Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery

by Lynn Florkiewicz

  James checked the huge station clock. The train was due in ten minutes. He relayed a bite-sized version of what had occurred at Cory House and, to Beth’s astonishment, he revealed the secret of the locked room. George tensed and James knew he’d overstepped the mark.

  ‘I’m sorry, George. I know I should have called to let you know. I was about to do that earlier but then I received a message to see Swiss.’

  An announcement interrupted them. The train was imminent.

  ‘George, I promise to call you first thing tomorrow and I can show you how it all works.’

  George pulled him round to face him. ‘No. What you’ll do, the pair of you, is come down to the station in the morning. I’m going to need this in a statement.’

  The train eased into the station and came to a halt. James opened the door of the First Class carriage for Beth. George, showing his credentials, had followed them onto the platform.

  ‘I say, George, this Locksmith Joe chap. Was it a cut and dried case, him being a killer and all?’

  His friend frowned. ‘Why’re you asking?’

  James shut the door behind him and slid the window down. ‘Oh, no reason. Just curious.’

  As the train moved off, he heard George call out. ‘If you know something, James...’

  James waved, slid the window shut and sat down next to Beth, who pushed him for details about the secret passage. He stood up, took his overcoat off and told her. From the anomalies in the architecture that Stephen had seen, to the loose stonework, the spiral staircase and the footprints on the top step. He described their search for the missing camera and film and his feeling that it had probably been destroyed long ago.

  ‘It’s the one piece of evidence that incriminates Christie, so why would he keep it?’

  ‘For the reason that you said,’ replied Beth. ‘Perhaps he felt guilty. But why do any of us keep things that may provoke a bad memory? I still have a photograph of me and my father after we’d had an awful row and we both look as if we’re eating lemons. Every time I look at it, I think of that row and how we’d spoken to each other. I can’t even remember what we argued about. Why I don’t throw it away, I don’t know.’

  ‘Then why not give himself up and allow an innocent man to go free?’

  ‘Because he’s a coward.’

  ‘That word’s come up a couple of times now. We didn’t know Christie, but he gave us the impression he was a figurehead of the family, an upright citizen, strict Presbyterian and all. But all this bluster and anger, his treatment of his wife and sons. Those are not the actions of a man in control.’

  ‘Those, sweetie, are the actions of a bully.’

  ‘And underneath it all, a bully is simply a coward; someone who can’t face up to his own failings, so picks on others to boost his own ego.’ James held a finger up as if to emphasise the point. ‘Locksmith Joe claims he saw Christie kill his wife before placing the blame on him. He has two wonderful sons that he sees as imperfect and lays the blame on his wife. He moves here to Cavendish and, from what I can see, treated his sister with as much contempt as he did the rest of us.’

  ‘Is this getting you to some sort of conclusion?’ asked Beth.

  ‘I wish to goodness it was,’ said James with a hint of exasperation. ‘I keep talking everything through, hoping that something may make sense.’

  Beth suggested he get back to basics. ‘Who are your suspects? If you’re discounting Locksmith Joe, you have four: Boyd, Calvin, Lucy and Suzie. You are going to have to admit that one of them is a killer. And one of them attacked Stephen. We can’t be sure that Boyd isn’t involved, especially if he knew about the passage.’

  ‘But Stephen is sure that it was Locksmith who pushed him. And the other suspects are nowhere near the same build and wouldn’t have had time to disguise themselves.’

  She gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘You have to make your mind up whether to believe Joe’s story or not. It sounds to me like you have doubts.’

  He held Beth’s hand. ‘Let’s see what Swiss has to say. He wouldn’t ask us all the way up here without good reason.’

  Graves led them through the smoky reception area of the Wendover to an intimate restaurant in an enclosed courtyard at the back of the club. Swiss rose from his chair, took James’ hand and gave a gracious welcome to Beth, who commented on the ambience once they were seated.

  ‘Yes, it’s nice, isn’t it?’ replied Swiss. ‘You probably remember this as a place to sit during the summer, James. They put a roof on it a few months ago, so we can come out here all year round.’

