A Case of Doubtful Death (25 page)

Inspector Gostelow was a quiet man and a thoughtful one. He struck Frances as someone who had seen a lot of life and was undisturbed by any form of behaviour however unusual, including the aspirations of a young woman to be a detective. Frances explained that she had been engaged by a client to find a missing maidservant and was wondering if the body found in the canal might provide an answer. He listened carefully and respectfully, and gave her statement proper consideration.

‘The report of the medical men suggested that the body had been in the water for at least two weeks, so we are looking for someone who went missing between the
1
st and
8
th of September,’ he said. ‘Of course, we have to allow for the fact that the doctors’ opinion may not be accurate – I would always allow a day or even a week either side. I myself have seen bodies taken from cold water that I would have imagined to be two weeks dead and later discovered it was more like two months.’

‘The maidservant was last seen on September the
12
th. She was called Ethel Green.’

‘Then I would say that it is possible it might be her, but the body was never identified and has already been buried.’

‘I understand it was displayed and several people came forward to suggest names.’

‘They did, but no one suggested she might be a maidservant or mentioned anyone called Ethel, and our enquiries came to nothing. One woman was convinced it was her sister, who was a washerwoman, but she turned up drunk three days later. Another one had hysterics and said it was a lady who’d died and been buried and had come up out of her grave. But even if the corpse
had
got up and walked into the canal without anyone noticing, it was too recent a death. And there was a very low fellow who gave a false name, and cried and said it was his wife, but I think that was for the benefit of his new ladylove. To be plain, Miss Doughty, and from what I have heard of you I believe you are a young lady who prefers plain speaking to a display of false delicacy: the state of the body was such that I would feel very little confidence in any identification. The only distinguishing feature was the teeth, which had grown crooked, and amongst certain sections of the population that is not an unusual thing to find.’

‘I was told that her clothes were of more than ordinary quality.’

‘That is true. But there were no marks to distinguish them from any others widely sold in Bayswater.’

Frances was disappointed that she had not learned more, but was pleased that Gostelow had treated her with respect.

After a brief and carelessly assembled luncheon, Frances paid a visit to Mrs Pearson to report on her endeavours to date. In particular she wanted to establish if the missing maid had had crooked teeth, a feature that had not previously been mentioned. Mrs Pearson was extremely surprised and somewhat offended to be asked if she or any other member of the household had thought to view the body taken from the canal. No one, she said firmly, had been to view the corpse. When Frances asked about the maid’s underclothing the lady reacted so violently that she thought she would be dismissed from the case, but once Mrs Pearson’s purple face had returned to its usual red, she informed Frances indignantly that no one could provide any information on that subject. Ethel, she thought, had not had crooked teeth and had never complained of toothache, but then she did not examine the mouths of her maids and thought that if the girl had had this defect she might have been able to conceal it.

Mr Pearson returned from business at that moment and Frances asked if he had any observations on the question of Ethel’s teeth. Mrs Pearson directed an angry stare at her, from which she understood, if she had not already deduced this, that any mention of the maid’s underclothing in Mr Pearson’s presence would be an insupportable insult. Mr Pearson, a small, meek-looking man with rounded spectacles, said that he took no notice of his wife’s maids. Frances thought it was possible that the crooked teeth might be a feature that would be more obvious in a body that had undergone some decomposition, easier to conceal in life, especially if the woman had been sensitive about them.

As Frances neared her home she saw someone leaning against the gatepost, a man – long, thin and clad in black like an overgrown greasy spider. To her dismay she recognised an individual she had hoped she had seen the last of some months ago. She didn’t know his real name, but because of the nasty sharp filleting knife he carried and presumably a propensity to use this implement on people he disapproved of, he was generally called ‘the Filleter’. Frances had first encountered him when he was pursuing Chas and Barstie, on a matter they had refused ever to discuss. They were mortally afraid of him and would leave Bayswater at a moment’s notice if they thought he was around. Frances was not afraid of the Filleter, but she found his company uncongenial, mainly because he was filthy about his person and smelt as if he had bathed in a rubbish pile.

