by Emily Organ
Chapter 9
“Anyway, I’m a fine one to talk,” said Eliza cheerily, as if keen to lift the mood of the conversation. “I may be in court myself soon.”
“Why so?” asked James.
“To pursue a divorce.”
“You plan to divorce George?” I asked.
Eliza and her husband had been separated since he had become involved with a criminal through his work as a lawyer.
“I have been offered a job, Penelope!”
“Have you? How wonderful, Eliza! But why did you just mention divorce and then change the subject?”
“I have wanted to pursue a profession of my own for so long, but George has never allowed it. If I accept the job it will mean turning my back on my marriage.”
“Really?” I said. “Are you so certain that George would not tolerate you having a profession?”
“Quite certain, Penelope. His view has always been that it would affect his reputation, you see. If I were to find work it would suggest to others that he is unable to provide for me and our children.”
“I don’t think George has much of a reputation to salvage these days. I have always found his excuses for your not being able to work rather difficult to understand. After all, the reason you wish to work bears no relation to any shortcoming of his; it is merely something you would like to do for your own fulfilment. It offers you the opportunity to pursue experiences beyond looking after your household and your children.”
“You’re right, Penelope, and although I think that you work far too hard and take all sorts of unnecessary risks, I must admit that I have been quite envious of the experiences you have had at times. I have been a wife and mother for a number of years, and much as I adore my children it has not been quite enough for me. I suppose that’s why I founded the West London Women’s Society, because it gave me the opportunity to use my mind a little more and to involve myself in the issues we are faced with today.”
“You have done everything you possibly could while married to that curmudgeon.”
“Penelope! You mustn’t speak of my husband in that manner!”
“I’m sorry, Ellie. I know that you care for him deeply, but the man is a fool, and I have seen how frustrated you have become in having to live according to his antiquated rules. It’s wonderful that you have received the offer of a job. What sort of work is it?”
“I would be working for Miss Susan Barrington. Have you heard of her?”
“The philanthropist who manages housing for the poor?”
“That’s right. Apparently, my work for the West London Women’s Society prompted someone to make a recommendation to Miss Barrington, and I met with her last week to discuss it. The work would involve collecting rent from the tenants and assisting them in any matters they may be having difficulty with. Miss Barrington has been doing this sort of work for around twenty years now, and she strongly believes that people must work to help themselves. She has no patience with people who take no responsibility for their lives and is quite strict if anyone falls behind with their rent due to laziness. The housing estate in Marylebone is called Paradise Place and has been under her management for a number of years.”
“It sounds perfect for you, Ellie. I certainly think you should take up the opportunity.”
“Even if it means obtaining a divorce?”
“I know the thought is quite dreadful, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. You will likely lose some friends, but the people who matter most will stay by your side.”
“Mother won’t.”
“You might be surprised. She is rather traditional in her views, but she would surely realise that her daughter’s happiness is of the utmost importance.”
Eliza frowned. “I don’t suppose she’ll see it that way, Penelope. She’s of an age at which duty is more important than personal happiness. I think she will view my actions as selfish and indulgent.”
“Even when you tell her about George’s criminal connections?”
“I suppose she might view it differently if I were to do so. I haven’t told her about that, as it would be so terribly shaming for him.”
“Stop trying to protect his reputation, Ellie! His actions give you suitable grounds for divorce. I think you should tell Mother what has happened and then, once she has recovered from the shock, you can tell her that you intend to find employment.”
“She would be so ashamed to have a divorced daughter!”
“That’s for her to worry about. If you wish to reconcile with George in order to make her happy you are free to do so. But would that make you happy?”
She gave this some thought. “No, I don’t believe it would. And I do so wish to work with Miss Barrington.”
“I can imagine you being very good at it, Eliza,” said James.
“Thank you!” she replied.
I noticed a sparkle in her eyes that I hadn’t seen for a long time.
“Well done,” I said. “I think it will be just what you need.”
“Thank you both for your support,” replied my sister tearily. “It means a lot to me at a time like this…” She paused to find a handkerchief.
“Oh, Ellie.” I reached out and patted her arm. “Don’t be upset.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, looking flustered and drying her eyes. “Please excuse me. I must pay a quick visit to the ladies’ room.”
“I think Ellie is making the right decision,” I said as we watched my sister’s retreating form, “though it is not an easy decision to make. Society takes a dim view of divorcees.”
“I think she’ll be fine,” said James. “The Green sisters are made of strong stuff.”
I laughed. “I don’t know about that!”
“It’s true.” James held my gaze and smiled. “I apologise for my ill temper earlier.”
“There’s no need to apologise. Anyone receiving a solicitors’ letter like that would have every reason to be ill-tempered.”
“It put me out of sorts, that’s for sure. I suppose I had hoped that once I walked away from the wedding the problem of Charlotte would disappear. It frustrates me that she and her family are lingering on in my life.”
