My God, he thought to himself. Is this how it’s going to end?
It was.
Jeremy, 7th Lord of Roding, lost consciousness. And it was never to be regained.
When Adina walked back into the room she immediately saw that Jeremy had his head and shoulders awkwardly bent out of the bed. She rushed around to the far side and managed to pull his upper body back to an upright position. She tried hard to revive his lordship, but he did not respond to her efforts. Adina rushed downstairs to the kitchen to tell Mrs Aldis, who ran immediately to the study to telephone for an ambulance and then the doctor. Both arrived in quick time, but there was nothing that they could do to help the situation. The master had gone.
*
At 9.50pm, later that evening, PC Richard Bentlow of the Metropolitan Police was waiting at the front door of Roding House in Bedford Square. He had been sent to deliver what, in police parlance, was often referred to as, an “agony message”.
The door was opened by Maisie, the house maid.
‘Can I speak to Lady Roding, please?’
‘No, I’m sorry constable. I’m afraid she’s gone out for the evening.’
‘Is there anybody else at home from the family?’
‘No. There’s only me and a couple of other members of staff.’
‘Can you tell me where she is?’
‘She’s at the Windmill Theatre, where they’re holding a reunion do.’
‘Is that the one in the West End?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Is she alone?’
‘No, not as such. Mr Jenkins, her chauffeur, has taken her. He’ll be close by, I expect.’
‘Well, miss, we need to speak to her quite urgently. We’ll try to find her at the Windmill Theatre. If she should come back in the next couple of hours and she hasn’t spoken to the police, will you please get her to telephone Whitehall 1212 and ask for Inspector McCoist, who, after 10.00pm, will be the night-duty officer in charge at Tottenham Court Road.’
The constable wrote down the details on a piece of paper and he handed it to her.
‘Can’t you let me know what this is all about?’
‘I’m not at liberty to do that, miss; we’ll have to wait for her ladyship to come home, I’m afraid. If we don’t hear from her, we’ll send someone back to try again in the morning.’
Maisie was somewhat bemused. She made her way to the kitchen to inform Mrs Barber, the housekeeper.
20
DAY TWENTY
Sunday 31st July 1949
At 2.20am, in the early hours of Sunday morning, a very tipsy Lady Fanny Roding arrived back at the house in Bedford Square. She was assisted through the front door by Raymond Jenkins, who had effectively been shepherding her all evening. He was exhausted. They were met in the hallway by Maisie.
‘My lady, we had the police here last evening. They told me they have an urgent message for you. Did they find you at the Windmill Theatre?’
‘No, they didn’t, Maisie. Do you know what it’s all about?’
‘They wouldn’t tell me, my lady. But they left me this note for you.’
She handed the note to Lady Fanny who immediately thrust it into the hands of Jenkins.
‘Oh Raymond. I really can’t be doing with this tonight. Call them for me, will you? It’s probably just the burglar alarm gone off at the gallery again.’
Lady Fanny went upstairs to her bedroom.
Jenkins took the note into the study so that he could use the telephone. He first rang the number for Scotland Yard and the operator put him through. After waiting for a few minutes, he finally managed to get through to the duty inspector at Tottenham Court Road Police Station. He introduced himself as the butler to Lord and Lady Roding. ‘I understand that you have an urgent message for her ladyship,’
‘Yes, Mr Jenkins. We did send an officer to the Windmill Theatre last evening, to try to find her but she wasn’t there.’
‘No,’ said Jenkins. ‘She went there for a couple of hours, then on to somewhere else. So, what is the message please, Inspector?’
‘I really ought to give it to her personally, Mr Jenkins,’ said the officer.
‘She is indisposed at present. I am Lord Roding’s butler after all. Perhaps you can tell me, and I can assure you that I will deal with it expeditiously.’
‘Fair enough. Well, I must tell you, sadly, that your master, Lord Roding, passed away yesterday afternoon. The Essex Constabulary sent a message to us to have her ladyship informed.’
‘I understand, Inspector. That is sad, but not unexpected. His lordship wasn’t a well man. Can you tell me where he was when he died?’
‘He was in his bed, I believe.’
‘Let’s hope he didn’t suffer any pain. Do you know where his lordship’s body has been taken to?’
‘I believe that he’s been taken to the mortuary at the Essex County Hospital in Colchester. The Colchester Police attended the house. A Sergeant Myall dealt with the matter.’
‘Thank you, Inspector. I will inform her ladyship.’
Jenkins put the telephone down. He considered the situation for a few minutes. Life would certainly change for himself and Adina. They would most likely be out of a job. He was sad for his master, of course he was, but he also wondered what kind of fist Fanny would make of the future. He shook himself from his reverie and he dialled the number for Beaumont Hall. It was answered by Adina.
‘At last. Raymond, where the hell have you been?’ Adina sounded very unhappy.
‘I’ve only just heard the news. Her ladyship wanted to go all over the bloody place. We didn’t get back until gone midnight. I still haven’t told her about his lordship’s death yet. What is happening at the Hall now?’
