Death in Bayswater Page 22

  Another popular theory was that the murderer was a medical student killing women for the sake of pieces of flesh he cut from their bodies, either for his studies or to sell. The whisperings as to what else he did with the flesh were, said the newspapers, too revolting to print. Frances feared that what the respectable daily papers refused to print would be in block capitals in the weeklies.

  There had also been a number of violent incidents in the street when women approached by strangers had screamed ‘Murder!’ and the result had been the appearance of a mob followed by a hue and cry and a hail of missiles. Some very battered and unhappy men, claiming that they had only paused to ask directions, had had to be rescued by constables.

  There were large advertisements for the Guardians of Virtue in all the papers, and an interview with Mr Candy, who explained the principles by which gentlemen would be selected. A few people were, inevitably, profiting by the situation. Locksmiths reported a substantial improvement in business, as did breeders of large dogs and manufacturers of leather neck-stocks. Some residents, thinking less of protection than the inconvenience of having a corpse deposited near their homes, suggested that gates should be erected blocking every mews and public garden, to be closed and locked after the hours of darkness, the keys to be held only by those with lawful business there, and it was thought that some had already been ordered.

  There had been a number of angry exchanges in the Chronicle between two gentlemen, neither of whom had chosen to write under his real name, but judging from the tone and content of their letters, Frances recognised them both, and understood the reasons for their enmity. Writing to the newspaper under the pseudonym Idyllist was Arthur Miggs, better known as Augustus Mellifloe, minor poet and failed literary genius. Miggs had insinuated that the members of the Literati, the Bayswater Freemasons’ Lodge, might have something to divulge about the murders, but that their loyalty to each other and code of secrecy required them to protect the guilty.

  A founder of the Lodge, who had responded to Idyllist using the nom de plume Honesty, was devoted reader Mr Algernon Fiske, who with his wife Edith wrote reviews of new publications for the Chronicle under the name Aquila. It was Mrs Fiske, a rather more forthright commentator than her husband, who in the previous year had taken up the reviewer’s pen and savaged Mr Mellifloe’s pretentious little volume of verses Mes Petites Chansonettes. The main thrust of her piece was that it would be better for the world at large if the author was to abandon all attempts at poetry and take up some other occupation. Unfortunately, Mr Miggs, who until then had been a prospective candidate for the Literati, had discovered the true identity of Aquila and a bitter and acrimonious squabble had ensued. Miggs had thereafter taken every opportunity to denigrate the members of the Literati, whom he represented as little more than a band of self-serving conspirators plotting the overthrow of society.

  Honesty, through the medium of the Chronicle, had advised Idyllist that the Literati were a fine body of men in good standing in the community, noted for their generous support of educational charities. So far from wishing to conceal the wrongdoings of a brother Mason, they were duty bound if they knew of any such to report that member to the police. He added that the Literati’s most pressing business at present was not, as Idyllist suggested, planning armed revolution but deciding on what to serve as pudding at the next festive board, a matter that had still not been determined to everyone’s satisfaction.

  Idyllist replied that he would not care to eat the Literati pudding as it would choke him, and retorted that it was well known that the brethren used secret signs to communicate with each other, and that chalk marks had been found on the walls near the murder sites which were undoubtedly of Masonic significance.

  Frances cast the newspapers aside in despair.

  Miss Gilbert and Miss John arrived, both greatly excited, with a new scheme in which Frances was, of course, to be included. Their visit was not expected, and Miss John beamed with approval at seeing her gift cushions still in pride of place.

  ‘It will be a very great display!’ said Miss Gilbert, almost breathless with enthusiasm, ‘a march, of all the suffragists in Bayswater and their many supporters, with banners and drums and singing and music, and of course you my dear Miss Doughty, I can promise that you will be in the very front rank! We will demand –’ she brandished her fists, each of which was clutching a bundle of leaflets ‘yes – demand – that the street should be a place of safety for women to go about their lawful business. This dreadful criminal will know beyond any doubt that we will put an end to his evil ways. Oh, that poor young boy we met only the other day! What a terrible thing! If he had not been personating a woman he would be alive now!’

