by Emily Organ
“Do you see now, Miss Green?” said Edgar. “That’s why you’re not a detective.”
“Thank you for that, Edgar. We do know that Winston Nicholls attended the funerals of both Mr Larcombe and Mrs Baxter. The more you put the pieces together, the more it makes sense. I’ve never liked the man and he has always struck me as odd in his manner. He struggles to look people in the eye, which is just the sort of thing you would expect from someone who has committed such terrible crimes. Oh goodness, poor Martha.”
The forlorn look she had given me came back to my mind. “This will be too upsetting for her. It may be too much for her to bear.”
“If Nicholls has attended each funeral, then presumably he’ll be at Mr Turner’s funeral,” said Edgar.
“Yes, I’ve already given that some thought,” said James. “Mr Turner is to be buried at Brookwood Cemetery out in Surrey tomorrow. The funeral party will be taken there on the Necropolis Railway. I’ll make sure that myself and a number of police officers are among the mourners.”
“And press,” said Edgar. “We’re going too, aren’t we, Miss Green? I want to be there when this Nicholls chap is arrested. It’s going to make a first-rate news story.”
Cemetery Station, the terminus for the Necropolis Railway, was tucked away down a narrow street behind Waterloo Station. James and I met outside the ticket office next to the wrought-iron gates through which coffins were brought to be loaded onto the funeral train. There was a constant rumble from the archway above our heads as trains arrived into and departed from Waterloo.
James wore a black overcoat and bowler hat, and I was also dressed in black mourning attire. Our breath hung in the cold, grey air, and I lifted my black veil so that we could see each other more clearly. The confusion I had felt about the conversation on Mrs Garnett’s doorstep had thankfully passed and instead I felt happy that we were united in our goal to find Winston Nicholls.
“You must be subtle about this arrest, James. You must try to avoid upsetting Mr Turner’s family and friends at his funeral.”
“Of course I will. You can trust me with that much, can’t you, Penny?” He grinned. “I know most of your colleagues down in Fleet Street think the police have been entirely incompetent with regard to this case, but we’re about to prove them wrong. Shall we go in?”
We went into the ticket office and purchased a second-class coffin ticket before making our way toward the waiting room, where the mourners were beginning to gather.
“There are to be constables from L Division disguised as mourners in first-class and third-class,” whispered James. “If they find him in their carriage, they have orders to wave a handkerchief from the window so that we know where to find him when the train arrives at Brookwood.”
“That sounds like a good plan. Look, there’s Martha Nicholls.”
Martha was talking to another woman and the missionaries, and appeared conspicuous in her wide-brimmed hat.
“And there’s Winston, look!” I whispered. “He’s standing just behind her.”
“Excellent.”
“Don’t arrest him now,” I pleaded with James. “Not in front of all the other mourners, it would be too disruptive and Martha would be ashamed.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll wait until he’s on the train.”
We were ushered out onto the platform, where plumes of steam from the waiting funeral train hissed into the air. It comprised three passenger carriages and one windowless coffin carriage at the rear.
“I know that some of the people here may recognise me,” muttered James, “but it’s important that I look like one of the mourners. If anyone asks us any questions, we’re to tell them we’re brother and sister.”
“There you are!” said Edgar, his loud voice drawing inquisitive stares from the people standing around us.
“Shush, we’re trying not to be noticed,” whispered James. “My sister and I are here to mourn our departed friend, Albert Turner.”
“Your sister?” said Edgar, eying me incredulously. I watched his face as the realisation finally dawned on him. “Oh yes, your sister.”
“Inspector Blakely! Miss Green!” said Hugo Hawkins as he and David Meares joined us.
“Shush!” said James. “We don’t want the mourners to know about the police presence here.”
“I’m sure yours is a familiar face to many of the people from St Giles by now,” said Hugo with a puzzled expression.
“Yes, I suppose it is, but I’m trying to remain inconspicuous. I don’t wish to alarm anyone.”
“It’s because he’s planning to arrest someone here,” Edgar chipped in. “That’s the reason for all the hugger-mugger.”
“Edgar!” snapped James. “No one is supposed to know!”
“Please don’t worry, Inspector Blakely, your secret’s safe with us,” said Hugo. “Who’s the suspect?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Winston Nicholls,” said Edgar.
“Shush!”
“It’s not going to be such an enormous secret when he’s arrested, is it?” retorted Edgar.
“Can you be sworn to secrecy, gentlemen?” James asked the missionaries.
“Yes, of course,” replied David.
“Thank you. Please don’t mention this to anyone else here. If he gets wind of what’s happening he’ll likely skedaddle again.”
“You have our word,” said Hugo.
“Good mornin’, Miss Green,” said a man passing behind us, and I instantly recognised his Irish accent.
“Mr O’Donoghue. How are you?”
“As well as can be, thank you.” He glanced at James and the missionaries before swiftly moving on.
“It seems Reuben O’Donoghue is in no mood to be amicable this morning,” said Hugo.
We boarded the train and took our seats in a second-class compartment. James and Edgar sat side-by-side, while I sat in the seat opposite them.
