An Appetite for Murder (36 page)

‘Just let me rest and I will be better soon,’ he insisted, panting with renewed agony.

Frances thought of all the things that could be ailing him: strangulated hernia; an obstruction of the intestines; an inflammation that might be serious enough to lead to peritonitis and death; even poison. ‘Have you had these symptoms before?’ she demanded.

‘Yes, I have, and they passed with time, and I was well again. Just bring me a drink of water.’

Sarah gave Mr Finn a hard look, as if well used to men who refused to admit to any weakness and never saw their doctors when they should. She went to get the water, and he sipped it thirstily. Without asking permission, Sarah loosened Mr Finn’s collar to ease his breathing, and since his face was the colour of a cooked lobster, dipped a cloth into cold water and bathed his forehead.

‘I will send for Mrs Finn,’ said Frances.

He shook his head. ‘No, I cannot permit it; I do not want Alice to be alarmed.’

‘Then what must I do? Shall I fetch Mr Yeldon? Is he at your house?’

‘No, he is not; he is out purchasing some items needed for the – for the journey.’ He laughed; a strange mirthless laugh that ended in a groan of pain.

‘Do you know where he might be? What is he purchasing?’

‘I don’t know; I can’t say.’

He was clearly unwilling rather than unable to tell Frances the nature of Mr Yeldon’s errand, but despite her suspicions, this was not the moment to interrogate him further. ‘Perhaps the eyes and ears I have everywhere will discover him,’ she said dryly. ‘Sarah, can you put Tom on the case? We’ll need all his available men.’

Sarah nodded and hurried away.

Frances, left alone with the suffering Mr Finn, could do no more than continue to offer him sips of cold water and bathe his brow, which he found very refreshing, and gradually, his pain eased. ‘I can’t remain here long,’ he said, ‘I must travel to Bath this afternoon. Yeldon will take me there. I will have a note delivered to my home so that when he returns he will bring the luggage here in a cab.’

‘Mr Finn, you are in no state to undertake a train journey to Bath or anywhere else,’ said Frances. ‘But I do not have charge of you, and I suppose I must leave that decision to Mr Yeldon and your own conscience. But I warn you, men have died from such foolishness as this.’

‘Oh,’ said Finn, with a strange smile, ‘I can assure you, no man has ever died from what ails me.’

Sarah returned to say that Tom and his men were all over Bayswater trying to find Mr Yeldon. She looked at Mr Finn, who had lapsed into a state of exhaustion, but then had another sudden paroxysm. ‘Where does it hurt?’ she said.

‘In my very soul!’ he panted. Finn suddenly cried out, not in pain, but horror, and clutched at his lap. Rapidly spreading stains on his nether clothing showed that he had abruptly, and copiously, lost control of his bladder. ‘Please, bring me a napkin,’ he begged, ‘anything!’ Sarah went to get some towels, and the unfortunate man, almost in tears over his embarrassment, quickly covered his loins. ‘I am so sorry, so very sorry,’ he cried miserably. Frances could have nothing but compassion for him, and hoped that Mr Yeldon would be found soon and take charge of his master.

Suddenly Sarah snatched away one of the towels and examined the stains closely.

‘What is it?’ asked Frances. The towel was white, and she saw not the yellow moisture she might have expected but something more nearly pale pink, and odourless. Sarah’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she abruptly leaned forward and put both her hands palm down on Mr Finn’s belly. He flinched and tried to push her away but she ordered him to remain still and deftly moved her hands around, firmly but gently pressing all over. As she did so, she stared deep into Mr Finn’s eyes and he quailed under her gaze, but could not look away. Sarah handed back the towel, and he took it from her and quickly thrust it between his legs. ‘I’ll take charge of this,’ she said. ‘Come with me.’ He made no protest as she helped him to his feet, indeed, it seemed to Frances that he was clinging to Sarah for support, as if she was the only person that could save him.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Frances.

‘Yes, bring more towels and more sheets, and plenty of water,’ said Sarah. ‘So,’ she said to Finn, ‘how long have you had the pains?’

‘All morning,’ he groaned, ‘I thought it was just indigestion.’

‘Well, it’ll get worse before it gets better,’ said Sarah.

With the stricken man shuffling, they slowly proceeded to the little dressing room that was Sarah’s bedroom.

