The Chelsea Strangler

by Susanna GREGORY

  ‘I told you it was a mistake to try and keep it quiet,’ he said, all arch vindication. ‘And I was right. Now it will look as though we have something to hide.’

  ‘We had to keep quiet for our patients’ sake,’ argued Mrs Bonney defensively. ‘Because what will become of them if the Earl withdraws his support and we are forced to close? It would be too cruel, when so many are on the verge of recovery.’

  ‘Like Dorothy Wiseman?’ asked Chaloner artlessly.

  ‘No, not like her,’ replied Franklin. ‘She will never be well, no matter how much coffee we persuade her to drink.’

  ‘Tell me about Nancy Janaway,’ ordered Chaloner. ‘Who killed her?’

  ‘We do not know,’ said Franklin with a shrug that was half helpless and half bewilderment that such a thing should have happened. ‘However, it was not an inmate. Most are gentle ladies who would never hurt a fly, while the others are closely supervised at all times.’

  ‘Besides, Nancy was strangled,’ put in Kole. ‘And all our patients are women – they do not have the strength to throttle people.’

  Doyley had thought that Mrs Wiseman did, Chaloner recalled. ‘A member of staff, then?’

  ‘Of course not!’ snarled Parker. ‘They are all beyond reproach.’

  ‘We have strong gates and high walls,’ said Franklin, more conciliatory. ‘But it is not a prison, Mr Chaloner – breaking in would be difficult, but not impossible. The culprit must have come from outside.’

  Chaloner was about to ask more when a footman sounded a gong: the Earl wanted to make a speech. He began by thanking everyone for remaining at their posts in the face of looming death, and finished with the promise that they would always be remembered with affection if they were unlucky enough to die. If it was a homily intended to inspire, it failed miserably, and Chaloner suspected it would do more to encourage the listeners to flee than to stay.

  Afterwards, polite guests took their leave, while those who did not know they were outstaying their welcome accepted another cup of wine. The latter group included the Gorges governors, commissioners Reymes and Doyley, and Rector Wilkinson, along with a smattering of courtiers who never departed from anywhere as long as there was still drink to be had.

  ‘I wish they would go home,’ whispered Frances to Chaloner. ‘I want my bed, as tomorrow will be another very busy day for me. Will they take the hint if you start to pack up your viol and blow out the candles?’

  Chaloner was about to oblige when there was a dreadful wail. At first, he assumed that Anne had started to play again, and it was indeed she who had issued the noise. He hurried into the Great Roome to see what had happened.

  He arrived to find her pressed against the wall, her face as white as snow. She was staring at Underhill, who lay on the stairs, his dour Parliamentarian features slack in death. And around his neck were marks where hands had fastened around it and choked the life out of him.

  Chapter 3

  The Earl was appalled that murder had been committed in his home, and stared at Underhill’s body in mute horror. More practical, Frances ushered her younger children and the sobbing Anne away. She tried to include Henry and Lawrence in her kindly shepherding, but was informed curtly that they would leave when it suited them. Chaloner felt like boxing their ears – he would never have addressed his mother in so disrespectful a manner.

  ‘Brats,’ muttered Kipps under his breath. ‘When I compare them to Martin…’

  Chaloner ordered the agitated guests back into the Chapell Pavilion, and told them to wait there. Perhaps one had seen something that would allow the culprit to be identified. Or one was the killer. Regardless, they were going nowhere until they had been questioned.

  ‘You must find who did this, Chaloner,’ whispered the Earl, ashen-faced. ‘And fast. If you fail, my enemies will use it to harm me.’

  ‘Surely not, sir,’ said Kipps comfortingly. ‘It is not as if Underhill was a baron or a Member of Parliament. His death is an inconvenience, but that is all.’

  ‘He was a guest in my house,’ replied the Earl tightly. ‘And thus entitled to my protection.’

  ‘This is what comes of trying to win the affection of minions,’ said Lawrence. He was the Earl’s second son, and wished he had been the first. He addressed his brother smugly. ‘I told you that fêting tradesmen, debauchees and clerks would bring us trouble. It was a stupid idea.’

  ‘It was a good one,’ snapped Henry crossly. ‘Our family is unpopular, and we need all the support we can muster, even from lowly sources.’

