Trouble Brewing (22 page)

‘He snapped out of it jolly quickly,' muttered Bill.

‘Er . . . yes. Remarkably quickly, I agree.'

‘And you didn't think to ask Constable Brockley to step back into the room while you were gone?'

‘Er . . . no. I am not accustomed, Inspector,' said Dr Woodcote testily, ‘to having my hospital treated as a prison, nor, indeed, having to combine the functions of a doctor and a jailer.'

‘I had to do what the doctor said, sir,' said Brockley, mournfully. ‘And I weren't mucking about with any of the nurses, sir, honest.'

‘All right, Brockley, dismissed,' said Rackham wearily. ‘Although what,' he added to Jack, when they had stepped inside Jaggard's room and safely out of earshot of the hospital staff, ‘that doctor thought he was playing at, I don't know. You'd think we had police posted here because we thought they could do with a nice rest.'

He sourly regarded the curtains flapping over the open window. ‘Imagine leaving a man facing a murder charge in an unguarded room with an open window and a flat roof beyond. Honestly! It's obvious Jaggard's been waiting his chance. Torpor, indeed! I'd like to shake that damn doctor out of his torpor. Jaggard's got the best part of an hour's start on us. He'll be across the Channel before we know it.'

Jack shook his head. ‘I doubt that. He'll know there'll be a watch on the ports and he'll be pretty conspicuous with a bandage round his head. What clothes was he wearing?'

‘Pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers. His own clothes had been removed.'

‘Did he have any money?'

‘Not as far as I know. He had a few personal bits and pieces – a watch, cigarette case and so on – but that was the height of it.' Bill brightened visibly. ‘He'll find it a hard job to get anywhere.'

‘His main need'll be for a change of clothes and some shoes,' said Jack, propping his elbows on the windowsill. ‘He won't be able to call in any shops, obviously. Keep an eye on anywhere where there's clothes, Bill. Washing-lines in back gardens – I can see some from here. Sheds, garages, anywhere he can hole up without being disturbed.'

‘A washing-line?' said Bill, stepping to the window. ‘That's a thought.' He turned in annoyance as the door opened. It was Constable Brockley. ‘Yes?'

‘Mrs Tyrell's here, sir, to see Mr Jaggard. I didn't say nothing, but she knows something's up.'

‘Damn! I haven't really got time for her, but she'd better be told.'

‘I'll see her,' offered Jack.

Bill shot him a glance of gratitude. ‘Thanks. Maybe she'll have some idea of where he could have got to. If she has, telephone the Yard. Brockley! Come with me and see what you can do to make good the damage. Although, my lad,' he added, bitterly, unfairly, but quite understandably, ‘it's mainly down to you that we're trying to shut the stable door after the horse has bolted.'

‘Kennet!'

The voice was a low whisper but it made the valet jump as if it had been the crack of a gun.

‘Kennet!' came the voice again. ‘Over here, man.'

There was a rustle in the shrubbery fringing the path. Kennet threw away his cigar, which he had been enjoying in the night air, and moved cautiously towards the bushes. ‘Is that you, Mr Jaggard?' he asked quietly.

‘Of course it's me. Is it safe to come out?'

Kennet glanced round the garden. The French windows into the drawing room were open, but the rest of the servants were at the other side of the house. ‘I think so, sir. The house is being watched front and back, though. There's a couple of bobbies walking around. They've called here to ask if we'd seen you.'

The bushes parted and Jaggard stepped out, grunting as he straightened himself up. ‘That's more like it. I know the police are about. I got into the gardens at the bottom of the row and climbed over the walls. That wretched little pug of the Price-Norrises nearly gave the game away but I managed to scarper before anyone came.'

‘Sir . . .' wavered Kennet. ‘Your clothes!'

His master, who was normally so impeccably dressed, had on a pair of filthy, oil-smeared overalls, boots from which his toes were sticking out and a cap in which the pattern had long since merged into grime. His face was streaked with oil, but under the dirt, Kennet could see he was ghastly white.

Jaggard tried to laugh. ‘I broke into a garage and stole them. I managed to slit the boots, thank God, otherwise I'd have been crippled. I've been lying under the tonneau of a car all day until it got dark enough for me to move.' He swayed and clutched at the valet for support. ‘I'm in a hell of a mess, Kennet. I need help.'

