The Penny Green series Box Set

by Emily Organ

  “I appreciate you taking the time to see us,” said James. “I know you are a very busy man.” Mr Taylor nodded. “I would like to update you on the investigation into the death of your late wife, and also to ask some further questions if I may?”

  “Yes, go on.”

  James told Mr Taylor about the search for Lizzie’s home and Mr Taylor listened patiently, nodding at intervals and puffing on his cigar. I noticed that his hands were small and his fingers were chubby. I glanced around the dowdy room and wondered where Annie was.

  “And who are your suspects?” asked the showman.

  “We don’t have any as yet. I am still trying to build up a picture of Lizzie’s life and was hoping that you could help me.”

  “And what is she doing here?” He pointed at me. “She’s a hack.”

  “Miss Green was a friend of Lizzie’s.”

  “So she says. I remember spending a vast amount of money on a futile expedition to find her father, that’s for sure.”

  I bit my tongue and decided to remain quiet so not to antagonise him and ruin James’ line of questioning.

  “Miss Green is assisting me with my enquiries.”

  “So she can write all about it in the newspaper.”

  “We have an agreement between us that only the information the Yard is happy to make public will be printed.”

  “I still don’t understand why she is here.”

  I felt distinctly uneasy. “If you think it would be easier for me to leave, I can do, Inspector,” I said.

  James gave me a look that urged me to remain patient. “Your presence is no problem at all Miss Green, please stay. We will not be here long, will we, Mr Taylor?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I would like to ask you how Lizzie was feeling shortly before the Princess Alice sank.”

  “That was five years ago!”

  “I realise that, but I am trying to understand why she would have chosen to hide somewhere for the last five years. Was she suffering from some form of distress? I understand the reviews of her performance in The Course of the Nile were far from top notch.”

  “They were damned awful, the poor girl.”

  “So she was unhappy?”

  “Of course she was!”

  “And may I ask how the relationship between you and your wife was at that time?”

  “No, you may not!”

  “Did she seem unhappy to you?”

  “Yes, she did. I just told you that.”

  “So I can make the assumption that there was some strain on your marriage, given that your wife was feeling unhappy?”

  “There was, yes. She was miserable.”

  “Was she miserable only about the reviews or was there something else that was causing her unhappiness?”

  “How would I know? There’s always something the matter with women, isn’t there? They’re rarely happy and they seem to think that it’s the job of every poor, confounded fellow to somehow deduce what the cause of the upset is.”

  “Would you say that your wife suffered from mood swings?”

  “Yes, she was like all wives! But every other wife would have come home after escaping from a sinking steamer. To have hidden away as she did baffles me beyond all measure. She should have come home, where her husband and daughter were waiting for her! To put us through that grief as she did...”

  He trailed off and took an extra-long puff on his cigar. He blew the smoke out of his nose in a drawn-out exhale and I watched it swirl down into a small cloud above Nero’s head.

  I wished I had found the opportunity to read Lizzie’s version of events in her diaries. I hadn’t realised how unhappy her marriage had been until this moment.

  “I will never understand how she could have done that to us. She left us. What was she thinking? She left us to mourn at her funeral and she never came back. She never returned to the family that loved her.”

  He stared at the fireplace and I could see that his eyes were moist.

  “When did you discover that your wife had hidden from you, Mr Taylor?”

  “When you arrived on my doorstep eleven days ago, Inspector!”

  “And you had no inkling before then?”

  “None! What are you suggesting here?” Mr Taylor leant forward in his chair and glared at James.

  “I am not suggesting anything, Mr Taylor. I am simply clarifying the facts.”

  “Clarifying the facts seems to suggest that you’re pinning this on me.”

  “I am not pinning anything on anyone, Mr Taylor, please be assured of that. I am a long way from finding a suspect.”

  “That’s because you’re sitting idly in my drawing room and are not out there looking for him.”

  “Can I ask you what you were doing on the night of the twentieth of October, Mr Taylor?”

  “There! I knew it!” Mr Taylor jabbed his cigar in James' direction. “You’re accusing me of murdering my wife, are you not, Inspector?”

  “No, I am not. This is a standard question, which I am putting to all of Mrs Taylor’s acquaintances. It is in your interests to be helpful to me, Mr Taylor.”

  “Is it? I was at the amphitheatre hosting a performance of Sinbad and then I returned here with Annie, just as I do every evening, Inspector. And if you need alibi witnesses you can find fifteen hundred of them who watched the performance!”

  He clearly thought this last comment a smart one. Having delivered it, he rested back in his chair to finish his cigar.

  “Thank you, Mr Taylor. I realise this is not easy for you, and I appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions. I wonder if I might speak to Annie now?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “Is she here this morning?”

  “She may or she may not be.”

  “Mr Taylor, I am trying to find your wife’s murderer. I would appreciate your help in this matter.”

  “And what could Annie possibly know of any of this?”

  “That’s what I would like to find out. Please may I speak to her?”

