The Corpse at the Crystal Palace

by Carola Dunn

  At the end of the avenue, Nanny Gilpin turned the same way as the other one. When the trio came to the spot, there was no sign of the two nannies. A narrow winding path led between trees, bushes, and beds of daffodils and crocuses. Many of the bushes were evergreen, so even though the rest were just beginning to put out leaves, Belinda couldn’t see much except for occasional glimpses of water as they trod cautiously along.

  On the sandy path, their footsteps were almost silent. Mrs. Gilpin wouldn’t hear them coming. On the other hand, they couldn’t hear where she was. Peering ahead, they crept round the first bend.

  “Gosh! A monster!”

  “Hush!” Ben clapped his hand over his brother’s mouth.

  “It’s just a deer,” said Belinda. “Three deer. I suppose they might be prehistoric deer. Reindeer maybe, with those antlers. Come on, we can’t stop for every statue.”

  This resolve was put to the test when Charlie spotted another sculpture, definitely a monster, rearing its misshapen head above the shrubbery. To stop him diving into the bushes to get a closer view, Belinda and Ben each had to grasp one of his arms and hustle him past. At least he protested in a whisper. He was rewarded round the next bend by a much better view of the enormous creature’s hairy back.

  “I bet there’s even better ones farther on,” said Ben.

  And there were; monstrous beasts lurking among the trees, with massive heads, gaping tooth-filled mouths, and taloned feet. Now Charlie had to be held back from racing on to the next wonder. They came to a pond infested by crocodilians with long narrow snouts, and nightmarish flippered horrors with long snaky necks ending in tiny heads, and, on an island, giant toads and tortoises.

  After a glance, Belinda’s attention returned to their quest, but Charlie’s alarmed voice made her turn back.

  “Look.” He pointed. “What’s the black thing over there next to the frog?”

  “That’s Mrs. Gilpin’s hat floating by the croc,” said Ben.

  “So the black thing must be Mrs. Gilpin,” Belinda deduced, shocked. “What on earth happened to her?”

  “She went for a swim?” Charlie said doubtfully.

  “Don’t be silly. She’s not moving. We’ve got to get her out. Ben, we’ll have to do it.” Bel sat on the ground and untied her shoes. “She’ll be heavy, ’specially with wet clothes. We’re stronger than Charlie. Charlie, you have to go for help.”

  “But—”

  “Go on. Find Mr. Tring. Or Mummy, or anyone. Go on, hurry, run as fast as you can. Come on, Ben. I don’t think it’s very deep but I’ll go first and you come right behind in case I lose my feet.”

  “We’d better hold hands.”

  “All right.” Shivering, Belinda stepped cautiously into the water.

  FOUR

  Daisy and Sakari stepped out of the Byzantine Court into the nave.

  “My favourite so far,” said Daisy. “Though the Alhambra Court is wonderful too. I love all that intricate decoration, and so colourful. All so different from anything one sees in this country, or in museums. I’m looking forward to the Indian displays.”

  “They are very skimpy, Daisy. What there is, we will see after lunch. At present we should go to the rendezvous. I see your nursery maid and the twins by the fountain.”

  Miranda and Oliver leaned on the rim, dabbling their hands in the water, apparently unaware of the abundant bosoms looming over their curly heads, one dark, one as red as Belinda’s.

  “Don’t splash, Miss Miranda,” said Bertha. “It’s cold outside. You won’t like having wet clothes.” She cast an anxious look backwards and saw Daisy. “Oh, madam, I’m that glad you’ve come. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You seem to me to be doing very well. Where’s Nurse?”

  “That’s just it, madam. I don’t know where she’s got to, I’m sure.”

  “She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

  “Oh yes, madam. Master Oliver, there’s no need for you to copy your sister. You can’t reach the farthings you threw in, not anyhow. Come away from the water now.”

  The children obeyed, at last noticing and succumbing to the rival charms of their mother. “Hello, chickies!” They embraced her legs as she asked, “Well, Bertha, where? Where did Mrs. Gilpin go?”

  Turning pink, Bertha glanced round and whispered, “To the ladies’ convenience, madam. Ever such a long time ago.”

  “I daresay she’s not feeling well.”

