Death of a Delft Blue

‘Angels on horseback, please. Yes, going back a bit?’

‘This suggestion that one of us may have bought the chocolate-cream in London. Well, I admit we could have done, but I don’t think any of us knew that Florian had gone into Derbyshire.’

‘According to my information, Professor Derde or Professor Sweyn van Zestien must have known, and it is possible that Miss Opal Colwyn-Welch knw it, too — or even Miss Ruby.’

‘Oh, did they?’ said Bernardo. He selected a piece of celery with considerable care. ‘Did they?’ he repeated. ‘So, if all four of them knew, one of them could have told me. Is that it? And now, what shall we drink with our coffee?’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The She-Bear Defends Her Grand-Cub

‘I think I am pretty well conversant with your present condition. I don’t want you to consider me impertinent but I do want you to let me help you if I can.’

Guy Boothby

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So there is my Bernie!’ screamed Rebekah. ‘My Bernie that fights for his life against your secret police!’

‘Do come in, Mrs Rose,’ said Laura, who had gone into the hall when Celestine, obviously disapproving, had announced the visitor. ‘I expect you’d like to talk to Dame Beatrice.’ She conducted Rebekah into a large, book-lined room on the first floor of the tall house in Kensington and indicated an armchair. Rebekah ran a hand over it before she sat down.

‘Tottenham Court Road,’ she pronounced, with a sniff, ‘and is not matching in a suite. Job lots, I tell you. You have been cheated.’

‘Well, it’s a comfortable chair, anyway,’ retorted Laura. ‘What shall I say about you to Dame Beatrice? She’s got a patient at the moment, so you’ll have to wait a bit, I’m afraid.’

‘To wait is nothing, if it shall save my Bernie’s life.’

‘Why, what’s Bernardo been up to?BemieHalf a minute, while I get contact.’ She achieved this on the house blower and announced to Dame Beatrice that Mrs Rebekah Rose was among those present. She listened for a moment to Dame Beatrice’s reply and then turned again to Rebekah.

‘Would you excuse me? I have some letters to answer. There are magazines on the side table and sherry and some glasses in that cupboard.’

‘Biscuits?’ enquired Rebekah. As soon as Laura had gone, she prowled about the room, assessing the value of the furnishings in a growling undertone and occasionally clicking her tongue or giving a disparaging flip of the fingers at some intrinsically worthless object. She investigated the contents of the cupboard, took out the sherry and a couple of glasses, opened a tin of biscuits and selected the plainest she could find. This she munched with a martyred air and was ready for Dame Beatrice when the latter came in with a formal apology for keeping her waiting.

‘You are strained,’ said Rebekah grandly. ‘I shall give you a glass of sherry. You should buy cheaper. This is too good for customers. Me, I give customers at sixteen shillings and sixpence a bottle, retail, less wholesale from Julius Honerweg, distant connection. I do not offer South African sherry, although at a better price. So is my opinion of apartheid.’

She poured out two glasses of sherry and, with a royal gesture, presented one of them to Dame Beatrice, who pledged her with a solemnity that Laura would have admired.

‘And now,’ said Dame Beatrice, setting down her glass, ‘you wanted to see me. As I know that your time is valuable, it is something of importance, I infer.’

‘Of the first importance. It is my Bernie. He loses his life to your secret police.’

‘Dear me! I have heard from Detective Chief-Inspector Gavin, who interviewed him yesterday, and I do not think you have any cause for alarm.’

‘Where are the police is always cause for alarm. Why they are talking to Bernie?’

‘Look, Mrs Rose,’ said Dame Beatrice, seriously, ‘if I tell you something in confidence — in the strictest confidence, mind! —’

‘I can keep secrets. Not long is one in business who cannot keep secrets.’

‘All right, then. A very damaging accusation has been made against Mr Bernardo Rose and it must be investigated in order that his innocence may be proved.’

‘An accusation?’

‘Yes, and, as I say, of a very serious nature. It has been said that he sent a package of poisoned chocolate- cream to his cousin, Mr Florian Colwyn-Welch.’ To her astonishment, Rebekah received this news in silence and took another sip of her sherry. ‘Of course, nobody believes this,’ Dame Beatrice continued, on a cheerful note, ‘but to disprove it may take a little time.’

‘Bernie told his father, my son Sigismund, that the policeman is showing Bernie could have known where Florian was, to send him this poison.’

‘Chocolate-cream seems an unusual sort of present for one young man to send to another. Does Mr Colwyn- Welch like chocolate-cream?’

‘Chocolate-cream, heroin, purple hearts, all those poisonous snow, the young people take them all, and there are no questions,’ said Rebekah.

‘Mrs Rose, you are not being helpful.’