A Death for a Cause Read online

  ‘From what I could discover they are a very happy couple. No rumours. No children, but no scandal either.’

  ‘Drat,’ I said. ‘That means she was at the march for an entirely different reason.’

  ‘To kill Wilks?’ asked Bertram.

  ‘It is a bit of a stretch,’ I said, ‘but we do seem to have run out of other suspects.’

  Bertram slapped himself on the forehead. ‘The letter. We have forgotten all about the letter. We must visit the boarding house.’

  ‘Surely Aggie would have burnt it,’ I said.

  Bertram looked down his nose at me. ‘Most people,’ he said, ‘do not have our experience with espionage, conspiracy and secrecy. I doubt it would have occurred to her.’

  ‘Then we shall visit Mrs Breem after breakfast tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Now we know who Martha really is, it’s not as if she can run away.’

  ‘I am going to order a brandy,’ said Bertram suddenly. ‘This is all getting rather too much for me. Is there anything you would like?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I think it is time for me to go to bed,’ I said. ‘It has been a very long day and talking to my mother always takes it out of me.’

  As I left the room I heard Bertram muttering. It sounded like, ‘I do wish you wouldn’t use words like that.’ But that made no sense, so I readied myself for bed and within moments of slipping between the covers I was deeply asleep.

  The next morning dawned overcast, promising showers later in the day. Bertram and I sat downstairs in the Hotel dining room, picking at our breakfasts and casting glances out of the window. I suspect neither of us was keen to venture abroad in such weather. The gloom without was affecting even Bertram’s appetite. I had never before known him not take a second kipper. Finally, when neither of us could postpone the meal any longer, we rose and agreed to meet again in the lobby. Bertram had the task of finding us a cab and I went up to put on my hat and coat, and fetch his umbrella.

  We were almost at the boarding house when the clouds gave and a light rain began to fall. The air felt chill and I huddled down further into my coat. Eying me Bertram said, ‘I don’t suppose we could …’

  ‘No,’ I interrupted. ‘We do have to go through with this. Two people have died. I know little about Wilks, but Maisie was an innocent with all her life before her.’

  ‘Sometimes I hate having a sense of justice,’ moaned Bertram as he paid off the cabman.

  The boarding house, a narrow, many-storied terrace, must once have been handsome. Now it teetered on the edge of respectability, with sparkling windows but peeling window frames. A drop of rain slid down between my coat collar and my neck. I shivered and marched smartly up to the front door. I rang the bell before Bertram could stop me.

  It took a further two rings and a goodly time before we heard steps approaching the door. By this time the brim of my hat had begun to sag, and as it was one I particularly liked I was not in the best of moods when the door finally opened.

  Mrs Breem stood before us in all her glory, a fox fur round her neck, paste jewels at her throat, and dressed in a tight tweed suit that she must have bought when she was younger and thinner. ‘Ye-es,’ she drawled.

  ‘I am Aggie Phelps’ cousin,’ I said, suddenly inspired, ‘and this is my brother, Edwin. We have come to collect our poor Aggie’s effects.’

  ‘How do I know you are who you say you are?’ asked Mrs Breem, her eyes narrowing.

  ‘Good heavens,’ I replied sounded as shocked as I could. ‘Who would be as despicable as to pretend such a thing? I assure you I am indeed Aggie’s cousin and not some vulgarly curious sightseer!’ I regretted the words as soon as I had spoken them. I had given her good cause to doubt me.

  ‘You could be from the newspapers,’ said Mrs Breem. ‘I have already had a journalist here asking questions. I sent him away with a flea in his ear, I can tell you.’ I fancied a martial light flickered in her eyes. This was not going well.

  ‘We do appreciate that you will have had to re-let the room,’ said Bertram from behind me. ‘In fact I imagine that you may well be out of pocket.’ He smiled charmingly. ‘I know that Aggie would have hated such a thing to happen. She was always very precise about such things, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ I could see her suspicions were faltering. I deviated from character and kept my mouth shut.

  ‘Perhaps if you could work out her account,’ continued Bertram, ‘and we might have the effects? I imagine that there is not much. Aggie would have wanted her clothes given to charity, of course,’ he added with a masterstroke.

