Chapter Fourteen
FOURTEEN
The three of them sat around the small dining table in the narrowboat’s saloon.
‘How do you know that Evelyn Lowle is Charlotte Cater?’ asked Iris.
‘Charlotte went to Manchester for university,’ said Gwen. ‘Her mother said she was expert at doing the Mancunian accent.’
‘That isn’t enough,’ said Sally.
‘I also saw a few family pictures in Lord Cater’s study,’ said Gwen. ‘Charlotte had a younger version of Evelyn’s face, although she was brunette then.’
‘Hah!’ cried Iris. ‘I knew she wasn’t a real blonde!’
‘In any case, she couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen when Bruce was killed in ’37,’ continued Gwen, ‘which would explain why it would be unlikely for her to try to kill Tony when he came back from Spain in ’38. But that was nine years ago, which means that Charlotte—’
‘Is now old enough to be a killer,’ said Iris.
‘The problem is how do you prove they are the same person?’ asked Sally.
‘The Brigadier would know Lowle’s true name,’ said Gwen, looking at Iris.
Iris shook her head.
‘We can’t go to him with this,’ she said. ‘Not yet. We need something more tangible, or he’ll just shut down the operation and she’ll get away with it.’
‘There’s another problem,’ said Gwen.
‘Which is?’
‘Parham said Lowle had an alibi for the time of the attack,’ said Gwen. ‘She was at her flat, and her landlady verified it. There may be other boarders there who could as well.’
‘Or the landlady was lying,’ said Sally.
‘No, I agree that she was nowhere near Grenville House when it happened,’ said Iris.
‘You do?’ exclaimed Gwen. ‘You mean you think she wasn’t behind the petrol bomb?’
‘No, she was,’ said Iris.
‘Do you think her brother was involved?’
‘No,’ said Iris. ‘But I have a theory that has been made considerably stronger by this.’
‘What are we going to do to prove it?’
‘Search Lowle’s flat, for starters,’ said Iris. ‘Unfortunately we can’t risk that tonight. She’ll be going to her ministry job tomorrow. You and I will meet up at The Right Sort in the morning to get her address, then go from there.’
‘What if she speaks to her father in the interim?’ asked Gwen. ‘She might know that we’re looking into her family by now.’
‘Protocol for maintaining a cover means no contact with one’s real family,’ said Iris.
‘That was the best part of the job when I was doing it as far as I was concerned. You only just saw the Caters today, so if we move quickly, we should be able to break in before she’s on to us.
Right, if there is no further business, I hereby declare this meeting over and adjourned until further information is gathered. ’
‘Isn’t what you’re planning burglary?’ objected Sally.
‘No,’ said Gwen. ‘We’re only committing burglary if we do this at night. I looked that up once for another situation.’
‘But it’s still illegal,’ pointed out Sally.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Iris. ‘Don’t worry, Sally, it will just be the two of us. I have a plan.’
‘Oh, goody – a plan,’ said Sally. ‘What can possibly go wrong? Well, then I guess you have no further need of me. Goodnight, Sparks.’
‘Goodnight, Sally,’ said Iris as she showed them to the door. ‘Thank you for everything. Goodnight, Gwen.’
‘Goodnight, Iris,’ said Gwen.
The two walked back to Sally’s car.
‘I’ll drop you off,’ said Sally as he held the door for her.
‘No,’ said Gwen, getting in, then looking up at him. ‘You’ll come in with me. Iris may have no further need for you, but I do.’
Mrs Cowell had just finished hoovering her sitting room when she heard the doorbell ring.
She glanced at the grandfather clock. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and she wasn’t expecting any visitors or deliveries.
She peeked through the curtains to see two young women standing at her front door.
One was a tall, elegant blonde, while the other was a short, nervous brunette whose eyes kept darting about in all directions.
Wondering, she went to open the front door.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Good morning,’ said the tall woman. ‘Are you Mrs Cowell?’
‘I am.’
‘How do you do? I am Mrs Aurora Chesworth. This is my secretary, Mary McTague. Am I correct in stating that you are the landlady for this building?’
‘Why, yes,’ said Mrs Cowell eagerly. ‘Are you interested in renting a room?’
‘It’s not for myself,’ said the tall woman.
‘My cousin’s daughter is coming to study in London and I have been asked by the family to find suitable quarters for a young woman where proper behaviour is strictly observed.
Miss McTague, after some investigation, thought your establishment might be appropriate. ’
‘Oh, I keep a sharp eye on my girls,’ said Mrs Cowell. ‘They are home and in bed by ten thirty each night, or they can’t stay here, and no visitors allowed, of course. It’s all spelled out in the lease.’
‘Excellent,’ said Mrs Chesworth. ‘Do you have any vacancies that we might inspect at the moment?’
