The Chelsea Strangler

by Susanna GREGORY

  ‘I have been talking to Martha,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Or should I say Frances?’

  The housekeeper’s ugly face hardened. ‘You should say Martha,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘You might know her real name, being a member of her father’s household, but no one else here does. I was ordered not to tell a soul – not even Dr Parker and Dr Franklin. And nor have I.’

  And she had done an admirable job, Chaloner thought, proving herself worthy of the trust the Earl had invested in her. He changed the subject as Kipps approached with his weapons.

  ‘We need to speak to the Colliers.’ He gave a seraphic smile when he saw Hart and Bannister standing nearby. ‘Your dancing masters will escort us to them.’

  ‘Us?’ gulped Bannister in alarm. ‘No, thank you! They are criminals.’

  ‘They are,’ agreed Mrs Bonney angrily, beginning to unclip the keys from her belt. ‘And I shall never forgive them for abusing my charity.’ She fixed the dancing masters with a gimlet eye. ‘Be sure to lock up afterwards. I intend to see them tried in a court of law for what they did to us.’

  ‘It is not a good idea to have further dealings with them,’ said Hart uncomfortably. ‘They are dangerous and—’

  ‘They are deceitful,’ interrupted Mrs Bonney curtly, ‘but hardly dangerous. Now take Mr Chaloner and Mr Kipps to see them before you make me cross.’

  With poor grace, Hart accepted the keys, and Bannister led the way to a flight of steps that looked like the entrance to a dungeon. Chaloner felt his stomach turn to acid as he began to descend, but he pushed his terrors aside – he did not have time for them that day. Eventually, they reached a room with a stout door. Hart stopped a short distance from it.

  ‘This is stupid,’ he said with a nervous grin. ‘They will try to escape if we open it, and Gorges has enough trouble already.’

  ‘They should have been hanged last night,’ added Bannister, ‘when they were caught red-handed in the rectory. It is a travesty of justice that they are still alive.’

  ‘Of course you want them dead,’ said Chaloner coldly. ‘Because then no one would be alive to reveal your dishonesty.’

  ‘Ours?’ asked Hart, although Bannister swallowed hard. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘When we first met, you told me that you had worked in Bath,’ began Chaloner. ‘No one needs to ask where the Colliers come from – it is obvious from the way they speak.’

  ‘So what?’ shrugged Hart. ‘Or are you suggesting that everyone who lives in the West Country knows each other?’

  ‘You knew the Colliers,’ said Chaloner. ‘And their testimonials prove it. They are from Monsieur le Raille and Mr Dere, which are recklessly brazen puns on Bannister and Hart.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ cried Hart. ‘It is just a coincidence.’

  ‘It was a good arrangement for you all,’ Chaloner went on. ‘The Colliers enjoyed a life of indolence in the almshouse, and in return, they stole for you.’

  ‘If that were true, then Jeffrey and I would be rich,’ countered Hart. ‘But we are not. Look at us! Our clothes are old, and our shoes will not see another winter.’

  ‘You contrive to be modest in your dress, but you cannot resist a few luxuries, confident in the belief that no one will notice.’ Chaloner pointed to Bannister’s earring, then at the diamond on Hart’s finger. ‘But Dorothy did. She talked about theeves with Goldenn Eares and Fingers, and a Tyme that Singeth’.

  ‘You cite Dorothy as a witness?’ asked Hart with a mocking bark of laughter. ‘Then you are as mad as she is! Singing tyme indeed! It is meaningless babble.’

  ‘On the contrary, she was referring to the chiming French clock in your room, an expensive item that your salaries are unlikely to cover.’

  ‘The clock and jewellery were gifts,’ said Bannister, licking his lips nervously. ‘From grateful patrons in Paris.’

  ‘You stayed at the Greyhound when you were in London, too.’ Chaloner was relentless. ‘A costly inn that should have been beyond your means.’

  ‘Search our rooms,’ challenged Hart. ‘You will find nothing to incriminate us there.’

  ‘No, you are too clever for that. But the chest in Dorothy’s room tells its own story.’

  ‘I imagine it contains her belongings,’ said Bannister. His tone was casual, but a flash of dismay lit his eyes.