‘Sarah, do you know what is the matter with Mr Finn?’ asked Frances.

‘Yes,’ said Sarah, bluntly, ‘she’s pregnant.’

She then disappeared into the room with her charge, and closed the door.

Frances dashed about, finding towels and sheets and pillows and anything she could think of, understanding that she had at last discovered the cause of Mr Finn’s inability to reduce his weight. By the time she appeared at the door of Sarah’s room, Sarah had rolled up her sleeves and got her patient undressed and into bed. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she said, ‘I’ve seen it all before. I’ve helped nieces and nephews into the world and this won’t be any different.’

The figure on the bed moaned in pain and stretched out a hand to Sarah, who took it in a rare moment of gentleness. ‘It won’t be long now,’ she said.

The commotion inevitably brought the landlady, Mrs Embleton, to the door asking if anyone had been taken ill, and Frances was obliged to explain that she had received a visitor, a lady who was expecting to become a mother in the next week or two, and whose situation had become unexpectedly advanced. ‘I know it is your rule that there are to be no children in the house,’ she said, ‘but I cannot move them without danger to either mother or child.’

Mrs Embleton was a sensible and sympathetic lady. The cries from the apartment told their own story and on the arrival of Mr Yeldon she assumed that the gentleman in a hurry was either a medical man or the father of the child. ‘Of course I would not dream of asking a lady to leave in that circumstance,’ she said, ‘however, I do have the peace and quiet of my other tenants to consider.’ She gave Frances a meaningful glance as if to say that she had already overstepped that mark quite some time ago.

‘I will make arrangements for other accommodation as soon as possible,’ Frances promised her. This was not the time for questions, but practical action. By the time Mr Finn, who she now understood to be Mary Sweetman, was cradling her new daughter in her arms, Frances had already secured the promise of clean lodgings, engaged a nursemaid, sent a note to Alice Finn explaining that her husband and his valet had departed for their journey a little earlier than planned, and secured their luggage, which she had correctly guessed included all the requirements for a lying in.

Mr Yeldon, pale but relieved, sat in the parlour clutching a medicinal glassful of brandy in trembling fingers. ‘I am grateful,’ he said, ‘and I speak for my sister too I am sure, for all that you have done. But now we are both understandably afraid that you will reveal our secret to the world.’

‘I assume that Mrs Finn does not know the truth?’ asked Frances, who thought it very unlikely that the artless wife could have been a knowing confederate in the deception.

‘No, she does not.’

‘Were they married in church?’

‘Yes, they were,’ Yeldon admitted.

‘It hardly needs me to advise you that your sister has contracted a marriage which is both illegal and invalid. However, I am not about to take steps to destroy Mrs Finn’s happiness. I venture to say that many another woman has a worse husband. You know the situation and what you decide to do next I leave to your conscience.’

He gave a great exhalation of relief. ‘I thank you for that.’

‘I believe,’ hinted Frances, ‘that I am at least due an explanation of the events of the last fourteen years.’

He smiled wryly. ‘Yes, I suppose we owe you that. After our father’s betrayal – you know, I expect that he was about to abandon us to poverty and committed the robbery so he could escape abroad with a young woman who was his mistress – Mary and I knew that we must make our own way in the world. We had some silly childish dream of appearing on stage, which lasted just the one night, but as a result, I was offered employment as a useful boy to run errands. Mary was always the clever one, but saw that as a girl with too little education she might be reduced to domestic drudgery, so she put on my clothes, called herself John Johnson, and secured employment in an office. There she flourished. As time passed and her feminine form became more apparent, she found that by gaining flesh she could conceal her sex. In due course, she changed her name by legal means, using my birth certificate. She became old Mr Finn’s trusted assistant, and was taken into his confidence. He had no male heir, only Alice, his great niece, and it was hinted the two should marry, adopting the family surname. Alice –’ he paused. ‘This is a delicate subject.’

‘I am used to delicate subjects,’ said Frances. ‘Please be frank.’

‘Alice was very gently brought up. The deception as to the nature of the relations between husband and wife was not difficult. And you have seen for yourself, they are very fond of each other. Alice is a kind, good-tempered young woman, and Mary has a genuine regard for her, as she would a sister. Once Mary was in a position to employ me, I joined her as a valet and have always sought to protect her identity.’

