The Mammoth Book of Dickensian Whodunnits

by Mike Ashley (ed)

  Good for him, I rejoiced. He had escaped his gaol and got back to his beloved mountains. Inevitably I connected him to the fortunes of the errant Mr Heron and I wished them both every joy of the sunny mountain heights that all right-thinking persons so admire.

  The Fiery Devil

  Peter Tremayne

  Dickens did not remain for long as editor of the Daily News. He embarked on the role with his customary enthusiasm, writing leader articles on various subjects of social reform, but rapidly tired of the demands and within eighteen days had resigned and handed the editorship over to his friend John Forster. Dickens escaped to Switzerland and at last returned to novel writing with Dombey and Son. It was to be the start of Dickens’s most exciting period as a novelist, producing some of his best and most critically acclaimed works.

  Dombey and Son is the story of Paul Dombey, desperate to have a son to inherit his firm. His first-born is a daughter, Florence, whom he despises. His wife dies giving birth to their second child, a son whom he calls Paul, but the young boy is weak and sickly and dies when still a child, leaving his father bereft and alone. Paul remarries but it is a loveless partnership and his new wife, Edith, leaves him for James Carker, the manager of Dombey’s business. A strong feature in the novel is the growth of the railways in Britain and it is Carker’s death, when he is hit by a train, that is the basis for the following story.

  Peter Tremayne is a renowned expert on all matters Celtic and has written many studies of the Celtic world under his real name of Peter Berresford Ellis. As Tremayne he is probably best known for his series of mysteries featuring Sister Fidelma, set in the Celtic world of the 7th century, which began with Absolution by Murder (1994).

  A curse upon the fiery devil, thundering along so smoothly . . . He loitered about the station, waiting until one should stay to call there; and when one did, and was detached for water, he stood parallel with it, watching its huge wheels and brazen front and thinking what a cruel power and might it held. Ugh! To see the great wheels slowly turning and to think of being run down and crushed!

  Chapter 55, Dombey and Son, Charles Dickens, 1848

  “Captain Ryder?”

  Mr Josiah Plankton peered myopically at the business card that the young man had offered and glanced up with a quick bird-like motion of his head. Then he adjusted his gold-rimmed pince-nez and turned his gaze back to the card.

  “Captain Ryder of the Detective Department of the Metropolitan Police?” There was a slight inflection of incredulity in his tone.

  “Exactly so, sir,” nodded the young man who stood before him with a pleasant smile on his tanned features.

  “You’ll excuse my momentary consternation, sir,” Mr Plankton said as he motioned his visitor to a seat in front of the large ornate desk he occupied. “I was unaware that the members of the Detective Department of the London Metropolitan Police held military rank.”

  The young man appeared unabashed as he seated himself in the chair.

  “My captaincy was in the 16th Lancers, sir. I was . . .” He shifted his weight slightly to adjust his position to one of greater comfort. “I was wounded last year at the Battle of Mudki during the Sutlej Campaign and thus, being unable to serve the colours further, I was persuaded by Colonel Rowan to join the Metropolitan force in the newly established Detective Department. The colonel considered that I had a talent in that direction.”

  Mr Plankton laid the young man’s card on the ink blotter before him and glanced quizzically at the detective.

  “Commissioner Sir Charles Rowan, eh? I have had the pleasure of his acquaintance, for he helped some years ago with the framing of the Solicitors’ Act in Parliament. I then represented the Incorporated Law Society of England and Wales. So, do I presume that you are here in an official capacity on behalf of the Commissioner?”

  “Your presumption is correct, sir, in that I am here representing the Metropolitan Police.”

  “Then how may the firm of Scratch, Nellbody and Plankton assist you?”

  “I am given to understand that you are solicitors acting for Dombey and Son, the shipping company?”

  Mr Plankton gave a sad smile. “I am not sure that such a state of affairs will last many days longer. You have doubtless heard the news from Threadneedle Street?”

  Captain Ryder made a faint motion of his hand.

  “Then there is truth in the story that the company may soon go into liquidation? Or at least Mister Paul Dombey is to be declared a bankrupt?”

  Mr Plankton was serious.

  “In any other circumstances, Captain Ryder, I would have replied to you that I am bound by my client’s confidence, but the news is all about the town. Dombey and Son will soon cease to trade. Mister Dombey may well be able to call on some reserves but if the firm lasts out a twelve-month, I will be surprised.”

  “As Dombey and Son are a considerable trading company that, surely – and if I may be so bold to say so – will impinge on the business connection with your own firm, sir?”

  Mr Plankton smiled wryly and gestured to his office with an encompassing sweep of his hand. Captain Ryder became aware of several boxes and cases in various stages of being packed. Even some pictures had been taken off their wall hanging in preparation to be crated.

  “I am about to retire. The few remaining accounts that exist are being placed elsewhere by my chief clerk, who is also moving to another practice.”

  “But Messrs Scratch and Nellbody . . .?”

  “Have been deceased these last ten years, sir. I am sole partner and now it is time for me to have some peaceful retirement. My intention is to move to France. I think the sun and wine of Provence will be conducive to my constitution after the smog of the City. London is no place for retirement.”

