‘Have you spoken to Mr and Mrs Tompkins about this?’
I fancied Miss Eldon was slightly embarrassed by my question. ‘I did ask once who lived in the house opposite. I did not give my reason for asking. Louisa Tompkins says he is a man of business – in finance, a banker, or something of that sort. I did not like to ask more. You see, I did not wish to appear to have been spying, or the sort of person who would spread a rumour. That might rebound on the Tompkinses.’
That made sense. She could not afford to lose the landlord’s goodwill. To appear a troublemaker would not help.
‘So you will tell your husband?’ Miss Eldon asked brightly. ‘And he can go to the house and demand to see the girl, question her.’
‘It might not be so easy,’ I protested. ‘If he has no reason…’
‘He has a reason. I have given more than one.’
‘It must be a reason that suggests a crime has been committed or is planned.’
Miss Eldon drew herself up in her seat and gripped the arms. ‘You do not consider it a crime to keep a young woman as you would keep a tame animal?’
It would be no use arguing. Miss Eldon had, in her mind, reported the matter to the police and the affair was now in official hands. My heart sank.
Chapter Six
‘Well, well,’ murmured Ben after I’d concluded my account. He suppressed a yawn with difficulty and rubbed his palms over his face to disguise it.
‘You’re tired,’ I observed. ‘Or perhaps the story is not so interesting, after all.’
‘No, no!’ he said hastily. ‘It’s a curious story, to be sure. But we can’t assume from the observations of Ruby Eldon that a crime has been committed or is being committed. This young woman is clearly well looked after, fed, clothed, not required to do any work about the house. She has been taught what Miss Eldon would think the accomplishments of a young lady. She sketches, embroiders and so on.’
‘But she has no subjects for her sketchpad but what she sees in the house or in the street below her window. That has to be odd.’ I hesitated. ‘I said nothing to Miss Eldon but I have been thinking and well, you know, I am a doctor’s daughter.’
‘Go on,’ Ben encouraged. ‘You’ve worked out a clue to the mystery?’
‘No, not exactly. That is to say, I don’t want to offer what might be an explanation because it might be wrong. And then the situation would be worse than it is now. We’d be in danger of congratulating ourselves on our cleverness and stop wondering about the girl. That could spell disaster.’
Ben leaned back in his fireside chair, the flames in the hearth throwing a pattern of dancing shadows on his face and thick black hair. This past year a few flecks of grey had appeared at his temples. This gave him, I thought, a distinguished look. I had not told him this because he would have laughed.
‘Miss Eldon has converted you, I think, Lizzie, to her way of thinking. You want to believe, as Ruby does, that the girl is a prisoner. But I’d like to hear the possible explanations you have dug out of that busy brain of yours. What does your childhood medical connection suggest?’
We had eaten our supper and earlier there had been distant sounds from the kitchen indicating Bessie was washing up. But now all was quiet. I called out, ‘Come in, Bessie!’
There was a moment’s silence and then the parlour door creaked open a crack and Bessie’s nose and mouth could be seen. ‘You want me, missis?’
‘Oh, do come in!’ ordered Ben crossly. ‘Don’t creep about in the hall eavesdropping!’
At this the door flew open and Bessie appeared, bristling with indignation. ‘I wasn’t,’ she snapped. ‘I wasn’t doing no such thing! I was just walking past the door.’
‘Sit down quietly over there,’ I told her. ‘The inspector and I both want to hear if you learned anything from Mrs Tompkins, the landlady of the Queen Catherine.’
‘I was wondering when you was going to ask me about that!’ retorted Bessie. ‘I was going to tell you on our way home, but you said to wait until this evening when the inspector was here.’ Less combatively, she added, ‘So I’ve waited, like you told me to, missis.’
‘Right!’ ordered Ben. ‘Lizzie, you first. Tell me your medical theories. Then you tell us what you learned in Mrs Tompkins’s kitchen, Bessie.’
‘I don’t have anything so grand as a medical theory, Ben. But I do know how many unusual medical cases there are. I used to keep my father’s cash book, the money he was owed and the money he’d earned from attending patients.’ I sighed. ‘He was often owed more than he had earned in a week. It was always a relief when a patient settled an outstanding bill.’
