A Case of Doubtful Death (29 page)

‘May I see it?’ asked Frances.

Hesitantly, he handed it over, and Frances gently unfolded the sheet. It was a very brief note, advising the recipient that their mother was almost fully recovered from a bad cold, and expressing the hope that his studies were progressing well and that he would be able to return home soon. The date, in
1857
, the signature and the sentiments showed it unequivocally to be a letter from Madeleine Carmichael to her brother. ‘Why do you think this was returned to you?’ she asked.

‘As proof that the journal was in someone’s possession. As you see, the contents of the letter are quite innocuous,’ he said, recovering the paper and putting it away reverentially, ‘but of course the journal is not. Even though Mackenzie is beyond the reach of a blackmailer, I am vulnerable, and all the more so for having hopes of gaining a new and prestigious post.’

‘Have you been approached by someone demanding money for the journal’s return?’

‘Not yet.’

‘And what do you expect me to do?’

‘Why, recover it, of course!’

‘But you offer me no clue as to who might have it or where it might be found.’

‘No, but I thought —’

‘Yes?’

‘I thought that in the profession of detective one often meets persons who are known for their criminal activities. I had hoped that you would easily be able to discover who is harbouring material of this nature.’

There was a long silence. Frances pushed the envelope back across the table. ‘I really do not think I can help you.’

‘But I must have the journal!’ he exclaimed, with such a burst of emotion that Frances could not doubt that it existed and that his predicament was acute.

‘Is it certain from its contents that you are the person named?’

‘I am afraid so.’

‘Was the letter handed to you without an envelope?’

‘It was.’

‘Can you describe the messenger boy?’

‘No, by the time I realised what the paper was he had run away. But there are a number of them who seem always to be about Porchester Road. The boy may even know where the journal is being held. He may be a confederate of the criminal.’

‘I see,’ said Frances thoughtfully.

Carmichael took a wallet from his pocket and placed a banknote on the table. Had it been a Scottish banknote she might have shown him the door at once, but she saw that it was a good English one.

‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly, ‘I will make some enquiries. In the meantime, you must be alert and tell me if you see the boy again. If anyone does approach you for money for the return of the journal you must agree to their demands, make an appointment to meet them and then inform me at once.’

‘I don’t want the police involved!’ he said quickly.

‘That is understood. I take it that all you want is the journal and you will not press charges against the thief.’

‘Exactly so.’

Frances picked up the money and the envelope. ‘You must be truthful in future or I can do nothing for you.’

With a nod Carmichael departed, and Frances and Sarah looked at one another. ‘He is undoubtedly afraid,’ said Frances, ‘but for myself I am not convinced that he was not the person who blackmailed Dr Mackenzie. He is unaware, of course, that I know of Mackenzie’s need for money and that it coincides with his first visit to London. The journal has probably been stolen by a criminal associate. I think he knows who has it, but not where it is.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I will ask Tom to make enquiries amongst the messenger boys who work around Porchester Road. Mr Knight and Mr Taylor will continue to keep watch on Dr Carmichael. It is possible that my discovery of his lies may rattle him into doing something incautious.’

F
rances despatched a note to Tom, and then spent a little time tidying her papers, an activity that always seemed to produce order in her mind and which she found very calming. She had just completed a simple luncheon when she received an unexpected visitor, a very serious looking Inspector Sharrock of Paddington Green police station. Sharrock, a stocky man with a face that looked as though it had been rubbed red with a nutmeg grater, often evinced a stern, almost fatherly concern at Frances’ activities. He called on her from time to time, under the guise of supervising her and checking that she had not been murdered or worse, but also hoping to learn if there was anything of note she had discovered about some of the hidden crimes of Bayswater. This time there was no preamble.

‘It might interest you to know,’ said Sharrock, ‘that I have come here at the very special request of a Mr Horton, who wishes me to place Miss Smith under immediate arrest for murder.’

