Death at the Workhouse

by Emily Organ

  “Of course I do. I studied with him.” The mention of this name had provoked a stronger reaction from Dr Kemp. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve had anything to do with supplying corpses to his medical school. Why don’t you ask Lennox about him?”

  “We will,” replied Inspector Ferguson.

  “The City of London Police are assisting me with an investigation into Dr Macpherson’s involvement in this crime,” James explained to Inspector Ferguson. “It’s possible that he struck a deal with Dr Kemp here to supply certain corpses to the medical school. I wonder whether there was such a high demand from, dare I say Dr Macpherson, that Dr Kemp was sometimes unable to find suitable inmates without any family or friends. In those instances, relatives were given the coffins filled with sandbags to bury. Isn’t that right, Dr Kemp?”

  “That’s something else you need to ask Lennox about.”

  “Did you and Lennox collude, Doctor? We will certainly be asking him that same question.”

  “Why should I collude with him? I never even liked the man.”

  “It will be very interesting to hear what he has to say about you. I should think the death of Sarah Lloyd would have earned you both a good sum. Perhaps as much as twelve pounds. You must have conspired with Hicks to switch her body for sandbags, and perhaps Plunkett, the dead house warden, was paid to look the other way when Hicks visited.”

  “I think it’s time for this line of questioning to continue down at the station,” said Inspector Ferguson. He instructed his constables to put the doctor in the Black Maria with Miss Turner.

  “Can you be sure that she was involved in the murders?” I asked. “The only pieces of evidence against her are the supposedly stolen medicines and the cake found in her room. They could have been planted there.”

  “But there’s the bloodied clothing found in the cupboard,” said Inspector Ferguson. “She must have known about that.”

  I pondered this. “I suppose she must have,” I replied. “I can’t imagine Miss Turner assisting Dr Kemp with his dreadful crimes, but perhaps she did. The medicines, including the aconitine, were probably never even stolen,” I continued. “Dr Kemp merely claimed they were so no one would suspect that he was behind the poisonings. As a medical officer he could treat his own poisoning cases as if the patients were genuinely unwell. And when they finally succumbed he was able to certify the deaths himself.”

  “I imagine Dr Kemp took one of the cakes from the master’s office and laced it with aconitine,” said James. “Then he cut a piece for Father Keane and asked Miss Turner to give it to him. She must have been the woman Father Keane mentioned to Father O’Callaghan.”

  “But why murder Father Keane?” asked Inspector Ferguson.

  “He had obviously discovered something,” I said. “His telegram yesterday afternoon told me that he had news. Perhaps he had found out something that would incriminate Dr Kemp.”

  The doctor gave another contemptuous laugh.

  “And was murdered in a bid to silence him,” suggested Inspector Ferguson.

  “Yes, I believe so. Why else should an innocent priest be targeted?” I said. “I had asked him to help with the investigation, something I now bitterly regret because he lost his life. Although I felt sure that there was a murderer lurking within the walls of the workhouse, I had no idea that he would be quite so monstrous as this.”

  “You couldn’t have anticipated Father Keane’s death, Penny,” said James. “None of us could.”

  “Well, we must await the results of the post-mortem and the toxicology tests yet,” said Inspector Ferguson. “I’m sure everything will become much clearer over the next day or two.”

  Dr Kemp was led away by the constables.

  “Bye, Doctor!” said the young inmate with a broad grin.

  “Thank you, Blakely, for all your work on this case,” said Inspector Ferguson. “There’s a fair bit to do yet, but I consider this a satisfactory outcome. At least the paupers in this place will be treated with more respect from hereon in.”

  “Miss Green is the person we should be thanking,” said James. “If she hadn’t persuaded me that a third person had to have murdered Patten and Walker, Kemp would still be roaming free now.”

  “I’m sure we’d have got him in the end.”

  “But after how many more murders?”

  Chapter 49

  “So what was the final death toll?” Edgar asked me in the newsroom a few days later.