  “I see, sir,” nodded the young man. He paused and then cleared his throat. “I am, sir, placed in a delicate position for my duty persuades me that I need to trespass into what you may deem as the confidential matters of your client.”

  Mr Plankton replied with a thin smile.

  “In which case, sir, I shall decline to answer your questions. However, if you place those questions before me, I will be better able to judge to what extent you may trespass or not.”

  Captain Ryder gave an apologetic grimace.

  “Speaking for the Metropolitan force, our jurisdiction scarcely reaches to Woolwich. We have only recently been requested to extend our policing to that area of the Arsenal. Therefore it is as a special matter of government intervention that we have been asked to pursue some inquiries pursuant to an incident that took place further abroad.”

  Mr Plankton looked bewildered.

  “Government intervention, sir? I am not sure that I am following you.”

  “We have been asked to intercede in a matter following a request by no less a person than Mister Cudworth of South Eastern Railways who has the ear of . . . of certain government officials.”

  Mr Plankton spread his hands, still mystified.

  “I am at a loss sir. South Eastern Railways? I know of no business dealings between Dombey and Son and South Eastern Railways and . . .”

  The solicitor suddenly paused and looked thoughtful.

  “Just so, sir,” the young man smiled briefly, noting the change of expression. “Two weeks ago today there was an incident at the railway station of Paddock Wood. It used to be called Maidstone Road Halt until a few years ago. It is, as you doubtless know, a station on the main railway line running from London Bridge to Dover. A man was killed at that station. South Eastern Railways, of course, own that line.”

  A look of understanding began to form on Mr Plankton’s features.

  “Your client, Mister Paul Dombey, was a witness to this incident,” added Captain Ryder as if to clarify matters.

  “The incident being when a former employee of Mister Dombey fell in front of the express train from Dover to London,” sighed Mr Plankton, shaking his head as though it was distasteful to be reminded of the unpleasantness.

 
“You are correct in that particular, sir. Except that this was no mere employee but a certain James Carker who had been manager of Dombey and Son and who had recently run away with Mrs Edith Dombey, the wife of his employer.”

  Mr Plankton made a disapproving sound by clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  “I am aware of these unhappy circumstances, sir, but I hardly see the relevance of any inquiry . . .”

  “Furthermore,” went on Captain Ryder, interrupting, “certain charges had been laid against James Carker as a suspect in embezzling large sums of money from the company. It is that embezzlement that, in my understanding, has brought the company to the verge of ruin.”

  “I fail to see in what capacity Mr Cudworth of South Eastern Railways has asked for the inter . . . the intervention of the Detective Department of the Metropolitan force in this matter? Surely the local coroner has dealt with the matter?”

  Captain Ryder shook his head in admonishment.

  “The inquest is delayed, sir. The running over and killing of a man at a railway station by an express train is not a matter to be dismissed without consequence, sir. South Eastern Railways can be charged with felonious homicide. Naturally, they wish to clear the name of their company and employees. There are many matters to consider. There are those who would like to see South Eastern Railways suffer misfortune. Considerable wealth has changed hands with that company now attracting a near monopoly on the transportation of goods. Until the line opened four years ago, shipping companies had sent goods by barge along the Medway. Those who invested in such waterway transport would like nothing better than to see this railway forced to close. So this is why we must ask, did the man stumble accidentally under the wheels? Was his death as a result of some negligence by an employee of the railway? Or . . .?” The young man shrugged and left the question hanging in the air. “I have already made initial enquiries and certain sinister facts emerge.”

  Mr Plankton looked startled, his body more erect in the chair.

  “Pray, what manner of sinister facts?” he demanded.

  “That the late James Carker was a former manager of Dombey and Son, that he had apparently been accused of embezzlement from the firm for not inconsiderable sums, and that he had run away with Mrs Edith Dombey, the wife of his employer.” Captain Ryder ticked the points off on the fingers of his right hand. “These facts lend a certain – shall we say? – interest to his sudden demise. What lends the sinister element is the fact that no less a person than Mr Paul Dombey himself was on the railway platform at the time. The coincidence is singular, to say the least. And there was another, as yet unidentified, person there with him at the precise moment that Carker fell to his death.”

  “Are you implying that Mister Dombey . . .?”

  “It is not my task to imply, sir. I merely state the facts.”

  “Yet from the facts you seem to speculate . . .”

  “Speculation, sir, is a fruitless task. Facts must breed more facts, sir. And it is facts that I come in search of.”

  “I will say nothing that may harm my client,” replied Mr Plankton firmly, folding his hands on the desk before him. “Mister Paul Dombey is a worthy gentleman and already faced with shame and ruin by the deeds of this man Carker and, may God forgive me, but I must say that it is a just recompense for his evil deeds that he has departed life in this manner.”

  “It is not in the brief of my official capacity to indulge myself in moral judgements,” murmured Captain Ryder, “but simply to gather the facts for presentation to be assessed by judge and jury.”

  Mr Plankton shook his head.

  “What I meant . . .” He paused.

  “Precisely what did you mean?”

  “Simply, that in the demise of James Carker, the world has no cause to grieve. However, his death is little compensation for the financial and emotional loss that Mister Dombey has suffered.”

