A Donation of Murder Read online

  Once the immediate affairs of the clinic had been seen to, the conversation became more general. Florence and Daphne sat at one end of the table and caught up on their news. After Daphne had summarised one of Sylvia Pankhurst’s recent speeches, ending it with the quote, ‘We will make the cabinet ministers shake in their shoes until they are afraid for their very lives’ Dody could listen no longer. She dreaded to think what Florence might get involved with next, and turned her attention to the other end of the table where an earnest conversation about hats and shoes was taking place. Dody stifled a sigh, feigned interest and nodded her head. She liked beautiful clothes as much as the next woman, but found the small talk about them inane. How much more interesting would the conversation be if it have been about current events, the worrying situation in the Balkans for example, or jewellery even! Probably just as well it wasn’t about jewellery — it would have taken all her willpower to resist the urge to reveal that she had actually held La Peregrina necklace in her hands.

  When the celebrations concluded, the driving lesson resumed. Florence insisted they pick up extra supplies for their little New Year’s Eve party and jolted the car to a stop outside Fortnum and Mason’s. She bought a hamper of goodies and some champagne to add to the modest but ample supply Dody and Cook had already organised.

  But when Florence suggested they pick Violet up from St Thomas’ Hospital, Dody put her foot down. Her life was one thing, but she would never dream of exposing Pike’s daughter to the dangers of a drive with Florence. Pike could escort Violet to the McCleland’s Bloomsbury residence via the underground railway that evening as already planned.

  They drove home through a green, sulphurous fog. Twice Fletcher asked Florence to stop the car so he could clean the front window and the headlamps. On the second occasion he also decided to tinker with something under the bonnet. Dody wondered if it was some kind of a ruse. Perhaps he would lay claim to mechanical failure and insist that they take a taxi home. She rather hoped that would be the case. Her wish was not granted, but they returned home in one piece, nevertheless.

  After they’d bathed, Annie helped Florence with her hair and her clothes. Dody, who preferred to attend to her personal needs herself, changed into a gown of beige silk tulle over which cascaded classical folds of rose pink silk chiffon. She did her hair as best she could. She’d long ago given up on the pompadour that Florence still favoured, not because she didn’t like the look, it was just too impractical for her work and needed far too long to arrange. She styled her hair into a simple chignon and secured it with a silver clasp.

  As she sat at her dressing table her hands wandered to her ears. She imagined the effect of pendant earrings, like those Margaret owned. The ruby colour would go well with her dark brown hair and eyes, and complement the simple silver clasp. She smiled. Silly goose, she chided as she reached for her understated rosebuds and screwed them into place. How impractical such baubles would be, not suited to her lifestyle at all. And what a waste of money when, unlike the sociable Florence, Dody had little opportunity to dress up.

  One could still dream, though.

  She met Florence in the drawing room. The sisters had already decided that the occasion demanded the use of the formal room, rather than the morning room where they usually received guests.

  ‘We need to spoil Violet,’ Florence had declared earlier, ‘seeing she is rarely let out of that prison of a nurses’ home.’

  ‘Indeed, they are Spartan places and the training is tough. I’m proud that Violet is still so determined to see the course through,’ Dody said. Then again, as her father’s daughter, she would expect no less.

  Florence looked stunning in an embroidered Japanese-style dress with wide blue and black satin sleeves, the colours bringing out the startling violet of her eyes. ‘I’m not sure how suitable this dress will be for the tango, Dody,’ she said, as she propped the music on the grand piano. ‘Ought I to change?’

  ‘There’s no time, our guests will be here any minute,’ Dody replied, noting an unusual lack of confidence in her sister’s tone. She put it down to the horrendous year Florence had suffered, some of it resident in a mental institution. She moved to the piano and put her arm around Florence’s delicate shoulders. ‘Soon it will be 1914. I expect you’re very much looking forward to putting the old year to bed, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, preferably with a pillow over its head,’ Florence replied. ‘I fear I am destined to remain a spinster, Dody.’

