The yard was small and surrounded on three sides by the walls of buildings. On the fourth side a wooden gate gave on to an alley. The gate was closed to keep out the curious, but we could hear voices muttering excitedly from the other side and smell tobacco smoke. Word had got round. A large metal receptacle stood just by the back door into the kitchen, wedged between the wall of the chophouse and a ramshackle privy. It looked as if it might once have been a water cistern. All this we could make out with difficulty by the light of our bull’s-eye lanterns. The fog swirled around us and found its way into our throats. I pulled up the muffler I wore to cover my mouth as I began to cough.
‘Is this it?’ demanded Morris of Mitchum. ‘This rubbish bin or whatever?’
‘It’s only rubbish to those who have no use for it, Sergeant,’ said Mitchum. ‘They throw all the refuse from the kitchens into it. Then the scavengers move in. Someone comes from the glue factory to take away any animal remains, bones, skin and trimmings. There’s another fellow who keeps pigs nearby and he takes anything of a vegetable nature or what the glue factory don’t want. A pig, as you’ll know, will eat most anything. The chophouse never has to concern itself with emptying it. They just keep throwing stuff in it. But today, when that boy came out to tip away a pail of kitchen bits, he found this.’
Mitchum held his lantern out over the bin and we all peered in.
It was a desperately sad sight. She looked little more than a child but was probably about eighteen. Whoever had left her in this grimy apology for a resting place had, from appearances, simply scooped her up in his arms and tossed her in. She had landed curled up on her side and looked as if she was asleep, except that her eyes were open and unseeing. A tall and strong man did this unaided, I thought. If two fellows had lifted her and tipped her in, she would very likely have fallen in face down. No, he held her cradled in his arms, lifted her over the rim of the tub and let her fall. Her pimp, perhaps? Had she tried to escape him? Or a violent customer?
Her fair hair had escaped its pins and fell around her face but did not obscure it completely, so that I could glimpse her small nose and her mouth, half open as if to take a last breath. So much could be made out in the orange glow of the lantern. The poor light played havoc with colours and her dress could have been any shade – it appeared grey. I couldn’t make out any kind of bonnet, hat or shawl.
As a scene of a serious crime, conditions could not have been worse. In the fog there was no question of making a photographic record. At least the rats hadn’t got to her. That would be because she rested in this smooth-sided metal bin. The creatures would know she was there but they hadn’t worked out a way to scramble in. Given time, they would. But she would be gone before that happened.
I lowered the lantern. ‘Write as detailed a set of notes as you can, Morris,’ I told him. ‘Make a diagram of this yard with the location of the refuse bin, the gate, anything else you can think of. If you want to try your hand at being an artist, make a sketch.’
A low growl from somewhere in the fog indicated that Morris was not feeling very artistic at the moment.
‘Do what you can,’ I consoled him. ‘Where is that lad?’
‘I’m here,’ came a voice from within the bundle of moth-eaten fur that was Horace Worth.
‘What time did you find the body?’
‘I told you,’ said the fur coat. ‘A bit more than an hour before I got to Scotland Yard. About half-past twelve it was and normally we’d be really busy. But it’s the fog, and we weren’t.’
‘Are you telling me you had no cause to look into this bin earlier than that?’
‘I came out a couple of times and tossed in some peelings. But I didn’t look in proper, as you might say. I just got back indoors as fast as I could. Then the last time, I did look in and, well, she was there.’
‘Looks as if we’ll have to assume she was put there during the night, or very early on this morning, sir,’ croaked Morris. ‘That boy there might not have noticed her before, but either him or that cook would have noticed someone carrying in a body and putting it in there. Must’ve made a bit of a noise.’
It was a reasonable deduction and I agreed. ‘I’ll go inside and talk to the Bellinis. I don’t know whether they’ve taken a proper look at her or just glanced in. They might, I suppose, recognise her if they look properly. Constable!’ I turned to Mitchum. ‘This your beat. You must know by sight most of the girls who work these streets. You haven’t seen her before?’
‘Don’t think so, sir.’ Mitchum shook his head. ‘I know a few of them by sight, like you say. But they come and go. Besides, there’s so many of them in and around Piccadilly.’
