The Strange Story of Linda Lee (11 page)

That brought her face to face with the fact that she had become a criminal and, if found out, might be sent to prison. She blanched at the thought, and for some moments considered putting the jewels back while there was still time. But again there loomed up in her mind swift visions of being pushed around by some slave-driving employer, or pestered by some unpleasant boss who wanted to sleep with her, of doing her own washing, of dreary Sundays when she would be unable to afford to go out of London to lunch at some old country inn, and the smell of stale cabbage coming up from the kitchen of a cheap boarding house. No, she decided. She could not face it. Prison could hardly be much worse.

Elsie would, no doubt, expect her to move out within the next few days. But she would have to anyway, now that she had taken the jewels. Would they insist on searching her luggage, to make sure that she had not packed among her things some of the silver, or half a dozen of Rowley’s collection of valuable snuffboxes? Well, they could search her luggage if they liked.
But what about her handbag? Suppose they suspected that she might be making off with the jewels? If she refused to let them look in her bag, that would be as good as a confession of guilt. They would detain her forcibly and send for the police. Then she would have ‘had it’.

In sudden panic she choked on a piece of toast and marmalade. Pushing back her chair, she stood up. There was only one way in which to make certain of escaping such a catastrophe. She must leave with the jewels before they arrived. But if, when they reached the house, they found her gone, they would immediately jump to it that she had stolen something; She would not be in the clear even for twenty-four hours. On some excuse they would start a hue and cry after her, perhaps say that, as she had left all her clothes behind, they feared that Rowley’s death had sent her out of her mind.

No. She must get the jewels out of the house and be back there before they turned up. But how in the very brief time now left at her disposal could she deposit the jewels in some safe place from which she could afterwards collect them? Her quick mind swiftly produced an answer. She could rush along to the Post Office, put them in a large, registered envelope and address them to herself at some hotel. Any hotel would do. Leaving the table she ran upstairs to get the bag with its precious contents. She had unlocked the drawer and snatched up the bag when the front-door bell rang. Momentarily the shock paralysed her. She found herself looking at the clock. The hands stood at ten to eleven. She must have spent more time over breakfast than she had thought, for she had believed it to be not much after half past ten. The bell that had rung must
be the Spilkins. She had left it too late. With a little groan she dropped the bag back into the drawer and relocked it.

Suddenly it occurred to her that they would not expect to find her dressed and self-possessed, but prostrate with grief. Quickly she slipped off her coat, skirt and shoes, put on her dressing gown and lay down on the bed.

A few minutes later there came a peremptory knock on the door and, without waiting for an answer, Elsie walked in. Linda felt a strong aversion to the short, plump figure, the little, piggy eyes and the fleshy chin, but she forced herself not to show it, gave a faint smile and said in a low voice, ‘I’m glad you’ve come.’

Elsie surveyed her critically and replied, ‘Naturally we’ve come. The sooner we get everything settled, the better. Rowley’s death must have been a most unpleasant shock for you. But I trust you are not too laid out to put on some things and come downstairs to talk matters over with me and Arthur.’

‘No,’ Linda murmured, sitting up. ‘I’ll be down in about ten minutes. And I’ll be glad to have your advice about my future.’

A brief nod was Elsie’s only reply before leaving the room and closing the door none too softly behind her.

Ten minutes later Linda joined the Spilkins in the study. They were busily employed going through such papers as Rowley had left in his desk. Arthur greeted Linda politely and his eyes expressed the sympathy that he evidently feared to voice in the presence of his dominating wife.

Elsie opened matters by saying, ‘You know the combination of the safe, of course. Be good enough to open it.’

Sitting down on a chair, Linda shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know it. Rowley kept all his secret calculations in it, and he never told me the combination.’

With a shrug of annoyance Elsie said, ‘In that case, we’ll get a lock man along as soon as we can. Now, about yourself. Naturally, we’ve no wish to hurry you unduly, but how soon can you get packed up and find somewhere else to live?’

The realisation that she had already become a thief filled Linda with dismay. So she had decided that, if she could persuade Elsie to give her even a modest allowance, she would take the first opportunity of putting the jewels back in the safe. Hesitantly she replied:

‘I … I hardly know. This was so terribly unexpected. I … I wanted to consult you about my future.’

