Penny Green series Box Set 2

by Emily Organ

  Added to all this, the revelation that Alfred Holland had reported Charles Mawson for altering official forms was quite shocking. Surely it gave Mr Mawson a motive for revenge. Mawson was the only connection I had made between Holland and the Forsters. I would have to inform the police of the development.

  There was such a great deal spinning about in my head that I wanted to talk it over with someone who might understand, but the only person who sprang to mind was James. Was Francis right about him? Would James have willingly broken my heart? He had kissed me while he was engaged to Charlotte. What did that tell me about his character? I had told myself that the strength of feeling between us meant he had been unable to help himself, but perhaps I was wrong. Had he taken advantage of me?

  My mattress felt uncomfortable. I tried to find a cool section of pillow to rest my cheek on, but everything felt hot and stifling. I got up, opened the curtains and pulled up the sash window, allowing the cool night air to flow into the room.

  Chapter 38

  The following morning I travelled by underground railway to Charing Cross and stopped off at a coffee stall on the Embankment. I sipped my coffee overlooking the misty river between Charing Cross Pier and the floating Cleopatra Swimming Bath. My head felt tired and heavy, but I was excited by the prospect of telling James about the connection I had made between Alfred Holland and the Forsters.

  I walked the short distance to Scotland Yard, hoping that Chief Inspector Cullen wouldn’t be at his desk. Unfortunately, James was nowhere to be seen when I arrived at his office, while the chief inspector was seated nearby. He looked at me over his silver-rimmed spectacles.

  “What is it this time, Miss Green?”

  “I’ve come to speak to Inspector Blakely about a link I’ve established between two murder cases.”

  “Still determined to act the lady detective, are you?”

  “It was a connection I happened upon by chance, and it would be remiss of me not to inform the police of the development.”

  The chief inspector laid down his pen and sat back in his chair.

  “Which murders are we talking about, then? I’ll hazard a guess that the deaths of Mr and Mrs Forster are involved.”

  “Yes, and the death of Alfred Holland. It transpires that they all knew the same man.”

  “Did they now? And who is this gentleman?”

  “His name is Charles Mawson and he works at the India Office, just a few hundred yards from where we stand now.”

  “And who is Charles Mawson?”

  “He’s a gentleman who worked in India and knew the Forsters socially from when they lived in Calcutta. I’ve discovered that he worked at the opium factory in Ghazipur and Alfred Holland reported him for altering information on the forms.”

  Chief Inspector Cullen lowered his brow. “Did he now? And how do you know all this?”

  “I’ve been speaking with Alfred Holland’s sister.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I plan to give James all the details.”

  “I see. And how has Alfred Holland’s sister stumbled upon this information?”

  “Alfred left a diary.”

  Chief Inspector Cullen raised an eyebrow and took a deep puff on his pipe. “This is the chap who was shot in the opium den, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “He kept a diary while working in India that described how he reported a colleague for altering forms?”

  I nodded.

  “Presumably this colleague was altering forms because opium was being stolen,” said Cullen.

  “I imagine so, yes.”

  “So there’s a written record of this, which Holland’s sister is in possession of, and this chap who was reported works at the India Office in Whitehall?”

  “Yes, I believe he was sent back to Britain after Mr Holland reported him.”

  “Yet he’s somehow managed to retain employment with the India Office,” commented Cullen. “How interesting. And this same chap was a friend of the Forsters. A good friend of theirs, would you say?”

  “Yes. I first met him after the murder of Mrs Forster, when he was trying to find Mr Forster. When I spoke to him after Mr Forster’s death it transpired that he had recently spent an evening with him at the East India Club.”

  “Very interesting indeed. Ah, Blakely.”

  I turned to see James entering the room. He greeted me with a warm smile.

  “Go and have a chat with this ink-slinger somewhere private,” instructed Chief Inspector Cullen. “I never thought I’d find myself saying this, but she has some interesting news for you. Make a note of everything she says, then report back to me.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Chief Inspector Cullen is finally taking an interest,” I said as we walked out of Scotland Yard, “but we don’t want him interfering, do we?”

  We crossed Northumberland Avenue.

  “Cullen’s all right, really,” replied James.

  “Is he?”

  “He can be abrupt, and he’s rather old-fashioned, but he worked with my father for a while and had his respect.”

  “Is that why you’re loyal to him?”

  “I have to be loyal to some degree; he’s my superior.”

  I gave an empty laugh. “In rank, perhaps, but in no other way.”

  “It’s the way the police force is, Penny. And although he is often rude and cantankerous, he’s a good detective.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to trust you on that front. I can’t say I have ever got along well with him.”

  “He’s traditional, and when he encounters women who have a profession he struggles with the idea.”

  “Poor Chief Inspector Cullen,” I mocked.

  “I don’t like the way he speaks to you,” said James, “but at the same time I must respect him as a senior detective. My father always spoke highly of him.”