“We knew that it would happen, though, didn’t we?”
“I suppose we did. It’s a shame, as it feels as though our courtship has been rather overshadowed by it. I had hoped we would be able to embark upon a new life together, but it’s not that simple, is it?”
“No, it’s not. But our time will come once the court case is over. There’s no hurry.”
“But I can’t help feeling impatient about it. Don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose I do. But we will cope with whatever comes our way, James, I feel sure of that. I’m not going anywhere.”
He smiled and rested his hand on mine. “You almost did. You nearly bought a ticket to America, remember?”
“Only because you were practically married to someone else!”
“Just think how different our lives would have been,” he said with a sigh.
“And look at us now,” I said. “Could we ever have imagined sitting together like this without worrying that we were doing something forbidden?”
“And in the tawdry Royal Aquarium with Professor Roche and his pack of fifteen Russian wolves.”
We both laughed.
“We shall miss them altogether if Ellie takes much longer in the ladies’ room.”
Chapter 10
I had no recollection of falling asleep that night at the Hotel Tempesta, but when I awoke a short while later my body ached from the stiff position I had maintained.
Had a sound awoken me?
I had been experiencing a vivid, busy dream, but now that I was awake I could no longer recall it. Voices echoed in my mind, as if I had just been having a conversation with someone only to be catapulted back into a world of darkness and silence.
The quiet seemed to smother everything, like a thick, dark blanket. I moved the bedclothes around just to hear t
heir reassuring rustle.
Could there truly be ghosts in this place?
I had been adamant that there couldn’t, but now I feared that if I turned on the gas lamp I would see someone standing at the foot of my bed.
The ghost stories I had enjoyed as a child returned to me; all those old tales of spirits walking through walls and tapping at windows. How silly I had thought those stories, even as a young girl. And yet now, in this dark, silent place, I felt as though they might come true.
I breathed deeply and tried to soothe myself back to sleep. There were only a few hours of darkness left before I could dress and go downstairs to breakfast. I thought of all the food Mr Gallo would provide. I could enjoy a hearty breakfast and then leave. A heavy sensation returned to my body and I hoped that sleep would soon envelop me.
Then I heard a door slam.
The pit of my stomach leapt up into my throat as I sat upright in bed. I stared into the dark, the hairs at the back of my neck prickling.
Then there was a voice – a brief shout – which I began to doubt I had heard as soon as the silence descended again.
Then all I heard was the pounding of my heart in my ears. I noticed that my fists were clenched.
Cold perspiration broke out across my brow as I reached out and illuminated the gas light on the table beside the bed. The room around me flickered into view, and I found some comfort in seeing it just as it had been the evening before. The embers were already cold and the lady in the picture didn’t seem to be watching me as intently any more.
Was it possible that I had imagined the door slam?
It seemed to have come from beneath my room. I thought about the circumstances under which a door might be slammed in the dead of night. All I could think of was a disagreement. But who would be arguing at this hour? Perhaps the door had been slammed in anger, or perhaps it had merely been high spirits from someone who had consumed too much liquor.
I felt relieved by this thought and released a breath I hadn’t previously noticed I had been holding. There was certainly no noise now, and as I glanced around the room again I smiled to myself, wondering why I had worked myself up with so many fearful thoughts. My heartbeat began to return to normal, but as I reached out to turn off the lamp I realised that my hand was shaking.
I tried to laugh at myself as I pictured explaining my irrational fears of this night to James. I knew he would find it quite amusing that I had made myself so fearful over nothing. If he had been there beside me I wouldn’t have felt this way at all. I rested my head on the pillow again and felt relieved as sleep began to descend on me once more.
I had no idea of the time when I awoke again, but I felt reassured at seeing daylight between the curtains. With the long November nights upon us I guessed it could be no earlier than eight o’clock.
I sighed as I parted the curtains and saw the fog still clinging to the window pane. The embers of the previous day’s fire remained in the grate, and I found this odd given that Mrs Mirabeau had informed us that the chambermaids always lit the fires at dawn.
I dressed hurriedly, keen to breakfast and be on my way. I wondered whether I could somehow escape the proposed tour of the kitchens. Mr Gallo was a talkative man, and would no doubt detain us for as long as possible. I would have to make my excuses about getting back to work.
I put on a thick woollen skirt, thick stockings, a blouse and a woollen jacket. Even with my petticoats on I still felt a chill. I folded up my evening gown as best I could, pushed it hurriedly into my case and left all my belongings on my bed.
I heard voices in the corridor as I stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor. Among the small group of people gathered there I recognised the auburn-haired Mrs Mirabeau. The tone of their voices sounded serious, and I sensed that something wasn’t quite right.
