The Baron at Bishops Avenue (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Book 9)

by Jason Blacker

  "You've been very helpful, Edith," said Frances, smiling at her. "One more question though. If you can consider Humphrey for stealing the money, could you also consider him for the murder?"

  Edith looked up and across her face was written the plain expression of shock. Frances took that as her answer, despite what was to come from her mouth. Edith shook her head as if a fly had buzzed by.

  "No, that I would be very hard pressed to believe. He's not a very manly man, if you know what I mean."

  Frances knew what she meant.

  "I don't quite follow," she said.

  Edith looked around as if she was about to share some dirty secret.

  "Everyone believes him to be a homosexual."

  There were few things that Frances detested more than murder, violence and unkindness, and that was prejudice.

  "You believe homosexuals are incapable of murder then?" she asked a little bit acerbically.

  Edith pushed her head back and her eyes widened.

  "I don't mean that. I just mean that he seems more feminine than what would be required to commit a murder."

  Frances decided to let it go. The poor woman was riddled through with old and incorrect beliefs that it was no use trying to convince her otherwise. Indeed, Frances had met more than a few women who had been capable and had committed murder. Frances got up.

  "Thank you, Edith, you've been most helpful. I will keep this in mind as I investigate this crime."

  Edith stood up and smiled proudly. She kept smiling long after Frances had left, for she was happy to be seeing the demise of Humphrey Spilligan, a man she did not like nor care for.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Marmalade Park

  LADY Marmalade was sitting in the living room looking out over her garden. Next to her she had a pot of tea. It was a sunny day outside and sparrows flitted from leafless tree branch to leafless tree branch. They seemed happy with their lot. Indeed, the sun seemed to cheer them up for they sang a bright song that Lady Marmalade could occasionally hear from within the comfort of Marmalade Park.

  She was alone, and she reveled in the quiet time. One shouldn't say she was perfectly alone. No, Alfred was around as was her housekeeper, but for all intents and purposes she was alone. Her family was out. Eric had taken the children to Hyde Park for a Sunday stroll. Frances had elected to stay at home and contemplate the meaning of life. Though that wasn't quite true. She was home enjoying solitude. For it was within the comforting embrace of its stillness where she found the space to think upon the matters at hand. Namely, the murder that had taken up her last couple of days. On the morrow she would be bending Husher's ear. But for now, she needed to unpack the riddle.

  She was certain that by tomorrow, which was Monday, that Spilligan would have been found and would likely find himself in the confines of His Majesty's bleak accommodations. But why had he run? Of course it seemed likely that he had been found redhanded with the money. But was that reason enough? Without means, how far would he get? Now if he had murdered the Baron, that would be reason to flee. But if that were the case, why even bother showing up on Saturday morning to pretend that all was well if only to run later in the day? These were the puzzles that lay strewn about in Lady Marmalade's mind.

  She put her teacup to her lips and took a sip of the lemony tea. This afternoon was no time for the lazy, seductive creamy tea that she usually enjoyed on a Sunday afternoon. No, today was a day needing the more vibrant and sharper tea cut with a lemon that allowed for more detailed thought. It was still delicious though.

  The sofa that she sat in was perhaps too comfortable for the mental tasks at hand. Still, it was afternoon tea and her anchovy paste sandwich was the perfect accompaniment for her tea and her solitude. Ginny, her housekeeper, always made the best sandwiches, and her fish paste versions were some of her best.

  It was just after three thirty in the afternoon. An early tea, but there was nothing like a pot to help Lady Marmalade think through matters of importance. And besides, she was not known to be a stickler to routine or social etiquette, except when required in her official duties. The clock had just chimed half past the hour when she heard Eric and the children come home. That meant more tea, more sandwiches and an end to her treasured thoughts. But it was a welcome break. Perhaps taking her mind off the case would allow it the freedom to work on it subconsciously without her nagging input. She got up and went to the foyer to welcome them all home.

