An Expert in Murder (30 page)

‘That was a very generous thing for Bernard Aubrey to do. Had he met Elspeth?’

‘No, but he always asked after her. When he found out we were courting, he looked out for us. The train ticket was typical of him –

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not just the money but the thoughtfulness. He’s always doing small kindnesses for people – well, they’re small to him but they mean so much to the people he does them for. He gave me the theatre seats as well – top price for Saturday night.’

Penrose would come to Aubrey’s death in a moment, but he was interested to note that there was no giveaway past tense in anything White had said so far. ‘Did you send anything else with the train ticket?’ he asked.

‘Yes, a note and a lily. The lily was from Miss Beaumont’s dressing room; she has so many flowers that she’s always giving them to us. So I put that in with the train ticket and a note. Well, it was just a line from the play, really – ‘Lilies are more fashionable’ – but it was one of Elspeth’s favourite scenes and I knew she’d recognise it and be thrilled when I told her where the lily came from.’

‘Are you sure it was a lily? It couldn’t have been another flower?’

‘I do know what a lily looks like. I ought to – we have enough of them on stage every night.’

‘But nothing else? No magazines or souvenir dolls?’

‘No, nothing else.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I was going to give Elspeth one of those dolls – she so wanted one – but I hadn’t got round to it.’

If Hedley was telling the truth, someone had been very prepared when that train pulled in. Penrose asked if anyone else had known about the arrangements.

‘Uncle Frank, of course – I told him all about it. And Mr Aubrey. I told Rafe because I knew he’d be pleased for us – it was him that encouraged me to ask Elspeth out in the first place – and he teased me about keeping the noise down at night, not that he sleeps here that often. Oh, and Miss McCracken knew. She saw me putting the flower and the note in an envelope backstage, and asked me what the poor girl had done to deserve a night out with
Richard of Bordeaux
.’

‘When was the last time you spoke to Elspeth, or heard from her?’

‘The last time I actually spoke to her was ten days ago. She tele-210

phoned me at the theatre as soon as she got the note and ticket, just to say how thrilled she was. Then she phoned again on Thursday, but I was out getting some more candles for the play so I missed her. She left a message at stage door, confirming when she was arriving and saying she couldn’t wait to see me.’

‘Was the message written down?’

‘Yes. I collected it from the pigeon holes when I got back.’

Where anybody could have seen it, presumably. Penrose decided to change tack slightly; he was interested in relations between Hedley and the Simmonses.

‘How did her family react when you and Elspeth got together?

Were they pleased about the relationship?’

Hedley shrugged. ‘They seemed to be. Certainly we never had any problems seeing each other. I’ve never met her mother, of course. We’d only been together eight weeks and I didn’t have enough time off to go up to Berwick. Mrs Simmons never comes down here. Elspeth’s Auntie Betty was always perfectly polite, but Uncle Frank’s been fabulous, really friendly.’ Hedley pointed towards the photograph on the bedside table. ‘He took that and got three copies framed, one for each of us and one for himself. He and Elspeth were always really close. I suppose it’s because they had so much in common.’

Penrose hadn’t seen the photograph anywhere in the Simmonses’ flat. He wondered again about the nature of Simmons’s feelings for his niece. It wouldn’t surprise him if Frank turned out to be Elspeth’s real father, although where that left him with Bernard Aubrey and Arthur he couldn’t begin to work out.

‘What about your own family, Hedley? Tell me about them.’

‘I don’t see what they’ve got to do with any of this.’

‘Humour me. What does your father do?’

‘He died when I was a baby, just before war broke out, but he was a blacksmith. My mother was left on her own with six children, but she remarried a few years later, to a farmer, and we moved in with him. He had three children of his own, but we all got on really well. Still do. Most of my brothers and sisters stayed in or around the village, helping on the farm or teaching at the 211

local school. I missed them when I first left home to come here, but I go back as much as I can. I was planning to go in the summer and take Elspeth to meet them. They would have loved her.’

‘Did any of your family serve in the war?’

‘No. We were lucky. My dad was already dead, like I said, and none of my brothers were old enough. My stepfather was con-sumptive, so he was excused military service. It must have been terrible, though. Elspeth talked a lot about her father as we got to know each other better. His illness really upset her.’

