The Penny Green series Box Set

by Emily Organ

  Chapter 29

  “Sebastian Colehill,” I said slowly. “He has a brougham and he is tall with dark whiskers.”

  “We cannot confirm that he is the gentleman in question, but he certainly fits the description.”

  “He knew that Lizzie was still alive!”

  “What a cad,” said Edgar.

  “We don’t know for certain that he and the mysterious man are one and the same. You can see why it is rather urgent that I question him.”

  “But the chap is not the murderer, is he?” asked Edgar. “Surely it’s Taylor?”

  “If only it were that simple. Remember that we are visiting this restaurant for a reason. We are here to investigate whether the person who killed Lizzie came from the world of politics. These men sitting around about us have a voracious appetite for power and all that goes with it, and they don’t mind who they trample on to get what they want.” James raised an eyebrow to emphasise his point.

  “So you don’t think it’s Colehill or Taylor?” asked Edgar. “Instead, you think the murderer is one of these high cockalorums sitting around us?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I hissed.

  Edgar placed his serviette on the table next to his empty soup bowl. “I don’t mean to offend, Inspector, but I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. Taylor should have been arrested a week ago. I don’t understand why you choose to lead a merry dance around the entire thing. Excuse me while I go and say hello to my sister’s friend.”

  I felt pleased that Edgar had left the table for the time being, but his absence brought with it a ticklish sense of intimacy between myself and James. It occurred to me that the waiters would assume we were a couple and the thought made me uneasy. There was only a short distance between us at the table; presumably an intentional ploy to keep customers’ conversations discreet. It was perfect for detective work, but I felt abashed at the physical closeness.

  “It seems Sebastian lied to us,” I said, after taking a large sip of wine. “When I spoke to him at the theatre about Lizzie’s death he pretended he had no idea that she had still been alive!”

  “We don’t know for sure that he was Lizzie’s visitor.”

  “But it has to be him, doesn’t it? I think it would be unusual for another man who looked like Sebastian and had the same carriage to be visiting Lizzie.”

  “I agree that it is likely to have been him. And he may have lied, but perhaps he gave you Lizzie’s diaries to explain the truth. I dare say her life must have become quite complicated for her to pretend that she had drowned. She may have written down her reasons and perhaps he thought it best you learnt what really happened in her own words.”

  “It is possible. He probably assumes that I understand everything now. My biggest regret will always be the loss of those diaries.”

  “All is not lost if I can speak to the man. I only hope that he is in Glasgow as his wife says he is. If he has run away we are in trouble.”

  “And what of the investigation into Annie’s shooting? I can’t help but worry about her.”

  “St Thomas’s Hospital is probably a good place for her to be for the time being; she will be safe there. Inspector Lloyd from the Yard is working on the shooting with L Division. They are still tracking down and interviewing all the people who were present that night. It’s incredible when you think that so many people were there and yet so few seem able to help in identifying the man who fired the shots. He has managed to hide in plain sight by virtue of the sheer number of people in the place at the time.”

  “Perhaps Sebastian is closer than we think. Perhaps he shot Annie. If everyone is led to believe that he is in Glasgow, no one would suspect him, would they? He could have killed Lizzie and shot her daughter.”

  “We will find out in due course.”

  “Do you think so? At the moment it feels quite impossible that we will ever discover the truth.”

  “The truth always reveals itself in the end.”

  The waiter brought the next course of turbot in lobster sauce to the table.

  “We talk about the investigation so much,” said James, “that we seem to find little time to talk about anything else. What do you do when you’re not writing?”

  “Not a great deal. Writing takes up much of my time. I suppose I read a lot, both for pleasure and for work.”

  “Have you always been bookish?” asked James as we began to eat.

  “Yes,” I said proudly. “I have. Bookish with a sense of adventure, just like my father.”

  “Bookish and a sense of adventure? Do the two go hand in hand? I am intrigued!”

  “Perhaps I am making it out to be more exciting than it is. I like the adventure of investigating a story. It introduces me to a whole host of people and places that I would never otherwise encounter.”

  “Such as Lizzie Dixie’s dressing room?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What is the most interesting place you have visited in the course of your adventures?”

  “Venice.”

  “You have travelled to Venice?”

  “Yes. I undertook my own version of the Grand Tour about ten years ago. How about you? Have you done a good deal of travelling?”

  “Oh, I haven’t yet left the British Isles. I once visited an aunt in Dover and she told me she could see France on a clear day from her top floor window. That is the closest foreign connection I have. I suppose I have seen a great many interesting places here in London as a result of my work.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Some of the rookeries have to be seen to be believed.”

  “I have visited a few for the purpose of my news reporting.”

  “When you contrast the sheer misery of those infernal slums with a place such as the restaurant we are sitting in now, it strikes me that there is a great deal of inequality in our world.”

  “I agree. Sadly, there is.”

  “Cotelettes de mouton à la Provençale,” announced the waiter as he presented us with our next course.

  “Now that is an extremely fancy way of saying mutton chops, don’t you think?” said James after the waiter had left.

  I laughed. “Do you think we should tell Edgar that his food is on the table? He missed the last course.”

