The Penny Green series Box Set

by Emily Organ

  I strode along Fleet Street in the rain, passed the Royal Courts of Justice, St Clement Danes church and then into the narrow thoroughfare of Wych Street, with its old, timbered buildings and shop bay windows piled up with books. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the street felt dingy under the leaden November sky. I pulled the high collar of my jacket up around my neck and wished I hadn’t left my scarf at home that morning.

  I had planned to go to the reading room, but I felt the need to walk until every last drop of anger had left my body. I felt incensed that Sir Edmund and Hugh Dowdeswell had lied.

  Had Sir Edmund woken the morning after our evening together and realised he had said too much about his relationships with courtesans and about Lizzie’s connection with Gladstone? He had probably felt ashamed and acted on it.

  Perhaps the answer to Lizzie’s murder lay somewhere in Westminster, I conjectured. By having James removed from the case and installing his friend Cullen in his place, Sir Edmund and Hugh Dowdeswell were simply protecting themselves and their friends. If Lizzie had been killed by someone because of her connections with politicians, and perhaps even the Prime Minister, there would be no chance of her murder being properly investigated.

  I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. I wanted to shout; I wanted to strike someone. I glared at a man who happened to walk a little too close to me in the street and noticed him shrink away from the furious expression on my face.

  No one could help Lizzie now. James was no longer allowed to work on the case. Annie lay injured in hospital, and Taylor and Colehill seemed intent on protecting themselves. Who was to find out what had happened to her?

  I paused by the columned facade of the Olympic Theatre, where Lizzie had performed in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and felt the anger begin to drain from me. Once again, tears sprung into my eyes.

  Perhaps I had no right to do anything for Lizzie. Perhaps I should have heeded the warnings in the anonymous letter writer and from Sebastian. I wasn’t a detective. I wasn’t even assigned to report on Lizzie’s story. Perhaps she hadn’t even considered me a friend?

  But I thought of Lizzie in her tomb beneath the sleeping angel, and of her daughter in her hospital bed, and I felt a strong sense of injustice that these two women had been attacked. The opportunity to find the culprit was slipping away. Worse still, attempts could potentially be made to cover up what had happened.

  Instead of turning right up Drury Lane and heading towards the British Museum, I turned left and walked down to The Strand. From there, I would hail an omnibus to Westminster.

  Chapter 32

  I wasn’t surprised that Chief Inspector Cullen kept me waiting at Scotland Yard. I perched on a wooden chair in a drab, chilly, smoky office, which was busy with police officers working at desks and striding in and out of the room with piles of books and papers.

  Perhaps Cullen was hoping that if I were left alone long enough I would make my departure, but I was determined to wait as long as it took to see him. I wasn’t going to allow Lizzie’s case to lapse. I leafed through some new notes I had made about the railway bombings and drafted a few rough paragraphs in my notebook.

  “Miss Green.”

  Inspector Cullen stood over me, his thick grey moustache twitching impatiently beneath his bulbous nose. He stared down at me through his silver-rimmed spectacles and I smiled to see whether his manner would soften. It didn’t.

  “Inspector Cullen,” I said cheerily as I got to my feet. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. I realise you are extremely busy.”

  “Indeed,” he replied, marching off towards a large desk in the far corner of the room. I noticed it was in prime position beside a little stove, which was trying its hardest to provide the room with some heat.

  Cullen gestured for me to sit in a chair as he seated himself behind the large desk. He laced his thick fingers together and rested his hands on his desk. His suit was made from a dark wool and his waistcoat boasted a smart line of shiny gold buttons. His face and narrow eyes gave nothing away; no doubt a skill he had developed during his many years of detective work.

  “It is some time since we last met,” I said. “A year perhaps?”

  “I believe so.”

  It was unlikely that he had forgiven me for the article I had written defending the man he had ensured was hanged for the Doughty Street murders.

  Cullen checked his pocket watch, signalling that I was already taking up too much of his valuable time. “How can I help you, Miss Green?”

  “I am concerned that Inspector Blakely has been removed from the Lizzie Dixie case. I had been working with him on it.”

  “Yes, I am aware. I ensured that you could return to your job to do exactly that.”

  “Thank you. I am surprised that Inspector Blakely is no longer on the case as he was doing a good deal of excellent work and Lizzie was a friend of mine. I am concerned that, by removing him, the case may be jeopardised. It is most urgent that the young man who followed us in the cemetery is found and that Sebastian Colehill is questioned about his relationship with Lizzie.”

  “You see this next to me, Miss Green?” Cullen slapped his large hand onto a pile of papers on his desk. “This is what we, at Scotland Yard, call a case file. Every note, interview and piece of evidence Inspector Blakely has collected during the course of his thorough investigations has been compiled into one file. We are required to create such a file for each case and it proves itself exceptionally valuable when a case passes from one officer to another, which, I can assure you, Miss Green, is a regular occurrence. We are very sure of our procedures here at the Metropolitan Police, so there is no cause for concern.” He laced his fingers together again and stared at me. “Is there anything else?”

