Under the Dragon's Tail

by Maureen Jennings

The next interview was with Maud’s personal maid, Louise Kenny.

  She entered in a miasma of patchouli oil which she must have applied recently. A tall woman, rather big-boned, she was definitely not suited to fluttering. However, she had brought a dainty tortoise-shell fan with her and she snapped it open and closed at regular intervals. She was wearing a deep blue satin waist with a high sulphur-yellow collar and matching cuffs. Her skirt was rustle taffeta of a turquoise tint.

  She was eager to help but had nothing to contribute, although she tried hard. Every time Murdoch asked a question she opened her fan, waved it vigorously while she gave the matter the serious consideration it deserved, then snapped it shut to answer. Unfortunately, she did not know anybody by the name of Dolly Shaw, although she had known a Doris Shawcross who had passed away three years ago. No, she had no acquaintance with Annie Brogan and was not aware she had visited Mrs. Pedlow on Saturday afternoon. Madam had not mentioned she was having callers. She, Miss Kenny, had been upstairs tending to the mistress’s gowns the whole day.

  “She only buys the absolute best, imported for the most part from Paris, France, so we do have to take very good care of them.”

  Murdoch had the feeling that Miss Kenny wanted to tell him something but didn’t know how to get started. He decided to let loose a lure and see what happened.

  “If I may say so, Miss Kenny, I feel sorry for the lady. She would be a handsome woman except for the…”

  He waved his hand over his cheek.

  Miss Kenny sighed. “That is so true. And money won’t compensate, will it?”

  He shook his head soberly. “Fortunately she has her little ward. Children don’t notice these defects, do they?”

  “Not when they’re young, but the child remarked on it the other day. ‘Can you scrub it off, Auntie?’ she asks her. I could see that the mistress was upset, but she didn’t give the child any reprimand as she probably should have. But then she never does. It’s murder for the nursemaids, I can tell you. They can’t offer one correction or scold to that girl or they’ll be sacked on the spot. Fortunately for all of us, Miss Sarah is a sweet-natured child and not difficult to manage.”

  “How long have you been in Mrs. Pedlow’s employ?”

  “Seven and one half years. She had just returned from England. The poor little orphan was barely six months old at the time.” She tilted her head, speaking confidentially. “Her own mother was Mrs. Pedlow’s cousin and died in childbirth. The husband had already been taken off by the influenza. What a tragedy. His lordship wasn’t overjoyed at the idea of a ward, but he couldn’t do much with the infant on the doorstep, could he?”

  Murdoch bent towards her. He could see that Miss Kenny used face powder on her rather broad nose, and Nature could not have tinted her cheeks with such an even blush.

  “Between you and me, Miss Kenny, I am sometimes at a loss as to why certain folks ever get married. His lordship and Mrs. Pedlow seem as different as chalk and cheese.”

  She smiled. “How right you are. But perhaps for her…” Like Murdoch she fluttered her hand in the area of her right cheek. “I would never do that, myself. My mother always said I was as particular as a princess because I turned down suitor after suitor.”

  “Perhaps that was not such a good comparison. The royal princesses don’t really have much choice in husbands, do they?”

  She looked at him, trying to determine the intent of his comment. “I suppose not.”

  He had meant nothing by the remark but he had hurt her feelings in some obscure way he couldn’t quite fathom. “As you were saying, Miss Kenny?”

  “Just that I was a foolish girl and thought youth would last forever. I am much mellowed now, having seen too much of life to expect perfection. Even Lord Byron had his faults.”

  Murdoch wasn’t entirely sure who the imperfect lord was but there was no mistaking the wistfulness in Miss Kenny’s voice. She was in the market for a husband. He sat back abruptly in his chair. She was affected, plain, and in his opinion had a terrible taste in clothes, but there was something about her that moved him. Perhaps because he could sense her aching loneliness and that he understood.

  He considered briefly, then he said, “I have no desire to place you in an untenable position but I am interested in your opinion. I tell you frankly that your mistress has not been absolutely candid with me. Not big things as far as I can determine, but me being the suspicious man that I am, I’m always bothered if I’m handed even small lies.”