  I put on my spectacles in a bid to locate him among the diners.

  “He’s sitting in the corner over there,” said James. “He looks rather engrossed.”

  I looked over to where James was pointing and saw Edgar talking animatedly to a woman with golden hair.

  “Shall we fetch him or leave him?”

  “I think we should leave him,” said James. “He might be undertaking some investigative work.”

  We exchanged a glance and laughed. James loosened his tie.

  “I suppose that when you are not doing police work you are tending your grandfather’s vegetables?” I asked, taking off my glasses again.

  “Yes, I do, although less so during the winter months. During the coldest spells of weather, I play chess with him. I am rather partial to the game, as is my sister.”

  “I have never played chess before.”

  “Never played it? Then I must teach you!”

  “I should like that.”

  The light from the candle on our table danced in James’ eyes and gave them a warm glow. I smiled and busied myself with my meal.

  The mutton was followed by a sirloin of beef and York ham. As I sipped at a glass of claret. my corset began to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  “We have to speak to some of the ladies here,” said James. “It would be useful to find out whether any of them were acquainted with Lizzie.”

  “But how could we speak to them? They are all with their companions.”

  “Perhaps we should approach any woman who leaves on her own.”

  “That might cause her alarm. Besides, are any of these women likely to leave alone? I assumed their arrangements would be for the night.”

  “I am not sure,” said
James. “I don’t know much about how these arrangements work.”

  “Perhaps Edgar’s sister’s friend knew Lizzie.”

  “Let’s ask her to ask him.”

  “You mean ask him to ask her.”

  “No, the other way around.”

  “No, it’s not. The claret has gone to your head.”

  “You’re right, it has. I don’t think I should be carrying out investigations while drinking wine. I am sure you would agree, however, that, at the current time, this investigation is turning out to be rather pleasant.” He raised his glass and grinned.

  I raised my glass in reply. “It certainly is.”

  I hoped fervently that Edgar wouldn’t return to our table and ruin our conversation.

  After a dessert of beignets aux pommes and Queen of Puddings, I rested my serviette on the table, feeling certain that I would be unable to eat again for at least a week.

  In the blurred background behind James, I noticed that the velvet curtain had been pushed to one side as a man walked out towards us. I could not see him clearly, but I could tell that he was wearing a dinner suit. He had grey hair either side of his balding head and thick grey whiskers. As he drew nearer, he stumbled slightly and I guessed that he was inebriated. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t think why.

  “I can’t say we are doing very well in talking to the customers here,” said James. “I thought it would be a little easier than it has been.”

  “Mr James Blakely?” slurred the drunken man. He had reached our table and stood staring down at James, who leapt awkwardly out of his seat.

  “Sir Edmund. What a surprise!”

  “Blakely. Where do I know that name from? Your face is familiar.”

  “Detective Inspector James Blakely.”

  “Detective Inspector?”

  “I saw you at Lizzie Dixie’s funeral.”

  “Lizzie’s funeral...” he repeated as he retrieved a cigar tin from the inside pocket of his jacket. He swayed slightly as he did so.

  “Of course! Lizzie! Yes, her funeral. Damn shame.” He took a cigar out of the tin and fumbled about for a painstakingly long time as he tried to return the tin to its pocket.

  “Now, when was that now? Just last week, was it not? First thing in the morning. They had to dig that poor gal out of there before they put Lizzie in. Damn shame. Hang on...” Sir Edmund stood staring at James and swayed slightly as he pointed his cigar at him. “You’re the police, aren’t you?”

  I held my breath, waiting for the mood to turn hostile.

  “That is correct,” said James proudly.

  “Detective. Yes! So you know Cullen? He is chief inspector now, is he not?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Damn fine fellow, Cullen. Damn fine. I need a match.”

  He searched his pockets and turned to look at me as he swayed again. “Good evening, madam.”

  “Good evening, Sir Edmund,” I replied.

  “You with her?” The cigar was pointed at me, but he addressed James.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Listen, young fellow, I’m finding it ever so tiring standing up. How about you come and join me out the back?”

  “We would not wish to intrude, Sir Edmund.”

  “Come on.” Sir Edmund gave James a hefty slap on the shoulder. “I know you’re the police, but any friend of Cullen’s is a friend of mine. Come along! You can bring her as well.”

  He began to stagger back towards the curtain and James grinned at me.

  “This is too good an opportunity to miss,” he said. “We might find out something useful.”

  I nodded as I picked up my spectacles and handbag. James carried our drinks and we followed in Sir Edmund’s wobbly footsteps.

  Chapter 30

  Behind the curtain was a dim, wood-panelled corridor containing a row of curtained booths. I could hear muted voices, both male and female. A loud peal of feminine laughter startled me.

  “Where is she?” I heard Sir Edmund say in the corridor ahead of me. “Which one’s she in? My apologies, old chap, I thought she was in there. Oh, here she is. Were you hiding from me, Lola?”

  Nervously, I followed Sir Edmund and James into a booth. I was concerned that Sir Edmund would realise I was a reporter and not James’ companion at all.

  And what would Lola make of me when she saw me? I wondered. She would surely realise that I was not a courtesan with my spectacles firmly gripped in my hand.

