Strange Images of Death

Chapter Thirty-Three

‘Not now, Orlando. Things to do. Can’t it wait?’

Orlando seized him by the arm as Joe, leaving the office, tried to push past him.

‘No, it damned well can’t! This is something you started and when you’ve heard me you’ll perhaps have the good grace to say thank you. You may even admit that what I have to say will make your life easier.’

‘Walk with me, then. I’m just going to the great hall to check that someone I’m interested in is still there in plain sight, obeying the rules. I shouldn’t have asked Dorcas to go ferreting about the castle by herself.’

He quickened his step.

‘No, you shouldn’t! And, yes, this is about Dorcas. I managed to exchange a few words with her before she beetled off running your errands. I tried to countermand your order and told her to stay in the hall but she went off anyway. I begin to think, Sandilands, that she’s too much under your thumb.’

‘Is that it? I don’t agree. That girl is under no one’s thumb-not even yours. But I understand, sympathize, concur … whatever you want me to say. You’re her father. Will you tell the child her position of Sorcerer’s Apprentice has been terminated or shall I?’

‘No, that’s not it! That was a by-the-way remark. What I want to say-after due consultation with my daughter-is that we both, she and I, want you to desist.’

‘Desist from what, precisely?’

‘You know damn well what. I’m telling you to stop looking for her mother, Laure. She’s lost and, after much thought, we’ve both decided that it would lead only to trouble and disturbance if you managed to find her. Go no further, Joe. Clear?’

‘Clear. Look, mate, I’m inviting you to waste a few further minutes of my time and step into this room with me so that I can give you a dressing down without disturbing the castle.’

Joe pushed him though the open door of a games room and closed the door after them. ‘You wouldn’t want anyone to overhear what we have to say to each other, I think. There are chairs over there by the snooker table. Let’s sit for a moment. And last time we sat knee to knee you looked me in the eye and told me less than the whole truth. You’ve been stringing me along … To say nothing of Dorcas. Leaving us both to stumble about in a darkness you could have illuminated. That stops here and now. Imagine yourself in the confessional. There’s nothing you can say to me that will shock or amaze me. Okay?’

‘Okay. It was your snotty remark about thirty-eight weeks that got me thinking. The duration of a pregnancy. I was surprised to hear a bachelor knew that,’ Orlando said resentfully.

‘Part of the job. In fact it was exactly the puzzle of poor Estelle’s similar condition that put me in mind of it. Yes-she was pregnant. Over two months gone. And, no, we can’t be certain who the father was. With your known proclivities, Orlando, I should keep my head down and stay off the firing step until the guns fall silent. You’d be surprised how often a week or two either side of the critical day can lead to mayhem. Though in France I believe they grant themselves a little leeway and count to forty.’

‘Yes, well, whichever it is, you’ve worked it out, haven’t you?’ Orlando said unhappily. ‘I ought to have come clean.’

‘I can see why you didn’t. In your position, I do believe I’d have done the same,’ Joe admitted. ‘And I’d have been a bit more forcefully obstructive if a nosy Scotland Yard bugger had been hassling me with impertinent questions. So, all things considered, old mate, you come out of this, in my estimation, covered in glory.’

Orlando looked doubtful. ‘Not much glory in this for anyone, I’d have thought.’

‘But there is. I’m seeing a young, idealistic, carefree Englishman who on 14th July 1911 or thereabouts stumbles on an outcast girl, little more than a child, and takes her under his wing. Feeds her up, shelters her, paints her picture … gets fond of her.’

‘You make her sound like a starving hedgehog. She wasn’t a bit like that,’ Orlando objected.

‘But here’s the bit that impresses me: the Englishman knows, because she tells him, or it’s becoming obvious, that she’s pregnant. And he takes her home with him regardless and cares for her. And the unknown man’s child.’

Orlando stirred uncomfortably, then nodded.

‘I know this child was born-because she’s been so obliging as to write it in my birthday book-in January 1912. So, her mother got pregnant in May or June at the latest of the previous year. She must have been aware of her condition by the time she met you, and, indeed, this was most likely the reason for her being thrown out of the family home.’

‘You have it right,’ said Orlando dully. ‘Dorcas is not my natural daughter. I have no idea who her father was-some village boy, I expect, or a sweet-talking travelling salesman-isn’t that whom they always blame? But it makes no difference. No difference at all. She’s my daughter. I love her more than most fathers can be bothered to love their daughters. And, I’ll tell you something, Joe-if you ever breathe a word of this to her, I’ll … I’ll make your life hell! I’m not a vengeful man but I really think I might kill anyone who threatened my relationship with my children. Any one of them. And Dorcas is my eldest. Got that?’

‘I have indeed. Understood. I could never think of her as anything else. But, Orlando, I work faster and dig deeper than you give me credit for. Look, old man, and tell me at once if you want to shut down this conversation, I think I do know who the father was. If you want to hear-it’s up to you …’

Orlando considered for a moment then nodded. ‘It might help. Not knowing is always worse than knowing.’

