Chapter 7
“I... I did not lie!” squeaked Mr. Pickle. “I did not realise you meant servants, too!”
“Yet you agreed with me when I asked if the terms of finding the parure covered servants.”
“Well, yes, but you were looking for someone capable of assaulting and torturing Marty,” said Pickle.
“It is not your job to speculate on who might have been able to intimidate, hurt, or kill. That’s what they pay me seven pounds fifteen and six a week for, plus allowances,” said Alexander. “And has it not occurred to you, with a fabulous parure at stake – and it is fabulous, if it sells for anything under a six figure sum I’ll be surprised – any of the servants might have asked for help from a relative or friend, or even have hired muscle. Don’t you think that servants have any life outside of serving?”
There was another uncomfortable silence.
“I stand rebuked,” said Mr. Pickle. “I can furnish you with their last known address as well. I wrote references, and those who went on to other jobs have had their references taken up, of course.”
“A brief list for now will suffice, you can take your time and let me have the addresses by tomorrow,” said Alexander.
“I don’t see how you can afford your suit on less than eight quid a week; you must be on the take,” said Freddy, seated uncomfortably now on a hard chair with his hands cuffed behind him.
“Mr. Beauchamp, do you have any income?” asked Alexander.
“Of course; I have a trust fund, and a share portfolio,” said Freddy. “We all do; we’re a wealthy family. I don’t say I could afford a parure like that, but I’m not a pauper.”
“And would you give up your inherited wealth if you took it into your head to become a policeman?” asked Alexander.
“Well, obviously not,” said Freddy.
“And yet, you seem to have expected me to do so,” said Alexander.
Enlightenment dawned in the rather small, mean eyes.
“You mean, you’re one of us!” said Freddy.
“I am a gentleman; I am not sure I can extend the courtesy of recognising the same in you,” said Alexander.
Freddy leaped to his feet.
“Take that back!” he roared.
“You’re busy proving my doubts,” said Alexander. “As you did by attacking me.”
“Freddy! Apologise!” snapped Penelope.
“I... yes, Mama,” said Freddy. “I apologise, Inspector. And for suggesting you take bribes.”
“Very well, I accept your apology,” said Alexander.
“Aren’t you going to take these damned handcuffs off?” demanded Freddy.
“No, because you can’t take back your attack on me,” said Alexander. “I might not decide to press charges if you co-operate fully, but a night in the cells won’t do you any harm to cool down your violent temper.”
“He spent a few nights in the glasshouse for assault, as well as getting himself a medal,” said Thomas, nastily. “Freddy doesn’t learn.”
“I fancy the rigor of the law will prove more salutary than military prison,” said Alexander. “The list of servants, Pickle?”
“I... yes,” said Pickle. “Ambersmith, the butler, an old man, expecting to retire to his daughter’s house. Sunderland, chauffeur, gardener, man of all work. Colworth, cook,”
“Male, or female?” asked Alexander.
“Male,” said Pickle. “The female servants are Mrs. Colworth, housekeeper, Grimshaw, Peters, and Murfitt, general maids, and Lambeau, the personal maid. She’s French,” he added.
“Good; I will catch up with them and with Miss Courtney, the nurse,” said Alexander. “And now, let us pass to alibis for the tenth of this month.”
“How can we be expected to remember that?” asked Albert, with a whine.
“Well, you might consider in what way you would normally spend a Sunday and consider whether you have done anything different, lately,” suggested Alexander.
“The last Sunday we did anything different was on the twelfth of last month when we attended the service at the Cenotaph,” said Penelope, brightly. “Albert’s family did not come.”
“He doesn’t care about that, fool woman,” said Alec.
“Oh, I do, if it gives Mrs. Penelope a frame of reference,” said Alexander. “I hope you don’t mind if I use first names, I don’t mean it as disrespect, but as a way of separating who is who.”
“You can call me whatever you like, as long as it isn’t late to dinner,” said Penelope. “My name isn’t really Penelope, it’s Jane, but Alec made me change it to something more distinguished. I’ve become used to it.”
“I see,” said Alexander.