  Mrs Breem fairly leapt at this suggestion. ‘Indeed, and that is exactly what I have done –the clothes and a few other things.’

  ‘Is there nothing left?’ I cried, undoing all Bertram’s good work in a moment.

  ‘She did not have much, as you would know if you were her cousin,’ snapped the landlady.

  The edge of my hat dipped and a shower of raindrops fell on my shoe. Mrs Breem stepped back and seemed about to shut the door.

  ‘We most want to collect her correspondence,’ said Bertram. ‘Unless the police have already taken it.’ He coughed in an embarrassed manner. ‘I believe we must confide in you. Poor Aggie had got herself involved in a few escapades that weren’t quite the thing. The family don’t want it getting out and casting a shadow – as it were, either over us,’ he paused, ‘or even, potentially, over where she was staying.’

  A guinea later and we seated in a stuffy little parlour with a small box on the table in front of us. Using extreme politeness, Bertram managed to persuade Mrs Breem to leave us alone for a few minutes while we examined the contents.

  ‘What a deplorable woman,’ I said. ‘She must have sold all of Aggie’s effects as soon as she heard she was dead!’

  ‘Hush,’ whispered Bertram. ‘I think it unlikely she has gone further away than the other side of the door. I imagine she believed Aggie to be without relatives and was attempting to recoup her losses on rent until she could re-let the room.’

  ‘You approve?’

  ‘Of course not. I meant only that no other meaning should be ascribed to her actions. I do not believe she was attempting to hide anything.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘It never occurred to me the landlady might be involved.’

  Bertram made an exasperated noise. ‘That is the exact opposite of what I am suggesting! I am attempting to prevent you from mistaking greed for intelligence and coming up with yet another outlandish theory.’

  I barely heard him. I had opened the box and was shifting through the contents. ‘Laundry lists! Shopping lists! A recipe for meatloaf!’

  Bertram looked over my shoulder, ‘With capers. Interesting idea. I might suggest it to my cook.’

  ‘There’s nothing here!’ I cried. ‘No letter. Unless …’

  ‘Stop thinking like Fitzroy!’ snapped Bertram, pre-empting me. ‘It will not be in code. Besides, even if that laundry list were a code,’ he picked one up, glanced at it and blushed furiously, ‘we would not know how to decipher it.’

  ‘There is no letter from Lady Blake.’

  ‘Perhaps she had it with her when she died?’ suggested Bertram.

  ‘Fitzroy would have said.’

  ‘So the fabulous Fitzroy can now read ashes?’ said Bertram vulgarly.

  ‘Oh, I had forgotten. Do you think the firebomb was that extensive?’

  ‘According to the papers,’ answered Bertram, ‘the train carriage burnt right down to the undercarriage.’

  I was about to say something about the misleading tendencies of journalists when I recalled Bertram’s tragic (very short) romance with one, who had written a gossip column under the title of Lady Grey, and whose ambitions had been her downfall. ‘Quite,’ said Bertram, as if he had read my mind, ‘but if anything had been found I imagine he would have told you.’ There was a little too much emphasis on the word ‘he’ and the remarkable idea that Bertram might be becoming jealous of Fitzroy began to form in my mind. B
efore I could ask him if this were true the door opened and Mrs Breem came in. ‘I am afraid that is all the time I can allow you. I am a businesswoman with many claims upon my time.’

  ‘Thank you for your help,’ said Bertram, rising. ‘I believe we have seen all we need to see.’

  Impulsively I asked, ‘Did Aggie light the fire in her room on the day of the march?’

  Mrs Breem’s face darkened. The girls are told by me when fires are allowed. Such a mess they make. Only in the coldest times do I permit their use.’

  ‘So she did?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes. I remember because it was quite out of character for her. She was never one to flout rules in the general way of things. A quiet respectable woman, I always thought. Well, we all know different now, don’t we? The room still smells of smoke despite the expensive of extra cleaning.’

  Silently Bertram handed her a few more coins, although this time I could see there was nothing more than silver in them. Mrs Breem, both offended but also unwilling to let go of an extra penny, showed us to the door and told us not to come back.

  We stood on the doorstep in the rain. ‘She burnt it,’ I said miserably.

