‘Where are these keys normally kept?’
‘On a hook in the butler’s pantry,’ Morris told me. ‘Anyone could get at them in his absence and he’d be none the wiser. As they’re never used in winter, he probably wouldn’t even notice they’d been removed provided they were returned fairly smartly.’ He glanced at me. ‘How was the lady?’
‘Ready for me. She had Pelham with her. George had either taken himself off or she had sent him out of the way.’
‘Closing ranks, sir?’ asked Morris.
‘Oh, yes, most definitely. They have closed ranks.’
‘It’s what the gentry do,’ said Morris, with the wisdom of experience. ‘They must realise the poor young woman almost certainly died in the house, that Sunday.’ It was not a question but a comment.
‘It’s my belief they are most definitely aware that must be the case, Sergeant,’ I told him. ‘No one here will admit it, of course, until and unless the evidence is set out before them in such a way that even Pelham won’t be able to reject it.’
It was not the time of year to be in a garden but nevertheless, and despite the chilly weather, it was a pleasant spot. We stood side by side and studied the garden, as men who didn’t exactly do any gardening, but liked to think they did.
Underfoot the grass was long, in need of its spring trim, but far too wet. The bushes had not yet begun to sprout any green shoots. There was a birdbath of stone, dark and mossy with age. Much-eroded carving around the pedestal suggested it had originally come from a church. Had it been a medieval holy-water stoup, rejected at the Reformation? In a corner, tucked behind a large and spiky holly bush, was a slatted wooden box. A sodden mulch lurked at the bottom of it: a compost pit for the cut grass later in the year. In the opposite corner stood a small well-weathered shed. Morris asked if he should open it and I nodded. Inside, we found an assortment of tools hanging on nails in the wall, together with a simple oil lamp in a wire cage. There was also a modern contrivance such as I had seen advertised in illustrated magazines. It was a small grass mower constructed as a set of blades in drum shape, with a long wooden handle enabling it to be propelled back and forth. It might only be a small town garden, but its scrap of lawn was cut by the latest thing.
‘I’ve got one of those,’ said Morris unexpectedly. ‘We’ve not got much of a garden, and Mrs Morris likes to hang her washing out in it. But on a nice day, she likes to sit out there and do her mending. I used to cut the grass with shears, you know, kneeling down. It’s very hard on the knees. So, one year, Mrs Morris got me one of those gadgets, second-hand, of course. It makes life very easy.’
‘I don’t have any grass,’ I said. ‘Mostly our backyard is paved over. There isn’t much of it, half the size of this, and there’s a coal-house and a privy in it. My wife likes to grow geraniums in pots out there in the warmer months. Last year she had some success with tomato plants grown in the same way.’
I reached out and took down a hammer from the wall. It was old but serviceable and did not seem to have been used recently. All the same…
‘What do you think, Morris?’
‘Kill someone easy with a blow from that,’ he opined.
‘We’ll take it with us – and that trowel – and get Dr Mackay to look at them through his microscope. He’s very interested in blood. I gather he’s always carrying out research into the subject. If there are any traces on those tools, I fancy he’s the man to find them. The butler won’t like us removing anything but we can give him a receipt. Let’s take a look at the door in the wall.’
We relocked the shed and progressed to the wall door where the larger key turned easily in the lock. We pulled the heavy wooden door open and found ourselves in the street.
‘The whole household must know about this key,’ I said as we relocked the door from the garden side.
‘Carry the body out through there, in the dark, in the fog?’ speculated the sergeant.
‘It would be a long way to carry a body from here to the rear of the Imperial Dining Rooms. She was only a young woman but a dead weight is just that,’ I murmured, and Morris nodded.
As we had anticipated, Wilson, the butler, received the news that we intended to take the two tools from the shed with us with displeasure. Nevertheless he accepted a receipt.
‘He’s a worried man, sir,’ observed Morris as he and I left the house and set off back to the Yard.
‘I imagine it’s a very unhappy household,’ I replied.
