Sweet Poison (27 page)

Just as he was about to set out for the Yard, he decided he should ring Verity. In his shock he had forgotten that there existed a coolness between them and when she answered the telephone he launched into his story. Verity was only too glad that they were back again on usual terms and agreed to meet him at Scotland Yard. ‘I don’t expect Pride will keep me long and then we can talk it over and see if it affects our investigation at all.’

‘Yes,’ said Verity, grateful that he was still assuming they were partners. ‘I am due to see Lord Weaver at midday and I would like to talk to you before I see him.’

‘Why are you going to see Weaver?’

‘He wants me to tell him if I will accept his offer to write for the
New Gazette
.’

‘And are you going to say yes?’

‘I’m still not sure. I would like your advice,’ she added, uncharacteristically uncertain of herself. ‘On the one hand it is flattering to be asked and would do my career no end of good but on the other hand it may be against my principles to work for an archetypal capitalist. I really can’t decide.’

‘It might not do you much good with the comrades,’ said Edward unkindly.

‘No, well anyway . . .’

‘Sorry,’ said Edward, immediately contrite, ‘I didn’t mean to make a cheap jibe. Let’s talk it through when we meet. I might try and oil in to see Weaver with you, if you didn’t mind. There are a few things I would like to ask him and I had a message at the club that he had been trying to get hold of me.’

‘Oh, Edward,’ Verity suddenly burst out, ‘have you talked to your brother yet? He ought not to read about Larmore in the newspapers. And that poor woman – was she called Celia?’

‘Larmore’s wife, yes. I’m afraid he led her quite a dance but even so she will be devastated, but I don’t think there is anything we can do. After all, I hardly knew him and I never met her except that once at that fateful dinner at Mersham.’

‘Yes,’ said Verity soberly. ‘Fateful is the word.’

When Edward arrived at Scotland Yard he was shown up to the Inspector’s office. ‘We seem to meet all too frequently,’ Pride said grimly, shaking Edward’s hand.

As usual, Edward was irritated by the Inspector’s manner which seemed to carry a hint of threat or at least complaint, as though this new death was Edward’s fault.

‘Before I give you the letter to read, would you oblige me by telling me what you discussed when you saw Mr Larmore yesterday? Did you meet by appointment?’

‘No,’ said Edward. ‘We both use the club for squash and to swim. I have seen him there before and we always exchange a few words but this time he was looking so miserable I stopped to talk to him. In any case I was looking for someone to play a game of squash with.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said it was all up with him. He owed a good deal of money and . . . I assume this does not have to get back to his wife?’

‘It depends, but if it is about his women I shouldn’t think it need be mentioned at the inquest.’

‘Oh, you know about that?’

‘Yes, Lord Edward.’

‘So, well, he said his mistress – he did not mention her name – had left him because he could not afford to keep her as she demanded.’

‘That would be Mam’selle Carnot. We have already talked to that lady.’

‘I see,’ said Edward. ‘Well then, you know everything, Inspector.’

‘He said nothing else then?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, although Mr Larmore had debts, a gentleman of his station in life and with his friends might have borrowed without too much difficulty, I would have imagined.’

‘I gathered he was deeply in debt, Inspector, and I got the impression that he was also concerned that his debts would preclude his being offered a position in the government. That coupled with his muddled love life must have tipped him over the edge.’

For some reason, although Edward had not liked Larmore, he thought he owed it to him not to give the Inspector any hint of his relationship with Friedberg. If it got out that he had been contemplating selling secret information to the Germans his name would be excoriated and that would be an added burden for his widow and children to bear. If it did get out, it would not be through him, Edward decided.

‘So there was nothing else?’ the Inspector persisted.

‘No, that was enough I should think, wouldn’t you?’

‘Would you say that the balance of the poor gentleman’s mind was disturbed then?’

‘He was certainly very depressed but I thought after our game of squash he was in better spirits. I suggested he and I might go and see Lord Weaver who, I thought, might possibly have helped him with a loan.’

‘I see, Lord Edward. Well, I think you did everything you could for Mr Larmore. We can only assume that later that night, brooding on his troubles, he decided it was not worth going on. You have nothing to reproach yourself with.’

Again there was the implication that he
might
have something to reproach himself with, but Edward checked himself from making some sharp response. He thought the Inspector might suspect he had not told him the whole truth and was needling him in the hope that he would blurt something out which he might later regret.

