Murder on a Summer's Day (24 page)

‘So she is using her own name. And what hotel?’

‘I’m coming to that. It’s the Angel and Royal. Apparently, it is where Richard III signed the Duke of Buckingham’s death warrant.’

James peered over my shoulder as I wrote.

‘Is there anything else I can do, Kate?’

James heard the comment. ‘Have her arrested!’

‘Shut up, James. Thanks, Dad. I’ll call you back if we need any more help. Oh, just one thing. If she makes any telephones calls, it would be useful to know whom she contacts.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

I put down the telephone. James was practically hopping from one foot to the other. ‘We must stop her.’

‘We have no grounds for her arrest. We know where she is going…’

‘Where?’

‘London of course. You could have someone from Scotland Yard waiting at the hotel, with a court order. There may be time for one of the maharajah’s representatives to catch a night train, and to search her luggage.’

James is never happy until he has had a good grumble. ‘How could they be so careless as to not keep a proper eye on the stables? I gave strict instructions.’

‘Osbert Hannon and Isaac Withers were the mainstay of the stables. Don’t forget how many men have been commandeered to deal with everything that is going on at the Hall. No one expected Lydia Metcalfe to turn up with a crowbar…’

‘A crowbar?’

‘And break in.’

James lit a cigarette. ‘Why did no one see her here, or on the road? All this in broad daylight.’

‘Everyone was caught up with Osbert Hannon’s inquest, or the cremation. And you have seen what people are like round here. They play their cards close to their chest.’

‘Once she gets to London, she will be able to lose herself and pass on the diamond.’

‘Assuming she has the diamond.’

‘Why else would she disappear without a word?’ James drummed his fingers on the manager’s desk. ‘With her protector gone, she took one last gamble by stealing the diamond.’ He snapped his fingers in an unfamiliar gesture of decisiveness. ‘We will do this together, you, me, Chana and Scotland Yard. How fast do you reckon Lydia Metcalfe will drive?’

‘About twenty-five miles an hour?’

‘There must be an overnight train.’

A sudden thought struck me. Earlier in the day I had passed the aeroplane, looking lonely and out of place in a nearby field. ‘How long did it take the duke and maharajah to fly from Croydon?’

‘No time at all. That beast eats up the miles, well over a hundred an hour.’

‘There’s the answer. Pull some strings, James. You, Mr Chana and I will take to the air.’

The pounding on the door was accompanied by Mr Sergeant’s voice. ‘Mrs Shackleton! An urgent telephone call.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be there in a jiffy.’

Hurriedly, I finished dressing and made my way to his office.

Sergeant ushered me in. ‘It’s a police superintendent.’

As if needing to be sure he had discharged his duty, he handed me the receiver. For a few seconds, he hovered, perhaps hoping to catch a few words. So I simply said, ‘Hello,’ and not ‘Hello, Dad.’

‘I have a message from the manager of the Angel and Royal. Miss Metcalfe asked him to telephone the
Dorchester to say that she would arrive at about two o’clock.’

Mr Sergeant closed the door behind him.

‘And has she left yet?’

‘Yes, and without paying her bill. You’ll have your work cut out with that one. Be careful!’

‘We will. Everything is under control. We’re a crack team, and we’ll be travelling by aeroplane.’

‘Then I’d better not tell your mother. She’d love to take to the skies.’

We were in a rather nice Bentley, driven by the duke’s chauffeur. Mr Chana sat in front.

James and I sat in the back. I could tell he was excited at the prospect of a flight. ‘We’re lucky to have the aeroplane this morning. She’ll shortly be on her way to Copenhagen, to take part in the reliability trials between Copenhagen and Gothenburg.’

‘Will we all fit?’ Most of the pictures I had seen of flying machines showed single-seat affairs, or space for a single passenger.

‘It has cabin space for four passengers. We’ll be fully enclosed, Kate, so don’t fret about your hair. The pilot sits behind us in an open cockpit. And don’t worry, because he is very experienced.’

‘Don’t keep telling me not to worry. You will make yourself nervous.’

The motor came to a halt by a field gate.

The aeroplane sat in a field of stubble, its engine running.

The chauffeur opened my door and I stepped out, and through the gate.

An engineer dressed in navy overalls, goggles on his head, came to meet us.

James bounded forward to chat to him.

Mr Chana fell into step with me. He had taken my valise from the chauffeur and carried that in one hand and his own Gladstone bag in the other.

‘Have you flown before, Mr Chana?’

‘I took lessons at the same time as Maharajah Narayan. He had planned to undertake a long distance flight, and we would have a machine with dual controls.’

‘You were the aide-de-camp closest to him?’

