“What? Get me better so that you can put me in prison?” said Kitty bitterly.
“We’ll see.” Caroline was thinking about all the options and she needed to talk to Tollman first.
Billy was in the scullery, peeling potatoes and onions. Tollman was making up the fire in the wood-burning stove. Caroline gently sat Kitty down and made her lie back against some cushions.
“Is it true? What Detective Sergeant Tollman said about you? That you committed arson and bomb attacks?”
Kitty nodded and stared into the distance, as if trying to recall her past life. “It all seems such a long time ago now,” she said quietly. “Before the war, it seemed more important than anything else in the world that women should be the equal of men in all things. Then, when war broke out, we all realised that men may have the vote and the power of the law and control of the money but… there is a price to pay for that. They have to go and fight and die for their country. Suddenly, it seemed too high a price to pay for the privilege of having the vote. Most women in the suffragette movement drifted away. They got involved in the war effort, they made up food parcels for the men at the front, or, like me, they found themselves nursing a damaged and dying man sent back from the war to finish his days.” She looked at Caroline, who could see that Kitty’s chest was so congested that it was affecting her breathing and there was a blue tinge around her mouth. “None of it seems important any more. Men aren’t the enemy. The Germans are the enemy. Most women don’t care about having the vote now. They care about having their menfolk back in one piece.”
“Rest. Sleep. I’ll wake you when the soup is ready.” Caroline had heard all she needed to hear. Kitty closed her eyes and Caroline went out into the scullery to talk to the men.
Tollman raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I got carried away, I know, and I apologise. It’s just that Kitty Mason – or Bellamy, as she is now – is – was – one of the most hunted criminals in London two years ago. The first bomb she set off was at a cottage that belonged to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Twelve men were nearly killed. It was a miracle they weren’t. Kitty and her friends bombed churches, post offices, railway stations and trains – the list is endless. They used to put incendiary chemicals in postboxes. One of my friends was a postman in Clapham. He was so badly burned by those chemicals when he was collecting the post that he hasn’t worked since. And he’s in constant pain because the chemicals scarred his skin so badly and it tightened up, causing pain and frequent bleeding. He’s a mess. Because of her.” He jabbed his finger towards the living room.
He continued, “The eighteen months before war started were the worst in my police career. You know we had letter bombs at the Yard from the suffragettes? Evil devices. MPs got them, other public figures too. Again, the postmen were in the front line, with the police, intercepting these letter bombs and defusing them. Lots of us got injured – policemen and postmen. Some of us got away lightly.”
He pulled up his trouser leg to show an old, long scar, which went from ankle to knee. “Suffragette wielding a butcher’s knife,” he explained. “She’d just finished vandalising expensive clothing in a West End department store and when we tried to arrest her, she went for us. I got this and two of my mates got an arm and a face slashed. Blood all over the place. But,” Tollman added passionately, “here’s the thing. It’s not the police getting injured in the line of duty that I mind about – I mean I do mind, of course I do – but it’s part of our job. But the bombs… in public places. Children could have been killed. They didn’t care! They put bombs in places where they knew there were going to be lots of people. It was just sheer dumb luck that no one was killed. But plenty of people were injured and their lives were changed for ever. Don’t forget that. I never shall.” Tollman tailed off. His voice had begun to crack under the strain of reliving the events and he had exhausted himself with his tirade.
Caroline rubbed Tollman’s arm as a gesture of understanding, then she said simply, “She’s dying, Mr Tollman. Her heart is about to give out and, even if I were to get her into hospital today, I doubt that I could save her, her pneumonia is so advanced. She hasn’t been eating and she’s exhausted. Has Billy told you about her husband upstairs?”
Tollman nodded. “We must do what we can for them, then,” he said with resignation, and Billy agreed.
Soon, the soup was bubbling on the stove and Caroline, who had been checking Kitty’s pulse and temperature, came back to the scullery, lured by the smell. “You’re an awfully useful man, Billy,” she said admiringly.
