Authors: The Companion
Ann Granger (21 page)
‘No, ma’am, thank you. Miss Martin!’ He gave me a perfunctory nod of the head. ‘Dear lady,’ he added, turning to Aunt Parry and bowing low.
‘Ring for Simms!’ Aunt Parry ordered me in the same absentminded way.
I rose and went to the bell. Simms appeared with his usual alacrity and the visitor left.
I returned to the table but instead of taking my seat again stood behind the chair with my hands resting on the frame. Before me lay the dish bearing what remained of the shape which, in the manner of its species, had collapsed into an unsightly ruin amid its surrounding vegetation and succeeded in looking even worse than before. I thought I might safely abandon my helping. Besides, there was something more important than food and when Mrs Parry heard what I had to say, she would have more to think about than my loss of appetite.
She was staring thoughtfully at the tablecloth. Eventually, in a voice which trembled with emotion, she said, ‘If I had had the slightest suspicion of the trouble that would be caused by bringing Madeleine Hexham into this house, she would never have set foot over the doorstep. It seems I am to have no peace while the police continue their investigations.’
‘They may conclude them soon,’ I pointed out. ‘Then both you and Mr Fletcher will be at ease.’
‘He may be. I shall not!’ retorted Aunt Parry sharply. ‘The railway company will see its work resume at a normal pace. But any criminal trial will redouble the number of curious sightseers outside this house. Oh, it’s enough to put one out of all patience!’
It wasn’t the best moment for my news but it had to be now. It couldn’t be delayed further.
‘Aunt Parry, there is something I should tell you, and should have told you before. I think I should tell you now, immediately, in view of everything Mr Fletcher was saying.’
She looked mildly surprised and then apprehensive. ‘Elizabeth, I hope I am not going to hear you have – have got yourself into any kind of scrape?’ Her voice rose to a plaintive wail. ‘Is it possible? Surely not? My dear child, you have only been in London a matter of days—’
‘Oh no, Aunt Parry, nothing like that!’ I hastened to assure her.
‘What then?’ she demanded resentfully.
I explained, as best I could, that although I had not realised it when he first called, I had some previous acquaintance with Inspector Ross and my father had been his benefactor all those years ago.
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Aunt Parry, who had listened goggle-eyed. She grew thoughtful and her podgy fingers again drummed out that rhythm on the damask cloth. Without warning she turned to me and released on me a smile of devastating goodwill. Before it, I felt myself wilt.
‘Dear Elizabeth,’ she said, ‘what an extraordinary thing and really, what an extraordinary piece of good luck. I am sure the inspector will be sensible of his obligation towards you and your family – and your friends.’ I hadn’t thought the smile could broaden but it did. It was not reflected in her eyes, however, which were as sharp as a jackdaw’s when it has spotted some shiny treasure.
I could only gaze at her in dismay. I had imagined various reactions to my news but not this. She saw my tenuous link with
Ross as an advantage to be exploited. I had forgotten Frank telling me she was a businesswoman although seeing her with Fletcher I should have remembered.
Ross as an advantage to be exploited. I had forgotten Frank telling me she was a businesswoman although seeing her with Fletcher I should have remembered.
‘Aunt Parry,’ I faltered. ‘I can’t ask the inspector for – for favours in the matter of his investigations.’
The sharp look had been wiped from her eyes and only benevolence beamed from them. ‘Of course not, Elizabeth,’ she said hastily. She rose to her feet and patted my arm. ‘Of course not. You must not mistake my meaning. But it is always better to have the ear of a friend than to deal with a total stranger, mm?’
Ben Ross
ON SATURDAY morning Dunn summoned Morris and me to a council of war, or that was what it felt like. I could not rid myself of the notion that we formed part of two battalions of lead soldiers lined up on a playroom table. The Midland Railway Company had hoisted its colours on one side of the divide and Scotland Yard on the other. Between us lay, figuratively but perhaps also physically, the corpse of Madeleine Hexham. The remains of the unfortunate young woman had now been committed to a pauper’s grave. There was no one who might be asked to pay for any better interment. In the circumstances, asking Madeleine’s employer would have been a waste of time. Her mortal remains might now rest with thieves and vagabonds, but I was determined that her spirit should be better respected. I would find who killed her … were I allowed to do so.
