by T T Thomas
Lena nodded. “Had she been ill?”
Sabrina turned her head as if remembering. “No, a burglar killed her. Many years ago. Well, about a year after my father died.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you mention Auntie Sarah? Is there a connection?”
Lena poured more coffee into their cups. “I suspect so, though there’s no firm proof. The police never solved the crime, but there was no forced entry to her townhouse, leading to the suspicion she knew her assailant.”
Sabina nodded. “We weren’t terribly close, but she was always supportive of me in my pursuit of drawing and designing. We would spend Easter and Christmas with her. I loved it because she had a Far Eastern sensibility and taste, so she had wonderful pieces of furniture, artwork, and many books. She and my father had a love of books in common.”
“I don’t suppose you know what happened to her flat?”
“No, it was in Belgravia. I never thought to inquire. She never married, and I was her only heir. I received a large sum from her estate, and that is some of what I used to start the business. I assumed they sold the flat to produce most of the proceeds.”
“George Markham,” Lena said.
“George Markham what?”
“Sabrina, he owns and lives in the townhouse in Belgravia. A coincidence? I think not.”
Sabrina stood up and walked around the kitchen. “Could she have left it to him?”
“Yes, she did.” Lena paused and took a deep breath. She didn’t know if the information she was about to impart would have the same effect on Sabrina as it had on her. “She changed her will about four months before she died. She left the bulk of her estate to you, but Markham got the property.”
“How odd. That flat had to be worth nearly as much as the rest of the bequest,” Sabrina said.
“Yes.”
“What are you thinking, Lena?”
“I’m not sure.” Lena cleared off the table. “Indeed, I don’t know that we’ll ever know who killed her. It might have been Markham. He could have threatened to cause you. Her only niece, harm. I wouldn’t put it past him for one minute. She was elderly, and that would frighten her, so no telling what happened.
“I also found out that Markham changed the name of the family estate from Blissdon Park to Markham Manor, although he couldn’t do much about the barony name itself as it had always been attached to the geographic region of Porthleven.”
“Well, that is strange. My birthplace!”
“Exactly.”
Sabrina looked across the room at a photograph of her parents in the center of a side table. “My parents used to refer to the home I live in now as Blissdon Park although there’s no formal name for the house as far as I know. They would say it jokingly, I thought.” She shrugged at that, then frowned. “I’m upset to think anyone would have harmed Auntie Sarah.”
Lena finished tidying up the kitchen, and they were about to adjourn to the rear veranda for the morning sun when the doorbell rang. Sabrina looked through the peephole and jumped back.
Chapter 35
Sabrina motioned to Lena who approached. “It’s Mendicott. What in blazes could he want?”
Lena shrugged. “Well, are we going to open it?”
Sabrina made a face but unlatched the lock and opened the door.
“Good morning, Chief Inspector Mendicott. I’m afraid we drank the last of the coffee.”
“Miss Blissdon. Miss Thornbrook. May I come in?”
They took a step back, and Sabrina silently motioned him forward. They stood in the foyer like awkward semi-clothed statues in a church vestibule until Lena suggested the living room.
“I’ll dispense with the pleasantries,” Mendicott said.
Sabrina expelled a small laugh. He paused and studied her. “Bel Glyver was attacked and nearly bludgeoned to death last night, and I believe you know something about it, Miss Blissdon.”
“What? Is she—” Sabrina looked at Lena, then back at him. “Are you quite mad? Why would I know anything about it? Is Bel going to recover?”
“She’s unconscious, but the doctors say she has a fifty-fifty chance of recovering. It could take months. She was hit across the back of the head numerous times.” He produced his small notebook and a stub of a pencil.
Lena’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God. Who found her?”
“Her sister discovered her earlier this morning. Bel Glyver moved into a new flat two days ago.”
“Felicity?”
“Yes, her sister Felicity North. She suggested you were not home all night.”
