[Inspector de Silva 06] - Passage From Nuala Page 13

  A small white dog trotted past at the end of a scarlet leash held by a smartly uniformed maid. The bow that held the little creature’s silky hair back from its black button eyes was also scarlet. It reminded de Silva of Florence Clutterbuck’s beloved pet, Angel.

  At the thought of Nuala, de Silva fell to wondering how matters would have progressed if it had been Archie and Florence travelling with them rather than the Petries. The couples were very different: the Clutterbucks far closer to the conventional mould of the British abroad than the Petries.

  He had to admit, William Petrie had turned out to be quite a surprise. He had taken the lead on most occasions; that was only to be expected, but he had also shown a willingness to treat a man who many of the British would have considered an inferior, as an equal. It was interesting how people often proved to be very different underneath the image suggested by the office they held. It was the same with uniforms. Frequently, they subsumed the individuality of the wearer: the vicar’s clerical garb; the judge’s wig and robes; his own policeman’s uniform. To the casual observer, the people inside them were indistinguishable from each other.

  He heard voices and saw that several groups of passengers had come out on deck. Consulting his watch once more, he realised that tea must be over. He had missed it, but for once, he was in no mood for cream cakes and scones.

  Chapter 20

  Mrs Meadows looked startled when she opened the cabin door to find de Silva there.

  ‘Forgive me for coming unannounced, ma’am,’ he said. ‘If it won’t inconvenience you, I’d be grateful for a few minutes of your time.’

  She rallied. ‘Certainly, Inspector. Please come in.’

  Her cabin was like Charles Pashley’s: a small sitting room, comfortably furnished, with a door leading off it that presumably led to the bedroom area. Mrs Meadows indicated an armchair. ‘Do make yourself comfortable. I’m afraid I haven’t any refreshments to offer you. If this is about Mr Pashley, I can’t imagine how I can help you, but I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Did you have much to do with him?’

  ‘As little as possible. I shared my employer’s view of him. But of course, on a ship it’s hard to ignore one’s near neighbours. I exchanged a few civilities with him when it would have been rude not to do so.’

  She smiled politely. De Silva looked for signs of tension in her expression or the way she held herself but found none.

  ‘Have you been in Mrs Pilkington’s employment for long?’

  ‘I started working for her after my husband died suddenly five years ago. I needed to earn a living.’ She paused. ‘Oh, I can guess what you’re thinking, Inspector. How do I put up with her? The answer is, she’s kinder than you might suppose.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘She has her moods, but in her defence, she suffers terribly with an old injury to her hip. Doctor Brady often sends his nurse to give her massages in the hope of providing some relief, but I’m afraid it hasn’t made much difference.’

  Her voice caught in her throat and she coughed. ‘Excuse me, I need a drink of water. I won’t be a moment. There’s a carafe in my bedroom.’

  She left the room and de Silva heard the chink of a glass and the sound of water being poured.

  While he waited, he looked around the room. A sewing basket was on the floor beside the chair where Mrs Meadows had been sitting. She seemed to be more interested in plain sewing than the delicate embroidery that Jane was fond of doing. The piece of work on top of the pile was a grey stocking. Where the wool had worn at the heel, the stocking was stretched over a wooden darning mushroom. A needle threaded with matching wool lay on top of it.

  De Silva frowned. The colour of the wool reminded him of something he’d seen only recently. He delved into his memory and remembered. It was the scrap of grey wool he’d picked up on his sleeve in Charles Pashley’s cabin.

  Had he worn the same jacket that day? Thrusting both hands in his pockets, de Silva felt around. A handkerchief, some loose change, and something soft but stringy. A strand of wool. He pulled it out and held it against the stocking in the basket; it was an exact match.

  His mind raced as he heard Mrs Meadows coming back. Had this mild little woman been in Pashley’s cabin and if so, why? Was she involved in his murder? She was the last person he would have suspected, and he very much doubted she would have had the strength to carry out the crime alone. Yet now, he had to consider the serious possibility that she had played a part. If he was right, how was he going to catch her out?