  “That’s a very good question,” I said. “There is overwhelming evidence now that Dr Kemp murdered Mr Patten and Mr Walker in the stone-breaking yard. The senior nurse, Miss Turner, confirmed the bloodied clothing was his and claims that Kemp asked her to provide an alibi for him should the police question her. She has confessed to Inspector Ferguson that she wasn’t aware of his whereabouts at the time the two men died, and that he had asked her to lie.”

  “Was the nurse also involved?”

  “No, she wasn’t. She was bullied and intimidated by Dr Kemp, and he tried to frame her by hiding the poison and cake in her room. However, she has cooperated fully with the police. Now that he is in custody she has become brave enough to speak out.”

  “That’s good,” replied Edgar. “And the empty coffins?”

  “Inspector Ferguson’s men are to continue the exhumations, though I am sincerely hoping they won’t find any more.”

  “They probably will, though, won’t they?” said Frederick.

  “Ten empty coffins so far,” said Edgar. “And still a number of missing people. Presumably they’ve all been dissected?”

  I gave a shudder. “Sadly, the bodies of Mr Connolly and Mr Sawyer remain unaccounted for,” I replied. “They must have gone to the medical school under false names and I feel sure that they were poisoned by Dr Kemp. If the doctor has any decency at all, then he’ll own up to what he’s done so the loved ones of the two men will finally know what happened to them.”

  Edgar gave a snort. “Decency from Dr Kemp? He doesn’t seem the type.”

  “Unfortunately he doesn’t. But perhaps if he told the police everything he might escape the noose?”

  “I should think the man’s doomed,” said Frederick. “I can’t imagine him receiving any leniency after what he’s done.”

  ”Dr Macpherson of St Bartholomew’s Medical School has now been arrested by the City of London Police,” I continued. “The undertaker, Mr Hicks, implicated him. It appears that Dr Macpherson had been placing orders.”

  “Orders?” queried Edgar.

  “He was instructing Mr Hicks and Dr Kemp on which bodies he needed for his medical school.”

  “Ugh!”

  “And if there wasn’t a suitable deceased inmate available, Dr Kemp simply took matters into his own hands.”

  “By using poison?”

  “Yes. It was provided in capsule form to fool the inmates into thinking they were taking medicine to prevent fever.”

  “And he added it to a piece of cake to murder a priest.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. The toxicology tests have confirmed that now.”

  “Then the priest had discovered something?”

  “He had, though we’ll never be certain of what it was. Father Keane clearly came across something that could have incriminated Dr Kemp. Perhaps he had discovered the poison somewhere. I can only hope that Dr Kemp will do the right thing and enlighten us in time.”

  “It’s not looking good for him, is it?” commented Edgar. “The chap should just confess and be done with it. It wasn’t just him behind it all, though, was it?”

  “No. The undertaker, Mr Hicks, has also confessed, and if he tells the police everything he knows the others will be in for it; not only Dr Macpherson, but also the clerk, Mr Lennox.”

  “The one who ran away to Wales?”

  “Yes, I feel sure he knew something about Kemp’s actions. Why else would he try to escape? The master, Mr Hale, was also arrested, but it’s possible that he wasn’t actually involved. Then
there is also the dead house warden, Mr Plunkett, who may not have been directly involved but perhaps rather too readily accepted payments to turn a blind eye.”

  Edgar gave a low whistle. “There’s still a lot of work to do, isn’t there?”

  “There is indeed. In theory, the poor law inspector, Mr Weyland, is leading an inquiry into everything that has happened at Shoreditch Workhouse, though I won’t be holding my breath!”

  “The entire board of guardians could perhaps be arrested!”

  “I hope they will be asked to resign at the very least,” I replied. “Someone should have spotted the fact that something was very wrong at that workhouse. But those who did know were either paid off or intimidated into keeping quiet.”

  “You were intimidated yourself, Miss Green.”

