The Penny Green series Box Set

by Emily Organ

  “Now that’s more like it,” said Edgar. “A women’s society. Women’s matters. That is what you should be concentrating on.”

  “The West London Women’s Society is keen for some coverage in the Morning Express,” I continued, looking at Mr Sherman and ignoring Edgar. “Perhaps we could include a few paragraphs in the Saturday features?”

  Mr Sherman grunted in reply. “I don’t think our readers are too concerned with women’s matters. Make sure you get your article on the railway bombings handed in to me before you go anywhere.”

  Chapter 27

  I arrived at the Colehills’ home shortly after three o’clock. I tugged the bell pull and wondered whether Sebastian had returned from his trip away. I estimated it had been a week since he had left.

  The maid led me into the drawing room, from whence the chatter of lively voices came. I stepped into the room and saw that it was filled with colourful, well-dressed ladies perched elegantly on settees and occasional chairs.

  “Penelope!” Eliza rose out of her chair and came to greet me. She wore a purple woollen jacket over an oddly baggy purple skirt.

  “Miss Green, welcome.” I turned to see Mary Colehill at my side, greeting me with a wide smile. She wore an attractive burgundy and cream striped bustle day dress trimmed with lace. Her face was powdered and her neat hair was pinned with ribbons and bows. “You and your sister look very much alike,” she added.

  “Do you think so? Eliza is much taller.”

  “But there is a strong resemblance in your features. I have seen a portrait of your father at your sister’s home and I now see his likeness in you. Do please come and sit down.”

  Eliza introduced me to the group. “This is my sister, Penelope. She was exploded by the railway bomb last week! Can you believe she is still in one piece?”

  There was a collective gasp, followed by enquiries after my health. Having reassured them that I was well and that my ears were almost recovered, Eliza told me everyone’s name.

  “You have met Mrs Lennox before, have you not? And this is Mrs Ferguson.”

  I nodded and smiled, desperately trying to remember who was who. My eye was drawn to the picture of the ziggurat on the wall and I thought of Sebastian once again.

  Would he be angry when he found out that Lizzie’s diaries had been destroyed?

  “My sister is a writer on the Morning Express,” announced Eliza, eliciting a murmur of approval. “She is to feature the West London Women’s Society in that acclaimed newspaper. Isn’t that wonderful? You are aware, I am sure, that it is a national paper.”

  I smiled weakly and hoped that Mr Sherman would finally agree to include a paragraph about the society. I feared that Eliza was hoping for a column on the front page.

  Mrs Henrietta Henderson of the Rational Dress Society was introduced and she addressed us from the hearth rug. I took out my notebook and pencil in readiness to make notes and to show enthusiasm for the subject.

  Mrs Henderson was in her forties and had an eagle-like appearance about her brow and nose. Her grey hair was brushed firmly back from her face and pinned into place with little decoration. Her blue jacket and skirts were of a similar design to Eliza’s, and when she invited my sister to stand next to her to demonstrate their clothing I saw that their skirts were divided, so that in fact they both wore a pair of extremely baggy trousers.

  “You will observe,” said Mrs Henderson, waving her arms and lifting her knees energetically, “the freedom of movement which such apparel offers. The heavy, long skirts to which we are so accustomed interfere with our natural locomotion. Imagine if men were forced to wear such garments! Would they tolerate them? Of course not. A divided skirt requires no petticoat and therefore the amount of material required to be carried about the waist is lessened.”

  “I agree with the sentiment behind dress reform,” said Mrs Lennox, who had a small feathered hat perched on her head, “but can a divided skirt ever look as elegant as a dress? I hope you will not be offended, Mrs Henderson, if I opine that your divided skirt is neither an item of fashion nor beauty?”

  A discussion ensued about the aesthetics of practical clothing and I made notes and found myself agreeing with much of what Mrs Henderson said.

  Afternoon tea was served during a discussion about corsetry.