Frances glanced at Sarah with some concern since the possibility of Sarah committing an act of violence was not a remote one. Sarah, who was doing some mending, continued her work without so much as a pause. ‘Might I ask who the supposed victim is and when this event is said to have occurred?’ asked Frances.

‘You may. It happened last Christmas, and the victim is an alligator which Mr Horton assures me was a very particular friend of his. He says he witnessed the crime with his own eyes and it has caused him very great distress, and he will testify to it in a court of law if required. He also claims that Miss Smith has freely admitted, and indeed gloried in the fact that she strangled the unfortunate creature with her bare hands. Do you deny this, Miss Smith?’

‘I will refrain from mocking a gentleman who I believe is more deserving of sympathy than censure,’ said Frances, ‘but I think it has not escaped your notice that Mr Horton is not exactly in his right mind.’

‘Just so,’ said Sharrock. ‘It will be necessary to inform his friends and relatives, when we can find anyone to take responsibility for him, that he is the subject of delusions and they should have him properly looked after. I assume that the alligator incident is a fable?’

‘Ah, not precisely,’ said Frances and was obliged to mention the strategy for ridding herself of Mr Horton’s presence. ‘I have no doubt, however, that the animal in question does not exist.’

‘I hope Mr Horton did not make any payment to you for this service?’

‘The remuneration was as substantial as the animal,’ said Frances. ‘How he acquired that particular obsession I cannot say.’

Sharrock, who had clearly had no intention of arresting Sarah, threw himself into a chair. ‘No chance of a cup of tea, I suppose?’ The tea duly appeared and Sharrock gulped it almost boiling hot, without a wink of pain. ‘I have spoken to Mr Horton and he has the type of mind which will seize on any incident and make it into a story. It seems that a lady whose parrot was missing has been telling all her friends about your success in finding the creature and he believed you might have similar powers over other animals. I have been told by members of the Piccadilly Club, where he is sometimes to be seen, that he once owned a leather travelling bag which somewhat resembled alligator hide, which he mislaid, and to him the item and the animal have become one and the same, and it has been haunting him. He seems to have a similar delusion about a fox. He has also accused Professor Pounder of assaulting him, and indeed he does have a recent abrasion on his face, but Horton is not a member of the professor’s academy and none of the students have ever seen him there.’

‘Perhaps he read about Professor Pounder in the
Chronicle
,’ suggested Frances. ‘It is interesting that Mr Horton does not create his ideas from nothing. He is a puzzle, but I do not intend to try and solve him.’

‘Miss Smith is not the only person he has accused of murder,’ said Sharrock. ‘I am afraid in his unhappy brain all of Bayswater is peopled with individuals who wish to do him harm.’

Sarah grunted as if to imply that not all of these threats were improbable.

‘But to other matters. I have been told that you are trying to discover the whereabouts of Mr Palmer and have been spreading a variety of rumours.’

‘I am baiting a line,’ said Frances.

He put his cup aside, wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, and stood up. ‘Well, you watch out for yourself, it’s deep waters for a young woman. I would hate to see any of my daughters in this kind of work. It isn’t right.’

‘You would not condone females in the police force?’

‘The very idea!’ he said with a laugh, although with a glance at Sarah which suggested that if women were ever to be admitted, she would be one of the first.

The Inspector had scarcely departed when Frances received a rare visit from her landlady, Mrs Embleton, who did not as a rule intrude into the apartments of any of her tenants. Frances had a great deal of respect for Mrs Embleton, who ran the lodgings in a beautifully efficient way and was always a calm presence to whom any small difficulty could be addressed. That afternoon there was a hint of unease in the landlady’s manner, which did not bode well for what she was about to say and she was holding a recent copy of the
Bayswater
Chronicle
.

‘Miss Doughty, I am sorry to approach you in this manner, but I feel I need to broach a difficult subject. It has been my observation that you receive a great many visitors, some of whom are persons of the male sex. The individual who has just departed is, so I have been given to understand, a policeman. His manners, if I might say so, left a very great deal to be desired. Not that I am suggesting even the slightest wrongdoing on your part and I assume that you do not receive these visitors while alone.’ She gave a polite nod of acknowledgement to Sarah. Frances did, while Sarah was on her own errands and enquiries, occasionally receive visitors, even male persons, alone, but had taken the view that if she wished to succeed in her new profession, there were risks she must take and niceties she must abandon.