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Inspector,’ she said brightly as she returned to the room. ‘This wretched cough. I’ve suffered with it since Calcutta. Probably an infection. Mrs Pilkington insisted I see Doctor Brady who’s prescribed a linctus, but I’m afraid it doesn’t seem to be helping a great deal. It becomes worse in the evenings. Thankfully, Mrs Pilkington doesn’t require me to be on duty at dinner, so I may eat mine here in my cabin in peace.’

  She raised the glass of water she carried to her lips and took a sip. De Silva noticed that a scrap of fuzz from the grey wool in the basket had also caught on the sleeve of her beige cardigan. He debated how to lay his trap.

  ‘I hope you won’t think me rude, Inspector,’ Mrs Meadows resumed. ‘But if there’s nothing more I can help you with, I would like to rest.’

  De Silva took a deep breath. He had better go in boldly. ‘There is something.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You told me that you had as little as possible to do with the late Mr Pashley.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘In that case, can you explain what you were doing in his cabin shortly before his death?’

  The look of alarm in Mrs Meadows’ eyes told him that he had struck home.

  ‘I… I wasn’t in his cabin.’

  He looked at her steadily. ‘I believe you’re lying, ma’am.’

  The skin on her knuckles stretched over the bone; her cheeks flushed.

  ‘No! I’ve told you. I avoided him as much as possible. Why would I want to visit him in his cabin?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know. We have evidence you were there. If you’re trying to protect someone, it’s no use. We’ll find out the truth in the end, so please answer my question.’

  Gradually, the colour drained from Mrs Meadows’ cheeks. A pulse beat in the hollow at the base of her throat. Like an egg that has received a too-sharp tap with the spoon, her face crumpled. She made for the door. She had almost grasped the handle when it opened. Framed in the half-lit space was Canon Ryder.

  Chapter 21

  He held out his arms and Mrs Meadows rushed into them. ‘There, there, Angela,’ he murmured. ‘I’m here now. It’s alright.’

  She broke away. ‘No, George, it’s not alright. You don’t understand.’

  Looking over the top of her head, Ryder saw de Silva. Swiftly, his expression changed from one of surprise to calm. He stepped into the room and closed the door. ‘Good afternoon, Inspector. Forgive me for intruding. I heard a commotion and was afraid that Mrs Meadows was in difficulties.’

  De Silva was puzzled. If Ryder and Meadows had merely met as neighbours on the ship, it now appeared that they were more than that.

  ‘Your concern does you credit, sir; perhaps you can help me too. I’ve reason to believe Mrs Meadows may be able to help with the inquiry into Charles Pashley’s death. We were just discussing the events surrounding it. There’s evidence that she went to Mr Pashley’s cabin the day before he died. I’ve asked her to tell me the purpose of her visit.’

  He paused, trying to read Ryder’s expression, but it was unrevealing. The silence lengthened. ‘As you and Mrs Meadows seem to be well acquainted, perhaps you can assist,’ de Silva resumed. ‘What did you mean by your remarks when you came in?’

  He turned to Mrs Meadows. ‘And you, ma’am; to what were you referring? What is it that Canon Ryder doesn’t understand?’

  Angela Meadows’ lips clamped shut, and she stare
d at him stubbornly. Again, silence thickened the air like the approach of a monsoon storm.

  At last, Ryder sighed. ‘Very well, Inspector. You may as well know the truth. Mrs Meadows and I are brother and sister. She was trying to protect me.’

  He reached behind him, and the door lock clicked. A chilly sensation started between de Silva’s shoulder blades and crept up to the nape of his neck. He wasn’t armed. What if Ryder was? He braced himself for a fight and hoped the cleric’s reactions wouldn’t be too quick for him. He seemed far too gentle to be a killer, but if de Silva had learnt one thing in his career, it was that you sometimes found the perpetrator of a crime in the most unlikely places. Had Ryder acted alone or was Mrs Meadows guilty too? He studied their faces, still finding it hard to believe that this seemingly harmless couple hid such a dark secret, but he was ready to fight if he had to.

