by Emily Organ
“I know.”
It was then that the candle in the lantern spluttered out, rendering the task impossible.
Chapter 38
Voices woke me, and a flickering light threw disorientating shadows around. Startled, I began to sit up.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“We’re being rescued,” James said gently.
“Thank goodness!”
I had fallen asleep resting up against him. Once the candle had gone out, we had placed another chair beneath the pavement light and tried, but failed, to decypher the code in the fading daylight.
“Who is it?” I asked. I could see a dark figure holding a lantern over by the doorway.
“He told me he was Mrs Mirabeau’s solicitor,” replied James. “She’s refusing to speak to the police now, or so he tells me. At least he has agreed to let us out. Come on! Do you have your bag with you?”
“Yes.”
I picked up my carpet bag and we rose to our feet together.
“How long was I asleep for?” I asked.
“I don’t know. An hour, perhaps.”
The lantern moved away from us.
“This way,” a man’s voice said brusquely.
I held James’ hand as we walked toward the door and climbed the dingy steps that led out of the basement. I felt a weight lifting from me as I did so. Ahead of me was the dark silhouette of the solicitor, and the windows on the staircase revealed a night sky.
“What time is it?” I asked James.
“Just after ten o’clock.”
“Then we were trapped in there for approximately eight hours! It could have been worse, I suppose. At least it wasn’t all night.”
The solicitor led us along the corridor toward the grand foyer.
“You’ll want to visit the washroom, no doubt,” he said without turning to look at us.
As I splashed my face with water in the washroom, I wondered whether the hotel would ever host guests again. I felt a pang of sadness as I thought back to Mr Gallo’s optimistic outlook that fateful night. He had held such high hopes for this place, yet his dreams had so quickly crumbled into nothing.
Mrs Mirabeau’s solicitor was keen to swiftly escort us out of the hotel as soon as I returned to the foyer.
“Here’s my card, Inspector,” he said as we stood beside the entrance. He wore a top hat and his face was cloaked in shadow, but I could just about discern dark whiskers. “I have instructed my client to refer any further police enquiries to me.”
“You do realise you would be committing an offence if you deliberately impeded a police investigation, don’t you?” said James.
“It is not my intention to impede, Inspector, but to protect my client from undue harassment.”
“She detained us unlawfully!”
“That was not a course of action I would have advised her to take, but she carried it out under duress.”
James gave a snort. “There was no duress! I merely asked her a few questions and then asked to take a look at the basement. She realised we would discover that she has been burning papers down there, and that’s when she got you involved.”
“She sought my help as a last resort, Inspector. For two weeks she has been assisting the police with their enquiries without complaint, and now she must be left alone. If there is evidence of her having committed any wrongdoing, do please bring it to my attention.”
“There is the destruction of evidence and unlawfully detaining a police officer and a news reporter,” retorted James. “Two very serious examples of wrongdoing so far, and I’m confident that we will discover more. I think you are likely to find yourself becoming quite busy, Mr…” James glanced down at his card for the name. “Tennant.”
“Good night, Inspector,” replied the solicitor, holding the door open for us.
“Shoeshine, sir?” asked a boy standing outside Temple train station.
“No, thank you,” replied James. “Is this your regular pitch?”
“Yessir. Is you a copper, sir?”
“Yes, I am. For some reason, boys like you have a knack of spotting us even when we are wearing plain clothes.”
“I’ve been ’ere fer over a year, sir, an’ I ain’t never done no ’arm to no one!”
“I’m sure you haven’t. You’re not in trouble, so please don’t worry. What is your name?”
“Kit, sir.”
James glanced back at the Hotel Tempesta, which sat directly opposite the station.
“There is a lady who works at that hotel, Kit.”
“That’s the place where that gen’leman got murdered, ain’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“It won’t never open again now. It’s cursed!”
“So they say. There’s a lady who is still living inside it; you may have seen her. She has auburn hair, wears rouge and smokes cigarettes.”
“Yeah, I seen ’er sir.”
“Good. I’d like you to watch out for her and keep an eye on anyone else who visits the hotel. Report back to me in a few days and let me know what you find out, will you?”
“Report back ter you where, sir?”
“At Scotland Yard. Do you know where that is?”
“Yeah, I knows it.”
“You can get there quickly if you take the train from here to Charing Cross. It’s the next station along.”
“Yeah, I knows all the stations.”
“Let me give you some money for your fare.”
The boy’s eyes widened as James handed him a few coins.
“And you’ll want a half-crown for your trouble, no doubt.”
The boy grinned. “Cor, yessir!”
“Now, there will be plenty more of that if you’re willing to do a little work for me. I don’t know how much you earn shining shoes, but as you’re still out here late at night I’m guessing it’s not much. Perhaps you’d like to do this work for me instead for the next few days? Follow the auburn-haired lady if you can, but don’t let her see you.”
“No, sir. I won’t.”
