Murder at the Manchester Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘You never played yourself?’ asked Creighton.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pity. You have the build, and the slightly bent nose.’

  ‘That came from being a policeman,’ said Daniel.

  ‘How can there be a breakaway league?’ asked Abigail. ‘I thought the rules for rugby were set by the Rugby Football Union?’

  ‘Well yes, they are, and that includes charging entrance money to watch games.’

  Abigail frowned, puzzled. ‘I only ever saw a few matches when I was at Cambridge, and there was no mention of paying to see it,’ she said.

  ‘No, there wasn’t,’ said Creighton. ‘And that’s still the way it is in the south of the country, where most of the players do it for pleasure, and most have – shall we say – private income.’

  ‘Gentlemen players?’ pondered Daniel.

  ‘I think they prefer to be called amateurs. Whereas here in the north, most of the players have jobs. They work in the mines, or the mills. So when they take time off to play rugby they get compensated for the money they lose from work.’

  ‘That sounds fair,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Not to the Rugby Football Union, which is dominated by affluent southerners, the older members who run it still believing in the purity of the game. That no money should be involved.’

  ‘Having seen some of the poorer areas of Manchester, I’d say that may be all very well for people from privileged backgrounds in places like Oxford or Cambridge, but bears little relation to the reality of life up here,’ said Abigail.

  ‘I don’t see how people being paid to play rugby up here in the north would have any effect on those in the south who play for free,’ observed Daniel.

  ‘Because the money to pay players has to come from somewhere,’ explained Creighton. ‘At the moment it comes from entrance money paid at the gate. But the RFU has just issued a proclamation that rugby is banned from being played at clubs where an entry fee is charged.’

  ‘But that would mean the end of rugby in the north,’ said Daniel. ‘At least, as an official game.’

  Creighton nodded. ‘Exactly. That’s why a large number of northern clubs are intending to start their own league, called something like the Northern Rugby Football Union.’ He sighed. ‘It’ll be a sad day.’ Then he brightened into a smile, the issue of rugby dismissed. ‘Anyway, what’s new with you, Abi? Still travelling all over the world digging up things? I thought you’d have been married by now.’

  ‘I am,’ replied Abigail.

  Creighton’s mouth dropped open, then he beamed and said, ‘My gosh! Who’s the lucky man?’

  ‘He is,’ said Abigail, gesturing at Daniel.

  Creighton turned to Daniel, who stared at Abigail, stunned.

  ‘Well I never! So you’re Mrs Wilson now?’

  ‘No, we decided to keep our own names,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Ah, suffragist stuff, eh!’ Creighton grinned. He got up and walked over to Daniel, hand outstretched. ‘Allow me to congratulate you, sir, and most heartily! You’ve got a winner there!’

  ‘Yes, I’ve become ever more aware of that.’ Daniel smiled, shaking Creighton’s hand.

  He signalled for the waiter to bring them a pot of tea and biscuits, and was relieved that this time Creighton took his seat without knocking anything over.

  ‘What about you?’ asked Abigail. ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Me? No,’ said Creighton. ‘I got engaged a couple of times, but both were scratched before the day.’

  ‘Cold feet?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘Not on my account,’ said Creighton. ‘Both times the bride’s parents called off the match. Seems they wanted better for their daughters.’

  ‘Surely a university professor would be quite a catch,’ commented Daniel.

  ‘Well, possibly. But I got the impression they wanted someone with more interest in the business world. Someone with better financial prospects. Or someone with a title. Preferably both, to be honest. I didn’t fit either bill, alas.’

  As Daniel listened to the red-headed man and watched him, he realised why Abigail had felt fond of him. Septimus Creighton was, as Abigail had described him, a rarity – someone honest and without duplicity, and also caring about others. His clumsiness was part of his appeal. He reminded Daniel of a friendly dog that was too big for its surroundings, often causing unintentional havoc, but one that would be faithful and loyal. Even on this very short acquaintance, Daniel knew this was a man that could be trusted, and he liked him.

