Hollow Crown (24 page)

‘He was in his chair?’

‘Yes, with
The Times
still in one hand. The whisky glass had rolled on to the floor.’

‘I see. Presumably, there was no one in the house except the servants?’

‘When the tantalus was tampered with or when he died?’

‘Either . . . both.’

‘There were no guests in the house. He was expecting some people on Saturday.’

‘And when the whisky decanter was tampered with?’

‘Well, we don’t yet know exactly when the whisky was poisoned but there was no one in the house after everyone left on Tuesday except the servants and his mother and her companion.
Did you meet the lady, Lord Edward . . . Miss Conway?’

‘I did. She must be a suspect? She really can’t say who might have entered the house and opened the tantalus?’

‘You’ll have to ask the Chief Inspector that.’

‘I mustn’t make a nuisance of myself. I presume the tantalus wasn’t actually broken by whoever poisoned the whisky, otherwise Scannon would have guessed it had been tampered
with?’

‘That’s correct, my lord. It was either opened by someone who had access to the key – though since Mr Scannon kept it on his key ring that seems unlikely – or someone
managed to open it with a skeleton key or even a penknife. It’s an antiquated contraption – belonged to Mr Scannon’s father, I understand – and wouldn’t have been hard
to open.’

‘Still, it seems to let the staff out of it, wouldn’t you say, Inspector?’

‘I would, my lord, and in any case it’s hard to imagine Mr Pickering as a murderer.’

‘Mmm, yes. I say, Inspector, would you mind awfully if I kept in touch?’

The Inspector stroked his chin and looked doubtful.

‘Nothing underhand,’ Edward said hastily, ‘but, if I do come up with anything . . . interesting, I’d much rather tell you than the Chief Inspector.’

‘I suppose there is nothing wrong with that,’ Lampfrey said at last. He tried to resist the idea that he might enjoy passing on to the man from the Yard information he had
overlooked.

‘To be honest, my lord, I felt I owed you something. Mrs Harkness was a friend of yours and I felt bad at having to give up my investigation into her death without having got to the bottom
of it. Oh, by the way, Miss Conway said one thing which might interest you: Mr Scannon’s diary has disappeared.’

‘You mean his engagement diary?’

‘No, my lord. I thought you might have known – apparently it was common knowledge in Mr Scannon’s circle – that he kept a diary. For posterity, he said. Every night he
wrote down who he’d met, the parties he had been to, conversations – everything. He had this idea that he was living at an interesting moment in our history – or so Miss Conway
says – so his diary might possibly contain the name of his killer. But that, I am happy to say, is not my problem. Scotland Yard will no doubt show us plodders how to find a
murderer.’

‘I am most grateful, Inspector. I’m the most infernal nuisance – a busybody stirring up trouble for people like you who have enough on their plate as it is – but I have
this absurd need to find out the truth. This is not one of England’s most glorious moments but I agree with the late Mr Scannon – these are interesting times.’

‘What will you do now?’ Lampfrey said.

‘Think it through, I suppose, and see if there is anything I can do to aid the Chief Inspector in his work.’ Edward smiled sweetly and the Inspector smiled back.

Edward got to Mersham just after four. He had telephoned his sister-in-law to let her know he was coming and demanding food and a bed for the night. The Duchess met him at the
door and fussed over him.

‘No lunch! My poor boy, you must be famished. We’ll have tea straight away.’

‘Connie, darling, it’s so good to see you. How’s Gerald?’

‘He’s staying with the Conningsbys in Norfolk – shooting. I’m afraid I begged off. I can’t bear the rain and trudging after the men pretending to admire them for
killing several hundred stupid birds bred for slaughter.’

‘Ah well, it’s a blessing to find you alone. I want your advice on one or two matters which are absorbing me at the moment and, I don’t mind telling you, it’s rather a
relief having you to myself.’

‘How long can you stay, Ned?’

‘Just a couple of nights, I’m afraid, old girl.’

‘Oh, must you dash off? You never can sit still for a minute.’

‘Now then, Connie, don’t chide me. May I make a telephone call before we have tea?’

The Duke was highly suspicious of the telephone and there were only two in the castle – one in his study and one in the hall. It was to this instrument Edward repaired. As he asked the
operator for the
New Gazette
number he felt a little nervous. It occurred to him that Verity was the only person he was ever afraid of speaking to and, as he waited to be connected, he
turned over in his mind whether this meant he cared for the little termagant or simply suffered her as one might a favourite terrier that had a habit of biting large chunks out of one’s
trousers.