  Declan was as handsome and as tall as his father. Only seventeen he was an apple that certainly had not fallen far from the tree. He had the same sculpted bone structure, the same blue eyes and black hair as Eric and just as clean shaven. Though he'd be hard- pressed to wear much facial hair more than the smattering that gathered at his chin and upper lip which he carefully shaved off. His cheeks were rosy and his smile as wide as the horizon.

  "Hello, Mummy," he said.

  Frances hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks. She took his head in her hands and smiled at him.

  "Your cheeks are cold. Are you cold, darling?"

  "Not at all, Mummy, Father took the rugby ball out and we had fun throwing it to each other."

  Frances smiled at him.

  "He's a better rugby player than I was," said Eric.

  "And that's why he's the school captain, Daddy," said Amelia as if were that obvious.

  Amelia smiled up at her brother and Declan put his hand around his sister and squeezed her close.

  "Amy made sure to keep score so that we played fair. Didn't she, Father?"

  Eric nodded.

  "Though I have a suspicion she might have given you an extra point or two."

  "Did not," said Amelia very sternly. Eric smiled at her.

  Alfred had joined them and was taking everyone's coat in turn and putting it away. When they were finished he turned to Lady Marmalade.

  "More tea and sandwiches for everyone, my Lady?" he asked.

  "Oh I should think so, thank you, Alfred," she said, and then turned to her family. "Sandwiches or scones?"

  "Definitely scones, Mummy," said Declan.

  "Oh yes, Mummy," said Amelia.

  Alfred bowed in understanding and walked off down the hallway towards the kitchen. The rest of them made their way into the living room where Frances had just come from. Frances sat back down where she had earlier been enjoying her tea. Declan sat next to her. He was very close to his mother. Eric took his great chair as he liked to call it. It was a large wingback armchair that was well padded and had its own footstool with the same intricately patterned cloth on it. Amelia took the one next to him. Just like it though with a different pattern and without footstool.

  "You should have come with us, Mummy," said Amelia. "It was an awful lot of fun. And quite a lot of people out considering."

  "Well, it was the perfect day for it," said Frances. "I would have loved to have joined you my dear, but I needed this peace and quiet for this case I'm working on."

  "Why do you do it, Mummy? It's awful work. I just can't imagine?" said Declan. "Oh, the horrors."

  And he put the back of his hand against his forehead in very dramatic style. Frances swiped at him with the back of her hand, smiling at him. Declan grinned at his sister.

  "You shouldn't joke about that sort of thing, son," said Eric. "It is a dreadful business, and not something that should be taken lightly. But your mother's good at it."

  "How did you get into it, Mummy?" asked Declan.

  "It was shortly after you were born, darling. I had popped over to the neighbors to borrow some sugar and I found her dead. It was dreadful."

  "And did you find out who did it?" he asked.

  Frances nodded.

  "I did. I helped the police with it and he's still in jail to this day.

  "So you could say I fell into it. Not by choice, but I am good at it and if it helps to make the world a little safer and a little better, which I hope it does, then I'm happy to do it."

  "But it must be so ghastly, Mumm
y," said Amelia.

  Frances nodded at her daughter.

  "It is, my darling. Sometimes anyway, but I try not to look at it like that. I try to put it in the perspective of a puzzle. How can I best help the victim or those left behind? How can I get justice?"

  Ginny came in with a silver tray containing another teapot and three teacups. There was a also a sugar bowl and a fresh carafe of milk. Only Frances had cream in her tea, and she was drinking hers with lemon. There was also a freshly cut lemon with its yellow wedges arranged in a circle. Ginny put the tray on the larger table that was between everyone.

  "Would you like me to pour, my Lady?" she asked Frances.

  "No thank you, Ginny, we'll manage just fine."

  Ginny nodded and moved out of the way, as Alfred passed by her and placed another silver serving tray on the table with half a dozen scones freshly halved and warm. You could see the tendrils of heat twirling up from them. There was a dish of butter, a bowl of thickly peaked clotted cream and another bowl of deeply red and shiny strawberry jam. Declan leaned in. He was a young man with a young man's appetite and he was ready to indulge. Eric saw him.

