Page 22 of The Locked Room

‘How do you intend to steer the conversation around to Berkeley Square?’ he asked. ‘I assume you have a plan.’

‘Of course I do,’ she said, and patted his arm. ‘I’m well aware that you’re an expert in the cross-examination of witnesses but I think, in this case, you may leave the talking to me.’

A spark of amusement flashed in his eyes. ‘Naturally. Who are we to be for this adventure?’

‘Mr and Mrs Dimbleby,’ she answered. ‘Of 12 Primrose Lane. You are a very successful chartered surveyor and I am extremely well-connected in all the best society circles.’

Oliver grinned. ‘That’s not actually a lie.’

‘No,’ Harry admitted. ‘But it is important if we want to tease out the truth. Ah, here we are.’

The building was grand and newly built, as were so many others along Kingsway. Once home to slums and some decidedly unsavoury criminal enterprises, the area had been cleared of the ramshackle properties that had flourished during the previous century, and was now a busy thoroughfare that even boasted an underground double-decker tram service running between Waterloo Bridge and Islington. Critchley House hosted a number of businesses, if the brass plaques beside the door were anything to go by. The offices of Evans and Long were on the first floor and Harry was pleased to note she and Oliver did not have long to wait before they were ushered in to see Mr Evans himself. Well-rounded and genial, with thinning hair and small, gold-rimmed glasses perched upon his nose, he shook Oliver’s hand and nodded gravely to Harry before waving them into a pair of seats facing a broad desk. Once settled opposite them, he smiled in an encouraging manner. ‘Now, we’re both busy men, Mr Dimbleby, so let’s get down to business.’ He glanced at Oliver. ‘I understand you have a substantial property you wish to be modernised. Is that correct?’

Oliver nodded. ‘That’s right. But it’s my wife you should be addressing. The property is hers.’

Mr Evans glanced at Harry. ‘I see.’ He paused to clear his throat and recalibrate his approach. ‘Might I ask about the condition of the property now?’

‘It’s structurally sound,’ she said, the words deliberately crisp. ‘The renovations will be to the interior – there are several inconvenient walls I would like removed and the staircase is most disagreeable.’

The builder’s smile grew a little condescending. ‘We may not be able to remove all of the walls, madam. They often serve a vital purpose in holding the building up. Staircases are likewise a necessity.’ He aimed a conspiratorial look at Oliver, who did not return it. ‘Not something I’d expect a lady like you to understand but there may be some room for compromise.’

It was exactly the response Harry had expected. She arched an eyebrow. ‘Compromise? Your firm comes highly recommended by a number of wealthy friends and acquaintances, Mr Evans. Am I to understand that these recommendations were unwarranted? That you cannot undertake the renovations we require?’

He blinked. ‘No, not at all. I’m sure we can accommodate your requirements, Mrs Dimbleby. As long as it’s safe to do so.’

She sat back, her expression suggesting she was far from convinced. ‘Have you much experience of restoring Georgian properties? Perhaps if you can describe a recent renovation in London, we may feel reassured.’

Evans licked his lips. ‘But of course. We’ve not long completed work on a house in Notting Hill that went very well.’

Harry favoured him with a wintry look. ‘Notting Hill.’

The builder picked up on her evident disapproval. ‘And there was another in Berkeley Square, for a Mr and Mrs Anderson. That required substantial rebuilding but I think I can safely say they were pleased with the results.’

Harry tapped her fingers together. ‘Anderson,’ she repeated. ‘Would that be 50 Berkeley Square?’

‘Yes,’ Mr Evans said, looking surprised. ‘Do you know the family?’

She turned to Oliver. ‘Didn’t the Andersons invite us for dinner last month?’

‘If you say so, my dear,’ he replied vaguely.

‘They did. And then they were forced to cancel, because the building works had overrun. Mrs Anderson was simply beside herself, do you remember?’

Oliver made a non-committal sound as Mr Evans threw Harry a worried look. ‘There were some delays, now you mention it, but I hardly think they can be blamed on my workers. We did an excellent job, under the circumstances.’

Harry’s gaze sharpened. She folded her hands in her lap. ‘What circumstances?’

The man ran a hand over his chin. ‘I’m not sure I should say.’

With a sniff, Harry rose. ‘A bad builder blames his clients, Mr Evans. Thank you for your time.’

‘Wait,’ he exclaimed, a look of panic crossing his face at the thought of losing a potentially lucrative client. ‘I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you.’ His gaze travelled back and forth between them as Harry sank back into the chair, and he sighed. ‘It was a straightforward job at first. The house was empty, meaning we didn’t have to worry about disturbing the family. There was a manservant of sorts, who oversaw the work, and a maid who stayed in the attic rooms and made tea when we needed it. But they mostly left us to it.’

‘How much work was required?’ Harry asked, thinking of the rat catcher’s assertion that the house had been unoccupied for years.

‘Oh, it was a big job,’ the builder replied. ‘Damp from the roof, plaster falling off the walls, woodworm in the floorboards, particularly on the first floor. Several of the bedrooms were uninhabitable. But we’re hard workers at Evans and Long, and we got on with it.’ He hesitated, clearly trying to decide how much to reveal. ‘After a day or two, some of the men started to complain about the atmosphere in the house. Obviously, it was a bit gloomy – it was winter, after all, but it was more than that. They said it felt as though they were being watched – a couple of them even complained about tools going missing. I told them to pull themselves together.’

‘You didn’t believe them?’ Harry asked, recalling Dobbs’ claim that terrible deeds had occurred inside the building. Perhaps there was a sinister air to the place.