  ‘Well, you included a killer in your reckless largesse,’ Lawrence shot back. ‘I bet the villain is Reymes. He has always hated us, and you should not have asked him here.’

  Henry scowled at him. ‘I had to. We invited all the other Treasury men, and there is no point in deliberately poking a hornets’ nest with an insulting exclusion. Besides, I had hoped that rifts would be healed tonight – that he might become a friend.’

  ‘I do not want him as a friend, thank you very much,’ said the Earl shortly. ‘He is a worm, and I do not wish my name to be associated with his in any respect. I only agreed to have him here so that he could see how far he is beneath me in worldly wealth. Shall I order his arrest, Chaloner?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Chaloner quickly, even as his master turned to issue the command to the waiting servants. ‘We should wait until we have solid evidence before—’

  ‘Evidence?’ interrupted Lawrence haughtily. ‘What foolery is this?’

  ‘Foolery that will prevent you from making a needless mistake,’ replied Chaloner. He had never liked Lawrence, and thought him an imbecile of the first order. ‘Reymes is a commissioner and the Treasury’s prefect. If he is innocent, he will sue, which will cause your father all manner of problems.’

  ‘True,’ acknowledged the Earl. ‘So you had better start investigating at once, Chaloner. But do not take too long, because I want you in Chelsea as soon as you have delivered me to Hampton Court. Kipps will help you find this vile killer and the Gorges thief. Two heads are better than one after all.’

  ‘Me?’ gulped the Seal Bearer in alarm. ‘But I am no intelligencer! I would not know where to start with such a—’

  ‘I said help him,’ interrupted the Earl irritably. ‘Not take control.’

  ‘But you will need me at Hampton Court,’ cried Kipps, dismayed. ‘To carry your seal.’

  ‘James can do that,’ said the Earl, glancing to where his youngest son had escaped from his mother, and was watching from the top of the stairs. ‘It is time he learned some responsibility.’

  ‘Lord!’ breathed Kipps, and Chaloner could not tell if he was more appalled by the prospect of hunting felons or his duties being performed by a small child. ‘I shall do my best, of course, but are you sure you would not rather appoint someone else, My Lord? Or leave Tom to manage by himself? I imagine he prefers working alone.’

  Chaloner did, but Kipps would be a better helpmeet than most. The Seal Bearer had already acknowledged that he did not know what he was doing, which meant he was unlikely to hare off on hunches of his own, and an assistant might prove useful. He nodded acquiescence, although Kipps continued to vacillate between horror and apprehension.

  ‘Good,’ said the Earl, and released a gusty sigh. ‘Thank God the navy men had gone by the time this terrible crime was committed. They are responsible for keeping the Fleet afloat, and I would have been accused of treason if I had been obliged to arrest one of them.’

  ‘There are only twenty guests left,’ noted Henry, glancing into the Chapell Pavilion. ‘So it should not be too hard to determine which one of them is the villain.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ argued Chaloner. ‘He must be very sure of himself, to strike in so public a place. Such confidence suggests that he might be extremely difficult to—’

  ‘No excuses,’ interrupted Lawrence shortly. ‘This is important. Our good name is at stake.’

  The Earl was already climbing the stairs to his p
rivate quarters, so his sons hastened to follow, leaving Chaloner and Kipps alone. Kipps glared after them resentfully, then turned to Chaloner.

  ‘I am sorry you are lumbered with me, Tom, but I shall try not to disappoint. So what do you want me to do first? Confront Reymes? Lawrence is right – the man is so filled with hate that he would certainly kill to harm our Earl.’

  ‘We need more than that to accuse him, so let us see what the body can tell us.’

  From the position of the corpse, it appeared that Underhill had been admiring the contents of an ornate Florentine bookcase when he had been attacked, probably from behind. Chaloner placed his own fingers over the bruises on the throat, and discovered that the culprit’s hands would have been very slightly larger. A quick examination revealed no other marks on the body, although Chaloner did find three volumes of poetry secreted in Underhill’s pockets.

  ‘What are they doing there?’ asked Kipps in confusion. Then understanding dawned. ‘He was going to steal them! What a rogue!’

