Murder at the Fitzwilliam

by Jim Eldridge

  Daniel, who’d been caring enough about her to persuade the hospital sister to let her sit by Edward’s bed to watch over him. It had been Daniel who’d stood up for her at the debate after the verbal assault on her by Professor Waldheim. And his response had been born of indignation, spoken out loud with passion. Hardly the act of a thinking machine, as she’d called him.

  I have been unfair to him. Tomorrow, I shall apologise to him and try and make things right between us, if he’ll allow me to. But right now she needed to get to bed and sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  There was no sign of Abigail when Daniel arrived in the Egyptian Room at the Fitzwilliam. He looked at the clock. Half past ten.

  ‘No, sir,’ he was told when he enquired about her at the front desk. ‘We haven’t seen Miss Fenton this morning.’

  Perhaps she’s decided to take my advice and have the day off to recover, thought Daniel. Sir William, however, was in, and he homed in on Daniel when he saw him at the main desk.

  ‘Mr Wilson! I’m glad to see you! I had a note from Inspector Drabble to tell me that positive things have happened. Will you join me in my office?’

  Once in Sir William’s office, Daniel gave a summing-up of Kemal Madi’s statement implicating Edward Hardwicke in both murders, and also in his alleged systematic cheating of the Egyptians over the relics he was sending back to the Fitzwilliam. It was this, almost more than the murders, that troubled Sir William most.

  ‘If this is true, it is appalling beyond words. Our reputation for honest dealing over the artefacts has been one of the reasons why we have been able to amass such a wonderful collection. Hardwicke has only been working on our behalf in Egypt for six months.’

  ‘Long enough to arouse suspicion amongst people like Dr Madi that the right amounts weren’t being paid.’

  ‘For which he blamed the Fitzwilliam!’ said Sir William, his face reddening with anger. ‘I shall take action immediately. I shall send a telegram to my opposite number in Cairo telling him that I believe some of our Egyptian suppliers may have been cheated by Hardwicke. I’ll choose some items and put in the telegram what Hardwicke claimed had been paid for them, and ask him to let me know what the suppliers had actually received. If there’s a discrepancy, which I think there will be, then I’ll instigate a financial audit of every item that Hardwicke sent to us and get Cairo to do the same at their end. If there has been any short-changing, I’ll make sure it’s made up.’

  ‘You may not have much luck in getting the money back from Hardwicke,’ Daniel warned. ‘I get the impression he spent most of it.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Sir William. ‘They will be paid what they are owed. The reputation of the Fitzwilliam is at stake.’ He looked quizzically at Daniel. ‘Do we know what happened to the mummy that went missing? I assume that was Hardwicke’s doing. How did he get it out of the museum? And what did he do with it?’

  ‘I’m afraid we won’t know the answer to that until we get the chance to question Hardwicke. In which case, there’s a possibility we may never know the answer. That final attack on him by Kemal Madi may have worsened his condition.’

  ‘Killed him, you mean?’

  ‘Possibly. Or caused a brain injury that may have damaged him for life.’

  ‘It would be his just deserts,’ growled Sir William. ‘I am sorry to sound so harsh and unforgiving, Mr Wilson, but what this man has done has been …’ He shook his head, unable to find words.

  When Abigail woke it was like surfacing through a fog. She felt exhausted, drained from the trauma of the previous night. The revelations from Kemal Madi. The depths of depravity that Hardwicke had indulged in made her want to bathe herself to wash away any association with him. To be so gentlemanly and polite to her, so sincere, and then go off and cavort with whores in that way. Would she have been his next target for pleasure? Quite likely. And might she have given herself to him? She had to Edgar, and Edward had been far more plausible. The thought of it made her feel sick.

  She pulled on her robe and made her way downstairs, surprised at the lack of noise from the kitchen. Usually Mrs Standish made a lot of clattering as she prepared breakfast, or washed up afterwards. And where was Bella? Had Bella already left for work at the library, without saying goodbye?