She made only a slight hesitation in her step, which she hoped he would not notice, then squared her shoulders and walked resolutely on. He looked up at her as she approached and smiled, revealing a row of discoloured teeth. He was polishing his knife on an unpleasant looking piece of rag, but slid both away in a pocket as she drew near. He tipped his hat. ‘Well now, if it isn’t the famous detective,’ he said in a soft voice that was so much worse than a harsh one for hinting at danger. ‘You’d better watch yourself, Miss Doughty, you’d better be careful. It doesn’t do for ladies to be poking and prying where they might get hurt. There’s villains out there, villains much worse than me.’

Frances thought that there could not be many who were worse than the man before her, but decided not to mention it. Her sentiment, however, must have been apparent in her look. ‘Have you come to ask my assistance or are you simply here to utter threats?’ she asked coldly.

‘Oh, neither, I was just here to pass on a message to your two friends.’

‘If you want me to tell you where they are, I cannot help you.’

He grinned again. ‘No need. They leave a trail wherever they go and I’ve already tracked them to their new place in Westbourne Grove. Quite a nice little business they have there. But they decline an interview. So just tell them from me, that I’ve got no quarrel with them now. They don’t have to run, not on my account.’

‘I am sure they will be very pleased to hear it,’ said Frances. ‘They are doing their best to make a respectable living and want nothing to do with you.’

He laughed. ‘Respectable? I don’t think so. And they’ll fall into my hands again soon enough. But they’re little fish and I’ve got more important things to attend to, so they can swim away for now.’

‘What is your name?’ Frances suddenly demanded.

He seemed taken aback. ‘What is that to you?’

‘I think someone ought to know. Today I have been trying to find the identity of a poor woman taken dead from the canal. I find it sad that she has lived and died and been put into a pauper’s grave with no one to mourn or remember her. Perhaps one day you may suffer a similar fate.’

He nodded. ‘That may be.’ There was no trace of regret in his voice.

Frances climbed the steps to her door, but when she looked around he had gone.

Frances wrote a note to Dr Carmichael saying that she had been looking into the possibility of the body in the canal being that of the missing thief of his sister’s journal, and asking if the maidservant had had crooked teeth.

She was able to pass on the Filleter’s message later that day when Chas and Barstie called to dine. They were disturbed to hear that their old enemy was back in Bayswater and relieved, albeit with some reservations, that he had promised not to trouble them in future. ‘I sincerely hope and trust that he did not offer you any insult?’ said Chas, frowning.

‘I do not think he means me harm,’ said Frances. ‘And whatever his business may be, I intend to stay well away from it. But now – to other matters. I trust you are becoming the leading lights of the Piccadilly Club?’

They glanced at each other. ‘It is a very curious place,’ said Chas, ‘and there is no doubt that large sums of money change hands there privately. Cards and billiards and such, and considerable speculation on the horses. We also detected that there are men of business who seem to have no permanent office, but conduct all their affairs at the club. And there are things which I will not speak of to a young lady.’

‘Are there no respectable persons there?’

‘The club is a useful place where gentlemen who are staying in Bayswater may reside for a short time, and they often come and go with no idea that they are picking their way through a nest of snakes,’ said Barstie.

‘I am sorry to have sent you there,’ said Frances.

‘Oh, do not be concerned on our account!’ exclaimed Chas. ‘We are men of the world and we understand a great deal that the foolish and inexperienced do not.’

‘What is your opinion of Dr Carmichael?’ asked Frances. ‘Does he have any unsavoury associates?’

‘He seems to have no associates of any kind,’ replied Barstie, ‘which is strange in itself. He resists any attempt to open a conversation however trivial the subject.’

‘Ask him the time of day and he will almost leap into the air with alarm, and then scurry away to his room,’ agreed Chas. ‘He does not gamble; if he drinks he does so alone and if there is a woman he favours I am unaware of her.’

‘A man with no obvious vices is a man with a great many secrets,’ said Barstie, darkly.

