Death and the Princess (21 page)

‘I see. So in a way, you practically applied for the job.’

‘Unbeknowing. Right. Well, I expected the coldest of cold shoulders, what with all the deserving hard-up there are around these days. You could have knocked me down with a social security cheque when I get a letter back
three or four weeks later saying that if I would contact them at a certain number when I left gaol, they might be able to help me.’

‘The number you were to ring not being one of the Society’s official phones, I take it.’

‘By no means. But I wasn’t smelling rats then, and I didn’t think twice. I phoned them the day after I was released. I was put on to a very smooth-spoken gent, and an appointment was made. I was told I would meet a young gentleman who might be able to help me.’

‘Where were you to meet?’

‘A big Birmingham pub called the Dog and Whistle. Acres of space, ’specially at eleven in the morning. I thought it an odd place for a charity to appoint, but I went along, and there I met someone I expect you know. Lad called Edwin Frere.’

‘I thought Edwin would be in it too, somewhere.’

‘In there kicking. Friend of your little lady, isn’t he? That’s what they say in the
Grub.
Well, he’s a sulky individual, but he was on his best behaviour, and he took me over into a corner miles from the bar, and he was fairly mean with the half pints, but he took me through a long inquisition on my past. What I’d done time for, what I’d got away with, and he got me to talk a lot about my methods and so on. I didn’t know what was up, but I told him it all straight. I threw him the complete honesty line. A very useful line in certain circumstances, as I’m sure you’ve found out yourself.’

‘Me?’

‘I understand you’re a married man. I’m sure you’ve used that line from time to time. Anyway, he said he’d have to go away and report, and could we meet again next evening. Which we did, and he took me to a minor mansion of some kind, and I had this long talk with your Lord Nuneaton.’

‘Who put a proposition to you?’

‘Not in so many words. By no means. Nothing was ever said, not directly, you understand . . . we went about it in a gentlemanly fashion . . . roundabout, you might say. It took hours, I tell you. But it came to the same in the end. In return for certain services to them, I would have a respectable position with the Society, get a certain percentage (five) of certain sums (unspecified) which I would convey . . . and so on. And I would get my rent paid. I stood out to have a little place bought for me, and I’m glad I did. They went along with that, because it was more difficult to trace it back to them.’

‘I see. And what was involved was a straightforward fiddling of the books?’

‘More or less. Initially. You make it sound worse than it was. You’ve got to remember that something of that sort has been going on for years in their kind of circle. Lady Muck gives her name as Patron of the Distressed Gentlewoman’s Needlework Trust. Addresses the AGM with a few well-chosen words of condescension, sticks down the odd envelope once a month. In return, she has the flat above the offices as a nice little free pied-à-terre whenever she happens to be in London. This mob did the same: they lent their names, and very good names for the purpose they are too. They made sure of getting something really good in return.’

‘But surely, there wouldn’t be enough to make it worth their while?’

‘Don’t be so sure. It’s a very rich charity. The old are a big thing at the moment. Everyone in the country feels that bit guilty, because they don’t take care of their oldies like they used. It’s guilt money, that’s what it is. Then again, I think that even then they had something bigger in mind.’

‘Meaning — ?’

‘Meaning the Princess.’

‘I see. It’s the Princess I’m really interested in.’

‘I thought so. Snobby Driscoll put you on, did he? I could see he was pretty upset when I let it slip while we were jawing. Now as to the details of how she’s been involved, I’m a bit at sea. Because of course they never confided in me. Just gave me my instructions by phone, and the odd cool nod if I came to official receptions or AGMs. But the time I came out of Churston was about the time the Princess was beginning to get into the news: snipping the odd tape, visiting the odd oil-rig, you know what I mean. Now, I don’t know what the connection was, but they got in there somehow.’

‘They certainly did.’

‘So that before long, the Princess opened a new Old People’s Home somewhere near Coventry. The press fawned, people flocked to see her, and it became the first of lots of such visits. And that’s when the money started rolling in. Much of it quite genuine: a royal visit generates publicity, especially, at the moment, one by her. Publicity generates donations, quite spontaneously. A discreet amount — in fact, quite considerable amounts — of that inflow could be siphoned off. But then there was the other . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, wherever Royalty goes, there’s people anxious to meet them, shake the royal hand, have a few words to take back and tell their grandchildren or their neighbours. Particularly their neighbours. And they’re even more anxious to meet them on an informal basis — over cocktails, after the official side of the visit is over. And it wasn’t long before the local businessmen realized that the way to the Princess was through the Leamington/Cumberland crowd. And when they approached them — ’

‘ — it became a straight cash transaction, I suppose?’