  “Do you still require my help with this case?”

  “If Inspector Blakely has done his job properly, which I am certain that he has, all of your assistance has been documented in here.” He tapped the case file again. “If I have need of your help again, Miss Green, please rest assured that I shall contact you, courtesy of Mr Sherman, at the offices of the Morning Express.”

  I sat back in the chair, feeling disarmed by Cullen’s patronising manner.

  “Sir Edmund,” I ventured. “I heard that he and Mr Dowdeswell complained to you. What they said is not true.”

  “How do you know what they said?” Cullen’s forehead was furrowed.

  “I heard they had alleged that Inspector Blakely and I gave Sir Edmund too much to drink and then tried to extract information from him, but that is not at all what happened.”

  “Water under the bridge, Miss Green.” He waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Water under the bridge.”

  “I do not want James – I mean Inspector Blakely – to have been removed from Lizzie’s case unjustly.”

  Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “There is nothing unjust about how this case is being managed.”

  “That is reassuring.”

  Cullen got up from his chair and walked around the edge of his desk towards me. He lowered his voice as he perched on the edge of the desk and looked down at me.

  “You are a news reporter, Miss Green, and I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you are here to get something more from me.”

  “No, I wished only to correct any misunderstanding about what happened between Inspector Blakely and Sir Edmund.”

  “Inspector Blakely does not require your mothering, Miss Green; the chap is more than capable of standing up for himself. And may I take this moment to add that your working relationship is closer than that which is normally expected between an inspector and a news reporter. It is no great shame that Inspector Blakely is no longer working on the case. If you want to know the real reason why I have taken it over, I can tell you now that I think you already know it.”

  I assumed a puzzled expression.

  “The connection with Westminster. I believe Sir Edmund may have let slip just how involved Lizzie was with the man at the top. This requires careful h
andling, and I don’t want Inspector Blakely biting off more than he can chew. I am protecting him.”

  “And will you also be protecting Sir Edmund and Mr Dowdeswell?”

  Cullen looked startled, as if he had been stung by a wasp. “What are you implying?” he hissed.

  “If Lizzie was murdered by someone at Westminster, will it be properly investigated?”

  “How dare you question my integrity?” A small piece of spittle shot out of his mouth.

  “I wasn’t questioning it, Inspector Cullen, I merely wish to ensure that Lizzie’s murder is thoroughly investigated, no matter who is guilty of it.”

  “Oh, it will be, I can assure you of that.” Cullen rose from his temporary seat on the desk and walked back round to his chair. “Because if there was any risk that it wasn’t, you will take pains to write about it in your newspaper. Am I right?”

  I smiled. “Yes, Inspector Cullen. That is correct.”

  The rain hammered down on my umbrella as I walked across the puddle-filled courtyard of Scotland Yard. My conversation with Inspector Cullen had done nothing to reassure me that there would be a fair investigation into Lizzie’s case, but I felt better having let him know that I would be keeping a close eye on its progress. I wracked my brains to ascertain whether there was anything else I could do to ensure that Lizzie’s murderer and Annie’s attacker would be found. I did not relish the thought of leaving it all in Cullen’s hands.

  “Penny?”

  I looked up to see James standing in front of me. He was with a tall, long-nosed colleague. Both wore dark coats and held large umbrellas.

  “James!” I smiled broadly. “I heard you had been removed from the case, so I came to see Inspector Cullen to find out what is to happen next.”

  “Did he tell you much?”

  “Not really.”

  “He likes to play his cards close to his chest.”

  “And he and I don’t have a good history,” I added. “I am so sorry to hear that you have been moved after everything you have done on the case. It felt as though we were making progress, albeit it not as quickly as some would have liked.”

  He held my gaze and his lips moved almost imperceptibly, as if there were something he would have said had his colleague not been standing beside him. “It is commonplace in the police force,” he said with a shrug. “I have other cases to work on, and I know that Inspector Cullen will call on me if there is anything he needs help with, as I am sure he will do with you.”

  “Yes, he said he would.”

  “Good.”

  We looked at each other for a moment longer and I made a move to leave, not knowing what else to say.

  “I will continue to take a keen interest in the case, of course,” said James.

  “As will I,” I replied.

  “I am certain that it won’t be long before we work together again, Miss Green.”

  James raised his hat and smiled, so I said goodbye to him before continuing my walk across the wet courtyard with a heavy sensation in my chest.

  “Miss Green!” Tom Clifford from The Holborn Gazette ran up to me. He had no umbrella and his hat looked soggy. The sight of him made me feel even more glum.

  “Are you following Inspector Blakely?” I asked.

  “I was until he told me he was no longer on the case. What are you up to?”

  “I’m working.”

  “As am I, Miss Green. But what are you specifically doing here?”

  “I don’t have to tell you, do I?”

  Tom gave an empty laugh. “No, I don’t suppose you do, Miss Green. What’s the latest on the case now that Blakely’s off it?”

