Death in Bayswater

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘If so, he will not kill again, for he was arrested today.’ A thought crossed her mind. ‘What time did you arrive at Mr Rawsthorne’s office?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Dunnock thought for a moment. ‘Yes I do. The gent I was takin’ the message for said ’e wanted it to be at Rawsthorne’s by six o’clock, and ’e took out ’is watch an’ said I could get it there in time if I ran very fast. An’ I did run fast so it must’ve been six or jus’ before.’

  ‘Then it was not the Filleter. He has the perfect alibi; he was in police custody at the time. But the killer almost certainly did not know that. I think Mrs Wheelock was killed by her husband, thinking that her death would be put down as one of the ones perpetrated here recently by the same man. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the police came to the same conclusion.’

  ‘Yes, well, if a married woman gets killed it’s short odds the ’usband did it,’ said Dunnock with all the wisdom of his ten years.

  When Sarah returned she took the boy in hand, rubbed him down well to dry him out, and gave him fresh clothes. He slept by the fireside that night, and was gone by morning.

  According to Mr Carter Freke’s information Mr Rawsthorne was due to be back in his office that morning. Frances had heard nothing more on that subject but whether or not she was granted an appointment she determined to go and see her solicitor and wait for his attention. Even with the Filleter safely in the police cells, Sarah, before she left to see ‘Mrs Jones’ again, warned Frances only to travel in closed carriages. She was thankful to do so, since a sharp wintry autumn had now descended and a bitter wind scoured cold streets where fallen leaves were strewn still damp from yesterday’s rain. The newspapers predicted stiffer breezes, even moderate gales to come.

  She was just about to depart when James Chandler was announced, and she postponed her journey to see him. He looked weary and shocked and she gestured him to a chair, where he sat, his body tense with the effort of retaining his equilibrium in a crisis. ‘I must thank you for the note you sent me last night. How did you know of it so quickly?’

  ‘I was brought a message by a boy who saw the carriage outside the police station.’

  ‘Had you not informed me I might not have heard until it became a matter of common gossip. As it was, I was able to speak to the police and let them have all the information in my possession. I am thankful, given what I have learned, that the coachman, Nettles, was able to identify the body of my poor aunt, and I was not asked to do so. The greatest mercy is that although the killer did terrible things to her body I have been reassured that she would have known nothing about it.’ He shook his head, the strain tightening his fine features. ‘It is a sad end to a noble woman whose only wish was to do good.’

  ‘Do the police have a theory as to who committed the murder?’

  ‘They do indeed, and I believe that a formal arrest will be made very soon. When I learned of my aunt’s death and the dreadful manner of it, my first thought was that the man who has been killing in Bayswater recently was responsible, but at the police station I was informed that this dreadful monster could not have carried out the crime, as they already had him in custody, something for which we must all be grateful. I went to the house and found enquiries being made there under the command of an Inspector Swanson. The husband, however, was not there and had not been for some time. I naturally told Swanson of the action I have been taking to invalidate my aunt’s marriage and he saw at once that her death would hinder my case, since she would not be able to give witness to her foul husband’s coercion and cruelty. I took the opportunity to look about the place and see if there were any papers secreted that might assist me but there was nothing. The servants all seemed afraid and unwilling to speak out, but one of them, the parlourmaid, said that my aunt had gone out for a drive, even though her husband had given orders that she was not to do so unaccompanied, and when he discovered this he became very angry and rushed out to look for her.’

  ‘Has he reappeared?’