  “She didn’t say, madam. I thought she was just going to spend a penny.”

  Daisy frowned. “I’d better go and see. Sakari—”

  “But of course, Daisy, I will stay with the little ones.”

  “It’s over there, madam, behind the heathen place, Mrs. Gilpin said.”

  “The heathen…? Oh, the Alhambra Court. Thank you, Bertha. You stay here with Mrs. Prasad and the twins. I’ll send for you if I need your help. Miss Belinda and the boys should be along any minute, and Mr. and Mrs. Tring.”

  Daisy hurried off, taking a quick detour through the splendours of the Mohammedan palace. In contrast, the ladies’ room—or rather rooms—were frightfully Victorian. The anteroom, doubtless known in its heyday as the retiring chamber, had flocked wallpaper in a pink that was obviously faded from crimson. Plush, overstuffed horsehair chairs and sofas with sagging seats no longer offered weary sightseers a comfortable repose. Daisy wasn’t surprised to see no one had taken advantage of their invitation. A faint but pervasive odour of Jeyes Fluid was an additional deterrent.

  But if not resting with her feet up, where was Nurse Gilpin? It wasn’t at all like her to entrust the twins to Bertha’s sole supervision for so long. She was nothing if not reliable.

  Between the outer room and the inner was a sort of cubbyhole or closet. There lurked an attendant, ready to pop out with an offer of a clean towel for sixpence for anyone who looked askance at the common roller towel. Such at least was the usual practice. Daisy found an aged crone in a shapeless black dress and cardigan, nodding on her stool, who started awake when addressed.

  “Towel, madam?” She peered through bleary eyes.

  “No, thank you. Did you notice a nanny in here this morning? A nursery nurse?”

  “Nannies? There was a bunch of ’em come in. Odd, I thought. We don’t get many ’ere, not in uniforms, anyways. Not many of anyone. They mostly go the other end, near the restrongs.”

  “A bunch? How many?”

  “I dunno, madam. Three or four mebbe.”

  “And did they all leave again?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say. It’s not my job to count people in and out. Though why anyone’d want to stop in there longer’n they need—”

  “No, I suppose not.” Daisy didn’t bother to explain. “I’ll just check.”

  The “ladies’ conveniences” were a reminder that high society as well as hoi polloi had once frequented the Crystal Palace. The walls were hygienic white tile but the hand basins were marble and the screen concealing the lavatories was mahogany. The doors to the cubicles, wide enough to accommodate crinolines and bustles, were also mahogany, with frosted glass panels. They swung inwards, a luxurious waste of space the average modern public convenience couldn’t afford. Daisy walked along the row at a distance that allowed her to read the VACANT/ENGAGED signs without, she hoped, looking nosy if anyone came in.

  All read VACANT except the farthest from the entrance. She moved closer and said in a low but urgent voice, “Mrs. Gilpin? Are you there?”

  No answer. No sound but the gurgling of plumbing.

  The doors were pretty solid, made to muffle indelicate sounds emitted by Victorian ladies. Daisy took another step forward. She was about to speak when she noticed that the door wasn’t properly closed. Though the latch was turned to “occupied,” the bolt was resting against the jamb, not in its socket, leaving the door just a crack ajar.

  “Mrs. Gilpin?” Pause. “Is anyone there?” Still no response.

  Daisy’s suppressed irritation gave w
ay to alarm. Slowly she pushed the door a few inches, till she saw a corner of striped skirt.

  “Nanny!”

  No indignant squawk followed her intrusion so she swung the door all the way open.

  The figure sat on the old-fashioned bench seat, slumped against the wall in the corner of the cubicle, her cape crumpled about her. Her face was half-hidden by her hat, and the light was poor, just what the mirrors in the room beyond reflected through the doorway. Daisy could see, however, that the hat was not Mrs. Gilpin’s. It appeared to have been knocked forwards when she fell backwards, disarranging her hair. Or rather, the poor woman appeared to be wearing a wig. The hat was attached by a pearl-headed hat pin, so when the hat slipped it took the wig with it, exposing her ear and the side of her neck above the collar of her dress.

  And that was the best place to check her pulse, as she was wearing tight gloves that looked difficult to take off. Daisy stripped off her own right glove and pressed two fingers to a likely spot on the nurse’s pale neck.