‘I have another letter from them,’ said Dunn, indicating a sheet of paper on his desk with an irritable jab of his stubby forefinger.
I had already made out the official heading of the railway company from where I stood and although I could not read the letter, I could guess what it contained.
‘They hope we shall conclude our enquiries at the site of the new terminus very soon. They have just about finished clearing the area and the new building work must begin on schedule. I
have to admit that, as a letter, it’s not unreasonable. They simply cannot understand why we keep constables at the site bothering, as they see it, their employees. I’m beginning to wonder myself why we do. Have we gained
anything
from our questioning of these labourers?’
have to admit that, as a letter, it’s not unreasonable. They simply cannot understand why we keep constables at the site bothering, as they see it, their employees. I’m beginning to wonder myself why we do. Have we gained
anything
from our questioning of these labourers?’
Dunn pushed away the company’s letter, ran his hand through his brush of hair, and directed a sudden and very direct look at me.
I have always thought that Mrs Dunn must stand at the door every morning and check that her husband left the house with his hair well flattened with the aid of water or hair oil as he generally arrived with it quite neat. It was seldom long before it was disturbed. At the moment it looked like the erect quills of a defensive hedgehog. The impression was heightened by the fact that the superintendent was a burly man with a fondness for tweed suiting which gave him a countrified air.
His question wasn’t easy to answer. We had gained as good as nothing from our enquiries at the Agar Town site. Beside me, I saw from the corner of my eye that Morris was shifting uneasily in his chair. He probably thought the lack of progress would be laid at his door.
‘There are many labourers there and few constables,’ I said rather feebly and thought at once with annoyance that my words had come out sounding like a misquotation from some sermon. I attempted a brisker tone. ‘It takes time. The navvies are not easy to question. They don’t like us – the police. They are a mixed bunch. Some are honest workmen, others casual labour employed more or less on a daily basis. Some may have something to hide which has nothing to do with the murder of Madeleine Hexham. Others, I suspect, take a perverse pleasure in thwarting us. Sergeant?’
I turned to Morris who said stolidly, ‘Yes, sir, exactly. It’s as the inspector says. They are awkward b—they are inclined to be difficult, Mr Dunn.’
‘So have you gained any information of use?’ Dunn persisted.
‘At the site, no,’ I confessed. ‘But we have gained information of great interest from Miss Martin, from the servant girl she brought with her and the cabman, er, Slater.’
‘Ah, yes, that,’ said Dunn. ‘We have to be grateful to Miss Martin and her efforts on our behalf. Without them, we should have little to show.’ He glowered at us both. ‘I am not happy at having the only progress in this matter being due to the quick thinking of a lady’s companion! We are supposed to be professionals, or so I thought. Come on, Ross! What the dickens are your men doing?’
I thought of Biddle and refrained from replying, ‘Falling into holes in the ground.’ I said, ‘Their best, sir. We are short-handed.’
‘Their best ain’t good enough!’ retorted Dunn bluntly. ‘I am afraid that I shall soon have to oblige the railway company and pull men off that site. In view of our lack of progress there, I can hardly refuse. I can stall them for a little longer, but I don’t know how long.’
‘Let me go back there myself!’ I begged. ‘I’ll go this morning. There is the foreman, Adams. He’s a surly fellow but he may know more than he is saying.’
‘A downy bird, that one,’ offered Morris in a dire tone.
‘Downy bird he may be, but if he can’t be persuaded to sing – or has nothing to squawk about – we cannot go on questioning him indefinitely. Go down there this morning by all means, but I want some results, Inspector! And I don’t want them courtesy of young women. I want them from my officers!’
