A Christmas Case Read online

  ‘Yes. She’d been employed there for about sixteen months, I believe. Which brings me rather neatly to the other investigations I carried out during this infernal waiting period.’

  Posie crunched the telegram in her hand noisily, and Lovelace, focusing on her for a second, bounded across, grabbed it and read it, nodded savagely, as if he had expected whatever truth it contained. Posie just had time to deliver the other strange message, in a whisper:

  ‘Manders says: “Not as yet.”’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  On the hearthside again, Inspector Lovelace recounted how he had visited Mr Clampton in his private hospital several times over the next ten days or so, trying to see if there was any further light which the bereaved husband might be able to shed on what exactly had happened on the night of the fire. But there was none. The man was still in pieces, a juddering wreck. Lovelace had asked the attending nurse at the clinic if Clampton ever received any visitors, but the reply was negative. There had been no visitors, no mail, no outgoing letters.

  Further enquiries into Robert Clampton locally had proved only semi-useful. Neighbours spoke of him as being quite the tonic for poor Mrs Wheeler who had been sad for the last couple of years. No-one quite knew what he did of course, but it was generally agreed that he was a very handy man, and Mrs Wheeler had always said how clever he was: if there was something to be fixed Robert could fix it. She’d had the bottom half of the Mews House which had been a former stables turned into a workshop for him, just to indulge him in his hobbies. One of the neighbours thought Clampton was an ex-army man, and an ex-army man is always very skilled with his hands, but no-one could verify that past history, and army records when checked out by Lovelace later certainly didn’t bear it out. In fact, every place Sergeant Lovelace went looking for Mr Clampton’s past, he hit a brick wall.

  But then his luck changed.

  ‘It’s always the way, when you give up, you find what you’re looking for – a connection.’

  The information about Meggie McColl not really leading him anywhere, and the insights into Clampton’s past being sketchy, Lovelace had dropped in on Joe Ellis again to return his treasured photograph. Lovelace recounted how he’d slung some more money the boy’s way, and the coins on the table between them had obviously loosed his tongue.

  ‘I was finkin’,’ Joe had said, all in a rush. ‘About that Meggie McColl. Cook here saw that advert you placed in the newspaper, and we were all lookin’ at it one evenin’ over supper. Seein’ it all official like that made me think about her, about what I knew. It was a rum thing but my Tilly never liked her. She even…’ And here the lad had coloured.

  ‘Yes? This might be important, Joe. Please?’

  ‘Tilly wondered if there might not be summit’ goin’ on between Meggie and the Master, that young Mr Robert, whose baby-face had so enchanted the Mistress of the house…’

  So this was it: the connection. At last.

  ‘How so, Joe?’

  ‘Oh, I dunno really. I wasn’t up for listenin’ to Tilly’s gossip really. But Tilly seemed to think that Meggie had known Master Robert from before somewhere; there were little glances backwards and forwards, and visits to that workshop of his, down at the bottom of the garden. Night-time wanderin’, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘How did they meet? Did Tilly know?’

  Joe had shaken his head. ‘No idea, guvnor. I do remember that Tilly was a little jealous of Meggie, Meggie bein’ in a superior household position, and all. I think Meggie earned more, she must have. On her off days she was always away at the Variety Halls, especially the Holborn Empire. She met a lot of men there, I think. Maybe she met Mr Robert there? But there was talk at Number 98 about how Meggie might have planned it so that Mr Robert was introduced to her Mistress, Mrs Wheeler, if you see what I mean. It was staged.’

  ‘No. I don’t see. Please explain.’

  Joe sighed. ‘They all gossiped in that servants’ hall, same as we do ’ere of course. Well, it was a well-known fact that the Butler and the Governess and the Housekeeper, they all doubted if this new Master was the real-deal.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘They thought he was a tradesman, and not worthy to lick the soles of Mrs Wheeler’s boots. Although I couldn’t tell you if they were right or wrong. And it were my Tilly’s belief that Meggie had organised for Master Robert to come and ply his wares at her Mistress’ house, with the express intention that he should make love to Mrs Wheeler and make her fall in love with him.’