  ‘Is that such a bad thing?’ Dody asked. Only a few years ago Florence had declared that she would remain a spinster for life and devote herself solely to her cause.

  ‘It’s not a bad thing if one has a career, as you do. I’d hoped to make flying mine. Perhaps if the world changes enough, I still will,’ she said with a sigh.

  Did Florence think Dody was destined to be a spinster too? A few years ago she had also believed that she was, and had been proud of the notion. But that was before she had met Matthew Pike. What would the New Year bring for her and Pike — for all of them — she wondered.

  Fletcher, doing his best imitation of a butler, opened the double doors and announced the arrival of Chief Inspector Pike and his daughter, Miss Violet. It didn’t take long for Florence’s whoop of joy and Violet’s tumbling embraces to shatter their chauffeur-cum-yardman-cum-butler’s charade of sombre formality, a smile cracking his weatherbeaten face as he closed the doors.

  Dody had not seen Violet since she had started her nurses’ training. The nurses weren’t often allowed out, and when they were it was under a strict curfew. It was hard to imagine the young woman who hugged her tight as the shy and awkward fourteen year old she had met for the first time a few years ago. The girl still had the willowy shape of adolescence and was a touch too thin, which Dody attributed to the strange diet devised by an American doctor that she still followed. But now she wore her hair up — not a ribbon in sight — and the new style caused quite a transformation, making her look sophisticated beyond her years. She wore a slightly outdated gown of teal with pale lace trim at the throat, that Dody recognised as once having belonged to Florence, and she looked wonderful in it.

  Pike took Dody’s hand and kissed her on the cheek. He smelled of the damp night air. After he’d greeted Florence with a kiss also, and welcomed her home, he allowed Dody to lead him by the hand to the fireplace. Dody’s mood was buoyant. The family town house was one of the few places she and Pike could drop their guard and be truly themselves. They had ceased trying to hide their physical affection from Violet. Not only was she old enough to understand the birds and the bees, but she had also been blessed with a generous heart when it came to her father’s happiness.

  They stood near the fire and nibbled the canapés served by Annie wearing her best black dress, white frilly apron and linen cap. Florence did most of the talking, followed by Violet. Once could tell the girl was dying to match some of Florence’s spicy airfield stories with a few of her own from the hospital, visibly holding herself back whenever she met her father’s censorious eye.

  ‘Florence, why don’t you take Violet upstairs and show her your flying costume?’ Dody suggested. ‘We won’t be dining for another half an hour at least.’

  ‘What a jolly good idea,’ Florence enthused as if understanding Dody’s tactics. ‘I have some photographs too.’ As she took Violet by the hand, she turned to Dody and gave her an unladylike wink. Must have been something else she’d picked up from the Americans, Dody thought with a smile.

  She and Pike settled on the couch vacated by the girls. Pike nuzzled her neck, sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

  ‘I have a lot to tell you,’ he said. ‘I hope the girls can keep themselves occupied for a while.’

  ‘As do I,’ Dody said, thinking it was about time she broached the subject of the anonymous donation. ‘You first. But remember our agreement for tonight: no talk of death, murder or mayhem.’

  He reached for her hand and shook it. ‘Pact.’
r />   And then, to her amazement, still holding her hand, he dropped to the floor and positioned himself on one knee. Reaching into his jacket pocket he produced a small velvet box.

  Dody’s heart almost stopped beating as he flicked the catch and held the box open before her. Embedded in a bed of blue velvet sat a ring, a small solitary pearl surrounded by tiny diamond chips.

  Now Dody’s heart beat like a drum in her chest. She tried to speak, but the words would not form.

  ‘Will you do me the honour of accepting this ring, this offering of love, on the premise that soon you will become my wife?’ Pike said, a slight tremor in his voice.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she managed to whisper, and it was, in all its understated simplicity, just like the man who offered it to her. This pearl made La Peregrina seem quite vulgar in comparison.

