Chapter Sixteen
Inspector Benjamin Ross
IT HAD been agreed that Styles and O’Reilly should take Fawcett back to Manchester to face the charges they had prepared against him there. Before that Styles let me take the opportunity to talk to Fawcett again about Allegra Benedict while we still had the wretch in our custody. I continued to call him by the name he had used in London. We had yet to get him to admit to his real one. Perhaps Styles would persuade him to own to it, or possibly Fawcett had used so many names over such a time, he was himself confused. He was an actor who had played too many roles.
The fine man of fashion was a sorry sight on Sunday morning. This was normally the day on which he reigned supreme over his flock, basking in their adulation, thrilling to the power he held to manipulate their emotions and bend them to his will. Instead he sat in a bare cell exuding its miasma of despair and stared desperately at me. No dandy now, but hardly recognisable: a dishevelled, haggard, twitching caricature of what he had so recently been. This was to be a very different sort of interview to the previous one.
‘I am not a murderer,’ he repeated. ‘I swear it.’ The man was almost in tears.
‘I am not accusing you of murder, not as yet, anyway,’ I told him. ‘But I am accusing you of obstructing our enquiries into
two
murders, that of Allegra Benedict and also that of Isabella Marchwood. To impede the police in that way, as you will know, is also an offence.’
‘How am I obstructing you?’ he exclaimed, clutching his head in his hands. ‘I know absolutely nothing about it!’
I leaned forward. ‘Fawcett, I must know for sure whether or not you were conducting an affair with the victim, Allegra Benedict.You probably thought you were being discreet. But some other person or persons certainly knew of it, in addition to Isabella Marchwood who was a party to it from the first. It is possible that other person, or persons, used the knowledge to send a false message to Mrs Benedict, luring her into the park that afternoon. Do you want the true murderer found?’
‘Of course I do!’ he shouted at me. ‘Until the murderer is convicted, I remain a suspect! How you think that makes me feel? I don’t want to swing on the gallows for another man’s crime!’
‘Then help me find our villain, Fawcett,’ I said and sat back, waiting.
He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, sagging in defeat. ‘Very well, I’ll admit it. Yes, it was a stupid thing for me to have done but – I became involved with Allegra Benedict. Normally I wouldn’t have taken the risk. I have never done so before. It is not for lack of opportunity.’ He gave me a wry smile. ‘I am not boasting. But you should understand, Inspector Ross, that there is a certain type of woman who falls under the spell of a successful preacher, or any man in any kind of authority. It is not just that she believes his words implicitly, but she develops a passion for the man himself. Don’t ask me why or how. But not infrequently that is what happens. I have always been aware of it and the danger it presents so have always tried to avoid it. But Allegra was different.’
He fell silent for a while. I did not press him to continue. There was something in his face I had not seen before and, I dare say, few people had: a genuine expression of regret.
‘You did not see her when she was alive, Ross. She was not just very beautiful, although her beauty was remarkable, but full of some hidden desire, a – a yearning; and possibilities no one had yet discovered.’ He gave a shame-faced little laugh. ‘I sound like a writer of lurid fiction but in her case it was so. You know the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty, I expect. She was in some ways like that. Any man would long to kiss her and bring her back to life.’ His smile was now a sad one. ‘And that is what I did.’
‘But you found you had awakened a dangerous sleeping creature,’ I suggested.
He nodded. ‘Oh yes, it was only a matter of time before the husband realised what was going on. The situation, had it become known to him, would have led him to drastic action. He was a man with influential connections, in a position to bring a divorce action against his wife. I would be named.
‘I tried to impress on Allegra the serious nature of the risk, the need for absolute discretion and the necessary deception that required constant awareness. But she had no understanding of any of these words. Both discretion and deception really meant nothing to her. The risk thrilled her.’ He sighed. ‘Despite all that, I really did think that others had not yet become aware of the affair.’
He gave an irritable shrug. ‘Oh, Isabella Marchwood knew and was necessary to our plans, but otherwise I thought I had a little while still. I knew that eventually I would have to cut and run. But I did not think that moment had yet come. I persuaded myself it had not.’
