Barbara Cleverly - The Blood Royal

With unnerving coincidence, a taxicab screeched and swayed to a halt in front of her.

The door opened. Joe got out, bowing and smiling.

‘Still searching for your bag, Wentworth? Let me help. I think I may have a clue. Do get in.’ He called to the driver. ‘Change of plan, cabby … another one. Take us to St George’s Hospital, will you?’ He was trying for unconcern but feared he betrayed his tension as he asked: ‘Successful raid mounted, I take it, Wentworth … judging by the jaunty angle of your hat?’

‘Very successful, sir.’

‘And now you’re going to reassure me that you came into no direct contact with the dubious owner of the premises in front of which I find you skulking? That nothing … untoward occurred?’

‘Oh, plenty of untoward, sir. Lashings of it. Threats of a deviant sexual nature, blackmail and violence amounting to actual bodily harm all occurred. I’m afraid the gentleman has grounds for complaint against the forces of law and order, but somehow I don’t think he’ll fancy standing up in court to tell exactly how his privacy was invaded.’

She was smiling as she spoke but Joe was horrified. ‘Tell me you’re all right, for goodness’ sake, Wentworth!’ he croaked.

‘Tickety boo, sir. I came out as intact as ever I was when I went in.’

Joe sighed. ‘Here we go again! Very well — you got there …?’

* * *

‘So, you see, she’s not your Morrigan, sir.’ Wentworth gave him a sideways look, uneasy with Joe’s silence. ‘But I think you already knew that. You weren’t lying to the Dedhams, were you? And why are we coming to the hospital? The cabby really has regained consciousness — is that it?’

‘Notes of some of his communications with members of his family have started to come through. We’re in the neighbourhood … I thought we might check on him ourselves. If we should be lucky enough to find him compos mentis I should like to shake his hand. Ah, here we are.’

The matron welcomed them herself and had them conducted to the private room that had been allocated to Percy Jenner. ‘There’s a constable on duty and his daughter’s sitting with him,’ she’d told them.

‘But he’s asleep! How can he possibly be taking notes? This amounts to dereliction of duty,’ Joe hissed. He prepared to poke the gently snoring constable in the ribs, but found his arm being restrained by the young girl at the cabby’s bedside.

‘Please don’t bother him, sir. He’s done double time. His relief didn’t turn up and I was here anyway so I says just you have a quiet kip in that chair over there and I’ll stand watch. I’m Percy’s daughter, sir. The eldest. Clara. I’ve been taking notes. Sent ’em on to the super … what’s ’is name … Hopkirk. Didn’t they get them?’

Percy Jenner’s daughter was a pretty girl of about sixteen and if she had her father’s presence of mind she would be a good girl to leave in charge, Joe thought. He calmed himself.

‘Thank you, Clara. Well done. Commander Sandilands. And this is my assistant, Constable Wentworth. We did indeed receive your messages. Glad to hear your pa is doing better. Anything more to report?’

‘Same as ever. “Lucid intervals” is what the doctor says he’s having. Good sign, they think. But his brain’s swollen, or something … can brains swell, sir? Anyhow, they don’t want him using it for a bit. He needs to be asleep most of the time. I think they’re giving him something to keep him under. Not natural to be unconscious all this time, is it?’

‘Has he spoken? Does he remember what happened to him?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. It’s all down here in my notebook. Constable Mills copied it in his own hand to present to the super.’ She offered up her notepad. ‘Shall I read it out? It’s in shorthand. Not very good shorthand, but I can read it back all right. I’m taking a secretarial training. It’s all here with dates and times. He came to the first time yesterday when Ma was with him and started muttering. Family stuff you wouldn’t want to be bothered with. Said he was sorry for the trouble. Now — this morning with just me here, he asked: “Is she okay — the girl? Did they shoot her too?” He was out of his skin with worry. Twitching with it. Memory coming back … I said as no, she was all right and not to fret …’

‘Just the right thing to say, Clara, and quite true. Carry on.’

‘He said who’d done it. Irish. He went on about Fenians. I couldn’t spell the words he used even in shorthand, but I had a go. Those two blokes, sir, he said they’d shot the admiral and the policeman and the butler but he didn’t know what they’d done to the lady passenger.’ She consulted her notes and went on more hesitantly: ‘And then he said … um … maybe he was rambling a bit … he said: had they got the third man?’

‘Look again, Clara. Are you sure he said “man”?’

‘Yes. And third . As though there were three villains. But it only mentioned two in the papers. So I thought he must be confused. I asked him, “Dad, who else was shooting?” “Dunno, Clara,” he says. And then he says: “Bigger gun — Browning.” Dad would know about guns. “Who was it shooting, Dad?” I asked him again. ‘‘Burlington Bertie from Bow,” he says. Then he laughs and starts singing the song. Rambling a bit, I thought. Next he grunts out a few more words that don’t make much sense but I took ’em down straight … just as he said. Then Dad coughs and sinks from sight again. What shall I do now?’

‘More of the same, Clara. That’s excellent work! Look, stay on watch, will you? I’ll go and telephone for the con-stable’s replacement. You might like to stir him up a bit in a few minutes. Give him time to straighten his collar. He’ll want to look a bit sharper when the super comes roaring in. Just one more thing …’ He took his own notebook and a pencil from his pocket and passed them to Lily. ‘The constable is an adept at shorthand too,’ he said genially. ‘Just get your heads together, will you, and work out word for word that bit about the third gunman. It’s important.’

Lily scribbled as Clara showed and read out her shorthand. Suddenly she exclaimed and raised her pencil from the page, staring at the words she’d just written down.

‘You all right, miss? Aw, you’ve gone and broken your point! Here, borrow mine.’

The telephone was ringing on Joe’s desk as they entered his office. He hurried to answer.

‘Sir! Yes, sir. Just got back. All as we supposed. Message delivered just as we discussed. By the way — I was invited to attend the admiral’s funeral … I wondered if you … of course. Yes. Norfolk … Just inside a week … It will have to be … I’ve got this in hand, sir.’ He made polite retreating noises and put down the telephone.

‘Well, that was quite an afternoon, Wentworth. One way or another. Bit of a facer. Clears up questions I had, confirms some outrageous suspicions and presents us with a diplomatic minefield to tiptoe through.’ Joe pointed to the telephone. ‘My every move monitored, you see. Actions guided. Outcome decided by committee. Now, Wentworth, the words we have to exchange are to stay within these walls and between us. Do you understand?’

‘No, I don’t. All you want to know is who shot the admiral. Hopkirk will want to know. Bacchus has probably worked it out already.’

‘Your faith in Bacchus is beginning to make me uneasy, Wentworth. Leave the men to me to brief. They will hear what I want them to hear.’

The girl’s puzzlement was turning into truculence. ‘But what I found out in Mountfitchet’s lair throws light on the Russian aspect of this case. It shows us that it’s simply not there. It severs the connection. Hopkirk will-’