Death in Bayswater Page 5

  Frances smiled. No doubt the paper’s senior correspondent Mr Max Gillan would take all the credit. He was encouraging Ibbitson in his ambitions, and must be enjoying the luxury of having younger legs at his beck and call to do all the rushing about.

  Frances penned the letter to Miss Price, and Ibbitson took it away to the post. When on the scent of a story he always seemed to move at a scamper. She appreciated his enthusiasm but felt it sometimes needed tempering with better sensibility, something she hoped would improve with maturity and experience. For a brief moment she wondered if he was the mysterious ‘W. Grove’, the author under this obvious nom de plume of a series of illustrated adventures featuring a lady detective, Miss Dauntless, which had been proving very popular. This heroine, who was, Frances thought, a fantastical and ridiculous version of herself, feared nothing, and dared anything, and spent her days exploring the most dangerous byways of Bayswater, pursuing and arresting hardened criminals. Some of Frances’ clients thought she was similarly reckless, and were disappointed when they found that she was not. She had resolutely avoided trying to discover the true identity of Mr Grove, although she liked to think that she could do so if she wished, and then, she promised herself, she would have some firm words to say to him.

  There was a second letter for Frances to write. In the last year her skills as a detective had brought her to the notice of the gentlemen of Her Majesty’s government, who had realised that there were some spheres in which a woman might move with more ease than a man. She occasionally carried messages of a highly secret and sensitive nature, and was well rewarded for her discretion. She knew therefore that any letter addressed by her to the Prime Minister, Mr Gladstone, would be looked upon with favour, and it was to him that she now appealed directly on behalf of Jim Price. She had no great hope of success but felt that every avenue must be explored.

  Sarah had been busy while Frances was visiting Newgate. Ratty was expected to arrive shortly to receive his instructions, and there was a paper on the table in the assistant’s firm round hand listing all persons of interest in the Miller murder. Frances examined the list and saw that they fell into several distinct categories.

  There were witnesses in the vicinity of the Cooper’s Arms where Jim Price said he had been at the time of the murder. The landlord had testified at the trial that he could not recall having seen Jim Price that evening. Police Constable Stuckey, who had had the unenviable task of passing the establishment on his beat at closing time, said that he had not seen Jim or noticed any incident of a man falling in the street. Sarah had added her own observation that the pot man, the landlord’s wife, and the customers of the Cooper’s Arms had not been asked to testify, or any passer-by other than the constable.

  The Shakespeare and that part of Westbourne Grove where the body had been found was the second location. The landlord recalled Martha coming in and asking if Jim was there. He had told her that he had not seen Jim that evening and she left almost at once. John Mackie, a bookbinder, had been drinking there and some five or ten minutes after Martha left he downed his glass of beer and departed. He had seen Martha’s body in a shop doorway barely a few yards away, shouted ‘Murder!’ and ran straight back to the Shakespeare to give the alarm. The nearest policeman to the scene, Constable Cross, had heard the cries and come running.

  Then there were the witnesses to the events leading up to the murder. Jonas Strong, who had imagined he saw Martha betraying Jim, lived above the stationery shop where he worked, sharing a room with another apprentice. Both were in their beds by ten o’clock. Jonas had wept as he gave evidence at the trial. He admitted that he had told Jim he had seen Martha with another man, but a few days after the murder he had seen the woman again and realised that he had made a mistake. Martha’s mother and brother had testified as to the affectionate relationship of the young couple, but both thought that Jim was sometimes jealous if another man paid attention to her. They were adamant that Martha was true to Jim. Then there was Mr Seaton, the rent collector who had overheard Martha and Jim quarrelling only the day before the murder. For the defence there were a number of individuals who worked with Jim and were witnesses only as to his character, but they knew nothing at all about the events of the fatal night.

  There was just time for Frances to see Ratty and also her client Mr Candy, before she departed for her appointment with Mr Rawsthorne. It was agreed that while she was so occupied, Sarah would speak to the landlord of the Cooper’s Arms and discover if there were any other witnesses to be had from that quarter. She would also make enquiries at the Shakespeare to find an address for John Mackie and seek out any other possible witnesses.

