The Missing Diamond Murder Page 13

  ‘Will that be all, madam?’

  ‘Well, actually, there is one more thing. I believe the late Mr Edgerton’s nurse was in the habit of spending her afternoons off with Colonel Baddeley’s chauffeur. Do you know the man in question?’

  ‘I do, madam. Until very recently, the position of chauffeur to Colonel Baddeley has been occupied by Mr Moncrieff and if he had driven Colonel or Mrs Baddeley over, he would generally join us in the servants’ hall for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Did you realize that he was romantically involved with old Mr Edgerton’s nurse?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it that way myself, madam.’

  ‘What way would you have put it?’

  ‘I believe a friendship grew up between them, such as can easily occur between two people who have been in service a long time.’ Jamieson spoke rather stiffly. ‘When the family are all away, I myself have occasionally accompanied Mrs Remington out to luncheon or afternoon tea.’

  ‘But the nurse and the chauffeur had not been a long time in service together. They did not even work in the same establishments.’

  ‘I meant that they had each been individually a long time in service. Taking afternoon tea with an acquaintance that shares a similar outlook and similar experiences is naturally more pleasant than taking afternoon tea alone. Unfortunately the younger maids have had their heads filled with silly ideas derived from their chosen reading matter and so they tend to see romance where none exists.’ Jamieson sniffed.

  ‘So you give no credence to any suggestion of a romance?’

  ‘None whatsoever, madam. Miss Roche and Mr Moncrieff had their war experiences in common, I believe.’

  ‘Their war experiences?’

  ‘She had nursed the wounded and Mr Moncrieff was among the staff from the Baddeley estate who followed the colonel into service in Belgium and France. A number of the men answered the call, I believe and two of the under gardeners did not return. Mr Moncrieff was rather too old to serve, but I expect the colonel was able to pull some strings. Mr Moncrieff was wounded and invalided out, so I have heard, and this left him unable to perform heavy duties. After the war his employment prospects would have been very poor, but naturally Colonel Baddeley reinstated him in his old position at Baddeley Court. I gather that now he is all but retired from duties, the colonel has found him a cottage on the estate.’

  ‘So he has been with Colonel Baddeley for at least ten years.’

  Jamieson inclined his head in agreement. ‘I believe it is more than twenty.’

  ‘And Colonel Baddeley clearly thinks well of him.’

  ‘So I believe.’

  ‘I see. Thank you, Jamieson, that will be all.’

  ‘Thank you, madam.’ The butler gave his usual stiff little bow before letting himself out of the room and latching the door with a neat click.

  EIGHTEEN

  When Eddie enquired over lunch whether the ‘lady detective’ would be available for a walk that afternoon, Fran requested instead that Eddie run her into Avemouth, if it was not too much trouble.

  ‘No trouble at all. As I said on Day One, consider me completely at your service.’

  Nothing further was said about her request until they were driving out of the main gates, when he enquired, ‘May I ask if this is linked with your detective work, or merely a shopping expedition?’

  ‘It’s a little bit of detective work,’ Fran said. ‘I’m just tying up a loose end. There was a maid working at Sunnyside House who was dismissed, not long after your grandfather died and as I’m speaking to all the staff, I need to speak to her too.’

  ‘Leaving no stone unturned, eh? That would be Connie, I suppose.’

  ‘You remember her?’

  ‘Of course. She was with us for about a year.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Was she pretty?’

  ‘I suppose so. She knew it too, used to simper at any passing male when she thought Jamieson wasn’t looking; lowered her head and batted her eyelashes, if one met her in the corridor. Can’t say I took to her.’

  ‘I understand that she works in a tea room called the Copper Kettle now.’

  ‘So you’re going to pop in and order a pot of tea,’ Eddie said. ‘In that case, it will probably be better if I lose myself for half an hour. She’s far more likely to open up if I’m not there, don’t you think?’

  ‘Actually I do,’ Fran said. ‘But I feel rather badly, leaving you to sit in the car while I drink tea.’

