A Particular Eye for Villainy: (Inspector Ben Ross 4) (23 page)

Elizabeth Martin Ross

WALLY SLATER drove me at a sedate pace across London and set me down at my own front door. He clambered down from his perch and accepted his fare with a sigh.

‘I’m pleased to see you, ma’am, but not too pleased to know you’re meddling in murders again. There’s been another one, ain’t there? Near to where I picked you up? That bluebottle as was sent out to find a cab for you, told me of it.’

‘The constable should not have gossiped,’ I said crossly.

‘I asked him, didn’t I? The minute I saw him bringing you along. What does your old man think of you poking your nose in like you do?’

‘My husband,’ I said with dignity, ‘has learned to live with it.’

Wally chuckled. ‘Well, I dare say he knew what he was getting when he married you.’

‘You are going to tell me it’s not respectable,’ I interrupted.

‘She keeps well, I hope?’ I asked politely.

‘Oh, the old girl keeps well enough, excepting her knees which gives her trouble. Well, neither of us is getting any younger. Nor is Nelson here.’ He patted his horse’s rump.

‘He looks fit.’

‘He is fit, ’cos he’s well looked after. I spent an hour this morning early, grooming him and getting him ready to take out. That and cleaning all the harness and keeping the cab itself spick and span, it’s a job in itself, without driving it round the town all day.’

‘You could do with some help, perhaps?’ I asked thoughtfully.

He nodded, grimacing. ‘I’d have to pay and it would have to be someone I could trust. Nelson and I, we’ve worked together a few years now. I rely on him and he relies on me.’

Nelson swung his head round and blew gustily through his nostrils at us.

‘He’s asking’, explained Wally, ‘what I’m doing hanging around here talking to you when I could be out looking for a fare.’ He turned to climb back on to his perch.

‘Mr Slater!’ I called up to him impetuously. ‘If I could find a boy, who wouldn’t cost you much and really likes horses, to help you out, would you be interested?’

He stared down at me. ‘I might. I don’t say yes and I don’t say no. Depends.’

‘I do have someone in mind. He’s quite a small boy, I mean in size. I don’t know how old he is, but I suppose him to be about ten or eleven. He’s very observant and bright.’

‘I respect your opinion,’ said Wally. ‘If you says he’s bright, then he is. But he’s got to be able to reach up to groom Nelson, so if he’s a real little’un, that might be a problem.’

‘Oh, I think he could do that, or stand on a box. He’s the sort of boy who, if he set himself to do something, would find a way to do it.’

‘Would he now?’ asked Wally drily. ‘Seems to me, meaning no disrespect to your good self, that you and this boy are much of a kind. Bring him along.’

‘Leave it with me,’ I said confidently. ‘Only it might take me a little time. I don’t know where he is at the moment. I shall have to find him.’

‘I hopes’, said Wally grimly, ‘as I have not let meself in for something. And he’d have to pass muster with Mrs Slater, you know! Mrs Slater is very particular. She wouldn’t have anyone hanging round the place she thought would look bad as far as the neighbours is concerned! If you get hold of him, take him to Mrs Slater. Then she’ll decide on it and let me know what I think.’ He chuckled.

‘Rely on me, Mr Slater.’

He only gave me a look, touched the brim of his hat and called to Nelson to ‘Walk on!’ The growler rumbled away.

Inspector Benjamin Ross

Dunn’s words had completely taken away my gift of speech for the moment. The woman in the hussar jacket seemed unperturbed. She nodded graciously at me in acknowledgement of the introduction and said, in English,

Two things occurred to me at once. One was that the lady spoke good English, with an attractive accent, in a low husky voice. Had Jenkins been lying when he’d told Lizzie that his lady client spoke little English? Had it just been a ploy to require his presence as interpreter at any future interview? Or had he really not known that she had good command of the language? I didn’t doubt this
was
his elusive female client (even without a description of her hat to go by, and in spite of the colour of her hair now being black).

The second thing to strike me was how self-possessed the lady appeared. At any rate she was not pretending excess grief. She showed little at all. Perhaps she was someone with extraordinary command over her emotions. Perhaps she was just too shrewd to fake what she didn’t feel. But could she really be the widow of Thomas Tapley, so recently deceased and whose mortal remains still lay unburied? Thomas’s corpse had been removed, at Jonathan Tapley’s insistence, to an undertaker’s establishment. It rested there, encased in an expensive coffin, awaiting instructions.

Perhaps she could read minds or, at least, read
mine
. Not a muscle of her face twitched, but comprehension gleamed in her dark eyes as she watched me.

Her self-control slipped there for a second and she smiled coquettishly. At once she seemed to realise it was inappropriate in the circumstances. In the firm, contained way in which she’d begun, she continued, ‘I have kept a lodging house of respectable name there for some years. Thomas came to live with me there nearly four years ago, first as a paying guest and then as my husband.’

For my benefit Dunn silently held up an official-looking document that had been lying on his desk. He barely met my eye.

‘I have told Superintendent Dunn that I have no objection at all to his keeping my marriage certificate for a little, long enough to verify that the marriage is properly registered. But you will keep it safe, Superintendent?’ she turned to Dunn. ‘I must have it returned.’

‘Of course, madame,’ said Dunn gruffly. He dropped the certificate back on his desk.

It occurred to me that he was as much at sea here as I was.

‘You speak very good English, madame,’ I said, adopting the form of address Dunn had used to her.

Again that graceful inclination of her head. ‘Thank you.’

But no indication of where she’d acquired the skill! This was a very clever lady. She placed her cards on the table one at a time, with great care. Information would have to be finessed from her. I began with the obvious.