Billy gave a half-hearted grin. “It’s the Army, Doctor. They teach you to look after yourself. Cook, clean, sew. ‘The biggest, toughest Grenadier Guardsman should be able to sew like a lady’s maid,’ my old sergeant used to say. ‘Keep your kit in order, lad, feed yourself and keep yourself clean. It’s a matter of pride.’”
The soup was finally ready, and Billy had mashed it up a bit, so that Kitty could swallow it more easily. Caroline woke her up, Billy raised her up on the cushions a little, and Caroline began to feed her. They could see that swallowing every mouthful was painful. Finally, after no more than half a dozen spoonfuls, she declined to eat any more. The very effort was too much for her and her breath was coming in short gasps now.
Kitty clutched at Caroline’s jacket desperately, and the tears rolled down her face. “I know I don’t have much longer,” she whispered, “but what will happen to Joseph?”
Caroline looked at Billy for support and she fancied that she saw it in his eyes. “I think I need to make you both comfortable,” she said, swallowing hard. “Billy will carry you upstairs, so that you can be with Joseph, would you like that?”
Kitty nodded, and Billy gently lifted her up in his arms and started to carry her up the stairs. Caroline began to follow and Tollman grabbed her arm. “Don’t take this on yourself,” he warned softly. “You might not be able to live with it afterwards.”
“I shouldn’t be able to live with doing nothing,” Caroline replied. “I have no choice.”
Upstairs, Billy had laid Kitty next to her husband, on his undamaged side, so that she could hold his hand. At the touch of her fingers, Joseph’s half face twisted into an approximation of a smile, before it twisted again into an expression of pain. He groaned softly but Kitty stroked his face and began murmuring to him, words of love and comfort.
“Let’s leave them alone for five minutes,” whispered Caroline and she and Billy stood out on the landing and closed the door.
They stood in silence for a minute, then Billy spoke quietly. “When I was in the trenches,” he said matter-of-factly, “I heard this screaming coming from no-man’s-land. It was like a child in terrible pain. Awful. I couldn’t stand it. When I looked over the top, I could see it was a horse. Its back was broken but it was still alive and screaming in distress. So, I took my rifle and aimed at it from the trenches. Hit it right between the eyes and it was at peace. Never regretted doing it. I don’t even like horses, but I couldn’t see it in such terrible pain. ’Course, I got put on a charge for that – firing my rifle without permission and all that.”
Caroline nodded. “You can stay out here, if you like, Billy.”
Billy shook his head. “Nope. You’re not doing this on your own.”
Caroline opened the door and walked over to the table. She prepared a large syringe of the morphine solution and gave a final look at them both. Kitty kissed her husband, all farewells having been said, and mouthed “Thank you” to Caroline. As the injection went into Joseph’s arm, he gave a sigh… the deepest sound of peace and relief… and he squeezed his wife’s hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw Billy press a knuckle hard into his mouth to contain his emotions.
Caroline filled the syringe again and said quietly to Kitty, “Are you sure?” Kitty smiled, her breath coming in short and painful bursts. “Never more sure of anything…” she laboured to
whisper. Caroline administered the injection and then sat, holding Kitty’s other hand for a while, until she was satisfied that both husband and wife had stopped breathing. “It’s over,” she said simply. Billy covered the couple with a sheet and Caroline began to cry quietly. Billy wrapped his arms around her and held her firmly, letting her cry into his shoulder for as long as she needed.
When they finally came downstairs, Tollman nodded and said that he would take the horse-drawn hackney carriage back to Dartford to fetch an undertaker’s wagon and a local policeman.
After he had gone, Billy settled Caroline down in a chair in the garden in the warm sun and said he had something to do and would be back in five minutes. Then he marched purposefully down to the church to find the Reverend. He found him straightening prayer books in the pews.
