The Dead Woman of Deptford: Inspector Ben Ross mystery 6

by Granger, Ann

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ I protested.

  We had squabbled about it until bedtime. Then, as it is a point of honour with us not to end the day with cross words hanging in the air between us, we called a truce. We even found something we could agree on.

  ‘That fellow Wellings is a troublesome rascal,’ said Ben forcefully. ‘And I wish he had gone to follow his medical studies somewhere other than in London, the further away the better. Edinburgh, I believe, has an excellent school of medicine.’

  That made me smile, despite my worries. ‘Why not send him to Europe, to study in France or in Germany?’ I asked.

  ‘Even better!’ said Ben.

  We could not know, when Ben left for Scotland Yard the following morning, that Edgar had not yet done with causing everyone problems, not least himself.

  It had begun to rain. Bessie and I were set to make a weekly trip to the markets. We had drawn up a list of what was needed, supplied ourselves with baskets, and dressed in suitable outdoor wear, with galoshes over our boots, and were all ready to go. Then came a thunderous hammering on the front door as someone attacked the knocker with such vigour, I wondered the brass did not jump off and fall to the ground.

  ‘Who’s that?’ demanded Bessie, setting off in the direction of the summons. ‘We’re not all deaf here, are we? Oy!’ she yelled. ‘Stop that! I’m coming!’

  I had run into the hall behind her; because such a summons must mean bad news in some form. I admit my heart was in my mouth, because I am always afraid, as any police officer’s wife must be, that some misfortune has befallen her husband. But when Bessie pulled the door open and prepared to confront the impatient visitor, we saw, standing in the rain outside, Patience Wellings. Behind her was a hansom cab, its driver hunched on its perch enveloped in a waterproof cape.

  ‘Oh, you are here, thank goodness!’ said Patience, seeing me. She turned and waved to the cabman, who whistled to his horse and clattered away.

  ‘Whatever is the matter?’ I asked her, pulling her into the house.

  ‘Oh, Lizzie,’ Patience began wildly, ‘you will say, I know, that I ought not to have come alone in a hansom cab because a lady shouldn’t, but there wasn’t a closed cab to be had, and I had to come at once!’

  ‘Let me take your wet cape, miss,’ said Bessie, ever practical.

  Divested of her cape, Patience entered our parlour still in a state of disarray. Her hair had become unpinned beneath her hat and tumbled in curls either side of her flushed cheeks. She did look very pretty and animated.

  ‘You had no problem coming here?’ I asked. ‘No, er, no one tried to hail your cab or call out?’

  Patience frowned. ‘In fact, twice gentlemen did. One man waved his cane at the cab and called out “Halloo!” as they shout when hunting a fox. It was very odd, because clearly they could see the cab had a fare.’

  I was not surprised that any gentleman walking alone, and seeing the open-fronted cab bowl past with just the one unescorted pretty young female in it, had gained the wrong impression. I persuaded her to sit down and calm herself before beginning to tell me what was wrong.

  ‘Edgar has gone. He is missing!’ Patience threw her arms out wide.

  My heart sank. ‘When? How? Are you sure?’ I asked all three questions in quick succession.

  ‘Absolutely sure. He can’t have gone very far, Lizzie, because he has no money and, oh Lizzie, I am so afraid he has been driven to do something terrible and we shall find his dead body in the river!’

  ‘Pull yourself together, Patience. Edgar would not do anything so foolish. Just wait a moment,’ I told her. I went to the kitchen to ask Bessie to make tea and found the kettle was already boiling.

  ‘What’s the young gent done now?’ asked Bessie in a stage whisper.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think we shall be going to the market today, somehow.’

  ‘Tea is coming,’ I assured Patience on my return to the parlour. I sat down, facing her across our hearth. The fire had not yet been lit, but there was residual warmth in the room from the evening before, and it was not too cold. Patience, in any case, would not have noticed if there had been icicles hanging from the ceiling. ‘Tell me the whole story from the beginning,’ I urged her. ‘Or from the time I left Goodge Place, following the arrival of your family.’

