way around to the back of his neck, and the collar of his crumpled shirt stuck up. He and Sir Charles had been at school together.

  ‘Right, I’ve done a bit of prelim on this, and I’m afraid things don’t look too good, not good at all . . . Ahh, Ethel, thank God, I’m parched . . . tea, everyone? Oh, and Ethel some ginger nuts, there’s a good gel.’ He poured tea and talked constantly as it slopped into the saucers, then waved the milk liberally over the whole tray.

  ‘Now, my gel, let’s take a look at your statement, jolly well written and clear as a bell, but we have one problem the opposition will be on to like hawks . . . How long have you known this fella? Two – no, don’t interrupt me, tell me when I’ve finished. Right, point two, you state you were at a boxing match up on Highbury Hills, right? Yes, now I have to have witnesses to that fact, witnesses to say you were not, not, with the gypsy people, but there under your own steam, so to speak, and that before that date you had no connection with the . . . the er . . . chap, Freedom Stubbs. These two points are extremely important because what they will throw at you is that you were, you are, fabricating the whole story to enable us to get the chap free . . . so I will have to ask you certain . . . delicate questions, that will no doubt be asked by the prosecution counsel.’

  Smethurst listened attentively to Evelyne as she stated clearly that until the time of the first boxing match she had never set eyes on Freedom Stubbs.

  ‘So tell me, what does an attractive young woman like you want to take up with this gypsy for?’

  Evelyne was up on her feet and banging on the desk in fury at Smethurst’s insinuations. He leaned back and raised his eyebrows. ‘So I am to take it that there is no romantic connection, purely a platonic friendship on your part with this gypsy, yes? Have you ever had any form of sexual relationship with him? And, further, do you intend to do so should this lad be set free?’

  Evelyne banged the desk again, saying she had never ever had such thoughts and nothing was further from her mind. All she was interested in was Freedom’s innocence. ‘I saw that girl, I saw the girl the lads raped, and I believe in British justice, they will not let an innocent man hang.’

  Smethurst gave her a slow hand-clap and pushed his chair back from his desk.

  ‘I think, Charlie, she’ll be wonderful, and as you said, like a tigress, but I’m afraid, Miss Jones, you’ll have to control that temper of yours. In the witness stand it is imperative that you behave like a lady at all times, never raise your voice – never – just answer clearly and concisely, understand?’

  Suddenly he threw a question, like a dart, towards Evelyne.

  ‘So who do you think killed those miners, hum? Any ideas?’

  She swallowed and looked down at her hands, licked her lips and lifted her head to stare straight into Smethurst’s bright eyes.

  ‘I have no idea, sir.’

  He chucked the pencil down and opened a drawer, took out some toffees and unwrapped one. ‘That was a lie, but don’t . . . no, don’t argue with me, I don’t want to know, just tell me whether Freedom Stubbs himself is innocent.’

  Evelyne kept her voice level, her eyes fixed firmly on Smethurst. ‘He did not kill those lads.’

  ‘Good, good, because I don’t think he’s guilty either. Right, let’s get started, yes?’ He flicked a look at Sir Charles who caught it like a tennis player and with a brief nod to Evelyne instructed her to wait in his car.

  Smethurst waited until the door closed behind Evelyne before speaking. His manner changed slightly, he grew quieter, less expansive. He unwrapped another toffee. ‘I think, Charlie, it’s best that you let Miss Jones settle her own accounts at the hotel. By all means hand her the finances, but I don’t want it known you are paying her way. Secondly, I shall check all the alibis the fellow has and then get back to you, leave the statements of Collins and Lord Carlton to her . . . Oh, and fix the gypsy up, you know, get him a suit, looks better if he’s respectable, I think that’s about it for now.’

  As Sir Charles rose to leave, Smethurst rocked in his chair.

  ‘You still see that chap you used to adore at school, Willoughby something-or-other? Still fond of him, are you?’

  Sir Charles prodded the floor with his cane. ‘Killed in action, Ypres.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, nice fella . . . so, Charlie, you think you’ll have a champion, do you?’