  Miss John nodded emphatically. She was clutching her reticule very tightly, as if any moment the clasp might spring open and a large poisonous spider or venomous snake would emerge to wreak her revenge amongst the stubborn men of Bayswater. Frances feared, although she didn’t like to ask, that there was a weapon there, something more substantial and potentially lethal than the bodkin that Miss John usually carried, and which was quite dangerous enough when she wielded it.

  ‘When will the march take place?’ Frances asked, politely. She did not feel a great enthusiasm to take part, but many of her commissions came from members of the Society and she always received a flood of applications for her services every time she made an appearance with them.

  ‘Wednesday afternoon. We will assemble at Bishops Bridge near Paddington Station at four o’clock and go west along Bishops Road and then on down Westbourne Grove. We will finish in Ladbroke Gardens where one of our ladies has very kindly agreed to give us tea.’

  Frances consulted her diary. ‘I do not have any appointments for that afternoon.’ She wondered if she had time to have some leaflets printed on behalf of Jim Price, which she could distribute as she went. ‘Sarah? I hope you can be there, too.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ said Sarah, grimly.

  ‘Oh, I am so glad to hear you say so!’ exclaimed Miss Gilbert. ‘I was quite concerned that with so much business at present, what with advising the police, you would not have time to spare.’

  Frances saw that it would be pointless to reiterate that she was not advising the police. She gave the police her advice when it seemed to be required, but that was not at all the same thing.

  Miss John gave a mischievous smile. ‘I have a special plan. I mean to make a strong demonstration of our feelings on the way. I will throw a stone at one of Mr Whiteley’s windows.’

  ‘I really would not recommend that,’ said Frances.

  ‘Oh, but think of the all publicity when I am arrested! They might put me in chains! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

  ‘I thought suffragists wish to impress upon men that ladies are responsible intelligent individuals fitted to use the vote. Will your demonstration not give the opposite impression?’ suggested Frances, cautiously.

  ‘It would be quite a small window,’ said Miss John, sweetly.

  Frances did not believe that for a moment. ‘Really, it would be better not to. And if you were to try I suspect Sarah might be obliged to prevent you.’

  ‘Marianne,’ sighed Miss Gilbert, regretfully, ‘I do fear that Miss Doughty is correct.’

  Miss John looked disappointed. ‘I hope I may defend my life if I am attacked? I have a plan for that, too.’

  ‘What is your plan?’ asked Frances, but Miss John only clutched her reticule more tightly.

  The ladies hurried away to make the final arrangements for the march and Frances had just completed composing the words of the leaflet she planned to distribute when Mr Candy arrived, all of a bustle. Frances complimented him on the speed and effectiveness of his advertising, which had clearly cost him a great deal of effort in addition to his regular work.

  ‘I like to be busy. Idleness leads to dullness.’ He took some papers from a document case. ‘I have here a list of all the gentlemen who have thus far volunteered for the Guardians of
Virtue. As you may imagine, recent events have resulted in a considerable flood of applicants. I have formed a little committee and we have been examining the names. All those we cannot vouch for ourselves from personal knowledge have been asked to provide a letter from a clergyman or justice. It would assist me if you were to glance at the list and let me know if there are any who you would vouch for or – on the other hand – not. This would all be in the strictest confidence, of course, and if any gentleman was not admitted we would simply say that we already have sufficient numbers so as not to offend anyone.’

  ‘I will do my best.’ Frances glanced down the list. Mr Candy had already examined the names in the manner of an auditor, ticking those applicants he approved and crossing out those who did not meet his exacting standards. Frances saw some names she knew amongst those who had not been approved. You have not accepted Mr Max Gillan?’

