by Emily Organ
Chapter 50
After an unenlightening conversation with Inspector Raynes, who turned out to be a tall detective with a long nose, I headed over to the reading room. Perhaps I had hoped James would come and find me there as he had done on so many occasions.
I sat at one of the desks, removed some papers from my bag and placed them in front of me. I had an update from Inspector Raynes to write up, but it provided scarcely any new information.
“Penny!” whispered Francis. “How are you?”
The question sent an involuntary tear rolling down my face. Another followed and then several more until it felt impossible to stop them.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, getting up from my seat and dashing toward the door.
Francis followed me out onto the steps of the British Museum, where I stopped and drew in great gulps of air.
“What has happened?” he asked. “You seem distraught.”
He pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I pulled off my spectacles, mopped my face with it and began to feel faint. I sank down onto one of the steps.
Francis sat down beside me.
“Penny?”
“It’s James, he’s missing!”
“Missing?”
Between sobs I explained the events of the past few days. His brow furrowed as I spoke.
“There must be a simple explanation,” he said when I had finished. “James can’t have come to any harm, I feel sure of it.”
“I hope not. But these people… they don’t care about anyone. Four have already been murdered, and then there’s the finger. Someone cut off a finger, Francis!”
He sighed and shook his head. “Grotesque.”
“They won’t hurt James, will they? We would know if he’d been murdered, wouldn’t we? Much like Mr Mawson at the India Office. They would have attacked him in a similar way, wouldn’t they? They must be holding him somewhere, but hopefully he’s unharmed. I cannot bear the thought of someone hurting him. If anything happened to him I would hold myself accountable!”
“Why should you do that? It’s not your fault. Being a detective is a dangerous job. You and I both know that, as does James.”
“But we would know if they had hurt him, wouldn’t we?”
“I should think so, yes. Although hearing no news is concerning, we can also be encouraged by it. We must remain hopeful of his safe return.”
“Where can he be, Francis? Where is he right at this moment? I cannot bear it any longer. I just need to know!”
The tears overwhelmed me again and Francis sat close by as I bent my head into my knees and cried. He gently wrapped an arm across my shoulders, his presence instantly warm and comforting.
The tears eventually stopped, but my body felt heavy with exhaustion. I leaned against Francis’ shoulder and we sat there together for some time.
Once I had recovered I put my spectacles back on and looked down at the steps, remembering it as the place where James and I had first met one foggy day in October. He had been investigating the murder of Lizzie Dixie and asked for my help. I smiled as I remembered how I had considered him a nuisance at the time.
I raised my eyes to the railings which ran along Great Russell Street and looked beyond them to where the Museum Tavern sat on the corner of Museum Street. The pub had been our meeting place so many times, and now those days seemed to be confined to the past.
Would I ever see James again?
Another loud sob erupted from my chest.
“Are you all right, Penny?”
“I’m not, Francis. I wish there was something I could do, but I feel completely helpless.”
“I’m sure if you put your mind to it you’d think of something. Just remember all those problematic cases you’ve assisted James with in the past.”
“Only it’s rather different when you’re involved in it, isn’t it?”
“You’ve been involved in each and every case, Penny, you make it your business to be. That’s why you’re so good at what you do.”
“Thank you, Francis. I appreciate the compliment, but I wish I shared your confidence. These events feel completely beyond my control. I simply cannot see a way out.”
“Perhaps Blakely went to Bognor Regis for the sea air.”
“Shush, Potter,” said Edgar. “You’ll make Miss Green feel even worse.”
I sat at the typewriter staring silently at the keys in front of me. According to the clock on the newsroom mantelpiece it was almost three o’clock and there had still been no word from James.
The door slammed, and I tried my best to finish the sentence I had begun typing about five minutes previously. For a few minutes I had felt overcome by the urge to sleep, and there had been moments when I hadn’t been sure whether I was awake or dreaming.
“Miss Green?”
“Yes, sir?”
Mr Sherman stood by my side. “So you did hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Eventually! I said your name three times.”
“Did you, sir? I’m sorry, I really don’t know what I was thinking about …”
“Blakely, no doubt.”
“I’m worried about him.”
“I’m not surprised. Once you’ve finished your article you should go home and take some rest.”
“It’s difficult to rest when my mind is so busy.”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
“He’ll turn up, Miss Green,” said Edgar. “He wouldn’t want you worrying about him like this. The chap has everything under control, I feel sure of that.”
“Did you know anything about Alfred Holland’s diaries?” I asked Edgar.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Did you know about them, Frederick?” I asked.
“Know about what?”
“The diaries Alfred Holland kept? Did you see his sister bringing one of the diaries here?”
“No, should I have? I think we were on our way out when she visited.”
“That’s my recollection,” I admitted.
“Why do you ask, Miss Green?” asked Edgar.
“Someone stole the diaries from her,” I said, “and the person who did so must be connected in some way to Alfred Holland’s death. And possibly to the murder of the Forsters and Charles Mawson.”