“It seems I’m a wonder at disguise,” said Edgar. “Neither of those missionaries recognised me! I came across them while I was undercover in St Giles.”
“You were rather filthy-looking. I didn’t even recognise you when you were sitting at your own desk,” I said.
“It’s a shame the missionaries now know why we’re here,” said James. “I didn’t want anyone else knowing of our plans.”
“You can trust the missionaries. They helped me out of a tight spot,” I said.
“When?” asked James. “What happened?”
“Nothing much. It was a while ago now.”
I felt his concerned eyes on me as two elderly women in wide black dresses and long veils entered the compartment. They were joined by a thin man, who was suffering from a persistent cough.
“Seeing Reuben O’Donoghue just then has reminded me of something,” I said. “A few weeks ago, I saw him arguing with a man who I’m sure was Albert Turner.”
“What were they arguing about?” asked James.
“I don’t know. Mr Turner said something about how he was trying to help a woman and then he and Reuben saw us and they both scarpered. I don’t think they wanted anyone to overhear them.”
“I believe he’s a rather argumentative man,” said Edgar. “When I was undercover in St Giles, I saw him arguing with one of the missionaries. That Hawkins chap, I think it was. He’s the older, shorter one, isn’t he?”
“Why would he argue with a missionary?”
“Perhaps arguing with people is a favourite pastime of his.”
“It’s funny,” I said, “because Reuben has never struck me as argumentative. I’ve heard stories of him having a violent manner, but he’s always been perfectly civil to me.”
“You’re a lady,” said Edgar. “That’s why he behaves differently towards you.”
“Do you know what caused the argument between Reuben and Hugo Hawkins?” James asked Edgar.
“I overheard them talking about money. Reuben seemed to be accusing the missionary of some sort of financial misdemeanour. I saw them w
hen I was leaving The Three Feathers one evening and would have hung about to listen in, but I was accompanied by a large, one-legged soldier who had unfortunately befriended me for the evening.”
The carriage jolted as the train pulled out of the station, a trail of steam and smoke billowed past the window.
“So when do we go looking for this Winston chap?” asked Edgar, rubbing his hands together in expectation.
“I suppose we should do it now,” said James.
“Do you know what he looks like, Edgar?” I asked.
“That’s a very good question, Miss Green. No, I don’t. I’ve never clapped eyes on the fellow.”
We walked along the corridor stealing careful glances into each compartment, I looked out for Martha in her wide-brimmed hat in the hope that Winston would be seated with her. Groups of passengers dressed entirely in black stared back at us.
“We look as though we’re up to no good,” I said to James.
“We do rather, don’t we? Still, this has to be done. As soon as we have eyes on him I shall wave my handkerchief from the window.”
In the last compartment, I spotted a familiar-looking man in a black top hat. Perhaps he sensed that I was looking at him, because he quickly lifted his head and returned my gaze.
It was Ed Keller.
The breath seemed to leave my chest for a moment. He gave me a wink and I hurriedly looked away, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Well that’s one traverse done with no sign of Nicholls or his mother,” said James. “Are you all right, Penny? You look rather pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“Right. Let’s try again.” We walked back along the corridor, rocked by the motion of the train as we went. As I looked into each compartment, I saw that we were attracting stony glances and someone pulled a curtain across the window of his compartment so that we couldn’t see inside.
“This Nicholls chap is not in second-class, is he?” said Edgar once we had checked each compartment a second time.
“They must be in third-class,” I added.
We stood at the end of the carriage and James removed his hat, pulled a window down and pushed his head out to look around.
“No handkerchiefs from the other carriages,” he said once he had pulled his head back in. He smoothed his ruffled hair.
“You want to be careful sticking your bonce out like that,” said Edgar. “A passing train or obstacle could take a chap’s head clean off.”
“The lack of handkerchiefs concerns me,” said James, replacing his hat. “I’d have thought the other officers would have had plenty of time to check their carriages by now. Where’s the chap got to? We saw him at Cemetery Station.”
“I’ll go through second-class again,” I said.
I walked up and down the carriage, averting my eyes from Ed Keller’s compartment and wishing that James wouldn’t keep pushing his head out of the window to look for handkerchiefs. Edgar’s warning had given me cause for concern.
The countryside raced past the windows and the quantity of green unsettled my eyes. I had become so accustomed to the grey of London that I had almost forgotten what rolling fields looked like. After a while, I felt rather knowledgeable about the occupants of each compartment, who no doubt thought I had lost my mind as I persisted in repeatedly walking along the corridor.
“He’s not here,” I said.
James sighed. “And he’s not in the other carriages either. There’s only one other place that I can think of.”
“The coffin carriage?” asked Edgar.
James responded with a sombre nod.
Chapter 42
“We’ll have to wait until the train arrives at Brookwood Cemetery,” said Edgar.
“But that’s when the coffin’s removed from the carriage. We can’t simply dive in there just before the ceremony takes place,” replied James. “The carriage will have to be searched before then.”
“It can’t be,” I said. “You can only get in there once the train has stopped. And if Winston Nicholls is in there, he’ll have time to escape. Besides, I don’t believe he can be in there. How could he have got inside it?”