‘I can assure you of the propriety of my behaviour at all times,’ said Frances.

‘Oh, I do not doubt it, and indeed any person of whom I did entertain doubts would not be within these walls. That is for the safety and peace of mind of all my ladies.’

Mrs Embleton, although she was as entitled as anyone in the room to be seated as she pleased, nevertheless remained standing out of respect for the independence of her tenant. Frances offered her a seat and refreshments, but she took advantage only of the former.

‘Now, I am not one of those women who enjoy or even believe gossip,’ said Mrs Embleton, ‘and it has always been my view that stories printed in the newspapers are more in the way of entertainment for the idle rather than information for the educated, but it has been mentioned to me several times that you are – engaged in the occupation of private detective.’

Frances’ heart sank. She had in the last few months grown accustomed to her new home and had even, albeit with a slight sense of guilt, come to enjoy its comforts, which were rather greater than those of the drab rooms above the chemist’s shop on Westbourne Grove that had been her home from birth. The apartments were so warm and comfortable that she had hardly dared to hope they might be hers for always, and now it seemed that her landlady was about to ask her to leave.

‘You are quite right, Mrs Embleton,’ she said. ‘And I can assure you that it is always my intention to act only for the most respectable persons. Some of the leading residents of Bayswater would be glad to advise you of my discretion and honesty and their satisfaction with my endeavours.’ Not all of them, she reflected, since her enquiries had consigned some leading residents to gaol, not to mention an appointment with the hangman.

‘Do not mistake me, I have no objection to your being engaged in that profession providing it is practiced with discretion and decorum,’ Mrs Embleton reassured her. ‘I myself was once obliged to engage a detective over a matter of some purloined jewellery and it struck me on that occasion that a respectable lady might bring something more delicate and seemly to what might otherwise, as conducted by a man, be a somewhat disagreeable proceeding. However, I must ask if you advertise this house as the one from which your business is conducted?’

‘I have a card,’ said Frances, ‘but that only supplies my name and address, and I am selective about who receives it and I have not found it necessary to take out advertisements in the newspapers. Should I ever do so, I would supply a box number and not an address. So far all my custom has been obtained by word of mouth from satisfied customers.’

Mrs Embleton pondered this.

‘Do you wish to terminate our agreement?’ asked Frances. ‘I regret I do not yet have the resources to rent a private office at which I might receive clients. If you object to my business then I must seek other accommodation.’

‘It is not my objection, but the disquiet of the other ladies,’ said Mrs Embleton. ‘Mrs Allaby, on the ground floor, has been told some alarming stories by her maid, who has unfortunately been indulging in a very unsavoury variety of literature, one which purports to describe your adventures. She is afraid of being murdered in her bed by villains who come here to see you.’

‘I am sorry to hear that the lady has been alarmed,’ said Frances, ‘and I was aware that some individual, whose identity I am unaware of, has been making up stories about a person who has some slight resemblance to me, but I do not see how I can bear any responsibility for that.’

‘I have been shown a halfpenny story paper that illustrates this very house.’

‘Oh dear!’

‘And Miss Parmiter on the second floor, who is the quietest soul in the world and thinks of nothing but her charity work, has been accosted in the street by a person who asked her to solve a murder. She was very upset as you can imagine.’

‘As would I be,’ said Frances. ‘I have never been asked outright to solve a murder and would not take such a commission.’

‘Miss Doughty, you have never given me personally the slightest cause for regret that I accepted you as a tenant, and I would be loath to ask you to leave for reasons which are, I agree, no fault of yours, but I do have my other tenants to think of and they have been here many years without a breath of scandal. I must ask you to discover who is publishing these stories and make them stop.’