A Grave Man (26 page)

‘What about the use of two ancient daggers as murder weapons? There are no clues from them?’ Verity asked.

‘You would think there ought to be, but it appears not.’

‘No fingerprints, of course?’

‘No. If there were any on the one which was used to kill Maud, they would have been washed away in the stream. And Maud was wearing gloves in the Abbey, as were all the women.’

‘Maud? You are certain she killed her father?’

‘Ninety-nine per cent certain. She told Graham Harvey she had – not just me. She may have been confused but I don’t think she was hallucinating. Although there was a moment when I suspected Edmund Cardew. It’s odd that he was present on both occasions.’

‘So were we.’

‘Quite. Anyway, although his mother knew Pitt-Messanger, Cardew himself had no obvious connection with them when the Professor was killed. They had never met. He had no possible motive for killing the old boy.’

‘What about Maud?’

‘I don’t know, V. Maybe. By the way, I have just had a rather interesting talk with Mrs Cardew.’ He went on to explain how she had seen Miss Berners leave the cricket pavilion shortly after the lemur escaped and that he had received a letter from Miss Berners.

‘So are you going to see Miss Berners tomorrow?’

‘Yes. She says she will be with me about nine. Do you want to be there?’ He did not add that he hoped she would
not
be there as Miss Berners might not welcome her presence. Fortunately, Verity was sensible enough to know that.

‘No, she won’t want to see me. I’d probably mess things up. I’ll go to the
New Gazette
and rifle around in the files there. There may be something on the Castlewood Foundation.’ She told him what she had found in the
Daily Worker
file. ‘Don’t forget,’ she added stiffly, ‘I am only interested in the Castlewood Foundation so far as it relates to the murders. I count Ginny as a friend and I would hate to think I had been spying on her and her husband.’

‘Even if it made a good story for either of the rags you work for?’ he teased her.

‘Well, I suppose . . .’ She looked doubtful.

‘Anyway,’ Edward said hurriedly, ‘I want to know what unforgivable crime Pitt-Messanger committed that turned his daughter into a parricide.’

‘What about this man Temperley? There’s bound to be stuff on the scandal at the
New Gazette
. I’ll get on to that. What’s your next move?’

‘I think there are still questions to be asked at Swifts Hill. I might see if Ginny can give me lunch.’ He hesitated. ‘How long have you got before you go to Vienna?’

‘I don’t know exactly . . . not more than ten days. I ought to be there already.’

‘Well then, we’d best get cracking. We might need to make another lightning visit to the South of France before you abandon me for good.’

Verity bit back a retort. She did not want to give him an excuse to say anything about Adam or about loving her and the dangerous moment passed. For his part, Edward decided not to tell her that he was meeting Adam. It was up to him to explain the invitation if she ever got to hear about it. If she did, Verity might see conspiracy and betrayal but Edward had no doubt that Adam was an honourable man who would rigidly adhere to the behaviour expected of a German aristocrat of the old school.

It was prompt on nine when Fenton answered the door to Miss Berners. Edward, who was just finishing his breakfast, got the feeling she might have been having a cup of tea at the ABC in Piccadilly or walking in the park until she considered she could reasonably knock on his door.

‘Please do come in, Miss Berners. Will you have breakfast? Fenton can run you up eggs and bacon or a kipper.’

‘No thank you, Lord Edward. I have had breakfast.’

‘A cup of tea or coffee then?’

‘Coffee, please, if it is no trouble.’

‘And a cigarette?’ He held out his cigarette case and she took one. Edward lit it for her and she sank back in her chair. ‘You needed that,’ he remarked, seeing her take a second lungful of smoke.

‘I did, yes. You see, Lord Edward, it is difficult for me to be here.’

‘You had to start very early?’

‘Not that. I mean I did start early but that signifies nothing. I do not sleep much, you understand. No, I mean it is difficult to go behind my employer’s back.’

‘It is easier than going to the police?’

‘Yes, that is right. The police . . . even in England we Jews do not go to the police. They come to us.’

