by Granger, Ann
‘So, in the end, it was agreed Britannia will stay there and look for work. If she does find somewhere like her previous situation, where she can sleep in, she’ll let us know her change of address. But for the time being, we know where she is.
‘Funny thing, Mr Ross, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the two women, for all they nearly deafened me with their screeching. I couldn’t help thinking that the old woman had had seven children and there she was in old age, with just a few shillings from the one surviving daughter to keep her out of the workhouse.’
I interrupted at this point to say, ‘A man’s shirt had been washed? But the old woman lives alone and does not even have a bed big enough to share with her daughter.’
Morris considered the point. ‘Some workman might have paid her a few pence to wash it for him. Unless she wore the shirt as a nightgown, I suppose. Anyhow, I had to fight my way out of the place. There was a crowd of neighbours all round the door and halfway down the street. Someone threw some horse dung at me, but I didn’t spot who it was.’
Morris had grown a little hoarse by the end of this narrative. I thanked him for his efforts and dismissed him. I was not surprised to hear that the sergeant and Miss Scroggs had attracted so much attention. The scene before the door of the Clifford house had shown how the cry ‘Murder!’ attracts a host of the curious and the ghoulish. Besides which, the populace loves the opportunity to shout abuse at the police.
I set off home, prepared for it to be my turn to be interrogated – by my wife.
Chapter Nine
Inspector Ben Ross
‘OH, I am glad to see you, Ben,’ Lizzie exclaimed as soon as I walked in. ‘What have you done with Edgar Wellings?’
Bessie was hovering in the hall, ostensibly to take my coat but really to hear the latest news.
‘I have not done anything with that wretched young man,’ I said. ‘Other than accompany him to the Yard and have Biddle take down his statement. Then I let him go.’
‘Oh, thank goodness you don’t have him in a prison cell,’ Lizzie responded.
‘He ought to be locked up!’ said Bessie, sharing the view of the old gentleman in the bath chair.
‘Haven’t you something to do in the kitchen, Bessie?’ I asked. ‘As it happens, I don’t need him in a cell. I know where I can find him. More to the point, Lizzie, what have you done with Patience Wellings?’
‘We went to see Frank,’ Lizzie said. ‘And it was Patience’s idea, before you say I ought to have left Frank out of it. But Patience can’t leave Frank in ignorance. Frank was very good about it. He escorted Patience to Goodge Place to tell her uncle and aunt. I came home, so I have no idea how the Pickfords took the news. Patience is very upset, as you can imagine.’
‘I think we can safely assume they will have taken it badly,’ I told her. ‘I told the young fellow he had to own up to his family. But his sister has pulled the chestnuts out of the fire for him, after all. I really have no sympathy for young Edgar. I am sorry for poor little Patience. As for Carterton, he will manage to survive this somehow, as he always does. Only I hope he doesn’t turn up at the Yard with the intention of meddling. I don’t care if he does sit in Parliament. This is a police matter.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And, Lizzie, my dear, that goes for you, too. Superintendent Dunn is worried you will start investigating on your own.’
My wife didn’t care for that, as I knew she wouldn’t.
‘I really don’t know why Superintendent Dunn should even mention it!’ she said loftily. ‘Of course, I realise it’s a police investigation. It’s a horrible crime. I dare say Mrs Clifford was a very unpleasant person, but still, murder is never to be justified.’
Lizzie looked extremely virtuous as she said this. The expression ‘butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth’ came to mind.
‘You know how Dunn worries,’ I said rather weakly. ‘And you have done it before.’
‘With quite some success, I should like to remind you! However,’ Lizzie held up her hand, ‘please don’t worry. The very last thing I’d wish to do is to make difficulties for you with Mr Dunn. I shall do my best to support Patience, of course, as that is a private matter – a family matter. In fact, I think I might call in at Goodge Place tomorrow.’
‘Lizzie!’ I protested.
She leaned forward, forestalling any objection I might be about to make. ‘Are you forgetting?’ she asked. ‘Someone has to tell Aunt Parry about all this!’
