by Granger, Ann
Phipps and I went into the hall and joined Morris there. I closed the door on Wellings in the kitchen, and spoke quietly.
‘I’ll take him with me to the Yard, by train and cab, to write out his statement and sign it. You, Sergeant,’ I turned to Morris, ‘go upstairs and tell that girl to put her things together. The house is the scene of a dreadful murder and she cannot stay here. We cannot risk her “tidying up” or moving things around. There is also her safety to consider, if the killer should return. He may not have found all he was looking for.’
I looked at Phipps. ‘He was obviously searching for something in the parlour, but we cannot assume it was the cashbox. We know from Wellings that clients signed a properly drawn-up document detailing the money borrowed, the interest payable, and time allowed before, presumably, penalties ensued. My guess is that whoever cracked open the desk was looking for the document with his signature. He could have taken the cashbox to disguise his true purpose. If he did not find it, he may come back and try again. In any event, Scroggs’s employer, the house owner, is dead; so there is no justification for her remaining.’
I turned back to Morris. ‘If the girl cannot take everything she owns, tell her she can come back under police escort another time to fetch the rest. She should take what is necessary for a day or two now. Then take her to her mother’s house. We need to be able to find the maid again easily, so try and impress on the old woman, if she objects, that she should offer her daughter shelter for a time.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Morris woodenly. He set off back up the staircase to where Britannia Scroggs sat fuming in her attic eyrie.
I addressed my colleague, Phipps, again. ‘I would be much obliged to you if, during my absence, you could oversee this house being sealed. I would like a seal on the parlour door here, one on the front door, another on the kitchen door – and one on that wooden door into the alley, at the back of the yard. I would also like the parlour window sealed up.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ said Phipps. ‘We can nail a couple of planks of wood over that alley door, and the kitchen door. The windows in the front and the front door can have wax seals and I’ll leave a man on watch.’ He cleared his throat and added quietly, ‘You didn’t tell that young gent the body was found in Skinner’s Yard.’
‘No. If he is innocent, let him go on thinking it was found here where she was attacked. If he is not, then he will be wondering why we haven’t mentioned it; and it will worry him and make him unsure what tale to tell.’
As I prepared to leave the house with Wellings, we heard an eldritch screech above our heads.
‘What do you mean, go and stay with Ma?’ yelled Britannia’s voice. ‘How can I do that? She’s only got one little room and one narrow bed! Where am I going to sleep, on the floor? And suppose she don’t want me there, what then?’
Outside the house, a remnant of the earlier crowd lingered hopefully. Sighting Wellings, they sent up cries of: ‘Is that the murderer? Have you arrested him? Where’s the Black Maria?’
The old fellow in the bath chair became quite dangerously excited, waving a stick and shrieking, ‘Murderer, murderer! Hang the damn fellow!’
Wellings had turned a deathly white and appeared terrified, as well he might. To be the object of concentrated abuse from a crowd is a frightening thing.
‘Ignore them,’ I advised him. I gripped his arm, not to stop him running off, but to ensure he didn’t faint away on the pavement. He stumbled along beside me.
I had feared the throng might accompany us and wondered if I would have done better to bring Constable Barrett with me. But some remained before the house in case anything new happened there. Most of the rest gave up at the corner of the street. One or two people tagged along further but were soon bored. After that, although we got a few curious looks, only one ragged boy of about nine or ten years of age followed us all the way from the house to the station. Eventually, as Wellings had put up no resistance and there was no more entertainment, even this spectator got bored and deserted us.
Outside the railway station, I spotted the old man with the tarred hat again, still hunched in his search for tobacco among the cobbles. This was probably a good spot for it. Perhaps as a youngster he sailed with Nelson, I thought; ship’s boy, perhaps? The old fellow took no notice at all of us. All that mattered to him was to fill his little cotton bag with the precious tobacco.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth Martin Ross
PATIENCE WAS in no state to go home to Goodge Place so I had Wally drive us back to my house near Waterloo. There, Bessie and I plied Frank’s fiancée with strong tea, and waved a bottle of sal volatile under her nose until she protested. I also sent Bessie down to the public house to buy a small flask of brandy.
