Gentlemen Formerly Dressed (27 page)

The guard started, but pulled back when Allen cleared his throat.

“Allie, listen to me,” Rowland said. “We will help you. You mustn't lose hope.”

Gradually Allie's manner became calmer, hiccoughing and wiping her face with the coarse fabric of her sleeve. Rowland handed her his handkerchief.

“Allie,” Edna said gently. “Do you know a great deal about your uncle's business affairs?”

“Yes… I think… I don't know what he didn't tell me.”

“Were you aware he'd bequeathed his estate to you and your mother?”

“Yes. We were his only family.”

“But there wasn't anything, was there?” Clyde said almost hopefully. If there was no estate, Allie had no motive. “Lord Pierrepont was in terrible debt.”

Allie shook her head. “One of Uncle Alfred's investments came in not long before he died. He paid back everything. He and Lord Erroll were talking about a new venture in Kenya, and he'd just given a hundred guineas to the Sir Oswald.”

“Sir Oswald… as in Mosley?”

Allie nodded.

“Pierrepont was a member of the B.U.F.?” Milton asked.

Allie looked away from the poet, her lip trembled. “Not officially…”

“But he made donations? He must have been sympathetic?” Milton persisted.

Allie nodded, crying again.

Rowland waited as she blew her nose.

“Allie, do you know from where exactly the money came?” Rowland asked.

“No, Uncle Alfred seemed to have money in so many ventures. I wasn't a lot of use to him really. He was just trying to keep me from a career on the stage… you know… singing.”

“Did you know your uncle was in the process of changing his will?”

“He wasn't.”

“Did you know he was married, Allie?”

Allie laughed, and then gasped, startled, by the sound which seemed so out of place in the cell. “Uncle Alfred? I don't think so, Mr. Sinclair. He didn't act like he was married.”

The guard began to tap his watch. Rowland tried one last question. “Allie, do you know how he acquired the particular garment he was wearing when he died?”

“From Mother, I suppose.” Her eyes welled again as she realised their time was nearly up. Edna defied the guard, walking around the table to embrace the terrified girl. “We'll get you out of here, Allie. You just be strong.”

Allie clung to the sculptress until the surly guard removed her bodily; she wept inconsolably as he led her out.

Edna wiped her own eyes. “Rowly…”

“I know,” he said. He pulled Allen aside. “You do whatever you can for her while she's in this wretched place. I don't care what it costs.”

The solicitor nodded. “I'll have a quiet word.”

They left Holloway in a troubled and sombre mood.

Milton shook his head angrily. “She doesn't belong in there. Poor, daft kid.”

“What now, Rowly?” Clyde asked.

Rowland checked his watch. The conference would have already resumed sitting, meaning Bruce and Wilfred would have left Ennismore Gardens. “Ed, why don't you and Clyde call on Ethel Bruce. Tell her what we know about Euphemia Thistlewaite and see what she can find out through the Dominion wives. Milt and I will meet you back at Claridge's.”

“And where are you going?”

“To Watts. I want to talk to the steward—George. We need to find out more about this sword which Allie allegedly used to impale her uncle.”

The gentlemen's club was quieter than Rowland remembered. Perhaps because it was too early for luncheon: the hijinks of dining aristocrats had not yet begun.

The steward remembered him. “Are you here as the guest of a member, sir?”

“No, Mr. Playfair, I came to speak with you.”

Playfair seemed a little startled by Rowland's use of his actual name.

“I'm afraid I cannot admit you without the sponsorship of a member, Mr. Sinclair.”

Rowland's tone hardened a little. “All things considered, I think you might make an exception in this case.”

“Impossible, sir. Our membership values—”

“—discretion, I imagine,” Rowland finished. “It's jolly good luck that the tawdry details of Lord Pierrepont's demise have not reached the newspapers, don't you think, Playfair?”

The steward studied him frostily, evidently assessing the risk.

Rowland stared out his threat.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” Playfair asked eventually.

“I'd like to see where the sword that was used to kill Lord Pierrepont was normally housed.”

Playfair glanced at Milton. “I can make an exception for you, Mr. Sinclair, but I'm afraid your friend will have to wait here. The club rules are very strict.”

“I don't care—”

“It's all right, Rowly.” Milton placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. “I'm not sure I want to be seen inside one of these places… my reputation, you know. I'll wait for you here.”

Playfair stopped to glare at the poet, before sniffing haughtily and motioning Rowland through the door which led to the establishment's inner sanctum.

The club was much larger than it seemed from the street. The billiards room housed three full-size tables and, along the far wall, what appeared to be a trophy cabinet full of artefacts and trinkets donated by Watts' illustrious members. The room was currently empty.

Over the yawning fireplace hung a sabre. Another bracket above it was empty. “The sword in question was identical to the one that remains,” Playfair said curtly. “Donated by a member who served in the cavalry during the Great War.”

“May I?” Rowland asked, pausing as he reached for the hilt.

Playfair inclined his head.

Rowland was tall but still he had to stretch to take the sword off the lower bracket. It was lighter than he expected.