  ‘So, back to you two: the Guardian calls you the Museum Mystery Detectives,’ said Creighton with a smile.

  ‘Literary hyperbole from the reporter,’ responded Abigail.

  ‘Yes, I saw the by-line. Our friend William the radical.’

  ‘The radical?’ queried Daniel.

  Creighton nodded. ‘Like most universities, ours has got many societies, and one of them is the Socialism Society. They put on talks, and about four months ago they had this guest speaker talking about Karl Marx. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him.’

  ‘We were discussing him not long ago,’ said Abigail. ‘He and Friedrich Engels.’

  ‘Politics, eh!’ Creighton grinned. ‘To be honest, it’s not my thing, but I went along out of curiosity. Frankly I found it boring and long-winded, but some of the students lapped it up. It was all very radical. You know, common ownership of property, that sort of stuff. Well, William Bickerstaff was there reporting on the meeting for the Guardian, and he got quite carried away, applauding like mad when this chap said something about freeing the workers from their chains. Anyway, he came back again, to other events the Socialist Society put on, and pretty soon he started spouting off himself, all about the evils of the mill owners and so on.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Daniel thoughtfully.

  ‘It struck me that he only took the job at the Guardian because it gives him space to air his views,’ said Creighton. ‘There’s no doubt he’s a serious radical, overthrow the capitalist system, all that sort of thing. What did you think of him when you met him?’

  ‘At first he seemed reasonable,’ said Daniel cautiously.

  ‘But then he betrayed us,’ said Abigail, her tone showing her anger. ‘He promised that in the article he would write for the Guardian about the case he would avoid bringing in radical politics.’

  ‘That’s not the way I read it,’ said Creighton. ‘It was the same old Bickerstaff but even more so.’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘It struck me when I met him that there’s a lot of anger burning deep inside William B. No, more than just anger. Rage. There’s violence lurking under that educated surface, just waiting to blow up if things get out of control. Like a lot of these aristos.’

  ‘Aristos?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘Like many of these radical chaps, he actually comes from quite an elite family. The Norton-Wallace-Bickerstaffs.’

  ‘Two hyphens?’ said Daniel, amused.

  ‘I believe his father’s a baronet, or something, but he prefers to keep that quiet.’ He gave them an amused look. ‘Anyway, the Museum Mystery Detectives, eh! Like Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson.’ He chuckled. ‘But which one is which? I presume as Mr Wilson was a famous detective in his own right, you, Abi, are Dr Watson.’

  Before Abigail could respond, Daniel put in, ‘Absolutely not. Abigail is my equal, if not my superior, in many aspects of working out the criminal, so we prefer to think of ourselves as equal partners.’

  ‘Well said.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘I must admit, Abi, a detective was one thing I never thought you’d become. Wonders will never cease. And, if there’s anything I can do to help while you’re here …’

  ‘There is actually,’ said Abigail. ‘Are you involved with the sporting fraternity at the university?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ said Creighton. ‘And a finer pack of lads you’re unlikely to meet. At the moment we’re preparing for the Christie Cup. I’m helping to put the rugby team through their paces.’

  ‘
Do you think they might be interested in a little discreet bodyguarding?’

  Creighton regarded them, puzzled. ‘How discreet? And whose body?’

  ‘Daniel’s,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Ah, the black eye!’ Creighton grinned. ‘I wasn’t going to mention it in case it was something of a personal nature.’ He chuckled. ‘I once saw Abi here lay out some lout who insulted her. An absolute corker of a right-hander!’

  ‘Yes, I have some experience of her abilities in that regard,’ said Daniel. Then, as Abigail and Creighton shot him surprised looks, he hastily added, ‘Not personally, you understand, but as an interested observer.’

  ‘Daniel was assaulted after asking some questions at the barracks.’

  ‘About this case?’

  ‘Yes. It seems the woman who was murdered had been asking questions there just a day or so before, and had been sent away. We went along to ask why, and what she’d gone there for, but they refused our request. So I was put in touch with a local historian with knowledge of local military matters.’

