by Emily Organ
Emma had told me that her cousin and her cousin’s husband also knew about the diaries, but the chances of this knowledge reaching the ears of an unscrupulous person seemed slim. Perhaps Emma had told someone else about the diaries. Or perhaps James had mentioned them to the gang at Marylebone Lane police station.
As I wrote all this down and drew lines connecting the names and times I began to feel even more confused. What I saw on the paper before me was a tangled web, and somehow James was caught up in it.
I sat back in my chair feeling defeated. There had been four murders, one disappearance and a burglary. I was trying to make sense of it all but was getting nowhere.
I saw a faint glow above the rooftops on the horizon as the summer sun heralded the start of a new day. Was James safe? Would I see him today?
I couldn’t sit around waiting for him; I had to do something. All I could think to do was pay a visit to Scotland Yard and find out whether his colleagues had any idea of his whereabouts.
During my last visit to the Yard Chief Inspector Cullen had begun to show some interest in the case. I recalled him smoking his pipe as I told him about Charles Mawson, and how he had known the Forsters and Holland. The chief inspector had raised an eyebrow when I mentioned Alfred Holland’s diary.
That was something I’d forgotten. I had told Cullen about the diary.
Could a senior detective at Scotland Yard be behind the theft of Alfred Holland’s diaries?
Chapter 49
I left home that morning having received no reassuring telegram from Charlotte. My heart felt heavy and I imagined hers feeling much the same. I travelled by underground railway from Moorgate to Westminster Bridge and arrived at Scotland Yard shortly before nine o’clock.
As I climbed the stairs to James’ office I hoped beyond hope that he would be sitting at his desk. When I walked into the office I could barely bring myself to look at his empty chair. A chill ran through me.
Chief Inspector Cullen didn’t seem remotely surprised to see me.
“Inspector Raynes is looking after the Mawson murder,” he said, leafing through some papers. “You’ll need to speak to him about the details.”
“Thank you, sir, I will do,” I replied. “Have you heard from Inspector Blakely?”
He glanced at the empty desk. “No, not yet. We’re looking into it.”
“What are you doing about his disappearance? What do you think has happened to him?”
“I really don’t know, Miss Green. The chap must have been caught up in some bother.”
“Do you know what sort of bother?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because as far as I knew he was busy working on the Forster case. What else might he have got himself caught up in?”
“That’s what we’re trying to establish.”
“You know about the severed finger, don’t you?”
“Yes, we know all about that.”
“It was presumably sent to him as a warning, and now the person who sent it appears to have gone one step further.”
“It may not be that simple.”
“None of it is simple, Chief Inspector!”
“There’s no need to be curt with me.”
“I didn’t sleep last night, and yesterday evening Inspector Blakely’s fiancée Charlotte visited me. She’s terribly distraught about his disappearance, as are his parents. He’s supposed to be getting married in five weeks’ time! Everyone is beside themselves with worry.”
“I’m sure they are, Miss Green. Inspector Blakely’s colleagues are also concerned, and I’m a little bothered that one of my best detectives has not been seen for almost two days.”
“What exactly are you doing about it?”
He sighed and regarded me over the rims of his spectacles. “We’re looking into it, as I’ve already explained. It’s unfortunate timing as we’ve had a sequence of horrendous murders, not least the dreadful business at the India Office yesterday.”
“But surely the same people are behind all these tragic events?”
“Are they? That seems rather a grand assumption to make, Miss Green. It’s not how we approach things here at the Yard.”
“Why should someone wish to steal Alfred Holland’s diaries?”
Chief Inspector Cullen shook his head as if he had just been boxed about the ears. “They’ve been stolen, have they?”
“Yes!” I went on to explain how Emma Holland’s home had been burgled.
“I see,” he said when I had finished giving my explanation. I detected a slight smile beneath his thick moustache. “Perhaps Blakely has made off with them!”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” I snapped.
“It was to begin with, but on reflection it’s an interesting thought. We know that he wanted to read the diaries, and it must have been frustrating for him to discover that Emma Holland was not at home when you called there together. So instead of going to meet his fiancée that evening he hatched a plan to break into Miss Holland’s home and steal the diaries. Having successfully carried off the theft he has chosen to lay low for a few days.”
“James would never do anything like that!” I said scornfully.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know James. He wouldn’t break into a house and frighten people. Besides, he didn’t need to. Our plan was to meet Emma Holland the following day and look at the diaries then.”
“Perhaps you don’t know Blakely as well as you think you do.”
“I know him well enough to know he would never behave in such a way.”
“Sometimes detectives need to behave in unpredictable ways to pursue a successful outcome in a case.”
I paused for a moment, struggling to comprehend what I was hearing. Could there be any truth to what Chief Inspector Cullen was saying? It was certainly a reassuring explanation for James’ disappearance, but I simply couldn’t imagine him doing such a thing. It didn’t seem right.
“I don’t believe it,” I said.