  ‘It seems likely,’ said Bertram. ‘I am sorry, Euphemia. I think this must be the end of it. We have nowhere else left to look.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Bertram plays poker

  Seated once more in the back of a cab, I felt almost as low as I had upon my father’s own sudden demise. I gave a big sigh. Bertram laid his hand lightly on mine. ‘We have done everything we could.’

  ‘I still feel that I have failed,’ I said sadly.

  ‘Even the great Fitzroy was stumped by this one,’ said Bertram lightly.

  ‘Yes, but he was not in the cell when Maisie was killed. I feel responsible. How could I not have noticed?’

  ‘You had had a difficult and trying day,’ said Bertram. ‘I do not doubt you were exhausted. Besides what reason did you have to think she was in danger.’

  I turned my head to face him, blinking back tears. ‘She was so young, Bertram, and she was so scared. I should have tried harder to get her to talk to me.’

  ‘I am sure you did all you could.’

  ‘I wish I thought so,’ I replied. ‘I fear my guilt over her death will always weigh heavily on me.’

  ‘That is ridiculous,’ said Bertram. ‘The guilt lies with the killer.’

  ‘I am not sure emotions can be over-ruled by rationality. I do know that I am not wholly to blame, but I was a participant in the actions around her death. If I had played my part differently …’

  Bertram rapped on the cab with his cane. Then he redirected us to the Blake’s house.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Have I ever told you, Euphemia, that I am rather good at poker? I don’t play very much because generally I find gambling somewhat of a bore. Or at least the people who play it are, but in the gentleman’s clubs in town I am known as ‘Bluffing Bertie.’

  ‘No,’ I said shocked.

  ‘No, well, but I should be,’ said Bertram. ‘I am remarkably good at bluffing at cards.’ I must have looked doubtful. In my limited experience Bertram was extremely prone to blushing. ‘It is all in the mind set,’ he said. ‘Once one thinks oneself into the game. It is straightforward. Players have many different strategies. I run through the number of fish I know.’

  ‘Fish?’ I said bewildered.

  ‘Yes, I name all the freshwater ones I can think of first and then I move on to the sea ones. If I have to continue I run through the alphabet naming fruit. In my head of course.’

  ‘You mean you concentrate on not thinking about the bluff?’ I said as understanding dawned. Bertram nodded eagerly. ‘But how does this help us?’

  ‘I say,’ said Bertram, ‘we visit the Blakes. We let Lady Blake know we have made the acquaintance of Mrs Breem and that we know all.’

  ‘But we don’t know anything. We only suspect.’

  ‘That’s the bluff.’

  ‘But we have no idea why Lady Blake would have done this!’ I protested. ‘If indeed she did.’

  ‘It will be love, money, fear of scandal, or all three,’ said Bertram. ‘Perhaps she was having an affair with Wilks and he threatened to leave her.’

  ‘Or was blackmailing her over it?’ I said. ‘There are a thousand and one reasons.’

  ‘That’s why we are going to bluff,’ said Bertram. ‘We are going to make her think we know.’

  ‘This is a very adventurous plan for you,’ I said. ‘Even I am daunted.’

  ‘I am not totally adverse to risk, you know,’ said Bertram, looking hurt. ‘Besides, you are so upset by this damn business and Fitzroy has swanned off, abandoning you.’

  ‘So you are going to fix what Fitzroy could not?’ I said, a smile playing on my lips.

  ‘Yes, I damn well am!’ said Bertram.

  I felt this plan was the height of foolishness, but I did not have the heart to stop him. Bertram had his pride like any other man. I only hoped he could pull it off.

  When the cab drew up outside the Blakes’ London residence I half expected sense to have taken up its rightful place in Bertram’s brains once more, but it appeared not. He paid the cabman and helped me out. ‘What if they are not in?’

  ‘It is luncheon time. If she is not at home then I shall persuade the butler to tell us where she is engaged and we will go and wait for her,’ said Bertram and strode up to the front door.

  Our bearing, accents, and visiting cards ensured the butler admitted us. However, he set us to wait in a side room as luncheon was about to be served. ‘I fear you will have to wait, sir, madam. Unless you would like to call later in the day?’ he said hopefully.

