A Darker God (25 page)

“What? I can’t see Thetis sporting knuckle-dusters! Can you?”

He grimaced at the image. “Whatever the circumstances, there was no shortage of well-connected witnesses to support the injured complainant. Miss Templeton was contemplating a guilty verdict. Probably delivered with sententious regret by a beak at the Old Bailey who just happened to be a member of Jix’s Club, don’t you know …” His supple voice slid mockingly into an aristocratic accent. “But no one thought it was a good idea to hear that girl stand up in the witness box to give evidence in a court of law—she’s got a tongue like a hedge clipper and knows how to manipulate an audience! And newspaper editors of the sensation-seeking kind—and who pack the public galleries of the courts—would hang on her every word! And report them!”

“So—face-saving negotiations were conducted behind the scenes?” Letty guessed.

“Exactly. A deal of some sort must have been done. It does happen. Threats and favours doled out in the right measure—the usual. No apology was forthcoming from the lady—they were mad to expect it—but she agreed at least to go abroad for a while, in the traditional way, to cool off.”

“Couldn’t she just have gone to Brighton? Everyone has an old aunt mouldering away in Brighton. An aunt who’ll make you welcome and ask no questions.”

“No aunts, gaga or otherwise, I’m afraid. Not much in the way of family. Parents both dead. She has two uncles and five male cousins who’ve all disowned her. And a fearfully decrepit old granny tucked away years ago (for very good reason, Miss Templeton assures me) in an institution of some kind on a cliff top near Eastbourne. Our Miss T’s been something of a black sheep for some time now. Her family didn’t much care for her activities and she’s had no contact with them for a few
years. It was Lady Merriman who did the decent thing—probably talked into it by her husband, who’s well known for his kind attentions to young ladies—and invited her to stay in Athens with them for a few weeks until it all rolled away.”

“I wouldn’t put it down to good nature. Maud always liked to have someone around to torment,” said Letty. “And no paid companion would have stuck it for longer than a day or two. But it does seem odd to me that a spirited girl like Thetis would have submitted to such coercion.”

“Five years’ hard labour in Holloway prison or a summer with Maud in Athens? A difficult choice.” He grinned. “But with her cousin, I think Maud had taken on more than she could handle. A woman of experience and self-sufficiency. Not one to stand any nonsense from Lady Merriman, I think. Very modern.” He paused to give her what she could have interpreted as an approving smile. Definitely warm. “Not unlike yourself, I’d say, miss. I expect a lot of agreeing was going on last night
…?”

She didn’t pick up his invitation to bare Thetis’s soul without her knowledge or consent, though Letty had heard a confidence which would have stopped the man dead in his tracks with astonishment. He could stay in ignorance as far as she was concerned. She was no longer surprised by masculine assumptions that women were always ready to blurt out any information or opinion they might have, the moment it flitted through their mind, but she scorned them. The inspector, she was pleased to note, hadn’t the faintest idea of the depths of his victim’s degradation. He hadn’t heard the desperate confession and he hadn’t plumbed the depths of her overnight bag, either. Letty really wouldn’t want to hear his judgement, which might well have recourse to the Bible for its expressions of disapproval. “Moral turpitude” might feature, and “heinousness” and “sink of iniquity.” No, Letty would leave him in
comfortable ignorance with his illusion of slightly risqué modern womanhood.

“Sleeves-up-and-set-about-it types, the pair of you! Miss Templeton hadn’t been in Athens two minutes before she was spending her days working with the American ladies who run the refugee charity.”

“Very laudable!”

“And as good a way as any of getting out from under Maud’s feet,” he suggested.

“You are too cynical, Inspector,” said Letty. “How
do
you think a lively woman should choose to spend her time in this exciting city? Sipping tea with the Archbishop or stirring a steaming cauldron of stew in a soup kitchen?”

“I know she did neither,” he replied quietly.

Then he knew more than Letty had supposed. She thought she’d test the extent of his information, editing out of her account anything which was not complimentary to Thetis. “No. A surprising and admirable girl. I’m sure you’re aware also that it was the war that opened up previously blocked avenues for her. As it did for many girls of spirit. She tells me she trained as a nurse and worked her way through the last years of the war up to her armpits in pus and gore.
I
couldn’t have done it even if I’d been old enough, but I remember as a young thing—nine or ten years old—longing to kit up in headdress and apron and take off for the battlefields. I had a much-loved brother fighting there. It was my dream to snatch him and his friends from the jaws of death and nurse them back to life … you can imagine … Thetis is five or six years older than I—she scraped in halfway through the war. And she actually did it. I envy her courage.”

