A Particular Eye for Villainy: (Inspector Ben Ross 4) (11 page)
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Authors: Ann Granger
‘Quite,’ Tapley said briefly, ‘although I object strongly to your use of the expression “passing off”. We never attempted to mislead anyone. That was not our purpose. For her to call
me “Uncle” seemed obvious at the time. She was an infant when she came to us.
‘I knew my cousin was anxious about his child’s welfare, although he’d had little personally to do with Flora since she lost her mamma and came to us. He visited occasionally, bearing some expensive gift. I fancy he found the visits difficult, however. But he would want only her happiness. I took him aside and put a proposition to him. It was that he should put his affairs in order, drawing up a will naming Flora as his heir, and me as her guardian. Tom would then go abroad and stay there. He might live wherever and in whatever manner he chose. But he would remain outside of this country.’
‘A remittance man . . .’ I murmured. So, that was it.
‘Strictly speaking, he was not that because he wasn’t paid by me to stay away,’ Tapley corrected me. ‘Tom was a wealthy man. He would draw upon income from his investments and rents through an arrangement with a bank wherever he was, for his own support. He agreed it would be in Flora’s best interest. Besides, for him life might be easier. In Europe, Inspector, the laws are generally less vindictive than they are here regarding Tom’s situation. In France, for example, the act which had nearly sent Tom to the gallows when a student ceased to be a crime late in the last century.
‘My cousin agreed willingly. It was all settled and he left. I heard from him from time to time, not very often. For a while he lived in Italy, then in the south of France. Then came a period of silence. I was wondering whether to make enquiries when the matter became urgent. Flora turned nineteen last autumn. A most eligible young man, the younger son of a peer of the realm, presented himself as suitor. Flora fell in love.
The young man’s family approved. Of course she is still very young, but my wife and I are sure the attachment is genuine. Naturally, the young fellow first came to me to ask permission to offer for her hand—’
‘And you had to tell him that Flora’s natural father was still alive and as she’s not yet one and twenty, permission had to be sought from him,’ I interrupted.
He nodded. ‘Yes. That’s when things became very difficult. I wrote to Thomas at the last known address in France because I believed him to be in that country. I explained what had happened and assured him the young man was no fortune hunter. I asked that Tom write, giving his consent to the marriage, and with the letter properly attested by a notary public. There would be no need for him to come home.
‘I sent the letter to his last known residence. It was returned to me, apparently unopened. I wrote others, but received no reply. In desperation, I wrote to our embassy in Paris. I eventually received intelligence from them that Tom was last heard of living on the outskirts of the French capital. But he was no longer registered as living there; and where he was the embassy could not say. They had not been informed of the death in France of any British subject of that name. We assumed, therefore, he was still alive. But the Continent is full of travelling Englishmen. He could have returned to Italy, decided to see the Swiss Alps, been taken with an impulse to explore the Austrian or the Turkish empires, gone, in fact, anywhere.’
Tapley took out a fine lawn handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘I told the young couple that they must, in any case, wait until Flora was twenty-one before any marriage could
take place. That gave me a little time. First of all I established, through enquiry in this country, that Tom was still drawing an income from his investments here, so was still alive. But, and here’s the distressing thing, it had all along been a very modest income. He could barely have been living in comfort all those years. He wanted, I am sure, to leave as much as possible of his fortune for Flora. The poor fellow stinted himself in every way.’
‘He certainly presented a down-at-heel appearance,’ I told him. ‘His clothing was shabby. The clothes press in his lodgings contains only a change of linen. He had only one coat. If he spent any money, it was on second-hand books.’
Jonathan Tapley closed his eyes. ‘Poor Tom,’ he murmured again. ‘He was the kindest, most good-natured fellow, and his own country persecuted him.’
This was not the time to discuss the law regarding homosexual acts. Jonathan Tapley had been right in saying both he and I were bound to uphold the law as it stood.