We returned to the Yard, stopping at a telegraph office so I could send a message to Colby to tell him Emily had been identified and the inquest had been held. On arriving back, I arranged for the tools we had brought from Lady Temple’s garden shed to be sent to Dr Mackay, with my compliments, and a request that he would be so good as to examine the surfaces for traces of blood. Finally I went to report to Dunn. At last I could go home.
It was now quite dark. The fog was closing in again and horns sounded mournfully from the shipping on the river. The stink of sulphur still lingered in the air. Underfoot it was wet and slippery. I encountered two ragamuffin boys, perhaps ten years of age, probably thieves, with pinched white faces, shaggy hair and motley clothing. For them, the cover of the fog was welcome, a co-conspirator in their mischief. They knew me at once for an arm of the Law and scuttled away into the gloom like rats disturbed in a cellar. Vagrants had already taken occupation of the best nooks and archways for the night. Police patrols would move them on. They’d sidle off into the murk only to creep back later, as would the child thieves. It had been a long day.
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth Martin Ross
I had begun the day by reading, from cover to cover, the Salisbury local newspaper Ben had discovered in Emily’s room. As Ben had mentioned, it did not contain anything that appeared in any way significant. It was, after all, five weeks old. The latest editions would be full of news of Emily’s death. This seemed to have nothing more exciting than an account of hounds straying on to a railway line; but it opened up a panorama of provincial life for the imagination.
A new milliner had opened a business in the town centre. Ladies were invited to come and view a display of hats already created by the owner and her skilled workers. A gentlemen’s outfitters, not to be outdone, offered cambric shirts at advantageous prices per dozen. There was an illustration of a gentleman with a fine moustache wearing such a shirt and looking mightily pleased about it. Readers were also invited to an exhibition of watercolours by A Lady. Otherwise it was paragraph after paragraph of reports of local events, like the agricultural sales mentioned by Ben, and a general auction; and there was a list of guest preachers at Evensong at the cathedral for the coming month. Here, at last, something caught my eye. I wondered if Ben had seen it. On the Sunday following the appearance of this newspaper, the preacher at Evensong would be the Revd Dr Bastable. Ben had told me about him, with a lively description.
I continued reading. Even better: below the printed list a note informed readers that Dr Bastable was a comparatively new arrival in Salisbury. He and his sister, Miss Agatha Bastable, had taken up residence in the house formerly owned by the late Mrs W.
After I had read all this, I sat back with the newspaper in my hands and wondered. Emily had been homesick, Ben had told me. She could have come by this newspaper by pure chance. Someone might have left it at the British Museum, a place we knew Emily had visited, or anywhere else she had been. But these few words attached, almost as an afterthought, to a list of preachers, threw up an intriguing possibility. There was mention, indirectly, of the house in which Emily had grown up. Had someone, seeing this and thinking Emily in her London exile might be interested, sent her this paper?
‘Why send the whole newspaper?’ asked Bessie, on whom I tested this theory. ‘Why not just cut out the bit about the house and send that? It would cost less.’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied, as I folded the paper and put it aside. ‘But I’ll bring the inspector’s attention to it whe
n he returns tonight.’
Despite the unpleasant conditions in the streets, and the lingering vapours of the fog, I had decided to return to the Queen Catherine that afternoon. I had another call to make nearby, too.
‘What are we going to do, missis?’ asked Bessie, as we rattled across the cobbles. We had again taken a cab.
‘I feel Miss Eldon expects me to do something about that house across the street from her. We know the owner’s name is Bernard and he is a man of some wealth. I am going to be a lady interested in good causes. Men like Mr Bernard are always being approached by a spokesman for good causes. I shall approach him.’
Bessie was clearly impressed, but spotted the flaw in my argument. ‘He might not be at home.’
‘Then I shall leave my card.’
The growler in which we travelled lurched and shook. A horse whinnied. The driver shouted and there was an exchange of colourful language. Bessie and I held on tightly. When the cab continued on its way I heaved a sigh of relief. I remembered Ben telling me of seeing an overturned cab; and the horse being cut from the traces. Perhaps Bessie and I would have been safer on our own two feet.