Edward looked at her attentively. He thought she might be thirty but it was difficult to be certain. She was thin – almost gaunt – her high cheekbones giving her face a handsome if severe expression like some bird of prey. Her nose was prominent, her black eyes large in her pale face. Her black hair was cut short and hidden beneath a small black hat. Altogether, she appeared to be typical of the ‘repressed spinster’, so often the butt of cruel jokes.

‘I don’t quite know why I chose to confide in you, Lord Edward,’ she said frankly, ‘but when you were at Swifts Hill I heard it said you investigated crimes and . . . and you were an honourable man.’

It was a surprising statement and he was absurdly pleased. ‘Take your time, Miss Berners. If there is anything I can do . . .’

‘First of all, I must tell you that I am
Mrs
Berners, not Miss.’

‘Indeed, and your husband . . .?’

‘He is still in Germany.’ Her coffee cup rattled the saucer as she replaced it.

‘He stayed behind because of his work?’ Edward hazarded.

‘He’s an engineer. They took him away. I didn’t know where.’

‘Who took him away?’

‘The authorities. They said he was required for special work.’

‘You don’t know who he works for?’ he said gently.

‘Thanks to Sir Simon, I do now. When he disappeared, all they would say was that he was doing secret work . . . for the fatherland and I was not to look for him. They said he might be able to write to me but I could not write back.’

‘And did you get a letter?’

‘One letter only . . . after one month – when I had given up hope. He said he was safe and well and that I was not to worry about him.’

‘That must have been a relief.’

‘He is a Jew . . . I am a Jew. His letter means nothing. Of course I must worry,’ she said vehemently.

‘The letter was in your husband’s writing . . . You recognized his hand?’

‘I did but he may have been forced to write it. I think it is unlikely he could write what he wanted.’

‘Of course you are right. Is he a very good engineer? They will not hurt him if they need him.’

‘He is a fine engineer . . . turbine engines. I do not know what a turbine engine is exactly, but it is important.’

‘That’s good,’ Edward said, trying to get her to look on the bright side.

‘I think I shall never see him again,’ she said flatly.

After a long minute of silence, during which both of them thought about the horror of a world in which a man could be removed from his wife and made a slave without there being any redress, Edward said, ‘So how did you come to England?’

‘I knew my life was worth
this
if I stayed in Germany.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘They were rounding up Jews – we had no rights . . . no future.’

‘You had no children?’

‘No, it was my great regret but now I am glad.’

‘What work did you do?’

‘I translated into French and English . . . books, plays . . .’

‘So where did you go?’

‘I went first to France . . . to Paris and then to Cannes, where I had friends.’

‘There was no difficulty about a passport?’

She looked at him with amazement. ‘Of course it was difficult. I had to sell everything and pay the money over to . . . to the man who issued passports. I had to pretend it was for work and that I would return. I had a publisher friend in Paris for whom I had translated the novels of Hesse and Mann.’

‘And what happened when you got to Paris?’

‘My friend helped me to find work translating French into German. I had to go to Cannes to help with a film script they wanted translating. There I met a met a friend of Sir Simon’s – a film actress – and she introduced me to him and he said he would help me.’

‘Was that Natalie Sarrault, by any chance?’

‘Yes, do you know her?’

‘I have met her. Sir Simon has many friends in France and Germany, I know. You said he has been able to find out . . . ?’

‘He has. He was very kind. It took time but he has learnt that Heinrich is working in the Ruhr in a factory owned by IG Farben. You know them?’

‘Of course. They own factories across Europe. Can he get your husband released?’

‘He is trying but it is not easy. My husband is an expert in his field and they will not let him go if they still need him. There are no troublesome trade unions any longer at IG Farben. And he is a Jew. He is not important,’ she said bitterly.

‘But surely Farben is a respectable company . . .?’

‘You think so? They finance the Nazi Party.’

‘I did not know . . . Are you sure?’

‘I am sure. With Sir Simon’s help, I have done research. Georg von Schnitzler – he runs the company, you understand? – he is one of Hitler’s closest allies.’

‘But if Sir Simon cannot do anything, how can I help?’

‘You have friends in the Foreign Office . . .’

Edward sighed. ‘I will do my best but I am not hopeful. My influence is very limited, I am afraid, Mrs Berners.’

‘But that is not why I have come to you, Lord Edward,’ she said, suddenly eager. ‘Sir Simon . . . I owe him so much. He has been most kind but . . .’

