Monday, 6th November.
A little after eight the next morning, Veronica dealt with a departing guest then turned to find Fielding at her elbow. She started. The man moves like a ghost sometimes. He’d been absent from the staff room that morning, and she hadn’t been able to complain about the alarming event of the previous evening.
Before she could speak, however, Fielding glared at her. “Mrs. Nash, a word with you if you please.” His tone was terse.
What has got the man’s goat this time? She followed him to the office.
He gestured. “Shut the door, please.” She did so and turned to where he sat at the desk. Usually, he invited her to sit, no matter the circumstances.
This time he merely clasped his hands on the desk and glared up at her. “I have learned that you have continued to question the staff about the death of Captain Brooke against my express instructions.”
Veronica felt a chill run down her spine. “Who has been telling tales, Mr. Fielding?”
“That’s beside the point.” He tapped the table. “You deliberately went against my instructions. I have to say, I’m disappointed in you, Mrs. Nash. Given your background when you first came here to Chesterton Hotel, I had concerns over your ability to work in an establishment such as ours. However, you proved competent.” He took a deep breath. “Now I have no recourse but to ask for your resignation.”
She gasped. “That’s... that’s harsh!”
“Harsh or not, the fact remains you cannot work here if you flagrantly violate my orders in spite of previous warnings.” He held up a hand. “However, due to your previously unblemished record, I am prepared to be lenient. I give you the option of handing in your resignation today. If you do so, you may depart on Friday evening at the end of your working week with a full week’s pay. This will allow you time to make the necessary arrangements concerning your future and to remove your belongings from your rooms. I’m afraid I’ll be unable to give you a reference under the circumstances.”
When she made to speak, he held up his hand again. “This is not open to negotiation. Those are my terms. If you do not agree with them, you will pack your things and depart within the hour.”
She took a deep breath and forced her emotions under control. When she spoke, her voice was icy in spite of her hammering heart. “It seems I have little choice. You shall have my resignation in writing within the hour.”
“The end of the day will suffice, Mrs. Nash.” He gave her a thin-lipped smile. “I still expect you to work during your period of notice. Thank you. That will be all.”
She left the office fuming. She couldn’t imagine who would have said something to Fielding.
Jeremy saw her emerge, and his eyebrows shot up. “Is... is something wrong, Mrs. Nash?”
Veronica gritted her teeth. “Congratulations, Jeremy. You’ll be promoted to assistant manager in short order, I shouldn’t wonder.” She made to leave. I’ve a resignation letter to write.
Jeremy blinked but quickly spoke up. “Um, there’s a problem with the bar pumps again. You know what to do about them. I’m all at sea.”
“A problem?” She rounded on him. “Well first, don’t employ a one-armed man to make plumbing repairs! Second, contact the people who can do the job.” She relented on seeing his crestfallen expression. “Oh, for goodness sake! Here...” She took the telephone directory from under the desk, flipped through it to the right number, and held it out for him to see, indicating the number with her fingernail. “See?”
He blinked. “Yes.”
With this she put the directory on the counter, swept by him and headed upstairs to Claire’s room.
Claire answered the door and greeted her with a sleepy smile that turned to one of concern when she saw Veronica’s face. Without a word, she stood back to let her enter and shut the door behind her. “What’s wrong, darling?”
“I’ve got the sack.”
Claire gave a shriek of outrage. “What?”
“Fielding just handed me my cards.” Veronica’s anger gave way to sobs.
Claire put her arm around Veronica and guided her to the bed, sitting alongside. Her lips brushed Veronica’s cheek. “Oh, my dear! Why did he do that?”
“I went against his orders to not ask questions about Sylvester’s death.”
“But you couldn’t just leave it alone! The man is owed justice.”
“Yes. Oh, yes. I’m not stopping now. I feel the clues are here, and I have to find them while I can.” She wiped her eyes and thought of her options. “Fielding expects me to leave on Friday evening after finishing this working week. I have that long, at least.”
Claire chewed her bottom lip. “What of this folder Chapman asked you about? Do you think it’ll turn up? It might contain something significant that philanderer’s not telling you about.”
