Miss Gardiner bustled out to find the necessary documents and the three women looked at each other in disbelief.
“Well, I don’t know about you girls but I shall feel in need of a good bath when I get home,” declared Lady Maud. “All this exposure to the seamier side of life has left me feeling distinctly grubby.”
“I had no idea,” murmured Victoria. “I feel I must have a look at the Factories Act when I get home and see what can be done about the legislation.”
“And I must have a word with the Board of the Women’s Hospital and see if we can’t get together a team to visit these factories. I’ve read about the cases of TNT poisoning that are springing up.”
“And what does that do to one, Caroline?” asked Lady Maud, with a look that made it clear she knew that the answer was going to be unpleasant.
“The nitric acid in TNT powder turns the skin yellow and, if the exposure is prolonged, it can cause anemia, liver and spleen enlargement, and I shouldn’t be surprised if it caused infertility or birth defects.”
“I do wish I hadn’t asked,” Lady Maud murmured, setting down her tea and looking rather queasy.
Miss Gardiner returned with a sheaf of papers and asked Caroline if she would sign a book before taking them.
“Has your research noted any incidence of birth defects among women in the munitions industry?” Caroline asked.
“Not yet,” Miss Gardiner responded. “Because most of the men are away, we haven’t had much incidence of pregnancy among the workers. But we do have concern, obviously, over the number of women who are allowed to breastfeed their infants during their lunch break. The grandmothers bring the babies to the factory gates,” she added by way of explanation. “Sometimes, my ladies have reported as many as fifty babies being fed outside. Obviously, the breast milk must be tainted, wouldn’t you think?”
Caroline nodded in resigned agreement, her resolve hardening.
Lady Maud rose abruptly and thanked Miss Gardiner for her hospitality. “We must be on our way now,” she said firmly. “We have much work to do.”
“Of course.” Miss Gardiner opened the door. “We shall distribute your photographs as quickly as we can, ladies, and, rest assured, we shall scour the city for your young servant.”
Lady Maud drew a deep breath, once they were all out in the fresh air. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I can only take so much human misery in one day. I felt the need for some air and now I feel the need for a brandy. We must head for the nearest hotel.” With that, she marched briskly toward Victoria Station and the comfort of the salon in the Grosvenor Hotel. A bemused porter was left in charge of the empty perambulator, as Lady Maud led the party toward some deep armchairs and called over a waiter.
Once the drinks had been delivered, Lady Maud took a large mouthful of brandy and fanned herself with the dining menu. “Thank goodness it is no longer considered bad form for women to order a drink in a hotel! Mind you,” she added, “I do feel as though I am, at this very moment, contributing to the decline of polite society.”
Caroline and Victoria laughed.
Lady Maud, however, was not amused. “Seriously, girls—” she looked at them both with a worried expression on her face “—where will this all end? This war appears to have opened a chasm in the moral fabric of the country! Young girls engaged in amateur—” she looked around and lowered her voice “—prostitution … not to mention those girls who appear to have no compunction about giving away their favors for no monetary reward. One can only hope that the German Navy doesn’t cut off our supply of rubber from Malaysia, otherwise we shall have an horrific population explosion!”
Realizing what she had just said, she then burst into laughter herself. “Good Lord! Victoria, your father would turn in his grave if he could see me now—ordering strong drink in a hotel and discussing sex! And what about the Commandant and her Assistant? Poor Lady Walsingham … to have a daughter who shaves her head and wears a monocle. How awkward.”
“Well, mother, you have certainly experienced a vignette of modern life today, haven’t you? Victoria smiled sympathetically.
“I should think I have! And I’m very worried about you two girls having to deal with it all the time. Especially you, Caroline. All these awful medical conditions caused by immorality and war. Not something I would care to have to cope with.”