Jonathan Tapley sat back as if bracing himself. ‘I then received a severe shock. Failing to get a reply from France, I contacted the firm of Harrogate solicitors who handled, still handle, all of Tom’s business in this country. I learned that Tom had visited them early last year, January,
in person
. He had returned to Britain! You can imagine my reaction – my stupefaction, you might say. He told the solicitors he had not yet established a permanent address here and would let them know as soon as he had one. They were still awaiting his notification. They had assumed I would know where he lived. Between us, you might say, we had lost him.’
The curious disappearance of Thomas Tapley was throwing
up all manner of possibilities. Why had he chosen to behave in this way? Because he feared his cousin Jonathan’s disapproval when it was discovered he’d come back to England, breaking the arrangement made nine years earlier? He did not know, of course, that Jonathan was looking for him or that his daughter, Flora, wished to become engaged. But even when he had quitted the rooms rented from Mrs Holland in Southampton and had established himself more permanently with Mrs Jameson in London, Thomas still hadn’t informed his solicitor of his address – or his cousin, who lived across town in the more fashionable area of Bryanston Square. Tom Tapley had also misled Mrs Jameson when he had told her he’d wished to return to London because he had previously lived there. But it seemed he’d lived in the North before leaving for the Continent. His wish to return to London was because here he had a daughter. Had he intended to contact her and then lacked the courage?
‘Mr Tapley,’ I said briskly, ‘I take it you were in correspondence with your cousin while he was abroad.’
Jonathan looked discomfited for a moment. ‘Not regularly, I confess. Perhaps only once a year, to let him know Flora was well and there were no changes in our situation. He seldom replied.’
‘That is regular enough. There are people living in this country who don’t correspond with their relations more frequently than that. Did you, at any time, travel to Europe and visit him there? When was the last confirmed sighting of him in France, Italy or any other country before he returned here? This is very important. It would help us narrow down the most likely date of his return. Was it just before he visited
his solicitor in Harrogate last January, or earlier? There is a second question. Did he take abroad with him all his personal documents, those relating to his investments, for example, or a copy of his will? Nothing was found at his lodgings.’
‘That one I can answer easily. He must have had some personal documents with him; but most items of that nature are lodged with the firm of Newman and Thorpe of Harrogate, the solicitors in question. They have represented my cousin’s interests for many years and it would be a wise move for a man living a wandering life, staying in lodgings and hotels. I suggest you contact Newman and Thorpe. I shall shortly be writing to them myself. I understand I am an executor of his will. I can answer your question about the last sighting of him in Europe, but only to raise another mystery.’
He got to his feet and began to walk up and down the room, hands clasped behind his back again.
‘The year before last, I happened to run into an old acquaintance, a fellow I’d been at school with. We chatted about this and that, catching up on our news as one does, when suddenly he floored me with a remark I really hadn’t expected.
‘“By the way,”’ he said, “I ran into Tom Tapley recently. Isn’t he a cousin of yours?” I was staggered – and alarmed. Had Tom broken his promise to stay out of England? Where? I asked at once. “Walking on the beach at Deauville,” he told me.
‘It seemed Parker, the chap’s name, had been walking along the seafront at Deauville. Coming towards him he’d seen a gentleman with a female companion on his arm. Nearing them, he recognised Tom whom he’d met a few times
in London some years before. He’d hailed him asking if he wasn’t Tom Tapley? Tom had acknowledged it and asked what brought Parker to Deauville. Parker explained he’d come for the horse racing. Tom had replied that he was resident now in France, and was in Deauville to recuperate following a period of poor health. They agreed the air on the Normandy coast was invigorating. Parker wished Tom a speedy return to good health and they parted. It was Parker’s impression Tom didn’t wish to stay and talk more. He thought Tom not best pleased at the encounter. Both parties experienced some embarrassment.’
‘And the lady?’