  ‘Don’t trouble over me. I will be perfectly able to amuse myself. I may take a walk along the quayside. There’s always something to see down there.’

  ‘That’s very sporting of you.’

  ‘Not a bit. Haven’t I said that I am to be considered your willing slave in this business? Your wish is my command.’

  ‘In that case,’ Fran said, ‘would you mind telling me what the Sidmouth affair is?’

  ‘Aah.’ Eddie made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

  ‘I thought you were going to tell me about it that day when we went to see your house, but then we met your sister and Miss Trenchard.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right – as usual. Though of course I thought that you already knew – until you told me otherwise. You see, I assumed that my brother had explained the legacy Grandfather left for Mrs Headingham.’

  ‘I have never even heard of Mrs Headingham.’

  Eddie took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Headingham was the governess at Sunnyside House, when my aunts were growing up and my grandfather became very fond of her. Naturally this was all a very long time ago. Grandfather was still a young man when his wife died and Mrs Headingham came to the family as a young widow. One half wonders why they never married … anyway, for some reason they never did. My aunts grew up, but Mrs Headingham stayed on as part of the household. Officially I think she was like a sort of housekeeper, but essentially, I suppose …’ Eddie hesitated. ‘Well, essentially she was Grandfather’s mistress. As you can imagine, when my father married my mother and she found out what the situation was with Mrs Headingham, she wasn’t too amused and so Grandfather agreed to set Mrs Headingham up in a little house in Sidmouth, which was far enough out of the way to avoid any local gossip. Grandfather thought a great deal of my mother and wouldn’t have wanted to embarrass her. Mother was much younger then and had led quite a sheltered life. Victoria was still on the throne, for goodness’ sake …’ Again Eddie trailed momentarily into silence. ‘I suppose Mother was embarrassed or scandalized, or quite possibly both. Anyway, she didn’t like Mrs Headingham mentioned by name, so it became the custom to refer to the matter – if at all – as the Sidmouth business, which was fairly ambiguous. The servants weren’t supposed to know what it meant, but you can bet your life they did.’

  ‘I seem to remember that your family told me at the outset that they wouldn’t hold anything back, and yet I’m only now being told about this Mrs Headingham, who had a financial interest in your grandfather’s death.’

  ‘Oh Lord, Fran, don’t be annoyed,’ begged Eddie. ‘I thought Roly must have told you, honestly I did. I admit there had been some discussion about it before you came and my mother and Mellie were all for keeping it quiet. Mother said that she didn’t see how the Sidmouth business could have any possible relevance. Grandfather had stopped making regular visits to Sidmouth long ago and Mrs Headingham never came to Sunnyside House. Mellie took the same line. She hadn’t even known about Mrs Headingham until then and when it was explained to her, she said she didn’t see the point in dragging it all up and putting very old dirty linen on show. Even so, I thought Roly wouldn’t have taken any notice of them.’

  ‘Have you ever met Mrs Headingham?’

  ‘No. She never visited Grandfather. I don’t believe she’s been back to Sunnyside House in my lifetime.’

  ‘If this affair with your grandfather began when she came to look after your aunts, then she must be quite old by now.’


  ‘I dare say she is.’

  ‘Would you be able to get her address for me?’

  ‘Roly will have it. I could ask him for it and can easily run you over there, without Mother or Mellie being any the wiser, if you like. Actually I’d be quite curious to meet the old girl myself.’

  The Copper Kettle was situated in a prime position, overlooking the little harbour. Eddie dropped Fran a short distance away and she walked the last few yards, passing the usual assortment of village shops, which thanks to Avemouth’s seaside location were leavened with a couple of emporiums containing unseasonal displays of brightly coloured tin buckets and little wooden spades. A bell above the door tinkled as Fran entered the almost empty teashop, where the only other customers were two generously built matrons, occupying a table in one corner. Fran took up a position diametrically opposite and removed her gloves, while she awaited the arrival of a waitress.

  ‘Yes, please, what would you like?’