‘Never – drink – alcohol,’ gasped Patience between sobs.
‘Medicinal!’ I said firmly. I wondered quite how she would manage as hostess to dinner parties with Frank’s political friends, once they were married. She could hardly refuse to provide wine, port and other liquors.
So Patience drank the brandy. It made her cough and splutter, but it did the trick.
‘I feel a little better,’ she told me. ‘Well, not better about what has happened. That’s— terrible! I can’t believe it! Of course, Edgar didn’t do— didn’t do what that girl accused him of. Edgar wouldn’t attack anyone! Anyway, he’s a doctor now. He couldn’t kill anyone deliberately.’
There had been convicted murderers who had been doctors, I knew that. Generally, as I understood it, they tended to poison, rather than bludgeon. But had Edgar been desperate enough to panic and just strike out?
‘In the absence of his denial, we must accept,’ I said cautiously, ‘that your brother was there, at that house, last night. The maid seemed very sure of it. That was where he went to borrow the money from Mrs Clifford and it does appear that Mrs Clifford is dead. Of course, the girl could be mistaken; and Edgar may already have denied being there. Ben bundled us away before we had time to find out.’ Ben could have done nothing else, but all the same, I was a little annoyed about that.
‘Even if he was there,’ burst out Patience fiercely, ‘he didn’t – wouldn’t – couldn’t kill anyone!’
Bessie’s head appeared around the parlour door. ‘More tea, missus?’
‘Not for me, thank you,’ said Patience dismally. ‘And I won’t drink any more of that brandy, either, thank you, Lizzie. Aunt Pickford will smell it on my breath when I get back to Goodge Place.’ Alarm filled her eyes. ‘Oh, my goodness, oh heavens, what are we to tell Uncle and Aunt Pickford? They will find out. I mean, if Edgar is arrested . . . Will your husband arrest him, Lizzie?’
‘I don’t know,’ I told her frankly. ‘He might, I suppose, if he believes that girl. But he might not. It will depend, I dare say, on what Edgar has to say for himself, what explanation he gives.’
‘Oh, how I wish I was there in that house, listening to what he has to say, and supporting him!’ wailed Patience.
So did I, but I didn’t say so.
Patience had fallen silent and I sensed a change in her mood. ‘Lizzie,’ she said, suddenly calm. ‘We must go and tell Frank, right now, straight away.’
‘He might be in the House,’ I said. ‘If Parliament is sitting, that is.’
‘We’ll try his rooms. Can your maid go and find that cabman again?’
So Bessie was sent out again to find a cab, preferably Wally’s if possible. I heated water to enable Patience to wash her face. Then I helped her comb and pin up her hair afresh; and by the time we’d done, Patience looked and sounded her usual sensible self.
Bessie reappeared, flushed with success. ‘He was in the pub,’ she said. ‘But I got him out of there sharp. The cab is outside.’
In the street we found Wally. It was not yet late in the day, but the light was already fading.
‘Neither of us,’ said Wally to me, ‘neither me nor the horse, that is, has dined, as you might say.’
‘I am sorry, Mr Slater. It’s
an emergency,’ I told him.
‘When duty calls,’ he said, ‘the Slaters always hear it. I’d an uncle, fought all the way through the Peninsular Campaign with the Iron Duke. You can rely on a Slater. Blow the trumpet and we’re ready to advance.’
‘He is a funny man,’ whispered Patience to me, when we were inside the cab. ‘But he looks so frightening, I wonder anyone hires his cab! Still, he’s very – very obliging, isn’t he?’
I agreed that Wally was, indeed, both kind and reliable. I did not say that, in view of his speech about duty, I also suspected he’d downed a pint or two before Bessie hauled him from the public house. I hoped it didn’t affect his driving.
Frank Carterton had found himself comfortable furnished rooms on the second floor of an elegant house in Bedford Square; and he was at home. He was in fact lounging on a chaise longue with his feet up, in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, and reading some correspondence.