‘May I see the letter now, Inspector?’ he said coldly.

Inspector Pride took an envelope off his desk and handed it to him. Edward looked at it, turning it over in his hand. It was a perfectly ordinary white envelope with the words ‘Lord Edward Corinth’ scrawled in blue ink on the front and underlined rather heavily. The Inspector passed him a paper knife and he slit open the envelope. The single sheet of writing paper he drew out had Larmore’s address printed at the top. It was undated. It read: ‘My dear Lord Edward. You were very good to me when we met earlier today. I know you don’t much like me but you are a good fellow. I feel I owe you something for trying to help me. Your idea of going to see Weaver – thinking about it, I just can’t be bothered. As I said, it is all up with me and I don’t think I can struggle any more. The only thing I really wanted was to be in the cabinet and whatever happens’ – Larmore had underlined ‘whatever happens’ – I won’t get that now.

‘What I wanted to say was this: I know you think someone killed Craig at that awful dinner at Mersham. You might like to know that you were right. Someone did murder him – not me, but the Bishop, Cecil Haycraft. I don’t know why but I definitely saw him push the glass of wine – port I mean – across the table while we were all disturbed by your arrival on the scene with that girl. He must have put poison in it because when the General drank from the glass he went into convulsions as you saw.

‘I don’t know whether this helps at all. Bishop Haycraft is a ghastly man – a leftie and a pacifist. I really would not have thought he had it in him to kill someone but I saw what I saw.

‘Well, there we are then. Goodbye and thank you, Lord Edward.’

Larmore had signed himself ‘Peter Larmore’. Edward, who was not normally susceptible, blinked back a tear. It was as though he had held out his hand to a drowning man but had not held on tight enough and he had slipped from his grasp into the sea.

The Inspector was looking at him quizzically. ‘May I see the letter?’ he asked, holding out his hand, when he saw Edward begin to fold it back into the envelope. Edward hesitated. He would have liked to keep from the Inspector what Larmore said he had seen Bishop Haycraft do but he realized that would be impossible. He handed Pride the letter without comment and the Inspector read it through without saying anything. When he had finished he returned it to Edward. ‘I would be grateful, Lord Edward, if you would keep this letter carefully. It may need to be presented in evidence at the inquest.’

‘But surely you would not want to make public Larmore’s unsubstantiated allegation about the Bishop murdering General Craig?’

‘No, but it is evidence that Mr Larmore’s mind was disturbed just before he committed suicide and we might need to let the coroner read it or part of it. It would not be necessary to mention the Bishop by name.’

‘I suppose so,’ Edward acknowledged. At this moment the Inspector’s telephone rang. He picked up the receiver angrily and shouted, ‘What is it? Didn’t I say I wasn’t to be interrupted?’ He listened for a few moments and then said to Edward, ‘Miss Verity Browne is downstairs.’

‘Oh yes, I’m sorry, Inspector, I hope you don’t mind, I asked her to meet me here. We have finished, haven’t we?’

The Inspector grudgingly agreed they had. ‘Nothing more on Lomax’s death and who attacked Miss Weaver, I suppose?’ Edward inquired.

‘No. We are still trying to trace Captain Gordon. We think he may have something to tell us. That’s another inquest you will have to attend, Lord Edward.’

‘Yes, I don’t seem to be bringing people much luck, do I?’ he replied with studied innocence. ‘Oh, another thing, Inspector – may I know what Larmore said in his letter to the police?’

‘He said he was killing himself because he had nothing to live for, but for his wife and children’s sake he hoped it could be kept quiet.’

‘I am so sorry for that poor woman,’ said Edward. ‘She was at the seaside with the children, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, sir, but she is back in London now, staying with friends. She asked me to ask you to telephone her. I think she wanted to hear from your own lips what her husband said to you.’ Pride handed him a telephone number on a slip of paper.

‘Oh golly,’ said Edward.

‘Yes, it won’t be easy,’ said Pride with satisfaction, showing him out.

Verity, Edward considered, was looking as fresh as May in a smart blue and white suit with huge lapels which might have seemed mannish on someone less feminine. Her small black hat was lightened by a white feather. Her lips were scarlet and he had a feeling this amounted to a challenge. If he disapproved, she would see it in his face. In fact, he wanted to kiss her but that would undermine their business relationship, he thought, and probably earn him a slap, so he contented himself with complimenting her.