  ‘Sarah, I hardly like to ask, but I couldn’t help wondering how it was that you knew about the rules of gaining admission to see a condemned prisoner at Newgate. It is only my curiosity, and you need not answer if you prefer not to.’

  Sarah sniffed. ‘Uncle of mine,’ she said at last.

  ‘And you went to visit him?’

  ‘No, my Ma did. I wanted to go and see him hang but they wouldn’t let me. Ma always thought he didn’t kill that little girl but I knew better.’

  Frances decided never to raise the subject again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  No one, least of all Ratty, knew exactly how old Ratty was, or even his real name. He had been brought to Frances one day, a dirty child bundled in ill-fitting rags, the unwilling witness of an event that had proved crucial to exonerating an innocent man suspected of murder. That man, Professor Pounder, a noted pugilist and proprietor of a sporting club, was a tall, strong, handsome fellow, and the quietest, most peaceable individual imaginable. He and Sarah had been walking out ever since, and Sarah was employing her natural hardiness and vigour to conduct special ladies classes in callisthenics at the club.

  In the last year Ratty had increased substantially both in height and confidence, grown out of two new suits of clothes, learned to read and become acquainted with the occasional use of soap and water. The only thing that discomfited him was the police, which since he looked to be a promising policeman in the making was a shame. A recent brief experience of being arrested and questioned at Paddington Green had not helped matters, although Inspector Sharrock had treated him more kindly than Frances had feared.

  Ratty arrived at Frances’ apartment with the jaunty air of a boy who, while probably about fourteen, was beginning to think of himself as a young man. There was a rolled up copy of a penny story paper in his pocket. Frances recognised the publication with some regret, but decided not to comment on it.

  Having learnt his letters, Ratty, like most of Bayswater, enjoyed reading about the exploits of Miss Dauntless. The most recent edition was entitled Miss Dauntless Rides to Victory! The front page was engraved with a portrait of the heroine, clad in a thin, form-fitting chemise and bloomers, who, careless of all danger and the risk of indecency, not to mention pneumonia, was bowling along a busy road on a bicycle, her hair flying in the wind, in pursuit of a jewel thief. Sarah read all the stories too, and this one had made her chortle more than most.

  ‘’Orrible case of murder in Norfolk Square las’ night,’ said Ratty. ‘Place is stinkin’ wiv coppers lookin’ f’ clues.’ He threw himself into a chair with such ease that for one alarming moment Frances thought he might put his feet on the table. Instead he stretched his legs out and admired his boots, which were nearly new and already much muddied. He took off his hat and scratched his head, then smoothed back his hair, which looked as though it had been greased, as it lay almost flat on his skull.

  ‘This is the third such murder in Bayswater this month. So far all the victims have been young women, but anyone might be in danger, and you and your men must take care. The killer works in the dark and by stealth, and is able to make his escape without being seen. Ask your men to keep their eyes and ears open for anything suspicious, but if they should discover something they are to do no more than take note of what they see or hear, and inform the nearest policeman, then report
back to me. They must never follow anyone to a place where they might be unable to get help, or approach any individual. Do you have sufficient agents for them to go about in pairs?’

  ‘Fink so. I c’n always get ’em, that’s fer sure, but it’s gettin’ the good ’uns, that’s the ’ard bit. Bein’ a ’tective is not fer anyone, Miss, you know that better’n most. So, what c’n I do fer you in that line?’

  ‘You know, of course, that Jim Price has been found guilty of murdering his sweetheart Martha Miller, and condemned to death. He continues to maintain his innocence, and his one hope of an alibi is a man he says he helped up in the street outside the Cooper’s Arms. I want you to try and find him.’

  Ratty nodded sagely as Frances gave him the man’s description. He never made notes, as he was still unused to the art of writing, but was easily able to carry all the information he needed in his head.