‘Not directly. Nothing so vulgar as bargaining. Of course there was no question of someone like
Leamington, or someone like Nuneaton, being bribed. All they wanted was donations to Aid for the Elderly. Better make it anonymous, eh? In case questions were asked. You send it direct to the Treasurer, and I’ll do what I can, old boy. Shall we say a couple of thousand? And I think I can promise you . . . Very smoothly done, as you’d expect with that crowd. I get the money, deduct my percentage, and hand the rest straight back. Nothing to trace, no questions asked. In my annual accounts I include a discreetly large sum under “anonymous donations”. Everybody’s happy.’

‘A very nice little game.’

‘I thought so. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better myself. But then, I had their cheek but I don’t have their connections. There were other little sidelines too. For a really whacking sum, ten or fifteen thou, they would try and get the Princess to visit some particular factory, or store, or warehouse, or whatever. This was much more difficult to bring off, and they didn’t try it very often. After all, the guest list at receptions after an old folks visit could be fiddled at this end, but the engagements were decided on in London, by the Princess’s people.’

‘True. Still, they must have had a connection there. Presumably Brudenell, the Princess’s private secretary. Funny. He was a fussy, infuriating little body, but I wouldn’t have thought him crooked. And the poor bloke’s dead . . . Did you know anything about that end of things?’

‘Not a thing. I was given the absolute minimum of info, as I said. I was useful to them because I did what I was told and held my tongue. I imagine they must have had the Secretary in their pockets. Or perhaps the young lady herself: she looks an expensive little thing. Perhaps she got her cut, as a nice little addition to the Civil List.’

‘That thought is downright disloyal, Jimmy: Snobby Driscoll would have had you by the throat if you’d
suggested that to him. I must say, I’d hardly have thought it worth her while, quite apart from anything else. In fact, I’m surprised it has been worthwhile for this mob.’

‘It’s a very, very rich charity, I tell you, Mr Trethowan. And by now they’re doing very nicely at it indeed, and I’m the one who’d know. When the present Earl of Leamington’s father died, they had to sell bits of the ancestral loot. The Cumberland lot are hard up anyway: the family seat became a loony-bin not long after the war. They’ve got wise to all sorts of dodges, and of course the elder sons have taken over all the doings already, to avoid death duties. I sometimes wonder whether there’s a nobleman in the country ever dies worth more than a couple of quid these days. But there are younger sons very much unprovided for. I wouldn’t mind betting a lot of the dibs has gone in little Edwin’s direction.’

‘That would be pouring money down the drain.’

‘Not if they tied it up for him.’

‘Why do you think it went to him?’

‘The general gossip around the charitable cocktail circuit. A late baby, doted on by the present Earl and by his second wife. Some kind of step-sister worshipping the ground he walked on, and even Lord Nuneaton turning a blind eye to all sorts of shabby tricks. It’s difficult to see his fatal attraction, isn’t it?’

‘Very. But it’s not difficult to see that kind of upbringing leading to that kind of young man. Was he in on the Aid for the Elderly organization at any level?’

‘Not on your life. They had to have solid, respectable names. He’s about as credit-worthy as a Salvation Army dosser.’

‘Pity. That’ll make it that much more difficult to pin anything on him. You had no dealings with him after that first interview?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘We can’t make much of a charge out of that . . . Well,
well, I think I can leave that to the Birmingham Police. I’ll have to deliver you over to them too, Jimmy.’

‘I knew it. The word of a policeman — ’

‘Look, Jimmy, I’ve got no option. This is serious stuff. I’ll put in all the good words for you there are in the book, and I’ll come to your trial, if it comes to that.’

‘If I gave you my word of honour I’d stay put here — ?’

‘Words of honour went out in the nineteenth century, Jimmy, and I doubt if yours would have buttered many parsnips even then. Besides, would you really want to stay here?’

‘What’s wrong with it? Nice little nest it is, and it’s mine.’