  The ghost of a smile came over Ryder’s face. ‘Have no fear, Inspector. My sister and I are not criminals. We both had good reasons for wanting Pashley gone – reasons I’ll explain if you’ll hear me out – but we weren’t responsible for ridding the world of a viper who should have been destroyed long ago.’

  The tension in de Silva’s body eased a little, but he remained watchful. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I was an army chaplain during the war. Afterwards, I was sent by my bishop to work in a parish in an area of London called Soho. Its proximity to London’s theatreland gives it a touch of glamour, but it’s also notorious as a red-light district, and many of the streets are slums. It was a challenging task.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Must we stand, Inspector? My sister looks very pale.’

  Angela Meadows’ chin lifted. ‘You’ve no need to worry about me, George. I won’t faint.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t, but let’s sit all the same.’

  They sat down, de Silva in the room’s only armchair, Ryder and his sister facing him on the sofa.

  ‘Where to begin?’ Ryder scratched his head. ‘As I said, my bishop had set me a challenging task. I like to think I rose to it with some success in the time I was there. I particularly tried to help the young men and boys of the parish. Most of them lacked a good education and had dismal prospects. I set up a boxing club; arranged social events at the church hall – anything that might occupy them in a positive way and increase their self-confidence. I also hoped I might encourage them to look on me as a friend, so they would feel free to confide in me if they were in trouble.’

  He stopped, and his sister reached for his hand. Her expression was haggard. ‘You don’t need to tell him any more, George. All he needs to know is that neither of us were involved in Pashley’s murder.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be enough, Angela,’ Ryder said sadly. ‘I’ve tried to excuse my actions by remembering the good I did in the parish, but I know how close I came to going astray.’ A muscle worked in his cheek. ‘I became too fond of one of my charges. He was sixteen and very impressionable.’

  He paused, worrying at the patch of ragged skin on the edge of his thumb. ‘We did nothing wrong,’ he went on. ‘I swear it. But rumours began to spread.’

  The cleric looked so wretched that de Silva felt a twinge of pity. If Ryder was telling the truth, he was in the clear, but homosexuality was a sin in the eyes of the Church of England and a crime under British law. That applied throughout the Empire, and the penalty was life imprisonment. To de Silva, the punishment seemed harsh. The teachings of the Buddha were, at least on one interpretation, more compassionate. If love was coupled with loyalty and harmed no one, it was not necessarily forbidden.

  ‘Rumours began to spread,’ repeated Ryder. ‘I’m convinced Charles Pashley was one of those who spread them. He lived close to where I was working. He was a writer – not a very successful one at that stage – supplementing his income with writing articles for local newspapers, and he already had a nose for scandal.’

  ‘Do you think he recognised you here on the ship?’

  ‘At first, I didn’t think so. Back then, he hadn’t taken much interest in the projects I set up, and many years have gone by. In any case, it’s notable how one frequently disappears behind clerical black. Perhaps you find your uniform tends to have the same effect, Inspector?’

  De Silva nodded.

  ‘With these scars, my appearance had changed too.’ He touched his face. ‘But I’m afraid I was mistaken. A few days after we left Calcutta, we passed in the corridor. He greeted me and made it clear he hadn’t forgotten.’

  Angela Meadows jerked forward in her seat. Livid patches flared on her cheeks. ‘Pashley was vicious. He may not have intended to expose George, but I’m sure he planned to glory in tormenting him with the fear that he might.’

  Her brother reached for her hand. ‘Try to be calm.’

  ‘How can I be when I think of what that horrible man put us through? I wish I’d never gone to his cabin to plead with him to leave us alone. I should have known it would only feed his vanity.’

  Putting her hand to his lips, Ryder kissed it. ‘You acted from the best of motives, my dear.’ He shrugged. ‘I realised there was nothing to be done, except wait and pray that Pashley would keep my story to himself.’

  Not entirely correct, thought de Silva. Murdering him would have provided the solution, but his gut instinct told him that Ryder was telling the truth.

  ‘Going back to the boy,’ said Ryder. ‘He was terrified of being imprisoned and shunned me. For my part, I dreaded every ring of the telephone or knock at the door.’