  ‘Yes, he returned to the house while the police were in the process of interviewing the servants, and pretended to be very upset at the news of my aunt’s death, which he claimed to know nothing about. He said he had been trying to find her, as he did not know where she might have gone. There was no blood on him, but he had had more than enough time to find somewhere to put that right. Of course he said my aunt must have been killed by the man who has murdered so many in this district of late, and there is no denying that it came as a shock to him when he learned that this could not be so.’ Chandler appeared grimly satisfied at the discomfiture this news must have created. ‘The police decided to take Wheelock to the station for more questions. They think they have their man, and don’t want him to run away before they have made their case. I believe it is only a matter of time before he is charged.’ His story done, Chandler looked suddenly bereft of energy. ‘When I came to London I knew there would be much to do, and thought I was prepared for it, but this ugly business, I could never have anticipated.’ He quickly gathered himself again. ‘And there is more still to do and I must go on.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Thank you Miss Doughty for everything you have achieved. Your work will see that villain hanged, I am sure.’

  He left and Frances was just putting on her gloves when an unexpected letter arrived, the envelope printed with the address of Marsden and Co. solicitors. Mr Marsden was Mr Rawsthorne’s most prominent rival for Bayswater business, and an impudent person who lost no opportunity to belittle Frances’ achievements and insinuate that she would be better occupied looking for a husband, if that is, she had any ability to attract one, which in his opinion was doubtful. He had even suggested that it was Frances herself who wrote the Miss Dauntless stories under the nom de plume W. Grove in order to increase her fame and attract clients.

  Miss Doughty

  The letter began curtly.

  You might be aware that my client Mr Timothy Wheelock has been arrested on suspicion of the murder of his wife and is currently being held at Paddington Green police station where he is being questioned. For reasons which I am unable to fathom, he wishes to see you. Please comply with his request, and advise me of the outcome of your visit without delay,

  Hy Marsden

  Frances had one thing in common with the unpleasant Mr Marsden; she too could not imagine what Mr Wheelock might want with her. It was a situation not without interest, however, and gave her the ideal excuse to visit the police station and discover more about the murder. She hired a cab and departed, intending to visit Mr Rawsthorne immediately afterwards.

  She found Sharrock sitting in his office looking miserably at the great mountain of material that surrounded him. He was in a poor mood since Inspector Swanson had assumed control both of the Filleter and Mr Wheelock, relegating the Bayswater police to more commonplace crimes.

  ‘And now you’re wanted,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ll just retire now and have you put up for Inspector, shall I? Not that that means much round here nowadays. I’ve got a serious case in hand of throwing paint at a shop window, if you’d like to look into it.’

  ‘I really don’t know why Mr Wheelock wishes to see me. I have no desire at all to see him. Is he in the cells?’

  ‘Interview room with Swanson and Brown. They’ll make a music hall act yet.’

  Frances hoped that Sharrock’s irritation with Scotland Yard might make him more informative. She took some boxes from a chair and sat down. ‘Am I right in supposing that the murder of Mrs Wheelock happened after the Filleter was taken into custody?’

  ‘Right as usual, Miss Doughty.’

  ‘And before the arrest could be generally known in the neighbourhood?’

  ‘I would say so.’

  ‘I understand, of course, that the police do not wish to reveal the details of the cuts that were made by the man known as the Bayswater Face-slasher,’ as she spoke the words they inevitably brought back to her the memory of George Ibbitson noting down that very phrase, ‘but do you think Mrs Wheelock was kil
led by the same man or someone simply hoping it might look like the work of the same man?’

  Sharrock squeezed his eyes shut and thought. ‘This one was different alright, but then the circumstances were different. I would say that, with the others, since he was out in the open, he didn’t want to hang about and risk being caught so he did what he wanted in a minute or less. But this killer was in the carriage with his victim for a good ten minutes, so it’s hard to tell. Could have been another man, or the same one with more time. I’ll know better when the surgeon reports.’

  ‘She had gone out alone? I was told her intention was to visit her solicitor.’

  ‘Well you know all about it, then.’

  ‘Not all. I assume you have interviewed Mr Nettles the coachman?’

  ‘Oh yes I was trusted to do that!’ he said sarcastically. ‘Very generous of them!’

  ‘I have been told that Mr Wheelock did not permit his wife to leave the house without him.’

  ‘So Mr Nettles confirmed, but he had his suspicions of Wheelock and thought his wife wanted to escape him. Not surprising really.’