“And it’s her medical knowledge she puts to good use over here. But it took a strange turn: Somewhere along the line, Miss Thetis turned her attention to midwifery. Yes—
midwifery. Not much call for that in the front-line dressing stations, I’d have thought. Bit of a puzzle there … And my records are silent at this point. She helps out, not in the street canteens like most of the foreign women in the capital, but in the refugee mothers and babies facility. Always a demand for that. And she’s been working with Mrs. Venizelos, who’s putting a good deal of money into establishing a maternity unit at the hospital. But perhaps the interest has its origins in those war years?” he said with apparently sudden speculation.

Letty sensed she was about to be astonished by his next revelation.

“She married hastily—suspiciously hastily—at a young age during the war. It was one of those rushed weddings performed a couple of days before the groom goes marching off in uniform. Her husband, a Lieutenant Chandos, was hardly much older than she was and disaster ensued. He died on the Somme and the baby she was expecting died soon after birth. Could account for her rather special interests, wouldn’t you say? Mrs. Chandos has had a tough time for the past few years. A hand-to-mouth existence. She’s got by on a meagre widow’s pension supplemented by her earnings from appearances in plays on the London stage.”

“Good Lord! I had no idea! Poor, brave Thetis!”

“The lady has, indeed, shown much courage and enterprise.”

“I wonder why she’s never remarried? She’s intelligent and very beautiful.”

“And there you have it! Too challenging for most.” He shrugged. “Good men aren’t exactly thick on the ground after the last lot. And there aren’t many Agamemnons left in our postwar world, Miss Talbot. You’d be looking for a bloke with some considerable resilience to take on such a wife. And a stout lock on his bathroom door.”

He gave a shout of laughter, struck by an entertaining notion.

“And never forget the prophecy! According to the story, the original Thetis was fated to bear a son who would grow up to be more illustrious than his father. That certainly put off a few contenders. Zeus himself prudently bowed out of the contest for her favours.”

“And the son turned out to be Achilles, hero of the Trojan War and the Great Alexander’s inspiration. But you’re right, Percy … or the prophecy was … I can’t remember the name of the father. Is it recorded?”

“Homer mentions it—Peleus, I believe.”

“And our Thetis kept her maiden name?”

“That’s right. It’s her stage name. Her husband’s family wouldn’t have been pleased to see their name plastered over theatre billboards in London.”

“Then that’s the one I shall use, as it’s the one she’s chosen to be known by.”

“Quite so. I tell you these things to alert you to the possibility of exploitation and deception. It would not be wise to invest too much sympathy in her cause. A little distancing is called for, I think.”

Letty tapped him lightly on the arm. “You’d do well to take your own advice, Percy. And watch out for that knuckleduster,” she said, and was pleased to see that she had, at last, managed to silence him.

    Much of last night’s magic had faded from the scene at the Embassy. The gravel was being raked, the trees watered, pots lifted back into line, and candle-grease stains scrubbed from the marble steps.

At least, in the middle of all the bustle, they were expected. With a warning to tread carefully on the black-and-white chequered floor, freshly swabbed, Montacute was greeted by name. The inspector acknowledged the smart young aide
who’d hurried forward and presented him to Letty, making it clear that the lady would be accompanying him. Charles Devenish was for a moment disconcerted and seemed prepared to question her presence. Letty was intrigued to see the steel beneath the bland exterior as Montacute, with a smile and a few short sentences, got his way.

“Ah … in that case … you should know, Montacute, that the First Secretary has himself asked to see you for a moment before your … er … interview with Mr. Melton.” The aide looked uncertainly at Letty.

“Always a pleasure to see Freddy!” Letty smiled reassuringly.

They followed Devenish along a corridor to the office of the First Secretary, turning into a silent and heavily carpeted area of the building. He tapped on a door, paused for ten seconds, opened it, and announced DCI Montacute, accompanied by a lady: Miss Laetitia Talbot.

“Laetitia! My dear! What a charming surprise!” came the exclamation as they entered. “I say, bring up another chair, would you, Charles?”

