Dangerous Decisions (26 page)

Jacob had delegated the use of Oliver's study for the detectives. He himself had been rebuked for failing to report earlier the fact of Rosalind's kidnapping, and told that the delay would seriously hinder the police investigations.

‘Will the police officers require refreshment, Sir?'

Jacob turned to the butler. ‘Yes, of course, once they have interviewed Nanny Evans. Perhaps some coffee and sandwiches? And for me too, but I will take mine in the dining room.' He had decided to relay the bad news to Beatrice once she was feeling well. Later, once all of the staff had been interviewed, he went to see the police.

The Chief Inspector twisted a pencil between his fingers, a frown between his eyes. ‘Yes, Mr Standish, I understand your concern. There is no evidence yet to link the two cases. However, at this stage we are not ruling anything out, which is why we have no plans at present to release any details of the kidnapping. Our hope is that any police presence here will be assumed to be connected with the death of Mr Faraday.'

‘Is it not,' Jacob said, ‘becoming a little late for a ransom demand?'

The detective shook his head. ‘There have been reported instances – especially in America – of two or three days passing before any contact is made.'

‘And if not?'

‘Then there will be a blaze of publicity. If it does transpire that the culprit is a woman who has lost her own baby, then someone out there must have seen …'

Jacob finished his sentence, ‘A baby with five fingers instead of four.'

‘Quite.'

‘Tell me, Chief Inspector. Is it your opinion that there is a reasonable chance of recovering my granddaughter, of her being unharmed?'

‘I don't have a crystal ball, Sir. I can only assure you of our utmost support and assistance. Now I know it is a lot to ask when she must be in a state of shock, but do you think that we could have a few words with Mrs Faraday?'

Helena was sitting listlessly in an armchair, her head resting on a cushion, her hands holding a damp handkerchief when the three men came into the drawing room. But as Jacob had already told the detectives, there was little she could tell them. ‘I'm sorry, I had no idea he was out, let alone why he should have been on the Embankment so late at night. And I am certainly not aware that he had any enemies.' She rose to face both detectives, gazing with frantic eyes first at one and at then the other. ‘You will do all you can to find my baby?'

The Chief Inspector's eyes were full of compassion. ‘We are both family men, Mrs Faraday. You need have no fears on that score.'

Once they were alone Jacob said with a frown, ‘Oliver's death is bound to be reported in the newspapers, Helena. We must not allow the staff at Graylings and Broadway Manor to learn of it in such a way.'

‘And I fear, Papa, that we can't delay much longer before telling Aunt Beatrice.'

But later Beatrice, after her initial shock, proved to be of stronger mettle than Helena could have imagined. Still pale after her migraine attack, nevertheless she rallied herself to practicalities. ‘Has anyone notified Selwyn?'

Jacob slumped in an armchair and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I hadn't given the man a single thought.'

‘There is the wedding on Thursday … He may wish to postpone it. We shall be unable to attend whatever he decides.'

‘I would expect him to be already in London,' Jacob said.

Helena rose. ‘Oliver will have a note of the number in his study.'

Beatrice watched her leave and turned to her brother. ‘She is being so brave.'

‘Yes, I feel very proud of her.'

Helena hesitated outside the door to Oliver's study. It wasn't a room that she often went into but when she entered, the detectives' lingering fug of unfamiliar tobacco already gave it a different atmosphere. She gazed at the bookshelves, at Oliver's button-backed swivel chair, thinking that never again would he sit there to attend to his correspondence, or to business matters. Then she frowned; the desk had been cleared of papers, even the address book was missing. Realising that the police must have removed Oliver's personal effects, Helena knew that he would have been furious at such an intrusion and went to slump in misery and confusion on the leather wing armchair.

Why could she not have loved him more? She had felt so happy on their wedding day, so full of hope. Yet after the brutal way he had used her on their wedding night no matter how she had tried, she had never been able to feel the same about him.

She stared into the fireplace. Had he ever really loved her? He hadn't even loved their baby. And yet only last night he had told her to trust him, had promised to bring her home and now … She raised her head. He
must
have gone out to find her, no matter what Papa thought. Why else would he have been on the Embankment at that unearthly hour? Nothing else made sense. And it was then that she rose on trembling legs and began to walk towards the door. Helena had never felt so frightened in her life, because if she was right – and Oliver
had
been killed by the same person who had kidnapped Rosalind, then even now, her baby's trusting blue eyes could be gazing up into the face of a murderer.