‘Yes. It will be a source of eternal regret that I allowed that woman to persuade him to travel alone with her and just the fool of a valet.’

Something nagged at me. Now was not the moment to ask, against the background of a noisy engine and a spinning propeller. But in expressing regret, Chana had let down his guard and it would be foolish to miss the moment.

‘Mr Chana, who else besides you and the astrologer knew that Maharajah Narayan intended to marry Miss Metcalfe in about ten days’ time?’

There was a brief hesitation, and then it was as if a steel shutter came down. ‘The maharajah and I took several flying lessons. He had a talent for it.’

He had heard me, but that was his answer.

No comment.

I had been clumsy, and my question was badly timed.

The stink of oil filled the air. Empty Castrol tins lay on the ground.

It was obvious from the way my cousin and the engineer parted as we approached that James had asked him to reassure me.

The man was a typical airman type, tall, good-looking and with the obligatory moustache.

‘Anyone not flown before?’ he bellowed to be heard above the noise.

I put up my hand.

‘Some ladies fear giddiness, as when going up in a lift or looking down at the ground from a great height. This won’t be the sensation you’ll have today. It is the connection with the ground that causes dizziness. Remove the ground, remove the sensation. Be prepared for a thrilling experience, dear lady.’

‘I don’t easily become giddy.’

‘Glad to hear it. By the time we touch down in Croydon, I guarantee that you will be a convert to aviation.’

He took the bags from Mr Chana and shimmied up the ladder into the cabin, and back down.

We moved closer to the noisy plane.

‘Any questions?’ the engineer shouted.

‘Will we fly By Bradshaw?’ James asked.

‘We will, and cruising at 95 miles per hour.’

James clambered up first, waiting in the cabin doorway to give me a hand. ‘Flying By Bradshaw means we follow the railway lines. I have some flying lessons booked so have been reading up.’

I took my seat, next to the luggage.

James and Chana sat on the row in front.

Behind me, the pilot tapped to gain my attention, gave me a big wink and a thumbs up.

Within moments, we were revving across the field of stubble. With inches to spare before the drystone wall would have brought us to a crashing halt, the plane began to rise.

I looked down at the receding, flattening ground.

We crossed the countryside. The pattern of fields mesmerised me, with so many shades of green, tiny doll houses, and villages whose inhabitants paused in their work to look up at the sky.

Our journey in the aeroplane and from Croydon aerodrome in an official motor car created a sense of camaraderie between James, Mr Chana and me. Like the three musketeers, we entered the Dorchester Hotel

In all my visits to London, I had never before set foot in the splendid Dorchester with its high ceilings, sweeping staircase, tiled floor and golden walls adorned with gigantic, ornate looking glasses. Small wonder that Lydia wanted to return if she had become accustomed to such opulence.

A minor royal glided by in her finery, totally self-absorbed, seeing no one.

We three walked towards the desk. James paused, and with the merest gesture attempted to dismiss me and Mr Chana in the direction of two gilt chairs. ‘Take the weight off your feet. I’ll ask for the manager and ascertain state of play.’

By this, I took it that he meant to find out whether an officer from Scotland Yard had arrived with a court order, demanding that Lydia’s trunks be inspected, and whether Lydia had registered.

Chana was quicker off the mark than I. ‘Since I am named in the court order as representative of the Maharajah of Gattiawan, I must come with you.’

James threw me a crumb. ‘Keep your eyes peeled, in case she flits through. It is almost two o’clock.’

They left me to sit on a gilt chair by the wall. Naturally, James thought himself on home ground. As his country bumpkin cousin, I might offer a flat vowel, or call the looking glass a mirror.

Two well-clad Arab women, only their darting eyes visible, glided through the foyer, followed at a respectful distance by a heavyweight male retainer. An Indian woman and her daughter, their richly coloured saris gleaming, descended the stairs in stately fashion. Who was that actress, I wondered, her pearls glinting against the dark red silk dress?

After a few moments, James and Mr Chana returned. James did not look pleased. ‘She is not here, and they still insist that the trunks cannot be opened except in her presence.’

Chana glanced towards the door as someone came in. ‘His late highness’s suite is booked for the whole of August and the first two weeks of September. I expect she will take advantage of that.’

James looked at his watch. ‘Where is she?’

We did not look like three relaxed individuals enjoying the pleasures of the hotel. A passing gentleman gave us an odd glance.

Chana marched to the door and brushed past the commissionaire, presumably to look out for the Rolls-Royce.

‘James, if Lydia sees you and Chana before you see her, she will hightail it for the Ritz.’

‘I suppose you are right.’

‘Go order afternoon tea. Draw Mr Chana off from the door. I’ll see what I can do about checking her whereabouts.’