‘Well, what about it?’

‘You told me that I’m not mentioned in Rowley’s will. That came as an awful shock, because after his first heart attack he promised to have a new will drawn up, in which he would provide for me.’

‘Maybe. But he didn’t. On our way here we called at Arthur’s office and collected a copy of Rowley’s last will.’ Turning to her husband, she added: ‘Arthur, show it to her.’

Arthur produced a long, folded paper from his briefcase and gave it to Linda. Glancing at it, she saw that it was dated April 17th, 1968. That would have been some weeks after Rowley’s wife had had her near-fatal accident. Handing the document back, she said:

‘There is no point in my reading it through, since you say that I am not mentioned. Evidently Rowley forgot his promise to look after me.’

‘That is so,’ Arthur agreed, running a finger down his long, needle-point nose. ‘I’m sorry, but there it is. However, you can return to your parents in Lincolnshire. I recall being told that they are quite well off, so are in a position to take care of you.’

Temporarily Linda had forgotten that they believed her to be Eric Dutton’s niece and Colonel Chatterton’s daughter. Taken completely by surprise she was at a loss how to reply. To hide her expression and gain a few moments in which to think, she buried her face in her hands. Her mind worked swiftly. While they stared at her in silence for a full minute, she thought up a story, gave a muffled sob, then took her hands from her face and said:

‘I thought you knew. Daddy died last winter. When … when Rowley and I were in Spain. No-one suspected it until he was dead, but he had behaved very badly. Racing was an obsession with him. He ruined himself backing horses. The place was mortgaged up to the hilt, and had to be sold. My poor mother was left terribly badly off. She went to Spain to live with a friend, because it’s so much cheaper there and … and she couldn’t possibly afford to support me.’

The Spilkins swallowed this tissue of lies, and both of them expressed conventional sympathy for Linda’s ‘mother’. Guilty as Linda felt at having slandered the Colonel, she also felt that having done so had improved her own case; so, with all the pathos she could muster, she went on:

‘Yes, it was too awful. And I’m left high and dry. Really, it isn’t fair. I haven’t a bean, and life with Rowley has completely unfitted me for the only sort of jobs that I’m capable of doing.’ She turned to Elsie. ‘Rowley was rich. You must have come into a fortune.
Couldn’t you possibly spare me a few hundred a year, to ante up the miserable sort of wage I’ll be earning?’

‘I could, but I see no reason why I should. Most girls would count themselves lucky to have led the sort of life you’ve had for the past two and a half years: travelling, staying in luxury hotels and dining in the best restaurants. It is obvious from the way you dress, too, that Rowley must have paid you very handsomely for your services—far more than is earned by an ordinary secretary. If you had really worked to make a career for yourself from the beginning, you would be qualified to take a well-paid job by now. That you elected instead to batten on Rowley is not my affair. Your job here, like any other, has come to an end; that’s all there is to it.’

‘Of course I’ve had a good time,’ Linda admitted. ‘But it was Rowley’s wish that I should, and I was very much more than a secretary. I didn’t only run the house and keep his papers in order. He owed his happiness these last years to me, and I looked after him like a mother.’

‘A mother indeed!’ Elsie snapped. ‘I’ve never heard it called that before. I’m not quite such a fool as to suppose that my stepfather treated you as he did, letting you wear his family jewels and buying you expensive presents like your mink coat, because you “mothered” him.’

Her words dashed Linda’s last hopes of assistance. She had thought that if the myth that had been built up about her position in the household was accepted by Elsie, there was just a chance that she might do something for her; but since she realised the true situation she would not part with a penny.

Linda’s blue eyes flashed and she declared angrily, ‘Very well, then! I was his mistress! So what?’

‘So you admit it,’ Elsie retorted. ‘Irreligious as you are, no doubt you’ve heard of “the wages of sin”. I consider that by being deprived of your jam and having to live on bread and scrape in the future you are getting off lightly.’

‘You sanctimonious prude!’ Linda cried.

Elsie gave an unpleasant little laugh. ‘Hard words break no bones, my dear. I was wrong just now, though. With your looks you don’t need to look for a job. You can get plenty of jam simply by becoming a professional. You won’t have to walk the streets for long.’

