The Chelsea Strangler

by Susanna GREGORY

  ‘Here,’ objected the woman, offended. ‘What do you mean by that? We happen to be very good company. Just ask Mrs Bonney at the asylum – she thinks the world of us.’

  Samm regarded her in distaste. ‘Then she is a fool. But your lazy tricks will not work here, Lil Collier. I know your sort.’

  He treated the family to a final glower, then left to rejoin the hunt outside. Lamps bobbed past the door as guards dashed this way and that, and there was a lot of agitated shouting. He issued a stream of orders that made the lanterns jig even more urgently, and Chaloner watched them in despair. How long would they search? Until the intruder was caught? Grimly, he realised it would be a lot harder to leave the prison now that he had been seen.

  As soon as Samm had gone, Lil tossed her knife onto the table and aimed for the bench by the hearth. Jem did likewise, tamping his pipe with tobacco and stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh of contentment. Una started to join them, but Lil had something to say about that.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘Chop them onions.’

  ‘You do it,’ pouted Una. ‘I got backache.’

  ‘I’m the one with backache,’ growled Lil, as if it was an ailment that could only afflict one person at a time. ‘I’m ill, me. I need to sit for a while, and have a smoke to calm my nerves. I’ll have a bit of ale, too, so you can get me some before you start the onions.’

  She accepted the pipe that Jem had lit for her, and leaned back comfortably. Eleanore shot a warning glance towards the trapdoor, cautioning Chaloner to stay put. He tried to calm his rising agitation: the Colliers were clearly settling in for a lengthy breather, and he felt trapped and vulnerable in the cellar.

  ‘Do the onions, Una,’ ordered Jem, when the girl perched on the table and began to pick at a broken fingernail. ‘Your mother needs to sit down, and they won’t do themselves. And Ellie here won’t be no help. She prefers to ask questions than to work.’

  Eleanore shot him a contemptuous look but did not argue, while Una removed herself from the table and contemplated the waiting vegetables with a face as black as thunder. Her parents ignored her sullen temper, and Chaloner had the sense that friction in the family was the norm. Doubtless there would be even more of it when the baby arrived.

  ‘Yet you can’t blame Ellie for asking questions about this place, Jem,’ said Lil, looking around in distaste. ‘I sensed there was something odd about it the moment I set foot inside, and I ain’t never wrong about that sort of thing.’

  A sudden barrage of shouts from outside suggested that the guards had discovered something significant. Chaloner supposed they had found the man he had knocked out and left in the fly-infested yard.

  ‘They say it was once called Controversy College,’ said Jem, and to prove he was the brains of the family, he added, ‘That means the men who came here argued a lot.’

  ‘Same as now, then,’ mused Lil. ‘Nothing has changed.’

  ‘Perhaps it should be called Controversy Gaol,’ quipped Jem, and laughed uproariously.

  ‘That Buckingham House crowd is odd, too,’ said Lil, when she could make herself heard. ‘It’s all noise and merrymaking without stop. I like a good time myself, as you know, but those courtiers … well, they’re unnatural.’

  ‘They sang bawdy songs all last night,’ put in Una. ‘They knew some I ain’t never heard, which makes you wonder about the company they keep. Did you know they brought whores from Southwark to keep them entertained?’

  ‘They should have recruited local lasses,’ said Lil disapprovingly. ‘I could have done with the business, and so could you.’

  Chaloner suspected that Reymes’ guests would have opted for an early night if the likes of Una and Lil had been on offer. He moved slightly, so he could see Jem’s face, but the man did not react to the notion that his wife was ready to sell her favours.

  ‘I don’t like that rectory neither,’ Jem was saying, purse-lipped. ‘Wilkinson … well, all I can say is that they never had his ilk in Bath. I asked him to pray for your bad back, Lil, and do you know what he said? That I was to bugger off!’

  ‘You leave my back alone,’ ordered Lil, aggrieved. ‘I like it just the way it is.’

  Chaloner was sure she did, lest a cure affected her status as family invalid. Meanwhile, Eleanore’s attention was fixed on Jem.