“Well …” Caroline clutched the sheaf of WSPP reports to her chest “… I suppose the scientist in me finds it all rather fascinating but I do agree that this war may throw more health problems at the medical profession than was ever dreamed of twenty years ago. The trouble is that doctors are just not prepared for modern warfare and all its brutality. We are just beginning to get the wounded back from the second battle at Ypres with gas poisoning. The Germans are beginning to use it on a wholesale basis and the effects are horrific. I hear that we still haven’t issued our army with proper anti-gas masks …”
“No … no more!” Lady Maud interrupted emphatically. “I can’t take any more horror today! We shall now repair to the dining room and have some lunch, and I forbid any conversation about anything other than fashion, the Royal Family and babies. Are we quite clear?”
“Absolutely!” Caroline and Victoria said in unison as Lady Maud rose and imperiously summoned the Head Waiter to show them to a table.
CHAPTER 11
No sooner had Beech arrived at his desk than a constable appeared with an urgent message from the Murcheson house. “Please come at once. Your constable is gravely ill,” the message read, and Beech noted that the time on the message was just five minutes ago. He lost no time in summoning a police car to drive him with all possible speed to Belgravia. There he was met by a distraught cook who informed him, between sobs, that she had been unable to rouse Constable Eastman all morning and he was still, seemingly, unconscious, “if not worse!” she wailed. “We let him sleep in this morning because he said he would stay awake during the night, in case Dodds came back. But Esme took him a cup of tea at lunchtime and she couldn’t rouse him. Lordy, haven’t we had enough death in this house, sir?” she continued in some distress as Beech made his way down to Dodds’ room, off the kitchen.
Eastman was lying on the bed, still in his trousers, shirt, and braces. Whatever had overcome him was swift and happened before he had time to undress. Beech was able to discern some faint, shallow breathing, and an odor. Of what? Pears? Unhesitatingly, he grabbed the telephone and dialed the exchange, requesting an ambulance with the utmost urgency.
By now, there was a little huddle of tearful female staff in the doorway. “Will he live, sir?” asked a tremulous Esme.
“It may be touch and go,” answered Beech, as he replaced the receiver. “The constable appears to have been poisoned.”
The cook shrieked her distress. “It weren’t nothing I gave him, sir! We all ate the same mutton pie with treacle pudding for afters and we’re all alright.”
Beech looked stern. “You’re quite sure about that? There was nothing that Constable Eastman ate or drank that was different from all of you?”
“Well, he did have five mugs of cocoa, sir,” said the parlormaid, Anne, in a timid voice.
“But we all had a mug, too,” Esme pointed out. “It was just that the constable said he loved cocoa and he always drank lots of it.”
“Where is this cocoa?” asked Beech. Esme pointed to a shelf behind him.
“It’s Mr Dodds’ special blend, sir,” she said. “He said he gave it to the master, God rest his soul. He said that a good mug of cocoa always helped people sleep.”
“And it does, too, sir,” added the cook, drying her eyes on her apron. “I never used to sleep well at all until Mr Dodds shared his special cocoa with us.”
Beech opened the tin and sniffed the cocoa powder gingerly. “Well, it smells like cocoa but I suspect it has something in it that has caused the constable to be taken ill. That would probably explain, too, why you all slept through the night of the murder and did not hear Lady Ha
rriet or her husband screaming.”
Cook looked horrified. “Do you mean to say that that awful Mr Dodds has been drugging us every night?”
“Well, yes. It would seem so.”
The ambulance bell could suddenly be heard in the distance and Beech screwed up the lid of the cocoa jar and motioned the women to make way.
“I can’t lift Eastman up; he’s a dead weight. He’ll have to be stretchered. Ladies, I suggest you make yourself scarce, so that the ambulance men can have ready access.”
“But, sir, what about our protection? We shall be even more afraid of Dodds coming back … now that we know he’s capable of anything.” Cook looked as though she was about to start crying again.
“Well, Constable Rigsby will have to stay here tonight, until I can find a replacement. Will that suit you, ladies?” There were general smiles and murmurs of relief all round as Beech left to instruct the ambulance crew.
* * *
Caroline arrived at the Women’s Hospital feeling sluggish and bloated after the large lunch forced upon her in the Grosvenor Hotel by Lady Maud.
At least I won’t have to worry about eating this evening, she thought gratefully, as she unlocked her consulting room and started her preparations for ward rounds.
She was just buttoning up her white coat when a flustered Beech arrived.
