Death in Bayswater Read online

  Frances and Cedric lost no time in leaving the station and boarded the cab that was waiting for them outside. ‘How foolish of the Inspector to even consider you as a suspect,’ said Frances.

  ‘He is prejudiced against me I fear, because I am of the aesthetic persuasion.’ Cedric brushed a mote of dust from his otherwise immaculate cuffs. ‘I am probably the only aesthete in Bayswater.’

  ‘It is very shortsighted of him. He imagines just because you are a bachelor that you dislike women.’

  ‘It is a common fallacy, I find. There are many reasons why a man might decide never to marry and yet still be perfectly sane and a great admirer of the female sex. In fact a devoted admiration for ladies is surely the greatest test of sanity that can be devised.’

  ‘Do you think the murderer is insane, rather than wicked?’ For all Cedric’s pretence at idleness and a preoccupation with the trivial, Frances knew he was an intelligent and perceptive man, something he made great efforts to conceal, and she valued his opinions.

  ‘Without a doubt. That is why it is useless to look for a motive. Such a maniac kills for the love of killing.’

  ‘But if that was the case, surely he would kill without any consideration for age or sex or rank. The three victims have all been young, respectable women.’

  ‘Then that is his mania. Three, you say? I had understood there were two. Has there been another since Norfolk Square?’

  ‘No, thank heavens and I hope there will never be. I am referring to the murder of Martha Miller for which Jim Price has been sentenced to hang.’

  ‘You believe him innocent?’

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘I don’t think anyone can. The one witness who might have done so is dead.’ Saying it in that way only brought home to Frances the hopelessness of her task.

  ‘If I recall rightly a dead witness has never stopped you from solving a mystery in the past. But if you wish to call upon me for any assistance, please do so.’ His normally light tone dropped to one of great earnestness. ‘A moment’s notice will be sufficient.’

  Frances had a meeting with Ratty that afternoon to ensure that all the boys under his command were detailed to scour Bayswater for the Filleter. There was nothing further she could do to assist the police. Much as she would have liked to catch the horrid killer herself, she knew that it was beyond what she ought to attempt.

  Later that day Sarah arrived home with an expression of great satisfaction making her broad plain face glow as if it had been buffed to a shine. ‘Very nice old lady,’ she said, as she bustled about getting supper. ‘I got her talking and she told me the whole story. I said as how we all had to be careful nowadays with our property and she said she had some very clever ways of outwitting thieves. Then all of a sudden she remembered her hiding place under the floorboards and there it all was.’ Sarah chuckled. ‘She was that happy I didn’t ask for payment, but she gave me one of her best recipes.’ She took a scrap of paper from her pocket and studied it. ‘Oh, and I made another call, and now I know where Mr Candy’s twenty pound note went.’ She chuckled again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Uncomfortably aware that only thirteen days remained before Jim Price was to be hanged, Frances studied the morning papers, and was interested to see that even The Times had given half a column to the Bayswater murders although their correspondent, unlike those of The Standard and the Morning Post, had been careful to couch his article in less colourful terms than the Bayswater Chronicle. Since it was the habit of so many newspapers to simply reprint verbatim articles already published by others, she had no doubt that Mr Ibbitson’s lurid words were already being inked on to newsprint all over the country. What the popular weeklies would do with the story she dreaded to think.

  Frances gave strict orders to the maid that she was not prepared to see any representatives of the press, apart from Mr Gillan and Mr Ibbitson of the Chronicle, and if there was any suggestion of a disturbance then she should send for Sarah at once, and the police if necessary. This precaution proved to be a wise one, since when Frances peered out of the window she saw a small group of pressmen assembling outside her door. They appeared to be acting in collusion since two of them were clearly acting as lookouts in case the police should arrive. They looked more like a band of pickpockets than newsmen. After some animated discussion, one of them, who appeared to be the youngest, was deputed by the others to ring the doorbell. Frances found herself wishing for the convenience of a telegraphic office within her own parlour so that she might summon assistance immediately, or even one of the new electronic telephones she had read about. She did not feel, however, that Inspector Sharrock would approve of a device that rang a bell in the police station every time someone needed his help.

