A Medal For Murder (27 page)

‘He could not have managed without me. Forgets that now when he’s busy resenting my very presence. Lucy spent more time with me than downstairs when she was little. And it is such a pity that Miss Wolfendale wasn’t aware of the existence of her great niece, or if she was, she never mentioned her to me. The captain said his son made an unsuitable match you see, as did the captain himself from what I can gather, though of course he doesn’t say so outright. That would explain why Miss Wolfendale never mentioned family.’

The more she talked, the more the questions raced through my mind. Whose was the other uniform hanging in the wardrobe upstairs? An uneasy feeling stirred inside me. When I had told Inspector Charles about Monsieur Geerts seeing his wife with Mr Milner, I thought I had done the right thing. But perhaps I had sent the enquiry off in a wrong direction. It seemed that there might be a stronger connection between Milner and Wolfendale than any of us guessed.

The captain had something to hide. If Milner knew what that something was, it would have given him a powerful lever. Powerful enough to induce the captain to part with money and to be forced into renting out rooms. Milner had blackmailed Wolfendale. And the clue as to why lay in the attic, and this explained his fierce reaction to my poking about there.

I took another look at the photograph of Miss Wolfendale and her nephew. ‘How sad for Lucy, to be orphaned so young and not to have met her great aunt.’

She sighed, and offered more tea. ‘Who can fathom God’s mysterious ways?’

‘What happened to Lucy’s parents?’

I knew the captain’s account of what had happened, but wondered what he had told Miss Fell, when he first arrived in Harrogate.

‘Lucy’s mother died of typhoid. Her father in some sort of accident.’

So he had been consistent.

Miss Fell leaned forward in a confidential manner. ‘When she was small, the captain told Lucy that her mother had left her a letter, to be read when she was twenty-one. When she came of age, on the sixth of this month, she asked him, and he said it wasn’t true. There
was no letter, no money, there was nothing. That infuriated her, naturally. She became very hard about it. Wouldn’t sit and chat. Oh she would walk Peeko, but further than the poor little chap wanted to go. She would end up carrying him back in a state of exhaustion. Her hair all over, losing her gloves, acting like nobody’s child. If she hadn’t put her energies into the play, I do believe she would have run mad when she found out there was no inheritance.’

It seemed treacherous to involve Miss Fell in a scheme to unmask her darling Lucy as a robber, but I had to do it. ‘Miss Fell, I’m going to confide something that may shock you. And I shall ask you to help me.’

Miss Fell turned pale. ‘It’s to do with your question yesterday. Did I know a Mrs deVries.’

I could have gone all around the houses, but I decided to be direct. ‘Yes. You are Mrs deVries, I believe. You gave a false name and address to Mr Moony to hide your embarrassment at pawning the ring.’

It felt cruel. My words hit her hard. In an involuntary movement, she drew her hands to her chest, twisting the diamond ring on her finger. ‘I thought pawnbrokers kept a person’s confidence.’

‘They do, as a rule. But Mr Moony was robbed of his pledged items, and no ticket was presented for that ring.’

Her eyes widened in astonishment. ‘That can’t be possible. I gave the ticket and the money to Lucy. She told me she had collected it. Last Monday.’

 
 

Captain Wolfendale sat by his hearth. Wind rattled in the chimney and blew smoke back into the room. His visitor, Lawrence Milner, had brought a drop of something warming, a good port wine. He raised his glass thoughtfully. ‘We’ll have cause for celebration later this year.’

‘Oh?’ The captain poked the fire. ‘I don’t know what’s to celebrate.’

‘Why, of course you do. Your Lucy comes of age in August.’ Milner took it on himself to pour another two generous measures.

The captain placed a shovel in front of the fire, and a newspaper over it, to draw smoke up the chimney and get the coals cracking. He watched carefully, snatching the paper just as it scorched. Smoke still curled into the room.

In a reminiscing vein, Milner said, ‘Do you remember that old tobacconist fellow? His son-in-law was a Kent man. He boasted that with eyes tight shut, this
son-in-law could name any English apple by its smell. Cox, Bramley, Russett, any of them and more. Well, that’s you and baccy, eh
mein Kapitän
?’

‘Less of that.’

‘Less of what?’

‘That
mein Kapitän
business.’

‘Insubordination, beg pardon, Captain. And me a lowly corporal. Shame, eh?’ Milner plonked his glass on the
Called to Arms
board, on the square titled ‘Court Martial’.

The captain moved the glass, leaving behind a small red circle of port. It would stain. ‘What are you leading up to, Milner? You know it’s finished. You know I’ve not a penny left.’

‘We’ve done well, my friend. We’ve done well. Look on these years as an investment. And now it’s time to make something of it.’ Milner had that bantering mood on him, teasing the older man. He had let the old fellow win two games of
Called to Arms
. Butter him up now, do no harm to butter him up. ‘I bet you can guess the name of this twist of baccy I’ve brought you.’

‘Bugger off with your tests. We’re not schoolboys.’

‘Humour me. I’ve a little bet with myself.’

Wearily the captain closed his eyes. ‘Go on then.’