‘No doubt. But news travels, as you’ve said. Think what happened to Bill Tredgold when he started showing interest. What do you think they’ll try and do when they hear that I’ve been round talking to you?’

‘I’ll get my bag. It’s all packed,’ said Jimmy Hopgood.

CHAPTER 17

The Figure in the Frieze

As I said to Garry Joplin the next morning, everything began to make sense, except the main riddle.

‘The peculation side of it is not really our baby at all, and I’ve left that in the hands of the Midlands police. With some misgivings, I may say. Left to themselves, they’d probably have slapped a charge on Jimmy Hopgood and regarded the rest of it as pure moonshine.’

‘They gave you the “These are respected local citizens” line and all that, I suppose?’

‘Not to mention the “These families have been in this area for centuries” line. Why that should seem even to the
dimmest intelligence to be a sure-fire certificate for probity I cannot imagine. I had to force them to get hold of the tapes before they’d even begin to take it seriously. Then I had to bring in the threat to the Princess, and emphasize that these toffs were part of it. If they were going to pull rank, I could pull a higher one. They’ll be interviewing some of the Frere family now. When the forelock-touching had to stop! I would like to be there. But meanwhile we’re left with our part of the problem.’

‘But we must be nearly there,’ said Garry Joplin, spreading himself out in the only easy chair in my office. ‘Surely we can take it that Tredgold was on to them, and that was why he was killed; that Brudenell was in with them but wanting out, and that was why he was killed. And the obvious deduction is, that one of the gang of five killed them, or very possibly Edwin Frere.’

‘I suppose so. But even accepting that, it leaves the big question of which? And I must say, I just can’t make myself happy with that explanation.’

‘Why?’

‘For no very pin-downable reason. Just a feeling of dissatisfaction. Did Brudenell strike you as a crook? Did he strike you as someone willing to take big risks? Did he strike you as someone likely to put his whole standing and reputation at risk?’

‘No . . .’ admitted Garry, slowly and unwillingly. ‘Definitely not, I suppose . . . He seemed quite honourable, in his rather ridiculous way . . . And something of a coward too. But then, if pressure was put on him . . . What exactly was the connection?’

I shoved a hefty volume in his direction.

‘Oh, it’s all there, in the Landed Gentry. I should have looked him up at once. He was just the sort who would make sure he was in, in full detail. There was a distant connection with the Leamingtons — his father was a second cousin twice removed, or something, of the then
Earl, father of the present one. I’ve phoned St Paul’s School: it was that Earl who paid for Brudenell’s schooling.’

‘Well, that’s it, isn’t it?’ said Garry, who like all young people is easily satisfied. ‘The present lot called for the payment of an old debt. Brudenell, torn between gratitude and conscience — ’

‘Spare me the Victorian scenarios. All right. I agree it could be something like that. But I would much prefer to believe that Brudenell was got into the job by the Old Boy network — he was already part of the royal stable, remember — but that once he was in he was
used
rather than pressured — used, while he himself remained quite unaware of what was going on. He was a foolish man, and foolish enough for that. All that was involved was the patronage of a perfectly respectable charity, and the odd minor favour to a noble relative. It’s when he became aware of what was behind it all that he began to make trouble.’

‘How did he become aware?’

‘One of his pals in the real upper crust, more cynical than he was, tipped him off, perhaps? Or the fact that I was around, snooping, asking about the Princess’s engagements, made him more aware? Oh, and McPhail found a letter in his files from one of the other charities for the old, complaining of favouritism.’

‘Right. That’s convincing enough. Then he starts looking at his scrapbook and sees just how out of proportion things have been getting, and realizes it could come right back to him. Then he starts to make trouble, and one of them comes along to his flat and shoots him.’

‘I think that must be basically right. One of the lesser lights — I mean one of the younger ones — comes to Whitehaven Mansions, perhaps by appointment, and Brudenell charges him with what he thinks has happened. That fits in well with what Malcolm Woodley
told us. When this is admitted, Brudenell says he will write immediately to Lord Leamington — I suppose he has had enough to do with him recently to allow even Brudenell to begin his letter “Dear John”, though he must in fact have been something of a revered elder figure for him earlier on. He starts to write that there will be no question of the Princess being used in this way in the future. While he is typing, the other man in the room shoots him.’