“Perhaps he slipped in unnoticed at Cemetery Station,” replied James. “We can’t have him finding the opportunity to escape once we arrive at Brookwood. I can get inside the coffin carriage while the train is moving. All I have to do is hope that the doors at the end of each carriage are unlocked.”
“You can’t, James! It’s not safe! You’d have to jump over the couplings while the train is moving. Just one lurch of the train and you’d be thrown down onto the track! Please don’t attempt it,” I implored.
“And how can you be sure that there’ll even be a door at the end of each carriage? Sometimes they’re just dead ends,” added Edgar.
“This carriage has a door at either end,” said James walking towards the one nearest us. “All I need to do is hope that third-class has the same.”
“But the funeral carriage won’t, surely?” said Edgar.
“There’s only one way for me to find out.”
“James, you’ll get yourself killed!” I entreated. “This is nonsense, Winston Nicholls is not in the coffin carriage.”
“Then where is he?” asked James. He took off his bowler hat and gave it to me. “I think the wind will take this as soon as I leave the carriage. Would you mind looking after it for me?”
“But James!” I clasped his hat in my hands.
“Penny, I’ve been on this train before.” He rested his hand reassuringly on my arm. “I know that it will slow down to crawling pace when we near the cemetery, and we’re almost there. Please don’t worry.”
He turned and tried the handle of the door at the end of the carriage. To my great disappointment, it opened. The noise of wind and the rattle of the wheels filled my ears.
“Go careful, old chap,” said Edgar.
“See you in Brookwood,” said James.
He stepped through the door, gave me a brief smile and then closed it behind him. The carriage fell silent.
“Edgar, I feel faint.”
I staggered back against the side of the carriage and he held my arm as I slowly sank to the floor.
“Why would he risk his life?” I said in a weak voice.
“He’s desperate to catch his man. I didn’t realise the schoolboy inspector could be such a daredevil.”
Within minutes, the train began to slow down. I stood by the window, gripping James’ hat in my hands and praying that he would return safely. The train stopped at Brookwood Station and there was a brief pause before we continued slowly down the branch line, which ran through the cemetery. A flat expanse of green peppered with trees and headstones stretched out on either side of us. I lowered the window and peered out with one hand resting on my hat to keep it in place.
“You shouldn’t be doing that, Miss Green!” scolded Edgar.
I looked ahead at the first-class carriage and the engine, and then back towards the third-class and coffin carriages behind us.
“There’s no sign of him,” I said, bringing my head back inside the carriage. “Surely we must almost be there? The train is moving so slowly.”
Waiting to find out what had happened to James was quite intolerable.
We seemed to be travelling only marginally faster than walking pace. I looked down at the lawn beside the tracks and a thought sprang to mind. I pushed the window down so that I could reach the handle on the other side of the door.
“Miss Green,” Edgar said with a warning tone to his voice. “What are you doing?”
“Please can you look after James’ hat?” I handed him the bowler. “And my bag.”
“Miss Green, you’re as foolhardy as the inspector! Don’t be getting any ideas about leaping from this train before it reaches the station!”
“I want to see if James is all right. And if he’s got into the coffin carriage and found Nicholls, I’ll be ready to help as soon as the train stops.”
“The
re’s no need! You’re sure to break your limbs doing such a thing!”
“Please can you close the door after me?” I put one hand on my hat, checked that the ground was clear ahead of me and pushed down on the handle. The door swung open and I leapt forward, hoping to hit the ground at running pace.
It turned out to be a faster pace than I could match. I immediately stumbled and rolled several times over on the grass. The surprise took my breath away and my black skirts and petticoats billowed out and tumbled around me. I felt my spectacles fly off. As I willed myself to stop, I caught a glimpse of Edgar leaning out of the open door, calling out to me. The train rumbled past as I lay still, the air knocked from my chest. People stared open-mouthed from the windows and then I saw another face staring at me, this time from the gap between third-class and the coffin carriage.
“James!” My breath had returned. “James!”
I stumbled to my feet as the train rolled on ahead of me. James was clinging to the door at the end of third-class and I surmised that there was no door leading into the coffin carriage. I picked up my hat and cracked spectacles and ran after the train. I could see a building and platform ahead of me and, as the train slowed down, I was able to match its speed by lifting my skirts and running as swiftly as my attire allowed. The heels of my boots dug into the grass and I knew that it wouldn’t be long before my corset began to restrict my breathing.
“Penny!”
James’ voice was almost lost amid the noise of the train. He was shouting something to me, but I couldn’t hear what it was. I was fatigued from running but relieved that James hadn’t yet perished between the carriages. It looked to me as though he would be stuck where he was until the train came to a halt.
The train reached the platform and I climbed up onto it, my lungs almost fit to burst. My hair had lost most of its pins and fallen down around my shoulders. As the train slowed to a standstill, James jumped out onto the platform and almost fell over, as I had done.
“Penny!” he said breathlessly. “It turns out there’s no way into that coffin carriage from third-class, and I couldn’t get back into the third-class carriage. The door seemed to be stuck!”