Death in Bayswater

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘I’m so glad you could come to tea with us, Miss Doughty,’ said Mrs Sharrock. ‘Bill talks so much about you, and I have asked him that many times to introduce us.’

  ‘It is my pleasure to meet you and your family,’ replied Frances. The plates were uncovered and she accepted a cup of tea and a sliver of sponge cake. ‘There is something I should tell you. As a result of recent events I have come to a decision. Inspector, you will I am sure be very pleased to hear it. From now on, I will no longer be following the profession of private detective. I have given this a great deal of consideration, and I believe it is for the best. Other detectives I am sure are able to dismiss their errors and failures without giving them any thought. I cannot.’

  Sharrock managed to steer a cup of tea to his mouth, while his infant daughter smeared butter into his hair. ‘There’s many a criminal in Bayswater will rejoice at the news, but I think it is a wise decision.’

  ‘But you didn’t fail, Miss Doughty,’ protested his wife. ‘You caught a very dangerous man.’

  Frances shook her head. ‘Not soon enough. I feel I ought to have seen all the signs earlier, and been better at what I did. If I had been then poor Mr Loveridge would still be alive. I cannot help but blame myself for what happened.’ Frances had recently had the unhappy experience of a meeting with the young artist’s parents, who wanted to hear about his last moments. His father, she had discovered, was a judge of the assize courts, who had hoped that his son would follow him into the legal profession. On discovering that the youth was determined to become an artist he had allowed him the space of two years to make a success of his preferred occupation, after which, if he failed to do so, he should agree to study for the law. He had been under strict orders not to reveal his family connections but to succeed solely on his own merits. Quiet pride was a salve to their pain as Frances told them of their son’s bravery in defending her against a dangerous killer, and tears were shed by all.

  ‘If it’s any comfort the police don’t hold you responsible for that,’ said Sharrock. ‘No one does.’ His infant daughter almost knocked the hot cup of tea from his hand, and with Mrs Sharrock occupied Sarah very firmly took charge of the child, who stared at her with large round eyes. ‘I do have some good news for you, though,’ he went on, brushing crumbs from his lap and rubbing a napkin over his buttered hair. ‘You know, I suppose, that Mr Candy has confessed to all the killings?’

  ‘No, I did not know that. Mrs Wheelock’s as well?’ Frances suddenly recalled that she had told Mr Candy of how the Filleter had leaped into her hansom cab and feared that this had given him the idea of committing murder in a carriage. Was she to blame for everything? It seemed so.

  ‘Yes, well, once we had him for one murder we couldn’t have stopped him confessing if we had wanted to. It’s my theory he is aiming to be thought a maniac, and escape the noose. Not that spending the rest of his natural life in Broadmoor will be any easier on him. The thing is – one of the murders he confessed to was Martha Miller’s.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Frances, in great surprise. ‘And – do you believe him?’

  Sharrock piled a plate with cake and sandwiches. ‘I have to admit I wasn’t so sure, at first, I thought it was just another one he had added to the tally to make it certain he would be judged insane, and when I questioned him he didn’t seem to know any more about it than was in the papers. But he doesn’t have an alibi for that night, and then more importantly there is all the work that you did, finding the witness to support Mr Price’s story. I think that was the clincher. I saw a note from the Home Office this morning, and putting all the facts together, it’s been decided to accept Mr Candy’s confession, and Mr Price is about to get a Royal pardon and be freed.’

  In all her misery, Frances at last felt some healing joy. ‘But that is wonderful! I hope the family have been told.’

  ‘They have learned of it today, and I am sure you will get a visit from them very soon. There’s no doubt in my mind that if it hadn’t been for you, he would still be a condemned man. Not that that’s any reason for you to take up detective work again. I just thought you ought to know.’

  ‘That is the best news I have heard in a very long time.’

  ‘Of course the slight damper on the proceedings is that we had to release Mr Wheelock. He’s been charged on the forced marriage, but he’s out on bail. I would have liked to see that slippery customer behind bars permanently. Mind you, he’s young, so I might get to do that yet. Oh, and Mr Chandler’s in the clear, and not only for the murder of Mrs Wheelock. We had word from some friends of his family in India. He was able to answer some questions they put to him, and it’s now understood that he is the genuine article.’

  Frances felt somewhat ashamed of herself, both for believing Mr Wheelock’s lies and causing the harmless Mr Chandler such pain. ‘I feel sorry now that I doubted him, although I have met so many frauds it is beginning to come naturally to me. I am sure he will succeed in getting his aunt’s marriage invalidated.’

  ‘Oh, you may trust to that, although I suspect that Marsden will manage to find some way of keeping Wheelock out of prison. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if Wheelock ended up working for Marsden. They seem to suit each other.’ Sharrock gulped his tea noisily, and his wife bustled about the table keeping plates and cups well filled. In the face of six hungry children the heaps of food seemed to melt away like snow in the sun.

  ‘What of the Filleter? Is he still alive?’

  ‘Alive, if you call it living. If he does recover he won’t be the man he was.’

  ‘Even if he can’t be charged with the murders there must be a catalogue of crimes that can be laid at his door.’

