Hardcastle's Obsession (24 page)

‘Lady Naylor told me that he absented himself for the weekend of your shooting party at the end of September.’

‘If that’s what she said, then that’s the case, but it was Lady Henrietta who dismissed Drake, not me. I’m far too busy to concern myself with the butler and his wretched wife.’ Naylor stared out of the window as he replied; it did not escape the DDI’s notice.

‘Have you any idea where he went when he left your service, sir?’ Marriott knew the answer, of course, but was curious to learn if Naylor knew, or would confess to knowing.

‘No, none at all, but why all these questions?’

‘Because the weekend that Lady Naylor said Drake was absent was the weekend during which Annie Kelly was murdered.’

Naylor laughed. ‘Are you suggesting that my butler had something to do with that, Inspector? Really, I think you’re wasting my time, and as I said earlier, I do have a business to run.’

‘Surely you must have noticed whether or not your butler was at Kingsley Hall that weekend, Sir Royston,’ said Marriott.

‘He might’ve been, there again, he might not,’ said Naylor airily. ‘I think I made the point that matters of staff don’t concern me. Apart from anything else, I was far too busy taking care of my guests. There were some very influential people at the Hall that weekend. A peer of the realm among them.’

It was, Hardcastle deduced, an implied threat, but it would take more than that to dissuade him from his duty. He stood up. ‘Thank you, Sir Royston, that’ll be all for now. I have further enquiries to make, and then I shall need to see you again.’

It was an empty promise; the DDI had no idea in which direction he should turn next in terms of his investigation. But, judging from the expression on Naylor’s face, the clothing manufacturer did not know that, and Hardcastle’s statement had clearly worried him.

‘All very interesting, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle, when the two detectives were back at Cannon Row police station.

‘D’you think Naylor’s lying, sir?’

‘I always think Naylor’s lying, Marriott; it’s in the nature of the beast. What’s more I think that his jumped-up cow of a wife is a lying bitch, too. I’ve little doubt that Drake and his wife were being truthful, but I’m wondering what the real reason was for them being sacked.’

‘It could be that Sir Royston found out that we had spoken to Drake the first time we went to Kingsley Hall, sir, and was afraid of what he might’ve said. Or might say in the future. And I’ll bet he’s hoping that we haven’t traced the Drakes.’

‘But it was Naylor who suggested we should check his alibi,’ said Hardcastle.

‘Yes, sir, but I’d put money on him not guessing that we’d speak to the butler. He probably thought that we’d talk to Her Ladyship.’

‘In that case he don’t know much about detective work, Marriott,’ muttered Hardcastle, ‘but he’s about to find out.’

‘Is he still your favourite for these two toppings, then, sir?’ Marriott thought that Hardcastle had unreasonably fixated on Sir Royston Naylor as the only suspect.

‘No doubt about it,’ exclaimed Hardcastle firmly. ‘It’s just a case of proving it,’ he added, as though that were a minor problem. ‘Tell Wood to see me when he’s got a moment.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said Marriott, and crossed to the detectives’ office.

‘Sir?’ DS Wood appeared promptly. When the DDI sent for someone when he had ‘got a moment’, it meant that he was to attend immediately.

‘You’ve had dealings with Sir Royston’s chauffeur, ain’t you, Wood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘He must know where Naylor lives in London. He surely don’t take him down to Kingsley every night. Well, I know he don’t.’

‘No, he doesn’t, sir. Naylor’s got a house in Grosvenor Gardens.’

‘So he has, so he has,’ said Hardcastle. ‘I remember you telling me.’ But he had known all along. ‘I’ve got a job for you.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘See if you can find out how often Lady Naylor comes up to Town. I know that Drake the butler told me that she never does on account of being scared of the Zeppelins, but having seen her I don’t buy it. Anyway, Drake told me his true opinion of her once she’d given him the boot. Hilda Naylor’s a devious woman, and I want to know what she gets up to.’

‘Right, sir.’ Having been given another near impossible task, Wood went on his way wondering how he was to go about it. But it did not take him long to fathom a way. Detective Sergeant Wood was a resourceful officer

Herbert Wood descended the area steps of the Naylors’ house in Grosvenor Gardens, and knocked at the door.

A young girl answered, and gazed suspiciously at the man standing on the step.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m a police officer, miss,’ said Wood, and produced his warrant card.

‘Oh,’ said the girl, ‘is there some trouble, then?’

