Death in Bayswater Page 11

  Frances’ landlady Mrs Embleton came to her door and gazed at her reproachfully. ‘I suppose these people wish to see you, Miss Doughty. I am not at all sure I want to allow them all in at once.’

  ‘I don’t think you should. I am not expecting to see them and do not have any appointments this morning. Perhaps if you were to admit only Miss Gilbert and Miss John, and tell the others to return later.’

  ‘What if they all rush in at once?’ objected Mrs Embleton. ‘I cannot have such a disturbance in the house upsetting my other ladies.’

  Sarah rolled back her cuffs as if she was about to pound a particularly stiff piece of pastry. ‘They won’t,’ she snarled.

  Frances decided to join Sarah and their landlady as they descended the stairs, finding the housemaid cowering uncertainly in the hallway. Mrs Embleton kindly sent the maid away and Sarah flung open the front door. She stood on the top step, hands on hips, shoulders squared, looking like something that was usually to be seen on the prow of a battleship.

  ‘Now then, what’s all the excitement?’ she demanded.

  Everyone turned towards her, and unsurprisingly no one dared to try and rush past her into the house. ‘It is the early edition of the Chronicle,’ exclaimed Miss Gilbert, breathlessly, pushing her way to the front of the surging crowd, her formidable bosom heaving with emotion, ‘it says that we are all about to be killed!’

  ‘I am afraid that is too true,’ piped up Mr Candy from the midst of the sea of faces. ‘The ladies of Bayswater are in great danger and I am here to offer them my assistance.’

  ‘Is this to do with the Norfolk Square murder?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Oh but it is far worse than that,’ said Miss John mildly, patting her cloud of grey curls into place. ‘There is a terrible beast of a man who lives amongst us and kills for pleasure in the dark with a great knife and wallows in our blood. And then –’ she paused for dramatic effect, ‘he takes our faces away.’ She elbowed her way deftly to the head of the throng like a surgeon making his first incision, and handed Frances her copy of the Chronicle.

  It was open at the page of Bayswater news, where heavy black type had been used to create a heading that occupied almost half the length of a column.

  FACE SLASHER

  TERROR IN

  BAYSWATER

  FIEND KILLS

  THREE WOMEN

  POLICE HAVE

  NO CLUES.

  The article that followed described the three recent murders as the work of a homicidal maniac who had left the formerly safe and peaceful streets of Bayswater swimming in the blood of mutilated women. Nothing was known about the killer except that he was easily able to overcome and silence his victims, and wielded a sharp knife which he either plunged repeatedly into the bodies of his defenceless prey or cut their throats so deeply as to almost sever their heads. The killer then piled horror upon horror by disfiguring the corpses, carving great gashes in their faces so as to render them almost unrecognisable before disappearing into the night like a phantom.

  There followed a heartbreaking account of the unfortunate Jim Price, who was languishing miserably in the cold dark of the condemned cell, doomed to be executed for another’s crime, and the pathetic plight of his poor but honest family. The description of Mrs Price’s suffering was extremely affecting and the writer confessed to having been moved to tears of pity at their interview. Her daughter, a beautiful, virtuous and modest girl of seventeen, was nobly bearing all the burdens of her family on her frail shoulders. There was, the article went on to reveal, a vital witness who could save Jim Price’s life by giving him an alibi for the time of the murder. A description was provided, with a demand that he come forward at once.

  The piece ended with three strident appeals; to the police, calling upon them to arrest the real murderer before any more outrages were committed; to the Home Secretary, urging him to release Jim Price at once, and to all the inhabitants of Bayswater, to be on the alert for the diabolical madman in their midst.

  This was all alarming enough but the article appended an unconfirmed rumour that the clever Miss Doughty, who was known to solve the most baffling cases, had been engaged as a special advisor to the police, and it was hoped that she would soon be able to unmask the killer.

  ‘Is it true that you are working for the police?’ shouted a young man whose notebook and pencil pronounced him to be from the press.

  ‘Do you know who the killer is?’ cried another.