  “Was I?”

  “Yes, with those books you were mysteriously given.”

  “I had almost forgotten about those, and my tormentor clearly has as well. I’m quite pleased that it never came to anything more than that.”

  “It was a job well done, Miss Green,” said Mr Sherman as he marched briskly into the newsroom. “Here’s a letter for you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “There is a lot of reporting for you yet to do on this story, Miss Green. Will you still have time to write the ladies’ column or shall I give it to someone else?”

  “I was rather beginning to enjoy the ladies’ column, sir. It helps to provide a little variety.”

  “Good. I think it would be rather fitting to write something on the theme of weddings this week. Current fashions for brides and bridesmaids, and for the bouquet, of course.”

  “That would be of great interest to Miss Green, I feel sure of it!” said Edgar with a grin.

  “Why so?” asked Mr Sherman with a puzzled glance.

  “Because she will soon be wed herself!” enthused Edgar.

  “Is this true, Miss Green?” asked the editor.

  “Far from it!” I snapped, trying to ignore the sudden heat in my face.

  “Not true!” retorted Edgar. “And I do believe you’re smiling despite yourself, Miss Green!”

  “Only from embarrassment,” I replied. “I have no desire for my marriage prospects to be discussed in the newsroom.”

  “Quite so, Miss Green,” said my editor. “Leave her alone, Fish.”

  The letter which Mr Sherman had given to me was from Miss Russell, and I read it while travelling home on the omnibus. In it, she expressed her horror on hearing about the recent events at the workhouse and deep regret that she hadn’t realised what was happening there. She apologised for suggesting that I had helped her and Mrs Menzies only to further my own professional interests, and expressed a hope that I would return to the workhouse to help them again in the future.

  I could hear voices at the top of the stairs when I returned home. As I climbed the staircase, I could hear a man and a woman talking loudly, and the tone of their voices suggested an altercation of some sort.

  Puzzled, I reached the top of the main carpeted staircase but could see no one hanging about there. Then I climbed the narrow wooden staircase to my room and wondered who could possibly be talking right outside my door.

  Visible on the little landing at the top of the stairs was a man whom I instantly recognised as Mr Torrance. He was standing with his back to me conversing with a woman I could see little of, other than her mouse-grey velvet skirts.

  “You should let me pass,” she said in a voice I could easily recognise.

  I felt my heart sink.

  “And I say that you need to answer to Miss Green herself. You must explain to her why you were trying to gain access to her room.”

  Mr Torrance spun round when he heard my step on the stairs.

  “Miss Green, you’re here!” A vague smile was almost discernible beneath his thick moustache. “I found this lady trying to break into your room.” He stepped aside so that I could get a proper look at her.

  Her gaze was cool and icy when our eyes met, and her wide face was paler than I recalled.

  “Charlotte?” I ventured. “Charlotte Jenkins?”

  It was James’ former fiancée.

  “Oh, so you do know her, Miss Green,” said Mr Torrance. “I suppose that’s of some relief.”

  Charlotte was holding something in her hand. It appeared to be a parcel wrapped in newspaper.

  “I see you’ve brought me another book,” I said. “Were you brave enough to sign your own name in it this time?”

  Chapter 50

  “‘An Instruction on Essay Writing,’” said James as he examined the book in his hand. “I’m so sorry that you had to be on the receiving end of this, Penny.”

  “I should think it’ll come in quite useful,” I replied with a smile.

  We were sitting in Eliza’s drawing room, as she had invited us both for dinner that evening.

  “And it was obviously also Charlotte who sent you those other books,” continued James. “What a nuisance. She has taken recent events rather badly, hasn’t she?”

  “She clearly has nothing better to do,” stated Eliza.

  “I shall visit her and warn her to stay away,” said James.

  “Oh, don’t waste your time,” I said. “I should think she’ll stop sending them now that we’ve discovered her identity. The act doesn’t seem quite so menacing now, does it? Besides, I can understand why she still feels angry.”