  ‘They won’t be making any charges. Swanson says there’s not a lot of point, since he isn’t fit to plead. He’s in the workhouse infirmary now, and likely to stay there, and that’s worse than any prison if you ask me.’

  Frances finished her sponge cake, which was excellent, and accepted a second cup of tea. A buttered scone appeared on her plate. ‘I have been told that Mr Rawsthorne has been committed for trial at the Old Bailey.’

  ‘He has, and Mr Agathedes who lost his mind has found it again and will be giving evidence against him.’

  ‘I hope I won’t have to appear in court. As far as I am concerned the money is gone and there is an end of it. What about Mr Carter Freke? Has he been charged?’

  ‘He’ll be in court, but as witness, not defendant, and singing like a bird. Sometimes you have to let the sparrows go free if you want to catch the hawks.’

  ‘The thing I regret most is losing an advisor who I thought was also a friend.’

  ‘Speaking of friends, this man you mentioned in your statement, the one who came and saved you from Mr Candy. Just between the two of us, did you really not know who he was?’

  ‘I have told you, Inspector, he did not show me his face, his voice was muffled by the mask he wore and he gave an obviously false name.’

  ‘Hmmm, well you were lucky he was about.’

  Frances agreed with him, though secretly she thought that there had been no actual luck involved. She often thought about Mr Grove; the commanding power with which he had immobilised her attacker, and the tenderness of his arms around her. There had been a scent, too, a delicate aroma of spice and citrus, like a gentleman’s soap. She was not familiar with it, but she thought that she would know it again.

  The next day Frances was pleased to receive a visit from Mrs and Miss Price, accompanied by Jim, a free man at last. He looked deadly pale, and prison had aged him a little, but Frances thought that with the care of his loving family he would recover both his looks and health. What effect his ordeal had had on his mind she could not say. He expressed his warm and grateful thanks but was almost too exhausted to speak, and Mrs Price held tightly on to his arm as if he would vanish if she let go. Effie was the most talkative, and gushed with praise for Frances. It seemed wrong to speak of payment and Frances waved away any suggestion that she might
submit an invoice, but Effie said that if she liked, Jim could make a handsome piece of furniture for her, and it seemed impolite to refuse.

  ‘We have decided to leave Bayswater,’ said Effie. ‘We think it for the best. Even though the world now knows Jim to be innocent there are always those who don’t like to be proved wrong. We worry that if we stay here the police will be constantly watching him and trying to catch him out. Also, his old employer had put another man in his place and doesn’t want to discharge him, and we find that there is no other work to be had for him here. Luckily we have an uncle with a carpentry shop in Whitechapel, who is happy to employ him. We mean to live very quietly and Jim has promised to be a model of good behaviour.’ As they departed for a new and better life, Frances enjoyed a brief moment of contentment. At least one thing she had done had had a good result.

  Frances’ determination to no longer work as a detective remained unchanged. She would continue to carry out her occasional missions for the government, which required little more than delicacy and careful observation. She would undertake research for clients in Somerset House and newspaper offices where no crime was involved. Sarah would still deal with her own cases and teach callisthenics to ladies at Professor Pounder’s academy. They would manage.

  The quiet time gave Frances the opportunity to think about her own family. Since obtaining the certificate showing that Vernon Salter, the man she believed to be her natural father, had married Lancelot Dobree’s daughter Alicia, she had been studying the newspapers with even greater care for any reports that might add to her knowledge. Thus far she had found only one item. Lancelot Dobree had recently been the distinguished guest of a school in Kensington to distribute the annual prizes in connection with his membership of the Worshipful Company of Mercers, which made grants to the school. She had also located his address in a Kensington directory, the same entered as Alicia’s address on the marriage certificate.

  Her mother’s old schoolfellow, Vernon Salter’s sister, Louise, had proved impossible to find. Frances had given some thought to trying to find Miss Edith White, the other witness to the wedding, but with no further information, the common surname was an obstacle. It was as she studied the certificate that she had a new inspiration. Many of her father’s papers had included fragments of old copies of the Chronicle. She had never been certain if they were there purely as wrapping or if they carried any relevant material, but had retained them. With a new spark of determination Frances went through all her family papers once more, and this time discovered amongst them a yellowed page cut from the Chronicle dated April 1865.

  It was reported that Alicia Dobree, only daughter and sole heir of Lancelot Dobree, silk mercer, had married Vernon Salter, gentleman. There were descriptions of the bride’s and bridesmaids dresses, and the best man was Mr James Felter, silversmith. An examination of the Bayswater directories did not reveal any resident of that name. So William Doughty had known for certain the identity of the man for whom his wife, Frances’ mother, had deserted him. The newspaper gave no details of the groom’s family other than that he was the son of Bernard Salter, silversmith, which Frances already knew. There was, however, a paragraph about Lancelot Dobree. The son of a silk weaver, he had married his childhood sweetheart in 1827 but she had died only a year later. He had never remarried, but devoted his life to good works. Alicia must, therefore, have been thirty-seven at the time of her wedding, an extraordinarily advanced age for the first marriage of an heiress.