I went back into the building and found the owners and the staff still gathered together, sitting at one of the dining tables. A middle-aged waiter in a striped waistcoat and white apron had joined them. The top of his head was bald and the hair still growing around the sides had been carefully combed forward over his temples and stuck down with grease. He stared at me with resentful pouched eyes and greeted me with, ‘I don’t know nothin’ about loose women. I’m a Methodist.’
They might have started by drinking tea, or Mrs Bellini at least had drunk some and her cup with the dregs was by her elbow. But they had moved on to stronger stuff and a bottle stood on the table.
I put my questions: had they taken a proper look? If not, would they mind all going out and taking a good look now? In case they recognised her.
‘Recognise her?’ Mrs Bellini recoiled as if threatened physically. ‘How should we recognise a doxy like that? This is a quality chophouse, not a brothel!’
‘If she worked the area, you might have noticed her. She might even have come in with a client, you know, a man she’d persuaded to buy her a meal.’
‘Not in here!’ retorted Mrs Bellini tightly. ‘If a customer brought a girl like that in here, he’d be told to take her outside again, straight away.’
‘A painted harlot,’ said the bald waiter. ‘Know ’em straight off!’
Still all grumbling they allowed me at last to chivvy them outside into the yard where, one at a time, they peered into the bin, Morris standing nearby holding up the lantern. I reached down and pushed back the curtain of fair hair so they could see more of her face. My fingers brushed her cheek. She was icy cold.
Mrs Bellini took the briefest glance and muttered that it was downright disgusting before she fled back indoors. Of the others, O’Brian at least showed some respect, crossing himself and hoping God would rest her soul. But he sounded cheerfully philosophical about it. The bald waiter stood there for the longest time, staring down at her. I expected a suitable Biblical quotation, but he only shook his head and shuffled away. They all denied having seen her before.
I returned indoors with the Bellinis to find a newcomer awaiting us. He was wearing a heavy ulster overcoat, but he had taken off his hat to reveal a youngish face and a head of bright red hair.
‘We’re closed, sir,’ declared Mr Bellini in tragic tones. ‘But we’ll be open later for business as usual, sir, as soon as – as soon as a little problem has been cleared up. I trust we shall have the pleasure of your custom then?’
‘I am Dr Mackay,’ said a Scottish voice. ‘And I don’t want anything to eat. I’m the police surgeon.’ He turned his gaze on me. ‘Are you Inspector Ross?’
‘Yes, I’m Ross, and thank goodness you’ve arrived. We’re in the backyard here, behind the kitchens, follow me!’
The Bellinis watched us go with gloomy faces.
Mackay proved a practical fellow and not one to waste time. He took off his coat and handed it to Morris. Then he clambered athletically into the bin to examine the corpse. It didn’t take him long before he scrambled out again and retrieved his coat. As he shrugged his way into it he said, ‘I hope you’re not going to ask me when that lassie died?’
‘Even an estimate would helpful,’ I told him.
‘Aye, I dare say it would. Rigor is well advanced. In normal conditions I
would expect it to have passed off by tomorrow morning. However, if she has been lying there all night in near-freezing conditions, that confuses the issue. When I examine her in decent light I might be able to tell more closely than that.’
‘Morgues are all full, sir,’ Morris put in hesitantly. ‘It’s on account of this fog.’
‘That’s true enough,’ agreed Mackay. ‘You could try the local undertakers. There must be a funeral parlour around here somewhere. They might agree to let her be taken to their premises for the time being.’
‘Well, there must be somewhere. Mitchum! You must know where the local funeral parlours are. Perhaps you’d take Sergeant Morris with you to find one.’
I bent over the bin to take a last look at the victim. When I straightened up and turned, Mackay was eyeing me. He said in his brisk way, ‘You’ll not need me any longer at the moment!’ With a nod, he strode back into the dining rooms.
At that moment came a loud and very confident rapping on the closed wooden gate into the alley beyond.
‘No admittance! Police business!’ shouted Mitchum.
