Foxden Hotel (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 5) Read online

  Sutherland’s girlfriend, if that’s who she was, had left the hotel wearing only a coat. That she wasn’t wearing a scarf or gloves on such a bitterly cold night suggested to Bess that she and Sutherland were near, waiting for Sir Gerald to bring round the car from the carpark at the back of the hotel. Bess hoped the girl’s father was driving; Sutherland was in no fit state to get behind the wheel of a motorcar.

  Bess scrutinised the faces of a dozen people who were standing around stamping their feet and holding their coats tightly across their chests. Sutherland and Katherine were not among them. She looked down the tree-lined drive to where two couples had braved the weather and were walking home. One couple was too far away to be Sutherland and the girl. The other couple who were only half way down the drive, Bess could see were not Sutherland and Katherine by their clothes. The woman’s coat was dark and she was wearing a hat.

  Bess wondered if Sir Gerald had collected his car and already picked up his daughter. She decided there hadn’t been time and, tugging Margot’s arm, made her way down the steps.

  ‘Looks like Sutherland and his cronies have disappeared into the night,’ Margot said, trailing behind Bess, trying to walk in the imprints left in the snow by her sister’s footsteps. ‘And good riddance.’

  Bess cast her gaze wide, taking in the open fields and the parkland on the right, the lake and small wood on the left. ‘The girl’s wearing a light cream coloured coat, so keep your eyes open. In the snow, she won’t be easy to see.’

  ‘No, but Sutherland will. He had on a long black overcoat when he left. What about Sir What’s-his-name?’

  ‘He’ll have gone to fetch the car, I suppose. He might even be the driver of one of these,’ Bess said, turning to see a convoy of four or five motorcars rumble slowly past.

  Margot looked at her boots and then at Bess’s. ‘I wish I was wearing old-fashioned boots like yours. This is my best pair. They’ll be ruined in this weather,’ she moaned.

  ‘Better your boots get ruined than that young girl’s life,’ Bess said.

  ‘So, we haven’t come out in snow up to our knees--’ Bess shot Margot a look of incredulity. ‘To our ankles, then!’ Margot wiped snow from her face, ‘to make sure Sutherland leaves the hotel’s grounds, we’re out here freezing to death to save that silly girl?’

  ‘Silly or not, do you really want her to suffer the fate I did at Sutherland’s hands?’

  ‘No, of course not. Sorry, Bess.’

  ‘Look! I think that’s her.’

  Margot looked to where Bess was pointing. ‘I can’t see anything but snow.’

  ‘South of the lake, this side of the small wood.’

  Before Bess had time to explain further a silver Bentley sped out of the courtyard and down the drive. A couple of cars stopped to let it pass. Bess pulled Margot out of the speeding Bentley’s path and Margot, in a panic, lashed out, knocking Bess off her feet.

  ‘Bloody maniac!’ Margot shouted, raising her arm and making a fist at the car as it flew past. Looking back at Bess, and seeing her on her bottom in the snow, Margot pressed her lips together to stop herself from giggling.

  ‘You think shoving me over in the snow’s funny, do you?’

  ‘No!’ Margot looked suitably indignant. ‘Well, a bit,’ she said, unable to keep a straight face. She put out her hand and helped her sister up. ‘Sorry, but I thought that car was going to hit me.’

  ‘Which is why I pulled you out of its way,’ Bess said, brushing a thick crust of snow from the skirt and sleeve of her coat. The Bentley screeched to a halt, reversed ten or twelve yards and stopped. ‘What the hell is he doing?’

  ‘I don’t know, but look! I can see a girl in the car’s headlights,’ Margot said, ‘and there’s a man with her.’

  ‘I can’t see them, but it’s got to be Sutherland and the girl. And I’d bet my last tanner that the driver of that Bentley is her father.’

  ‘Why is he just sitting there?’ No sooner had Margot asked the question than the Bentley pulled away at speed and skidded round the bend into Mysterton Lane. Bess and Margot hurried along the drive in the tracks of the car’s tyres and stopped where the car had stopped. ‘I can see them now. They are still south of the lake,’ Bess said. ‘Come on, it looks like Sutherland’s dragging her into the woods.’