  The thing that most puzzled Frances, however, was how Vernon Salter, son of a former bankrupt who had died in 1864 with barely a few pounds to his name, had just months later made such a glittering marriage. She put the papers aside.

  Letters from applicants for her services as a detective continued to arrive and received polite replies regretting that Miss Doughty was no longer undertaking enquiries. Anxious visitors offering large sums of money were turned away, sometimes more than once. Ultimately she was obliged to place a notice in the Chronicle, but some would-be clients were unable to believe what they read, and still came to her door hoping that she would make an exception for them.

  ‘Is it really true?’ exclaimed Mr Fiske, who arrived with a rolled up copy of the Chronicle. ‘Oh please say it is not!’

  ‘It is true. If you wish me to draw up your family tree I will gladly do so, but I cannot become involved in anything that might lead to criminal charges.’

  He groaned, and sank into a chair. She poured him a glass of water. ‘There are other detectives in Bayswater,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Doubtless, but none with your discretion and perception.’

  ‘Sarah does undertake her own cases, but she generally acts for wronged wives.’

  ‘Oh, it is nothing like that! No no, not at all, in fact it is the most unusual and intriguing mystery. I could scarcely credit it, but a man has actually vanished into thin air from within a locked room.’

  ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘I assure you it is. I was present at the time. Please, at least let me describe the incident. Any comment you might have to make would be appreciated. And I promise that you will hear a remarkable story.’

  She smiled. Mr Fiske was not a fanciful man, and she decided to hear him out. ‘Very well, you may have my observations gratis.’

  He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You know, of course, that I am a Founder and Past Master and currently Charity Steward of the Bayswater Literati Freemasons’ Lodge.’

  ‘I do,’ said Frances who was well aware that there were several Bayswater schools that had good reason to be grateful to the Literati.

  ‘Two nights ago at our regular meeting we were very pleased to welcome a distinguished visitor from another Lodge. Our meetings are held in a room above a tavern in Kensington, which we share with a number of other Lodges. During one part of the ceremony it is customary to extinguish the lights, which were out for a number of minutes, and when the lights were re-lit we found that our visitor was no longer there.’

  ‘And you say that the room was locked?’

  ‘Yes. One door secured and guarded by one of the brethren. The other locked.’

  ‘I assume you have checked to see if your guest arrived home?’

  ‘We waited to receive a note of explanation but when nothing came we made discreet enquiries at his home. His servants told us that he had left word before going to our meeting that he planned to be from home on business for a day or two so he was not yet expected back. The man is missing and it seems that only we know about it. Of course he may have gone missing for his own reasons and I would hesitate to inform the police, since we don’t even know if a crime has been committed. But all the same it is most peculiar.’

  ‘That is curious,’ Frances admitted. ‘I understand your concern. I assume that such behaviour is quite out of character with this gentleman. Of course, he may have sent you a letter, which has been lost or delayed. If he does not return home his servants will in due course report the matter to the police, however, it might be as well for you to inform them now of what has occurred. You will have done your duty and they will keep a lookout for him.’

  Fiske sighed. ‘I do hope he has come to no harm. He is a well-respected man, and I am certain that he would not have become involved in anything disreputable. Are you sure you cannot help?’ he pleaded.

  ‘Let me know his name. All I can promise you is that if I hear any news of him I will tell you at once.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Fiske. ‘His name is Dobree. Lancelot Dobree.’

  END

  IN THE FRANCES DOUGHTY

  MYSTERY SERIES

  The Poisonous Seed: A Frances Doughty Mystery

  The Daughters of Gentlemen: A Frances Doughty Mystery

  A Case of Doubtful Death: A Frances Doughty Mystery

  An Appetite for Murder: A Frances Doughty Mystery

  The Children of Silence: A Frances Doughty Mystery

  IN THE MINA SCARLETTI

  MYSTERY SERIES
r />   Mr Scarletti’s Ghost: A Mina Scarletti Mystery

  The Royal Ghost: A Mina Scarletti Mystery

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Linda Stratmann is a former chemist’s dispenser and civil servant who now writes full time. As well as the Frances Doughty mystery series, she is also the author of the Mina Scarletti mysteries, set in Brighton. She lives in London.

  ALSO BY THE AUTHOR

  Chloroform: The Quest for Oblivion

  Cruel Deeds and Dreadful Calamities: The Illustrated Police News 1864–1938

  Essex Murders

  Gloucestershire Murders

  Greater London Murders: 33 True Stories of Revenge, Jealousy, Greed & Lust

  Kent Murders

  Middlesex Murders

  More Essex Murders

  Notorious Blasted Rascal: Colonel Charteris and the Servant Girl’s Revenge

  The Crooks Who Conned Millions: True Stories of Fraudsters and Charlatans

  The Marquess of Queensberry: Wilde’s Nemesis

  The Secret Poisoner: A Century of Murder

  Whiteley’s Folly: The Life and Death of a Salesman

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in 2016

  The Mystery Press, an imprint of The History Press

  The Mill, Brimscombe Port

  Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

  www.thehistorypress.co.uk

  This ebook edition first published in 2016

  All rights reserved

  © Linda Stratmann, 2016

  The right of Linda Stratmann to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.