‘If that is a constable,’ replied an elderly but confident female voice in educated tones, ‘then kindly open this door. I wish to speak to someone in authority.’
Chapter Three
‘Take a look, Constable,’ I ordered.
Mitchum approached the gate cautiously, opened it a crack and peered through. I heard him give an exclamation and then he reached out, pulled someone through the narrow gap, and shut the gate again before anyone else could follow.
‘I didn’t know it was you, Ruby!’ he said. ‘What are you doing out and about in this fog? You should be at home by the fire.’
‘I’ll thank you to address me as Miss Eldon,’ snapped the newcomer. ‘Is there a senior officer here? If so, I wish to speak with him. Inform him.’
Mitchum came to where I stood and said in a low voice, ‘Her name is Ruby Eldon, sir. She lives locally. She’s – er—’ Mitchum lowered his voice. ‘She’s a bit of a character, sir.’
‘Bring her into the kitchen,’ I ordered.
Mitchum conducted the visitor into the kitchen with some ceremony and seated her on a wooden chair. She was revealed as an extraordinary-looking person, very small, about the height and build of a twelve-year-old child. She was dressed with care but in the fashions of the 1830s, a bell-shaped skirt and overmantle, with balloon sleeves and sloping shoulders. A large bonnet and ringlets, bursting from the brim like foliage from a basket, framed her face. I assumed the ringlets to be false, because they were very shiny and a russet colour, showing no grey hairs, although I judged the visitor to be quite elderly. Her skin was very fine and unblemished but with the texture of crumpled tissue. She sat very straight with her hands folded on the handle of a large umbrella planted upright in front of her. Her bright eyes fixed me intently and I was put in mind of a squirrel. She seemed to be waiting for something and I realised I was meant to introduce myself. I hastened to do so.
‘Very good,’ said Miss Eldon with a gracious inclination of the bonnet and the ringlets. ‘By your voice, you are not a born Londoner. Who was your father?’
‘He was a collier, ma’am, in Derbyshire.’
‘Then why are you in London and why are you a police officer?’
‘A long story, ma’am. How may I be of service to you?’
‘They are saying, out there…’ She took one tiny, gloved hand from the umbrella and gestured in the direction of the backyard. ‘The populace are saying that the dead body of a woman has been found here. Is that so?’
‘I fear that it is, ma’am. Not in the building, but in the yard.’
‘I wish to view it,’ said Miss Eldon calmly.
‘I hardly think that would be wise, ma’am, or seemly.’
‘Your delicacy does you credit, Inspector Ross, but I still wish to see the unfortunate. I may know her.’
Mitchum had remained and stood behind the chair in the manner of a footman. He met my eye, raised a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. ‘Miss Eldon lives over the Queen Catherine tavern, just a couple of streets away. She does know, at least by sight, many local residents.’
Miss Eldon rapped the ferrule of the umbrella loudly on the flagged floor and snapped, ‘I do not live over the tavern, Constable Mitchum. I have taken rooms in the building, on the topmost floor. The landlord and his family live over the tavern, as you would put it, on the floor below.’
I hesitated. ‘It would be a distressing sight, ma’am.’
‘I am not easily distressed, Inspector Ross.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Lead on.’
‘Very well,’ I agreed. I had realised she was not to be put off.
We conducted her to the backyard where we found a problem. The lady was not tall enough to see into the bin.
‘Constable!’ ordered Miss Eldon. ‘Assist me.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Mitchum. He wrapped his arms round her waist and lifted her up as one might a child, so that by tilting forward she could see into the bin. Morris, bemused, held out his lantern.
‘Dear me, no,’ said Miss Eldon. ‘That is not the girl.’ Mitchum set her gently back on her feet.
‘Which girl is this you mean?’ I asked quickly.
‘Not the one I thought it might be. I cannot help you, Inspector Ross. Constable Mitchum, open the gate, if you will. I wish to go back to my rooms now.’
‘Miss Eldon!’ I said on impulse. ‘I wonder if I might send someone to see you – to call on you.’
‘I do not receive men in my lodgings,’ said Miss Eldon stiffly. ‘My father was a gentleman.’
