by Emily Organ
“Yes, he didn’t mind at all.” She smiled.
We stepped into a small, comfortable living room with a sloped ceiling and high wooden rafters.
Captain trotted into the bedroom, which lay just beyond a half-open door, and jumped up onto the bed. Three worn chairs were arranged around a small table in the living area, and the desk was completely covered in piles of papers, just like the one downstairs. Propped up against the desk was a roll of canvas.
“Is that a painting?” James asked, pointing toward it.
Mrs Mirabeau inspected the roll. “Four or five, I’d say. Presumably he was planning to have them framed and hung somewhere. Mr Gallo loved his art collection.”
James picked up the roll and began to open it out.
“Be careful with those,” said Mrs Mirabeau, stepping forward to assist. “They will be quite valuable, no doubt. Rest them on there.” She pointed to the table with the chairs set around it.
“Do you remember Mr Gallo purchasing these?” asked James as he unfurled the first painting. It showed a sunset within a coastal scene.
“No, I don’t,” she replied, “but then I wasn’t privy to everything he purchased.”
James unravelled the remaining paintings. The next two were of natural landscapes, while another depicted a shepherdess with her sheep and the last portrayed a group of labourers in a field.
“There are five here altogether,” he said.
I surveyed Mr Gallo’s living quarters as James and Mrs Mirabeau examined the paintings. I was surprised by the modesty of these rooms compared with the opulence of those in the main body of the hotel.
James rolled the paintings up and placed them back beside the desk. “There are quite a few papers to look through here,” he said. “Did Mr Gallo also store papers in his office, Mrs Mirabeau?”
“Yes, and in my office, too. He didn’t like to throw anything out. What would you be looking for among his papers?”
“A mention of anyone Mr Gallo had fallen out with or someone who bore him animosity,” said James. “Do any names spring to mind, Mrs Mirabeau?”
“Not really. He was a popular man in general. There were rivalries, of course; most famously with Mr Marshall, who owns the Excelsior in New York. But it was good-natured rivalry, and I have already received a telegram from him expressing great shock with regard to Mr Gallo’s passing.”
“With whom did Mr Gallo socialise?”
“A great number of people! Where would I start? As soon as he arrived here in London he made every effort to acquaint himself with anyone of influence. He dined at the best restaurants, and he made sure he was invited to parties and opening nights at the theatre… that sort of thing. He did everything he could to get the word out about his hotel.”
“What about his acquaintances? Are you aware of anyone he had met only recently?”
“There was Mr Dubois. He’s at the Elysian on Essex Street.”
“Thank you. And what can you tell us about Mr Gallo’s comings and goings in recent days?”
“I’ve already given his diary to Chief Inspector Fenton.”
“Good,” said James. “Was there anywhere he went or anything he did that struck you as being out of the ordinary?”
“Not at all. Apart from occasional appointments, he spent most of his time here readying the hotel for opening, which was scheduled to take place next week. And he put a lot of preparation into last night’s dinner. He was so keen to create the right impression with his guests that everything had to be perfect. He rose early and worked late into the night, making sure that everything was just as it should be. The bedrooms, the food, the flowers… He had staff to do all that, of course, but he insisted on overseeing everything himself. He was that sort of man.” Her red lips parted as she considered this last comment for a moment.
“And what do you know of the lady who visited him?”
“I have already told Chief Inspector Fenton and Miss Green everything I know about her.”
“I see.” James glanced around the room as if looking for anything that appeared out of place.
“They’ll all be saying that the curse has done its work again,” said Mrs Mirabeau.
“Only the superstitious people,” I replied.
“It might interest you to know that my wedding ring lies within the foundations of this hotel,” she said.
“How so?” I asked.
“I happened to be walking past this site when they had just started building the hotel in the summer of 1869. I had argued with my husband. I had left him, in fact. So I pulled off my wedding ring and tossed it into the mud.”
“Perhaps someone found it,” I suggested.
“Perhaps. I prefer to think that it was soon buried beneath the bricks and mortar. Perhaps it was the ring that cursed the place.” She gave an odd smile.
The door opened and Chief Inspector Fenton strode in, followed by Inspector Pilkington. We greeted one another and he gave me a reproachful glance.
“Pardon me for my curtness, Miss Green,” he said, “but it really isn’t appropriate for you to be here. Firstly because you are a news reporter, and secondly because you are implicated in this unfortunate incident.”
“I cannot say that I disagree,” I replied. “However, as I’m trapped in this hotel for the time being, I thought I would accompany my friend, Inspector Blakely, as he conducted his inquiries. There is little else for me to do.”
“Do you object to me asking Miss Green to leave this area, Inspector Blakely?”
James sighed. “I cannot see any harm in her being here, Fenton.”
“This is a matter for the police alone. It won’t do to have someone here who could tamper with evidence or benefit from learning certain facts about the case.”
“How could I possibly benefit from knowing the facts?” I asked.
“The knife was found in your bedchamber, Miss Green. We haven’t yet been able to rule out your involvement in this affair.”
“If I may be permitted to leave the hotel and return to my office I shall happily leave you to it, Inspector. May I go?”
He gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, but you’ll need to report to Bow Street police station first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Is that really necessary, Fenton?” asked James.
“Until we can find a suitable explanation for the murder weapon being found in Miss Green’s bedchamber, I’m afraid it is merely standard procedure. I’m sure you’re aware of that, Blakely.”
“But we all know that Miss Green didn’t murder Mr Gallo and Miss Hamilton.”
“How do we know that?”
“Well, I can vouch for her good character.”
“I’m sure you can.” His tone was more than a little derisory.
“As can many other people,” retorted James. “The murder weapon was planted in Miss Green’s bedchamber because the culprit needed to be rid of it. It’s that’s simple.”
“It’s a simple explanation, but there is no guarantee that it is the correct one. I happen to know you have a vested interest in Miss Green’s wellbeing, Blakely, and it would be most unfortunate if that interest were to conflict with us carrying out a fair investigation into this case.”
James glared at him, so I thought it best to swiftly intervene.
“I shall report to you at Bow Street tomorrow morning as requested,” I said. “And in the meantime you will either find me at the addresses I have previously given you or at the reading room in the British Library.”
“I’ll walk with you to your office, Penny,” said James. Then he turned to Chief Inspector Fenton and said, “I’ll be back with you shortly.”
We pushed through the crowd outside the hotel and James carried my case as we began the short walk toward the Morning Express offices. The fog was beginning to lift and much of the street was discernible now, though the chimney tops remained hidden.
“Don’t allow Fenton to upset you,” said James. “He becomes rather officious whenever he has an important case on his ha
nds.”
“I know better than to let him upset me,” I replied, “but his manner is rather irritating. I wish you the best of luck working alongside him.”
James laughed. “I’m used to his ways. He doesn’t always appear to like the Yard getting involved, but privately he’ll be grateful for the help. It’s difficult to know where to start with an investigation like this.”
“Start with Mrs Mirabeau,” I said. “I can’t get the measure of her at all.”
“Neither can I. We’ll need to conduct a few more interviews with her in order to do so. I suspect she knows more than she’s letting on.”
“I feel certain that she does.”
We turned onto the Strand, where the tiered spire of St Clement Danes church rose up into the fog.
“I met with a solicitor yesterday,” said James. “He has agreed to represent me in this breach of promise case. At the present time we have different ideas with regard to how it should be approached, however.”
“What is his idea?”
“He believes I need to be honest about my feelings for you, Penny, and to state that it was those very feelings that put a stop to the wedding. He thinks the jury will take a dim view of me if I appear to be hiding anything.”
“That sounds like sensible advice.”
“No, it’s not! I’ve already said that this action has nothing to do with you. I have no wish to bring you into it.”
“But I must share some of the responsibility.”
“It was my choice to propose to Charlotte, and it was my choice to put an end to the engagement. It was also my choice to end it so close to the wedding.”
“Immediately beforehand, to be entirely accurate.”
“Exactly. What a foolish thing to do. I should have ended it months earlier. I look back now on the litany of mistakes I made, Penny, and it convinces me that you shouldn’t have to shoulder the consequences of them.”
“But I’m not blameless in this situation,” I said. “In fact, I’m fairly sure that I asked you to cancel the wedding while we were walking through the Thames Tunnel.”
“You did. And that was a reasonable request given that I had already kissed you several times by then.”
I smiled at the memory. “James, I think you should be honest with the court about the nature of our relationship. What happened between us is not completely uncommon, you know. Sometimes betrothed people fall in love with someone else. I think we will be judged fairly if we own up to it.”
“There’s no we in this matter, Penny. This is about me. I have no desire for you to encounter the Jenkins family. Can you imagine how horrible they would be to you? And the jury may also judge you harshly. You will be seen as the lady who ruined an engagement, but I don’t want them to view you in that way as it didn’t happen like that. My conduct throughout may affect the sum I am ordered to pay, so my solicitor has advised me to speak kindly of Charlotte when we are in court and not to lay any of the blame at her feet. If I attempt to discredit her, the level of damages payable may increase. He told me of a recent case in which the defendant claimed to have put an end to his engagement because his fiancée had taken to drink. The jury didn’t believe him, and he was ordered to pay further damages for lying. In that case the sum should have been two hundred pounds, but it was increased to five hundred.”
“So what reason do you intend to give for ending the engagement if you don’t plan to give the full story?”
“It’s going to be rather difficult, isn’t it? I think I shall have to say that my feelings for her had changed.”
“And not mention us at all?”
“No.”
“But you can’t lie, James, it wouldn’t be right. And besides, you’re a police officer.”
“I think it’s best that you are kept well out of it. I’m planning to visit my parents this weekend to discuss the situation. I hope my father will be talkative enough to hold a sensible discussion with me now. I have endured his disapproval for long enough.”
“Hopefully their hostility will have softened a little,” I said. “But I still think it would be much better if we were completely honest, as your solicitor suggests.”
“My word on this is final.”
“It doesn’t seem wise to ignore your solicitor’s advice.”
