Death in Patent Leather
R. A. Bentley
Copyright © 2019 R. A. Bentley
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Chapter One
December 1927
His hands in his pockets, Sir Blaine Cotton, founder and proprietor of Cotton’s Bank, wandered to the window and gazed unseeing at the City of London traffic, five floors below. ‘Drat the boy!’ he muttered. ‘Confound him for a bally nuisance!’ He was a reserved, somewhat colourless man who had earned the loyalty of his customers and the respect of his myriad staff by stern financial and moral rectitude rather than force of personality. Such an intemperate outburst was quite unlike him and he was glad there had been no-one present to witness it. There came the expected knock at the door and he half turned as his second and only-surviving son entered the room.
Nigel Cotton did not resemble his father. One would scarcely have known them to be related. Perhaps they were not. Aged twenty-nine, he was lean and dark-haired with the sensual, slightly cruel features of an eastern despot. His instincts were opportunist and predatory, and that he’d settled at all was as remarkable as it had been short-lived. They were chalk and cheese.
‘You wished to see me, sir?’
‘Yes, sit down.’ Sir Blaine returned to his desk and pulled forward a sheaf of papers. Not that he needed them; he knew all the facts. Sir Blaine always knew the facts.
‘Nigel, you have been buying heavily in stocks.’
Lighting a cigarette, Nigel raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes I have, sir.’
‘You must sell.’
‘They are still rising. Up twenty-three points on yesterday.’
‘Indeed! Nevertheless you will take your profit, which you may keep, and return to us the capital, with interest. Let us say three percent. You will then have money of your own to spend, if you must, on these risky adventures. Please understand, however, that I will not permit it to be done under the aegis of Cotton’s bank. Cotton’s invests conservatively; always has and always will. Is that clear?’
‘I don’t see, sir —’
‘Nigel, You may think I sit here in my ivory tower and know nothing of our day to day business. That is not the case. I am well aware of your views and what you have been doing. You have sown discord among my staff; you have used this bank’s funds in a cavalier fashion and without going through the proper channels, and you have made inappropriate loans to questionable individuals. All this must cease.’
‘If you know that, sir,’ said Nigel testily, ‘you will know those loans were repaid, to our very great advantage. And Robin Holland was fully aware —’
‘Mr Holland is no longer with us. I accepted his resignation this morning. I have appointed Mr Alfred Biggs in his place.’
‘That old fool!’
‘Alfred is a steadying hand,’ said Sir Blaine. ‘He, at least, will not be beguiled by your siren words, or by a dangerously overheated market that can only end in a bubble.’
‘I see no evidence of that!’
‘Few ever do. Thank you for coming to see me, Nigel.’
Sir Blaine watched him march to the door and all but slam it behind him. ‘You can come out now,’ he said.
Gerald Owen, his chairman of the board, emerged from an adjacent room and pulled forward a chair. ‘An angry young man, Blaine.’
‘Better that than a sacked one.’
‘Will it work? It’s not just Holland. He has Clements in his pocket and spends much time in conclave with Crisp and Adlem, both of whom should know better.’
Sir Blaine shrugged. ‘There is always the ultimate sanction, though I would wish to avoid it.’
‘He will get it all eventually, you know — he and Betty. Have you thought of that?’
‘He will not. Or not in the way that he thinks.’
‘No?’
‘Kitty knows my views and agrees with me. Not that I intend dying just yet.’
Chapter Two
‘She won’t like it, you know,’ said Chief Inspector Miles Felix, unfolding his newspaper. ‘Hell hath no fury like your mother scorned.’
‘Well I can’t help that,’ said Connie. ‘My sanity won’t stand it. Do you want a mad wife? She can always come up afterwards. It’s their turn for Christmas anyway so they won’t have long to wait.’
‘But I thought you wanted to have him at home. You’ll want someone to look after you if you have him here.’
‘Have her here. I don’t intend to; which is why I’m going to your mother’s. Your father shall deliver her. He has a perfectly capable nurse, and Lavinia has had three which trumps mummy’s two. I couldn’t be in better hands.’
‘Have you asked them about it?’
‘Naturally.’
‘I see. Fait accompli by the sound of it.’
She came and sat beside him. ‘You don’t really mind, do you darling? Honestly, it’s for the best. It might be a day or two before you see her, but that would apply if I went to my mother. And a maternity home is just too ghastly to contemplate.’
‘It means travelling.’
‘Well, obviously.’
Felix sighed. Various objections of a personal nature presented themselves but would have seemed foolish if articulated. ‘When do you want to go?’ he asked.
‘It had best be this weekend, I think.’
‘This coming weekend? But it’s not due for two weeks!’
‘Just to be on the safe side. If you get fed up with cooking you can always eat out. Or park yourself on Howard.’
‘You want to poison me as well?’
◆◆◆
‘So that was that,’ grumbled Felix. ‘I just hope the weather’s all right.’ He glanced at his diary. ‘I suppose I should get the car serviced. I can’t even remember the last time.’
