by Simon Clark
‘How so?’
‘Recently, we’ve enjoyed the first days of hot sunshine this year. When I saw her G this morning I noticed that her hands had caught the sun.’
‘Really? How can a modicum of /colour point to a woman deceiving people?’
‘A housekeeper is conscious of her position. She would keep her hands covered by gloves in hot sunshine. To allow her hands to become reddened by the sun would be unthinkable to her. To her mind, she’d resemble a farm girl.’
‘Perhaps she forgot her gloves when she went for a stroll?’
‘Formidable women like Miss Groom forget nothing. No. I saw her hands this morning. They were reddened slightly by the sun. Yet she had a pale line here.’ Abberline held up his hand. ‘A pale mark on the third finger of her left hand.’
‘Then she wore a ring when she was outdoors?’
‘Miss Groom isn’t Miss Groom at all. At very least she is Mrs Groom. Yet for some reason she keeps the fact she is married a secret. This deception and her interest in the names on the blackboard are whispering to me that she’s implicated in the murders.’
‘What do you propose to do now?’
‘Confront Miss … or, rather, Mrs Groom.’
‘I’ll ring for her.’
‘No. If we summon her here she might guess that I know something, and she’ll be on her guard. What we need is the element of surprise – we must catch her off-guard.’
Thomas Lloyd and Inspector Abberline walked briskly along the corridor to the staircase and descended to the lower floor where there were laundry rooms, store rooms and an assortment of work places staffed by the servants of Newydd Hall. Maids hurried along corridors with baskets full of vegetables, piles of laundry and everything required for the smooth running of the Denby home.
Inspector Abberline asked the maids the same question, ‘Have you seen Miss Groom?’
There were startled shakes of the head. They were clearly alarmed that the great Scotland Yard detective needed to find the housekeeper with such breathless urgency.
‘Have you seen Miss Groom?’ he directed the question at a footman, carrying a tray of sherry decanters.
‘Not today, sir.’
A boy walked along the corridor, pulling a little cart behind him, laden with polished boots.
Abberline stopped the boy. ‘Have you seen Miss Groom recently?’
‘Last I time I seen her, she came flying down here, kicking out her skirts, and all red faced.’ The boy spoke with relish. ‘She ran through that cellar door, just like all the damned hounds of hell were biting at her heels.’
‘Thank you.’ Abberline headed for the door.
Thomas followed Abberline down the steps into a cavernous place of brick arches and dozens of shelves filled with canned food, and jar upon jar of preserved fruits and vegetables. Gas mantles had been turned down; they gave off a dim light that accentuated shadowy corners. A cat, with bright, yellow eyes, sat by a mouse hole in the woodwork. The feline watched the two men hurry by.
Thomas’s pulse raced. Electric shocks of excitement snapped along his limbs. Miss Groom? Part of the murder plot? Apparently so. Bit by bit, the Inspector is accumulating clues that suggest Miss Groom isn’t all that she first appeared.
They’d been hurrying through cellars linked by narrow passageways. A brighter light burned at the far end. Abberline, suddenly pausing, put his finger to his lips.
Has Miss Groom gone to ground here? Is she hiding herself way before she escapes the house altogether? Thomas longed to see the woman’s expression when Abberline accused her of slaying the Denby brothers. They approached the cellar room silently. When Abberline reached the door he stood perfectly still. From inside the room came the sound of a faint clink: glass on glass.
Abberline surged forward, thrusting the door open. Thomas followed.
A face looked up at them in shock. The mouth dropped open into a huge O-shape. The eyes went wide, too. A hand moved quickly, covering objects on a table with a towel.
Thomas memorized the scene for his newspaper report. There, sitting at a table, was a blond footman. This was Hassop. He’d admitted that several years ago he’d introduced Sir Alfred to a smuggler in Porthmadog. Now Hassop sat here in the cellar looking decidedly furtive. To go further, he was alarmed to have been found down here.
Abberline spoke quickly, ‘Hassop, I’m looking for Miss Groom. Have you seen her?’