  ‘Newspaper man,’ said Candy, as if that was all the comment required.

  ‘Neither have you accepted Mr Garton,’ Frances added, seeing that Cedric’s name had been crossed out twice.

  ‘He has been questioned by the police, so they must regard him as suspicious. Also,’ he hesitated, and lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘he is a known invert.’

  Frances decided not to argue with him. Mr Candy had, however, accepted with a bold tick Mr Hullbridge, the distinguished charitable patron who had paid off his pregnant servant girl with a twenty pound note. ‘I think that this gentleman has business demands which may make him unable to give freely of his time.’ She drew a line through the name. There was nothing else of note, and she handed the papers back. ‘I do not see your name here.’

  ‘No, my talents are for organisation, and in any case, ladies like a tall athletic gentlemen to protect them.’

  ‘That is true. I would have appreciated the protection of one of your Guardians only this morning. Can you imagine, the man who is called the Filleter actually leaped into my cab and threatened me in broad daylight.’

  Mr Candy gasped. ‘The audacity! He did not hurt you?’

  ‘No, but I was very alarmed. I went straight to the police, of course, but there was really nothing they could do.’ Frances saw that Mr Candy had also brought the signed petition. ‘May I see this?’

  On examining the signatures she was soon in no doubt that the periodicals in the ladies reading room had been defaced by Mrs Hullbridge, who must know that something was very badly and painfully wrong with her marriage, and was unprepared to submit quietly to misery as so many wives were obliged to do. It was a situation in which there were few if any options. There were insufficient grounds for Mrs Hullbridge to divorce her husband, and while a separation might be agreed upon, all but the most desperate wife would shun the idea and prefer respectable unhappiness to scandal. Frances recalled Sarah mentioning the loss of the Hullbridges’ youngest child last winter, and that suggested a way in which the distraught mother might find an occupation to ease her pain.

  ‘Tell me, do you have many ladies employed in your charitable ventures?’

  ‘Employed?’ asked Candy, puzzled. ‘We have lady patrons, of course, who make generous donations.’

  ‘I meant ladies who actually gave their time. It struck me that the children’s hospital might appreciate visits from ladies willing to give comfort to the little patients. The tenderness of a woman is of incalculable value.’

  ‘I suppose that is so. Can you suggest any ladies who might be willing to make such visits?’

  ‘There is a name I have in mind, and with your permission I will write to her. I will suggest she forms a ladies committee, which will explore the ways in which they can support this and other charitable endeavours.’

  It was agreed, and once Mr Candy departed Frances wrote a carefully worded letter to Mrs Hullbridge.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Shortly after breakfast next morning, Cedric arrived in a cab, looking as he always did, elegant enough to sweep into a fashionable restaurant and order dinner with effortless aplomb. ‘We must be very careful,’ he advised Frances with great solemnity, as they made a start on their journey to Lambeth Registry Office. ‘We make such a handsome couple, that if we linger there too long the registrar may decide to marry us on the spot, and not take no for an answer!’

  As they proceeded on their way, they talked about the terrible events of the last weeks, Frances’ fears and suspicions, her grief at the death of Mr Ibbitson, the plight of the man now only six days away from his doom, and the atmosphere of barely suppressed panic that was rife in Bayswater. Cedric was a good listener. He knew when to be flippant and amusing and when to be serious, and he never, as so many men did, tried to brush away her concerns as unimportant or offer facile solutions. To her regret, Frances found that it was almost a relief to leave the part of London that had once been so safe, and where she had felt so much at home.

  Lambeth was a district of Surrey with which Frances was wholly unfamiliar. It was so near to London that it practically was London, and one day it would, in all probability, be swallowed up by the ever-hungry metropolis. Her father had rarely spoken of any place that lay south of the river, and when he did it was to suggest that everything north of the Thames had some pretensions to civilisation and all that lay south was a wilderness of thieves, smugglers and ‘men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders’. The cab deposited Frances and Cedric at Victoria from whence a train took them to Brixton Station. This was only a short cab ride to the registry office on Brixton Road; an attractive building whose portico, supported by classical columns, suggested that good taste had, after all, been able to cross the river.

