“With the exception of a temporary footman hired from an agency, the servants were all the country ones. I gather Apton Magna is a pretty poor place. They weren’t going to say anything that might mean they’d lose their jobs.”
The thin house in Clarges Street that had been rented by the Tremaines was standing empty. They got the key from the factor and let themselves in, then searched high and low, Harry crawling along the floor-boards, to see if one bloodstain might have been overlooked.
“She might have been killed here,” said Harry. “She certainly wasn’t killed in that boat or there would have been a lot more blood.”
“The pathologist said that costume had been put on her after her death and the blood from the wound on her chest had seeped through the material.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“You’re not in the force and I have plenty of other cases taking up my time, which reminds me, if you’re finished here I’d like to get back to the Yard.”
♦
“I hate being passed over just because I’m a woman,” raged Rose, walking up and down her sitting-room. “I’d like to show him I can detect better than he can. I’d like to go down to Apton Magna and get the parents’ reaction to the fact that their precious son was consorting with a criminal. But how are we to get out of the house without Turner and two footmen following us?”
“I’ve an idea,” said Daisy. “‘Member that ladder we used to get over the garden wall? It’s at the side of the garden. If we left, say, about five in the morning, the staff would still be asleep. We could sneak out and get the early-morning train at Paddington.”
“We’ll do it!” said Rose.
Harry set out to find the temporary footman who had worked for the Tremaines. His name was Will Hubbard and his address was number five Sweetwater Lane in the City.
After the Great Fire, plans had been drawn up to build a modern City out of the ashes, with airy streets and wide boulevards. But there turned out to be so many claims from property owners who would demand heavy compensation if, say, a street ran through where their buildings used to be, that the new City, the commercial hub of London, rose again following the old medieval pattern of narrow winding lanes.
Sweetwater Lane was just north of Ludgate Circus and consisted of two lines of black tenements. Number five had a great quantity of bell-pulls. Harry pulled several of them. The front door was opened by a lever on each landing. When the door opened, several voices asked him what he wanted.
“Will Hubbard,” he shouted. There was a sudden silence and then the sound of slamming doors.
He made his way up, knocking on door after door, but nobody answered until, at the very top, an elderly lady opened the door a little. “I am Captain Cathcart,” said Harry. “I am helping Scotland Yard with an investigation.”
The door began to close. He put his foot in it, fished out a guinea and held it up. The door opened wide. She snatched the guinea in a claw-like hand.
“Come in. What do you want?”
The room was sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs and an iron bedstead in the corner. A linnet in a wicker cage sang at the window.
“Do you know where I can find William Hubbard?”
“In the cemetery.”
“What happened?”
“‘Twere a good few months ago. I heard shouting and then a scream. That was during the night. But there’s often screaming and shouting here. In the morning, I went out to buy milk. He lived in the room below this one. The door was standing open and he was lying there, all blood. He’d been stabbed.
“I was ever so shook. I went out and saw a policeman and told him. More police came and then detectives. But nobody said anything. Well, most of them are villains, so they wouldn’t. Then his pore sister came. Such a taking she was in. I took her up to my room and made her tea.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“She wrote it down on a slip of paper and told me if I remembered anything at all to contact her.”
“Do you still have it?”
She went over to the mantelpiece and extracted a piece of paper from behind a plaster statue of the Virgin Mary.
“May I take this?”
“Yes, I’ve no use for it. I couldn’t tell her any more than I’ve told you.”
Outside, Harry looked at the paper. A Miss Emily Hubbard was lady’s maid to a Mrs. Losse and there was an address in Launceston Place in Kensington.
He drove to Launceston Place and rang the bell. When a butler answered, Harry handed him his card and said he wished to speak to Miss Hubbard.
“Wait there,” said the butler, letting him into a hall which was little more than a narrow passage.
Harry waited. Then the butler came back downstairs, followed by a vision. This surely could not be the lady’s maid.
“Captain Cathcart,” she cooed in a husky voice with a slight accent. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. I am Mrs. Losse. Please come into the parlour and tell me why you want to speak to Emily.”
Mrs. Losse had masses of glossy auburn hair piled up on her small head. Her excellent bosom and tiny waist were displayed to advantage in a green silk gown which matched her very large and sparkling green eyes.
She listened while Harry told her of the murder of William Hubbard. “I feel it is connected to another case I am investigating.”
“How thrilling. I read about you in the newspapers. So brave! All those people you rescued in that dreadful train crash.” They were sitting together on a sofa. She put her hand on his arm and leaned towards him. She was wearing a heady perfume. Harry thought briefly of his chilly fiancée with a flash of dislike.
“May I speak to Miss Hubbard?” asked Harry. Something seemed to have happened to his voice and it came out as a croak. She gave him a languorous smile and rang a little silver bell on the table in front of her.
After a moment, a mousy little woman entered the room. She was in complete contrast to the amazing beauty of her mistress. Harry wondered whether she had been employed for that very reason.
“You may be seated, Emily,” said Mrs. Losse. “This is Captain Cathcart. He has decided to investigate further the murder of your poor brother.”
Emily sat down on the very edge of a chair and clasped her hands. “Oh, sir,” she said, “I was afraid no one was ever going to find out anything.”
“Tell me about your brother?” asked Harry gently.
“He was good and worked hard. He liked working for the agency because he said there were so many banquets and functions that there was always demand for extra footmen and he didn’t need to be tied to one master like some.”
I wonder whether he was blackmailing the Tremaines, thought Harry. Aloud, he asked, “Did your brother say anything about coming into money?”
She gave a sad little laugh. “He was always dreaming. I met him just before he was killed on my day off. We walked down to London Bridge. He said we would go and buy a little cottage in the country and raise hens and pigs.”
“And was this new?”
She sighed. “Oh, no, it was a dream he’d always had.”
“Did he talk of any rich or influential friends?”
“No, sir. He only talked about other servants he had met on his various jobs.”
Harry promised that if he found out anything, he would let her know immediately. Emily was dismissed. Harry rose to leave.
“You must come back and see me,” said Mrs. Losse as she escorted him to the door. She stood very close to him in the narrow passage, that bewitching face of hers turned up to his own.
“Yes, I will,” said Harry.
“Promise!” Those eyes glinted flirtatiously. Harry laughed. “Of course.”
He went straight to Scotland Yard to find that Kerridge had gone home ages ago and so he said he would return in the morning. When he returned to his home, he told Becket of the latest developments.