The Scandal At Bletchley (Hilary Manningham-Butler Book 1) Read online

  I didn’t respond to that. One lesson I have learned in life: if you keep your mouth shut, the other person will always fill in the gaps. And I needed Townsend to keep talking. If I was going to die, I wanted to know the truth before he pulled that trigger. Luckily, the fellow seemed happy to confide in me. I was the only person he could talk to, after all.

  ‘When they threw me out of the police force,’ he said, ‘I was left with nothing at all. No character, no pension.’ He spoke in a harsh monotone. ‘It was the worst time of my life. I wasn’t a criminal. We were striking for better wages. And then I was out on the street. It was awful. Nobody cared. But the Colonel took pity on me and I was young enough to get back on my feet. But what happens the next time?’ His eyes flared suddenly. ‘I don’t have any family. What happens when I get old, when I can’t look after myself?’

  ‘The Colonel would have provided for you.’

  ‘I’m sure he means to. But he’s older than I am. He could keel over tomorrow and I’d be out on my ear. Left with nothing. I just...I couldn’t go through that again. All I wanted was to put a bit of money aside, a little security for my old age. Was that too much to ask?’ Townsend was almost pleading with me now. It was rather unsettling to watch. ‘It was only the odd pound, Sir Hilary. Everybody does it. And it’s not as if the Colonel couldn’t afford it. But that...that woman.’ His face screwed up at the thought of Dorothy Kilbride. ‘She wouldn’t listen. She couldn’t understand. Stealing was stealing, she said. Everything was black and white to her. It wasn’t hurting Sir Vincent, but she was adamant: I had to tell him the truth, confess everything and throw myself on the Colonel’s mercy. I couldn’t bear to do that. I couldn’t bear the shame. I’d be out on my ear. No references, no job, just like before.’ His teeth ground together angrily. ‘But if I didn’t tell him, she would. Miss Kilbride made that very clear to me.’

  ‘So you decided to kill her.’

  ‘I didn’t want to. It wasn’t even a serious idea. She gave me a few days to come clean and I had this notion of creeping into her room and smothering her with a pillow. But it was a fantasy, a daydream. I knew it was never really going to happen.’ Townsend took a deep breath. ‘Then you arrived with Mr Latimer.’ His lip curled up and he regarded me with something approaching distaste. ‘The Colonel asked me to keep an eye on the pair of you. Particularly Mr Latimer. We were all aware of just what a dubious character he was. And I knew there was something odd about that holdall he was carrying with him. He wouldn’t let me take it upstairs with the rest of the luggage. So when he was in with the Colonel I searched his room and had a look inside. When I saw the Newton everything slotted into place.’ He looked down at the small revolver, almost as if he was seeing it for the first time. ‘I could creep into Miss Kilbride’s bedroom one night while everyone was sleeping and all my problems would be over. It would be very quick. She wouldn’t know anything about it. And Mr Latimer would get the blame. He’s a criminal anyway. He would be the obvious suspect.’

  ‘And that’s what you did? You crept into her bedroom?’

  ‘I’m not proud of it, Sir Hilary. But what choice did I have? I’d have been ruined.’

  ‘But how did you even know she’d be in there?’ How did he know about the mix up over the rooms?

  ‘I overheard Miss Young and Miss Jones talking in the corridor. I’d crept up there a few minutes beforehand to retrieve the revolver from Mr Latimer’s bedroom. When I came out, I heard the young ladies laughing about it over by the stairs. It just made things easier. I waited for them to disappear and then crept back down to the servants quarters.’

  ‘Why didn’t you kill Dorothy then? Why wait until four in the morning? Or whatever time it was?’

  ‘Because everyone was in the ballroom at that point and they would have had watertight alibis. But once all the guests were in bed, anyone could be to blame. So I kept the revolver with me and, when I came downstairs, the first person I bumped into was you, Sir Hilary, in the servants’ quarters. And you seemed even more nervous than I was.’

  ‘You knew I’d killed Sinclair?’

  Townsend shook his head. ‘I didn’t know he was dead at that point. It was only afterwards that I made the connection. And it made everything so much easier. I was going to blame Mr Latimer. Now I could blame you too. I could make out you’d put him up to it.’

