Andrew Taylor - Bleeding Heart Square

Narton nodded. ‘You needn’t shout about it though.’

To his relief, Wentwood didn’t expect to have a drink bought for him. Indeed, he asked Narton if he wanted the other half of what he had in front of him. When the young man rejoined him at the table, Narton smiled at him with something approaching benevolence.

‘Cheerio,’ Wentwood said, raising his glass. ‘We have to toast my new home.’

Narton drank obediently, then sat back and wiped his mouth. ‘So you’ve moved in all right?’

‘There wasn’t a great deal to move. Still, it’s a place of my own. I know I’ll have to find my own meals but I can’t tell you what a relief it is to get away from Mrs Rutter and Kentish Town. Listen — I found something.’ He took a sheet of paper from his pocket and passed it across the table. ‘It was in a chest of drawers in my room.’

Narton took his time examining it.

‘Is it important?’ Wentwood demanded. ‘It proves she was there, doesn’t it? And who’s this chap Orburn?’

‘It proves nothing. It was her house, remember — she probably furnished it with her cast-offs. As for Orburn, he was her solicitor. He used to manage Bleeding Heart Square for her before Serridge took over.’ Narton put the letter on the table. ‘Have you seen Serridge?’

‘He turned up to give me the keys and read me a lecture about keeping up with the rent.’ Wentwood searched his jacket pockets for cigarettes and matches. ‘He’s a formidable character, isn’t he? Do you know what Miss Kensley told me the other night? That Miss Penhow thought he was God. I’d the feeling that she might not have been speaking metaphorically.’

Narton grunted. ‘You’ve talked to her about Serridge then?’

‘I had to tell her where I was moving to.’

‘I asked you to keep all that under your hat.’

‘I know. But it wasn’t that easy. Besides, I said nothing to her about looking into what happened to her aunt. I just said that I happened to be passing, and saw there was a flat vacant that would suit me. Is it a problem?’

Narton took the cigarette that Wentwood offered him and leant across the table towards the match. ‘As it happens, no. I’ve changed my mind on that front, see? I’ve got a request for you, Mr Wentwood. A suggestion, if you like. But we’ll need her cooperation.’

‘I’m not sure how she’d feel about that.’

‘The thing is,’ Narton said quietly, ‘you could do me a favour, a big favour. There is an important piece of evidence in this case, and I think we need a second opinion on it. Either Miss Penhow was murdered or she wasn’t. The official line is that she can’t have been murdered because she went to the States instead with person or persons unknown. We know that because she wrote a letter from New York, which is why our investigation was officially closed. The thing is, some of us aren’t convinced that letter was genuine.’

‘Surely the police can call on handwriting experts?’

‘Oh we have, Mr Wentwood. Our man says there’s a better than fair chance that the letter was really written by Miss Penhow. But I’d like another opinion. Now I bet that young lady of yours has got letters from her aunt, maybe other pieces of writing.’

‘Perhaps she has. Why don’t you ask her?’

‘Come to that, you’ve got your own sample, that piece of paper you found. The point is, the letter from New York is no longer in our hands. When the investigation was closed, it was returned to the recipient. If we go and ask for it back, it’s as good as saying that we’re still suspicious, that we’re reopening the investigation.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Ever heard of softly softly, catchy monkey?’

Rory said, ‘Who did she write to?’

‘The Vicar of Rawling. Man called Gladwyn.’

‘Rawling?’

Narton stubbed out the cigarette half-smoked and put the rest away for later. ‘It’s a village in Essex on the Hertfordshire border, not far from Saffron Walden. It’s where Serridge bought a farm with Miss Penhow’s money, and it’s the place where Miss Penhow was last seen alive, more than four years ago. I can’t afford to upset Mr Gladwyn. For one thing, he’s rather a chum of Serridge’s. For another, he’s the godfather of my chief constable’s daughter. Tricky business all round, see? If we make an official approach, it’s going to get back to Serridge, and that could put the kibosh on everything. But if someone representing Miss Penhow’s relatives comes along, that’s another matter. You see that, don’t you?’

Wentwood sat back. He had hardly touched his beer. ‘This is rather a lot to ask, isn’t it?’

Narton screwed up his face and let out a sigh. ‘I’m not doing this for fun, sir, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate. Our job depends on members of the public being willing to cooperate with us.’

‘This would be rather more than cooperation, wouldn’t it?’

‘Look at it from our point of view. You’re the fiance of Miss Penhow’s niece. You’re back from India, and you weren’t on the scene when the old girl vanished. Of course Miss Kensley wants to find out what happened to her aunt. Of course you want to help her. So it’s perfectly natural you might turn up on Mr Gladwyn’s doorstep and ask to see that letter. Don’t write beforehand — don’t give him a chance to say no. Just turn up. Even better, turn up with the girl in tow.’

Wentwood opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he said, ‘I can’t see one good reason why I should do what you ask. I’m sorry, Sergeant, but there it is.’

‘You want a reason?’ Narton said. ‘How about this? If Serridge gets away with this murder, then ten to one he’ll commit another sooner or later. For a man like him, killing a woman is an easy way to make money. So that’s the question, Mr Wentwood: do you want to stop another murder?’

Saturday, 15 February 1930

Today I had tea with Major Serridge. He insisted on taking me to a very pleasant establishment in Kensington Church Street. It looked frightfully expensive. He said he wanted to repay me for tea at the Rushmere the other week. I think I got by far the better part of the bargain!!

He looked very serious, rather sad in fact, this afternoon. He talked less too. He was very friendly, though, without saying much, and once or twice I caught him looking at me in what I can only call a meaningful way. Outwardly he’s such a big, masterful man, but he can be as sensitive and gentle as a child, at least with me. In the end I asked him if there was anything wrong .

He smiled at me and in that simple way of his said that we all have to shoulder our burdens, and on some days they seem to weigh more heavily than others. I don’t know how it was but somehow this led to an extraordinarily intimate conversation — truly, I can never remember speaking to anyone so frankly in my entire life. I even found myself telling him about Vernon, and how I so nearly married him when I was eighteen. Of course Aunt wouldn’t let me, and I had no money in those days, and so it was out of the question, and Vernon went back to sea. Sometimes, even now, I find myself wondering what would have happened if I’d flung caution to the winds and agreed to marry him. All that was nearly forty years ago, though I must admit I did not mention the precise number of years to Major Serridge. A lady must have her secrets .

Afterwards he honoured me with an even greater confidence. Today was his wedding anniversary. At this, I was considerably surprised, even shocked, because I had no idea that he was married .