The Inventor

by Emily Organ

  “Oh dear. Let’s hope he hasn’t been cruel to her about it in that case,” said Eliza.

  “He doesn’t seem to be a very pleasant man. I think she would have been better off staying with Borthwick. Actually, on second thoughts I don’t think she would have been.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think she would have been wise to choose a different man entirely. Oh look, the curtain’s about to go up again.”

  I felt relieved that this slightly evasive conversation had been brought to an end.

  We left the theatre shortly after sunset and it was dark by the time I got out of my cab on Milton Street. As I climbed the steps up to Mrs Garnett’s front door I caught sight of a figure standing under a gas lamp further along the street. As I stopped and stared I saw that it was a woman.

  Was it the woman in grey again?

  She stood facing me, as if she wanted me to see her there. Did she want to talk to me? I descended the steps and began walking up the street towards her. But as I did so she stepped out of the pool of light beneath the lamp and into the darkness.

  “Wait!” I called out.

  There was no reply.

  I quickened my step, hoping to catch up with her. I caught a glimpse of her under the next gas lamp as she ran across the bridge that straddled the railway lines. I also began to run, crossing the bridge just as the train beneath it blew a great plume of smoke and steam into the night sky.

  The brewery was ahead of us on the left of Milton Street, but I knew that there was a maze of narrow passageways on the right which someone could easily escape down. Predictably, the woman turned right into a covered walkway. It wasn’t a place I wished to find myself in after dark, but I needed to find out what she was doing there.

  I followed her into Hanover Court and slowed to a walk as I could barely see anything in the dark. The cobbles were uneven beneath my feet and only a dim light glowed from a curtained window. There was an unpleasant damp smell, which often seemed to lurk in narrow, hidden places such as this.

  My heart thudded in my throat.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  I felt sure that I could hear footsteps up ahead.

  I continued walking, holding my hands out in front of me in case I bumped into something. A passageway opened up to my right and I could see a faint light at the end of it.

  I had lost her.

  I turned into the passageway and stumbled towards the light. I discovered that it led to Moor Lane, a street which ran parallel to Milton Street. There were a few people standing around but none that I recognised as the woman in grey.

  I turned right, and a swaying drunk lurched up to me.

  “’Ow much?” he asked.

  I pushed him away, then ran down the street and back over the railway lines again.

  The woman had completely disappeared.

  I walked past The Greyhound public house and its neighbouring police station. I paused outside the doors of the station, wondering whether to report the woman.

  But was the woman who had been watching me actually committing a crime?

  Deciding that a police officer probably wouldn’t be interested in helping me, I walked home, turning right into Fore Street and right again into Milton Street. It had been a fruitless chase.

  As I climbed the steps to Mrs Garnett’s house for the second time that evening I noticed something had been written on the front door in white. It seemed to be chalk, and I could only just make it out in the gloom.

  Stay away!

  I shuddered and spun around, searching for the woman. But there was no sign of her or anyone else. I turned back to the door and rubbed at the writing with my hand. The chalk came away easily, but while I was still halfway through the task the door swung open.

  “Oh, it’s you, Miss Green!” said Mrs Garnett. “I’ve heard all sorts of strange noises out here this evening.” She glanced at the powdery chalk on my hand and dress, then looked at the door. “Goodness gracious! What are you doing to my door?”

  “Trying to clean it, Mrs Garnett.”

  Part of the writing remained.

  “Oh no, it’s begun again,” sighed Mrs Garnett.

  “Again? What do you mean?”

  “This happened a long time ago when Hercules was still alive. People used to write all sorts of things on our door because we were negroes.”

  “No, it’s not that this time. It was directed at me,” I said. “I even saw the woman who did it!”

  “Then why didn’t you stop her?”

  “I didn’t catch her in the act of writing on the door. She was watching me over there under the lamp, so I gave chase but lost sight of her. While I was looking around for her she must have returned and written this.”

  “What’s it supposed to say?”

  “’Stay away.’ It’s to do with my work. Please don’t worry; it’s nothing.”

  Mrs Garnett sucked her lip. “It’s not nothing. It may only be chalk, but she could have scratched the paintwork on my door. Stop rubbing it with your hand, Miss Green! I’ll fetch some water and a cloth. Is it something to do with that letter I received?”

  “It might be, I can’t be sure, I’m afraid.”

  She tutted. “Get inside and go up to your room. You’ll need to clean the chalk off your hands and dress.”

  “I’ll stay and clean up the door first.”

  “No, I’ll do that. I want it done properly.”

  Chapter 35

  I received a telegram from James asking me to meet him at the Borthwick family’s law firm in Berkeley Square.

  I travelled by omnibus and found the premises on the west side of the square. The company name, Newbolt & Dimsdale, was etched onto a brass plaque beside a polished black door.

