Morris looked surprised. ‘Didn’t know there was one, sir.’
‘It’s adjacent to the house and there is a door in the wall giving access from the street. It’s locked at present. I want to know if it is always locked and who keeps the key. If there is a gardener, is that the way he comes and goes? If she died in the house, how was the body removed? Not through the front door. Up the basement steps, perhaps? Or through that garden door?’
‘Yes, sir, I see.’ Morris eyed me curiously. ‘Any more ideas, sir?’
‘A couple, but nothing definite. I am thinking that, if Emily died in the house, that would explain why she wore no outdoor clothing. Whoever is responsible for the body being dumped where it was found did not think quickly enough, or did not have access to Emily’s wardrobe to fetch outerwear. But we mustn’t forget Emily had permission to go out. So, did she die earlier in the afternoon, after luncheon, never leaving the house alive? Or later, after she had been out and returned, taking off her warm mantle? What do you think, Morris?’
Morris frowned. ‘The young gentleman is very unhappy, sir. I mean, obviously he is at the moment because he’s just identified her. But he was unhappy before. To my way of thinking, he couldn’t have been altogether uninterested in her. He’s human and a bit of a man about town. Surely, at some point, he must have tried to steal a kiss.’ Morris looked at me. ‘What are you thinking, Mr Ross?’
‘I am thinking that the situation in Lady Temple’s household was eerily similar to that in the late Mrs Waterfield’s.’ I leaned forward over the desk to urge, ‘Think about it, Morris! Before she came to London, Emily lived with an elderly and wealthy woman to whom she was not related. That lady was apparently very fond of her, or up to a point. Because when the lady dies and the will is read, Emily receives almost nothing. The chief beneficiary is a nephew living in Yorkshire. That nephew must have known about Emily because Mr and Mrs Waterfield more or less adopted her at birth. A cause of concern to the nephew, up there in the North and not in easy communication with his wealthy aunt?’
‘Should think it was!’ agreed Morris. ‘Of course, we don’t know what kind of a man he might be. But rich or poor, no one likes to think an outsider has snatched a family fortune from under his nose.’
‘Yes, and now consider the household of Lady Temple. Again we have an elderly lady and a wealthy one. Her heir presumptive is a nephew, her late husband’s nephew if you want to be precise, but her nephew by marriage and her godson. In the short time Lady Temple knew Emily, she had become fond of her. She told us so herself. A cause of concern to Mr George?’
‘Worried him pretty badly, I reckon,’ said Morris. ‘After we’ve visited Lady Temple again, I must write to Inspector Colby, let him know what’s happened. The news of Emily’s death being confirmed will cause quite a stir in her home town, I dare say.’
‘Might jog a few memories?’ suggested Morris.
‘We can but hope, Sergeant,’ I told him.
That evening, when I went home, I told Lizzie that the dead girl was now known for certain to be Emily Devray as we had suspected.
Lizzie was quiet for some minutes and then said, ‘I think I should pay another visit to Miss Eldon. I have only ever spoken to her about the Bernard family and the girl who never goes out. But I wonder if she knows anything about Lady Temple’s household. After all, George Temple carouses with his friends in the snug of the Queen Catherine. Louisa Tompkins talked to Bessie about George Temple. She might well have spoken to Miss Eldon about him. Miss Eldon is not a gossip in the usual sense. But she is observant and intelligent. If I ask her and she does know something, I think she would tell me.’
‘There is another thing I would ask you to do,’ I said. I produced the Salisbury newspaper I had brought from Emily’s room. ‘This is five weeks old. Someone either gave it to Emily or sent it to her. I would like to know who that was and, also, whether she kept it for nostalgic reasons, or whether there is some item in there that particularly interested her. I have glanced through it and found nothing particular, other than reports from livestock sales and such matters. You might spot something.’
‘I’ll read it carefully,’ Lizzie promised.
‘I have to go to the inquest in the morning,’ I said with a sigh. ‘And Mr Dunn is due back among us at any moment.’