  The front door opened, and there was a conversation between the young gentleman, who presented a card, and the maid, who would, according to instructions, be explaining that the detective he sought to interview was not at home to the press. Despite this the youth made no move to leave, and his associates merely shouted out encouragement. The girl withdrew indoors, closing the door firmly to prevent unwanted intrusion and as Frances heard her footsteps on the stairs she glanced at Sarah, who was rising to her feet and flexing her fingers. ‘It would be best if you did not strike anyone,’ she advised. ‘They are only doing what their masters tell them, and I need your help more than ever now, so it would not do at all if you had to spend any time explaining your actions to the police.’

  Sarah wrinkled her nose, and looked out of the window. ‘You’re right. Too many witnesses.’

  Sarah tramped downstairs with the maid, who looked almost too excited to be nervous. Frances looked out of the window again, and after a minute or two the front door opened and Sarah appeared on the top step holding a large bucket. She said nothing, but tipped the contents over the man on the steps, and went indoors again. The soaked youth uttered howls of dismay, and his comrades showed no sympathy for his plight but roared with laughter. Frances was sure that had they been soaked they would not have found the situation so amusing. The youth, resorting to dancing wetly on the pavement and shaking his arms, remonstrated with the others, who made a great show of holding their noses, and waving him away. None of them dared go near the house, but neither did they decide to leave.

  Frances was expecting Sarah to return but she did not. Another few minutes passed and then the front door opened again and Sarah descended the steps and walked towards the newsmen. This time she was holding two buckets. When the men saw her, their amusement stopped abruptly, and they hurried away. Muffled laughter from the hallway suggested that the maid had been watching the spectacle.

  ‘That will make an interesting item in the Chronicle,’ said Frances, as Sarah returned to the parlour. The rest of the morning was peaceful, and devoted to correspondence, then after luncheon Sarah departed to take one of her classes at Professor Pounder’s academy. She carried a parcel carefully wrapped in brown paper, almost certainly some fragrant item recently emerged from the oven, a gift for the Professor. Frances, knowing how much the gentleman appreciated Sarah’s skills in the kitchen, had once sought to enquire teasingly if Mr Barkis was willing, to receive only a snort from Sarah. She had not raised the subject again.

  Frances had by now received replies to most of the letters she had written appealing for clemency for Jim Price, expressing her doubts concerning his guilt. Officialdom did not share her view, however, and the responses were polite, promising only to give her words due consideration. That consideration, she was certain, extended only as far as reading her letters and placing them in a file. The gentlemen were well meaning, but they rarely considered that justice might have erred. She had heard nothing from Mr Rawsthorne following her report on Mr Gundry and determined that if there was no note by that afternoon she would write to him again.

  Mr Candy arrived and Frances had some good news for him.

  ‘I am happy to inform you that neither of your c
lerks is a thief. In fact there does not appear to have been a thief at all. The banknote did not reach your office because of a mistake and Mr Hullbridge has kindly agreed to send you a cheque forthwith.’

  ‘I am considerably relieved to hear it. Both my clerks are highly efficient and it would have pained me to discover anything to their detriment, not to mention my concern that other monies might have been taken. But what a curious error to occur.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Frances did not elaborate. Sarah, who kept well informed on the comings and goings of Bayswater servants, had managed to trace the banknote to the hands of Mr Hullbridge’s former parlourmaid, who, on discovering that she was in an interesting condition, had been quickly paid off by her master with the first thing that came to hand, and told to leave. Given his position in the community he had considered twenty pounds a cheap price to pay to avoid scandal. His wife, however, who had set the note aside to meet a bill, had discovered that it was missing before he could replace it, and he had been obliged to invent the story of the charity donation which his manservant had loyally supported. So distraught was Mr Hullbridge when Sarah had uncovered his ruse that he had offered to bribe her into silence. Her price had been twenty pounds paid to the charity, and she had watched him write the cheque and a covering letter and posted them herself. Sarah was especially scathing as the Hullbridges’ youngest child had died during the severe chills of last January, and the loss remained a tangible presence in the house. Hullbridge, rather than comforting his wife, had betrayed her.

