The only man who repelled her more than Wheelock, apart from the horrible Filleter of course, was solicitor Henry Marsden, who lost no opportunity of sneering at and belittling her activities as a detective. Wheelock and Marsden were well suited, a partnership made not in Heaven but a quite different place.
And Marsden’s daughter, Leonora? Frances had never met the young lady, although there had been rumours that she was unlikely, due to some fault in her appearance, ever to be presented in society. Mr Wheelock was a man incapable of any tender emotion. His first marriage had been a calculated attempt to obtain possession of an elderly lady’s fortune, and Frances did not think the second one was likely to have been contracted for any more romantic reasons. She only hoped that since the unfortunate Miss Marsden was a valuable connection, she would be treated with kindness, or at least without cruelty. The first Mrs Wheelock, Frances recalled, had been kept quiet and compliant with sherry. Marsden would almost certainly live to rue the day he had ever allowed Timothy Wheelock into his life. Frances knew, although Mr Marsden did not, that his future son-in-law held papers in a bank vault that could be brought out and used to destroy him at the right moment. When that moment would be, she did not know, but Mr Wheelock would calculate it down to the exact second.
There was worse news in the post. Frances received a letter from the owner of the house in which she lodged. She thought she had worded her request very politely, asking that he reconsider his rule that children should not be allowed to live in the house, and had anticipated a favourable reply, but this was not to be. He would not change his mind. If Miss Doughty wished to purchase the house – and here he mentioned a figure far beyond her means – then as the owner she could make whatever rules she pleased, but not until then. If Sarah and Professor Pounder were to marry and raise a family, then they would have to find other accommodation.
In the days before the race meeting Frances and Sarah were both busy interviewing new clients for the detective agency, and pursuing their own cases. Since the secret mission would occupy the whole of one day, it was important to try and conclude as much business as possible beforehand. The summer, Frances noticed, was the time of year for inadvisable romances, and she often had to deal with irate parents whose sons and daughters had been carried away by balmy weather and sunlight. Tom and Ratty were expert at finding lost pets or missing children, as well as drunken persons who had strayed far from home. Sarah’s speciality was defending women from selfish and profligate husbands, and settling disputes between neighbours that often descended into violence. She had recently started a campaign against a carrier who ill-treated his horses. This led Frances to wonder what the streets of the metropolis would be like if horse transport became a thing of the past, apart, necessarily, from the carrying of heavy loads and drawing omnibuses, and the roads were otherwise populated entirely by bicycles and tricycles, carrying people to their destinations. Quieter, certainly, and cleaner, with better air. Would she miss the constant noise of harness, hooves and the turn of carriage wheels? What would happen to the unneeded horses and how would coachmen and carriage-makers fare? She had no answers.
Sarah had said nothing more about her wedding plans, but she seemed content. On the evenings when both she and Frances were at home they sat companionably in the parlour, and practised speaking in signs. They were not as proficient as deaf children, but by confining their studies to the most used words and the alphabet they found it a valuable skill, and given the circumstances of their forthcoming mission, felt that a little practice would not come amiss.
There was one other important preparation Frances had made for her visit to the race meeting, the construction of her new divided skirt and polonaise, which were by far the most expensive and elegant garments she had ever purchased. Once the costume, in a beautiful shade of muted violet, was complete, she put it on and took some turns in front of a mirror. She found the ensemble both elegant and practical. She had instructed her dressmaker that she required the costume for the purposes of playing lawn tennis, and therefore lightness was essential. The skirts, in a fabric appropriate to the summer months, had been carefully cut to give the impression of fullness yet required far less volume and weight of material than was usual. In walking she was not nearly so encumbered as she had been before, and could therefore move more freely and with greater energy, yet nothing in the new fashion offended any notions of decency. Whether it was possible to ride a bicycle in such an ensemble she rather doubted, because the two parts of the skirt were still wider and heavier than the legs of trousers, but it would be a great boon if she ever had to climb another fence, especially if she used the trouser fasteners to hold some of the fabric at bay. After some experimenting she saw that it was a definite improvement. With that in mind, she put the trouser fasteners in her reticule. A lady detective never knew when she might need them.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The day of the Bayswater Bicycle Club’s annual summer race meeting promised to be fine and dry, and there was a good breeze to help cool the riders. Since Cedric had attended a similar meeting in the previous spring, he was able to tell Frances during the journey there what she might expect. Goldsmith’s Cricket Ground was to be open to the public from late morning, and a substantial turnout was anticipated since all amateur riders were eligible to enter the competitions, and their families and friends and all other interested spectators were welcome to attend. The hours before luncheon were mainly devoted to social interaction, taking advantage of numerous opportunities to purchase refreshments and anything bicycle related, the provision of lessons by experienced wheelmen for those eager to learn, promenades of new machines, the contest for the best turned-out bicycle, and some of the minor races. The more demanding competitions were to begin after luncheon at two o’clock and continue throughout the afternoon with a necessary break for tea, culminating in a grand prizegiving.