  “My dear friend, Mrs Nettleship, has created an evening dress which requires no corset at all,” said Mrs Henderson.

  Gasps of surprise mingled with the chink of china teacups.

  “But surely only for a woman with a good figure?” queried Mary Colehill.

  “I will never go without my corset,” said Mrs Lennox. “There is much hullaballoo about the dangers of tight lacing, but most women only lace to reduce their waists by an inch or so. I cannot see anything dangerous in that.”

  I glanced at Mary Colehill’s wasp waist and she caught my eye, so I quickly looked away.

  “Tight lacing does not respect a woman’s natural form,” said Mrs Henderson. “However, if a woman wishes to lace, then it is her choice to do so. Dress reform merely provides women with an alternative.”

  “French shoes are dangerous,” said Mrs Ferguson. “My niece broke her ankle after falling off a pair of high-heeled French shoes.”

  “Any high-heeled shoe interferes with a woman’s mobility,” said Eliza.

  “I like shoes with high heels,” said Mary Colehill, smiling apologetically. “And I lace tightly because I enjoy the support it offers and my husband admires my small waist. While I am respectful of dress reform, I cannot see it as something that I would embrace. I think women’s clothes are very pretty and comfortable these days. Can you imagine having to wear hoop petticoats as our poor mothers did? It is important to remind ourselves of the progress we have made.”

  “I worry that dress reform will render all our clothes ugly,” said Mrs Lennox.

  While Eliza put up a new defence for the divided skirt, my mind began to drift to thoughts of Annie and the identity of the man who had followed us in the cemetery. If he was the same man seen at Highgate Cemetery, we needed to hear of a sighting of him at Astley’s Amphitheatre on the night Annie was shot. If that could be confirmed, we would surely know who the killer was. The real difficulty would be in catching him.

  My attention returned to the room when I realised the topic of conversation had changed to Lizzie.

  “She was a woman of loose morals, of course,” said Mrs Lennox. “It is an established fact that such women have little regard for their personal safety.”

  “I heard she was a courtesan,” added another woman.

  “Many actresses are,” said Mrs Ferguson. “And I read in The Holborn Gazette that she had secretly been in prison for the past five years. Her death was faked to cover up the shame.”

  It seemed Tom Clifford had resorted to making up stories, as he had threatened.

  “And once you are a courtesan, you are simply inviting all men to treat you in a certain manner,” said Mrs Lennox. “A violent death is not something a normal woman need worry about.”

  “On the contrary, Lizzie was quite normal,” I said. I felt all eyes in the room on me, so I cleared my throat and continued. “Her childhood was poverty-stricken and she became an actress when Mr Colehill, Mary’s husband, discovered her talent.”

  The women’s gaze shifted to Mary, who smiled uncomfortably.

  “His intentions were honourable, of course,” I added with a smile in Mary’s direction. “And he helped Lizzie realise her dreams. It was later in her life that she realised being a successful actress could not bring her happiness. And she made decisions which she later came to regret. Can’t the same be said for all of us?”

  There was silence as some drained their teacups and others found things to inspect on the cuffs of their sleeves.

  “Yes, Penelope, absolutely,” said Eliza loudly. “I think we can all agree that it is a tragic event, and I am sure I speak for all of us when I say that the culprit must be found immediately, for h
e is clearly a dangerous man.”

  There were noises of approval from everyone except Mrs Lennox, who gave me a hostile stare.

  Eliza got to her feet to conclude the meeting. “Thank you to Mrs Henderson for her enlightening talk, and thank you to all of you for the lively discussion today. This is what I adore about the society; every woman here has her own opinion and is not afraid to offer it. Can you imagine what a difference there would be if men were present? The conversation would be dominated by their interests and we would simply have to nod politely at one another while they got on with it. When do you think the article will be published in the Morning Express, Penelope?”

  “I will confirm a date with Mr Sherman.”

  “Thank you.”