‘Of course, ma’am. I wonder if I might send my wife, Elizabeth, if that would be acceptable.’
‘Between two and four of an afternoon,’ said Miss Eldon. For the first time she appeared momentarily disconcerted. ‘The Queen Catherine is indeed a tavern. The landlord and his wife are very decent people, but the same cannot be said of all the clientele. Mrs Ross should not come unescorted.’
‘Our maid will come with her.’
‘Very well, then. I have no objection.’ She gave me a gracious nod and walked off through the gate out into the fog to be swallowed up instantly.
‘Right, Constable Mitchum!’ I said. ‘Perhaps now you’d go with Sergeant Morris to hunt out somewhere to take the body.’
* * *
‘You want me to go and talk to this elderly lady?’ Lizzie asked me that evening. We were sitting by the fire and I had narrated the events of the day. ‘Will she make any sense?’
‘I suspect she will make perfect sense, provided you keep an open mind,’ I told her. I saw Lizzie’s eyebrows twitch and added hastily, ‘And I know you to have such a mind.’
‘All right,’ said Lizzie thoughtfully, ‘I’ll go. I admit I’m curious to meet her. You’ll come with me, Bessie.’
‘Yes, missis!’ said Bessie eagerly, from the door where she lingered to hear my news.
‘You’ll find Miss Eldon rather eccentric, perhaps, but she didn’t strike me as…’ I hesitated.
‘Potty?’ suggested Bessie.
‘Not in the slightest bit potty, just, as Constable Mitchum had it, a bit of a character.’
Lizzie concentrated on the flames flickering up from coals in the grate. The brass implements dangling on the companion set glowed like gold. I had first set eyes on her when she’d been a child, long ago it seemed, although it was probably no more than five-and-twenty years. Events had separated us and, after time and many changes, brought us back together again. Yet now, looking at her, I could still see that tomboy of a little girl.
Then she looked up and asked: ‘What is it in particular you want to know? You say she denied recognising the dead girl.’
‘And I believe her. She didn’t know her. But I suspect she knows of some other girl; and she has reason to think that girl might be in some danger, I am sure of it. I would like to know what she suspects. My impression was that Miss Eldon is no fool.’
Suddenly, Lizzie asked, ‘What has become of the dead girl?’
‘The body lies in the mortuary of an undertaker’s establishment nearby to where she was found. The public mortuaries are oversubscribed with the deceased at the moment. It is this confounded fog. Morris was pleased to find one so near to the scene. A police surgeon by the name of Mackay will examine the corpse in the morning, as there is no one else free to do it. He thinks that because the body was lying for some hours in that bin, in outside temperatures near freezing, it may be difficult to say when she died with any exactitude.’
Speaking of how cold the weather was, I felt an apology was in order. ‘I am truly sorry to ask you to pay Miss Eldon a visit, Lizzie, particularly to go out in such wretched conditions. You will need to cross streets to get to Piccadilly and have your wits about you. There have been so many accidents. I’d suggest you take a cab; but even with your friendly cabman, Wally Slater, to drive you, it wouldn’t be any safer at the moment. There was a horse down, with a cab tipped over, not far from Scotland Yard. They were cutting the traces to release the animal as I came upon it.’
‘Better off on our own two feet,’ observed Bessie sagely. ‘Don’t you worry, sir, we’ll be all right.’
‘Yes, well, aren’t you supposed to be washing up, Bessie?’
Bessie sniffed and withdrew to the kitchen. Shortly thereafter a clash of pots and rattle of crockery signified she was washing up in her own energetic fashion.
Lizzie was still staring into the fire. ‘Do you think the girl was working as a prostitute?’
‘The Bellinis have no doubt about it. Piccadilly is a known haunt of ladies of the night, and of the daytime, come to that. She probably was, yes.’
‘What was she wearing?’
I had to admit I couldn’t give details. ‘It was barely visible out there in the yard, what with the fog and darkness already fallen. A dress of some sort.’
‘What about a hat?’
I know my wife well enough to realise she doesn’t ask questions without a good reason, but that one left me puzzled.
The Murderer's Apprentice Page 2