by Emily Organ
The staircase descended to the left and brought us to another locked gate, beyond which lay complete darkness. Once we had stepped through the gate, the warden raised his lantern so that the candlelight flickered against a long, stone corridor lined with arches.
I felt a prickle at the back of my neck as we followed in his footsteps. I could see that some of the arches led to further dark corridors, while others housed family vaults decorated with carved stonework and elaborate iron grilles. I hadn’t minded walking through the cemetery, but the dead felt a little too close for comfort down in the catacombs.
“Remind me who it is yer lookin’ for.” The warden gave us a grimace rather than a smile.
“Mrs Smith,” replied James. “She was laid to rest here at the end of August, or possibly the beginning of September.”
“I remembers ’er,” he replied, turning into a corridor to our right where the brick bays were lined with shelves. Rested upon each shelf was a neat row of coffins. Some were fronted with small headstones, while others were labelled with brass plates. Withered flowers lay in various stages of decay, and the air smelled of damp earth.
“Is it safe to be down here?” I ventured.
“What d’yer mean?”
“I mean the miasma from… Is there a risk of disease?”
“All the caskets is lead-lined, so nothin’ can get out of ’em,” replied the warden. “Yer quite safe.”
I hoped we would find Mrs Smith’s casket swiftly and be on our way without any delay. Being down in the catacombs gave me a tight sensation in my head and throat, and I was keen to be back in the land of the living as soon as possible.
“Are you acquainted with Mrs Smith’s son?” James asked the warden.
“Yeah, I seen him.”
“What’s he like?”
“What’s ’e like? I dunno what ’e’s like. ’E pays me a sixpence like ev’ryone else does.”
James and I exchanged a hopeful glance in the gloom.
“’Ere she is,” said the warden, holding his lantern up beside a shiny new coffin, which lay at the height of our heads. Fresh flowers rested against a brass plate, which read:
Mrs Octavia Hannah Smith
Died 25th August 1884
“Smith is quite a common name,” James said to the warden. “Could there be another Mrs Smith who was laid to rest here at around the same time?”
“I don’t remember no one else.”
“Do you happen to know anything about Mrs Octavia Smith?”
The warden scratched his chin. “She were a widow. Lived local.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Can’t say as I did.”
“Can you tell us anything about her family?”
“Only ’er son, like I told yer. Comes ’ere reg’lar, ’e does. Keeps ’imself to ’imself.”
“What do you know of him?” James asked.
“That’s all I knows. ’E ain’t much of a talker. D’yer want ter look at anyone else while yer down ’ere?”
“No, that will be all. Thank you for your time.”
“Now what?” I asked once we were out of the crypt and stood watching the dark, retreating form of the warden. I noticed the snow was falling more heavily. “Shall we visit the boarding houses? Or do you think this snow is going to impede our way?”
“It’s possible isn’t it?” said James, squinting up at the sky. “It’s showing no sign of stopping. But we need to find Augustus Smith as soon as possible, when we pass the lodge on our way out I’ll ask to see the burial record for his mother. It’ll have her address on it, and maybe there will be some other documentation that displays the details of her son’s lodgings. Perhaps I’m being too optimistic, but it has to be worth a try.”
We began to follow the warden’s fresh footprints.
As we walked, a tomb bearing the surname Green caught my eye.
“Look at that,” I said, stopping suddenly. “Five family members with the surname Green. I wonder if they are distant relations of mine.”
“It’s possible, isn’t it?” said James. “Look, I think those are the men from P Division.” Three figures came into view ahead of us on the path. “I don’t think many other people will be venturing out in this weather. I’ll go and see.”
I paused for a moment to finish reading the names on the tombstone, then began to follow James. I had only taken a couple of steps when my eye was drawn to another set of fresh footprints in the snow. They led up the path toward the chapel, but then diverted away from it and moved in-between the headstones.
I called out to James, but he was already speaking with the trio of men up ahead.
I examined the footprints again. They appeared to be the shape and size of a man’s shoe, and had been made very recently; within the past twenty minutes, I conjectured. I glanced around but could see no one other than James and his colleagues. Was it possible that the warden had walked this way?
I took a tentative step off the path to peer around some of the taller headstones but saw no one wandering nearby. The footsteps followed an intriguing, winding path around the graves, and their owner appeared to have paused beside a tomb before continuing on his way.
I guessed that the footprints could only have belonged to someone who was searching for a particular grave. But what was he doing here on such a snowy day? And where was he now?
Feeling an uneasy shiver run down my spine, I quickly returned to the path and began to walk toward James. I had just regained sight of him through the thickly falling snow when a gloved hand was clamped over my mouth.
Chapter 53
“Not a sound,” hissed a voice in my ear, “or I’ll kill you!”
I froze, staring straight ahead at the distant figures.
“Step to your right.”
My heart pounding, I did as I was told and stumbled over to a tomb on my right-hand side. My neck hurt as he continued to hold my head in a tight grip.