  ‘What is it that you do not like about the rectory?’ she asked. ‘Have you seen something odd happening there?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ declared Jem importantly. ‘Namely lights in the attic – in the dead of night, when decent folk should be asleep. I tell you, that vicar is a funny devil.’

  ‘He is, but he had nothing to do with throttling your sister, Ellie,’ said Lil kindly. ‘Churchmen don’t go around strangling people, not even the strange ones.’

  Chaloner listened in astonishment. Nancy was Eleanore’s sister? He grimaced his exasperation. Why had she not told him? There had been no need for subterfuge, and how was he supposed to get to the bottom of the matter when the victim’s kin declined to cooperate?

  ‘Things are afoot in Chelsea that you know nothing about, Ellie,’ Jem was stating with authority. ‘If you don’t want to follow Nancy to the grave, you would be wise to leave well alone.’

  ‘You would,’ agreed Lil, then heaved herself to her feet. ‘I need to go home and lie down, Jem, but first we’ll stop at the Swan for a drop to drink. I have a terrible thirst on me tonight.’

  ‘We can’t, Lil. Landlord Smith will want to be paid what we owe, so we’d better go to the White Hart instead. Our credit is still good there.’

  ‘But the ale is better at the Swan,’ said Lil. ‘And that Smith will serve me – unless he wants his name blackened around the village.’

  ‘Or I could put a curse on him,’ offered Una brightly.

  ‘You stay here and finish them onions,’ said Lil, waddling towards the door. ‘I’d help, but my back is bothering me something cruel.’

  ‘On my own?’ cried Una, as Jem began to follow. ‘But that ain’t fair!’

  ‘It ain’t fair that I got a bad back,’ countered Lil loftily. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are, girl. Now get chopping, while I go for a drink to dull the pain.’

  ‘I’m not lucky,’ pouted Una when her parents had gone. ‘I’m put upon, that’s what I am. She lounges about all day, pretending to be ill, while I do all the work. I hate both of them, and I wish they were dead. In fact, maybe I’ll put a curse on them. I can do it, you know. I watched old Mother Hitching, and I know how it’s done.’

  ‘Best not,’ counselled Eleanore. ‘Go and meet your friends instead. I will finish up here.’

  Una did not need to be told twice. She tore off her apron, and was through the door almost before Eleanore had finished speaking. Chaloner waited to be let out, but Eleanore merely picked up a knife and turned back to the table. He shoved impotently against the door, alarm rising in a flood. Did she mean to keep him there permanently?

  Eleanore’s caution was not misplaced: within moments two armed gaolers marched in and began a systematic hunt of the kitchens. They worked with professional detachment, and Chaloner knew they would search the basement. He groped his way back down the steps, and fumbled in his pocket for the tinderbox and candle stub he always carried. He flinched at the noise the flint made as it struck, and was glad it took no more than two cracks before the candle was lit.

  The cellar was huge, and comprised a number of rooms stretching off into the distance. Some had been used to store fruit, flour and other foodstuffs, while others held broken furniture, mouldy bales of straw and logs. One contained a musty pile of coal and some old sacks, so Chaloner blew out the candle and burrowed beneath them, struggling not to cough. It was not long before he heard the trapdoor open, and the guards descended the stairs.

  He waited, taut with tension as they drew closer. Then a lantern flickered in his doorway, and the pair began to prod about with sticks – one jab grazed down his leg. He brace
d himself to leap up and fight, although as his sword was stowed with his hat in the ditch outside the gatehouse, it would be an unequal contest at best.

  ‘I might come and get some of this later,’ murmured one, picking up a lump of coal. ‘For the winter. The government taxed it so high last year that we could only afford a fire every other day.’

  The remark signalled their exit from that room, and Chaloner allowed himself to breathe again as they moved to the next one. Eventually, they finished altogether, and he heard the trapdoor close behind them. He struggled out from under the sacks, and groped his way back to the stairs, arriving just in time to hear Samm inform Eleanore that it was dangerous for her to be in the College unaccompanied, so he would escort her home.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied graciously, while Chaloner’s stomach lurched anew. Would she leave him there all night? ‘I will call you when my work here is done.’