“I shouldn’t like to believe it either,” he replied, lighting his pipe. “But as a detective myself I know that I must consider all the possibilities, and one of those possibilities is Inspector Blakely behaving out of character. It would be a mistake to presume that everyone is completely predictable.”
“Someone threatened Inspector Blakely,” I retorted. “Someone committed the dreadful act of severing a man’s finger from his hand. That person is capable of extreme violence, and I for one am incredibly worried about James. It would be a mistake to console yourself with the theory that he stole something and is in hiding. He’s in danger, and the longer it takes us to find him...” I trailed off momentarily, mindful of what had happened to Charles Mawson only the previous day. “They have to be connected to the gang Inspector Bowles of D Division is holding at Marylebone Lane. Have you spoken to him?”
“Inspector Raynes has.”
“Is Inspector Raynes carrying out the work Inspector Blakely had been doing?”
“For the time being, yes. You’ll probably want to go and bother him now.”
“Sometimes I find your manner quite offensive, sir.”
“Offensive is a strong word, Miss Green.”
“I recall you describing me as an ink-slinger with ideas above my station. You accused me of distracting Inspector Blakely from his work and threatened to have a word with Mr Sherman about my conduct.”
“I don’t see the need to haul all this up now, Miss Green. We have a detective missing and a lot of work to do. Now go and bother Inspector Raynes, as I’ve already suggested.”
“Did you order those diaries to be stolen, Chief Inspector Cullen?”
He removed his pipe from his mouth. “What a preposterous question! Why on earth would I do such a thing?”
“Because barely anyone else knew of their existence, sir.”
“That’s the only reason you have for accusing me?”
“At the moment, yes, but something doesn’t seem quite righ
t to me. You seemed completely unconcerned by Inspector Blakely’s disappearance yesterday —”
“I was distracted by an horrific murder!”
“And there doesn’t seem to be a great urgency about the search for him today.”
“I would get a darn sight more done if you weren’t here pestering me, now leave this office at once! He pointed a large forefinger at the door.
“What’s going on, Chief Inspector? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“I said get out!”
Not wishing to rile him any further, I did as he asked.
Chapter 50
After an unenlightening conversation with Inspector Raynes, who turned out to be a tall detective with a long nose, I headed over to the reading room. Perhaps I had hoped James would come and find me there as he had done on so many occasions.
I sat at one of the desks, removed some papers from my bag and placed them in front of me. I had an update from Inspector Raynes to write up, but it provided scarcely any new information.
“Penny!” whispered Francis. “How are you?”
The question sent an involuntary tear rolling down my face. Another followed and then several more until it felt impossible to stop them.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, getting up from my seat and dashing toward the door.
Francis followed me out onto the steps of the British Museum, where I stopped and drew in great gulps of air.
“What has happened?” he asked. “You seem distraught.”
He pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I pulled off my spectacles, mopped my face with it and began to feel faint. I sank down onto one of the steps.
Francis sat down beside me.
“Penny?”
“It’s James, he’s missing!”
“Missing?”
Between sobs I explained the events of the past few days. His brow furrowed as I spoke.
“There must be a simple explanation,” he said when I had finished. “James can’t have come to any harm, I feel sure of it.”
“I hope not. But these people… they don’t care about anyone. Four have already been murdered, and then there’s the finger. Someone cut off a finger, Francis!”
He sighed and shook his head. “Grotesque.”
“They won’t hurt James, will they? We would know if he’d been murdered, wouldn’t we? Much like Mr Mawson at the India Office. They would have attacked him in a similar way, wouldn’t they? They must be holding him somewhere, but hopefully he’s unharmed. I cannot bear the thought of someone hurting him. If anything happened to him I would hold myself accountable!”
“Why should you do that? It’s not your fault. Being a detective is a dangerous job. You and I both know that, as does James.”
“But we would know if they had hurt him, wouldn’t we?”
“I should think so, yes. Although hearing no news is concerning, we can also be encouraged by it. We must remain hopeful of his safe return.”
“Where can he be, Francis? Where is he right at this moment? I cannot bear it any longer. I just need to know!”
The tears overwhelmed me again and Francis sat close by as I bent my head into my knees and cried. He gently wrapped an arm across my shoulders, his presence instantly warm and comforting.
The tears eventually stopped, but my body felt heavy with exhaustion. I leaned against Francis’ shoulder and we sat there together for some time.
Once I had recovered I put my spectacles back on and looked down at the steps, remembering it as the place where James and I had first met one foggy day in October. He had been investigating the murder of Lizzie Dixie and asked for my help. I smiled as I remembered how I had considered him a nuisance at the time.
I raised my eyes to the railings which ran along Great Russell Street and looked beyond them to where the Museum Tavern sat on the corner of Museum Street. The pub had been our meeting place so many times, and now those days seemed to be confined to the past.
Would I ever see James again?
Another loud sob erupted from my chest.
“Are you all right, Penny?”