  I chose not to argue. “Why would he want you to report back to him everything I’m about to tell you?” I asked.

  “The Forster murders have shocked London. It’s an important case, and it would seem that you have uncovered some interesting information. Cullen’s extremely concerned about the severed finger and has warned me to tread carefully, but I cannot allow such threats to stop me from doing my job, and I’m looking forward to hearing all about Alfred Holland’s diary. Have you eaten breakfast yet? There’s a decent eatery here on Northumberland Street.”

  We sat at a small table covered with a gingham tablecloth. A waiter took our order, and as we waited for our food to arrive I told James about Emma Holland and Charles Mawson. I tried my best not to become distracted by how handsome James looked. He was wearing a dark grey suit, and there was a gold tiepin topped with a star pinned to his blue tie.

  “We need to see the diary,” he said when I had finished. “Do you think Emma Holland would lend it to me?”

  “I should think so. She’ll be extremely encouraged to hear that Scotland Yard is investigating her brother’s death. She is most frustrated by the lack of progress so far.”

  “Before we get too excited by this development we need to establish that Charles Mawson who works at the India Office is the same Charles Mawson that Holland refers to in his diary.”

  The waiter brought over toast, eggs, bacon and a pot of tea.

  “I’m sure it must be the same Charles Mawson,” I replied, “and it would be easy to ask him given that he works so close by.”

  “Where can we find Mr Holland’s sister and the diaries?”

  “She lives in Euston. I’ve visited her there, so I know which house is hers.”

  “Have you shared this new information with Inspector Reeves?”

  “No, not yet. I only spoke to Emma Holland yesterday and then the evening was taken up with a rather uncomfortable dinner at my sister’s house.”

  “Oh dear, what happened?”

  I told James about the altercation between Mr Fox-Stirling and Mr Edwards.

  “That sounds very awkward inde
ed.”

  “I’m quite put off by the thought of Mr Fox-Stirling searching for Father,” I said. “I can’t say that I was particularly fond of him to start with, but seeing how rude he was to Francis was truly awful.”

  “It doesn’t sound as though he deserves your patronage,” said James.

  “He doesn’t, and I am determined to find someone else to look for Father. There must be plenty of other men who would be willing to go.”

  “I’m sure there will be; another plant-hunter, perhaps, or an explorer of some sort. You could try the Royal Geographical Society, or maybe the Royal Botanical Society could recommend someone.”

  “Good idea, I’ll suggest that to Francis. He is funding most of the trip, after all.”

  “He thinks highly of you, doesn’t he?”

  I felt my face colour. “I don’t know.”

  “I can see that he does. I wonder whether he’ll propose.”

  “I have no wish to talk about that now,” I snapped, still bristling from my discussion with Francis the night before.

  James seemed surprised by my reaction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to discuss something so personal.”

  “I’d like to concentrate on these murder cases for the time being,” I replied, keen to stay away from the topic of marriage. “Once you have confirmed that Charles Mawson links Holland and the Forsters this has to become one case.”

  “Which is what you suspected right from the beginning, isn’t it?” He smiled.

  “I’m always right.”

  “I think you are.”

  ‘I was joking; I’m nothing of the kind. In fact, most of the time I’m quite sure that I’m making all the wrong decisions.”

  “With regard to what?”

  “Nothing I wish to discuss at the moment.”

  “Are you all right, Penny?”

  “I’m fine. I feel a little tired after that strange evening, but I’m excited by the possible progress in these murder cases.”

  “Let’s go and confirm it with this Mawson chap. Have you the time to accompany me?”

  “I have indeed.”

  Chapter 39

  “Inspector James Blakely of Scotland Yard,” said James to the uniformed man at the India Office, flashing him his warrant card. “I’d like to see Mr Charles Mawson, please.”

  As the man went off to find him, James glanced around at the marble columns and gilded decoration. “What an impressive place this is,” he whispered.

  “If you’re lucky Mr Mawson will give you a tour,” I replied.

  The uniformed man returned moments later with a slightly puzzled Mr Mawson in tow. He smiled at me, then glanced warily at James.

  “How can I help you, Inspector?” he asked.

  “Mr Mawson, I recall seeing you outside Mr and Mrs Forster’s home shortly after Mrs Forster was tragically attacked. Is that right?” asked James.

  His watery grey eyes darted between my face and James’.

  “Yes, that’s right, I was there. What’s this about?”

  “Is there somewhere more private we can talk?”

  Mr Mawson glanced nervously around him. “I suppose the council chamber might be free, we could go in there. Will this take long?”

  “Hopefully not,” replied James.

  We followed Mr Mawson along an elaborately decorated corridor and into a large room with an impressive corniced ceiling. A large shiny table stood at the centre of the room, and full-length portraits of statesmen hung either side of the marble fireplace.