  It was a typical cobble stoned courtyard, with plants in large pots strategically placed to provide privacy for the diners. The roof above them consisted of a number of glass skylights, allowing a good deal of sunlight in during the day. This evening, the canopy above was of the constellations.

  James counted twelve wrought iron tables, each with four heavy iron chairs with thick cushions for comfort. The waiter distributed a menu listing snacks and dinner items.

  During the next hour, they enjoyed a light fish supper, caught up with news about members, Swiss’s work events, Harrington’s country hotel, their respective families and recent holidays and exploits.

  Over coffee, James swirled his brandy in a bowl glass and met Swiss’s gaze. ‘This has all been rather lovely, but I believe it’s time we moved on to why we’re really here.’

  Swiss flicked ash from his cigar onto the small glass ashtray beside him. ‘You got me thinking about the Cameron family when we last met. He came up in conversation earlier today with a mutual colleague; the one I told you about, Quinn, the man who used to help with Cameron’s investments more than I did – his financial advisor, so to speak. Anyway, I got to talking to him and asked how well he knew Christie Cameron.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He knew him better than I did. I’ll go through his thoughts with you. They may be of some help or I may be wittering on about nothing, but it’s actually quite a dramatic story.’

  James continued swirling his brandy but felt his heart skip a beat. Swiss sipped his liqueur.

  ‘Quinn actually went to Yorkshire to discuss finances with him. He was up that way for our company one time and he suggested he call in to save Cameron making the journey down here.’

  ‘This is Cameron’s place in Otley?’

  ‘Yes, just outside. Quite settled there, as far I know. That’s why I thought it odd that he moved to Cavendish.’ Swiss shifted forward. ‘Well, that’s the first thing I must tell you. That house in Cavendish was his. He purchased it years ago.’

  ‘I say, really?’

  ‘It belonged to the Cory family, is that right?’

  Both James and Beth answered at the same time. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, there was one branch of family related to the Corys and guess whose that was?’

  ‘Christie Cameron?’

  Swiss nodded. ‘The Cory family died out and the Camerons were the only connection to that side of the family. Christie’s wife wanted to live in the house. It was near her family and she begged him to move. She thought it was a wonderful family home. He refused to move, wanted nothing to do with it – until moving in a few weeks ago.’

  He took a sip of his drink.

  ‘Well, I remember Quinn coming into the office after his visit and he was in a reflective mood, for want of a better word.’

  ‘Reflective?’

  Swiss gave them a smile. ‘It’s not like Quinn to be reflective. He’s rather gregarious and intense in the office, so when he arrived without much to say, it caught my attention. But he wouldn’t speak of his visit – not one bit of it.’

  A short silence followed as if Swiss was thinking of how to continue. ‘Well, today, I tackled him about it. He didn’t want to say anything at first, but once I told him that Christie and his sister were dead… well, it was as if a weight had lifted. He told me that he’d been glad to get out of that house; that the whole family were bonkers.’

&nbs
p; James and Beth were lost for words.

  Swiss continued. ‘He’d arrived that afternoon and Cameron blasted him for being early. He was only ten minutes early, but he wouldn’t let him in for five minutes.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘Shouted at someone, his sister I presume, something about hiding it, or him, or something. Then Quinn heard footsteps running up the stairs. Then Cameron opened the door and let him in.’ His brow knitted together. ‘Isn’t that a little odd?’

  James said that it wasn’t and Beth let Swiss know about Boyd and the Camerons’ shame at having an albino in the family.

  Swiss listened with increasing horror. ‘Good grief. The poor lad could have only been a toddler. Can you imagine being discriminated against by your own father?’

  ‘Did he notice anything else?’ asked James.

  ‘Lord, yes.’ Swiss explained how Quinn had gone to sit down on a chair in the living room and was ordered to sit anywhere but there. ‘He reacted similarly in the kitchen, apparently. All the chairs were the same, but Cameron insisted he avoid one chair in particular.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Then he did something.’