‘But what . . . ?’

‘You know I am his personal secretary?’

‘Yes.’

‘So I see all his private papers.’

‘And you have seen something which worries you?’

‘What should I do if . . .? Is it wrong of me to say what I have seen in my confidential position?’ She literally wrung her hands.

‘Anything you tell me I will keep secret unless or until you give me permission to repeat it or until I discover the same information from other sources.’

‘You promise? Your word as an English gentleman, Lord Edward?’

‘You have my word on it.’

She seemed satisfied.

‘The Castlewood Foundation has a board of governors and Sir Simon is the chairman. One of his closest friends is an American, John Dulles, who is also on the board of IG Farben and Standard Oil of New Jersey.’

‘I fear many American businesses have links with the Nazis.’

‘I must tell him,’ she said suddenly resolute, ‘I cannot work for him if he helps the Nazis. They are doing terrible things to my people . . .’

‘Yes, you must tell him how you feel. Perhaps he will have some explanation . . .’

‘And there is more,’ she said slowly. ‘When I was in Cannes I heard . . .’

‘About the Institute of Beauty? I have been round it. There is nothing wrong with it that I could see.’

‘You have already suspected . . .?’

‘I have found nothing.’

‘Natalie told me in confidence – which I am now breaking because I feel I must – that the horrible man you met at Swifts Hill, Mr Montillo . . . he runs a laboratory and a hospital and they do . . . experiments.’

‘What sort of experiments?’

‘Natalie would not say exactly but she cried when she told me. She said they took babies away from their mothers and . . .’

‘And did what . . .?’ A chill struck Edward and he wished he did not have to hear what this woman was about to tell him.

‘They make experiments to see why races are different and why the Jews and races from the south . . . from Africa are inferior to the Aryans.’

‘Experiments on babies . . .?’ His voice was icy cold.

‘Natalie would not tell me very much but she said, when she slept, she had nightmares.’

After a minute Edward said. ‘You were right to tell me. I shall go back to France and see what I can find out. Perhaps there is some . . . some explanation . . .’

But what explanation could there possibly be, he thought, if what this woman was telling him was true, and what reason had she to lie? She owed Simon Castlewood her life and perhaps her husband’s life. She had struggled with her conscience and decided to confide in him. He wished she had not. He did not want to know, but now that he did, he had to know it all. It might be the evidence Churchill needed to get the Castlewood Foundation closed down.

As she was getting up to go, he tried to reassure her, ‘You did right to tell me, Mrs Berners.’

She took his hand and looked into his eyes. ‘Lisel. That is my name. Call me Lisel. No one else does in England. You will go on . . . finding out about the Foundation?’

‘I shall. If it is, as you suspect, corrupt, Sir Simon must somehow be shamed into seeing the error of its ways.’

‘And if he does not?’

‘Then the Foundation must be smashed. I will smash it.’ Edward spoke in a low voice but she did not for a moment doubt his resolve. ‘If you think of anything else, Lisel, which might help me, I hope you will let me know. And if . . . if you have to leave Swifts Hill, please let me know where you are. We may be able to help one another.’

He suddenly remembered that he wanted to ask her about Maud’s murder. It seemed almost trivial now.

‘Before you go, there is one question I must ask you about the day Miss Pitt-Messanger was murdered.’

She looked at him and a tiny smile curved about the corners of her mouth. ‘You think I killed the poor woman?’

‘No, but someone did. Did you see anything strange that day?’

‘It was all strange. That cricket. It is a game without proper rules, I think.’

‘Stop playing with me, Lisel. You know what I mean. Someone saw you come out of the pavilion just after Mah-Jongg was released.’

‘The old woman? I thought she had seen me. Yes, I did release him. I wanted him to escape his chains. It is cruel to keep him – a wild animal as a pet.’

‘He was quickly recaptured,’ Edward said drily.

‘Yes, as I knew he would be but, at least for a short time, he was free. My husband is a captive. Maybe he will never be free – not even for a moment.’

‘So, you did not release him to create a distraction? You see, while everyone was chasing Mah-Jongg, it seems likely Maud Pitt-Messanger was murdered.’