  Sir Charles smiled softly, leaned on his cane. ‘When have I ever been wrong? So, what do you think our chances are?’

  Smethurst sniffed, sucked at his toffee. ‘Not good, but then I have never lost a case. I’d like to get Freddy Carlton’s statement sewn up, and that other bloke, Collins. Push those through, they are rather important.’

  Sir Charles already had the door open and his trilby sat on his head at a jaunty angle. He tapped his cane. ‘Leave it to me . . . Thank you, Ethel, for the delicious tea and ginger nuts, good afternoon.’

  Smethurst rocked backwards, then swivelled round in his chair. He thought Sir Charles was still the unfathomable gent he had been at school. The question of fees hadn’t even arisen, but he was sure he would make a fair amount.

  ‘Ethel, I think, dear heart, we’d better get the press on our side for this one, start calling them, would you?’

  The case was by no means easy, and if the truth be known Smethurst felt they didn’t stand a chance in hell of acquittal. The gypsy was, after all, charged with not one murder but four . . . but, by Christ, it would make headlines, and with the society mixture Smethurst knew he had a very potent cocktail.

  Chapter 14

  Evelyne could feel her whole body tense up. Her mouth went dry, but there was no turning back now. The operator was on the line, and with an encouraging nod from Miss Freda she went into her carefully rehearsed speech. ‘Would you please put me through to Lord Frederick Carlton’s residence, the number is Cardiff five-five-four . . .’

  Miss Freda moved closer, listening. Evelyne covered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s going through, don’t get so close, you make me nervous.’

  Miss Freda edged away. Evelyne went red, swallowed. ‘Hello, is that you? Er, you may not remember me, but my name is . . . oh . . . oh yes, I would like to speak with Lord Freddy Carlton please . . . Evelyne Jones . . .’

  ‘What did he say? What, what?’

  Evelyne hissed, ‘It was the butler, shusssshhhhh . . .’

  Freddy reached for the phone, irritated. These newfangled things were a dreadful intrusion on one’s privacy. Even more so with a friend like David Collins. One was forced to accept calls from God knows who, and on reverse charges. He snapped into the phone. ‘Yes, speaking . . . who is this? Who . . . ? No, I’m sorry . . .’

  Freddy was about to replace the phone. ‘Evelyne who? Who?’

  Frantic, Evelyne looked at Miss Freda. ‘Oh, please don’t put your phone down, sir, not until you have heard what I have to say, it’s very important.’

  Miss Freda was gesticulating wildly. Evelyne covered the mouthpiece.

  ‘You don’t ’ave to shout, darlink, they can hear you as if you were in the same room, don’t shout.’

  Evelyne started again.

  ‘Do you recall the boxing match? With the gypsies? The night there was a . . . hello? Hello, are you still there? Oh, Freda, I can’t hear him now, there’s no sound at all coming out.’

  Freddy glanced across the hall towards the drawing-room, hoping his wife would not appear as usual to ask who was on the telephone. He spoke in hushed ton
es. ‘Now listen, dearie, I don’t like you calling my private number, firstly, and secondly I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of admitting to being at some wretched boxing match, is that clear? Now, please do not call me again.’

  As he had expected, Heather came in from the garden, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. She paused, eyebrows lifted. ‘Something wrong, dearest?’

  Freddy covered the phone with his hand, smiling. ‘No, no darling, just a call from the club, snooker game.’

  Heather smiled, knowing perfectly well it had nothing to do with a snooker game. She went in to the drawing room where her mother, Lady Sybil, sat in her wheelchair, playing patience. ‘Who’s he talking to?’

  ‘Just his club, Mother, nothing important.’

  Freddy waited until the door closed behind his wife, then turned back to the phone. ‘Are you still there? Hello?’

  Miss Freda handed the telephone back to Evelyne, whispering that he was back on the line again. Evelyne started to shout again, but lowered her voice when Freda waved frantically.

  ‘I said, sir, that perhaps David Collins will help, you see it is imperative that you act as my witness, my witness . . . He is charged with murder, and he is an innocent man.’