  The two sisters hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps across the snow-covered grass leading down to the lake when a black car appeared from the lane, swung onto the drive, and slammed on its brakes. Bess squinted, trying to see who was driving the car, but it had started to snow heavily. Even though the windscreen wipers struggled from right to left to remove the snow, the arcs they made weren’t clear for long enough.

  ‘Damn!’ she said, looking at the spot where she had seen Sutherland and the girl. ‘I glanced away for a second, and now I can’t see them.’ Bess studied the narrow strip of land between the lake and the wood. They weren’t there. ‘It’s as if they have disappeared into thin air.’

  ‘I’ve got them!’ Margot shouted. ‘Two figures. Sutherland in a dark coat and the girl in a light one. It looks like the girl’s running away from Sutherland. She is, and she’s coming this way!’

  Bess, distracted again by the sound of a vehicle’s door slamming, looked back at the black car from the lane. A tall man in a belted mackintosh leapt out of the passenger door and started running towards the girl. She must have seen him because she stopped, turned on her heels, and ran back in the direction of the wood. Suddenly lights from a second vehicle were visible through the leafless trees and the girl stopped and turned again.

  The wind was whipping up and the snow was heavy. Bess strained to see which way the girl was going to run next. She put her hand up to her mouth and gasped in horror. ‘She’s running in the direction of the lake. What is she doing? Katherine, stop!’ Bess shouted. ‘Katherine?’ Bess and Margot lumbered across the snow-covered field following in what Bess thought were Sutherland’s and the girl’s footprints and almost collided with the tall man in the raincoat.

  ‘Mitch? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Bess! Margot!’ Where’s Claire? Where’s my wife?’

  ‘She isn’t here, and nor should you be.’

  ‘But that woman--’ Mitch shook his head as if he was trying to clear his mind, ‘I thought she was Claire.’ Bess looked at Margot. She lifted and dropped her shoulders as if to say, I’ve no idea what he’s on about. ‘It looked like the guy with her was beating her. There she is!’

  Bess caught the sleeve of Mitch’s coat, as he made to run to the woman’s defence. ‘Mitch? That isn’t Claire. It’s a local girl and she’s with a well-known fascist.’

  ‘A Blackshirt,’ Margot said.

  ‘You mustn’t get involved in this,’ Bess shouted into the wind. ‘Think about it. You and Claire were in occupied France during the war, and he’s a Nazi sympathiser.’ His gaze still fixed on the girl, Mitch nodded that Bess was right. ‘Go up to the hotel and Claire will fill you in with what’s been happening. And tell Frank and Bill that Margot and I won’t be long.’

  Mitch ambled off reluctantly, and Bess and Margot made their way across the thick carpet of snow to the sparse wood, where they saw the shape of a large light coloured motorcar. Its headlights were at half-beam and its engine was idling. Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming echoed through the trees and the car roared into life. A second later it sped off down Shaft Hill.

  ‘That’s it, then!’ Bess said, as she and Margot trudged back across the field in a snow storm that was fast turning into a blizzard. ‘After all that, she went off with Sutherland.’

  ‘And her father. That was her father’s car we saw through the trees, wasn’t it?’

  Bess nodded. ‘I think so. At least it looked like the silver Bentley that stopped on the drive earlier.’

  Bess and Margot’s friends, Natalie and Anton Goldman were waiting for them when they got back to the hotel. ‘Frank and Bill not with you?’ Anton asked. He looked concerned.
r />   ‘No. We haven’t seen them,’ Margot said.

  Bess looked back at the lake and exhaled loudly. ‘I specifically asked Frank to stay in the hotel.’

  ‘He and Bill were worried about the two of you,’ Anton said.

  ‘They went out to look for you some time ago,’ Natalie added.

  As the last of the cars taking New Year’s revellers home left, a police car arrived.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lowarth’s Sergeant McGann and Constable Peg were out of their black Wolseley by the time Bess and Margot had walked up the steps to the hotel. Bess elected to wait for them, ushering them through the door and into the foyer ahead of her.

  Bill followed Margot into the hotel, but Frank hung back. ‘Thank God you’re safe,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘We couldn’t see you anywhere.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have been out looking,’ Bess whispered. Unable to stay angry with her husband, she added, ‘If the police want to know where you’ve been say nowhere, that you and Bill only came out as far as the steps and waited for us.’

