The Insanity of Murder (4 page)

Lady Mary stiffened in her chair. ‘Not that Cynthia, silly boy, another Cynthia.’ There didn’t appear to be much wrong with her hearing.

Sir Michael gave Pike an almost imperceptible shake of the head —
ignore her.

‘Do you want us to put bars on the window, Mother, is that what you want?’ he asked, clearly exasperated. ‘Have you any idea how dangerous the streets are at night?’

Pike addressed them both. ‘Your mother was witness to a crime — the explosion at the Necropolis Station.’

‘Good God, Mother! Now do you see what I mean? Are you all right? The explosion has been all over the morning papers.’

Lady Mary rose and began to shuffle back and forth again. ‘I am quite well, thank you. Please don’t fuss, Michael. I can only pray that my friend was not in the vicinity of the explosion.’

‘With your permission, Sir Michael,’ Pike said, ‘I would like to show your mother a series of photographs of women who are known to the police. I’m hoping she might recognise the two she saw near the station before the explosion.’

‘Those blasted suffragettes, do you think? Be my guest, Chief Inspector.’

Pike was well aware how fed up most Londoners were with the antics of the suffragettes, and how their militant actions had caused many of their original supporters to ostracise them. Since their latest failure to achieve their goals — the vote and property rights — Mrs Pankhurst had declared that those in the movement were ‘guerrillists’, and justified their increasing violence as acts of war.

‘How long will this take, Chief Inspector? Only I need to get my mother back to the rest home.’

‘Not long, Sir Michael.’ Pike put his head around his office door and asked Singh to bring him the photograph album displaying all known suffragettes active in the London area.

Michael had insisted that the maid take her street clothes and burn them. Quite unreasonable, Lady Mary had thought at the time, but her son had made it up to her by speeding as fast as his little motorcar was able, down the twisting country roads. She loved to travel fast, even if it meant they were back at the rest home in less than two hours.

The home could have been a lot worse — it was quite civilised really, Lady Mary reflected as she shuffled into the drawing room for her pre-dinner sherry. Mr Beamish, one of the white-coated attendants, met Mary at the door with a glass of sherry on a silver tray.

‘Welcome back m’lady. Your uniform is on your bed, please don’t forget to change into it before dinner,’ he said.

Mary glanced down at her black gown with the jet beads. ‘I’m still grieving for my husband, Mr Beamish.’

‘Rules are rules, Lady Mary.’

Mary took the offered sherry. ‘Thank you, Mr Beamish.’

Not everyone was allowed to drink, but as she and Eva weren’t on any dangerous pills, they were permitted to have an evening tipple together. Alcohol was considered to be a calmative by Doctor Fogarty.

The room was dark and wood panelled. Some of the patients were tied to their chairs and appeared to be sleeping; heads lolling, jowls moist. One woman paced the floor pulling non-existent hair from her bald scalp.

Mary had been present when the attendants had shaved Mrs Butterman’s hair off. They’d said it was better they did the job for her than she injure herself with all the pulling and the yanking. They were right, Mary supposed. Though nothing could shake the memory of Mrs Butterman being bound in the straitjacket while the job was being done. Mary trembled as she recalled the scene. A drop of sherry slid down the glass and onto her hand. She licked it off. Hadn’t Doctor Fogarty threatened her with the straitjacket upon her return from her previous escape? She vaguely remembered Michael (darling boy) forbidding him to do it. There was something to be said for having a title.

Mary looked around the room for her friend and spotted her in a comfortable chair in a cosy corner next to the empty fireplace. Eva raised her hand and patted the seat of the chair next to her. On the other side of Eva, Bet-Bet sat, busy with her knitting. Bet-Bet did not acknowledge Lady Mary’s arrival. Her knitting had grown considerably since Mary had last seen it and now coiled around her ankles like a snake.

‘You’re back sooner than expected, Mary,’ Eva said by way of greeting.

‘I think I’m in trouble again,’ Mary said as she sank into the comfortable chintz armchair.

Eva smiled and shook her head. Her shiny dark hair was arranged in a modern bob, a fine gold chain twisting amongst the tresses. With dark eyes and milky white skin, Mary thought that Eva bore an uncanny resemblance to Cleopatra.

‘What have you done this time?’ Eva asked.

‘Oh, let me see.’ Mary reached into her reticule, removed a notebook and tried to decipher Michael’s untidy writing. Poor Michael was always being thrashed at school for the poor quality of his writing. ‘Ah yes. I saw some women climb the gate into the Necropolis Station. It is believed the suffragettes planted a bomb and blew the station up.’