  Freddy tried to control his voice. ‘And David Collins is sick, you must not at any cost disturb him. I won’t allow it, do you hear me? And I think you have a nerve, yes, a bloody nerve, calling here. We want nothing to do with you. Is that perfectly clear?’

  Poor Freddy sensed the drawing-room door opening behind him, heard a bang as his mother-in-law’s wheelchair was wheeled out, and was almost beside himself. ‘I am sorry, I really cannot discuss the matter any further, the answer is no, and please do not call again.’

  He replaced the phone and strode along the hall.

  ‘Going out, dear?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I have to go to my club. If David calls, tell him I need to talk to him.’

  Heather pushed her mother’s chair into the hall, watching Freddy grab his trilby and slam out of the front door without a backward glance. Lady Sybil sniffed and rattled the vast array of beads on her chest. Her thin wrists clanked with rows of bangles.

  ‘For someone who has never done a day’s work in his life, he certainly does rush about, doesn’t he? Really, always amazes me why you put up with him, dear, what on earth has he ever done for you?’

  Heather sighed, sucking in her breath over her protruding teeth. ‘He married me, Mother.’

  Evelyne replaced the phone.

  ‘Well, Freda, that was dreadful, he wouldn’t even listen to me.’

  Not one to give up, Miss Freda paced the room. ‘Next we find this Tulip girl, she will also be a witness, yes? Come along, Bianco’s still thrives, we will ask there.’

  Tulip? Yes, the owner of Bianco’s remembered her very well indeed, he could describe her in detail. He rolled his eyes lewdly and made clucking sounds as he talked.

  ‘Do you know where we could find her?’

  He sighed, sat down, and shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I’m sorry, the lady is more than likely pushing up the tulips herself. She died, oh, one year, maybe less . . . but I knew her well, many nights she was here, but . . .’

  They returned, crestfallen, to the hotel, and took the lift to Sir Charles’ suite. As they knocked, Sir Charles swung the door open. ‘Well, how did it go, dearie? You have good news?’

  Evelyne sighed and shook her head. Far from it. She told him the bad news, that neither Freddy nor David would act as witnesses, and that Tulip was dead. She had never before seen Sir Charles angry. He muttered under his breath and swung his monocle about by its ribbon. He paced the room and asked her to tell him once more, right from the beginning, what had taken place. All through her story he drummed his fingers and wandered around the room.

  ‘Freddy, or His Lordship, as he is now, wouldn’t stand up in court because of the possible scandal, but the gossipmongers would like to know just how familiar he is with David’s wife. I saw him, saw him with Lady Primrose, she doesn’t love David . . .’

  Sir Charles replaced his monocle and sat down, interrupting Evelyne’s bitter tirade. ‘Lady Primrose Boyd-Carpenter? Getting me rather confused, my dear. Now repeat what you just said with a little logic so I can piece it all together.’

  Evelyne felt as if Sir Charles’ magnified eye was boring into her as she repeated her story yet again. He threw back his head and roared with laughter, which took her completely off guard.

  Dewhurst carried in the telephone from the study, trailing the long cord. ‘Mr Smethurst for you, sir, I apologize for interrupting but it is long distance and rather urgent.’

  Smethurst was very pleased with himself, so far the story Freedom Stubbs had told him was checking out. The killings that had taken place in Cardiff could not have been committed by their client. In each case he was in another town, and in two instances he was actually in a boxing ring. Sir Charles replaced the receiver. It was more important than ever that Evelyne’s story checked out one hundred per cent. ‘Now you are sure, absolutely sure, that David Collins’ wife is having some sort of liaison with Lord Freddy, yes? Am I right, yes?’

  Evelyne bit her lip. Never one to gossip, she hated the sound of her own voice saying it. ‘Lord Freddy was engaged to Lady Primrose before David. After the war, when David came home, they married and had a son, but David had changed, and Freddy and Primrose were friendly even then. Now, well, I have seen them being very familiar actually in the tea room here at the Grand.’

  ‘Good God, the tea room, well, well.’

  She felt he was laughing at her primness, but the next moment he opened his wallet. ‘I want you to purchase a very special evening gown. It’s essential that you look absolutely stunning. Off you go, and remember, a stunning creation, I think something green to go with your colouring.’