‘You were in love,’ I said softly, surprising myself as well as Fawcett.
He thought about it. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I suppose I was.’
‘Did you ever meet her in Green Park?’
‘Yes, several times. We would then take a cab to a small hotel I know of where they are discreet.’
There were several such establishments in London, hotels only in name. Some were as good as brothels, with girls supplied if needed. Furtive lovers and other people in need of a private place to discuss very secret business might also go there. At any rate, those who took rooms often stayed only an hour or two during the day. But a blind eye was turned and no member of the ‘hotel staff’ (as the brothel madam and her bully-boys called themselves) would pass the knowledge on.
‘When I heard of her death, I was utterly dismayed,’ Fawcett was telling me earnestly. ‘But I couldn’t show it. I had to appear calm and normal. You cannot imagine how difficult it was, Ross. You will say I have plenty of experience at deceiving others, but that required an effort from me that took all my talents. I did speak to Miss Marchwood, impress on her that she must not tell anyone about – about my friendship with Allegra. Marchwood was the weak link, if you will, but I believed she was too frightened ever to speak.’
Yes, I thought, that is the little scene Lizzie witnessed at the meeting. You were not consoling the distraught woman but giving her what amounted to an order. Be silent. Say nothing. Lizzie later tried to get the wretched companion to confide in her without success, probably because Fawcett’s instructions were too fresh in Isabella Marchwood’s mind. But on the following day, that of her murder, she had taken the train to London with some express purpose. Overnight she had had time to reflect. I strongly suspected she’d meant to come to the police . . . or to try and find Lizzie.
‘Did Mrs Benedict ever give you money, for your so-called work or for any other reason?’ I asked Fawcett, who was staring glumly at his fingernails.
He looked up and hesitated.
‘Come along,’ I urged him. ‘
I
don’t propose to charge you with anything in that regard. You’ll face those kinds of charges in Manchester and all the other cities where you’ve persuaded gullible people to part with money or valuables. I only want to know if Allegra Benedict would have accepted a suggestion that she sell some jewellery, for example, to fund you.’
‘I made no such suggestion!’ he shouted. ‘She never had such an idea from me!’
‘But did she ever do such a thing, sell some jewellery and give you the money?’
‘Yes, she did but it was her own idea.’ He leaned towards me. ‘She once sold a string of pearls. But not, I repeat, not at my suggestion. That is the truth, I swear. She told me the pearls had belonged to her mother. She said her husband knew nothing of them, would not miss them nor ask where the pearls were. She did it without a word to me, and then brought me the money, as pleased as a child. I – accepted it. Yes, I did that, unwillingly, though you will not believe me. I was afraid, you understand, that if I refused, she would be upset and there would be an argument. She would go home in distress and Benedict would observe it and want to know what had upset her. I was even more afraid what would happen if she started making a habit of it. I had already learned, you see, how unpredictable she could be.’
He pulled a wry expression. ‘In fact, it set me thinking that perhaps the time was at hand when I’d have to leave London and return to the provinces. Provincial ladies are not above making eyes at the preacher, but they live in smaller communities where everyone’s business is known. They have sharp-eyed family and friends all around them. They are less likely to behave foolishly. Gossip is meat and drink to small town society, Inspector! They flirt but it goes no further. If they commit adultery, it is only in the mind.
‘But Allegra, well, I wasn’t sure what she’d do next. After all, a sale of jewellery involves two parties, the seller and the purchaser. She might not have told her husband; but the jeweller who had bought the item might take it on himself to do so. I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Did you ask her to sell a brooch; or did she ever mention to you she intended to do so?’ I asked.
He shook his head, his long hair flying. ‘No, no! I told you. I was afraid the husband would find out. Perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed the jewellery was missing, as she said, or perhaps he would. I wasn’t prepared to risk it. After I accepted the money from the sale of the necklace, I told her she must never do such a thing again.’
I thought he was probably sincere. Missing jewellery that his wife could not explain might well have set Benedict on the track of the truth. Or a jeweller, suspicious that Mrs Benedict had fallen into the hands of a confidence trickster, might well have contacted Benedict, just as Fawcett described. Old Tedeschi, who had known Allegra since her childhood, would not have done that. But Fawcett didn’t know it. Despite his pleas to Allegra never to do such a thing again, she had gone ahead, selling the brooch in order to surprise him with the money.