  ‘But to more interesting business,’ Mr Candy went on. ‘I can now supply you with further information regarding the Guardians of Virtue. An advertisement has been placed in all the newspapers of quality, and distributed to gentlemen’s clubs, but,’ he added meaningfully, ‘only those of the highest possible standing. I do not approve of gamblers and sporting men who associate with actresses and the like. I must be quite certain of the noble sentiments and most perfect and pure reputations of all those who volunteer. I have also approached churchmen for their support and approbation and have been most encouraged by their response. There will be a meeting at Westbourne Hall on Friday night, to commence at eight o’clock, immediately after the ballad concert. Inspector Swanson has promised to appear and make a speech; he will be a very great attraction; also Mr Pollaky the famous detective. I very much hope that you will attend, and your – er – remarkable assistant.’ He glanced about him as if Sarah might suddenly loom into view.

  ‘Sarah is doing her part for Bayswater ladies by teaching them callisthenics.’

  ‘Ah, of course, so they might be athletic enough to run away if they encounter danger,’ said Candy, nodding understandingly.

  Frances happened to know that Sarah’s version of the dainty art involved dexterity with large wooden clubs, but declined to mention this in case Mr Candy thought it not quite respectable.

  In the last few months Mr Candy had busied himself with his work and made no allusion to his disappointment over Miss Digby, but as he sat before Frances his head and body suddenly drooped like a wilting plant, and a mournful look passed over his features. It was an unusual display from him since he was one of those gentlemen who prided themselves on not making an outward show of emotions, whatever the unhappiness within. He recovered his dignity very quickly, however, and sat up again. ‘I called upon Mr Digby recently. He is a good and generous man and was kind enough to receive me with great civility.’

  Frances wondered what might have prompted the visit. ‘Was this in connection with the charities?’

  ‘Yes, I have been soliciting support from all the prominent gentlemen and ladies in Bayswater to add further comforts to the dispensary for the poor. I did make it very clear when I saw Mr Digby that this alone was the reason for my call, and I had no intention of discussing our previous association. Nevertheless, Mr Digby did reveal to me that Enid – I suppose I must not think of her in that way now – his daughter is being courted by some frivolous fellow called Pargeter who is quite unworthy of her. They are not yet betrothed but it may well come to that. It is very clear that her father does not approve of the connection and would much prefer me as a son-in-law.’ He shook his head. ‘It is a very hard thing indeed, when a man strives to be upright and honourable, only to find that the lady whose hand he seeks has turned up her nose at him in favour of another who is all polish and no substance. What am I to do? Is there a way in which you might assist me?’

  Frances felt obliged to reply with caution. When she had spoken to Mr Digby on the subject some months ago, he had advised her of the new suitor’s penchant for the gaming table and the racecourse, and his habit, which amounted to a passion, of turning every item of money that came his way into a debt. Since Mr Digby had stipulated to his daughter that he would not condone the betrothal until his prospective son-in-law had paid his creditors, an event that seemed far less likely than his imminent ruin, Frances seriously doubted that the match would ever take place. She thought it unwise, however, to mention the rival’s manifest shortcomings to Mr Candy, in case he was tempted to denigrate the other’s character to Miss Digby, which was more likely to hurt than assist his case. ‘I cannot believe that Mr Digby will permit the match. If they were to ask for his blessing I suspect that he would require them to wait some considerable time in the hope that his daughter’s eyes would finally be opened to the gentleman’s faults, and then she might think of you more kindly. My counsel is patience.’

  ‘I accept your advice, but if you were perhaps to hear anything that might give me some hope that Miss Digby would agree to receive me again, I would like to know it.’