‘Does he go out or does he keep to his room?’ asked Frances.

‘Something of both. It would be instructive to know where he goes,’ said Chas. ‘That man has business in hand, but he keeps it very close.’

‘Have you made the acquaintance of Mr Darscot?’

‘It is very hard not to,’ said Barstie. ‘He is a warbling fly who is every man’s friend and brother, who will drink and gamble and chatter like a schoolgirl, and never allow a thought to cross his mind.’

‘And yet he has, or claims to have, many valuable connections which a clever man might take advantage of,’ said Chas. He rubbed his hands together. ‘He may repay study yet.’

T
he inquest on Dr Mackenzie was to resume on the Friday morning, largely because it was a date convenient for Professor Stevenson. Frances had never seen the professor and was eager to do so as he was a celebrity in the world of medicine and a man to be admired. Anticipating that she would be rivalled for a place at the hearing by that portion of the population of Bayswater that had no business to attend to or could afford to leave it unattended, she determined to be at Providence Hall a full hour before the start of the hearing in order to be assured of a seat. This proved to be a wise decision. Her other investigations were safely in the hands of her assistants. Tom had already settled the matter of the missing washing, which proved to be the work of a gang of thieves none of whom was older than eight, and having left the client and her neighbour declaring eternal friendship and crying over a glass of beer, Tom had been deputed to keep an eye on the Pearson household. Sarah was being interviewed by Mr Whiteley, owner of the row of handsome shops on the Grove, who was busy constructing further properties in Queen’s Road to enhance his empire. He was looking for a sensible woman to spy on rival establishments. Frances, who had no difficulty with Sarah undertaking any task in the pursuit of malefactors, was concerned that this was a somewhat degrading use of her services, but Sarah assured her that all the best shops employed spies and it had become quite a respectable calling.

Even as early as half past nine the little court was crowded with interested parties. The two main rival solicitors of Bayswater, Mr Rawsthorne and Mr Marsden, were there, both exuding professional politeness and private jealousy. Mr Gillan represented the
Chronicle
, but other pressmen had come from far and wide, and there were many who would be reporting back to Fleet Street, or even sending foreign cables. Dr Bonner was not present having sent Mr Fairbrother in his place, who informed Frances that his mentor was too unwell to make an appearance. Dr Carmichael was huddled in a corner, speaking to no one, and abruptly hid behind his morning paper when a new figure appeared. This gentleman was tall and spare with a grim expression, and bore a striking resemblance to the portrait of Dr Mackenzie. Frances, thinking it very probable that he was Mackenzie’s brother, determined to secure an interview with him. She was able to approach near enough to hand him her card. He looked both surprised and insulted at her presumption. ‘You are Mr David Mackenzie, I assume?’ she said.

‘Yes, Madam, I am,’ he said severely, ‘and we have not been introduced.’ He stared at her card.

‘I am a private detective engaged in the search for a missing man, Henry Palmer, who is an employee of your brother.’

‘I know nothing of this Mr Palmer and have no need of a detective,’ he said. He held the card out as if to return it, but she pretended not to notice the gesture.

‘I was not offering my services in that capacity, but made use of my card to serve as my introduction. I am already acquainted with Dr Carmichael —’ Frances glanced around, and saw that the man had vanished, ‘who appears to have departed before the proceedings have even commenced. How curious.’

‘Carmichael, here? That contemptible scoundrel!’ exclaimed Mackenzie.

‘Oh?’

His already hard gaze hardened further. ‘If you have any pretensions at respectability, although given your profession I must doubt it very much, you will have nothing whatsoever to do with him.’

‘I have only just made his acquaintance and would value your advice in that respect,’ said Frances politely. ‘If you would be kind enough to call on me when the proceedings have closed, I would like to interview you.’

He was a little disarmed by her courtesy, but not enough to thaw his antagonism. ‘I am not sure, Madam, that I wish to be seen entering whatever apartments you may inhabit, or have any dealings with you in a public place.’