‘Seems pretty reliable,’ said Sergeant Rattigan, who was rather in love with the Vauxhall.
‘Yes it is, but if it’s going to give trouble, that’s when it’ll be. I suggested the train but she said she wasn’t waiting about on draughty platforms when we had a perfectly good car.’ He picked up a typewritten sheet. ‘What’s this then?’
‘Suspicious suicide.’
‘Local?’
‘Farnham.’
‘Damn!’
‘If you want to get the car serviced, we could always take the train.’
‘What, and wait about on draughty platforms? I dare say It’ll be all right.’
◆◆◆
‘Come on darling; we’re all ready,’ said Felix. He felt strangely anxious for some reason.
Connie replaced the telephone receiver. ‘I was just telling your mother we’re leaving. There’s no hurry, is there?’
‘No, but they give rain. It’s spotting now.’
‘I’ll want the hood up anyway. I don’t feel li
ke being buffeted by the elements today.’
‘But you’re all right? I mean, you feel all right?’
‘Yes, I feel all right. Stop worrying. Now listen. There’s a shopping list for Monday behind the clock. Don’t forget or you’ll have nothing to eat but tins. You’ll need to collect the meat, just ask for Mrs Felix’s order, and it’s the laundry on Tuesday.’
Leaving the Saturday lunchtime traffic behind them they headed south-west on the three hour drive. Few people appeared to be travelling and they had the road almost to themselves. It had become rather cold under a louring purplish sky, and after a few minutes the rain arrived in earnest.
‘Setting in for a thick-un,’ observed Felix.
‘Getting windy too.’
‘Never mind, cosy enough with the hood up.’
‘I’m glad I brought my heavy coat though.’ Connie frowned. ‘What is that?’
‘What is what?’
‘The engine: it seems to miss a beat sometimes, like arrhythmia. There! It did it again.’
‘Bit of dirt in the petrol probably.’
‘So it’s a fault?’
‘No. Well, yes. Strictly I suppose it is. Nothing to worry about though. It often does it.’
By the time they’d left the Hog’s Back it was bucketing down. The screen wipers were barely coping, and they had to shout over the sound of the rain on the canvas hood. They hit a large puddle, then another, the car wrenching at the wheel.
‘You could slow down. I’d quite like to arrive in one piece.’
‘I have slowed down. Look, we’re barely going thirty. Could you pass that chamois? We’re steaming up.’
‘There it is again — a sort of jerk.’
‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.’
It had, in fact, been getting worse for some time. He could feel it through the accelerator pedal. Nor did he truly know what caused it. It was just something it did, though not as badly as this. Perhaps it was the wet.
‘You could stop and have a look.’
‘I can’t do anything in this. If I see somewhere I’ll pull in.’
But the hissing, rain-sodden miles passed and nowhere quite suitable presented itself. Felix began to worry. The engine was running distinctly unevenly now, though Connie, to her credit, made no further comment. She had, in fact, become unusually quiet.
‘Are you all right, darling?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Winchester is the next town, isn’t it?’ How far, do you think?’
‘Eight or ten miles. We’ll put it in a garage if necessary and make other arrangements. Blimey! look at this.’
Lying ahead of them was nothing less than a long lake between hedgerows. It was impossible to tell how deep it might be.
Felix drew to a halt. ‘I think we’ll let someone else go through first.’
For some minutes they waited, Felix with a foot on the accelerator, fearful they might stall and not restart. Eventually a lorry came the other way, slowly, so as not to raise a wash.
‘You’ll be all right if you takes it easy, sir,’ said the driver, ‘though you won’t get back again today I doubt. Not the way it’s coming down.’
‘Does it get better?’
‘Yes, it’s only this bit.’
Felix considered their options. There was no town for some miles behind them; just open countryside. ‘Press on?’ he said.
Connie shrugged. ‘I suppose we’ll have to.’ She didn’t sound, he thought, her usual buoyant self, but that was scarcely surprising.
With great care they chugged – for that is what it now sounded like – the length of the flooded section, whereupon the Vauxhall’s engine, having gamely saved them from the waters, gave a little shudder and expired.
Sighing, Felix got out. He hadn’t realised quite how windy it had become. The rain, drove horizontally off the adjacent fields and he was quickly soaked, his trouser bottoms clinging wetly to his legs. Turning up his collar, he tucked his hat for safety into his pocket before raising the bonnet. There was, of course, nothing to see. Was there ever? ‘You’ve let me down,’ he told it. But he knew he should have got it serviced.
Connie cracked her door open and peered out at him. ‘Darling.’ Her voice sounded strange, he thought.
He came back inside. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t want to add to your troubles but I think the baby is starting.’
‘Oh Lord! Are you sure?’
‘Well, yes, I am really.’
‘How long have we got?’
‘I don’t know. It could be soon or it could be a few hours.’
‘But it’s definitely on its way?’
‘Yes, but you mustn’t panic. Babies get born in all sorts of queer places.’
