Death in Bayswater

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘On what grounds?’ he asked frostily.

  ‘That may become apparent when I have more information. You are aware that the groom is twenty-four and the bride is seventy-two?’

  ‘They did not give their ages; it was unnecessary as both were of full age. But that does not invalidate the marriage. I should mention that I have been expecting a visit of this nature, though not from a young woman. If you are a detective as you claim to be, then you cannot be a very perceptive one.’

  From the corner of her eye Frances saw Cedric’s eyebrow ascend. ‘Oh? Please enlighten me.’

  The registrar permitted himself a superior smile. ‘You are obviously unaware that the people who have sent you here do not have the best interests of the lady at heart. Mr Wheelock, when he applied for the licence, explained the unusual circumstances to me very fully.’ He sat back and rested his clasped hands on the desktop.

  Frances waited, but the registrar seemed to think that nothing more was required of him. ‘I see that you wish me to desist from my enquiries but I really cannot do so without more information.’

  The registrar gave a weary sigh and glanced at Cedric. ‘Sir, could you explain to Miss Doughty that she is misguided, and there is no further information I am willing to divulge.’

  Cedric buffed his nails. ‘Since Miss Doughty speaks excellent English an interpreter hardly seems necessary. Ignore me, please, I am only of decorative significance.’

  The registrar looked bewildered, and Frances seized her chance. ‘I am here because a crime has been committed. It was committed in this office and you were a participant.’

  ‘That is outrageous!’

  ‘Is it? Then kindly convince me of that by letting me know what occurred.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’

  Cedric continued to buff his nails. Frances waited.

  ‘Very well,’ said the registrar at last. ‘You clearly need to be informed of the correct facts. Once you appreciate them you will see the foolishness of your errand. These relations of Mrs Wheelock have treated her with great unkindness. Although a respectable widow and of their own blood, they did not wish to trouble themselves with having the charge and care of her in her old age, which is their duty. It seems that she enjoys the occasional glass of alcoholic beverage which is such a comfort to the aged, but of which they disapproved. The lady was a great friend of Mr Wheelock’s late grandmother who shortly before she died made him promise always to look after her, and this he promised faithfully to do. It recently came to his notice that, despite the fact that she is of perfectly sound mind, her relations were planning to have the unfortunate lady declared insane and committed to an asylum at the public expense. The only way he could reasonably thwart their intentions and protect her was to become her husband, which he has done. That is the story behind the unusual marriage.’

  ‘I see. Did Mr Wheelock name his wife’s relations?’

  ‘No, he did not, but they must surely be the very people who have directed you to come here.’

  ‘I doubt it. I am acting for Mrs Wheelock’s great-nephew, Mr James Chandler, who is a resident of India. He did not arrive in London until after the wedding took place, and I can assure you that he cares very much about his aunt’s welfare and has no wish to place her in an asylum since he agrees that she is perfectly sane. Therefore he cannot be one of the relations to whom you refer.’

  The registrar frowned. ‘That is probable, I suppose,’ he admitted grudgingly.

  ‘And consider this. If these relations, whoever they may be, did not wish to trouble themselves to have the charge of a lady of advanced years, then her marriage to Mr Wheelock would place her under his care and achieve the same result. Why would they now wish to challenge the wedding since he does their work for them?’

  The registrar was beginning to look uncomfortable, ‘I believe that there is some small family property involved. If Mr Wheelock does a husband’s duty and cares for his wife then he will make no profit out of the marriage, whereas if she is single and placed in the public asylum, the relatives would eventually inherit and not incur any expense.’

  Frances provided the registrar with the card of Mr Rawsthorne. ‘This is the lady’s solicitor, who once employed Mr Wheelock as his clerk. He will confirm everything I am telling you, including the fact that Mr Chandler is the lady’s only living relative. Prior to this marriage she was mistress of a very considerable fortune. Farmland, houses, bank stocks. She has never been a friend of Mr Wheelock’s grandmother.’