‘Oh, that, in Parker’s view, was the oddest thing. All the time they spoke, the female was clinging to Tom, while at the same time simpering and giving him, Parker, the glad eye. I am quoting Parker. But Tom didn’t introduce her, which was very odd. She was French, in Parker’s opinion, well turned out, and of what the French call “a certain age”. Let’s say, over forty. But her bold attitude and worldly air made him uneasy. Frankly, in his opinion, she was of the
demi-monde
. He was very surprised because he knew Tom wasn’t interested in women, not in
that
way. He was the last fellow you’d expect to see with a courtesan.’
‘What did you make of it?’ I asked.
‘I supposed Tom had found another older woman to take care of him. But I shared Parker’s unease. Other older ladies who’d taken him under their wing had always been of irreproachable reputation. Well, now, perfectly respectable people do visit Deauville! I believe the Empress Eugénie has been seen there. But it is also known, although perhaps less
than its sister-resort of Trouville, as the sort of place fellows take their mistresses. Seaside towns tend to have a racy reputation, in this country also. That was what flummoxed Parker.’
‘Did you write to your cousin about it?’
‘I set pen to paper, but I tore up the draft of my letter. It was not my business. My cousin was a free man. Besides, what if Tom wrote back saying the woman was the wife of a friend, whom he was escorting as a favour? I’d sound a perfect fool if I wrote suggesting otherwise. One thing Tom certainly never had was a mistress.’
‘Just one last question, Mr Tapley,’ I said, preparing to scramble out of the depths of the armchair. ‘You came to see me as soon as you read of the discovery of a body. What made you think it might be that of your cousin?’
Jonathan Tapley raised his black eyebrows. ‘My dear Inspector, my cousin had disappeared! He had failed to contact his solicitors with his new address, as he had promised. He had made no attempt to contact us, my wife and me. Though apparently in this country after an absence of almost nine years, he had shown no interest in visiting his daughter. The press report said the dead man was believed to have lived briefly in Southampton. It is a Channel port. It had already entered my mind that some misfortune could have befallen Tom. I can tell you that I was on the verge of consulting the police and reporting him missing.’ He hesitated.
‘At the risk of distressing you more,’ I said, ‘I must point out that if you had reported him missing, you and I would not be here now. Thomas Tapley lodged with a neighbour of ours, of my wife’s and mine, on the south side of the river, not far
from the railway station. I should have recognised the name and put you in touch.’
Jonathan Tapley frowned. ‘That certainly doesn’t make me feel any better. But I was not to know that! Yes, I agree, I should have contacted the police earlier. But, don’t forget, there was also the possibility that he had not remained in England. He could have returned to France. That could have been the reason he sent no new address here to Newman and Thorpe.’
I thought that Mr Jonathan Tapley Q.C. was constructing a plausible explanation, others would call it an excuse, for his dilatoriness in contacting the police. I wondered if the truth were as simple as that.
‘Well,’ said Dunn thoughtfully when I reported all this to him. ‘So Thomas Tapley had something of a history. Perhaps instead of sending Constable Biddle round the coffee houses, you should have sent him round the bathhouses, Ross.’ He sat back and scowled at me.
I knew this didn’t mean I’d displeased him particularly. It meant he was thinking it all over and was about to pick on some aspect that worried him. He was choosing his words.
‘We must not offend Jonathan Tapley, Ross,’ the superintendent began slowly. ‘We must not appear to bungle any aspect of this investigation. He is an eminent barrister and if we make mistakes we should call down on our heads the wrath of him and all his brethren of the wig and gown. Besides, he has friends in high places. He has argued the interests of noblemen, members of parliament, fashionable society of all sorts. There must be no such errors. There must be no
unnecessary scandal. No lurid tales in the popular press. All enquiries from now on must be handled with the utmost tact. Keep Biddle out of it, unless it’s interviewing housemaids. Morris can be trusted for most things, but not to deal with Queen’s Counsel. You’ll have to do the sensitive work yourself.’