  "Let your mother and sister go first, Dec," said Eric smiling at him.

  Declan nodded and swallowed.

  "Of course, Father," he said.

  Amelia waited for her mother. Frances only topped up her tea and squeezed some lemon in it. She still had half a fish paste sandwich left to eat and that didn't seem appetizing along with a scone and strawberry jam. Amelia took half a scone and spread a thick layer of clotted cream on it. Atop that she ladled a generous dollop of strawberry jam.

  "Is this our clotted cream, Mummy?" she asked.

  At the turn of the century, a year or so before Frances met him, Eric had bought a farm in Cornwall. He thought he might fancy farming in his later years, but that had yet to happen. However, the farm had become a comforting place for him to nurture his wounds in 1902 when he got back from The Boer War. Like much of what Eric did, it was extravagant. A large one thousand acre farm. One of the biggest at the time in Cornwall and still run by the family that Eric had employed when he bought it. It provided some produce but mostly meat and dairy and eggs for both Marmalade Park in London and Avalon at Ambleside in the Lake District. Though Avalon at Ambleside was also fully staffed and functioning as a small allotment year round.

  "It is our cream," said Frances. "Do you like it, my darling?"

  Amelia nodded as she chewed a bite of her scone.

  "It always tastes so much better."

  Declan put two half scones on his plate and slathered them both with cream and jam. He'd be finished with both halves before his sister had finished her one half. He also poured himself a cup of tea and added two sugars and milk to it. Eric ate one half of a scone with cream and jam and had his tea as he always liked it. With lemon.

  "How is this latest case going, my love?" asked Eric as he held his scone hovering above the plate in his other hand.

  "Well, it's dreadful, it really is. A horrible murder and a horrible death. Then the stolen money and the suspect gone into hiding, though I'm sure by tomorrow the police will have captured him. Inspector Husher seems like the no nonsense sort."

  "Tell us about it, Mummy," said Declan.

  Frances looked over at him and smiled. She took a sip of tea before continuing. Declan was finishing his scones.

  "Well he was a friend of your father's," she said.

  Eric interjected.

  "Let's not be too generous with the dead," he said. "He was a peer. A colleague, if you will, though an unlikeable man."

  "One shouldn't speak ill of the dead, my dear," said Frances teasingly.

  "Is it ill even if true?" he asked.

  Frances said nothing.

  "It's this Baron Marphallow, isn't it?" asked Declan. "The one I read about in the paper. It's made a big splash already."

  "Well, he was an important man and this is a tragic and shocking case."

  Declan was intrigued. He had the teenage boyish interest in the macabre.

  "How was he murdered. Can you say?" he asked.

  "Now, now, Dec," said Eric, "no need to seek the grizzly details."

  "I'd rather not know," said Amelia, "for I shan't be able to get it out of my head if you tell."

  Frances smiled at her daughter.

  "Not to worry, my darling, I won't tell and it's not important."

  "So who did it then, Mummy?" asked Declan.

  "This is the puzzle over which I'm trying to make sense," she said. "I can't tell at the moment. I don't have all the pieces and it's in the very early stages."

  "Can you tell if it was a man or a woman?" asked Declan.

  "Wouldn't be a woman," said Amelia as if stating the obvious. "Women aren't as uncivilized."

  Declan looked at his sister and thought about answering her, but then he saw the scones and decided to help himself to two of those instead.

  "Not quite true, darling," said Frances. "Women are quite as capable of men at committing murder, they just don't do it as often. In this instance, although the method was violent and suggests a male suspect, I'm not willing to rule out a woman either."

  Amelia didn't say anything to that. She popped the last bit of her scone into her mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully.

  "Well," said Declan as he thought about stuffing a bite of scone into his mouth, but stopped to speak, "if he's a politician then there will be a lot of people who want him dead I should think."