  ‘I know there is only a very slight chance that he can be found and even if he is, it is doubtful that he will remember the incident, or be able to identify Jim Price as the person who helped him. But please do your best; there is very little time. It is also possible that the man who committed the most recent murders is also the murderer of Miss Miller, so any information on those cases that could help identify the culprit could also exonerate Mr Price.’

  ‘You workin’ on those cases?’

  ‘I have not been asked to do so, and if asked I would refuse,’ said Frances, as firmly as possible, not daring to glance at Sarah. ‘All I ask is that your men add their eyes and ears to the efforts already being made by the police.’

  ‘Solvin’ them murders, that’d be a feather in yer cap ’n no mistake!’ Ratty grinned.

  ‘Yes, well, we are not the police,’ said Sarah severely.

  ‘W’d be better if y’ were. I fink wimmin coppers’d be better’n the men. I bet they wouldn’t punch the witnesses.’

  Sarah sniffed as if to say that if the case required it she might do just that.

  ‘Now then, Ratty, Inspector Sharrock might have shouted a great deal but he didn’t punch you,’ said Frances gently.

  Ratty scowled. ‘No, but I bet ’e were finkin’ about doin’ it.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll get goin’ then.’

  ‘There is one other thing, and this is very important. This drunken man, the man who was so staggering drunk that he fell forward on to his face, and was unable to talk coherently – he did not, according to Jim Price, smell of any drink.’

  ‘If he was that drunk he ought to have been reeking of it,’ said Sarah.

  ‘The other explanation is that he might have taken laudanum, but there was no odour of that, either. To someone familiar with it, it is quite unmistakable. I have been wondering about this. Perhaps the man wasn’t drunk or drugged at all, but had been taken ill, and the reason he hasn’t been found is that any attempts to discover him have been misguided. So Ratty, I suggest you direct your enquiries to finding not a man who was drunk, but one taken very ill in the Richmond Road area on the night of the murder. We may find him yet.’

  Mr Candy, who had an appointment to see Frances that afternoon, was a regular client. He was a serious young gentleman of an unusual type, enjoying independent means and therefore with every excuse to be idle, who nevertheless liked to make himself useful to society and so gave generously of his time, devoting it to the good of others. He acted as secretary to a number of charities, a free dispensary for the poor, assistance to the families of injured workmen, and a hospital for incurable children. He often asked Frances to check on the bona fides of claims on behalf of the workmen, some of whom had proved to be capable of going out and doing a full day’s labour while supposedly confined to bed with a broken leg, or had recovered from near-fatal falls with surprising rapidity. Frances sometimes wondered if Mr Candy’s charitable works were undertaken not so much out of a selfless desire to assist the needy, or even to give him a respectable occupation and an interest to pursue, but to court the approval of society, since he was in himself rather a bland person.

  He had first approached Frances as a personal client earlier in the year, fearing that his betrothed, a Miss Digby, had asked to be released from their engagement because he had been slandered by a rival for her hand. Frances was not acquainted with Miss Digby, but sensed that from Mr Candy’s point of view, she was not so much an object of affection than a suitable wife for a man in his position. While agreeing to end the betrothal in true gentlemanly fashion, Mr Candy’s main concern was his reputation, and he wanted to know what had prompted the lady’s change of heart. Frances had interviewed Miss Digby’s father, and was informed that there had been no slander, although there was a rival. The fickle maiden had recently met a handsome youth called Pargeter, with attractive manners and connections to a minor title, and had fallen in love. More importantly, her feelings had been ardently returned. Pargeter was best known for his devotion to gambling, at which he was persistently unsuccessful, and Mr Digby confessed to Frances that he far preferred dull, sensible, plain Mr Candy to the spendthrift interloper, but had nevertheless bowed to his daughter’s wishes. Her engagement to the new admirer, which depended on the lordling both settling his debts and not incurring any new ones, had not yet been announced. Not wanting to hurt Mr Candy’s feelings, Mr Digby had asked Frances to inform her client that his daughter wished him well, but had decided that she was too young and uncertain of herself to take such an important step as marriage. Mr Candy, relieved that his reputation stood unimpeached, had accepted his disappointment with equilibrium, remained hopeful that his addresses might be received with more warmth in future, and buried any lingering impatience in his charity work.

