Read An Appetite for Murder Online
Authors: Linda Stratmann
‘That is also true of the real murderer,’ said Frances.
‘Then you believe in him?’ said Curtis excitedly. ‘Oh please say that you do!’ His plaintive appeal was for a moment quite disarming, and he looked almost boyish in his eagerness.
‘I try not to be swayed by fancy,’ said Frances, ‘but on my initial meeting with Mr Sweetman he did impress me as sincere. I have in the course of my enquiries met a number of criminals. I have met people who seemed at first to be honest but who disappointed me. So I can be mistaken. All I can say at present, is that the case against your uncle is a poor one, and I would not wish to see him convicted out of prejudice on such slender evidence.’
‘I thank you for your honesty,’ said Curtis, who was clearly an emotional gentleman but not unbecomingly so.
‘And you must be honest with me,’ said Frances, ‘whatever you imagine the consequences to be. Do you know where Benjamin and Mary Sweetman are living?’
He shook his head. ‘No, Miss Doughty, I do not. If I did then I can assure you that I would already have gone to them and told them that their mother had died.’
‘Mr Marsden?’ asked Frances, turning to the solicitor. ‘I do not expect you to reveal the confidences of clients, but can you say if Mr Sweetman’s son and daughter have approached you?’
‘I have nothing to tell,’ said Marsden, stiffly. ‘If they do approach me I will respect their wishes whatever they may be.’
‘Please help my uncle!’ Curtis entreated Frances. ‘I have heard so much of your successes in the past. You may name your fee!’
‘Mr Curtis,’ Marsden warned, ‘it is hardly appropriate to ask a young woman to become involved in a case of murder, or indeed, in my opinion, any criminal matter. I appreciate that Miss Doughty has, largely through sensational stories which I am convinced she writes herself, acquired the reputation of a detective amongst the uninformed masses. True, she has been known to stumble across the solutions to a few trifling mysteries, but she would, in my opinion, be better occupied in looking for a husband, unless of course,’ he added with a cold smile, ‘that quest is beyond her skills.’
‘I will help you,’ Frances assured Mr Curtis, passing him her card and receiving his in return. ‘I will find your uncle’s son and daughter and I will find your aunt’s murderer. Mr Marsden, I suggest you try and locate your manners, but that, I fear, may be beyond
your
skills.’ She turned and walked out.
A
ll the way home, Frances berated herself for her impulsive and unwise behaviour, and determined to write to Mr Curtis without delay expressing her sincere regrets at having made such an ill-judged promise to him and withdrawing from the case, regarding the murder, at least. She started to compose the letter in her imagination, but by the time she had completed her journey calmer thoughts prevailed. She had after all, she reminded herself, deliberately set out to investigate a murder once before, although that had been before she was a detective by profession and the adventure had been prompted by grave personal necessity. It had been her first triumph. Since then she had solved a number of murders, not by accident, as Mr Marsden had insultingly suggested, but by the exercise of her brain. Clearly this was not a skill confined solely to the male sex.
When she reached her apartments, she found a gentleman waiting to see her. He had been admitted by Sarah who had ordered him to be seated and was regarding him with the kind of deeply suspicious and hostile glare she reserved for most men. He rose to his feet at once, and introduced himself to Frances as James Elliott, producing a business card that showed him to be the proprietor of Elliott Properties of Bayswater. He was a tall man, and the smiling creases about his eyes announced him to be about forty, although he gave an impression of youthfulness and energy. Judging by the quality and style of his clothing his business was doing well.
‘I received a message from Mr Richardson,’ said Elliott, ‘and of course I came at once. Is it true? Has Mrs Sweetman been killed?’
‘I am afraid it is true,’ said Frances, ‘and Mr Sweetman has just been charged with her murder.’
‘Oh surely not!’ said Elliott in amazement. ‘Why, the man could not harm a fly! Really, what can the police be thinking of!’
‘At present he is the only suspect, and of course there is his earlier conviction, although he denies responsibility for that crime also,’ said Frances. ‘Since the police feel they have their man they will not look further, but I have just been engaged by Mr Sweetman’s nephew to make enquiries.’
