The Esther & Jack Enright Box Set

by David Field

  She blushed. ‘I’d ’ear bedroom doors goin’ open an’ shut durin’ the night, but I always assumed they was goin’ down ter the outside lavvie. ’As Mrs Bradfield mentioned ’er suspicions on that score?’

  ‘Yes, she has,’ Jack said reassuringly, ‘but we’re only interested in what you may have heard on the night that Miss Marianne went missing.’

  ‘I never ’eard nothin’ once I got ter bed,’ Clarice assured him and Jack let it drop.

  It was Percy who picked up the thread. ‘You mentioned the outside lavatory, Clarice. If someone needed to leave the house during the night, what arrangement was there regarding the key to the back door?’

  ‘There was a spare ’angin’ on a ’ook near the door,’ she advised him, ‘an’ anyone goin’ out was supposed ter take it wi’ ’em, so as not ter lock ’emselves out. The lock clicks to once the back door’s shut, yer see, an’ there’s always the risk o’ the wind blowin’ it shut.’

  ‘So anyone wanting to leave the house during the night could simply slip out through the back door and pull it lockfast behind them?’ Percy asked and Clarice nodded.

  ‘But you heard nothing that night?’ Jack confirmed and she shook her head again.

  ‘But it wouldn’t ’ave seemed unusual if I ’ad,’ she reminded them.

  Percy turned his gaze towards Bert. ‘You sleep above the coach house and stable block, that right?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ Bert confirmed.

  ‘And you heard nothing that night?’

  ‘’Fraid not, but I’m an ’eavy sleeper, me. Once me ’ead goes down, that’s it ’til next mornin’, when the birds wake me wi’ their chatter. But the next mornin’ were a bit odd, come ter think of it.’

  ‘In what way?’ Percy enquired.

  ‘Well,’ Bert continued, ‘I were lyin’ in me bed, about one in the mornin’ it woulda bin, which were a bit unusual for me. I ’eard someone rattlin’ the back door ter the ’ouse. I looked out an’ it were the master. Claimed ’e’d forgotten ter take the back door key when he went out ter use the lavvie, so I let ’im in wi’ me own key. I’ve always ’ad a spare o’ me own, so’s I can get at the gardenin’ tools what we keep in the back scullery. The funny thing were that the other spare key weren’t there, be’ind the door, like Clarice explained. An’ if the master’d only gone out ter use the lavvie, why were ’e wearin’ ’is walkin’ out coat, an’ why were ’is coat all damp when I took it off ’im?’

  ‘The coat he’d normally wear for travelling?’ Percy prompted him.

  Bert nodded before adding to his account of events. ‘But ’e weren’t wearin’ ’is normal ’at — one o’ them “deerstalker” things. ’E always wore it while ’e were down ’ere, if ’e went out anywhere.’

  ‘I gather that you would take the master and mistress to and from the station in the coach?’ Jack suggested.

  Bert nodded. ‘Every Friday evenin’, the five thirteen from London, an’ then back on either the Sunday or the Monday. Sometimes they went all the way ter Swindon, ter catch a faster train, but most times it were Kemble.’

  ‘Thank you, both of you,’ Percy said, by way of concluding the conversation. ‘I don’t think we need keep you from your duties any longer — and thank you again for the lemonade, Miss Battersby.’

  ‘What next?’ Jack asked as they took the coach back to Swindon.

  Percy frowned. ‘I don’t know about you, but after that heavy night on the cider, I’m more than happy to settle for an early night at our hostelry and hopefully something edible to soak up the local beer.’

  ‘I think I’ll give the beer a miss,’ Jack grimaced, ‘but what do you have in mind for tomorrow?’

  ‘I think we’ll try and find that coach driver who brought Ormonde back to Kemble,’ Percy suggested.

  Jack nodded his agreement. Then, after a few moments deep in thought, he said, ‘Then can we go back to London?’

  Percy smiled. ‘I remember my young married days, so maybe you can go, and I’ll keep going here.’

  ‘We’ve no one left to interview, have we?’

  Percy looked thoughtfully out of the side of the coach as it took the main road out of Kemble towards Swindon. ‘That’ll depend on what the coachman in Swindon has to tell us, won’t it?’