  The skin was warm, but she couldn’t find a pulse. Either the woman was dead, or Daisy was touching the wrong place. She was not very good at finding pulses, even her own. She shifted her fingertips. Still nothing.

  Whether the nurse was dead or just ill, she would have to be moved. She was too hefty for Daisy to shift her singlehanded, not to mention that the floor of the ladies’ room hardly seemed a suitable place to lay her. The dim attendant wouldn’t be much help. Tom Tring was the person she needed.

  Especially if the nurse was dead. She hadn’t stirred since Daisy’s arrival on the scene.

  In the meantime, where was Nanny Gilpin? If she hadn’t gone astray, Daisy wouldn’t have found herself unwillingly involved with this stranger.

  In which case the unfortunate woman might have remained undiscovered for hours.

  Stepping out of the cubicle, Daisy sighed. On the whole, she couldn’t regret having turned up, since her arrival might save a life. However, she could imagine all too easily what Alec would say if she once again inadvertently got herself mixed up in a suspicious death. And as for Superintendent Crane …

  But he was on the brink of retirement, and Alec was quite likely to step into his shoes.

  In any case it didn’t make any difference to what she had to do.

  “Towel, madam?” offered the attendant as she approached.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Oh, it’s you, deary. Find the nanny, did you?”

  “Not the one I was looking for, but a different one. I’m afraid she’s very ill.”

  “Deary me!”

  “I have to go and get help, and you must keep everyone out. Have you got a key to this door?”

  “That I don’t. Never been no need to lock it,” the old woman said, puzzled.

  “Don’t you want to keep people out when you mop the floor?”

  “I just puts out me sign, WET FLOOR KEEP OUT.”

  “Oh, well, that will do. Put it out now, please.”

  “Is the floor wet, then?”

  “No.”

  “Then why—”

  “The police will be coming.”

  “The perlice? What for?”

  Obtuse, not argumentative, Daisy decided. In her most authoritative voice she said, “Put the sign up now, Mrs.… I don’t know your name?”

  “Mrs. ’Atch, and ’as bin these fifty year.”

  “All right, Mrs. Hatch. I’ll be back in just a minute with the police.” Looking back from the door to the passage, she saw the attendant struggling with a folding wooden notice board.

  She hurried on to the fountain. The Trings had joined Sakari, Bertha, and the twins, but there was no sign of the older children. Belinda was usually very punctual. She had the boys to shepherd, of course, but this was a bad moment to go missing. Someone would have to wait here for them.

  No sign of Mrs. Gilpin, either. It was too bad of her! Truscott would arrive any minute to chauffeur the twins back to Hampstead. Miranda and Oliver were tired and growing fractious, splashing water at each other despite Bertha’s admonitions. They ought to go home, not to wait about for their nurse. Though the nursery maid could manage them in the car, a responsible adult ought to see that they reached the car and got into it.

  Tom Tring came to meet her. “Trouble, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  “I’m afraid so, Tom.”

  “In the ladies’ room? Could be ticklish. I’m not on the force anymore, remember.”

  “Once a policeman, always a policeman. Give me a minute to organise everything and I’ll explain. Sakari, Mrs. Tring, I need your help, one of you to wait here for the children, and one to see off Bertha and the twins in the car. And oh dear, ask Truscott to come straight back if Lady Dalrymple will allow him. We’ll never all fit in your car, Sakari, with Mrs. Gilpin along. May I leave it to you to decide who does what? Thank you! Bye-bye, babies.” She kissed them. “I’ll see you at home. Bertha, I trust you to look after them.”

  “Of course, madam. Mrs. Gilpin, is she—”

  “I didn’t find her. I’m sure she’s all right. Off with you, now. Truscott will be wondering where you’ve got to.”

  As Daisy turned back to Tom Tring, Mrs. Tring went off with Bertha, each carrying a twin.

  “All right, Mrs. Fletcher, what’s happened?”

  She tucked her hand into his arm and led him along the corridor, feeling like a tug with a great liner. “I don’t know, exactly. Probably nothing out of the way. But someone with some degree of authority will have to be told and I want your opinion before I report it.”