‘Did she ever talk about what happened to him or anyone else he served with?’

‘No, just how bad it got towards the end. I think she and her mother both felt guilty for being so relieved when he died.’

‘Let’s go back to Saturday, Hedley. It was your night off, but did you get things ready for the evening performance before you went off duty?’

‘As much as I could, yes. We re-plotted for the first scene right away, but it doesn’t take long now because we’re so used to it.

Miss McCracken likes to check everything before the evening performance, so I was finished quite quickly.’

‘I’ve heard there’s a drinking tradition that goes on after the show. Were you involved in preparing that?’

‘It doesn’t happen after the matinees, but I put the stuff at the side of the wings ready for the evening.’

‘Can you tell me exactly what you did?’

White was beginning to look concerned. ‘It was slightly different on Saturday because Mr Aubrey was taking part, so I made sure there was an extra chair. I fetched the decanter from his office, added a tumbler to the other glasses and checked there was a corkscrew for the wine. Then I stood the whole lot on the shelf ready for Miss McCracken to take down at the curtain-call. It gets in the way otherwise.’

‘Did you take the lid off the decanter for any reason?’

And now concern had turned to fear. ‘Of course not. Why are you asking me about this? Elspeth was dead by then. Has something else happened?’

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Penrose ignored the question. ‘Are you absolutely sure that you didn’t touch the contents of that decanter? Or see anybody else go near it?’

‘I swear nobody touched it when I was there. Tell me what’s going on!’ He was on his feet and shouting now, and there was no doubt in Penrose’s mind that he knew nothing about the second death. Gently, he put a hand on Hedley’s shoulder and sat him back down.

‘I’m sorry, Hedley, but Bernard Aubrey died late last night.

We’re treating his death as suspicious, and I have to ask you again

– apart from Aubrey, did you see anyone near that whisky decanter while it was in your care, or did you touch it yourself?’

Hedley’s self-control evaporated at the news of Aubrey’s death, and he was unable to suppress his grief any longer. ‘How could I be so ungrateful?’ he said at last. ‘I let him down so badly, and then last night, when I was standing outside the theatre in the rain and I realised that Elspeth wasn’t going to turn up, I blamed him for her death. I thought if he hadn’t arranged that ticket, she might still be alive. And I hated him. I wished it was him dead and not her. Now they’re both gone.’

Penrose looked up and wondered why Fallowfield had slipped quietly from the room. He turned back to Hedley and spoke more sympathetically than ever. ‘How had you let Aubrey down, Hedley? Why was he angry with you?’

‘I did something really stupid and he found out about it. Elspeth’s uncle collects theatre stuff, autographs and all sorts of memorabilia. So I stole some of the props from the play to impress him and Mr Aubrey caught me with them. I don’t know why I did it. Frank didn’t ask me to and the really daft thing is that Mr Aubrey would have given them to me after the run if I’d just asked, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I wanted to make Elspeth happy and I knew I could do that by making her family happy. I was supposed to go and see Mr Aubrey after the matinee, but by that time I was too worried about Elspeth and I just left the building as soon as I could.

And I’m sorry, I did lie to you earlier when I said I hadn’t taken the lid off the decanter.’

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‘Go on,’ said Penrose encouragingly.

‘I took a swig of the whisky during the matinee when nobody was looking. I thought it would give me the courage to face Mr Aubrey later.’

At least that narrowed the timing down a little, Penrose thought. Whoever had doctored the whisky could not have done so until after the matinee. He gave White a moment to compose himself, leaving him in PC Bartlett’s care while he went to look for Fallowfield. The Sergeant had not gone far. ‘Rafe Swinburne’s just turned up, Sir,’ he explained, coming out of the room across the landing. ‘He says he’s only nipped back to change his clothes and then he’s going out again, but I’ve asked him to wait until you’ve had a chance to speak to him.’

‘Thanks, Bill. I’ll do it now. You go in with White.’

‘He didn’t know about Aubrey, did he Sir?’

‘No, I don’t think he did. And I think he’s telling the truth about Elspeth, as well, although I’m not convinced by his alibi. We’ll see about that now.’