  There was no time to dwell on this as I was swiftly shown to a seat in the elaborately decorated alcove. On one side was a mirrored wall and a velvet chaise longue, upon which a languid-eyed woman with beads plaited into her dark hair was reclining. She wore a low-cut, beaded bodice and long black silk gloves, which reached to her elbows. Her lips were stained a dark red, and, although she stared at me, her manner did not strike me as unfriendly.

  Next to her was a man who looked about thirty. He was dressed in a dark suit and had a well-waxed blond moustache and a receding chin.

  “Hugh!” said Sir Edmund. “I have found some friends!”

  He slumped onto the chaise longue between Lola and the man I now recognised as the MP, Hugh Dowdeswell. James and I sat on chairs either side of a glass-topped occasional table, which was home to a lamp with a fringed shade.

  Hugh puffed on a cigar and regarded us with a suspicious look. Lola had a drink in her hand and the table next to her was covered with empty glasses. Sir Edmund had finally found a match and managed to light his cigar.

  “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

  James and I shook our heads.

  “Hugh’s already smokin’,” said Lola.

  “And?”

  “There’s no need to ask to smoke if someone’s already smokin’.”

  “Is that correct etiquette, Hugh?” asked Sir Edmund. “If you’re smoking there’s no need for me to ask if anyone minds me smoking?”

  “Well, it would make sense that you needn’t ask,” said Hugh.

  Lola picked up a clay pipe from among the empty glasses and filled the pipe with tobacco from a small tin. Sir Edmund held out a match for her.

  “This is James,” said Sir Edmund. “He is an inspector, but we needn’t worry about that as he works with my good friend Chief Inspector Basil Cullen. And this is his companion.” He looked at me. “I don’t recall your name, madam.”

  “Beth,” I replied.

  From the corner of my eye I saw James give me a quick glance, as if he wondered why I was lying. I wanted to tell him that I was terrified of being found out.

  “Pretty name. My daughter is called Beth,” said Sir Edmund. “And this is Lola. She often keeps me company, don’t you, Lola?”

  The woman nodded and smiled as she placed the pipe between her dark lips.

  “And this is Hugh.” Sir Edmund gave his friend a gentle punch on the shoulder. “He’s a capital fellow.”

  Hugh smiled with one side of his mouth while Sir Edmund stumbled up from his seat, pulled the curtain to one side and shouted out: “Two bottles of champagne in here!”

  Then he returned to the chaise longue and sat down heavily.

  “We were saying that I last saw you at Lizzie’s funeral,” said James.

  “Were we?” replied Sir Edmund. “That’s right, I remember now.” He took a long puff on his cigar. “Damn shame.”

  “Did you know her well?” asked James.

  “Very well. She was a damn fine gal, wasn’t she, Lola?”

  “You knew her as well?” asked James.

  Lola nodded.

  “And Hugh was fond of old Lizzie, weren’t you, Hugh?”

  Hugh puffed on his cigar and stared at James as if he objected to the inspector’s presence.

  “Beth here,” James emphasised my name as if struggling to remind himself of it, “also knew Lizzie.”

  “Did you now?” Sir Edmund asked me. “A fine actress, she was.”

  “It was quite a shock to find out that she was
still alive, was it not, Sir Edmund?” asked James.

  “Damn shock!” replied the politician. “I thought the gal had drowned, and that was a terrible shock in itself.”

  “And to think someone’s gone an’ murdered 'er,” said Lola, her forehead furrowed.

  “I cannot think why anyone would do such a thing,” said Sir Edmund.

  “Lizzie led a complicated life,” ventured James. “She had relationships with a number of people. Do you think someone might have wanted to have her silenced? Do you think that is a risk when you are a courtesan?” He addressed this question to Lola, giving Sir Edmund a cursory glance as he did so.

  Lola raised her eyebrows and the lines on her forehead deepened. “Nah, I’ve never been in danger meself.” She sucked deeply on the pipe and puffed a billow of smoke out into the centre of the room.

  “But what about Lizzie?”

  “I dunno ‘bout Lizzie.”

  “But courtesans are required to be discreet?”

  “Of course.”

  Sir Edmund had been swaying absent-mindedly while smoking his cigar, but he suddenly looked over at James as if he had only just realised what he was talking about.

  Hugh continued to watch the young inspector.

  “If a courtesan was indiscreet, what do you think would happen to her?” James asked Lola.

  “I dunno. She wouldn’t go round talkin’ in the first place, so it wouldn’t ‘appen.” Lola scowled. “Do you think that’s what’s 'appened to Lizzie?”

  “What happened to her?” asked Sir Edmund.

  “That Lizzie might of talked and got murdered for it. That’s never ‘appened, as it?”

  “Never.”

  Hugh leant forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at James. “Just what exactly are you up to here, Inspector?” His voice was low and syrupy. “My friend, Sir Edmund, said you were nothing to worry about, but you’re asking questions.”

  “Hang on there. What’s he doing?” asked Sir Edmund, raising his voice.

  “Nothing,” said James.

  Sir Edmund screwed up his face in bewilderment.