‘May I ask whether you have been able to pay your respects to your late husband? If not, it can be arranged.’

‘I have just come from the undertaker’s, Inspector. I needed to satisfy myself that it is indeed my poor Thomas, before I came here to see you.’

She had just viewed the body? And yet not even a tear?

‘Mrs Tapley,’ said Dunn woodenly, ‘has signed a declaration that the body is that of her husband.’

‘Mr Thomas Tapley,’ I began tentatively to take my questioning further, ‘returned to this country
alone
early last year. It seems it is quite some time since you last saw him – and he was then alive. I am indeed sorry for your distress.’ (Not that she was showing any. If she thought my words ironic, then so be it.) ‘But I must ask you about the circumstances under which you parted. Was there an estrangement? Had you agreed—’

‘No!’ she was quick to interrupt. ‘It did not come about like that at all. It is true he disappeared early last year. I have been seeking him anxiously all the time since, Inspector. Unfortunately, I was looking in France.’

Dunn’s features twitched but he said nothing, content to let me flounder.

‘In France? You didn’t think to find him in this country? Being an Englishman . . .’

‘But one who lived and had lived for many years in France. Who had married me in France. Who lived with me in our home there. Who never spoke of leaving or had any reason to do so.’

Again she’d been quick to interrupt but perhaps I didn’t look impressed. She broke off and sighed.

‘Then, one day, he disappeared without any warning at all. I returned to the house to find he had gone and taken his travelling chest with him. I traced a carter who had taken him from Montmartre into central Paris. The man had been delivering fresh vegetables to the market area of Les Halles. He had deposited Thomas, and his box, at a cab rank nearby. I hurried to this place but . . .’

‘You did not think he might have returned to England?’ I insisted.

‘At first, no.’ She shook her head, drawing my eye again to the hat with the lavender rosebuds. ‘Why should I think that? Thomas had always told me he had left England for good. He called it shaking the dust from his feet. Is that not the expression?’

‘Yes,’ Dunn and I chimed in unison. Then we exchanged furtive glances.

‘I was afraid,’ our visitor was saying, ‘that Thomas, in a confused state of mind, was wandering somewhere in France. He might have forgotten his very name. Now I learn that he had not done that. But clearly he had forgotten our home in Montmartre. I am sorry to say that the French police were of no help. I put notices requesting information in provincial newspapers, to no avail. Eventually, in my desperation, I began to wonder if he had returned to England after all; and I must come to this country to seek for him, but . . .’ she spread her hands in a particularly foreign gesture. ‘To follow him here and search for him would cost me much money. I did not then have it. I had to save for a long time and only towards the end of last year, late October, did I have enough to allow me to make the journey and stay here to search for him. But now it is only to learn that I am a widow.’ She cast down her eyes disconsolately.

‘My condolences once more,’ I said. ‘May I ask from whom you learned of his death?’

She raised her dark eyes and stared fully at me. ‘Thomas had spoken to me of a cousin, Jonathan, who lived in London. At first I did not want to approach him because I understood there to have been some disagreement between the two of them. But yesterday I sent him a note, explaining who I was. I had become quite desperate, you see, because I had found no trace of Thomas. This morning I received a note in return, asking that I call at an address in Gray’s Inn Road. It is a legal chambers, as I believe they are called here. Jonathan Tapley is a lawyer – an
avocat
– and has his office in that building. So I went there earlier today, and he told me the tragic news. Poor Thomas is dead and worse, he has been murdered!’

Now she took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. ‘I cannot speak more of it now,
messieurs
. I am too shocked.’

‘Indeed, you must be,’ I sympathised. ‘Are you all alone in London, madame?’

‘Yes, quite alone,’ she told me mournfully. She rose to her feet. ‘I beg you will excuse me, gentlemen. You have my address, Superintendent. It is a small hotel, not expensive, you understand. But I shall stay there and you can easily find me – or send a message, and I will come here.’

Before either of us quite knew what was happening, she had risen and was on her way to the door. There was nothing to do but open it for her, and call to a constable in the room beyond to escort the lady downstairs to the street.

‘Well, Ross?’ Dunn asked when we were alone. ‘What do you make of all that?’

‘She’ll return,’ I said, ‘because we have her marriage certificate and I don’t doubt for a minute that, if we ask the French police to check it, we’ll find the marriage properly registered. The certificate is genuine and she’ll want it back.’

‘But is
she
genuine?’ Dunn squinted at me.

‘Who knows? I fancy we are dealing with a clever woman, sir,’ I said bluntly.

‘Ah, yes, that, of course, and a fine-looking one.’ Dunn turned his shrewd little eyes on me. ‘But is she also, do you think, a murderess?’

I could only grin wryly. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she had it in her. She’s as cool as an iceberg. But, if she killed anyone, I can imagine poison might be her method. Will you contact the French police, sir?’

‘Yes, yes . . . you keep after this woman and question her again. See if she admits hiring a detective, this Jenkins. Oh, you had better look at this . . .’ Dunn handed me the marriage certificate.

‘My, my,’ I said, casting my eyes over it. ‘So before her marriage to Thomas Tapley, the lady was Mademoiselle Victorine Guillaume.’ I returned the certificate to Dunn. ‘Let’s not forget the couple by the name of Guillaume who visited Major Griffiths at The Old Hall and showed such interest in The Hall’s absent owners. They were supposedly brother and sister. Surely the surname being the same cannot just be coincidental? So, let us suppose Victorine was the woman. Who played the role of her brother? Where is this “brother” now?’