‘He was a generous man,’ Ben said quietly. ‘As I know well. He never pressed the poor for payment and he paid for my schooling and that of another lad from the colliery.’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t the money owing from the poor that made our household finances so uncertain,’ I said. ‘It was the much larger amounts owed by the rich. They were often very slow to pay. But that’s not what we’re talking about now. My father was scrupulous in keeping his patients’ problems confidential but sometimes it was a case that was, well, public knowledge, or I was able to draw my own conclusions.
‘There was one lady my father visited from time to time, a Miss Lansley. She lived in a large house with a married sister and her family. The family was comfortably off and I must say that, in their case, my father’s bills were always promptly settled. Miss Lansley’s brother-in-law owned a factory where soap was made. The factory was well away from where they lived because of the stink from the great cauldrons in which the fats were boiled down.’
‘Ugh!’ muttered Bessie. ‘I’ve smelled that stink, I have. It’s something awful.’
I ignored her to get to the point of my speech, as Ben was beginning to look restless. ‘The thing is, Miss Lansley had a great fear of open spaces. She had no difficulties inside a house, or inside a coach. But getting her from the house into the coach was such business, you couldn’t imagine! They used to drape a shawl over her head and push her along and into the vehicle and then she was all right again. Until they arrived where they were going, at church for example. Then it was the shawl again and a real tussle to persuade her out of the coach and down the path to the church door. Sometimes it was almost more than her sister and sister’s husband, the coachman and the vicar of our parish as well, exhorting her to take heart, could manage. I am afraid some the less well-behaved boys who lived locally would hide behind gravestones to watch and laugh.’
‘It’s sad, that is,’ observed Bessie from her corner.
‘Yes, because she was a very pleasant lady and always well dressed. If you had visited her at home, you wouldn’t have imagined there could be any problem at all. My father always said Miss Lansley was charming and musical. She played the piano very well. It made life difficult for the sister and the husband if they wanted go out. That is to say, they could go out, but they couldn’t get Miss Lansley to go out, even into the garden, and they had a large and well-tended garden. She couldn’t take the air in an open carriage. The brother-in-law came to consult my father to find out if he could help. As a well-known businessman and factory owner in the area, it was a great embarrassment to him. Besides, you know how people fear gossip.
‘But my father, although he would visit Miss Lansley from time to time to try and find out what she feared so much out of doors, couldn’t help. She wasn’t mad, you understand, as some local people believed. In another family the decision might well have been taken to place her in an asylum of some sort. But the scandal of that would have been worse for her sister. Besides, my father counselled strongly against such an idea. Poor Miss Lansley just had a terror of any open space. So I wondered, just a thought you know, if this girl observed by Miss Eldon might not have the same problem.’
‘It’s not a criminal matter, if so,’ said Ben. ‘It is, as Bessie remarked, very sad. But I can’t do anything about it.’
‘Miss Eldon is sure she isn’
t simple, because she has skills, like embroidery and tapestry, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t a be a little slow. I don’t know. I only know that Miss Eldon is convinced the girl is a prisoner and she wants something done about it.’
He looked towards Bessie in her corner. ‘What did you learn from the kitchen gossip, Bessie, if anything?’
‘Not much,’ confessed Bessie. ‘That is, I didn’t know I was supposed to ask about the house opposite. But Mrs Tompkins, the landlady of the tavern, she does know everyone’s business around there. She says there are quite a few wealthy folk living in the area. They don’t come into the Queen Catherine, as a rule, of course. But a few of the younger men sometimes show their faces. She always shows them into the snug. They never sit in the public taproom. Anyway, they don’t drink ale: they want spirits. They even order champagne when they’re celebrating something. Mrs Tompkins says she and her husband keep an excellent cellar.’ Bessie placed great emphasis on the last words. ‘Sometimes the young gents play cards and get a little rowdy. But they spend a lot of money, too, so Mr Tompkins doesn’t mind.’
