The Ebenezer Papers Page 17

  What happened to Emily had been an enormous shock to her, and I believed she would stop supporting Mosley now. Her views had been influenced by their friendship, although she had always been somewhat intolerant of other religions and immigrants, even those fleeing for their lives, as so many were now from Germany. Arthur, on the other hand, detested Mosley and all he stood for.

  So this was why Jean had shown no signs of worry when I thought she was being blackmailed. I had been so sure about what was going on, a deduction based on the two murders, the Greenes hurriedly leaving their luxury apartment, the hidden yacht, Charlie Jones being killed, and the letter in Hyde Park. And I had got part of it right. George Crawleigh had indeed been killed so that Ginger would be out of gaol on Monday in time to pick up Jean’s letter as usual on Tuesday. But I was totally wrong about what was in the letters.

  I should have been relieved, but I wasn’t. Far from it. In fact, I found myself wishing it had been blackmail. For what I feared was really happening was too terrifying to contemplate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It wasn’t easy to put those fears out of my mind, but first I had to concentrate on finding Ginger. ‘This ginger-haired man --- what do you know about him?’ I asked as casually as I could.

  ‘Nothing really. According to Oswald he wasn’t a Blackshirt, he was only interested in the money. Oswald used him to run errands and said he was ideal because he did what he was told without asking questions. Of course, normally, I wouldn’t be seen dead with such a common man which, as Oswald pointed out, made him the perfect messenger. And he was always there, every Tuesday. Even when it rained.’

  ‘Every Tuesday?’ I repeated, unable to help myself. I’d hoped it was much less often.

  ‘Only when I was in town, of course. I added a note if I was going to be away. There was always something to pass on. Some evenings Arthur talked about little else except Mosley and the Fascists. None of it seemed very important to me, but Oswald said it was helpful. And he promised to organise our arrangement so that no-one would ever know about it.’

  ‘I bet he did,’ I murmured.

  Missing the faint sarcasm in my voice she said, ‘Well, Oswald is a gentlemen, when all’s said and done.’ I kept my lips firmly shut, and she went on. ‘Liddy, what makes you think my messenger is involved with these murders and the attempts on-----------?’

  She stopped in mid-sentence as the door opened and Arthur walked into the room. Kissing his wife’s cheek, he said, ‘Thought I’d come down early to give you a hand.’

  It was impossible to talk to Jean alone again after that, as they had so much to do, but if Ginger wasn’t caught soon I intended to ask her to send one more message. A set-up to get him arrested and save Mr. Taverner from the gallows. With the trial due to start in about three weeks, time was running out.

  I asked Arthur if Johnny was in the office today, as I wanted a quick word. He took one look at my face and grinned. ‘Yes, but he has to go out soon, so ring now.’

  I did so at once and luckily Johnny was still there. When I asked what time he expected to arrive tomorrow evening, he said, ‘I don’t know. It might be late. Possibly very late. Why?’

  ‘I need to speak to you alone. There’s something I must tell you and it won’t be easy.’

  ‘Tell me now,’ he urged abruptly.

  ‘I can’t. Not over the telephone. I’ll see you at the party.’

  That night I lay awake for ages, thinking about what Jean had told me, and the fact that I was wrong about her being blackmailed. I’d been so sure I was right too, which made me think of how my father used to tease me whenever I made that kind of statement. Except that this was too serious to joke about. I was pretty certain Mosley had kept his promise about ensuring no-one would guess Jean was the source of his information. But the chain of events that I now feared had followed on from what he’d arranged, made me quake every time I thought of it.

  As for the Greenes, I still believed they were criminals. Why else would they move out of their apartment in such haste, and hide their yacht in a quiet backwater, fully equipped for a quick getaway? But, if they weren’t blackmailing Jean, they probably weren’t involved with the murders either. I couldn’t help wondering what they had done, certainly their luxurious style of living suggested they were big time crooks. But if, as the charlady said, Ginger’s father kept him short of money, then money was the reason Ginger collected Jean’s letters.