  There was a sudden violent push towards Frances and the hapless constable tried to hold back the surge. Mr Candy darted forward and tried to help him, but not being of an especially robust build, he was not a great deal of help.

  ‘Please, everyone, be calm,’ Frances entreated, but her voice went unheard. The constable blew his whistle for assistance, and Sarah descended the steps and added her broad shoulders to the struggle. Miss John, as was usual in such circumstances, became quite excited, and produced a sharp bodkin from her reticule, preparing to defend herself from any assailant. Fortunately another constable ran up before she could do any damage, and the pressmen, scenting that they might be in trouble if they remained, took to their heels, and were pursued down the street by the policemen. With most of the crowd scattered, Frances was left with an exhausted and disheveled-looking Mr Candy, Miss John with a cheerful gleam in her eyes and Miss Gilbert adjusting her bonnet.

  ‘This is Mr Ibbitson’s work!’ fumed Frances. ‘I shall go straight up to the Chronicle and give him a piece of my mind! How dare he write such a thing and alarm everyone! And what he has said about me is quite untrue. Sarah, get a cab!’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it,’ gasped Mr Candy. ‘There is great excitement in the Grove with a large assembly of people outside the Chronicle offices all demanding newspapers. If they saw you arrive it would only add to the disturbance.’

  ‘He’s right,’ warned Sarah.

  Frances tried to compose herself. ‘Very well,’ she said at last. Her visitors looked up at her appealingly. ‘Please, everyone, come in.’

  ‘I’ll get the parlour ready,’ said Sarah and hurried up ahead of them. Mrs Embleton gave a little sigh and a shake of her head and, much to the relief of Frances, who had anticipated being given a stern warning, or even notice to quit her lodgings, retreated to her rooms.

  ‘But you ought to be advising the police,’ urged Miss Gilbert as the visitors all followed Frances into the hallway. ‘It would be a very splendid thing if you did. You are so much cleverer than they are.’

  ‘I am not concerning myself with the two recent murders at all,’ Frances told her firmly, ‘I am acting only for Mr Price, who has been convicted of the murder of his sweetheart, and all I have been doing in that case is looking for a witness who can provide an alibi for him.’

  Mr Candy looked doubtful. ‘Do you think you will succeed? I read the report of his trial and there seemed to be a good case against him.’

  ‘I have found some information that I hope will assist him, but I fear it may not be enough. Sadly, the witness, though found, has recently passed away, which is a great blow. I am sorry to say that if I am unsuccessful in convincing the authorities to quash the verdict, then two weeks today an innocent man will hang.’

  ‘Is there such a thing as an innocent man?’ wondered Miss John, in a tone that suggested that she rather thought not.

  ‘I have interviewed Mr Price and he struck me as honest and respectable. And, of course, he will not be the only one to suffer. His poor mother is likely to die from grief and the plight of his sister is pitiful.’

  Candy frowned. ‘I wish there was something I could do to help the unhappy family, at least.’

  Sarah appeared on the landing and gave a nod to say that the parlour was ready and Frances ushered her visitors up the stairs ahead of her. ‘I have suggested to the police that the perpetrator of the two recent murders might also be guilty of the murder of Miss Miller, although I am not at all sure of that myself. I was hoping they might re-examine Mr
Price’s conviction, but I doubt that they will. Unfortunately the theory was discussed in the presence of Mr Ibbitson of the Chronicle, who has chosen to concoct a melodrama that has terrified all of Bayswater.’

  ‘But we are right to be afraid if such a nasty creature is on the loose,’ insisted Miss Gilbert. ‘We women are not allowed to police the streets, more is the pity, but we can do something to protect ourselves.’

  The parlour was very neatly arranged and Sarah had taken care to put out two ornate and heavily embroidered cushions, gifts that were the products of Miss John’s busy needle and were not usually on display as they were not especially to Frances’ taste. If Mr Candy noticed those additions to the decor, which had been absent on his previous visits, he did not comment.

  ‘Some people say that the killer hates women because we dare to demand the same rights as men,’ continued Miss Gilbert. ‘There are many such horrid men, and they abuse us with their words and beat their wives and insult them by flaunting their mistresses.’ She shuddered. ‘But they have never before stooped to wholesale murder.’