I had to admit I had forgotten Aunt Parry.
Elizabeth Martin Ross
I hastened to Goodge Place the following morning. The hour was far too early for a respectable visit, but this was an emergency. I was shown into the same little back parlour where I’d met with Edgar and his sister, and which Patience seemed to have made her private refuge. As I’d thought, Patience was overjoyed to see me, running to greet me and flinging her arms around me.
‘Oh, Lizzie! I am so glad you have come. Is poor Edgar locked up in a dreadful prison cell?’
‘No,’ I assured her. ‘Ben let him go, after Edgar signed a written statement. But it is not the end of it, Patience. Edgar is still in trouble; and Ben has told him he must not leave London.’
‘Do they know about it at Bart’s?’ asked Patience anxiously. ‘They would not like it at all.’
‘To the best of my knowledge, no one has informed the hospital, at least not yet.’
Patience looked relieved. ‘I am so happy Edgar hasn’t been in a cell all night, catching gaol fever. I was going to send Lucy out again with a note to ask you to come. It has been awful here, just awful! You can’t imagine it. What’s more, we’ll have to go through it all again. Frank says that this afternoon we must go and see Mrs Parry. She cannot be left in ignorance. She’ll get to hear of it anyway, so Frank says. She’d never forgive him if she heard it elsewhere first.’
I had already told Ben this. Although normally Aunt Parry preferred to be left in ignorance of anything that would disturb her comfortable world, this was far too important. Frank was quite right. Gossip would bring the news to her ears before long and she must be prepared.
‘Frank and I,’ said Patience, conducting me to a chair, ‘do so hope you will come to Dorset Square with us. Mrs Parry listens to you. Frank says so. You will be able to calm her.’
‘She listens, perhaps, but she also disapproves of me,’ I warned.
‘But Frank says you are not afraid to speak openly to her, concealing nothing. No one else does that. Even Frank has to be careful what he says to her. She makes him a monthly allowance, you know, and he does need it. Being a Member of Parliament is a very expensive business.’
This was the Frank Carterton I knew of old. He had always been adept at manoeuvring his way around his aunt. But if he thought I would be an obedient pawn on his chessboard, he was wrong. Patience appeared to have complete confidence in my powers of reason with regard to Mrs Parry; I would have to disabuse her of that, too. As for calming Aunt Parry down when she heard of a scandal in the Wellings family: that would take more than my efforts.
‘I will come with you,’ I said, ‘not just for your sake or for Frank’s, but for hers, too. Mrs Parry again seems to be without a companion and she will need support. This is going to be a terrible shock to her. I don’t know what she will do. You must not rely too much on my influence, Patience.’
‘She is without a companion. The last one left after only a month,’ said Patience, diverted. ‘Frank says she’s had several. They never stay.’ In a lowered voice, she added, ‘Frank told me one of her companions was murdered!’
‘Yes, that’s true. Sadly, the young woman in question was my predecessor. I came to London to be Mrs Parry’s companion, you know.’ I allowed myself a smile. ‘I didn’t last long, either.’
Patience sat back on her chair and folded her hands in her lap. ‘What a strange place London is, people being murdered all over the place all the time.’
‘Well, not all the time,’ I protested.
/> ‘Certainly more than they are at home,’ said Patience. ‘What else did Inspector Ross say to you about Edgar last night?’
‘He said only that he had not arrested him. Ben does not confide details of police investigations to me, you know. That would be quite improper.’
Patience looked dissatisfied. ‘I’d ask him, if it were me.’
‘Yes, I dare say you would. I admit I do, from time to time. You would find, as I have, that I don’t always get answers, or sufficient answers. Now then, tell me how your uncle and aunt took the news about Edgar.’
So Patience began her account. I was soon very pleased I had not been present on that occasion. She and Frank had agreed that Frank would open proceedings by explaining that Edgar Wellings had got into debt. This was as the result of gambling, mostly in card games. As a result Edgar had found himself financially embarrassed. Edgar was well aware how distressing this would be to his family.