“And let me know where she goes.”
“Oh, yessir. I will, sir!”
“Ask for me directly at Scotland Yard when you come. Look, I’ll show you my warrant card. Inspector Blakely’s my name.”
“’Spector Blakely. Yessir!”
Chapter 39
My head felt heavy with tiredness the following morning as I walked past the grass oval of Finsbury Circus. The trees were bare of leaves, but the weak sunlight and soft birdsong cheered me a little. My destination was the nearby Broad Street station, from where I would board a train to Islington to meet James and Margaret Davies, whom I had missed meeting with the previous day.
During the train journey I leafed through the pages of The Times. A twelve-line paragraph on page three stated that Chief Inspector Fenton had arrested a man in connection with the murders, though the report declined to name him. I felt a snap of irritation as I read this. Mr Blackstone had clearly ingratiated himself enough with the chief inspector to get the exclusive news.
“Did you know that Chief Inspector Fenton has arrested a suspect?” I asked James when I met him outside Highbury and Islington train station.
“Yes, I heard it first thing this morning. He has taken Mr Goldman into custody, apparently.”
“What possible motive could Mr Goldman have?”
“I don’t know, but perhaps Fenton is on to something. I’ll visit him later to find out. I suppose it isn’t a big surprise, really. He was muttering on about Goldman yesterday, wasn’t he?”
“I should like to know what evidence he has that Mr Goldman was responsible.”
“Let’s find out as much as we can about Clara Hamilton for the time being. How are you faring this morning, Penny?”
“I feel rather tired after our ordeal in the basement,” I replied. “But I’m enjoying the sensation of sunlight on my face after all that darkness.”
“What sunlight?”
“The ge
ntle patches that appear from between the clouds now and again.”
“I’m disappointed to hear that you consider our time in the basement an ordeal,” said James. “I quite enjoyed having the opportunity to spend some time alone with you.” He grinned.
“It’s kind of you to say so, James, and I enjoyed your company.” I smiled. “However, the circumstances could have been a little better.”
“What’s wrong with a damp, dark, rat-infested basement?”
“Nothing, I suppose, but let’s take the key with us next time.”
We both laughed.
“Which property does Miss Davies live in?” he asked.
I fished her letter out of my bag and looked at the address written on it.
“Swan Yard.”
Miss Margaret Davies was a tall, slender lady with brown hair and looked to be about thirty years of age. She invited us to sit in a small parlour, which was simply furnished but clean and tidy. Several framed photographs hung above the fireplace.
“I must apologise for missing our appointment yesterday,” I said once the introductions were completed. “I was detained… by, er, a case I’m reporting on, and I was unable to get a message to you to explain.”
“Please don’t worry, Miss Green. Your colleagues were very accommodating.”
“Mr Fish and Mr Potter? I hope they weren’t too irreverent.”
“No indeed. They kept me entertained. I must say that I admire you for doing the work of a news reporter. You must be the only lady who works there.”
“There is also Miss Welton, the editor’s secretary.”
“That must help, I suppose.” Her hands fidgeted in her lap as she addressed James. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, Inspector, but why you are here? Has something bad happened?”
James shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Before we begin, we need to establish that we are talking about the same lady. You wrote to Miss Green to say that you had recognised the description of Miss Hamilton, I believe.”
“Yes, it sounded just like my sister.”
From the glance James gave me I could see that he was relieved to hear this, though the slight furrow in his brow suggested that he was concerned that we would now have to tell Miss Davies the unfortunate news.
“The purse with the initials A.D. convinced me,” she continued. “Her name is Anna and her maiden name was Davies. What’s happened to her?”
“I’m terribly sorry,” I ventured. “I don’t know how to say this, but—”
“You’re going to tell me she’s dead, aren’t you?”
I gave a nod and felt my throat tighten as I did so.
Miss Davies shifted her gaze across the room as her eyes filled with tears. “I think I somehow knew that she was,” she said quietly.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” I replied.
There was a pause while Miss Davies dried her eyes with a handkerchief. “Let me make some tea. I could really do with a cup of tea,” she said.
“Would you like me to make it?” I asked.
“No, I’d like to do it myself. I’ll be fine, thank you,” She stood to her feet. “After that you can tell me what happened to her.”
Margaret Davies maintained her composure quite admirably as I explained to her the events of that tragic night at the Hotel Tempesta. I had no idea how much she knew about her sister’s life, but I felt that it was only fair to explain everything rather than attempt to hide anything to spare her feelings.
“When did you last see your sister?” James asked.
“A long time ago. It must be about two years since the last time we met, and we haven’t kept in touch. She was terribly affected by grief for her son. He died about four years ago, you see, and she never came to terms with it. Her husband had also died, and she felt so alone. She told us she wanted to do something different with her life, and after that she moved away. Everything changed, even her name.”
“So her birth name was Anna Davies, which would explain the initials on her purse,” said James. “What was her family name when she married?”