“Of course I was. I retired earlier than usual—in fact, Felicity, Lena and I had dinner together. Felicity retired immediately afterwards.”
“And what time did you arrive here?” Mendicott asked.
Sabrina shrugged. “Ah, around seven this morning. Is that right, Lena?”
“Yes.” Lena’s voice was taut, her body tense.
“And you spent the entire day here?”
“I did,” Sabrina said to him. “I share ownership of this flat with Miss Thornbrook.”
“I know,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Miss Blissdon, you were seen on your back veranda last night after midnight by your houseman.”
Lena looked at Sabrina.
“Yes, well it is my veranda. I couldn’t sleep,” Sabrina said. “I sat out there for a half hour or so.”
“Two different times,” Mendicott said.
Sabrina shifted in her chair. “Yes.”
“Once around midnight, and once again at 4 p.m. this morning, is that correct?”
“I’m not sure of the hour the second time. I had fixed warm milk and honey to soothe my nerves. Apparently, my rummaging around in my own kitchen woke someone up.”
“Why were you nervous?”
Sabrina laughed apprehensively. “Well, I wasn’t really nervous at that point,” she said, “it was more a state of heightened awareness.” She glanced at Lena. “At any rate, I was too awake to sleep.”
“And where were you between those two outings on the veranda, Miss Blissdon?”
“Where—I was home, in bed, trying to get some sleep.”
Mendicott stood. “I’m going to ask you to come to the station. I’m arresting you for the attempted murder of the former Mrs. Bel Glyver.”
Both Sabrina and Lena recoiled, then jumped up. “What?”
“But that charge could change to murder,” he said confidently, “if Bel Glyver, known originally to you as Annabel North, should die. You did know her as Annabel North, correct?”
“Yes, but, that was a long time ago.”
“She disappeared from your life, correct?”
Sabrina stopped her pacing and turned to him.
“And according to a Mrs. Tornage, you and Bel, Annabel, were rather close, correct? In fact, you were a client of hers.” He was looking at his notes as he said this but looked up when she didn’t immediately respond.
“What is this relevant to, Inspector?”
“In fact, according to a Mr. Song Lee, you were both clients of his opium den as well. She stopped going to his place, but you continued.”
“I was looking for Annabel,” Sabrina said. Her voice was low, serious. “I worried what had become of her.”
“And since you’ve stopped going to Mr. Lee’s place of business, where do you get your opium? Or do you make do with laudanum, Miss Blissdon?”
Small beads of perspiration began to dot her upper lip. Her face, flushed and damp as dew from the transpiration of fear, was a picture of manifest alarm. Sabrina walked up to him. “You’re not merely bringing me in for questioning—you are arresting me.” Her voice rose with each word. “I see no reason to answer any more questions without my solicitor present.”
“Suit yourself,” said Mendicott. “You’ll appear before the magistrate, and the Crown will ask that you be remanded to custody until such time as a trial date can be arranged...as we do with all dangerous criminals. It could
take months. Come along, Miss Blissdon, my men are outside the door.”
“Where are you taking her?” Lena cried.
As if the voice reminded them of her presence, Sabrina and Mendicott turned to her. Sabrina moved closer, and Lena gripped her arm.
“By the end of the day, I would expect she’ll be sent to Holloway Prison. Come peacefully, now.”
Lena and Sabrina looked horrified. Holloway Prison was a notorious hellhole of inhumanity from which nightmare stories of harsh death and bare survival emerged daily. It housed all women, now.
“Jeremy.” Sabrina whispered to Lena. “He will know what to do.”
When Mendicott opened the front door and ushered Sabrina out in front of him, six police officers and a paddy wagon were waiting for her on the sidewalk. Neighbors had begun to gather, whisper and point. A lone photographer leaning up against the wagon jumped into action and took pictures.
“You planned this rather thoroughly,” she sneered under her breath.