  Fran had been concentrating on the view from the window, through which she could see Eddie Edgerton pausing to chat to an old fellow who was tending to some lobster pots, so she was startled by the silent arrival of the girl who stood at her shoulder, wearing a black dress and a spotless white apron, complemented by a white starched cap. The girl had a small pad, above which she held a stump of pencil expectantly. One glance suggested to Fran that this was probably not Connie, for the waitress, though smart in appearance, was thin and mousy, with a pair of round spectacles, rammed well on to the bridge of her nose.

  ‘A pot of tea and a scone, please.’

  ‘Will that be a Devon scone? With jam and clotted cream?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Fran said quickly, mindful that lunch was not far behind her. ‘Just a buttered scone, please.’

  The girl noted this on her little pad in careful longhand, all the time wearing an expression of one whose offer of a local delicacy has been unreasonably scorned. Once the taking of the order had been accomplished she disappeared behind the beaded curtain which was suspended across a doorway which led into the rear of the establishment, leaving Fran to contemplate the possibility that if it was Connie’s day off she had made a wasted journey.

  The preparation of the order seemed to take rather less time than noting it down had done, with the waitress reappearing as silently as she had originally arrived, bearing a loaded tray. ‘Tea,’ she announced, placing the pot on the table. ‘Hot water,’ she added unnecessarily as she placed the steaming jug next to the pot. ‘Milk … sugar … cup and saucer …’ Fran managed to suppress a smile, wondering whether the explanation of each article was deemed to be for her benefit and noting the slight edge to the final ‘buttered scone’, which was clearly perceived as a distinctly inferior article to a proper Devon scone.

  ‘Thank you. I wonder if you can help me?’

  ‘I will if I can, madam,’ the girl replied in a patient tone, which suggested to Fran that perhaps she anticipated having to explain the use of the tea strainer to this ignorant off-comer, who had foregone the opportunity of a proper cream tea.

  ‘I have been given to understand that a young woman called Connie works here.’

  ‘She did, madam. Up until last week.’

  ‘Oh, I see. She doesn’t work here any more?’

  ‘No, madam.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  The girl affected an even more patient tone. ‘Because she’s left, madam.’

  ‘Well, yes … but are you able to tell me why … and where she’s gone?’

  ‘She gave her notice in madam. ’Tis lucky it’s our quiet time. Otherwise we’d be sorely pushed to manage.’

  ‘Did she go to another position? Somewhere in the village perhaps?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that, madam.’

  It occurred to Fran that Avemouth was not a particularly big place and certainly not large enough for anyone working there to be unaware of what had become of an ex-colleague in such a short space of time. She decided to pursue the point. ‘I believe Connie lives here in the village?’

  ‘That’s right, madam.’

  ‘Does she live with her parents?’

  ‘She does.’

  ‘And where do they live?’

  Having ascertained the name of the cottage and directions on how she could find it, Fran let her reluctant informant return to the nether region of the premises, while she drank a cup of tea and sampled the scone, which was rather dry. Not even jam and clotted cream, she thought, would have greatly improved it.

  As soon as she emerged into the street, she spotted Eddie lurking further along the quay. He was evidently watching for her and they met beneath the sign of the dolphin, which proclaimed the location of a public house.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Not really,’ Fran said. ‘Connie gave in her notice last week and the waitress claims not to know where she is working now. She’s given me the girl’s address.’

  ‘So you’re going to try there? I’d better make myself scarce again. How’s the tea at the Copper Kettle?’

  ‘The tea is fine but I don’t recommend the scones.’

  Fran found the cottage easily, in a cobbled alley, a matter of yards above the harbour. The paint on the front door was blistered, but the front step had been holystoned within an inch of its life. Her knock was answered by a woman almost as wide as she was tall, wearing a sacking apron over a black bombazine frock, which had been out of fashion twenty years before. When Fran tentatively enquired after Connie, the woman turned back into the house and called, ‘Connie, come ’ere! There’s a lady wants to speak to ee.’

  A moment later the plump, black-clad figure gave way to a creature who could scarcely have been more different in appearance, with her blonde, Marcel-waved curls, periwinkle blue eyes and a perfect figure beneath a cheap, but fashionable frock.