  On Friday I helped Jean check that the guest bedrooms were in perfect order, especially those assigned to the King and Mrs. Simpson, and then we worked out the seating arrangements for dinner. What I enjoyed most was organising the treasure hunt that was to take place on Sunday in the extensive grounds. Jean wanted the clues in verse, and we spent more time laughing than writing, and in doing so I forgot everything else.

  Once the first guests began to arrive, late that afternoon, the house was alive with bustle and laughter. I couldn’t wait to see Johnny, but he didn’t turn up in time for dinner, and afterwards when everyone sat around talking in the drawing room, I kept glancing out of the window hoping to see him driving up in his little MG sports car. When he failed to appear at all that day I assumed he was caught up in work and would be there in the morning.

  But when he didn’t appear at breakfast I asked Arthur if Johnny had telephoned. He shook his head. ‘I’m sure he’ll be along shortly, Liddy.’ He spoke casually enough, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

  A boat trip round the Isle of Wight had been arranged for today, with lunch on board, and I knew Johnny was looking forward to it. I tried ringing his flat again, but there was no answer. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t here. He wasn’t forgetful; in fact he was the most reliable of men. If he couldn’t keep an arrangement he never failed to let people know, yet there had been no message to explain his absence. He’d promised Arthur to be there Friday evening, and had told me he couldn’t wait until the weekend to see me again. There was no way he’d suddenly turn up after all this time with some lame excuse.

  As the minutes passed I became increasingly worried, and my fingers were trembling when I dressed for the boat trip. I put on a pair of slacks and a long sleeved blouse, grabbed my handbag, and went down into the hall where I could watch out for Johnny. Jean and Arthur were busy collecting their numerous guests and settling them in the luxurious coaches hired to transport everyone to Lymington, where an even more luxurious boat awaited us. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect; the sun shone from a clear blue sky and there was virtually no wind. Everyone was looking forward to the trip, and I would have done so too if Johnny had been here, or had at least telephoned to say why he couldn’t make it.

  When I saw a car racing towards the house my heart leapt, but it was only a couple of guests who’d gone out for an early morning drive. Jean hurried them onto a coach and I knew I had only a few minutes to decide what to do. I didn’t want to go without Johnny, and I had just decided Jean would never miss me amongst so many if I stayed here, when the King and Mrs. Simpson wandered into the hall, as if they had all the time in the world.

  The King was clearly in a jovial mood. ‘What – not on the coach yet, Mrs. York?’

  I forced a smile. ‘I was hoping Johnny would arrive in time to join us.’

  ‘If you mean Johnny Alverstone, I don’t think he’ll be here today.’

  Mrs. Simpson chortled, ‘I’m quite sure he won’t. When we left London yesterday we saw him cuddling a redhead on the back seat of a chauffeured car.’

  Somehow I managed not to gasp. ‘Are you sure it was Johnny?’

  ‘Absolutely certain,’ the King said. ‘The woman had the most attractive long auburn hair. Not the fashion, of course, but it looked good on her. Johnny’s a lucky fellow.’

  I held myself together long enough to ask, ‘Did you notice what kind of car it was?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Mrs. Simpson said, as if it was of no importance. ‘Did you, David?’

  ‘
A black Mercedes. Nice looking car.’

  I became aware I was shaking. This couldn’t be happening to me again. Not with Johnny. The first time I realised Archie was being unfaithful was when I’d seen him, quite by accident, assisting a beautiful redhead into his car and driving off, an hour after he’d told me he had to go to York on business. I’d lost count of his conquests after that, and he made little attempt to hide them.

  Johnny was not like Archie. I was absolutely certain he wasn’t. Yet the King had no reason to lie. So it must have been him. Yet, on Wednesday he’d said he couldn’t wait to see me on Friday, and now, instead of racing down to Hampshire, he’d gone off with a redhead. And I could not bear it. Could not bear Johnny to behave like Archie. The room began to sway alarmingly and I heard the King say, as if from a long way off, ‘Here I say Mrs York, are you quite well?’

  The next thing I was aware of was finding myself stretched out on a chaise longue, with the King patting my hand in a most concerned manner. When I looked up at him, he explained kindly, ‘You fainted, my dear.’