“I just thought I’d let you know, Reverend, soon to be Captain, Peabody,” Billy said in a menacing tone of voice that made the Reverend flush, “that Mr and Mrs Bellamy have both just died, in your parish. He of his terrible, terrible wounds and she died from malnutrition and pneumonia, wearing herself out looking after him. And you…” – Billy shoved the Reverend backwards into the wall – “never lifted a finger to help them. You,” he said, jabbing his finger into the Reverend’s chest for emphasis, “wanted her to keep him hidden away because the way he looked upset you. You,” – another finger jab in the chest – “a man of the cloth, who wants to bring comfort to the troops, couldn’t even bring yourself to take a bowl of soup up to a starving, broken woman.” Billy’s lip curled in disgust. “I hope you make a better padre than you do a vicar. You’re going to see a lot of disgusting things on the front line. Let’s hope you are man enough to deal with them. And I hope to God that you never treat a dying, disfigured man with the contempt that you showed to Joseph Bellamy. Just count yourself lucky that I don’t punch your lights out!” was Billy’s parting shot as he left the church like a whirlwind and, for good measure, tore the recruitment poster completely off the noticeboard and ripped it into little pieces.
Feeling as though he had got everything out of his system, Billy Rigsby marched back up the lane towards the solitary cottage containing the doomed couple who were finally at rest.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Business as Usual
The newspapers, the next day, were full of the Ruth Baker story, with photographs of uniformed policemen digging up the flower beds in St Patrick’s Church in Clerkenwell. People were appalled but, of course, attracted to the grisly nature of the crime and they flocked in their dozens to Clerkenwell in the hope of seeing a decomposed baby corpse. Tollman was cheered by the fact that one of the photographs clearly showed a harassed DS Carter trying to push back the tide of nosy, disrespectful humanity.
Tollman and Billy had spent the train journey home, yesterday, convincing Caroline that Beech did not need to know what she did for the Bellamy couple.
Tollman had been adamant. “He won’t be able to cope with it. I know Mr Beech. If he thinks we are breaking the rules, he’ll disband the team. Best we say that when we got there, the husband had already died from his wounds and the wife was on her way out. You just made her comfortable and she died from exhaustion.”
“Keep things simple,” urged Billy. “Need to know basis. Mr Beech doesn’t need to know. You don’t need to tell him.”
Eventually and reluctantly, Caroline had agreed. It went against her nature to be anything other than honest, but she did not want to be the cause of the team being disbanded.
They had all realised, as the train drew into Charing Cross station, that they had never once asked Kitty Bellamy about the blackmail problem. It hadn’t even occurred to all three of them – the day had been taken up with the immediate tragedy.
Something that had popped into Tollman’s head as he had gratefully sunk into his bed was that Kitty Bellamy had successfully eluded the police for almost two years. How did Adeline Treborne find out about her? Now they would never know.
It was a sombre team gathering at breakfast. The Ruth Baker baby murders had cast a gloom over everyone, and when Tollman, Caroline and Billy recounted their experiences down in Kent, everyone just fell silent contemplating the awfulness of it all.
“I just don’t think that Britain is prepared enough to deal with injuries on this appalling scale,” murmured Lady Maud.
Caroline agreed. “Just the sheer number of artificial limbs that are now needed is going to be a problem. It takes, on average, about three months to get an artificial limb made to order by a company like Gillingham’s in Somerset. At the rate that amputees are coming in to the military hospitals, the manufacturers can’t cope.”
Victoria could see that Beech was beginning to get restless. She had learned that he disliked conversations about the wounded, especially about amputation, because he had once confessed to her that when his leg ached, he feared that it would never heal properly, and he would eventually become an amputee.
“Anyway, everyone,” said Victoria brightly, in an attempt to lighten the mood, “do we have any progress that we could discuss?”
Everyone around the table shook their heads so Victoria decided to relate the curious information about the manipulative Lady Patrick and the private detective that appeared to be following her.
