by Emily Organ
“I consider your father an admirable man, Penny, and I cannot be content knowing that you and Eliza have been unaware of his whereabouts for nine years now. I want to do whatever I can to help you find out what has happened to him, not least so that you can finish your book about his life.”
“It goes way above and beyond your duty, Francis.”
He turned to look at me, the light from the gas lamps flickering on the lenses of his spectacles. “I hold you in very high regard, Penny. Surely you must have realised that by now? You’re an honest and truthful woman, and I find you highly interesting and amusing. I enjoy your company.”
I held my breath, terrified that a proposal was forthcoming.
“I have never met anyone quite like you,” he continued, “though I think I may be rather foolish to hope that you might ever hold more than a passing interest in me.”
“It is more than a passing interest, Francis,” I said cautiously, wishing to reassure him, yet wary of encouraging him to think that I loved him.
“Really?” he asked.
“I consider you a very honourable man.”
“Just honourable?”
“And clever, too, with a wealth of knowledge on all manner of subjects, which is not only useful but entertaining.”
“Thank you.”
“And one day you will make someone a wonderful husband.”
“Someone?”
“Yes, someone.”
“Not you, Penny?”
My heart thudded heavily in my chest and I turned to look at the road ahead.
“Oh, Francis, you know that I have no intention of marrying.”
A long pause followed and my teeth clenched. Had I said the wrong thing? Was I a fool for being so dismissive of marriage when a man who could potentially become my husband was sitting right beside me at this very moment?
I felt the slightest mention that I might be interested in marrying would bring forth an immediate proposal. Up to this moment he had been carefully testing my reaction to see whether it was worth his while asking me. I appreciated the subtlety and sensitivity of his approach.
Perhaps if I had never met James I would have been encouraging Francis to propose, I mused. I knew that I had no hope of ever marrying James, but it would have been disingenuous to encourage Francis when I knew that it was James I loved.
“You deserve someone better than me,” I said.
“Nonsense, Penny!” said Francis. “In my eyes there is no finer lady than yourself.”
“Oh, don’t say that, it simply isn’t true!”
“But it is, and I won’t let you tell me otherwise. I cannot deny that I’m disappointed you have no interest in marriage. Is there anything that might change your mind?”
“I don’t know. The truth is that I like my life for what it already is. I may live in a garret room with my cat, but that suits me. I can’t imagine owning a large house filled with staff and children. My sister has all that, yet she seems to me to have no freedom. She strives for it, of course, with her work on women’s rights, and she turns heads when she rides her bicycle, but that’s all she can do. As the wife of a lawyer there are expectations and she simply has to conform. At the present time my lifestyle allows me great freedom.”
“But what happens twenty years from now when you may feel too old and tired to work? Perhaps you will be in need of companionship then. Would you not like children to look after you in your dotage?”
“That’s certainly not a reason to have children, Francis, though perhaps I am a little foolish for refusing to consider what my life will be like twenty years from now.”
“Milton Street!” the cabman shouted down into the cab through the hatch.
Francis sighed. “Perhaps you will change your mind in time, Penny. There’s no hurry, is there?”
“No, I don’t suppose there is.”
“I should be happy to wait,” he said.
I turned to face him in the gloom. “No, Francis, you mustn’t wait for me to decide whether I wish to marry or not! I’ve already told you there are better ladies than I —”
“I refuse to believe it. I’m in love with you, Penny! I have been in love with you since you first asked me to help with that map of Colombia in the reading room!”
Chapter 37
I stared at Francis’ shadowed face with no idea how to respond.
“I don’t expect you to love me in return,” he continued. “I may as well try to influence the passage of the stars. But I suspect that my affection is no secret to you, so you must surely have had some time to consider your feelings for me.”
“A little,” I replied. I sat there motionless, my mouth dry.
“I must admit that I thought all was lost when I saw Blakely dishonouring you in the hallway of your sister’s home. I could protect you from such advances, Penny. That man will break the heart of his wife and yours as well if you allowed him to.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t —”
“There’s no need to defend him, Penny. While I respect his willingness to apologise for his misdemeanour he is clearly reckless when it comes to women’s hearts. I’m not like that, but I shan’t make a fool of myself and propose unless I can be sure that you love me in return. I’m encouraged, however, that you think me honourable, and that I might make someone a good husband one day.”
“Yes, I feel sure that you would.”
There was a pause, as if he were waiting for me to say more. Perhaps he hoped for an expression of affection in return. I felt a strong pang of guilt that I was unable to give him any sort of assurance.
Francis sighed. “I suppose we’ve really only known each other for a short while, haven’t we? Perhaps I have been rather too hasty in expressing my affections, and I realise that it may be inappropriate to do so, sitting shoulder to shoulder and unaccompanied in this cab. It’s not really the way I like to conduct myself. The very last thing I should want you to think of me, Penny, is that I’m taking advantage of this time alone with you.”
“Oh no, Francis, I would never think that.”