How had he let this idiot get the better of him all these years? There was a rustling as Milner brought out the tobacco. The captain recognised the blend straight away. It was a mix he had bought from that tobacconist years ago, his favourite. Milner was reminding him, reminding him of the chains that bound. One of these days he would get the better of Milner.

‘Well? What does your snitch say?’ Milner asked.

Just for devilment, the captain wanted to come up
with some nonsense, as if he did not know. But his pride would not let him. ‘Light Virginia, mixed with Latakia.’

‘Exactly! It’s your lucky day, Captain.’ Milner put the tobacco on the table.

The captain picked it up and placed it in his jar on the shelf. Milner was a lout. A bloody jumped-up corporal, he now had minions doing his bidding, in his car showroom, his motor repair works, and at his home. He had driven his wife to the grave and now kept his son under the thumb. He wanted to be liked too, damn his eyes. He not only wanted to bleed the captain dry – well, he had done that – but he wanted to be liked for doing it. The captain moved the board. He took it to the kitchen and wiped at the wine stain.

The captain returned the
Called to Arms
board to its box, along with dice and tokens.

Milner lit a cigar. ‘And how is our Lucy?’

‘She is doing well enough. Has ideas to find work, like her friend Alison.’

‘Lucy won’t have to work. Lucy will be a prize for any man. She’ll be a lady of leisure, in the old pre-war style.’

The captain resumed his seat. He wanted to smoke the tobacco but would not give Milner the satisfaction. ‘She may have to find something to do.’ He looked steadily at this enemy of his who took the guise of friend. ‘You’ve bled me dry, Milner. I have nothing left. That means there is nothing for Lucy.’

Milner leaned back in the big armchair. He held the cigar casually, like a man who is wealthy enough to let it burn out and fling it into the grate. ‘There is everything for Lucy, if you will let me offer it to her.’

Some part of the captain knew straight away what
Milner implied. But he would not let himself believe it. ‘You would employ a girl?’

‘Hardly a girl, but no. I would not dream of employing Lucy.’

‘You’re thinking of a match between Lucy and Rodney?’ Hope lifted the captain’s voice. What Milner robbed him of he had put to good use in his business. That business would come to Rodney. If Lucy and Rodney married . . .

Milner raised the cigar almost to his lips, and then laughed. He sucked on the cigar thoughtfully, shaking his head at the imbecility of this old man. ‘Look at me. I’m still a young chap. I’m forty-five years old, in my prime. Lucy is too good for Rodney. And they don’t regard each other in a romantic way.’

‘Never happen, Milner. Forget that . . .’ the captain said in a low voice. He knew what Milner did not know. Every time Lucy heard Milner’s step, his ring of the bell, which she always recognised, she would fly upstairs to the old woman and stay there until he had gone. ‘She does not see you in that way, and never will.’

‘Why whisper? Are you afraid I’ll tell her the truth about you-know-what? I never would breathe a word, if she were mine. I’d cherish and protect her.’

It came out before the captain could stop himself. ‘Like you cherished and protected your wife.’

‘Come, man. This is different. Lucy is different. At least say you’ll think about it. She would be taken care of. And as my . . . well, let us say grandfather-in-law, so would you be. Believe me. I would cease all claims. I would make recompense.’

The captain stood up slowly. He took the tobacco
from the jar, the mixture of light Virginia and Latakia that stirred so many memories. He began to fill his pipe. ‘She would never agree.’

‘You know,’ Milner said softly, ‘I always get what I want. I would court her. I would bring her round, but I need you to be on my side.’

The captain’s flesh crawled. He would never be free. This would go on and on, until the grave. His face took on the blankness of misery.

Milner spoke with vigour, leaning forwards, pressing his point. ‘Don’t look like that. This will be the very last thing I ask of you. Depend upon it.’

 
 

When they left the army, Captain Wolfendale took rooms in Bloomsbury for himself and his loyal batman, Sergeant Lampton. This was the plan: the captain had enough put by to take over the tobacconist’s shop on the corner. It would be a better gold mine than The Rand, the captain reckoned. Men could live without gold, but not without a smoke.

Every day, Lampton walked to the tobacconist’s, talked to the old fellow, learned about a decent mix of Light Virginia, delightful Latakia and a pinch of something from the top shelf. The fussy, musty window display filled Lampton with new ideas.

Walking back to the lodgings, he marvelled at the length of his own shadow on the pavement, the freedom of being his own man. Here he was, treading a proper street at the heart of the Empire, hearing the traffic and the call of the newspaper boy. Never again would he march across a dust-blown cursed land to the tramp of boots and the cry of baboons.

Back in the rooms, he said to the captain, ‘We’ll put our medals, crossed daggers, souvenirs and such in the window on display. It’ll be a draw, sir. Men will flock to our tobacconist shop to reminisce about the old campaigns.’

‘Good thinking. But drop the sir. Just call me Captain. We’re civilians now.’

It was on his daily visit to the tobacconist’s shop that Lampton bumped into Corporal Milner, now also out of the army. The man stood on the corner by Coram’s Fields, cap on the ground at his feet. Lampton looked away, so as not to embarrass him, and to give Milner time to pick up his cap and put it on. Milner’s face was grey, unshaven, and his cheeks were sucked in with hunger. Lampton walked him along Millman Street, looking for a café. After sausage and mash, Milner looked more his old insolent self.