  "Speaking of that," said Frances, looking over at her husband, "Inspector Husher wants to have a word with Larmer as soon as is convenient."

  Eric nodded.

  "I'll let him know first thing tomorrow."

  "Not Lord Loughty," said Amelia. "I can't imagine him murdering anyone."

  "Nor I," said Frances.

  "But he is quite gruff and stern sometimes isn't he, Father?" asked Declan.

  Eric nodded.

  "He's a principled man who doesn't suffer fools easily," said Eric. "Though he's smarter than to commit murder. I doubt he'd do it."

  They all looked at Frances for agreement.

  "Personal feelings aside," she said, "in cases such as these, one must follow the evidence."

  "So there is something to suggest he might be involved then?" asked Declan.

  "I can't say anymore, dear," said Frances. "I hope not and I'm keeping an open mind. Time and evidence will bring to light the killer."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Scotland Yard

  INSPECTOR Husher had telephoned Lady Marmalade at shortly before noon on Monday the 29th of November. Spilligan had been picked up and Husher had invited Lady Marmalade down to the station to take part in the interview. If Lady Marmalade didn't know any better, she would have thought that Husher might have been gloating and feeling confident in his ability to extract not only a confession regarding the theft but also of the murder.

  Frances was at home alone, having recently finished some tea to herself. Alfred and Ginny were there of course, but Eric was at work and Amelia and Declan at school. Husher was sending a police car around to pick her up. He said it wouldn't be more than ten minutes and he was right. By the time Lady Marmalade had managed to freshen up, get a raincoat and umbrella ready, she heard a knock at the door. Alfred answered the door and invited the constable into the foyer to wait.

  Alfred came and found Frances in the living room staring outside through the window, watching birds flit from branch to branch. Little brown sparrows no larger than her fist. She was contemplating the fragility of life when Alfred interrupted.

  "I have a Constable Pearce here for you, my Lady."

  Frances turned around and smiled at him.

  "Thank you, Alfred."

  He walked with her back to the entrance where Pearce nodded at her in acknowledgement. He was also holding an umbrella which he hadn't used for himself as his hat was still wet from the light rain outside.

  "Would you like me to call for
you, my Lady, at a certain time?" asked Alfred.

  "That won't be necessary," said Pearce. "I'll be sure she gets back when we're done."

  Alfred looked at him for a brief moment, sharply, before looking back at Frances. Frances smiled.

  "I'll be in good hands with Constable Pearce," she said. "If I need a ride, I'll call home."

  "Very good, my Lady," he said.

  Frances stepped out of the house and opened up her umbrella. Pearce, who had brought the umbrella for her, now kept it closed. Alfred watched them down the walkway and closed the door once Lady Marmalade was safely in the passenger seat of the police car which Pearce had opened for her and closed after.

  They drove towards Scotland Yard in silence for a while. Lady Marmalade enjoying the ride and the scenery. She had been to Scotland Yard on several occasions and it was her wish that at some point during her career, so long as she was able to continue helping them, that she would uncover the mystery behind what had become known as the Whitehall Mystery. The uncovered, murdered remains of a woman found at the site of Scotland Yard. The irony of this unsolved murder was not lost on those who had a distaste for police generally.

  "Has he been cooperative?" asked Frances at last.

  Pearce didn't look at her, he continued to keep his eye on traffic and the road ahead of him.

  "I can't say for certain, Frances," he said. "He had just been picked up and brought in when I was sent to collect you."

  "Do you think he did it?" asked Frances.

  "Did which part?" asked Pearce.

  "Either, both, neither," she said.

  Pearce sighed, and didn't answer right away. He kept his gaze forward. Frances looked at him steadily. He was thinking carefully over his choice of words.

  "I am nothing if I am not the epitome of discretion," she said.

  She had a feeling that Pearce was a man who took the chain of command seriously and who was inclined not to speak out of turn if he could help it. About his superiors, but perhaps also about anyone generally. He looked over at her for what seemed like a long second. Their eyes locked. Then he looked away.