Morris and I took this as dismissal. Morris got to his feet with alacrity and was out of the door like a hound after a hare. I dragged my feet a little.
‘I don’t think we are looking for a murderer among the workmen at the site, sir. Whoever killed Miss Hexham, he is what is generally known as a “gentleman”.’
I couldn’t help the sourness in my voice. I had dealt with enough so-called gentlemen in the past to lose any general respect
for the type. Give me an honest working man any day.
for the type. Give me an honest working man any day.
‘Hum,’ said Dunn. ‘I dare say you are right. But that’s where the girl’s body was found and that, if our thinking is correct, is where she was imprisoned for at least part of the time. Don’t tell me no one there saw a damn thing!’
‘Yes, that is, no, sir.’
Perhaps like Morris I should get out of the room while the going was good. But I was not to do so without Biddle’s invisible presence being evoked.
‘What’s the matter with that young constable in the outer office? He appears to be a mass of bandages.’ Dunn’s tone was exasperated.
‘Superficial injuries, sir, gained in the pursuit of his duty.’
‘Some ruffian knock him down?’
‘No, sir. He fell.’
‘Fell,
fell
? Can’t they stand on their own two feet nowadays? Something wrong with his boots?’
fell
? Can’t they stand on their own two feet nowadays? Something wrong with his boots?’
‘No, sir, purely an accident.’
Dunn growled and I made good my escape.
The brief foretaste of summer had been replaced by a return of the unsettled weather we had grown accustomed to. Perhaps at this time of year we ought not to expect any other although April and its showers were well behind us. Yet during the previous night there had been quite a heavy downpour. I had lain awake at my lodgings listening to its insistent beat on the window-panes. It had not been the only thing keeping me from slumber. Dunn was right to complain of our lack of progress. Lizzie Martin and her oddly matched companions had been extremely useful, of course. I had smiled to myself in the darkness at the memory of the three of them lined up before my desk.
The sight of Lizzie and her little band had called up other memories of the past. I began, as I lay sleepless, to think about Joe Lee, the other pit boy Dr Martin had taken under his wing and
for whose education he had provided. I did not know what had become of Joe and found myself wishing I did. He had been quite a leader of the other boys in the colliery village and I had a vivid image of him leading his troop of ragamuffins through its narrow lanes. Joe had been afraid of nothing, or never showed it. No one liked going down the pit. None of the adult pitmen ever went down without a nagging question at the back of their minds as to whether they would ever come up alive, or at all. Some of the very young boys burst into tears as they walked to the start of their shift thinking what lay ahead of them. But Joe never seemed afraid and whistled cheerfully as we clambered down into the darkness dotted here and there by the guttering pinpoints of light belonging to the candles of the men already working. Because he showed no fear, I would never let myself show any. It was bravado, I suppose, on Joe’s part.
for whose education he had provided. I did not know what had become of Joe and found myself wishing I did. He had been quite a leader of the other boys in the colliery village and I had a vivid image of him leading his troop of ragamuffins through its narrow lanes. Joe had been afraid of nothing, or never showed it. No one liked going down the pit. None of the adult pitmen ever went down without a nagging question at the back of their minds as to whether they would ever come up alive, or at all. Some of the very young boys burst into tears as they walked to the start of their shift thinking what lay ahead of them. But Joe never seemed afraid and whistled cheerfully as we clambered down into the darkness dotted here and there by the guttering pinpoints of light belonging to the candles of the men already working. Because he showed no fear, I would never let myself show any. It was bravado, I suppose, on Joe’s part.
The only time I detected any nervousness in Joe was the day the pair of us, thanks to Dr Martin’s generosity, started our studies at the town’s ancient grammar school, a place through whose portals we should never normally have passed. I shared his trepidation. The other boys were waiting for us. They knew of our coming and who we were. I suspected the masters had told them of it. We were taunted and pushed about and stood for it as long as we could – which was not long. No one insults a pitman and stays on his own two feet for many minutes afterwards. After we had handed out a fair sprinkling of black eyes and puffed lips to our tormentors, the harrying ceased.