Swinburne’s room was the mirror image of White’s but had none of the transforming touches of ownership. Clearly Hedley had been accurate when he said that his friend spent very little time at home.

The actor was by the small sink in the corner, shaving with a casual indifference to the presence of Scotland Yard. If he had been at all surprised to find the police in his digs, he did not show it now.

‘Good morning, Inspector,’ he said, looking at Penrose in the mirror. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I carry on getting ready while we talk, but I’m on a promise this afternoon and I don’t want to keep the lady waiting.’

Instantly irritated, Penrose picked up a towel from the bed and handed it to Swinburne. ‘If she’s so keen, a few more minutes won’t hurt,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to tell me what you did before work on Friday – say from half past five onwards.’

Swinburne wiped the soap from his face but not the smirk and Penrose, whose tiredness was getting the better of him, experienced an almost overwhelming desire to help it on its way. He was annoyed to see that the actor not only sensed his frustration but 214

seemed gratified by it. ‘Of course, Sir,’ Swinburne said with infuri-ating politeness, ‘anything to help,’ and proceeded to echo Hedley White’s account of the evening, adding a few details here and there. The speech was convincingly delivered, so much so that Penrose wondered if Hedley’s suspiciously rehearsed version of the same story had, after all, been down to nerves.

‘What about after the shows? Did you and White come back here together?’

‘No, Inspector. We hardly ever do. I’ve usually got business elsewhere, if you know what I mean, and Hedley’s the faithful type.’

He looked slightly ashamed as he realised the inappropriateness of his words. ‘I’m sorry, that was a bit tasteless bearing in mind what’s happened. How is Hedley?’

‘Upset, as you would expect,’ Penrose replied curtly, and cut Swinburne off as he began to vouch for White’s good nature. ‘Did your business extend to Saturday night, as well?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes, but the location was different. I like variety and so far, touch wood, it seems to like me. Speaking of which, do you mind if I throw a few clothes in a bag while we chat? I doubt I’ll be back here tonight and I need to make sure I can go straight to the theatre tomorrow if necessary.’

Penrose nodded, and watched as Swinburne transferred two or three items from a drawer to an empty holdall. ‘This variety that you’ve been with all weekend – does any of it have a name and a contact address?’

‘First names and districts only, I’m afraid. There’s a Sybille in Hammersmith, or it could be Sylvia, and a Victoria in Bloomsbury.

Sorry I can’t be more specific.’

‘Hedley tells me you brought him and Elspeth together. Is that right?’

‘I only gave him a shove in the right direction. It was hardly Cupid at work but it seemed to do the trick. From what I could tell, they were made for each other.’

‘You saw a lot of them, then?’

‘No, not at all. I only met her a couple of times in passing, but he talked about her all the time and he was obviously happy.’

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It seemed to Penrose that Swinburne was not the sort to consider other people’s happiness very often. ‘You weren’t interested in her yourself?’

‘I do have some scruples, Inspector. She was spoken for and clearly smitten, and I only like to make an effort if I’m sure of the pay-off. Rejection’s not good for the soul.’

‘I’m sure someone of your experience could limit the chances of that.’

‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, Inspector. I didn’t kill her, and neither did Hedley, so am I free to go?’

‘By all means, for now,’ Penrose said sweetly, ‘but we may need to talk to you again.’ At the door, he turned back. ‘Just one more thing,’ he said casually. ‘There’s a walkway between Wyndham’s and the New. It runs over St Martin’s Court. Do you ever use it?’

Swinburne closed the bag and picked up his motorcycle helmet.

‘I have done, many times,’ he said. ‘We all used to have a bit of fun with it, running back and forth during the show and playing poker in the wings, seeing how far we could push it before having to get back to our own theatre. Then somebody missed a cue and Aubrey put his foot down. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humour.’

Penrose let him go, angry with himself for not having managed to disguise his dislike of Swinburne during their interview. It had allowed the younger man to take control of the exchange, and that was not something that happened very often. He went back to the other room, where Hedley White was standing at the window, watching as Swinburne left the house.

‘Did Rafe tell you about Friday night?’ he asked anxiously.