Eva’s face lit up with excitement. ‘Let me see that,’ she said, almost snatching the notebook from Mary’s grasp. Newspapers were banned at the home and the women were starved for news of the outside world. Eva frowned as she tried to decipher the writing.

‘It says here that Michael will be returning to pick you up the day after tomorrow and take you back to London for the identity parade. Why not keep you in London if you are needed again so soon?’

‘Oh, you should have heard him go on.’ Mary couldn’t forget that. ‘I’ve been sent back here as a punishment for my naughtiness. Anyone would think that he was the father and I the child! All I did was climb from the window and visit the station. I was only trying to find Cynthia. I have been so worried since she said she was going to …’ Mary lost her thread. ‘What was she going to do, dear?’

Eva sighed. ‘Take her own life,’ she reminded Mary.

Eva had written Mary a note to remind her what to do and what to say when she found Cynthia. Mary could feel the note now, scratching at the skin beneath the sleeve of her dress. She and Eva were certain that if Cynthia apologised to Doctor Fogarty and promised never to run away again, she would be accepted back — her family was paying enough for her residency at the Elysium after all.

But Cynthia had not been at any of her regular haunts and Mary had not been able to find her anywhere. It was as if she had disappeared into the river fog.

‘Did you find Cynthia?’ Eva asked.

‘Alas, no.’ Mary took a sip of sherry.

Eva said nothing, but stared at the empty grate.

Mary had last seen Cynthia at the almost completed Embankment Gardens. Her friend had been terribly upset and agitated, even more upset than she had been in the home before she’d run away. She told Mary, as they huddled from the wind under a shared piece of sacking, that she was contemplating taking her own life. Mary knew she should have forced Cynthia to come back with her then, but her own thoughts at the time had been so jumbled: delight at finding her friend, excitement at the sight of the barges jostling on the river, the speed of the motorcars on Waterloo Bridge, and the scurrying workers laying the new sewerage line. She’d only remembered the distressing part of the conversation after she’d returned to the home.

‘You’re lucky that you can come and go. It must be wonderful to go home, even if it is for only a short time,’ Eva said in a tone of deep sadness. ‘I would love to be able to get away from this place.’

Mary searched for some words of comfort. ‘But you managed a trip to London recently, didn’t you, dear?’

‘Only for the night, a quick trip by train there and back. I wanted to see how easy it had been for Cynthia and Laurentia to escape. It was clever of Cynthia to steal those clothes from the nurse and hide them under the floorboards of her room. I wonder if that’s what Laurentia did too? Laurentia was certainly quiet about it. Didn’t tell anyone about her plans, unlike Cynthia, who was quite the talker.’

‘At least you know now that you can escape too if you so wish.’

‘And I’m going to escape also,’ Bet-Bet interrupted. Mary had forgotten she was there. Bet-Bet held up her knitting. ‘When this is long enough I’m going to throw it out of my window and climb down it.’

Mary and Eva exchanged glances. ‘That’s very nice, dear,’ Mary said as Bet-Bet resumed her work, wondering briefly how Bet-Bet planned on squeezing through the window bars.

‘Yes, if all else fails, I suppose I can escape,’ Eva said in a lowered voice. ‘And if my lawyer doesn’t jolly well write back to me soon I might have to. They watch me like hawks in this place. Cynthia is lucky. Like you, she seems able to blend into the street. It was hours before the attendants even realised she was missing. I only dared go overnight — stayed out for but a few hours and then returned. All hell broke loose then, didn’t it?’

‘They’d been combing the grounds for you,’ Mary remembered vaguely.

‘And I paid the price — a week in solitary. They should have thanked me for returning.’ Eva sighed. ‘Truth be told, I hated that taste of freedom. I couldn’t pull the vagrant look off anyway; I was doomed to fail.’

‘Beauty has its drawbacks,’ Mary said, glad to see how the remark made her friend smile.

‘I was hoping to see Bevan, you know, try to talk some sense into him. He used to live close to the station. But when I visited his old house and asked for him, the maid said he no longer lived there.’

‘I could not have coped with a Bevan.’ Mary sighed. ‘I was blessed to have a husband like George.’

‘You were.’ Eva placed her sherry on the table next to her. ‘This is a terrible place, Mary. Fogarty does the most awful things.’

‘He does indeed,’ Mary said, nodding, not quite sure what Eva was talking about.