  “Do please take a seat, Inspector. Miss Green.”

  I noticed Mawson’s hand shaking as he gestured toward the chairs. Was he worried that he had been found out?

  “I believe you spent some time in India, Mr Mawson,” said James convivially as we sat down.

  “Yes, that’s right.” He went on to tell James about his social activities there, repeating almost word for word what he had already told me.

  “The Ghazipur opium factory,” announced James. “Have you ever been there?”

  Mawson shifted awkwardly in his seat.

  “I visited a few times.”

  “Only visited? Did you not work there?”

  Mawson scratched his temple. “I worked there for a short while.”

  “Did you ever come across a chap by the name of Holland?”

  “No, I can’t say that I did.”

  “Alfred Holland, the man who was recently shot in Limehouse, worked at the Ghazipur factory. Are you certain that you didn’t come across him there?”

  “I may have done, but the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “What was your job in Ghazipur, Mr Mawson?”

  “It was an administrative position. The natives are the ones who process the opium.”

  “But what was your actual role? What did you do there?”

  Mawson sighed, seemingly reluctant to discuss it. “I weighed the opium when it arrived from the districts and was occasionally involved in the testing of its quality.”

  “That’s interesting to hear,” said James, “because I believe Alfred Holland did much the same. Am I right, Miss Green?”

  “It sounds very similar to the way Mr Holland’s sister described his job,” I said.

  “When did you carry out this work, Mr Mawson?” asked James.

  “Last year for a short while.”

  “Can you be a little more specific? Which months were you there?”

  “It was summer. March through to August, I think.”

  “Isn’t that around the same time Mr Holland was there?” James asked me.

  “Yes, I think so. He came back to Britain in August.”

  “How interesting that you didn’t know him, Mr Mawson,” said James. “Quite unusual, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mawson fidgeted with his hands.

  “Why did you leave the factory?” James asked.

  “I was asked to return to a role here at the India Office.”

  “Was there a reason for that?”

  Only that I was told there was a job waiting for me here.”

  “Were you pleased to be returning to Britain?”

  “Yes, I missed home, though I also enjoyed being in India.”

  “So no reason was given by your superiors to explain your return to Britain?”

  “No.”

  “Are you being honest with me, Mr Mawson?”

  He scowled. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t think you are, sir,” said James. “I happen to know that there is a particular reason why you were asked to return to London. Would you care to share it with me?”

  “With what consequences?” snapped Mawson. “What happens to me?”

  “Why should you be worried about consequences?” asked James. “Have you done something illegal?”

  “Are you here to arrest me, Inspector?”

  “Arrest you for what?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t like this probing.”

  “No one enjoys being questioned like this, Mr Mawson, so my suggestion is that you answer the questions honestly so they’re over and done with quickly.”

  “Only if you can assure me there will be no consequences.”

  “Mr Mawson, if you have committed a misdemeanour in India during the course of your employment there then it’s your employer’s business, not mine. If you have committed a crime on British soil, however —”

  “I have committed no crime!”

  “I see.”

  “But I may have committed a misdemeanour,” Mawson added quietly.

  “Is that the reason you were asked to return?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the matter has already been dealt with by the Indian government. What was the nature of this misdemeanour, Mr Mawson?”

  “I altered the entries on some forms.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I was asked to do so.”

  “By whom?”

  “A native, if you must know. He offered m
e money.”

  “And what was the chap’s motive for asking you to alter them?”

  “He wanted the forms altered so it appeared that the factory had received less opium than it actually had, and the difference in weight found its way into his possession. I needed the money. I had promised my mother I would send a little something home each month, and my salary didn’t cover everything. I regret it all now, of course. I deeply regret my actions.”

  “Was this native apprehended?”

  “I don’t know. I was asked to leave before I could find out.”

  “How did your superiors find out about the form altering?”

  “Someone spotted it.”

  “Do you know who that might have been?”

  Mr Mawson glanced over at me, then back at James. “Mr Holland,” he muttered.

  “Thank you,” said James. “We are finally making progress. So you did know Mr Alfred Holland.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell us this sooner?” I asked. “I asked you about him during my last visit and you denied all knowledge!”

  “Because he is inextricably linked to my shame,” retorted Mawson. “If I’d admitted to having known him you would have asked about the circumstances and then this whole sorry tale would have emerged. A fellow has pride, you know!” Spots of red appeared high on his cheeks above his whiskers.

  “There is no shame in admitting your mistakes, Mr Mawson,” said James. “I’ve no doubt the Indian government dealt with you in the necessary manner.”

  “Indeed.”

  “May I ask why you have been permitted to work for the India Office after committing this misdemeanour?” I asked.

  Mr Mawson coughed. “I have an uncle who occupies a senior position here, and the matter was hushed up to save face. Very few people know about it, and I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention the matter to anyone.”