‘You have done the right thing in telling me all this,’ I told Fawcett. ‘I think I have a good idea now of what happened up to the moment Allegra Benedict walked into the park.’
‘I have thought about what must have happened there a thousand times,’ Fawcett said quietly. ‘But I am not to blame for it. If someone else had discovered our secret and made a dreadful use of the knowledge, that is not my fault.’
I was not prepared to argue this point with him. It was not in his nature to accept blame for anything and it would have been a waste of time. Instead I stood up and prepared to take my leave of him for the moment.
‘I am to be returned to Manchester today, then?’ he asked.
‘You will leave for there this afternoon in the custody of Inspector Styles. I will accompany you and the inspector – and Sergeant O’Reilly – to the railway station and see you put on to the train. Once you are aboard, you are no longer the responsibility of Scotland Yard. If it is any consolation to you,’ I added grimly, ‘you have deprived me of my Sunday rest.’
Elizabeth Martin Ross
Ben’s absence that Sunday certainly made it a quiet day for me and for Bessie. Perhaps this made me decide, even though Fawcett was now again in custody, that I would walk as far as the Temperance Hall, and find out if they had heard the news there and how it was being received. I supposed they
had
heard the news, since Fawcett had been rearrested so publicly in the middle of an afternoon meeting the previous day at Mrs Scott’s house. But I suspected the ladies and gentlemen who had been taking tea at Wisteria Lodge were not the same as the people who attended the meetings at the hall. I certainly didn’t expect to see Mrs Scott at the hall today, after her humiliation in her own home. She was the only one who might be really difficult to handle.
‘We’re not going to be welcome, are we, missus?’ said Bessie, on hearing of my decision. Since learning that Fawcett was a well-known rogue up and down the country, she had been in decidedly low spirits and her mind had not been on her work.
‘You need not come, Bessie, if you don’t want to,’ I told her.
Her eyes sparkled indignantly. ‘I’m not going to let you go on your own, am I? What? Face them all without me there to back you up? I should think not!’
I appreciated her loyalty but wasn’t sure how she intended to ‘back me up’ in the event of an argument. Perhaps she feared they’d pelt me with hymnbooks and drive me out from their midst.
‘They ought to be grateful,’ I said firmly. ‘They have been deceived, led astray. They ought to be very glad someone has told them the truth.’
‘Well, missus, they won’t be,’ said Bessie, more attuned than I was to the ways of the London masses. ‘It’s bad news as far as they’re concerned and no one wants to hear bad news, do they? Especially if it makes them look a lot of silly sheep.’
‘No, they won’t be happy,’ I agreed. ‘But somehow I feel I have a duty to face them.’
So, with Bessie grumbling and protesting alongside me, we set out for the Temperance Hall.
As we neared it we became aware of some hubbub. A crowd of people had gathered outside the entrance, all gesticulating and shouting. They had certainly heard the news, all right! Among other members of the congregation I saw Mr Walters, framed in the doorway at the top of the steps. His whiskers quivering with emotion, he held forth to the crowd on the injustice done to Fawcett and, paradoxically, at the same time pleaded in vain for calm. Next to him stood little Mrs Gribble in her bright garments, wailing and waving her hands. There was Pritchard the choirmaster, shaking his head sorrowfully. The Sunday gatherings had been moments of minor triumph for him, a paler reflection of Fawcett’s glory. There, too, were the members of the infant choir, to whom presumably no one had told the news. They had come along to sing their improving ditty for the day, unaware the meeting was cancelled. They were now enjoying all the disruption immensely, hopping about with beaming faces. A group of little boys had already realised that, if the pennies their parents had given them for the collection were not to be requested of them, then they were unexpectedly in funds. They were gathered together to count their spoils and discuss what to do with the money before their parents found out and asked for it back. As expected there was no sign of Mrs Scott, brooding over her embarrassment and feeding the fire of her fury in Clapham.