‘I hope not,’ said Wood, ‘but I’m calling on all the houses in this area to warn them about a suspicious character who’s been seen hereabouts.’

‘What’s he look like?’ The girl paused. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said. ‘It’s fair perishing out here.’ As if to emphasize the chill weather, she folded her arms and shivered. ‘You could probably do with a cup of tea, too. Cook’s just put the kettle on.’

‘Thanks, a cup of Rosie wouldn’t go amiss,’ said Wood. ‘I’ve been on the go since first thing this morning,’ he said, lying glibly.

‘This gent’s a policeman, Mrs Hampton,’ said the girl, as she ushered Wood into the large, warm kitchen.

‘And I suppose he’ll be wanting a cup of tea,’ said Mrs Hampton with a smile. ‘Well, don’t stand there, Kitty girl, get the cups out. And you’d better sit yourself down, Mr—?’

‘Wood, ma’am, Detective Sergeant Wood.’

‘What brings you here, then, Mr Wood?’ asked the cook, as she poured hot water into a large brown teapot.

‘This man,’ said Wood, and produced one of the many photographs that were similar to those kept in CID offices all over the capital. They were largely of forgotten men who had been convicted of some crime or another in the distant past, but were useful when the police were carrying out what they called a ‘duff’ call.

‘Ooh, I don’t like the look of him,’ said Kitty. ‘What’s he been up to?’

‘He usually pretends he’s from the gas company, and asks if he can check the pipes around the house for leaks,’ said Wood, making up his story as he went along. ‘And once inside and left on his own, he steals whatever’s to hand.’

‘Well, he’ll get short shrift in this house,’ exclaimed Mrs Hampton, placing her hands on her ample hips. ‘I’ve got a large rolling pin here. He’d get more than he bargained for, and that’s a fact.’ And with that statement of intent, she poured the tea.

‘I suppose you’re kept busy in a house of this size,’ suggested Wood casually, as he accepted the offer of a slice of home-made fruitcake.

‘Not really,’ volunteered Mrs Hampton. ‘Most times there’s only Sir Royston here, and more often than not he eats at his club, the Carlton in St James’s, apart from breakfast. He does like a good breakfast, does Sir Royston.’

‘Widower is he, then?’ enquired Wood offhandedly.

‘Bless you, no, Mr Wood.’ Mrs Hampton lowered her voice. ‘Between the three of us, he’s got a right tartar of a missus. Lady Henrietta she calls herself. When she’s up here there’s the very devil to pay. Nothing’s right for her, and her as common as muck an’ all. And when the two of ’em is here together there’s always a row. I think he made a mistake when he married her.’

‘Come often, does she?’

‘All too often, and that’s a fact. I’ve had more run-ins with her than I’ve had hot dinners. She’ll do it once too often, and then I’ll give in my notice. A good cook can always get a placing.’

‘How does the butler get on with her?’

‘Huh! He doesn’t, not no more. Give in his notice a month or more back, and Her Ladyship ain’t been able to get a replacement. Word gets out you know, Mr Wood.’

‘So I believe,’ said Wood, finishing off his cake. This was exactly what Drake had told Hardcastle.

‘It was her turning up here on a Sunday of all days, last month, it was. She weren’t expected, particularly as Sir R was down at Kingsley Hall. But in flounces Her Ladyship on the Sunday afternoon, bold as brass, and demanding dinner.’

‘Which Sunday was that?’ asked Wood, his disinterested air concealing his excitement at this revelation.

Mrs Hampton crossed to a calendar. ‘The twenty-fourth of September, Mr Wood. Come as a surprise to all of us. Being Sunday we was hoping for a quiet day.’ She turned to the maid. ‘Ain’t that so, Kitty?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Kitty. ‘What with the master being down at Kingsley Hall for his shooting party we thought that Her Ladyship would be there an’ all.’

‘Well, she starts lording it about the place, as usual, and had poor Mr Pearce – he was the butler – running backwards and forwards, fetching and carrying, and generally making a nuisance of herself. And as for her language, well, that would’ve been more suited to the gutter. But that was it as far as Tom Pearce was concerned. He told her straight that he’d been in proper houses and he wasn’t going to stand for her tantrums no more. And with that, he ups and leaves.’

‘I suppose he got another place, did he?’ asked Wood.

‘Walked straight into a position round at Belgrave Square. Very nice gent by all accounts. A barrister so Mr Pearce said.’

‘I didn’t know there were any barristers living in Belgrave Square,’ said Wood, who knew of several.

‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs Hampton. ‘A Mr Cedric Kitchen, according to Mr Pearce. Tom said he’s a King’s Counsel.’

Wood stood up. ‘Well, thank you for the tea, and the cake, Mrs Hampton, and don’t forget what I said about this man who reckons he’s from the gas company.’

‘Don’t you vex yourself about him, Mr Wood. Once I’ve laid him out, I’ll call a constable.’

SIXTEEN

‘
L
ady Naylor was in London on Sunday the twenty-fourth of September, sir.’ It was with some degree of excitement that DS Wood presented himself in Hardcastle’s office at two o’clock. He had realized the importance of Lady Naylor’s unexpected return to London the moment Mrs Hampton had mentioned it to him earlier that day. ‘According to the cook, Her Ladyship turned up at about three o’clock that afternoon.’

‘Did she really?’ Hardcastle reached for his pipe and briefly toyed with it. ‘So she couldn’t have known whether Drake was adrift from Kingsley Hall that weekend,’ he mused aloud. ‘And Mrs Drake, the butler’s wife, told me that Lady Naylor had spent the whole of that day in bed on account of having eaten something that upset her.’

‘But the night that Lady Naylor was in London was the night that Annie Kelly was murdered, sir,’ said Wood, fearing that the DDI might have missed the point.

‘The significance of the date hadn’t escaped me, Wood,’ said Hardcastle mildly. He walked to the door of his office. ‘Marriott, come in here, quickly,’ he shouted.

‘Yes, sir?’ Marriott was still struggling into his jacket when he appeared in the DDI’s doorway.

‘Wood, tell Sergeant Marriott what you’ve just told me.’

Wood repeated the information he had obtained from the cook at the Naylors’ Grosvenor Gardens dwelling.

‘Interesting, sir,’ commented Marriott.

‘It’s more than interesting, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle, and turned his attention to Wood once again. ‘Did this Mrs Hampton say why Lady Naylor had come up to London? I mean, did Her Ladyship tell Mrs Hampton why she’d come?’

‘No, sir. At least, she didn’t say. But she did have a row with the butler, name of Thomas Pearce, and he put in his notice there and then, and walked out.’

‘Did this informant of yours say where this Pearce fellow went, Wood?’

‘It seems he got a post almost immediately with a Mr Cedric Kitchen, a King’s Counsel, sir.’

‘That rings a bell. Where does he live?’

‘Belgrave Square, sir. I’ve got the exact address.’ Wood knew that that would be Hardcastle’s next question, and had made the necessary enquiries.

For a few moments, Hardcastle sat in contemplative silence. ‘What was the name of that chap that Inspector Sankey took to identify the victims of the bomb at Washbourne Street, Wood?’

‘Albert Jackson, sir,’ replied Wood promptly. ‘An ex-sergeant. Lost an arm at Festubert last year.’

‘That’s the fellow. Didn’t you take him to cop a gander at Sir Royston?’ The DDI knew perfectly well that he had.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Wood, ‘but he claimed never to have seen Sir Royston before. What’s more Sir Royston gave him a quid on account of his being a wounded soldier. “One of our heroes”, I think he called him.’

‘Yes, well never mind all that,’ continued Hardcastle, still giving some thought to the matter of Lady Naylor’s surprise visit to London. ‘Get hold of Jackson and fix somehow for him to have a look at Lady Naylor. See if he’s ever clapped eyes on her before.’

‘But she seems to spend most of her time at Kingsley Hall, sir,’ protested Wood.

‘Well, I know that, Wood.’ Hardcastle let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘So you’ll have to take him down there, won’t you? Sergeant Marriott will tell you the name of the local copper, and where to find him. He’ll probably be able to give you a hand out to set up an observation. From what Mrs Drake told me, Lady Naylor makes a habit of riding her horse down to the village to do some shopping.’ Having decided against smoking, the DDI replaced his pipe in the ashtray. ‘On second thoughts, Marriott, it might be as well if you went down there too, seeing as how you know the PC.’

‘How soon d’you want this done, sir?’ asked Marriott.

‘As soon as Wood can find this here Albert Jackson.’

‘Very good, sir. Are we allowed to charge for a meal for Mr Jackson?’

‘Yes, but make sure you get a receipt, otherwise I can’t allow the claim. In the meantime, Marriott, you and I will go round to Belgrave Square and see what this ex-butler of the Naylors has to say.’