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 …’
‘I reckon you’re just trying to trick me into saying summat.’
‘The thing is, Connie, I don’t need you to confirm that something improper took place between yourself and Mr Charles, because although you may not be aware of it, you and Mr Charles were seen together in compromising circumstances that afternoon, so if evidence were required in respect of a divorce, there is already someone else who can provide it.’ Fran hoped that she sounded confident and commanding, because she really had no idea whether a glimpse of a kiss and a slap on the behind was anything like enough evidence to support an accusation of adultery, and in fact she strongly suspected that it was not.
Fortunately she was convincing enough for Connie who capitulated at last. ‘Very well then,’ she said sulkily. ‘I know that silly wife of his saw us together in the garden, but I didn’t realize she had followed us back to the house.’
‘Well, there you are,’ said Fran, greatly relieved. ‘The thing that I need to know is how long the two of you were together – and where you were. That way I can be sure that Mr Charles was never with his father, you see.’
‘I don’t see as why I should do anything to help him,’ grumbled Connie. ‘A girl agrees to meet a gentleman and he takes advantage, well then the girl naturally expects a present or something. There’s a lot of gentlemen as can be very generous, so long as a girl is discreet. The major now, he had offered me a place as his secretary. In Hampshire. That would be a step up. I made up my mind a few years back that I mean to get away from ’ere and get on in life and I thought that would definitely be a step in the right direction. That’s why I gave my notice at the Copper Kettle, only then I got word that his wife is cutting up rough, you see.’
Fran could not help feeling that the less she heard about the major – whoever he might be – the better. ‘Getting back to Charles Edgerton,’ she said. ‘I gather that you had arranged to meet him in the garden that afternoon, after lunch.’
‘After lunch was the best time. It’s quiet then and with old Jamieson and Mrs Remington snoozing in their rooms, it’s pretty easy to slip off for an hour or so.’
Thinking that Jamieson had been absolutely correct in his assessment that Connie had the wrong attitude for domestic service, Fran prompted: ‘So you met in the garden and then went back to the house together?’
‘We slipped in through the tradesman’s entrance and then up the back stairs. I’d never been in one of those bedrooms for anything other than dusting and tidying and the like and it tickled me, knowing what Her blooming Ladyship would think of the likes of me, up to all sorts on one of her silk counterpanes. I was giggling and we was shushing each other, though there wasn’t anyone there. No one knew what was going on ’cepting for Mr Charles’s wife seeing us together in the garden.’
Little do you know, Fran thought. Out loud, she said, ‘Did Mr Charles realize that his wife had seen you?’
‘No. He was facing me, with his back to the path and that Mrs Dolly, she just appeared for a minute between the bushes as run alongside the path. I knew she’d seen us like, but she turned and headed off the other way.’
‘Didn’t you tell Mr Charles that his wife was there?’
‘Of course not.’ Connie was openly scornful. ‘If she wants to set a detective on him and they pay me to tell tales, well, that’s all to the good, isn’t it? She won’t though, not that one. She married him for his money, they say and perhaps she’d not be sure of getting too much good out of a divorce.’
Fran found that she could imagine, all too easily, the look of surprise and pain on Dolly’s face, as she glimpsed her husband, trysting with one of the maids. Poor Dolly, despised by her husband’s relatives and cheated on by the man himself. ‘But what about Mr Charles?’ she asked. ‘Didn’t you think you ought to warn him that his wife knew what he was up to?’
Connie made a derisive sound verging on a snort. ‘Dirty old goat,’ she said. ‘He deserves all the trouble he gets, if you ask me.’
‘Can you tell me how long you were with him that afternoon?’
Connie tossed her blonde curls. ‘Wasn’t looking at my wristwatch. About an hour, maybe? I went down to meet him as we’d arranged, at three p.m. I waited for him a short while and just as I thought he wasn’t coming after all, he came panting up the path. Right eager he was. We went straight back up to the house and afterwards I left him in the bedroom. I had to get back into my frock and down to the servants hall to start laying up for family tea. And he didn’t take long, if you know what I mean.’
Connie made to nudge her but was thwarted when Fran stood up abruptly and ostentatiously dusted down her coat. ‘Thank you for your help, Connie, you have said quite enough.’ She turned on her heel and strode swiftly away, ignoring what she fancied was a call of ‘Stuck up cow’.
Oh dear, she thought, as she headed back down the hill. What on earth am I to say, if Eddie asks me whether I have found anything out? Fortunately her chauffeur merely expressed concern that she appeared to be rather cold and insisted on putting a rug around her knees for the drive home.