The Murder of Patience Brooke (7 page)

‘One of the girls may have noticed something – they are shrewd, and experienced enough with men to notice what Mrs Morson, or Patience herself might have missed.'

Their talk took them to the Home. The superintendent went off to seek out the constable to ask about the pedlar, and to find out if the pedlar and the man with the crooked face were one and the same. He would come back to look about for a weapon that might have been used to hit Patience Brooke, and he would talk to James Bagster. Dickens went to the front door this time. A little girl called Jenny Ding, one of the youngest girls in the Home at thirteen, let him in and Mrs Morson came from the parlour to meet him. Dickens wanted a word with her so they went to her little, private sitting room.

They spoke at once, ‘Is Patience –?' and ‘Have you any –?'

Dickens smiled and the momentary uneasiness was dispelled. ‘You first,' he said.

‘I just wanted to know. Is Patience safe? Has Superintendent Jones achieved all he set out to do?'

‘You may trust him for that. I am sure he was very persuasive with the Commissioner. He did say he had mentioned Miss Coutts's friendship with Princess Adelaide, and that seemed to clinch it.' He smiled at her. ‘And you, have you discovered anything of interest?'

‘They know that Patience is missing. I have told them you have come today to ask if anyone saw or heard anything, or if they have seen any strangers nearby. I was purposely vague, thinking it best not to alarm them or, worse, to give any impression that someone was under suspicion. You know how fiery they can be – they may have committed crimes in the past but to be wrongfully accused provokes almost laughable indignation.'

‘Yes,' said Dickens drily, ‘they are very sensitive. Any signs, though, of anyone unusually quiet?'

‘Lizzie Dagg is tearful – it might be that she is upset at Patience's vanishing, but I am not sure – she may be hiding something. The others are curious, of course, and will have gossiped – it's natural. Their lives are quiet and this, for some, at any rate, is a diversion.'

‘Did they like her?' Dickens asked suddenly.

‘Patience? Well, yes, and no. You know that Patience was unlike them. I do not think they knew that she had come without recommendation – I presented her as a new assistant which gave her a position apart. She did her work, she took an interest in them, and was kind, but there was always a distance. I assumed it was her natural character but I have thought much about her in the last hours, and now I think –'

‘That she held herself in check?'

‘Yes, that is it. It was deliberate. She did not wish for closeness. We are so busy – the girls take up my time so I took her as she was, a naturally reserved person. Now I think of it, when we were alone, she never volunteered any information about herself. I did not ask – I suppose I sensed that questions would be an intrusion, and I liked her. I thought she might unbend in time. After all, it is only six months since she came. Have I failed somewhere? If I had asked, could she have been –'

‘Saved? I doubt it. The solution to this murder lies in the relationship between Patience and her killer. Of that, I am sure.'

Dickens was surprised to find that he was sure. ‘And I am beginning to believe that the cause of the crime lies in her past, not here, though the superintendent is right to search for clues here – we are right to trust his policeman's experience. Where is Davey?'

‘He is in the stable, having been reunited with Punch who is his special charge, as you know. Mr Bagster is with him. He came back earlier this morning. They are firm friends.'

‘The superintendent will wish to question James Bagster. It is part of his method. I know you will not believe that he has anything to do with Patience's death. Nor do I, but, as Mr Jones says, he may have seen something or someone.'

‘Well, let us go into the parlour and find out what these girls know.'

They went into the room where the girls were waiting. Talk stopped immediately. Dickens noted the various groupings. Bold, red-haired Isabella Gordon and her acolytes, Hannah Myers and Anna-Maria Sisini – Sesina as she liked to be called – were giggling together. Isabella flashed him an impudent look as much as to say we know what we know. The quieter girls were sewing and had obviously been talking, too. Only Lizzie Dagg sat apart.

Mrs Morson began. ‘You know that Patience is missing –'

‘Gone off with her fancy man, 'as she? I knew she was a dark 'orse. You wanter watch them quiet ones.' This was Isabella interrupting. Again, she flashed her knowing glance at Dickens. He could not be sure if she was just being provocative. He would come back to her later. He indicated to Mrs Morson that she should carry on.

‘Mr Dickens would like to find her and he is here to ask if there is anything you know or can remember which may help him.' Dickens noticed her careful choice of words, her appeal to them to help him.