  ‘You think her death had something to do with the barracks?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘What we do know is that after I’d met this military historian, I was set upon and warned to keep my nose out of it.’

  ‘Out of the local military’s business?’

  ‘That was the inference.’

  ‘The thing, is, Septimus, we’re not going to be warned off. But when we persist in asking questions …’

  ‘It’s likely you’ll get another pasting.’ He looked at Abigail, concerned. ‘They haven’t threatened you?’

  ‘No,’ Abigail reassured him.

  ‘And we want to make sure they don’t,’ said Daniel. ‘And the best way to stop that is to find out who’s behind it.’

  ‘The barracks, you say. So it’s the army.’

  ‘Or someone in the army. So what I’m thinking of doing is going back to the barracks and making a bit of a nuisance of myself, and get turned away again.’

  ‘And then, when they come to have another go at Daniel …’

  ‘My chaps will be waiting ready to pounce on them!’ exulted Creighton. ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘Are you sure they’ll be agreeable?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Absolutely! You should see my lads when they play rugby against the army. No love lost there, I can assure you!’ He looked inquisitively at Daniel. ‘What’s your plan?’

  ‘I thought I’d return to the barracks and ask one or two questions that would upset them, and say that I insist on a meeting with their commanding officer. There’s a regimental sergeant major there, Bulstrode, who seems to be the main obstacle to our investigation. I’m fairly sure it was he who set the men on me before. I suspect he’ll insist that any request to meet his commanding officer has to be made in writing, so I’ll tell him that I’ll return with my letter at such-and-such a time. That will give him time to round up some men to give me a going-over when I return, and also for your men to be in place to come to my aid when it happens.’

  ‘Say he invites you into the barracks to beat you up?’ asked Creighton, worried. ‘My boys won’t be able to follow you in.’

  ‘He won’t,’ said Daniel. ‘He won’t want to expose the army to the questions that would raise. My guess is that once I’ve handed in my letter and walked away from the barracks, he’ll get his men to follow me, all in civilian clothes, and they’ll pounce on me at some convenient spot. So we get your rugby players stationed in a side street not far from the barracks, one which I’ll walk past.’

  ‘They might attack you before you get to that street,’ pointed out Creighton. ‘Or they might let you get some distance after it before they attack.’

  ‘Which is why I thought I’d take my old police whistle with me. That way, if your boys are out of sight and can’t see me, a blast on that will bring them running.’

  ‘Along with local constables.’

  ‘So much the better,’ said Daniel. ‘The object of the exercise is to catch one or two of them and find out who’s behind it.’

  ‘You already suspect who’s behind it,’ pointed out Creighton. ‘This regimental sergeant major.’

  ‘I think he’s just an intermediary,’ said Daniel. ‘I could be wrong, but I feel he’s protecting someone else. I’m hoping that this might lead us to who that is.’

  ‘We’re also going to Ireland,’ said Abigail. ‘We feel the reason for everything that’s happened may lie there. The young woman who was killed arrived from there just a few days before she died.’

  ‘Ideally, we’d like to carry out our ruse at the barracks before we go, in case we get more information we can take with us,’ said Daniel. ‘Would that be possible for you and your rugby players?’

  ‘When were you thinking of?’ asked Creighton.

  ‘Would tomorrow be too soon?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Creighton. ‘I’m due to meet the boys this afternoon at three o’clock. Come along to the university and I’ll introduce you and we can make arrangements.’

  After, when Creighton had left and Daniel and Abigail were back in their room, she asked him, ‘What did you think of Septimus?’

  ‘I liked him,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact, I liked him a lot, and I can see why you liked him. He’s decent and honest and without duplicity.’

  ‘He’s still clumsy,’ said Abigail.

  ‘With someone as nice as he is, that’s easily forgiven,’ said Daniel. He smiled as he added, ‘Talking of duplicity, you lied. You told him we were married.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, we are. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Well … yes. But in legal terms …’

  ‘Oh, fiddlesticks to legal terms!’

  ‘But look at the fuss you made earlier about being forced to use my surname for the register at the hotel. You haven’t said that to anyone else. Not even to your sister, Bella.’