He did see. A man who had married a shop girl who was dazzled by him, and possibly had been handling the goods before their marriage, and found himself forced into it, who now despised the simple girl with simple tastes, whose lack of education had once thrilled him when she admired him, and now despised her for it, without the ability to educate her to a level that would suit him. As the Senior Service, marrying so far beneath him would prejudice his promotion; only a brilliant man could rise from lower birth, and in the navy, brilliant men were respected and their family not held against them. But a man who was nominally a gentleman who married down, he was laughed at. And Alec knew it, and the glamour of being hero-worshipped had worn off... along with the hero-worship.
“What did you do, during the war, Mrs. Penelope?” Alexander asked.
“I nursed,” said Penelope. “As Eric was in school, I volunteered to go abroad. I ended up as a Staff Nurse,” she added.
“They don’t hand those out lightly,” said Alexander. “My respect, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” said Penelope. “You understand what we did.”
“I do,” said Alexander. “And so, I fancy, do Freddy and Eric, even if Thomas fails to do so.”
“I was never more shocked than when I ran into Mama to have a few bullet holes mopped up,” said Eric. “I think the feeling was mutual, and the scolding I got hurt worse than the holes.”
“You were supposed to be safe in school,” said Penelope.
“I felt I had to go,” said Eric.
“Mama did her bit,” said Freddy. “Don’t hassle her, Inspector.”
“I won’t,” said Alexander. So, Freddy listened to his mother because respect for her had dawned when he found out her war record. She was the only one who could control him; when she chose to do so. He had apparently no respect for his father.
“We went for a walk in Hyde Park on the tenth,” said Penelope. “We do, sometimes, on a Sunday. It was a lovely day, bitterly cold, but sunny and bright, and the frost crunched under our feet. We all went, the boys too, though they excused themselves later to pursue their own lives. We usually eat together at eight, but Alec took me out to eat, and we went on to a show.”
“I went to Peter Pan at the Lyceum,” said Eric. “Walking in Hyde Park reminded me of him, and I went on a whim. Edna Best played Peter; lovely pair of pins. I chatted up one of the ice-cream girls and took her for a pie and chips, and she took me back to her room and we had a good time. I can give you her address.”
“I’d be obliged,” said Alexander. One of his men could verify Eric’s sexual adventure.
“Really, Eric! Have you no discrimination?” growled Alec.
“Yes; I won’t sleep with a woman who doesn’t have neat ankles,” said Eric.
“And where did you go, sir, for the evening?” asked Alexander to Alec.
“We saw ‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” said Penelope. “A most sickly and ghastly film with symbolism laid on like our cook butters parsnips, swimming in the oil of Rudolph Valentino, and labouring the point of how horrible war is and what angels nurses are. I found it tolerably unspeakable, but as we’d had a good dinner at the Ritz beforehand, I curbed my feelings, and endured.”
“I thought it was jolly good,” said Alec.
“Yes, Alec, but you never really served in the war, any more than Arthur did,” said Penelope. “You’ve never held the hands of boys screaming out their last breaths, begging for their mothers to be there, or explained to a young officer that when he goes back to marry his sweetheart, there won’t be the pack of children he hoped for, because the bullet that severed his spine means that he can’t father children. And then had to pump out his stomach because he managed to hide his medication to take all at once to free his fiancée by committing suicide. You were mostly safe, just one raid, and your little schemes of diverting rations, corrupting my middle boy into being as filthy as you are.”
There was another uncomfortable silence.
“You never said you hated it,” muttered Alec
“I saw it as a penance for letting you buy me a really fine meal with corrupt money,” said Penelope. “Which continued when we got home, and Alec saw himself as Valentino. I endured his advances, and got to sleep about midnight. I can’t vouch for either of us after that.”
“Penelope! How can you be so low as to discuss our moments of intimacy?” cried Alec.
“You’d finger your moustache and beard as if bringing it on, the way you have to be brought on, and preen, if I said that we got home and you spent the later part of the evening like a stud stallion,” said Penelope.
“Mama, my mind is damaged, thinking of my parents and intimate moments,” said Eric.
“Well, you know it must have happened at least three times,” said Penelope, dryly.
“Please forgive my sister-in-law; she is vulgar,” said Daphne.
“I find her refreshingly frank,” said Alexander. “But as you have drawn attention to yourself, what did you and your husband do on the tenth?”
“Nothing,” said Daphne.
“You stayed in bed all day?” said Alexander.
“Of course not! I mean, we did nothing special.”
“And your ordinary Sunday consists of what?”