Sarah greeted this revelation with a sharp stare, which Frances knew was the harbinger of some close questioning once their visitor had gone.
‘You may be able to assist me if you would answer some questions,’ she continued.
‘Of course,’ said Elliott readily. ‘I will do whatever I can.’
They sat facing each other across the little table. The visitor did not require the water carafe, and appeared to be at his ease and eager to help, although not, thought Frances, who had seen this fault before in others, over-eager. ‘I understand you were working for J. Finn Insurance at the time of the robbery in 1866?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I was a junior clerk, back then. I remember the day very well, of course. I came into work that morning and found the police already there. I think it was poor Whibley who was first in as usual and found the door forced and Mr Gibson lying on the floor terribly injured. I must say it was a great shock to all of us when Sweetman was arrested. We thought it must have been a burglar who had somehow got hold of the key to the safe and managed to break open the front door, but the police said that the office door had only been damaged to make it
look
as if someone had broken in.’
‘Did you know Mrs Sweetman?’
‘I had met her a number of times, but I cannot say that we were well acquainted. She sometimes came to the office during the day if she wanted to see her husband. And after he was arrested, I carried letters to her from Mr Finn.’
‘Did she ever bring the children to the office with her?’
‘No, they must have been at school, I have never seen them.’
‘What can you tell me about Mrs Sweetman? What impression did she give you of her character and manners? Was she on good terms with her husband?’
Elliott looked thoughtful as if conjuring up a portrait. ‘She was a quiet lady, modest and good-natured. From the little I was able to observe she seemed to be on the best of terms with her husband. He always seemed pleased to see her when she called. After his arrest, she was very upset, of course, but I thought she bore her trouble with great dignity. I should mention that Mr Finn, the director, was quite convinced that Sweetman would be acquitted and even continued to pay a portion of his salary; he said he could have his position back when he was freed. He and Whibley used to visit Mrs Sweetman often to reassure her that they were doing all they could for her husband.’
‘What happened after Mr Sweetman was convicted? Do you know where Mrs Sweetman and her children went?’
‘I wish I could help you,’ he said with regret, ‘but as a junior in the company there were many things I was not privy to. We started a little subscription for Mrs Sweetman in the office, and I believe that Mr Finn sometimes supplied the poor lady with funds. After all, her plight was none of her own fault. I was told that the children had been removed from school and sent out to work, and Mrs Sweetman took in needlework and washing to live. Then Mr Finn said she had moved away, but he didn’t say where. I never saw her again.’
‘Mr Sweetman said that after he was arrested his wife refused to see him or allow him to see his children,’ said Frances. ‘Do you know why that was?’
Elliott looked mystified. ‘I really couldn’t say. Perhaps she was a sensitive lady, or knew something that everyone else did not.’
Frances glanced at her notes. ‘Mr Finn has passed away, I believe.’
‘Yes, about three or four years ago, I was told. And Browne, one of the other clerks, he too has gone. You will have heard about Whibley, of course.’
‘How soon after the robbery did Mr Whibley go to work for his uncle?’
‘A few months afterwards, I think. He had been studying accountancy in his own time, and Mr Anderson said he could come and work for him as soon as he had completed his studies, which he did. Then one of Mr Anderson’s clerks retired and Whibley was kind enough to recommend me for the position. You will know, I expect, that some years later I married my dear Emily, who was Mr Anderson’s widow.’
‘And now you are in the property business?’
‘Yes,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I purchase dilapidated houses and restore them or convert them to commercial use. That is a good business to get into in Bayswater.’
‘And Mr Minster, he is a publican now?’
‘Oh, I remember Minster,’ said Elliott and from his change of tone and expression, the memory did not give him pleasure. ‘He was not suited to the clerking business. He always said that if he ever came into money he would be a publican. And then it so happened that he did.’
‘You don’t recall when he came into that money?’
‘No, but it would have been some months after the robbery.’
‘Do you remember a messenger boy called Timmy?’
‘I do.’ Clearly he thought even less of Timmy than Mr Minster. ‘He was a dishonest, lazy and untruthful boy and I can’t imagine why Mr Finn employed him, unless it was out of charity to some relative. I don’t know what became of him, and never thought to enquire. I doubt that it was anything good.’