  ‘Because Bella would be deeply upset that she wasn’t invited to our wedding. As you said yourself, she considers me a fallen woman, living in sin with a man who is not my husband.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘And also I wanted Septimus to know where we stood in regard to one another.’

  ‘He was a previous … ah …?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘No, he wasn’t,’ said Abigail quickly. Then she added, ‘But he would have liked to be. I just wanted to clear that up, so he wasn’t under any illusions about the reason I responded to his letter.’

  ‘So, Mrs Daniel Wilson,’ chuckled Daniel, amused.

  ‘Or Mr Abigail Fenton,’ countered Abigail.

  ‘Perhaps we could go for a hyphenated name,’ suggested Daniel. ‘Like William Norton-Wallace-Bickerstaff.’

  ‘Wilson-Fenton?’

  ‘Or Fenton-Wilson?’

  Abigail went to him and put her arms around him and kissed him, her lips gentle at first.

  ‘I love you, my husband, whatever your name is,’ she said. And she kissed him harder.

  Daniel picked her up and carried her to the bed.

  ‘I am the luckiest man there’s ever been,’ he said, as he laid her down and began to unbutton her blouse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘Have you noticed that all the important places in Manchester are very near to one another?’ commented Daniel as they approached the John Owens Building in Oxford Road which housed the Victoria University. ‘The museum. The infirmary. Our hotel.’ He studied the Gothic building and added, ‘And so many of them in the same style. This university building and the museum for example.’

  ‘Designed by the same architect,’ said Abigail. ‘Alfred Waterhouse.’

  ‘The same man who designed the Natural History Museum in London?’ asked Daniel. ‘I recall you mentioning that.’

  ‘You have a good memory,’ said Abigail. ‘Yes, that’s the man. Very prolific. He also designed the town hall here.’

  ‘How do you know so much about him?’ asked Daniel. ‘I didn’t realise that architecture was one of your special
interests.’

  ‘He also built Girton College in Cambridge, where I did my degree,’ said Abigail. ‘The college authorities made great play to we students about his reputation as a master architect.’

  They entered the building and told the porter on duty that they’d an arrangement to meet Professor Creighton that day.

  ‘Ah yes. Miss Fenton and Mr Wilson. Professor Creighton told me to take you to him when you arrived. If you’ll follow me.’

  They followed the porter through a maze of corridors, finally stopping at a door on which were the words ‘Lecture Theatre B’. The porter knocked at the door, then opened it and gestured for Daniel and Abigail to enter.

  Septimus Creighton stood in front of a large blackboard, facing rows of seats which rose upwards in a bank, like an old-fashioned theatre. Fifteen young men were sitting on these seats, and they rose to their feet as Abigail and Daniel entered.

  ‘Mr Wilson! Miss Fenton! Welcome! These are the sturdy souls from the university rugby squad who’ve volunteered to give assistance. I’ll do the proper introductions, names and all that, later, if that’s all right. I’ve given them a rough idea of what’s planned, without going into details, but I thought if we got straight to the nub of what this is all about it would expedite things. Is that all right with you?’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Daniel.

  Creighton looked at the young men. ‘Therefore, without further ado, I’ll hand over to Mr Daniel Wilson, former detective with Scotland Yard and a key figure in the notorious Jack the Ripper investigations.’

  With that, Creighton moved to take his seat on the front row among the students, inviting Abigail to join him there.

  Daniel took Creighton’s place in front of the students. ‘Thank you very much for allowing me to address you, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘The reason I’m here is because Miss Fenton and I have been engaged by Manchester Museum to look into two tragic deaths that occurred there recently. They wish us to find out who may have been responsible. Our enquiries have led us to believe that some members of the army barracks at Hulme may have had some involvement, but we have met difficulty when we have tried to pursue our investigations there. In fact, the determination by some at the barracks to prevent us asking questions led to my recently being …’ Here, Daniel stopped, then he grinned as he finished, ‘… punched in the eye and warned there would be worse for me if I kept poking my nose in.’