When he realized he wasn’t the object of the policeman’s search he smiled that oily smile of his. ‘Not in a while, sir.’
‘When did you see her last?’
‘Oh … perhaps an hour ago. Maybe two.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t really say for sure.’
‘Where did you see her last?’ Abberline spoke politely; however, the fuse to the detective’s anger was already burning.
‘Down here. She’d come into this room for something or other.’
‘Your answers are vague, Hassop.’
‘I’ve just had a nap, sir. That must account for my vagueness. I was up working hard when most gentlemen were still lying in their beds.’ Hassop smirked. He enjoyed being unhelpful.
‘Tell me what Miss Groom wanted from down here.’
‘Like I said, sir. This and that.’
‘This and that?’ Abberline approached the footman. ‘Is this this and that?’
He plucked the towel from the table. A glass jar contained dark liquid; more dark liquid filled a wine glass. A cigar smouldered on a plate, while, lying on the table, were a dozen photographs the size of playing cards.
Hassop protested. ‘This is my personal property. I don’t give you permission to touch what’s mine.’
Thomas angled his head in order to examine the photographs. ‘Naked women? You spend your time down here ogling flesh?’
Abberline picked up the glass, sniffed it. ‘And drinking your master’s best port … and what’s this? Smoking his cigars?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You’ve stolen these, Hassop. If you don’t answer my questions fully, and in detail, I will have you thrown in gaoll. You’ll get six months’ hard labour for this.’
‘No … I-I-I—’ The smirk had gone. Hassop floundered.
‘When did you see Miss Groom last?’
The footman stammered – he was scared: ‘T-two hours ago.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He rose to his feet, wringing his hands in anguish. ‘She came down here to collect something from a bottle.’
‘Tell me exactly what she did after entering this room. And woe betide you if you try and make a fool of me.’
‘Miss Groom burst through that door. She was in a tearing hurry. She didn’t even speak to me. Anyway, she rushes to the cupboard – that one with the brass handle. She opens the door, takes the cork out of the blue bottle. Then she takes a small bottle from the pocket of her skirt. A tiny bottle, sir. She tips some of the liquid from the big bottle into the little one. Then she puts a stopper in the little bottle and tucks it back into her pocket. As she’s closing up the cupboard, I says to her: What’s all the rush for? She tells me she’s late for work upstairs in the master’s rooms. And – whoosh – off she goes.’ The footman’s eyes had a searching quality as he looked at Abberline. ‘Is that sufficient, sir?’ When Abberline didn’t reply Hassop’s nervousness increased. ‘You won’t tell the master, will you, sir? I’ll be sacked. The workhouse will be the end of me.’
‘Think very hard. Did Miss Groom do anything else? Say anything else?’
‘I-I don’t think so … you won’t tell the master … it’s such a little drop of port—’
‘Hassop.’ Abberline’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Take a deep breath … that’s it … now form a picture of Miss Groom in your mind. See her walking in here to the cupboard. Did she do anything that seemed strange, or unusual?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘She filled the little bottle from the big bottle. That’s al
l. Uh … wait, there was something. The way she moved was all in a rush, like she was late. She checked her watch. It’s one of those pinned to the blouse above the breast. So she had to lift the watch in order to see its face.’ He sounded pleased now he’d remembered this detail. ‘Miss Groom tut-tutted, because she noticed she’d got a dirty mark on her blouse. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and, even though she was late, she took a good moment or two to wipe the mark off the material – it showed up a lot, because the blouse was white.’
‘What kind of mark?’
‘Dust, I suppose.’ The footman shrugged. ‘Dust, that’s all.’
Thomas spoke up. ‘Does your master know about your taste in photographs, too?’
The man’s forehead became a mass of ridges as he thought hard. His eyes suddenly blazed in triumph. ‘The mark was green – bright green! Paint or chalk!’
Abberline’s eyes blazed, too, as he glanced at Thomas. ‘Miss Groom it is.’
With that, he crossed the vault to where cupboards lined the wall. He opened the one with the brass handle to reveal a blue bottle standing there. Abberline read the label. Then he pulled out the cork and held the bottle to his nose. Instantly, he recoiled, his eyes watering. ‘Camphor.’ He replaced the bottle and shut the door.