‘Well,’ said Ben firmly, ‘I am glad the tavern is doing such good business! But as regards the girl Ruby Eldon sees from her window, I can do nothing, not without some real evidence or visible cause for alarm. If you want to persevere and try and look into it further, without causing a furore, well, that is up to you. I can only beg you to be discreet. In the meantime, I have a real crime to investigate and a journey to make to Salisbury tomorrow, as I told you.’
‘They are forewarned there, that you are coming?’ asked Lizzie.
‘I’d prefer “informed” to “warned”. I don’t anticipate I’ll cause them any trouble. I do hope they’ll be able to direct me. I have sent a telegraph message to my opposite number there. He will meet me and take me to see this boot- and shoemaker, Tobias Fitchett. It means I shall have to rise early and so now—’ he slapped his hands on the arms of his chair and stood up – ‘I am going to bed.’
He walked out of the room, leaving Bessie and me together.
‘What are we going to do then, missis?’ asked Bessie eagerly.
It had occurred to me that I was to about to bite off more than I could chew. But Miss Eldon had such confidence that I would do something.
‘Bessie,’ I said, ‘I have to go back and tell Miss Eldon what the inspector has said. She will be disappointed, I know. If you come with me you must try and find out from Mrs Tompkins if she knows a little more about the people living opposite, particularly if she knows anything about the young lady in the house. But Bessie, please, do be very, very tactful.’
‘Of course!’ retorted Bessie. ‘You know me, missis.’
Yes, I did know Bessie very well and it didn’t altogether put my mind at rest.
‘There is no need to mention Miss Eldon to Mrs Tompkins. Just be curious on your own account.’
‘I am,’ replied Bessie simply.
‘I, too, can only hope,’ I told her, ‘that the fog will have lifted tomorrow, even a little. It’s so difficult trying to walk anywhere and very dirty underfoot. If it’s possible for horse traffic to move about the streets, perhaps you could go out and fetch a cab here, Bessie. It would be nice to have Mr Slater drive us to the Queen Catherine.’
Wally was a trusted cabbie and considered himself my guardian when I was on one of what he called my ‘investigations’. I thought of Ben setting out for Salisbury in the morning. ‘At least Inspector Ross will be leaving the fog behind him,’ I said.
Chapter Seven
Inspector Ben Ross
I discovered, when I stepped out of my house the following morning, well before it was light, that the clerk of the weather had a disagreeable sense of humour. The fog had thinned considerably, but only because it had been dispersed by a cruel wind blowing up the river estuary. The wind brought driving rain on it, striking the face like the slash of a steel blade. It must surely be coming to us from the Nordic lands or even the frozen wastes beyond. Underfoot the slush had formed troughs and ridges perilous to walk on; and the new rain added another layer of ice so that I, and others out and about early as I was, slithered and staggered along like so many drunks. In doorways, the huddled forms of the homeless and itinerants took what shelter could be had. None moved as I passed and some, I feared, would never move again. I hoped the rain did not turn to snow. If Lizzie and Bessie were to return to Piccadilly today, they should engage a cab. Better still, they should delay their visit. But Lizzie would make up her own mind. She usually did.
As for myself, when I stumbled into Waterloo Bridge Station it appeared as a haven. The heat from the great engines warmed the air though they filled it with smoke. After some initial confusion, I was finally directed to a train that would take me to Salisbury and managed to scramble into a second-class compartment moments before it departed. I was lucky to find a seat despite the early hour. It was already almost filled with travellers, each made more bulky by layers of winter clothing. They shuffled resentfully to make a space and I squeezed in. At least so many packed together generated heat, a benefit. I tried to be grateful for that and to ignore a passenger opposite me who was eating a pungent pasty breakfast containing a lot of onion. He had a scarf tied over his head and hat and under his chin and little could be seen of his face but the rhythmic movements of his mouth as he munched on the crust and scattered crumbs around him. He was getting more than a few disgruntled glances. The company clearly thought he ought to be in third class.