The photo that most of the newspapers ran with was of Sabrina exiting the flat in her father’s suit, minus collar and tie. Mendicott followed her down the steps, the camera flash catching a starburst spot on his high-gloss shoes. In the background, a visibly distraught Lena in a floor-length robe slumped against the doorframe.
Mendicott stood alone and looked around the room. The last four hours getting Sabrina Blissdon booked into Holloway prison on attempted murder charges had tired him. Nasty temper, that one. A real know-it-all.
He had shown up at Blissdon’s house and, as Mendicott expected, the houseman invited him to wait for Sabrina in the library. He had used this ploy in the past—arrest the suspect, then find incriminating evidence in their home or office.
He supposed he could sit and go over his notes and pretend to be waiting, but this was an interesting room. He needed his search to be quick, and he didn’t imagine the houseman would be serving tea anytime soon.
A large, mahogany barrister’s desk with deep green leather inlay was at one end of the room. A matching wood file cabinet sat against the wall to the side of it. One mahogany guest chair faced the desk. The high-back leather chair behind the desk was a deep ruby color. Mendicott walked toward it.
He sat on the plush, soft leather and looked out at the library. Posh. Law books lined the bookshelves on both sides of the desk, and two Tiffany lamps rested on the top of the desk on either side. He saw that the upper right-hand drawer was slightly open, so he pulled it open all the way. He recognized the two dark brown bottles as laudanum even before he sniffed them. They were empty and without their cork stopper.
He bent down to look into the back of the drawer and saw a leather-bound journal shoved to the back. He looked up, listened and hearing no approaching steps, quickly pulled the volume out. He opened it, scanned the first page, then the second and several more, his frown increasing with each turned page.
She feels powerful. We’ll see about that. He carefully tore out a half-dozen pages, folded them, put them in the inside pocket of his jacket then returned the journal to the rear of the drawer. His goal had been to search the filing cabinets, but now he thought he needn’t bother.
He knew he didn’t have much time before someone appeared to inquire about his well-being. Would he like another log on the fire? Perhaps a cup of tea, after all? He stood up and walked to the opposite side of the room where a window looked out on a small patio area. He heard the door open behind him and turned.
Her houseman, Walters, had received a telephone call saying Miss Blissdon would be delayed, indefinitely, and would the Chief Inspector like to call another day?
Although the houseman gave Mendicott a bland look, he stood erect, formal, almost impertinent in the way he made eye contact.
Mendicott bid the houseman a good day with a curt nod and left without booking another time. And why would he? He had Miss Blissdon exactly where he wanted her. In prison.
Bailey Mendicott didn’t smile often, but as he walked out of the gate, a slow smirk formed on his face. Now he had the evidence to keep her there. He hadn’t expected such luck so soon.
Chapter 36
It took Jeremy and Lena weeks to locate Sabrina. At first, the prison said she was not an inmate. Then it said she was there but not allowed visitors. When they finally confirmed her whereabouts, Sabrina had been in Holloway for over a month.
“I’ve got someone working on getting us, or me, in for visitation. This is so much harder than we ever imagined with everyone stonewalling us at every turn, ” Jeremy said. “As for the charges against Sabrina, a friend of my father’s has a compelling degree of influence, but we need cold, hard proof to dismantle Detective Chief Inspector’s Mendicott’s overly rich imagination. I fear he will get carried away, and we need to know what he has on her.”
“He’s accused her of Bel’s assault not the murders,” Lena said.
“So far,” Jeremy replied. “This man has acted suspicious of Sabrina since the day they first met. I don’t get a good feeling from him about her.”
“I know,” Lena said. “I can’t say it doesn’t bother me.”
Jeremy continued. “I trust my instincts on this. And I believe he means to tie her to every single murder of a prostitute found wearing a House of Bliss corset.”
“What on earth is his motivation?” Lena asked. Her forehead was becoming permanently creased with a vertical line of indentation. “And what does he think her motive would be?”
