A Particular Eye for Villainy: (Inspector Ben Ross 4) (13 page)
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Authors: Ann Granger
‘Living on rice, poor boy,’ she said, dabbing butter from her chin. ‘I am sure it’s so. He writes me that a very varied diet is available to him, although all of it prepared in the Chinese manner, as that is the only way the cooks know how to do it. But I think he is only trying to calm my nerves. I do
worry about dear Frank. I worried about him when he was in Russia, because of the Cossacks; and now I worry because the Chinese emperor is so very devious.’
‘I’m sure he’s safe, Aunt Parry. Frank is very resourceful.’
‘Well, he could have stayed home here with me. First you left me and then Frank went. I don’t know what you both imagined I should do here all on my own. But I dare say neither of you gave me a thought. It is the way of young people. I have Laetitia now, of course.’ Aunt Parry gazed gloomily at the companion who rattled her cup in the saucer, opened her mouth, closed it again and remained speechless and apprehensive.
‘Is there anything happening in the neighbourhood?’ I asked. I was seeking a way to introduce the topic of the Tapley family who, according to Ben, lived not far away. They might all attend the same parish church; or at least be on nodding acquaintance.
As it turned out, all I had to do was ask that simple question.
‘My dear Elizabeth,’ Aunt Parry leaned forward and gripped the shawl at her bosom in dramatic fashion, ‘such a business. The Tapleys, a very well-respected family, you may not have heard of them, Elizabeth. Mr Jonathan Tapley is a very famous barrister. Well, can you believe it? Mr Tapley’s cousin was found murdered here in London, when he was supposed to be living in France, or was it Italy? One of the two. And his daughter, I mean the murdered man’s daughter, has lived all her life with Mr Jonathan Tapley and his wife and they quite regard her as
their
daughter. Indeed, I was under the impression she was their own child until all this happened. Poor little Flora Tapley . . . there is a very suitable young man,
I believe, wanting to marry her, although with murders taking place in the family, perhaps he won’t want to now. One never knows who might be next.’
Laetitia Bunn, showing herself to be far more astute than Aunt Parry gave her credit for, asked, ‘Is your husband, the police inspector, involved in any way, Mrs Ross?’
Both women stared at me.
‘I believe he may know something about it,’ I said. ‘Since he works at Scotland Yard, he is bound to have heard something. Are the Tapleys, then, neighbours, Aunt Parry?’
‘Just a short walk away in Bryanston Square,’ said Aunt Parry. ‘It’s altogether too much excitement. This is a very quiet part of town. That is, until you came, Elizabeth, and Madeleine Hexham got herself murdered.’
‘I do believe, Aunt Parry, that Madeleine Hexham was murdered before I arrived,’ I protested. ‘It was to replace her that I came to you.’
Miss Bunn asked quickly, ‘Miss Hexham was companion here, in this house? To you, Mrs Parry?’ She turned her slightly protruding pale blue gaze on her employer.
Aunt Parry looked momentarily discomfited. ‘Yes, but her death had nothing at all to do with this house. She was a very silly sort of girl, the kind who always gets into trouble. I don’t recollect the details.’
Miss Bunn looked thoughtful.
As Simms showed me out of the front door, Bessie came running up the steps from the basement where she’d been visiting her old friends.
‘I expect Mrs Simms and the maids were pleased to see
you,’ I said to her as we set off. ‘Let’s walk in the general direction of Oxford Street. We shall easily find a cab along the way to take us home.’
‘We had a good chat,’ said Bessie with satisfaction. ‘Of course, all the talk round here just now is about the horrible murder of Mr Jonathan Tapley’s cousin. Staff, including Mr and Mrs Simms, were all really interested to hear I’d seen the poor gentleman not long before.’ Bessie smiled at the memory of her moment of glory when imparting this news. She went on, ‘Wilkins, the housemaid here, is walking out with the Tapleys’ footman. He told her that their household is in a terrible fret; no one knowing what’s going to happen from one minute to the next. Of course, it’s very sad for Mr Thomas Tapley although none of the staff knew him because he’d lived in France. But they are all sorry for Miss Flora, that’s the thing that’s causing the most upset.’