  Patience drew a deep breath. ‘Well, after you went, my Uncle Pickford told Papa and Mamma – and my aunts – that a difficulty had arisen. Of course, they all wanted to know in what way. My Aunt Pickford managed to get in an answer before my uncle, for once, and said they should not be unduly alarmed, but although Edgar would be joining us all for dinner, Frank would not. The engagement was still on, but the wedding preparations must be delayed. Edgar had found himself in some difficulty and as Frank’s position as a Member of Parliament was very important and public, he could not be involved in any scandal.’

  ‘That was when they all started shrieking,’ I said. ‘I heard them from outside, on the pavement.’

  ‘They all went quite mad,’ said Patience simply, ‘or so you would have thought. It was the word “scandal” that caused the most trouble. Uncle Pickford was cross and shouted, “See what you have done, Matilda! I told you to let me handle it.”

  ‘Then he took Papa into the study to explain the situation to him. Aunt Matilda and I stayed in the drawing room; and my aunt had to explain it, anyway, to my mother and Aunts Briggs. I don’t know which bit was the worst. The gambling had them throwing up their hands in horror, then came the borrowing of money from a moneylender. At that point we had to stop and fetch smelling salts to Mamma. But the worst was yet to come; and Aunt Matilda couldn’t bring herself to speak of it. I had to tell them – about the murder, I mean. And Edgar being obliged to go to Scotland Yard and make a statement. Aunt Caroline fainted right away. Aunt Amelia burst into tears and my poor mother was struck dumb. She sat, frozen, unable to speak or move. We feared she’d had some sort of stroke. But after we had rubbed her hands and bathed her forehead with cologne and administered more smelling salts, she finally spoke, in a whisper. She asked, “Where is he?”

  ‘Aunt Matilda and I assured her that Edgar would be coming to dine that evening. He was not locked in gaol or anything like that. That did calm my mother and aunts considerably; and both aunts said they were sure Edgar would be able to explain what was clearly a terrible mistake. Oh, Lizzie, I wish now that Inspector Ross had arrested Edgar, because at least we should know where he was, and now we don’t.’

  I thought wryly that that was just what Ben had said the previous evening. Had Edgar been locked in a cell, he couldn’t be suspected of more wrongdoing; nor could he have vanished as he apparently had done.

  ‘When did you discover he was missing?’ I asked. ‘Really missing and not just failed to show his face.’

  ‘The first indication was when he didn’t arrive at the house to dine with us, last night,’ sobbed Patience, her self-control completely dissolving.

  Fortunately the tea arrived. Bessie and I managed to comfort her and she stilled her tears. After some minutes, and two cups of tea, she managed to continue, occasionally dabbing at her eyes and nose.

  ‘We waited for him to join us, as arranged. Of course, we all talked of nothing else while we waited. But he still didn’t come. Uncle Pickford consulted his watch and said it was very poor form for the boy to be late. We women all made excuses for him. We said, perhaps he had had difficulty finding a cab.

  ‘We waited some while longer. Aunt Matilda began to fret about the dinner. Uncle Pickford grew very red in the face and Papa had turned very pale. My father is not a man who says a great deal, you understand. But he feels things deeply. I could tell how worried he was when we still received no message to explain what the delay might be. As you will understand, we all began to fear the worst. Aunt Caroline said she was sure Edgar had met with an accident in London’s traffic. Aunt Amelia said perhaps the police had arrested him, after all, and he was in Newgate Prison, where
he was sure to catch a fever. Mamma began to weep.

  ‘At last Uncle Pickford declared that clearly Edgar had not the courage to face us all. That, and nothing more complicated, was the reason he had not shown his face. Uncle Pickford apologised to Papa, and said he (my uncle) should have foreseen the possibility. But really, he had not thought Edgar would let him down like this. He now regretted not bringing Edgar to the house that morning, and locking him in a room until the family arrived.

  ‘Papa said Uncle Pickford could not have been expected to do that and ought not to blame himself. Eventually, Uncle Pickford sent out for a cab and took himself off to Edgar’s lodgings. It is a place for young professional gentlemen. When he came back, it was to tell us that the landlady had not seen Edgar all evening. She took him up to Edgar’s room, and all his things were still there. He had not packed or anything, and he must have returned from Bart’s earlier because his stethoscope was lying on the table. But no one had seen him go out again, so he must have just slipped out and vanished. Uncle Pickford asked the other people in the house. No one had any idea where he might be.