“I’m not, Francis. I wish there was something I could do, but I feel completely helpless.”
“I’m sure if you put your mind to it you’d think of something. Just remember all those problematic cases you’ve assisted James with in the past.”
“Only it’s rather different when you’re involved in it, isn’t it?”
“You’ve been involved in each and every case, Penny, you make it your business to be. That’s why you’re so good at what you do.”
“Thank you, Francis. I appreciate the compliment, but I wish I shared your confidence. These events feel completely beyond my control. I simply cannot see a way out.”
“Perhaps Blakely went to Bognor Regis for the sea air.”
“Shush, Potter,” said Edgar. “You’ll make Miss Green feel even worse.”
I sat at the typewriter staring silently at the keys in front of me. According to the clock on the newsroom mantelpiece it was almost three o’clock and there had still been no word from James.
The door slammed, and I tried my best to finish the sentence I had begun typing about five minutes previously. For a few minutes I had felt overcome by the urge to sleep, and there had been moments when I hadn’t been sure whether I was awake or dreaming.
“Miss Green?”
“Yes, sir?”
Mr Sherman stood by my side. “So you did hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Eventually! I said your name three times.”
“Did you, sir? I’m sorry, I really don’t know what I was thinking about …”
“Blakely, no doubt.”
“I’m worried about him.”
“I’m not surprised. Once you’ve finished your article you should go home and take some rest.”
“It’s difficult to rest when my mind is so busy.”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
“He’ll turn up, Miss Green,” said Edgar. “He wouldn’t want you worrying about him like this. The chap has everything under control, I feel sure of that.”
“Did you know anything about Alfred Holland’s diaries?” I asked Edgar.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Did you know about them, Frederick?” I asked.
“Know about what?”
“The diaries Alfred Holland kept? Did you see his sister bringing one of the diaries here?”
“No, should I have? I think we were on our way out when she visited.”
“That’s my recollection,” I admitted.
“Why do you ask, Miss Green?” asked Edgar.
“Someone stole the diaries from her,” I said, “and the person who did so must be connected in some way to Alfred Holland’s death. And possibly to the murder of the Forsters and Charles Mawson.”
“Please go home and rest, Miss Green,” said my editor. “Leave the case for the police to work on, and if there’s any extra reporting required over the next day or so I can ask one of these chaps to do it. You’ll come down with a fever if you don’t stop thinking about all this. Ask that landlady of yours to keep an eye on you for a day or two.”
“I’m fine, Mr Sherman, and I don’t need a rest.”
He stared at me and said nothing.
“But I’ll do what you ask given that I probably don’t have any choice in the matter,” I added.
He gave me a brief smile. “Very good, Miss Green.”
I left the offices a short while later and stepped out into Fleet Street, where a light drizzle was beginning to fall. Although I had no inclination to rest I knew the advice everyone was giving me made sense. I looked out for the next omnibus which would take me in the direction of the Bank.
A few yards away a woman was glancing up at the buildings as if trying to read the signage on them. She wore a pale blue dress and looked familiar somehow.
“Charlotte?” I as
ked.
Chapter 51
“Oh, Penny! Thank goodness I’ve found you. For a moment I couldn’t remember the name of the newspaper you worked for. The Morning Express, isn’t it? My mind feels so muddled.”
Charlotte’s face looked more drawn than usual, and I suspected that she hadn’t slept either.
“Is there any news?” I asked.
“None.” She sighed. “I’ve been sitting at home with Mother and Father for much of the day, just waiting to hear something. I sent a telegram to the Yard and received a reply telling me to remain where I was in case James gets in touch.”
Charlotte’s hat and hair were damp with rain. I pulled an umbrella out of my carpet bag and opened it out over both of us.
“I visited the Yard this morning and spoke with Chief Inspector Cullen,” I said. “They’re looking for James and he isn’t too concerned yet, so we should take comfort from that.”
There was no comfort to be found in Cullen’s actions, but I had no wish to let Charlotte know that. For some reason I still felt the need to reassure her.
“I suppose they know what they’re doing, don’t they?”
“Yes,” I replied, but I could tell that she had noticed my less-than-convincing expression. “I’m assuming you came to Fleet Street to find me.”
“I did! I hope you don’t mind. As I said, I’ve spent much of the day sitting at home, and by this afternoon I feared I would be driven mad by all the waiting and not knowing. How long will it go on for?”
“I wish I knew.”
“I thought I’d come and find you, Penny, because there must be something I can do, mustn’t there? I really don’t know what, but I’m aware from what James has told me that you usually find a way of making things happen.”
Charlotte’s expression remained hopeful.
“James may well have overstated my capabilities,” I said. “I’ve never been in a situation before where someone I care… someone I know has gone missing in this way. I’ve never been so worried before, and although I have tried to reassure myself that James will return to us unharmed, I really don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, Charlotte, but I feel quite lost at the moment. I have no suggestions at all.”