‘Why do you think Mr Finn chose to send you, a clerk, with letters to Mrs Sweetman and not the messenger boy?’ asked Frances.
He smiled. ‘It was not my position to ask, but if you would like me to guess I would say that the letters contained money.’
Frances nodded, any comment being superfluous. ‘I am told that after the robbery Mr Gibson was never well enough to return to his employment. Did you go to see him? I was wondering if he recovered any of his memory. Perhaps he said something of significance?’
Elliott appeared somewhat embarrassed. ‘I am very ashamed to say that I did not call on him. He was an active man for his age and I did not like to see him suddenly so weakened and failed. I know that Mr Finn and Mr Whibley did see him, and they said he could recall nothing of what happened that night.’
‘Did he have any family?’
‘I think there was a brother, who was older, and he enjoyed a little private income so the family was not left destitute. Both gone now, I expect.’
‘You are not a devotee of the theatre?’ asked Frances, abruptly.
‘I do beg your pardon,’ said Elliott. ‘Did I hear you correctly? The theatre?’
‘Mr Sweetman initially came to me asking if I could locate his family for him, and I believe that he genuinely did not know their whereabouts. The only clue I have as to his son and daughter is that they might have gone on the stage. The girl sang a song about not being able to milk a cow, and the boy whistled, although the witness is not reliable.’
‘I can only hope your witness was mistaken,’ said Elliott. ‘It would be a sad fate if they came to that. Mr Finn said that they were very intelligent and showed promise if they could only be allowed to continue their education, but it was not to be.’
‘When did you last see Mr Whibley?’ asked Frances.
‘Oh!’ said Elliott, surprised. ‘Is that important?’
‘It could be. Mr Sweetman called on him at his office very shortly before he died, and asked if he knew anything about his son and daughter. He said he did not, but left the office soon afterwards without saying where he was going. I am wondering if he knew where they were and went to warn them. Or he may have spoken to another person about Mr Sweetman’s visit.’
Elliott rubbed his chin, frowning with thought.
‘When a friend or relative dies suddenly it is usual to remember very clearly one’s last meeting with them,’ said Frances.
‘So it is,’ said Elliott. ‘And it is always a memory that brings sadness. I do believe that I may have been one of the last of Whibley’s friends to speak to him, if not actually the last. It was the afternoon two days before he died. I received a message from him, asking me to call on him at his home. I thought it strange since he was always to be found at his office at that time of day and I did wonder if he had been taken ill.’
‘Had he?’ asked Frances, realising that this must have been the eleventh of January, immediately following Whibley’s meeting with Mr Sweetman.
‘He did not appear to be unwell, but he was very worried about something. Perhaps –’ he shook his head wistfully, ‘Poor fellow! You have made me wonder about this now – he may have had a premonition of his death. He said he was establishing a charitable foundation that would bear his name, a hospital for the aged poor, and he asked my advice about a suitable property to purchase in Bayswater. I said that I would look into it, and I made some enquiries the following day, but when I called to see him at the office the next morning I was told the terrible news.’
‘And he said nothing to you about Mr Sweetman or his children?
‘No, he never mentioned them at all.’
‘What was the name of his doctor?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know. It may seem unlikely but until shortly before his death I had never known him complain of any illness.’
‘You were his main executor, were you not?’
‘I was.’
‘The newspapers reported he left over twenty thousand pounds.’
‘Indeed, and it would have been far more had he not been the most generous of men. You know of course of –’ he hesitated.
‘Yes, that although he had never been a married man he was the father of a number of children.’
‘All well-cared for, all educated, and destined for good positions in life.’ He handed a folded paper to Frances. ‘A copy of Mr Whibley’s will, as you have requested.’
There were minor bequests to Whibley’s servants, and annuities to four women specifically named while Mr Elliott had been left three hundred pounds. The residuary legatee was the Paddington Orphan School and Foundling Hospital. Frances had a curious and ridiculously amusing thought that the beneficiaries of his favoured institution were all Mr Whibley’s natural offspring. ‘I wish to locate anyone he might have spoken to after seeing Mr Sweetman,’ she said. ‘He was alone at his home when you saw him?’