At Broadway Manor the staff had gathered in the Servants' Hall for afternoon tea, when they heard the peal of the doorbell. Henry Bostock, who had removed his jacket and settled in his customary place at the head of the table, asked one of the footmen to answer it. ‘It's not likely to be anyone important, not with the family away.'

‘It's a telegram, Mr Bostock!'

They all turned to stare at the young footman as he came back down the stairs. The butler turned to take it from him and removed his reading glasses from his top pocket.

‘I hope it's not bad news.' Cook put down her knife just as the clock on the wall struck the hour. ‘I never did like those dratted things.'

‘It doesn't have to be,' Annie said. ‘Maybe Mr Standish and Miss Beatrice are coming back early, that's all. Her little dog'll be pleased that's for, sure.'

‘Be quiet all of you! I am afraid it is bad news, terrible news. The telegram is from Mr Standish. I shall read you exactly what it says. “
Regret to inform you of death by a violent crime of Mr Oliver Faraday.” '

Cook's gasp rose above the others. ‘Oh, my good Lord!'

‘Our poor Miss Helena.' Annie's voice was a whisper.

Charlotte, wide-eyed, crossed herself.

‘Oh, that such a terrible thing should happen,' Cook lifted a corner of her white apron and dabbed at her eyes. ‘And him so young an' all.

‘When I think how lovely she looked,' Annie said, ‘that day when she stood on the staircase in her wedding dress and now she's already a widow. It's a cruel world, it really is.'

‘What will happen, Mr Bostock?' Cook turned to him. ‘Will Miss Helena have to leave Graylings?'

‘Almost certainly. I believe a cousin will inherit as Miss Rosalind wasn't a boy.'

‘It shouldn't make any difference if you ask me,' Annie said.

‘Men rule the world, they always have, they always will,' Cook said. ‘I don't suppose it will ever change.'

There was a moment's thoughtful silence as they all took a few sips of their tea, and then Annie said, ‘Well, I know it's terrible, him dyin' an all, but I for one hope Miss Helena comes back to Broadway Manor.'

At Graylings, Molly had still not heard the news. The housekeeper was taking advantage of the family's absence by delegating the ‘turning out' of rarely used rooms. Therefore Molly was in what she always thought of as the ‘creepy one', dusting the family portraits that for some reason the master kept shut away. She stood back to gaze at the image of a young woman. It may have been the fashion then to have such low-cut bodices, but in Molly's opinion it was a wonder the women didn't catch their death of cold, although so much flesh on show did divert attention from a homely face, and certainly this girl could never be called pretty. She shrugged and turned her attention to polishing the window and dusting the pelmet and skirting boards.

Relieved to finish her task, she closed the door behind her and, struggling with her mop, dusters and polish, went awkwardly down the back stairs to the kitchen, only to be summoned to join the rest of the staff in the Servants' Hall. It was whispered that it was something to do with a telegram.

In London, Helena and Beatrice were sitting desolate in the drawing room when Jacob came to join them. ‘As I thought,' he said, ‘Oliver had a note of Selwyn's number in his study at Graylings. Crossley has received my telegram and has conveyed the sincere condolences of the staff. They are all extremely shocked by the sad news.'

‘Thank you.' Helena's tone was vague. She was yet again pacing the room, dark circles beneath her eyes, her pallor so marked that Jacob exchanged further worried glances with Beatrice.

‘I am afraid Selwyn insisted on coming immediately to Faraday House,' he went on. ‘I judged it best to make no mention of Rosalind.'

Helena swung round to face him. ‘Papa, how do we know that the police are out there looking for her, that they are doing everything possible?'

‘My dear, I'm sure the Chief Inspector is doing all he can.' Beatrice's words sounded as weary as her platitude, and the silence in the room grew so heavy with their hopeless frustration that it was almost a relief when the doorbell eventually rang.

The butler ushered in the man who, despite being his cousin, Oliver had detested.

Selwyn's florid face was composed in a mournful expression, but his pale blue eyes were gleaming with satisfaction. His tone was, in Helena's opinion, one of pure cant. ‘My dear cousin-in-law, what can I say to comfort you. Oliver will be a grievous loss to us all. He was held in the highest regard by everyone who knew him and I shall miss him greatly.'