  Chaloner expected Samm to tell her that she would go at his convenience, not hers, but the gaoler only inclined his head and left. Eleanore waited until the door had closed behind him, and hurried to the pantry. The moment she unfastened the bolt, Chaloner darted out in relief.

  ‘You should not have broken in,’ she whispered. ‘Tooker and Samm will kill you if they think you are spying.’

  ‘So I gathered,’ said Chaloner drily.

  ‘And you should have no need to skulk, anyway,’ she went on. ‘Not if you are telling the truth about carrying the authority of the Lord Chancellor and the Spymaster General. Those should be enough to see your questions answered.’

  ‘Only if what is happening here is legal,’ Chaloner pointed out. ‘I tried asking politely, but Tooker declined to cooperate. And he is not the only one who tried to lead me astray – you should have told me that Nancy was your sister.’

  Eleanore met his gaze evenly. ‘It is difficult to know who to trust, and Nancy was important to me – which is why I have been investigating her death myself. I took jobs here and in Buckingham House, hoping to learn something important. I tried to get one in Gorges, too, but Mrs Bonney said she did not need me, because she has the Colliers.’

  Chaloner was desperate to leave the prison and its secrets – Eleanore included – but the yard was still full of bobbing lanterns, which meant he was going nowhere just yet. He took up station by the window, ready to hide again if anyone approached.

  ‘I understand why you think Buckingham House might hold answers,’ he said, aiming to distract himself from his rising agitation by seeing what he could learn from her. ‘It is next to Gorges, and one of its guests might have seen or heard something to help. But why here?’

  Eleanore leaned against the table, her eyes distant. ‘Chelsea was a quiet backwater until a few weeks ago, but then curious things started happening at four different locations – here, Buckingham House, Gorges and the rectory.’

  ‘What manner of “curious things”?’

  ‘Odd comings and goings, an influx of strangers, three murders and a roaming spectre.’

  ‘What have you discovered about them?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘At least, nothing yet. But there are connections…’

  ‘Connections?’

  ‘Between this place and Gorges, for a start. Parker and Franklin physick the inmates of both; Mr Cocke manages the accounts of both; and the Colliers skivvy in both.’

  Chaloner recalled what had been reported about the Colliers when the board of governors had met in Clarendon House – that they had been living at Gorges’ expense for several months, but were not yet the asset that had been anticipated. Having seen them, he understood why they had failed to live up to expectations.

  ‘How did they win themselves such an easy existence?’ he asked. ‘And why award it to a family from Bath? Were there no deserving locals who wanted the posts?’

  ‘Not really – this is a wealthy village. And Jem and Lil came with excellent references from their previous employers. Mrs Bonney showed me the letters.’

  ‘Has she never heard of forgery?’

  ‘That was my first thought, but the testimonials were beautifully written on expensive paper. The Colliers could never have produced anything so fine.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but they could pay someone to do it for them.’

  ‘They could,’ acknowledged Eleanore, ‘but they are incapable of distinguishing between high-quality documents and cheap imitations, and will assume that others are, too. They would have chosen a less expensive option – and you and I would not be having this conversation.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ acknowledged Chaloner. ‘Yet I cannot imagine anyone praising that family. Their testimonials must be false.’

  ‘Or penned by someone who wanted them to take employment on the far side of the country,’ she countered wryly. ‘To be well and truly rid of them.’

  It was a good point. ‘Regardless, they are clearly undeserving of Gorges’ charity, so why does Mrs Bonney not send them packing?’

  ‘Because no one at Gorges has caught them shirking yet, although I think Dr Parker has come close. I know the truth, but no one takes any notice of a poor widow.’

  Chaloner regarded her askance. ‘Why would anyone take their word over yours?’

  Eleanore winced. ‘I suffered a terrible melancholy after John’s death. I am recovered now, but people remember that I was not in my right mind for a while.’ She smiled wanly. ‘It must run in the family, because Nancy had one, too.’

  ‘Is that why she was in Gorges?’ Chaloner was still uncomfortably aware that the hunt outside was showing no signs of abating.

  Eleanore nodded. ‘For her, it was the sadness of losing a baby. But she was almost cured, thanks to Dr Parker and his coffee.’

