Death in Bayswater Read online

  Miss Gilbert greeted her with her customary warmth and thrust a pile of pamphlets into Frances’ hands. ‘Please do take some of our new works. I know you will find them interesting reading. If women only had the vote then there would be more attention paid to matters that affect them. There are men who believe that if a woman is killed in the street than it is her fault for being there at all, but why should we not be able to walk about in our lawful occupations without fear?’

  Miss John appeared at Frances’ side. ‘I am sure we could almost do without men altogether. One would need to retain a few, of course, for the necessary purpose, but apart from that the world would be a better place without them.’

  Frances preferred not to think about the purpose to which Miss John was referring, and believed that if Sarah’s strong arm was not there to protect her then a man’s would do just as well. Not all the men of her acquaintance were monsters of anti-female prejudice; indeed many of them were kindly and amusing company, and pleasing to the eye. She was obliged to pull her thoughts quickly away from that reverie. ‘My present concern in this atmosphere of terror, which is an unfortunate product of the press, is that there are ladies who might be tempted to do foolish things from fear.’ She had been carrying the despoiled periodical rolled up and wrapped in plain paper, and now revealed it to view. ‘This item was found in the ladies reading room, of which I believe you are members. I am sorry for showing you such an unpleasant object, but it was written by a lady who is clearly in some distress of mind. I know no one who might be tempted to write words of this nature, but I thought that if she was a member of the Suffrage Society she might have corresponded with you and you would know her handwriting. Or she might have spoken to you and uttered similar sentiments.’

  The two ladies studied the writing and shook their heads.

  ‘Not every lady who supports us is a member of the Society,’ said Miss Gilbert. ‘There are many who are wholeheartedly in favour of our cause but are afraid to say so because of their cruel husbands or fathers, and they dare not come to our meetings.’

  ‘This is not everyday language,’ observed Miss John. ‘But if the lady has a great passion then perhaps she will come to Mr Candy’s meeting and say something there and show herself up.’

  It was a chance, of course, but Miss John’s comment gave Frances an idea which she decided to pursue, and once home she wrote a letter to Mr Candy, suggesting that a petition should be presented to the police and the Paddington Vestry from the denizens of Bayswater calling for greater vigilance. Every individual attending his meeting should be asked to sign it and append an address. If he thought this a good idea she said she would like to see the completed petition before it was presented, as it might provide her with some names she could recommend to him. Later she received a note saying that he heartily approved of her idea and would have the appropriate papers drawn up.

  Mr Candy had been hard at work. Leaflets were being distributed all over Bayswater advertising the meeting that would take place in Westbourne Hall on the following day. Frances found one delivered to her home, announcing her appearance, together with other notables who she felt sure would be a far greater attraction. She sent a copy to Mr Loveridge with a note suggesting that he might find something of interest to sketch. Sarah commented that it was very thoughtful of Frances to do this, as it would ensure the young artist had some business and Frances agreed, then Sarah added that this would also ensure that they saw him again very soon, an observation that seemed to cause her some amusement.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Frances was not anticipating with any pleasure the prospect of having to make a public address at Westbourne Hall but realised that she could take the opportunity offered by the meeting to put Jim Price’s case before the notables of Bayswater. She would start her speech with some words on vigilance, but then quickly move on to the murder of Martha Miller. Perhaps she might jog a memory of something seen or heard, and not thought to be important at the time, but which could suddenly blaze into significance and save her client from the noose. Inspector Swanson and Sergeant Brown would also be there and Ignatius Pollaky, who would surely have some valuable insights. Such an array of prominent persons would undoubtedly attract an audience. She knew nothing about Mr Pollaky’s work, which was rumoured to be very important. He often put advertisements in the newspapers in foreign languages of which he was said to speak several, and some were even in secret code. She wondered how many murderers he had caught: a great many for certain.

