Chapter Twenty
TWENTY
Ten minutes after Tom Tring and DC Ardmore left the house, Elsie came into the office and told Daisy that Mrs. Jessup was asking for her, “and in such a state she is, madam, she don’t seem to know whether she’s coming or going. She’s waiting in the hall…. I wasn’t sure … considering …”
“Oh dear! I’ll come right away. Show her into the sitting room, please, Elsie. You’d better bring in the sherry. And brandy, perhaps.”
She rolled the paper out of the typewriter.
It was a nuisance stopping in the middle of a page.
Either one left the paper in and afterwards it curled up and never quite flattened or one took it out and could never put it back in exactly the right spot.
Fortunately, this wasn’t part of an article, just her notes on Alec’s investigation, so there were no messy carbons to cope with and it didn’t matter if the lines didn’t match up properly.
Before she went to join her unexpected visitor, she powdered her nose. Mrs. Jessup was always so immaculately made up.
Considering …? she thought as she crossed the passage to the sitting room.
What exactly had Elsie meant by that? Had her sister told her the Jessups were under siege, or were the abominable Bennetts already at work with the rumour mill?
Their binoculars had probably been trained on the Fletcher and Jessup front doors for hours.
Daisy wondered whether Miss Bennett had come home by now, and whether they had decided on their story.
In the sitting room, Elsie was lighting the fire. Mrs. Jessup stood at the window, the curtains parted slightly with one hand, staring out, though she surely could see only her own reflection.
“Mrs. Jessup?”
Moira Jessup turned. She looked quite composed. Either she had pulled herself together or the parlour maid had been wildly exaggerating. “Good evening,” she said. Was there a tremor in her voice?
The fire flared up. Elsie departed. Mrs. Jessup came over to the fireplace and held out her hands to the flames.
“It’s a chilly night,” she said. “I’m so sorry to intrude at such an awkward hour.”
“Not at all. Is there something I can do to help?”
The smile was definitely shaky. “I’m seeking sanctuary. I find it quite intolerable to stand by while those policemen rummage through all our belongings.”
“I’m not exactly the best person—”
“On the contrary. You make me feel there must be some sanity in all this. You remind me that it’s not a whim, not sheer persecution, that the police have some reason, however inscrutable, for what they’re doing to my family.
I don’t know what they’re looking for, or why, but if your husband is in charge, it must make sense, somehow. ”
Daisy was at a loss for words. All she could say, weakly, was, “Won’t you sit down?”
Elsie came in with a tray of drinks. Mrs. Jessup gratefully accepted a b and s.
Daisy, who didn’t like sherry and didn’t feel the need of brandy, was impressed that Elsie—she really was a jewel of a parlour maid—had thought to bring her own favourite aperitif, Cinzano.
She poured herself a drop of vermouth with lots of soda water and then sat down opposite Mrs. Jessup.
“The police can’t just search wherever they feel like it,” she said tentatively. “It’s against Magna Carta or something. They have to persuade a magistrate that they have enough evidence to justify a warrant.”
“But what evidence can they possibly have against my boys? What makes your husband so sure it was … murder?”
“He won’t tell me. Did they show you the warrant?”
“Oh yes.”
“Knowing Sergeant Tring, I’m sure he was perfectly polite.”
“Yes, he asked my permission first. I’d have given it for my own room, and perhaps Patrick’s, but I couldn’t let them poke around in Aidan and Audrey’s, when they aren’t even in town.”
“I do understand.” Daisy sipped her drink, wishing she had made it stronger. What on earth could she say to bring comfort when everything she knew confirmed Alec’s belief that the Jessups were involved in Castellano’s death?
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.” Mrs. Jessup put her brandy down, almost untasted. “It was thoughtless of me. I’d better—”
“No, don’t go. You’re very welcome to stay here until …
until they’re finished in your house. Just think, the Bennetts are bound to be glued to their field glasses, and if they saw you leave so soon, they’d be convinced I’d thrown you out.
You can’t want to give me such a reputation for inhospitability! ”
Mrs. Jessup summoned up a smile. “No, it’s bad enough that they’ll be shredding our reputation.” She leant back wearily in her chair.
