Authors: The Companion
Ann Granger (19 page)
There was a silence broken only by the horse chomping its feed. Behind us cabs clattered past and the drivers whistled.
‘Murder,’ said the cabman at last with a thoughtful air. ‘I’m not getting involved in any murder.’ He shook his head.
‘Mr Slater, I put to you, it is your duty as an honest man, which I believe you to be, to help. Please help us, if for no other reason than that I now live in that house.’
‘Miss Martin,’ said Wally earnestly. ‘Believe me, I wish you safe and sound. I do remember that young lady and very uneasy I was about that fare, I can tell you. But my advice to you would be, leave the house and find a situation elsewhere. There, that’s good advice that is. Take it.’
‘I want to know how she died!’ I said firmly.
‘I dare say you do,’ he returned, ‘what with your interest in corpses and such.’
‘I am interested in justice, Mr Slater, justice for those who cannot obtain it for themselves.’
‘Ah,’ said Mr Slater. ‘That sounds your mark, that does. And how are your going to do it, then? Get justice for the poor young lady?’
‘By going directly, all three of us, to Scotland Yard and telling Inspector Ross there the whole story. He is in charge of the investigation.’
‘No!’ said Wally immediately. ‘I’m not going near no police station, much less Scotland Yard. The police is all very well in their way, but they give no end of trouble to an honest cabbie. They are always accusing cabmen of passing bad coin. I don’t say I never had bad coin passed to
me
, mind you! But I myself, Walter Slater, cabman of Kentish Town, have never knowingly passed a bad sovereign nor a dud sixpence and so help me Gawd. But I have been accused of it, more than once I have! Accused by wet-eared lads in blue uniforms, nowadays wearing them silly helmets. When they wore proper hats it was bad enough; but to be made to listen to a lot of nonsense from a fellow with a flowerpot on his head, that’s the last straw.’
me
, mind you! But I myself, Walter Slater, cabman of Kentish Town, have never knowingly passed a bad sovereign nor a dud sixpence and so help me Gawd. But I have been accused of it, more than once I have! Accused by wet-eared lads in blue uniforms, nowadays wearing them silly helmets. When they wore proper hats it was bad enough; but to be made to listen to a lot of nonsense from a fellow with a flowerpot on his head, that’s the last straw.’
‘I am very sorry, Mr Slater, if you have recently had some – some contretemps with the law, but please, that should not affect this matter!’ I begged.
‘Contretemps, is it?’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘
Con-tree-tomp
… that’s a very fine word and I’m obliged to you for it. But I’m not going to Scotland Yard with you. I beg your pardon, but there it is. I can’t oblige you in that. I have a reputation to keep up. Hobnobbing with peelers won’t do it any good.’
Con-tree-tomp
… that’s a very fine word and I’m obliged to you for it. But I’m not going to Scotland Yard with you. I beg your pardon, but there it is. I can’t oblige you in that. I have a reputation to keep up. Hobnobbing with peelers won’t do it any good.’
I gazed at him in despair because he sounded so adamant. But I had reckoned without Bessie, who had been listening intently and now jumped between us. She reached up and grasped the cabbie by the lapels of his greatcoat.
‘Oh, can’t you oblige Miss Martin? Well then, I, Bessie Newman, kitchen maid of Dorset Square, will be obliged to go with my lady to Scotland Yard without you. Once we’re there, I’ll tell my story to the inspector AND I’ll tell him that we asked you to come and
you wouldn’t. That’s obstructing an inquiry, that is. That’ll cost you your cabman’s licence, Mr Wally Slater of Kentish Town, so there!’
you wouldn’t. That’s obstructing an inquiry, that is. That’ll cost you your cabman’s licence, Mr Wally Slater of Kentish Town, so there!’
‘Oh, Bessie …’ I exclaimed, trying to silence her in vain. ‘Please believe me, Mr Slater, I would not do that to you.’
‘No,’ said Bessie, ‘Miss Martin wouldn’t. But I would. So what are you going to do?’
Slater heaved a deep sigh and looked at us both, first me, then Bessie, and then back to me. ‘Well, it looks like I’m driving you to Scotland Yard, don’t it? I’ll never live it down,’ he added mournfully with a furtive glance across to his colleagues at the cabstand. ‘Don’t you go telling any of them fellers now, will you?’
I took his callused paw and exclaimed, ‘Oh, thank you!’ at which he turned beetroot red.
‘You’re a rare one,’ he mumbled. ‘I said it before and I say it again.’
He then turned a ferocious stare on Bessie.