  ‘You must be Connie.’ Fran extended a gloved hand, which was accepted doubtfully, while the young woman regarded her with a suspicious expression.

  ‘I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes? You see, I’m trying to look into something for some friends of mine and I think you might be able to help.’

  ‘I might.’ Connie tilted her head to one side and regarded Fran archly. ‘Depends what’s in it for me, doesn’t it?’

  Taken by surprise, Fran said, ‘I’m not sure that I understand what you mean.’

  ‘You want information from someone, then you expect to pay, don’t you?’

  ‘Well …’ Fran hesitated. It would be very easy for Connie to retreat indoors and moreover her remark implied that she had something useful to impart. ‘As it happens,’ Fran said carefully, ‘I wouldn’t normally expect to pay anything. Not just to be able to talk with someone. But of course, if someone was in a position to provide me with something very useful, well that might be different.’

  Connie nodded, as if this was precisely the kind of reaction she had in mind. ‘You hang on here a minute, while I get my coat, and we’ll go for a walk. You can’t never be sure who’s listening here,’ she finished rather loudly and pointedly, precipitating the distinct sound of someone moving further into the darker recesses of the cottage.

  Fran was left standing on the doorstep until Connie returned, wearing an emerald-green coat and a garishly trimmed hat. ‘This way,’ she said, waving an arm in the opposite direction to the quayside. ‘There’s a shelter up here, where we can be a bit more private.’

  Sure enough, the steep alleyway gave way to a broad expanse of windswept grass, in the centre of which had been erected a large stone shelter, roofed with slate. Inside the shelter, a plaque on the back wall had been inscribed to the memory of the men of Avemouth: the list of their names coupled with the ship or regiment in which they had served. Their loyalties appeared to have been roughly divided between the Devonshires and the merchant navy, Fran noted.

  ‘Now then,’ said Connie when both women were sitting on the wooden bench and Fran was trying not to be distracted either by the memorial plaque or
thoughts of another sojourn in a shelter facing the sea just twenty-four hours before. ‘If I’m to be a named party, it’ll be a pretty steep price. So I think we’d better talk about the money, first of all.’

  ‘Oh, but I don’t think there is any question of your name being mentioned at all,’ Fran said. ‘This is all in strictest confidence, I assure you.’

  Connie looked dubious. ‘I thought the other party always had to be named.’

  ‘The other party?’ Fran was catching up, but slowly. ‘You are thinking of – of a divorce?’

  ‘Well, what else?’

  ‘You think I’m trying to gather information for a divorce? Oh, no, it isn’t anything like that.’

  ‘So you’re not working for the major’s wife?’

  ‘The major? Major who? No, no. I can see we’re at cross purposes … unless, unless Charles Edgerton is a major?’

  ‘Him! It’s about him, is it?’ Connie sounded distinctly disparaging. ‘Well, I never thought she’d divorce him, I must say. But the conditions are still the same. I’m saying nothing without a proper arrangement being made. I want to make a better life for myself, well away from here, and I can’t do that without proper recompense for services rendered.’

  Fran hardly knew what to say next. The young woman was so brazen. A vision of her mother rose unbidden in her mind, reaching for the proverbial smelling salts. She pulled herself together. ‘Connie … may I call you Connie? I assure you that I am not here to ask you about anything with a view to anyone obtaining a divorce. I only want to know about an afternoon when you were working for the Edgerton family at Sunnyside House. It was the afternoon when old Mr Edgerton died.’

  Connie regarded her warily. ‘It comes down to the same thing, don’t it? Asking about that afternoon?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Fran knew that she needed to avoid starting any gossip about the nature of her enquiries, but on the other hand, since Connie was clearly not about to broadcast the nature of her activities without reward, Fran decided that she had to take a risk. ‘You see, I have been asked to satisfy myself that no members of the family were with old Mr Edgerton that afternoon, so if you were able to confirm that Mr Charles Edgerton spent the afternoon with you …’