“Well, of course, I’d be happy to take you there. I’ve been trying to get you to fly with me for years. I just bought a brand new de Havilland Dragon. It will come in handy to carry me and my associates back and forth to my new business in the North.”
She rolled her eyes. Rafe would use any excuse to indulge his passion for flying.
“But now, we have something else to discuss. I want you to tell me about this Dr. Harry Bascombe.”
Catherine was annoyed. “You don’t own me, you know. We are not engaged. And you’ve been out of the country for a year.”
“Is that how long this has been going on?”
“No. But you have to remember that when you left, we had completely broken things off.”
“And yet my photo sits there on your desk.”
She felt herself color but said nothing.
“I suppose Dot has been encouraging this?”
“She likes him, yes. More than I do, I’m beginning to suspect.”
“Ah-ha!”
He sounded so triumphant that it galled her. “I’ve gone dancing with him,” she said. “He’s a beautiful dancer. He stayed with me in the hospital after my injury. I’ve been to his home. There. Now I’ve told you everything. Far more than you deserve to know.”
“Shall he accompany us to the Isle of Man?”
“I would imagine so.”
“When shall we go?”
“It will take only a day to go over and back? I have an engagement on Thursday evening,” she told him.
“The flight shouldn’t take long, but I don’t know what you’re planning to do there.”
“Leave that to me.”
“Then tell Dr. Bascombe to meet us at Croyden at ten o’clock. I’ll pick you up here in my motor at nine.”
“Thank you, Rafe. Now, I suppose you need to be fed?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
She rang for Cherry. When the maid appeared, she said, “Could you bring Mr. St. John some biscuits and cheese? And a bit of that chutney I bought yesterday? Thank you, Cherry.”
While he ate, they discussed her new publishing contract and her job offer from Somerville and her problem with the dean.
“Do Somerville faculty have to remain celibate?” he asked.
“They rarely marry,” she said. “But it’s not unheard of.”
“That’s all right, then,” said Rafe.
* * *
Margery woke around four o’clock and appeared in the sitting room dressed in a different frock, with her hair and makeup immaculate.
“Shall we go take tea somewhere?” she asked.
“I think I’ll just amble along to my club,” said Rafe. “I am glad you seem to be recovered, Lady Margery. Now you can keep Cat out of trouble.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Margery. “That job is more than I can take on.”
Rafe laughed, kissed Catherine’s forehead, and left.
Margery and Catherine had tea and hot cross buns at the bakery on the corner. She took the opportunity to tell her friend about the case against Dr. Waddell, his murder, and her plans to travel to his home on the Isle of Man.
“I hope you find something. Anything. Will you tell me if you do? I just don’t know how long I can stand the strain of wondering if Herbert is guilty. If I know one way or the other, I shall know what to do, and I can adjust.”
“I will see what we can find out,” she promised. “And I will let you know.”
This seemed to satisfy her friend for the time being.
* * *
Catherine rang Dr. Harry after dinner.
“Are you still Chicken Little?” she asked him. “Or did the Detective Chief Inspector buy your hunch about the Oxford Nazi group?”
“He knew of it, at least.” She heard a sigh over the line. “He’d been notified of Waddell’s death, but he didn’t seem to buy my story of a connection between that and the Nazi group. I’m beginning to think maybe it was an illusion of mine brought about by too little sleep and an unconscious ingestion of opium.”
She laughed. “Well, I’ve got a flight for us to the Isle of Man tomorrow if you want to take it. Rafe seems to think we could be back before Professor Williams’s do on Thursday.”
“Brilliant! Oxford certainly hasn’t yielded many answers.”
“You need to meet us at Croyden at 10:00. Can you make it?”
“Of course. You know, I don’t have any recollection of how I intended to spend my Long Vacation before I got involved with you.”
“Did you have plans to go somewhere?” she asked.
“I think I may have been planning the odd trip to the South of France.”
“Oh,” she felt suddenly guilty. “Well, if we wrap this up, there is still all of August.”
“I’ll see you at Croyden. Ten a.m.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Catherine had never been in an airplane and was excited at the prospect. She had no worries about Rafe’s capabilities as a pilot. He did everything well. It was all part of a natural inborn grace he seemed to apply to any task he undertook.
When he arrived at the flat, he looked at her clothing—she was wearing a white sailor blouse and navy blue trousers—and said, “That won’t do. You’ll freeze up there. I should have told you. The trousers are fine, but you must wear woolen socks and brogues. And put on a jumper and bring your thickest fur coat.”
“I shall look ridiculous!” she said.
“Bring those shoes you are wearing. You can change when we put down on the Isle of Man. And you can shed the coat and jumper then, too. Do you have a stocking cap?”
Grumbling, she went to do as he said and to dig out her stocking cap.
* * *
Dr. Harry was better prepared than she had been. When they met him at the aerodrome, he was dressed warmly.
He greeted Rafe with a handshake and kissed Catherine on the cheek. She glowered at him.
Rafe’s plane was shiny and new. A six-seater bi-plane with two engines, it had more than enough room for all of them.
