Bones of the Buried (26 page)

‘Hmm.’ Fenton coughed.

‘Got a cough?’

‘No, my lord. I was about to say that I might be of some assistance. Mr Barrington is an old friend of mine.’

‘Good heavens! I never knew that.’

‘We both belong to the . . . to the Pipe and Port.’

‘The Pipe and Port? What’s that when it’s at home?’

‘Well, my lord, that’s precisely the point. It’s a club for gentlemen’s personal gentlemen, butlers and other senior staff of gentlemen’s establishments.’

‘You amaze me. Do you mean to tell me you go out to this club on your days off?’

‘Yes indeed, my lord. When I am at leisure . . . I trust you have no objection?’

‘None in the world. It just strikes me how unobservant I am. All these years you have been in my employ and I never knew . . .’

‘There is no reason, my lord, why it should have come to your attention. I mentioned it merely because, as I say, Mr Barrington is also a member.’

‘What a coincidence!’

‘Not really, my lord. A gentleman of Mr Thayer’s eminence in the world of banking would be very likely to have a butler of sufficient seniority to be eligible for the
club.’

‘I see,’ said Edward, feeling that in some undefined way he had been put in his place. ‘And Mr Barrington . . . is a good egg?’

‘He is highly respectable and respected, my lord.’ Fenton drew himself up another couple of inches.

‘I mean, he’s not likely to have bashed his master over the head with a jade Buddha?’

‘Certainly not, my lord. If I were to telephone Mr Barrington, he might be more . . . approachable than if you went to the house unannounced.’

‘A good idea, Fenton. This is going to be a spiffing day, I can tell. We’ll probably have the whole thing cleared up before tonight.’

‘That is very much to be desired, my lord.’

‘Nothing special I should know about Mr Barrington? Is he married? Does he drink?’

‘My lord!’

‘I’m sorry, Fenton. I seem to be in good spirits today. You haven’t talked to him yourself about poor Mr Thayer’s death?’

‘No, my lord. I was going to ask you whether I could be of any assistance in this respect but you forestalled me. I believe that Mr Barrington has been – or I should say was –
employed by Mr Thayer for the past four years. His character is of the highest and I can asseverate that he would not be party to any action which might be in any way suspect. And no, my lord, Mr
Barrington is unmarried.’

‘Excellent, Fenton. Yes, please do see if he would be willing to talk to me this morning. I would be much obliged.’

‘Mr Charles is with his aunt in Fulham, my lord.’ Barrington was a large, grave-faced man of indeterminate age who spoke of Fulham as though it was beyond the
bounds of civilised society. ‘I understand Mrs Cooper . . .’

‘That’s the aunt?’

‘Yes, my lord . . . I understand the lady has not yet decided whether to move into this house or remain in Fulham.’

‘And you would stay here if that were to happen . . . if she and her nephew were to make this their home?’ He saw Barrington frown and he wondered if he had gone too far.
‘I’m sorry, I am prying into something which is by no stretch of the imagination my business.’

‘No, my lord. To be truthful, I have not yet made up my mind.’ The butler’s mask of imperturbability slipped. ‘A gentleman’s establishment is what I am used to but
on the other hand . . . if it is not presumptuous of me to say so, I am very fond of Mr Charles.’

‘I quite understand, Barrington. I am sure you would be very much missed if you do decide to leave.’

The butler bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. Edward made a mental note to reward Fenton when he returned home. It was clear that he must have spoken well of his master if
Barrington was prepared to confide in him to this extent. He was very grateful that Verity had decided not to accompany him. He had no difficulty imagining the impression she would have made on
this solid, rather forbidding figure. She would hardly have been able to resist the opportunity of telling the butler to throw off his shackles and join the revolution, and Barrington would not
have been amused. Edward had the impression he had not been amused since the death of Queen Victoria.

‘To get back to the reason I am taking up your time, Barrington. As an old friend of Mr Thayer, I am naturally anxious to discover who did . . . who killed him. You must have been appalled
to discover the body of your master in the way you did.’

‘Indeed, my lord, it was a very great shock. It was not of course I who found the body but the house parlourmaid, Betty. She came into the room – this room – and did not
immediately see the master. It was only when she opened a curtain and the light fell on the fireplace that she saw his body.’

