Bessie, on the other hand, had gained some information of sorts, although not to do with the house where the girl lived.
‘I know who that flash young swell is,’ she said smugly on the way home as we rattled through the gloomy streets. ‘The one wanting champagne.’
‘Go on!’ I encouraged.
‘He lives with his godmother and she is Lady Temple. Her ladyship has a town house nearby, a really old building. She’s pretty old herself, Lady Temple. But she doesn’t go out much because she’s an invalid. She took to her bed, Mrs Tompkins told me, after a bad fall at home. On a fine Sunday she is pushed out of the house in a chair and loaded up into a growler. That takes her to church. When she comes back, she is unloaded again, as you might say, and put back in the chair and taken back indoors. But not when the weather is bad like it is now. She stays at home. Her godson lives with her when he’s in town. Everyone thinks he will inherit one day because she’s a wealthy woman and she hasn’t any children of her own. Her husband was an army man, a general, but he died in India.’
‘Her godson seems already to be a wealthy young man,’ I replied. ‘To judge by the free way he buys expensive champagne.’
‘He’s got expectations, hasn’t he?’ retorted Bessie. ‘And the general, the one who died in India and was married to Lady Temple, was his uncle, and that makes her his aunt. So he’s family, too.’ Bessie drew a deep breath and cast me a look of barely concealed triumph.
‘It’s not all I found out! As Mrs Tompkins was talking so freely about Lady Temple I started to ask her about other people living round about. “Who is that over there in that nice house?” I asked. “The one across the road.”
‘“That’s the house of Mr Bernard, the banker,” she told me straight off. I could have got more out of her, I’m sure, but as bad luck would have it, the pot man came in and wanted something or other. So when he’d gone, I couldn’t go back to asking about Mr Bernard without it sounding a bit too curious. But now I know, I’ll have another go next time.’
‘Take care, Bessie!’ I warned her. Privately, I was thinking that Miss Eldon would be expecting me to return, and Bessie would have her chance.
* * *
When Ben returned home that evening it was quite late. Despite that, and the tiring train journeys he had taken that day to Salisbury and back, we sat up until late, talking.
‘We have a name for the victim,’ he’d said, almost as soon as he came in the door. ‘I’ll tell you about it after supper. If there is any supper?’ he added. ‘I realise you didn’t know if I’d be back very late or even tomorrow.’
‘I wasn’t at all sure at what time I would see you this evening,’ I admitted. ‘So nothing is cooked. But there is a cold ham and plenty of eggs. Or, if you’d prefer, Bessie can run to the pie shop.’
‘Ham and eggs sounds splendid. I have eaten once today, quite well.’ He grinned suddenly, and added in a dramatic undertone, ‘Don’t you want to know what I found out?’
‘Of course I do! And you’ve found out quite a lot, since you know who the poor girl is.’
‘Yes, her name is Emily Devray— oh, Bessie! Listening at the keyhole?’
The door opened and Bessie appeared, flushed. ‘I wasn’t! I don’t listen at keyholes! I just wanted to say, it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes for me to fetch a hot pie from the shop.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Bessie,’ I told her.
‘All right, then,’ returned Bessie. ‘Ham and eggs it is.’ She withdrew with dignity.
‘One of these days,’ said Ben seriously, ‘she really is going to overhear something we don’t want her to know.’
‘She doesn’t eavesdrop all the time, Ben,’ I defended our maid. ‘I expect she’d like to be here when I tell you about our visit to the Queen Catherine. But you must tell me first what you’ve discovered because that’s more important. Was it raining so hard in Salisbury?’
‘No, it was very cold with snow lying up under hedges and trees. It was deucedly muddy underfoot. It is an attractive city. One wants to say “town” because, compared with London, it is a small place. But of course it has a fine cathedral and long history. Colby, my counterpart, met me off the train and we wasted no time. Between us, we uncovered a sad story.’
He went on to tell me Emily Devray’s history. I knew from my own experience how vulnerable single women without family were, and so I was very much moved by Ben’s account.