‘Good grief!’ he exclaimed when the landlady ushered us in. He jumped to his feet. ‘I mean, what a pleasant surprise!’ He kissed both of us on the cheek – Patience with more warmth than me.
‘We did not mean to trouble you, Frank,’ I said, indicating the correspondence that now lay scattered on the carpet.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Letter from a constituent, you know . . .’ He scooped up the papers and put them on a table. ‘Let me ask for some tea.’
Looking around his sitting room, while Frank went to organise refreshment for his visitors, I wondered what the rent of these rooms might be. He needed a respectable address, and one with some style. I was reminded of what Patience had said to me: after the pair married, they would have to maintain two homes, one in London and another in his constituency. Patience’s legacy from her grandmother would be needed. Could Edgar not see that? Or was he so wrapped up in his own affairs?
I decided that Edgar Wellings, although likeable, had been thoroughly spoiled by a doting family. He’d arrived in London lacking the awareness that other people would not treat him with affectionate indulgence. He was now finding out the hard way that it is a cruel and unfeeling world, particularly if you are a silly young man easily parted from his money.
I didn’t doubt he might make a very good doctor one day. His intelligence was not in question. But he had no commonsense; and I did wonder if he would ever acquire any. He had begun his adult career with falling into debt through gaming, and was now entangled in some sordid business in Deptford. In our brief conversation over breakfast that morning, Ben had spoken of a new case of murder. The nearly hysterical maid at the house in Deptford had flung wild, incredible accusations at Edgar. What were we now to tell Frank?
‘Well, ladies,’ said Frank, reappearing. He was pulling on his coat as he spoke. ‘Tea will be brought up shortly. I am, of course, very pleased to see you, both of you. But I confess I am a little puzzled. There is not some emergency with my Aunt Julia?’ He looked at me.
‘Oh, no, Mrs Parry is quite well,’ I assured him. ‘Only a little downcast because of the diet the doctor has insisted she follow.’
‘Oh, the diet!’ said Frank with a wide gesture of dismissal. ‘She’s been complaining about that almost without drawing breath. I’ve told her, she’s got to stay with it. It’s for her own good.’
A knock at the door heralded the tea tray. We all waited while it was deposited. Once the landlady had departed, Patience took it upon herself to pour out. I guessed it was because she was not anxious to begin the tricky business of telling Frank the purpose of our visit. Perhaps she hoped I might start first.
I looked at Frank, who was gazing proudly at his betrothed as she demonstrated her skill with the teapot, without spilling too much in the saucers. I knew he had just turned thirty. It was young to begin a parliamentary career. But his diplomatic travels, first in Russia and then in China, had matured him. He wasn’t the scapegrace he had been when we’d first met, only four years earlier. He’d also given up the dandyish fashions and no longer curled his hair with tongs. (I fancied he had taken the opportunity to brush it when he’d gone to fetch his coat.)
Perhaps I had been too harsh in my earlier judgement on Edgar Wellings. Perhaps he, too, would learn from his experiences? But I could not rid myself of my doubts, although I hoped I would be proved wrong.
Patience set down the teapot with a trembling hand and raised imploring eyes to me. Well, this was what she had come to me for: help.
‘Frank,’ I said. ‘We all know how much you have on your mind, and how busy your day is. But there is a matter we’d like to discuss with you. Patience did not want to trouble you unnecessarily, but there has been a development.’
‘In what?’ asked Frank. He looked at Patience and asked with a smile, ‘You have not got into a scrape in the big city, Patience?’
‘No,’ said Patience dolefully. ‘My brother, Edgar, has.’
Then it all came out; all, that is, except for the fact that Edgar had asked his sister for money. We had decided, Patience and I, during the drive there, that as she had refused her brother the money, the matter was closed. Frank need not be troubled with it. There was certainly enough to tell him without that.
Frank listened in silence, then stood up and went to the window to gaze down into the square outside, his hands clasped behind his back.
Patience stood the silence for as long as she could, then burst out tearfully, ‘Oh, Frank, I am so sorry!’
‘Not your fault,’ said Frank from the window, but without turning round.
‘I should have told you before, straight away,’ Patience cast me an imploring glance.