  ‘Did I? I’ve never done that before.’ I tried to sit up, but my head was still swimming.

  ‘We should have had lunch first,’ the King said, suggesting that was why I’d fainted. ‘I’m feeling rather peckish myself.’

  Mrs. Simpson, who had left the room, came back in accompanied by the butler. ‘The servants will look after Mrs. York now, David. We ought to get on.’

  ‘Mrs. Simpson is right, sir,’ I managed to say. ‘Better that I stay here.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. I think........’

  ‘Do come on, David. Or they’ll go without us.’

  The King laughed. ‘They wouldn’t dare.’ But he straightened up and having obtained the butler’s assurance that every care would be taken of me, he and Mrs. Simpson went to join the others. At my request, the butler brought me a sandwich and a pot of tea, by which time I was sitting up, feeling somewhat better. Thanking him with a smile, I insisted that he go and have his lunch, this being the time the servants enjoyed a substantial meal.

  I finished my sandwich, drank two cups of tea, and tried to work out what was going on. Anyone seeing Johnny and this redhead would react exactly as the King and Mrs. Simpson had done. I told myself Johnny would never behave in that way. He wasn’t that kind of man. Yet the King had seen them cuddling.

  If Johnny came up with an excuse now I thought, sick with misery, I would know he was lying. It was the fact that he hadn’t telephoned that really puzzled me. Even Archie had done that. It was then I remembered how Johnny had reacted when I rang him on Thursday morning, saying I had something to tell him, and that it wasn’t going to be easy for me.

  Telling him about Jean and her letters to Mosley would be difficult, yet I had to do it. I had no choice. But he might have thought I meant to turn down his proposal of marriage. That I was going to say I could only ever think of him as a friend.

  With the guests gone on their outing, and the servants at lunch, the place was deserted, and thinking a walk in the gardens might clear my head, I went up to my bedroom to fetch a hat, as it was rather hot. My room was at the back of the house, and as I put my hat on, I casually glanced out of the window. There was a car parked close to a rear door, and the sight of it made me gasp.

  It was a blue Lagonda. Ginger’s blue Lagonda. I recognised the number plate. I gazed at it, utterly stupefied. What on earth was Ginger doing here? Then I saw him walking towards his car from the direction of the garage. At the same time, a grey-haired, slightly plump man of medium height, emerged from the house, and with the aid of a walking stick, made his way unhurriedly to the Lagonda with all the bearing of a titled gentleman.

  The description Edward Greene’s charlady had given me of Ginger’s father, left me in no doubt of his identity. Both men were wearing gloves, which struck me as odd in this hot weather, and the father carried a small but expensive looking suitcase in his left hand. Ginger jumped into the driving seat, his father climbed in beside him, carefully stowing the walking stick by his left side, and resting the suitcase on his lap. Both doors were shut soundlessly and Ginger drove off, heading quite slowly towards the lane at the back of the grounds, which was normally only used by those familiar with the estate. This led to a winding road that ran through open country before reaching a main road.

  But what were they doing here? And what did the father have in that small suitcase? Instinctively I rushed over to my dressing table and checked my jewellery box. It was shut, but when I lifted the lid, I saw it was completely empty. The pearls my mother had given me had gone, as had a diamond bracelet and a silver brooch of which I was particularly fond. Unlike most of the female guests, I had brought very little jewellery, yet if mine had been stolen, then every other bedroom must have been ransacked too.

  At last I understood why the Greenes had left their apartment so hurriedly, and why they’d hidden their yacht. It wasn’t to cover up something they’d done. It was to safeguard what they were planning to do. The stolen jewellery would be worth an absolute fortune. The necklace Jean had worn at dinner last night was a family heirloom, and every woman had been envious of the bracelets Mrs. Simpson had shown off. Yet those jewels were nothing compared to what would have been worn for the anniversary dinner tonight, when many would be eager to out-do Mrs. Simpson.

