The Gentleman on Pennyfield Street

by C. G Oster

  Were these three separate applications for damage? Across all three, she checked the address. All for forty-one Hurst Street. Each had a stamp on them saying 'Dispursed.'

  What in the world was going on? Why would there be three lots of compensation? Was that how compensation was distributed? Three lots over three months? But there was no damage.

  Something wasn't right here. Dory read again. War-related damage the letters all said, which could only be for bomb damage, unless troops were moving through and caused damage, which didn't really happen so much in the East End. So this was for bomb damage, but there was no damage. Maybe the roof?

  Bundling up the documents, Dory returned to the desk, getting a filthy look from the person next in line. "Excuse me. Does war-related compensation get doled out in three lots?"

  "War-related damage?" the woman said. "No, lump sum."

  Dory's eyebrows rose.

  "Excuse me," the woman next in line said tartly and elbowed Dory out of the way. Dory was too caught up with the implications of this to care.

  There were three claims for compensation. Even a roof would not get damaged three months in a row. The odds would be astronomical.

  "We're closing soon. Are you ready to hand those back?"

  "In a moment," Dory said, quickly returning to the examination table. Pulling out her notebook, she copied down the vital details of each claim and then returned the envelope.

  Why would Mr. Dellow have retrieved these files? Was he trying to destroy the records? Hand them back with vital pieces of information missing?

  As Dory wandered out of the building, she flipped through her notebook to her conversation with the librarian, who had said Mr. Dellow had complained about municipal organizations. Not about the actual council structure perhaps, more the management of municipal activities.

  Flipping back to the latest entry, she reviewed the details and it struck her. Mr. Dellow wasn't at forty-one; he was at thirty-nine. This was about the neighbor. He was tracing her activities with claiming compensation for damage to her building—which didn't have any particular damage that she could see. Three applications for compensation in three months, or fairly substantial sums of money.

  And they had argued. Dory bet it hadn't been about the noise as the woman had said. Frank had likely confronted her about her activities, and she'd killed him—then claimed she'd seen Jimmy Magren there early that evening. The neighbor was the only one linking Jimmy Magren to the murder, and it was a diversion.

  Obviously, she wasn't strong enough to carry Mr. Dellow over to Pennyfield Street, although people, usually men, underestimated how strong women were, but between her and her daughter, who was a stout woman, they could have done it. Being retired, Mr. Dellow hadn't been the heartiest of men. They could have carried him off.

  Mrs. Crewes had motive, and she had opportunity. By her own false admission in seeing Magren there, she implied that she was there too. Something blunt had been used to bash Mr. Dellow over the head.

  Why hadn't she looked for a murder weapon when she'd been there? She hadn't even thought about it.

  Finally, Dory noticed that the sun was setting. It was getting dark and the day was ending. She should be making her way over to the searchlight, but she wanted to inform Constable Sunderson of what she'd learnt before he went home for the evening. Poor Jimmy Magren—or perhaps poor was the wrong word for him, but he was innocent of murder— and was still languishing in jail at the station.

  At a sprint, Dory headed over the police station, telling the desk sergeant that she had vital information that she needed to tell Constable Sunderson.

  "He's out," the man said.

  For some reason, Dory hadn't expected this. "Can he be reached?"

  "Don't know exactly where he is, but he should be back in the next hour or so. You can come back then."

  "I can't. I have to man the searchlight down by the docks."

  "Then I can take a message," the man said, pulling over a piece of paper.

  "Okay, right," Dory said, trying to get her mind sorted. "Tell him that I know who killed Mr. Dellow."

  "Oh, aye," the sergeant said, suddenly more interested.

  "It isn't Jimmy Magren," she continued, "instead, Mrs. Crewes and her daughter, or or one of them. To do with bomb damage claims. There is evidence of applications at the city council offices. I just came from there, a total sum of…" —she checked her notebook— "three hundred and ten pounds."

  The sergeant had run out of paper and his writing was getting smaller and smaller. "I'll give this to him as soon as he arrives. And you are?"