  ‘He must have risked dismissal for that.’

  ‘He was going to hand in his notice as soon as the lady was safely away. He wouldn’t have been blamed for leaving that employment.’

  ‘What else did he tell you?’

  Sharrock hesitated and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Well it’ll all come out at the inquest. Nettles liked to look after his mistress so he made sure that the door was secure before he drove off. Rich folk don’t like to have their carriages invaded by thieves so they bar the door if they feel inclined. Only the coachman can open it from the outside. They’d not gone far when a man knocked on the door and she signalled Nettles to stop. He thought it was Wheelock and did as he was told. They had a talk, then she opened the door, and the man got in and she told Nettles to drive on. Just before they got to Mr Rawsthorne’s, the door opened and the man ran out. It was too dark to see who it was but he just assumed it was Wheelock. When they got to Rawsthorne’s Nettles got down to assist Mrs Wheelock from the cab and had the fright of his life. So he jumped back on to the cab and drove straight to the police station.’

  Frances had just made a note of this information when Inspector Swanson appeared, having completed his questioning of the new prisoner who had been returned to the cells. He had already been told that Wheelock had asked to see Frances, but was surprised to see her there so promptly and in conference with Sharrock. ‘Miss Doughty has called to offer us some helpful advice on the catching of murderers,’ Sharrock explained.

  Frances rose. ‘I will see Mr Wheelock now.’

  ‘Not a nice place for a lady,’ observed Swanson, with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Do you mean the cells or the company of Mr Wheelock? I am familiar with both and have no intention of remaining very long.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Timothy Wheelock seemed quite at home in his cell. He was like a burrowing insect that preferred to crawl into small spaces he could call his own. She found him sitting on a bench, oblivious to the cold and the unwholesome smell, reading a law book. His legs were stretched out comfortably in front of him, and by way of a footstool he was resting his heels on a Bible.

  He looked up as she arrived, and grinned. It was never a pleasant sight as his habit of chewing pens and pencils had left him with permanent stains on his teeth and gums.

  Frances gave him a cold look. ‘I can’t imagine why you have sent for me.’

  He snapped the book shut. ‘Well I have, so there!’

  Swanson entered the cell, but the prisoner scowled at him. ‘You’d better go or I’m saying nothing!’

  Frances was inclined to turn and leave at once, as she felt unwilling due to Wheelock’s many previous insults to see him at all, but curiosity made her stay. ‘It will be perfectly in order to leave me here,’ she told Swanson.

  Swanson looked reluctant. ‘If you insist, but I won’t be far. Shout out if you need help.’ He gave Wheelock a warning stare before he departed.

  Frances sat down on the wooden bench as far from the prisoner as possible. There seemed little point in any delicacy of approach, which would only lengthen the proceedings. ‘Did you murder your wife?’

  He was both unfazed and unsurprised by the boldness of the question. ‘Why would I do that? I already had her money!’

  ‘You know why. Her great-nephew Mr Chandler is intending to have the marriage declared invalid on the grounds of coercion. By murdering her you eliminated her as a witness and have made his case far harder to establish.’

  Wheelock laughed derisively. ‘If he really is her great-nephew, or any sort of a relation!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He turns up out of the blue all the way from India. If he ever was in India. All she has is a picture of him and his parents taken who knows how long ago, and a few letters.’

  ‘He was clearly able to satisfy Mr Rawsthorne of his identity,’ Frances pointed out.

  ‘Oh, documents can be bought, or stolen or forged,’ said Wheelock airily, as if this was an everyday occurrence, which in the world he inhabited it might well have been. ‘And Rawsthorne would like nothing better than to cheat me out of my wife’s money, so he’d want to believe Chandler.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, inspected the result for traces of ink, and licked up the residue. ‘It could be worse than that. Rawsthorne could be in on the cheat himself, and is being paid by Chandler. Perhaps Rawsthorne is the brains behind it. The real nephew might be dead. Perhaps the impostor killed him.’