‘Well, he lived in the village as you might expect but he wasn’t the “village boy” you have supposed. He was young, handsome, intelligent, educated and something of a musician.’

‘All that?’ said Orlando. ‘Well, no wonder I failed to impress!’

‘He was also-a priest.’

‘Good God! Not … not …?’

‘Yes. Father Ignace who sounds as old as the hills was, in fact, only twenty-nine on the day he disappeared from the village. The same day Laure went missing. Except that she’s really Marie-Jeanne Durand.’

‘Oh, my poor, poor girl!’ Orlando shook his head in sorrow. ‘No wonder she could never tell me. The shame! She was genuinely a religious person, you know, from a devout family. It must have broken her heart and wrecked several lives. And I was always second best. She never quite managed to love me. She would never want to see me again.’

There was an uncomfortable moment as Orlando pondered and then he repeated: ‘Please, Joe-no further. Promise? For Dorcas. She lost her mother years ago. I don’t want her now to lose her father. Me, I mean. You know what she’s like! If she knew the truth, she might take it into her head to skip off and go hunting down this mystery man. I couldn’t bear to lose her. She must never be told.’

‘I understand perfectly. Her uncle Joe wouldn’t want to lose her either,’ he said more cheerfully, getting to his feet. ‘No further action on this front, eh?’

The two men shook hands solemnly.

Joe found his step was sprightlier, his breathing freer, a load of responsibility off his back, as he continued his interrupted path to the hall.

He needed all his new-found buoyancy to confront the mob.

He was greeted by a crashing wave of outrage. Suitcases had been packed, wristwatches were being ostentatiously consulted. Deadlines were being delivered.

‘No right to keep us here!’ Padraic Connell was standing by the door lamenting, ready for the off, pack on back. ‘I’m expected at the abbey.’

‘No right at all! The British consul must be informed!’ boomed Petrovsky. ‘I demand the return of our passports!’

‘We’re leaving this afternoon for Avignon,’ announced Mrs Whittlesford, slipping on her gloves to underline her message.

‘We sent a servant into the village with a note.’ Derek’s voice was triumphant. ‘We’ve hired the charabanc. Anyone who wants to can climb aboard. It’ll be here in two hours.’

‘Stupid bugger!’ said Fenton. ‘You shouldn’t have told him. He’s hand in glove with the frogs! Now he’ll ring and cancel it.’

‘If Jacquemin needs to know anything more he’s going to have to ask quickly. We’ve all suffered enough.’

‘Dashed if we’re spending another night under this roof!’

‘Just waiting to be picked off! First it was Freddie, then it was Cecily. She’s in a frightful state.’

‘She has no cause to be,’ Joe said. ‘She’s not been arrested. She was merely helping by giving information. I’ll have a word with her.’

Someone pointed to a gesticulating figure enjoying the attention of a small audience. He made his way over and, smiling, asked her to step aside with him.

‘Better for all, I think, Miss Somerset, if you stop stirring up dissent in the ranks. It’s an arrestable offence in France.’

Caught in the act, Cecily hurried to comply.

‘Now, can you tell me if Dorcas is here? Or Jane Makepeace-she’ll do. I’d like to have a word with either of them.’

‘I haven’t seen Dorcas since yesterday and Jane …’ She looked about her. ‘She seems to have been accorded special permission to come and go as she pleases. She’s appointed herself go-between for the guests and de Pacy. She was here before you called me in for interrogation. Can’t see her now.’

Joe cursed under his breath and began to look about him wildly.

‘Oh! Speak of the devil-here they come,’ said Cecily pointing to the door. ‘Your two birds together! I wonder what they’re hatching.’

Joe turned on his heel and hurried towards them. ‘Miss Makepeace,’ he said pleasantly, ‘I was looking for you. Hoping you can do something for me. Could you possibly establish a little calm around here? It’s all getting out of hand. Perhaps if you were to announce that everyone must stay here in the hall and be ready to hear a statement from the French police concerning their plans for departure, they might settle down.’

Jane smiled her understanding and began to clap her hands for attention.

‘Dorcas, with me. Outside,’ Joe muttered, pushing her back though the door.

‘Well? Did you get what I sent you for?’

‘No. It wasn’t there.’ She spoke quietly as they hurried along the corridor back to the office. ‘I looked carefully but I knew it was a waste of time. I mean, this killer isn’t going to leave evidence like that just lying about. Luckily for you I’d guessed why you wanted it so badly and how it had been disposed of. I was caught in the act though! Jane Makepeace came in while I was standing in the middle of the dormitory wondering what to do next.’

‘What did you do, Dorcas?’