“Please go home and rest, Miss Green,” said my editor. “Leave the case for the police to work on, and if there’s any extra reporting required over the next day or so I can ask one of these chaps to do it. You’ll come down with a fever if you don’t stop thinking about all this. Ask that landlady of yours to keep an eye on you for a day or two.”
“I’m fine, Mr Sherman, and I don’t need a rest.”
He stared at me and said nothing.
“But I’ll do what you ask given that I probably don’t have any choice in the matter,” I added.
He gave me a brief smile. “Very good, Miss Green.”
I left the offices a short while later and stepped out into Fleet Street, where a light drizzle was beginning to fall. Although I had no inclination to rest I knew the advice everyone was giving me made sense. I looked out for the next omnibus which would take me in the direction of the Bank.
A few yards away a woman was glancing up at the buildings as if trying to read the signage on them. She wore a pale blue dress and looked familiar somehow.
“Charlotte?” I asked.
Chapter 51
“Oh, Penny! Thank goodness I’ve found you. For a moment I couldn’t remember the name of the newspaper you worked for. The Morning Express, isn’t it? My mind feels so muddled.”
Charlotte’s face looked more drawn than usual, and I suspected that she hadn’t slept either.
“Is there any news?” I asked.
“None.” She sighed. “I’ve been sitting at home with Mother and Father for much of the day, just waiting to hear something. I sent a telegram to the Yard and received a reply telling me to remain where I was in case James g
ets in touch.”
Charlotte’s hat and hair were damp with rain. I pulled an umbrella out of my carpet bag and opened it out over both of us.
“I visited the Yard this morning and spoke with Chief Inspector Cullen,” I said. “They’re looking for James and he isn’t too concerned yet, so we should take comfort from that.”
There was no comfort to be found in Cullen’s actions, but I had no wish to let Charlotte know that. For some reason I still felt the need to reassure her.
“I suppose they know what they’re doing, don’t they?”
“Yes,” I replied, but I could tell that she had noticed my less-than-convincing expression. “I’m assuming you came to Fleet Street to find me.”
“I did! I hope you don’t mind. As I said, I’ve spent much of the day sitting at home, and by this afternoon I feared I would be driven mad by all the waiting and not knowing. How long will it go on for?”
“I wish I knew.”
“I thought I’d come and find you, Penny, because there must be something I can do, mustn’t there? I really don’t know what, but I’m aware from what James has told me that you usually find a way of making things happen.”
Charlotte’s expression remained hopeful.
“James may well have overstated my capabilities,” I said. “I’ve never been in a situation before where someone I care… someone I know has gone missing in this way. I’ve never been so worried before, and although I have tried to reassure myself that James will return to us unharmed, I really don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, Charlotte, but I feel quite lost at the moment. I have no suggestions at all.”
“But you must! You have to! I came here full of hope that you’d have at least one idea of what we could do to find him. You’re a news reporter, and you’ve been to all sorts of places and done all kinds of things. You’ve helped James solve some of his cases. Please, Penny, I realise you’re tired and upset, but I know you can do something about this. I’m here to help you. We can do it together. We have to!”
I knew Charlotte would never have approached me if she had an inkling that I had kissed her future husband. I looked away, worried that she would somehow read what I had done in my face.
I looked along Fleet Street in the direction of home and knew that if I returned there I would only be pacing the floor of my room, and that sleep wouldn’t come easily. Like Charlotte, I knew my mind would find no rest unless I was doing something about James’ disappearance.
“There’s one place I can think of,” I began.
“Where?” I looked at Charlotte’s young, hopeful face and felt concerned that she had probably never been anywhere remotely unpleasant in her life.
“The East End.”
Her hopeful look faded slightly, as I had expected it would.
“Inspector Bowles of Marylebone Lane police station is holding a gang there who are suspected of breaking into the home of Mr and Mrs Forster.”
“She was murdered there, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, sadly the gang attacked Mrs Forster in her bed. I know that James helped interview the gang at Marylebone Lane station on the day of his disappearance. Inspector Bowles told me a few of them had been arrested around Commercial Street. I have a suspicion that a few of their acquaintances may still be in the area.”
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide with worry.
“You think we should go to the East End to find members of the gang? But what does that have to do with James?”
“I’m wondering whether the gang he spoke to wanted to exact some sort of revenge on him. They may have asked an accomplice to —”
“To do what?” Charlotte’s eyes widened even further.
“I’m sure he’s fine, Charlotte. They may have detained him somewhere, but let’s go and see what we can find out from H Division at the station on Commercial Street.”
“The gang are holding him, is that what you think?”
“It’s a thought, that’s all. I really don’t know what else to try.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Are you sure you’re happy to do this?”
“We have to do something, don’t we?”
The journey to the police station at the north end of Commercial Street took about twenty minutes in a hansom cab. As we travelled I tried to explain the case to Charlotte.
