The Chelsea Strangler

by Susanna GREGORY

  Second, there was a message in cipher, scrawled in an untidy hand. Unlike the code Underhill had used, this one was complex, and Chaloner knew it would take time to translate. Fortunately, he would not have to try, because Cocke would tell him what it said once he was in custody.

  Third, and most intriguing, was a list of names. Ten were the same as those on the one Chaloner had taken from Tooker’s office, plus the regicide John Dove and the Fifth Monarchist Evan Price, who must have been on the burnt bit at the bottom. He stared at it. Did it mean rebels were incarcerated in Chelsea? If so, it would make sense for Cocke to be in on the secret, because he would have to earmark funds for their care. Chaloner wondered if the commissioners knew, too. Or was the whole thing a ruse, designed to conceal the fact that the Garden Court was full of food?

  He was about to leave when the door was flung open and Reymes stood there, face dark with anger. Wiseman was behind him looking sheepish, while Kipps was rolling his eyes.

  ‘I am sorry, Chaloner,’ murmured the surgeon. ‘I was so pleased with my work that I said I wished you were there to see it, which drew attention to the fact that you were missing…’

  ‘You have no right to invade my house and pry,’ yelled Reymes. ‘It is a serious violation of trust, although no surprise from a man who works for Clarendon.’ He all but spat the name.

  ‘I explained why it had to be done,’ said Kipps sharply. ‘Cocke is a thief and a murderer. Would you have us ignore his crimes, just because you are protective of your guests?’

  ‘You should have asked me first.’ Reymes shoved a gold coin in Wiseman’s hand. ‘That is for bleeding my guests, so now we are even. Now leave – all of you.’

  ‘A guinea?’ cried Wiseman, regarding it indignantly. ‘But I usually charge twice as much. I have to cover the cost of my spoiled clothes, you know.’

  ‘Then you should learn to be more careful,’ retorted Reymes. ‘And you only relieved three people of their blood, so you cannot expect more.’

  Chaloner brandished the papers he had found. ‘These prove that Cocke has been cheating Gorges, while here is a list of dangerous dissidents who are incarcerated in your prison.’

  Reymes snatched them from him, almost tearing one, but Chaloner could read nothing in the commissioner’s face as he scanned them quickly.

  ‘They are a nonsense,’ he declared. ‘This ledger will be some prank of Cocke’s, while these men are not in my gaol. How could they be? It would be impossible to keep such a matter quiet, and the whole village would know about it.’

  ‘Would they?’ asked Chaloner coolly. ‘How, when Tooker and Samm refuse to let anyone inside the Garden Court?’

  Reymes lowered his voice to an angry hiss. ‘Doyley explained all this to you last night, although he had no right – it is meant to be a secret. Besides, just think about what you are saying: if the Garden Court was full of dissidents, how could Tooker and Samm manage them all alone? The answer is that they could not – troops would be needed.’

  He had a point, although Chaloner declined to acknowledge it, and remained confused and uncertain about the whole business. He snatched the documents back when the commissioner made a move that revealed an intention to tear them into pieces.

  ‘Where is Cocke?’ he asked, shoving them inside his shirt, out of harm’s way. ‘We still need to question him.’

  ‘I have already told you: I have not seen him today. Try Gorges or the prison. Personally, I do not think he should hold three posts concurrently. It means he does none of them well.’

  ‘Like you, then,’ muttered Kipps. ‘The Earl was right to make you a commissioner. It will expose your incompetence, and you will lose the Treasury prefectship as well. And good riddance!’

  Chaloner, Kipps and Wiseman arrived at Gorges House to find some residents in tears, others sitting in stunned silence, and a dreadful yowling from the top floor.

  ‘That is Dorothy,’ cried Wiseman, and ran to the stairs.

  Mrs Bonney hurried from the ballroom, where she and Franklin had been struggling to calm a distressed patient with help from Hart and Bannister. The housekeeper’s face was pale, and it was clear that she had been crying herself.

  ‘Poor Dr Parker,’ she whispered. ‘Strangled! And him on the verge of curing madness, too. Our residents are distraught, and we have had to dose several with soporifics.’

  Chaloner told her about the ledger, and watched her jaw drop in horror.