Chapter Ten
Dunn’s reappearance among us the next day was not unlike the sudden eruption of a whirlwind in a previously peaceful countryside. The superintendent was more than restored to health; he was brimming with energy and a desire for positive action. In appearance, with his red face and fondness for tweed cloth, he always resembled a farmer. Now he looked like one contemplating a bumper harvest.
‘Now, then, Ross!’ he hailed me. ‘You have a murder investigation in hand, I understand. I want to know all about it!’
‘I have written a full report, sir, it is on your desk,’ I protested, I knew in vain. I wouldn’t escape so lightly.
‘Yes, yes, I am sure it is very detailed. I know you to be a conscientious officer.’ Dunn rubbed the palms of his hands together briskly, a man getting down to business. ‘I shall read it carefully. But I should like to hear your initial thoughts first-hand now.’
‘You shall have them, sir. But it cannot be straight away. I have to attend the inquest on the victim this morning. She has now been formally identified as Emily Devray, a nurse-companion. You will find details of her background in my Salisbury report.’
‘Glad to hear your jaunt to Salisbury was not in vain, Ross!’
‘No, sir, by no means. I learned a lot. A request will be made for the release of the body for burial this morning, following the inquest. There is a shortage of space in all mortuaries and morgues at the moment.’
‘Oh, very well, then!’ snapped Dunn, thwarted. ‘But report to me as soon as you return.’
‘Immediately after the inquest I plan to pay another call on Lady Temple, the girl’s employer. It is her godson, also resident in her house, who has identified the victim.’
‘Well, then, report to me as soon as you get back after that,’ was the testy response. ‘Are you taking Morris?’
‘Yes, sir. I need him to make inquiries in the house – ask the servants more questions.’
Dunn squinted at me. ‘You suspect the house to be the scene of the crime?’
‘It does begin to look likely,’ I admitted. ‘But I cannot say for certain. The absence of any warm outer clothing on the body when it was found, together with none being missing from the girl’s room, does suggest she hadn’t gone out to meet her death elsewhere. Proving that she died in the house is another matter. No one heard anything. No one saw anything. And who is the murderer? Are we looking at some sort of conspiracy? How could the body be taken from the house, if that is the scene of the deed, all the way over to the backyard where it was discovered?’
‘I trust you will soon be able to tell me the culprit’s name, Ross.’ Dunn gave me a ferocious grin. ‘Now, then! Since I must await your return from your pressing engagements elsewhere, I must look at another case. Send me whoever was in charge of investigating those robberies. That matter at least, as I understand it, has been dealt with.’
* * *
The weather remained bitterly cold. The fog, though thinner than the monster we had just suffered, was still present in swirls of yellow sulphurous vapour that would infest our coats with its stink. It wrapped clammy fingers round our faces as the chill wind nipped our noses and ears. I was sorry to bring Morris out with me as he was still croaking. At least the rain had gone away for the time being.
We soon found we’d moved from one extreme of discomfort to another. The inquest was being held in a small and stuffy upstairs room. An open fire in the grate smoked vilely, causing everyone to cough and splutter, and created its own version of a London Particular here in the room.
Due to being delayed by Dunn, Morris and I were among the last to arrive. We took our seats just as the coroner entered t
hrough a private side door and advanced to take his seat at a table on a podium. The room was already full, about twenty people attending; most of whom had probably come in out of the cold although one, at least, I recognised as a representative of the press. The public likes to read about a murder. In the front row sat George Temple, there, no doubt, because he had identified the deceased and to report back to his godmother. Horace Worth, too, was there, rotund and red-faced. With him sat Mr Bellini, moustaches freshly waxed. And seated by George Temple was another person known to me. I had not expected him. His name was Pelham and he was a lawyer. He and I had crossed swords before.
Perhaps George had seen me arrive. He murmured to Pelham. The lawyer turned his head and stared hard at me. We acknowledged one another with professional nods.
