The Anatomy of Death (21 page)

She heard the swing door from the kitchen and opened her eyes to see Annie wringing her hands.

“I’m so sorry, miss,” the maid said, reaching for Dody’s hat and coat. “This were all I could think to do to keep him where he was—I must have put this particular disc on for him half a dozen times.” She turned towards the morning room and took a deep breath as if about to enter a lion’s den. “Now you’re home, maybe he’ll let me turn it off.”

Dody put up her hand. “It’s all right, Annie. Leave it.”

Annie looked relieved and started backing towards the downstairs door.

“He hasn’t got a contagious disease, you know, Annie.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a copper, isn’t he?” Annie briefly cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Is there anything I can get you before dinner, a sherry perhaps?”

“I know it’s a bit late for tea, but I’d love some all the same. Bring in a tray for two. Has he eaten anything today?”

“Cook made him sandwiches for lunch and he ate the lot.”

“Good, he must be feeling better.” Dody leant the crutches against the hall chair.

The girl stood where she was, clutching Dody’s hat and coat and scrutinising her face. “The tea, Annie,” Dody reminded.

Annie made twirling motions with her fingers. “Um, perhaps, miss, you’d like to go upstairs first, brush your hair and have a little wash?”

Dody glanced at her reflection in the hall mirror. “Oh, what a mess, I see what you mean.” It wasn’t the flying tendrils of hair—they were fairly normal after a busy day at the hospital—it was the red-rimmed eyes betraying her tearful journey home from Olivia’s flat.

Annie softened her tone. “Will Miss Florence be home soon, miss?”

“Next week, I think,” Dody said vaguely, mounting the stairs to her rooms. “The tea, please, Annie.”

Nellie Melba was still singing when Dody entered the morning room ten minutes later. Pike must have persuaded Annie to replay the aria when she had delivered the tea tray. Lost in the music, he lay on the chaise, eyes closed, one hand waving rhythmically as if he were conducting Miss Melba himself.

Dody cleared her throat. His eyes flew open and he started to get to his feet. “No, please, stay where you are,” she said as she went to his side.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Habit. I hope you didn’t mind me listening to your gramophone. I have never had the chance to hear one play before—it’s quite wonderful.”

Dody smiled. “But not as good as Miss Melba in person, or so I have been told.”

“True. No machine could possibly capture the essence of that lyrical soprano—it must surely be heard in its natural form to be believed.” He settled back against the pillows and Dody placed the back of her hand against his forehead.

“Good. No fever. How is the knee feeling?”

“A little throbbing, but not as much as last night. May I take it that you enjoy music, Dr. McCleland?”

“I enjoy music very much, though it’s years since I managed time for a concert—hence the gramophone. Did you see my disc collection? I also have some marvellous Caruso recordings.”

“I would have liked to hear more, but it seemed easier for your maid to keep playing the same one.”

Dody settled herself in the chair opposite him. “Machines frighten her. I’ll give her another lesson so you can listen to whatever you like tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “I plan on taking the eight-ten to Hastings tonight. Annie telephoned my sergeant and had him bring over my things.” He pulled back the blanket to reveal a pair of flannel trousers. “Not the best for winter weather, but they are the widest cut I have and I managed to fit them over the splint. I am taking up your suggestion; a few days away and I can return to work right as rain.”

“I’m sorry, I will not hear of you leaving tonight.”
Goodness
, Dody thought as she heard herself speak,
I’m sounding like a bossy matron
.

“I am your prisoner?”

“The earliest you can leave is tomorrow,” Dody continued in the same tone, “but only after a thorough examination. You also need to practise walking with the crutches.”

“I have used crutches before.”

Idiot
, she chastised herself. Of course he had. The crutches were not really at the heart of the matter anyway. After the disastrous meeting with Florence, her only consolation was that she would not be coming home to an empty house. She realised then, as she looked sternly at him on the chaise, that she liked him, desired his company even. Lord, Florence would be mortified. But, of course, there were also valid medical reasons for him staying where he was.