  ‘Mr Cocke is the thief?’ She lowered her voice when several inmates looked in her direction. ‘Come to my parlour – this is not a discussion that should be held in public. Martha? Bring us some chocolate from the kitchen.’

  Chaloner started to say it was unnecessary – he could not waste time on lengthy explanations when he should be looking for Cocke, and he did not like chocolate, a bitter, oily drink that should never have been imported to civilised nations. But Martha was already speeding away, and he sensed the girl was glad to have something useful to do.

  He forced himself to sit still while Kipps furnished Mrs Bonney with a garrulous account of their discoveries and suspicions, feeling the Seal Bearer deserved the chance to gloat about being right. She studied the incriminating ledger in dismay.

  ‘But I paid three pounds for the new blankets, and he recorded four! What was he thinking?’

  ‘That Gorges represented an easy way to make money,’ replied Kipps briskly.

  ‘Did he steal from the residents as well?’ asked Mrs Bonney in a small voice. ‘I suppose he must have done. He probably thought they were too lunatic to notice, which was stupid, as there is very little wrong with most of them.’

  Martha arrived at that point with a jug and dishes, and Chaloner braced himself to be repelled, but the mixture was surprisingly palatable, perhaps because she had added so much sugar.

  ‘We use a lot of chocolate,’ said Mrs Bonney with a wan smile, although it was clear that most of her mind was on Cocke’s betrayal. ‘Dr Parker believes … believed it has great medicinal virtue, although it is not as good as coffee, of course. Pour our guests some more, Martha.’

  Martha obliged, although she was not very deft at managing the cumbersome jug with its long spout, and more went on the floor than in the bowls. Her ineptitude told Chaloner that she was unfamiliar with basic household tasks, which explained why she had added more sugar than most people would see in a year.

  ‘How is Wiseman’s wife?’ Kipps was asking. ‘She sounded a little … disorderly.’

  ‘She was fond of Dr Parker,’ explained Mrs Bonney. ‘She does not see many people on a regular basis, so tends to form attachments to those who spend time with her.’

  ‘Like Mr Janaway,’ put in Martha. ‘Although he has not been since Nancy … You should talk to Dorothy about Nancy’s death, Mr Chaloner. She sometimes notices things that the rest of us miss.’

  ‘Foolish girl,’ said Mrs Bonney, albeit kindly. ‘Dorothy spends her whole life in another world, and knows nothing about what happened that horrible day.’

  ‘But she can see the orchard from her window,’ persisted Martha. ‘Not the place where Nancy died, of course, but all around it. And she spends hours looking out. She might have seen something. Please talk to her, Mr Chaloner. I will come with you – to interpret what she says.’

  ‘There is no need,’ said Kipps. ‘Because we have identified the killer. It is the same as the thief – namely George Cocke.’

  Martha’s hands flew to her mouth in horror. ‘No! Are you sure?’

  ‘We are,’ replied Kipps firmly, although Chaloner shot him an irritable glance. It was not clear at all that the thief and the strangler were one and the same, and he was inclined to keep looking for the killer. ‘I do not suppose you have seen him today, have you?’

  ‘Yes, running full pelt towards the orchard,’ replied Martha. ‘It was very early – before it was fully light.’

  ‘Was he alone?’ Chaloner supposed she had seen the accompter after he had slunk along the King’
s Road in the dark.

  ‘I think so. At least, I did not see anyone else.’

  ‘He must have spotted us entering Parker’s lair,’ muttered Kipps in Chaloner’s ear. ‘And fled to avoid the noose. Damn! He will disappear now, and never face justice.’

  Chaloner took his leave of Mrs Bonney, and strode to the orchard. Perhaps Cocke had left something there to indicate where he might have gone, although he acknowledged that this was unlikely. He reached the apple tree where Nancy had died, and looked around, hands on hips, frowning when he saw a pale bump in the grass. He hurried towards it, and then swore under his breath when he recognised the plump features and sightless eyes.

  It was Cocke, and he had been strangled.

  Chapter 11

  Chaloner and a downcast Kipps searched the rest of Gorges’ grounds, while Wiseman examined Cocke’s body, but no one had much to report when they had finished. The killer had left no clues as to his identity, and Mrs Bonney and Franklin, both white-faced with horror at what was happening in their haven of peace, assured them that no patients could have witnessed anything to help.

