by Emily Organ
“George and I have begun to see eye-to-eye a little more recently.”
“Oh dear, I was hoping you would divorce him.”
“I would only ever do so as a last resort, Penelope. What’s got into you? You’re excitable and flighty, and I’m worried that you’re about to do something foolish.”
“I’m not about to do anything foolish. I simply want to make the most of my life. I met a man and fell in love with him, and then he married someone else. I want a fresh start somewhere new, then maybe I shall meet someone who returns my love.”
“Isn’t that the same reason Francis gave for travelling to Colombia?”
“Yes, it is, now you come to mention it. I think I understand a little more of how he was feeling now. And once he’s finished in Colombia he could come and find me in America! It’s so much nearer than Britain. He could find a boat which sails up the coast from South America to North America. Perhaps I could find some affection in my heart for him the second time around.”
“I’m going to call for the maid and have her fetch some laudanum. I’ve never heard you spout so much nonsense, Penny, and I fear for your state of mind.”
She pulled the bell on the wall.
“Ellie, this is my moment of enlightenment! I’ve placed my hopes in futile things for too long. I admit that I feel a little light in the head, but it’s only because I can see now what must be done. The rest of my life is waiting for me and I need to seize control of it! I’m already thirty-five years old. This may be the last chance I have to drastically change.”
“I don’t want you to drastically change, Penelope. I love you just the way you are.” My sister’s lower lip trembled.
“Thank you, Ellie.” I got up from my seat and went over to embrace her in her easy chair. “We’ve had our differences over the years, but you’re a good sister and I should very much like you to come to America with me.”
“You need some money first, Penelope. I suggest you take the train to Derbyshire tomorrow and speak to Mother about the trust.”
“That’s likely to be the hardest part of all,” I said, releasing myself from my sister’s embrace. “But it must be done.”
“Fetch the laudanum please, May,” said my sister when the maid walked into the room.
She nodded and went off again.
“Now sit down, Penelope, and take some deep breaths,” said Eliza. “You need to prepare yourself for your visit to Mother tomorrow.”
Chapter 51
I stepped out of Eliza’s home early the following morning with a thick head, wishing I hadn’t agreed to take the laudanum. At the time it had helped my mood, but now my mind felt slow and foggy.
It was a cool morning and the sky was blue and cloudless. The day of James’ wedding had dawned.
I travelled home on the underground railway, trying to push all thoughts of the wedding out of my mind. I needed to concentrate on my plan. I realised I wasn’t even thinking about the Bermondsey poisoner case any more. I had written a summary of Molly Coutts’ confession and handed it to Mr Sherman. I had done what I had said I would do, and now I would leave it up to Inspector Austen and his men to see it through. I hoped to be able to write about Catherine’s arrest early the following week.
“I’m visiting my mother in Derbyshire,” I said to Mrs Garnett once I had packed a few things into my travel bag and put on my light travelling coat. “I shall return on the train tomorrow evening.”
“This is a sudden decision,” she commented. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, everything is fine. Thank you, Mrs Garnett.”
I looked at her dark, enquiring face and felt a lump in my throat. How could I bring myself to tell her that I was moving to America? Although Mrs Garnett had irritating habits, I had rented a room from her for so long that she felt like a member of my family.
Without thinking, I stepped forward and gave her a quick embrace. Her entire body stiffened.
“What was that for?” she asked once I had stepped back again.
“Thank you for being such a good landlady,” I said.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Miss Green? I think you must be coming down with something. If you are, you’re certainly not fit for a journey to Derbyshire. How far away is it? Five hundred miles?”
I laughed. “No, Mother lives about a hundred and fifty miles from here. The train journey to Derby takes just over three hours.”
“Is that all? You should visit her more often in that case.”
“Yes, I should,” I replied curtly, feeling a pang of guilt. “Well, I must go and catch my train. See you tomorrow, Mrs Garnett.”
I travelled on the underground railway to St Pancras station. When I purchased my ticket I was informed that I had just missed the ten o’clock train, and that I would have to wait for the next one at midday. I tucked the ticket into the pocket of my coat and made my way over to the refreshment room. It was hot inside, and noisy with voices and the clanking of crockery. Condensation ran down the windows and I decided that I couldn’t bear to spend two hours in there.
I caught a glimpse of the Euston Road through the windows, and just beyond it lay Bloomsbury. The British Museum was only a twenty-minute walk away. I decided to walk there instead of sitting restlessly in the overheated refreshment room.
It was just after ten o’clock. Was James already married? I wondered. I hadn’t asked him what time his wedding would take place, preferring not to know.
I made my way to Russell Square and thought about the walks Francis and I had taken here. Birds were singing in the trees and late summer flowers were in bloom. I took a diagonal path across the centre of the square and soon reached the British Museum.