‘How do you propose to do that? If you tell me, I’ll see to it.’

‘Leave it to me, James. I still have a little influence at Scotland Yard.’

‘I thought that friend of yours went to America to help the FBI.’

‘He is not the only apple in the barrel.’

‘If it’s the assistant commissioner or the…’

‘Trust me for as long as it takes you to order tea.’

I watched from the telephone booth while I waited to be connected to Scotland Yard.

James gathered up Chana. They walked across the foyer and entered a sitting room.

Now that my friend Marcus Charles had gone to America, I had lost that particular contact. But at a supper given by Aunt Berta, Marcus’s boss, a commander, was most flattering in regard to my solving a particularly unpleasant crime. The commander’s late wife had been a supporter of women’s suffrage. After she died, he felt sorry about having roundly mocked her and took the revolutionary turn of becoming a lukewarm supporter of females, when he could be discreet about it. Fortunately men of such rank are almost always at their desk, and he was.

I gave the commander Lydia Metcalfe’s description, the details of the Rolls-Royce, and the name of the public house where she was brought up by her aunt and uncle. I even included the fact that before taking on the public house, the uncle had been a tightrope walker with a circus and had attracted his first customers by walking the tightrope from his pub to the opposite side of the street.

‘Yes I have heard all about this person, Miss Metcalfe. She sounds like a female who shops a great deal.’

‘I don’t believe she would go shopping before coming here. If she is at a West End store, she will almost certainly have an account in the name of Maharajah Narayan Halkwaer.’

‘Stay by the telephone, dear lady. You are right to speak to me. I wish more of our men made use of this instrument but they seem absurdly shy of it.’

It was a good half hour before he returned my call to tell me the white Rolls-Royce was parked outside the Earl of Ellesmere public house in Bethnal Green.

I could have popped in to tell James and Chana, but it seemed a pity to disturb their tea. It would be quicker to find a taxi and go there myself. Taking out my notebook, I scribbled a message for the page boy to take to James. “Gone to fetch LM from her aunt and uncle’s pub. Wait here, eyes peeled, in case I miss her.”

That would teach him not to leave me sitting on a gilt chair.

One forgets what a large place London is, a series of villages each with its distinctive character.

The elderly cab driver had already shown barely suppressed surprise at my choice of destination. Now, as he pulled up outside the Earl of Ellesmere, the taxi driver whistled his admiration at the sight of the Rolls-Royce. ‘Not often you see a motor like that in a street like this.’

‘No indeed. Do you know this pub?’

‘Sorry, missis, I don’t. My fares is mostly up west. I’ll have an empty cab driving back there, see if I don’t.’

This was meant to prompt a decent tip, so I duly obliged.

‘Do you want me to wait for you?’

‘No thank you. I’ll be coming back in the Rolls.’

‘Good for you, missis. Enjoy it while you’re young.’

I was not quite sure what he meant by that, but never mind.

As the cab drove off, a young constable swaggered towards me. He was a tall, well-built fellow who would pack a punch and not be slow to draw his truncheon.

‘Afternoon, Mrs Shackleton.’ He could not resist throwing out his chest.

‘Good afternoon, constable.’

‘I’ve orders to stay nearby, should you need me.’

‘Thank you. I hope that won’t be necessary. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind keeping out of sight.’

He nodded, and tapped his nose in music hall fashion. ‘Rely on me.’

He walked on a little way.

I glanced up at the name above the door, Landlord Joseph Mudge.

Pushing open the heavy, brass-handled door, I hoped no one inside had seen the bobby speaking to me.

Entering a pub alone is something I have to brace myself for. There is an odd sensation when a room of normal size becomes enormous and traversing it feels like crossing a continent. Heads turned to look as I stepped directly into a lounge bar with the usual wall seats, round tables and stools, and the usual smell of beer and old cigarette smoke. A large door to my right was emblazoned with the words
Concert Room
. So this was where Lydia spent her childhood, tap-dancing her heart out, practising her smile, picking up the knack of conquering hearts.

Look as if you belong, I told myself as I approached the bar where a stout woman was polishing a glass. Beyond her was another bar, which I guessed must be the tap room.

‘Hello. I’m meeting Lydia here.’

She looked surprised, as well she might. ‘Lydia’s in the back.’

I tried to look as if I knew my way to the back, but did not succeed.

She pointed. ‘Door next to the concert room.’

I knocked.

Lydia’s cheerful voice yelled, ‘Come in, Freddie.’

I came in. Lydia sat at a round table covered in a check cloth. Opposite her was an older woman, her red hair wound around metal curlers partially concealed by a green cotton turban. Her head resembled a rock covered by cockle shells.

‘Hello, Lydia.’ In spite of not being Freddie, I marched up to the table.