  "Dory Sparks. We've met. He has my details if he needs to be in touch. But tell him that the files will probably be sent back to the Ministry of Works tomorrow, so he needs to claim them first thing, or else try to request them again."

  Quickly, she checked her watch. "I have to go. The bloody Germans will probably be early today." With the rain and cloud cover, they would have no reason to wait. Most likely they were already on their way. For all the purpose of keeping the weather outlook confidential, the Germans seemed to predict the weather just fine without their help.

  As she ran down the street, a feeling of pride and completion filled her. She'd solved the case; she knew it in her bones. From nothing making sense, everything suddenly made sense. The neighbor had killed him, not for money, but still for greed, and for not being caught defrauding the Government.

  As Mr. Jones would attest, the war was seen as an opportunity by some, and they took advantage using the most despicable means. Perhaps people who would never actually do such things under normal circumstances. This wasn't normal circumstances and some people's minds shifted because of this.

  Dory couldn't wait to tell Lady Pettifer what she had learnt—and Ridley. She would write him tomorrow and tell him that she had solved this case. She'd never been so proud of anything in her life.

  It was nearing dark and Dory ran up the stairs.

  "About time you got here. You seem to be later and later every day," Vera chided her.

  "Not anymore," Dory said with a smile. "I no longer have a reason to be late."

  "Well, you can tell me why later. Right now, though, we got to get the light up and running. The observers have already picked them up down by the coast. They're on their way. Early tonight, aren't they?"

  Chapter 35

  BY THE LOOKS OF IT, it was going to be a heavy night of bombardment.

  "Sending us a bloody Christmas present, aren't they, the bastards," Vera said at one point. "I wish we were better at shooting them down."

  The Bofors gun across the river was firing nonstop, traces lit up across the sky.

  "If they let us on the guns as opposed to those older gentlemen, we could probably do a better job," she continued. They weren't allowed to man the guns. Fighting was strictly seen as a man's job even when women had proved to be just as good as men at just about everything. Still weren't allowed on the guns.

  A noise behind them caught Dory's attention and she turned to see Constable Sunderson in his dark blue uniform. "I understood I could find you here," he said.

  "We're a bit busy," Vera stated, but Sunderson ignored her.

  "Those lights are hot, aren't they?" he said as he moved closer. "I got a garbled message from the desk sergeant saying you know who killed Mr. Dellow."

  "Yes, the neighbor, Mrs. Crewes, and her daughter. I don't know exactly which killed him, but they both had to carry him over to Pennyfield Street. They have been making false applications for compensation for damage to their house and Mr. Dellow was onto them. I think he confronted them, and they killed him."

  "And what proof do you have of this?"

  "Just the applications and the fact that Mr. Dellow had requested to see the files."

  "That's not concrete proof."

  Dory hadn't expected this reticence, but she finally understood. "It's more of a motive than Magren has." They wanted Magren to be guilty because he was an ongoing problem.
Sadly, he just wasn't. "It's only Mrs. Crewes who places him at the scene and she did so to divert from herself."

  "Didn't mean he wasn't there."

  "Well, you have absolutely no credible proof that he was. You need to release him."

  "I can't release him based on your say-so."

  "No, you are going to have to put the case together, but if you keep focusing on Magren, as unsavory as he is, you are doing justice a disservice. And Mrs. Crewes has committed a crime irrespective of if you believe she murdered Mr. Dellow, which I am absolutely certain she did. Besides, Mr. Dellow let his assailant into his house and he'd hardly do so for Magren, would he?"

  He sighed. "I'll go find the files in the morning. If what you say is true, I will arrest her—for fraud if not more. We'll see what comes out when we question her. You may well be right. Shame in a way, because I thought we finally had Magren."

  "I don't think he's guilty of Mr. Dellow's murder," Dory repeated. "This is a crime related to pure greed."

  "Usually more insidious," he said. The planes thundered overhead and he looked up. "Looks like you're busy. I'll leave you to your task." It seemed as though all energy had drained out of him.