“We get up, Arthur sits in his shirtsleeves and dressing gown over breakfast, and reads the paper, I read the film papers, then I did some embroidery whilst Arthur played with his toy soldiers.”
“Honestly, Daphne! You make it seem as if I’m childish!” burst out Arthur. “I assure you, Inspector Armitage, I have miniatures which represent units, and I recreate battles, to see if they could be fought any better.”
“Yes, it’s a hobby I have heard of,” said Alexander, tactfully not pointing out that it tended to be one enjoyed by old men whose soldiering days were done, or by those who had had little to do with the battlefield. “And after that?”
“We sat down to listen to the wireless; since the British Broadcasting Company started broadcasting during the evening last month, we like to listen to the news and the weather, and the music they play,” said Arthur. “It’s marvellous to think that we can hear live music in our own sitting rooms.”
“And your sons listened with you?”
“We listened until dinner, because we aren’t allowed to skip dinner, but then we sneaked out to go to a club to listen to real, modern music,” said Joseph, the younger of the two. “We went to the Club Domino.”
“I wish you boys will not be so wilful,” sighed Daphne. “Yes, I know they sneak out during school holidays, and I don’t condone it, but these days, young people do as they will, and you can’t stop them.”
“And when did you come home?” asked Alexander.
“When they threw us all out, around two, I expect,” said Charley, the older of the two.
“You’re a bad example to your brother,” said his father.
“Or a good one,” said Charley.
“You are cheeky,” said Arthur, angrily.
“Oh give it a rest, pops,” said Charley.
“And don’t call me by that ghastly Americanism!” yelped Arthur.
“Can anyone corroborate where you were?” asked Alexander.
“The servants can, I expect, for us,” said Daphne. “They will know when we went out, and when we came in. The boys are such free spirits, they like to climb out of their bedroom window for a lark, so I don’t suppose anyone knows, unless someone in the club can tell you. They are too young to need alibis anyway.”
“I don’t know; they might remember us,” said Charley. “Or they might not. What are you going to do if they don’t? Hie us off to jail?” He was chewing gum, and opened his mouth sufficiently for the chewed wad to be seen as he shifted it from one side to the other. His expression said that he knew this was a disgusting habit.
“Less of your cheek,” said Alexander.
“I’m devastated by your criticism,” said Charley. Joseph sniggered.
Alexander regarded them with disfavour, but there was nothing he could do.
“I should have thrashed you both when you were younger, rather than heeding your mother’s pleas,” growled Arthur.
“Shoulda and Coulda are two different fellas, Shoulda speaks loud and Coulda was yellow,” said Charley.
Arthur went red.
“Go to your rooms!” he roared.
“Oh, Arthur, don’t make yourself foolish,” said Daphne. “There, my angel-boys, Papa doesn’t mean it.”
Arthur threw her a look of disgust and subsided.
Alexander gritted his teeth, and pushed on.
“Very well; I have not heard how Frederick and Thomas Beauchamp spent Sunday,” he said.
“I’m not sure if I want to answer that,” said Freddy.
“I’ll find out eventually,” said Alexander.
“The hell with you,” said Freddy.
“I went to the cinema,” said Thomas.
“What was on?” asked Alexander.
“I... I don’t know,” said Thomas. “I fell asleep.”
“Surely you saw what the posters were?” asked Alexander.
“I might have been drinking, a bit,” said Thomas. “I hate family walks in the park. I hate how Freddy and Eric march like they were on parade. I hate how my parents pretend to be normal by talking about the news and act like it matters. I hate how Eric smirks at all the flappers and they simper at him, and look under their lashes like whores. I went to the cinema to forget, and I forgot.”
“Perhaps you can tell us which cinema and we can see if you are remembered,” said Alexander.
“I don’t remember. I drank until closing time, then wandered around until the cinema opened,” said Thomas. “They threw me out. I remember that.”
“And then?”
“I found a pub until evening closing time.”
“That’s still only 10pm on a Sunday,” said Alexander. “What did you do then?”
“I have no idea,” said Thomas. “I woke up at home.”
“I... I found Thomas outside when I came home,” said Eric. “I put him to bed and cleaned him up.”
“Cleaned him up?” said Alexander.
“He’d voided himself in various ways,” said Eric. “And he was covered in blood,” he added, reluctantly.
“No!” said Thomas.
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