‘Camphor? Miss Groom used that to soak the masks she made for us when we opened the grave.’
Abberline’s eyes were on fire. ‘There’s no time to lose, Thomas! There is to be another murder!’
‘Murder?’ Thomas followed Abberline through the cellar at a run. ‘Miss Groom is planning to kill William Denby?’
‘No! It’s not William who is going to be the victim … it’s his daughter. Groom is going to murder Edith!’
Thomas followed Abberline out of the cellar. They immediately raced toward a flight of stairs that would take them to the upper floor where William Denby lived with his family.
Abberline panted, ‘You see the sequence of events today, don’t you? When we were out hunting Cavalli, Miss Groom took her chance. She unlocked the office door in order to confirm that Leonard Guntersson’s name was really there, and to find out what was written on the blackboard beside it. She touched the letters, getting chalk dust on her fingers. When she looked at the watch pinned to her blouse some of the green chalk transferred from her fingers to the fabric.’
‘But what’s her motive? Why is she killing the Denby brothers?’
‘That’s what I still need to find out. Now let’s hope that we’re not too late.’
Abberline didn’t knock on the apartment door. Pushing it open, he swept along the corridor. ‘William? Mrs Denby?’
A maid appeared at a doorway, white with shock. ‘Oh, goodness! What’s wrong?’
‘Where’s your mistress?’
‘Mrs Denby is with Edith.’
‘Which room?’
‘That one, sir.’
Abberline ran toward the door, flung it open, and entered the bedroom. Edith lay on the bed. She struggled for breath, her forehead damp with perspiration. Every intake of air had become a grim battle for her. Mrs Denby held a spoon to the girl’s lips.
‘No!’ shouted Abberline. ‘Don’t give her that – it’s poison!’
Mrs Denby gasped with shock. ‘Inspector? This is Edith’s medicine. The doctor gave it to her. It’s the only thing that will save her life.’
‘No, Mrs Denby, it will kill her.’
Abberline picked up the brown bottle from the bedside table.
Meanwhile, Edith turned her head slightly at the sound of the commotion. She muttered softly, ‘Mother … I cannot breathe.’
Abberline studied the bottle’s label. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s a remedy to help Edith breathe,’ Mrs Denby explained. ‘It clears her lungs.’
Abberline sniffed the open bottle. Its smell made him flinch. ‘There’s camphor in this.’
‘I believe it’s one of the ingredients.’
‘Camphor is present in only tiny quantities in medicine. This smells incredibly strongly of the stuff.’
‘That may be, Inspector, but Edith has taken this medicine for years.’
‘Was Miss Groom here earlier?’
‘Yes, she put fresh linen on the bed.’
‘She was alone in the bedroom?’
‘For a while, yes. Why? What’s wrong, Inspector?’
‘In small quantities, camphor can be used medicinally, in larger quantities, it is a poison.’
‘A poison? I don’t understand.’
‘Symptoms of camphor poisoning are quickening of the heartbeat. Also, the victim’s breathing becomes much slower. Both symptoms together are debilitating. The victim grows progressively weaker. Do those symptoms match those of Edith’s?’
Mrs Denby stroked Edith’s forehead, trying to soothe the girl. ‘Yes, those are the symptoms … but she does have a lung complaint.’
‘What triggered this attack, Mrs Denby, is an excess of camphor in the medicine. Miss Groom added it to the bottle when she was alone in this room. The woman is trying to harm your daughter.’
‘Oh, my dear God.’
Abberline called the nurse to the room. ‘Go to Dr Penrhyn – he’s in a building by the stable block – tell him that Edith Denby is suffering from camphor poisoning. We need him here at once if he is to save this child’s life.’