  ‘For their gold clasps, perhaps,’ said Chaloner, assessing each in turn. ‘Or their rarity value – serious collectors would pay a fortune for these.’

  ‘Then perhaps he is Gorges’ thief,’ suggested Kipps. ‘After all, a man who filches from one house will not baulk at robbing another. But who killed him? Is there anything on his corpse to tell?’

  ‘No – and there must have been forty people here in Clarendon House when he died. The culprit could be any one of them.’

  ‘Twenty,’ corrected Kipps. ‘Henry counted them, if you recall.’

  ‘I was including guests, servants and family.’

  ‘Well, then you can uninclude them,’ said Kipps firmly. ‘Because none of our people will be responsible. Or do you see young James and Lady Clarendon as stranglers?’

  ‘Not them – their hands are too small.’

  At that point, Chaloner realised the same was true of Henry, Lawrence and Anne as well; they had inherited their mother’s slight build. Not the family, then. And on reflection, he did not believe that a servant was responsible either. All were acutely aware that their future depended on the Earl staying in power, and it did not take a genius to understand that a murder under his roof would give his enemies fuel with which to damage him.

  ‘Our master is unpopular,’ said Kipps, ‘and it is not unknown for undesirables to burst in from the street, howling about Dunkirk. Perhaps one of them dispatched Underhill. Or perhaps he was killed by a burglar – they have been very active on this side of the city recently.’

  ‘Burglars tend to prefer empty houses, and no one could have thought this was unoccupied, when it blazed with lights and was full of noise. And someone wanting to make a political point about Dunkirk would have left a message behind to explain himself.’

  Kipps did not look convinced, but shrugged amiably anyway, unwilling to gainsay Chaloner’s greater experience in such matters. ‘Very well. So how do we proceed?’

  ‘First, we need to find out who last saw Underhill alive, and next we must learn more about him, and identify anyone who might want him dead.’

  ‘Then we had better make a start,’ said Kipps without enthusiasm.

  The two men entered the Chapell Pavilion, where they were immediately assailed by a barrage of questions, angry words and accusations. While he listened, Chaloner noticed that the guests had kept to their factions, with the exception of Parker, who paced restlessly at the far end of the room, reaching out trembling fingers every so often to straighten a painting or touch a piece of sculpture.

  ‘Keeping us here like common criminals is an outrage,’ declared Reymes furiously, gripping the hilt of his sword. ‘Release us at once, or you will be sorry.’

  ‘It is the accepted protocol in such situations, Bullen,’ said Doyley quietly. He started to put a calming hand on his friend’s shoulder, but was evidently afraid that he might lose it, so he let it drop to his side. ‘For our own safety. After all, the killer might still be here.’

  There was renewed consternation at this notion, and a second clamour broke out. Eventually, Chaloner raised his hand for silence.

  ‘We have some questions, and the quicker they are answered, the sooner you can go home,’ he announced. ‘Obviously, the first thing we need to know is: who saw Underhill last?’

  ‘I spoke to him an hour ago,’ volunteered Dr Franklin, putting a vinegar-soaked sponge to his nose. Chaloner studied him hard, thinking he seemed oddly unmoved by the death of a fellow governor – unlike the others, whose faces were ashen. ‘He said it was too hot in here, so he was going to stand in the Great Roome, where it is cooler.’

  ‘I heard him say that, too,’ agreed Mrs Bonney timidly. ‘But then Dr Parker announced a plan to dose everyone in Chelsea with quicksilver, to see how many he could render temporarily insane, and my attention was taken by him.’

  ‘It was a joke,’ explained Franklin, although he shot an uneasy glance behind him, where his colleague was gazing into the eyes of a marble bust. When Parker leaned forward to deal it a smacking kiss on the lips, Chaloner wondered whether Parker had been at the quicksilver himself.

  ‘I am no man’s keeper,’ declared Kole haughtily, ‘so I did not notice Underhill at all. Indeed, I was not even aware that he was here until someone shouted that he was dead.’

  ‘I think you were,’ countered Doyley, eyeing the speculator in distaste. ‘Because I saw you talking to him shortly before he left for the Great Roome. Please do not lie. It is hardly helpful.’

  ‘I saw you with him as well, Kole,’ put in Reymes. ‘But not talking – arguing.’