‘Thank you, Selwyn.'

‘Please accept my deepest sympathy.' He gave a discreet cough. ‘I shall of course allow you the utmost latitude. In the matter of vacating the houses, I mean. Shall we say one month?'

Jacob moved protectively before his daughter. ‘For heaven's sake man, have you no decency!'

‘Yes of course, but I shall be abroad for a few weeks don't you know. I thought it best to …'

‘You are acquainted with the firm of McPherson and McPherson I assume, the lawyers who handle the Faraday affairs?' Jacob's voice was harsh. ‘Mr Finlay Mcpherson will no doubt be in contact with you at the apposite time, namely after your cousin's funeral. Am I to take it that you will not be attending the service and that the wedding will go ahead?'

‘Regretfully that is correct, Mr Standish. I do have to consider my future wife.'

‘Then I must bid you good day, Mr Faraday.' He went over to the bell pull. ‘I offer our apologies, but under the circumstances we will not be able to attend your nuptials. We do of course wish you well.'

Seconds later, he turned to a silent Helena and an irate Beatrice. ‘That man,' he said through gritted teeth, ‘is not a gentleman.'

Helena's frustration was reaching fever pitch; it had been a shock to hear Selwyn refer to ‘houses'; she had never once thought of having to leave Faraday House. Whether he came to the funeral or not was of no consequence. Her only concern was for Rosalind. If only they could hear
something
! No matter how high the ransom was … And then suddenly she was panic-stricken. ‘Papa? When the kidnappers contact us … will the bank give me access to Oliver's money?'

He shook his head. ‘A large sum could present a problem – at least until the estate is settled. But my dear, I am not without funds.'

Beatrice said with determination, ‘And I have my own savings.'

Helena gazed at the two dear people before her. ‘What ever would I do without you both?' And it was then that she broke down. ‘I can't bear it, I really can't. The thought that someone could even now be hurting Rosalind is tearing me apart.'

‘Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes!' Belle stood aside and waved a hand for her visitor to come in. ‘Any chance of yer coming back, Cora? Some of yer regulars are still asking.'

Cora wrinkled her nose at the stale air still thick with cigar smoke from the night before and glanced at the pink velveteen sofas and heavily fringed cushions. ‘Sorry, Belle, no chance. Is Sybil about?'

‘I expect she's up, with a face like a drainpipe as usual. I'm tellin' you, Cora, if she doesn't buck her ideas up she's out of 'ere. A bloke don't want ter pay good money to lie on top of a stuffed mattress. He can do that at 'ome. Sybil!'

As always, Belle's screech nearly burst the eardrums, but it had the desired effect, bringing Sybil to peer over the landing, her face blanching as she saw Cora.

‘I'll leave yer to it, I need to sort out the laundress.'

‘Good to see you, Belle.' Then Cora hissed up the stairs. ‘Syb, get yer hat and coat!'

‘I thought you said we weren't to meet up for a week.' Sybil's face was panic stricken as a few minutes later she closed the front door behind them.

‘I know, but something's come up. Not the rozzers, so don't look so scared, but I need to talk to you in private.'

‘Fancy pie and mash? There's that dark corner in Fat Sam's?'

Cora shook her head as they began to hurry along the road. ‘I need a bit of daylight for this. How about Charlie's?'

‘Suits me.'

Ten minutes later, they went into the small stuffy cafe and found an empty table by the window. Once they were sitting opposite each other Cora glanced warily over her shoulder, but sitting behind her was only an old crone bent over her dinner plate, while the table behind Sybil was unoccupied. She waited until they had given their order then took a newspaper out of her bag. ‘I went to buy this to look at the adverts, and got the shock of me life when I saw the front page. The name might be different but as God's my witness, Sybil, this chap that's bin murdered on the Embankment, it's Ned. Not only that but it must have happened not long after he left me.'

‘What? Here, let me look …'

Cora pushed the newspaper across to her. ‘I only saw him once without his cap on, but it's him all right, I'd swear to it.' Then her voice trailed away as she saw the other girl's eyes widen, her face grow pale. ‘What's up?'

‘Cora, he may have called himself Ned to you, but I knew him as Gerald.'

‘Gerald?' Cora stared at her. ‘You mean that bloke who dumped you, left you homeless?'