“O’Riley.”
“And her husband died, you say?”
“Yes, shortly before the boy. He had rheumatic fever and the boy… well, sadly he was never well.”
“What was his name?”
“Simon. They were both called Simon. I’ve had this strange feeling for a while that something wasn’t quite right with Anna. I think about her every day, you know. I have a photograph of her.”
She got up from her seat, then unhooked one of the framed photographs from above the fireplace and handed it to me.
Anna O’Riley had dark, intelligent eyes, a long face and wavy dark hair, which was pinned back behind her ears. Her brow and the corners of her mouth were lifted in a faint smile. She had a pleasant face and I felt an instant warmth toward her.
“That photograph was taken before she was married,” said Miss Davies.
“What was she like?” I asked.
“She was three years younger than me, and very clever. Anna was always reading books. She had a restless mind and was never quite content with things to remain the way they were. Oh, and she used to frustrate Ma and Pa with all her questions! There were eight of us: three boys and five girls. Two of my siblings died young, and I’m the only girl who has never married. I’m also the only one still living in Islington. We grew up in a house on Compton Terrace, which is very close by. Anna spoke of marriage when we were young, but she also dreamed of becoming a doctor one day. She had read about the ‘Septem contra Edinam’, the ‘Seven against Edinburgh’, at the University of Edinburgh. Do you recall those seven female medical students who fought to qualify as doctors?”
“I certainly do,” I replied.
“There was no chance Ma or Pa would ever have allowed her to study medicine, but it remained a dream of hers.”
“And then she met her husband, did she?” James asked.
“Yes, Simon O’Riley. Before that she almost got engaged to someone else, but he fell onto a railway track one night and was hit by a train.”
“Goodness! He lost his life?” I asked.
She nodded.
“How terribly tragic.”
“Soon after that she met Simon O’Riley and married him very quickly. I wasn’t convinced at the time that they were a good match, but she claimed to love him, and it wasn’t long before little Simon was born. She seemed happy for a time.”
“Less restless?”
“A little. Although she used to leave little Simon with Ma now and again, so she could go into town and do things. I couldn’t tell you what those things were. She thought again about becoming a doctor and was interested in studying at the School of Medicine for Women, which had been founded by one of the Septem contra Edinam. Only she was married and had a son, and she fully expected to have many more children. She admitted to me that she was envious of men because they could have professions, and I told her that being a lady needn’t stop her, though we both agreed that it was much more difficult for women. As I’m saying all this, I’m very aware that I’m speaking to a lady news reporter, Miss Green. I think she would have liked to meet you.”
“And, likewise, I would have liked to meet her,” I replied.
“It sounds as though she found herself a profession in the end,” said James.
Miss Davies sighed. “It seems she did, though not a particularly admirable one.”
“It’s not what you might think,” I said. “It’s more complicated than that. We believe she was obtaining secret information for people.”
“On whose behalf?”
“We’re not sure yet, but we think she was some sort of spy.”
“Really?” She gave a slight smile. “I can imagine she would have enjoyed being a spy. I expect she was quite convincing at it, too.”
“She was! She pretended to be a…” I struggled to think of a word that wouldn’t offend Miss Davies. “A courtesan. We think she was spying on Mr Gallo, and we fe
el sure that it had something to do with him buying forged paintings. We’re still trying to find out more, but she was extremely secretive about the details of her private life.”
“She would have needed to be. Was that why someone killed her? Because of her spying work?”
“We believe so,” said James.
“She must have put herself at risk.” Miss Davies shook her head sadly. “I suppose she only had herself to think about with her husband and son gone. Perhaps she wasn’t so worried about the risks she was taking. I can imagine her being like that. She most likely put all her efforts into obtaining the information she needed. She would have been a good spy; I feel sure of that. Oh, I wish I had known all this while she was alive…” She paused to wipe her eyes. “I would have loved to have spoken to her about it all. She kept everything secret, you say?”
“She must have done, as it has proven difficult to find out anything about her,” I said. “We’re extremely grateful that you contacted us, otherwise we still wouldn’t know her true identity.”
“We have come across a message we believe your sister wrote,” said James. “Can you tell me if you recognise this handwriting?” He opened his notebook, removed the folded scrap of paper with the coded message on it and passed it to Miss Davies. She stared at it with a puzzled glance.
“It looks like her handwriting,” she said. “But it makes no sense!”
“It’s written in code. Do you think Anna might have written this?”
“Was this part of her spying work?”
“We think so.”
“I had no idea she was doing something like this. How did she learn to write in code?” She shook her head. “There was so much I didn’t know about her.”
“Is the handwriting familiar?” prompted James.
“Yes, I’m quite sure that Anna wrote this.” She passed the message back to James. “I have a few letters she sent me some time ago. I can fetch them to compare the handwriting if you wish.”
“That would be extremely useful, thank you. Do you happen to know where your sister was living before her death?”
