An Appetite for Murder (23 page)

It was curious, however, that no one she had interviewed to date had mentioned any concern regarding the accounts after Sweetman’s arrest, so the possibility remained that no suspicion had ever been aroused. In order to alleviate her client’s anxiety on that point, Frances felt she should at least broach the subject with the two former copy clerks, Minster and Elliott, who might have heard some gossip in the office, while young Mr Finn, although not actually there, might, through his uncle, have been made privy to what had occurred, if only to serve as a warning for the future. She wrote to all three requesting another interview.

Sarah was home in time for supper, with a further report on the Finn household. With her duties at the house completed, it was decided that she should not return to work there unless called for, although Tom and Ratty would remain available to follow Mr Finn and Mr Yeldon. Sarah had by now established a firm friendship with the cook, young Mrs Goswell, whose title was only a courtesy one, as she was single and hoped to remain so as men were too much trouble, and had an open invitation to come to the kitchen for some refreshment whenever she had a minute. After a long discussion with Mrs Goswell, over buns and tea, on the subject of men and their faults, Sarah had established that Mr Finn, while occasionally begging for more food as his wife had become adamant that he reduce his weight, had been, on Mrs Finn’s express command, permitted no more than extra salad, vegetables and fruit prepared without sugar. Mr Finn was very partial to fruit, and consumed it often. He usually adhered to his wife’s wishes, but Mrs Goswell confessed that she had once caught him in the larder eating sponge cake, cheese and sweet pickles straight from the jar and had had to shoo him out. The maid had been warned that she was not to give in to any entreaties to bring him any other food on pain of dismissal, and Mr Yeldon had also been spoken to on the subject. As far as the cook could tell, they had both obeyed these instructions. The nursemaid never went into the kitchen except to dine. Mrs Goswell kept a close watch on the food that came in and what was prepared, as well as the economical use of leftovers. Had food been unaccounted for, she would have known.

Frances’ note to Mrs Finn had been delivered and the reply was that she believed her husband did have a medical man, but she had never learned his name. He had refused to see a doctor about his weight, as he had not thought it to be necessary.

In the last day, Mr Yeldon had attended to his normal duties but he had also paid a visit to Dr Collin, who was Frances’ own general practitioner. He had then gone to Mr Jacobs’ chemist shop on Westbourne Grove and purchased two bottles of Apollinaris mineral water and a proprietary antacid mixture. After posting some letters, he had made some enquiries at Paddington Station, purchased a basket of Spanish oranges, and then visited the offices of J. Finn Insurance. He returned home without the water or the oranges and presumably without the antacid.

‘And Mr Yeldon bought nothing else? No pastries or sweets?’

‘Nothing else.’

‘I cannot help wondering if Mrs Finn, on the understanding that fruit is a healthful foodstuff, which I believe it is, has therefore permitted her husband to eat it in any quantity he desires, thinking it will do him no harm, and there we may have some of the reason why he is unable to reduce his weight. Fruit without sugar taken in moderation has never been cited as a cause of fatness, but there must be a limit to the quantity even a man the size of Mr Finn can consume.’

Frances sent a note to Tom with the names and addresses of Mr Whibley’s four mistresses, asking him to observe them and report back to her with a description. If one of the four had been Mrs Sweetman under an alias there should now only be three to be found. She also asked Sarah to collect the photographic prints of the Sanitas letter from the studio and hand them to Tom with instructions.

Frances had received a letter from Matthew Gibson who would be coming up from Shoreham on the following Monday, and would be pleased to entertain her to tea at his hotel. She replied confirming the appointment, and then, taking a small leather travelling bag, departed for her secret mission on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government. On the way, she stopped at an office to receive a sealed letter, a letter that she was forbidden to open or to make enquiries as to what it contained. The letter was to be handed to a lady, and she was to ensure that she was present when the lady read it, so as to observe her responses in the minutest detail, not only remembering what the lady said, but also the tone of her voice, the attitude of her body and any change in her expression or the colouring of her face. Should the lady offer to show her the letter she must refuse to see it, and should the lady offer to reveal or discuss what was in the letter she must refuse to hear it. She was to carry back a reply that was to consist of only one word, either ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Frances should have been curious as to the nature of her mission and what the letter contained, but knew that it was her duty not to be curious, and therefore she was not.

Frances returned late and very tired to find Sarah still waiting up for her. Her assistant’s expression suggested at once that any protest that this duty was unnecessary would be quickly dismissed. Frances was happy to be wrapped in warm shawls and fed cocoa until she relaxed into sleep. ‘Is there any news?’ she asked as she drifted into slumber, with Sarah drawing the blankets over her before creeping away, but she was asleep before she heard the answer.

Next morning Frances awoke bone-weary from travel, but stretched and emerged from her bed to the scent of hot coffee and toasted muffins. Sarah liked the ones with raisins in, which lent a charred bitter sweetness to the aroma and held the promise of long mornings and conversation. Frances had not had the opportunity to read the most recent edition of the
Chronicle
, but she studied it now. The only item that caught her interest was the extensive obituary of the vegetarian Mr Outram, a gentleman who had devoted his life and fortune to good works.