“Hello, old thing,” he said distractedly and brandished a tin of cocoa at her.
“It’s a little early for cocoa, isn’t it, Peter?” she said dryly. “It’s only two-thirty in the afternoon.”
“Ah, yes. The cocoa. Look, the constable I installed at the Murcheson house appears to have been poisoned …”
“Good Lord!”
“… yes. And the cocoa would appear to be the culprit. I was wondering if your pharmacist lady might be able to do some tests?”
Caroline smiled. “Mabel would love to do that. Come with me.”
She walked briskly down the corridor, Beech trailing behind her, and informed the receptionist that she was taking the Chief Inspector through to the pharmacy. It was down in the bowels of the building and, as usual, the ever-busy Mabel was peering down a microscope and making some notes.
“Mabel! I’ve brought Chief Inspector Beech to see you,” Caroline announced and Mabel looked up expectantly.
“Pleased to meet you, Chief Inspector,” she said breezily. “I won’t shake your hand at the moment, though. I’m just dealing with some tuberculosis bacterium.”
“Er … I quite understand,” said Beech, suddenly feeling outnumbered by very intelligent women who made him feel rather inadequate.
“Mabel,” Caroline said cheerily, “Peter has a suspected poisoning case he needs some help with.”
Mabel looked as though someone had brought her a box of chocolates. “Splendid!” she exclaimed. “Let me just wash and disinfect my hands and I’ll be right with you.”
While she was preparing herself, Beech explained the situation.
“I’ve just had to hospitalize one of my constables who was found in a stupor having consumed five mugs of cocoa last night. The cocoa was a special concoction of a man, who is now on the run, and he was giving it to the staff of the house where he worked, so that they would sleep soundly at night. I was hoping you might be able to tell me what’s in this tin.”
He placed the tin of cocoa on Mabel’s workbench, and she opened it carefully and sniffed.
“Definitely cocoa,” she said with a grin, “but I do detect a slightly acrid undertone,” she added, as though appraising fine wine. “Let’s have a proper look.” Taking a long-handled spoon, she carefully scooped a little of the powder on to a glass slide and deftly slid it under her microscope. “Did you notice any odors from the body?” she asked.
“Yes!” Beech remembered swiftly. “Like pears, or some sort of fruit?”
“Chloral hydrate!” said Caroline and Mabel together.
Mabel peered into her microscope. “Yes, it looks as though it’s chloral hydrate mixed in with the cocoa. I can see some colorless globules. Is your constable a big man?”
“Yes,” said Beech, “about six feet two but not stocky. I’m told he’s a fast runner, so he’s on the thin side, if you understand me. Will he live?” Beech asked anxiously.
“I would think so,” answered Mabel, “but I can’t be certain. It depends on the state of his liver and kidneys. He must have ingested—let’s see …” she looked at the instructions on the tin “… three heaped teaspoons per cup, so that’s fifteen heaped teaspoons … my guess is around 10 grams of chloral hydrate, which can be a fatal dose but probably not enough to kill a big man. How long had he been unconscious?”
“At least fourteen hours, I understand.”
“Ah, well, he should be fine. Deaths from overdose usually occur within eight hours or less.” She peered in the microscope again. “Plus the fact that the man who mixed the chloral hydrate with the cocoa used Dutch processed cocoa, where it has been washed with potassium carbonate, which makes the cocoa darker and almost alkaline, as opposed to unprocessed cocoa, which is very acidic. Chloral hydrate can begin to degrade in potency when it comes into contact with alkalines, so it may actually have lost a little of its strength lying in the tin with the processed cocoa.” She looked satisfied and smiled at Beech. “Your man should live providing, as I said, he has a healthy liver and kidneys, but he could have prolonged vomiting or diarrhea when he comes round, so I should warn the hospital to turn him on his side while he’s still unconscious. Oh, and tell them not to bother with a stomach pump. He will have metabolized the chloral hydrate hours ago.”
“I’ll phone them,” volunteered Caroline. “Where is he? Charing Cross?”
Beech nodded and turned to Mabel. “Thank you … er …”
“Mabel …” she gently reminded him.