‘You’re in luck,’ said Mrs Cowell, stepping back. ‘Do come in.’
She showed them into the sitting room, then hastily unplugged the vacuum cleaner and coiled the cord.
‘You’ll have to pardon me,’ she said with a nervous laugh. ‘I was just finishing up my cleaning. Cleanliness is next to godliness, as they say.’
‘Amen,’ said Mrs Chesworth piously.
‘Amen,’ echoed Miss McTague, suppressing a smirk which escaped Mrs Cowell’s notice as she rolled the vacuum cleaner down the hall into a cupboard.
‘Well, let’s talk business,’ said Mrs Cowell as she returned, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘When will the young lady be arriving?’
‘The autumn term starts the first week of September,’ said Mrs Chesworth.
‘Which school?’
‘The London School of Economics, so you see how your location is so very convenient,’ said Mrs Chesworth. ‘We wouldn’t want her returning through any unsavoury neighbourhoods at night.’
‘This is a safe area, I can assure you,’ said Mrs Cowell. ‘There’s usually a bobby walking the street every half hour, and there’s no pubs close by. It’s the alcohol what causes the most trouble after the sun sets. There’s none allowed here in the house, neither. That’s another rule of mine.’
‘You run a tight ship,’ commented Mrs Chesworth approvingly. ‘May we see the available rooms?’
‘Of course, of course,’ said Mrs Cowell. ‘Please follow me.’
She led them up a narrow staircase to the first storey which had a hallway with three rooms on either side and a bathroom at the end. Mrs Cowell produced a bunch of keys from her apron. Miss McTague watched her closely as she unlocked one of the doors.
‘Do all the rooms have their own locks and keys?’ asked Mrs Chesworth.
‘They do, but I’ve got a master, as you can see,’ replied Mrs Cowell. ‘I don’t want any secrets kept under my roof.’
The room was sparsely furnished with a single bed, a chest of drawers, a simple writing desk with a straight-backed chair and a built-in cupboard. The window faced another from a similar building across a narrow alley scarcely wider than the bins it accommodated.
‘Not much of a view,’ commented Mrs Chesworth.
‘We wouldn’t want to distract her from her studies, would we?’ said Mrs Cowell. ‘But I’ve got another one on the next level that looks out onto the street.’
‘Let’s take a look at that one.’
The next level was very much the same as the first, including the furnishing of the room, but the street view was more cheerful, at least, despite some oncoming clouds. Mrs Chesworth gazed out of the window.
‘I think she would prefer this one, don’t you?’ she asked Miss McTague.
‘Depends,’ said Miss McTague. ‘You’ve forgot something quite essential, ma’am.’
‘Ah, you mean the bathrooms,’ said Mrs Cowell. ‘Very important to us ladies, aren’t they? Come take a look.’
She led them down the end of the hall to the bathroom and opened the door, revealing a free-standing bathtub on iron-clawed feet with a hand-held shower head running from a tall pipe at the end, alongside a toilet and sink that were old but clean and well-maintained.
‘There’s as many as six girls sharing it when we’re full up,’ said Mrs Cowell. ‘So there can be a bit of a mad scramble in the mornings, but we haven’t had any fights break out over it.’
‘It seems adequate,’ said Mrs Chesworth with a sniff.
‘Mrs Cowell, I was wondering if I might put it to the test,’ asked Miss McTague. ‘I’m in rather desperate need at the moment.’
‘Certainly,’ said Mrs Cowell.
‘Perhaps you and I could return downstairs and discuss potential terms,’ suggested Mrs Chesworth. ‘We do have two other places to look at today, but I am already leaning towards this one.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said Mrs Cowell. ‘Let’s go and talk business while your secretary does her business. Take your time, dearie.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Cowell,’ said Miss McTague gratefully. ‘I’ll be down in a few minutes.’
She slipped inside the bathroom and shut the door, then pressed her ear against it until she heard the footsteps and voices fade down the staircase. Then she stepped out into the hall, reaching for her lock picks.
Room 2C, thought Sparks. Hopefully Gwen will keep Lowle’s landlady talking for a while.
The lock was a simple one. She had it open in seconds. She opened the chest of drawers first, feeling under the neatly folded clothes, then checking for anything taped underneath the drawers. She found nothing.
She moved to the desk, noting with reluctant approval the stack of books on one corner. She probably reads more than I do, she thought with chagrin. The desk itself revealed nothing. She quickly flipped through the pages of each book, looking for notes concealed within.
There was a copy of The History of the Peloponnesian War in the stack. She really did do her homework, thought Sparks, impressed. I wonder if she bought it with her own money, or if the Brigadier—
She picked it up and turned to the title page. Thucydides. The Jowett translation.
She copied down the publisher and the edition number, then replaced the book in its place in the stack.