  James and Beth waited in anticipation.

  ‘He said something like I’ve had enough of this torment. Then he picked up the offending chair, opened the kitchen door and threw it outside.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ said Beth.

  ‘Not only that,’ continued Swiss. ‘He picked up an axe and chopped it into pieces.’

  Beth dragged her chair closer. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then his eldest son came down and...’

  They waited patiently. James observed Swiss. It was as if he were trying to comprehend what he was saying.

  ‘His eldest son, Calvin, picked up a carving knife. He could’ve only been thirteen or fourteen. He picked up the knife and screamed at his father to stop it. He just kept repeating that over and over. Stop it, stop it, stop it.’ Swiss rolled his eyes. ‘You can imagine how Quinn was feeling at this point. He went to interrupt, but Cameron stormed back in the kitchen, grabbed the knife from his son and plunged it into the boy’s thigh.’

  Beth brought her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, dear God.’

  ‘The sister came down and shouted at Quinn to get out. When he got outside, Cameron threatened him. You say a word about any of this and you’re a dead man. That’s what he said.’ Swiss puffed his cheeks. ‘It’s a wonder Calvin didn’t bleed to death.’

  As the waiter cleared the table, the three of them sat in stunned silence. James processed the information in his head and wondered if any of this, although interesting, had given any semblance of order to things. It certainly proved one thing. He was quite sure that Christie Cameron was capable of murder.

  If Locksmith Joe could prove his innocence, that left him with Boyd, Calvin, Lucy and Suzie as his main suspects.

  The clickety-clack of the train lulled him into a daze as he watched the lights of London twinkle and fade into the distance. Beth rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘It has to be Calvin,’ she said, sitting upright. ‘Calvin has the most reason to kill.’

  ‘But that knife incident happened years ago. Why come all the way from India to kill him now? And he wasn’t in the country when Christie was killed.’ James sat up with a start and felt his pocket. ‘Damn. I’d forgotten all about this.’

  ‘About what?’

  He used his handkerchief to bring out a slip of paper and waved it in triumph. ‘This. I found it in the secret stairway.’

  He unfolded it. It was part of a letter, but he only had one page of it. It held neither an address nor a signature. It was written in blue ink in a considered hand. Beth linked an arm through his and asked him to read it aloud. He cleared his throat.

  ‘...shadow has cast itself upon us. That abominable man wants to come between us but we won’t let it. You know we can’t let it. Love is too powerful to be defeated. I will do anything and I will for that love to...’

  James waved the paper. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Are you sure there were no more pieces there?’

  ‘We didn’t see any, no.’

  Beth sat up and faced him. ‘This is clearly a love letter. The emotion there is heartbreaking. It sounds like two people who have had to live apart and are determined to be together.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘That’s not Calvin’s handwriting, is it?’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t. His is a little more scrawled than this.’ James rested his back on the cushioned seat then sat up straight. ‘This takes me back to when Calvin turned up at Cory House.’

  ‘When Lucy arrived?’

  ‘Yes. The more I think about it, the more I believe that she is in love with him. There was a radiance about her. She checked her hair and smoothed her dress down.’

  ‘As if she was meeting someone special.’

  ‘Yes.’ James thought for a moment. ‘We need to get her to write something – then we can check it against this.’

  ‘So, she’s in love with Calvin,’ said Beth, ‘who may or may not be married.’

  ‘Ye...es,’ replied James, with little conviction.

  ‘But they’re first cousins!’

  ‘Yes, that makes it rather worrying.’

  The train pulled into Haywards Heath and they alighted. As they made their way to the exit, James stopped and stared at a theatre poster. Beth followed his gaze and read the announcement.

  ‘Leave It to Jane, performed by the Haywards Heath amateur dramatic society.’ She inclined her head quizzically. ‘Do you want to see this?’

  James grabbed her hand. ‘No. I want to read through those letters again.’