  Sergeant McGann asked if there was somewhere private where he could talk to Bess and Margot about the events of the evening; the threatening behaviour towards the young woman and the argument between the two men.

  Bess showed the policemen into the office, but before entering herself turned to Claire, who was talking to Mr Potts the night porter in reception. ‘Where’s Mitch?’

  ‘Upstairs checking on Aimee.’

  ‘Good. There’s nothing more you can do tonight, so you might as well call it a day. Find Ena, will you, tell her the same. I’ll let you know what action the police intend to take, if any, in the morning.’

  Entering the office, Bess hung her coat on a hook behind the door and took off her boots. Replacing them with her shoes, she joined Margot by the fire. Adding two logs to what would have soon been ashes, she knelt down beside her sister and warmed her hands.

  Unable to delay the proceedings further, the two sisters stood up and turned to face Sergeant McGann. With their backs to the fire they told the policeman what they had seen and heard earlier that night.

  Omitting the personal threats Sutherland had made to her, Bess recounted everything she had heard Sutherland say in the hotel’s public bar to the girl called Katherine and her father, Sir Gerald.

  ‘So,’ McGann said, reading the notes he’d made, ‘Sutherland and Sir Gerald were already arguing when you arrived?’ He looked up at Bess. ‘Is that correct?’ Bess nodded. ‘And you don’t know who started the argument, or what it was about?’

  ‘No, but our barman, Simon, would know. He was on duty all night. The photographer from the Lowarth Advertiser might know something too. I only saw him in the bar when my sister, Mrs Burrell,’ Bess nodded at Margot, ‘and I were there, but I’d stake my life on him going back later and asking Simon what he’d heard.’

  ‘We’ll have a word with them both, if we need to.’ Sergeant McGann glanced at his notes, again. ‘On the telephone, Mrs Mitchell said the man causing the trouble was a Nazi?’

  ‘I told her to tell you that so you knew the situation was serious. He’s a fascist. I should have said, Nazi sympathiser.’

  ‘How did you know the man was a Nazi sympathiser, Mrs Donnelly?’

  Fearing she would get herself tangled up in the details of Dave Sutherland’s fascist beliefs, which might then lead to Sergeant McGann suspecting she had known him in London, Bess shot Margot a sideways look and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Because I told my sister,’ Margot said. ‘David Sutherland is ex-BUF. He’s an apologist who was sent to prison because his beliefs stopped him from answering the call up.’

  The sergeant looked from Bess to Margot. ‘So, it is you who knows Mr Sutherland?’

  Margot shook her head. ‘I don’t know him; I knew him.’

  ‘Ah.’ McGann sucked thoughtfully on the end of his pen. ‘Do you have any proof to back up these accusations?’

  ‘I don’t have physical proof, but I knew his girlfriend, Goldie Trick. She was a dancer in the theatre where I worked in London and we became friends. One day she found Sutherland’s BUF papers and membership card.’

  Sergeant McGann’s mouth fell open and for a moment he appeared to be speechless. He cleared his throat. ‘Was your friend here tonight?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. She isn’t even in the country.’

  Margot’s account of the relationship between her friend and David Sutherland was halted by a knock at the door. Bess looked at her sister and put her finger to her lips. Margot stopped speaking and Bess crossed to the door and opened it. ‘Yes, Maeve?’

  The receptionist was holding a large tray. On it was a coffee pot, teapot, milk, sugar, cups and saucers - and a plate of biscuits. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mrs Donnelly, but I thought you could all do with a hot drink.’

  ‘You’re a life saver, Maeve, we certainly could.’ Bess took the tray from the receptionist. ‘Shouldn’t you have gone home by now?’ She looked up at the clock. ‘Your shift finished an hour ago.’

  ‘I stayed to see in the New Year, then there was so much going on I forgot the time. I’ll be off now,’ she said, turning to leave.

  ‘Maeve? Before you go, were all the guests accounted for after the party?’ The receptionist looked at Bess quizzically. ‘Were any room-keys left in the pigeonholes at the time your shift ended?’

  ‘No, not that I remember.’

  ‘Would you do something for me?’ Maeve nodded. ‘Would you ask Mr Potts if he noticed whether there were any keys in the pigeon holes when he came on duty?’