‘Nothing, it is all quiet here now,’ said Adina, ‘and they have taken his body in the ambulance to the hospital. I was with him just before he died. I think he had a heart attack or something. I was only out of the room for a few minutes. I went down to see Beryl in the kitchen about his dinner and when I got back he was dead.’
‘I’ll have to break it to Lady Fanny now, but she’s a bit drunk.’
‘Good luck. I’m going to bed. Will you be back here in the morning, Raymond?’
‘Yes. I will see you then my love.’ Jenkins put the phone down.
He went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. After fifteen minutes or so, he went up to Fanny’s bedroom and knocked on the door. There was no response. After several further attempts to rouse her, he tried the handle. Luckily, the door was unlocked, so he crept in. The bedside lights were still on and Jenkins saw that Fanny was still in her evening dress, curled up on the bed. She was sound asleep and snoring loudly.
He now had something of a dilemma: to wake her or not to wake her. She was inebriated, and she was in no fit state to receive the news he was duty bound to deliver. Truth be told, he wasn’t at all sure how she was going to react to the news. However, he was not going to leave Fanny on her own, so he turned her on her side, which appeared to alleviate the snoring. He covered her with the eiderdown, undid his tie, took off his shoes and laid down next to her. He would break the news to her in the morning.
*
It had been a busy week and the investigation had reached a stage where the urgent enquiries had been exhausted, so Cooper judged it prudent to give the team another rest day. Cooper arranged with the duty officer that, should anything arise to do with the murder requiring immediate attention, he would contact Brian Pratt at home.
Cooper had experienced an interesting week as far as his private life was concerned. He was now about to take Linda out for a day’s sailing around Mersea Island in his father’s dinghy. He couldn’t have been happier. His parents were away for a few days and it had been agreed he would stay at their house on the island to look after their border collie, Buster. His mum an
d dad, having gone off in their Austin Seven, had left Cooper their motorbike and sidecar. Cooper senior had owned the combination since the young Albert was in his teens, so he and the bike were well acquainted. He was a bit embarrassed about using the bike as it wasn’t the most glamorous of vehicles, but, as he had no car of his own, he reassured himself that it was at least preferable to the bus.
At 10.00am he found himself knocking on the front door of Linda’s parent’s house in town, as had been arranged. He was bursting with anticipation, as was apparently the object of his desires. She was at the door in an instant.
It was a warm, but breezy morning with some light rain, and Linda was dressed for the weather. She looked beautiful in a pair of light-blue slacks with a matching dark-blue blouson top bearing the WRNS insignia, with a scarf around her neck. On her feet were a pair of pumps and she carried a bag, over one shoulder, which appeared to have been packed to the gunwales. Cooper noticed the telltale neck of a bottle protruding tantalisingly from one corner of the bag.
‘Good morning, sailor.’
‘Good morning, miss. Care for a pleasure cruise around the island?’
‘That would be lovely. I have packed the necessary provisions.’
Cooper, somewhat sheepishly, indicated the motorbike and sidecar, which stood at the kerb behind him. ‘Your carriage awaits. Three wheels rather than four, I’m afraid.’
‘Don’t be silly, governor darling,’ said Linda. ‘It looks like great fun.’
‘Not what one might expect on a first date, though, is it?’
‘That’s what this is then, is it?’
Cooper’s face reddened.
‘Just teasing, governor darling.’ She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek.
After she had declined the use of a helmet, Linda slid into the sidecar and they were off. They were soon out of town and into the country lanes. Although there was very little traffic, Cooper kept his speed to a reasonable level. Not only did he not want to frighten the girl to death, he was not at all confident that the aged motorcycle combination should be tested to its limits.
After nine miles, they were crossing the Strood, the causeway connecting the island to the mainland, which, at high tide, is completely covered by water. Cooper, was a local lad who had been caught out by the tides too often, so he had timed their arrival carefully. They were soon at the boatyard standing alongside the Essex Skipper, the family sailing dinghy, and, after preparing the vessel and floating it off its trailer, they were into the water and away.
Cooper, after a minimum of consultation with Linda, decided they would sail across to the small town of Brightlingsea and along the River Colne. It soon became clear that she was no stranger to sailing and her time in the WRNS had not just been spent in the radio room. They were on the water for three hours or so, and she appeared to be loving every minute of the experience.
During the day, they stopped for a lunchtime drink at the Rose and Crown, a riverside pub in the old fishing village of Wivenhoe. As Linda walked along the quay to fetch some chips, Cooper went inside the pub for two pints of beer. They were intending to sit on the side of the river and dine al fresco.
He had only just entered the saloon bar and arrived at the counter when he caught sight of Gladys Munson, who was at the other end of the bar, sitting in the snug. She was deep in conversation with a man: a dark, handsome individual. He recognised the man as being the colleague who had accompanied her to the press conference a few days earlier. Cooper could tell from their body language that there was a mutual attraction. A horrifying thought then struck Cooper, if Munson spots me with Linda she will want to know who she is and why we are together. This could make life very uncomfortable indeed.