“I’ve no idea where it can be.” She shrugged. “And someone seems to think I needed warning-off. Whoever it was left a dead rat on my pillow last night.”
“Oh, goodness!” Claire grimaced. “That’s disgusting!”
“Yes. I disposed of it and threw out my pillow as well. I couldn’t bear the thought of putting my head on it after the rat had bled all over it.”
“Well, I should think not.” Claire rubbed her back. “Who would do such a thing, darling? Would it be someone acting under orders from Chapman?”
“I don’t know.” Thinking of Chapman gave Veronica an idea. “Wait a moment. Perhaps we should look at Sylvester’s past. Chapman did tell me he and Sylvester were comrades in arms. Could there be something significant that happened to them both during the war? Chapman seems awfully touchy about that folder, and I think it might contain something deeply incriminating about him.”
“We’ve certainly seen he’s the kind of rotter to cuckold his wife.” Claire cocked her head. “Do you think Brooke was trying to blackmail Chapman?”
“It’s possible. I’ve heard things about Sylvester that suggest he wasn’t quite the gentleman.” The admission made her throat feel tight. Veronica shook her head in frustration. “Chapman couldn’t have killed him. We proved that much. It doesn’t mean someone else worked out the possibilities of blackmail and killed him to get at the folder.”
“If the folder contains that kind of information.” Claire sighed. “So what will you do?”
“I think I’ll contact my brother Tommy. He’s a Civil Servant, and I’m sure he could talk to colleagues in the War Office about Sylvester.” She had a further thought. “And I’ll also contact the friend-of-a-friend who found me this job. Perhaps I’ll be able to persuade them to overrule Fielding’s decision, so I can stay on here until I’m ready to leave.”
Claire took her hand. “And if you have to leave? What are your plans?”
Veronica sensed her reply would be of great significance to her friend. She shrugged. “I haven’t had a moment to think that far ahead. My mother would love to have me back home. She didn’t think much of my desire to be independent after Harold died. Even so, I don’t know if I want to trudge home with my tail between my legs.” Her face grew warm. “God knows, I’m not the proudest person in the world, but I do feel humiliated for having been dismissed like this.”
“I’m sure we can work something out.” Claire hugged her. “If nothing else appeals, you can come live with me in Chelsea. At least until you find your feet again. Or longer. If you wish.”
Alison rushed up to Veronica as she made her way back to the lift. “Oh, Mrs. Nash! I’ve just heard the news. It’s all over the hotel. Did Mr. Fielding really give you the sack?”
Veronica studied Alison’s flushed face and saw the genuine distress there.
She gave the maid a wan smile. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
The girl looked around quickly, then leaned close. “It was Charlie who snitched on you for asking questions.”
Veronica started. “What? Why?” Oh, but then I do know why he told tales to Fielding.
Alison’s next words confirmed it. “It’s his revenge for me breaking up with him. He’s probably worked out you helped me do it.”
“Why, the nasty little—” Veronica clenched her fists to prevent herself from losing her temper. “I could report him for having you in his room at night, but I won’t do so because it’ll incriminate you.”
Alison looked on the verge of weeping. “It’s good of you to think of me in the middle of your own troubles.” She clutched Veronica’s hands. “But if you think it’ll help you, please tell Mr. Fielding. Don’t think of me.”
Veronica was touched by her offer. “No, Alison. I can sort myself out. Fielding doesn’t have that kind of hold over me, but you need this job.”
“I know. Speaking of which, I’ve got to get back to work. If... if there’s anything I can do to help, please, let me know.”
“I will do. Thank you, Alison.”
The girl bobbed her head and walked away to resume her duties, leaving Veronica nonplussed. She thought of Mitchell’s rat-like face and fumed. “The little sneak!”
Work kept her busy throughout the day. All the time, her mind whirled with thoughts and ideas of what to do. Paramount was the need to discover Sylvester’s killer. Her own life would continue where his would not. I can pick up the pieces and go on. Sylvester Brooke faces a suicide’s unconsecrated grave and whatever afterlife there might be.
Fielding stood at the reception desk as she walked into the lobby a little before six. She ignored him and kept walking, right out the door and up the road to the post office. She forgot to fetch a coat before leaving the hotel and winced at the icy blast rolling down the hill.
