Mad About the Boy? (24 page)

‘Thanks for coming down to meet me,' he said as they walked up the drive towards the house. ‘I got your message about the gates being locked.' He jerked a thumb backwards. ‘I had no idea all this crowd would be here. They're a damn nuisance.'

‘The poor devils have to earn a living,' said Haldean tolerantly. ‘Uncle Phil's up in arms about them hanging around, but what can he possibly expect? I know quite a few of them through working for
On the Town
. Not that newspaper men and mere monthly magazine types, such as me, have much in common, but Stanhope's all right, for instance, and so's Morgan of the
Sentinel
and some of the others. By the way, if you want to come and go without running the gauntlet all time, I'll show you the entrance from the Home Farm on to the grounds. They haven't discovered that one yet.'

‘Let's hope that state of affairs continues,' said Ashley with feeling. ‘Now, what was it you said on the telephone about looking for a key? What key? The key to Lord Lyvenden's room was on his dressing table. Sir Philip's got it now.'

‘As a matter of fact, it's in the lock of the door,' said Haldean. ‘I asked Uncle Phil for it earlier and he told me to leave it there. The garden suite's one of the very few rooms I can't get into with my room-key. I suppose the lock's better than most of the others because it's a fairly new addition to the house. Anyway, what I was looking for was the key to the french windows.' Haldean led the way up the steps and into the hall. ‘I can't find it. Aunt Alice said it was always left in the lock, but it's not there now. I suppose it could have been swept up by the men who cleared away and boarded up the window yesterday afternoon, but I asked Grafton, the head gardener, who supervised the clearing up, and he was certain no one came across it.'

‘Is it important?' asked Ashley.

Haldean tapped out his pipe on the heel of his shoe. ‘It might be. I'm not sure. It just seems odd it's gone missing. By the way, could Aunt Alice have a word with you? She's in the conservatory.'

Lady Rivers was standing by the conservatory door, looking out on to the lawn. She turned to them with a tired smile. ‘Thank you for coming to see me, Mr Ashley. Are those wretched reporters still at the gates, Jack?'

‘They are, Aunt Alice. We'll have to think of something to say to them. If Uncle Philip, Ashley and I can work out a proper statement, I'll try and do a deal so that they'll leave us in peace.'

Her shoulders relaxed. ‘If you could do that, Jack, it would be a great help.' She sat down and looked helplessly at Ashley. ‘It was bad enough when Mr Preston shot himself, without having this to cope with as well. Poor Philip really does hate all the fuss.' She shook her head briskly. ‘Still, Mr Ashley, you don't want to hear about our domestic concerns. I wanted to ask if you have had any news of Captain Stanton?'

‘Yes, we have, Lady Rivers,' said Ashley.

Haldean looked at him sharply. ‘What? You didn't tell me that.'

‘I was going to,' said Ashley pacifically. ‘We've had over a dozen sightings of Captain Stanton, most of which I've discounted, but out of all the possibles, I think there's two probables. It seems that the Captain was treated for a head wound in Cranston Cottage Hospital. A man answering his description turned up on the doorstep in the late afternoon. He was in a pretty poor state and needed four stitches for a head wound. The doctor isn't a particular expert on gunshot wounds, but when I asked him if the injury could have been caused by a bullet, he agreed it was possible. I'd have preferred him to have been more definite, but he wouldn't commit himself. After Captain Stanton received treatment, he insisted on paying his bill and leaving and, of course, there was nothing the hospital could do to stop him. Not that they suspected he was a wanted man at that stage, you understand, but the doctor thought he should stay the night for his own sake. He seemed very vague, which is, of course, what you'd expect. He seemed frightened, too, the doctor said.'

‘Frightened of being caught?' asked Lady Rivers.

Haldean shook his head. ‘That wouldn't be it. He'd be frightened of the hospital. It goes back to when he was treated for shell shock,' he explained in answer to Ashley's enquiring look. ‘I don't know exactly what happened to him, because he could never bear to tell me, but I don't think the treatment was as sympathetic as it might have been.'

‘Perhaps,' said Ashley, clearly unmoved. ‘Be that as it may, he got out as soon as he could. He must have known we were after him, Haldean, no matter how vague he appeared. He didn't give his own name, which tells you something, but evidently said the first name that came into his head. He called himself Timothy Rivers.'

‘He used our name?' said Lady Rivers indignantly.