“The swelling must diminish before I can allow you to leave,” she said. “I’m afraid you are destined for another night on the chaise. My coachman will take you to the station tomorrow morning, provided I think you are fit enough for the journey to Hastings.” She reached for the teapot and poured them both a cup. “If you continue to argue with me now, I will not give you the crutches at all.”

Pike held up his hands in defeat, a hint of amusement in his expression. “Very well then, but I think your long-suffering maid probably deserves a bonus for having put up with me all day.”

Dody allowed a slight smile back. If Pike knew the extent of poor Annie’s suffering because of his presence, he’d recommend more than a bonus. Dody cut Pike some cake, which he ravenously devoured. She found she had no appetite and
left her plate untouched. “Where do you plan to stay in Hastings?” she asked.

“A guesthouse where I’ve stayed before,” Pike replied. “They’re sure to have vacancies at this time of year.”

“And what of Superintendent Shepherd?”

“I had my sergeant tell him that I am struck down with influenza and the doctor’s orders are for a seaside cure. I’ll use the time to visit my daughter again, think about the case, and study the surveillance photographs once more.” He nodded to his briefcase on the floor. “Sergeant Fisher brought them here for me. There may be something in them I’ve missed.”

“You can trust this sergeant of yours?”

“He is one of the few men in the force I would trust with my life.”

When Annie appeared to clear the tea tray and draw the curtains, the conversation returned to music. Pike told Dody that an ex-corporal he knew worked at the Covent Garden box office and sometimes provided him with discounted tickets to musical productions. Then he surprised her. If he could obtain tickets, would she care to join him and his daughter to see Miss Melba perform in
La Bohème
?

Dody surprised herself even more by accepting the invitation.

By dinner, she found her appetite had markedly increased. Annie brought them fish pie with potato mash and broad beans cooked in bacon, which they ate at the card table, Pike’s splinted leg propped on a chair. Dessert was chocolate tart.

“My sister’s favourite pudding,” Dody remarked over a second glass of hock. “Cook always made it to cheer her up on the last day of the school holidays.”

“I take it the young lady is away at present?”

“She is staying with friends.”

“Ah.” Pike searched her face with uncomfortable intensity. Dody regretted bringing up the topic of Florence. She wondered if the inspector knew something about her sister that she did not. It was time to change the subject. “I nearly forgot to tell you, I made enquiries at the hospital today, and discovered it is not yet possible to conduct blood testing for group type.”

“Ah well, then I shall have to find other means,” Pike said. “It is no matter, thank you for trying.” He was still looking intently at her.

“What is it?” she asked. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“Pardon me for saying this, but I thought you looked somewhat distraught when you first came home.”

Dody touched her cheek—was he capable of detecting invisible tear tracks, too?

She composed herself. “Have you siblings, Chief Inspector?” There, she’d brought up the Florence topic again, albeit indirectly. It was hard not to when there had been little else on her mind.

“Please call me Pike; it’s less of a mouthful. And yes, I do, a sister, quite a bit older than myself. She still treats me like a small boy and seems to disapprove of most everything I do.”

“I think Florence must feel the same about me,” Dody said ruefully.

Pike looked at her intently again. “You disapprove of your sister’s activities?”

“Sometimes. Some of them.” Dody scanned the table and latched on to the wine bottle. “More wine?”

It would be safer to switch the conversation to him, Dody decided as she filled his glass; men always enjoyed talking
about themselves. “I can’t imagine what a sister would find to disapprove of in you,” she said.

“Are you mocking me?”

“A war hero, I am told, and now a high-ranking policeman—what is there to disapprove of or mock?”

“Unless one has something against the police, I agree. But I assure you, my sister is a passionate upholder of the system—any system,” he added wryly. “But, you see, I didn’t follow the path for which I was supposedly destined. I defied my parents and joined the army to avoid auditioning for the Royal Academy. I had a certain talent for the piano, but it was little more than mediocre. I decided it best to let my family down sooner, rather than later.”

“So you became an officer in the army?”

“Not initially, I had neither money nor connections.”

“Parents?”

“My father was the son of a vicar and a natural philanthropist—I never quite understood why he never went into the church himself. Perhaps he felt he could do more good moulding young minds as a schoolteacher.”