Easy for you to say! thought Felix. He looked desperately about him. There was no shelter to be had nearby, but on the other side of the road was quite thick woodland. Was that the faintest glimmer amongst the trees? Though only three o’clock it was already getting dark or he might not have seen it. ‘I think there’s a house up there,’ he said. ‘Will you be all right while I look?’
Connie watched him go. She felt strangely calm. If the baby came soon, she thought, she could probably cope. Four years of nursing had prepared her for the commoner difficulties and Miles was sensible, mostly, and would do what was needed. Eventually someone would come by and rescue them. Listen to it out there! It must surely be a full gale, quite as strong as those she had experienced at sea. There was the same banshee wailing from the telegraph wires as from the rigging of the ship, and the car rocked alarmingly as the wind thudded against it, driving rainwater into the numerous interstices of the side screens. Suddenly there was a huge gust, far stronger than the rest, and the hood was torn quite off, flopping uselessly over the back of the car.
Felix appeared.
‘I didn’t manage to grab it,’ she said, apologetically.
‘Never mind that. There’s a house all right. Quite a big one, judging by the gateposts. I didn’t go right up there because it’s about a hundred yards off the road. I’ll bring your small case. Come on.’ Briefly turning back he reached into the glove compartment for his gun. No point in taking chances.
Clinging to each other for support they struggled up the sloping drive. The trees reduced the force of the wind somewhat, though it whipped their tops into a creaking frenzy, but after a while they thinned out, revealing not a house but a species of castle, an immense edifice complete with turrets and battlements.
Connie gazed at it in dismay. ‘Miles, it’s a ruin! Look, you can see the sky through those windows. It’s just a shell.’
‘I’ll swear I saw a light,’ said Felix, but his heart sank.
‘Well there isn’t one now.’
They examined the great, oaken door. That looked sound enough anyway.
‘It may offer some sort of shelter, or there could be outbuildings,’ he suggested. ‘We’ve got to get you out of this rain.’
‘Listen!’
In the last few minutes it had become even darker, and now there was a distinct rumble of thunder.
‘That’s all we need,’ groaned Felix.
Even as he spoke there came a brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a stomach-churning crash, seemingly overhead. There was also something else; not just the wailing of the wind but a very loud and human scream. They looked at each other in horror.
‘Did you hear that?’
‘Yes I did.’ Eschewing the dangling bell-pull, Felix shoved at the castle’s door. It fell open readily enough, revealing a large and lofty hall. Worn stairs wound upwards into darkness and slit-like windows punctuated the bare stone walls. Their relief, however, was unbounded, for in a vast and intricately carved fireplace burned a welcoming log fire, while ranged before it were scattered rugs and cosy-looking sofas and armch
airs.
Standing and sitting motionless about the room, like a theatre scene at curtain-up, were six people. They had stopped what they were doing and were staring in some surprise at the intruders. A man in carpet slippers was reading by the fire; two more were playing cards at a folding table and another, carrying a bucket, had paused in the act of passing down the stairs. Centre-stage, and the only female in the room, stood a pretty, red-headed young woman in her early twenties, wearing high-heels, fishnet stockings and a sequined party dress of extreme brevity. She was clinging, apparently terror-stricken, to a handsome young man in full white-tie. She was the first to move, pulling away from him in obvious embarrassment.
‘Someone screamed,’ said Felix.
The girl giggled. ‘That was me. I hate thunderstorms. Can I help you?’
Apologising for the intrusion, Felix explained their predicament. Some instinct, however, caused him to give his name as Harrison, Connie’s maiden name.
‘Oh you poor things!’ exclaimed the girl. ‘Come and sit down. Mind the buckets; we’ve got a few leaks.’
‘I should imagine what the lady needs is to lie down,’ said the man by the fire, ‘and the attentions of a doctor.’ He came forward to introduce himself. ‘Major Edgar Parker, at your service, sir. This pulchritudinous creature is Miss Sonia Butterworth and the gentleman in whose embrace you discovered her is Mr Tony Swindon. That’s a fine mess you’ve got yourselves into, what?’
Felix agreed that it was. ‘In the regard of a doctor, Major, can you direct me to one? I think some urgency may be required.’
Mr Swindon looked doubtful. ‘She can hardly have it here,’ he said, glancing pointedly upwards. ‘If this were a ship we’d be abandoning it.’
‘You rat,’ said one of the card players, raising a chuckle.
‘Where do you suggest she goes, then?’ said the Major sarcastically. ‘The stables? It’s a bit early for Christmas.’
Felix was about to respond, but at that moment there came the grainy roar of a motorcycle engine, the door was again thrown open and two dripping figures appeared. The smaller of them, a little man with a wizened monkey face, had something of the jockey about him, while his tall and broad-shouldered companion proved, on divesting herself of her leather overcoat, flying helmet and goggles, to be a handsome woman of perhaps forty-five. She was wearing trousers, and her hair – also red, but rather garishly dyed – was cut and parted like a man’s. ‘That your car in the road?’ she barked. Her voice was deep but not unpleasant.
Death in Patent Leather (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 7) Page 1