  She entered the kitchen and stopped, stunned, as her eye fell on the clock.

  Two o’clock!

  She had slept right through!

  She spotted a note on the kitchen table. It was from Bella.

  Dear Abi. As you were in so late this morning I thought you needed to rest and recover. I told Mrs Standish to let you sleep. I shall see you, and hear all, when I return.

  No! she screamed silently. I should have been at the Fitzwilliam, reporting to Sir William with Daniel.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Abigail hurried into the reception area of Addenbrooke’s and asked to see the ward sister who’d been on duty the previous day. It was her dread that a different sister would be on duty and she’d have the laborious task of trying to explain her situation to someone new, and come up against a wall of resistance as she had done before. She was relieved to see that it was the same ward sister.

  ‘Miss Fenton,’ the sister greeted her.

  ‘Sister.’ Abigail nodded. ‘I apologise for taking you away from your duties, but I’m here to check on Mr Hardwicke’s condition.’

  The truth was, she was here to try and catch up with Daniel. She’d gone first to the Fitzwilliam to see if he was still there, and had been told by Sir William that he’d left, his next point of call being the hospital.

  ‘Mr Hardwicke recovered consciousness this morning. He is still in a weak state, but the doctors hope he will make a full recovery.’ She hesitated, then her expression grew grim as she added, ‘A police constable has been placed on duty outside his room, in view of the fact that he has been charged with serious offences. I believe they include murder.’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ said Abigail. ‘Has Mr Wilson been here today?’

  ‘He called earlier and spoke to the constable,’ replied the sister.

  ‘Did he give any indication of where he was going to next?’

  The sister shook her head and said, ‘I must return to my duties now, Miss Fenton.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Abigail. ‘Would it be possible for me to talk to the police constable?’

  The sister hesitated again, but then nodded. ‘As you are part of the investigating team, I don’t see why not. Mr Hardwicke is still in Room 35.’

  Abigail made her way up to the third floor. A police constable was sitting on a chair outside Room 35, reading a newspaper, and to her relief she recognised him as one of those who’d been in the interview room when Daniel and Drabble had questioned Edward in the early hours. It saved her having to make lengthy explanations as to who she was and why she was there.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Fenton,’ said the constable, getting to his feet.

  ‘Abigail! Is that you?’

  The sound of Edward’s plaintive call from inside the room filled her with rage and the desire to go in and attack him, but she swallowed, bringing her anger under control.

  ‘May I see him?’ she asked the constable.

  ‘I’ve been told no one’s allowed in except the medical staff, but seeing as it’s you, miss, go ahead.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Abigail.

  She entered the room. Hardwicke lay in the bed, propped up on pillows, his head still heavily bandaged, his face badly bruised.

  ‘There’s been some terrible mistake!’ he appealed to her. ‘Abigail, you have to make them end this nightmare!’

  Abigail fixed him with a steely stare. ‘The nightmare is of your own making, Mr Hardwicke,’ she said. ‘The mistake you made was in thinking you could get away with cheating the Egyptians out of their money, and then killing those two men.’

  ‘They’re lying!’ said Hardwicke imploringly. ‘It�
�s a conspiracy against me!’

  ‘If that’s so, I’m sure a judge and jury will be able to determine the truth,’ said Abigail.

  She turned on her heel and left the room, ignoring Hardwicke’s plaintive cry of ‘Abigail! You have to help me!’

  ‘I understand Mr Wilson was here,’ she said to the constable. ‘Did he say where he was going to next?’

  ‘No, miss,’ said the constable. ‘But my guess would be to see Inspector Drabble to wrap things up. With the murderer caught, I’m guessing he’ll be off back to London.’

  Yes, I suppose he will, thought Abigail.

  She thanked the constable and walked back down the stairs, her mind and heart a mixture of confused emotions. Seeing Edward in the bed, listening to his desperate appeals to her, she felt only disdain. He was a pitiful creature, a liar to the end.

