‘Oh yes, quite a few times. It was in 1904, the spring I think. Yes, that’s correct. You see, I was about to travel to Europe with my father and my two sisters. We were going to the family villa in the South of France, and then I was moving to Paris. Permanently. I wanted to be a painter and my father had agreed I could attend the Beaux Arts. In fact, he was footing the bill.’
‘But you were a guards officer, weren’t you?’ Amos probed.
‘Oh yes, but the old man, well, he was a good sort, my pater, he let me do what I wanted, more or less. So he put up no resistance when I resigned my commission. His father had been rather a bully, so I was led to understand, and Father sort of –’ Cedric paused, shrugged, ‘tended to go the other way. Indulged me. Spoiled me rotten, I expect. Anyway, he agreed with me that I wasn’t cut out to be a soldier.’
‘But you rejoined the army when war broke out, and you were both wrong as it turned out, weren’t you, Major? Since you must have been a very dedicated soldier from what Charlie tells me. You performed great acts of courage, so much so you are about to be awarded the greatest honour in the land, the most prestigious medal a soldier can receive for valour in the face of the enemy … the Victoria Cross.’
The major looked suddenly bashful, and he merely nodded, turning pink. He took a sip of his red wine.
Amos now leaned across the table, and asked the question he’d been holding back. ‘In the spring of 1904 did you come across a little girl living with Tabitha?’
‘Good Lord, yes, I’d forgotten about her for a moment. Tabitha did have a daughter. A toddler. Yes, yes, of course. Now what was her name … I’ve got it! She was called Grace.’
‘You don’t happen to know what happened to Grace, do you?’
‘Not really.’ The major rubbed his hand over his forehead, frowning slightly. ‘You know, now that I think about it, the last time I saw the child was the last time I saw Tabitha.’
‘Can you remember what happened that day?’ Amos sat back, sipping his water, and waiting, a sense of excitement growing inside him. His eyes rested on the major reflectively. He was very intent on arriving at the truth.
‘I remember it was quite a nice day,’ Major Crawford began. ‘Sunny, if a little cool. I went to Whitechapel with Seb Lawford because he wanted to persuade Tabitha to move to a better place, a decent cottage which he had found in Hampstead, near the Heath. He asked me to help him move her things, and we arrived in a hansom cab. Tabitha was there, but she wouldn’t agree to move or leave that … hovel. She was stubborn. We both noticed how dreadfully ill she looked, and she was coughing … coughing her heart out. Seb sent me to talk to the woman who lived several doors away, down the street. She had a teenage daughter who apparently sometimes looked after Grace. He wanted her to come to the house and watch Grace whilst we took Tabitha to the hospital. I can’t remember the girl’s name, but she agreed, and she came back with me. As I recall, I gave her a guinea to wait until we returned. Then Seb and the girl helped to get Tabitha into some of her clothes, and he and I carried her out to the hansom, and we took her to the hospital.’
‘Which hospital was that, Major Crawford?’
‘The one on Whitechapel Road, it’s called Royal London Hospital. Very old place. Naturally, they kept her in the hospital, she was so very ill.’
‘And what happened after that?’ Amos asked quietly.
‘Seb returned to Tabitha’s place in Whitechapel, and I took a hansom cab back to my father’s house in Queen Street in Mayfair. We left for France about five days later.’
‘But you said Tabitha died. You must have seen your friend Sebastian Lawford before you left, didn’t you?’
‘He came to see me only two days after we had taken Tabitha to the hospital. And yes, she had died, she had a virulent case of pneumonia, not to mention consumption. It was her lungs, I think, they were horribly congested, she had trouble breathing.’
‘At that time, did he mention the little girl Grace?’
‘No, he didn’t say anything, and I didn’t think to ask. We, that is the family, were going abroad for three months, and I was packing for a much longer stay in Paris. It was somewhat chaotic, I’m afraid –’ Cedric Crawford broke off as if suddenly something had occurred to him. ‘What happened to the little girl, Mr Finnister? I hope nothing bad.’
‘No, not really, thank God.’ Amos cleared his throat, went on, ‘When Lady Fenella was looking for Tabitha, I know she checked all of the hospitals in the area, because I helped her. But she didn’t find Tabitha registered. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?’
‘Yes. But then again, no, I don’t. You see, she was using the name Mrs Lawford … Mrs Sebastian Lawford … Seb thought using his full name would offer her protection in that rather rough area of London. Anyway, he had a pet name for her, as well. He always called her Lucy. I’ve no idea why, but what I do know for a certainty is that he registered her as Mrs Sebastian Lawford, Christian name Lucy. I was standing right next to her when he spoke to the nurse.’
‘I understand, and so will Lady Fenella. Everything has become clear. Tell me, Major, did Sebastian Lawford invite you to the funeral? Or tell you where she was buried?’
‘No, he didn’t say, but I couldn’t have gone because of the problems of the family leaving, and, as I said, my father’s house was chaotic until the day we left.’
‘I think I would like to meet Sebastian Lawford, if you would help me to locate him. Do you know where he is, Major?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And where is that, if I might ask?’
‘In a grave in France. He was killed at the battle of Ypres, the third battle. He died in my arms, Mr Finnister. So you see, I can’t help you with that. So sorry.’
‘You have helped me. You’ve given me the name of the hospital, and hopefully they will be able to tell me where Tabitha James, or rather Mrs Sebastian “Lucy” Lawford, is buried. I’m certain they will have that on record.’
‘Is it important, knowing that?’ the major asked curiously.
‘Oh yes, very much so,’ Amos murmured, and added, ‘thank you again, Major, thank you.’
It wasn’t unusual for Amos to go to Deravenels on Saturday, even though the offices were closed over the weekend. He often went in to tidy up his paperwork, and do other small jobs, which he couldn’t attend to during the week.
But on this Saturday morning he had a specific purpose when he arrived at the grand old building on the Strand. The uniformed commissionaire touched his cap, said ‘Good morning, Mr Finnister. Weather for ducks, ain’t it, sir?’
Amos grinned at the older man. ‘Good morning, Albert. And indeed it is the right kind of weather for our fine feathered friends.’ As he spoke he closed his umbrella, then hurried across the grandiose marble entrance foyer and up the staircase.
The reason he had come to the office was to list the names of cemeteries in the vicinity of Whitechapel, and make a few telephone calls.
His first call was to the Royal London Hospital, Whitechapel, where he quickly discovered the records office was not open on weekends; this was an answer he had fully expected. He then dialled Ravenscar, and when Jessup, the butler, answered, he announced himself, spoke to the butler for a moment or two, and then was put through to Edward Deravenel.
‘Good morning, Amos,’ Edward said. ‘I’m assuming you have some sort of news for me.’
‘Good morning, sir, and yes, I do. It was the right Cedric Crawford, as we had thought on Thursday, but he was not the man involved