The Chelsea Strangler

by Susanna GREGORY

  Martha nodded. ‘She and I looked out of her windows for hours together. Mrs Bonney did not approve, because Mr Reymes’ guests can be very uninhibited. We had to pretend to be reading when she came to see what we were doing, but watching their antics was great fun.’

  ‘Do you still watch?’

  Martha’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I cannot bear to – not on my own. I would not understand what they were doing anyway, as she was the one who explained things. She was married, you see.’

  ‘Christ!’ muttered Chaloner, thinking it small wonder that White Hall’s courtiers had such a dismal reputation among the general populace, if it required that sort of qualification to work out what was happening. ‘The dancing masters said you will go home soon.’

  She gave a wan smile. ‘I still miss Edward terribly, but Dr Franklin tells me that means he was a fine brother and worthy of my love, which is a good thing, not a bad. Have you ever lost anyone who meant the world to you?’

  Hannah had not meant the world to Chaloner, nor, if he was brutally honest with himself, had his first wife, although the child occupied a place in his heart that would never be filled by anyone else. However, he was not about to reveal such intimate thoughts to a vulnerable teenager, so he asked about life at Gorges instead.

  ‘It can be very noisy at night,’ she confided. ‘Not just because of the parties at Buckingham House, but there is a horrible family living in the almshouse at the bottom of the garden – Lil, Jem and Una Collier. They often make unseemly rackets with their raucous laughter and drunkenness.’

  Then her eyes narrowed – the clan in question had just walked into their garden. Lil and Jem slumped on the bench, and a flap of Lil’s imperious hand sent Una slouching inside, presumably to fetch refreshments.

  ‘They might be the Gorges thieves,’ suggested Chaloner. ‘They are well placed to break in here when the staff and residents are busy.’

  ‘That is what I thought, but they were in the garden when my ring was stolen. Mr Hart was bored playing the viol while Mr Bannister sang, and admitted to spending the whole time gazing idly out of the window. He says they were there all afternoon.’

  ‘Working?’ asked Chaloner doubtfully.

  ‘Of course not. I saw them myself once or twice, and they were lying in the sun. They have an alibi for Mrs Young’s thimble, too. It went missing during our singing competition, but they were polishing the hall floor at the time. Mr Bannister, who was nearest the door, said they grunted and grumbled without cease, and quite spoiled his enjoyment of the occasion.’

  ‘I imagine so.’

  Martha lowered her voice. ‘It is not pleasant, knowing there are thieves and murderers at large. In fact, I am tempted to borrow Mrs Bonney’s gun to protect myself. What do you think?’

  ‘Mrs Bonney has a firearm?’ asked Chaloner uneasily, thinking it was not the sort of thing that should ever be stored in an asylum.

  ‘Yes, in case the Dutch prisoners ever escape, and come to ravage her.’

  Chaloner doubted the bewhiskered Mrs Bonney would attract much amorous attention from the Dutch, and decided to confiscate the weapon before there was a mishap. ‘Will you tell me more about Nancy?’

  ‘She was gentle, kind and good, especially to Dorothy. I have tried to emulate her, but I do not have her patience. Or her courage. Dorothy can be wild when she is in one of her moods.’

  ‘Dorothy,’ mused Chaloner. ‘She mentioned a “batman”…’

  ‘Her name for the spectre, as I told you earlier. She painted it on the wall of her room, and she has captured its evil face perfectly – the way it looms broodingly from under its hood.’

  Chaloner regarded her sceptically. ‘How close were you to this figure when you saw it?’

  Martha smiled shyly. ‘My father gave me a Dutch telescope, so Nancy, Dorothy and I did not need to be close – we could see it quite well from a safe distance.’

  She went to the walnut chest and removed a polished wooden tube with brass fitments. They were popular devices with sea-captains, although Chaloner had never seen one used on land. He put it to his eye, and was rewarded with a superb view of Wilkinson plying a trowel. Then he trained it on Buckingham House, and saw Kipps leaning fawningly over a recumbent Lady Castlemaine. He grimaced. So much for the Seal Bearer’s offer to question other witnesses about Kole.