He pulled me down behind the tomb to shield us from the view of James and his fellow officers.
“Keep your eyes fixed straight ahead,” he whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t turn around.”
I stared at the side of the tomb and the carved stone frieze that ran along the side of it. He slowly released his hand from my mouth and I took in a deep, shaking breath.
“Keep looking ahead!” he hissed.
“What do you intend to do to me?” I whispered.
“Quiet!”
My knees were cold and wet from the snow, and my entire body trembled.
“What do you…?”
“If you speak again I shall cut your throat. I didn’t want to do this, but I had to stop you visiting my mother. What does any of this have to do with her?”
I heard the crunch of feet on snow nearby.
“Penny?” It was James’ voice.
The gloved hand was clasped over my mouth again before I could reply.
So this was Augustus Smith. I tried to place his voice, knowing that I must have heard it before. Who was he?
“Penny?”
James’ voice sounded further away this time.
“Penny? Where are you?”
Although I desperately wanted James to find me, I was terrified by Augustus’ threat to cut my throat. Would he harm me if James discovered us here? Did he really have a knife, or was he only bluffing? I reasoned that he had not hesitated to kill Mrs O’Riley and Mr Gallo, and that I was of no importance to him at all. I concentrated on trying to breathe through my nose and tried not to consider how great a danger I was in.
I could hear distant voices and presumed that James had asked his colleagues to search for me. Who was the man who held me here? I thought about the guests at Mr Gallo’s dinner. Which one of them was he? The hand was lowered from my mouth again, and I felt him shift his position. He was probably as cold and uncomfortable as I was. I knew that it would be completely impractical for us both to stay here much longer, and decided I could perhaps talk myself out of t
he situation.
“If you loved Anna,” I ventured in a whisper, “why did you kill her?”
My question was met with silence.
“I saw the letters you wrote to her,” I continued cautiously. “You cared about her very deeply, didn’t you?”
There was still no reply.
“I should have liked to have met her. I learned about Anna from her sister Margaret and her friend Elizabeth. Do you remember Elizabeth? You both lived in Compton Terrace.”
“Why have you been trying to find out about me? Why did you visit my mother?”
“Because you killed Anna. And Mr Gallo.”
“I warned her it might happen. She didn’t listen to me.”
I felt a chill run through me as he made this confession. Who was he? Although I recognised his voice, I couldn’t put my finger on who he was. Perhaps Mr Goldman had found his way here? Or could it be Mr Bolton?
“Here!” came a sudden voice, so loud that it startled my captor as much as me.
The hand was clamped over my mouth once again and my head pulled back. I tried to make a sound, but then I caught a glimpse of the shiny blade close to my throat. My stomach churned with dread.
“Fresh footprints!” came the voice again.
I squeezed my eyes shut, sure that Augustus would harm me if the police officer happened upon us.
My assailant suddenly rose to his feet, pulling me up with him. I felt a sharp pain in my neck, while my legs felt weak and cramped with cold.
“Stop!” he shouted, pulling me back onto the path in front of a young, shocked-looking police constable.
The constable stared at me in horror, his lips moving silently as he recovered his senses.
“Let her go!” he ordered.
“No!” came the response.
“Over here!” shouted the constable.
The hand covering my face tightened its grip and I battled to draw enough air in through my nose. The harder I tried the more difficult it seemed. I slowed my breath as much as I could and resisted the urge to struggle.
James and two other men came running into view. I held up a hand to stop them, not knowing what Augustus would do should they come too close.
“Good God!” exclaimed James, his face ashen. He swiftly unbuttoned his overcoat to reach beneath his jacket, where I knew his revolver sat inside its holster.
“Fetch your gun, Inspector, and I shall cut her throat,” replied Augustus, resting the blade against my neck.
I fixed my eyes on James and silently urged him not to do anything rash. He raised his hands deferentially.
“I shan’t touch my gun,” he replied. “Just let Miss Green go and we can discuss this in a sensible fashion.”
“If I let her go you’ll shoot me.”
“I won’t shoot.” James kept his hands raised. “You have my word.”
Augustus’ hand released its grip slightly but still covered my mouth.
“Why are you doing this?” James asked.
“Because you visited my mother.”
James gave a hollow laugh. “Is that really the reason?”
“You must stay away from her!”
“Were you following us, Mr Smith?”
“I’ve been following you for days.”
“Days?”
“I heard your plans. I heard you discussing this case. I shared a compartment on the train with you.”
“So that was you,” said James. “We knew there was something odd about the man behind the newspaper. I must ask that you remove your hand from Miss Green’s mouth and allow her to breathe properly.”
“I shan’t let her go.”
“Please release your grip just a little.”
Mr Smith did as James had asked and held his arm across my shoulders instead. He made sure that the knife remained close to my throat.
I wished I could turn my head to look at the man who was holding me. James and the constables knew what he looked like, but did James know which guest he had been at Gallo’s dinner? With the sharp blade still so close by, I didn’t dare move my head to take a look at him.