“Do you think anyone credits anything they say? Among people who know them, I mean.”
“Those who want to. And there are those who wouldn’t dream of inventing nasty stories about people but can’t resist passing them on. At least, so far, I haven’t had neighbours dropping in to ask nosy questions.”
“What about reporters? They haven’t discovered you yet?”
“No.” She looked aghast. “I hadn’t thought of that possibility. I suppose they’re bound to come?”
“We had one earlier, but Elsie got rid of him very quickly. She’s simply marvellous. I dare say he told the rest there was nothing doing. I’ll tell her to explain the technique to your Enid. I’m so glad Enid mentioned her sister needing a position when we first came here.”
“I’m glad you’re happy with her. So many people never stop complaining about their servants. We’re very lucky in ours.”
“Luck’s a big part of it, but in my opinion, how you treat them makes a huge difference.
” Daisy had started simply ages ago doing research for a serious article on domestic service, concentrating on the contrasts between the way servants were regarded by the middle class and by the aristocracy.
Though she hadn’t made much progress, having been diverted by other matters, she was still interested in the subject.
Discussing it with Mrs. Jessup not only gave her further material but distracted Mrs. Jessup from her woes for quite forty minutes.
When they started to run down, Daisy said with a laugh, “I told Belinda she’d better prepare for a day when there are no more nannies.”
“How is Belinda doing at school?” Mrs. Jessup asked.
“Very well. She’s learning science, and Latin, and all sorts of things girls weren’t supposed to be capable of in my day.”
And there was another fruitful topic, that lasted another quarter of an hour. Unfortunately, in the end it reminded Mrs. Jessup that her grandchildren were far away.
“I hope they arrived safely,” she fretted.
“Haven’t you heard from Audrey?”
“They have no telephone. It’s … not primitive, but very rural. The village is several miles away. I’m sure she’ll write as soon as they get settled.”
“I’d like to write to her. I know Alec has the address—”
“That fool Jonathan Irwin!”
“But I’d rather get it from you than from him.” Pour la politesse, and because he might refuse to give it to her.
Listlessly, Mrs. Jessup told her. “You won’t mention that the police are looking for Aidan, will you? In her condition … That’s why we didn’t want to tell your husband where she is, of course.”
“Of course,” Daisy agreed, but hadn’t the refusal—or rather, claim of ignorance—come before the hunt was apparent?
“Though I suppose she’ll find out soon enough from the police.”
“I’m afraid so. You haven’t heard from Aidan since he left?”
“No.” She frowned. “No, not a word. I hope … But he’ll have been on the road all day. Sometimes the people he calls on offer him a bed for the night, but usually he just stops at the nearest inn. Even in this day and age, not all wayside inns have telephones.”
“Does he usually ring up when he stops for the night, if there’s a phone nearby?”
“If Audrey were at home, he would. As she’s not …
I can see it looks odd, both of them leaving at such a moment, but they honestly had been planning their trips for ages.
How could they guess there had been a murder, let alone that the victim was someone I’d met?
I didn’t know myself until they showed me the photograph, didn’t even know his name until they told me.
Neither Aidan nor Patrick had ever seen him before.
I suppose Enid had to say she recognised the man in the photo. ” She sighed.
“She really had no choice, and no reason not to. She couldn’t have guessed it would cause so much trouble for you,” Daisy assured her.
“Nor could I, or I might have insisted she was mistaken. I’d better be getting home. I only hope the servants don’t all depart when they see the mess the police leave behind.”
“Tom Tring—Sergeant Tring—won’t leave a mess. You’ll find everything just as it should be.”
Mrs. Jessup looked sceptical. “Thank you for lending a sympathetic ear,” she said. “And for the brandy. I didn’t notice it going, but I see I’ve finished it! Good night, Mrs. Fletcher.”
Daisy saw her out. The wind had died and the sky was clear, as bright with stars as ever a London night could be. There would be a frost tonight.
No reluctance to face the police was apparent in Patrick’s jaunty step as he came down the stairs. He sat down opposite Alec without waiting for an invitation, and started talking before Ross was ready with notebook and pencil.
“To think I was afraid I’d be bored coming home to the business! No fear of that with a ‘tec moving in next door in my absence.”