  ‘Whose baby?’ asked Chaloner, recalling what Wilkinson had claimed about Nancy.

  Shock flared in Eleanore’s eyes and her jaw dropped. ‘Why, her husband’s, of course. What a terrible thing to ask! Nancy would never have entertained another man. And he did not kill her, lest you think to suggest it.’

  ‘So you have told me already, but I still need to speak to him. I tried yesterday, but his bell-foundry was mysteriously abandoned. Did you warn him that I might visit?’

  ‘I told him that you had come to find Nancy’s killer, but I did not recommend that he should disappear. Perhaps the spectre did – our resident ghost has been very active of late.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the spectre. Some folk tell me that it is Sutcliffe, while others claim it is a woman, on account of its light tread. What do you think?’

  Eleanore considered the question carefully. ‘Not a woman – none of us have the time for that sort of nonsense. It could be Mr Sutcliffe, though – it is the right height and build. But why would he do such a thing, especially as he no longer lives here?’

  Chaloner had no answer, so he turned to another subject. ‘Have you ever been inside the Garden Court?’

  ‘Not since Mr Tooker installed some dangerous prisoners there. I saw a list of their names in his office once. None looked Dutch, so I suppose they are captured mercenaries, like Spring.’

  ‘Can you remember any of these names?’

  ‘Just three: John Lisle, Will Say and William Cawley.’

  Chaloner’s stomach somersaulted. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, why? Do you know them?’

  ‘No,’ lied Chaloner. He reached for the door handle. ‘But I need to see this list for myself – tonight, if possible. Where was it exactly?’

  Eleanore blinked. ‘You mean to look for it now? Are you insane? You will be caught!’

  ‘We shall see.’

  The search had moved to the Garden Court, although sentries had been posted at the door, which meant it was impossible for Chaloner to take advantage of the fact that it was unlocked. It did, however, allow him to slip out of the kitchen and steal towards the gatehouse. Meanwhile, Eleanore called for Samm to take her home, and once the chief gaoler had gone, the frenetic atmosphere eased considerably. Better
yet, Samm’s absence meant that Tooker was obliged to supervise the hunt himself, leaving his quarters unattended, which enabled Chaloner to sneak inside them with no trouble whatsoever.

  He started with the paper-loaded desk, which held so much inconsequential nonsense that he supposed Tooker had amassed it for the sole purpose of convincing visitors that he was busier than was the case. He searched the rest of the office quickly, then repeated the operation in a bedroom that reeked of cheap perfume and tobacco. The only other chamber in the warden’s suite was a pantry, which held an eclectic array of salt-stained goods – the prisoners’ belongings, which had either been confiscated or exchanged for favours. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the list.

  He returned to the office, and stared at the desk. Then he smiled – there was an inconsistency between the size of the drawers on the outside and the space available on the inside. He set to work, and it was not many moments before he identified the one with the false bottom. He lifted it out to reveal a veritable treasure trove of documents and records.

  On top lay a book listing all the bribes – money and goods – that had been taken from the prisoners, along with their estimated value; each entry had been initialled by Samm. There were also papers detailing ‘expenses’ paid to some of the staff, along with a bill of sale for firearms, although the latter was far in excess of what should have been needed for guarding prisoners, no matter how dangerous they were alleged to be. Most were covered in dirty fingermarks, making Chaloner wonder what Tooker had been doing with them.

  Finally, he found what he was looking for – a list of names, although someone had been careless with a flame, because the bottom of it had been burned off. There were ten on the undamaged part, and he estimated there had been two more below, making a dozen in all. As Eleanore had said, it began with Lisle, Say and Cawley.

  One advantage of having a regicide uncle meant that Chaloner knew the identities of all those who had played a role in the old king’s trial and execution, and six of the men on Tooker’s list had done just that. Say and Cawley had signed the death warrant; Lisle had sat on the tribunal; Andrew Broughton and John Phelps had prepared the relevant paperwork; and Ned Dendy had been the court’s Sergeant at Arms. All were thought to have fled to Switzerland at the Restoration, to escape the Royalists’ bloody revenge.