Frederick Wentworth sprang forward from behind his desk to kiss Letty on both cheeks and shake Montacute’s hand. He looked at his watch. “Now—where’ve we got to? Tea? Coffee? May I offer you some refreshment?”

They both declined and sat down on the chairs provided. He dismissed Devenish with a nod.

The First Secretary was somber, Letty noticed, beneath his smooth good humour. He was gracious in his condolences on the death of Andrew, who was well known to him, and his sorrow and outrage were heartfelt. Consular facilities were to be made available to Montacute, cooperation assured. The killer must be brought to justice, and as soon as possible. The professor was an admired figure here in Athens as well as London. Questions were being asked. The phone hadn’t stopped ringing
since the news broke! Retribution was demanded. Public confidence simply had to be restored … Couldn’t have it thought that there was a killer out and about on the streets of the city, a knife-wielding assassin at work in the shadow of the Acropolis itself … The First Secretary was quite sure Montacute understood the implications?

Montacute murmured appropriate responses for both himself and Letty into the pauses.

“I can’t tell you how disturbed I was,” Wentworth continued, “to receive the news of Lady Merriman’s death just an hour ago when I got to my desk, and thank you for sending in the details, Montacute. You must have worked through the night, man? Still, people don’t arrange to do away with themselves to suit the police duty rosters, do they? And you—such a close friend of the family, Laetitia! How sad you must be! His Excellency was stricken by the double tragedy and asks me to convey his condolences.”

Letty mumbled her thanks.

“It’s early in the investigation, I know, but are you able to confirm, Montacute, that it was—as everyone supposes—a case of suicide?”

“No, sir. It was murder. We have a suspect under lock and key.”

“Murder, by God! And you have the man in custody already? Excellent! I’m relieved to hear it.” He shot a triumphant grin at Letty. “Nothing like the Yard when they get going, eh? And in Montacute here, I’m assured we have the finest.”

The inspector glowered and waited for Wentworth to get on. “But—a
double
killing, you’re telling me? Is that what we are to assume? How extraordinary and distressing! Can you be certain you have the evidence to nail the ruffian responsible?”

“In the case of the second death, there can be no doubt,” Montacute replied warily. “The victim survived the assault long enough to declare herself to have been pushed from the
window and, with her dying breath, she confided to me the name of her assailant.”

“Good Lord! What a drama!”

“As you say, sir.”

“And whom do you have in manacles for this foul deed?”

“Her cousin, Miss Thetis Templeton.”

Freddy Wentworth was for a moment speechless. His mouth opened and no words came. His eyes bulged and he harrumphed. Finally he managed to say, eyes skittering away from Letty: “Montacute, may I speak to you privately for a moment? I hope you won’t be too offended, Laetitia, if I have the inspector to myself for a bit? Things to declare, not entirely suitable for a young lady’s ears …”

“Of course, sir,” Montacute agreed.

Letty was disappointed to hear the inspector’s ready capitulation on her behalf, the manly understanding as he rose to his feet to show her to the door. “Miss Talbot, would you mind? Do excuse us.”

Once on the far side of the closed door, Letty looked up and down the corridor and, seeing it was clear, firmly put her ear to the woodwork. Nothing. Perhaps the slightest murmur of two men conferring, she thought … one short explosion from Montacute … but she wasn’t able to make out a single word of the conversation that followed. She was discovered examining a portrait of Queen Victoria six feet away when they emerged.

She went back inside with the inspector while Wentworth, with a hurried farewell, went off to summon Geoffrey Melton.

As soon as they’d settled again, Montacute leaned to her and whispered: “I don’t suppose you caught much of that? Thick door, Miss Laetitia? Just wanted to warn me that there were more things going on in the world than I knew of. Jokily suggested I restrict myself to chasing a few more bandits over the hills … Still two villainous kidnappers at large, he reminds
me—why not finish the job? More useful than getting involved with what he called ‘politically sensitive areas.’ Did you realise that was where we were—in a politically sensitive area? And I don’t mean the Embassy! Funny thing, when I told him it was Miss Templeton I’d arrested he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Did you notice? Advised me to release her as soon as possible. Told me to imagine the damaging headlines if the news were to get out. Bad for the national image, he claims. The wretched girl cuts some ice with the Greek establishment, it would seem. Present and future international relations endangered at the highest level. You can imagine the sort of thing. He definitely put the diplomatic boot in!”