  She wondered what to do. Should she go to see if Daniel was still with Inspector Drabble? But to what purpose? She felt as if she was trailing uselessly around Cambridge after him, and constantly missing him. And what would she say if she saw him? She felt the urge to apologise. No, more than that, she wanted to tell him how she felt about him. Something she’d been denying to herself. She’d allowed herself to be diverted by the showiness of Edward, but much of that had been because she felt that Daniel didn’t see her in any other way than as a colleague. If anything, Bella had had more chance of capturing his heart, until Dr Keen stepped forward with his offer of matrimony.

  No, she thought. I’ve just been exposed as making a fool of myself over one man in front of Daniel; what would be his opinion of me if I started blurting out that I had feelings for him? He would despise me as shallow, flitting from one man to another, the same as I accused Bella of doing.

  Now the case is over, he will leave. And he’ll leave thinking badly of me.

  And I deserve it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Daniel picked listlessly at his breakfast. He’d told Mrs Loxley that this would be his last day staying with her, that now the case was over there was no further need for him to stay in Cambridge, so he would be leaving that morning.

  He was disappointed that he hadn’t seen Abigail. He wondered why she hadn’t turned up at the Fitzwilliam yesterday morning, as she’d promised she would. He could only guess the humiliation she felt over Hardwicke was too much for her to deal with at this moment. And she hadn’t made any attempt to get in touch with him yesterday; he’d checked with Mrs Loxley to see if she’d called while he was out at the hospital and seeing Inspector Drabble, and been told she hadn’t. Which meant she was avoiding him. And if that was the case, Daniel felt that if he were to go in search of her to say goodbye he would not be received welcomingly.

  Sadly, whatever he felt for her, it was not to be.

  He was interrupted in his thoughts by Mrs Loxley appearing with an envelope.

  ‘This has just arrived for you, Mr Wilson,’ she announced. ‘Special delivery.’

  It was a report from George Pegg. A note attached said:

  Dear Daniel. I told my man it was urgent so he got this done at speed, which is why it’s brief. Hope it’s what you want.

  Bill enclosed, as agreed.

  Yours sincerely,

  George

  It was indeed brief, just a few lines on a piece of paper, but it gave Daniel the background he wanted on Hardwicke which showed he’d lied about almost everything. He read:

  Hardwicke enrolled at the Mannering Institute, but left after just one month there. There’s nothing in writing, but my man gained the impression that he was asked to leave after certain things went missing. There was no prosecution because the Institute didn’t want the bad publicity that would have happened as a result.

  He did work for Great Western Railway, but in a ticket office, not involved in anything like digging up remains. He was also just a clerk at the firm of civil engineers.

  My man’s checking the address he gave in London and will let you know more as he finds it.

  Daniel made a mental note to send a reply to George thanking him for the swift work, at the same time letting him know that Hardwicke had been arrested, so there was no need for any further digging into his background.

  One thing was positive: the report from George gave Daniel an excuse for returning to the Fitzwilliam to deliver it, and George’s bill, to Sir William. And perhaps he’d see Abigail there.

  As Daniel walked up the steps of the Fitzwilliam, he considered showing George’s report to Abigail, but decided against it. She’d suffered enough; this report detailing his lies would only make her feel worse about herself. Instead, he went straight up to Sir William’s office.

  Sir William was studying a telegram as Daniel entered his office, and he offered it to Daniel.

  ‘From Cairo,’ he said grimly. ‘It backs up what Kemal Madi said. Hardwicke was cheating both the Fitzwilliam and the Egyptians.’ He shook his head. ‘How could I let myself be taken in by that creature?’

  ‘You weren’t the only one, Sir William,’ said Daniel. ‘This morning I received this report on Hardwicke from my man in London.’

  He passed the piece of paper to Sir William, who read it, and then dropped it on his desk with an expression of disgust.

