Page 22

Saturday evening, at the very point where Toby was thinking about heading off to bed with his very own living and breathing hot water bottle, his telephone rang. North had been given the weekend off in order to visit Norwich, where he’d be standing Godfather to his sister’s child, so answering the call was another domestic duty to be fulfilled by the master of the house.

“Toby?” Jonny’s distinctive voice sounded down the line. “Jonny here. I tried Alasdair’s number but Morgan said he was out gallivanting and I guessed he’d gallivanted to yours. Don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that.”

“Cheek. Do you have Neil related news to convey?” Toby mouthed “Jonny” at a sleepy-looking Alasdair who’d just emerged from the sitting room.

“Naturally. Neil found Archer as fishy as a bream that’s lain too long on the Macfisheries slab. He’s arranged another meeting tomorrow, ostensibly to sign contracts, not that any contract will be there. Your pal the dreaded Bruce will be, though.”

“Bruce? How did he get involved?”

“Bad timing on the part of our side. When Neil rang Scotland Yard after his chat with Archer, Bruce was with Matthew having some sort of council of war, I guess. They’re both aware of Archer and are looking forward to being able to pin something on him, because he’s as slippery as an eel in terms of evading the law. If nothing else, Chapman and co will have to look elsewhere for their armaments. Any luck with Alexandra?”

“Yes. Alasdair can tell you.” Toby held the receiver so that they could both use the instrument. “Update on Alexandra required, please.”

“Hello. Morgan’s worked his usual magic, so we’re seeing Alexandra tomorrow afternoon. His pal Dennis says she’s tickled pink about it, as she’s such a huge fan of ours, but I’d be inclined to think she’s getting ready to deliver her version of the story.”

“He’s not going to believe a word she says,” Toby barked. “Especially after I put the cat among the pigeons with my doubts, earlier today.”

“Ignore him, Jonny. I’m simply approaching the interview with the correct degree of scepticism.”

“Nobody would blame you.” A sound like a stifled yawn from Jonny. “Sorry about that. It’s late. Probably too late to contact Matthew with what we learned from Vera.”

“Yes. We’d reached that conclusion, and it’s endorsed by not wanting to risk Bruce still being around. I’ll update Matthew in the morning and your good self after we’ve seen Alexandra.”

“Wish us happy hunting,” Toby said.

Jonny snorted. “The very best of British luck from Roger and me to the pair of you.”

“We’ll need it,” Alasdair said, then made his goodbyes before Toby put down the handpiece. “Telling truth from lies. I thought we were getting adept at sorting them out but now, like you, Toby, I’m having second thoughts.”

“Let’s sleep on it, then. My brain feels quite a muddle.” He took Alasdair’s hand. “We’ve a bed awaiting us, which isn’t solely for slumbering in. Love, sleep and a good breakfast: if they don’t bring clarity of mind in the morning, I don’t know what will.”

***

Toby had been ordered to Matins by his mother on Sunday morning, on the grounds that it would not only benefit his soul, it would also be good publicity, because one of the columnists for the Telegraph was a regular member of the congregation and she was bound to regard his attendance favourably. So, Alasdair was left to lounge in bed while he preened himself to as near perfect as he could achieve without benefit of his dresser.

“I suppose,” Alasdair said, from his nest among the sheets, “that you’ll be particularly charming to the lady of the press.”

“Of course. To the vicar, as well, so that I hedge my bets on the making a good impression front. Will you be staying in that there bed all morning?”

“No. I’m off home to get myself spruced up and enjoy one of Morgan’s sandwiches for lunch.”

“Need to get your strength back up after last night?” Toby gave his tie a final tweak. “There’s rolls and jam for breakfast here. I’ve already indulged while you were purring in here.”

“Purring?” Alasdair flung a pillow in Toby’s direction.

“It’s how you snore. Rather endearing, really. Anyway, there’s plenty left for you, so make sure you get a decent meal before you go. Mother would never forgive me if you don’t. Will you ring Matthew?”

“I thought I might delay that until after we’ve seen Alexandra. One hopes there’ll be more to give him by then, either in amount or quality of information.”