  ‘And what about Hargreaves? What about my poor valet?’

  A look of regret passed across the man’s granite face. ‘He was a decent enough fellow. I didn’t want to kill him. But he discovered the truth. I’d locked the revolver away in the butler’s office, after I’d shot Miss Kilbride. Then this morning I grabbed it from there and hid it under Professor Singh’s pillow.’

  ‘Why on Earth would you do that?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t plant it in Mr Latimer’s room, could I? He was supposed to be a professional assassin. It was much more plausible that he would try to pin the murder on someone else. And Professor Singh’s bedroom was next door.’

  ‘So what about my valet?’

  ‘Mr Hargreaves saw me coming out of the office, as I was about to begin the search. I’m not sure if he saw the gun, but he must have put two and two together, at least later on, after the Colonel had told everybody about Miss Kilbride.’

  Typical Hargreaves, noticing everything.

  ‘I saw him in the office later. He’d unlocked the bureau with the keys from the hook and was examining the revolver. I didn’t have time to think. I took the bell pull and...well, I did it as quickly as I could. Luckily, there was no one else around. They had all gone off to church. And it added to my story. You hired Mr Latimer to kill Dorothy Kilbride. Mr Hargreaves found out about it and you killed him too.’

  ‘What motive would I have had? For killing Dottie, I mean?’

  ‘Blackmail. She knew you were a sodomite, Sir Hilary, and threatened to expose you. That was what I was going to say, at any rate.’

  I nodded ‘All very neat.’

  Townsend disagreed. ‘I hadn’t expected Mr Latimer to spend the night with Felicity Mandeville Jones. That could have ruined the whole story. But then I discovered the sleeping pills on the bedside table during our search and I made a point of mentioning them to the Colonel.’

  ‘What about Doctor Lefranc? He was trying to pin the blame on Sir Vincent. That can’t have been your intention.’

  ‘It wasn’t. I was just as surprised as you were. It was my own fault, Sir Hilary, saying the French Francs were MI5 issue. I thought that would connect Mr Latimer with Dorothy Kilbride. It didn’t occur to me that Doctor Lefranc would suspect the Colonel.’

  ‘The best laid plans...’ I said, looking down at my feet. ‘And now here we are.’

  ‘Here we are,’ Townsend agreed.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’ve had the opportunity to unburden your conscience.’ Sarcasm was dripping from my voice.

  ‘It’s a relief to be able to talk about it,’ the valet admitted, gazing at me sadly. ‘But I think we’ve talked enough now.’ He raised the revolver and aimed it squarely at my forehead. ‘This is nothing personal, Sir Hilary. I really have no choice.’

  I took a deep breath. And Townsend pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It clicked quietly but no shot rang out. I don’t know who was more startled, Townsend or I. The valet blinked first, his hand flicking around to examine the weapon. I stepped backwards almost without thinking and disappeared from view between the two hedges leading in to the rectangular maze. Townsend hesitated before following me. I could hear another dull click. He was examining the revolver, to see if every chamber was as empty as the first.

  I hadn’t thought to check the damned thing when I had picked up Harry’s gun from the bureau in the butler’s office. Thank heavens for my lack of common sense. I have never been much of a one for details. That was Hargreaves’ department. I had simply assumed the revolver was loaded. Now I wasn’t sure whether it had been emptied out altogethe
r or whether there was some ammunition left in there. The Newton .32 has six chambers and only two bullets had been used to kill Dorothy Kilbride.

  The easiest thing to do would have been to run, to lose myself in the maze, and then to shout out, in the hope that someone might find me before Townsend drew close. Even if the gun was not loaded, I stood little chance against the valet in a straight fight. He would probably throttle me before anyone managed to come to my rescue.

  My only chance was to seize the element of surprise. My miraculous reprieve had robbed me of all fear and for the first time in what felt like several years, I was able to think rationally. Instead of running the length of the maze and rounding the far corner, to end up gods knows where, I would use Townsend’s confidence against him. I would crouch here, next to the entrance, and wait for him to step into the maze.

  The valet had finished checking the revolver, though with what result I could not be certain. He stepped forward through the gap in the hedges, turning quickly to the left, in my direction.