  “Report what, Mrs. Fletcher?” Tom asked patiently.

  “There’s a woman, a nursery nurse, and I think she’s dead. But I’m not sure.”

  “Ah. Sounds to me like you need a doctor first, not a copper.”

  “I don’t know where to find a doctor.”

  “That’s a point. But is there any hurry?”

  “I doubt the ladies’ room attendant will hold off anyone insistent on going through to the … the inner room.”

  He grinned at her. “Come now, Mrs. Fletcher, it’s not like you to be mealymouthed. The lavatories?”

  “Yes. She’s actually sitting on one.”

  Tom groaned. “In a state of undress?”

  “No, thank goodness. At least, only her hat. And wig.”

  “Her wig? She’s wearing a wig?”

  “I think so.” Daisy tried to picture the woman’s head. “Either that, or she has an awful lot of hair.”

  “Hmm. Well, here we are.” He braced his wide shoulders theatrically. “Best brave the lion’s den, I suppose.”

  “She’s no lion. More like a mouse. I’ll go ahead and warn her that you’re coming.”

  “I doubt she’ll need much warning.” Tom patted his midriff with a comfortable chuckle.

  “You’d be surprised. She seems to be half blind.”

  As they approached the closet, the attendant popped out. “Sorry, madam, you can’t go in. We got the perlice.”

  “I’ve brought the police, Mrs. Hatch.”

  “Oh, it’s you, madam.” She peered past Daisy at Tom. “That’s the perlice? Where’s ’is ’elmet?”

  “He’s a detective in plainclothes. He’ll know what best to do for the unfortunate woman.”

  “I’m sure I ’opes so, madam.”

  “Did you take a peek at her, Mrs. Hatch?” Tom asked.

  “Catch me!”

  “And no one else has been in there?”

  “Not a soul. There was just three come in. I sent ’em to the south end ladies’.”

  “Did you mention the police?”

  “No. Never ’ave got rid of ’em, would I.”

  “Very true.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hatch.” Daisy was relieved that the attendant had proved trustworthy. She and Tom went through to the inner room. “It’s the far end. The last door. I left the door exactly as I found it.”

  “You didn’t touch her?”

  “
Only to try to find a pulse in her neck. I didn’t … disarrange her at all.”

  Tom nodded approval. He went on and Daisy followed a few feet behind, noting sadly how he had lost the lightfootedness that had always characterised his walk, despite his bulk. Stopping halfway, she watched him enter the last cubicle.

  Not more than a minute and a half later, he came out and beckoned to her.

  “She’s dead. No obvious sign of injury. I hate to ask this, Mrs. Fletcher, but seeing I’m not strictly a copper, I’d like a corroborative witness. Would it upset you to take a quick look? Just so you could say it’s the identical body you found and I’ve left it as you found it.”

  “No visible injuries? I don’t mind, then.”

  “Just one thing. I’ve moved the hat and wig—you were right about that—to show the face. I’ll put them back when you’ve looked at the face. Seeing your nurse has gone missing—”

  “I’m sure it’s not her.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. But maybe it’s a friend of hers you’ve seen before.”

  “She wouldn’t have a friend come to the house, or stop and talk to one if I were with her.”

  “Still, you never know. Not that it’s my business these days, but humour an old man’s curiosity, will you?”

  “You’ll never be old, Tom, but all right.”

  “Here.” He handed her a small electric torch. “Never go anywhere without one.”

  Daisy took it and went past him into the cubicle. Though willing, she wasn’t exactly keen on examining the dead woman. Keeping the torch beam on the floor, she gave her a cursory glance below the neck. Everything looked the same as before. Then she flashed the beam quickly on her face. She frowned, puzzled.

  “She does look sort of familiar,” she admitted, leaving the cubicle, “but I can’t place her. And she seems a bit odd, too, though I’m not sure why.”

  Tom was wearing his inscrutable expression. “Ah. No doubt you’ll mention that to the officer who comes to investigate.”

  “It’s just a feeling. Alec would say—”

  “Aunt Daisy!” The anguished cry came from the entrance.

  Daisy and Tom swung round. Mrs. Hatch had Charlie by the ear. At least the children had turned up, Daisy thought thankfully as she hurried over.