It was a full five minutes before he was speaking to the newspaper’s switchboard, the local exchange seeming to believe that London was as exotic a location as Istanbul. Verity was at her
desk and predictably wrathful.

‘I left you a message . . . ’ he tried ineffectually to defend himself and then listened in silence for three minutes of sustained abuse. ‘Of course we’re partners, V,
but as I tried to explain, the Inspector won’t talk to you in case it looks as if he’s favouring one journalist over another. Anyway, I’ve got a lot to tell you. Shall we meet at
the inquest and then we can talk in the car on the way back to town?’

He removed the telephone receiver a few inches from his ear but, for all Verity’s vehemence, he could sense she was cooling down. ‘Till tomorrow, then,’ he said at last and
replaced the receiver on its rest with exaggerated care.

‘Yes, what is it, Bates?’ he said more sharply than he intended to the butler hovering near the drawing-room door.

‘Her Grace asked me to say there was tea in the drawing-room when you were ready.’

‘Thank you, Bates. Oh Bates, do we keep rat poison in the house?’

‘Rat poison, my lord?’ asked the bewildered butler.

‘Yes, man, rat poison.’

‘We do have rat poison, my lord,’ he said a trifle haughtily, unaccustomed to being spoken to by Edward in this way.

‘I’m sorry, Bates,’ Edward said humbly. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just been rather a long day. Now, about the poison – is it kept in the
house?’

‘No, my lord. It is kept in the gardener’s shed, I believe. I am glad to say we very rarely have occasion to use rat poison.’

‘But it’s easy to obtain? There’s no book you have to sign when you buy it – I mean like when you buy poison from the chemist you have to sign for it?’

‘I don’t believe so, my lord. Would you wish me to make inquiries?’

‘Thank you, Bates, that would be helpful and could you also establish whether the rat poison in the gardener’s shed is kept under lock and key . . . and what brand of rat poison it
is?’

‘Yes, my lord. I shall attend to the matter at once.’ The butler disappeared, obviously puzzled by Edward’s fascination with rats. Edward felt in a better humour for having
stirred up Bates and then felt ashamed of himself.

He wiped away the jam from his mouth and said, ‘Connie, blessed among women, you have saved my life. I hadn’t realized how devilish hungry I was.’

‘Chocolate cake?’

‘Just a slither . . . ’ He held out his plate and for a moment looked like a small boy back home for the holidays and making up for weeks of school rations.

Connie waited patiently for him to satisfy his hunger before subjecting him to an inquisition. She could restrain herself no longer. ‘The inquest is tomorrow? I don’t quite
understand how you are involved, Ned.’

‘I knew Molly Harkness in Kenya. Don’t you remember, there was a scandal. Her husband found her in bed with her lover – tried to kill her – failed and turned the gun on
himself. It was a mucky business.’

‘I do remember, and somehow – from what I read in the newspapers – when she came back to England she became one of the King’s circle?’

‘Yes, I tried to help her in Kenya . . . ’ He saw his sister-in-law’s expression and said heatedly, ‘Honestly, why can’t people believe I acted altruistically. I
promise you, Connie, we were never more than friends. I just felt sorry for her. She was a bad girl but, as I keep on telling people, she was as much a victim as anything else.’

‘I really don’t want to hear the details, Ned. Everything I have heard about Happy Valley, and the life those people live there, makes me feel ill. I was very glad when you came back
to England.’

‘Anyway, the point is – and this really is confidential, Connie, and it won’t come out at the inquest – Molly was the King’s mistress. Perhaps only for a few
months, I don’t know.’

His sister-in-law looked shocked and distressed. ‘Oh really, Ned. I’m not sure I want to hear any more.’

‘It’s not just gossip, Connie. There’s no one else I could tell and I would welcome your advice. You’ve a wise as well as beautiful head on you.’

‘Get away with you, Ned,’ Connie said, tapping him on the wrist but pleased for all that. The Duke was a good man but not given to paying his wife compliments. ‘Well, go on
then, if you must.’

‘Molly was, as it seems, put aside by the King without a word of apology or farewell, in favour of Mrs Simpson.’