  I had only a fraction of a second to act.

  I launched myself at him from the crouching position, knocking the man sideways and attempting to overbalance him. He staggered backwards at the unexpected onslaught, but his frame was too solid to come crashing down even with my best attempt at a rugby tackle. I managed to grab hold of his wrists, though, which were still clasping the now obviously loaded revolver. For a moment, there was stalemate, but quickly Townsend dragged the barrel back towards my face. This time it was primed and ready to fire. I had only one option. I brought a knee up to his groin and whacked him as hard as I could. The valet pulled the trigger but the pain in his nether regions caused him to shift his arm momentarily and the shot thudded into the ground. The slight recoil unbalanced him – the grass was rather slippery beneath us – and for a brief instant I managed to twist his hand away from me. A second shot fired, Townsend squeezing the trigger again, and this time there was a look of puzzlement on his face. His hands slackened and he stood for a moment, gazing down in surprise at the red stain on his otherwise pristine shirt. His mouth formed a silent ‘oh’ and he dropped to his knees. I pulled the Newton away from him.

  There were voices shouting from nearby and figures were running along the pathway into the circular hedges just as Townsend crashed to the floor. Mr Smith was leading the cavalry. I dropped the revolver to my side, but the fat northerner saw it in my hand and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  ‘You murdering bastard!’

  I didn’t have the energy to raise a voice in protest.

  Mr Smith charged straight at me. I felt a heavy thud and within seconds I found myself pinned down on the grass, underneath what felt like several tons of blubber. Mr Smith pulled the weapon away from my hands. For a brief, horrible moment I knew what it was like to be Mrs Smith, struggling under that great bulk, and then somehow he flipped me over onto my front and pulled my hands expertly behind my back.

  I had thought Edward Townsend was the policeman, but it seemed John Smith knew a thing or two as well.

  I didn’t bother to struggle. It was all over now. Townsend was dead and the unpleasantness at Bletchley Park had come to a rather abrupt conclusion.

  ‘We’re not going to take the word of a murderer, are we?’ John Smith demanded, his eyes flashing with barely contained anger. ‘He’s killed at least two people. He probably killed all four of them.’

  ‘I do not believe so, Monsieur,’ said Doctor Lefranc. ‘I think Sir Hilary is telling the truth.’

  A court of enquiry had been convened in the dining hall of Bletchley Park mansion. They were all there. Mr and Mrs Smith, Doctor Lefranc, Professor Singh, Lettie Young, Felicity Mandeville Jones, Harry Latimer. The Colonel himself. Even Lady Fanny Leon. And all of them were staring at me with differing levels of contempt.

  Three MI5 officers had arrived from London just after midday, trundling up the tree-lined pathway in their muted green Austin 12 just as I was struggling with Edward Townsend in the maze. That had been about an hour ago. John Smith had been coming back from church with his wife at around the same time and had seen the large green van pulling up at the far end of the carriage turnabout. He went across to see who was inside and wasn’t far from the maze entrance when he heard the first shot. The bluff northerner sprinted over with surprising speed, considering his enormous bulk, and the officers from London had followed in quick order.

  Within minutes, most of the household seemed to have arrived at the crime scene. The Colonel, coming from the cottage with Harry and Samuel Jenkins, had quickly taken charge. Harry Latimer was still in handcuffs and could only look on in bemusement as Mr Smith held me down on the grass.

  ‘It was Townsend!’ I exclaimed breathlessly, unable to see the valet’s body now with the side of my head pushed down into the muddy ground. ‘He murdered Dorothy. He killed my valet. And he tried to shoot me.’

  The MI5 men quickly took over from Mr Smith. I was escorted back along the pathway to the main house. One of the officers remained behind at the maze, to examine the body of Edward Townsend and to be brought up to date by the Colonel.

  Lady Fanny Leon was standing at the front of the mansion, fresh from church and as stern looking in her way as the griffins either side of her. The remaining valets and ladies’ maids were lined up outside the porch, almost as if they were greeting a returning lord, but their expressions revealed somewhat darker feelings. Harry and I were being manhandled back into the house and there was only one conclusion they could draw from that.