‘What did she do?’

‘She screamed, my lord. I came to see what the noise was and there was my poor master.’

‘Is Betty still here?’

‘No, my lord. With Chief Inspector Pride’s permission, I sent the girl back to her mother in Tooting. She is highly strung and finding Mr Thayer dead affected her spirits.’

‘Of course, it must have done. What other staff are there, Barrington?’

‘Apart from myself and Betty only the cook, Mrs Harris. She has gone to stay with her sister until it is decided what is to happen here.’

‘Did Mr Thayer have a chauffeur?’

‘He used to, my lord, but at the end of last year he dispensed with his services. He explained to me that he was feeling . . . “hipped” was the word he used, and had decided to
take more exercise.’

‘But he couldn’t walk all the way to the City?’

‘He walked some of the way, I believe, and then either took an omnibus or a taxi. If I may say so, my lord, he had very simple tastes. He disliked show.’

‘That’s interesting, Barrington. As I remember him at school, he was a colourful figure, a bit of a dandy. But perhaps that was just how he seemed to us younger boys. It sounds as if
he was getting a little eccentric.’

‘Particular in his habits is how I would put it, my lord.’

‘Now, let me see: only you, Betty and Mrs Harris live in? It seems a small staff for a house of this size?’

‘Yes, my lord, but we had no difficulty bringing in outside help when Mr Thayer entertained.’

‘Was that often?’

‘No, my lord. The master seldom entertained at home. I think he used his club a good deal.’

‘He was a member of White’s, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, my lord, and he was often away . . . abroad. I think he kept this house largely so that Mr Charles should have a home to go to in the holidays.’

‘There was no female to . . . to look after Charles in the holidays?’

‘No, my lord. Mr Charles’s nurse, of whom he was very fond, died this time a year ago. Mrs Cooper was good enough to come last holidays to help sort out his clothes and that sort of
thing but, if I may say so in confidence, my lord, I do not think Mr Charles . . . liked the lady.’

Edward was suddenly struck by the loneliness of the child. His father was dead and his new guardian was a middle-aged lady who probably had no wish to take on the burden of looking after a boy
at her time of life and, from what the butler said, he had no particular affection for her. It made him quite determined to take his nephew’s friend under his wing. He knew Connie, when she
heard what the position was, would also be concerned.

There was also the question of money. If Thayer’s financial affairs were in a mess, as he was beginning to suspect . . . well, he had spoken on the telephone to Caine, the boy’s
housemaster, and made it clear that if there were any problems on the fees he would make up any shortfall. He must talk to this Cooper woman as soon as possible and try and put things on a formal
footing. He wondered who Thayer’s solicitor was. He ought to talk to him too.

‘The evening he died . . . I understand Mr Thayer had dinner in the dining-room and then went into his study – into this room – to work, saying he would not need you again that
night. Did you go straight to bed?’

‘Yes, my lord. It took Mrs Harris and me about twenty minutes to clear up Mr Thayer’s dinner. He had eaten very lightly and, of course, we had eaten earlier. We then went up to our
rooms.’

‘And you heard nothing? You did not hear a knock at the door, or voices?’

Barrington hesitated. ‘The servants’ quarters are at the back of the house, on the top floor, but I thought I did hear something.’

‘What was that?’

‘Well, it must have been just before I fell asleep . . . about one or half-past. I did not think to turn on my bedside light and look at my alarm clock. I thought I heard the front door
slam.’

Barrington was beginning to sound defensive and Edward was quick to reassure him. ‘Of course not. I expect Mr Thayer did occasionally have late night callers, or perhaps he went out for a
final walk before turning in?’

‘Maybe, my lord, but I can’t say I ever knew the master to have visitors so late before and I am not aware he was given to late night perambulations.’

‘I see. You can say nothing else about the visitor, if indeed there was one.’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Did you tell Chief Inspector Pride about this?’

‘No, my lord. I suppose I should do so. I only remembered the noise some time after I had been interviewed by the Chief Inspector. It went out of my head with all the . . . with all the
distress of finding the master’s body . . .’