  ‘Mamma and the aunts asked what was a stethoscope, please, and was it decent? We explained it is a device used to listen to people’s hearts and lungs. It is like an ear-trumpet but with a rubber tube attached to make it flexible. Aunt Caroline said that must be a great improvement on a doctor placing his ear on a lady’s bosom. That was a very questionable business. Aunt Amelia agreed and said she’d never permitted any medical man such a liberty. It was high time someone invented another way to do it.’

  Patience hissed in exasperation. ‘It was ridiculous, Lizzie. I thought they would all fall to discussing modern medicine. So I called out, “What shall we do? Shall we tell the police?”’

  ‘How was that received?’ I asked.

  ‘Very badly,’ admitted Patience.

  ‘“For G—d’s sake, leave the police out of it!” cried Papa. He never uses profane language. I’d never heard it, and he was always saying to Edgar that he must mind his words when ladies were present. So he was clearly dreadfully upset and worried.

  ‘Eventually, we all went into dinner without Edgar. No one felt like eating, not even Uncle Pickford. The roast was cold and the vegetables and the gravy had turned solid, but nobody cared, except Aunt Matilda who was in tears. In the end, we ladies all went up to bed. Papa and Uncle Pickford stayed downstairs talking for a long time. I fell asleep eventually, but woke very early this morning before it was properly light. I had heard wheels outside. I hoped it would be Edgar, coming to explain where he’d been all night. But when I looked out of my window, I saw Uncle Pickford and Papa getting into a four-wheeler, so they must have been going to look for Edgar again, probably to see if he’d returned to his lodgings.

  ‘Breakfast was a miserable affair, like dinner. Worse, because only we women were there. Mamma was crying and the Aunts Briggs lamenting; and poor Aunt Matilda just didn’t know what to do. She kept asking me how many I thought would be at home for lunch! In the end I suggested she have Cook prepare a cold collation, with perhaps hot soup. Then those who felt like eating could take what they wanted and, if Papa and Uncle Pickford were not there, nothing would spoil. Aunt Matilda cheered up a little at that and went off to consult with Cook.

  ‘Then, my father and uncle returned. Edgar had not been at his lodgings all night. They had no news from him. So, Papa and my uncle set off for the hospital, hoping that he might be there. Even if he had decided he could not face us all the night before, if he was needed at work, he would go. Edgar is very conscientious.’

  Somehow, ‘conscientious’ was not the word that leaped to my mind when I thought of Edgar Wellings, but I only nodded and asked, without much hope, ‘And was he? At the hospital?’

  ‘No,’ said Patience miserably. ‘But a very senior police officer was there, a Mr Dunn.’

  ‘Superintendent Dunn? I know the gentleman,’ I admitted. But my heart was sinking. So Dunn had stuck to his intention, described to Ben, of going to Bart’s and telling whoever was in charge of junior doctors that Dr Wellings was in a spot of bother.

  ‘Papa said that Dunn appeared to be a very decent fellow, but had to do his duty, and had done it, in telling the hospital about Edgar’s involvement with a case of murder. So Edgar is suspended from work at the hospital; we don’t know where he is; everyone is prostrate with grief and worry at Goodge Place; and I have come here, Lizzie, to ask you what we should do.’

  ‘Well, it seems as though your father and uncle have done all that can be done,’ I began.

  Patience interrupted me. ‘No, no! I mean what we – you and I – should do.’

  ‘But what can we do?’ I gasped, taken aback by her complete confidence that I would have the answer to the problem.

  ‘Well, find Edgar, of course! And tell him to go to Goodge Place to apologise and explain himself. At least so we should all know he is safe, not drowned or . . . or done anything else desperate, like take poison.’

  ‘Poison!’ I exclaimed. ‘Where would he find poison?’

  ‘Anywhere!’ said Patience firmly. ‘It’s not hard to find, is it? They put it down for mice and rats. Anyway, he works in a hospital. The dispensary there must be full of bottles of poison.’