  “You may speak to her for one minute.” Mr Taylor held up a single podgy finger to emphasise his point before turning his head over his shoulder and roaring loudly, “Annie!”

  Chapter 21

  Mr Taylor stared ahead of him and said nothing as we listened to the light footsteps on the stairs and then watched the petite form of Annie Taylor walk into the room. She wore a grey and cream striped cotton dress and her dark hair was neatly plaited and pinned to her head.

  James and I rose as she entered the room. She stood beside Nero’s tail and stared at us, unsmiling, her hands folded in front of her.

  “This is Inspector Blakely,” said Mr Taylor. “You recognise him, don’t you, Annie? And this woman’s a scribbler and claims to have been a friend of your mother’s. She accosted us the other evening at the stage door.”

  “Hello Annie,” I said. I smiled, hoping to put the girl at ease. To my surprise, she gave a slight smile in response.

  “May I request that I speak to Miss Taylor alone?” asked James. “Miss Green will act as chaperone.”

  “Never. Fire away with your questions, Inspector. You have one minute, remember?”

  I sighed quietly. Mr Taylor seemed keen to control the situation as much as he possibly could.

  “It is good to see you again, Miss Taylor,” said James. “I wonder if I can ask you a few questions about your mother.”

  The girl nodded in reply.

  “How old were you when the Princess Alice sank?”

  “I was fifteen, Inspector.”

  “And you were living with your mother and stepfather, Mr Taylor, at the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “It must have been a very distressing time when you thought your mother had lost her life in the sinking.”

  “It was.”

  “Recent events have shown that your mother was, in fact, still alive after the sinking of the steamer. It seems that she made a home somewhere and lived there
in secret for five years. Did she make any attempt to contact you during those five years?”

  Annie shook her head and I watched her face closely to see whether I could detect any signs of a lie. I couldn’t believe that Lizzie would have kept herself hidden from her daughter. I understood why she might have wanted to get away from her husband, but surely not her own daughter.

  “And you are sure that you heard nothing from her at all?”

  “No, nothing.” She shook her head again and looked at the tiger skin with a glum expression.

  “Thank you, Miss Taylor. And can you tell me where you were on the night of the twentieth of October?”

  “There you go again!” shouted Mr Taylor. “Annie couldn’t possibly have murdered her own mother. What a preposterous question! She was performing in the show! She was with me for the entire evening!”

  James patiently waited for Mr Taylor to stop shouting.

  “Miss Taylor, can you please confirm where you were on the night of the twentieth of October?”

  “I have just told you!” yelled Mr Taylor.

  “For the sake of procedure, I would like to hear it from Miss Taylor.”

  “Damned confounded procedure!”

  “I was performing in Sinbad, Inspector, as I do every evening at the present time.”

  “Thank you, Miss Taylor. And when did you hear of your mother’s death?”

  “The first or the second time, Inspector?”

  “The second.”

  “It was when you came here to tell us.”

  “Thank you, Annie.”

  “You have had more than your minute,” said Mr Taylor, looking at his pocket watch. “Time for you to leave, Inspector, and I don’t want any of this conversation reported in the newspapers, Miss Green. If it is, there will be trouble.”

  There will be trouble.

  My heart flipped. Mr Taylor had used the same four words written at the end of the mysterious letter I had received just the previous day.

  “I have no idea why Lizzie married Mr Taylor,” I said as we walked along Mile End Road, looking out for an omnibus to take us back into town. The rain pattered onto our umbrellas once again and I was thankful that Tom Clifford seemed to have melted away. “He’s a rather bad-tempered gentleman.”

  “I suppose Lizzie’s death has come as a shock to him. Some of his anger is probably related to the discovery that she left him and hid herself away.”

  “And that is why he must have killed her.”

  James stopped and looked at me. “You think he did it?”

  “He must have.”

  “His manner is too confrontational and blustering for a guilty man. I think he would be more acquiescent and eager to help if he had done it. He would have done anything he could to deflect attention away from himself. He admitted the marriage was unhappy. Do you think he would have been so honest if he had murdered his wife?”

  “Perhaps he is bluffing. Acquiescence is out of character for Mr Taylor. Perhaps he thinks an element of honesty and acting in his usual manner is more likely to deflect attention.” I pulled the envelope out of my handbag. “Look, he wrote me this letter.”

  I handed it to James and he gave me a puzzled frown. “Mr Taylor wrote you a letter? Why would he do that?”

  “Open it and see. I shall hold your umbrella for you.”

  I sheltered James with his umbrella and watched as he opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. His frown deepened even further as he read it.

  “When did you receive this?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “And why do you say that Taylor sent it to you?”

  “Because of those last four words: There will be trouble. Didn’t you hear him say the exact same thing as we left? He told me not to print our conversation with him in the newspaper or there would be trouble. That’s exactly what it says in the letter.”

  James pushed his lower lip out in thought. “This is a curious letter, indeed.” He examined the envelope. “The author has written the note with his left hand, but addressed the envelope with his right.”