‘She’s lost her papa, her real papa,’ I said. ‘It’s to be expected she’s distressed.’
‘I don’t think she hardly knew him,’ said Bessie bluntly. ‘I think she was still in the nursery when he went to live in foreign parts and left her with her uncle and aunt. But she’s being courted by a very fine gentleman. He’s the younger son of a lord. If anything happened to his elder brother, then Miss Flora’s gentleman would become the heir to a title. So they can’t be doing with any scandal in the family. Mrs Tapley’s in a rare old state about it; and Mr Jonathan Tapley is in such a temper none of the staff dare speak to him.’
Jonathan Tapley may be angry now, I thought ruefully, but he’ll be furious when Ben arrives on his doorstep this evening.
We had arrived in Bryanston Square, an elegant and
spacious area with many smart carriages rattling up and down it. Fashionably dressed people sauntered along its pavements.
‘I can’t see a cab,’ said Bessie, putting a hand to her eyes to shield her gaze from the sun. ‘We’d do best to go on down to Oxford Street.’
‘I wish I knew,’ I said, scrutinising the rows of black-painted doors, ‘which house belongs to the Tapleys.’
At that moment a boy, not Joey but a street urchin of similar type, ran past us, brushing up against me. I gripped my reticule, fearing he meant to snatch it. But instead, to my surprise, I felt some sharp-cornered object pressed into my hand. I opened my fist to find nestling on my palm what appeared to be a small, oblong card similar to a visiting card. The boy had already disappeared in the crowd.
‘It will be advertising something,’ said Bessie knowledgeably.
I read the legend on the little card aloud. ‘Horatio Jenkins. Private Enquiry Agent. Discretion Assured.’ It was followed by an address in Camden High Street.
‘Yes, it is advertising something,’ I said slowly to Bessie. I turned it over. Printed on the reverse in pencil were the three words, would be obliged.
‘But I am not quite sure what,’ I added and put the card in my pocket.
Inspector Benjamin Ross
I had mixed feelings when I set out that evening to call on Jonathan Tapley and his family at home, unannounced. I didn’t underestimate the man’s intelligence. He would probably be expecting something of the sort. But a clever
fellow like him would have made his preparations for the event, should it happen. He would have his answers to any questions ready and so would Mrs Tapley and Miss Flora. The older couple would not have neglected to prime her. She, too, had a real vested interest in not upsetting the applecart. Her future marriage was at stake. If, indeed, the murder had not already resulted in the marriage being indefinitely delayed; and perhaps never now taking place.
I timed my ring on the doorbell very carefully. Dinner should be over. The butler, who opened to me, gave me a look that clearly told me I should have presented myself at a tradesman’s entrance. He took my card as if contact with it would contaminate him. After a glance at it, he whisked me indoors and closed the front door smartly behind us before anyone passing by saw me, and disappeared to tell his master that I was even now sullying the parquet with my boots.
He returned quickly and led me to a small back parlour when I was shut in and again left alone. After a few minutes, however, footsteps approached and the door flew open to reveal Jonathan Tapley, choleric with anger.
‘This is unacceptable, Inspector Ross!’ He marched into the room and the door clattered shut behind him. ‘We are a family in mourning. You and I have twice spoken already, once in your office and once in mine. There is no reason whatsoever for you to come here, at this time of the evening, and disturb our family meal.’
‘You are still eating?’ I asked. ‘I am so sorry. I left it late enough to avoid disturbing you before you’d finished, or so I thought.’
He snorted at me and, had he been a bull, would have
pawed the ground. ‘Did you, indeed? Well, you are here. Sit down and tell me what you want. Be quick about it, if you please.’
‘I have a couple of points to clear up. And I would like to meet the ladies, sir, if that is convenient.’
‘No, it is not convenient, damn it!’ he shouted at me.
Above our heads the glass drops in the chandelier tinkled in the disturbed air. Perhaps that sobered him.
‘It can hardly be convenient,’ he said more moderately. ‘The ladies are in deep shock after hearing of my cousin’s death.’