  As he rose to leave, he had another thought. ‘Miss Doughty, you are very knowledgeable about everything that happens here in Bayswater. I have recently heard an unpleasant rumour, and you may be able to tell me whether or not it is true. I have been told that Mrs Outram, a charitable lady who is one of the principal patrons of the hospital for incurable children, has in the last few weeks made a very unwise marriage to a scoundrel who has taken total possession of her fortune. Is it true? There has been no announcement in the newspapers, but I fear it may be so, since the donation she makes every month and was expected recently has not arrived.’

  ‘I am sorry to say that your information is correct. The husband is a former solicitor’s clerk, Mr Timothy Wheelock, who is very much her junior. He is a clever and unprincipled young man who has managed to secure his wife’s whole fortune to his use.’

  ‘That is a terrible disappointment. Hardly a month ago she wrote to me saying that she intended to place a large sum at the charity’s disposal to build a new hospital that was to be named after the late Mr Outram. I don’t suppose Mr Wheelock might be persuaded to allow it?’ he added hopefully.

  ‘I very much doubt it. He is not of a charitable nature.’

  ‘She has also made a will leaving an annuity to provide supplies for the hospital. I know this as a fact since she showed me the document. It was a very generous bequest.’

  ‘All void now, I imagine. But there is some hope as her family wish to contest the validity of the marriage.’

  ‘Then I wish them every success.’

  In such a dispute Frances knew that Mr Candy could testify to Mrs Outram’s intention to dispose of some of her fortune to charity, but that, she thought, would work against any attempt of her family to try and prove that the lady was not competent to manage her affairs.

  The afternoon post brought nothing from Mr Rawsthorne. Instead there were several letters asking her to investigate the suspicious behaviour of certain individuals, not for any stated reason but for reasons that were obvious to Frances. She replied offering appointments. She also sent a note to Mr Rawsthorne asking if there was any news and received a response signed by Mr Carter Freke on behalf of his employer saying that there was nothing further to report. Time was running out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The sensational newspaper reports had taken effect, and by the following mor
ning it seemed that the whole of Bayswater was in a ferment over the murders. Frances found her early delivery of letters three or four times what it had been before. Some of the correspondents wanted to ask her advice about personal safety, including where one might go to hire a bodyguard, others asked if she was investigating the murders, and some demanded to know if she knew who the killer was, which was a foolish question since if she had known she would already have told the police and the man would be under arrest. Most of the letters, however, were suggesting who the murderer might be, for a variety of reasons, usually because the individual carried a knife, or had a peculiar facial expression, or beat his wife, or was a foreigner. A letter from businessman Mr Wren denouncing his partner Mr Cork arrived in the same post as one from Mr Cork denouncing Mr Wren, from which Frances surmised that the two incorrigible quarrellers had had another falling-out. Then there were the letters that did not name anyone but offered a vague theory suggesting that the culprit was a butcher, a leather-worker, a sailor on leave, a doctor or a policeman. Some wanted to know if the murdered women had been in a delicate condition, and thus proposed that their killer might be a female, perhaps a midwife, or even someone plying quite another trade, whom they had trusted to approach them. Some asked if the murdered women had been subdued with chloroform. Frances thought this highly unlikely since she knew that such attempts did not have the success that the public liked to believe. Frances tied all the letters into a bundle and sent them to the police, who she felt sure were already sifting through a similar pile of useless paper.

  There was another little gathering of pressmen about Frances’ door, although they now hovered at a respectful distance, and made no attempt to seek admission, since they were anxious not to cause a disturbance or indeed exhibit any behaviour that might provoke Frances into summoning a constable, or worse still, Sarah. From time to time Frances peered out of her window, and found them still there, looking increasingly cold and miserable. As they were not troublesome either to her or the other occupants of the house, Frances decided to tolerate them, and after a while she began to feel sorry for the huddled pack misted about with damp autumn fogs, lingering in the hope that she might suddenly emerge and reveal the identity of the man who was terrorising Bayswater. Eventually she sent the servant out to take them mugs of hot tea and bread and butter, and a note to inform them that she had nothing to impart. How they or anyone else imagined she might be able to solve the mystery she could not tell.