  Chapter Six

  Just before noon the following day, by dint of some constabulary weight-throwing and some ‘inside’ assistance from Josh Babbage, Jack and Percy had identified the coach driver who took Edgar Ormond from Swindon back to Kemble on the night of the murder. His name was John Savage and he was happy to be fed pints of local beer and the occasional crisp new banknote while he recalled the unusual fare he’d picked up that night.

  ‘A regular city gent, ’e were, all monocle an’ hoighty toighty talk. I were just about ready ter call it a night, since the last express ’ad gone through some time since, an’ then out ’e steps from the station, no luggage, nor nothin’. ’E weren’t even wearin’ no ’at, so I figured ’e probably ’adn’t come from London or anywhere posh.’

  ‘If I might stop you there for a moment, Mr Savage,’ Percy said as he slid another pound note across the table, ‘do you recall if there were any train arrivals just before this man hired your cab?’

  ‘Yeah, the last one fer London. The Cheltenham local that departs around eleven thirty. It ‘ad just pulled inter the platform when this gent come runnin’ out, like he were chasin’ someone, only ’e weren’t, obviously. Then ’e sees me sittin’ up be’ind the ’oss an’ ’e offers me a tenner ter take ’im ter Kemble.’

  ‘Only to Kemble?’ Percy asked.

  Savage nodded.

  ‘And you say he was not wearing any hat?’ Jack enquired.

  Savage nodded again. ‘I though it were a bit peculiar, like, since it’d bin rainin’ earlier an’ since ’e didn’t ’ave no luggage I figured ’ couldn’t ’ave come far. Well, I takes ’im ter Kemble — an’ here’s the funny bit — when we gets there, ’e asks me ter drop ’im off at the station. I thought it were odd, since there’s no more trains at that time o’ night, but a tenner’s a tenner, so I kept me mouth shut an’ just bid ’im a good night.’

  ‘As you drove away, where was he?’ Percy asked eagerly.

  Savage shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just where I’d left ’im, ’cept ’e were lookin’ down at the ground, like ’e’d dropped somethin’. That were in the forecourt, where the coaches drop an’ pick up passengers.’

  ‘Did you see him pick anything up?’ Jack asked.

  Savage shook his head.

  ‘Finally,’ Percy enquired as he pushed another pound note across the table, ‘do you think you’d know this man if you saw him again?’

  ‘Definitely, since ’e were very distinctive. A tall bloke — in his late thirties, I’d reckon. Fairish ’air an’ one o’ they posh moustaches like yer see on royalty. An’ ’e were playin’ wi’ one o’ they monocle thingies, on the end’ve a string. Yer know —what posh folks puts over their eye, instead o’ proper glasses like poor folk ’as ter use.’

  ‘Ormonde was wearing a monocle when I spoke to him,’ Jack advised Percy excitedly as Savage took his departure and they got up to leave.

  ‘Sounds like he left something behind at Kemble Station when he was chasing his sister to the train,’ Percy mused out loud. ‘I wonder if it finished up in the Left Luggage Office.’

  ‘Back to Mr Parsons?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Later, maybe. Right now we need to think of some way of getting a photograph of our Mr Ormonde that we can show to Savage, before we go assuming too much.’

  ‘Can’t we get someone to wait outside his business premises and catch him unawares?’

  Percy smiled. ‘You’ve obviously had little to do with the business of photography. You need to set up a tripod with a black cloth over it, then set what they call the “focus”. And the so-called “subject” has to remain still for at least thirty seconds. Then it all depends on the light, and other things as wel
l.’

  ‘How do you know so much about it?’

  ‘Every few years we have a Divisional photograph taken inside the main canteen at the Yard. Which reminds me, we must be due our next one soon, and then you’ll see what I mean. The sort of photograph I’m talking about will need to be one of those fancy ones taken in a proper photographic studio. Any ideas?’

  ‘Uncle Percy, let me put this idea to you. It first began to form when I learned that Marianne Ormonde used to do the accounts for her brother’s business. He must be needing a replacement and it just so happens that I know someone with experience in book-keeping.’

  ‘I wonder who that might be?’ Percy said sarcastically.