“He’s overly ambitious, and I suspect it’s a class issue for him. He’s up from nowhere, and he thinks Sabrina is of the silver spoon.”
“Well, he’s not far off on that score,” Lena said. “But he has no idea what kind of good woman she is.”
“None,” he said. “Indeed, he seems to think her guilty of the most egregious crimes against nature, if you know what I mean. I can’t prove that, by the way, but it’s a feeling I get whenever I see him interviewing Sabrina. The man does everything but ask her if she’s a Sapphist.”
Lena looked around. “I do know what you mean. Of course, Mendicott would think that, wouldn’t he? When he arrested her, he told her he knew she was a client of Bel’s.”
Jeremy’s face turned red. “How on earth would he have discovered that? It’s years old.”
“I don’t know,” Lena said, “and he also mentioned Sabrina’s trips to the Chinaman. Maybe it’s a religious issue? Although I haven’t caught a whiff of the spiritual about him.”
“No, and he’s not overly warm toward me either.”
“It’s almost as if he had some inside source,” she said. “I don’t know her staff as well as you do, but—”
“Impossible,” Jeremy assured her. “Cath and Walters are completely devoted to her and to her father before that. But you’re right, this Mendicott knows far more about Sabrina than questions about this assault and the murders would lead him to ask. He hasn’t struck me as particularly bright, but he seems a shady character, all right.”
He walked through the room and turned toward the small outside balcony. “Lena, except for when you and Sabrina first moved in, I’ve never properly seen this place,” he said. “Quite lovely, and I can see how Sabrina found it safe harbor from her daily responsibilities.”
Lena stood next to him and looked out the French doors at the garden. “At first, she was reluctant to relax, but over time she learned to do so. Yes, this flat became a safe harbor for her, or was until the day of the arrest. I love it but wish she were here more.”
The two of them sat down at the same table earlier occupied by Lena and Sabrina. Lena went over all her notes with him, building a picture of the history of the Blissdon and Markham families. “I sense a huge falling out between George and his half siblings—it would have been a big breach because Sabrina did not even know of George Markham’s existence, never mind being related to him. But I have yet to figure out or hear what caused such estrangement.”
“Someone may know,” Jeremy said. “Or it c
ould be one of those vague family mysteries lost to history. We have to decide how that historical rift, if it happened, might affect the present if it does. Unfortunately, we have no reliable witness to ask about the family secrets—no one who would talk to us.”
“Any progress on the gentlemen’s club research,” she asked. “Sabrina told me of your amusing evening at The Bombay Club.”
“No, but I’ve thought of something. I’ll try to find out what club Markham frequents, now I have a name.”
He suddenly stopped talking and held a frozen position. “Bloody hell. I’ve been remiss. Sabrina mentioned George Markham the night we went to the Bombay Club. He was listed in Glyver’s divorce files as a character reference. I don’t think she knew then the Blissdon and Markham family connection.”
“No, I found that out at the library,” Lena said.
“Damn, slipped my mind. I hope I’ve not wasted time.”
“Before…what?” she asked. “Before it’s too late?”
He looked everywhere but at Lena. His words floated off aimlessly and awkwardly, adolescent clouds stumbling across the air in the room. “Well…before…anything, and…yes, before…that.”
Lena uttered a muffled sound of agreement, equally vague, equally full of meaning.
They agreed to meet again the next evening. “I’ll fix you a modest dinner, Jeremy,” Lena said. “I’m not a wonderful cook, but I’m a day and a half ahead of Cath.”
Jeremy laughed. “Thank God. I’d be at a loss to think of a polite way to decline your invitation. Seriously, I gathered this flat was a culinary respite for Sabrina as well as anything else.”
Lena looked at him, the smile fading. “Yes, as well as anything else,” she said somberly. “Jeremy…” she began but couldn’t continue.
Jeremy walked over to her and put his arms around her. “We’ll get her back. That I promise.”
“You seem more confident than I feel,” she said.