The Penny Green series Box Set

by Emily Organ

  “Hello,” I ventured, my voice wavering as I spoke. “What terrible news, Mr Taylor. I have just heard.”

  “I suppose you will be writing about this in your newspaper tomorrow!”

  His eyes glared at me from beneath his red eyebrows. The two nurses stared at me too.

  “Is she a news reporter?” one of them asked.

  “Yes, she is, and she is constantly hanging around like a bad smell.”

  “Please could you leave the ward, madam?”

  One of the nurses took my arm and tried to lead me away. I stood my ground, concerned that James’ attempts to find out what had happened to Annie were being thwarted at every turn.

  “The inspector needs to speak with Annie,” I said to Mr Taylor.

  “Not now he doesn’t,” replied the showman staring at the entrance to the ward, where James still stood remonstrating with the nurse who had detained him.

  “But we need to find out what happened,” I said.

  “Annie was shot. That’s what happened! We are darned lucky that the amphitheatre is merely spitting distance from here. She needed urgent attention, and thankfully she received it.”

  “Madam, can you please leave?”

  I looked back at James, then at Mr Taylor, wondering what I could do to persuade the group to let us remain here.

  “She can stay,” said a weak voice.

  I turned to see Annie looking up at me, her dark hair clouded around her pale face.

  “Is she a friend?” asked the nurse.

  “She was a friend of my mother’s.”

  Mr Taylor made a derisory snorting noise.

  The nurse removed her hand from my arm. “In which case, just a few moments please, madam. Miss Taylor must rest.”

  She and the other nurse left Annie’s bedside. I walked towards Annie and saw that her shoulder was heavily bandaged.

  “None of this goes into your newspaper!” fumed Mr Taylor.

  “The story is already out there,” I said, “and it is important for the public to know the facts about what happened at your show this evening. There were many people there, and they will all be giving friends and neighbours their accounts. It is my job to tell people what really happened instead of allowing rumour and gossip to spread. I will not write anything of my meeting here with Annie this evening, I can assure you of that.”

  Mr Taylor grunted in reply.

  “It is your shoulder that was injured?” I asked Annie, looking at the heavy bandaging.

  “It isn’t too bad. The bullet just caught it, but nothing has lodged there. I have hurt myself more from falling off the horse.” She tried to lift her head from her pillow. “My neck... and my back. They hurt.”

  “Don’t move, Annie,” said Mr Taylor. “Just stay as you are.”

  “You didn’t see who did it, I suppose?”

  “How could she?” hollered Mr Taylor. “She was standing on a galloping horse!”

  “You were lucky not to have been more injured than you are,” I said, thinking of her poor mother dying of her gunshot wounds in Highgate Cemetery.

  Someone must also have wanted Annie dead. But why?

  “I will be all right.” Annie smiled weakly. Her eyes remained on mine, as if she wanted to say something more but couldn’t.

  There was a silence between us and I could hear the voices of James and the nurse at the far end of the ward.

  “Would you like to speak to Inspector Blakely?” I asked Annie.

  “Perhaps Joseph should first. Why don’t you go and see him, Joseph, and find out what he wants?”

  “I suppose he might be of some help if we’re to catch the lunatic who did this to you,” said Mr Taylor with a sigh. “Mind what you tell this woman; she’s a member of the scribbling race.”

  He pointed his forefinger at Annie and then at me before walking off in James' direction.

  I looked back at Annie and she stared at me expectantly.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, unsure of what else to say.

  “I saw her,” she whispered.

  “Saw her?” I leaned in closer so that I could hear her.

  Annie looked nervously past me to where Mr Taylor and James stood.

  “I am sorry I lied,” she continued in a whisper. “I felt so bad about it, because I know you are trying to find out what happened to my mother.” She gulped as if trying to swallow back tears. “I saw her. We used to meet.”

  “You knew your mother was still alive?”

  Annie nodded.

  Chapter 25

  “But Joseph didn’t know she had survived the Princess Alice.” Annie whispered so quietly that I could barely hear her. “He thought she was dead.”

  I nodded and smiled, pleased that Lizzie had not deserted her daughter.

  “When did you last see her?” I asked quietly.

  “Three weeks ago.” Annie’s eyes began to fill with tears, and I knew this was a risky subject to discuss. Mr Taylor would surely return and wonder what I had done to upset her.

  “How was she?” I still struggled to comprehend that Lizzie had been alive so recently. Despite the tragedy of her death, I felt happy that she and Annie had continued their relationship.

  “She was well. She seemed happy.” Annie smiled through her tears.

  “That’s good to hear. And where did you meet?”

  “Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. We always met there and no one ever suspected.”

  Meeting in such a public place seemed risky to me. “Do you know for sure that no one suspected your mother was still alive? Could someone have seen you and recognised your mother?”

  Annie shook her head. “I don’t think so. She disguised herself very well.”

  “Did she mention any trouble she was experiencing? An argument or someone she had fallen out with?”

  Annie didn’t reply; instead, she looked up the ward and I turned to see Mr Taylor and James approaching us.