  ‘Someone we’ve worked with before, who’s not afraid of getting involved in undercover work and who’s bored sitting at home nursing a young child.’

  Percy thought for a brief moment, then shook his head. ‘You obviously have in mind that lovely wife of yours, but forget it. We’re dealing with a very resourceful and very evil man who thought nothing of pushing his sister off a moving train. You wouldn’t seriously want to expose your lovely Esther to a brute like that, would you? Remember that she’s twice before narrowly escaped death while working for us.’

  ‘She’d be safe enough, just doing his books. But she’d be in a position to get further information about him that could fill out our case. You said yourself that we need more to link him directly with the murder. Her first job can be to get hold of a photograph of him.’

  ‘Do you think she’d even agree?’ Percy enquired doubtfully.

  ‘Let me go home this afternoon, then come over to our place for supper tomorrow,’ Jack returned, confidently.

  Chapter Seven

  Esther’s heart leapt as she heard the key turning in the outside lock and she rushed down the hallway into Jack’s arms, almost knocking him back through the open doorway as she pressed herself up to him.

  ‘There’s nothing in the pantry, so go and sit in the living room while I go around to the shops and see what’s left.’

  ‘Please avoid meat pies at all costs,’ Jack begged her, ‘since I just spent three days living on them. Poor Uncle Percy’s still there, I’m afraid, but he hopes to be back tomorrow.’

  ‘What about you? Are you home for good?’

  ‘For the next few days at least. I have a short job to do around the middle of the day, but otherwise I’ve got the whole of tomorrow free.’

  ‘We could take Lily in her pram down to the park, or even further afield — maybe to visit your mother,’ Esther suggested.

  Jack shook his head. ‘I value my time at home with you too much. A long lie-in, then I’ll bring you tea and toast in bed, then we can — well, we’ll see what comes up, shall we?’

  ‘You know as well as I do what’ll come up, Jack Enright,’ Esther teased him.

  ‘You’re getting worse than me, you shameless married woman, you.’

  ‘That must be the result of being pregnant again,’ she whispered hoarsely.

  Jack turned round quickly, his eyes wide open and a massive grin from ear to ear. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really, according to Dr. Penfold, who we owe six shillings to, by the way. I didn’t have any change in my purse and his girl refused to break my only remaining five pound note.’

  ‘Give it to me and I’ll go and get some cockles from the stall on the corner. Then tomorrow evening, I’ll cook supper while you sit with your feet up.’

  ‘Feet up where?’ she joked.

  He chuckled with sheer excitement and pleasure as he hugged her to him. ‘Dearest, darling Esther, I’m so excited by your news! I love you so much — you make me so happy!’

  Lily began protesting from the next room and Esther pushed Jack away with a smile.

  ‘So demonstrate your happiness by going and collecting your daughter and bringing her in here. Tell her that the milk counter’s open for business. And before the next one’s born, learn how to breast feed.’

  Jack’s apprehension that he might have to spend the entire day walking up and down Hatton Garden was dispelled when after only half an hour the front door opened and out walked Miss Prendergast, carrying a wicker shopping basket and heading in the direction of Charterhouse Street.

  Jack crossed the road and walked along behind her, slowly quickening his pace until he could pretend that their encounter was entirely fortuitous as he called out, ‘It’s Abigail, isn’t it?’

  She stopped, turned and smiled back at the boyish grin that never failed.

  ‘Aren’t you the ... the...?’

  ‘That’s me — Constable Enright. But call me Jack. I called in to speak to your employer on Tuesday.’

  ‘Are you back to see him again?’

  ‘If I were, I wouldn’t be walking past his premises, would I? It happens to be my day off and I was taking the air. I live only a few streets away, in Clerkenwell. May I walk with you?’

  ‘Of course. I’m on my way down to the omnibus stop, then into Holborn for some stationery supplies. And perhaps some more art paper while I’m at it, although I hardly have time these days.’

  ‘Is Mr Ormonde keeping you busy?’

  ‘He most certainly is, although the pittance he pays me he’s got a cheek. Now that Miss Marianne’s gone he seems to think that I can manage the accounts as well as the catalogues. I keep telling him, I’m an artist, not a bookkeeper, and just between ourselves I think he’s beginning to lose patience with me.’