  Maeve left the office, leaving the door ajar. By the time Bess had crossed the room with the tray of hot beverages she was back. ‘No, Mrs Donnelly. Except for keys belonging to rooms that were not occupied every key was out or, like Mr and Mrs Burrell’s, accounted for. All the guests were in the hotel. Most had gone up to their rooms, Mr Potts said.’

  ‘Thank you, Maeve. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ The receptionist nodded to the room in general and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

  ‘Nothing amiss according to the night porter,’ Bess said. Putting each cup in a saucer she looked from the sergeant to the constable. ‘Tea, or coffee?’

  ‘Tea,’ said the sergeant. The constable nodded in agreement.

  Bess poured tea for each of the policemen. ‘Help yourselves to milk and sugar.’ She then poured four cups of coffee, adding milk to hers and Margot’s, but leaving Frank and Bill to add their own.

  ‘Sorry about the delay, but it crossed my mind that you might want to know if all the hotel’s guests were accounted for.’

  ‘I did. Now, Mrs Burrell,’ the sergeant said, adding milk to his tea and waving away the offer of a biscuit that the constable took eagerly, ‘where were we?’

  ‘You asked if my friend Goldie was here tonight. She wasn’t.’ Despite the sadness she felt when she thought about her friend, Margot chuckled. ‘Her real name was Doreen, but she hated it, so we called her by her stage name.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Goldie was lovely. She was pretty and full of life. She was always laughing. She was generous too.’ Margot wiped a tear from her cheek with the flat of her hand. ‘No! She wasn’t here tonight. She wouldn’t dare come back to England while that Nazi’s around,’ Margot spat.

  ‘David Sutherland beat Goldie up and dumped her like a piece of rubbish, in an alley.’ Remembering that terrible day, Margot bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out and looked to the heavens. ‘She couldn’t stand when I found her, let alone walk,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t know how I did it, but somehow I managed to get her to the theatre.

  ‘It was obvious she wouldn’t be able to perform that night, her face looked like a piece of raw meat. One of her eyes was so swollen she couldn’t see out of it, and her ribs hurt every time she moved. Sutherland had beaten her so badly she almost died.’ Margot took in a breath and blew it out slowly. ‘We looked after her; hid her until she was well en
ough to travel, then we got her out of London.’

  ‘You and your sister did this?’ The sergeant looked again from Margot to Bess.

  ‘No, Bess wasn’t in London then. It was Goldie’s friends, the other dancers in the show, Mr and Mrs Goldman - the owners of the theatre - and me. Mr and Mrs Goldman bought Goldie a ticket to… I’m afraid I don’t know where.’ Margot did know, but she and her friends had sworn never to disclose Goldie’s whereabouts to anyone. ‘She never went back to her small flat. The Goldmans packed her belongings, paid her rent up to date and gave her enough money to start a new life.

  ‘I took Goldie’s place on stage. We were the same height and dress size. I wore her costumes and wigs, and for a while I managed to fool Sutherland into believing Goldie was still in the show, and therefore still in London. When he realised it was me he’d been watching every night, and not Goldie, he sent me a bouquet of funeral lilies and a card with R.I.P. on it.’

  Margot shook her head. ‘He used to stand in the shadows opposite the stage door, and when I came out after a show, he’d strike a match and light his cigarette. He did it to let me know he was watching me. He followed me too. I’d suddenly see him in a crowd on Regent Street, or in Oxford Circus underground station.’ Margot closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. ‘One night, after blitzing the East End, the Luftwaffe dropped incendiary bombs on Fleet Street. Several buildings were on fire, so to keep the roads clear for the fire engines and ambulances the ARP cordoned off the roads around Covent Garden and the Aldwych. There weren’t any buses going west, or north west, and there were long queues of people outside the hotels waiting for taxis, so I started to walk.

  ‘It was late and I was tired. And, because of the blackout and the streets being thick with smoke, I took a wrong turn. I hadn’t got a clue where I was. I heard footsteps behind me and stopped - and so did they. As I said, it was late and there weren’t many people about, so when I started walking again and I heard the footsteps again, I panicked. I’ve never been so frightened in my life. I ended up hiding in a bombed-out builder’s yard.’ Margot glanced at Bill and smiled. ‘Fortunately, when I didn’t arrive home at the usual time, Bill came looking for me on his motorbike. He rode along the bus route, couldn’t find me, so he started looking down side streets. Thank God he got to me before Sutherland did.