  I had told Eliza what she wanted to hear, but I felt guilty about not being entirely truthful. I had yet to convince Mr Sherman to publish the article.

  Before I left, I thanked Mary Colehill for hosting the meeting.

  “Is Sebastian still away?” I asked.

  “Yes, he is in Glasgow working at the Royal Princess’s Theatre. I expect him home very soon.”

  It seemed that Sebastian had a valid reason for being absent.

  “I am sure you will be pleased to have him home again when he returns. If you are planning to write to him, it may be worth mentioning that Inspector Blakely would like to speak to him on his return. He is speaking to everyone who knew Lizzie Dixie, of course.”

  “Of course,” Mary smiled. “I suppose it is to be expected. Sebastian has been very saddened by her death.”

  “They knew each other for a long time.”

  “Yes, they did.” Mary smiled. “It has been lovely to see you again, Miss Green, and I look forward to reading the article about the society.”

  I found myself leaving through the front door at the same time as Mrs Lennox.

  “I hope you don’t think I was disagreeing with you earlier,” I said.

  “But you were, weren’t you?” she replied. She had sharp grey eyes and the feathers on her hat quivered as she spoke.

  “I did not mean to cause any offence. I do find I get a little upset about Lizzie’s death. I knew her quite well.”

  “Did you, indeed?” said Mrs Lennox. “Well so did I.”

  I felt stunned by the remark as I watched her march down the steps towards a waiting carriage.

  Chapter 28

  James was already waiting for me when I arrived at Le Croquembouche on the Friday evening. I had done my best to appear well-dressed, wearing the style of clothing Mrs Henderson avoided: a tight corset beneath a red silk bustle dress trimmed with gold fringing. The heeled satin shoes I wore had been in my possession for many years but had rarely been worn, and I had bought some silk flowers and bows for my hair. I had pinned them around a small velvet hat, which was fixed at a fashionably precarious angle.

  James wore a smart, dark evening suit and I was amused to see that his tie was red silk, like my dress.

  “Good evening, Penny. You look resplendent!” He raised his hat and grinned.

  “Do you think we will pass for a wealthy man and his mistress?” I asked, but the moment I had said it I felt embarrassed.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “You had better take my arm so that we look the part.”

  I was startled by the sound of running footsteps, and a tall figure loped out of the darkness.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said Edgar. He smelt of beer, as if he had just stepped out of the pub.

  James gave me a quizzical glance.

  “Mr Sherman has said that Edgar must accompany us because he is working on Lizzie’s story,” I explained.

  “How good to have you with us this evening, Mr Fish,” said James. “I will ask the waiters to set the table for three.”

  Le Croquembouche had an elaborate frontage with carved-stone ivy leaves clambering around the Doric columns that stood either side of the door. Large green and gold striped awnings hung across the curtained windows and a row of gas lamps flickered along the facade. The window boxes were crammed full of colourful chrysanthemums and clumps of trailing ivy.

  A footman dressed in a red tailcoat opened the door for us, and we stepped into the warm bustle of the restaurant. It was smaller than I had imagined and most of the tables were taken. A strong scent of perfume mingled with the tobacco smoke and I cursed inwardly as my spectacles misted over.

  My ears were filled with the rumble of lively conversation and laughter. A waiter took my jacket from me and we were shown to a small, intimate table at one side of the room. Through the mist on my lenses I could see a white tablecloth, a vase with a rose in it and an array of shining silver cutlery.

  At James’ instruction, an extra place setting was laid out for Edgar and the three of us managed to fit around the table, elbow to elbow.

  As we sat down, I removed my glasses and placed them next to my soup spoon. I self-consciously rubbed at the small ridge they always left at the top of my nose.

  “You look like a different person without your gig-lamps,” said Edgar.

  I noticed that James was staring at me in surprise.

  “An improvement? Or should I put them back on?”

  “No, don’t put them back on. We can pretend we’re with a different woman this evening, can’t we, Inspector?” Edgar laughed loudly.