‘That was as far as Frank got,’ said Patience. ‘My uncle and aunt were so shocked that they had listened in silence to that point. But when Frank paused for breath, oh dear, there was an awful scene.’ Patience closed her eyes briefly. ‘My Uncle Pickford asked at once how Frank knew this; and why was Edgar not there himself to confess? Frank tried to break it gently. He said matters had escalated and Edgar was not able to be present in person, because he had been obliged to accompany the police to Scotland Yard.’
Here Patience was overcome by the memory and couldn’t continue for a moment or two. Probably there had been no way Frank could have broken the news that would have made it any less dramatic.
Patience recovered enough to continue her account. She agreed that whatever Frank had said, it would not have been quietly received. As it was, Aunt Pickford had set up a wail ‘like a banshee’, as Frank had afterwards described it. Uncle Pickford, a man of no-nonsense manner, had promptly told her to control her distress or take it elsewhere. He then turned on Frank as if it were ‘all poor Frank’s fault’.
Why was his nephew at the Yard? Frank told him about Edgar owing a large sum of money to a woman in Deptford. At this point, Uncle Pickford interrupted to demand, who was this woman? And what had Edgar been doing in Deptford?
The woman was a moneylender, he was told. Uncle Pickford had turned quite purple at the news and Patience had feared he was going have a fit. Why the deuce had the boy gone to a moneylender? If Edgar needed money, why had he not come to a family member: his father or uncle? Pickford yelled this at the top of his voice. The whole house could have heard and his wife had begged him to moderate his tone.
That had not been received well, either. ‘You keep quiet there, Matilda! It is enough I have to listen to this . . . incredible yarn from Frank, here. Just sit there. Patience! Take care of your aunt.’
Patience herself had ventured to speak up at this point and tell them how distressed and ashamed poor Edgar was. This was why he had not dared to confess earlier.
While Aunt Pickford whimpered in the background, and Patience administered what comfort she could, Uncle Pickford had then delivered a long speech about it being quite right that Edgar should be distressed. ‘Distressed? That is not the half of it! The wretched boy should be here on his knees, begging forgiveness.’
‘I do not think,’ Patience added at this moment, in comment, ‘that Edgar would ever do that, however sorry he was – is. Anyway, my uncle declared that Edgar had not only brought shame on himself, his sister and his parents but on the inhabitants of Goodge Place too.’
Uncle Pickford had spluttered to a halt briefly, breathless. Frank had resumed his account to explain that, alas, the borrowing of money was not the end of it. The moneylender had been murdered. Edgar had been taken to Scotland Yard, accused of the crime by a maid employed in the house where the crime had taken place.
At this point Patience had to run at once to her aunt, as Mrs Pickford appeared to have fainted. But it was only momentary. Mrs Pickford was too determined to hear everything to pass out completely.
‘Murder?’ thundered Uncle Pickford. ‘Has the boy lost his mind?’
Patience, still propping up her aunt, had spoken up again to insist that it was impossible that Edgar had murdered anyone. The maid in Deptford must have been mistaken. Uncle Pickford had declared that he was going to the Yard at once to demand his nephew’s release.
Frank, heroically and with a splendid argument, said Patience, had persuaded Uncle Pickford he must wait until the next day.
‘That is to say, today,’ clarified Patience. ‘I must say I am sure Frank will make wonderful speeches in the House. I don’t think anyone else could have prevented my uncle rushing out and going to the Yard at once, yesterday. But he has gone this morning, Lizzie, instead.’
Oh dear, I thought, Ben must probably be fending off Uncle Pickford right now. I glanced at the clock. Patience, however, had resumed her narrative.
‘How am I to write to my brother-in-law?’ had boomed Uncle Pickford, standing before the fireplace with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. ‘How am I to tell him all this sorry business has taken place without my even becoming suspicious? Here’s my nephew running about the place ruining himself, and the family’s good name, very likely to hang as well, and I don’t even notice something is amiss?’
Frank tried to calm him down by saying that there was no reason why he should have been suspicious. Uncle Pickford was then very rude to Frank, said Patience indignantly.