  ‘Nancy, Martha and Dorothy are the only ones with windows overlooking this part of the garden,’ whispered Mrs Bonney in a shocked voice. ‘But Martha has already told you what she saw, while I doubt you will have any sense from Dorothy. And Nancy is…’

  ‘Does this mean Cocke was not the killer after all?’ asked Franklin. He was so wan that Wiseman indicated he should sit, lest he fainted.

  ‘It seems likely,’ replied Kipps glumly, while Chaloner wished he had confronted Parker the previous night, because then the strangler’s latest two victims might still be alive. He sincerely hoped that the coded note from Cocke’s room would provide some useful clues, as he had scant other leads to follow.

  ‘That spectre is to blame,’ said Mrs Bonney bitterly. ‘What can it have against Gorges? It has now claimed one resident and four governors, which makes me wonder who will be next.’

  ‘Neither of you,’ said Kipps encouragingly. ‘Not if you are sane and innocent of dabbling in murky waters. You see, Underhill was a spy, Kole a voyeur, Cocke a rogue, and Nancy and Parker unhinged. You are none of these things, so you have nothing to fear.’

  Mrs Bonney did not look convinced, and Chaloner did not blame her. Did the victims’ association with Gorges mean that Eleanore’s list of four suspicious places could be narrowed down to one, and that it was the asylum that was at the centre of whatever was unfolding?

  ‘Perhaps Dr Parker was right to claim that the spectre is Satan,’ Mrs Bonney was saying in a fearful voice, ‘because these murders are acts of great evil.’

  ‘It is more likely to be a person,’ said Kipps practically. ‘John Sutcliffe, for example.’ He turned to Franklin. ‘And Cocke told us that the two of you are very good friends.’

  The accompter had said no such thing, but Chaloner was content to let the lie go, in the hope that it would shake loose some new information. Franklin rubbed an unsteady hand across his eyes.

  ‘Not friends – acquaintances. He helped us to stage a couple of plays for the ladies, although that was before the government vexed him by seizing the Theological College. I have not seen him since – I think he said he was going to live in Greenwich.’

  ‘Which was a shame,’ put in Mrs Bonney. ‘Our residents loved his visits.’

  ‘Our residents,’ gulped Franklin, regarding her in renewed alarm. ‘We have only just calmed them after the news about Parker. How will they react when we tell them that Cocke is dead, too?’

  While he hurried away to do his duty, Chaloner stared at the accompter’s corpse. Had Parker killed Cocke for his accusing words, then returned home only to be strangled himself? But by whom? Or had Parker been attacked first, and Cocke had witnessed the crime, so had been dispatched to ensure his silence?

  ‘I cannot believe I was wrong.’ Kipps sounded thoroughly disgusted. ‘I was sure Cocke was the villain. Indeed, I was so vocal about my dislike of the fellow that you will doubtless be wondering whether I made an end of him.’

  ‘Fortunately for you, I know you did not.’ Wiseman pointed to Cocke’s neck. ‘The bruises are much closer together on him than the other victims, which means his killer had small hands – yours are too big. Moreover, he was attacked from the front, but the others were grabbed from behind.’

  Chaloner frowned. ‘What are you saying? That we have two stranglers on the loose now? That is highly unlikely!’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ said Wiseman haughtily. ‘But it is true nonetheless.’

  ‘These small hands,’ began Kipps tentatively. ‘Does it mean Cocke was killed by a woman?’

  Mrs Bonney promptly put her own paws behind her back, out of sight, although it was patently obvious that they were far too large to have throttled the accompter.

  ‘No, it means he was killed by someone slighter in build than whoever dispatched Underhill, Kole and Parker,’ corrected Wiseman pedantically. ‘And there is something else, too: either Cocke or his attacker dropped a newsbook this morning.’

  Chaloner had also noticed it lying in the grass nearby. ‘It is Gorges’ copy of The Newes, which means that Cocke was killed at roughly the same time as Parker. I imagine it came from Cocke, who was in the habit of stealing newsbooks – he filched one from the Rose tavern in London, too.’

  Kipps looked pleased. ‘So being murdered does not make him innocent of theft?’ When Chaloner nodded, he went on: ‘Then perhaps he was the real strangler as well, but someone saw him kill Parker, so gave him a taste of his own medicine.’