Instead of making my way to the dining room, I walked toward the group. I caught my breath as I discerned the blue uniforms of two police constables. The square-faced Mr Bolton was also standing there.
“Is everything all right?” I asked as I reached them.
As Mrs Mirabeau turned to face me I was struck by the way her rouge contrasted with the ashen hue of her face. Captain stood by her side, restrained by the leash she held.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Mr Bolton rubbed at his whiskers and stared at the police officers, as if hoping one of them would reply so that he wouldn’t have to.
“Mr Gallo has passed away, ma’am,” said a constable with a thick moustache.
I stared at him, then looked down at Captain, trying to make sense of what I had just heard.
“Are you sure?” I asked, instantly realising how foolish my question sounded. “But we dined with him only yesterday evening, didn’t we, Mrs Mirabeau?”
“He has been murdered,” she replied solemnly.
I took a moment to consider this, unsure as to whether I had heard her correctly.
“But he couldn’t have been,” I said. “Who would do such a thing? And how? When did it happen?”
“We don’t know, ma’am,” replied the constable, “but we do know that Mr Gallo was found dead this morning, having been on the receiving end of several stab wounds at the foot of the grand staircase.”
“Good grief!” I said quietly. “I cannot quite believe it.”
“None of us can,” replied Mr Bolton.
“But why would someone do such a thing?” I said, realising once again that my words were risible and couldn’t possibly be answered at that moment.
I glanced toward the foyer, wondering whether he still lay at the foot of the staircase.
“Is he—?”
“They have just taken him away to the mortuary,” replied Mrs Mirabeau, “and I have sent a telegram to his family in Paris. The staff are cleaning up now.”
“Do you know what time he was attacked?” I asked.
Mrs Mirabeau shook her head.
“We’ve told you everything we know, ma’am,” replied the constable. “Chief Inspector Fenton is currently in discussion with the police surgeon, and we’ll know more in due course.”
“I see.” I moved past them as I made my way toward the foyer.
“Excuse me, ma’am!” called out the constable.
“Miss Green!” said Mr Bolton. “You don’t want to go down there!”
I ignored them and hurried my step.
Chapter 11
A pile of bloodied towels lay at the foot of the staircase, where Mr Gallo had presumably lain. A maid mopped the tiled floor, and I could see that the water had a pink hue. The mirrors had been covered with black crepe as a mark of mourning.
Chief Inspector Fenton was deep in conversation with Mr Blackstone and Mr Somers. I had come across the inspector a number of times during my years of reporting, so I was aware that he was based at Bow Street station. He had narrow eyes and his dark mutton-chop whiskers were tinged with grey.
“Do excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “Miss Green! I have advised the ladies to stay away from here at the present time. It’s not suitable for a—”
“I have seen worse, Inspector,” I replied. “I was present at the time of the St Giles murders, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Chief Inspector Fenton rolled his eyes. “And it just happens to be my luck that a group of reporters is already gathered here at the crime scene. I won’t be able to free myself of you lot now, will I?”
“I’m sure none of us would wish to detain you from your work, Chief Inspector,” I said. “Just tell me what you know so far, and then I shall gladly leave you to get on with it.” Having left my notebook and pencil in my room, I readied myself to memorise the important facts.
“I had just begun telling these two gentlemen here, but hadn’t got too far with it, so I’ll begin again for your sake, Miss Green. The deceased was found by a maid this morning at half-past five o’clock. She raised the alarm and reported it to her seniors, one of whom ran up to the Strand, where she eventually found a constable doi
ng his rounds. It wasn’t long before we received the summons at Bow Street. A doctor was also called, but it was already evident to the staff here that Mr Gallo was quite dead, and that nothing more could be done for him.
“He was found lying on his back with several injuries to his chest. We suspect that the injuries were inflicted with a knife, though we haven’t yet found the weapon. The police surgeon believes that two or three deep injuries to the man’s chest caused him to lose his life, but we will know more once the autopsy has been carried out. He also had injuries to his hands, which suggest that he attempted to defend himself.”
“Have you any idea how he ended up at the foot of the stairs?” asked Mr Blackstone. “Surely he should have been safely in his room at that hour. He told us all he was to sleep in the Venetian Suite last night.”
“He was dressed for bed in a pair of silk pyjamas,” replied the inspector. “It is our belief that he was chased from his suite and that the attacker caught up with him at the foot of the stairs. It is possible that he stumbled on the stairs as he tried to flee his attacker. He may have fallen, and then the culprit must have set upon him as he lay at the bottom of the staircase.”
“But how do you know that he was chased from his room?” I asked.
“Because that’s where the attacker struck first. That’s where we found the lady.”
“The lady?” I asked. “Which lady?”
“We can’t be certain yet, but we assume it’s his wife.”
“But that’s impossible,” said Mr Somers. “His wife and daughters are in Paris.”
“Are they? Do you know that for certain?”