‘Frank,’ I said gently. ‘Patience is very upset.’
Frank swung round, walked quickly to where Patience sat, dropped down to balance on his heels, and took her hand. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘No tears, now. The sight of them gives me indigestion.’
‘Oh, Frank!’ cried Patience, laughing in spite of her distress.
Frank patted her hand, stood up and stooped to kiss her again, this time on the forehead. Then he turned to me.
‘I shall have to talk to Ross,’ he said. ‘But that won’t be easy, will it? I cannot interfere in a criminal investigation.’
‘Let me speak to him first, this evening,’ I suggested. ‘Not that he would tell me anything he should not, you understand. But I will tell him that Patience and I called here to tell you what has been happening. Of course, we only heard the maid shouting at Edgar. She could be mistaken in what she was saying. I really don’t see how it could be otherwise.’
Patience sat up straight. ‘Edgar would not kill anyone! That maid was half out of her mind. I don’t know if it was from shock that she made such horrible accusations, or whether she is simple. But she was talking a lot of nonsense!’
‘I would be grateful, Lizzie,’ said Frank to me, ‘if you would take Patience back to Goodge Place now. In fact, I will come too. Someone has to explain it all to the Pickfords.’
‘Oh no, I had forgotten Uncle and Aunt Pickford!’ wailed Patience.
‘I’ll take care of them,’ said Frank firmly. ‘Now, let us be on our way. I have to be in the House later this evening.’
In Goodge Place, Frank helped Patience down from the growler. ‘Slater can take you home now, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘And thank you, my dear, for being such a good friend to Patience. I am sorry if this makes difficulties for you with Ross.’
He went to give instructions to Wally and also, I saw, to pay him. When he came back he said, ‘Slater has been paid until the end of the day.’
‘I did not mean for you to do that, Frank,’ I protested.
‘Nonsense, this whole affair is not of your making. Patience and I are extremely grateful to you. Now, then, let us beard the Pickfords in their den!’
So he and Patience set about the fraught business of breaking the bad news in Goodge Place and Wally, and the weary Victor, took me home.
Chapter Eight
Inspector Ben Ross
I
HAD arrived with Wellings at the Yard. He collapsed on to a chair and stared at me wild-eyed. ‘That old man,’ he gasped. ‘He wants to hang me!’
‘I dare say he wants to hang a good many other people, too,’ I told him. ‘That sort of old gentleman is very keen on Law and Order and punishing the guilty with the utmost severity. Such people resist any mention of prison reform or making penalties less severe. Put him out of your mind.’
He rubbed his forehead and muttered, ‘How? Oh, dear Lord! But she was alive when I saw her last, I swear.’
I explained he must tell his story again, leaving out no detail, while Constable Biddle wrote it down.
Biddle is conscientious in taking dictation, but slow. A couple of times Wellings showed signs of impatience. But, in the end, we got it all down and Wellings signed it.
‘What now?’ he asked me with some trepidation. ‘Am I under arrest?’
‘No,’ I told him. ‘You are free to go. If I were to charge you, you would be detained. The hospital would know about it. Likewise, if you decide to leave London in a hurry, Bart’s will know and that will be the end of your medical career. So, I am not afraid you are going to run away. You must, of course, stay in London. You understand that? No inventing sick relatives or any other emergency at home.’
‘I’m not going anywhere!’ snapped Wellings. He drew a deep breath. ‘It looks bad for me, doesn’t it? I was there last night and that maid saw me. I won’t deny I was there; and Clifford and I exchanged some hard words. But you have only my word for it that I didn’t leave her, dying or dead, on the carpet when I left.’
‘Oh, I know you didn’t do that,’ I told him. I held up my hand to forestall the words about to burst from him, and the look of hope in his eyes. ‘I know you didn’t leave her on the carpet, I mean. I still don’t know whether you struck her, perhaps fatally.’
Wellings had now realised that some vital information had not been given him. ‘How so?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Because, although we have good reason to believe she was attacked viciously in her home, her dead body was not discovered in her parlour. It was found elsewhere.’