“Probably wise, or else he’ll be sick of our little gang.” Toby brought the pillow back, then leaned down to give his lover a kiss. “See you at Manor House.”

“You will indeed. Two sets of eyes and ears to make sure she doesn’t get anything past us.”

“I was tempted to see if I could drag mother along, because nothing gets past her when the female of the species is involved, but she’s got a luncheon party on. All I’ll have to see me through is a cold collation in the scullery.” With a tousle of his lover’s hair, Toby headed off.

By the time he was on the way to a small hotel at Manor House where they were meeting Alexandra over afternoon tea, he felt ready for the fray. A pep talk from his mother hadn’t gone amiss, either, especially when she’d made a few helpful suggestions about getting at the truth. Perhaps Toby should suggest to Matthew that he employ her as a special constable to help get to the bottom of whatever Chapman was doing.

Alexandra was waiting in the foyer of the hotel when Toby arrived. She was dressed in a demure, dark blue dress and sported a wedding ring, which he suspected was merely for show, or surely Dennis would have been toasting that event with Morgan, too. She didn’t appear noticeably pregnant, although not every woman carried their baby like a galleon’s sail billowing in the wind. One of Toby’s cousins had been a good seven months down the line before her bump was obvious.

“Mr Bowe,” she said, rising from a chair and thrusting out her hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you. Is Mr Hamilton not coming?”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Let’s order some tea and find a corner where we can talk.” Best to concentrate on the practicalities of refreshments rather than discussion of Alasdair’s diary and how familiar Toby was with it.

By the time they’d found an acceptable place and placed their orders with a waiter, Toby had decided that he couldn’t warm to Alexandra and probably wouldn’t have been able to warm to her even without the doubts about her honesty. He knew he shouldn’t form an opinion before they got down to business, but the first impression he’d formed was so strong it couldn’t be overcome. She came across as highly flirtatious, despite the wedding ring, yet horribly coy as well. Mrs Brook had described her as the “Oh, look at little helpless me,” type and that was being amply born out with every word and glance, including her interaction with the waiter.

It was therefore with great relief that Toby spotted Alasdair entering the hotel lounge. He rose to meet him, shot him a “This is awful” glance and made the introductions.

Alasdair, who’d clearly decided not to shilly-shally, took his seat and said, “Thank you for seeing us. We won’t take up much of your time.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Alexandra appeared disappointed at the prospect of only a short interview.

“Could we start with asking who you were arguing with outside Fortnum and Masons ?” Alasdair asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” The question, clearly wrong-footing her, had caused the veil of helplessness to slip momentarily.

Alasdair’s uninsured eyebrow took on a severe angle. “Because people are concerned for your welfare. Before you took yourself off without telling them where you were going, you were seen in a heated disagreement. No wonder they were worried.”

“By they , you must mean Richard and the others. I think I saw him nearby when I was arguing with Nicholas.” She shook her head, smiling patronisingly. “They did get themselves into a muddle with all this powers nonsense. Mind you, I suppose I was silly, too, to let myself get embroiled in such a tangle of deceit just so we could keep old Lloyd happy and meet up with each other.”

“You knew the others were pretending to have powers?” Toby asked.

“I guessed. I mean, it couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Lloyd laps it up, of course: he does like to be the centre of attention, the silly goose.”

Toby felt a pang of pity for Lloyd, pity tempered with a reminder that he might also be the centre of the web of intrigue, goose or not. “You said you argued with Nicholas. Is that your fiancé?” Toby cast a quick yet intentionally noticeable glance at the wedding ring.

Alexandra twisted the item under scrutiny. “I put this on because I didn’t want to embarrass you, given my condition. Yes, Nicholas is my chap. He wanted me to go to police and I wouldn’t because I was scared they’d come after me.”

“Go to the police about what and who are they ?” Toby asked, am optimistic gleam having appeared over the horizon.

“Going to the police about what they made me do regarding Mr Carstone.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she’d got from her bag. “How I’d helped get him to the station where he was killed.”

“But Alexandra,” Toby said, “Charles Carstone was still alive then. The argument was in January.”