Lydia glared at me. ‘Where did you spring from?’

A quick lie was called for. ‘Your mother said I’d find you here. I know how much you value your jewellery so I thought I’d pop in and let you know that one of your emerald earrings rolled under the bed at the Cavendish Arms.’

‘Where is it then?’

‘Waiting for you at the Dorchester.’

Lydia scowled.

The older woman pursed her lips and widened her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, ‘Oooh, hark at that, eh? You don’t even miss an emerald now, Liddy.’

In for a penny, in for a pound. I smiled at the woman. ‘You must be Lydia’s aunt Emily. Your sister says hello.’

‘Does she now? Well you better sit down, Mrs…’

‘Shackleton.’

‘… and name your poison.’

‘I’ll have what you’re having, Mrs Mudge.’ There was a cheap tin tray on the table, etched with an image of the Taj Mahal. ‘That’s nice.’

Just keep on lying, I told myself.

The aunt picked up the tray. ‘Isn’t it? My present from India. Best out of harm’s way.’ She carried it to an overcrowded sideboard and slid it to stand at the back, behind flowers under a glass dome, candlesticks, a fruit bowl and a china dog.

‘India. Doesn’t it make you melt when Liddy talks about it?’ She turned to her niece. ‘Does your friend know about your palace, Liddy?’

Lydia smoothed her hair. ‘I might have mentioned it.’

‘Tell her. Tell her about the marble halls, the satin cushions embroidered with gold, the silk bedding, the parrot, the sunken bath. Tell her about the journey to the hills in the hot weather. Tell her about the elephants. She loves it there, don’t you? It’s become her spiritual home, and we’re all going to visit one fine day.’

‘It’s true. India gets under your skin. I shall go back. That palace and everything in it is mine.’

‘Tell her about how the maharajah gave you the pick of the treasure and…’

‘Not now, Auntie. What about that drink?’

The aunt walked to the door that led to the bar. ‘You never know, I might meet a prince myself, when your uncle isn’t looking.’ She hoisted her skirt above her knees. ‘But I’ll need them stockings you promised me.’

‘You’ll have to wait until I go to Paris, Auntie.’

The door to the bar swung closed behind her aunt.

Lydia whipped round to face me. ‘All right, what d’you want?’

‘You. At the Dorchester.’

‘Why?’

‘You left the farm without telling anyone.’

‘And is that a crime?’

‘You were asked not to leave the area pending investigations into the missing diamond.’

‘I have diamonds of my own. Why would I take that?’

‘You tell me.’

‘You’d like that wouldn’t you?’

‘Lydia, what are your plans?’

‘To go out on the town with Freddie. You want to know a lot don’t you?’

‘If I don’t ask you, someone else will. Scotland Yard is involved, and the India Office.’

She snorted, ‘The India Office. The Indians might kowtow. I won’t.’

‘So is Freddie someone you can safely pass a diamond to?’

‘He’s a dancer, and a good pal. We were in the chorus together at the Little Theatre, my first job. And don’t look at me like that. People swallow their grief in different ways. I take mine neat. And I haven’t got their bloody diamond.’

‘Is it true that you’re going back to India?’

‘Why shouldn’t I? I have my palace there.’

‘Without your maharajah to protect you, the establishment will have you turned back at the port.’

‘Let them try.’

‘The Indian Civil Service, the police, they will find some way of keeping you out.’

‘I have as much right to be in India as anyone else. An Indian maharajah loved me. Can the British government say that? I don’t think so.’

Her aunt returned with a tray holding a glass and bottles of Beefeater gin and dry vermouth. ‘No sign of Freddie.’

‘He’s always late.’

The aunt placed the glass in front of me.

I took a sip. ‘Don’t know why you need curlers. This is strong enough to give you a permanent wave.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, your friend’s a card. You know how to pick ’em, Liddy.’ When she had stopped laughing, she said, ‘There’s a copper outside, trying to play the invisible man. If Freddie sees him, he’ll get the wind up. He hasn’t been the same since that business blew up over his brush with big Albert in the back passage. All a shameful misunderstanding if you ask me.’

Lydia glanced at me. ‘Is the copper with you?’

‘Absolutely not. I’ve never had a police escort in my life. Not important enough.’

Mrs Mudge laughed. ‘She’s a card, your friend.’

‘Nice gin. What are the cocktails like in the bar at the Dorchester? I’ve never had the pleasure.’

Lydia stood, ‘Well then, since you were so kind as to find my lost earring, I’ll stand you a treat there. Auntie, tell Freddie I’ll see him another day.’

The woman’s face became a picture of disappointment. ‘Poor Freddie.’

‘He shouldn’t be late then, should he?’