Liza (30 page)

Dear
William
,

Jasper
Barbour
has
been
caught
,
it
’
s
in
the
papers
.
I
have a
nice
room
here
and
have
looked
at
some
shops
but
not bought
anything
for
myself
so
far
.
Maybe
tomorrow
!

I
am
missing
you
.

Love
,

Cecily

William read it several times and put it away carefully. He went to his narrow bunk thinking of her.

*
* *

Liza, in her big empty bed, thought of William. She had torn up her first attempt at the message because she had signed it Liza, the second because, on rereading it, she thought it too affectionate — and wondered how she had come to write it. Then her thoughts turned to Cecily and how she must free her. She revolved in her brain the few facts that she had, the information given her by Merryweather. It seemed there were four or more victims who had presumably refused to testify. Otherwise the sergeant would have called on them instead of the American. Then there were the criminals who called themselves Armstrong, Wood, Dobson and Hunter. They used different names each time, but the method was always the same. As if they lacked imagination. The names went round and round in her mind. And then she was scrambling out of her big bed, seeking writing paper again, struggling into a robe, then sitting at the dressing-table and writing furiously.

* * *

On Wednesday morning Liza handed in Cecily
’s new clothes at the prison and hurried on to meet Merryweather. She found him at his station, seated behind a desk and stirring a mug of tea with a pencil. ‘I’ve thought of something,’ she said breathlessly.

‘
What would that be?’ He sucked in tea as she told him. Afterwards he said, ‘I can’t believe it.’

She blinked at him. ‘Why not?’

He gave her the first smile she
’d seen on his face, but it was wintry. ‘Nobody would be that daft.’

‘
They were. They had to have names. Where would they get them from? Would they read them in the papers and call themselves Mr and Mrs Lloyd George?’

‘
No, but—’

‘
They’ve used the same method every time, never changed it.

‘
True,’ he agreed. ‘One of the oldest tricks in the book an’ all,’ he scoffed. ‘Still works, though. Human nature, you see. A woman and a man and temptation.’

‘
So?’ Liza said.

He held out his hand.
‘Let me see that list.’ He scanned the names on it. Not many, but d’ye know how many hotels there are in London?’

‘
No.’

‘
Neither do I, but it’s a hell of a lot — if you’ll excuse the expression.’

Liza stood up.
‘Then the sooner we start, the better.’

The search took most of the day and the rain started early. Merryweather had prudently brought an umbrella but Liza had not. He lent his to her and suffered the soaking with lugubrious stoicism. The umbrella was large, old, black and bent but served its purpose, and Liza had accepted it thankfully.

They visited all manner of hotels, from the very grand, like the Savoy, to the grubby establishments down side-streets that were little better than boarding-houses. They brandished Liza’s list and pored over guest registers, questioned the reception clerk when any name matched one on the list. Merryweather became mournful, but Liza kept him at it. Night fell and still they searched.

They took cab after cab, trudged miles of pavements and picked their way across streets jammed with horse-drawn traffic and littered with manure made liquid by the downpour, the smell of ammonia strong in their nostrils. Until they introduced themselves to Mr Perkins, the manager of a middle-sized hotel who did not welcome the suggestion that he might be harbouring criminals beneath his roof.

He saw them in his office. He was pallid and portly in frock coat and wing collar, looked down his nose at Liza’s umbrella dripping on his carpet and told Merryvveather, ‘I think you must be mistaken, Sergeant. We have a very respectable clientele. Many of our regulars are officers. In any event, I will not have my guests disturbed for no good reason.’

Merryweather was tired and his feet hurt.
‘Blackmail and demanding money with menaces are good reasons. Let’s see your register.’

‘
Blackmail!’ The manager wrinkled his nose as if there was a bad smell under it, but he produced the register and Liza bent her head over it. She gasped. ‘Here!’

A slim forefinger jabbed at a name, and Merryweather and the manager craned to see.
‘Mr and Mrs Hawthorn?’ Perkins said, incredulous.

‘
Mr and Mrs
Leslie
Hawthorn,’ Liza said.

‘
What are these people like?’ Merryweather asked.

‘
Mr Hawthorn is ...’ Perkins hesitated ‘... a rough diamond, but honest, I’m sure. Mrs Hawthorn is a very pleasant lady.’ He had basked in Una’s come-hither smile.

‘
I’m sure she is,’ Liza said. ‘And they’re on my list.’ She showed it, crumpled and creased now, to Merryweather. ‘See?’

‘
What list is that?’ the manager asked.

‘
The names these people used before were all names of Tyneside shipyards,’ Liza explained, ‘and this list is more of the same that we didn’t think they’d used yet. But that’s the one. Hawthorn Leslie is the name of the yard.’

Merryweather addressed the manager:
‘Has Mrs Hawthorn been particularly friendly with any gentleman? Someone of your age, perhaps?’

Perkins flushed.
‘I’ll — er — I’ll find out.’

He left, to return a few minutes later.
‘I’ve spoken to the hall porter and some of the waiters. It seems Mr and Mrs Hawthorn are often with Major Roxborough. He’s one of our regulars, comes up from the country for a week or so two or three times a year. A most respectable gentleman. I’m sure he wouldn’t—’

Merryweather cut in:
‘I doubt if he would, too. Now, which is their room?’

Perkins consulted the register.
‘Two hundred and six.’ ‘Which is the major’s?’

‘
Two hundred and ten.’

‘
Ahr Merryweather leaned forward. ‘And does the major have to pass their room to reach his own?’