Sheer terror passed across her face before she recomposed herself. “Oh, I do get so muddled. Of course you’re right. I was thinking of a different argument. The first one was about the baby. I’d not long discovered I was expecting and Nicholas wanted to get married straight away before it became too obvious. I’m afraid I dug my heels in and said it would still be terribly obvious in retrospect, when the baby arrived well within nine months since the ceremony. I wanted to have my head clear rather than being rushed into something I might later regret.”

There appeared to be some truth in that answer, given a slight change in her tone of voice, although there was also an air of a lady who protested too much. Something had rattled her badly.

“Miss Munsey, Alexandra,” Alasdair said in a dulcet voice that was every bit as artificial to Toby’s ear as Alexandra’s had mostly been. “What do you mean by saying you helped get Charles Carstone to the station?”

“James Salt asked me to. I worked with him at Herbert and Chapman . He said that Mr Carstone could use his Landseer connection to arrange for me to meet you. It’s stupid, I know, behaving like a schoolgirl with a crush, but I believed Salt was telling me the truth. I had no idea they were going to tip him onto the tracks.” She stopped, clearly having spotted a tray-laden waiter and waitress heading in their direction.

While she fussed over the teapot and flirted with the chap who’d brought it, signalling ignoring the waitress, Alasdair flashed Toby a glance signalling doubt at what they were hearing.

“Thank you.” Alasdair received his cup and took a sip while he watched the waiting staff depart. “Weren’t you suspicious about being asked to arrange a meeting with Carstone at Chancery Lane station rather than elsewhere?”

“Oh, not at all, at the time.” Alexandra stirred her tea. “They said Carstone had a bit of a reputation, so it would be safer for me to meet him in a public place rather than in a secluded bar or anywhere else he might suggest. It would also look less suspicious, given that he was in a delicate situation with his private life, which is why he’d come to the firm in the first place.”

A gold star for Fred’s theory on how they might explain luring a victim to such a public place. “You said they made you do it. James Salt is only one person.” Toby said.

“Mr Chapman, who owns the firm, and Mr Salt. They were in the planning together, although another chap took part, on the day. Of course, they’d been lying to me. I shouldn’t have been so stupid.” She cast about for her handkerchief, which appeared to be a better prop for suggesting contrition than a teacup. “And I’ve carried on being stupid. After Mr Carstone went under the train, I took the opportunity of getting away from the scene as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to be called to an inquest and I couldn’t have stood in court and told the lies the others did. Other people acted in the same way, you know, getting away.”

“Some folk like to evade responsibility.” Toby waited to see if the barb hit home, but Alexandra merely smiled. “How did they actually do the deed, though? Knock him onto the line without everyone else present realising what had really happened?”

“I don’t know. Not entirely.” She looked helplessly from one man to the other.

It would depend how many women are on the jury, dear .

Toby’s mother’s words from earlier in the day seemed particularly apt. She’d been saying that some women could be highly persuasive in the witness box, when the listening ears were male, whereas any woman would see straight through them. Whether that summing up was universally true, Toby wouldn’t have liked to say, but from what they’d been told about Alexandra from the two sexes, she appeared to fit the bill.

“Go on,” Alasdair said.

She nodded, as though giving herself a pep talk. “I can tell you what happened right up to the bit where the train hit him, because I can still see it in my mind, like a film running in slow motion. After that is a blur because I edged back and then I got away—not running, I thought that would look suspicious—just walking purposefully.”

“I’m sure you can remember more than that. A smart young woman like yourself.” The insincere words almost stuck in Toby’s throat. “Start from when you arrived at Chancery Lane station.”

“I’ll try. I was a bit nervous when I got there, but I bucked myself up and went straight to the platform. Mr Carstone was there and he seemed so delighted to see me. He gave me that look—the one he used in Patrick in Paris when he tried to pick up that gendarme who was disguised as a woman.”

Toby hadn’t seen the film, but he remembered the stir it had caused because of how near the knuckle it had got, and he could well imagine the famed Carstone leer. The actor would surely have used a similar, toned down, version in Naughty Nelly when eyeing up the voluptuous Miss Gwyn. “He was clearly delighted at your keeping the assignation. What then?”

