David Dickinson - Death of a wine merchant

Tristram Bennett did not find what he was looking for that morning. Shortly before twelve o’clock he sent word to Alfred Davis that he was going to lunch. He checked his tie was in the right position in the mirror and set off for his club. He had no doubt that sooner or later, in Randolph’s correspondence, or in the late-night drunken confidences at his card parties, he would find another victim. Another Randolph.

Powerscourt glowered at the telegram which had just arrived in Markham Square. He had never liked telegrams. He vaguely remembered some malevolent deity from the gods and goddesses of ancient Greece who only brought bad news. He slit it open. ‘Another tragedy has come to Brympton Hall. William Stebbings, sixteen years old, has disappeared. He was the junior footman running errands for Charlie Healey in the Long Gallery on the day of the murder. Please come. Please stay with us at the Hall. Georgina Nash.’

‘My God!’ said Powerscourt. ‘Lucy! Lucy!’ She glided into the hall, holding a twin in each hand. They stared anxiously at their papa. He didn’t look well, the twins thought. Perhaps he would have to go to bed during the day and lie down, a terrible fate if you were a twin.

‘I’ve got to go to Norfolk, Lucy. A junior footman has gone missing at Brympton Hall. He was right in the middle of the action at the time of the murder. Maybe he saw more than he told us or the police. God knows what’s happened to him. Only sixteen years old, poor boy.’

‘Can you see what this means, Francis? I’ve only just thought of it. Suppose this poor little boy has been killed. Whoever did it, it can’t have been Cosmo, he’s locked up in Pentonville, he hasn’t been allowed out for weeks.’

‘So, if we suppose that we have two linked murders here,’ said Powerscourt, ‘then Cosmo’s off the hook. Somebody else must have done the second one, Cosmo couldn’t have done it, and so, as night follows day, Cosmo couldn’t have committed the first murder either. Or probably couldn’t have done the first one. That would be a pretty problem for the prosecution. But, Lucy, I think it only works for Cosmo if this young man is dead and we shouldn’t be thinking that, not for a moment. I must go now, I’ll get back as soon as I can.’

Six hours later, as the light was fading, Powerscourt arrived at Brympton Hall and found Georgina Nash staring out at the gardens in her downstairs drawing room.

‘Lord Powerscourt, how good of you to come. This is all too terrible.’

‘Good evening to you, Mrs Nash. Is there any news? Has the young man turned up?’

‘No, he has not. There’s no sign of him at all. The police are here, searching the house and grounds. Willoughby is leading a search party around the lake. We’ve had one corpse here already, and now this.’

Georgina Nash looked as though she might be about to cry.

‘Do we know when he was last seen?’ said Powerscourt. ‘How long has he been missing?’

‘I think he was last seen after supper in the servants’ quarters yesterday evening. He said he was going up to his room. William shares a room on the top floor with the other trainee footman, Oliver Fox, but Oliver’s away at present. So nobody noticed until he didn’t come down to breakfast. I’m going to find our butler Charlie Healey, if he’s not out with one of the search parties, he knows more about William than anybody.’

Powerscourt stared out into the gardens behind the south front. He smiled when he saw that the fountain, source of so much anxiety to Georgina Nash until it was finally repaired, was still working properly, great bursts of water shooting into the evening sky.

Charlie Healey looked about forty years old. Powerscourt could tell at once that Charlie had been in the British Army. He vaguely recalled being told that he had fought with great distinction in the Boer War.

‘Good evening, Mr Healey,’ Powerscourt began. ‘This is a bad business.’

‘It is indeed, sir. I pray to God we can find him.’

‘Tell me about William Stebbings if you would. What sort of a young man was he?’

Charlie had given his account twice already today to different varieties of policemen.

‘Well, sir, he was a very good young man, if you know what I mean. He was hard-working and polite and always keen to learn. When he’d finishing learning how to be a footman, sir, he would have been a credit to anyone’s household.’

‘Did he want to be a footman? Or did he have other plans?’

‘Funny you should ask that, my lord,’ said Charlie Healey. ‘He did have other plans for later on, if you follow me, and he was kind enough to ask my advice.’

‘So what did he hope to do?’ asked Powerscourt.

‘Well,’ said Charlie Healey, pausing as if not sure he should mention this in front of Mrs Nash, ‘he was in love with those great ships, the ones that cross the Atlantic on the White Star Line and the fleets of the other great shipping companies like Cunard. Mauretania, Lusitania, Carmania … the names of those huge vessels were music in William’s ears. His plan, my lord, Mrs Nash, was to get lots of experience working as a footman. Then he was going to apply for a job as a steward on one of them big ships. After that he thought he could get promoted up from steward to senior steward and maybe even purser. That was William’s dream. One day he told me that he might even see if he could transfer from being a steward to being a sailor. Maybe he’d have ended up Captain, who knows.’

Charlie smiled at the end of his account. ‘You don’t suppose, Charlie,’ said Powerscourt, ‘that his dream might have got the better of him? That he’s run away to sea?’

‘I have thought about that, my lord. It’s possible. Inspector Cooper had the same idea and he’s sent word to Southampton and Liverpool and all the places those big ships sail from asking them to look out for William.’

‘What about his room?’ said Powerscourt. ‘Has he taken all his clothes? Would it be possible for me to have a look, Mrs Nash?’

‘Of course you can, Lord Powerscourt. Charlie will take you up there now. Remember to mind your head in the attics.’

Charlie Healey and Powerscourt had a brief military conversation on the way to the top floor, discovering each other’s regiment and dates of service. Charlie was most impressed when he learnt that Powerscourt had been Head of Military Intelligence for the British Army in South Africa. ‘Why, my lord,’ he said, ‘we must have been there at the same time even though we never met. Just fancy that.’

The first two floors of Brympton Hall were full of large elegant spaces like the drawing room downstairs or the Long Gallery on the first floor. Up here it was as if the architect and the builders had run out of room. The second floor was a rabbit warren of little rooms, attic rooms, twisting staircases and even one room directly underneath the clock tower with a kind of balcony looking out over the front drive that seemed to Powerscourt like the perfect place for suicide.

‘Just round this corner, my lord,’ said Charlie Healey, showing them into a small room above the Long Gallery with low windows and a sloping ceiling overlooking the garden. If you twisted your neck, Powerscourt discovered, you could just catch a corner of Georgina Nash’s fountain. There were two single beds lined up against opposite walls. Each bed had a small cupboard beside it. There was a tall cupboard for clothes at the far end.

‘Feel free to look into William’s cupboard, the one on the left of the door,’ said Charlie Healey. ‘The only thing that seems to have gone is the money, but I have no idea how much he had, or if he had anything at all. He bought an expensive present for his father’s birthday last month, that might have cleaned him out completely.’