  He was about to hand the instrument back when he saw a flicker of movement in Gorges’ orchard. Hart and Bannister were chatting to Cocke, while Jem Collier sneaked through the trees towards them with the obvious intention of eavesdropping. They heard him long before he came close, and moved away. Jem reached the spot where they had been standing, and bent to retrieve something from the ground. Chaloner could not see what it was, but Jem shoved it in his pocket.

  ‘Perhaps you should put this away until you leave,’ said Chaloner, snapping the glass shut and starting to hand it back to her. ‘Lest you see something you wish you had not.’

  ‘I have not used it since Nancy died,’ confided Martha. ‘Would you like it? It might help you to catch her killer, and I should like to feel I am contributing, even if only in a small way.’

  ‘Perhaps there is a small improvement in Dorothy,’ Franklin was saying kindly to Wiseman, when Chaloner returned to the corridor. Mrs Bonney was nodding sympathetically. ‘But it is best to be realistic, and I am afraid she will never regain her sanity.’

  Wiseman glared at him. ‘That is not what Parker told me. Can you not feed her more coffee, and see what that might do?’

  ‘It will make her more agitated,’ explained Franklin patiently. ‘Coffee is a remarkable substance, but it cannot cure all forms of lunacy. If Parker said it would mend your wife, then I am afraid he spoke prematurely.’

  Wiseman launched into another subject to mask his disappointment. ‘I cannot say I approve of the family you have installed in the almshouse. They are not people I want near my wife.’

  ‘The Colliers?’ asked Mrs Bonney, startled. ‘But they are fine, upstanding folk. Look at the references from their previous employers. No one could ask for more.’

  She produced a sheaf of letters from about her ample person. Chaloner inspected them when Wiseman had finished, and was impressed by the fulsome praise lavished on the trio. Mr Dere from Bristol thought they were the most charming individuals he had ever encountered, while Monsieur le Raille from Cheltenham considered them conscientious, honest and virtuous. They had also worked for Sir Edward Hungerford, who had been delighted with the service he had received. As Eleanore had said, the testimonials were on good paper, and very well written.

  ‘Are you sure these are genuine?’ he asked.

  ‘I wondered the same,’ admitted Franklin. ‘But I doubt Lil and Jem know any high-class counterfeiters, so we are obliged to give them the benefit of the doubt. However, they have changed since arriving here – all they do now is eat, sleep and grumble. Parker has been feeding them coffee in the hope that they will revert to their former industrious selves, but it has not worked yet.’

  ‘Well, just keep them away from Dorothy,’ instructed Wiseman belligerently.

  Afterwards, Chaloner went to explore the asylum’s grounds, still pondering the Colliers’ references, and thinking that Franklin – and Eleanore – was right to question their authenticity. Of course, they were not the only documents of which he was suspicious.

  ‘Are you sure it was Dorothy who wrote you that letter?’ he asked of Wiseman, who had accompanied him. ‘Because I cannot see her sitting down quietly with pen and ink.’

  ‘Well, she did,’ replied the surgeon curtly. ‘She used to write to me a great deal, and it is not something one forgets. Besides, you read it – it was scarcely rational. Of course it was her.’

  Chaloner remained dubious, but was disinclined to argue. Then they reached the almshouse, which was a pretty place set among mature trees. It had suffered under the Colliers’ occupancy, though. Discarded clothes, half-eaten food and other rubbish had been left lying
around outside, and what had once been a well-kept kitchen garden had been allowed to run riot. Dirty streaks trailed down the walls, and the door was chipped and stained.

  Lil had not moved from the bench since Chaloner had seen her from Nancy’s window, although she had been joined by Jem and Una. All three were smoking in an attitude of slovenly relaxation, despite the fact that it was a time when most honest people were at work. Chaloner took the opportunity to put a few questions about the murders.

  ‘No, we never saw nothing,’ Lil replied. ‘We work our fingers to the bone for the honour of living here. And me with a bad back, too.’

  ‘You do not leave most of the labour to Eleanore Unckles?’ asked Chaloner coolly.

  ‘Her!’ sniffed Lil disparagingly. ‘She takes bread out of good folks’ mouths by offering her services at that prison. She don’t need the money, and I got a brother who would like that job.’

  ‘You are lucky to have her,’ said Chaloner. ‘It saves you from doing anything yourselves.’

  Lil shot him a very nasty look. ‘You watch your mouth, mister, or I’ll put a spell on you. I’m a witch, see, and my curses work.’