Sybil nodded. ‘It's him all right. I told you he was a toff.'

‘Well, I'll be blowed. Here, pass that paper back.' Cora read the whole article again, more carefully this time. This chap had set up Sybil in an apartment in St John's Wood, and hang on a minute, what did it say here – Mr Oliver Faraday had married a Miss Helena Standish of Lichfield in Staffordshire. Cora raised her head and stared out of the grimy window. Staffordshire, now where had she heard of that before? She frowned as her glance fell on a used cup and saucer left on the table by a previous occupant. That was it – Johnnie had gone to a weekend house party up there, she remembered him teasing her about the Potteries. Now either it was just a coincidence or …

She leaned back as the blowsy waitress brought two steaming plates of food. Then Cora folded the newspaper, replaced it in her bag and before picking up her knife and fork, leaned forward. ‘Syb, what was the exact address of that apartment, the one he set you up in?'

An hour and a half later, they were both in St John's Wood, with Sybil wandering around the apartment that had been her home for just over two years. She was not only full of nostalgia, but even becoming tearful. ‘I can't believe it, Cora, that all this time you've been living here, where I'd been so happy. I'm really sorry he's dead you know, I got right fond of him.'

‘He used you. They all use us. I suppose we use them if the truth's known.' Cora had no patience with sentiment. ‘And I couldn't tell you where I was, I told you – it was one of Johnnie's conditions that I told nobody.' She was leafing through her journal and frowning in concentration. ‘Here it is. I was right. ‘
Johnnie – last weekend – country estate near Lichfield.'
I remember him telling me it was in Staffordshire.'

‘You mean Gerald – as I knew him, anyway – passed on this apartment to Johnnie?'

‘Not only the apartment either. I bet a pound to a penny he told this Oliver how ambitious I was. So when he wanted someone to do his dirty work … I bet he watched me, knew which pub I went to. And my, he couldn't half spin a tale. What I'm wondering is, whether anything he said was the truth.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘That story he told us, about his boss not being the kid's father. Well, he didn't have a boss, that's obvious. So, whose baby was it?'

‘It must have bin his own.'

‘So why did he want rid?'

‘Same reason I suppose, but he'd have bin too proud to admit it.'

Cora shook her head. ‘I dunno, Syb. I mean, how can we believe any of it? He was a damn good liar, I can tell you that.' She glanced across at her friend. ‘I didn't tell you, did I? What happened after I left you at the park?'

A few seconds later, Sybil was staring at her with horror. ‘Yer never put that baby down on a cold tiled floor!'

‘Don't look at me like that! What choice did I have?'

‘Oh Cora, whatever have we done?'

‘I know what we're going to do. We're going to do some thinking, but I need a bit of Dutch courage.' She got up and went over to the sideboard. ‘Brandy all right?'

Sybil shook her head. ‘It's a bit early for me. I've only been up three hours.'

Cora's brandy glass was almost empty before she reached her final decision. ‘We're getting out of here. Kidnapping and murder? I don't know what's bin going on but we're better out of it. We can set up a flower shop anywhere, it doesn't have to be in London.'

‘Move right away, you mean?'

‘I think we'd be safer somewhere we're not known.'

Sybil's face lit up. ‘Do you think we could go to the seaside?'

‘Why not? Nowhere too quiet, though. How about Brighton, that's supposed to be all right. But listen, Syb. Until we can leave, you've got to get your act together at Belle's.'

‘Why, what's she bin saying?'

‘Nothing you don't already know. But if she gives you the push before then, where are you going to go? You can't come here, cos Johnnie's bound to come back for the funeral. And you can't go wasting your guineas on lodgings, we're going to need them. Which reminds me, they'll be safer here than at Belle's.'

Sybil nodded. ‘All right. When do you think we'll be able to go?'

Cora gazed at her. ‘Once I've seen Johnnie. I owe him that much.' She got up and went to the kitchen to rinse out her brandy glass. For all she knew Johnnie might have already heard the news, he may even be on his way back to England and there was no sense in taking any chances.

She went back into the sitting room. ‘You'd better go and get glammed up for tonight. Remember what I said. Put a smile on yer face from now on.'

As she closed the door behind her friend, Cora's expression was not only thoughtful but inside her was a growing fear, because the idea that had been niggling at the back of her mind was growing stronger with every second that passed.