  “Penny!” James greeted me inside a high-ceilinged room with two tall windows looking out over the square. Several piles of papers and a pot of coffee sat on a large table at the centre of the room.

  “Hello, James. I can’t stay long, I’m afraid,” I sat down at the table. “I have to write an article about the death of Alexander, the Prince of Orange.”

  “That is sad news.”

  “He died from typhus fever. He was only thirty-two.”

  “Such a young age. I shan’t detain you for long in that case.”

  “Are you wearing a new suit?”

  My question appeared to startle James and he looked down at his suit as if he had only just noticed that he was wearing it.

  “As a matter of fact, it is, Penny.” He smiled.

  “You look very smart in it.”

  “Thank you. And you look very umm, fetching in your, umm blouse and—”

  “There’s no need to return the compliment James!” I laughed.

  “No, I see. Very fetching, though.” He cleared his throat. “Can I pour you some coffee?”

  “Thank you.”

  “As you can see, I managed to obtain permission from Simon Borthwick’s family to look at his papers,” said James. “I’ve had a quick read through some of these. There is rather a lot of engineering speak in the letters, but the long and short of it is that there has been a dispute over a feature of the incandescent lamp which Borthwick patented. Maynell was demanding financial compensation for an idea which Borthwick supposedly stole and Borthwick was refusing to pay it.”

  He slid a cup of coffee across the table to me.

  “Does Maynell use any threatening language?” I asked.

  “Not particularly, no, but it’s rather hostile, as you’ll see. And I have found a few photos,” said James, passing them to me. “I don’t know what Borthwick looked like, but you met him, didn’t you?”

  I nodded and examined a photo of him standing next to a generator. He wore a frock coat with a wide velvet collar and the customary floral buttonhole.

  “Yes, that’s him all right,” I replied. “And I’d say the photograph was taken fairly recently, too.”

  “There are a few more here,” said James, passing them to m
e.

  Borthwick was pictured on his own, then with some of his colleagues – I recognised Jack Copeland – and there were four photographs in which he was pictured with a serious-looking young man with a heavy brow, spectacles and a slightly receding chin. I laid the photographs out on the table and placed the latter four in a separate pile.

  “I don’t recognise this man he’s with,” I said. “I don’t suppose you know who he is?”

  “I have no idea,” replied James. “Perhaps it’s Richard Geller? I think we need to go and ask Mr Kurtz to confirm it.”

  As I leafed through some of the papers on the table I told James about the woman in grey.

  “You should have called in at Moor Lane police station as you passed by and reported it.”

  “But they couldn’t have arrested her for standing under a lamp and watching me!”

  “If you’d told them about her presence in the reading room and at the theatre they might have decided she was worth talking to. Mind you, they may not have been much help. Moor Lane is a City of London police station after all,” he said with mock derision.

  I laughed. “Well, whoever she is I have no doubt that Jeffrey Maynell is behind all of it. If he’s writing unpleasant letters and telling people to follow me about, perhaps he did the same to Simon Borthwick.”

  “He may well have done. And perhaps he also murdered Richard Geller.”

  “Could Jeffrey Maynell be a murderer?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t have a particularly pleasant manner, does he?”

  “Perhaps you could question him again.”

  “I think I will need to.”

  “I’ve asked Mr Edwards to find out more information about Jeffrey Maynell. I’ll let you know as soon as he’s finished doing so. He is usually quite thorough.”

  “I’m sure he will be. Is this a service reading room clerks routinely offer?”

  “Not routinely, no.”

  “It’s the sort of thing they do for their friends, I suppose.”

  “It is, yes. He has been quite helpful since he was sent one of those malicious letters.”

  “Mr Edwards is always helpful where you’re concerned, Penny.”

  “To be honest with you, James, I’m surprised he is still helpful having read that letter. There were a few upsetting things in it.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’d rather not say. It’s embarrassing.”

  “You can tell me.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it concerns you.”

  “Then I have a right to know!”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes! Come on, now. Tell me what it said.”

  “There is no truth in it, of course. And please don’t pass it on to the future Mrs Blakely because people can be very sensitive about these matters.”

  “What did it say, Penny?” He took a sip of coffee.

  I took a deep breath and raised my eyes to the ceiling. “It advised Mr Edwards to consider marrying me, but implied that my friendship with you might have raised questions in his mind.”

  I paused for a while before feeling brave enough to look James in the eye again.

  He frowned. “I see. And why should that be embarrassing?”

  “It suggests that there is something untoward about our friendship.”

  “But there isn’t.”

  “No, I know that. It’s a friendship between professional colleagues, nothing more. We don’t meet socially because you are engaged to be married.”

  “And you’re not far off it yourself from the sound of things.”

  “I am a long way off it! Mr Edwards is merely an acquaintance.”

  “Even though you’re terrified that he might ask you to marry him?”

  “Oh, that. I was mistaken on that front. The unpleasant letter he received suggested he marry me so that he could stop me from working as a news reporter.”