‘I quite understand and I’m sure the Inspector will too, but I think you ought to inform him. It helps establish the time of Mr Thayer’s death, you understand.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘And is there anything else? Did anything strike you about the body . . . I mean apart from the horrible savagery of the killing? Or this room . . . was anything moved, apart from the
Buddha, or taken?’

‘No, my lord, nothing was stolen. The police checked with me very carefully about that. All the jade was there. There was the fountain pen, but I expect you know about it. I told the Chief
Inspector that it didn’t belong to Mr Thayer.’

‘I wanted to ask you about that.’

‘About the pen, my lord?’

‘I noticed in one of the police photographs that there was a box of matches from a Spanish restaurant lying beside the pen. Do you know anything about that?’

‘No, my lord. I never noticed it and the police never brought it to my attention.’

‘Could it have been there on the floor a day or two before the murder?’

‘I would very much doubt it, my lord. Betty is a most conscientious girl and she cleaned the master’s study every day . . . but, of course, you can ask her.’

‘No, I am sure you are right about Betty. Did Mr Thayer have any visitors in the few days before he was killed?’

‘No, my lord. He was a solitary man, if I may say so.’

‘He had no . . . no lady friends?’

‘Not that I am aware of, my lord.’

‘It seems strange that an attractive, rich, comparatively young widower had no . . . no personal friends.’

‘No doubt he had friends, my lord,’ Barrington said a little stiffly, ‘but he did not bring them home.’

‘He must have gone out in the evenings. Did he ever go to night-clubs . . . anything of that sort?’

‘Not to my knowledge, my lord. I don’t think he was the kind of gentleman to go to night-clubs. He did go out to dinner-parties on occasion but, as I say, he was a solitary man. He
liked to keep his own company.’

‘Yes, of course, and I suppose he would have seen his . . . his business visitors at his office in the City.’

‘I imagine so, my lord.’

‘Well, you have been most helpful, Barrington, and I am grateful to you for talking to me so frankly. Here is my card. If anything else does occur to you or, indeed, if I can be of any
help in the . . . domestic arrangements, please do let me know.’

‘There is just one other thing, my lord. I don’t expect it is at all important but . . .’

‘Well, spit it out, man,’ Edward said a trifle impatiently.

‘You were asking about lady friends. I do remember about a couple of months ago – at the end of January – when he came in. I opened the door and saw that he had just got out of
a taxi. He had turned to say goodbye to a red-haired lady who I presume was being taken on to another destination. That was the only occasion I saw Mr Thayer with a lady in the past six months, my
lord.’

‘Oh God,’ said Verity wiping her lips. ‘Eton, falling for a handsome young dukeling and now champagne. I just hope the comrades don’t find out.
They’ll never believe it’s all in aid of the class struggle.’

Edward grinned and leant over the table to wipe away a few errant drops of the forbidden drink from the crease at the corner of her mouth. For some reason, when he had reported to her on his
interview with Barrington, he had failed to mention the ‘red-haired lady’. That was something he wanted to brood about.

‘You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you? I’ve read about what evil aristocrats do to innocent young girls: they lure them into their apartments and ply them with drink and
then . . . and then . . .’

He wondered, without meaning to, what it would be like to kiss the laughter lines around her mouth which signalled her inability to be totally serious, even about Marxist-Leninism. ‘I
shouldn’t worry,’ he said. ‘I would wager Comrade Stalin is enjoying a glass of champagne with his caviar at this very moment.’

‘Don’t tease, Edward,’ she said, making faint efforts to prevent him refilling her glass. ‘I suppose a girl can be forgiven for straying off the narrow path of rightchess
. . . righteousness – oh cripes, I can’t even say the word – I must be squiffy . . . once in a while. No! . . . no more bubbly. You represent everything David dislikes about
British society and it’s just annoying that I happen to like you. It muddles me, or the champagne does.’

‘Gosh! I would hate to confuse you,’ Edward said. ‘I mean, I know how difficult it is – or ought to be – for intelligent people to believe in generalisations. The
moment one gets anywhere near the individual, one’s favourite generalisation starts to look as full of holes as a string vest.’