Haldean moved uneasily. ‘Look, Aunt Alice, don't be too hard on him. If you think of the state he was in yesterday, it's likely he didn't know what he was doing.' He caught her look, realized his plea had fallen on stony ground, and moved on. ‘What about the other sighting?'

‘It was a report from a tramp in Great Syston. Apparently Captain Stanton camped with them overnight on the road between Melling Bridge and Caynor. The man says that Captain Stanton, if it is him, didn't seem quite right in the head, so we're warning people not to approach him.'

‘Arthur wouldn't be a danger to anyone,' said Haldean.

‘How on earth can you say that after yesterday?' said Lady Rivers in exasperation. ‘You're as bad as . . .' She broke off. ‘Can you give me a few minutes with Jack, Superintendent?

‘Of course, Lady Rivers.' Ashley stood up. ‘I'll wait for you outside, Haldean.'

After he had gone, Lady Rivers didn't say anything for some time, but sat looking at her hands entwined tightly together in her lap.

‘Aunt Alice?' prompted Haldean. ‘What is it?'

‘What,' she said, clearly holding her temper in check with difficulty, ‘are you playing at, Jack? You evidently still have some affection for this Arthur Stanton and I suppose I can hardly blame you for that. However, don't you realize what effect even a casual remark from you in support of Captain Stanton will have on Isabelle? She is behaving in a disgraceful way to Commander Smith-Fennimore. After becoming engaged to him – an engagement which both I and your Uncle Philip thoroughly approved of – she threw him over in the most public and distressing way. She refuses to speak to him and is acting as if Captain Stanton was the man she had agreed to marry. What's behind it?'

Haldean shifted uneasily. ‘Well, you know, Aunt Alice, she was fairly keen on old Arthur before Smith-Fennimore turned up. He was goofy about her.'

Lady Rivers shuddered. ‘His feelings are immaterial. As for Isabelle, I hardly know what to say. Despite the fact that she was, apparently, fond of Arthur Stanton, she became formally engaged to another man. And now, now Captain Stanton has clearly gone off his head, committed a brutal crime and thrown us all into chaos, now she decides she prefers
him
?'

‘I don't know that she does prefer him,' said Haldean helplessly. ‘I think she's sorry for him, that's all. Smith-Fennimore's been sort of caught up in the machinery. It's a bit tough on him, I must say.'

‘A bit tough on him?' repeated his aunt in a dazed voice. ‘Tough? It's appalling for him, Jack. Simply because of some ridiculous feeling of totally unmerited pity, Isabelle is behaving like an idiot. She won't talk to either your uncle or me and I gather she won't talk to Commander Smith-Fennimore either.'

‘She bit my head off too.'

Lady Rivers sighed dangerously. ‘Jack, go and talk to Isabelle. Find some way, some method, of pointing out the stupidity of what she is doing. I want a reconciliation between her and the Commander and I want it to happen soon. Naturally if, after reflection, she finds she has made a hasty decision and cannot marry Commander Smith-Fennimore, then I will support her. But this childish behaviour has to stop. Get her to see sense. Get her to speak to the Commander, for heaven's sake. She obviously liked him well enough before. What's made the difference?'

Haldean shrugged. ‘You've got me there. Look, what if I suggest running down to Brighton or somewhere? If Belle agrees, then we could go out for the evening with Fennimore and Bubble and Squeak. Safety in numbers and all that. I don't know why she won't speak to the man, but maybe if we got away from here it would do her good. Things have been a bit intense, don't you know? Perhaps she needs to step away from it all.'

‘I wish I could step away from it all,' said Lady Rivers bitterly. ‘Brighton sounds like a very good idea. See if you can get her to agree, Jack, because I honestly cannot tolerate this situation.' She stood up. ‘And now you'd better go and find Mr Ashley. You don't want to keep him waiting longer than necessary.'

‘Right-ho. By the way,' added Haldean, reaching for the door handle, ‘I know you tried to get in touch with Tim Preston's uncle. Did you have any luck?'

‘We got a telegram this morning,' said Lady River shortly. ‘Apparently his uncle, Mr Urqhart, is in India and won't be back for at least six weeks. I've also heard from his sister, a Mrs Carhew, in Scotland. She won't be able to attend the inquest either and, quite frankly, I'm not sorry. Things are complicated enough without having to see to yet more people. The inquest will have to go ahead without any of Mr Preston's family in attendance, but that's not really important.' She gave him an exasperated look. ‘The important thing is to talk some sense into Isabelle.'