“I’m not ignoring it altogether; I’m simply choosing which advice to take. And I won’t be changing my mind on this, so there’s no need to discuss it any further.”
“But James—”
He stopped and turned to faced me. “Just allow me to protect you from this, Penny. Please!”
Chapter 17
“Miss Green! You survived!”
Edgar Fish greeted me with a wide grin as I arrived back at the newsroom.
“Yes, I did,” I replied, “although I don’t think I was ever in any real danger.”
I sat down at the typewriter beside a grimy window that looked out onto Fleet Street.
“A murderer was prowling the corridors, stabbing people to death, and you weren’t in danger, Miss Green?” retorted Edgar. “That’s quite preposterous. It’s a miracle she got out of there alive, isn’t it, Potter?”
Frederick responded with a nod.
“I wonder who had it in for Mr Gallo,” continued Edgar. “Are you all right, Miss Green? You look rather pale.”
“It has all been quite a shock,” I said, “not least because the culprit chose to hide the murder weapon in my bedchamber.”
“What?” Edgar said, clearly startled. “While you were in there?”
“No, it must have been done while I was at breakfast. I foolishly left my door unlocked.”
“And the devil left the knife in your bedchamber? You must have been horrified when you found it.”
“I didn’t find it. The police did.”
“Oh dear,” said Edgar quietly. “That makes it look as though you committed the crime.”
“Yes, and it’s possible that they still think I had something to do with it.”
Edgar laughed. “Just one look at you would tell them you’re no murderer, Miss Green!”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But experience has taught me that a person’s appearance is no indication of their character at all, so I cannot blame the police for being suspicious of me.”
“Hang on a minute, Potter. Do you think we might be looking at a murderer here? Miss Green claims the killer left the knife in her bedchamber, but what if she actually did the deed? There’s just no knowing, is there?” Edgar laughed again and slapped his desk with mirth.
“What’s so funny?” asked our editor, Mr Sherman, as he strode into the room, leaving the door to slam behind him as usual.
“Miss Green is a murderer!” laughed Edgar.
“That’s a laughing matter, is it, Fish?” Mr Sherman replied with a scowl. He had a thick black moustache and his hair was oiled and parted to one side.
Edgar assumed a sombre expression. “Not really, sir. I was just having a little joke.”
“Does Miss Green look as though she’s in the mood for jokes?” asked Mr Sherman.
Edgar gave me an uneasy glance. “No, she looks rather tired, actually. I do apologise, Miss Green.”
“It’s quite all right, Edgar,” I said. “There hasn’t been much to laugh about for the past twenty-four hours, so a little light relief is welcome.”
“There you go, sir,” said Edgar with a smile. “She doesn’t mind.”
“But I mind you not getting on with your work, Fish. Where’s your article on the dead body that was posted to the Home Secretary?”
“I’m almost done with it, sir.”
“Is it typewritten?”
“No, it’s just handwritten at the moment. I shall get on with it now.”
“Who posted the body?” I asked incredulously.
“A reverend from Lincolnshire,” replied Edgar. “Apparently, it was a macabre protest about the fact that his parish has no more room in its burial ground.”
/> “Good grief! What a thing to do.”
“Some poor office keeper at the Home Office had the misfortune of opening it,” said Edgar. “It had a parcels ticket from the Great Northern Railway attached and was labelled ‘perishable’.”
“The inquest will be interesting,” said Mr Sherman before turning to face me. “I take it you’ve written all about the recent goings-on at the Hotel Tempesta, Miss Green?”
“I have made a lot of notes, sir.”
“Excellent. So you should have something ready by deadline?”
“Of course, sir.”
“They found the murder weapon in Miss Green’s bedchamber,” said Edgar.
“Good Lord! Really?”
“The murderer was hardly going to hide it in his own room, I suppose,” I said.
“Good point,” said the editor. “Hopefully you won’t be considered a murder suspect.”
“I’m not in the clear quite yet.”
“Ah, but you have the schoolboy inspector looking out for you, don’t you, Miss Green?” commented Edgar.
I felt a rush of warmth to my face. “Not really.”
“Am I right in thinking that he recently called off his wedding?” asked Frederick.
“He did indeed,” replied Edgar.
“Does anyone know why?” Frederick asked.
Edgar wiggled his eyebrows and nodded in my direction.
“What?” asked Frederick, not taking the hint.
“That’s enough,” said Mr Sherman, a slight smile playing on his lips. “You all have a lot of work to be getting on with. Have you finished your parliamentary report yet, Potter?”
“Almost.”
“Not good enough. Get it done!”
Chapter 18
The Horrifying Murder of an Hotel Owner
The proprietor of the Hotel Tempesta, Mr. Nathaniel Gallo, was found tragically murdered yesterday morning. A knife-wielding attacker broke into Mr. Gallo’s bedchamber on the night of Tuesday 11th November. The proprietor fled and a chase ensued. The assailant set upon Mr. Gallo after he slipped and fell on the main staircase. He was discovered by a maid, fatally injured from a series of knife wounds, at the foot of the stairs at half-past five yesterday morning.