Infuriated by the insult, Linda jumped to her feet, turned toward the door and flung over her shoulder, ‘If I don’t leave this room, I’ll hit you.’

‘You can get out of the house, too,’ Elsie retorted. ‘And the sooner the better. You can stay overnight if you like, to pack your things. But not in your room. Except for Rowley’s, it’s the only room in the house which has two beds, so I want it for myself and Arthur.’

Linda thought swiftly. There could be no question of returning the jewels now, and she must endeavour, somehow, to dispose of them before their loss was discovered. Every moment was precious. Pausing in the doorway, she said bitterly:

‘I wouldn’t a sleep in the same house with you if you paid me. I’ll go right away and get myself a room at an hotel. But I’ll have to collect my clothes. I’ll come for them tomorrow.’

‘That is an excellent idea,’ Elsie agreed briskly, as, slamming the door behind her, Linda ran upstairs.

Within ten minutes she had crammed into a suitcase
all she would need for the night. Then, with the bag containing the jewels hanging from her free arm, she carried them downstairs. As she reached the first-floor landing, Arthur called to her from the library:

‘Linda. Would you come here for a moment, please?’

Setting down the suitcase, she joined him and, her eyes hard, asked, ‘Well, what is it?’

‘The safe,’ he said, a little unhappily. ‘Are you sure that you don’t know the combination? I mean, perhaps you misunderstood Elsie when she asked you about it a little time ago.’

Linda shook her head. ‘As I told you, Rowley kept his secret papers in it, and he never told anyone the combination. I’m sure it wasn’t because he didn’t trust me, but out of habit I suppose.’

‘But, er … Linda. The jewels will be in it, too. You have often worn some of them. Surely he didn’t get them out himself each time for you?’

Linda felt herself colouring and had difficulty in keeping her voice steady. ‘He did. He always chose what he wished me to wear, according to where we were going or if it was for a dinner party here, and locked them away again afterwards.’

‘I see. Well, in that case we’ll have to send for a man from Chubb’s to open it. I’ll get on the telephone to them now.’ Arthur paused for a moment, then added:

‘I’m sorry about all this, Linda. But please don’t think too hardly about Elsie. Before you came Rowley relied on her for so many things and, having no children of his own, used to make quite a fuss of her. Not unnaturally, she was jealous of all the things he did for you, and the sight of you wearing the jewels her mother used to wear made her furious.’

Raising a faint smile, Linda said, ‘It’s true that she
has no cause to love me, although I’ve always done my best to be nice to her. Anyhow, thanks for your sympathy.’

Turning on her heel, she collected her suitcase and went out into the hall. Every moment she expected Elsie to emerge from one of the rooms to challenge her about the contents of her handbag. With her heart in her mouth, she tiptoed along to the front door and let herself out.

With a sigh of relief she ran down the steps and set off at a quick walk, looking for a taxi. She had got away with it. Elsie could not stop and challenge her now. But, by this time, Arthur was ringing up Chubb’s. It was only just on midday, so they might send a man that afternoon.

She was now a thief, a criminal. She was still free, but how long would she be able to keep her freedom? Within twenty-four hours, perhaps less, the police would be after her.

In the Euston Road Linda picked up a taxi. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the driver to take her to a small, respectable hotel. Just in time it flashed upon her that, as soon as the police were asked to trace her, her description would be circulated to all taxi garages. The man might well remember her and supply the name of the hotel to which he had taken her. After a moment’s thought it struck her that first things should come first and, Bond Street being her all-important objective, she told him to drive her to the Westbury.

Rowley had taken her to dine at several of London’s best hotels, but never there; so there was no risk of her being recognised. As the commissionaire took her suitcase, she told him that she wanted to leave it in the cloakroom while she did some shopping, tipped him well but not extravagantly and put the cloakroom ticket in her purse.

It was only a minute’s walk round the corner to Cabouchon’s. She had been into the famous jeweller’s on a number of occasions. Twice Rowley had agreed to her having the stones of old-fashioned pieces reset in a more modern style, twice she had had the pearls of the smaller necklace restrung, and once a stone in an earring had been lost and had had to be replaced.