by Carol Hedges
Stride picks up the poisons book.
“With your permission, I’d like to borrow this book for a few hours. My sergeant will return it as soon as we have finished with it. I bid you good day.”
Stride spins on his heel and marches out of the shop, the poisons book tucked firmly under his arm.
“Now we’re finally getting somewhere,” he says when he and Cully reach the street. “I think a visit to this Mrs Marks is called for. Poison and cakes? It can’t be a coincidence. Especially as she lives just a stone’s throw away from one of the victims. Let’s go and see what the good lady has to say. I shall be most interested to hear her explanation.”
***
Meanwhile Belinda Kite makes her way down Oxford Street, slipping in and out of the crowd until she reaches the famous Pantheon bazaar. She has read about it in the newspapers. Now she is here to sample its delights for herself.
Reaching the colonnaded entrance, she is bowed inside by the whiskered doorman in his gold-laced hat and fine livery. Belinda looks round. She is in heaven. So many pretty things: flowers, laces, shawls, parasols, papier-mâché trifles for the table, children’s dresses and toys. It is like entering fairyland.
Belinda strolls round enjoying the lovely things until her eyes are tired of feasting upon such abundance. And just when exhaustion is setting in, here is the conservatory waiting to welcome her, with tea and arrowroot cakes and a cascading fountain with gold and silver fish and exotic plants and colourful flowers.
She sits on a comfortable chair right at the centre, directly under the glass-roofed ceiling, watching elegantly-dressed young women flitting to and fro, marvelling at the brightly-coloured parrots and cockatoos that sit on perches around the clear fountain.
It is a relief to be on her own, not having to make stilted conversation with Sissy, nor watching enviously while her employer flits from stall to stall, buying fripperies and fineries that Belinda cannot afford.
As far as the well-dressed young ones know, she could be one of them, rich, pampered, with a carriage waiting outside to transport her back to one of the beautiful big white houses that fringe the Park.
But, sadly, all good things must come to an end. Finishing her cakes, she pays at the counter and quits the bazaar, picking up a cab outside. In a short while, she is back at Cartwright Gardens, inserting her key into the lock once more, and fairyland is fading to a delicious memory.
Belinda steps over the threshold and is just preparing to untie her bonnet when she sees another letter on the silver dish on the hall table. It is addressed to her, but this time in a hand she does not recognise. She tears it open and reads:
Dear Miss Kite,
Finding myself unexpectedly back in London for a couple of days, I take the liberty of writing to ask whether you would care to join me for tea and cakes this afternoon at 4 o’clock?
I am sure you are extremely eager to hear all about the visit of the Queen and I shall be delighted to enlighten you. I will send a cab to collect you at 3.30.
I look forward to meeting you once again.
Yours sincerely,
Mark Hawksley
For a moment, Belinda just stares at the letter, as if unable to take in its contents. Then she checks the time and hurries to the top of the kitchen stairs. She requires hot water, clean towels, and a servant to brush and press the turquoise dress. There is no time to waste.
***
The Lily Lounge is awash with the usual lunchtime patrons when Stride and Cully pitch up. Ladies wearing fashionable bonnets and surrounded by parcels are tucking in to their food or discussing the menu. An older man and his younger female companion sit at a discreet corner table, trying to look as if they are a married couple.
Stride is approached by one of the pretty waitresses, to whom he relays the information that he is from Scotland Yard and he would like to see Mrs Marks, if it is at all possible, thank you very much for your co-operation.
She disappears behind the counter. They wait, trying to keep out of the way of the serving staff who hurry back and forth, carrying trays of sandwiches, cut pork pies and pots of tea. Cully tries not to focus on the delicious food whizzing by under his nose. It has been a long time since he breakfasted.
Eventually the girl reappears with the information that Mrs Marks is initiating the new girl into the way to carve ham, but will be with them shortly. She shows them to a vacant table and invites them to peruse the menu.
“Nice selection of sandwiches,” Cully remarks.
“We’re not here to sample the fare, we are here to see … Ah, I think this is her.”
Stride breaks off as a tall woman with dark eyes, luxuriant black hair and an hourglass figure approaches their table.
“Gentlemen?” she murmurs.
Stride stands and introduces himself and Cully, who also gets up briefly before resuming his seat.
“You are Mrs Marks?”
She nods.
“Mrs Marks, I am here on a matter of police business – perhaps it would be better if we retired to somewhere more discreet?”
The woman’s dark eyes regard him quizzically.
“I cannot think of anything I have done that could be related to ‘police business’, Detective Inspector, but pray continue. I have nothing to hide.”
“Very well, madam. Can you confirm that it is your signature against this entry?”
Stride produces the Poison Register and turns to the relevant page.
Lilith Marks peers at the handwritten entries.
“Yes, it is. Why do you need to know?”
“All in good time, Madam. Do you also sell cakes?”
“If you look around you, you can see that I do.”
“These cakes?” Stride asks, producing the list of cakes sent to the two families.
Lilith glances at it.
“We sell gingerbread and cheesecake, but not the other ones. Why?”