‘We need to get this place investigated and closed down. Too many women in here are locked up illegally for the convenience of their relatives. Take my case, for example —’

‘I do remember your case, my dear. Some things stick, you know. Charming policeman, knew him when he was a boy. No sign of Cynthia, though. I do so worry about her.’

‘What policeman?’

‘The one investigating the bombing.’

Eva absently traced the rim of her sherry glass. ‘So you are pally with a policeman,’ she mused. ‘Do you think he would investigate this place if he knew what was going on here?’

‘Oh, he’s sure to,’ Mary answered. ‘He was an excellent piano player.’

Eva looked at Mary for a moment, and shook her head. Then she shrugged and her beautiful face lit up with a glorious smile. ‘In that case, I think I have a plan.’

They raised their glasses. The delicate ring of crystal was drowned out by the sound of their laughter. Laughter at what, Mary didn’t quite know. Whatever it was about, it was good to see the dear girl laugh again.

The cab dropped Dody off outside her house. It was three days since the explosion and she hoped the final few post mortems would be completed the following day. All she could think about was a hot bath and bed. Annie had left the porch light on, but even then, Dody had trouble slotting the key into the lock. Her arms felt as if they were tied to weights, her eyes filled with sand, her feet encased in lead — hardly surprising as she had been on them for three days in a row now, only breaking for the occasional snatched meal and a minimum amount of sleep.

She closed the door behind her, brushed past the palms in the front entrance and dumped her Gladstone bag onto the black and white tiles of the hall floor. The sound of raised voices met her from behind the closed morning-room door at the other end of the hall. Annie, the maid, sprang up from her crouched position at the keyhole.

‘Miss Dody! I was just looking for Miss Florence’s earring. She said she dropped it somewhere hereabouts.’ Before Dody could finish her eye-roll, the maid rushed to her side and took her coat and gloves. ‘I’ll carry your bag upstairs for you, miss, and run a bath. You look done in.’

‘It sounds like my sister has company.’ A familiar-looking bowler sat on the hall table. ‘Chief Inspector Pike?’ What was he doing here? He only ever called at this hour when Dody was certain to be alone.

‘I wouldn’t go in there, miss,’ Annie warned, too late. Dody pushed the door open, effectively plunging the room into silence. Pike stood with his back towards the cracking fire, arms folded. Florence was at the bay window, examining the folds of the green velvet curtains.

Florence turned. ‘Ah, Dody you’re home,’ she said with false gaiety. ‘I’ll leave you to entertain the chief inspector then. I’m going to bed.’

She attempted to pass, but Dody stopped her with a hand on her arm. ‘Florence, what’s going on?’ Dark shadows circled her sister’s violet eyes. Her skin appeared almost translucent, heightening rather than detracting from her sculpted beauty. Why couldn’t
she
look like that after a bad day? Dody felt quite the haggard old woman in comparison.

‘Are you ill, Florence?’ she asked with concern when her younger sister didn’t answer.

‘I’m tired, that’s all. He’ll explain; I’m sure I can count on that. Goodnight, Dody, sleep well. Why is it,’ she said through gritted teeth as she passed, ‘that policemen always make an innocent person feel guilty?’ She was too well brought up to slam the door, but her rapid departure had the same effect.

‘Matthew, what on earth is going on?’ Dody asked as he strode over to the drinks tray.

He poured two stiff whiskies and handed one to Dody. ‘Here, you’re going to need this.’ He beckoned her over to the sofa where they sat side by side. ‘Your sister’s in trouble — we suspect her of involvement in the Necropolis Station bombing. I came over personally to request her attendance at an identification parade tomorrow. I could have sent a constable, but felt I should break the news myself. I have also confiscated her bicycle.’

Dody tipped some whisky down her throat. The painful burn reminded her that this was not the first time she had heard such news regarding Florence, and it would probably not be the last. The suffragettes went out of their way to court trouble in order to draw attention to their cause. This was the first time, though, that Pike had been part of an investigation directly involving her sister. Even when he had been in the Suffragette Division he had managed to avoid such a confrontation. That one should occur was inevitable, she supposed, but still, she felt ill-prepared.

‘What is she supposed to have done?’ Dody asked shakily.

‘I am almost certain that she and one other were responsible for planting the bomb at the station. My witness couldn’t identify the second woman on account of the wide brimmed hat she was apparently wearing. Your sister’s head covering was modest, her face more exposed.’

Dody almost choked on her whisky. Her sister was rash, she was irresponsible, but this was beyond the pale. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Good. I do not wish to believe it myself. I am praying that my eyewitness was mistaken.’