‘As for you,’ he said, ‘you are going to make some poor devil a hard-working, reliable wife some day, and whoever he may be, he has my sympathy.’
‘WHAT? ALL of you? All at once?’ demanded the sergeant at the desk.
‘Yes, please,’ I said firmly. ‘To see Inspector Ross if he is here.’
It had occurred to me as we rumbled towards our destination that the inspector might not be there and it would be far more difficult to explain ourselves to some other officer. But I did not think I would be able to persuade Wally Slater to return to Scotland Yard if this visit failed. I held my breath.
‘He’s not long come back,’ admitted the sergeant unwillingly. ‘He did go in to see the superintendent but I fancy he’s back in his own office now. I’ll go and ask him if he’ll see one of you.’ His eye travelled over us, lingered doubtfully on Wally, dismissed Bessie and returned to me. ‘You, ma’am, perhaps?’
‘All of us!’ I repeated. ‘Please tell the inspector it is Miss Martin and I have brought with me a member of the domestic staff from Dorset Square – and another witness.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ said the sergeant, ‘but I hope you are not here to waste his time. May I know the nature of your business, ma’am?’
‘I’ve just told you, I have come from Dorset Square – from the house where Miss Hexham lived, the murder victim.’
‘Ah, that one,’ said the sergeant rubbing his chin. ‘Just wait a bit, will you?’
Wally had been shuffling his feet and glancing nervously around him during this conversation. Had it gone on much longer, I
think he would have cut and run. As for Bessie, she was now in high good spirits. She had enjoyed the cab ride, sitting bolt upright on the seat with her feet stuck out in front of her and peering eagerly from the window. I wondered where Ross had been that he had just ‘come back’. Perhaps to Agar Town?
think he would have cut and run. As for Bessie, she was now in high good spirits. She had enjoyed the cab ride, sitting bolt upright on the seat with her feet stuck out in front of her and peering eagerly from the window. I wondered where Ross had been that he had just ‘come back’. Perhaps to Agar Town?
The sergeant returned and said the inspector would see us. We followed him up some stairs and through an ante-room office in which a pink-faced young constable with his left wrist bandaged sat scribbling at a desk. Eventually we were ushered into Inspector Ross’s presence.
He had risen from his desk to come and greet us and looked understandably startled at the sight of us. We lined up in front of him in descending order of height: Wally, then me and finally Bessie. It occurred to me we resembled the three bears of childhood story fame.
‘Thank you,’ I said to him, ‘for agreeing to see us. I would not have bothered you but I believe it very important.’
‘I’m sure you would not have come on any trivial matter, Miss Martin,’ he replied. He looked around him and pulled forward the one free chair. ‘Please sit down.’
I sat down. Wally took up a position behind me, putting an obstacle between himself and the inspector, and Bessie stood protectively beside me. A photographer could not have arranged us better.
‘You are lucky to find me here,’ he went on. ‘I have just come from Dorset Square.’
‘From our house?’ demanded Bessie.
Ross assessed her gravely and replied, ‘No, I called upon another resident of Dorset Square.’
‘It wasn’t Mrs Belling, was it?’ I asked. ‘We met her son James as we left home.’
Ross raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? The gentleman was in attendance on his mamma when I called there.’
I frowned as the import of his words struck me. James had
returned to his mother’s house by the time Ross had arrived there. He could scarcely have had time after speaking to me to do more than walk round the block!
returned to his mother’s house by the time Ross had arrived there. He could scarcely have had time after speaking to me to do more than walk round the block!
Another idea occurred to me and I didn’t like it. Had James Belling seen me leave Mrs Parry’s house opposite with Bessie and hurried down to the square to engineer a ‘chance’ meeting? The play with the pocket watch and the hurried air had been just that: a piece of theatre. Having spoken to me he had walked only a block or so and then returned, in time for Ross’s arrival. I calculated that Ross must have been at the Bellings’ about the time I was waiting at King’s Cross for Wally Slater.
‘Ah, yes, Mr James Belling,’ said Ross. ‘He has an interest in fossils.’
Ross was also looking thoughtful as if mentally composing a timetable of Mr Belling’s movements that morning. I recalled Frank had spoken of James Belling’s interest in fossils but I couldn’t imagine what had brought up the subject during Ross’s visit on police business. The inspector did not oblige by explaining so I was left in the dark.
Ross was also still in the dark with regard to our joint visit. ‘Well,’ he urged, still looking bemusedly at our group. ‘What may I do for you?’