  ‘Unlike you, then,’ muttered Chaloner.

  ‘Witchery is illegal, madam,’ said Wiseman icily. ‘You cannot—’

  ‘I do what I please, when I please,’ declared Lil haughtily. ‘And you ain’t—’

  ‘The Gorges thefts,’ interrupted Chaloner, before she and the surgeon could begin a spat that might last some time. ‘What do you know about those?’

  ‘They got nothing to do with us,’ replied Jem promptly. ‘The spectre done it. I saw it creeping about when all the lunatics were with their dancing masters.’

  A sly expression crossed Lil’s face. ‘I saw it, too, and it looked like a woman. You might want to look in Ellie Unckles’ house for hooded coats. She wants to know who killed her sister, see, and will stop at nothing to find out.’

  ‘I saw you in the orchard not long ago,’ said Chaloner to Jem, not gracing the accusation with a reply. ‘Trying to spy on Cocke, Hart and Bannister. What did you pick up from the ground? Something they dropped?’

  ‘I never picked up nothing,’ declared Jem. ‘I must have been buckling my shoe.’

  Before Chaloner could challenge him, Lil sighed gustily. ‘All this annoying talk means I got to lie down – it’s made my back ache something wicked. Now go away.’

  ‘I have cured hundreds of bad backs in my time,’ said Wiseman, more menacingly than was appropriate for a medical practitioner and a potential client. ‘Even the most infirm of beggars rise and walk when they see me coming. I am sure I can do something for you.’

  ‘No,’ gulped Lil in alarm. ‘I got my own cures, thank you. Anyway, I don’t hold with men poking about where they ain’t got no business.’

  ‘Cure me instead, then,’ suggested Una slyly, patting her bulging stomach.

  ‘Not that!’ exclaimed Wiseman, shocked. ‘It is dangerous. Besides, I am a surgeon, which means I save lives. I do not take them.’

  ‘How about a few coins instead, then?’ asked Jem hopefully. ‘For a poor family, who ain’t got no food, other than the scraps what the lunatics don’t want.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lil, greed lighting her eyes. ‘A bit of money won’t go amiss, and there ain’t no one more deserving than us. Come on, I know you got some spare.’

  Neither Chaloner nor Wiseman obliged, and foul language followed them until they were out of earshot.

  ‘Scavengers!’ spat Wiseman. ‘Mrs Bonney is a fool for keeping them on, and I suspect you need look no further for the Gorges thieves. Shall we break into their house and see?’

  Chaloner laughed. ‘You want to go a-burgling with me?’

  ‘Actually, I thought you could do it while I wait outside or better yet, fetch Kipps to stand guard. He is more suited to such lowly antics than me. Well? What do you say?’

  ‘Perhaps later,’ replied Chaloner. ‘After Reymes’ soirée.’

  In the orchard, Chaloner stared for several minutes at the tree under which Nancy had died, but it had been too long ago for any clues still to be there. All he learned was that it would be easy to scale the surrounding wall, and that Gorges was not as secure as everyone claimed. Moreover, the tree was invisible from the house, so he was not surprised that there had been no witnesses to the crime.

  He returned to the Swan, to change into better clothes for his evening at Buckingham House, then took pen and paper from his bag. He sat at the table, closed his eyes, and tried to recall the details of Hannah’s face. The picture that came immediately to mind was the peculiar ‘Portuguese’ hairstyle she had favoured for a few months, which involved two large waves on either side of her head. This had been abandoned when she had overheard someone say that she looked like a bat.

  He began to sketch. A few quick lines caught the determined jut of her chin, but the hair looked ludicrous, so he screwed up the paper and started again. This time he captured her nose perfectly, but there was something amiss with the eyes. He scrunched that up, too, and started a third. He yielded to the urge to ink in the batwings again, but the eyes …

  He stared at the image, wishing he had been with her when she had died, then thought again about her last letter. What had she meant by her odd advice about peacemakers and dandies? Was it something to do with the libertines at Court – some of whom he would see that evening? Or by peacemakers did she mean the doves on the Privy Council, who had argued against war with the Dutch – men like the Earl? Or was Wiseman right, and it was all a nonsensical rant brought on by fever?