  ‘I am afraid our business with Lady Blake is of some urgency,’ said Bertram.

  ‘In that case I shall see if some tea and fruit can be sent up to you,’ said the butler bowing slightly. ‘Unless you would prefer sherry?’

  I could see from Bertram’s face he was on the verge of asking for a swift brandy, but he pulled himself back from the brink and declined for both of us.

  We were in a small morning room that overlooked the street. On a good day doubtless the large windows made it a very pleasant room. The furniture, much padded, was of blue and white and in brighter light might have been quite cheering. However, today it was cold and somehow sad. The fire had not been lit and the empty black hearth reminded me of a black abyss. I said as much to Bertram and he told me to stop daydreaming. The door opened, but instead of the butler, a well-dressed, middle-aged man with iron grey hair and a serious demeanour entered.

  ‘I am Harrington Blake,’ he announced. ‘I hear you wish to see my wife? I am afraid, Mr Stapleford, Miss St John, your names are quite unknown to me.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Bertram. ‘We are most sorry to disturb you, but our business concerns only your wife.’

  ‘When a strange man demands to see his wife might a husband not enquire the reason why?’

  ‘My mother, Mrs Martins, is engaged to your wife’s cousin,’ I said desperately. ‘Mr Stapleford is merely escorting me.’

  ‘Which one?’

  At this point I realised that my mother had not told me her beau’s name. ‘The Bishop,’ I said hoping that the Blake family were not generally ecumenically minded.

  ‘Oh, Larry,’ said Sir Harrington. ‘I had heard something of that. Still, it is a very strange time to call, young lady.’

  ‘The matter is urgent,’ piped up Bertram.

  ‘Very well,’ said Sir Harrington, ‘I shall send for my wife to join us, but I will remain. My wife has been out of sorts of late. She has recently returned from a short period of convalescence, but it seems to have done little to restore her.’

  Bertram and I exchanged glances. Did her husband really not know where she had been?

  Sir Harrington rang for the butler, who appeared with a tea tray which he set down and then went to find Lady Blake.

  T
he lady entered the room, glancing from Bertram to I and I thought I saw a flash of fear, but it was quickly covered as she swept in to kiss me on both cheeks. ‘Euphemia, how charming! Your mother did not tell me that you were going to call on us.’

  ‘We have been so see Mrs Breem,’ said Bertram.

  Lady Blake paled.

  ‘She allowed us to look through Aggie Phelps’ effects,’ I said gently. ‘To see her letters.’

  Lady Blake sank down onto a chair. Her husband hurried to her side. ‘My dear, do you feel unwell. Shall I send for a doctor.’

  ‘Tea,’ said Lady Blake, ‘some tea, Harry.’

  Her husband hurriedly poured her a cup and passed it to her. Lady Blake took one sip and pulled a face. ‘I never take sugar with China tea. You should know that my now.’

  And then I knew. I knew she had killed Maisie, but how on earth was it ever to be proved?

  Harrington Blake turned on us. ‘I don’t know what you are about, but you have distressed my wife. I must ask you to leave this house immediately.’

  I ignored him. ‘Did Maisie see something?’ I asked. ‘Was it you that set the bomb. Is that why she had to die?’

  ‘Die? Bomb? What are you blathering about?’ demanded Blake.

  ‘And Aggie, did she have any idea she would die? Did she think it was some kind of test? Whatever Wilks did to you, you killed two innocent women. What could be worth such evil?’

  ‘And you tried to put the blame on the suffragettes,’ said Bertram.

  Lady Blake gave a low moan and her cup tipped out of her hand. Sir Harrington knelt beside her. ‘My dear, you are unwell. You must go upstairs and rest. I will deal with these people.’

  Lady Blake brought her mouth close to her husband’s ear and whispered something. Harrington went white. He helped his wife to her feet. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘I will arrange matters.’

  Lady Blake tottered to the door. She had aged before our very eyes. She shut the door carefully behind her without looking back. ‘Now,’ said Sir Harrington Blake turning to us, ‘I don’t know what you think you know, but I should warn you I am a man of significance in this country and I will not stand to see my wife slandered in any way whatsoever.’