‘You have certainly learned a great deal. It’s good you can put a name to the girl. Carroway sounds a disagreeable man. I am sure you are right and he had something to do with Emily being sent away to London, to survive, or not, depending how Fate rolled the dice. What kind of man is Inspector Colby, by the way?’
‘Very pleasant, helpful sort of chap. He’s got a vivid imagination. I think he’d get on well with Ruby Eldon.’ Ben smiled.
But something had occurred to me. ‘You learned that Emily came to London to be a nurse-companion to an invalid lady. Well, as it happens, Bessie learned today of such a lady. She lives near the Queen Catherine tavern in an old town house. She is a Lady Temple, widow of a general. Her godson – her late husband’s nephew – was drinking in the snug with his friends. They were rather noisy, and drinking champagne. Perhaps they were celebrating some piece of good fortune.’
‘Ah, so you paid another call on Ruby Eldon, then? The rain didn’t put you off?’
‘Oh, we both went. Bessie went out to find a cab and was lucky enough to find Wally Slater’s growler, so we kept quite dry.’
‘I hope you explained to Miss Eldon I can do nothing to investigate the situation in the house opposite to her? Unless I have more solid information of some wrongdoing!’ Ben raised his black eyebrows.
Now was not the moment to tell him that Miss Eldon still expected him to act, once the mystery of Emily Devray was solved. ‘Oh, yes, Ben. I did tell her.’
I left it at that. It was too late to begin any argument and we were both very tired. I had long since sent Bessie up to bed.
The clock in the hall, a wedding present from Superintendent and Mrs Dunn, chimed eleven. Ben smothered a yawn. I stood up and went to peer through the curtains into the street. ‘I do believe it has stopped raining.’
‘I always feel that clock of Dunn’s is issuing some order to me. Telling me now to get up to bed, most likely!’ Ben muttered, hauling himself from his chair. ‘Perhaps Dunn himself will be back in the morning, restored to good health and ready to issue orders in person? And perhaps Biddle’s cold will be better and he will stop that infernal sniffing.’
Inspector Ben Ross
Dunn did not return in the morning. But he sent a note saying he hoped to be back by the end of the week. I should have detailed reports ready for his perusal on all the cases I had been charged with investigating in his absence. I was right, that clock of ours did act as Dunn’s spokesperson. Accordingly, I drew a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer and began to summarise the progress so far in the murder of Emily Devray. I was glad I now able to put a probable name to the victim, although the body had yet to be identified. That, at least, would satisfy Mr Dunn.
But I had not got very far describing the details of my visit to Salisbury when my fellow inspector in charge of the investigation into the string of robberies that had taken place under cover of the fog came to tell me they had broken up the gang and arrested its ringleader. They had also managed to recover a hoard of stolen items concealed behind a false wall in the attics of a brothel in Limehouse. He would not be deflected from sitting down and telling me every detail of how he had tracked down the thieves and giving me a lively description of the raid on their hideout. It was some time before I could politely point out I had a workload of my own.
He took himself off, humming a popular music-hall ditty and generally very pleased with himself. I started over again where I’d left off my report on Salisbury and the possibility that our unnamed corpse might be Emily Devray. It meant getting my thoughts in
order and consulting my notes. I began to write again, my pen scratching across the paper, but it seemed I was doomed to be interrupted.
About twenty minutes later, Biddle appeared to tell me that I had a visitor.
‘Young gent wants very much to speak to you, sir. He is a Mr George Temple.’
Temple? I had heard that name recently. My mind still full of the previous day’s trip to Salisbury, I could not place it straight away. Besides, a large inkblot was spreading at an alarming rate across my new and unfinished report.
‘What is it about?’ I asked, adding, to gain time to deal with the blob of ink, ‘Can’t it be reported to Sergeant Morris?’
‘He’s come to report a disappearance,’ said Biddle. ‘And he must see someone of the rank of inspector at least, he says. No one else will do. He’s a very forceful young gent, sir.’
A disappearance! ‘Well, show him in, then,’ I urged.