  ‘Oh, yes – about the weather,’ blustered the speculator. ‘I forgot. We were discussing the heat, but it was an unmemorable conversation, which is why it slipped my mind.’

  ‘It was not a “conversation”,’ countered Reymes, glaring at him. ‘It was a quarrel.’

  ‘It was not!’ bleated Kole, although his furtive eyes told the truth. ‘It was a difference of opinion about clouds. Nothing more. I did not kill him.’

  Rector Wilkinson released a bark of scornful laughter. ‘So you say, but you are the obvious culprit, because you hated him. As did you, you and you.’ He stabbed a bony finger at Reymes, Cocke and Parker in turn, then whipped around to address Chaloner. ‘Do you want to know why?’

  ‘It might be useful,’ replied Chaloner evenly, although the spiteful cant in the cleric’s eyes warned him to treat any allegations with extreme caution.

  Wilkinson began to speak in a shrill bray that drowned out the startled objections of those he had accused. ‘First, Kole: Underhill was cleverer than he, and often made him look stupid. Second, Reymes: he means Clarendon harm, and would certainly kill an innocent man to achieve his objective. Third, Cocke: Underhill suspected him of stealing from Gorges House. And last, Parker: he is a lunatic, whose actions are no longer rational.’

  Chaloner suspected that Wilkinson might be right about Parker, who alone made no effort to defend himself. The others were furiously indignant, though, and said so in no uncertain terms, which delighted the rector, who cackled malevolently, relishing the agitation he had caused.

  ‘Was Underhill interested in books?’ asked Kipps, cutting across the clamour. Personally, Chaloner would have let it run, in the hope that anger or a guilty conscience would lead to inadvertent revelations.

  ‘He was passionate about them,’ replied Franklin cautiously. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he was in the process of stealing some when he was killed,’ replied Kipps. ‘Which makes us wonder if a fellow governor dispatched him, to spare Gorges embarrassment.’

  There was a stunned silence, which was eventually broken by Mrs Bonney. ‘No! You must be mistaken. Mr Underhill was not a thief.’

  While she was speaking, Parker bounded over and thrust his face so near to Wilkinson’s that Chaloner was sure it was going to be punched. The rector restrained himself with obvious effort.

  ‘Underhill was my friend,’ the physi
cian said tightly. ‘We shared a house for months, and he never showed any inclination to pilfer. You lie, sir.’

  ‘He did not steal from you, because you have nothing worth taking,’ retorted Wilkinson unpleasantly. ‘Unlike this place, which is full of tempting baubles. Indeed, I would not mind some myself.’ He picked up a clock in such a way that Chaloner half expected him to shove it in his pocket and go home with it.

  ‘Perhaps Underhill wanted to read these books to our patients,’ suggested Franklin charitably. ‘Expanding their minds with knowledge is something we encourage, after all.’

  Parker abandoned the rector and addressed Chaloner. ‘No, no, no! The killer left a false trail to lead us all astray. He is cunning, you see. I know him well.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Chaloner keenly. ‘Then who is he?’

  ‘A man who is as dark as night,’ replied Parker with a peculiar grin. ‘And who is lithe, hook-nosed and brooding with evil.’

  ‘A name, please, Parker,’ said Kipps impatiently. ‘Murder is a serious business, especially one that threatens to harm my Earl.’

  ‘Satan,’ replied Parker promptly. ‘Although he also goes by Beelzebub and Lucifer.’

  ‘How did Underhill make his living?’ asked Chaloner, after another startled silence, during which Parker returned to the statue and began to whisper to it. The Gorges folk exchanged uneasy glances and moved closer together, as if to present a united front against whatever might follow.

  ‘He did not have to earn a living – he was a gentleman,’ replied Franklin. ‘A very learned one. He made a number of interesting and helpful observations on our work.’

  ‘He did,’ agreed Mrs Bonney, ‘and his demise will be a sad blow to our progress in curing lunacy. I have never met a man who was better read than Mr Underhill.’

  ‘He was well read,’ acknowledged Doyley, rummaging in his pocket for his snuff. ‘I think he was an Oxford man. He never talked about his kin, but I imagine he had a fine home somewhere.’