He continued, ‘I am sure that you will want to help. You may, for example, have heard or seen something unusual in the last few days. Has anyone been here?'

Sesina, not to be outdone by Isabella, wanting to claim her share of attention, said, ‘There was that old pedlar who came a week or two ago. He was unusual, wasn't he, Izzy?'

‘Yer, 'e was a man – we don't see many of those, 'ceptin' you, of course, Mr D.' Both girls laughed. They were enjoying themselves. ‘'E 'ad all sorts for sale – an' we woz buyin' – not sellin' – this time.' Isabella rolled her eyes at Dickens. This was a performance for his benefit, but it was time to take the limelight for himself.

‘Apart from his attractions as a man –'

‘O, we didn't see no attractions of that sort,' Sesina said with mock primness. ‘Wot are you thinkin' of, Mr D?'

‘Apart from his manly virtues, Sesina, which I will not describe –' she laughed, good-humoured now – ‘what else can you tell us about him?'

‘'E was an ugly old critter wiv a face all twisted up –'

Dickens heard Mrs Morson take a sharp breath. Had she remembered something?

‘'E wore an old canvas jacket and a scarf – reddy colour it woz an' – yer, 'e 'ad trousers! Told yer we didn't see his manly virtues.' She and Isabella giggled at her wit.

Dickens wanted to turn the attention from Isabella and Sesina, and to test out Lizzie Dagg. ‘Did any of you buy anything? Lizzie?'

She turned her pink eyes upon him. ‘No, sir – I don't remember.'

Mary-Ann Hyde, one of the quieter girls, offered, ‘Most of us did. It was a nice change. He had some ribbon, and a few pincushions. I bought one for Esther – it was for her birthday.'

Now for the important question. ‘Did Patience buy anything? Can anyone remember?'

Mary-Ann said, ‘She was there for a bit. She said she liked the black velvet ribbon and I said, “Treat yerself, Miss,” and I think she did, but we was all gathered round so I didn't see.'

Isabella shot Mary-Ann a sharp look – it was time for her to be the centre of things again.

‘Wot about 'er fancy man? Bet she's gone off wiv 'im.'

‘What are you talking about, Isabella? Patience had no follower.' Mrs Morson was impatient. This was just silly.

‘O, yes, she did, ma'am. That funny little feller at church. He was sweet on 'er – followed 'er – I saw.'

‘Don't be stupid, Isabella Gordon. Mr Fidge didn't follow Patience.' Lizzie Dagg sounded angry suddenly.

‘O, 'e was following you, was 'e? Beg pardon, I'm sure.' Isabella's words were mocking, and the sudden flush in Lizzie's cheeks seemed to suggest that the jibe had gone home.

‘That's all then, I think,' said Dickens. ‘I don't think the pedlar can have anything to do with Patience's going nor, Miss Gordon, do I think much of your “fancy man” theory, but if you have anything you wish to add, then come and see me in Mrs Morson's sitting room.'

‘It is time for you do your chores; there is lunch to prepare, the laundry to be sorted, and the gardens to tend. No one need be idle. You know your duties.' Mrs Morson was brisk. They needed to be busy not to be gossiping about Patience. The girls departed obediently enough though Isabella Gordon could not resist whispering something to Lizzie Dagg as they went out.

Mrs Morson went back to her sitting room. ‘I forgot about the pedlar. It was over a week ago, a week last Friday. But, oddly, I remembered him in a dream – the man with the crooked face. He was in my dream, dancing with Patience who was dressed in white with a black velvet ribbon round her neck – how strange. And, I – oh, I remember – in the dream – the way he looked at her – as though,' she hesitated, as if recalling something dreadful, ‘he desired her. What does it mean?'

‘I think it means that he made an impression on you that surfaced in your dream – unconsciously, you linked him with Patience's death although at the time of his visit you did not think him more than just an unfortunate itinerant. Which is true? The dream or the reality? Georgiana, I believe in the power of dreams. They interpret what has occurred, they tell us what might be, and, I firmly believe, that they uncover our deepest fears. That is why he is important though I do not know if the superintendent would agree. He will want the proof of the living, breathing man. Davey mentioned him, too – he was frightened by him. A child would be, and Davey cannot articulate his fears. He must live alone with them, poor boy. He said he heard him singing when he came here, and then he heard the same song on the night Patience went out of the kitchen. That was what he was so afraid of. I did not have time to tell you when you came back with the doctor.'