“We shall arrive at that shortly. Now, can you tell me exactly why you bought such a large quantity of arsenic?”
“We had a plague of rats,” Lilith says. “They were coming up from the drains in the cold weather and looking for somewhere warm to nest. The kitchen became infested with them. If you like, I can show you where I had to nail boards over the holes they’d made in the skirting. Or you can talk to the kitchen staff – they spent most of their time screaming and jumping onto the table. It was a nightmare.”
A thoughtful expression crosses her handsome face.
“This is not the first time I have been questioned about my use of arsenic,” she says. “Two older women came into my tea-room a little while ago and accused me of trying to poison their husbands with cakes filled with arsenic. Is this visit linked to them? Ah, I see by your faces that it is.”
Lilith draws herself up to her full height, a bright spot of colour in each cheek.
“Officers, I have never EVER attempted to poison anybody. I never would. And I am not going stand here and be accused of something I did not do!”
She speaks quietly, but with great dignity, folding her arms and staring directly into Stride’s face. He meets her gaze, holds it, then lowers his eyes.
“I believe you,” he says. “I apologise. It is clear that you are not part of this business.”
“Thank you.”
Cully has been observing Lilith Marks closely during this exchange. Now he speaks.
“Mrs Marks, I think we have met before.” He searches his memory. “Yes – you gave us some information which led to finding a stolen emerald bracelet.” He turns to Stride. “The Jewish goldsmith – do you remember?”
“I seem to recall interviewing a lady about it.”
“That was me,” Lilith Marks says, her face softening. “You have a good memory, sergeant.”
“You were very helpful at the time,” Cully tells her.
“Indeed, you were. I remember it now,” Stride says, and signalling to Cully to stand up. “But I can see you are busy, and we have no further que
stions, so we’d better be on our way.”
A plate of freshly-cut ham sandwiches passes in front of Cully. His eyes follow its progress longingly.
“Unless of course you’d like to stay for luncheon?” Lilith Marks suggests, regarding him with amusement. “On the house, of course. To show there are no hard feelings.”
Cully immediately sits down again and unfolds his napkin. After a second’s hesitation, Stride joins him.
Lilith signals to one of the waitresses.
“Alice, can you look after these two gentlemen? Get them whatever they want. Now if you’ll excuse me, I left my new girl with a rather large ham and a very sharp knife. I need to make sure nothing is amiss.”
She nods a brief farewell then walks away from the table. Both men’s eyes follow her graceful swaying figure as she crosses the tea-room floor.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Stride remarks after the girl has taken their order.
Cully doubts it. He is thinking about what he’s about to be served and hoping it will come with some mustard on the side.
“First principle of detection, Jack. Always ask the question: why. Why did two women – and I’m guessing that they are Mrs Undercroft and Mrs Osborne – turn up here in this tea-room? Why did they accuse our clearly honest tea-room owner of trying to poison their husbands? What do they know, or suspect that we do not? As I have said in the past, there is more to this than meets the eye.”
“I agree,” Cully says. “We should definitely investigate further. But after luncheon,” he adds, as the waitress heads in their direction with two plates, both piled appetisingly high.
***
Georgiana Undercroft sits in the parlour listlessly leafing through a ladies’ magazine. She has on a dark grey dress, the colour of mourning. An appropriate choice of attire. Not a day passes that she does not mourn the bright rosy-cheeked girl with the flying curls and ready smile, who has metamorphosed over the years into this pale sad-faced woman with the dragged-down mouth that she sees in her mirror upon waking.
The little shepherdess clock on the mantelpiece chimes two. Georgiana has nowhere she wishes to go, no friends she wishes to call upon, no friends who will call upon her in return. The long afternoon stretches out before her. Her eyes ache in the way she knows will soon spread back into her head.
The parlour maid knocks discreetly.
“The two detectives from Scotland Yard are here again, ma’am. Shall I show them in, or are you busy?”
A little more gold flakes off the day.
“Please show them in.”
The maid shows Stride and Cully into the room. She half-rises.
“Please madam, do remain seated,” Stride says. “We shouldn’t keep you long. There is just something we’d like to ask you about.”
“What is it, inspector?”
“In the course of our investigations into the poisoned cakes, we have just paid a visit to The Lily Lounge Tea-rooms and Restaurant in Flask Walk. Do you know the place?”
A beat.
“I know of it, yes.”
“Have you ever patronised the place yourself?”
“I rarely eat out.”
Stride regards her thoughtfully.
“We spoke to a Mrs Marks, the owner of The Lily Lounge. She informed us that two women, closely matching your and Mrs Osborne’s descriptions, came into the tea room recently and accused her, Mrs Marks that is, of being instrumental in the attempted poisoning of their husbands. Can you throw any light on this?”
Her face shuts down.
“Have you spoken to Regina Osborne?”
“Not yet. Given the proximity of your house to the tea-rooms, we decided to ask you first.”
She studies her hands. Stride and Cully wait.
“It was Regina’s idea that we went there.”
“Why?”
Again she drops her gaze to her hands, now twisting in her lap.