  “Again, you express a moral judgement, sir, which I am not at liberty to comment on.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause.

  “What is it that you want from me?” asked the solicitor, finally breaking the silence.

  “I believe that you knew James Carker?”

  “He was, as you have correctly stated, the manager of Dombey and Son and so we knew each other in a business capacity.”

  “And in a social capacity?”

  “Certainly not,” snapped Mr Plankton. “He was sharp of tooth, sly of manner with a watchful eye, soft of foot and oily of tongue. He was, to sum up, sir, a most disagreeable creature. A thorough-going scoundrel. I did not trust him, sir, and certainly would not include him among my social acquaintances.”

  “Did you ever mention your views to Mister Dombey?”

  “It was not my place to question Mister Dombey’s judgement of the men that he employed. Mr Dombey was a man not to be trifled with so far as his business dealings were concerned.”

  “Yet you were his legal adviser?”

  “And legal advice I gave him when he requested it.”

  “Did you also know Mrs Dombey?” the young man asked so abruptly that Mr Plankton blinked.

  “I have, on occasion, met her.” The reply was more guarded.

  “I am given to understand that she was formerly the widow of a Colonel Granger before she became Paul Dombey’s second wife. Were you aware of that?”

  “I was. Mister Dombey’s first wife had died in childbirth when his son was born. The son was a weak child and eventually died, leaving Mister Dombey a widower with a daughter who he neglected. He decided to marry again and, as you say, Mrs Granger was thought a suitable match. Again, should you seek a personal opinion, I did not share that view. I once represented her mother, the late Mrs Cleopatra Skewton, over a matter of a small land purchase some years ago. It was not an experience that provided me with esteem for her or her daughter.”

  “So you knew Mrs Granger before she married Mister Dombey?”

  “Briefly, sir, briefly. Never more than a nod, an exchange of polite pleasantry.”

  “She eloped, if I might apply the word to this matter, with James Carker and they both fled to France?”

  “That is so. The facts are not unknown to me as well as to several others in the City. Alas, sir, such scandals are never kept secret for long.”

  “Indeed. The facts are given in a statement made by Mister Dombey taken down by the superintendent of police at Maidstone. The parish constable at Paddock Wood felt he needed more expert guidance after the incident when the basic facts were known.”

  Mr Plankton coughed delicately.

  “As I say, the facts are not unknown to me. You will have seen from the statement that I was attending on Mister Dombey at the time that he gave his statement to the superintendent. I acted in the capacity of his legal adviser, of course.”

  “Of course, sir. Which begs the question. How was it that you were on hand when the statement was made? The accident happened at four o’clock in the morning when the Dover to London Express was passing through Paddock Wood station. The same day at precisely noon, you were with Mister Dombey at Paddock Wood. Mister Dombey had passed the night at the Forester’s Arms, the inn there, indeed, as had the victim of the accident, James Carker. How were you alerted to the incident and able to travel down to Kent so quickly? The accident prevented any train running on that line until midday. You’ll forgive me, sir, but I do so dislike a question unresolved.”

  Mister Plankton smiled thinly, an almost habitual expression before answering a question.

  “Then pray do not trouble yourself, for the resolution is simple. I was already staying at Maidstone where I had proceeded to settle some legal business with an old client preparatory to my retirement.”

  “Indeed?” Captain Ryder sighed reflectively. “That places you within eight miles of Paddock Wood. How did you . . .?”

  “I had booked into the hotel in King Street on the afternoon before the accident. On the morning . . . I left the hotel for a walk, it bein
g my custom to take a stroll every morning. As you may know, sir, the Maidstone police station is also situated in King Street, and at that time I encountered the superintendent of police, with whom I had a passing acquaintance. He told me that a James Carker had fallen under a train at Paddock Wood and the local parish constable was troubled by the circumstances. He had sent to the superintendent to interview a Mister Dombey who had witnessed the incident. I was astonished and felt obliged to point out my connection with Mister Paul Dombey. The superintendent suggested that I should accompany him in his horse and fly to Paddock Wood.”

  The young detective sat nodding slowly.

  Then he said quickly: “So, we have Mister Paul Dombey and James Carker, both having stayed at the Forester’s Arms in Paddock Wood. How did they come there on that precise night? Both had just returned from France and separately, with Mister Dombey a few hours behind James Carker.”

  Mister Plankton sat back, toying for a moment with a silver letter opener that he had picked up from his desk.

  “You make it sound extremely sinister, sir. Do you imply that Mister Dombey was following Carker?”

  The young man shook his head as if suddenly bewildered.

  “Mister Dombey admits to travelling to Dijon in France to confront his wife and Carker after they had eloped together. He had discovered where they were staying on the intelligence of a Mrs Brown. Mister Dombey admits that a confrontation took place but that he left Carker and his wife unharmed and returned via Paris. The fact is that Mister Dombey did board a ferry sailing from Calais only a few hours after the ferry on which Carker had sailed. That both men wound up at the same railway halt to which they were strangers when both might have logically proceeded directly to London is rather singular, is it not? What conclusion would you draw from these facts?”