  Ginger had obviously found out who Jean was. Perhaps he’d followed her home after collecting her letter, or seen a newspaper or magazine photograph of her at some function. In which case, one look at her beautiful, highly expensive house in Belgravia, would have told him she was a very rich woman. The newspapers had all reported that the three hundredth anniversary shindig was taking place this weekend, and some had printed a list of rich people who would be there. It was robbery, not blackmail, that enabled these villains to live as they did. Their charlady had said the father didn’t go out to work, and possessed many beautiful things. Now I saw why his waste paper basket had contained two photographs of Mrs. Simpson; close-ups, showing off her expensive jewellery in detail.

  The robbery was a professional job; carried out at exactly the right moment, when the guests were on their outing, and the servants were at lunch. But at least I knew where the Greenes were going. Their yacht was at Hamble, ready for a quick getaway, and doubtless they’d hoped to be well out to sea before anyone realised the jewels were missing.

  The money I’d left in a drawer had gone too, and a quick look at Jean’s bedroom told me it had also been ransacked. I raced back for my handbag, which was on my bed, and ran down to the hall with the intention of chasing after them in my car. I’d reached the bottom of the staircase before I remembered my car was at Uncle Freddie’s. Seizing the hall telephone, I rang Easing House. The butler answered my call and I asked him to inform Al I had to get to Hamble urgently, and to drive over in casual clothes.

  Next I rang Inspector Nabber, but his wife said he’d gone to see a friend, who was not on the telephone. I begged her to call a taxi immediately and go to the friend’s house. ‘Tell him the Greenes are heading for their yacht right now, and I’m going to Hamble myself.’ Before she could answer, the line suddenly went dead, and I swore under my breath. The Greenes must have cut the wire on their way out. I prayed Mrs. Nabber would do as I’d asked.

  Under normal circumstances I would have told Arthur’s butler to get the local police in, but I knew Inspector Nabber wouldn’t want them getting in his way. As for the servants, most had the afternoon off, and wouldn’t realise there had been a robbery until much later. No-one had seen me go up to my room and I simply left a note in the hall telling the butler I didn’t want to interrupt their meal, and that I’d gone to see my son.

  I waited for Al outside, ready to jump into the Rolls the instant he drew up, but it was half an hour before he appeared, time I’d spent pacing up and down, agonising over why he was taking so long. Jumping out the car, he instantly apologised, ‘Sorry, Mrs York, I’m afraid the car’s in trouble. It’s losing o
il and.............’

  ‘Then we’ll borrow a car,’ I said and quickly told him about the robbery as we hurried over to where the guests’ cars were parked. But, as we soon saw, all the tyres on every car had been slashed, including those in the garage.

  ‘So that’s what Ginger was doing,’ I muttered in frustration, explaining that I’d seen him heading for the Lagonda from the direction of the garage, just as his father came out of the house.

  ‘He made a good job of it, Mrs. York. But at least we know where they’re going.’

  ‘Yes, but how can we stop them leaving the country? I can’t ring for a taxi, the telephone’s not working. They probably cut the wire on the way out. They took all my spare money too. I only have a couple of pounds on me. That won’t be enough.’

  Al searched his own pockets and said, ‘I’ve got one pound note, two shillings, four pennies and a farthing.’

  I looked round the garage for inspiration and spotted a bicycle half hidden at the back. Al pulled it out and announced in surprise, ‘It’s a goddam tandem.’

  ‘Is it in working order?’

  He checked it over quickly. ‘I reckon so.’

  ‘Well, I’m game if you are.’

  His mouth dropped open, and then he began to laugh. ‘Okay. Where are we going?’

  ‘To the station. We’ll get a train to Southampton, and a taxi from there. We ought to have enough money to do that.’

  It wasn’t as difficult riding a tandem as I’d feared. Al got on the front and held it steady while I climbed onto the back, and off we went, a bit wobbly at first, but we soon got the hang of it. We took the same route as the Greenes had, that being the quickest way to the nearest station. Riding along the country road we saw no-one, except a yokel leaning over a farm gate, who gazed at us in such astonishment, the cigarette he was smoking dropped out of his mouth straight into a cowpat, which had us both chortling.