“She thought …” she pauses, frowns, then goes on, “that Mrs Marks, as she calls herself, might know something about the matter.”
“Why should Mrs Osborne think that?”
Her hands are now almost tearing each other into pieces.
“In the past, that woman was … known to both our husbands.”
“Known? What do you mean exactly by ‘known’?”
She looks up, her face red with embarrassment.
“Must I spell it out to you, detective inspector?”
Perplexed, Stride stares at her but before he can say anything more, Cully, who remembers his own first encounter with Lilith Marks and his first impressions of her, steps forward and whispers a few words in his ear.
“Ah. Thank you. I understand.”
Her eyes are like cold pebbles. Her lips are pinched tightly together.
“Do you? I doubt it very much. Sufficient to say the woman denied everything, and then we left.”
“Are you aware, Mrs Undercroft, that you may have committed an offence by publicly accusing an innocent woman of a crime she did not commit?” Stride says. “As police officers acting in an official capacity, and with two unsolved murders on our hands, we have naturally asked Mrs Marks to produce a written statement. If she chooses to complain about your behaviour, we may have to charge you and your companion.”
Now she stands. Clenches her hands into fists. An unbecoming flush of dark red colour rises to each flaccid cheek.
“I accused her of nothing! I merely accompanied Regina upon what was a wild goose chase. I have committed no crime, and now I should like you both to leave my house as I have nothing further to say about this. Not now, not ever. Nothing at all.”
She lifts her chin, staring straight into his face, daring him to defy her order. Stride closes his notebook, bows.
“As you wish, Mrs Undercroft.”
“I suggest you apply yourselves to Regina Osborne. I am sure she will be able to enlighten you further.”
“Perhaps we shall.”
After the door closes on Stride and Cully, Georgiana Undercroft sinks back into her chair. For a couple of seconds, she just stares straight ahead, her jaw rigid, waiting for the sound of the front door closing. As soon as she hears it, she stands, goes to the fireplace and slightly tilts one of the two big Chinese vases. She feels underneath it, drawing out a couple of letters.
Georgiana returns to her seat, the letters on her lap. She lifts the flap of the topmost one, extracts its contents and begins to read. It is an action she performs every time she wants to torture herself. She knows the contents of each letter by heart.
Daylight bleeds from the sky. She reads on, her head throbbing, feeling herself growing enormously small, as if imprisoned in a catafalque of her own construction, her heart pierced by a hundred spikes.
***
Belinda Kite sits in the bow window. She is freshly bathed, her russet hair becomingly curled. She wears the turquoise dress, its colour enhancing her emerald eyes and accentuating her creamy white skin, its boned bodice outlining her shapely figure. Over it she has thrown a cape of black cashmere trimmed with black silk – another of Sissy’s discards.
She watches the street for signs of Hawksley’s cab, and attempts not to count the minutes that tick by oh-so-slowly on the small mantelpiece clock behind her. Eventually, just as she is beginning to fear that he has forgotten her, a hansom draws up in front of the house and Hawksley steps down.
Belinda holds her hands together in her lap and sits back, trying to pretend that she has not been peering eagerly out of the window like a small child. She hears the bell ring twice, and the maid go to the door. Then the parlour door is opened and he enters. She graciously extends her hand. He bends low and kisses it.
“Miss Kite, I am truly delighted that you could spare me some time in your very busy social calendar.”
He keeps hold of her gloved hand, his dark eyes dancing with amusement.
She snatches her hand away and tosses her head.
“Of course. I wish to hear
about the banquet and the Queen.”
“That is your only reason?” he teases gently.
“Oh – and my employers the Bulstrodes, of course. I wish to hear all about them.”
“And so you shall. But come, the cab awaits.”
She follows him out to the cab and gets in, placing herself as far from him she can. If he notices, he does not remark on it, merely giving the driver instructions.
They travel in silence for a while, then Hawksley says, “I have a programme advertising the banquet. Perhaps you might like to see it?”
He unfolds a piece of paper and passes it to her.
She reads:
A Grand Banquet
To be held at the Municipal Town Hall, Leeds
In the presence of
The Mayor &
The City Aldermen
Local Business men and Factory Owners
After the Banquet
There Will Be A Presentation by
Mr Mark Hawksley, Owner of the Dominion Diamond Mine Company.
There will also be a Special Appearance by An Honoured Person of Great Note.
“It does not actually say the Queen will be present,” she remarks.
“Of course it does not. There have been several attempts upon her life already – the palace security could not permit the general public to know the true identity of the ‘Honoured Person’ who is mentioned as a special guest. Who knows what mad people might try to force their way in?”
Belinda’s eyes are wide with horror.
“People have tried to kill the Queen? I did not know that.”
He places a finger to his lips.
“It is not widely known. And you must never mention it, Miss Kite – I’m sure you can be trusted.”
She nods mutely.
They travel on in silence. Then she remarks, “I was given to understand by Grizelda and Josiah that you were all going to do some sightseeing in the north.”
A wry smile crinkles the corners of his mouth.