However, any thoughts of a discreet withdrawal were wasted as Munson’s companion looked up from the table and caught his gaze. An exchange of words passed between them that Cooper was unable to hear. She looked up, followed her friend’s eyeline and, seeing Cooper standing at the bar, she gave an acknowledging wave of the hand. Cooper nodded and smiled in response. Bollocks. That’s just what I don’t need. He quietly ordered the drinks and left the bar quickly to thwart any notion that Munson might have of coming across to speak to him.
As he got back outside the pub, with the beers, he saw Linda had returned from the fish shop. There were a couple of upturned vessels on the quayside that would provide perfect cover, so he walked behind them and placed the pints on the ground. He then beckoned Linda to join him.
‘Oh, governor darling! What are you up to?’ she said flirtatiously.
At this he walked back to her, grabbed her free hand, compelling her to follow him behind the boats. He put his finger up to his lips, urging her to remain quiet.
Linda was bursting with curiosity, she just had to ask. ‘Alby, what are you doing? You naughty man!’
‘There was someone in the pub who I didn’t want to see us.’
‘Who was it then?’ asked Linda, thinking in terms of an ex-girlfriend.
‘Gladys Munson of the Recorder. She’s with a bloke.’
‘Why would that be a problem?’
‘She might start asking questions about why we are in each other’s company, clearly off duty. Not only that, she might make the connection between you and your uncle Tom.’
‘Why worry about it? Has our relationship really anything to do with her?’ said Linda. She wondered why he was being so cautious.
Cooper treated it as a rhetorical question, but stored the image of Munson’s friend away in his mind. Just in case, at some time in the future, he needed to “return fire”.
‘Right, let’s have these and get back to the boat.’
‘Aye aye, Captain.’
They made it back to Mersea Island with the wind in their favour and in what seemed like half the time of the outward voyage. Then it was back to the bike. Linda had always been a good sailor, but although the motorcycle combination was a novel mode of transport, she had suffered some motion sickness on the earlier ride from Colchester and was not looking forward to the journey home. The distance from the boatyard to the house turned out to be mercifully short and this time she rode pillion.
Linda wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but she soon learned that Cooper’s parent’s house was very impressive. It stood on an acre of land, with a five-bar gate across a gravel drive, and beautifully maintained gardens. They abandoned the bike outside the gate and Cooper led her towards the house, which was a large construction with white stucco walls topped with a thatched roof. To one side of the house was a pond with ducks, and there was a well-stocked chicken coop. Linda’s impression was such that she imagined it to have once been the centrepiece of a thriving farm.
Cooper unlocked the front door of the house and he entered the porch.
‘Linda, I have to warn you now. Buster doesn’t bite, but you need to stay back and wait until I call you forward.’
He opened the inner door and, as he did so, he was hit by a large, black, beast. He only just managed to stay on his feet.
‘Good boy, Buster! Good boy!’
Cooper grabbed Buster by the collar and then turned to pull a lead from the coat rack that was hanging from the wall, just inside the front door. He quickly attached it to the collar and this made the dog easier to control. He tried to push the dog’s hind quarters into a sitting position that he was very reluctant to adopt.
‘Now you sit! Be a good boy! Aunty Linda is here to see you.’
After a few seconds or so, Buster, a border collie, appeared finally to get the message.
‘I think he’ll be all right now, Linda. If you come forward and stroke him, he’ll calm down and realise that you are a trusted friend.’
Cooper steered the dog into the house and Linda followed on behind them into the kitchen.
Linda stroked Buster for a while, during which time Cooper had prepar
ed the dog’s food and had laid his bowl on the kitchen floor. On seeing this, Buster instantly lost interest in his new friend and made straight for the food.
‘Can I get you a drink of some kind Linda? A beer, Scotch or anything?’
‘A drink would be nice. I’ve brought some of mum’s parsnip wine with me. Shall we try some of that?’
‘Yes, sounds good. Let’s try that.’
‘I warn you, Alby. It’s a bit strong.’
‘Even better.’
Linda reached for her bag, pulled out the bottle and passed it to Cooper, who searched the kitchen for glasses and a corkscrew. He took her by the hand and led her into the sitting room, where he set the glasses on a table, opened the bottle and poured the drinks. Linda made herself comfortable on the settee. She was soon joined by the dog, who settled down at her feet.
‘Relax now, Linda. I’m going into the kitchen to prepare some dinner. Can I take it you like fish?’
‘Lovely, darling. I’ll eat anything.’
She took another sip of her parsnip wine, took off her pumps and rested her feet on Buster, who was laying on his back. She was soon asleep.
An hour later, dinner was served. Cooper had acquired some cod fillets from a local fisherman and these were served with boiled potatoes, peas and parsley sauce. He later realised that Linda had come armed with two bottles of the parsnip wine and not just the one. After dinner, they both lay in each other’s arms talking until the early hours. Eventually, Linda fell asleep again. He was too intoxicated to drive her home and he didn’t want to wake her. They would just have to leave earlier for work the next day.
Devotion to Murder Page 20