  A string of explosions went off behind them and they all looked around. It was going to be a messy night.

  "There's a shelter down the road," Dory said. "You should go there. It's not going to be a night to stay at home."

  "I sometimes stay in the cells. They're solid concrete and as solid as any shelter you can find."

  "Good idea. Go before the next squadron comes. Ten minutes, I'd say, before more bombs drop."

  Sunderson nodded. He was about to leave. "Good work," he said before turning away. "You have a mind for investigating. Not everyone does. Maybe it is something you should consider when the war is over. Insurers use a lot of investigators."

  "Yeah, maybe," Dory said. The message was still clear. Anti-aircraft guns and the police, both places where women were not welcome no matter how good they were.

  He left and Dory returned her attention to what she should be doing.

  "Bloody hell, Dory. You actually solved a murder," Vera said. "And the police were chasing the wrong man all along."

  "Wishful thinking on their part. Blinded them, it turns out."

  "Well, I think we deserve a cup of tea," Vera said and walked over to her thermos.

  "You got some tea?" Dory said, pleasantly surprised. "I'd love a cup. I spent most of the day standing in queues, if you would believe.”

  "And solved a murder. Amazing what you can achieve in a queue. Sadly, we've still got no food in the house."

  "I'll go to the store tomorrow."

  "They say they are bringing in more SPAM for Christmas."

  "That will be nice," Dory said, feeling guilty because she suspected the Christmas feast she would have at Wallisford Hall would likely be more extravagant. In fact, as it was only a week away, Dory decided not to write Lady Pettifer about the day's developments so she could tell her in person. Lady Pettifer would enjoy that.

  Mumbling could be heard in Vera's earpiece. "They're coming," she said and put her mug down.

  Dory wound her light in line with all the others down along the river. They were coming from the southwest, it seemed.

  *

  A cold, wet afternoon met Dory when she woke the next day. For once, she didn't have to rush out to do anything. It was all in Constable Sunderson's hands now and Dory was happy to leave him to it. As far as she was concerned, the case was solved. She knew who'd done it, and also knew the woman and her daughter would face justice for it. Mr. Dellow would receive his justice, even if the police only grudgingly let Mr. Magren go. The justice part didn't interest her so much. It may well be that Dory didn't even have to testify at the case.

  Sitting up in bed, she stretched. Nothing to do today but to stand in line at the store. With Christmas coming, the Ministry of Food would probably attempt to get them a good portion of sugar again. Apples and pears were in season, so across the country, a crumble was probably on the menu for Christmas.

  With slow steps, she walked over to her small desk and drew out a sheet of paper. Her room was cold and she drew her blanket tightly around her.

  Dear Capt. Ridley, she started.

  I uncovered the murderer of poor Mr. Dellow. A case of greed and opportunity, and then an attempt to cover up the crime. Some people's minds seem to turn to crime in these upsetting times. It brings out both the best and worst in people.

  I hope everything is well with you. I worry for you. We all worry for someone.

  On Christmas Eve, I will spend the day with Lady Pettifer, and she will rapturously hear the tale of Mr. Dellow's demise, and subsequent justice. Hopefully the police have concluded their investigation by then. They will not take my word on anything, which I suppose is understandable. It surprised me how intent they were on finding guilt with Mr. Magren, the local publican and hothead. Sheer disappointment, I would say.

  So now my days return to normal. This case has been a wonderful distraction from the constant worry. They tell us so little of what occurs across on the continent. The degree of secret keeping seems unnecessary. Some of it the Germans seem to find out perfectly well even with our diligent secret-keeping and we do ourselves a substantial disservice for a moot cause. I suppose you would argue with me.

  She could almost hear his voice and it seemed wrong that he wasn't there to argue with her. If she could wish for one thing, it would be to speak with him. Where would he be for Christmas? Was he suffering somewhere? When they'd last met, there was a heaviness in him that hadn't been there before. She hoped it wasn't worse, and she hoped he didn't feel hopeless. Was there any hope? It was hard to tell.