Superintendent Dunn, when I put in my claim for reimbursement of my fare, would probably tell me third was the class of ticket I should have purchased. But I dreaded to imagine the conditions in third on a day like this. If I got the cost of my journey back from the Yard, I expected only the third-class amount. I would have to bear the difference myself, but it was worth it. A blast of onion struck my nostrils. Well, I trusted it would prove worth it. I bid the company ‘Good morning!’ and got back a chorus of grunts of acknowledgment, but not from the pasty-eater. Then we all huddled back into our greatcoats. I did not foresee any lively conversation on our journey.
We drew out of London, slowly leaving behind us the soot-blackened tenements. It was lighter now outside and I began to feel more optimistic. I recalled travelling south on a previous investigation, to Hampshire on that occasion. I looked forward to the rolling countryside of its neighbouring county of Wiltshire, its open countryside uncluttered with bricks and mortar, its pockets of woodland and its clean air. Of Salisbury itself I knew nothing, the only image in my mind being that of Constable’s famous painting of the cathedral and its tall pointed spire.
But I travelled on a serious matter and not for pleasure. I turned my mind to the body of the girl I’d last seen lying on Protheroe’s Carrara marble slab, (although the body had now been moved to a public morgue), a girl who had been wearing boots made in Salisbury when she died. I carried the little boots with me, wrapped in a paper parcel. I had set it on the rack above my head with other luggage and trusted I would not lose it. The unknown girl, had she lived in Salisbury? Had she travelled up to London by train? Or by road, in a coach? What had brought about her journey? Had she travelled alone or escorted?
Rain still splashed against the windows and gusts of smoke from the engine billowed by. However, the rain soon lessened, the view became unimpeded and my feeling of optimism grew. Then I remembered that, doubtless, Lizzie would be returning to visit Miss Eldon, to report my disappointing lack of interest in the tale of the damsel in the upper room opposite. Rapunzel! I nearly chuckled. The pasty-eater had fallen asleep and gave a snore. His immediate neighbour contrived to kick the sleeper’s foot. The fellow snorted, woke, glared suspiciously him and then closed his eyes again. With nothing else to occupy me, I began to think about my wife.
I should have urged Lizzie strongly to engage a hackney cab. The fog was thinner but the rain disastrous to clothes, footwear and general well-being. Surely Lizzie was sensible enough to realise
that for herself. I was feeling more than a little guilty because I knew I had been unsympathetic to her concerns about the unknown girl who lived opposite the Queen Catherine tavern. Although, I thought crossly, they aren’t Lizzie’s worries! They are Miss Eldon’s. Could there be anything to that elderly lady’s fears? No, probably not.
I had liked what I’d seen of Miss Ruby during our brief meeting, while wary of taking what she said at face value. She was clearly someone who had time on her hands and little to occupy her; other, that is, than taking an interest in what she saw from the windows of her rented rooms. Possibly all her worries resulted from an overactive imagination, although that didn’t make them less real to her. Now she had what is sometimes referred to as ‘a bee in her bonnet’, an idea that buzzed incessantly around her brain. Such people are often keen to attract others to their cause. Getting free of them once you have shown interest can be very difficult. Perhaps I should have urged Lizzie not to return to the tavern and to let the matter rest. She could, if she felt she really must, write a letter, telling her eccentric new acquaintance she had reported the matter to me; and I felt there was nothing to warrant an investigation. But that wasn’t my wife’s way. Lizzie had been raised by her widower doctor father to look upon the well-being of others as her concern. She and Miss Eldon had that much in common.
The true cause of any guilt I felt was, of course, that I had asked Lizzie to visit Miss Eldon in the first place. I had been made curious by the remarks of the old lady when she had failed to identify the dead girl found at the rear of the Imperial Dining Rooms. Ruby Eldon had so clearly feared to find someone else. My instinct as a detective had been to find out who that person might be; and I had sent Lizzie to make inquiries. It was my doing. I sighed.
We drew into the station at Salisbury in a cloud of engine smoke and steam. Trapped beneath the projecting roof above the platform it formed an atmosphere almost as dense as the fog I’d left behind me in London. I reached up and grabbed the parcel with the boots from the rack. It would never do to forget that. I climbed down to the platform as others jostled past me, coughing and spluttering, and peered into the haze, where a male form loomed up.
The Murderer's Apprentice Page 5