  They were obliged to wait to be seen by the clerk, a gentleman of middle years who had probably spent most of his life in this humble but essential profession, and had therefore seen everything there was to be seen of the happiness, hope and despair that could be brought to his door, and was unlikely to find anything very surprising.

  ‘I am sure he thinks that we are here to be married,’ confided Cedric, adding that the prospect was becoming so pleasing that the longer he waited, the more he felt he could be tempted to agree, but after much earnest thought decided that he would decline the honour as he felt he was not worthy. Frances was eventually permitted to explain her business to the clerk, and since the wedding had taken place very recently it was possible to discover that not only had Timothy Wheelock and Caroline Outram been married just two weeks previously but it had been a civil ceremony which had taken place in that very building. The clerk recalled the couple very well, since the lady, even though heavily veiled and gloved, was quite clearly considerably senior to the groom. The clerk had had his own suspicions about the wedding, that much was apparent from his expression and the care with which he chose his words, but he also knew that it was not his place to do any more than maintain the records. When Frances asked to see a copy of the certificate, he hesitated briefly, and then opened the books. She wondered if such an action was within the rules of his occupation, but his expression gave nothing away.

  The witnesses to the wedding were the groom’s mother, Mrs Mary Wheelock, and a Miss Daisy Atkins, who Frances suspected was the same Daisy who had been installed as the new Mrs Wheelock’s personal maid. Both bride and groom had given their address as Mrs Mary Wheelock’s residence in Lambeth, and there had been no banns. The marriage had been subject to an application for a license, and had taken place as soon as it was granted.

  Frances completed her notes. ‘I would like to speak to the registrar. When will he be available?’

  The clerk consulted his watch and said that the registrar would be free to talk to her in an hour, so Frances and Cedric repaired to a nearby teashop to while away the time.

  ‘Do you have no beau to occupy your mind with thoughts of marriage?’ asked Cedric over a plate of fresh scones. His voice was light and a little teasing, but his concern for her was very plain.

  ‘I do not think of marriage. At least, I do not think of it as something that I
would ever undertake.’

  ‘And what of Miss Smith and her handsome swain?’

  ‘I am given to understand that they are no more than friends,’ said Frances diplomatically. Sarah remained adamant that she would never marry, indeed never leave Frances’ side, and Professor Pounder was too sensible a man to argue with her. In the last month, however, the two had made an ascent in a tethered hot-air balloon and returned to earth with more roses in their cheeks than seemed to be warranted. Neither had discussed the event except to say that it was ‘very satisfactory’.

  Frances suddenly found her vision misting over and she pressed a napkin to her eyes. ‘Poor Mr Ibbitson was very fond of Miss Price.’

  ‘There was nothing you could have done,’ said Cedric quietly. They sat together in a companionable way until it was time to return for their meeting.

  The registrar, a solid and assured gentleman in his forties who had been warned of their coming and given some indication as to their purpose, looked at them suspiciously as they were ushered into his office, nevertheless, he remained courteous. He began by ignoring Frances and addressing Cedric since he was the male and therefore presumably the senior individual present, but Cedric soon made it plain that he relinquished all authority to Frances, and thereafter remained content to sit silently by and examine his perfectly manicured fingernails.

  Frances presented her card to the registrar who stared at it dubiously. ‘I am a private detective and have come to investigate the circumstances of the marriage that was recently solemnised here between Mr Timothy Wheelock and Mrs Caroline Outram. I am acting on behalf of the bride’s family.’

  The registrar dropped the card on the desk in front of him. ‘I remember the wedding, of course. I assume that the bride’s family wish to contest the validity of the marriage?’

  ‘That is correct.’