During Frances’ absence, Sarah had been deputed to call on Mr Sweetman’s nephew and tell him of what had so far been discovered. ‘And that is not a happy household,’ she said, ‘for all that it’s in Elgin Crescent and a very handsome place. It’s clean enough, and the brass plate gets shone every day, but for the rest of it, I think Mrs Curtis cares about nothing except show, and certainly not about her husband, but he defers to her in everything without a word. At least, no words that are spoken aloud, but you can see they are in his head. And Mrs Curtis is old enough to be his mother, and the housekeeper and maids are even older.’

‘Did he recall his uncle saying anything about mistakes in the accounts?’ asked Frances, telling herself that this picture of domestic discontent should be of no importance.

‘Nothing at all.’

‘I think I can accept Mr Sweetman’s statement that he told no one of it at the time, and it does appear that I am the only person to whom he has made this confession,’ mused Frances.

Sarah reported that she had also called on Mrs Goswell for a cup of tea and some gossip and exchange of recipes. She confirmed Frances’ suspicions that Mrs Finn, having been told by her doctor that fruit was a very healthful foodstuff and ideal for the man who wished to reduce his weight, had been happy to allow her husband to eat as much as he wanted of the fresh or dried article, or cooked without pastry or sugar. She had also permitted him unlimited nuts as this, she believed, was merely a species of fruit.

‘Nuts are said to contain fat, in the form of oil,’ said Frances, ‘but the question is, does fat in the diet become fat on the body? There are doctors who believe that the fat we eat, ready-formed either in animal or vegetable foodstuffs, is deposited directly onto our – ’ she clasped her palms to her hips, and finding very little in the way of illustration, went on to say, ‘well, everywhere, I suppose, with little or no change, and they advise, indeed command, that fatty meat and butter should never be on the table of the man who desires to reduce his weight.’

Sarah pushed the plate of liberally buttered muffins across the table and Frances helped herself to another.

‘But there are others who say that the fat we consume does not increase weight, and reassure their corpulent patients that they might feed on the fat of meat and butter with impunity. Indeed, they say it will help them to reduce their girth by increasing satiety. If doctors cannot agree with each other I am certainly not able to form an opinion on the matter, neither can I advise Mrs Finn as to what she should do.’

There was good news, however, as Mrs Goswell had told Sarah a story she had heard from a neighbour, that a lady had recently complained of being bitten by a monkey at a nearby cookshop, an event which everyone had attributed more to her imagination than anything else. All the talk had been of whether the animal in question had really been a dog, a cat or a giant rat. Sarah had duly notified Tom and as a result, the animal, which was as she had surmised the missing monkey, was found sheltering in the shop’s storeroom, where it had been basking in the warmth of the adjoining bakehouse. Tom had recovered the animal, overcoming its objections and an inclination to bite by wrapping it in a cloth, and returned it to the grateful and relieved owner for a suitable fee.

A further fee arrived that morning in the shape of a plain envelope, delivered by hand and containing a number of banknotes and no message.

‘That’s your secret work,’ said Sarah.

‘It is,’ said Frances, ‘and I would gladly tell you all about it if I was permitted. But if I ever require a strong and loyal second I will look no further.’

Sarah had supplied Tom with the photographs of the Sanitas letter, which was being compared to every message his enterprise received, and he reported that he had arranged for observation of the four ladies mentioned in Mr Whibley’s will and discovered that all were very much alive and under the age of thirty. If there had been a liaison between Whibley and Mrs Sweetman he had not chosen to recognise it financially.

There were four letters of importance. The young lady who had entertained doubts about the affections of her gentleman admirer had written to advise Frances that she no longer had any doubts, as he had made her an offer of marriage. He had relieved her anxieties about his absences from home by explaining that he went to visit an elderly aunt of whom he was sole heir, who was residing in a sanitarium. He thought it best that she did not accompany him, as she would find it too distressing. Frances had no doubts that the lady would find any visits to the aunt very distressing indeed, and put the letter away in the full expectation of her being a future client in an action for legal separation.

In the same post was a neat little note from Mr Elliott, saying that Frances could call at any time convenient that very day. She received a similar note from Mr Finn, and a grubby missive from Mr Minster saying that she could call if she liked, but he didn’t have anything to say, and if he did, he wanted a guinea for it or he wouldn’t be troubled.

‘And on Monday I see Mr Gibson,’ said Frances. ‘I know I have made no progress at all in finding out who killed Mrs Sweetman, but I am hopeful that he may have some information about her.’

‘If she was Mr Whibley’s fancy woman,’ said Sarah, ‘perhaps she had a child by him that he left out of his will, and got herself killed when she asked for her cut?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Frances. ‘But why leave her out of the will when he had provided for all the others? Mr Whibley was found dead on the morning of the thirteenth of January, which was a Thursday. Mrs Sweetman was seen alive at church on the following Sunday. She might well have lived long enough to learn that he had died, and made enquiries to see if she was to benefit under the will. But neither of the executors has mentioned this. Even if she found that she was not a beneficiary, what could she have done about it? She had no means to pursue the matter, and no legal right. Mr Whibley’s proclivities were well known so she could hardly have damaged his reputation, and a woman in her position would not have been believed whatever she said. I’m sure if she had been offered five pounds to hold her tongue that would have been an end to the matter.’