‘Okay, Aunt Alice,' promised Haldean. ‘I'll do my best.'

Ashley was waiting for him in the hall. ‘Is Lady Rivers all right?' he asked as they walked along to the garden suite. ‘She seemed a bit put out about something.'

Haldean grinned. ‘I think she's a bit put out, to use that incredibly mild expression, that the house has filled up with corpses. Isabelle isn't helping, either. Smith-Fennimore was the dickens of a catch and she used to go all wobbly at the sight of him, but he's in the doghouse at the moment, and no mistake. God knows why.'

‘No, I can't understand it either,' agreed Ashley. ‘By the way, I spoke to Lady Harriet's maid, Yvette Charbonneau, and Sotherby, Commander Smith-Fennimore's valet. They were both in the servants' hall from twelve o'clock on Tuesday and couldn't tell me anything. I also spoke to Adamson, Lord Lyvenden's man, and he was very helpful.'

‘In what way?'

‘He's been through Lord Lyvenden's room for me. He was also able to tell me what Lord Lyvenden was doing before lunch. Despite it being Adamson's half-day, he was stuck in the room until after one. Apparently Lord Lyvenden was a bit shirty with clock-watchers. If he was getting dressed, he wanted his valet there, half-day or no half-day. Adamson says the Commander brought his master some papers in a large briefcase and they had a discussion in low voices. That, I may say, chimes in with Commander Smith-Fennimore's own story. It was obviously something confidential. The Commander stayed for about five minutes or so before leaving the papers with Lord Lyvenden. Lord Lyvenden set to work and dismissed Adamson right away, much to his relief. Incidentally, he's got very little strength in his left arm. He got a bullet through it in the war, and it's affected the muscle. So not only can he not have done it, the only result, as far as I can see, is that he's out of a perfectly good situation.'

Ashley opened the door to what had been Lord Lyvenden's room and stopped.

Malcolm Smith-Fennimore was sitting at the desk, a stack of files in front of him. He looked up as they came in.

‘What are you doing in here, sir?' asked Ashley politely. ‘I'd prefer this room to be left alone.'

Smith-Fennimore stood up. ‘I'm sorry, Superintendent. I didn't realize. The key was in the lock.' He indicated the scattered papers on the desk. ‘There's a document that Lyvenden signed – at least I hope he signed it – and I can't find it anywhere.'

‘I would prefer that nothing was touched, sir.'

‘But it's vital,' said Smith-Fennimore wearily, rubbing his hand across his face. ‘There's a whole raft of business in the Argentine depending on this one document and I can't find it. Please let me look for it, Superintendent. If necessary you can examine it, but I simply have to find it.'

‘Well, what is it, sir?'

Smith-Fennimore hesitated before replying. ‘It's confidential. I know it sounds hard-hearted,' he added, ‘but I could wish Lyvenden had kept this stuff in better order. It's a single sheet on ordinary foolscap paper in my handwriting and headed
Señor Ignacio Fauró: Argentine Railways
and, quite frankly, it could be anywhere.'

‘And what's it about, sir?' asked Ashley, picking up some of the cardboard files.

Smith-Fennimore lit a cigarette. ‘It's about the bank not checking properly before we lend money. I could be ruined if this gets out.'

‘That sounds serious,' said Haldean.

Smith-Fennimore grimaced. ‘I mean it. Oh, I'd pull it back somehow, but it would be damned hard. I've got enough to cope with without saving Smith, Wilson and Fennimore from going under. You know how things are in the City. One hint that we're not rock-solid and the gossip gets going, share prices tumble and the speculators move in.'

‘That sounds really serious,' said Haldean. ‘Er . . . what's the problem?'

Smith-Fennimore pulled on his cigarette nervously, and came to a decision. ‘Not a word,' he warned. ‘Last year we joined forces with this Ignacio Fauró. He imports rolling stock for the railways from Britain. Railways in the Argentine are booming and it seemed a solid proposition. However, I then found out, through our agents in Buenos Aires and Bahia Blanca, that Fauró has a string of other businesses and they're all rotten. There's an amber mine, some building projects and an electricity company. They're all broke. The profits on the railway fell off and my suspicion – well founded as it turned out – was that our man was using our railway money to prop up his ailing interests.'