‘We shall begin with Bessie Newman,’ I said hastily, indicating my small companion who was occupying the time with a thorough study of her surroundings. ‘And the day on which Madeleine Hexham left the house in Dorset Square never to be seen alive again. Bessie is the kitchen maid. Tell the inspector what happened that morning, Bessie.’
Bessie obliged, taking the story to the point where Madeleine hurried away to find Wally’s cab.
When she fell silent, I felt I should give a word of explanation. ‘Bessie would have told the constable this, the one who came to the house to talk to the staff. But she was worried for Miss Hexham’s reputation and also that she would be in trouble with
Mrs Parry for having facilitated Miss Hexham’s secret departure. Bessie is an orphan and Dorset Square the only home she has.’
Mrs Parry for having facilitated Miss Hexham’s secret departure. Bessie is an orphan and Dorset Square the only home she has.’
‘I quite understand,’ said Ross gravely.
‘So now Mr Slater will tell you what happened next. He has not told me so I know no more than you,’ I added.
Ross looked enquiringly at the cabman.
Wally cleared his throat and drew himself up. ‘I’m here because the young lady brought me. The young lady there is a rare one and you should know it.’
‘I think I do know it,’ said Ross unexpectedly. ‘But who are you?’
‘Walter Slater, licensed hackney carriage driver, of Kentish Town,’ the cabman introduced himself hoarsely. ‘I’m an honest man. But one who has been unjustly accused by the police on more than one occasion of passing bad coin. I have never done such a thing and I want it put on record.’
‘Has this to do with Miss Hexham?’ asked Ross.
Wally scowled at him. ‘No, it’s on my own account.’
‘I am not interested in whether or not you passed bad coin,’ Ross said tersely. ‘I am investigating a murder. Get on with it, will you?’
‘All right, keep your hair on,’ advised Wally. ‘Now, as you’ll know, a licensed cabbie is required to take a fare. That’s the law. Of course, should the fare be roaring drunk and abusive or suffering some dreadful disease, I might have cause to refuse. But the young lady on the day in question was none of these. I was therefore required to take her where she wanted to go, even though it seemed rum to me.’
He paused but as none of us spoke and Ross merely gestured with his hand as a sign to continue, Wally went on, ‘She was a nice young lady, very well turned out and neat.’
Here Ross did speak to ask, ‘Do you remember her clothing in any detail? The colour of her dress or shawl?’
‘Do I look,’ returned Wally, ‘like a man what studies fashion
plates of ladies’ dresses? She was very tidy, that’s all I know.’ He frowned. ‘Her skirt may have been some striped material. Don’t ask me what colour, blue or pink or something. I’m a cabbie and what I remember is where people ask to be took. “To St Luke’s Church,” she says. “In Agar Town, if you know it.” I told her, I knew it well enough, but was she sure that was the church she wanted? Because it was to be pulled down and, to my way of thinking, there might not be any services held there any more. But she would have it she wanted to be taken to St Luke’s. So that’s where we went. I wasn’t easy in my mind, not just because Agar Town isn’t the kind of place I’d have expected her to want to go, but because of the way I’d been asked to wait round the corner. I mean, I’ve been asked it before, but it’s generally meant a
rendy-voo
of a romantic nature. Why should she go creeping out of the house just to go to church?’
plates of ladies’ dresses? She was very tidy, that’s all I know.’ He frowned. ‘Her skirt may have been some striped material. Don’t ask me what colour, blue or pink or something. I’m a cabbie and what I remember is where people ask to be took. “To St Luke’s Church,” she says. “In Agar Town, if you know it.” I told her, I knew it well enough, but was she sure that was the church she wanted? Because it was to be pulled down and, to my way of thinking, there might not be any services held there any more. But she would have it she wanted to be taken to St Luke’s. So that’s where we went. I wasn’t easy in my mind, not just because Agar Town isn’t the kind of place I’d have expected her to want to go, but because of the way I’d been asked to wait round the corner. I mean, I’ve been asked it before, but it’s generally meant a
rendy-voo
of a romantic nature. Why should she go creeping out of the house just to go to church?’
‘And did you take her there?’ asked Ross.
‘I did. When we arrived I said to her again that it didn’t look to me as if there was any service going to be held there. There was no one else about, not a living soul, just a churchyard full of dead ones.’
‘There were no workmen there? No one pulling down any houses?’ Ross asked.
Wally shook his head. ‘They hadn’t got that far then. They were just starting to clear the area for the railway terminus and goods yards but some distance off and that bit by the church wasn’t touched. They hadn’t managed to find a way to get over or under or round the graves, as I heard, so I suppose they left it until they thought one up. Anyway, she says to me, “I want to visit a grave!” Now then!’ Wally shook a large and distorted finger at us. The knuckles of his hand appeared to have suffered greatly and were much scarred.