  “The Inspector would like to ask you some questions, Annie,” said Mr Taylor. “I’ve told him to be quick and to get back out there and look for the man who committed this despicable act.”

  “How are you, Annie?” asked James. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “One moment I was on my horse, Moonbeam – we were cantering – and the next moment I fell. It was only when I was lying on the ground that I realised my shoulder felt as though it was on fire. Even then I didn’t know I had been shot. It happened too quickly for me to put my hands out. I hurt my head and my neck.”

  “Did you see the gunman, Mr Taylor?”

  The showman shook his head glumly. “No, the shots came from somewhere in the crowd. I have no idea where; there was complete chaos as soon as the shots rang out. Everyone wanted to get out of there.”

  “Why would someone do this?” I said, mystified. “Why would someone hurt Annie?” The dour expressions on the faces of James and Mr Taylor told me they shared my sentiments. “Is the man who did this the same man who shot Lizzie?”

  James looked at me. “It’s a possibility.”

  “He wanted to kill me!” said Annie. “Just like he killed my mother!”

  “Now, now, we don’t know that,” said Mr Taylor, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t worry, Annie. I will protect you.”

  He gave her his handkerchief to dry her eyes and I felt sure then that he couldn’t have murdered Lizzie. He was bad tempered, but he also seemed kind-hearted.

  Unless this was a clever deception?

  “Will he try to shoot me again?” asked Annie.

  “Of course not,” said Mr Taylor.

  “You are in a safe place now,” said James. “They will look after you here and you will recover quickly, I feel sure of it.”

  I noticed that James did not answer her question.

  I felt worried for Annie. She looked so small and vulnerable lying in her hospital bed, and I felt certain that the same person was behind her shooting and that of her mother. I wanted to suggest tha
t she was moved to a hospital out in the countryside, far away from London where the attacker couldn’t find her again. But I decided not to voice my idea for fear of alarming the girl further.

  “L Division are doing everything they possibly can to find the assailant,” said James. “And the Yard will help them. We will not rest until he’s found, you have my word.”

  “Poor Annie,” said James as we descended the stairs on our way out of the hospital.

  “She’s in danger now, isn’t she? That man intended to kill her. She is terrified and so would I be.”

  “We must be looking for the same man who shot Lizzie.”

  “I don’t understand why he would do this. What has Annie done wrong?”

  “She is Lizzie’s daughter, and perhaps that is all the reason he needs.”

  “What if he tries again?”

  “We’ll have to catch him before he does.”

  I hadn’t seen James look worried until now.

  We walked out onto Lambeth Palace Road and stood by the railings under a gas lamp so that we would be visible to passing hansom cabs. I told James what Annie had whispered to me about meeting her mother.

  “I had a feeling she would confide in you!” I could hear the glee in his voice. “This is extremely useful information indeed. I wonder, though, if Annie’s knowledge that her mother was still alive led to her being targeted.”

  “It’s difficult to say. If only we could find that man who was watching us in the cemetery. I think he may be the answer to all of this.”

  “He might well be, but experience tells me we should be wary of following only one line of enquiry. With that in mind, I would like to ask you to accompany me to dinner.”

  “Really?” My voice was shrill with surprise and I cleared my throat in embarrassment. “For the purposes of this investigation.”

  I felt my cheeks grow hot and I was pleased that James was unable to see my face clearly in the gas light. “Of course.”

  “Have you heard of Le Croquembouche on Great George Street in Westminster?”

  “Yes, the restaurant has quite a reputation, I hear.”

  “I would like to dine there this Friday, but I am more likely to blend in with the clientele if I have a lady to accompany me. You would be of great assistance, of course. Le Croquembouche, as you are likely aware, is where the politicians take their mistresses, courtesans and just about anyone who isn’t their own wife. It is the type of place Lizzie may have frequented. The two men at her funeral – Sir Edmund Erskine and Hugh Dowdeswell – were politicians. I need to begin investigating the courtesan work Lizzie did.”

  “You are hoping to see the two MPs there?”

  “Yes, and I am also hoping that we may be able to speak to one or two of the women and find out what they knew about Lizzie and her relationships with these men.”

  “Do you think they would be willing to talk to us?”

  “They have to; time is against us now. If Lizzie’s murderer also attacked Annie, we need to stop him before he attacks again.”

  Chapter 26

  “Here we have it,” said Mr Sherman with pride, “a Remington Standard Two.”

  We stood around Miss Welton’s desk and admired the shiny new machine with its rows of round, lettered keys. We watched as Miss Welton wound a sheet of paper around the roller at the top.

  “Now then, Miss Welton, you show ‘em,” said Mr Sherman.

  Enjoying her moment in the limelight, Miss Welton sat at the desk and adjusted her skirts before rubbing her palms together and stretching out her fingers in preparation.

  “Well, are you going to type something?” asked Edgar.

  Miss Welton scowled at him before holding both hands out over the keys and taking in a sharp breath. “What shall I type, Mr Sherman?”

  “Anything you like, my dear.”

  “Right. So.”