  His sister intervened. ‘I told George he had to leave the country. Staying was too big a risk. My husband refused to discuss what was to be done. Even though George was blameless, he didn’t want anything to do with him.’

  ‘The rumours came to the bishop’s ears,’ Ryder went on. ‘He offered me a way out. I could take up missionary work in China. I accepted, and in 1926, I left England. The work was hard, although rewarding, but as matters turned out, I had exchanged one danger for another. Eventually, my work took me to Manchuria, a province in the north-east of China. A little over a year after I arrived, the Japanese invaded. The village where I was working was attacked.’

  He touched his scarred face. ‘I received this and was lucky to escape with my life. It was then that I moved to Hong Kong. My career prospered there, and I became a canon in the Cathedral of St John.’

  De Silva was puzzled. Telling his story had obviously cost Ryder a great deal of anguish. Why had he felt obliged to do so? What was the relevance to the case?

  ‘Why are you returning to England?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m sick, Inspector. I have cancer. Doctor Brady will confirm it. He’s kind enough to supply me with regular doses of morphine to keep the pain at bay. He also pays me the compliment of honesty and admits that I may not have long to live. My sister and I want to spend whatever time I have left with each other.’

  ‘For a long time, I couldn’t find out what had happened to my brother,’ said Angela Meadows. ‘He seemed to have vanished into thin air. It was the Church Missionary Society who helped me in the end. I decided to leave Mrs Pilkington’s employment and go to him, but when she found out why, she told me to wait and come with her on the trip she planned that winter. We didn’t know George was ill at that stage. When he told me and said he wanted to see England one more time before it was too late, she insisted on paying his passage. I think she felt a particular sympathy because her late husband died of cancer.’

  Now de Silva understood why Angela Meadows had said her employer was more generous than the casual observer would think. He addressed George Ryder.

  ‘I have to ask you, sir; why have you told me all this? Isn’t it a risk you didn’t need to run?’

  ‘Some would say so, Inspector, but I’m tired of concealment.’

  Then the cleric gave him a searching look. ‘There is someone else on this ship who has a reason for wanting Charles Pashley out of the way.’

  ‘Ye
s?’

  ‘Diana March.’

  Chapter 22

  From the far side of the Cabin Class lounge, Lady Caroline raised a slim hand and waved. Jane went to join her.

  ‘Good afternoon, Lady Caroline.’

  ‘Shall we take our stroll before tea? I think we have time.’

  ‘I’d like that very much.’

  On deck, a sharp breeze caught the broad brim of Lady Caroline’s white sunhat. It was trimmed with violets that matched the colour of her calf-length chiffon dress. She clapped a hand to her head. ‘I think the captain must be in more of a hurry than usual today,’ she remarked. ‘I expect he’s anxious not to lose any more time. William says we already have done because of a fault with one of the engines, and we may have to join a later convoy than planned to go through the Suez Canal.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the canal again.’

  ‘Yes, it is a most impressive sight. I’m so pleased to have your company,’ she added. ‘William’s very preoccupied with this dreadful business. It can’t be helped, I know, but I must admit to feeling a little put out. I’d hoped that we would have a chance to relax and enjoy the journey together.’

  ‘My husband’s much the same,’ said Jane sadly. ‘If nothing has been resolved before we reach Port Said, I fear I may have difficulty persuading him to leave the ship.’

  ‘Surely not? But then your husband does seem to be very dedicated to his duty. We shall have to make sure that William insists on relieving him of it.’

  As if to stifle a cough, she raised a hand to cover her mouth. ‘Oh dear,’ she whispered. ‘Here comes Clara Pilkington. I’m afraid she’s seen us, and it’s going to be hard to avoid her.’

  ‘Lady Caroline! Good afternoon!’

  Lumbering towards them, Mrs Pilkington had a wide smile on her face. The voluminous skirts of her pastel dress rippled in the wind. Her maid followed at a respectful distance bearing an armful of travelling rugs, a capacious handbag, and a small pile of books.