‘The American woman! But surely, he wouldn’t . . . Of course, I’ve heard rumours but . . . . ’

‘I’m afraid it’s more than rumours. The King’s obsessed with the woman – wants to marry her.’

‘Marry her! But that’s impossible.’

‘Nevertheless, Joe Weaver says he will.’

‘But will it be allowed?’

‘I rather doubt it. Anyway, the point is Molly stole some of the King’s letters to the woman – broke open the box she kept them in. She said in a letter to Mrs Simpson that, if
she didn’t give up the King, she would use them to damage her. To cut a long story short, Joe sent me to retrieve them.’

‘Good heavens, Ned. Why you?’

‘They knew I knew her and, like you, they thought . . . I’d been her lover and that therefore I might have some influence over her.’

‘So what happened?’

‘I went down to Leo Scannon’s place, Haling. It was to be just an ordinary weekend. I had a talk with her late on that first night. In the morning she was dead. The coroner is going
to say she took an overdose of her sleeping draught but she wasn’t suicidal. I’m convinced it was murder.’

‘What about the King’s letters?’

‘Gone – lost – stolen again – who knows.’

‘And Leo Scannon is dead too. I was just reading his obituary in
The Times
. We knew him, of course, but Gerald couldn’t abide him. He was one of those men who flattered you to
your face and you knew was spiteful behind your back. But, of course,’ she added hastily, ‘I was sorry to see he had died, and so horribly. Presumably, you think the two deaths are
connected?’

‘It seems more than likely.’

‘Oh Ned, do you have to get involved in all this? It’s so . . . tawdry.’

Edward looked seriously at her. ‘I think I do. I don’t care much about Scannon, to tell you the honest truth. He was not a nice man and what’s more he was a Fascist, though he
called himself a Conservative. But poor Molly. You would never have received her here, nor would I have wanted you to, but she was just a pawn. She was used and then, when she got troublesome, she
was wiped out, like you would wipe clean a blackboard. That can’t be right, can it?’

‘No, of course not . . . but Ned, I can’t bear you wasting your time on this sort of . . . ’

Edward flushed. ‘I don’t consider it a waste of time. I may be able to help prevent the royal family being tainted with . . . well, with murder.’

‘You surely don’t believe . . . ?’

‘Why not? I’m not saying the King knew about it – in fact, I’m sure Wallis didn’t even tell him the letters were stolen – but . . . ’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to criticize. I just meant you deserve so much . . . ’

‘You’d like to see me as an ambassador or a general . . . ?’

‘No. I mean . . . yes, Bates, what is it?’

Perhaps mercifully, the butler had appeared at the door. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but there is a telephone call for Lord Edward.’

‘Who is it, Bates?’ Edward asked, rising from the armchair and almost spilling his tea.

‘Inspector Lampfrey, my lord.’

‘Lampfrey! I wonder what he wants. Excuse me a moment, Connie.’

‘Lord Edward, is that you?’

‘Yes, Inspector. What can I do for you?’

‘It’s about the inquest, my lord. Chief Inspector Pride has asked the coroner for a postponement pending further police inquiries.’

‘Good lord. So Pride has come round to my view that Mrs Harkness may have been murdered?’

‘Yes, my lord, and confidentially . . . ’ Lampfrey had lowered his voice to such a level Edward could only just hear him, ‘I can’t say much on the telephone, you
understand, but there’s a bit of a fuss here. I wondered if, before you went back to town, you would care to look in at the station?’

‘Yes of course, Inspector, thank you. About nine tomorrow? Good.’

He put down the receiver and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. Here was a turn-up for the books. Colonel Philips would not like it if Pride was questioning his judgement in preventing Lampfrey
from completing his investigations into Molly’s death – or had he managed to put all the blame on Lampfrey? If that was the case, Lampfrey might be more than happy to help him in his
own investigations. He was about to go back into the drawing-room when he remembered Verity. There was no point in her coming down if there was to be no inquest. He rang the
New Gazette
but
she was not there so he left a message and telephoned Charlotte Hassel with the news.

‘I don’t know where Verity is at the moment but I’ll give her your message when she comes in. By the way, Edward, Adrian’s got something to tell you about Mr S’s
personal habits – rather mucky, I’m afraid. What about a council of war tomorrow night over shepherd’s pie? I think I can make it worth your while . . . ’