I paused at the bottom of the steps and looked up at the enormous classical edifice. This was a place I visited most days, and I had grown so accustomed to it that I hadn’t stopped to look at it in a long while. The triangular pediment resting on the columns was decorated with statues showing the evolution of man from a primitive being to one enlightened by the arts, mathematics and science. Beyond this great portico lay the reading room, which had become a second home to me over the years.
I walked up a few steps and paused again. A young couple pushed a perambulator past me and a scruffy pigeon waddled along a step. This was the spot where I had first met James the previous October.
Almost a year had passed since our first meeting.
I smiled as I remembered how he had nervously approached me, bowler hat in hand. I had been a different person back then; one who had been preoccupied only with herself and her work. I’d had no idea back then how much that meeting with James would change my life.
I took a breath, closed my eyes and turned away from the portico so that I was facing the bottom of the steps. A fanciful notion gripped me that if I slowly opened my eyes I would see James there waiting for me, just as he had been eleven months earlier.
The sun felt warm on my face and I breathed in, calming myself with a rare sense of hope. I slowly opened my eyes, praying that I would see him there. As my eyelids fluttered open I felt a sinking sense of disappointment when I saw that the space in front of me was empty.
I felt alone and completely foolish. James was in Croydon marrying his sweetheart. How could I ever have imagined that he would come here?
I wiped away a tear which had rolled down my cheek, and with my teeth tightly clenched I made my way down the steps again. I had about an hour before I needed to return to the train station.
I followed the route James and I had taken the afternoon we had met and made my way to the Museum Tavern at the corner on the other side of the road.
I was about to push against the doors and step inside, just as we had done that afternoon. But then I paused.
There were too many fond memories associated with the place. I couldn’t bring myself to set foot in there and see it in the context of the new world that now existed for me; a world in which James was married.
I took a st
ep back and walked on past the Museum Tavern in the direction of Covent Garden, feeling unsure where to go next.
A sudden hand on my arm made me cry out. I had experienced unpleasant encounters on the street before.
I grabbed my bag and leapt away, spinning around swiftly to see who my assailant was.
The man was smartly dressed but looked slightly dishevelled, with a loosened cravat and tousled hair.
“Penny?”
“James?”
Was it really him?
“What…?” my question tailed off before I could complete it.
“I saw you walking past the window!” He sounded breathless.
“But what about your wedding?”
“Forget about the wedding.” He gave a relieved grin. “There is no wedding.”
“And Charlotte?”
He stepped forward, held me by the shoulders and pressed his lips against mine.
Chapter 52
Some people gasped and others stared, surprised at our public show of affection.
“I do apologise,” mumbled James. “That was completely inappropriate. Oh dear, now I’ve brought shame upon us both.”
“There is no wedding?” I asked.
“I cancelled it.”
He grinned, and I felt a smile spread across as my face as I looked at him in his wedding suit. A crumpled white flower was pinned to the lapel of his jacket.
“Oh James, I never thought you would… I can’t quite believe it! What about your father?” I asked. “And your brother who travelled from Scotland?”
James gave a laugh. “They’ll forgive me, I suppose. Eventually.”
“And Charlotte?”
“Oh, she won’t.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Oh yes, I had to speak to her. I was awake all night, and then I caught the first train down to Croydon this morning.”
“You didn’t sleep at all?”
“No. Sleep doesn’t come easily when you’re wondering if you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life. I made my way to St John’s Church, convincing myself that it was my duty to go through with it. But on my way there I had the most awful sensation of impending doom, and I realised that I wasn’t supposed to feel like that just before my wedding. I finally saw sense and stopped myself just in time. I went over to the Jenkins’ home and broke the news.”
“And what did they say?”
“Not a great deal. Charlotte hit me, then her father threw me out of the house.”
“She hit you?”
“Yes, on the jaw just here.” He rubbed it with his hand. “It’s beginning to ache a little now.”
“That’s awful!”
“I deserved it, Penny.”
“No one deserves to be struck!”
“She was extremely upset, and I can understand that. Anyway, I don’t wish to dwell on it too much. Let’s go inside.” He gestured toward the door of the Museum Tavern.
I walked with James up to the pub, feeling as though I were walking on air. Was this really happening?
He paused outside the swing doors.
“You don’t remember your recent words to me, do you?”
“Which ones?”
“In the Tower Subway. You told me you would be drowning your sorrows at the Museum Tavern today.”
“Oh yes, so I did!” I felt a smile break out across my face. “You remembered!”
“Better than you, it seems. Come inside. We have company though, I’m afraid. Florence Burrell is here and she has been sharing some interesting theories on where Catherine might be hiding.”
“Oh dear. Really? Poor you!” I said. “You never get a break from work, do you?”
“You’ll be interested to hear this too, Penny. Come on.”
