Peter Lovesey - A Case of Spirits

‘If you have quite finished up there, I’ll trouble you to come down here and explain what you are doing.’ It was a young man’s voice and it carried authority and, unless Thackeray was mistaken, intimations of hostility.

He looked down, but was unable to recognise the speaker through the Virginia creeper, which had been comprehensively disarranged in the last minutes. He decided it was probably safest to give an account of himself on terra firma, so he clambered down as swiftly as the plant would permit him.

His discoverer was young, as he had supposed, certainly not more than twenty-five, and tall. He was wearing an ulster and billycock. His face was unusually long in shape, dominated by a large mouth, and teeth which looked as though they would not fit into the space available. Thackeray could not decide which member of the animal kingdom he was reminded of, except that it was not domestic.

‘Before you fabricate a story,’ said the young man, ‘I think I should inform you that I have been observing your movements for some considerable time, and it is useless to deny that you have been following Miss Probert about Richmond for the past three-quarters of an hour. I don’t know who you are, sir, or what your game is, but I’ll have you know that nobody is going to do that sort of thing without answering to me.’

‘Perhaps you’ll tell me who you are, then,’ said Thackeray.

‘Certainly. I am Captain Nye, Miss Probert’s fiance.’

‘I see. My name is Thackeray. It won’t mean much to you, sir.’

‘You’re damned right about that, Thackeray. The only things I know about you, I don’t like, and I demand an account of them. I don’t know what Richmond’s coming to when a young lady can’t move about without being pursued by a shabbily-dressed man old enough to be her father.’

‘I’d be obliged if you would leave my clothes out of this,’ said Thackeray, mustering what dignity he could. He was uncertain what he ought to say to Nye about his purpose in trailing Alice, but he was quite sure it would be a mistake to tell the whole truth, and he needed time to discover what would satisfy the Captain. Best, in the circumstances, to keep him talking. ‘Are you worried that I might have designs on your fiancee, then?’

‘You’re damned impertinent, sir!’ said Nye. ‘I ought to hand you over to the police. It might surprise you to know that the gentleman escorting Miss Probert down Richmond Hill this morning, when you were following them, was a detective-sergeant from Scotland Yard.’

‘My word!’ said Thackeray.

‘I don’t know what you said when you approached them by the Bridge. I suppose it was some form of begging. The sergeant very decently bought you some chestnuts, I noticed, but what sort of gratitude did you show? No sooner had the fellow got on a bus than you were away in pursuit of Miss Probert.’

‘The chestnuts was my reward for carrying her basket down the hill,’ said Thackeray.

‘That was your excuse, was it? A pity she didn’t see through you straight away. Unfortunately, my fiancee is one of the most generous-hearted girls alive. The basket you carried undoubtedly contained comestibles for the poor and needy. She devotes her life to charitable enterprises. I hope that makes you feel ashamed of your behaviour, sir.’

‘I was only looking at her,’ said Thackeray.

‘Oh, yes, I know the sort of thing men like you get up to. It’s quite harmless, you say, simply enjoying the sight of a pretty woman. Soon enough, you’re not just watching them walk by, you’re following them, and the next step is what I’ve caught you in the act of doing-peering through windows.’

‘I wanted to be sure it was Miss Probert,’ said Thackeray truthfully. ‘She went into the hat-shop and I was taken by surprise when she came out with a different set of clothes.’

‘Is it surprising?’ said Nye. ‘She visits some very seedy areas in her work. She can’t go into places like that dressed in plush hats and velvet coats, by Jove. They’d tear ’em off her back in parts of Twickenham.’

‘Why doesn’t she put on her brown clothes from the beginning then?’

‘There’s no mystery in it. She’s the daughter of a doctor. The Proberts are a well-known family on the Hill. People expect them to dress decently. That’s all there is to it. Look here, I’m damned if I’m going to account for everything to you. I want to know what you were doing at the top of that trellis.’

‘I was trying to look into that window,’ admitted Thackeray.

‘You were, eh?’ Nye came a step closer to Thackeray.

‘What did you expect to see?’

‘Not what was there, anyway.’

‘I’m damned sure of that,’ said Nye. ‘You’re a shameless brute, aren’t you? A Peeping Tom. See if this will close your nasty little eye!’ His clenched fist landed squarely in Thackeray’s face, with such speed and force that it toppled him over on to the lawn. ‘It may interest you to know,’ Nye went on, massaging his knuckles, ‘that this house is the meeting place of the Philanthropic Ladies of Richmond, and my fiancee comes here regularly. You’ll see nothing to your obnoxious taste at any of the windows here, by Jove! But if I ever find you within half a mile of that innocent girl, that sweet champion of the unfortunate, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life!’

When Thackeray got up, Nye had already gone. He patted the skin round his eye with his fingertips. There was no bleeding, but he was going to have a black eye that would want some explaining at Paradise Street, and only for trying to do his duty. There was no justice in it.

He let himself out of the gate and walked through the courtyard and back past the terrace. At the last house his attention was taken by a small board attached to the railings. The name of the terrace was Maids of Honour Row.

‘She was as naked as the day she was born.’

‘So you’ve told me, Thackeray, twice already,’ said Cribb unappreciatively. ‘I understood what you said the first time.’

‘But hang it all, Sarge, you haven’t said so much as a blimey. A young lady like Miss Probert don’t stand in front of an artist without a stitch on every day of the week.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Cribb. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she does. Pictures don’t get painted at a single sitting. Your modern artist believes in fidelity to nature, and that means every eyelash.’

‘Well, it ain’t seemly, according to my notion of things,’ responded Thackeray, who was not easily put down.

‘According to some notions it ain’t seemly for a member of the Force to be looking into a first-floor window from the top of a trellis,’ Cribb uncharitably pointed out. ‘How’s the eye? I’ve seen some shiners in my time, but this one beats ’em all.’

It was the morning after the episode in Maids of Honour Row, and they were in Richmond again, at that moment mounting the steps of the police station. ‘I’d be obliged if you wouldn’t bring up the subject of Miss Probert again, Constable,’ said Cribb, ‘particularly in the company in here this morning. If I ask you to confirm anything, simply nod your head. Well, you can say “yes” if you like, but I want no more talk of artists or undressing, and that’s an order.’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’

A room had been assigned to Cribb for the morning. In the corner waiting, sitting perfectly still under a hatstand-a serviceable substitute for a potted palm-was Mrs Probert.

‘Ah, you got my message, then, ma’am,’ said Cribb.