‘
Why — yes.’

Merryweather glanced at Liza.
‘That sounds familiar.’ He turned back to the manager. ‘Is there a vacant room opposite the Hawthorns’?’

Perkins checked the register again.
‘Yes.’

Merryweather held out his hand.
‘Let me have the key, please. We’ll keep watch from there.’ It was yielded to him reluctantly, but when he had it he passed it to Liza. ‘I’m going to call up two constables. I’ll tell you now, the man in this case was carrying a knife for cutting throats but we didn’t find one on your friend’s husband.’ He turned to the manager, who had paled at the mention of a knife. ‘I’ll want to bring my men in unseen. By the back stairs?’

‘
Yes, of course.’

‘
And let me know where all these people are, if you can,’ Merryweather finished. ‘Tell Miss Thornton, and she will go up to the empty room and wait there for me.’

He and the manager left and Liza sat on alone. She wondered how long they would have to watch room 206. Then, as she waited for Merryweather to return, the doubts crept in. Suppose her theory was wrong and the names that matched those of Tyneside shipyards were just coincidence? Suppose the Hawthorns were an innocent and respectable couple?

The manager returned. ‘Major Roxborough is at dinner in the restaurant. The Hawthorns are in the hotel, presumably in their room.’

‘
Presumably?’ That word, for some reason, sounded an alarm for Liza.

‘
They haven’t been seen for some time, but they haven’t handed in their key,’ he explained.

Liza stood up.
‘Thank you.’ She was uneasy. Suppose the Hawthorns were up to something now? ‘I’ll go up now and wait for the sergeant,’ she said.

She took the umbrella with her and ascended in the lift; a page-boy was at the controls. On the second floor she walked along the corridor, silent on the thick carpeting, to room 201: 206 was further along, its door flanked by a low table with a vase of flowers on it. She let herself into 201 and closed the door behind her, but not completely. In the light from the corridor she could make out the dark-curtained window, a double bed, dressing-table, and a big free-standing wardrobe and chairs. She turned and peered through the crack she had left. She could see the doorway of 206. She wondered how long it would be before Merryweather arrived, and glanced down at Cecily
’s little watch.

When she looked up again a man had emerged from 206,
had closed the door but left it ajar. He was making straight for her, a key in his hand, a big man, bearded, heavy. That was all she saw, and then she was backing away into the darkness of the room to hide beside the wardrobe. The key grated in the lock but the door swung wide under its pressure. The man grunted — surprised at finding it was not locked? He glanced around the room but did not see Liza, hidden beside the wardrobe. He closed the door but not completely, leaving a thin strip of light. He swung an upright chair from its place against the wall and sat on it, peering out into the corridor.

Liza stood deathly still. She was trapped in this room with the stranger.

1
9

WEDNESDAY, 6 FEBRUARY 1907, LONDON

He was only a few feet away. Liza could hear him breathing. Could he hear her, or the dripping of the umbrella on the carpet? She hardly breathed at all, mouth open. If she moved her head a fraction of an inch she could see him bulking large on the chair, lit by that narrow crack between door and frame. She wondered how he had got a key. The one she had used was in her handbag, along with the list. Then she told herself it did not matter how he had got in. He might have stolen or bought a key from a chambermaid. The important thing to her was that he could reach her in two strides and then— Merryweather had said that the man had threatened his victims with a knife. She could see his hands, big and hairy, clasped into fists on his knees. She imagined them on her body, and her skin crept.

Oh, God! Where were Merryweather and his constables?

The man at the door moved on his chair, restless. Liza shifted her weight from one leg to the other and a board creaked under her. She froze and held her breath, sure he must have heard her, but he only moved again and cleared his throat. Then his restlessness ceased and he was leaning forward in the chair. Liza heard a woman’s voice, the words slurred: ‘Why, hello, Major. Will you help a lady in distress?’

A deeper voice, jovial:
‘If I can, m’dear. What is it?’

‘
I can’t open this bottle. Leslie has gone off to Portsmouth to talk to some naval men about business again. He won’t be back until tomorrow and I’m all alone on my birthday. But come in and open this bottle for me. I’m no good at these men things ...’ Both voices faded and then there was silence.

The man at the door relaxed, sat back in his chair and took a watch out of his waistcoat pocket. He sat with it in the palm of his hand and his breathing was regular once more. Liza wanted to change legs again but dared not, had an irritating itch on her nose but would not risk moving to scratch. The minutes ticked away. Five? Six? Liza could not be sure, but then the man rose from the chair and threw the door wide. Liza flinched and tensed for now the light flooded in, bathing the room and the wardrobe that hid her, but he did not glance behind him. He strode away up the corridor in the direction of room 206 and was gone from her sight.

Not for long. Liza scurried out into the corridor just in time to see him shove open the door of room 206. Not locked, she noted. He disappeared inside and his voice came at first in a shocked cry, ‘My God! What’s this?’ Then it changed to an enraged bellow, ‘You swine! Take your hands off my wife,’ and, finally, was solicitous, ‘Has he harmed you, my dear?’

Now Liza was on the threshold and looking into the room. Her first emotion was shock. A man in his fifties, balding and with a toothbrush moustache, stood by the bed, his jaw hanging loose, eyes popping. Beside him was Una Gubbins, as Liza had known her at school. Now she was a voluptuous young woman with her charms on display, her dress and shift around her waist so that she stood bare-breasted. Her full lips pouted and she answered,
‘Not hurt, but shamed.’ She buried her face in her hands.