‘Sir, it's not true, is it?' asked Kennet urgently. ‘What the papers are saying about that young woman an' all?'

Jaggard gave a very tired smile. ‘No, it's not true. I've done a lot of things I'm not very proud of, but funnily enough, that's not one of them.'

‘There!' said Kennet in triumph. ‘I knew it wasn't. I told the others, I said, Mr Jaggard's never done it. I've been with Mr Jaggard all through the war and I know what he would do and what he wouldn't do. He's been upset recently and no wonder, with Mrs—'

He was stopped sharp by an angry grunt from Jaggard. ‘Leave your mistress out of this, Kennet.'

‘Yes, sir. I beg your pardon, I'm sure.'

‘I need some money, some better clothes and some food, then I'll take myself off again.' He swayed once more as he spoke.

Kennet glanced up and down the garden once more. ‘You'll do no such thing. Let me get you up to your room. You'll be perfectly safe there and you can have a proper night's sleep. I won't say a word to anyone, sir. I'll tell Janet to leave cleaning your room in the morning. She won't need much persuasion and not a soul'll know you're here. Steady, sir!' Jaggard's eyes had closed and he had nearly fallen. Kennet slipped an arm under his shoulders. ‘In you come and no more argument.'

Jaggard's eyes flickered open. ‘I've got to get away.'

‘And you will,' said Kennet cheerfully. Jaggard slumped against him. ‘Poor little sod,' he said tenderly, and half walked, half carried Jaggard into the house.

Ruby was cleaning the picture frames in the hall when the front door opened and Patricia Tyrell walked in. Ruby quickly got down from the steps and came to greet her. ‘I'm that glad to see you, mum. I didn't know you were coming this morning, or else I'd have had the drawing room ready. Janet hasn't finished in there yet.'

‘That's quite all right, Ruby,' said Pat, taking off her gloves and unpinning her hat. ‘I need to sort out a few things in my room. Is Kennet about? I could do with his help.'

‘He's upstairs in the master's room, ma'am.'

‘Good.' She walked towards the stairs but was stopped by a cough from Ruby.

‘Er . . . ma'am, what I want to say is, that I don't believe a word of them wicked lies they're saying about the master, but Cook's gone and taken herself off saying she could have been murdered in her bed any time this twelvemonth.'

‘Good riddance,' said Pat. ‘She was a rotten cook anyway.' She smiled. ‘I appreciate your loyalty, Ruby. These are very difficult times for all of us, but you can tell the staff that I value the way they've stood by me, and, as a mark of my appreciation, I'd like to raise everyone's wages by ten shillings a month. I'll have a word with you all later, but first of all I really must go and have a look at my room.'

Ruby watched her walk up the stairs in a much happier frame of mind. Load of rubbish, all that stuff in the papers was
and
she'd never cared for the police. Ten bob extra a month? That'd come in handy . . .

Kennet froze and put a finger to his lips. Jaggard heard the footsteps on the landing and quietly slipped into his dressing room. The door opened – it would have caused too much comment if it had been locked – and Pat walked in. Kennet breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness it's you, ma'am. This is a nerve-racking business. There's only me knows he's here.'

‘How is he?' asked Pat anxiously. ‘I got your note, Kennet, and came as soon as I could . . .' She trailed off as Jaggard came into the room.

‘Thanks for coming, Pat,' he said softly. ‘I knew you wouldn't let me down.'

Kennet tactfully faded into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him.

Jaggard tried a smile. ‘Kennet's been a brick. I didn't want to stop here because of the risk of getting him into trouble, but he wouldn't hear of me going. I . . . I was in a pretty bad way last night and he took charge. I can't stay for much longer. Someone's bound to discover where I am and he'll be for it.'

She walked across to him, rested her hand on his arm and searched his face. He was very pale and still wore a bandage over his forehead. Deep lines of strain were etched round his mouth and there were shadows under his eyes. He looked like a beaten man. ‘Why did you run for it, Greg?' she asked softly.

‘It seemed better than waiting to be hanged.'

She flinched. ‘It won't come to that.'