  The registrar, taken aback for a moment, stared at the card, then he rallied. ‘How do I know you are being truthful?’

  Frances had come prepared. She opened her reticule and extracted copies of the Bayswater Chronicle. Since becoming a detective she had learned the value of retaining her own library of local information, and she was therefore able to show the registrar a list of prominent wills showing the value of the late Mr Outram’s fortune, and an obituary confirming that the former Caroline Outram was his relict.

  The registrar paled visibly. ‘I – will write to Mr Rawsthorne, of course.’

  ‘And now, since I have had a long journey and do not wish to repeat it to conduct a second interview, I ask that we complete our business today by your describing to me exactly what transpired at the wedding.’

  The registrar glanced at Cedric but it was a desperate, hopeless look.

  ‘Better do as Miss Doughty asks,’ Cedric advised. ‘I find that people always do in the long run.’

  Frances folded away the newspapers. ‘The witnesses, I understand, were Mrs Mary Wheelock and Miss Daisy Atkins.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ It was the last defiance of a defeated man.

  ‘I don’t think that matters. Just describe them, please.’ Frances waited patiently for the final capitulation.

  ‘Oh, very well. Mrs Mary Wheelock was a female of about fifty and I was given to understand that she is the groom’s mother. From observation, I am more than confident that that was the truth. Miss Atkins was a young person, not a relation I believe. Perhaps not the most respectable individual; her language was more colourful than I might have wished.’

  ‘Was anyone else present? Was there a groomsman?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who gave the bride away?’

  ‘A man; about the same age as Mrs Mary Wheelock. I regret to say that he was of somewhat uncouth appearance, and was overly familiar with the groom’s mother. All the participants apart from the groom were in my opinion a little the worse for drink, something which in my experience generally happens after the wedding and not before.’

  ‘Were you able to draw any conclusions about the state of mind and health of the bride? Was any violence used towards her?’

  ‘Really, Miss Doughty, I would scarcely have permitted the wedding had there been anything of that sort! I thought she was a little tipsy too, and the man – I am afraid I didn’t quite make out his name, held on to her very tightly – I thought it was to support her in her infirmity. She may have been pushed or pulled along, but again, I did not think at the time that it was coercion, but assistance.’

  ‘Was anything said other than the words of the ceremony?’

  Little fragments of doubt, things that had been buried under the explanations given at the time of events were, Frances saw, surfacing in the registrar’s mind. ‘I thought – it was hard to catch precisely what she was saying – but I had the impression that the bride was unhappy about the proceedings and did not want them to continue.’

  ‘What was done or said to persuade her to go on?’

  ‘No one spoke unkindly to her or used her in a rough manner. Had that occurred I would never have proceeded. Mr Wheelock said something like, “Come on, my dear, you know what will happen if we don’t marry today. You don’t want that, do you?” and she gave a little sob. I assumed – based on what I had been told, that if they did not marry then her relations would put her away, and that was what he was alluding to, and that was the reaso
n for her distress.’

  ‘The lady was distressed?’

  He looked pained, but it was time to admit the truth. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you be willing to testify to that in a court?’

  ‘If I receive the assurances you refer to from Mr Rawsthorne, yes. But I must make it quite plain, that at the time, given what I was led to believe – ‘

  ‘Of course.’

  Frances secured the registrar’s card, and before they departed Cedric shook the worried man warmly by the hand. ‘Well done, sir,’ he said.

  As Frances boarded a cab for the railway station her companion observed, ‘You must remind me Miss Doughty, always to remain on the right side of the law, and if I was ever to transgress I must give myself up to the police at once rather than fall under your questioning.’

  Once in Bayswater, Cedric departed for an urgent meeting with his tailor and Frances dispatched two letters, one to James Chandler to advise him of what she had discovered, and one to Mr Rawsthorne, in the hope that he had by now returned to the office.