  Sergeant Lovelace’s brain had been pacing furiously, trying to keep up with all this new information, trying to extract a kernel of truth from what might just be a load of old servants’ hall gossip, heard second-hand and reported on by a person seeing it all through the green glass of envy. He focused on one thing which seemed bizarre, which stuck out, clutching at it.

  And now he recounted his conversation from years before to the audience in the red parlour.

  ‘I’ve heard that Robert Clampton was ex-army, Joe. And now you say he was a tradesman? What sort of trade was it he was supposed to be in, anyhow?’

  Joe had nodded, more certain of his facts here.

  ‘I fink it were electrics, guvnor. Pretty sure. He came askin’ if the company he worked for could fit electric lights in the house at Number 98. Well, it stuck out in everyone’s memory as they didn’t have callers or tradesmen callin’ at that house, ever. Mrs Wheeler was quite strict on it and put up a big sign. And she was known to hate the idea of electrics, full-stop: hated the electric street-lamps which went up last year on Hanover Terrace. Scared of fire, apparently. But he must ’ave been charming, because apparently he stayed to tea with Mrs Wheeler, and then he called again and again.’

  ‘So that’s what they meant by a tradesman?’

  ‘I reckon so, guvnor. And it all moved pretty quickly. Within a couple of months they were husband and wife. And right from the off this Meggie was making sheep’s eyes at the Master and she knew which side her bread was buttered on, and no mistake.’

  This had all been very useful, and Sergeant Lovelace had been on the verge of upping and leaving and getting back to the Yard when Joe had added his final tuppenceworth of information. And it had been important.

  ‘Funny really, sir. Because Mrs Wheeler refused to have the lights, and that was that. And so no electrics ever did make their way into that house.’

  Joe had frowned, thinking slowly.

  ‘What it is, Joe?’

  ‘That’s not quite right, sir, what I’ve just said. Some electrics might have made their way into the house, but maybe without the Mistress knowing.’

  There was a skip of a heartbeat in the chest of the young Lovelace; he who had so much to prove, and the blood of an esteemed colleague and a whole family on his conscience, if not on his hands, spurring him on.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘My Tilly told me, not a couple of weeks back, that the talk at the table in the servants’ hall was how Jerry, their Butler, had sneaked down one night to the Mews workshop, him having seen a light on. Being nosy-like, he wanted to know what the Master was actually up to. And what he saw was incredible. This Jerry was very impressed. Didn’t like the Master as a rule, but went on and on later about how clever he must be. Because of what he had made.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘It were a gift for them little girls, sir. It was a doll’s house. All lit up with electric lights.’

  ****

  Six

  In the silence which fell in the red parlour, Rufus gasped. Everyone looked, as if drawn by one will, towards the spectacular doll’s house sitting underneath the tree.

  The Major coloured slightly and started to stammer.

  ‘No offence, sir,’ said Lovelace politely. ‘Your doll’s house is a thing of beauty, not a death-trap. But in a way it was the reason why I remembered this old tale. It reminded me of it all twenty years ago. Sorry for the negative association.’

  The Major flushed
and coughed: ‘Not at all, not at all…’

  ‘What did you do, sir?’ Posie demanded, on edge.

  ‘I did everything I could in my power to investigate the boy’s report. By this time the odds seemed stacked in my favour. The next day happened to be the first working day after the Christmas-New Year holiday, and everything was open. I investigated Clampton’s claims to work for an electricity firm, and came up against a blank. I also threw what weight I had about at the Forensics laboratory and got them onto that doll’s house. They were very good and called in an electrics specialist who came and gave it the once over.’

  ‘And? They found that the lad was telling the truth?’ Posie stared hard, unable to imagine anything quite so awful.

  ‘That’s right, Posie. It was a beautiful piece, bought from a big toyshop in town. Cost a pretty penny. It was all rigged out with lights, every little room, even the linen-room on the top floor. I called the toyshop and they were adamant they had never sold the piece with lights: they weren’t that advanced yet, and there was no real call for it. So it had been done at home. By Mr Clampton. As the Butler saw.’