He asked, “Ever been up, Bascombe?”
“Yes,” replied Dr. Harry. “I enjoy flying.”
“You can have the co-pilot’s seat.” Turning to Catherine, he said, “You shall sit behind. There’s a blanket under the seat if you get cold. I had the factory install leather belts to help keep you in your seat. Be sure to fasten them.” He passed out small balls of wax and instructed them to use them to plug their ears.
Catherine put on her extra gear and settled into her seat. Nerves and excitement fluttered in her stomach. “We should only be in the air about an hour and a half—a couple of hours at the most,” he said. “We will be landing at an airstrip about six miles south of Douglas, the capital city.”
With that, he signaled the ground crew, the engines started with a roar, and before Catherine knew it, they were moving toward the runway.
Am I ready for this? Golly! Did God really intend for man to fly? How will he get this thing in the air?
When Rafe reached the runway and began to push the airplane at ever greater speeds, she clutched at her seat, biting her lip. The engines were roaring, and the airstrip was far bumpier than it looked. Then, all at once, they were airborne, and she was looking out the window at the landscape below her.
It was an extremely queer sensation. Everything beneath began to look as though it were like William’s minute railway set—tiny buildings, minute trees clustered around squares of green, and then a patchwork of farm fields. Catherine began to feel an exhilaration that conquered her fear. They were sailing on the air! Well, bouncing and sailing.
Dr. Harry and Rafe shouted at one another to be heard above the engine’s roar. They both looked back to check on her, and she gave them a thumb’s up. Rafe waggled the wings up and d
own and laughed when she grabbed her seat.
* * *
The landing was also quite bumpy, but at last, they came to a stop beside a small building that was the Ronaldsway airport according to the sign. Everything seemed strangely silent when the engines stopped.
Looking around her, Catherine saw that they were in the midst of nowhere. How were they to get to Douglas, the capital city where they were headed?
She had reckoned without Rafe, who had a taxi waiting. Stripping off her outer layers, she deplaned as best she could with numb feet.
“That was the most unusual and exciting thing I’ve ever done!” she exclaimed to both men. “Thank you, Rafe. Especially for not setting us down in the Irish Sea. I was worried for a minute.”
He laughed, and she could tell that he was experiencing one of his extreme high moods. She could certainly understand why. In her exuberance, she threw her arms around him and gave him a great hug. He smiled down at her in a joy that lit his whole face. It was at moments like this that her love for him nearly carried her away.
Dr. Harry sat in the front of the taxi, while Catherine and Rafe took the back seat. They held hands and listened to the professor give the cab driver an address in Douglas. She realized that now that they had landed, she didn’t even have a plan. Dr. Harry was better prepared.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“St. John’s had an address for him in Douglas. Apparently, he lives with his mother when he is here.”
“Have the police been in touch with her? Does she know her son is dead?” asked Catherine.
“I have no idea. That would have been up to the Metropolitan Police at the Yard.”
She began to feel a bit anxious. “I hope she knows. I wouldn’t like to have to break it to her.”
“Never mind,” said Rafe. “I can be very reassuring when the situation calls for it.”
She smiled at him as he looked down into her eyes.
Douglas caught her by surprise. It was a charming little city with a strip of pastel-colored Victorian flats rising five stories up from the strand along the beachfront. Mrs. Waddell lived in one of these flats.
“There’s money somewhere in the family,” remarked Dr. Harry. “I don’t imagine these flats come cheap.”
He paid the driver, and they set about finding the flat. It was in a pale pink block. The doorman inquired whom they were seeking. They mentioned Mrs. Waddell’s name.
“We are from Oxford University,” Dr. Harry told him.
The doorman rang up the Waddell flat on his telephone.
“She will see you,” he said after a short conversation.
They took the lift to the fourth floor. Catherine squeezed Rafe’s arm.
The flat was on the sea side of the building. Dr. Harry knocked, and a tall woman with iron-gray hair answered his summons.
“Yes?” she asked. “My, there are a lot of you. Are you all from Oxford?”
“Most of us,” said Catherine, stepping forward. “I’m Miss Tregowyn.” She held out her hand and shook the lady’s. “Somerville College.”
Dr. Harry offered his hand. “I’m Dr. Harry Bascombe, Christ Church.”
Rafe thrust his large hand forward, “I’m Rafael St. John.”
“Well, you had better come in,” Mrs. Waddell said. She opened the door, and as they walked through, Catherine caught her breath at the beautiful sea vista. “This is breathtaking!”
“Yes, Christopher rents this for me. He loves the sea.”
Catherine noted the present tense and cringed inside. Best get it over with.
“Have the police not been in touch with you?” she asked.
When the bewildered woman shook her head, Catherine said, “You had better sit down, Mrs. Waddell.”
“What’s happened to Christopher?” the lady asked, her voice sharp. “Tell me!”
Rafe spoke up, his voice deep and somber, “We’re afraid he’s dead, Mrs. Waddell.”
“Dead?” Her face paled, and she looked from one of them to the other. “What is going on? Why are you here?”