“Goodness, it all sounds rather confusing,” she said. “James had told me a little of it, but I try to discourage him from talking about work too much. I think it’s important for him to forget about it now and again, and to enjoy other aspects of life. I’m not very successful in stopping him, however. He can become terribly distracted by it. He’s often scribbling down little notes to himself or pondering over something. He did seem unusually distracted in the lead-up to his disappearance.”
When Charlotte talked about James I felt envious. I wished I could have spent those moments with him instead of her, and I would never have tried to discourage him from talking about his work. I understood how a case could occupy one’s mind night and day, and for a moment I imagined what it would be like if James and I were married. We would have discussed cases for as long as we liked, whenever we wanted. And then I wondered whether that was necessarily a good thing.
Although I felt envious of Charlotte I also felt sympathy for her. I knew exactly how she felt, and I could see that she was relying on me to make her feel better. In her hour of need she had turned to me for help. I realised that my motivation for helping her was partly driven by guilt.
The police station on Commercial Street was a large, wedge-shaped building with a lower storey clad in stone and two upper storeys of red brick.
“I hope they can help us,” muttered Charlotte as we stepped through the door.
A young, wiry police sergeant was chatting to the desk officer as we walked in. I introduced Charlotte and myself.
“Have you heard about the disappearance of Inspector James Blakely?” I asked the police sergeant.
“Can’t say that I have,” he replied.
“But you’re aware that Inspector Bowles is holding some men from this area at Marylebone Lane police station?”
“Ah yes, the men who burgled the Forster home in St James’s Square. I helped Bowles with that. I rounded many of them up personally. I’m Detective Sergeant Harrison.” He had a thin, clean-shaven face and keen brown eyes.
“I was wondering whether the men being held by Inspector Bowles have any acquaintances in this area,” I asked.
“Yes, everyone knows them around here.”
“I suspect the men you arrested may have instructed someone to harm…” I glanced warily at Charlotte “…Not harm, necessarily, but somehow detain Inspector Blakely. I think someone in this area may have had something to do with his disappearance.”
“Do you want me to find out for you?”
“We would be extremely grateful for anything you could do to help. We’re desperate for news.”
“Has Scotland Yard not asked for your help in finding him yet?” asked Charlotte.
“No, there’s been no word from the Yard about the inspector. Never mind, let’s go and find him, shall we?”
“You make it sound so easy, Sergeant,” she replied.
Chapter 52
Sergeant Harrison skipped down the steps of the police station and we followed him at a brisk pace down Commercial Street, which was thronging with people despite the rain. A crowd had gathered outside a music hall, readying themselves for an evening of entertainment. The taverns were busy, and the costermongers were desperately trying to sell off the last of their wares for the day. A quick glance down the side streets revealed numerous rundown lodging houses, cramped houses and littered courtyards. Dirty-faced children played in the street, skipping out of the way of carts and barrows just in time.
We reached the junction with Hanbury Street and Sergeant Harrison led us up to a large, noisy pub called The Golden Heart. Without hesitation he pushed open one of the doors and we followed him i
nside, where loud voices and tobacco smoke filled the air.
A number of the men inside seemed to recognise the sergeant, and they parted to let us through. Charlotte and I ignored the leers and suggestive comments.
We walked through a door to a smaller bar, and Sergeant Harrison made straight for a table of lean, grimy-looking men with slack jaws and hard, narrow eyes. Their expressions suggested a deep dislike of him. For an uneasy moment we surveyed each other, and one of the men lifted a clay pipe to his mouth. My eye was drawn to the movement, and then I spotted something unusual about his hand.
The little finger was missing.
“Him!” I cried, pointing at the young man. “He must know something!”
To my astonishment, Sergeant Harrison swiftly grabbed the young man by the ear and hauled him up off his stool.
“Out the back,” he ordered.
He dragged the man out through a small door and into a foul-smelling yard with a high wall. The man’s friends cackled as we followed the pair.
“Get orf!” protested the man as Harrison continued to pull at his ear.
“It’s not necessary to hurt him,” I said.
“Oh, but it is, madam, it is,” replied Sergeant Harrison. He sneered at the young man as he addressed him. “Introduce yourself to these nice ladies.”
“Tommy,” he replied through gritted teeth.
“Now then, Tommy, would you happen to know anything about the inspector from the Yard what’s gone missing?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” Sergeant Harrison pulled harder on the lad’s ear, which made him yelp.
“Perhaps if you let go he’d be more inclined to answer,” I said.
Sergeant Harrison glared at me for interrupting.
“There’s only one way of dealing with men like this,” he barked. “Now what can you tell me about the inspector?” he said to Tommy.
“Nuffink!”
Voices rose up from beyond the high wall, and Charlotte and I exchanged a worried glance. The place made me anxious, and the bullying behaviour of Sergeant Harrison did nothing to put my mind at ease.