“Salt and Archer—he’s someone Herbert and Chapman use for certain jobs—arrived. I remember thinking they seemed intent on something, and wondered if they might have been there to protect me, so I wasn’t suspicious when they made a beeline for us. Carstone spotted them and moved away, only we were already close to the platform edge and that movement took him nearer. He looked a bit panicky. Then everything happened very quickly.” She wrung her hankie again. “There was that rush of air that tells you the train is approaching, and then Salt said, ‘Steady on!’. He grabbed for Carstone, only he didn’t really grab him, he must have pushed him. But it looked like a grab.”

Again, a note of truthfulness had appeared. The description reminded Toby of being taught how to act a strangling scene. The attacker pulled their hands back while the attacked pulled those same hands towards their neck and the resulting tension onscreen appeared authentic.

“I’ll never forget the looks on those two men’s faces. It wasn’t shock, not at first. That came later and it seemed false. Previously they’d been almost smug, just for a moment.” She shuddered, theatrically, clearly presenting herself as one of the wronged parties in this. Perhaps she was the manipulated and perhaps she was the manipulator. Best to let her chatter on and hopefully reveal herself one way or the other. “What they mouthed to each other, as well. Job well done or something like that. Afterwards, and when I tried to explain to Nicholas what had happened, I wondered if I was reading things into the situation that weren’t there. But I can picture it so clearly.”

“So clearly that you’ll stand up in court if need be and swear to it?” Alasdair’s suggestion didn’t seem to come as a surprise. “We have a close contact within Scotland Yard, and he would no doubt look at your situation with sympathy, especially if you were to give King’s—I must get out of the habit of saying that, but it’s been a lifelong thing— Queen’s evidence. Against Salt and Archer and anyone else involved in killing an innocent man.”

“I don’t know.” The air of pretence had returned, with Alexandra’s poor handkerchief almost being turned in knots. “Couldn’t you stand up and say what I’ve told you? You’d be so much more convincing.”

Alasdair shook his head. “Hearsay evidence can be easily thrown out or pulled to pieces. Why can’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m sure I’d get it all wrong. I’d not be a credible witness.”

What would Toby’s mother have said on hearing that? She’d probably have left off finding words, taken Alexandra by the shoulders and shaken some sense into her. Toby glanced at Alasdair, whose hands were almost imperceptibly twitching, as though he was tempted to give Alexandra a shaking up himself.

“We can’t do your work for you, I’m afraid,” Toby said. “What we can do is reassure Moira, Jeff and Richard that you’re safe and well, because they’ve been worried about you. I’m sure they’ll be fascinated to hear everything you’ve said about what happened at Chancery Lane. Moira especially, given that she witnessed your purported funny turn there.”

“Oh, yes. It was all the memories flooding back. Please tell them I’m sorry, but I’m trying to put all associations with Clanfield House behind me, which includes Lloyd’s group.”

“I’ll certainly make it clear that you want nothing more to do with them.” That may have been harsh, but Toby had little sympathy for her. He wished he could turn on his heels and make the kind of exit which would have caused a sensation on stage, but there was still work to do.

“And I’ll make it clear to our contact at Scotland Yard that you’ll be pleased to help him with his enquiries,” Alasdair said. “He’ll want to reach you through your poste restante address, so no changing that, please.”

“No, of course not. I realise now that I have to do my duty.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “I’m sure he’ll be sympathetic towards my situation. It’s awful to be made to do something and be frightened about the consequences of not doing it.”

“Hold on.” Toby laid down his cup. “You said that Salt suggested you met Carstone because it would enable you to meet us. Where do coercion and consequences come into things?”

Briefly, Alexandra’s eyes registered feeling wrong-footed at being caught out, but she soon recovered her apparent calm. “I wasn’t entirely honest earlier. I just didn’t want to get people into trouble. James Salt said I had to get Carstone to meet me on the platform and if I didn’t, it would work out badly for me. It might still work out badly if they knew what I was telling you, so I’m trusting your policeman friend to protect me if need be.”

Were Toby and Alasdair being too harsh in their reactions to this young woman? Was she simply a person who was easy to manipulate into doing things she later regretted and unwilling to face the consequences? Maybe time to try another tack. “Talking of our police contact, there’s the other matter. The party at Haymarket.”