  ‘Answer me, dearest Dody, I can’t maintain this position for much longer,’ he said, wincing.

  Had he forgotten her own proposal? Or being a traditionalist, was it something he felt he needed to do himself? Whatever the reasons, she could forgive him for it.

  She threw her arms around his neck. ‘Get up before you do yourself a mischief, you silly man!’

  Pike clambered back onto the couch and slipped the ring on her finger. ‘It’s a little big, it belonged to my mother. I’ll have to get it altered.’

  ‘There’s no hurry, darling. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to wear it in public.’

  ‘Sooner than you think. In the meantime, I thought you might like to hang it on this.’ He produced another box from his pocket and pulled from it a fine silver chain. ‘The pearl’s set in platinum, but this silver chain will do the trick for the short term.’ With deft fingers he threaded the chain through the ring and fastened the clasp behind Dody’s neck. His touch shot tingles of electricity down her spine. The tingles intensified when he tucked the ring into her décolletage.

  He placed his hand on her cheek. She drank in the deepness of his antique-blue eyes and moved her lips towards his, running her fingers through the soft hair on the back of his head.

  When they drew apart they were both breathing deeply.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question, but I take that to mean a yes?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Dody laughed, overtaken by a lightness of being that threatened to float her up to the ceiling. ‘I don’t know how we’ll ever manage marriage itself, but to wear your ring around my neck is almost as good.’

  ‘It won’t be long, I promise you. Once the necklace case is solved I intend on resigning from the police force and we can become officially engaged. Then we can shout our news to the world.’

  The unexpected, casual announcement threw her. She wondered if she had heard correctly. ‘Resignation?’

  Pike paused. ‘Why so stunned?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s hard to imagine you not being in the force. I knew you weren’t particularly happy in it — mainly because of Shepherd — but this is quite a surprise.’

  ‘With me out, it would be much easier for us to marry.’

  ‘Yes, it is one obstacle out of the way. But I will still lose my position at the Home Office if I am married.’

  ‘You could still work as a doctor; I would never deny you that. You never wanted to specialise in autopsy, anyway. Was not bone surgery your original intention?’

  She bit her lip and nodded, her mind racing. Indeed, with so much medical experience behind her, her job prospects were a lot better than most of the female physicians she knew — even if she was married.

  ‘And of course if there was a war, with so many men away from home, your employment prospects would be even better,’ Pike continued. ‘They may even let you keep your job with the Home Office.’

  ‘But what of you?’ Dody asked, pulling out the ring. She attempted to put it on her finger again, but the chain got in the way. ‘What would you do if not work for the police?’

  ‘Why not . . .’ he said, reaching around her neck to undo the necklace’s clasp. ‘Why not wear the ring on your finger tonight, and we’ll announce our secret engagement to the girls?’

  ‘Good idea.’ But then a worrying thought hit her. ‘I know Florence will be delighted, but what of Violet, will she approve, you think?’ While Violet seemed to have no problem with their romantic attachment Dody was unable to predict her reaction to their actual marriage. How would the girl feel about having Dody as a stepmother?

  ‘Of course she will. She adores you,’ Pike said.

  Dody thought more about this. Violet’s mother, an adulteress, had died in a carriage explosion during a liaison with her lover, a brother officer of Pike’s. Pike had never told Violet the true circumstances of her mother’s death, nor had he ever spoken a word against her, and the girl had always held her dead mother on a pedestal.

  ‘Well, we shall soon see, won’t we?’ Dody said, wondering if Pike picked up on the doubt in her voice. She put the ring back on the chain around her neck and hid it between her breasts. ‘Let us play this by ear, test Violet’s mood first.’

  Fletcher opened the drawing room doors with a flourish. ‘Miss Dody, Chief Inspector Pike, sir, dinner is served.