Proceedings began and moved at a brisk pace. The coroner was a busy man these days. I said my piece. Horace said his. George stated he had identified the body as being that of his aunt’s nurse-companion, Emily Devray. Mr Bellini then insisted on being heard, solely, as far as I could understand it, in order for it to be set on record that although the body had been discovered in his backyard, the young female had at no time, when alive, set foot in his dining room. Thus her death could in no way be connected with his well-regarded and respectable establishment. Well known, he added, for its steak pies.
A pity he had to mention the steak pies, I thought. He was doing well until then.
The coroner replied sharply, ‘Quite so, Mr Bellini! Does anyone else wish to say anything?’
No one did. The coroner, gathering up his papers as he spoke, ruled that he could only return a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown. He trusted that the police would soon be able to identify the culprit and the murderer be brought to justice. Meanwhile, the body could be released for burial, in view of the lack of space in London’s mortuaries at the present time. He then looked up and asked, ‘Is there a member of the family present to whom the body should be released?’
At this, Pelham, the lawyer, stood up. He was a tall, thin, silver-haired man of distinguished bearing, habitually clad in black. When he stood quite still, as now, I could not help thinking of a heron beside a brook, waiting for a fish to swim unwarily by.
‘I represent Lady Temple, the deceased’s employer,’ he announced. ‘Miss Devray had no living family, and no private fortune. So, in order to avoid her being given a pauper’s funeral, Lady Temple requests the body be released to her. She will undertake to pay the cost of a funeral and burial plot, in order that it should not fall upon the public purse.’
The coroner was obliged to Lady Temple for her generous offer. He had no objection to ruling as requested.
After the inquest, Morris and I were delayed a few minutes in the empty room by the newspaperman, eager for details. We fended him off and hastened as best we could to Lady Temple’s house. But George Temple and Pelham still arrived ahead of us. I suspected they had had a cab waiting.
When we arrived at last, Wilson the butler made to show us both directly into the drawing where, he told us, Lady Temple was awaiting us.
‘I will speak alone to Lady Temple,’ I said. ‘Sergeant Morris has some more questions for the staff.’
‘As you wish, Inspector,’ said Wilson frostily. ‘But there is another gentleman already there.’
They were both awaiting me. When Wilson opened the doors I saw the scene had already been set. I was struck by how theatrical it looked and thought, I am a spectator now, and the curtain is about to rise. Lady Temple had been brought in beforehand, no dramatic entry in her invalid carriage this time. She was seated on a silk-upholstered and gilded rococo-style sofa. She was clad in black silk. I wondered for how long she would wear mourning for someone who had been an employee. Probably, I thought, until after the funeral. Then convention would have been observed; longer would give rise to comment.
But she was not the only one in black. Pelham sat nearby and rose to his feet as I entered. I wondered where George Temple was. Possibly he was already in the snug of the Queen Catherine tavern, fortifying himself with brandy after the inquest. I was annoyed to see Pelham here but could do nothing about it. I did wonder, however, just why his services had been called on. George could have requested the body be released to his godmother. He wasn’t a boy, for goodness’ sake! He must be about twenty-four or -five.
‘Mr Pelham will already have given you an account of the inquest,’ I said to Lady Temple, once I had taken my seat and Pelham retaken his. I tried not to sound sour.
She inclined her head. ‘Yes. After being needed to identify Emily yesterday, George found the further matter of the inquest a trying experience. He has gone to rest and gather his thoughts in his room.’
So he had scuttled down to the tavern, I interpreted this. Did his godmother really believe George was still in the house? I looked at her and she met my eye steadily. Yes, she knew he’d gone out and was most likely in a tavern – or even seeking solace with an obliging young female in a house where such women may be found. Lady Temple had been an army wife. She was aware of the ways of young men.
‘It is very good of you, Lady Temple, to offer to meet the costs of Miss Devray’s funeral,’ I told her.
‘No one,’ she returned sharply, ‘will leave this house to be buried in a pauper’s grave. That would be quite improper!’ Her expression softened. ‘Besides which, I was fond of Emily. I confess to feeling a degree of responsibility for her unfortunate death. She was so young, and in many ways I was, if you like, in loco parentis. This should not have happened while she was living under my roof.’