  “Such as?”

  “The young woman I mentioned, Annie Brogan, came here to call on Saturday and stayed for almost an hour. Mrs. Pedlow at first denied all knowledge of the girl but when it became apparent I would find out, she pretended it was the most brief and casual of visits. John Meredith felt there was something odd about the meeting between Miss Brogan and Mrs. Pedlow. He wondered if they had met before.”

  “I’d swear not while I’ve been in Mrs. Pedlow’s service.”

  “She strikes me as a highly strung woman. What is your impression, Miss Kenny? Is there anything distressing her?”

  Murdoch knew he was taking a risk, that Louise Kenny might be affronted in her loyalties to her mistress. She stared at him for a moment then put the fan at rest in her lap.

  “In my opinion she was upset when Mr. Henry Pedlow, his lordship’s nephew, showed up from India. Nobody expected him. In he waltzes as if he’d just come back from a swim at Sunnyside. I don’t think she can abide the man. She’s so flustered and jumpy whenever he’s around.”

  “Is that all that’s bothering her? An unwelcome visitor?”

  “Nothing else untoward has happened.”

  “Is her marriage happy would you say?”

  “As much as possible–”

  “Given her husband is Walter Pedlow?”

  She nodded, snapping the fan open and wafting it vigorously.

  “Miss Kenny, might I ask you for a favour?”

  “If I can.”

  He lowered his voice and explained what he wanted.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Annie’s dressing room was even smaller than Murdoch’s own cubicle at the station. There was room for a shabby dresser, an extra cane chair, and a sagging pouf. Across one corner was strung a peacock blue chenille curtain. The tiny space was bare of clutter but from the rather lumpy hang of the curtain, Murdoch had the sense that things had been hastily stuffed away for his benefit. Annie hadn’t changed out of her stage costume but she’d covered her bosom with a grey, honeycomb shawl which she might have borrowed from her granny. She’d also removed the makeup from her face. Except for the spangled scarlet skirt that showed beneath the shawl, she looked neat and proper. She did not want to give offence.

  “Please sit down. That chair isn’t as fragile as it looks.”

  He took the cane chair, which swayed and creaked alarmingly.

  “What can I do for you, Mr., er, I’m sorry but I’ve forgotten your name already.”

  “It isn’t Charlie.”

  She shrugged. “There’s too many of them to remember. Charlie suits.”

  “My name’s Murdoch. William Murdoch.”

  “And you’re a police officer?”

  She wrinkled her forehead prettily as if the idea of police officers was bewildering.

  “That’s right. Acting detective, number-four station.”

  She turned to face the dresser mirror and absent-mindedly smoothed her hair back into one of her combs. She continued to look at his reflection and he was forced to address her the same way.

  “I’m conducting an investigation and I thought you might be able to help.”

  “If I can, of course. I like to be of help.”

  Somehow she managed to make it sound lascivious.

  “Did you by any chance know a Mrs. Shaw? Dolly Shaw? She lived on River Street.”

  Annie’s eyes narrowed and she became still. “Never heard of her. Why d’you ask?”

  “She’s dead.”

&n
bsp; She swivelled around and met his gaze properly.

  “What! When’d that happen?”

  “She was found stone cold dead in her own parlour last Friday morning.”

  Annie stared at him and gave a little laugh.

  “Come on, Mr. Murdoch, spit it out. What happened, for God’s sake?”

  “The coroner says she was suffocated.”

  “Suffocated how?”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose the method of death, ma’am. But I can tell you it was not from natural causes.”

  She picked up the ostrich feather fan from the dresser and began to fan herself. She did it more gracefully than Miss Louise Kenny but for similar reasons.

  “If it wasn’t natural then it was unnatural. In my book, that means somebody done her in. Is that right?”

  “It is.”

  “Why’ve you come here? What’s it to do with me?”