  “I can perfectly imagine how you’d feel about that!” He laughed.

  “Mr Edwards has assured me that he would never ask me to stop pursuing my profession.”

  James stopped smiling. “Has he, indeed? That’s reassurance for you, then.”

  “Not that I need any reassurance, because I would never consider marrying him.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You have often told me that one of the reasons you haven’t married is that a husband would stop you from working. Now you have the prospect of a husband who would allow you to work.”

  “But I have no wish to marry Mr Edwards.”

  “So what is the nature of your relationship?”

  “We are acquaintances.”

  “You’re acquaintances with Mr Edwards and I’m your professional colleague.”

  “Yes, like Edgar Fish.”

  James almost spat out his mouthful of coffee.

  “Are you comparing me to Fish now? Have I really dropped so low in your estimation?”

  We both laughed, but my heart ached. I wished I could tell James how I really felt about him, but with his wedding only two months away I knew there was no use in broaching the subject.

  Chapter 36

  James and I sat at the table in the law offices and continued to read through Simon Borthwick’s papers and correspondence.

  “Now I can see what Jeffrey Maynell’s handwriting is like,” I said. “And it doesn’t match the writing on any of the anonymous letters.”

  “Except one,” said James.

  “No. It doesn’t match any of them.”

  James gave a slight cough. “There’s another letter.”

  “Another one?” I felt puzzled. “One that I haven’t yet seen”

  “Yes.”

  “Addressed to whom?”

  “It was sent to me, Penny.” He turned to face me, his blue eyes apologetic.

  I felt a burn of anger in my chest. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “It is a horrible letter. You won’t want to read it.”

  “Do you have it with you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I brought it here for the purpose of comparing the handwriting, and it seems that I have found a match.”

  “I would like to see it.”

  “Penny, please. You mustn’t.”

  “I’ve read all the others.”

  “It will upset you.”

  “It won’t! I’ve coped with far worse in the past. Please show it to me, James.”

  “Penny…”

  “What are you trying to protect me from?”

  “Hurtful remarks which bear no element of truth.”

  “And you think I have never encountered such untruths before? I wish to see it.”

  James sighed and reached into his pocket.

  “I can’t believe you hid it from me! I trusted that you would tell me about a matter such as this.”

  He retrieved an envelope and slowly held it out.

  “Penny, can I ask you one last time not to read it? It’s hurtful and was written purely to upset you. There are some things it is better to remain ignorant of.”

  I thought of the letter which had been sent to Mr Edwards and how it had momentarily upset me as we stood in Russell Square. Surely the letter James had been sent couldn’t be any worse.

  I held out my hand and took it. “I don’t need you deciding what will and won’t upset me, James. I can look after myself. The letter was written about me and I have a right to read it.”

  He got up from his chair and walked over to the window while I read the note.

  Inspector Blakely

  A detective of your calibre should know better than to associate with a woman like Miss Penelope Green. She is a nosey ink-slinger who insists on poking her proboscis into matters which don’t concern her. I’m unsure why the Morning Express insists on employing her. Perhaps its editor keeps her as his concubine. That is certainly a profession to which she is more suited judging by the manner in
which she conducts herself around a man who is engaged to be married.

  With little skill or talent to her name, Miss Green clearly relies on her feminine wiles to succeed. I’m surprised that you haven’t realised this yet. Perhaps you should observe how she plays the reading room clerk off against yourself. The woman is only interested in furthering her own interests, and she will use whatever means she can to get there.

  You should stay well away from her if you wish to have a happy marriage, Inspector Blakely.

  I felt a heavy sensation in my chest as I finished reading. I laid the letter on the table and looked through the photographs of Simon Borthwick again, as if unaffected by what I had just read. I understood now why James had tried to keep the letter a secret from me.

  He turned away from the window and regarded me.

  “I hope you know that there isn’t an ounce of truth in what you’ve just read,” he said. “It seems Jeffrey Maynell is a bitter and vindictive man.”

  I realised that I would emit a loud sob if I tried to speak.

  I nodded, cleared my throat and wished that my eyes didn’t well up quite so easily.

  “It’s upset you, hasn’t it, Penny?” said James. “I knew it would. No one could read something like that and not be upset. Curse that man!”

  He strode over and snatched the letter away from me.

  “Don’t destroy it,” I said in a cracked voice. “We need to keep it.” A tear rolled down my cheek.

  “Curse him!” James said again.

  He scrunched the letter up into a ball and dropped to his knees beside my chair. He put an arm around my shoulders and wiped the tear from my cheek with his thumb. His face was close to mine.

  “It’s not true, Penny, do you hear me? Nothing that he says is true. He simply wishes to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ve rattled him, that’s all. You’re on to him and we need to do everything we can to pin something on him. He’s a cruel man and I am going to make him pay. Trust me.”