  ‘So is he advertising for a replacement for Miss Marianne?’

  Abigail snorted daintily. ‘Mr Ormonde do something as vulgar as advertise for servants? My goodness me, what would the world be coming to if he lowered himself to do that?’

  ‘May I carry your basket?’ Jack asked, doing his best impersonation of a love-struck young man seeking to curry favour with a lady who had attracted his affections.

  ‘It’s alright, my bus stop’s just up ahead, but you can stay and talk with me until the bus arrives, if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jack responded with what he hoped was a grateful smile. ‘So how has Mr Ormonde taken to the news that his sister died tragically?’

  Another dainty snort. ‘I think he’d be more emotional if he lost out on an auction bid for a minor Impressionist work. It’s as if she never existed. If I were him, I couldn’t bear to look at the “Ophelia” on the wall, since it’s such a reminder of poor Marianne, but it’s still in pride of place behind the counter. Perhaps now he’ll sell it — who knows? Anyway, I think that’s my bus, so thank you for your company and any day that you feel like taking the air again, I normally take an hour off at around one o’clock and go for a walk around the block.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to do that,’ Jack replied with another practised grin, then smiled more meaningfully as he turned back towards home, muttering, ‘Candy from a baby.’

  ‘I realise that you’ve been living on pub rubbish for a while,’ Esther observed critically as she looked over Jack’s shoulder at how many potatoes he was peeling, ‘but don’t you think you might be overdoing your demonstration of your cooking skills? And did you really have to buy six lamb chops? We’ll be living on mince until next week, so don’t complain.’

  ‘I wanted to make it a celebration feast,’ Jack replied guiltily, ‘and I was thinking of stepping down the street for a bottle of wine.’

  ‘Well don’t,’ Esther pouted. ‘I have to make the housekeeping money stretch whenever you take it into your head to play at being a chef. I did appreciate the breakfast in bed, believe me, but let’s not get carried away.’

  ‘It’s not every day I get told I’m going to become a father again,’ Jack said, grinning, as he put down the knife and folded her in his arms, ‘so just let me celebrate in my own way.’ He nuzzled her nose with his.

  ‘Now who’s this, for Heaven’s sake?’ Someone had knocked on the front door and Esther smoothed her hands down her apron as she walked down the hall and opened it. Jack gritted his teeth, cr
ossed his fingers and waited.

  ‘Uncle Percy!’ Esther exclaimed as she leaned forward, pecked him on the cheek and stood back to let him in. ‘To what do we owe this pleasure? Or is it business?’

  ‘I don’t normally conduct police business with a bottle in my hand,’ Percy replied as he held up a large bottle of something red with a cork in the top.

  ‘Hello, Uncle,’ Jack said with a smile as he joined them in the hallway, ‘you’re just in time for supper, if you’d care to join us. Would lamb chops appeal to you after your recent meat pie diet?’

  An hour later, as they sat around the dining table, Esther put down her fork and turned to Percy. ‘This unexpected visit isn’t a social one, is it?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Percy replied with his best disingenuous smile.

  ‘You’re just back from wherever you and Jack were for the past few days and you probably haven’t even been home to Aunt Beattie yet. You’re armed with a bottle of wine — which is delicious, by the way — and Jack cooked far too much supper for the two of us, almost as if he was expecting you. What are you two up to?’

  Jack’s glance fell down to the table and Percy felt obliged to fill the ominous silence. ‘How would you like to assist the Metropolitan Police again?’

  ‘The last two times nearly got me killed,’ Esther replied acidly. ‘What do you want me to do this time — jump in front of a bus to test how fast the driver can pull on the reins?’

  ‘Nothing like that, honestly — I couldn’t bear to expose you to anything dangerous,’ Jack began, only to be struck dumb by the furious look on Esther’s face.

  ‘So you were in on this plan, were you? I might have known. Married less than two years, a second child on the way and you want to use me as bait for an axe murderer or something?’

  Percy raised an enquiring eyebrow in Jack’s direction and Jack nodded. ‘Due next Summer sometime.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ Percy enthused. ‘You’re hoping for a boy this time, I gather?’