  “Only Cullen knows. You’ll have to ask him yourself. Did you write a story about Lizzie being in prison for five years?”

  “Yes. I heard from a source that’s where she was.”

  “Who?”

  “I never give my sources away, Miss Green.”

  “Of course. Good day to you, Mr Clifford.” I stepped past him.

  “Should I speak to Cullen, then?”

  “You can try.”

  Chapter 33

  It had been almost a week since Annie’s shooting and I had heard nothing more about her condition. I assumed she was still in hospital and thought of her lying alone in the hospital bed.

  Was Mr Taylor her only visitor?

  I bought her some chocolate creams and made my way to St Thomas’ Hospital in the early evening, timing my visit so that Mr Taylor would be at Astley’s Amphitheatre, which had reopened a few days previously.

  I didn’t know what I would do if I bumped into Mr Taylor. It would have been more sensible for me to stay away, but I felt the need to look out for Annie. With little progress in finding the person who had shot her, I worried that the police would forget about her. I couldn’t deny that I was interested in hearing more from her about the meetings with her mother, but only if she volunteered the information. I couldn’t visit her as a news reporter asking questions on this occasion; I had to visit only as a friend.

  I found Annie sitting up in bed with a cream woollen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her dark hair was well brushed and hung down at one side of her head like a curtain. There was colour in her face, her blue eyes were bright and she looked well, even if she appeared a little gaunt. It was a relief to see that she had no other visitors and I felt happier still when she smiled at me. Her shoulder was still heavily bandaged.

  “Do you mind me visiting you?” I asked. “I won’t stay long, but if you would rather not speak to me, I would understand.”

  “Why should I mind?” asked Annie. “Please sit down.” She gestured towards the wooden chair at the side of the bed.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you, though I don’t think I’ll be able to perform for a while. It will be some time before I get full movement and strength back in my arm. And my neck and back are still painful.”

  “You will manage it eventually.”

  “I hope so. I worry that Joseph will find another performer who will be good enough to replace me permanently.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “I shouldn’t be so sure.”

  “He cares about you.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes, I am sure of it. He is protective of you, I can tell.”

  “Caring and being protective are not necessarily the same thing.”

  I nodded. “That is true. But he loved your mother very much and therefore I am sure that he cares for you somewhere deep within his heart.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Have the police made any progress in finding out who did this to you?”

  “Not that I know of. Inspector Lloyd has visited me twice and asked me all manner of questions. I don’t have a great deal to tell him, though. I was unaware of exactly what happened. I think he is trying to speak to everyone in the audience, but that will take some time.”

  “Do you think the person who shot you could have been the same person who took your mother’s life?”

  “I don’t know.” Her lower lip wobbled slightly, so I was mindful to take greater care about the questions I asked her.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I don’t know either. It is possible, though. It’s important that they catch him as soon as they can. I just wish there was more that I could do.”

  “The police are doing their best.”

  “I am sure they are.”

  A nurse came over and straightened the bedclothes, as if she were trying to listen in on our conversation. It occurred to me that Mr Taylor might have asked the hospital staff to keep an eye on Annie’s visitors.

  The nurse left again.

  “I cannot understand it,” said Annie. “Who would want to hurt us both?”

  “That is what we need to find out. I think I’m beginning to understand why your mother pretended she had drowned on the Princess Alice. But surely she didn’t have to hide away l
ike that. Could she not have just retired from acting?”

  “She wanted to get away from Joseph. Their marriage had been an unhappy one for a long time.”

  “She could have just left him. Women don’t have to stay in unhappy marriages these days.”

  “The thought of a divorce was too much for her. Being so well-known, she felt she would not have been able to do such a thing. The public had become so accustomed to seeing her and Joseph in their carriage pulled by zebras. Everything about their relationship was a big show.”

  “That is to be expected, I suppose, when you put a showman and an actress together.”

  “They enjoyed putting on the show, didn’t they?” said Annie, her face brightening. “They were rather glamorous for a time, weren’t they?”

  “They were indeed! Their shows, appearances and parties filled many column inches.”

  Annie smiled to herself. “I felt quite proud sitting in the landau with them as we rode around town with everyone staring at the zebras. Those days were fun.”

  “It was rather drastic of your mother to pretend she had drowned on the Princess Alice. Misleading her own family like that must have taken some doing.”

  “Joseph was devastated, as was I.” Annie’s eyes became damp. “And when I received a note from her a few weeks after her supposed death, I wasn’t sure what to think.”

  “She sent you a note? I’m surprised you managed to keep it a secret; it must have been extremely distressing.”

  “I don’t think I had fully accepted her death by then, so reading a note from her felt as though my dreams had been answered. And when I saw her at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, it was incredible.” Annie smiled at the memory. “I remember Mother had cut and dyed her hair an odd brown colour, and she wore some extremely drab, dark clothes, quite unlike anything I had ever seen her wear before. I remember thinking she looked very strange.” Annie laughed. “But no one recognised her!”