We stepped inside the pub. The air was filled with tobacco smoke and I smiled at the familiarity of the place. I was here with James once again. This was a moment I had waited a long time for; a moment I had thought would never happen again.
James led me over to our usual table toward the back of the pub, and seated there was poor scar-faced Florence Burrell wearing a dark shawl and her usual thick-lensed spectacles. I considered her presence an inconvenience at a time like this, whether she had information about Catherine Curran’s possible whereabouts or not.
“Would you like an East India sherry, Penny?” asked James.
“Yes please.”
I greeted Florence and sat down at the table.
“It’s a surprise to find you here, Miss Burrell,” I said. “Is this the first time you have visited this public house?”
“No, I’ve been here before. Not for a few years, though. I used to like visiting the museum over the road. I went there with Tom once. I came in here today and saw the inspector, and he didn’t look quite right.”
“Today is his wedding day,” I said.
“He didn’t mention that!” she laughed. “Getting married at a church close by, is he?”
“No,” I replied as James returned and handed me my glass of sherry.
Florence’s eyebrows knotted together in puzzlement as he sat down at the table.
“You didn’t tell me you were getting married, Inspector Blakely,” she said.
“I’m not,” he said curtly.
Florence gave a laugh. “I’m so confused!” she said, her eyes resting on his tankard of porter.
“I think we all are,” I replied, watching her face intently and noticing how her dark eyes followed James’ tankard as he lifted it to take a sip. Something about her expression caused a cold, gripping sensation to rise in my chest.
“Don’t!” I yelled at James. I leaned forward and grasped hold of the tankard before he was able to drink from it.
Chapter 53
A look of alarm flashed across Florence’s face. Then she leapt up from the table and ran out of the pub.
“What is it?” said James. “Where’s she gone?”
We need to catch her!” I cried out.
We both followed in her footsteps, pushing past the other drinkers in the bar and falling through the doors onto Museum Street.
“There!” said James, pointing at a figure running down the street and swiftly turning left.
We followed Florence onto Little Russell Street only to see her dashing into a churchyard on the right.
“St George’s,” puffed James as we chased after her. I held onto my hat as we ran past the grand stone church and found ourselves on Bloomsbury Way.
“Over there!” I cried. She had already made it across the road and was running toward another side street.
As James and I swiftly followed we were berated by a cabman for frightening his horse.
The street opened out into the busy thoroughfare of High Holborn. People thronged the pavements and the road was busy.
“Where’s she gone now?” said James as we looked left and right, hoping to catch a glance of Florence’s retreating form.
My heart thudded in my chest as I looked up and down the street.
“I can’t see her!” I cried.
“We’d better not have lost her!” exclaimed James. “Let’s cross the road.”
We dashed between horses and carriage wheels. Once we reached the south side of the road my eye was drawn to a narrow passageway.
“I bet she’s gone down there,” I said.
“But what if she hasn’t?”
“She’ll be looking for places to hide. She won’t want to stay on a busy street where her actions might attract the attention of a police constable.”
James sighed. “We may as well take a look. I think we’ve lost her, though.”
He took my hand and we ran down the passageway, which opened into a courtyard bordered by workshops and stables.
“It’s a dead end,” said James. “If she’s here she won’t be able to get out again. You search over there and I’ll search this side.”
We separated, and I peered over some discarded barrels and an old cart before
reaching a tumbledown workshop with a grimy-faced man inside.
“Have you seen a woman hiding here?” I asked him.
He grunted in reply.
“She’s wearing a dark shawl and a dark dress,” I said, “and she has spectacles and dark hair. We think she ran down here just now.”
The man gave another grunt and began hammering at a lump of stone.
“Thank you for your help!” I said with a sarcastic smile.
At that moment a movement caught my eye and Florence Burrell shot out from behind the workshop and made a run for the passageway as if her life depended on it.
I turned and gave chase, but James had already spotted her. He dashed across the courtyard and apprehended her just before she could reach the entrance. He launched himself at her and grabbed both arms.
“Let me go!” she screamed as she wriggled to get free.
I ran to catch up with them.
The grimy man from the workshop stepped out to see what was going on.
“Police!” James called out to him. “I’m making an arrest!”
“Get off me!” screeched Florence.
“Tell us why you were running away,” said James.
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she sneered.
“Did you put something in my drink?”
“No! Now let go of me.”
“Cooperate with me please, Miss Burrell, or I shall be forced to arrest you.”
“I will!” She squirmed. “Just let go!”
“If you attempt to run away again I will arrest you. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes.”
The scar on her face looked slightly different now. I couldn’t work out why, but something about it didn’t seem quite right. James slowly let go of her arms.
“Can you please explain why you were running away from us, Miss Burrell?” said James. “One moment you were about to tell me more about Catherine and the next you were gone.”
“It’s because she put something in your drink,” I said. “Poison, probably. Is that what you did to Benjamin Taylor too?”