“Albert Wood,” said Tollman with a great deal of scorn. “Now there’s a name to conjure with!” He elaborated. “Wood was never much of a detective and he was lazy. Liked the high life, did Wood. A bit like our mate, DS Carter. Wood liked to go out on the town and he got into a bit of debt, which laid him open to offers from the criminal fraternity. Anyway, nothing was ever proved, and he got chucked out of the force about fifteen years ago. Next, I hear that all the top legal chambers are using him as a leg man for their divorce cases and what have you. So, he must have had some friends in high places. He married, years ago, long before he got kicked out of the force, so she must be some long-suffering woman, and I heard that he was living over Marylebone way in quite a nice house, so business must be good. It sounds to me like Sir Michael Patrick is using him to get some dirt on his wife, so that he can offload her.”
“Oh no!” said Victoria emphatically. “Patrick’s chambers do work for the Royal Family! He would never divorce. It would put him beyond the pale.”
Just then, Lady Maud said, “Peter! I can hear the telephone ringing and Mary is out this morning. Do nip out and answer it, please.”
Beech loped out of the room and seemed to be gone a long time. When he returned, he said, with an amused look on his face, “I’ve just received a phone call about, coincidentally, Sir Michael Patrick. He’s been shot!”
There were noises and words of surprise from everyone around the table.
“Did his wife do it?” Victoria asked mischievously.
“Well… yes!”
“Good God!” Victoria hadn’t expected that answer.
“Sir Michael is in hospital and his wife is in custody. But he doesn’t want us to press charges. He wants to see me, so I think, Tollman, if you would accompany me, I would be grateful.”
Victoria was disappointed. “Oh, can’t I come, Peter? I would so like to hear what his madam of a wife has been up to.”
“Er, no, Victoria. I’m sorry.” Beech was firm. “I think there are occasions when a man only wants to speak to another man about a subject that he finds embarrassing, like the fact that his wife has some deep, dark secrets and has just shot him.”
Beech and Tollman left, but then Tollman swiftly came back with a clutch of letters for Lady Maud, which had been lying on the mat. He handed them over, tipped his hat and left again.
“The advancement of science has a lot to answer for,” Maud announced, apropos of nothing at all.
“Sorry, Maud?” Caroline responded.
“Well, I mean, this is the first, what they are calling in the newspapers, ‘industrialised’ war. Aeroplanes,
Zeppelins, gas, machine guns – who knows where the carnage will end? Plus, we apparently had suffragettes, just before the war, making sophisticated bombs that they put in letters, of all things! Who would have thought that advances in science would have led to such terrible things and not enlightened things?” Maud began to open her letters, then paused. “You don’t suppose the Germans might resort to letter bombs as well, do you?”
Victoria smiled. “If they did, mother, I’m sure you would be a long way down the list of recipients. I think they would target most of the government first.”
“Yes, of course. Silly of me. Good Lord!” The letter in her hand caused her to express shock. Then she handed the letter over to Victoria, with a triumphant, “Well, my dear, it appears that we were right. The woman at the sewing circle must be a blackmailer.”
Caroline and Billy got up and came around behind Victoria, as she read out loud,
“Lady Maud Winterbourne, it has come to my attention that you are in the habit of stealing from department stores. If you do not want this information to appear in print in the London Herald, you will need to pay for the privilege of secrecy. Bring £20 cash to the bench opposite the Duke of Bedford statue in Russell Square tomorrow at 11 a.m. Someone will meet you. Come alone, if you value your secrets. Do not inform the police or your details will be published immediately in the newspaper.”
Victoria’s eyes widened at the reality of the situation. “Mother, we must tell Peter immediately!”
“Yes, of course.” Maud appeared elated but shaken.
“Don’t worry, Lady Maud,” said Billy reassuringly, “you won’t be alone. We’ll fill the square with plain-clothes policemen. They’ll be ready to pounce at the slightest suggestion of any trouble.”
“Thank you, Constable Rigsby, that’s a comfort,” Maud said weakly with a wan smile. “Planning was so much more fun than the execution,” she observed.
A Death in Chelsea Page 18