‘I reckon she said that to put me off. People who visit graves generally take flowers. At least they look a bit mournful, sob a bit even if they’re only putting it on, and she didn’t. She looked
pretty pleased with herself, if you ask me! So I asked her, if she was visiting a grave, did she want me to wait? Because I didn’t like leaving her there all alone. But she said no, she would be some little while. “You will not get another cab, miss,” I said to her. “Not here in Agar Town. You will have to walk some way towards the main streets.” It did no good; she just told me everything was arranged. So what could I do but believe her?’ A note of appeal entered the cabman’s voice. ‘I didn’t know I was leaving her to be murdered.’
pretty pleased with herself, if you ask me! So I asked her, if she was visiting a grave, did she want me to wait? Because I didn’t like leaving her there all alone. But she said no, she would be some little while. “You will not get another cab, miss,” I said to her. “Not here in Agar Town. You will have to walk some way towards the main streets.” It did no good; she just told me everything was arranged. So what could I do but believe her?’ A note of appeal entered the cabman’s voice. ‘I didn’t know I was leaving her to be murdered.’
‘Of course you did not, Mr Slater,’ I said.
‘No, I don’t suppose you did,’ said Ross.
‘The murderer was waiting for her,’ opined Bessie. ‘I reckon he was waiting for her hid behind one of them gravestones or monuments. I hope they hang him.’
‘They don’t much hang anyone for anything these days,’ remarked Wally. ‘They’d string you up for nothing until a few years ago. My late grandfather was a cabman. We’re a family of cabmen. After I quit the prize ring at the request of the lady what is now Mrs Slater, I returned to the business. Not that I regret it, mind, for all being a cabbie and out in all weathers is no great pleasure. But then, to be honest, neither is getting your head knocked in. Although as a fighter you get to mix with some real swells and the purse money can be very good and to hear the crowd cheer you on is something special. But as I was saying, in his day, my grandfather’s day, honest cabmen what had done nothing more than pass a bad coin in all innocence …’
Here he became aware that everyone else was showing signs of impatience. Ross in particular looked as if he was wondering if there was some offence with which he could charge Wally.
‘Times change, that’s all,’ the cabman finished.
Ross got to his feet and went to the door. He called into the outer office, ‘Biddle! Come and take care of these people, would you?’
‘Here!’ demanded Bessie in alarm, ‘are we being arrested?’
‘No, no, Miss Newman!’ Ross soothed her. ‘But you will be asked to repeat your stories for Constable Biddle here who will write it all down and then you will be asked to sign it. Can you write your name?’
Bessie, who had been looking much pleased at being called ‘Miss Newman’, reverted to her normal combative self. ‘Of course I can! They taught us reading and writing at the orphanage.’
The constable with the bandaged wrist had entered the room and could be seen to be limping.
Bessie looked him up and down. ‘You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?’ she observed.
‘Statements, Biddle!’ ordered Ross crisply. ‘From Mr Slater and Miss Newman. Not you, Miss Martin. Perhaps you’d wait a moment?’
My companions left the room and Constable Biddle closed the door. Ross heaved a sigh.
‘Would you care for tea, Miss Martin? I dare say some can be procured. I should have asked you before.’
I thanked him but refused. ‘I can’t stay much longer. I must get back to Dorset Square and take Bessie with me, or there will be so many questions asked it will not be possible to find answers to them all.’
At this Ross permitted himself a brief smile. ‘I have confidence in your ingenuity, Miss Martin.’
He returned to his chair and sat down with his hands resting on the wooden arms. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you seem to have been making rather better progress in this matter than I have. I, too, have a great many questions to which I haven’t yet found answers.’
‘It was chance,’ I told him, ‘that I was able to recognise the cabman from Bessie’s description.’ I hesitated a little before plunging on, ‘Madeleine Hexham was with child, wasn’t she?You did not mention this when you came to tell Mrs Parry of her death, but Bessie took hot water to her room every morning and several times found her very ill and vomiting.’
Ross contemplated me for a moment then replied quietly, ‘Yes, she was almost four months gone with child, possibly the reason she was murdered. However, I am not keen to see the information passed around at the moment. It is difficult enough to get any one to talk about her. If they knew of her condition I dare say they would refuse completely. We —I am dealing with highly respectable people here. I must tread carefully lest I offend their sensibilities.’
I thought of Dr Tibbett departing merrily with his ladybird at his side, but only said, ‘I understand that and no one will learn of it from me nor yet from Bessie.’
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