  With a firm push of her forefingers, Miss Welton depressed the keys and narrow metal pegs sprang up towards the paper and then down again. We stood and watched as she searched for each letter before pushing the key down.

  “Just one letter at a time?” asked Frederick Potter. “This is rather laborious.”

  “I have heard that in America people are using these machines very quickly,” said Mr Sherman. “They call it typewriting.”

  “But the letters aren’t even in alphabetical order,” said Edgar, leaning over and inspecting the rows of keys.

  “They have been arranged so that the most commonly used letters are most easily reached.”

  “So why is the letter A so far over on the left? Surely it should be in the middle?”

  Miss Welton appeared a little red and flustered with the conversation going on around her as she tried to concentrate.

  “That will do, Miss Welton, that will do,” said Mr Sherman. “Now show ‘em what you have typewritten.”

  Miss Welton wound up the piece of paper so we could read it:

  Ryle Britania. Britannia rile the wwaves

  “Excellent, Miss Welton, excellent. And thank you for the demonstration. What do you think, gentlemen?”

  “I don’t think much of the machine’s grammar,” said Edgar.

  “It has potential,” I said.

  “Our hands are perfectly suited for writing,” said Frederick. “Why use a machine?”

  “For the uniformity of the script,” replied Mr Sherman. “It would save me eye strain trying to decipher your handwriting, Potter, which reads as though a drunken spider with ink-soaked legs has staggered across the page.”

  “But if we were to use this machine, we would never make the deadline!” said Edgar.

  “Perhaps when Miss Welton is a little more proficient she could typewrite our articles for us,” suggested Frederick.

  “That isn’t a bad idea,” replied Mr Sherman, although I noticed Miss Welton’s mouth tighten. “Keep practising, Miss Welton, and I think we may yet revolutionise our way of working.”

  I walked back to my desk and Edgar followed behind me to continue a conversation we had begun earlier.

  “So you have already written some paragraphs on Annie Taylor’s shooting?”

  “I was with her last night, and Mr Taylor and Inspector Blakely were also there, so I was able to get all the information first hand.”

  “But I have the Lizzie story. And I am supposed to be accompanying you when you meet the schoolboy inspector.”

  “Yes, but this isn’t the Lizzie story; it’s about the shooting last night at Astley’s Amphitheatre. Annie simply happens to be Lizzie’s daughter, and James just happened to be close to where I live when he heard the news. He knocked on my door as I was the nearest news reporter.”

  I had invented this last reason and I could tell that Edgar suspected as much.

  “So what else am I supposed to write about? I can state that Lizzie’s home has been found, but am not allowed to say where?”

  “No, because it would attract unwanted attention and the police are busy trying to carry out their investigations at the property.”

  “But I can say that it is in Highgate?”

  “If you must.”

  “If I must?” replied Edgar with a frown. “We tell the people what’s happening, remember? I can say that it’s in Highgate if I want to and that it is in the vicinity of the high street.”

  “No. Mentioning the high street is too specific.”

  “But it’s part of the story! Everyone wants to read of how the actress falsified her own death and then lived in an unassuming abode for five years, which people walked past every day with no inkling that she was there! Even the neighbours had no idea who she was.”

  “You can still print that; it is a good story. Just don’t mention anything to do with the high street.”

  “But people want to read about a location they know and can identify with. It’s not far from where the trams run. People want to know these things!”

  “And do you plan to control the crowds when they descend on the
place and hinder the police from doing their job?”

  “What rot. The problem with that schoolboy inspector is that he’s too damned protective about this story. There is hardly anything to report on from one day to the next! And I have almost given up on the hope that a suspect will be named. I think I’ll get myself up to Highgate and have a look at this place myself.”

  “I should also like to visit it.”

  I wondered what clues about Lizzie’s life lay in the house.

  “But I’m on the story.” Edgar pushed his hands into his pockets and fixed his small eyes on me.

  I knew that I would be in trouble with Mr Sherman if I didn’t invite Edgar to the dinner at Le Croquembouche. James and I would be there for the purpose of the investigation, so Edgar would have to be there now that the editor had decided he must accompany us.

  I glanced at Edgar and tried to form the words I needed to ask him to join us. He was the last person I wanted to be there.

  “Are you free on Friday evening?” I asked, the words reluctantly spilling out.

  “What? Friday?” Edgar’s eyes opened wide.

  “Inspector Blakely and I are dining at Le Croquembouche.”

  “You’re having dinner? You want me there?”

  “It’s part of the investigation.”

  “Oh, I see.” Edgar breathed out with relief. “Yes, I am free.”

  “Another argument?” asked Mr Sherman, striding towards us.

  “No, we were just arranging dinner,” I said.

  “Were you now?” Mr Sherman raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Well, well, what a turnaround. What have you got for me on the railway bombings, Miss Green?”

  “Two men are still being treated for their injuries at St Mary’s Hospital, and the Chief Inspector of Explosives, Colonel Majendie, is examining the damaged carriages, which have been taken to a depot at Neasden.”

  “Good.”

  “My article is almost finished. I will give it to you before I leave to report on the West London Women’s Society this afternoon.”