  We were responsible for everything that had happened.

  Lettie was one of the group. Her pretty, painted face was a mosaic of sadness and disappointment. For the first time, I felt ashamed.

  Harry winked at Felicity Mandeville Jones as he passed her by. He at least was in good humour. But then, he was in the clear; or would be once I had told everyone the truth about Townsend. My situation was rather more precarious. ‘You’ll be all right, old man,’ Harry reassured me. He was determined to look on the bright side. ‘It was self defence, wasn’t it?’

  I scoffed. ‘It wasn’t even that. Townsend pulled the trigger. His death had nothing to do with me.’

  ‘There you are then. Home and dry.’ Harry wriggled his back awkwardly as the two of us were deposited in the library. ‘Hey, is someone going to find the key and get me out of these things?’ His hands were still cuffed behind his back and he was finding it devilishly uncomfortable.

  The two officers ignored Harry but exchanged a few brief words with each other. One of them then departed, leaving the other man standing silently in the doorway, to keep watch.

  ‘No sense of humour, some people,’ Harry muttered in my ear.

  The guard wore a black suit and had closely cropped hair. He did not speak to us at all. Not that we would have had anything to say to one another. We were not about to exchange addresses, after all.

  It was some minutes before the Colonel arrived. He spoke briefly to the chap at the door, handing him a set of keys he had recovered from the body of his valet. Harry was released from his bondage and escorted across the hall to the dining room.

  The Colonel remained behind. He regarded me sadly as he stepped into the room. ‘All a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ll say.’

  There were a couple of leather armchairs opposite the fireplace. The Colonel gestured to a chair and we sat ourselves down. With a wall of books behind us, we looked for all the world like two colleagues in a gentleman’s club sharing a glass of whisky. Actually, there was still a drop of the golden nectar left in a decanter on the table but my head was starting to throb and, just for once, I didn’t feel like a drink. I had probably had enough this morning.

  ‘So what happened, Butler?’ The Colonel leaned across eagerly. ‘The truth, mind.’

  I explained, as best I could. I told him what Townsend had told me and about the struggle for the gun. The Colonel listened without interruption and when I h
ad finished he let out a long sigh. ‘You do believe me?’ I asked, anxiously.

  He nodded. ‘I know you didn’t murder Dorothy Kilbride. And I don’t think Latimer did either. It fits the facts, Butler. Sadly, it fits the facts.’

  ‘You know Doctor Lefranc suspected you were behind it all?’

  The Colonel laughed. ‘With good reason, so I hear. Ha ha! But no, Townsend was the chap. He was the rotten apple.’ The Colonel sat back in his chair. ‘Should have seen it, Butler. I should have damn well seen it.’ He stared into the empty grate, looking suddenly very old. ‘I’ve shown poor judgement in this affair. I should have realised something was up with Townsend.’ He frowned. ‘He had been acting a bit odd these last few days. I thought he was just worried about his sister. She was taken ill, you know.’

  ‘I remember you saying.’

  The Colonel shook his head. ‘I wonder if he’s even got a sister. Not the chap I thought he was, Butler. Not the chap at all.’

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  ‘What will happen now? To me, I mean.’

  The Colonel adjusted his monocle. ‘That remains to be seen. Hollis and MacLean are sorting out the bodies. But the guests are waiting for some kind of explanation and I think we’re going to have to give it to them.’ He grunted. ‘Whether they believe it or not is another matter. But we need to convince them you’re telling the truth. If we’re going to keep a lid on this, Butler, we’ll need everyone on board. No exceptions.’

  ‘You think that’s possible?’ I said. ‘To hush everything up?’

  ‘We can but try.’

  I nodded, pulling myself up. ‘Let’s get it over with, then.’

  The dining room was almost full. Lady Fanny Leon sat imperiously at the head of the table, the female equivalent of a high court judge. Actually, her silver hair was not dissimilar to a barrister's wig. The guests were seated as they had been at breakfast, though the table now was almost bare and the servants had been banished to the back hall. The staff would be given their own explanations in due course. Samuel Jenkins was the only representative of the lower orders. We needed somebody to serve the tea, after all, and the young Welshman already knew a lot more about the day’s events than most of the guests.