  “I can understand it too, but attempting to frighten you was completely wrong of her.”

  “Did I ever seem particularly frightened?”

  James laughed. “No, I suppose not. But you were a little unnerved.”

  “Yes, I was, there’s no doubt that it affected me slightly. Nevertheless, I found myself in the unexpected position of being able to thank Mr Torrance for doing something helpful. If he hadn’t detained Charlotte, I never would have realised that she was the one behind it.”

  “And she’d have continued with it, no doubt. It seems as though irritating neighbours have their uses after all.”

  Eliza’s maid entered the room and informed my sister that there had been a disagreement between the housekeeper and the cook.

  “Oh dear, not again,” said Eliza, who stood up and left the room.

  “You’ll be pleased to hear that we arrested Maisie Hopkins today, Penny,” said James. “The young maid hadn’t gone far. She was renting rooms near St James’s Square and had bought herself some expensive outfits with the proceeds of her crimes.”

  “What will happen to her now?’

  “She’ll stand trial, of course, and then I wouldn’t be surprised if she were to spend three or four years in Newgate.”

  “Oh no, really?”

  “She’s a thief!”

  “She stole from Lord Courtauld because she wasn’t paid a proper wage!”

  “That is no reason to steal.”

  “No, I suppose not.” I sighed. “It’s terribly sad that her situation is unlikely to ever improve, especially now.”

  “Lady Courtauld helped her to leave the workhouse and find paid employment. She was given the opportunity to better herself, yet she decided to steal instead.”

  “I suppose it just demonstrates how much animosity she bore her employer.”

  “So much so that she was willing to ruin her own chances of a better life.”

  “Did she really have many chances of that?”

  “She could have worked hard and gained a promotion.”

  “But would they ever have promoted her? Or would she always have been the girl from the workhouse, forever tainted by her past?”

  “That’s a good question, Penny, and I don’t know the answer.”

  “People like the Courtaulds are extremely keen to publicly demonstrate their philanthropy, but privately they are equally determined to keep people in their place.”

  “If it’s any consolation to you, a good number of Courtauld’s valuables remain unaccounted for.”

 
“I’m not sure whether that is really a consolation. I feel rather sad about the whole affair.”

  James got up from his chair and walked over to me. “Let’s cheer ourselves up a little, shall we? You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve paid Charlotte the remaining two hundred pounds. I’m sure you’ll agree that she doesn’t need it – and perhaps she’ll waste it all on buying instructional books about writing – but the point I’m making is that the final payment has been made, and I no longer have any obligation toward her whatsoever.”

  “Meaning?” I felt a grin spread across my face.

  Colour rose in James’ cheeks and he cleared his throat. He seemed nervous and I gave an involuntary giggle, as if I were a schoolgirl.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “You are.”

  “I’m funny?” He gave a bemused grin. “You’re not supposed to be laughing at me at a moment such as this.”

  “I’m sorry, you looked rather uncomfortable. Frightened even. I’m not used to seeing you this way!”

  We both laughed and James wiped his brow. “Oh dear, and now the moment has arrived I fear that I’m all in a muddle about it.”

  He reached forward and held my hand. My heart thudded with anticipation.

  “I’m wondering, Miss Green —”

  “Why Miss Green?” I laughed again.

  “Oh Penny, you’re not making this easy!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m wondering, Penny. Actually Miss Green sounds more fitting for this occasion.” He knelt down in front of my chair. “I’m wondering, Miss Green, if your feelings towards me are such that you would consider marrying me.”

  “Oh James, you know I will!” I leant forward and flung my arms around his neck.

  “Are you really sure?” he said by my ear.

  “Yes, completely sure!” My eyes blurred with tears.

  “I suppose we must speak to your mother about it.”

  “I suppose we must.”

  “Penny, I would have been overjoyed if I had been able to speak to your father about it instead.”