“Thank you, Mabel. I really appreciate your assistance. That was very impressive.” Beech offered his hand.
“Anytime,” said Mabel. “I mean that. I enjoy analysis. Feel free to contact me anytime.”
“I may just hold you to that,” Beech answered, shaking Mabel’s hand with sincere appreciation.
“Oh, by the way, Caroline,” Mabel added, “I did some more tests on your sample of heroin. It was mixed with hydrated magnesium silicate and cornstarch … in other words, talcum powder. Which means it is definitely adulterated by criminals, not a pharmacy.”
“Why do you say, that, Mabel? asked Beech, curiously.
“A pharmacist would never use talc in one of their powders. Not for any moral reason, I hasten to add—some of the disreputable chemists use far worse adulterants—but just because talc is not soluble in water and leaves a greasy film of powder on a glass. Most chemists produce powders that are supposed to be dissolved in a glass of liquid. No, the heroin I tested was meant to be sniffed and that is the favorite method of application on the streets.”
“Thank you, Mabel.” Caroline flashed her a grateful smile.
“Yes, thank you indeed, Mabel. Most helpful.” Beech was truly impressed.
As Caroline and Beech made their way back to the front door, he said quietly, “That lady could be a very useful addition to our team.”
Caroline laughed softly. “Mabel would love that. Really she would. Shall I invite her round for tea one day and we can offer her membership?”
Beech smiled. “Once we have this case done and dusted, and we have the tacit approval from the Commissioner to continue, I think that would be a very good idea.” He pecked Caroline on the cheek. “I shall see you later.”
“Much later,” she answered. “I’m working the night shift.”
“Ah. Much later then.” And off he went, clutching his tin of cocoa.
* * *
Billy and Tollman were seated on an omnibus on their way to Holborn. From there, they would walk through to Clerkenwell and the Anglo-Italian Club, where they hoped to find the leader of the Sabini Gang.
“How old are your daughters then, Mr Tollma
n?”
Arthur gave a wry smile. “Eighteen, nineteen and twenty. A widower’s nightmare, lad, I can tell you.”
Billy’s interest was piqued. “Oh. How’s that then?”
Arthur looked at him sideways and laughed. “Use your imagination, lad! Three females, all of marriageable age, all with plenty to say for themselves. I tell you, lad, I find chasing villains a rest from home life!”
Billy laughed. “Garn! It can’t be that bad.”
Arthur sighed. “Billy, I know you are fond of the ladies and have a way with them but try and imagine being my age, sitting down of an evening, just wanting a bit of peace and quiet and a read of the evening paper - but I don’t get the chance. All I get is an earache from the constant chatter of three spirited females—and that’s on a good day; on a bad day it can be constant squabbling!”
Billy found it impossible to put himself in Arthur’s shoes and replied, “I dunno, they sound like fun, your daughters. Are they courting?”
Arthur made a face. “Now and then,” was the enigmatic reply. He decided to enlarge upon that point. “What I mean is that the oldest one gets a gentleman friend, who comes a-calling on a Sunday—which means I can’t relax and lounge around in my shirtsleeves and slippers. No, I have to put a jacket on and make polite conversation with some gormless youth while having some artificial meal called ‘high tea.’ Then, the two younger daughters take a fancy to said gormless youth and start making eyes at him, thus causing the oldest one to take umbrage, and said youth is sent packing so that the three daughters can have a barney that lasts until Sunday bedtime. It’s purgatory, lad. A never-ending purgatory.”
Billy laughed. “You should invite me round for this high tea, Mr Tollman.”
“Never in a million years, lad. Never in a million years.”
Billy’s face fell. “Why? Wouldn’t you want me as a prospective son-in-law, then?” He seemed genuinely affronted as Tollman shook his head.
“Billy, lad, I would like nothing more than if a strapping, reliable lad like you took one of my daughters off my hands but someone as handsome as you would be torn limb from limb before you raised that first salmon sandwich to your lips. Once my daughters got an eyeful of you, you’d be mincemeat. Trust me. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”
Murder in Belgravia Page 11