  As she composed her speech, frowning with concentration and refreshing herself with a constant supply of tea, a note arrived from Mr Loveridge thanking her for the leaflet and saying that he would attend the meeting to make sketches of the event. Frances found that she was looking forward very much to seeing Mr Loveridge again. He was good company and he made her smile. She realised, however, that she knew very little about him other than his profession. She estimated his age to be just a year or two greater than her own, but he had told her nothing of his family. He described himself as a student of art, but she had sometimes seen art students, sketching the elegant frontage of Westbourne Hall, or painting in one of the public gardens, and they had always looked slightly down at heel, even hungry, as if they spent on colours and paper what they ought to have spent on food. Mr Loveridge was well turned out by comparison, and she thought him not as poor as he liked to suggest.

  That evening, the supper things were just about to be cleared when there was a knock at the door. The maid brought up a little card, very tasteful and discreet with a delicate edging of gold leaf, and printed with the name James Chandler BA (Calcutta). Frances went to the window and peered out. A smartly dressed young man waited outside, flexing the fingers on his gloved hands to exercise them in the cold. ‘Foreign gentleman,’ said the maid. ‘What I meant was, not like your French or German foreign what’s almost English – very foreign indeed. He asked if he might make an appointment to see you, or if it is convenient, he is not presently engaged.’

  ‘This is Mrs Outram’s great-nephew – or I suppose I ought to say Mrs Wheelock’s. Show him up, I will see him at once.’ Frances always relished the prospect of a visitor from far away. Her world was a very small one, and by and large she liked it that way, since she knew where everything was, but sometimes she felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of the exotic. The only gentleman from India she had ever met was the young student of law, Mr Lathwal, and he was as polite and intelligent a person as she could ever have desired to meet, only so quiet and respectful that she had not found him altogether interesting. As they awaited their visitor, Frances and Sarah hurried to arrange the parlour to look as neat and businesslike as possible, which involved quickly putting a plate of currant buns into a drawer out of sight.

  The gentleman who was ushered in was under thirty, tall and well made with an elegant but unassuming carriage. His greatcoat and suit were tailored in a style that would allow him into any drawing room, the shirt crisp and white, the fabric finer than might be appropriate to the English climate. As he entered he looked approvingly at the fire that burned warmly in the room. The flames illuminated a face with the delicacy of a statue, emphasising the golden tone of his skin, and the fine cheekbones. His hair, smooth and very black, was thick and lustrous, the nose prominent and aquiline, the eyes as dark as French chocolate. He smiled and offered his hand to Frances, and she introduced Sarah as her trusted assistant.

  ‘Miss Doughty, Miss Smith,’ said their visitor courteously. He faltered a little under Sarah’s penetrating stare before acknowledging her with a polite inclination of the head. Frances hoped that he did not think the look was on account of his being foreign; Sarah’s glances of deep suspicion were aimed at all men. ‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance and very grateful that you have agreed to see me with so little warning. I am the great-nephew of Mrs Caroline Wheelock who was married recently in such strange circumstances. Mr Rawsthorne advised me to come and see you as he said you have
some information which might assist me.’

  Frances indicated the chair that faced hers across the little table. ‘I will do whatever I can to help you.’

  He sat, and his posture fell for a brief moment before he recovered his composure and he straightened again. She sensed that he was attempting to conceal exhaustion following his long journey and the anxiety that must have been his companion on the way.

  Frances and Sarah took their accustomed places. It was Sarah’s usual habit not to sit facing the persons being interviewed, but to occupy an armchair behind them. There she busied herself with needlework, and said nothing unless spoken to, but all the time she was listening to the conversation with great attention. She was especially wary of male clients. The position enabled her to advance upon the visitor unseen should that seem to be necessary, but it also allowed her to communicate secretly with Frances. In the last months the two had been maintaining their study of sign language and Sarah used this to communicate her observations during interviews. The signs for ‘liar’ and other still less complimentary words which Frances thought owed more to the argot of Wapping docks where Sarah had been brought up, than the teaching of the Bayswater deaf, were frequently in use.