The post office clerk eyed Veronica as she stood, shivering at the desk composing a telegram to Mr. Thomas Whyard Esq. at the Home Office, Whitehall, London. She sent it, paying the requisite fee, and waited for a response. Tommy often works late, and I suspect he’ll be working all hours with the elections coming up.
To her surprise, an answer came within minutes. Will do what I can. T. With this comfort, she composed another telegram to Mr. Chesterton himself, asking him to intervene on her behalf. She gave the clerk her address and hurried back down the bustling evening street to the hotel.
Fielding had been called elsewhere, and Jeremy stood talking to Monsieur Durand, who had just come on duty. As Durand turned to Veronica Jeremy sketched a nod to her and walked off in the direction of the staff room with indecent haste.
She watched him go. “It seems I’m persona non grata around here.”
Durand gave an expressive shrug. “I ‘ave ‘eard what ‘appened. You can be sure the gossip is flying.” He took her hands in his and bowed over them. “You ‘ave my sincere condolences, Madame Nash. I will miss you when you leave.”
“Thank you, monsieur. I might have a trick or two left yet, though.”
“I do not doubt it.”
Mitchell passed by at that moment. He gave her an insolent stare as he went to assist a guest with their luggage.
Durand shook his head. “You might like to know that person is responsible for telling the tales, ‘ow you say? Out of school.”
“I did hear, thank you. Mitchell will get his comeuppance one of these days, I’ve no doubt.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s time for me to finish for the day. Fielding wants me to work this last week, and so I shall. But I’ll not work a minute longer than my stipulated hours.”
Durand winked. “I understand.”
“Speaking of Fielding, would you happen to know his whereabouts on the night of the murder?”
Durand’s eyebrows rose and then furrowed in consideration. “He was in ‘unstanton, with his sister. I understand they hold a prayer meeting every year on ‘alloween.”
“Oh, yes.” She felt vexed. “I thought he came back later that evening as usual.”
“Not that evening. I believe he decided to stay with his sister overnight since the weather was so bad.” He looked sympathetic. “I am sorry, but he returned not long before I went off duty.”
Veronica sighed. “I suppose it was too much to hope that he would be the guilty party.”
Veronica gave Durand a last smile and a pat on the arm and made to leave when she saw Robert Chapman enter the lobby. His face was flushed an unhealthy pink. From his expression, she reckoned the colour had more to do with a bad temper than the cold.
He strode up to her, towering over her in the most intimidating manner. “Mrs. Nash, I demand a word with you in private, if you please!”
She blinked up at him. “We can go into the restaurant, Mr. Chapman. It’s closed just now.”
“Fine!”
He stalked off in that direction, leaving her to follow like a leaf caught up in the slipstream from a train. The restaurant was empty of customers and staff. A workman’s tool bag with the name of a prominent brewery stencilled on the side sat on the bar counter, but the workman was nowhere in sight.
She went over to where Chapman stood, glaring out the window at the street. “Forgive me for saying so, but you seem upset, Mr. Chapman.”
“Of course, I’m bloody well upset!” He almost shouted, then made a visible effort to curb his temper. “I have reason to be upset if someone attempts to blackmail me.”
“What?” The penny dropped. “Do you think I am blackmailing you?”
“Yes, madam, I do.”
“Now look, although we saw what you got up to the other night...”
He gave her a blank look. “What?”
“What? You’re not talking about—” Just in time, she realized Chapman was not referring to her escapade with Claire outside Miss Walsh’s residence. “What are you talking about?”
Luckily, he seemed too upset to notice their talking at cross-purposes. “You know there’s a folder somewhere with confidential information inside that pertains to my financial affairs. Someone is threatening to use it to extort money from me.”
“I can assure you, I am not that person. Have you called the police? Blackmail is a crime.”
“I know that!” He clenched his fists and forced his voice back to a more conversational level. “I know that. I’m...” He rolled his eyes. “I would rather not involve the police at this time.”
“Then, I fail to see how I can help you. The folder has not turned up.”
Chapman stared at her. “You give me your word as a gentlewoman that you are not attempting to blackmail me?”