“Sinclair, isn't it?” Josslyn Hay, the Earl of Erroll, appeared suddenly in the doorway. “I say, I didn't realise you were a member.”

“I'm not,” Rowland replied smoothly. “Just contemplating joining. George here is giving me the tour.”

Playfair looked panicked. Rowland replaced the sabre.

Hay looked questioningly at the steward, but did not challenge the claim.

“I take it you've heard about Miss Dawe's predicament?” Rowland watched Hay's face carefully.

Hay shrugged. “Dreadful, dreadful business. Who would have thought little Allie was Jack the Ripper in a frock!”

“You don't mean to say you believe she actually—”

“I'd say you and I had a lucky escape, Sinclair. I presume the authorities have their reasons for arresting her.” Hay cupped his hand round the side of his mouth in a theatrical whisper. “And you do know she's from bloody dubious stock.”

“You mean Pierrepont?”

“Good God, no! Pierrepont was a member of this establishment after all. The girl's mother was riffraff—some stage actress Pierrepont's younger brother got involved with. A few shelves below the top if you know what I mean? You know, they say the girl will hang for certain. In fact, Nobby Dunlop Smythe at the club is running a book on the outcome. Rather tragic, but what can you do?”

“Yes, quite.” Rowland was not so well rested that he didn't want to punch Lord Erroll at that moment, but he reminded himself of his purpose and the fact that Allie Dawe's life depended on what he could find out. “I understand you and Pierrepont were embarking on a venture in Kenya,” he said casually.

“I say, you're not looking for a sound investment are you, Sinclair? I'd be prepared to second your nomination for membership.” Hay smiled slyly. “I think you might find joining rather difficult otherwise. Watts can be tedious particular.”

“Perhaps,” Rowland replied. “I'll be in touch.”

“You do that. Now I really must get on.” He glanced at Playfair. “I'm sure George here will see you out.”

Playfair escorted Rowland back to the reception. “If there's nothing else, sir.”

“There is actually. I'd like a membership list.”

“Absolutely not, sir. The privacy of our esteemed membership is guaranteed. To give it to you would be an act of betrayal and
treachery. Why, I would not surrender the names of our members to King George himself!”

Rowland tried again, first to persuade and then to coerce the old steward into giving him the names of Watts' members. In both instances he failed. Playfair would not be moved and was, in fact, outraged that anyone, particularly a non-member, would have the audacity to make such an appalling request.

“Leave the poor man be,” Milton said, joining them at the counter. “Playfair here is just doing his job, Rowly.”

Rowland stopped, realising that he was being unreasonable. Playfair was a servant, trying to keep the indulged membership of Watts happy at a time when jobs were scarce. “You're right, Milt.” He turned back to the steward. “I apologise, Playfair. Thank you. You've been most helpful.”

It wasn't until they were in a motor taxi back to Claridge's that Milton removed a sheaf of papers from his breast pocket and placed them in Rowland's lap.

“What's this?”

“The most recent ten pages or so from the guest book behind the counter. I tore them out while Playfair was showing you around.” Milton grinned. “It's not a membership list, but it should give us a fair idea who's been coming in and out of the joint.”

“How did you manage to do that without anyone noticing?” Rowland asked, staring at the pages incredulously.

“There weren't many people in the foyer,” Milton replied. “I just pretended I was leaving you a note and couldn't find a pen. The security at that place isn't all that tight. I can tell you, I won't be joining!”

Ethel Bruce was delighted to see Edna and Clyde.

“Oh, I'd hoped you'd come,” she said, sending for cake and tea as they sat down.

Kate stood suddenly. Clyde jumped up.

“I hope you won't think me rude,” she said, “but I must go and attend to Ewan. I shouldn't be more than half an hour.” She smiled warmly at Edna and Clyde, hoping they understood.

Edna did. Kate didn't want to hear anything that she'd have to conceal from Wilfred. She adored her husband and thought his judgement sound on all matters, but she knew Rowland and his friends had their own way of doing things.

Edna reached up and took Kate's hand. “We simply won't cut the cake till you're back.”

With Kate gone, Edna informed Ethel Bruce of the arrest of Allie Dawe, the unfortunate niece of the late Lord Pierrepont.

“Oh dear,” Ethel said, shocked. “I've seen that sweet girl with Bunky from time to time. Why in heaven's name do they believe she's involved?”

Edna explained the circumstances of how and where Allie had found the body, omitting—in deference to Rowland's promise—any mention of the fact that Pierrepont had died in a woman's nightie.

“A sword, you say. Why, that's ridiculous! Decent girls don't know how to use swords!”

“So you see, Ethel, we need to know as much as we can about this American woman.”

“Why?”

“To convince the police that Allie Dawe is not the only one who might have had reason to kill Lord Pierrepont.”

“Oh I see… we're flushing out suspects!”

“I suppose so.”

“I'm not sure I understand why Bunky's American paramour would kill him.”

“She might not have, but maybe she was cross because he married Euphemia, or perhaps her husband found out…”

“Oh yes, I see.” Ethel leaned forward and patted Edna's knee. “Leave it to me, dear. I shall invite the appropriate ladies to tea. I promise you I will let nothing stand between us and the truth!”