The hatch in the roof opened again and the cabman shouted down through it.
“You gettin’ out ’ere or what? Am I goin’ ter be sittin’ ’ere all night waitin’ for you lovebirds ter finish with yer kissin’ an’ cuddlin’?”
“Just one moment, please,” said Francis tersely.
The hatch slammed shut again.
“I must admit that I feel rather unguarded now that I have expressed my true feelings for you, Penny,” he said. “In fact, I feel rather foolish.”
“No, you mustn’t!” I replied. “Please don’t feel foolish! I feel that your words have been extremely complimentary, and I am deeply flattered by the warmth of your affection.”
“Perhaps now that I have told you how I feel this will lead to further consideration on your part. Maybe my words will have altered your thoughts on the matter just a touch. For some reason, and I know not what it might be, I felt it appropriate to speak this evening. Perhaps I shall regret my actions in the morning.”
“I wouldn’t want you to regret it, Francis; there really is no need.” I wished I could tell him what he wanted to hear in order to ease his discomfort, but I had too much respect for him to give any false hope.
“Please excuse me, Penny, I have talked long enough. Although I could continue I don’t feel that I can add any deeper meaning to my sentiment, so I shall stop there. My work is done. Sic vita est.”
“What does that mean?”
“Thus is life.”
“How profound,” I replied.
“Then perhaps I should say quidquid latine dictum sit, altum videtur.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Anything said in Latin sounds profound.”
“That’s the meaning?” I said, laughing. “I shall use that phrase myself.”
“You should, Penny. Good night.”
My mind was too busy to sleep that night.
Mr Edw
ards had caused quite a stir that evening: both at the dinner and then afterwards when he had accompanied me home in the cab. Although it had been obvious that he cared for me beforehand, I had still been surprised by his declaration of love. I searched my heart, willing to find some reciprocation deep down, but I could find none. Perhaps I was still too shocked. Perhaps if I slept I would wake in the morning and discover that I could love him in return.
It made no sense that I should love a man who was to marry someone else. I knew that I could never marry James; therefore, it made more sense to consider the man who was willing to become my husband. Should I make that choice or continue to live my life alone?
I also had concerns about the search for Father. What if Francis felt so upset about the way Mr Fox-Stirling had spoken to him that he withdrew his donation? He had assured me that he wouldn’t, but after a spot of reflection he had every right to do so. I felt angry at Fox-Stirling for being so rude. He did not deserve the money we were raising to pay him. I truly disliked him for his arrogance and sense of superiority.
Added to all this, the revelation that Alfred Holland had reported Charles Mawson for altering official forms was quite shocking. Surely it gave Mr Mawson a motive for revenge. Mawson was the only connection I had made between Holland and the Forsters. I would have to inform the police of the development.
There was such a great deal spinning about in my head that I wanted to talk it over with someone who might understand, but the only person who sprang to mind was James. Was Francis right about him? Would James have willingly broken my heart? He had kissed me while he was engaged to Charlotte. What did that tell me about his character? I had told myself that the strength of feeling between us meant he had been unable to help himself, but perhaps I was wrong. Had he taken advantage of me?
My mattress felt uncomfortable. I tried to find a cool section of pillow to rest my cheek on, but everything felt hot and stifling. I got up, opened the curtains and pulled up the sash window, allowing the cool night air to flow into the room.
Chapter 38
The following morning I travelled by underground railway to Charing Cross and stopped off at a coffee stall on the Embankment. I sipped my coffee overlooking the misty river between Charing Cross Pier and the floating Cleopatra Swimming Bath. My head felt tired and heavy, but I was excited by the prospect of telling James about the connection I had made between Alfred Holland and the Forsters.
I walked the short distance to Scotland Yard, hoping that Chief Inspector Cullen wouldn’t be at his desk. Unfortunately, James was nowhere to be seen when I arrived at his office, while the chief inspector was seated nearby. He looked at me over his silver-rimmed spectacles.
“What is it this time, Miss Green?”
“I’ve come to speak to Inspector Blakely about a link I’ve established between two murder cases.”
“Still determined to act the lady detective, are you?”
“It was a connection I happened upon by chance, and it would be remiss of me not to inform the police of the development.”
The chief inspector laid down his pen and sat back in his chair.
“Which murders are we talking about, then? I’ll hazard a guess that the deaths of Mr and Mrs Forster are involved.”
“Yes, and the death of Alfred Holland. It transpires that they all knew the same man.”
“Did they now? And who is this gentleman?”
“His name is Charles Mawson and he works at the India Office, just a few hundred yards from where we stand now.”
“And who is Charles Mawson?”
“He’s a gentleman who worked in India and knew the Forsters socially from when they lived in Calcutta. I’ve discovered that he worked at the opium factory in Ghazipur and Alfred Holland reported him for altering information on the forms.”
Chief Inspector Cullen lowered his brow. “Did he now? And how do you know all this?”
“I’ve been speaking with Alfred Holland’s sister.”
“What’s her name?”