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said the surgeon, peering over his shoulder. ‘The eyes are wrong, and that hair makes her look like a bat. Are you ready? Kipps is pacing like a caged lion downstairs, desperate to get back to Lady Castlemaine’s thighs. I hope you are not expecting too much help for your investigation, because you will not get it from that dim-wit.’

  They arrived at Buckingham House to find most of the courtiers in the ballroom, attempting to drink all the wine before the other guests arrived. The light was fading, so lamps had been lit, but they made the room airless and stuffy, and Chaloner was not the only one who pulled uncomfortably at his finery, wishing he could dispense with some of it.

  Reymes was the centre of attention until Lady Castlemaine appeared, at which point he was abandoned without a backward glance. She suggested some games, and it was not long before the atmosphere turned raucous, much to the delight of the villagers congregating at the gate. A group of eccentrically clad musicians began to play, but their repertoire comprised nothing but rough jigs and drinking songs, which did little to raise the tone of the evening.

  ‘No, I shall not be playing later,’ replied Greeting shortly, when Chaloner posed the question. He cast a disparaging glance at the performers. ‘Reymes hired that rabble from the Goat in Boots, and I would sooner die than join them.’

  The violist sauntered away to play cards with Brodrick and Hungerford, and Chaloner looked around at the rest of the company. Reymes had been open-handed with his invitations, and his guests included locals as well as visitors. Doyley stood by a window with Rector Wilkinson, who was in the midst of a rant, if the furiously wagging finger was anything to go by. The staff of Gorges were nearby, watching the courtiers’ increasingly wild antics with open disapproval. When Wiseman went to exchange greetings with them, Chaloner joined him.

  ‘It was sweet of Reymes to ask us here,’ whispered Franklin, ‘but I would rather be with my patients. There is so much to do now that Parker is…’

  ‘I doubt you will be missed if you slip away,’ said Wiseman. ‘Nor will I, difficult though that is to imagine, so I shall go with you. Reymes is already serving cheap wine on the grounds that most of his guests have reached the point where they cannot tell the difference. And I refuse to drink it.’

  When they had gone, Chaloner wandered into the garden, and was surprised to see the Colliers there, awkward but defiant in their Sunday best. They ho
vered tentatively on the fringes of the gathering, but gradually grew bolder, and eventually reached the wine, which they proceeded to down as though there were no tomorrow.

  ‘What a horde,’ spat Reymes. He was standing by an open door, and made no effort to lower his voice. ‘Fishmongers, rakehells, mad-doctors, Clarendon’s spies, fanatics and almshouse scum.’

  ‘You invited them, Bullen,’ retorted Doyley, who had managed to escape from Wilkinson, and was recovering from the experience with a generous pinch of snuff. ‘They are your friends.’

  ‘They certainly are not! Most came without any invitation from me. The Colliers, for example. I would throw them out, but there would be a fuss, and I do not have the energy for it. I did include Clarendon’s men in a moment of weakness, though – I feel sorry for them, nailing their pennants to such a mast. That pompous bastard will drag them—’

  He broke off as Cocke staggered past with Ladies Castlemaine and Savage, jostling him roughly. None of the three stopped to apologise. A wave of noise drowned him out when he began speaking a second time – the musicians had embarked on a popular tavern song and the Colliers were singing along.

  ‘That does it,’ Reymes snarled. ‘If anyone asks, say the sun has given me a headache, and I have gone to lie down. I am sure the party will carry on quite merrily without me.’

  He stalked away, and Chaloner noticed that none of his courtly guests bothered to acknowledge him as he passed. Why did he squander his money on people who did not afford him even the most basic of courtesies? It was clear that he was not one of their set, and his hospitality would never be reciprocated. When he had gone, Chaloner went to join Doyley.

  ‘Lord!’ gulped the commissioner, starting guiltily when he realised that Chaloner would have heard every word of the conversation. ‘I hope you do not think that I share Bullen’s opinions. I like Clarendon – he is one of the few high-ranking officials in this country with a modicum of decency.’

  Then Cocke reeled towards them, having exchanged his two ladies for a pair of prostitutes. ‘Which of these fine lasses will you have, Doyley?’ he bawled with a leer. ‘Or will you be a gentleman, and concede them both to me? They will probably have a lot more fun.’