Catherine seated herself next to the woman on the sofa. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, ma’am, but he was murdered in London. We haven’t heard why or how or by whom. It happened a few days ago.”
The lady’s face went blank with shock.
“I’m so very sorry. Would you like me to fix you a cup of tea?” Catherine offered.
The woman only nodded. Catherine got up and went to find the kitchen. It was tucked away at the back of the flat. Setting the kettle to boil, she searched the cupboards until she found the things she needed. The woman was extremely neat and organized, judging from her kitchen. She didn’t appear to employ a servant.
There was a photo of Dr. Waddell sitting on the kitchen table. He was beachcombing.
When the kettle boiled, she poured the water over the tea ball into the teapot. Finding a tray, she set a cup on it along with the pot, sugar, milk, and a spoon.
Catherine carried the tray out into the front sitting room where she saw Rafe sitting on the sofa next to Mrs. Waddell as she wept silent tears. She held one of his handkerchiefs in her hand. Dr. Harry was down on one knee in front of her, speaking softly.
“Here, Mrs. Waddell. I have your tea,” she said. “Do you take milk?”
The woman nodded, and Catherine poured milk into the cup and added four lumps of sugar. When the tea had steeped long enough, she poured it into the cup and stirred.
“Dr. Harry?” she asked. “Perhaps you can serve Mrs. Waddell her tea.” She handed the professor the cup, her hands trembling.
For the next half hour, the three of them offered consolation and what little information they had.
When she judged the time was right, Catherine said, “Perhaps you would like to tell us about your son. None of us knew him, you see.”
If the grieving mother thought the request bizarre, considering they had come all this way, she didn’t say so. Instead, she seemed to find it a relief to talk.
“He was a lonely man. Quite unhappy, I always feared. The academic life suited him better than anything else, but just the same I think it was a disappointment to him. Too settled. He disliked theory and wanted action.”
Mrs. Waddell blew her nose, beginning to calm as she talked.
“He was a happy boy, growing up here. He hadn’t many friends, but he had a great imagination. I thought he might become a writer. He loved the old Viking legends and the German fairy tales. They abound here. He grew up to be deeply interested in the local culture and myth.” She smiled a little. “He masqueraded as Wotan and Thor.”
She held out her cup for more tea.
“Eventually the isle became too small for him. He wanted a broader canvas, I think. He was always a good student, and so he went on to Oxford, turning his love of legends into a career.”
“Do you know why he was unhappy?” Catherine asked.
“No. I don’t. It was more like a persistent melancholy. But lately, he was a bit different. He seemed to have found some direction. He never told me what it was, on the occasions when he visited me, but he did say in a letter that it was time Britain changed course. He said he was working with other men who felt the same way. Christopher felt the present government was weak and ineffectual, that Britain had lost its way. There was no one to lead the people.”
“Did he mention the names of any of these men he was working with?” Dr. Harry asked.
She looked up sharply, suddenly seeming to come to herself. “Why exactly are you here?”
Catherine said, “We are trying to find out who murdered your son.”
“Isn’t that the job of the police?”
“We feel they are looking in the wrong direction. It doesn’t speak too highly of them that they haven’t even been in touch with his next of kin, doe
s it?”
“But they wouldn’t look on me as his next of kin, surely. That would be Agatha, even though they’ve been separated for a while.”
Catherine’s heart skipped and then began to pound.
“Agatha? Do you mean Agatha Chenowith? He was married to her?”
“You must not have known him well. But then, they kept it secret because of her position. As a female professor in an all-female university, she thought it best to keep it dark. She was ambitious. She hoped to be in the administration one day.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Waddell, but Dr. Chenowith was also murdered,” said Catherine. “She was a professor of mine.”
The lady just stared at Catherine, who couldn’t do anything at the moment but stare back.
Agatha Chenowith was married? To Dr. Waddell? And no one knew? Even the dean? Or Miss Siddons? Or any of his peers at the college? What on earth did all this mean?
Catherine’s head was spinning.
“Who killed Agatha?” asked Mrs. Waddell.
“That is another thing we are trying to find out,” said Dr. Harry. “Perhaps the same person killed both of them.”
Catherine pulled herself together and asked, “Do you know of any groups that your son was involved in at Oxford? Political or otherwise?”
“No,” Mrs. Waddell answered. “He didn’t talk to me much about that sort of thing. Perhaps he did with his sister. She lives here on the island, as well. Sandra didn’t like Agatha very much, I’m afraid. Until Christopher and Agatha separated, she and her brother were estranged, but lately they have become close again. She may know something.”
Rafe asked, “Can you tell us where your daughter lives?”
“She has a shop on the strand and lives above it. It’s a gift and snack shop called ‘Sandy’s Surprises.’ She’s run off her feet at this hour, but I think I’ll call her in a bit and ask her to come and see me. She can leave the shop to her assistant. I want to tell her about Christopher myself. If you come by around five o’clock, you can talk to her and see if she has anything to tell you.”
An Oxford Murder Page 19