Alexandra pouted. “I’m afraid I’m no longer going to that. I was invited and it would have been lovely to watch the procession from there but when I left my position, Nicholas said I should leave that opportunity behind, too. He said I shouldn’t have anything to do with the firm.”

“But you knew what was planned to happen at that party? While people were supposedly watching the coronation,” Alasdair added.

“I don’t follow you…”

“Did you or did you not overhear a conversation regarding people planning an attack of some sort on the event?” Alasdair had never portrayed a barrister, but he’d be most convincing in the role.

“Ah.” Colour spread across Alexandra’s cheeks. “You’ve caught me out in a lie. I spun Moira that yarn because I wanted to create a bit of a smokescreen about why I was leaving my job. I didn’t want her to know about either Carstone or the baby.”

“So, there wasn’t any telephone call?” Toby didn’t often get a sinking feeling, but now his stomach had hit his boots. Surely his qualms couldn’t have come to fruition and they’d sent Matthew and Bruce on a wild goose chase?

“There might have been, for all I know, but I didn’t overhear it. I’m sorry.”

“Let me get this perfectly straight.” Alasdair’s eyebrow demonstrated every guinea of its insured value in a portrayal of disapproval. “Did you ever hear anyone discussing the coronation and how they wanted to disrupt it?”

“No. Mind you, Nicholas definitely heard something similar, as did other people I worked with, so it wasn’t completely a fairy tale.” A note of defiance had appeared. “Anyway, it’s exactly the kind of thing Mr Chapman and his black shirt pals would indulge in.”

“Do you realise that you might have been instrumental in sending the authorities off chasing shadows when they’ve more important things to be doing with their time?” Toby asked, livid. “You’d better not have lied to us about Carstone, or you’ll find our police contact won’t be any friend to you. Does Nicholas know what lies you’ve been spreading? Will you tell your baby how many deceptions its mother’s been party to?”

His comment about Matthew lacking sympathy appeared to have been water off a duck’s back, but the mention of the unborn child worked the oracle. Just as Toby’s mother had predicted it might, when she’d suggested it earlier. The flush had gone from Alexandra’s cheeks, to be replaced by an ashen hue. She opened her mouth, gulped and then burst into tears.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before but I really mean it this time,” she gasped, between bouts of crying. “It’s all such a mess. Nicholas doesn’t know half of it, so please don’t tell him.”

“We won’t, but you should. Whatever this mess is about.” Toby waited for her to speak again, sharing the odd glance with Alasdair, ones that screamed, “This is all a bit of a turn up.”

“Would you like a brandy?” Alasdair said, once the sobbing stopped.

“No thank you. I’ve this little one to think of.” Alexandra smiled, as she touched her stomach. “Another pot of tea would be lovely, though.”

Alasdair called over the waitress, said that their guest had received a shock and asked for more tea to be brought as soon as possible.

“Thank you,” she said, once the waitress had gone. “I promise I’ve now told you the truth about the phone call and the story I made up about it. I also told you exactly what happened on the platform.”

“You’ve lied about something, though. That’s plain. Best to put things right now.” Alasdair smiled encouragingly.

“I’m not making excuses for myself, but I’ve always wanted to be the centre of attention. Like you are. Nobody really notices me although everyone looks at you, and people like that waitress have been watching me talking to you. Maybe they envy me.”

Which would in part explain the flirting and the obsession with film stars; basking in their glory and getting herself noticed. The confession also smacked horribly of self-centredness.

“You might say I’ve gone down the line of what you’d call make believe if I were still a child,” Alexandra continued. “The claim I made about predicting the weather. Lloyd was very impressed with me and so were the others. Or pretended to be. It was such fun.”

Being teacher’s pet? And with the added bonus of Jeff hanging around her like a puppy. Toby could imagine her lapping up the attention.

“How else have you lied about what you did with Herbert and Chapman ? Apart from the lie about the telephone call.” Alasdair, evidently struggling to be civil, kept his words clipped.