  There followed quite a long silence during which I racked my brains to find some ideas and Patience sat watching me hopefully. Finally, when I had worked out a plan that – though almost certainly doomed – would satisfy Patience for the moment, I spoke.

  I began by explaining the difficulty of my own position in this. ‘Through that meeting between your father and uncle and Superintendent Dunn at the hospital, Mr Dunn now knows that Edgar is missing. That means that time is not on our side, because he will almost certainly alert constables on the beat to look out for your brother. He would not be pleased to find out that you and I are conducting our own search. You see, Patience dear, Superintendent Dunn has already spoken to Ben, spoken very firmly, about the importance of my not interfering.’

  ‘We’re not interfering!’ interrupted Patience. ‘We’re helping. We’re going to find Edgar and bring him to his senses.’

  ‘I agree with you. Anything I’ve ever done in the matter of an investigation has been done with discretion and to help. Unfortunately, what you or I would describe as “helping” is just what Mr Dunn will call interference in a police matter. He dislikes my “playing detective”, as he calls it; and there is no reasoning with him. He is particularly sensitive on the issue because, though I say it myself, I have had some success in the past. Men do not like it, you know, when a woman has been able to do something they couldn’t.’

  ‘I wish I were as clever and practical as you,’ said Patience wistfully. ‘But, if we find Edgar, surely Mr Dunn will forgive you. In any case, neither you nor I need go to Scotland Yard in person. We just need to take Edgar to the door and watch that he goes inside. No one, neither Mr Dunn nor your husband, need be any the wiser. We’ll tell Edgar that he must say he decided himself to come to the Yard. There!’ Patience smiled at me with that serenity and confidence that I was, privately, beginning to find rather irritating.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I replied. ‘Things seldom work out so well. Besides, I really don’t have any idea where to look for your brother. He is at none of the places he ought to be: his lodgings, the hospital, Goodge Place. My only suggestion is that you and I return to Deptford and try and find some lead—’

  ‘Lead?’ interrupted Patience, puzzled by a technical term.

  ‘Some clue, as to the identity of the real culprit. But we must be very, very careful, my dear. We cannot arouse the interest of Inspector Phipps at Deptford police station. That means we must not go near any constable, if we should see one. You must promise me, Patience, that you will follow my instructions. That is the condition on which I will go with you to Deptford and ask a few questions.’

  I had no idea of whom I would be asking these questions. But Patience expected me to do something; an
d I would have tried. Then, when we failed to find any clue to where Edgar might be, or who might have killed Mrs Clifford, Patience might leave me in peace.

  I saw, through the window, that it had stopped raining and even that a watery sun had emerged, which I decided to see as a blessing on our adventure. I went to tell Bessie to go up to the railway station and return with a four-wheeler cab. The money I had set aside for that week’s groceries would now be spent elsewhere.

  Sadly, Bessie did not find Wally’s cab. But the cabman who came conveyed us to Deptford in good time. I asked him to set us down by the shops, as I didn’t want to be seen arriving at the scene of the murder. The area was crowded; but no one took much notice of the two of us. I asked a respectable looking woman if she could direct us to the street. Fortunately she was able to do so.

  As we walked there, Patience bubbled with enthusiasm and disastrous ideas. We should knock on every door in the street and ask if anyone had seen visitors, other than Edgar, to the Clifford house, that was the first of them.

  Certainly not, I told her firmly. To begin with, the police would already have done that. Secondly, we should raise so much interest and gossip that Inspector Phipps would be sure to hear of it.

  Well, then, suggested Patience next, how about if she should pretend to be taken faint and I knocked on a door to ask for a glass of water?

  ‘The householder would suspect a criminal ploy,’ I said. ‘She would think some bullyboy lurked nearby who, once she had opened the door to admit us, would rush by her into the house, seize some valuables and rush out again.’

  ‘Goodness,’ said Patience in awe. ‘Is everyone in London so suspicious?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said firmly, although I realised I had not taken my own advice when admitting little Sukey to my kitchen when she had come knocking at the door on that foggy night.