  ‘She has none – at least, none that need locking away. You store your ill-gotten gains there, entering her quarters on the pretext of giving dancing lessons. But the truth is that you go to pore over what you have stolen. Or to add more.’

  ‘But we have alibis for the thefts,’ protested Bannister. ‘Ask anyone. We were in full view of all the residents and the staff when those items went missing.’

  ‘Which is where the Colliers come in. They are your accomplices. You provide music or some other entertainment to keep residents and staff in the ballroom, which enables Lil and Jem to move around the house undetected. Martha was suspicious of them, but you were there to protect them with lies – claiming that you could see them in the garden or the hall. But it was all untrue.’

  ‘How sly!’ spat Kipps in disgust. ‘Preying on the feeble-witted. How perfectly vile!’

  ‘But you should have chosen more sophisticated helpmeets,’ Chaloner went on. ‘Lil and Jem stole rings, plates and thimbles, but overlooked items of greater worth, because they have no notion of what is valuable. As Martha said – the thieves are stupid.’

  ‘You are mad,’ said Hart contemptuously. ‘As if we would demean ourselves by throwing in our lot with them. We, who have been fêted in the finest houses in Paris and Bath!’

  ‘You tried so hard to lead us astray,’ said Chaloner. ‘For example, by claiming that Kole was in the orchard when Nancy was killed, and then by saying that he was your first suspect for—’

  ‘But that was true,’ cried Bannister. ‘Kole was in the orchard that day, and he did dig around in the rectory garden. We thought it was him who killed Nancy and Underhill.’

  Chaloner could only suppose that Kole had been spying on Nancy with a view to producing more of his obscene drawings. He indicated that Hart should unlock the door. ‘Shall we see what the Colliers have to say about the arrangement they have with you?’

  ‘Go on, James,’ said Bannister defiantly. ‘Open it. Lil and Jem will not betray … will not tell lies about us.’

  But Hart refused, so Chaloner snatched the key and did it himself.

  Jem and Lil sat on a bench, calmly playing dice. They were smugly complacent, clearly expecting their masters to rescue them from their predicament. Chaloner decided it was time they learned the truth.

  ‘You will hang,’ he said harshly. ‘Not only were you caught burgling the rectory, but there is evidence that you stole from Gorges as well.’

  ‘There is not,’ countered Bannister quickly. ‘Do not listen to him.’

  ‘This pair will leave you to take the blame,’ Chaloner pressed on. ‘And you will face the gallows, while they go free. Is that what you want?’

  Lil and Jem regarded him in alarm.

  ‘You will not hang,’ said Bannister, moving forward to smile reassuringly. ‘We will help you, just as we helped you before. Although we did warn you to confine your sticky fingers to—’

  He yelped when Hart jabbed him angrily.

  ‘You have two choices.’ Chaloner continued to address the Colliers. ‘The gibbet or the truth.’

  Lil did not hesitate. ‘They made us do it. We were happy in Bath, but they dragged us here with the promise of great riches. But all we got was a poxy house and a lot of hard work.’

  ‘Hard work!’ sneered Hart. ‘You do not know the meaning of the words.’

  Lil ignored him. ‘Set us free, and we will tell you everything. It was all their idea. They ordered us to steal. They wouldn’t sully their own fine hands, of course.’

  ‘They kept everyone busy with songs and dancing, then sent us to thieve,’ elaborated Jem. ‘But we never kept nothing for o
urselves. They took it all, to put in a safe place.’

  The contents of Dorothy’s chest, along with Chaloner’s search of their home, suggested they were telling the truth about that at least. However, there was something far more important that he wanted to discuss.

  ‘I found a letter in your tobacco pouch,’ he said, pulling it out to show Jem.

  ‘I told you to get rid of that,’ cried Lil, regarding her husband in angry dismay. ‘We couldn’t read it, and I said it would bring us trouble.’

  ‘It brings them trouble.’ Jem stabbed an accusing finger at Hart and Bannister. ‘We don’t know no French, but they do, because they were in Paris. It proves us innocent and them guilty.’

  ‘Guilty of what?’ asked Chaloner.

  ‘Of knowing foreigners,’ replied Jem, and when Chaloner failed to look impressed, added, ‘Or something equally serious.’

  ‘This is a nonsense,’ said Hart impatiently. ‘How could that letter be ours, when we know no French either?’