“You had an exciting time in America?”
Patrick considered. “Not so much once I was ashore. The voyage had its moments.”
“You seem to have brought a spot of excitement home with you. A curious coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The world is full of coincidences.”
“But it was no coincidence that your brother left within an hour of your return. Did you quarrel with him?”
“With Aidan? Lord no! None of that prodigal son stuff, with the disgruntled older brother. I was on business, remember, even if it involved a spot of fun. Besides, old Aidan and I get on quite happily together. He’s a bit of a stodgy sort of chap.
I tease him about it, and he reads me the odd lecture when I’m not stodgy enough, but that’s about it. ”
“Then why did he leave in such a hurry?”
“Aren’t you bored with the story, Mr. Fletcher? I’m sure my parents have both told you, and likely the servants, as well.”
“Detective work is often boring, believe it or not. I’d like to hear your version.”
“Duty called! It’s not a call Aidan is capable of disregarding. Some old geezers up north have to have their hands held when it comes to choosing their booze, and Aidan’s elected. He’s very good at it, I understand.”
“Tell me whose hands he’s gone to hold.”
“Their names? You forget, I’ve been out of things for a couple of months. I haven’t the foggiest.”
“And did he happen to mention, in the brief hour you had together after a two-month parting, where he intended to begin his peregrination of the northern reaches of the kingdom?”
“He did not. We had other things to talk about.”
“Such as?”
“Why, the success of my mission, of course.”
“Of course. And was it successful?”
“It was indeed. Sold all the goods, brought home the shekels, and paved the way for the next venture. If this chappy getting done in doesn’t put paid to the whole thing.”
“Why should it?”
“Well, if you were an American … let us say ‘businessman,’ and you heard that an American had been murdered just outside the house of the people you were doing business with, how keen would you be to continue the association? Especially as he happened to be an Italian American. I don’t know if you’re aware that the Italians are rapidly taking over the bootlegging business?
At any rate, it’s certainly not going to help the firm, so it hardly makes sense to suspect us of having a hand in his death. ”
“I’ll bear it in mind. Did you ever hear the name Michele Castellano while you were in America?”
“Not that I recall. I don’t think so. I wasn’t actually there very long, you know. That kind of voyage is apt to be a lengthy affair. As a matter of fact, the people I was with didn’t go in for introductions on the whole, and those names I did get, I’m not at all sure they were their real ones.”
“Fair enough. Come to that, we can’t be sure Castellano is the real name of the deceased. Tell me about coming home. Where did you land?”
“Liverpool. We ran into a squall in the Irish Sea that slowed us down, so I was glad I’d sent a wireless cable telling the parents not to try to meet the boat train. And as they weren’t expecting me at any particular time, I simply couldn’t resist popping into the Flask—”
“The pub just off the High Street?”
“That’s the place. Not that I’d been deprived of alcohol for two months. I came home on a British ship, and over there, there was no shortage of ‘hooch,’ as they call it. But speakeasies and ships’ bars just don’t measure up to the local pub.”
“I suppose they know you there?”
“Oh yes. Ask the proprietor or any of the regulars. I was there from—oh, I don’t know—about six till half past or thereabouts. Just time enough for a pint and a chat. Then I went on home.”
“You walked up through the garden?”
“Well, yes. It doesn’t make sense to go round by the street, does it? Not to our house, or yours. I didn’t see any bodies, nor anyone hanging about.”
“Was it raining?”
“Coming down cats and dogs.”
Alec nodded. He thought he heard the merest breath of a sigh of relief. He was pretty sure nine-tenths of what Patrick had said was true. The other tenth was hogwash. He suppressed a sigh of his own. No hope of getting home for dinner.
In the offices above, a telephone bell rang. Piper would answer it.
Alec took out his fountain pen and wrote down reminders to himself: The pub must be checked, and the time it had started raining, and the time of arrival of the delayed boat train.
“What ship did you sail back on?”
“The—”
“Chief!” Piper came running down the stairs. “Sorry to interrupt. It’s the Manchester Royal Infirmary on the line, the head almoner. Aidan Jessup was taken ill at his hotel and he’s in hospital.”