We descended from the cab and I paid the cabbie off. As it rattled away Bessie and I stared up at the front of Bernard’s house.
‘Confidence, now, Bessie!’ I instructed her. ‘Collectors for charity never lack confidence.’
‘What sort of charity is it, missis?’ hissed Bessie hurriedly as I reached for the doorbell. ‘They might ask.’
‘The welfare of cab horses!’ I told her on impulse.
Bessie muttered something I didn’t quite catch. I didn’t give her time to argue, fearing I might lose my own confidence, and pulled at the bell firmly.
After a few minutes, during which I sensed Bessie’s instinct to run away and wasn’t far from sharing it, the door was opened by a manservant.
He was of medium height but very strongly built, of swarthy complexion with dark eyes that fixed me in a hostile manner. Hardly the usual sort of butler, he did not even speak to inquire my purpose. He just stood there and stared.
‘Good afternoon!’ I said briskly. ‘Is it possible to speak to Mr Bernard?’
‘Mr Bernard is not here.’ The accent was heavy but the words clearly distinguishable.
‘But this is his house?’ I persisted.
‘He is not here.’
Had no one told this fellow that he ought to be saying his master was ‘not at home’?
‘And Mrs Bernard?’ I asked in a voice I hoped let him know I was not intimidated.
‘No Mrs Bernard.’
‘I see. Then I shall leave my card.’ I produced my card case, slid out a visiting card and held it out.
He stared down at it impassively and made no move to take it. It was the moment I had either to lose the game completely or make a countermove. I decided that, since he had not been adequately instructed on how to receive visitors to the house, I would let him know what he should do.
‘The card tray?’ I asked impatiently.
He looked startled.
‘Come along!’ I ordered.
To my amazement my air of confidence and my indication that he was somehow in the wrong worked wonderfully. He actually stepped back, turned aside and took a small silver salver from a side table. This he held out towards me. He even looked at me a little nervously, as if he hoped he was atoning for an earlier dereliction of duty.
I placed my card on it. He picked it up and scowled at it before looking at me questioningly.
‘I represent a charitable group of ladies concerned with the sufferings of cab horses.’
He looked puzzled and replaced the card on the tray.
‘Thank you!’ I told him. ‘I will call again, another day. When is the best time to find Mr Bernard at home?’
Now I had him really confused. ‘Five o’clock,’ he told me. ‘Mr Bernard returns at five o’clock.’
‘Thank you. Come along, Bessie!’
‘Yes, ma’am!’ said Bessie, not to be outdone in correct replies, and not, for once, addressing me as ‘missis’.
We walked away, hearing the door close behind us.
‘Cor, missis!’ said Bessie in awe. ‘You’re really something, you are.’
‘Thank you, Bessie.’
‘I didn’t think you’d get away with it.’
‘I thought myself I might not.’
‘You didn’t show it nor sound it. You were a regular dragon!’ Bessie’s eyes sparkled.
I accepted this was spoken in admiration and not criticism. Even so, it did make me feel more than a little guilty at involving her in my questionable plan.
‘What do we do now, missis?’
I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but the confidence I had assumed had not yet deserted me so I replied immediately. ‘We walk to the end of the street, wait a few minutes, then walk back on the other side until we reach the tavern. Then we walk in there, confidently, mind! And we call on Miss Eldon.’
‘Supposing he spots us, that butler or whatever he was?’
‘He will suppose us gone. But, if he should see us, it does not matter. We are spreading information about our charity.’
‘Mr Slater wouldn’t like you going round saying he doesn’t look after his horse properly.’
‘I didn’t say otherwise. Mr Slater takes very good care of his horse. But you and I have both seen other cab horses in a pitiable state. Come along and stop worrying about it.’
Miss Eldon had not expected to see me and apologised profusely for the lack of ratafia biscuits.
‘But of course I am delighted at your visit, dear Mrs Ross. I take it Inspector Ross is in good health?’