  ‘Then how did you work in Paris?’ pounced Chaloner, using that language. All four looked blank, so he repeated the question in Latin, only to be greeted by more uncomprehending stares. He reverted to English, and homed in on Jem. ‘How did you come by it?’

  ‘They dropped it.’ Jem glowered at the dancing masters. ‘In the orchard, after they went to plot there with that lecher Cocke. I picked it up and hid it, ready to use against them if they got awkward with us. But someone came along and stole it. You, by the looks of it.’

  ‘We dropped nothing,’ said Bannister, bemused and alarmed in equal measure. ‘It is not ours.’

  Given his ignorance of Latin, Chaloner was inclined to believe him, and it reinforced what he had already surmised – that the note had belonged to Cocke. And as the accompter was not in a position to explain what it meant, this particular line of enquiry was now dead.

  ‘You had better say your prayers,’ he said, frustration making him testy. ‘All of you. There is nothing more reprehensible than stealing from the sick, and any judge will agree. You will hang.’

  ‘No!’ cried Jem, frightened and panicky. ‘Stop him, Mr Hart. Please!’

  ‘Do not fret,’ said Hart briskly, whipping out a pistol. ‘He will not be talking to any judges.’

  Chaloner eyed the dag in disdain. Such weapons were prohibitively expensive, and Hart should not have been able to afford one – yet more proof that the dancing master supplemented his income by dishonest means. The gun was unusually compact, which had allowed him to conceal it in his pocket, and it fitted perfectly into his delicately proportioned fingers. And with that observation, another piece of the puzzle fell into place in Chaloner’s mind.

  ‘Small hands,’ he breathed in understanding. ‘You killed Cocke!’

  ‘What?’ Bannister gazed at his friend in horror. ‘You did what?’

  ‘Never mind that now.’ Lil struggled to her feet and waddled towards the door. ‘Shoot this pair, and let us out. Me and Jem will go back to Bath, and you won’t never have to see us again. We’ll take half the treasure, of course. Like you promised.’

  ‘You are not going anywhere,’ declared Hart. ‘You will betray us the moment you are free.’

  ‘You got no choice,’ said Lil cunningly. ‘Or will you kill us all with one bullet?’

  ‘I can reload.’ Hart pointed the gun at her, and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  ‘You should have tested it,’ said Chaloner, calmly removing it from his hand. ‘Then you would have realised that it will never work without a frizzen spring.’

  ‘In other words,’ put in Kipps with a smug smile, ‘it seems you bought a weapon with an important piece missing. Fools!’

  ‘Why did you kill Cocke?’ asked Chaloner, keen to learn what he could from them and be away. ‘Did he catch you stealing?’

  Hart swallowed hard. ‘We do not have to answer these questions. You cannot make us.’

  Chaloner drew his sword. ‘Oh, I think I can.’

  ‘He caught them stealing,’ bleated Hart, capitulating abruptly at the sight of naked steel and pointing at Jem and Lil. ‘So we met him to discuss the terms of his silence. Twice – once when Jem tried to eavesdrop, and again yesterday at dawn.’

  ‘But he was alive when I left him,’ put in Bannister hastily, stepping away from Hart, as if to distance himself from what his friend had done.

  ‘It was an accident,’ shouted Hart, pale and frightened. ‘I chased him to the orchard, aiming to give him a scare, but he struggled, and I must have squeezed harder than I intended … But I had to do it! He said that Parker was the Chelsea Strangler, and that he planned to get Gorges closed down, leaving us without work. He was a terrible man … a monster!’

  ‘He was an extortionist, as I know to my personal cost,’ said Kipps, opening the door to an adjoining cell, and indicating that the dancing masters were to step inside. ‘But that does not give you the right to kill him.’

  ‘There are four of us and only two of you,’ shouted Hart desperately, taking up a fighting stance that made Chaloner want to laugh. ‘We will not surrender without putting up a—’

  Kipps pulled out his sword and feinted at him. Hart gave a shrill screech of alarm, and darted through the door. Bannister was quick to follow, and Chaloner shut them in.