  Much to Beth’s alarm, James put his racing head on and sped the Jaguar home from the station. He dismissed the idea of parking the car in the garage and dashed up the steps to the front door. Beth scurried behind him.

  ‘Will you tell me what you’re hoping to find?’

  He threw his keys on the table, winked at her and strode through to the lounge. Beth flicked the lights on as he retrieved the shoebox. Rummaging through the envelopes, he pulled one letter out, then another, then another. Some he put to one side, some he replaced. After several minutes, a familiar sense of achievement came over him.

  ‘Darling, come and have a look at this.’ Beth joined him on the sofa. ‘These handwritten letters all refer to Calvin’s lady friend and bride, or alleged bride. He refers to her as Jayne. J-A-Y-N-E. When we switch to the two typed letters we have, she is referred to as Jane. J-A-N-E.’

  She fixed her gaze on the letters. ‘You don’t spell your wife’s name wrong.’

  ‘Either he dictated this letter, or someone else wrote this.’

  ‘Oh my goodness. Are you saying Calvin isn’t Calvin?’

  James leapt up and grabbed a whisky bottle and two glasses. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea. But if you are enclosing a photograph of your wife at her wedding, wouldn’t you send one of the pair of you? And, if Calvin is not Calvin, then who is he?’

  ‘And if Calvin isn’t Calvin, how come everyone recognises him?’

  James poured them both a glass of twelve-year-old malt. ‘I’m telephoning George.’

  After imparting the news about the knife attack and the letters, George reiterated his instructions.

  ‘James. Come in first thing, you and Beth, to make some official statements. I’m playing this low-key. If that’s not Calvin, who is it? And if it’s not Calvin, he’s dangerous and ruddy clever. Let’s let him think we accept him for who he is. So, if you see him, act normal. I’ll get on to the hospitals in Yorkshire – see if we can’t get that attack on him confirmed. If it was that bad, he must have had some treatment. I want the full facts before I go barging in. And bring those letters. I’m beginning to think the whole blooming family is involved.’

  With arrangements complete, James returned to the lounge where Beth thrust the photographs at him; small black and white prints that Calvin had sent to Boyd over the years. She stabbed the im
ages with her finger.

  ‘Why didn’t we see this before, James? See how alike they are. Boyd and the girls haven’t seen Calvin in ten years. Calvin and Josh have the same hair, eyes, the same height and build, and are both from the same area. They’re practically brothers and look similar too. And they’ve known everything about each other since childhood.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, Beth. Josh has taken Calvin’s place. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep with all of this in my head.’

  Beth grabbed a pad. ‘Well, let’s write it down so we don’t forget anything for George.’

  He checked the mantel clock. Ten o’clock. It would be a long night, he knew, but at last they had had some sort of breakthrough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  James and Beth signed their respective statements and thanked a young woman police constable for their teas.

  George, sitting behind a desk strewn with papers and folders, prepared his pipe.

  ‘I haven’t checked that secret passage yet. I’m waiting till everyone’s out of the house. I’m mindful of keeping things on an even keel; don’t want to alert Calvin of any suspicion. There’s a constable hovering nearby to tell me when the coast is clear. But from what you’ve said, I think Boyd went to the scarecrow festival via the secret passageway.’

  ‘That’s my thinking, too,’ said James.

  ‘I want to believe that the same person is responsible for both murders,’ continued George.

  ‘But then it can’t be Calvin or Josh, or whoever. He didn’t get here until after Christie’s death.’

  ‘Oh George,’ said Beth, ‘you certainly have your work cut out.’

  George let out a frustrated pah! ‘On a positive note, I managed to speak to the nurse that treated Calvin and I think I know why the Camerons moved.’

  ‘Really?’ said James.

  ‘Christie Cameron had been going to the doctor on and off since his wife was killed. Apparently, he’d slowly lost weight and, although he was always a religious man, he became more so after her death, obsessively so. The police had a couple of reports of strange behaviour. The reports they filed describe a man on the edge, mentally. He was an angry man at the best of times, but even more after Gwen died.’