  Rufus was staring slightly wildly, and balled his fists angrily. He was probably thinking of his two daughters and one precious son, sleeping so peacefully upstairs, and trying not to think of those poor three children who had been forced out onto the balcony.

  ‘So what the blazes went wrong?’ he barked.

  ‘Nothing went wrong, your Grace. It all went perfectly to plan. To Clampton’s plan. Our Forensics team managed to establish that the whole toy was wired in such a way that as soon as its doors were opened, the lights went on automatically. They had been designed to short-circuit, and the thing was packed from behind with a parcel of highly inflammable hay and straw and soaked in oil. It was effectively a powder-keg, ready to ignite. It was also situated next to the Christmas tree, which was dry, and would have gone up like a firework in a second.’

  Dulcie Fairbanks squeaked, covering her mouth. ‘In other words, sir, it was a trap? For those poor little girls?’

  The Inspector nodded.

  Posie shook her head in disbelief. ‘I suppose it would have been easy, sir, wouldn’t it? For Robert Clampton to have tipped the eldest little girl off, told her what a spectacular Christmas present they were all to receive, and to hint to her that it would be left by the Christmas tree, and she could go and look at it as soon as the household were abed. It would have been too much of a temptation to resist! And then he and Meggie McColl would have gone around locking people into their rooms, as soon as everyone was asleep, and then cleared off themselves, to a place of safety. And then this eldest girl…’

  ‘Theodora,’ cut in the Inspector.

  Posie nodded. ‘She would have got her two little sisters by the hands and gone down to see their present…and then the rest…the rest you witnessed.’

  ‘But why?’ exclaimed Rufus, ‘I suppose this was about money? Life insurance? But why not just have robbed the house and left? Or – it sounds dreadful, but at least the children would have been safe – why didn’t Clampton just arrange for the neat murder of his wife and have done with it?’

  ‘It’s a good question, your Grace. And one I found the answer to quite quickly. You can imagine I was running around like crazy after this discovery, involving my Superintendent, trying to get more men to help me, now that we had the usual manpower again. Why was a fire necessary in that house? Why had it all been arranged like that?’

  ‘Fire insurance,’ cut in Posie quickly. She had heard about something like this, but not in London. In Venice, recently. ‘It’s quite usual with very expensive houses. You take out a policy which insures the house in the event of fire or flooding, or natural disaster. And you can pass the benefit of the policy, like a Will, on to your nearest and dearest. The benefit would go to your spouse, and then your children. They can take the pay-out. I expect you have such a thing here, Rufus, don’t you?’

  Rufus looked blank, and the Inspector continued.

  ‘Absolutely right, my girl, and that’s what happened here. On this morning in question, the first day back at work, and the first day of trading, my Superintendent mentioned this type of insurance to me, and had me and my lads trailing around the biggest insurance brokers in the City of London at the time. We struck lucky pretty quickly. It was early afternoon. Hosier and Co, they were, down on the Strand. Out of business this long while… We asked if they’d provided fire insurance for a Mrs Wheeler at 98 Hanover Terrace and the receptionist looked at me pretty strangely. She asked me to come into a waiting room and I sat there, waiting to see the Manager.’

  ‘This doesn’t sound good,’ said Posie.

  ‘It wasn’t. Only a couple of hours before, at lunchtime, our Mr Clampton had walked into the offices of Hosier and Co, right as rain, and presented an intact copy of the insurance document, together with his marriage certificate and a police report of the fire which he’d obtained from me, would you believe it? He’d asked for his pay-out, cool as a cucumber, and waited while the papers were all checked. It took a while, this being the first day of business of the year, but Mr Hosier, for it was him I was speaking to, told me that everything had been present and correct, and there had been no reason not to pay out. He paid out in a mixture of government bonds, pound notes and gold bullion.’

  ‘I say!’ blurted out Rufus. ‘How much did this man get?’

  ‘I believe it was around £120,000.’

  There was a stunned silence at the sheer scale of the amount, even by today’s standards.

  ‘Clampton had given Mr Hosier a forwarding address at a cheap hotel in Bloomsbury. And then he disappeared. Just like our Miss McColl had done.’