He was a dashing young fellow who strode in confidently, obliging Biddle to jump out of his way. He carried his hat together with an ivory-headed cane on an ebony shaft. He shook my hand and took the seat I indicated, then considered whether to put his hat on the floor. Not unreasonably, deciding it would get dusty, he turned instead to hand it to Biddle, ordering him to put it on a table somewhere. Biddle, having first been bundled out of the way, and now being treated like a footman, grew red-faced with indignation and looked at me. ‘Just put it on that cupboard, Constable!’ I said quickly.
Biddle gave me a wounded look, dumped the hat unceremoniously where indicated, and withdrew ‘in good order’. He relieved his feelings by blowing his nose noisily outside the door.
My visitor winced. ‘Every damn cabbie has a cold,’ he said. ‘And my aunt’s housemaids are going down like ninepins.’
‘I am sorry to hear that, Mr Temple. Is it a housemaid who has disappeared?’
‘No!’ retorted the young man. ‘I shouldn’t be troubling you if it was a housemaid. Nobody cares about them! I’ll be honest. I wouldn’t be troubling you at all, but my godmother, Lady Temple, insists.’
Aha! So this was indeed the young man my wife had seen yesterday in the Queen Catherine tavern, drinking champagne with his friends. I regarded him with renewed interest. Not for the first time, I was reminded that I ought to pay more attention to what my wife told me. I was careful to speak in a neutral professional tone.
‘The lady is a relative, as well as your godmother? You have the same name.’
‘Her late husband was my uncle, my father’s brother. Otherwise, we are not related by blood. But she looks on me as being such. She doesn’t have anyone else.’
‘I understand, please go on,’ I said. ‘And may I have the exact address from where the disappearance took place?’
He told me and watched, scowling, as I wrote it down. I looked up and nodded to him to continue his tale.
‘It’s like this, Inspector,’ he said. ‘My godmother is of advanced years and more or less keeps to her bed; or lies all day on a chaise-longue. She took a tumble about two years ago and has had difficulty walking ever since. It’s not her legs,’ he added, ‘it’s her hip. It was broken and did not mend well.’
‘I am sorry to hear it,’ I said politely.
‘You will appreciate that I’m telling you a private thing like this so you understand that the household routine is, in every way, arranged to suit her needs. She has a personal maid, who is nearly as old as she is, and has been with her for years. Given that the maid can’t help much with lifting the old lady, and it isn’t always suitable to call on a footman, my godmother decided to inquire about a nurse-companion, living in. She asked around her acquaintances and about, oh, six months ago, I suppose it was, a young woman arrived to take up this post. Her surname is Devray. Emily is her Christian name.’
Well, now! Had I been given the necessary link between the sad body of a young woman and the equally sad story of Miss Emily Devray? Would I now be able to go back to Carroway in Salisbury, should it prove necessary, and tell him I had unravelled the link he had been so anxious I should not?
‘Go on,’ I invited Mr Temple. I had done my best to disguise any reaction to the name, but perhaps I had betrayed something, because Temple had stopped speaking and was staring at me.
I stared back and said nothing.
‘She has been missing since Sunday evening,’ he said bluntly.
‘Did she go missing from the house? Or fail to return after going out?’ I asked.
He looked slightly disconcerted. ‘It’s hard to tell. She might have gone out and not come back, but we just don’t know.’ He spoke with a marked reluctance.
‘No servant saw her go out?’
‘They say not!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t believe they are all lying.’
‘Very well,’ I said, ‘do go on, Mr Temple.’
Temple went on sulkily, ‘In any case, it’s dashed inconvenient! The old lady, I mean my godmother, is in a panic about it. She has taken a fancy to the girl. Don’t know why. She’s a dowdy little thing with no conversation, who goes around looking miserable.’
Whoever his tailor, whatever prestigious school claimed him as an Old Boy, however well connected he may be, I decided, a lout remains a lout. And this young jackanapes is a lout, albeit one with a smart coat, fine linen, an ebony cane, and a wealthy godmother from whom he no doubt hopes to inherit.
‘Well then, when was her absence noticed from the house?’ I persisted as I glanced down at the address I had written out. Oh, yes, and he drank in the tavern nearby, where he was spending his inheritance before he had it on champagne. He didn’t know I knew that.