  ‘I trust that I am not trespassing upon your time,’ he continued apologetically. ‘I seem to have arrived in Bayswater at a season of great fear and disturbance. Are there really deadly dangers on the streets? I have been told so, but it hardly seems possible. As I look about me it all appears so very peaceful, indeed to one born and brought up in Calcutta the district appears well-nigh deserted, and yet there are a great many anxious-looking men outside your door, all watching me very closely as I went in.’

  ‘I regret to say that there have been three dreadfully savage murders in recent weeks,’ Frances explained. ‘It is thought that a madman is responsible, which makes it all the harder to find the culprit, as one cannot devise a motive for the murders, or look amongst the friends of the victims for a suspect. I am not engaged in those cases, although the press and gossips like to suggest that I am. The young men who you saw gathered outside my house were sent there by the west London newspapers hoping to speak to me and learn that I have solved the mystery. They are destined to stand in the cold for some while, I am afraid, and without result. As to my time, it is at your command.’

  He looked relieved by this assurance. ‘I fear that there is little time to lose – it may well be a matter of life and death, since I am concerned that my poor aunt might come to some harm at the hands of that criminal husband of hers. I understand that you have some information about the circumstances of my aunt’s so unwise marriage. Mr Rawsthorne advised me of her intentions as soon as he learned of them, although unhappily neither of us was able to prevent it. I knew at once that she must have fallen into the hands of a fortune hunter, and felt sure that she had been duped by the flattery and charm of a younger man. I was also with some reluctance obliged to entertain the possibility that her brain has been affected by age, and she is not competent to make decisions, although there was no sign of any such incapacity in her correspondence. Immediately on my arrival in London I called upon her doctor to discuss the question, but would you believe the scoundrelly husband had forestalled me? He is a clever one, and I am only just beginning to discover how clever. I found that he had actually asked her doctor to come and treat her for some trifling ailment about a week before the wedding, and while not actually asking him to give a certificate that she was mentally competent it was obvious that Wheelock’s intention was that during the visit the doctor would form the opinion that she was in her perfect mind. Dr Collin was naturally unwilling to provide me with any medical information regarding his patient but I did gain the impression that he believes my aunt to be very well indeed for a woman of her age, and mentally sound. I am happy for her sake, of course, but consequently that avenue of opposition to the wedding is closed to me. This morning I was able, however, to obtain an interview with my aunt, who seemed in good health, but having finally met her dreadful husband I can see that the situation is far worse than I had feared.’

  Sarah gave Frances a quizzical look, and made a sign, which she understood. ‘Prior to that visit, when did you last see your aunt?’

  He understood her and smiled. ‘Yes, of course, you must wonder against what standard I was able to judge her health. The answer is that I have no real comparison. I have only met my aunt once before. I came to London for a visit with my parents more than twenty years ago when I was just a child, and really I have few memories of it apart from the cold wet weather and grey buildings. We have corresponded occasionally since then, mainly on family matters. I think the last letter I received from her told me of Mr Outram’s death.’

  ‘Tell me about today’s visit. I should mention that I have met Mr Wheelock many times, in his former professional capacity, but I have not seen him since the marriage.’

  ‘Oh, I was received in a friendly enough manner,’ Chandler admitted. ‘There is nothing in his appearance to recommend him, as you know, but he can put on a show of kindness, even affection towards his wife; but it is all show, I am quite sure of that. And although he did not mention it I could see that he knew precisely what my business was. My aunt appeared to be calm and untroubled. I do not think her husband ill-treats her in any violent way, or she would have been nervous in his company. The house is a model of comfort, she has a maid to wait on her every need, and yet, I was sure that something was very wrong about the arrangement. It took me some time to realise the reason for my disquiet, and then it dawned upon me that my aunt was – well, there is really no other way to say it – she was under the influence of drink. While I was there I was offered a glass of sherry, which I declined, and Mr Wheelock did not partake, but the maidservant quite unbidden, poured a glass and gave it to my aunt, which she drank. She seemed perfectly content with her situation, and Wheelock referred to her in very pleasant terms, as one might an aged grandparent, but I could not help thinking that the fine house and servants are little more than an elegant prison.’ He spent a few moments gathering his thoughts. ‘Miss Doughty, I believe that my aunt is deliberately being kept in a state of befuddlement so that Wheelock may make free with her fortune to which I am sure he has no legal right.’