  ‘That is possible,’ acknowledged Wiseman pompously.

  ‘I think Cocke knew he was in danger,’ said Chaloner. ‘He was uneasy when he spoke to us last night, and Martha saw him running “full pelt” towards the orchard this morning. She did not see anyone chasing him, but the view from her room is obscured by trees, so that means nothing.’

  ‘But who would want to kill Cocke?’ asked Kipps. ‘Other than a lot of ladies who were offended by his unmannerly groping? And me, of course. Hah, I know – Wilkinson! He may have followed Cocke when we left the rectory last night, and decided to dispatch him after he saw him muttering to us outside Buckingham House.’

  ‘That is a wild conclusion to draw from the available evidence,’ said Wiseman scathingly.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ countered Chaloner. ‘It would not be the first time that Wilkinson has trailed Cocke – I saw him doing it myself, back in London.’

  Kipps shot the surgeon a smug glance. ‘So Wilkinson might have intended Cocke harm in the city, but was thwarted there, so he has been biding his time ever since.’

  ‘But he is a priest,’ gasped Mrs Bonney. ‘They do not dispatch their parishioners!’

  While that was doubtless true for most clerics, Chaloner was far from certain it applied to the eccentric rector. He bent to retrieve something else from the grass. It was a chisel, but one that was unusually shaped. He had never seen anything quite like it, but Mrs Bonney was able to explain.

  ‘It is a bell-founder’s tool, used to score the inside of the bell to get the right note.’

  ‘So Janaway killed Cocke,’ surmised Kipps. ‘He is a bell-founder – and he knows this place from when he came to visit his wife.’

  ‘The chisel probably does belong to him,’ acknowledged Mrs Bonney unhappily, ‘but he might have dropped it weeks ago. He and Nancy spent a lot of time here, walking and talking.’

  ‘He cannot have dropped it weeks ago,’ declared Kipps triumphantly. ‘Because if he had, it would be rusty.’

  ‘Rust requires rain or dew,’ stated Wiseman. ‘Both of which have been in short supply since June. Besides, it is rusty – there are brown spots all over it.’

  ‘Only very small ones,’ argued Kipps.

  ‘Regardless,’ said Wiseman, growing impatient, ‘it is impossible to tell how long it has been here in the grass.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ cried Kipps, equally exasperated. ‘Any fool can
see it was lost last night. Is that not so, Tom?’

  Chaloner was inclined to think Wiseman had the right of it, but was unwilling to take sides. However, he decided to interview Janaway that day anyway, regardless of Eleanore’s objections, and was about to say so, when Mrs Bonney produced a pistol. Her hands were unsteady, so she was a danger to them all, herself included, and Chaloner wished he had remembered to confiscate it when Martha had first mentioned its existence.

  ‘What are you doing with that?’ he asked, stepping smartly out of her line of fire.

  ‘Protecting the patients,’ she replied, waving it in a way that had Chaloner and Kipps ducking away in alarm. Wiseman did not move, but only because he did not know how deadly such weapons could be in inexperienced hands. ‘A killer stalks, and I must defend them with any means at my disposal. Although I am not sure how useful this will be against Satan…’

  Chaloner disarmed her before she could do any harm. Then he aimed at a nearby tree and fired, to empty the dag of its charge. It pulled savagely to the left, telling him that she would have been more likely to kill an innocent than an assailant with such an unreliable piece.

  Mrs Bonney was tearful as she clapped her large hands over her ears. ‘I have never been comfortable with those things, but Dr Parker ordered me to buy one in London last week. He said a house of vulnerable ladies will be the first port of call for desperate Dutchmen, should the unthinkable happen and they escape.’

  Chaloner did not like guns either, but he tucked hers in his belt, determined that she should not have it back. Then he sent her to fetch Hart and Bannister.

  ‘I saw them talking to Cocke here yesterday,’ he explained to Kipps and Wiseman while they waited for her to return, ‘while Jem Collier tried to eavesdrop. Perhaps Cocke said something then that might help us catch his killer.’

  The dancing masters appeared eventually, all fluttering hands and nervous glances, with Mrs Bonney harrying them from behind like a sheepdog. Franklin was with them, pale, agitated and braced for more revelations that would harm the place he had worked so hard to build.