“I plan to give James all the details.”
“I see. And how has Alfred Holland’s sister stumbled upon this information?”
“Alfred left a diary.”
Chief Inspector Cullen raised an eyebrow and took a deep puff on his pipe. “This is the chap who was shot in the opium den, is it?”
“Yes.”
“He kept a diary while working in India that described how he reported a colleague for altering forms?”
I nodded.
“Presumably this colleague was altering forms because opium was being stolen,” said Cullen.
“I imagine so, yes.”
“So there’s a written record of this, which Holland’s sister is in possession of, and this chap who was reported works at the India Office in Whitehall?”
“Yes, I believe he was sent back to Britain after Mr Holland reported him.”
“Yet he’s somehow managed to retain employment with the India Office,” commented Cullen. “How interesting. And this same chap was a friend of the Forsters. A good friend of theirs, would you say?”
“Yes. I first met him after the murder of Mrs Forster, when he was trying to find Mr Forster. When I spoke to him after Mr Forster’s death it transpired that he had recently spent an evening with him at the East India Club.”
“Very interesting indeed. Ah, Blakely.”
I turned to see James entering the room. He greeted me with a warm smile.
“Go and have a chat with this ink-slinger somewhere private,” instructed Chief Inspector Cullen. “I never thought I’d find myself saying this, but she has some interesting news for you. Make a note of everything she says, then report back to me.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Chief Inspector Cullen is finally taking an interest,” I said as we walked out of Scotland Yard, “but we don’t want him interfering, do we?”
We crossed Northumberland Avenue.
“Cullen’s all right, really,” replied James.
“Is he?”
“He can be abrupt, and he’s rather old-fashioned, but he worked with my father for a while and had his respect.”
“Is that why you’re loyal to him?”
“I have to be loyal to some degree; he’s my superior.”
I gave an empty laugh. “In rank, perhaps, but in no other way.”
“It’s the way the police force is, Penny. And although he is often rude and cantankerous, he’s a good detective.”
“I suppose I’ll have to trust you on that front. I can’t say I have ever got along well with him.”
“He’s traditional, and when he encounters women who have a profession he struggles with the idea.”
“Poor Chief Inspector Cullen,” I mocked.
“I don’t like the way he speaks to you,” said James, “but at the same time I must respect him as a senior detective. My father always spoke highly of him.”
I chose not to argue. “Why would he want you to report back to him everything I’m about to tell you?” I asked.
“The Forster murders have shocked London. It’s an important case, and it would seem that you have uncovered some interesting information. Cullen’s extremely concerned about the severed finger and has warned me to tread carefully, but I cannot allow such threats to stop me from doing my job, and I’m looking forward to hearing all about Alfred Holland’s diary. Have you eaten breakfast yet? There’s a decent eatery here on Northumberland Street.”
We sat at a small table covered with a gingham tablecloth. A waiter took our order, and as we waited for our food to arrive I told James about Emma Holland and Charles Mawson. I tried my best not to become distracted by how handsome James looked. He was wearing a dark grey suit, and there was a gold tiepin topped with a star pinned to his blue tie.
“We need to see the diary,” he said when I had finished. “Do you think Emma Holland would lend it to me?”
“I should think so. She’ll be extremely encouraged to hear that Sco
tland Yard is investigating her brother’s death. She is most frustrated by the lack of progress so far.”
“Before we get too excited by this development we need to establish that Charles Mawson who works at the India Office is the same Charles Mawson that Holland refers to in his diary.”
The waiter brought over toast, eggs, bacon and a pot of tea.
“I’m sure it must be the same Charles Mawson,” I replied, “and it would be easy to ask him given that he works so close by.”
“Where can we find Mr Holland’s sister and the diaries?”
“She lives in Euston. I’ve visited her there, so I know which house is hers.”
“Have you shared this new information with Inspector Reeves?”
“No, not yet. I only spoke to Emma Holland yesterday and then the evening was taken up with a rather uncomfortable dinner at my sister’s house.”
“Oh dear, what happened?”
I told James about the altercation between Mr Fox-Stirling and Mr Edwards.
“That sounds very awkward indeed.”
“I’m quite put off by the thought of Mr Fox-Stirling searching for Father,” I said. “I can’t say that I was particularly fond of him to start with, but seeing how rude he was to Francis was truly awful.”
“It doesn’t sound as though he deserves your patronage,” said James.
“He doesn’t, and I am determined to find someone else to look for Father. There must be plenty of other men who would be willing to go.”
“I’m sure there will be; another plant-hunter, perhaps, or an explorer of some sort. You could try the Royal Geographical Society, or maybe the Royal Botanical Society could recommend someone.”
“Good idea, I’ll suggest that to Francis. He is funding most of the trip, after all.”
“He thinks highly of you, doesn’t he?”
I felt my face colour. “I don’t know.”
“I can see that he does. I wonder whether he’ll propose.”
“I have no wish to talk about that now,” I snapped, still bristling from my discussion with Francis the night before.