Dody smiled, encouraged him to continue with a nod of her head.

“Mother came from a reasonably prosperous ironmongering family, had the benefit of quite a good education for her day. I think she married Father hoping to change him, hoping he would obtain a teaching position in a public school.” Pike shrugged. “But he never budged, quite content in the village school even if it meant an insubstantial salary and no prospects. Mother used the money she earned teaching piano to buy my sister and I decent clothes, private tuition, and elocution lessons.” Pike smiled at the memory. “It was only when
she discovered that in the army I had risen through the ranks to captain that I was finally forgiven.”

And rising through the ranks was no mean feat, Dody thought as she regarded him across the table. He straightened in his chair. She could see he did not expect praise for his achievements; he was simply revealing a part of himself that few would have guessed.

An outsider in the army because of his class, and probably an outsider in the police force because of his military status. They had more in common than she might have imagined.

“And your parents, are they still alive?”

“Alas, no.”

Annie cleared the table and brought in coffee. They moved to their seats by the fireplace, and the conversation drifted into a comfortable silence. Pike swirled his brandy, apparently deep in thought. The fire crackled in the grate; the mantel clock chimed ten. Dody excused Annie and was about to leave for bed herself, when Pike stared into the fire and said, “When you see your sister next, you might attempt to persuade her to modify her activities, be wary of her associates.”

“You mean the women of the WSPU?”

“Not only them.” He looked away from the fire to meet her eye. “I believe she has been seeing an Irishman by the name of Derwent O’Neill, a former Fenian who has a history of making bombs.” He paused briefly, and then said, “I am aware that he and his brother recently spent time with your family in Kent.”

The remark snapped Dody out of her comfortable fog of sleepiness. “You have been spying on my family?” She could hardly speak she was so angry. She should have taken Annie’s advice and never let him into the house. He had lulled her into
a false sense of security with his vulnerability and his cultured behaviour, and now, typical of his kind, he had revealed his baser self.

Pike maintained a level gaze. “The O’Neills, like all political extremists, have been watched since their arrival in the country. Special Branch left a report on my desk, which Sergeant Fisher brought along with my things this afternoon. I feel I owe it to you to let you know that the Irishman was seen with your sister this morning.”

Dody pursed her lips. “They met at my parents’ house and have obviously become friends.”

He seemed undaunted by her coldness and confirmed this with an impertinent question. “May I ask the reason for his visit to Sussex?”

“You may not, but as you already have, I feel obliged to answer.”

“You have kindly taken me into your house and given me medical attention; I am in your debt. You are not obliged to answer me at all.”

“I will tell you then, but only for the sake of my family’s reputation. Derwent’s brother Patrick has written a play about the Irish struggle and was hoping my mother would use her literary connections to have it produced. Derwent was simply accompanying his brother. My mother had to turn it down, however, though not because it lacked artistic merit. She said the play would be so heavily censored the message would be lost entirely.”

“I see—like Mr. Shaw’s satire of the government and the suffragettes?”

This new evidence of the range of his knowledge startled her for a moment. “Yes, like
Press Cuttings.
If a play written by
someone as influential as Mr. Shaw could so easily be squashed, Mother knew Patrick O’Neill’s wouldn’t have a chance, even though it was in her opinion very good. As for Mr. Derwent O’Neill, I think I can assure you his bomb-making days are over. He uses a different weapon against the British government now, the power of argument and persuasion.” When Pike failed to respond, Dody stood up from her chair and gripped the mantelpiece. “There now, are you satisfied? Is the interrogation complete?”

The lines on either side of Pike’s mouth deepened and he suddenly looked very weary. “I’m sorry, but I felt I had to ask, to warn you.” He was silent for a moment, and then said, “I know your sister means a great deal to you and that you would not like to think of her mixing with dangerous people. Your family does have a reputation…”

The man was impossible, all the more because secretly she agreed with him. Pike’s fears for Florence were her own. Derwent O’Neill was a dangerous man; she was sure of it. But Pike had no right to speak of her family’s reputation.