The nurse hurried away to fetch the doctor. Thomas Lloyd knew that Dr Penrhyn would still be finalizing his experiments on the disinterred corpse of Joshua Denby, the brother slain by arsenic. Now the doctor’s skill would be put to the ultimate test: to save the life of a human being. He gazed at Edith lying there on the bed. The child’s skin was wet from perspiration. The simple act of drawing air into her lungs had become an ordeal. She was exhausted. Her eyelids fluttered, her lips turned blue. The ten year old was barely conscious. Her mother dabbed her forehead with a cloth while murmuring reassurances.
Abberline beckoned a maid who stood at the threshold to the bedroom. ‘Guard the doorway to the apartment. Don’t let Miss Groom in here. If necessary, do whatever it takes to keep her out.’
Thomas said, ‘Inspector, I’ll stay here in case Groom comes back.’
‘No, I need you with me. The maid can bolt the door after we’ve gone.’ Abberline’s sense of urgency crackled in the air. Here was man with a mission – a matter of life and death. He didn’t want to waste a second. ‘Mrs Denby, where is William?’
‘I told him not to do it.’ The woman was in tears. ‘He’s so headstrong. I’m terrified it will be too much for poor Edith.’
‘What’s he going to do?’
‘He’s preparing one of the balloons. He intends to carry Edith up where the air is clear. He says altitude alone, will clear her lungs … oh, Inspector, the notion frightens me. I fear it will be the death of my daughter.’
‘Mrs Denby, Dr Penrhyn is Edith’s best chance of life. Tell him that she has been poisoned, and that he should administer an antidote for an excess of camphor. Also, tell him that your housekeeper added the camphor to Edith’s medicine.’
‘Yes, Inspector. I understand.’
‘I will tell William that Miss Groom is a poisoner, and must be found.’ He nodded at the maid. ‘Close the door after us. Be sure to drive home the bolts, because Miss Groom still has her keys.’
When they were on the other side of the apartment door, and heard the bolts snap shut, Abberline appeared satisfied that Mrs Denby and her daughter would be safe for now. He hurried downstairs with Thomas at his side.
Thomas Lloyd realized that today had been the most remarkable day of his life. What’s more, instinct told him that this extraordinary drama wasn’t over yet.
The yard at the back of the house was a whirl of activity. Soldiers ran to the large shed where the balloon was housed. More soldiers hauled a cable across the lawn. William Denby gestured wildly, urging the men to move faster. Thomas thought: This is a father striving to save his daughter. He will move heaven and eart
h to make her well again.
Yet beyond this vortex of running, shouting, gesturing men were sunlit hills. The forest appeared serene – not a breath of wind blew. Thomas even caught the pleasant scent of lilac blossom on the air. The natural world was at peace. It was only the world of Humanity that had catapulted itself into a hullabaloo of wild frenzy.
LAUNCH THE BALLOON! SAVE THE GIRL’S LIFE! Thomas could almost hear the thoughts of those dozens of men beating the air, just as a drumstick pounds a drum. Colonel Brampton ran to meet Abberline and Thomas as they crossed the yard. The officer’s jacket flapped open, he appeared almost dishevelled. His eyes were wide with bewilderment.
‘Gentlemen!’ shouted Brampton – anxiety flashed in his eyes rather than anger. ‘Can you persuade William to stop this madness? He plans to carry his sick daughter high above the Earth. He will kill her!’
Thomas said, ‘William believes that the purity of the air will cure her lungs.’
‘Yes … but, dash it all, man, these are military airships. They’re not flying sick beds.’
Abberline moved briskly. ‘I need to speak to William.’
‘God help you, he listens to no one!’
‘His daughter has been poisoned. Miss Groom added more camphor to the girl’s medicine.’
Brampton stared at Abberline in utter shock. ‘Miss Groom has tried to kill the girl?’
Thomas asked, ‘Have you seen Miss Groom?’
‘No, not recently. Good grief. The Prince of Wales is coming here next week. I must report all this to my commanding officer.’
Abberline spoke drily: ‘What your commanding officer will or won’t say is the least of our troubles.’
Brampton ran his hands across his scalp, clearly at a loss.
Abberline turned to Thomas. ‘See those sentries over there by the fence? Ask them if they’ve seen Miss Groom, will you? The sooner I arrest that woman the better.’