‘And if he is not …?’

‘She. Then I must do my duty and you must do yours. You have helped us investigate the suffragettes before,’ he reminded her. A log, precariously balanced above the flames, crashed into the fireplace.

‘But never my sister!’ Dody sprang from the sofa and began to pace the carpet. ‘I might not agree with how the militants go about airing their grievances, but I am as adamant as they are about the need for change. I am for female emancipation and equality as much as any of them.’

Pike stood up and drew her towards him. ‘And you and women like you, the quiet achievers, do more for the cause than any amount of the screaming and caterwauling and wanton destruction that the militants get up to. I have a daughter; I want her to grow up in a world that gives her a fair chance. But I tell you this — the suffragettes’ tactics will not achieve equality. They are turning the people against them.’

‘I hope you are not expecting me to take sides, Matthew.’

‘Of course not.’

Dody released a pent-up breath. ‘I have not quite completed my part of the investigations. So far, at least, we have found nothing to indicate that any of the body parts belonged to people who were alive prior to the blast.’

‘Thank heavens for that.’ And then a thought hit Dody like a blow to the chest. ‘My God, the night watchman — how is he?’

Pike brushed loose hair from Dody’s forehead. She could smell the smoky whisky on his breath, and would have collapsed into his arms if she had not felt so pent up.

‘He has not yet regained consciousness,’ he said. ‘His condition is still considered critical.’

Dody pushed Pike away. She prodded and poked at her untidy pile of mahogany hair. ‘That poor man. Does he have a family?’

Pike nodded. ‘Six children.’

‘What of them, if he dies? And my sister …’ She could not bring herself to complete the sentence. ‘Matthew, have you any idea what prison would do to Florence? She will embark on a hunger strike, like she did before, and this time force-feeding might break her spirit completely. You know she has never been the same since Tristram’s death.’

Pike passed a hand across his brow and sank back into the sofa. He had been a supporter of force-feeding until Dody had invited him to attend one such procedure as an observer. ‘It’s not so much the force-feeding that is worrying me,’ he said quietly.

Dody knew he was alluding to an even worse scenario, a scenario that she refused to contemplate. ‘You seem very quick to assume that Florence is guilty,’ she said testily. ‘What if I tell you she was at home with me all that night? Annie will vouch to that. Why don’t you speak to her?’

‘I intend to.’

‘Good. And then you must step aside from this case. It is conflict of interest of the worst kind.’

Pike paused, nodding. ‘I’ll see what I can do. On another topic, did you notice anyone in the street when you came home?’

‘None but the usual traffic. Why?’

Pike shrugged. ‘I might be mistaken, but I’ve been getting the feeling that I’m being followed.’

The last time Pike had been followed he’d been victim of a beating he’d barely survived. ‘Good God, be careful, Matthew.’

Pike chuckled. ‘I think it’s an old woman, the eyewitness to your sister’s alleged crime. I thought she was at the rest home where she usually resides, but it seems she has been let out again. I must speak to her son about it. Perhaps she has absconded.’

‘She followed you here? She knows where Florence lives? Perhaps it is a set-up, Matthew, she is trying to put Florence in the … box.’

‘The frame, my darling.’

Dody smiled for the first time since coming home that evening. ‘I see my knowledge of police jargon still needs work. Have you spoken to the old woman yet?’

‘No, but I will.’ Pike’s expression became serious again. ‘Meanwhile, telegram your father and ask him to organise a good lawyer for your sister.’ Pike downed his drink and climbed to his feet. He turned back to her when he reached the door. ‘I won’t break the law for her, Dody. You know that, don’t you?’

‘But would you for me?’ she whispered to his retreating back. That was a question to which she was, at that moment, uncertain.

Dody found Florence in her room fully clothed, sitting at her dressing table staring at her pale reflection in the mirror. As soon as Dody sat down on the bed, Florence started ripping pins from her hair and scattering them noisily across the silver dressing-table tray.

‘Florence, we need to talk.’

‘Is that wise?’ Florence replied through pursed lips.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your lover has accused me of a crime. I think you should stay right out of it. For everyone’s sakes.’

‘I’ve been left with the mess and the gore to clean up. I am involved whether you like it or not. Did you do it, Florence, did you plant the bomb?’

Florence began to brush her long dark hair, continuing to scatter pins that she had missed. ‘Call Annie, will you please, dear?’