  ‘Oh this is ridiculous!’ exclaimed Frances. ‘Is that what you brought me here for? Wishful thinking and wild allegations?’

  ‘So you’d like to think. But it could be true. You see, after this Chandler’s visit to my house, my poor darling wife was very troubled in her mind. There had been some chat about family and the like, all very sociable and nice, but when he had gone, she got to thinking, and next day she asked to see the old pictures, and she looked at a box of family correspondence. I didn’t mind, it kept her quiet and happy, so why not? But she thought about it, and after a glass or two, which she was very fond of and I couldn’t deny her, she said that the man who had called on us wasn’t her great-nephew after all.’

  Frances remained unconvinced. ‘How could she be sure? Did she say why?’

  ‘No, more’s the pity. Went off to the land of sweet dreams and when she woke up couldn’t remember what she had said.’

  This was a wholly new concern. Frances could not believe that Rawsthorne was involved in any cheat, but it was certainly possible that Chandler was carrying out a lucrative imposture, deceiving the solicitor with false papers. It worried her that this was something to which she had not previously given any thought. Had she been taken in by her client’s charming manners and undeniably pleasing looks? She resolved to put the question before Mr Rawsthorne as soon as possible since he might have better information.

  ‘If my wife could prove that he was an impostor then I would want her alive, now, wouldn’t I?’ argued Wheelock.

  Frances had to admit that there was some sense in this. ‘But it might be hard, even impossible to prove it. Her words might have been based on nothing more than an old memory and no one would be able to show that she wasn’t simply mistaken. You would have to go to law to prove the allegation, which would be costly and might take years, and if you failed, that would still leave Mr Chandler with a sound claim on your wife’s fortune and a case against you for slander.’

  ‘Well I’m not a murderer,’ said Wheelock doggedly. ‘I never killed anyone. Ruined a good many, but never killed. And if I was going to don’t you think I’d have got myself a proper alibi? They don’t cost much.’

  Frances could only agree with his reasoning. ‘Can you suggest who did murder her?’

  ‘That’s not hard, is it? Not round here. Not lately.’

  ‘That is where the killer miscalculated. He hoped tha
t your wife’s death would be blamed on the man suspected of carrying out the recent murders in Bayswater. But that man has been caught. He was arrested by Inspector Sharrock before your wife was killed.’

  ‘Might have got the wrong man. Like your friend Mr Price.’

  ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘Nothing, or I’d have sold you the information.’ Wheelock sucked his lips and thought hard, then his eyes narrowed and he grinned. ‘I know who has a very good motive to kill my wife. That Chandler. He must have realised he had given himself away and decided to do the old girl in. You’d better go after him.’

  ‘It really isn’t my business to look into murders.’

  ‘No? Well how come you keep on doing it?’

  Frances had no answer to give. ‘You still have not said why you sent for me.’

  He chewed his fingernails like a man who relied on their contents for sustenance. ‘I want to employ you, that’s why.’

  ‘A strange choice.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why me? I am not the only detective in Bayswater.’

  ‘No, but you’re the only honest one.’

  It was a compliment, but Frances could hardly imagine a less desirable client. ‘I will need to know exactly what it is you wish me to do and why, or I shall leave now. I also wish to make it clear that I will not under any circumstances act against the interests of anyone who is already a client of mine.’

  ‘That’s up to you. But it’s easy enough, I just need some documents. My own property. You’re to go and get them and bring them to me, that’s all. I’m not asking you to do anything against the law.’

  ‘What documents are they? Why do you need them? I don’t usually ask such details of my clients but in your case I think I need the whole story.’

  ‘You won’t like it.’

  ‘I never like anything I hear from you.’

  There was a long pause. Frances rose to depart.

  ‘All right, sit down.’ Reluctantly, she sat. ‘Marsden hates Rawsthorne; well you know that. He’d do anything to see him go to the wall, and gobble up all his business, including getting me off of a murder charge. So we did a deal. That’s where the papers come in.’