‘Excellent, thank you. He is very busy, of course.’
Miss Eldon sighed. ‘So much wickedness about. Because I sit up here in my rooms, like a bird in a treetop nest…’ She stopped and smiled. ‘That is my little joke, Mrs Ross.’
‘You do indeed have a view such as a bird might have.’
Miss Eldon cocked her head on one side and said, ‘I see a great deal from my eyrie, Mrs Ross! I observed you call at that house earlier.’
I should have guessed she might be watching from her window above. ‘Well,’ I confessed. ‘I have a little strategy, but I don’t know that it will be successful.’ I explained about my pretending to call on behalf of a charity. ‘Now that I know Mr Bernard returns home at five, I shall call tomorrow at a little after five and we shall see if I manage to gain admittance.’
Miss Eldon clapped her mittened hands in delight. ‘How clever you are, Mrs Ross!’
‘I have not yet been successful,’ I warned her. ‘But I don’t know what else I can do. I want you to know I haven’t given up.’
‘I was confident you would not,’ returned Miss Eldon, smiling brightly.
‘Have you seen the young woman again, the one in that room across the way?’
‘She has been working on a piece of needlework. I cannot see exactly what it is. I have not caught her eye.’ Miss Eldon sighed.
Suddenly she spoke in a soft, nostalgic voice. ‘I was the only girl in a family of four. My brothers, all three of them, were older. When I was born, the first daughter and, as it turned out, the last child, my father declared I was like a jewel. He decided I was to be called Ruby for that reason. I have been told that the parson at first refused to agree to baptise me in that name, because it was not a conventional Christian name. But when my father referred him to the line in Proverbs, about the price of a virtuous woman being above rubies, the parson gave in; and in that name I was baptised.
‘My eldest brother, William, was much older. He was in the army and looked so handsome and dashing in his regimentals. He was killed in the great battle at Waterloo, against Napoleon. I remember that, before he left with his regiment for the Low Countries, he came home for a few days. My parents hosted a gathering at our house in his honour. There was a fine supper and dancing. The ladies all looked so beautiful in their si
lk and satin gowns, their hair dressed with jewels and feathers. I was but six years old and crept from my bed to hide at the top of the stairs with my brother Edwin, who was nearest to me in age, being eight, and we watched the coming and going.’
‘The news of his death must have struck your parents very hard.’
‘Oh yes, it did, although they were very proud of him. But you see, that young girl across the way, she should be going out to balls and entertainments. She should not be sitting, day after day, alone.’
I was becoming more and more convinced there was some reason for the young woman’s isolation. But I knew Miss Eldon would accept no argument. Instead I asked, ‘And your other brothers?’
‘Oh, Henry was killed on the hunting field in a dreadful fall. We were staying with an uncle and aunt in the country. Henry’s neck was broken and he was brought home on a hurdle. I remember that, when he was carried into the house, my dear mother gave a great sigh and sank down insensible. She was never the same again and died herself only a year later. Edwin, to whom I was closest, also chose the army as a career. But, unlike William, he hardly saw a shot fired. He died of cholera in the great epidemic of 1848.’
‘What of the aunt and uncle whom you and your parents were visiting when your brother Henry was killed?’
‘There was a breach, after Henry died,’ said Miss Eldon abruptly. ‘Too many painful memories.’
I experienced a spasm of guilt. The story I had invented in my own head to explain Miss Eldon’s reduced circumstances had been quite wrong. I had supposed her father to be a rake, frittering away the family wealth. In reality it was all much sadder. But something she had told me led me neatly to the other subject I wanted to broach.
‘Two brothers in the army,’ I said. ‘You must have been very proud of them.’
‘Yes,’ Miss Eldon replied simply.
I decided to plunge on. ‘I have heard there is the widow of a military man, a General Temple, living in the area.’
Mentally, I had my fingers crossed that she would not ask me where I’d heard this piece of gossip. Perhaps she would think I had it from Mrs Tompkins, which in a way was the truth. I did hear from her, via Bessie.
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