Dody came over and took the silver-backed hairbrush from her sister’s hand. ‘I’ll do it, Annie’s gone to bed.’ After several sweeps of the hairbrush through Florence’s lush hair, Dody said, ‘Whoever did do it has desecrated bodies, caused extra suffering to those already grieving and needless time and money wasting. Not to mention murder if the night watchman dies.’ Dody paused. ‘He has six children, you know.’ The muscles in Florence’s neck and shoulders tightened. ‘I cannot say yet that all the mutilations were caused post-mortem. I still have several body parts left to examine.’ Dody clattered the brush back onto its silver tray.

Florence swivelled the pearl necklace around her neck, its jewelled clasp resting against her throat. Emeralds, amethysts and seed pearls shone under the dressing-table lamp.

‘I hope the perpetrators are caught and hanged.’ Despite her bravado, Florence’s fingers shook as she attempted to unhook the necklace. Dody helped her and placed the necklace in its velvet box before undoing the back of Florence’s bodice and loosening the ties of her corset.

‘Thank you, Dody, I can manage now.’

Dody placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders and spoke to Florence’s reflection in the mirror. ‘I’ll arrange a meeting with Poppa’s lawyer.’

‘Pike wants me to meet him at the station tomorrow morning. I am to be slotted into a line with similar-looking women and the witness is going to try and identify the person she thinks committed the crime.’

‘And you are worried, naturally,’ Dody said.

Florence straightened on the stool. ‘Only that it might be a case of mistaken identity.’

‘I’ll make sure the lawyer attends too.’

‘Pike’s out to get me.’

‘He’s doing his job. He’s very fond of you, you know that. Only the other day he told me how pleased he was to see that you had recovered some of your former spirits.’ Dody paused as a thought struck her. ‘Unless your grief for Tristram has turned you reckless.’

A ghost of a smile brushed Florence’s lips. ‘I’ve always been reckless, you know that. My fiancé’s death has nothing to do with my returning to the fray.’ Florence’s gaze fell to the black enamelled mourning ring she wore on the little finger of her left hand. The ring contained a tiny slot through which she had twisted one of Tristram’s hairs. ‘I decided my grieving and my moping had to stop. It’s been six months since Tristram fell from his horse. Do you really think I would deliberately inflict on others what I have been going through myself these last months?’

‘No, but mistakes are made …’

‘Why do you not believe me? It’s Pike that’s sown these seeds of doubt in you.’ Florence’s voice rose. ‘I wish you had never become involved with him. If Mother and Poppa knew you were consorting with a policeman, all hell would break loose. And what about your career? Do you have any idea of the risks you are taking? If Shepherd or Spilsbury found out about this dalliance of yours you’d both be out on your ears. And as for you being a fine example to the sisterhood of a woman succeeding in a man’s world, you can forget that. You’ll be accused of getting where you have through seduction and wily feminine guile. You’ll —’

‘Florence, that’s enough! And please leave Pike out of it. I am involved with him, whether you approve or not. To compare my special friendship with Pike to what you have been accused of doing is utterly ridiculous.’

Florence sprang up from her dressing-table chair and rushed to her bed, throwing herself face down upon her pillow. Her emotions spilled as if from a burst floodgate, the bones of her back visible through the thin fabric of her chemise, rising and falling with each gasp.

‘All right, I did it, I did it,’ she sobbed.

It was all very well to have suspicions, but to hear them confirmed thus changed everything. The shock of the admission felt like a blow to Dody’s chest, a physical pain. As she closed her eyes and prayed for strength, angry thoughts buzzed around her head like disturbed bees in a hive.

Steeling herself as best she could, she sat on the edge of the bed. She must not let her anger show. She must remain calm for Florence’s sake, offer her support and then suggest the most honest course of action — that Florence turn herself in and throw herself on the mercy of the courts.

Florence spoke first. ‘Every time I close my eyes I see that night watchman’s face. He caught us just after we’d planted the bomb. He tried to put his hand on me and I threw him to the ground. He hit his head.’

‘You managed to throw a grown man to the ground?’

Florence ignored the incredulity in Dody’s voice. ‘We knew the bomb would blow any minute and dragged him behind the convenience block outside the station. We stayed with him until the authorities arrived, then made our escape before we were seen by anyone.’ She paused to draw a shaking breath. ‘If I could save him by surrendering myself to the authorities, I would.’ She sat up in the bed and took the handkerchief Dody offered. ‘I really would — but it won’t make any difference to him now, will it?’

‘No, I suppose it won’t,’ Dody said, chewing her bottom lip. ‘But it would offer his family some form of justice.’