  ‘There are many kinds of marriage,’ observed Frances, who had often been responsible for dealing with the difficulties that emerged from the married state and understood how unpleasant it could be, ‘but of course, however one might disapprove of a marriage, if the two parties are content then that is the end of the matter. In the case of your aunt, however, I do think it is probable that she was coerced into it. So you may be correct and the marriage is not a lawful one, although as yet I cannot prove it.’

  He looked hopeful. ‘Please tell me all.’

  Frances revealed the theory that the former Mrs Outram had destroyed the will of her late husband rather than have a substantial portion of his fortune go to the Bayswater Vegetarian Society. ‘I will write a letter of introduction so that you may meet the secretary of the society, Mr Lathwal, who can tell you about the circumstances in greater detail. He consulted me about his concerns, but was unwilling to make them public without some substantial evidence to maintain his allegations, for reasons that must be obvious. My difficulty was that not only is there no particle of proof of the destruction of a will, there is not even proof that it was ever actually drawn up. It is quite possible, for example, that the late Mr Outram simply changed his mind. He might even have had the will drawn up and signed and witnessed and then decided to destroy it himself, which he was of course entitled to do. If we assume, however, that you aunt did destroy a valid will, then Mr Wheelock could have found out something that has given him power over her, or even if he has not, he might have deluded her into thinking that he has.’

  As Mr Chandler considered the position his optimism faded and his bronze features and dark eyes seemed to fall behind a cloud. ‘It is very unfortunate,’ he said at last, ‘bu
t if you are correct, then it does seem to me that the only way I can prove that my aunt was coerced into the marriage and so free her from this villain, is to prove that she is guilty of a very serious offence. If she did destroy the will then by so doing she defrauded the vegetarian society out of a substantial inheritance.’

  ‘That may be the case, and it is a crime for which she might well be prosecuted, however we are a long way from facing that possibility and we may never do so. What I propose is this. I will look into the matter and see if I can discover any more about the events leading up to the wedding, and the wedding itself, and also if there is anything further to be learnt about the will. I will turn over everything I find to you, and then you will decide how to proceed. I cannot, however, agree to conceal anything I find which is proof positive of a serious crime.’

  ‘Of course, I understand. That seems eminently sensible.’

  ‘Do you know the date and location of your aunt’s wedding?’

  ‘I am afraid not. I suspected, of course, that it never took place or was conducted illegally, and so I did attempt to find that out, but Mr Wheelock, who took great care never to leave my aunt’s side throughout the interview, made quite sure that I was never granted that information. I did go to my aunt’s bank but of course they would not divulge anything other than that they were satisfied that there had been a genuine marriage and Mr Wheelock had become the lawful owner of his wife’s property. He might have forged the papers, of course, and led my aunt to believe that she was married, but without seeing the documents I can do nothing.’

  ‘If they were genuinely married it will be some time before the event appears in the registers of Somerset House. We really cannot wait that long.’

  ‘I am given to understand by Mr Rawsthorne that there are very few barriers you cannot overcome.’ He paused, and gave her a worried look. ‘I can guess what you must think of me, Miss Doughty. If I am able to show that my aunt’s marriage was invalid, then she once again becomes a single woman and the sole mistress of her fortune, of which I will stand to inherit a large portion. You may well believe, and I can scarcely blame you for this, that I am motivated only by love of money. Of course I do not deny that such an inheritance is something to be desired, nevertheless I can assure you that I have a secure administrative post in Calcutta, more than enough salary for my own needs, and no family of my own to support.’