I nodded sympathetically. ‘But one of them, Miss Flora Tapley, is the deceased’s next of kin, his daughter, no less. I understand the shock she and your wife must both be feeling. But you will understand, Mr Tapley, that I have to talk to her. It cannot be avoided. I am the officer in charge of the investigation. I do not, naturally, expect the young lady to come to Scotland Yard. I thought you’d appreciate it if I came here.’
‘Did you, indeed?’ he returned sarcastically, knowing he was being outmanoeuvred.
I suddenly became tired of the whole silly game. Perhaps it was the sarcastic tone that did it. ‘Come, now, Mr Tapley,’ I said briskly. ‘You can’t be so very surprised to see me. We have both of us spoken the lines this piece of theatre has called upon us to speak. You have expressed indignation. I have been apologetic. Now I need to ask questions. It is what, as a detective, I do. My first question – I am sure easily dealt with – concerns your own whereabouts at the time Mr Thomas Tapley died. You will understand that this is necessary to exclude you from enquiries. No doubt you can tell me and give me the names of witnesses. Then we can move on.’
I thought, as I ceased speaking, that he might throw me out, or have a couple of footmen do it. But to my surprise he merely gave a very mild snort. He assessed me again through narrowed eyelids and said, ‘I begin to feel you may be in the wrong branch of the law, Inspector Ross. You would have made a very good courtroom lawyer. You stick to the point and know when to drive it home.’
I made no reply. He sat down at last and said, ‘Thomas died the day before news appeared in the evening newspapers, you have told me. Have you been able to establish what time of day the fatal attack took place?’
‘The victim died between five and seven of the evening, according to the medical man who attended to certify death.’
He nodded. ‘I was in court all the day in question and I set out for my chambers in the Gray’s Inn Road around four. I arrived there about half past four. I had lunched lightly and was unsure if I should be late home that evening or not, so I sent out the page for half a roast fowl. The boy will confirm the time. I ate hastily in the room where you and I had our conversation. I had arranged a case conference and expected the interested parties at any moment. They arrived and our discussion started at around a quarter past five and continued until well gone six. I will write down their names. It must have been half past six when I left my chambers and hailed a cab. Again, the clerk will confirm that. It was a little after seven when I arrived home here. My wife and the servants can confirm that! The traffic was heavy that evening. A cart had overturned in High Holborn, shedding its load and causing mayhem not only there but also in all the surrounding streets.
I was told the horse had dropped dead in the shafts, poor beast. You may check all this easily. The police attended the scene. Dinner was about to be served, so I washed hurriedly and sat down to dine with my wife and Flora. Afterwards I went to my study here and continued to work on the papers I had brought home with me. It was then nine o’clock or thereabouts. My wife, Flora and my staff here can vouch for my presence. Harris, the butler, brought me some coffee a little later, about ten. I told him no one need wait up for me. But by that time, as I understand you, my cousin had been dead some hours.’
‘That seems to take care of it,’ I said. I had taken out my notebook and written all this down. ‘Now, if it’s convenient, I should like to talk to the ladies, in particular Miss Flora.’
He stood up and reached for the bell rope. But then his hand fell by his side. ‘I will go and fetch them,’ he said.
He wants to be sure they have all the right answers in their heads before I see them, I thought.
I had expected him to return with the women, but when the door opened only the two ladies entered with a rustle of skirts. The older led the way. She was a stately woman in black taffeta embroidered with jet beads and with a ruffle of black lace on her head. She looked me directly in the eye as I rose to my feet but not a muscle of her face moved. I was put in mind of some Greek statue.
The younger woman had cast her eyes down. She wore black silk, but no jet beads. The only decoration on her dress was a bunch of ribbons at each shoulder. Around her neck was a simple gold chain and cross.
They sat down, side by side, on a gilded bench in the
style of the previous century. The older one folded her lacemittened hands and the younger one simply placed one hand on top of the other on her lap. Her hands were small, plump and childlike but I had noticed on entering that she was nearly as tall as her aunt. Perhaps her late mother had been tall, because Thomas Tapley had been a short man.