  “One of the neighbours was looking out his window late on Thursday night. Fellow couldn’t sleep. He says he saw a young woman enter Mrs. Shaw’s house. At about a quarter past midnight. He says that woman was you, Miss Brogan.”

  “That’s a load of horse plop. I told you I’ve never heard of the woman. He’s got the wrong person. How can you believe some old gasper who’s sitting there pulling on his dick ’til he goes blind?”

  “Stow the language. Mr. Golding says he recognized you because you’d had a little encounter the week previous. When you were coming into the Derby here. He was outside preaching Temperance.”

  “What sort of frigging encounter?”

  “He says you knocked over a Miss Yielding who was his assistant.”

  Annie grinned suddenly. “I remember the man now. Ugly as a devil’s dick. Got all these lumps all over him. That’s the one, isn’t it?”

  Murdoch nodded.

  “He’s trying to get back at me. I didn’t push the stupid hummer over. She slipped. She wanted to stick a tract up my nose and I was startled. It wasn’t my fault. He’s making up this story to get me in trouble, the prick.”

  “I asked you to watch your language.”

  She sneered. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of unstained youth.”

  “Can you prove where you were then? Last Thursday night, say from ten to morning.”

  “I was at home in my bed, where else? Fast asleep.”

  “Do you live by yourself?”

  “’Course not. My sister Millie and me doss down on Mill Street.”

  “She could confirm that you were at home?”

  “Of course. But believe me, that’s where I was, not murdering some bint on River Street.”

  “Do you know anybody by the name of Pedlow, Mrs. Maud Pedlow?”

  “No.”

  “That’s odd. She says you went to visit her on Saturday.”

  “I did?”

  “You did. And don’t tell me she’s lying because the footman also says you were there.”

  “Does he now? Well maybe he’s having it off with his missus and agrees to anything she says.”

  Murdoch felt like shaking her. “Listen to me, Annie Brogan. All I have to do is take you to the station and bring them in. Of course they’ll identify you. Stop giving me a lot of queer.”

  “It’s not me, it’s you. You come in here, throwing your weight around. I visit lots of people. Why are you asking me about this particular bint?”

  He almost laughed. “All right, fair enough. When I was examining Dolly Shaw’s desk I found Mrs. Pedlow’s calling card. I went to question said lady just in case and discovered you’d been there previously. I thought it was quite a coincidence seeing as how you seemed to be connected with the murder victim.”

  “Friggin hell,” Annie exploded. “I just told you that’s horse plop, dog pure, bull patties, whatever you want to call it. Or shall I just say shit? That is shit.”

  “Cut it out, I said. You asked me why I wanted to know about you and Mrs. Pedlow and I’m telling you.”

  Annie, her eyes angry and fearful, turned back to her mirror and began to rub large patches of rouge on her cheeks.

  “So did she know anything, the judge’s wife?”

  “Just like you, she’d never heard of Dolly Shaw.”

  Suddenly Annie snapped her fingers and in a totally unconvincing display she said, “I know who you mean now. I was getting confused. Didn’t really know her name. Pedlow, that’s it. I did go to see her. It’s true. Saturday.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Do I have to tell you?”

  “I’ve already said I’m investigating a murder case. Do you want me to issue a subpoena?”

  She continued to paint her face. Dipping her little finger into a small pot on the dresser, she applied a blue paste to her eyelids.

  “I’ve had enough of those things, thank you. It’s just that it doesn’t involve me so much as my sister, and she has a right to privacy, doesn’t she?”

  “I know about her pregnancy if that’s what you’re referring to.”

  She squeezed some black paint out of a tube on to a dainty brush. “Meredith told you?”

  Murdoch nodded.

  “The man got his tool into my sister and she’s got one on the go. He says he can’t marry her, that he’s betrothed to some other poor woman. I’ve always looked after my sister and I thought the mistress of the house might help us to make Mr. Merry Dick see the error of his ways.”

  “And will she?”

  “She says so. Very kind lady. She’s going to look out for a position for both of them. After they’re married.”

  “Meredith thought you and Mrs. Pedlow were very chummy.”