  ‘The man seems to have made a profession of chicanery and fooling people!’ He sighed. ‘A pity, because he did send us some wonderful artefacts from Egypt. If only he’d stuck to the one thing he was good at.’

  ‘Based on this, Sir William, I wonder how much of the work he did in Egypt was his own, and that he didn’t steal from others,’ said Daniel thoughtfully. ‘He’s certainly capable of it.’

  ‘Yes, true,’ said Sir William. He tapped the piece of paper and muttered, ‘I wonder what’s the best thing to do with this?’

  ‘My advice would be to keep this confidential,’ said Daniel. ‘It shows that Hardwicke lied about his qualifications and work experience, but it won’t be needed to prove that he murdered Dr Madi and Joseph Ransome; we have the evidence from Kemal Madi, which will be enough to convict him. But I don’t believe it would be good for the reputation of the Fitzwilliam if this report leaked out.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Sir William nodded. ‘I shall keep it under lock and key.’ He picked up George Pegg’s bill and added, ‘Leave this with me and I’ll send Mr Pegg a cheque for his work.’ He looked at Daniel. ‘Has Miss Fenton seen the report?’

  ‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘I got the impression that she was particularly trusting of Hardwicke because of the vast amount of antiquities he was sending back for her to catalogue. Anyone would have been impressed by that. I didn’t want her to feel any more disappointed in him than she already is.’

  Sir William nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, that will have been hard for her. I’ll take your advice and keep the contents of this report to myself. But thank you for your work, Mr Wilson. You not only solved the murders, but with your discretion, you’ve kept the reputation of the Fitzwilliam intact. I assume your work here is now over?’

  ‘It is,’ said Daniel. ‘I shall be catching the next train to London.’

  With that he shook hands with Sir William, said goodbye to Miss Sattery, then went down the stairs to the Egyptian Room to say farewell to Abigail.

  She wasn’t there, and the steward he spoke to said he’d seen her briefly that morning, but then she’d gone out.

  ‘Did she say where she was going?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry, sir. She just put on her coat and went.’

  Daniel thanked the man, picked up his overnight bag, and left.

  Goodbye, Fitzwilliam Museum, he thought as he walked down the steps. Goodbye, Cambridge. Goodbye, Abigail Fenton.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Daniel arrived at Cambridge Railway Station to find a notice saying: ‘Trains to London delayed due to cows on line.’

  He found a porter to get more clarification and was told, ‘A herd of cows wandered onto the line just as the train from London was coming round the bend. Luck
ily, the train wasn’t derailed, but a load of the cows were killed. We’ve got a couple of men working with the farmer to round up the others and get the dead cows off the line. It’s going to take a couple of hours.’

  A couple of hours, thought Daniel. Whether to return to the centre of Cambridge to spend some time there, or wait here. Aware that there was always the possibility of the cows getting cleared from the line earlier than expected, Daniel elected to stay. Most of the benches on the station seemed to be full of people also waiting for the next train for London to depart, so Daniel settled himself down on a wooden crate that was waiting to be put into the goods van.

  He’d been sitting there for an hour when he spotted Abigail pushing her way through the throng towards him. He stood up and nodded.

  ‘Miss Fenton.’

  ‘You decided to leave without saying goodbye?’ she demanded.

  ‘I looked for you, but you weren’t to be found,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I would have thought a well-known and experienced detective like yourself would have been able to track down someone like me with comparative ease,’ she said curtly. ‘I assume you did not look very hard.’

  Daniel was about to snap a retort asking how much she wanted to be found by him, but decided against it. Instead, he said blandly, ‘But we meet now.’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked coldly at him as she demanded, ‘Why did you not show me the report on Edward Hardwicke from your friend Mr Pegg?’

  ‘You’ve seen it?’

  She nodded. ‘Everything he said was a tissue of lies. His qualifications. His experience.’