After that we were accepted by the sons of wealthy townsmen in the line of business or the professions who formed the bulk of the other pupils. The masters followed the boys in this. We had no more trouble. On one occasion near the beginning the headmaster accosted us as we left morning prayers and advised us mildly that if we must fight then at least we should try and fight ‘like gentlemen’. I never found out what that meant as neither Joe nor I had any pretensions to be or become gentlemen.
I remember my mother weeping the day the doctor came and explained that I should go to school. It was not fear or sorrow but joy which called up her tears. My father had been a collier and it had killed him, not in an accident but from the coal dust which had seeped into his lungs and clogged them. I had been fortunate but I did wish I knew what had happened to Joe.
Morning came and with it the old memories melted away. Those difficulties were long gone and I faced new ones. It had been an embarrassment to the force to have the only discoveries of any value so far made by members of the public. But, in the end, did not we as detectives depend on the public for our information? I set off for Agar Town after quitting Dunn’s office, determined this time to come back with something.
I was quite surprised when I reached my destination. For all of Fletcher’s laments that we held up the work, somehow the remaining houses had come down and the bulk of the rubble been carted away. What was left now was a weird blighted tract of man-made desert. The rain had served to clear away the dust but instead a thin layer of mud covered the site, formed puddles on the uneven ground, and soon spattered my boots. I enquired for Adams but only received the reply, ‘Not seen him!’
I was thinking over what to do next when I heard my name and turned to see I was being hailed by my bugbear, Fletcher. He was making his way cautiously towards me. I saw as he neared that he had taken the precaution of covering his footwear with rubber galoshes. He carried a furled umbrella as a barrier against further rain showers. If he had not been such an irritant the sight of him would have caused me to smile. He looked for all the world like an elderly lady on her way to church on a wet morning.
‘What are you doing here again, Inspector?’ he greeted me with scant civility. ‘Are you not finished yet?’
‘I would be pleased if we had made as much progress as you have!’ I retorted, indicating our surroundings.
‘I have a timetable!’ he said testily. ‘I am answerable to those above me if I fall behind.’
I thought of the recent interview in Dunn’s office and felt like asking him if he imagined I was answerable to no one. But there was no point in arguing with the fellow. Instead I merely told him I had come in search of Adams but failed to find him.
‘Both of us have done that!’ snapped Fletcher. ‘He has failed to appear for work and sent no word. He was all right yesterday, not sick. It is bad enough when the navvies disappear without warning but to have Adams do it is extremely annoying. It’s also very odd since today is Saturday and this afternoon at close of work they are paid their wages. They turn up of a Saturday without fail.’
Something within me, a mental warning bell, sounded a distant but urgent alarm. ‘Where does he live?’ I asked. ‘Can you find it out for me?’
‘As it happens,’ returned Fletcher, ‘I have just consulted the pay clerk’s roll to find it out for myself. I intend to send someone to enquire after him. He lives in Limehouse. He has worked for the company for quite some time, since the beginning of this project, and it’s not like the man at all to be absent. Were I a betting man, which I am not, I would have put my money on Adams. I am most disappointed. He will be difficult to replace if he has decided to quit. But, like everyone else, I dare say he has been pestered out of all patience by the questions of your constables!’
‘Give me the address,’ I said tersely. ‘I will seek him out. I like his failure to appear for work no more than you.’
Fletcher blinked and stared at me. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Then I will come with you myself. Have you a conveyance?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘but we can find a cab.’
‘We do not need one,’ he said and pointed.
I saw then, at some little distance, a small closed carriage waiting. I was surprised that he had private transport but followed him to the carriage. He gave some instructions to the coachman and we set off.
As we rumbled away from Agar Town, I expressed my curiosity about our vehicle.
‘It is not mine!’ he said quickly, flushing. ‘I am hardly in a position to maintain a private carriage. It has been put at my disposal by one of the major shareholders in the railway company.’
‘That is very generous of him,’ I observed.
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