  Mr Candy usually arrived to see Frances with a businesslike air, and a neat bundle of documents. On this occasion, however, he looked unusually troubled. ‘It is really too bad,’ he said as he took a seat. ‘I am very worried indeed. You know that the charities are run from a small office – we have a room on the corner of Kensington Gardens Square that suits us very well and there are two clerks who attend to most of the work under my direction. We are busy all the time – collecting and distributing funds, writing to our patrons, organising suppers and concerts, preparing advertisements, cards and leaflets. I do not spend a great deal of time in the office as I am usually visiting patrons and the families of injured workmen, and consulting the managers of the hospital and the dispensary about their requirements. I recently had a conversation with a patron, a Mr Hullbridge, who is a very well-respected man in Bayswater and who mentioned that he had sent us an envelope enclosing a twenty pound note for the children’s hospital. It was delivered to the office by a servant who has been with him for fully twenty-five years and is entirely above suspicion.’

  Frances thought that no one could ever be above suspicion, but said nothing and let him continue.

  ‘As you have probably guessed, the records of the charity show that no such donation was received. I have not questioned my clerks, as I fear that one of them is a thief and I do not want to either accuse the innocent or induce the guilty to run away. What am I to do? How much has already been lost without my knowing it? How much more might be stolen before the culprit is unmasked?’

  ‘Do you receive a great many donations in the form of banknotes and coins?’

  ‘Yes, but usually in small sums.’

  ‘So a twenty pound banknote is unusual?’

  ‘I would say so, yes. Most patrons will provide a cheque for such an amount.’

  ‘Have either of your clerks suffered financial difficulties? Has either of them asked for an increase in salary?’

  He shook his head. ‘I know nothing of their personal circumstances. Both are paid according to the usual rates and neither has complained.’

  Frances picked up her pencil. ‘I would like the names and addresses of the two clerks, also the address of Mr Hullbridge and the name of the servant who delivered the envelope.’

  Mr Candy looked concerned at this last request. ‘I would rathe
r not trouble Mr Hullbridge. He has already assured me that his servant cannot be to blame, and I do not want him to think there has been any mismanagement in the charity.’

  ‘I promise not to trouble Mr Hullbridge unless it is necessary,’ Frances assured him. ‘And I know how to be discreet.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course,’ sighed her client. He provided the information and Frances wrote it down.

  When Mr Candy had paid his most recent account and left, Sarah took a look at the names Frances had recorded and smirked.

  Do you know any of these people?’ asked Frances, hopefully.

  ‘No, but I think I can guess who is lying.’

  Frances removed the page and handed it to her. ‘Mr Candy is very anxious that the reputation of the charity does not suffer.’

  ‘It won’t,’ said Sarah, and there was something in her tone suggesting that others might.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In what was proving to be an eventful day, Frances prepared to attend her appointment with Mr Rawsthorne, while Sarah’s tasks were to interview the landlords of the Cooper’s Arms and the Shakespeare. It was all a desperate rush, thought Frances as she boarded her cab, but no less than the case required, and after that morning’s revelation concerning her own family she was more than ready to embrace any task that kept her mind fully occupied.

  A visit to her solicitor, while usually a matter of business, was made more pleasurable by the nature of the man himself. Mr Rawsthorne was a gentleman of middle years with an assured manner and a friendly smile, and one of the few professional men Frances knew who did not underestimate her abilities, or feel that as a woman she ought not to intrude into any occupation that society had dictated was reserved for the male sex. Mr Carter Freke, whose efforts at being courteous and helpful continued to overstep the bounds of what might be thought strictly necessary, conducted her to the solicitor’s private office.