‘Dear madam!’ cried Pelham immediately. ‘I do assure you that no one would think you had failed in any duty. The young woman was a paid employee. You owed no duty of care towards her.’
‘Nevertheless!’ said Lady Temple shortly.
A tinge of red showed briefly on Pelham’s pale cheekbones, but he had the wisdom to accept the rebuke.
‘Were you thinking, I wonder, of returning the body to Salisbury for burial?’ I asked.
Now she looked at Pelham to reply for her. Perhaps she wanted to soothe any ruffled feelings he might have. He turned his pitiless predator’s eye on me.
‘Miss Devray had severed all connection with Salisbury. Lady Temple wishes her to be buried in a plot in the Brookwood Necropolis cemetery.’
Now then! The Brookwood Necropolis was a fashionable place to be buried. It lay just outside London and was reached by its own company railway line, with special rolling stock to accommodate mourners and the coffins. This meant it was also an expensive place to be laid to rest.
I was beginning to feel uneasy. I felt there ought to be something I should be asking, but I did not quite know how. Also, Pelham’s presence hindered me.
Instead, I asked, ‘Have you decided who will make the necessary arrangements?’
‘Mr Protheroe, in Piccadilly,’ said Lady Temple. She said it briskly and with a touch of relief. Or was that my imagination? Had she feared a different question? Or was she just content the disposal of Emily’s body would soon take place and details were in experienced hands?
As it was, her reply gave me a start. Fate, I had discovered several times in the past, had a twisted sense of humour. Emily would be placed in a coffin provided by Protheroe. She would be returned to lie on the Carrara marble slab in the preparation room to the rear of his premises. The irony was complete. The first time her body had been there, Protheroe had been appalled. This next time, her mortal remains would be welcome because Lady Temple would be paying the bill.
Then the lady herself, perhaps because she was relieved I hadn’t asked the question she feared, volunteered a further detail concerning the funeral. It was one that really surprised me. If Pelham had known she might reveal it, he would have counselled against it.
‘Besides, Mr Pelham has received a letter from a lawyer whose rooms are in Salisbury, a Mr Carroway. Mr Carroway apparently feels that a burial in Salisbury would attract a great
deal of local interest of the unseemly kind. There might be a crowd of sightseers. The public has a morbid curiosity.’
I used the word she herself had used earlier. ‘Quite improper!’ I said.
‘I am glad you agree, Inspector Ross,’ she replied graciously.
I rose to my feet and bowed. ‘I am grateful to you for seeing me, Lady Temple. And now I think I had better go and find my sergeant.’
I bowed to Pelham, who had also risen to his feet. ‘Mr Pelham.’
He returned my bow. ‘Inspector Ross.’
It was all very dignified and comme il faut, as my wife Lizzie might have said. Because Lizzie speaks French and occasionally peppers her conversation with phrases, I’ve learned quite a few.
The butler appeared in his silent way without – as far as I could tell – being summoned by any bell.
Morris was waiting for me in the hall.
‘Mr Wilson has been so good as to show me the garden, sir,’ he croaked. ‘I thought perhaps you might like to take a look.’
‘Thank you, I will,’ I said to him, but looking at Wilson. ‘Is there a gardener?’
Wilson answered. ‘No, Inspector Ross, not at this time of the year. It is a simple grassed area, as you will see, and there is no need of a regular man to look after it. From spring to late autumn a man does come in once a week to keep it tidy, cut the grass and so on. Lady Temple sometimes sits out there when the weather is warm.’ He turned. ‘If you will follow me, gentlemen.’
We followed him to a morning room at the rear of the house where glazed doors opened on to the little garden.
‘I’ll return the keys to you before we leave, Mr Wilson,’ said Morris firmly.
The butler took the hint and left us to inspect the garden without him.
‘Which keys are these?’ I asked.
Morris produced a ring on which hung two keys, one large and one small. ‘The big one is for the gate in the wall, sir, the one you noticed from the street. The little one is for the shed where they keep odds and ends of tools.’
The Murderer's Apprentice Page 11