  ‘So they were definitely in on it together?’ asked Dulcie Fairbanks.

  ‘Oh yes. But blow me if I know how much or what exactly each one did, or who was the mastermind behind the whole dreadful affair.’

  ‘And you really lost him, sir?’ asked Posie, crossly, for she hated a bad ending.

  ‘Yes, although we put notices at every port and train station, and placed “WANTED” adverts in all the newspapers. For both of them. But nothing happened. That’s why I said it haunts me, even now. That two people could have got away with such a despicable crime. And got rich out of it, too.’

  ‘Quite!’ cried Andromeda Keene, and there were tears running down her face, which she flapped away at, angrily.

  But, like a dog with a bone Posie didn’t give up. ‘But you said you’d found that maid, Meggie, sir? Later? Was it at another crime scene?’

  Lovelace nodded, glowering. ‘It was. An almost-crime scene…’

  Rufus was looking at his watch and making exclamations that they all really should start to think about getting their coats on, for it was past ten o’clock, when there was a sudden loud rapping at the door. It sounded pretty urgent.

  ‘Come in!’ Rufus shouted.

  Posie saw how Richard Lovelace’s eyes went to the door expectantly, but then wrinkled in confusion at the sight of the person who entered. A youngish man stepped into the room, suited in thick, cheap serge, with an old tweed overcoat and a grey felt hat thrown carelessly over one arm. He gave the impression of being in a hurry, and wielded a large brown leather case in front of him, the top of which was obviously damp, for blobs of snow remained here and there on his bag and clothes.

  ‘Ah!’ said Rufus politely. ‘Dr Marlin. How good of you to come by! Especially on such a night as this. Been up to see the boy, have you? All okay tonight, is he? Breathing quite tickety-boo?’

  Posie was struck suddenly by the man’s face, grey and haggard, unexpectedly so in a man of perhaps only thirty, but filled too with an intensity of purpose. The man seemed almost as if he was going to pass out, but he must only be very tired: he had probably been working all day, out on house calls in this terrible weather, on not much sustenance.

  Posie stared at Dr Marlin, and then for some reason she felt suddenly and terribly afraid.

/>   ‘Your son is fine, sir,’ said the Doctor, but his face was unsmiling. ‘I’ve checked on him and can assure you he will be right as rain, as will all the other little girls up in your nursery tonight. It’s your wife I was more worried about, sir. I didn’t like what I saw this morning, and I kept thinking about her all day. I promised myself I’d check on her tonight if it was the last thing I did.’

  ‘Eh?’ Rufus sounded stumped, confused. But Posie was watching as the Doctor flashed a look over at Dolly, who was still sleeping. Suddenly he hurtled across the room, and flung back the blankets on the green chair. He dropped his doctor’s bag and he leaned over the Countess, and Posie saw suddenly and with horror that he was checking desperately for a pulse.

  The Doctor was turning an ashen-grey face in Rufus’ direction. He was doing something else now, reaching into his bag. A mirror was being placed under Dolly’s nose, and Posie knew this old trick of seeing whether someone was still alive from back in her days as an ambulance driver.

  Suddenly, Posie was standing up, and it was as if all the blood had gone from her body as she made her way forwards, her heart beating desperately. Some instinct from her medical training was kicking in though and she found herself fumbling in her carpet bag, drawing out the blue-glass bottle of Sal Volatile smelling salts which she always carried, opening the stopper automatically. She was right at the Doctor’s side, squatting down, arms ready for assistance, as in those far-off nightmarish days in France.

  Was it that memory which suddenly filled her nostrils with the nauseating smell of blood, just congealing? She wanted to retch, but fear spurred her on.

  ‘What can I do to help?’

  The Doctor turned wide grey eyes to Posie, unable to face Rufus, perhaps.

  ‘Nothing, Miss.’

  The Doctor got to his feet, his hands shaking.

  ‘We are too late. I am much afraid the Countess is dead.’

  ****

  Seven

  Posie couldn’t accept it, and obviously neither could Rufus, for he was making strange swallowing noises, retching like a dog who has eaten a mouthful of grass.