‘And the children?’ asked Frances.

‘Ah, yes, the children,’ said Yeldon. He took another sip of brandy. ‘Mary, for all that she lives as a man, is a true woman in every regard. Sometimes she likes to attire herself in her feminine form. On occasions, she will even go out as a woman, usually escorted by me. Great secrecy is, of course, required. Everything necessary is kept in the study, which is locked at all times. A large cloak will conceal all until we are far from our usual haunts. Some years ago –’ he paused. ‘I believe and have always believed that Mary was most unwise – she went out alone as a female and encountered a man. They started an innocent conversation on the subject of healthful diet, on which he offered advice.’

‘Mr Rustrum?’ said Frances.

‘The same. I do not pretend to understand how or why matters progressed as they did, but Mary found herself in a very unusual position. Alice had become concerned about her “husband’s” excess weight, and Mary as Mr Finn had already told her that a doctor had said he could never be a father. So Mary appeared to yield to Alice’s entreaties to take a cure, and went away to have the child, returning as you can imagine somewhat lighter, leaving the child with a nurse. In time, it was suggested that they adopt a child, Mary claiming that she was helping a cousin in hard circumstances and thus her own child was restored to its rightful family. I had hoped that Mary would be content with that, but the association with Mr Rustrum continued, much against my wishes, with a second result.’

‘Mr Rustrum is seventy-four,’ said Frances.

‘Is he? I had thought him much younger. There might be something to the Pure Food diet after all. I cannot say that I like the man, but he has always done his duty by Mary and the children. In fact, I will need to write to him. He is waiting for us in Bath.’

‘The letter you wrote under the name of Sanitas?’ asked Frances. ‘Please explain.’

‘The idea of the letter was Mary’s. Alice was always with the best of intentions suggesting that Mary should reduce her weight, but Mary was afraid that if she did, her female shape would become more apparent. She wanted to be able to comment to Alice with some authority on how her weight was not, as Alice insisted, dangerous. The first part of the letter was written at Mary’s dictation, but I regret that an excess of emotion caused me to add the latter part. Mary had not long before revealed to me that she was once again in a condition inappropriate to her mode of life. I am afraid she was very annoyed with me when she read what was in the newspapers.’

‘She has a beard,’ Frances pointed out, ‘and it appears to be genuine.’

‘Yes, an excess of hair on her face appeared as her girth increased, and what another woman might have plucked out or concealed she decided to cultivate.’

‘You must both have been very anxious when I commenced my enquiries,’ said Frances.

‘Oh, we were, very. We knew your reputation. When you had that first interview with Mary at the office, I came by quite deliberately on the pretext of delivering some invoices so I could look at you and be sure of recognising you in case you decided to follow us or intrude into the house.’

‘There was a very unpleasant attack on Sarah and myself,’ observed Frances, giving him a searching look.

‘Attack?’ he looked astounded. ‘What attack was this?’

‘With chloroform.’

‘You don’t think we were responsible, do you?’ he exclaimed, horrified.

‘You had the motive. Did you hire two men to try and silence us?’

‘No!’ he protested. ‘I promise you!’

Frances was not entirely convinced, but reflected that if the Sweetmans had arranged the attack they now had no further motive for a second attempt.

‘There is something I need to tell you,’ said Frances. ‘It is my belief that your father is a much maligned man. I do not think he committed the crime in 1866 and he denies absolutely that he was about to run away with another woman.’

‘There
was
another woman,’ said Yeldon, ‘I know it because my mother met her and she told her all her story. She had letters in my father’s handwriting.’

‘Supposing I can prove what I say,’ said Frances. ‘Would you be willing to see him again?’

Yeldon thought for a while. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘When did you last see your mother? Did she know of Mary’s situation? What do you know of her associates in the last years of her life? I fear that someone she knew in that time was her murderer.’

‘I told mother that Mary had gone into service with a lady and had accompanied her abroad. Mother suffered terrible poverty, and we could hardly support ourselves at first, let alone assist her, although we did what little we could. Then she told me that she was about to go into a workhouse and was thinking about visiting father in prison before she did, just to show him what he had brought her to, but in the end she didn’t because her fortunes changed.’