  “How do you know which hand was used?”

  “Look at the note. You can see from the ink strokes that the author pushed the pen along the paper from the left. He went to the trouble of disguising his writing and then used what I suspect is his usual handwriting on the envelope, which is a slip-up. He probably realised what he had done after it was posted. And it was sent from St Martins le Grand, I see.”

  “This needs to be compared with a sample of Taylor’s handwriting,” I suggested.

  “That would be one way to ascertain whether it is him or not. But even if it was found to be him, what would that tell us? That he is a grumpier man than we first realised?”

  “Maybe we should return and confront him with it.”

  “Let’s leave it for the moment, but please keep it somewhere safe. It might be useful to us, or it might not. You’re not worried about the threat, are you? The majority of people who send these miserable missives have no intention of acting on them; they simply wish to frighten the recipient. You’re not frightened, are you?”

  “No,” I said, trying to appear braver than I felt. “I know it’s someone playing a trick of some sort. But I should like to find out who it is.”

  “I am sure that we will.”

  James handed the letter back to me and we continued on in the rain. A dishevelled woman offered us watercress and her wares looked so soggy and limp, and her clothing was so soaked through, that I bought a sorry-looking bunch from her out of pity.

  “So is Taylor a suspect?” I asked.

  “We need to know where he was at midnight on the twentieth. He says he was at his performance, but he would have had time afterwards to get to Highgate by midnight. We only have his word for it, so we need an alibi witness. If he had discovered that Lizzie was still alive and was hiding from him, that could have angered him. That is a possible motive for murdering her.”

  “A strong motive. Do you think that Annie was telling the truth?”

  “It is difficult to tell. If her mother had made contact with her after her supposed drowning, it would have been difficult for Annie to keep the secret from Mr Taylor. He seems rather protective of her and I understand that she has been a performer in his show for about ten years now. Working and living with him would have left her little time to see her mother without him suspecting something.”

  “I wish I knew whether he and Annie were telling the truth.”

  “That is the challenge with detective work; you never know for sure. And now I must find Mr Colehill and ask him about Lizzie’s mood shortly before the sinking of the Princess Alice. If he can confirm that she was unhappy, I think it is safe to assume that she chose to pretend that she had died in order to escape the cause of her unhappiness: whether it was the downturn in her career, her marriage or both. The problem we face is that Mr Colehill is currently missing.”

  Chapter 22

  Sir,

  I am sending you my thoughts on the frightful death of the acclaimed actress Lizzie Dixie. I consider myself a Christian man, with two feet firmly planted on the ground. However, I can only surmise that the unfortunate woman’s death was caused by a supernatural force. Occurring, as it did, in the witching hour, and among the vaults of the dead, surely points to this hypothesis.

  I once considered myself an agnostic with regard to the spirit world, but a phantasmagoric incident I experienced during my time of service in the Afghan Campaign has altered my mind on the matter.

  Therefore, I fear that the murderer shall never be caught, for it is likely that Scotland Yard lacks the ability to arrest a malevolent spirit. Our best hope is that the demon has returned to the pit of Hades, from whence it came.

  Yours,

  Captain Thomas Rees-Dundas

  I placed Captain Rees-Dundas’ letter on my desk in the news room and began to read the next.

  “We are receiving two dozen letters a day about the case,�
� said Edgar, with his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet beside my chair. “The public is hungry for news and we need to give them something. What’s the latest from the young inspector?”

  I looked up at him, taking in his heavy jaw and small eyes. “Not much that we can print at the moment.”

  “Why not? Does he have a suspect yet?”

  “Not yet. He has interviewed Mr Taylor and Annie Taylor, but we cannot report on that.”

  “It has to be Taylor. He found out she wasn’t dead and murdered her in a fit of passion.”

  “Rare though it is, I find myself agreeing with you. But why would he do such a thing at midnight in Highgate Cemetery? What would either of them be doing there?”

  “He arranged to meet her there.”

  “Why would she voluntarily meet him if she had been hiding from him?”

  Edgar shrugged his shoulders. “Taylor would have worked something out, I am sure of it. The problem I have is that there is a great deal of gossip and rumour out there and I wish to publish some facts. Now, is the schoolboy inspector treating Mr Taylor as a suspect or not?”

  “He thinks Mr Taylor has a possible motive.”

  “So he is a suspect?”

  “Not officially.”

  “That means he is, however?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “So what am I supposed to write about?”

  “The inquest?”

  Edgar groaned. “I’ve slept through much of it so far. We have been given the exclusive rights on this story and we cannot write about any of it. What is Blakely up to, exactly? You haven’t been distracting him, have you?”

  “Why should I do that?”

  Edgar looked me up and down. “Not every detective has a woman on his arm during the course of his investigations.”

  “I am not on his arm!” I felt anger rising inside me but took a deep breath and calmed myself. “Lizzie was a friend of mine.”