“Tell us about Anna O’Riley,” James said gently.
“Stop asking me about her!”
“Did you kill Mr Gallo because he was a witness?”
“He deserved it! You should have stayed away from here. Both of you!”
“And you should have stayed away from Anna.”
“I needed her to listen to me. I warned her that something terrible would come of her foolish actions. She could have had a husband and a family; she didn’t have to do what she was doing.”
“Anna was not what you think she was. She was being paid to spy on Mr Gallo.”
“She was no spy!”
“You’re wrong, I’m afraid.” James lowered his hands, and I silently prayed that he would be able to move his hand swiftly to his revolver at the right moment. “Anna was trying to find out who had sold Mr Gallo a number of forged paintings.”
“She didn’t mention that to me.”
“She didn’t mention it to anyone. She was very good at her job.”
“Raise your hands, Inspector!”
Mr Smith had noticed, as I had, that James’ hand was nearing his jacket.
James reluctantly did as he was told.
“You murdered Anna in a bout of bitterness and envy,” I said. “She wasn’t interested in you, and you wished to teach her a lesson. You also wished to punish Mr Gallo for seducing her.”
“And what about Walter Campbell?” asked James. “Did you push him onto the railway track?”
“He was drunk.”
“Did you push him?”
“He was the wrong man for her to marry. Anna was a lost soul; you didn’t know her the way I did. I could have saved her.”
“But instead you killed her!” James declared.
Augustus gripped me tighter in response to his words. “Stop saying that!”
I could tell that James was growing increasingly uneasy. Although he had successfully engaged Mr Smith in conversation, it seemed to be getting us nowhere. The constables appeared fidgety, presumably considering how to tackle the man who was holding me.
“You planned the attack very well,” I said. “You knew that Anna visited Mr Gallo every Tuesday. I imagine you must have been following her to be party to that information. Perhaps you had regularly followed the poor lady since reacquainting yourself with her at Le Croquembouche. You came to the hotel that fateful night with an old overcoat and a pair of gloves to protect yourself and your clothing. You also brought a partially blacked-out lamp and the murder weapon.
“No doubt you panicked when Mr Gallo managed to flee from his room that night, but you were able to complete the dreadful deed regardless. And you conducted yourself with remarkable composure the following morning, having hidden the weapon in my bedchamber. How did you know that I had left the door unlocked? How did you find the time to hide the knife there?”
“My bedchamber was close to yours, Miss Green, I don’t think you realised that. Perhaps you’ll lock your door next time?”
“I will, no doubt about that. You made the most of an opportunity. No one ever suspected that it was you who had committed the murders, you covered your tracks extremely well. Did you break into my home as well? I’m sure that it was you. Was the break-in supposed to have been some sort of warning or were you trying to find out what we knew?”
“I wanted to frighten you. I wanted you to stay away. But it seems you’re not easily frightened, not unless I’m armed with a knife.”
“If only I knew your pen name,” I continued. “I know you by your pen name, don’t I?”
“Most people do.”
“Can we end this now?”
“And allow myself to be arrested? I’ll let you go once the police officers have left.” He raised his voice, directing his words at James. “I want you to leave, Inspector! Leave now and I promise not to harm her!”
“Will you let Miss Gre
en go if we leave you alone?” asked James.
“Yes, but I refuse to be arrested! Get away from here and I shall release Miss Green unharmed. Do as I say! Now!”
James exchanged glances with the constables, and the four of them gradually began to retreat.
“Promise me you’ll let her go, Mr Smith!” said James. He walked backwards, his eyes fixed on mine and his brow crumpled with concern.
“Don’t even think about reaching for your gun, Inspector!” Augustus shouted out in reply.
James paused for a moment, clearly deliberating over whether to leave me alone with this man or not.
“Do as he says,” I called over to him. “He’ll let me go!”
“Penny, I can’t…” James glanced at Augustus Smith and then back at me.
“Do as he says!” I ordered.
James took another step back.
“Please, James! He just wants to get away.”
“That’s right, Miss Green,” added Augustus. His grip on me slackened as the men moved further back.
“If you harm even a hair on her head, I swear you shall hang for it!” shouted James. “As soon as we have gone, you will let her go so she can come and find us. You must let her go. Have I made myself clear?”
“As clear as day, Inspector.”
As clear as day. I had heard the same phrase during that fateful evening at Hotel Tempesta, but who had said it?
James stepped back again, and it soon became difficult to distinguish his retreating form in the heavy snowfall.
Chapter 54
I suddenly became aware of the intense silence around us, though I felt sure that James would not have strayed far. What was Augustus Smith’s intent? He had threatened to kill me and now claimed he was going to let me go again. It didn’t make sense. His actions suggested to me that he had a different plan altogether.
I gently moved one hand to wipe my spectacles and adjust my hat.
“This way!” growled Mr Smith, pulling me back toward the tomb we had initially hidden behind.