‘Oh yes,’ she said casually. ‘This is the outfit I usually wear to impress old men. Not you,’ she added hastily, seeing the look of hurt in his eyes, ‘I mean Lord Weaver.’

‘I see,’ said Edward smiling broadly. ‘Look, I’ve got lots to tell you. Where can we go to talk?’

‘It’s such a lovely day,’ said Verity, ‘why don’t we sit on a bench in those little gardens by the House of Commons? You know, where there is that new statue of Mrs Pankhurst. Max needs a walk in any case.’

‘And how is Max?’ said Edward genially, putting out his hand to stroke the dog’s head. He withdrew it quickly as Max snapped at his fingers.

‘Stop it, Max,’ said Verity firmly. ‘The trouble is I have taught Max to distrust aristocrats. You can’t say I was wrong.’

It was indeed a day to be outside and instead of sitting they walked through the gardens, paying brief homage to Emmeline Pankhurst, to the river which in the sunlight looked deceptively clean and sparkling. They talked earnestly to one another, exchanging information and speculating on the two eyewitness reports of the Bishop having passed General Craig the poisoned port. Once or twice, passers-by glanced at them, wondering if they were lovers but deciding their faces were too serious for that unless their dalliance was illicit.

‘I hate the idea of you going to the German embassy like that, Verity,’ Edward was saying. ‘They may seem like buffoons with their strutting up and down and their railway porter uniforms but they are dangerous, you know. A friend of mine who has been living in Berlin says that we don’t know half of what is going on over there. People disappear and are never heard of again and they are threatening to kill all the Jews. Well, of course, they won’t do that, but it is still pretty unpleasant.’

‘I know,’ Verity said sombrely, ‘David was saying very much the same thing.’

David! The name spoiled Edward’s mood. Verity noticed him scowl and asked innocently what was the matter.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Edward lied, ‘but isn’t it time we got a cab to Fleet Street?’

‘Not a cab,’ said Verity, ‘I feel like a bus. I’m a woman of the people, don’t forget, not an effete aristocrat like you.’

‘With a flat in Hans Crescent and a father who drives a Rolls Royce,’ Edward returned unpleasantly.

‘You know my secret,’ Verity said lightly. She was abashed but also rather relieved Edward knew where she lived.

‘I didn’t really spy, but after all you did give me your telephone number which is a Knightsbridge exchange so . . .’

‘Don’t worry. I’m not ashamed of being rich – well, comparatively rich. It means I am better able to help the cause. Communists, you know, don’t believe everyone should be poor. They believe everyone ought to be rich.’

‘I thought you believed in redistributing wealth?’

‘I do and so does Father, but we are not idiots. We live in a capitalist world where wealth is power. One day that will all be gone but, since it exists, we have to work with it and it would be stupid to throw away power when we need power to overthrow the system.’

‘That sounds like David talking,’ said Edward meanly, and immediately regretted saying it as he saw Verity colour. ‘I’m sorry. All I meant was – and I was thinking of Nazis – if you touch pitch you can easily be defiled. I expect David would say the ends justify the means but I always think the means determine the ends. Look, there’s a bus! Run!’

‘Verity! Lord Edward! I had no idea you were coming, Lord Edward, but I am delighted to see you.’ Lord Weaver, taking the cigar out of his mouth, levered himself out of his chair and came out from behind his huge desk to greet them. ‘I have been leaving messages for you all over the place.’

‘How is Hermione?’

‘Hermione, I am glad to say, is much better – sitting up in bed and asking to see you. Her mother wants to see you also and thank you for what you did, as do I. But what sad news about Peter Larmore!’

‘Yes. In fact I was going to bring him to see you today.’

‘See me?’

‘Yes, you see I bumped into him at my squash club and he was in a bad way. Apparently he owed a lot of money and . . . well, may I tell you something in complete confidence?’

‘Of course, but if it’s the story going round Fleet Street that he had sold some secret papers to the Germans – that fellow Friedberg in particular – you are too late. I’m afraid all the world knows it – by that I mean a dozen influential editors and of course his political masters. Nothing could have stopped it being in the gutter press today except his death, and we would have had to follow suit.’