  In a way, she hoped she could put these thoughts down, but she didn't want to burden him with anything sounding like bleakness.

  Be well, and be safe, she continued. The idea that he could be dead and she didn't even know was scary beyond belief. She wouldn't know; she wouldn't be informed. Officially, she was nothing to him other than an acquaintance, even with the tender kiss they had shared. I will pray for you and I will think of you over Christmas. Hopefully the Germans will have the decency to leave us alone for the holidays.

  Signing off the letter, Dory folded it and pushed it into an envelope. Her heart ached whenever she wrote to him. Perhaps it was time to concede that she cared for him a great deal.

  Putting the pen down, she looked around the still and quiet room. Perhaps she should get dressed and go stand in line at their local store. She'd promised to do it, so she had better get on with it. Vera and Betsy could have her Christmas rations.

  Chapter 36

  THE ENTRANCE HALL in Wallisford Hall was freezing when Mr. Holmes let her in. For once, he seemed happy to see her. "Miss Sparks, I trust you are well," he said.

  "Yes. London is a bit of a mess, but I have fared through it sufficiently well."

  "Miss Livinia said something similar."

  It seemed Livinia was joining the festivities.

  "Are you staying with us? Lady Pettifer was a little uncertain on the topic."

  "No, I can only stay a few hours. I must head back in case… I am needed."

  "I see," Mr. Holmes said. "I believe Lady Pettifer is in the parlor."

  "May I take your coat?"

  It seemed unusual to hand over her coat. She hardly ever took it off, even in her own house, where it was too cold to be without a coat, or wrapped in blankets. "Of course," she said and took it off. It was her dark green ATS coat, the only one she had right now. Otherwise, she hadn't worn her uniform and without her coat, was left in her skirt, blouse and cardigan. The chill immediately seeped into her clothes and she wondered if she should ask for her coat back.

  Mr. Holmes let her into the parlor and opened the door to a much warmer space, where the fire was lit. Lady Pettifer sat with a knitted throw over her legs. "Dory," she said brightly. "I am so glad you made it." She didn't get up and Dory guess
ed that the cold was terrible on her knees.

  Dory smiled as she walked over and gave the lady a kiss on her cheek. The relatively quiet week before Christmas had given Dory a few hours’ sleep on the roof that night, and then a couple on the train. All things considered, she felt relatively fine, although a nap would do her good in the afternoon before she left again.

  "Bring us some tea, Mr. Holmes," Lady Pettifer ordered. "I have been waiting for you, so I think we are both parched. Will Livinia be joining us?"

  "I think she has gone out to exercise the dogs." Mr. Holmes replied.

  "Yes, they could use a bit of a run. My brother is slowing down, I am sad to report."

  "I am sorry to hear that." Dory said.

  "Happens to all of us, especially this time of year. Now, tell me what news you have of your investigation."

  "Well," Dory said with excitement. "I told you I found out that our victim was a Mr. Dellow. The warden who knew him said he was a quarrelsome man, confirmed by the street gossip, Mrs. Simpson."

  Dory went on to tell Lady Pettifer the whole of her tale, and she gasped when Dory mentioned the letter regarding the claim, immediately linking the neighbor with the dastardly activities, much quicker off the mark than Dory had been at the time.

  "How wicked," Lady Pettifer pronounced. "Claiming faux damages three months in a row and no one noticed. Unscrupulous. And then murdered the man who challenged her on it. It only goes to prove that there are some who will do absolutely anything to get their own way."

  In truth, Lady Pettifer had a way of getting her own way too, although she never had to resort to anything despicable. Mostly she just expected her wishes to be complied with, and more often than not, they were.

  The door opened and Lord Wallisford appeared. "I understand we are having tea. Miss Sparks, good to see you. You're staying for dinner, I take it."

  "No, I can't stay. I have to get back to man my station."

  "I doubt the Germans are coming tonight. I know we're not sending our planes over there." He probably shouldn't be saying that. "Christmas isn't the night to bomb anyone. One has to have some limits and understanding. I will bet the Germans won't come tonight."