‘How?’ I asked, fascinated.
‘He said, ours was a well-ordered family, or at least, he had always believed it so. Frank might not think it odd that no one had noticed Edgar had gone to the dogs. Things were done differently in London, perhaps. But where we came from, our town, people kept a better eye on things. He hoped that Frank, as a Member of Parliament, was going to keep a better eye on what went on in his constituency.
‘Frank went awfully red in the face when Uncle Pickford said that,’ continued Patience. ‘I thought he might say something sharp. He would have been entitled to do so, but it wouldn’t have helped. However, fortunately, there was a— a diversion then. It interrupted things just at the right moment.’
‘How so, a diversion?’ I was intrigued.
Uncle Pickford, explained Patience, had been so carried away by indignation and being rude to Frank that he had not paid attention to how near he stood to the fire. Aunt Pickford hadn’t noticed either. She’d been sitting in the corner, sniffing a cologne-soaked handkerchief. But then there was a very strange smell of burning, like singed cloth.
‘And smoke started going up from the tails of Uncle Pickford’s frock coat! So there was a bit of a commotion, you know. I mean, there was a commotion already, but this was for a different reason. My aunt jumped up with a shriek and cried out that my uncle was on fire. Frank called out that my uncle should take off his coat. My aunt went to help him, but my uncle only got angrier and told her to keep out of the way. So he pulled off his coat himself and threw it, smouldering, on the carpet.
‘And then,’ said Patience with a satisfied smile, ‘Frank seized a flower vase and emptied it – water and flowers – over Uncle’s coat. It was very quick-thinking of him and it saved the day. But I believe Frank enjoyed doing it.’
I was sure he had. ‘So, what next?’ I asked.
Mr Pickford had stamped off upstairs for another coat. The maid, Lucy, had come in and collected the damaged garment.
‘She was there the moment my uncle strode out of the room,’ said Patience. ‘I would not be surprised if Lucy had been listening at the door. Uncle Pickford won’t be the only one writing home to tell them about it. Lucy is from our town and she will inform her mother.’
Frank told Lucy to ask the kitchen to send up some tea for Mrs Pickford. While waiting, Patience had comforted her aunt and fortunately the tea had arrived very quickly. Lucy brought it in, although she was not the parlourmaid but Mrs Pickford’s personal maid. Clearly Lucy was trying to keep the upset ‘in the family’ a
nd away from the eyes of the curious servants.
‘She also wanted to stay to look after my aunt, but I told her very firmly I could do that.’
Mr Pickford had returned, freshly attired and calmer, to find them all sitting round drinking tea. So after such a bad start things had finished up reasonably well. Uncle Pickford had repeated that he would call at Scotland Yard in the morning and demand Edgar’s release. It would do no harm for the wretched young man to have spent a night in a cell, meditating on the error of his ways. He, Uncle Pickford, would then write to his brother-in-law.
‘I should not be surprised if the whole family doesn’t come down to London!’ concluded Mr Pickford.
Mrs Pickford, seeing at long last a gap in events when she could contribute something, said she would tell Cook at once to send out for extra provisions. If they were to feed more guests, the butcher must be asked to deliver at least three good joints.
Inspector Ben Ross
I knew Lizzie intended to visit Goodge Place in the morning and wondered in what sort of state she would find the family today. Edgar’s uncle had been told the news the evening before, because Lizzie had left Carterton there with Patience for that express purpose. Pickford’s first instinct must have been to storm Scotland Yard. It was a wonder he hadn’t burst in while I was interviewing his nephew.
But Mr Pickford had not shown himself there and then. However, I couldn’t hope to be spared a visit from him today and braced myself for the encounter.
Sure enough, Biddle arrived just after ten to announce: ‘A gentleman is here, very desirous of a word with you, sir. He is a Mr Herbert Pickford. He says, you will know who he is. We have arrested his nephew. He is demanding to know what the devil is going on.’ Biddle blushed. ‘His words, sir, not mine.’
‘I understand, Constable. Show the gentleman in.’