  ‘Not that we know of,’ observed Miss John, quietly.

  Miss Gilbert patted a cushion and plumped into a chair. ‘You will be happy to hear, however, that we have come to make some practical suggestions. Even if Miss Doughty is not advising the police, although I feel sure that that situation will come to pass very soon if they have any sense at all, there is still much that can be done. Miss Smith’s wonderful classes at Professor Pounder’s academy are attended by many of our friends and add greatly to the ability of us women to protect ourselves against men. I wonder,’ she continued breathlessly before anyone else in the company could comment, ‘could more classes be arranged? I am sure that they will be even more in demand than before. Also Miss Smith, I would beg you to speak at one of our meetings on the subject. I am sure we would all benefit from your advice.’

  ‘I’m not much for standing up and speaking,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Perhaps you and the Professor could give a demonstration? He could pretend to attack you and then you could knock him down. Our ladies would like to see that. Then you could show us how it is done.’

  ‘I think we should all carry guns,’ offered Miss John. ‘I would quite like to have a gun.’

  ‘I have had an idea which I think you would approve of,’ Mr Candy ventured, timidly. ‘I am in full agreement that it is scandalous that respectable females cannot go about their lawful business without fear of violence. And Bayswater is such a very busy and crowded place where many young women are obliged to walk home from their occupations or go out on necessary errands. Not all of them have a male relative who can accompany them, or have money for a cab. I propose enlisting citizens of irreproachable reputation as volunteers to escort our Bayswater ladies after dark. Through my charity work I already know many gentlemen who would, I am sure, be pleased to assist. Any volunteers who are unknown to me would have to be vouched for of course – I could ask for a letter from a clergyman or a doctor or a magistrate. This is where you ladies may help me. If there are any such gentlemen who you know and would recommend, I would be happy to approach them.’

  Frances reflected that women who were not respectable and did not have lawful business were still entitled to walk about Bayswater without having their throats cut, but decided not to mention this. It was unlikely that any gentleman who Mr Candy might recruit would want to be seen with such women in the open, even if they might resort to them privately. Those poor creatures would have to do their best to assemble in groups and protect each other.

  ‘I shall call my new organisation the Guardians of Virtue,’ announced Mr Candy proudly, ‘and I would be honoured, Miss Doughty, if you were to become the first patron of this endeavour. I am sure that your name would inspire confidence. I intend to place an advertisement in the Chronicle and all who wish to volunteer as guardians or use the service may write to me at my office. There is no time to waste. I will hold a public meeting very soon and I do so hope that you will be able to attend. In fact I am hoping that you would be willing to take a seat on the platform and address the meeting. These charming ladies would be very welcome also.’

  Miss Gilbert and Miss John favoured Mr Candy with the glance they reserved for any gentleman who dared to insult them with a compliment.

  Frances was not entirely comfortable with speaking in public, as she always thought she had nothing at all to say, but she usually found that once she began, her natural interest and enthusiasm asserted themselves, and then she had a great deal to say, although she could never really remember afterwards what it was. She had, however, once spoken to the Bayswater Women’s Suffrage Society on the question of vigilance, and thought that would be an appropriate subject, so she consented.

  There was a gentle knock at the door and the maid peered in. ‘Excuse me Miss, but Mr Ibbitson is here asking to see you. Shall I tell him to wait?’

  Frances narrowed her eyes, coldly. ‘No. Show him in. I want to speak to him.’

  ‘Well you have been saved a journey,’ said Miss Gilbert, with a smile.

  Sarah cracked her knuckles as if to say that their new visitor had not been saved a drubbing.

  That impulse was abandoned, however, when Mr Ibbitson arrived, with a livid swollen bruise surrounding an area of broken skin on his cheek. ‘Good morning Miss Doughty!’ he greeted her cheerfully. ‘Have you seen the paper? What do you think? That should do the trick!’

  ‘Why, whatever has happened to your face?’ asked Frances.