  It was an unsavoury affair, and Chaloner felt no satisfaction at having winkled out the truth. Moreover, he could not escape the unsettling knowledge that the business at Gorges was nothing compared to what else was brewing. He sent Kipps to ascertain whether ‘Martha’ was ready to leave, then went back to the cellars to make sure that the four prisoners could not escape.

  ‘Wait,’ cried Hart through the locked door. ‘I have valuable information to share with you. Such as that the real crimes – the other murders – are the work of the spectre.’

  ‘And you wait until now to tell me?’ asked Chaloner archly. ‘Why should I believe you? Especially after you have both claimed that you have never seen it.’

  ‘Because I was too frightened then,’ shouted Hart. ‘He would have strangled me, too. I could tell by the look in his eyes. But now I have nothing to lose—’

  ‘His eyes?’ pounced Chaloner. ‘It was definitely a man?’

  There was an uncertain pause. ‘I could not tell. But the eyes were like shiny beads.’

  ‘Could it have been Sutcliffe? Or Wilkinson?’

  ‘I met Sutcliffe once,’ hedged Hart. ‘He sat in the Swan all night, holding forth about Shakespeare. He was an assassin during the wars, but you would not think it to look at him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he is delicately built, like a lady. But to return to the spectre, I decided to follow it once. I am not sure why, as I am not usually brave. I trailed it to the prison, where it knocked on the door and was admitted.’

  ‘Really?’ said Chaloner flatly. ‘And why would it go there?’

  ‘Well, if the spectre is Sutcliffe, it would be to visit the place he considers his by right.’ Hart’s voice went high with panic as he heard Chaloner start to walk away. ‘Please! I am telling the truth! This is information that might help you, and you should remember it when I am charged.’

  ‘Elephants!’ cried Bannister frantically, when Chaloner kept going. ‘We will tell you about the elephants.’

  Chaloner stopped, thinking about the note. ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘They live in the Tower of London,’ gabbled Bannister, ‘but there are plans afoot to move them to Chelsea because of the pestilence. They are coming tomorrow. I heard Reymes tell Cocke.’

  As the last elephant in the Royal Menagerie had died some years ago, as a result of being fed a diet of meat and wine, Chaloner knew the hapless beast was well beyond worrying about the plague. He left the cellar in disgust, and rejoined Kipps, who was helping himself to wine in Gorges’ kitchen.

  ‘Well done, Tom. I shall tell the Earl of your cleverness when I deliver Frances to him today – she has just told
me that she is cured, and that I shall be escorting her to Hampton Court.’

  Chaloner looked sharply at him. ‘You know her real identity?’

  ‘Of course I do. I am his Seal Bearer, a trusted member of his household.’

  ‘And I am not trusted,’ said Chaloner bitterly. ‘But even so, you should have told me.’

  ‘I begged him to take you into his confidence, but he would not listen.’ Kipps shrugged apologetically, then his expression grew smug. ‘He did not tell Wiseman either, and he is the family surgeon.’

  Chaloner was irked. ‘There is no aunt who became a Parliamentarian during the civil wars, is there? It was just a ruse to explain his interest in Gorges.’ When Kipps nodded, he added sourly, ‘Will you ask Warwick when I can start work at the Treasury? I have had enough of Clarendon and his damned secrets.’

  ‘Do not take him to heart, Tom – it is just his way. Ah, here come Frances and Mrs Bonney. I am afraid you have been nursing a nest of vipers in your bosom, madam.’

  He began to summarise what had transpired in the cellar, giving himself rather more credit for cornering the thieves than was accurate, but Chaloner did not care. He was more interested in pondering why the spectre had been allowed inside the prison – the tale had the ring of truth about it, and he was inclined to believe that Hart had been honest about what he claimed to have seen.

  ‘I do not believe it,’ whispered Mrs Bonney, when the Seal Bearer had finished. She was ashen with shock. ‘Mr Hart, Mr Bannister, the Colliers, Mr Cocke … All rogues!’

  ‘I told you to be wary,’ said Frances, and Chaloner was astonished at the change in her. Now she was no longer frightened, she was her mother’s daughter, with intelligence sparking in her eyes and the confident bearing of one used to authority. ‘You should have listened.’

  ‘I should, and my obstinacy has led me to make terrible mistakes,’ whispered Mrs Bonney wretchedly. ‘I shall tender my resignation at once.’