  Chapter Seventeen

  New Year’s Eve at John Giblett’s house was proving much more fun than Margaret had expected it to be. As the revelry grew and midnight drew nearer, her intention of ending it with John began to waver. She’d always prided herself on being in tune with her own senses and feelings — as a safe-cracker she had to be — but in this instance she wondered if she had deceived herself. Did she really want to call things off with John? Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  He looked so handsome in his white tie and tails — impossible to resist. And his attentions to her were unfailing. He insisted she remain by his side throughout the evening and introduced her to new clients as his confidante and potential business partner. The French bubbly, which he said he’d bought just for her, lowered her defences further, leaving her with no desire to contradict him. Her renewed faith improved even more when she realised he had kept his promise and not invited Malcolm James to the party.

  John’s right hand man had been around earlier that evening while the staff was still setting up. He’d spent most of the time with John, closeted in the study. Margaret had set about rearranging the flowers in the hall in the hope of snatching some of the men’s conversation, but received little reward for her efforts. The silence from the room had been broken only by the occasional murmur, as if they were going over figures and doing most of the calculations in their heads. When at last they’d emerged, James pinched her on the bottom while John was fetching his coat. She didn’t flinch. There were servants everywhere and she dared not make a fuss. On his departure, she’d fixed him with a marrow-melting glare to which he’d tipped his hat and laughed. How tempting it had been to help him on his way with a shove! She longed to push him down the steps and watch him break his bloody neck.

  But he hadn’t returned, thank God, and she’d begun to unwind. It amazed her that she could be experiencing such a reversal of feelings when only recently she’d been organising her affairs and planning to leave. Thank God she’d never handed out those letters of resignation. But was the champagne clouding her judgement? She needed air. She excused herself from the old cove she’d been talking to — whose cantilevered eyebrows did nothing to hide his body-roaming eyes — took a glass of water from a waiter’s silver tray, adjusted the fur stole around her shoulders and made her way through the French doors onto the drawing room balcony.

  Alone at last. The view of Mayfair by night was a lot more edifying than it was by day. Chimney pots and servants’ attics were invisible once the bright lights of the streets had been lit and there were well-dressed people below to catch the eye. Taxis, the occasional carriage, and private motor vehicles were still dropping guests at the doors of various houses where parties were in full swing. Margaret noticed a couple in the shadows standing some distance from one such door. They pass
ionately embraced against a wall, hidden from street view at the entry to an alley separating two houses. Margaret envied the couple, though she did wonder why they would choose such a chilly spot to share their love. Maybe theirs was an illicit affair with one or both partners married to someone else. Or perhaps there were other reasons for society’s disapproval, such as those of Dody and her secret lover.

  Margaret reached into her evening bag and removed a cigarette and matches. She pressed the cigarette into her elongated holder and struck a match on the railing. The sudden flare of light caused the lovers to stop what they were doing and look up. Margaret waved. The lovers shrugged and resumed, as if the show was for her benefit alone.

  Margaret blew out a sensuous stream of smoke and picked up her train of thought. She had now donated enough money to pay off the clinic’s debts and in so doing had sorted out Dody’s immediate financial worries. She knew, however, that Dody’s other troubles were by no means over. It wasn’t right that someone with as many God-given gifts as the good doctor should be racked with worry and so unhappy. As Margaret removed the cigarette stub from the holder and ground it beneath the heel of her pretty evening shoe she smiled to herself. At least she had dreamed up another way to help.

  Matilda, one of her best girls, had managed to get herself a cleaning job at Scotland Yard, and after some digging had discovered the name of Dody’s mysterious lover. The detective branch at the Yard was small. There was only one man with the initials M.P and that was Chief Superintendent Matthew Pike. Matilda had even managed to lift a newspaper clipping that included a photograph of Pike from one of the Yard’s noticeboards. It had been taken years ago during the arrest of Doctor Crippen. The picture was grainy, but Margaret had managed to make out the same pleasant face as belonged to the man in Dody’s locket.