  “Call me James,” he replied quietly.

  “Do you think Penny looks better without her glasses, James?”

  “I wouldn’t like to say so, as that might make Penny feel as though she shouldn’t wear them, and obviously she must do so because she needs them.”

  “I do. I can scarcely see a thing without them.”

  “There you go, you see, so you must wear them. But not wearing them from time to time is also agreeable.”

  James seemed flustered with his words and I began to wish that I hadn’t removed my spectacles at all.

  I pretended to study the menu while glancing over it to look at my fellow diners. I could just about make out the blur of their faces. Most of the men appeared older than their female companions.

  “Do you think all the men in here are politicians?” I asked.

  “A fair few, I should say,” said James. “Do you see a velvet curtain behind me?”

  I squinted over his shoulder.

  “Yes, what is behind there?”

  “The private dining booths for people who do not wish to be seen. Or should I say, do not wish to be seen in the company of the people they are with.”

  “How do you know that? Have you ever been behind there?”

  “No! But I have been told about it.”

  Edgar chuckled and lit his pipe. “I expect all sorts of shenanigans go on behind that curtain. I wouldn’t mind having a peek.” He laughed again, this time so loudly and gutturally that I noticed a lady looking over at our table. Edgar picked up his menu. “Let’s choose some grub.”

  The waiter took our order and I wondered how I would be able to eat anything having laced my corset so tightly to fit into my dress.

  “Are you expecting Sir Edmund tonight?” James asked the waiter casually, as if the politician were an old friend of his.

  The waiter shrugged nonchalantly and left our table. A moment later, the oily-haired maître d’hôtel appeared. “You enquired about Sir Edmund Erskine, sir?” he asked in a heavy French accent.

  “Yes, that’s right. I wondered whether you were expecting him here this evening.”

  “And who is asking?”

  “James Blakely. I am a friend of his. I bumped into him recently and he told me he would be dining at this esteemed establishment within the next week or two, so I thought I would look him up.”

  “Very good, sir. I will pass on your message when I next see him.” The man bowed and left our table.

  “Well, I thought it was worth a shot,” said James.

  “I like your style,” said Edgar. “Ask and it shall be given. Knock and the door shall be opened. What are you going to
say to him if he’s here, old chap?”

  “I will buy him some drinks to loosen his tongue and find out what his connection to Lizzie might be. In the meantime, let’s keep an eye on who else is dining here. I think it would be useful to speak to some of the women, if possible. Lizzie must have known one or two of them. I am not sure how we can manage to speak to them, though. You might need to help me in that regard, Penny.”

  “I can help too,” said Edgar, straightening his tie. “I’ve spotted a gal over there who knows my sister. I’ll go and speak to her after the soup.”

  During our course of turtle soup, I told James that Sebastian would hopefully be returning soon.

  “Good, it is rather urgent that I speak with him. It is useful that you have found out where he is, because if he doesn’t return very soon we will have to get some men up there to visit him. It is a long way to travel.”

  “The journey takes a day from Euston Station,” said Edgar.

  “It is looking rather likely that I will have to book a ticket and take the train.”

  “What do you need to talk to him about?” asked Edgar.

  “James needs to find out what Lizzie’s diaries said. I lost them in the explosion.”

  “And a little more than that,” said James. “Y Division have discovered some new information.”

  “What?”

  “The constables questioning Lizzie’s neighbours in Highgate have discovered that there was a regular visitor to the house.”

  “Who?”

  “A gentleman who visited often and stayed overnight in some instances. He has been described as a wealthy man with his own carriage – a brougham – at his disposal. Apparently, the carriage was seen to stop further along the road so that it was not clear which house the man was visiting. This appears to have been an attempt to keep his visits secret. He also appears to have taken pains to conceal his identity by wearing a dark and sizeable Ulster overcoat; however, the constables have ascertained that this mysterious gentleman was a tall, slender man with dark whiskers. And he often wore a top hat.”