  “Did he?” She applied a thick black line on her lower lid and began to draw in lashes. “Well we’re all sisters under the skin, aren’t we. Like I said, she’s a kind lady. She sympathized with my situation. Talking about men draws women closer. We got along like bees on shit.”

  “Dolly Shaw was in possession of some herbs that will bring on a miscarriage.”

  His attempt to unsettle her didn’t work.

  She was reddening her full lips now, in complete control.

  “As far as I’m concerned, it’s a good thing somebody will help women when they need it. Prevents a lot of misery.”

  “Maybe you went to River Street to get something to bring on your sister.”

  “I already told you I didn’t.” She tapped on his notebook with a long fingernail. “You’d better write it down. You keep forgetting.”

  He was getting nowhere and he was so exasperated he knew it could affect his judgement. It was not out of the question that Golding had made up the story, but he hadn’t seemed like a vindictive man. However, he’d already made one assumption that was wrong. He didn’t want to make the same mistake with Annie Brogan.

  “Give me your exact address, I’m going to have to speak to your sister.”

  There was a sharp rap on the door.

  “Visitor, Annie!”

  “Just a minute.”

  “I live at number two-forty-seven, Mill Street, right across from the distillery. Nice down there, smells good. Will you leave now? You’ve got your answer. People who come here aren’t that partial to police officers. I don’t want to frighten them off, do I?”

  Murdoch entered the information in his notebook, picked up his hat, and squeezed past Annie to the door. As he did so, she untied the demure shawl, letting it fall so that her breasts swelled into view. She watched for his reaction in the mirror and smiled in satisfaction when she caught the unavoidable glance.

  When he stepped out into the hall, a young man was leaning against the wall, waiting. It was the long-haired dandy who had got up to dance with Annie earlier. He did not respond to Murdoch’s acknowledgement. Morose fellow. He and Annie Brogan deserved each other.

  He went directly to Mill Street and, as he expected, a frightened Millie Brogan confirmed her sister’s alibi. He could get no other information and she cried so easily and so cons
tantly, he left as soon as he could.

  It was a fair hike from there back up to Jarvis Street and Louise Kenny was already waiting for him outside Saltley. As soon as she saw him approaching she hurried towards him. She had changed her clothes and at first he didn’t know why she looked so odd. Then he realized she was wearing a dress that was more suitable for winter and seemed far too small for her. It was a woollen walking costume, dark green with wide lapels of brown satin and an abundance of gold trimming along the seams. Her wrists protruded out of the sleeves, her yellow kid gloves didn’t suit.

  She indicated the house behind her. “Can we walk a little?” She was quite excited and, far from feeling guilty, she was obviously enjoying the role of informer. He offered her his arm and sedately they proceeded up Jarvis Street. Her hat was so wide and loaded with artificial fruit and flowers that he wondered she could even hold her head up. It meant he had to keep his distance or risk blinding from one of the stems.

  “Mr. Murdoch, I only can spare twenty minutes at the most.”

  “Mrs. Pedlow is back then?”

  “Yes. She was out for about an hour.”

  “And?”

  “I asked Taylor as you requested and he said she went to the Avonmore Hotel. That’s where Henry Pedlow is staying.”

  “You thought Mrs. Pedlow didn’t like her nephew but she seems most eager to see him, upsetting everybody’s plans like that.”

  “Most peculiar, isn’t it? Taylor was ticked off because the horse has been a bit lame and Mrs. Pedlow insisted on going at a canter all the way to the hotel. As if they were going to a fire.”

  Or from one, thought Murdoch.

  “She has been quite out of sorts since she returned. She has requested dinner to be served in her own sitting room and she doesn’t even want to be with Miss Sarah.”

  “Did Taylor know why? What happened?”

  Louise frowned. “Taylor is interested only in horses, Mr. Murdoch. Or whether or not the carriage has a squeak. His own mother could be sitting in front of him in a state of suicidal melancholy and he wouldn’t notice.”

  Her voice was sharp and Murdoch wondered if the oblivious coachman had previously stirred Miss Kenny’s affections.