‘Oh, well, not until it was almost time for my aunt to retire to bed. I don’t keep track of where Devray is. She’s of no interest to me. Anyway, I wasn’t there for most of the day!’ he finished quickly.
‘All the same, if you please try and be more specific, Mr Temple? Inquiries must have been made among the staff and I assume you are aware of the results, even if you weren’t there yourself. You have explained that Miss Devray was not seen leaving the house that evening. In that case, when was she last seen, by anyone, not just by Lady Temple or yourself?’
He reddened and glowered at me. ‘Wilson, the butler says she was certainly in the house at luncheon on Sunday. Wilson generally knows where everyone is. He didn’t see her after lunch. But my aunt had given her permission to go out, so didn’t expect to see her until later. Lady Temple takes her main meal of the day at half past noon. She does not dine of an evening. She is old-fashioned in her ways. She takes tea with toast or muffins at about six o’clock and not long after that retires to her room. Devray didn’t join her for tea, as she usually did. However, as she had permission to go out, my godmother didn’t take it amiss.
‘I lunched with friends, and didn’t return until nearly seven, so can’t tell you about Devray. Up to that point, there was no alarm. Then my godmother’s maid came to tell us, at about eight o’clock, she needed Devray’s help. My godmother had been writing letters, but had decided to retire to bed. That was when it was discovered that Devray was nowhere to be found. She should have been back by then. It was annoying she was so late returning, but, well, there might be a reasonable explanation. But she didn’t return, and, although we all assumed she went out, no one saw her go, as I said.’
Temple heaved an irritable sigh. ‘She has never returned and time is passing. On Monday morning my godmother ordered her maid to search the companion’s room for any clue as to where she might have gone.’
‘What of her possessions?’
Temple shifted awkwardly on his chair.
‘The maid reported that all Devray’s belongings appear to be in place: her clothes, some books, and a few trinkets in a jewellery box. At first my godmother was reassured that it meant Devray intended to return. When she did not, she became alarmed and instructed me to come to you. So,’ concluded Temple casually, ‘here I am. But I apologise for troubling you with it. I dare say the girl w
ill turn up. It will be interesting to hear what sort of excuse she manufactures. Whatever it is, I shall advise Lady Temple strongly not to accept it and to terminate her employment at once.’
‘Mr Temple,’ I said, ‘you’ve taken your time coming here to report her missing. Why did you not come at once? It does not occur to you that she might have come to some harm? Perhaps it has occurred to Lady Temple?’
‘It would be like my godmother to fear the worst. She is easily alarmed. But to call the police to the house, well, that is a last resort. One doesn’t, well, persons of Lady Temple’s social standing don’t…’
He must have noted the expression on my face. He abandoned his explanation and finished defensively: ‘We did – or my godmother did – consult her man of law for advice. He set in hand some private inquiries but they have turned up nothing, so I have come here today.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘Look here. Personally I suspect Devray has run off with some fellow. Or why did she sneak out of the house without anyone seeing her go?’
‘How about a winter mantle? If she went out during the afternoon, when she had permission, she would not have done so without some warm clothing. The weather has been particularly cold and unpleasant.’
He stared at me as if this obvious detail surprised him. ‘I don’t know,’ he snapped. ‘I didn’t speak to the maid. She reported to Lady Temple that Devray’s things were all in her room.’
He was not being completely frank, I decided, but couldn’t say in what way.
‘We can ask again,’ I said calmly. ‘You think she may have left to join a man. Has Miss Devray had a – let us call it an admirer – since she arrived in London?’
‘Lord, no, who could it be?’ Temple retorted. ‘I told you, she’s a plain little thing and she dresses as though she were still in mourning. I can’t imagine she’s been what she would probably call walking out with anyone. She imagined herself a cut above a servant, you know. Well, companions do, don’t they? They’ve all “come down in the world” as the saying goes. She wasn’t treated as a servant. At any rate, she sat at table with us, with Lady Temple and myself when I was at home. I have just told you, she was a sort of companion.’
The Murderer's Apprentice Page 9