  He laughed. ‘Oh, this, it’s nothing! There was a big crowd around the Chronicle offices this morning all wanting copies of the paper, and some gent got overexcited and waved a walking stick a bit too enthusiastically.’

  ‘You’ll need something on that. Sarah, can you see to it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think –’ he began, airily.

  ‘I insist,’ said Frances, her tone rejecting the possibility of any denial.

  ‘But –’ his protests became a yelp when Sarah grabbed him by the collar.

  ‘I’ll use that stuff that stings,’ she said with grim satisfaction and hauled him away. The fact that it did sting was evidenced by a series of loud exclamations that emerged from the dressing room during the next few minutes, sounds that the gathering in the parlour decided to politely ignore.

  Eventually Sarah brought her unwilling patient back, with the wound cleaned, and his face much reddened. The bruise was adopting a curious pattern, which suggested that the walking stick that had inflicted it was topped with a filigree design. ‘Thank you Miss Smith,’ squeaked Ibbitson, rubbing his eyes, which were watering a little. ‘I’m sure I am very grateful.’

  ‘Literary criticism can be painful,’ Frances observed. ‘We have read your article, and you should be pleased that this is all you have suffered.’

  He seemed surprised. ‘Don’t you like it? The editor was very happy with it. We’ve doubled our sales.’

  Frances was incredulous. ‘Is that all that matters?’

  ‘Well that’s what Mr Gillan says. And you’ll be famous now!’ he added brightly.

  ‘When I wish to be famous I will let you know!’ Frances’ annoyance, which had subsided a little, was now rekindled by the discovery that, far from being repentant, he was proud of what he had done. ‘What were you thinking of? You have had the whole of Bayswater in a panic.’

  ‘I was thinking of Miss – I mean, Mr Price. Going to be hanged for something he didn’t do. I thought that if I could get people roused up to proper indignation, then the police might look into it. I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘I am not advising the police. What made you write such a thing? That is quite untrue.’

  ‘Well, it’s almost true, isn’t it? Because even if they don’t ask for your advice you always give it to them. I put that in because I thought it would frighten the murderer into giving himself up.’

  Miss Gilbert laughed. ‘Maybe it will at that!’

  Fran
ces was not amused. ‘Mr Ibbitson, please promise me that you will not write anything in the newspapers about me unless it is true. Is that too much to ask?’

  He said nothing but looked suitably crestfallen.

  ‘Apparently so.’ Frances said, frowning, ‘I thought newspapers prided themselves on informing and educating the public. It is not part of their duty to delude and frighten them.’ Another thought struck her, and she spoke to him sharply. ‘And both you and Mr Gillan must also promise me that on no account will you write letters to the paper supposedly from members of the public or even purporting to be from the murderer himself, just to provide sensational copy for the Chronicle.’

  The disappointment on Mr Ibbitson’s face showed that he had been thinking of doing just that.

  ‘Well, however much we may disapprove of the article it has had a good effect,’ interposed Mr Candy, soothingly. ‘This very day I am launching a new venture which will ensure the safety of Bayswater females.’

  The young reporter cheered up at once, sat down facing Mr Candy, and took out a notebook and pencil. ‘That is wonderful news! I know our readers will want to hear of it.’

  There was an interlude during which Mr Candy expounded on his new project with enthusiasm. Mr Ibbitson made admiring noises and wrote very rapidly, then jumped up with a grin. ‘Back to the office now. I shall go and see Mrs and Miss Price later on.’

  ‘Another interview?’ Frances enquired.

  ‘Not exactly. They’ve invited me to tea.’ Even under the bruise he blushed a little.

  When Ibbitson had left, there was much excited talk from Miss Gilbert about how the ladies of Bayswater should take matters into their own hands, and show that they would not be frightened. If nervous men did not dare subscribe to Mr Candy’s Guardians of Virtue then she knew of many fearless women who would. Mr Candy looked somewhat alarmed at the prospect and protested that he had not envisaged ladies risking themselves, but Miss Gilbert chattered on regardless, and Miss John’s eyes glittered with mischief.