‘What I always do. Made up a story. I pretended I was just beginning my search not ending it and asked her if she could point out Estelle’s drawers. I wanted to return a bracelet she’d lent me and didn’t quite know where to put it. I took it off my arm as I spoke. She recognized it. It actually was Estelle’s, you know.’ Dorcas produced a slim rope of coral beads on a string from her pocket. ‘I think it was convincing. Jane showed me Estelle’s empty drawers. The police, she said, had been in and taken all her things away. They’d been packed up in her suitcase for sending back to England. And then she told me-very kindly, I thought-that the beads were supposed to be a good luck charm. Estelle had clearly given her good luck away with the bracelet and she thought Estelle would want me to keep it. Don’t go bothering the Commissaire with a little thing like that, was her advice.’

Dorcas slipped the bracelet back around her wrist. ‘Just in case,’ she said. ‘But that certainly tells us where the thing you’re looking for fetched up, doesn’t it?’

‘Tell this to Jacquemin, will you?’ said Joe grimly.

‘Discipline’s completely broken down, Jacquemin. You really can’t keep them all here much longer. In fact they’ve given us a deadline. Four o’clock. Rather less generous than the lord, who specifies moonrise! The charabanc arrives then to take them to Avignon in time for the night sleeper to Paris. Orlando and his brood aren’t hurrying off-they’re planning a more leisurely take-off in the caravan. And Jane Makepeace refuses to abandon Guy de Pacy and the lord in their hour of need.’

‘I ought to make an arrest before the bus arrives,’ grumbled Jacquemin. ‘We’re not ready for this. We await the evidence of fingerprints from the lens cover and that’s about all we’ve got. They may not send it until tomorrow.’ He tore a clump of grey hairs from his moustache. ‘It’s no good-I can’t proceed without a confession.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Joe. ‘So-let’s extract one, shall we? No guns, no thumbscrews, I think you’ll agree? Lacking the scientific evidence, the only thing we have left in our repertoire is low cunning and deceit. I think we can manage that between us! But first, Dorcas has something to tell you.’

‘Look, do we have to have this child in the incident room? Send her away, Sandilands.’

‘No. You must listen to what she has to say.’

‘You’re asking me to unpack that lot?’ said Jacquemin, glaring at Estelle’s suitcase.

‘Sir, Forestier packed everything while I made an inventory,’ said Martineau, shuffling through a pile of papers. ‘I don’t recall any such item … Ah! … Here-look-items seven to nine in the clothing department. Brown skirt, black skirt, red print skirt. Any good?’

He dragged the case into the centre of the room and began the business of removing the strap and unlocking the fasteners. The packing was carefully done and halfway down he found what he was looking for. He held the garment up for inspection.

‘Folded up neatly in the middle of the pile with her skirts. Black trousers. Soiled on seat and trouser bottoms with dust and plant matter, sir. Lady’s.’

‘Tall lady’s,’ said Dorcas. ‘Here, let me show you.’ She held them up in front of her. ‘You see? You’re looking for someone at least six inches bigger than I am. And Estelle was quite small. Only one inch taller than me, I’d say. This pair did not belong to her.’

‘And how do you safely and discreetly dispose of an incriminating item in a building swarming with people … observant domestics … and the police expected any minute? You’re not going to start a bonfire or put them in a rubbish bin. No. You slip them off as though changing for dinner, kick them away casually under the bed, and you put them away later in the drawer of someone who is in no position to deny ownership and whose belongings are being shipped straight out back to England,’ Joe said. ‘Here, let me have a closer look, Martineau.’ He took the garment to the window and held it this way and that. He checked the label inside the waistband; he scratched at the fabric with a fingernail. Finally, he smiled and said: ‘Leave them available on the desk, will you? That’s going to be the first of my pressure points. The second … where did you put the lens cap?’

The Commissaire produced it in its envelope.

‘Fine. Now pass me that sheet of headed paper I brought back from the lab with me, will you? A clean envelope? Large one?’

Joe sealed the lens cap and the sheet of paper inside the envelope and asked Martineau to write the Commissaire’s name on the front in large, curlicued French handwriting. Satisfied with the look of his package, he handed it to Martineau. ‘This is where you’ll have to disappear for a bit, Lieutenant. Drive one of the police cars out of the courtyard and turn around. Dramatic crunch of running feet on gravel, please, and then, moments later, you bustle in waving this envelope. We’ll take it from there.’

Martineau grinned and went out, checking that the corridor was clear.

After a few more minutes’ consultation, Jacquemin stepped to the door and handed a chit to the two attendant coppers. ‘Your instructions, Corporal. At once, please, and to be carried out in that order. Straight into my presence, mind! No wandering off to be permitted on any pretext. Assume imminent arrest and take appropriate precautions.’

One of them was back, rapping on the door in three minutes.

Jacquemin opened it himself, all gracious smiles. ‘Ah! There you are, Miss Somerset. So sorry to have to haul you back in again so soon.’