“I do, indeed, give you my word.” Indignation stiffened her spine. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
Chapman looked baffled, but he rallied and sketched a bow. “Forgive me, madam. You can understand why I’m upset, I’m sure. I accept your word.” He paused for a moment, then produced a visiting card from his wallet. “If that wretched folder should be found, I would be infinitely obliged if you would inform me at once. You would not find me... ungrateful.”
Not knowing what else to do, she nodded and took the card.
He gave her another short bow. “Thank you. Please excuse me.”
Chapman walked away, and a few seconds later, Veronica saw him through the window getting into the big Armstrong Siddeley. Veronica continued to stare as Thurston drove them away.
“Can I come out now?”
A voice spoke behind her, making her start. Veronica turned to see a workman standing behind the bar, grinning.
He spread his work-stained hands. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to startle you. I ‘eard the row and thought I’d better do like I did in the army while the bullets were flyin’, and just keep me ‘ead down.”
She walked over. “You’ve been there the whole time?”
“Yes, missus, but don’t worry, I won’t say a thing about what I ‘eard.” He tapped his nose. “None of my business.” He pointed at something under the bar. “A proper bodge-job you’ve got ‘ere. Whoever did this ‘ad more strength than sense. I’ll be a while yet sortin’ this out, and no mistake.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you. Talk to whoever’s on the desk when you’ve finished.”
She nodded to the man, then went to find a hot cup of tea and dinner in the staff room, feeling a desperate need to settle her nerves.
The atmosphere in the staff room felt oppressive from the moment she entered. Members of staff gossiped in pairs or small groups and cast surreptitious glances at her. Edna sat with her son, who was smartly dressed in his school blazer and tie. He sipped a glass of milk, oblivious of the tension in the room. Something about the boy’s looks seemed familiar—then the penny dropped.
With Sylvester Brooke so much on my mind, it’s no wonder his image lingers in my thoughts. Now I find myself looking at a boy who could be Brooke’s younger self.
Edna got up and approached her with an expression of sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving us, Mrs. Nash.”
Veronica tore her gaze from Edward Biggin to focus on his mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Biggin.”
“I didn’t have the chance to tell you so earlier.” The older woman lowered her voice. “I think Fielding is wrong to dismiss you, but he does have a point. The captain’s death cast a cloud over the whole place. If the police are satisfied there was nothing suspicious about it, then we should let sleeping dogs lie and put the whole business behind us.”
“I’m afraid I can’t agree, Mrs. Biggin.”
Edna gave her a perplexed look. “But what can you do if you’re no longer working here? Fielding certainly won’t allow you to come back and poke around.”
“Indeed, I can’t, but I do have other options.” She glanced at the boy, who was eating a chocolate biscuit, then met Edna’s eyes. “Edward’s a fine-looking boy. I’m sure his father would’ve been very proud of him.”
Edna stared at her for a long moment, then her face flushed a deep crimson. Before she could say anything, Fielding entered the staff room and glared at her. She had a sinking feeling as he signalled her to follow him.
She followed Fielding into the office, and he closed the door, then abruptly turned on her.
“I have just received a telephone call from Mr. Chesterton, inquiring into your dismissal.” His face turned an unhealthy red. “You presume a great deal by going over my head to the owner of this hotel. I do not think kindly of it. As it is, I was able to lay the facts out before him, and he agrees with my decision. Your attempt to stay on here has failed.”
Veronica observed the heavy flush suffusing Fielding’s features and thought he would be lucky to escape a heart attack for much longer. “Mr. Fielding, you’ve already secured my resignation, and I stand by it. I will leave on Friday evening.” She gave him a sweet smile, knowing it would infuriate him further. “I don’t really enjoy working here, although I will miss the pay. Don’t blame me for trying my luck.”
His voice lowered to a growl. “One of these days, my girl, that luck will run out.”
“Then there’s nothing more to say. Move away from the door, please.”
She gripped the doorknob, forcing him to step away or face an unseemly struggle. He stepped aside, his features flushing to a ripe shade of puce. With a small sense of victory in the encounter, Veronica headed for her rooms.