‘Oh, won't it?' He gripped onto the doorframe. ‘Excuse me, I'll have to sit down.' He slumped onto the bed and, after the slightest of pauses, Pat sat down beside him. He clasped his hands and looked at his palms. ‘They're convinced I murdered Sheila Mandeville,' he said at length. ‘God knows why. They've got some evidence to prove it. I don't know what.' He turned to look at her. ‘Pat, you don't think . . .'

She shook her head. ‘No. There must be some terrible mistake.'

‘Thank you.' His face lightened in gratitude. ‘Thank you, my dear.' He paused. ‘Why did you ask me to meet you at her flat? I got your message but you never turned up.'

‘I never sent a message,' she said. ‘Inspector Rackham asked me about it, but I certainly never asked you to meet me at Miss Mandeville's. After I saw you at the Ritz, I decided to come and watch the race, but I never attempted to get in touch with you. There must be some mistake.'

His mouth set in a grim line. ‘Either that or someone's set me up.'

‘But who?' She read the answer in his face and stiffened. ‘No, Greg, no. You can't think Larry's responsible.' She sensed his complete disbelief and an ember of anger smouldered into life. ‘He wouldn't do that. He's my husband, Greg. He doesn't
need
to get rid of you. He's got me anyway.'

‘Has he?' Jaggard asked quietly.

She flushed. ‘I wasn't going to tell you, not after the accident and everything that's happened, but I'm going to live with him. It's only right,' she added defensively.

Jaggard's shoulders slumped and he shut his eyes tightly. ‘I was expecting this,' he said eventually. He opened his eyes and looked at her very closely. ‘You're right, you know. He's your husband. I made a rotten fist of it. I know I was only ever second best.'

‘Don't,' she began, infuriated at his self-pity, then her anger drained at the sight of his white face. She reached out for his hand but he jerked away as if he'd been burnt. ‘I'm sorry,' she said formally.

She reached out again and this time he let her hand rest on his. ‘Greg, I've thought a lot about what went wrong. I trusted you, Greg. I believed you loved me. I think I'm as much to blame as you, but . . .' She shook herself in irritation. ‘When I found out about that woman I was so
hurt
!' she broke out bitterly. ‘Why did you do it?'

He got up and walked across the room, leaning his forehead on his arm against the door. ‘There's many reasons,' he said flatly. His face was turned away from her. ‘I knew I only had a limited claim on your affection.'

He motioned her to keep quiet. ‘I got tired of never quite coming up to scratch. That was one thing. Then – and this is nobody's fault but my own – I tried too high with the car business. They're good machines, Pat, some of the best on the road, but I wanted them to be the very best. I started to have big ideas. I got in way over my head. I poured money in. Nothing mattered but perfection. I've been taking ghastly losses. I ran through all my money and borrowed more. It's been hell. I
couldn't
make it pay but kept on tormenting myself with the idea it might. You can call me a bloody fool if you like, but the truth of the matter is that I'm flat broke. Ruined.'

‘Ruined?' she repeated. ‘You mean you've got no money at all, Greg?'

‘That's the height of it. I'm totally skittled out. When things were at their very lowest ebb, I ran into Elise again. Don't get me wrong. She was never more than fun, but I liked her. She demanded nothing but hard cash. I managed that . . . There were no emotions with Elise. She never pretended to care and would have laughed if I'd said I loved her. Just for once, I was being honest. I knew what I was buying was false, but, for a time and on conditions, it felt like the real thing.'

‘Why couldn't you tell me?' she asked. ‘I was your wife, Greg. I knew something was badly wrong. I tried to talk to you, remember? Why didn't you tell me?'

‘You?' The twist in his voice knifed into her. ‘You? All I'd ever had to offer you was money. It's gone, Pat, gone. All I've got are debts. I couldn't tell you.'

Pat drew her breath in. Money. It was like a shock of ice-cold water. Money. She'd hated Greg's mistress, despised a woman who could sell herself, but now? It was like looking at a reflection in a mirror. Why
should
Greg believe he had nothing to give but money? That money was all she'd ever valued him for? Because he's right. A small, objective, damning voice sounded in her mind. Because he's right.

She walked across the room and tentatively put a hand on his back. She didn't want him to be right.

He shuddered as she touched him, then turned his head to look at her. She tried to find words, but failed. He took her shoulders in his hands, studying her face intently. Then his lips were on hers in a passionate, desperate embrace. ‘I love you,' he said. It sounded like a death sentence. ‘God help me, I love you.'