  He didn’t even look at the amount he had given her, just handed her three notes. They were five-pound notes, and Evelyne didn’t know what to say. Dewhurst ushered her out of the suite, and Sir Charles got to work immediately, making calls to Lady Primrose and to Freddy Carlton.

  Ed rushed in, looking crestfallen. ‘Gor blimey, I just ’eard, not one of them toffs will admit to even being at the fight, that’s our defence up the spout, ain’t it?’

  Sir Charles covered the telephone with his hand.

  ‘Ed, my old chum, don’t be such a defeatist, do you really think I would give up so easily? You know the Wheeler family has relatives all over England, rather distant, of course, but I intend to pull family strings.’ He listened to the telephone. ‘Yes, dearie, I’m still here . . . oh, thank you.’

  Ed sat on the edge of his seat.

  ‘Hello, my dear gel, is that Primrose? Why, it’s Charlie, yes, I am in town . . . oh, only just arrived; goodness, it must be so many years . . . how’s your mother? Oh, she is? So sorry . . .’

  Sir Charles appeared to be in the throes of one of his usual social calls so Ed made for the door, but Sir Charles stopped him.

  ‘Ed, pass the word to Miss Jones that she is to be here in my suite prompt at nine o’clock, not a minute before, thank you . . . Hello, Primmy? You still there? Ah, now then, I know it’s short notice, but could you make it this evening? Oh, splendid, splendid.’

  Finding no answer at Evelyne’s door, Ed went down to reception and left a message for her – nine o’clock sharp, not a minute earlier or later. They were to dine in Sir Charles’ suite. Just as he was licking his lips at the thought of a nice, frothing beer, he was called back to the desk. Sir Charles wanted him to collect a small package from a local jewellery store.

  Freda had not been one hundred per cent certain about the gown, and nearly fainted at the price tag, but Evelyne was sure, and she bought it.

  ‘Oh, Evelyne, I could make it for a quarter, no a tenth of the price, I could, I really could.’

  The pair returned to the hotel, exhausted, and Evelyne collected her keys. As she read the message she turned to Freda in horr
or. ‘It’s tonight, the dinner’s tonight! Oh, Freda, I’ll never be ready!’

  As tired as she was, Miss Freda worked on Evelyne like a little beaver. She laid out the long satin gown, the white gloves and the tiny, embroidered handbag. Evelyne sat in front of the dressing-table mirror in a pure silk underslip, and Miss Freda began to brush her hair, which fell to below her waist. Freda had to get down on her knees to brush out the ends. They had shampooed and scrubbed the hair until, when dry, it shone like gold.

  A tap on the door sent Evelyne rushing this way and that as she was nowhere near ready. ‘Who is it? I’m not dressed!’

  ‘Miss Jones, it’s me, Ed, I got somefink for yer from Sir Charles, it’s just for ternight, ’e says, but for you ter use it.’

  At Evelyne’s nod Miss Freda opened the door, peeked round it and took the parcel from Ed. As she shut the door he tapped again.

  ‘It’s Miss Freda, ain’t it? Evelyne said you was helping her, like, are you available ternight for a few drinks, there’s a good dance hall wiv a band?’

  Blushing and tittering, Freda said she would be delighted.

  ‘Oh, Evie, I have a date myself, now I have to rush . . . Oh, my hair, oh, my dress . . . Oh, can you manage without me, darling? Oh, he said to give you this, for tonight, from Sir Charles.’

  Not two minutes ago Freda had been too exhausted to move. Now she leapt about like a young girl.

  Evelyne was delighted to be left alone. She opened the brown paper and looked at the leather case, then inched open the lid and gasped. It contained a necklace of diamonds and emeralds with matching bracelet and drop earrings.

  At eight o’clock sharp Dewhurst ushered Lord Frederick Carlton into Sir Charles’ suite, accompanied by what Sir Charles at first presumed was his mother, only to discover it was his wife. The short, squat, dumpy woman wore a frightful dress, and more diamonds than the royal jewels.