“I told you it was their idea, when it was actually mine. Not to get rid of Mr Carstone—that really did come as a shock when it happened—but using myself as a lure. It started when I was taking coffee in for Mr Chapman while he was chatting to James Salt. They asked me what I would do if someone wanted to get someone else to be at a certain place at a certain time, perhaps when they were wary. I’m sure they were taking the mickey out of me, because I don’t think normally they’d have any regard for my opinion, but I thought I should show them I wasn’t dumb. I asked if this person was a man and they said he was, so I suggested they get a nice young woman to arrange to meet him. They said that was a good idea, although what if the chap was highly suspicious and might not agree to going to a secluded location?” She paused, eyes on the waitress who was returning with a fresh pot.

“Thank you. We can help ourselves.” Toby poured Alexandra a cup, handed it to her and when they were alone again, said, “What happened next?”

“I said the woman could put his mind at rest by arranging to meet in a public place, at least to start with. Somewhere like a train or underground station where there are lots of people milling around and you can bump into people by chance. Then she could perhaps persuade him to go on to a more secluded location if that’s where he needed to be brought.” She sipped her tea. “They seemed genuinely pleased at the idea. Mr Chapman said something to Salt like, ‘An underground station would be even better, if you could bring it off,’ and Salt said, ‘It’s a challenge, but give me and Robert a couple of days and we could work it out.’ Words to that effect. Then they asked me if I’d like to be the young woman concerned. How it would be a good for my career, to take on an active role.”

“And you agreed?” Alasdair asked.

“Of course I did. It made me feel so important. It was only at the point when Carstone was killed that I realised how stupid I’d been and how the tube station part had all been my idea.” More tears, although they seemed to be for her, rather than the victim.

“If it hadn’t been there, the murder would no doubt have been carried out elsewhere,” Toby said with grudging reassurance. “Is there any more to tell?”

She shook her head. “No. That’s it.”

They finished their tea in silence, Toby wanting to be out in the fresh air where he could shake the dust from his boots of all this dissembling. Eventually, Alexandra said, “I should be going. This afternoon has taken it out of me.”

“Would you like us to call you a taxi?” Alasdair suggested, before offering his arm to help her from the seat. “Or would you prefer if we accompanied you home?”

Alexandra started, the idea evidently unsettling her. “No, I shall be fine. Nicholas is coming to get me in his father’s car as soon as I ring through to the pub for him. I’ll have time to compose myself first.” She forced a smile. “I’m so pleased I met you. You’re not at all like film stars. You’re more like Holmes and Watson.”

They’d have to take that as a compliment.

“Well, what do you make of that?” Toby said to Alasdair, as they left the hotel.

“I’m not sure where to start. I think we got somewhere near the truth in the end, although I bet it’s not the whole truth and nothing but. Matthew will have to wheedle that out. I wonder what Nicholas will have to say when she comes out with her story?”

“If she tells him. I can’t trust her at all.” Toby sighed. “Let’s walk for a while. I need the air.” They crossed the road and meandered along the pavement, which was Sunday afternoon quiet. “That confession she made about the phone call felt like having an opposing forward flatten me in a tackle.”

“Quite. Shades of your Doubting Thomas moment.” Alasdair swished the air with his hand. “I kept asking myself how we’d ever explain to Matthew and Bruce that we’d sent them on a wild goose chase. Then I remembered that we had other circumstantial evidence, including this business of Neil’s, and didn’t feel quite as bad.”

“I’ve been wondering what would have happened if we’d learned earlier that Alexandra had told Moira a whopper. We’d never have gone digging any further and Neil might be signing contracts for small arms supply this very moment, enabling Chapman and his pals to unleash who knows what.” Toby shivered, despite the warmth of the day, then lowered his voice on hearing footsteps behind them. “The chosen few. That’s who Vera said had been invited to that Haymarket do. Not necessarily the great and good, though. If she and Alexandra were both invited, what was the intention? Two lives—no, three if you include the baby—sacrificed to make the thing look realistic and in the process get rid of people who knew too much?”

“It feels horribly like that. I can imagine a mass of headlines revolving around their needless sacrifice as well as that of the intended victim. Who’d have been the man with the gun, though?”

“I suspect,” a voice sounded behind them, “that might be me.”