  Sarah had been far from idle. She had first delivered the text of the leaflet Frances had composed to a printer and extracted a promise to have the copies done by the end of the day, then returned home to await her new client. The fearful wife failed to arrive for her appointment and Sarah, dreading the worst, had gone to the house only to find the couple in a state of inebriation and boisterous reconciliation. There was nothing she could do but leave them to their marital activities and hope that she would not hear of the murder of one of them in due course.

  Mr Pargeter’s secret paramour, ‘Mrs Jones’ of Porchester Road, required more delicacy of approach. The lady lived very quietly, and rarely left the house. Sarah had obtained an introduction by bringing her some baby linen, saying it was being distributed by a charity and asking if she had any further requirements. It was agreed that she would call again.

  Sarah had then had a long conversation with Hannah, the Wheelocks’ parlourmaid, who was more confiding than previously. Under the influence of baked comforts, the maid gradually revealed further secrets about the household. She was unable to provide any information about the wedding itself, and only recalled that her master and mistress had departed early one morning by carriage and returned later in the day. She had seen them go and had gained the impression that her mistress was tipsy and not entirely willing to make the journey. She had assumed from what she had seen that the purpose of the journey was to sign some papers, or meet with a legal advisor, and was astonished to be told later that they were married. There had been no wedding breakfast or festivities of any kind.

  It was a strange marriage, but Hannah said she had never seen Wheelock be cruel to his wife. He had never struck her or used her violently in any way, and in some respects he was very kind. Her mistress liked a drink of port or sherry of an evening, and he had given orders that she was to have as much as she pleased, so there was always a supply of both within her reach. He had also instructed the servants that since his wife was elderly and frail it was best and safest for her not to leave the house unaccompanied, not even with her trusted coachman, Nettles. He thought she would become confused, and wander away on her own, and might come to harm. Neither was his wife to send any letters unless he saw them first. It was for her own good, he explained, as she needed to be protected by his sound advice. If she did write a letter and asked one of the servants to post it for her, then they were not to do so, but must take the letter straight to him. Once, Mrs Wheelock had written a letter and given it to Daisy to post but Daisy had taken it straight to Wheelock. Hannah had not been able to see to whom the letter had been addressed and had been afraid to ask.

  Sarah felt that there was still more to discover, and gave Hannah one of Frances’ cards, writing the address on the back. ‘Miss Doughty is a lady detective I know. Very kind and sympathetic. If you need help, go to her.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The printed leaflets were delivered that afternoon and Frances thought them clear and convincing. Realising that she might not have the opportunity to distribute all of them as she proceeded along the walk with the lady suffragists, she and Sarah went out to the busy shopping promenade of Westbourne Grove and handed them to anyone in the street who they thought might be receptive to the sentiments expressed. A note came from Mr Carter Freke saying that Mr Rawsthorne was not yet back in his office but it was hoped that he would be there the following day. Frances wrote back at once saying that she would be there to see Mr Rawsthorne and would not accept any refusal.

  At four o’clock, Frances and Sarah, wearing the purple sashes of the Bayswater Women’s Suffrage Society, joined the assembled suffragists near Bishops Road Bridge by the railway offices where it crossed the multiple lines that snaked out of Paddington Station. Although the weather was cool and cloudy with rain showers threatening, it was impossible to dampen the sprits of Miss Gilbert, who was bouncing with enthusiasm like a young girl going to the fair for the first time. She had a large cloth bag stuffed with hundreds of leaflets, carried on a strap about her ample body to leave her hands free. Miss John had a smaller bag of leaflets, and was clutching her reticule with a strong gleam in her eye. Despite Miss Gilbert’s promise of a very great throng there were only about thirty suffragists. Many were carrying mirlitons; unusual instruments that somehow translated the breath of the player into something like the musical buzzing of bees, so that no actual ability was required in order to create a melody. Three of the ladies had drums, and the two largest were bravely carrying the new banner on its heavy poles.