‘I don't remember the singing, but what the girls told you is right. I did let them buy a few things. He seemed harmless enough though odd looking.'

‘Can you say exactly how? Davey tried to show me by twisting his own face up.'

‘His mouth was turned up to one side so one side of his face seemed higher than the other – lop-sided, you know, and his nose was twisted, too. He did look odd. I suppose I felt sorry for him. But, could he have known Patience, given her a message, perhaps when she was paying for her velvet ribbon?'

‘He could. It would be quite easy, but you discerned no difference in her in the days after his visit?

‘No, but then she was so self-controlled. Where did she learn that, I wonder?'

‘Very interesting – it takes us back again to her past. What about her “fancy man”, as Isabella so eloquently puts it? Do you believe any of that? And what about Lizzie Dagg? That jibe of Isabella's about being followed seemed to hurt.'

At that moment there was a knock on the door. Isabella sailed in without waiting for permission. Not one for circumlocution, she got straight to the point.

‘It's true Mr D, swear to God. If 'e wasn't exactly 'er fancy man, 'e wanted to be. Saw 'im, didn't I – nothing much else to do in church is there but watch wot's goin' on.'

‘So, what did you see Miss G?' He paid her back for the new appellation, but, of course, she liked it. She sparkled.

‘That'd be tellin'.'

‘I'm serious, Isabella. I don't want to think that Patience has come to any harm so if you do know anything, now's the time.'

‘I get yer, Mr D.' She was serious now. ‘Francis Fidge, 'e's called. You know 'im, Mrs Morson, the curate, they calls 'im. 'E's a little runt, one leg shorter than t'other. Pale as a corpse but burnin' eyes, yer know, when he looked at 'er, Miss Brooke, that is. Fat chance, I thought. It made me laugh to see 'im tryin' to catch up with 'er after church.'

‘Did you see him catch up with her at any time?'

For all the lurid description, he sensed she was telling the truth. He could imagine her watching and laughing. Those bright amber eyes would not miss much.

‘She used to walk sometimes, through the graveyard, yer know, lookin' at the graves – morbid, she was – well, yer know what I mean. He followed 'er once and they woz talkin'. I didn't see no more cos they went off through the trees. I bet he was tellin' 'er of his undying passion – sorry, Mr D.' She saw him frown. ‘I'm tellin' the truth, yer know.'

‘I'm sure you are. Did you tell anyone what you had seen?'

‘Only Ses and Hannah. We 'ad a good laugh about it.'

‘Well, don't discuss it any more. It might not be anything to do with Miss Brooke's disappearance. Let's not cause trouble for poor Mr Fidge. Promise, Isabella?'

‘Cross me 'eart, Mr D. I won't say nothin' more.'

‘Thank you. Off you go now.'

She went, reluctantly. He wondered what would become of her. She was impudent, and there was a spark of life and colour about her that he couldn't help liking, but could they change her into a neat little servant? He doubted it.

‘Well, Mrs Morson, Georgiana, what do you think?'

‘It's probably true. Like you, I think she would be amused by it all – an entertaining story to gossip over with her allies. But I can't see Mr Fidge as a murderer – he is a poor, weak thing – you'll see for yourself, no doubt. What do we do about Lizzie Dagg?'

‘Let us have her in. A few direct questions are in order – no use waiting for her to come to us.'

Mrs Morson went to fetch her. Dickens thought about the pedlar and Mr Fidge. The pedlar could have given a message to Patience, some request for a late-night meeting which ended in murder or, he reasoned, a message from someone else, a someone whose summons she felt she must answer. Perhaps that someone was the murderer. And Fidge must be seen and questioned. He trusted Mrs Morson's judgement as the superintendent trusted his wife's – the conjunction of the two ideas made him pause, and remember Friday night, and that moment in the kitchen. A sigh escaped him.

The door opened and a frightened-looking Lizzie Dagg was ushered in. Her pink eyes gazed at Dickens. She had something to tell, he was sure. He would be straight to the point.