  ‘Ladies, ladies,’ exclaimed Miss Gilbert throwing up her arms, ‘I am delighted to announce that Miss Doughty is joining us for the march and will walk at our head.’ There was a polite cheer from the band.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think –’ Frances protested.

  Miss Gilbert squeezed her arm. ‘But I insist! You are so modest, my dear Miss Doughty, but believe me, you will inspire us!’

  ‘In that case, I cannot refuse. I hope you don’t mind my mentioning it, but I am very concerned that Miss John is still intending to throw a stone through one of Mr Whiteley’s windows. I beg of you, do try and dissuade her.’

  Miss Gilbert uttered a trilling laugh. ‘No, no, she has quite given up on that idea!’

  ‘That is a relief, because from the way she is holding her reticule I thought it might contain a missile of some sort.’ Frances glanced across at Miss John, and another far worse idea presented itself. ‘Please reassure me that she is not carrying a gun.’

  ‘But yes! A charming little pistol. She is very proud of it.’

  ‘Do you think that is wise? She might cause an accident.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t worry yourself about that, she would never dare use it. It makes her feel safe, the dear thing.’

  ‘Is it loaded?’

  Miss Gilbert looked mystified. ‘Do you know, I am not at all sure.’

  A cold wind swept across them, rippling banners, and fluttering the purple sashes. There was a loud rumbling sound that was nothing to do with either the drums or the traffic or even passing trains, but produced by the vibration of the large advertising hoardings that flanked the bridge creating their own unearthly music.

  Miss Gilbert tied her bonnet more securely and took her place at the head of the throng. ‘Let us start, now, ladies, and before we know it we will be done and there will be tea and cake for all!’

  There was another even louder cheer. Frances and Sarah were ushered to the front where they were to walk alongside Miss Gilbert and Miss John, then the two large ladies followed carrying the purple banner. Behind them were the drummers and finally the massed mirlitons.

  ‘Onward!’ shouted Miss Gilbert, waving an arm, and the drums began to thud and the buzzing began. As they proceeded along the road, a few faces looked out of windows at the unaccustomed din, and passers-by stopped and stared. One or two men waved their hats and not a few made unkind comments. Miss Gilbert and Miss John
marched cheerily unabashed and offered their leaflets. ‘Save our women!’ cried Miss Gilbert, to which one wag asked if she could save one for him as he needed his laundry doing. A few men jeered but there were also some who wished them well.

  Frances kept a careful watch on Miss John. She was not especially worried as they marched along Bishops Road past some respectable houses and Holy Trinity church, but decided to keep her in view as they neared Westbourne Grove, with its rows of shop windows. There was a small school on the north side of the Grove, and Frances hoped that if Miss John was planning anything violent she would not do it there.

  Having passed by the Royal Oak public house where a constable was always stationed in the hours of darkness, a thought occurred to Frances. ‘Miss Gilbert, have you advised the police of your intention to carry out this march?’

  ‘Why no, why should it concern them?’

  ‘They would have appreciated a warning and might have helped make the roads clearer for you.’

  ‘They would have banned us altogether!’ declared Miss John. ‘They are all men, you know, and everything that that entails.’

  Frances looked about her with growing anxiety. ‘I fear we may be in danger of arrest for obstructing the highway.’

  Miss John uttered a little sigh. ‘Oh I do hope so!’

  As they entered the Grove women shoppers paused to wave and cheer, and some even ran up to Miss Gilbert and took handfuls of leaflets and helped to distribute them. Frances was able to pass on her remaining leaflets too, which saved her some effort. The walk was not without danger, since the Grove was busy with carriage traffic, and horses unused to the strange sound of the mirlitons became restless and hard to control. A few coachmen became annoyed with the obstruction and waved their whips, shouting at the marchers to get of the way.

  They were walking past the school near which there was a narrow cut, Westbourne Grove Terrace, that led up to the school playground and a Presbyterian church, when Frances saw something out of the corner of her eye. It was a dark flicker and she knew at once what it was. He ducked back quickly into the terrace, but she had seen him.