A sixpenny ticket purchased from the club or at the gate would ensure entry to all the amenities but a more expensive ticket, which Cedric had already secured for them all, included luncheon and tea. ‘We are promised that this will be even bigger and better attended than the last meeting,’ said Cedric, as they boarded the cab. He handed Frances a copy of the club programme. Ratty, who rarely had the opportunity to travel by that mode of transport, found a comfortable place in one corner, and stared out of the window in wrapt fascination. ‘The leading manufacturers of wheeled machines will be there to tell us all about their innovations,’ Cedric continued. ‘The races will be very thrilling. Ladies will find it a perfect feast of manly beauty. There will be single young gentlemen of athletic proportions as far as the eye can see.’
‘C’n I go ridin’?’ asked Ratty.
‘Of course you can,’ said Cedric.
Ratty squirmed in excited anticipation.
‘The meeting last summer was due to take place very soon after the murder of Mr Vance,’ reflected Frances. ‘Or was it cancelled out of respect?’
‘No, his parents insisted that the club should not cancel it, and it was agreed to hold the event in his honour. I understand there were many affecting tributes, collections for charities to be donated in Vance’s name, and the inauguration of a special cup for the most sporting wheelman. It will be awarded for the first time today and we anticipate that Goring will receive the accolade.’
Frances studied the race list. ‘There is a ladies’ tricycle race,’ she said. ‘If I was not otherwise occupied I might almost think to enter it. I’m sure I could give a good account of myself.’
‘The ladies are very keen on that competition,’ said Cedric. ‘Quite as much as the men – in fact, probably more so as it is their only race.’
‘Then there ought to be more,’ said Frances severely. ‘The only real attempt to enable ladies to ride bicycles was by devising great awkward machines to accommodate heavy skirts that were of no practical use, when from my observation the trouser has already been invented. Can men not see what is before their eyes?’
‘Miss John has declared that she will abandon ladies’ garments altogether in favour of the trouser.’
‘Has she? In public? I am not quite sure the world is ready for that.’
Ratty sniggered.
‘Perhaps it is not, but I hope one day it will be. It is only common sense. I think that all men should be made to wear female clothing for at least one day and then they will see how cumbrous it is.’
Cedric’s eyes opened wide and he was silent for several minutes.
Arriving in East Acton, they passed by the entrance to Springfield Lodge and saw BBC members taking their bicycles out and wheeling them towards the cricket ground, which was very close by.
Theirs was not the only cab drawing up in front of the entrance to the ground, although other arrivals were travelling in by bicycle and tricycle, and there were couples treadling in on sociables. Frances commented on how convenient the sociable must be for friends and married people, and Cedric said, ‘Oh yes, apart from the drawback that one must have a coach house to keep it in, because of the size, you know. Not a racing vehicle, of course. But they are becoming more popular all the time. It is said that in time they will replace the hansom, which has rather upset cabdrivers.’
Cedric handed Frances down from the cab, a gallantry he had had to avoid doing when she had been in male attire, and Ratty jumped down, all eagerness, as if he was on springs. ‘I shall fetch my bicycle from the coach house and rejoin you very shortly,’ said Cedric. ‘The club machines are to go into a tent on the field, and there will be lessons given gratis. We are hoping to gain many new members. It will be so jolly!’ He hurried away.
As Frances, accompanied by Ratty, showed their tickets at the gate, and entered the large open space of the cricket ground, she saw not so much the prospect of jollity but a great number of opportunities for committing crime. Anyone with sixpence, old, young, male, female, could enter the grounds and wander at will about the field. Most visitors were in pairs or groups, but there were a few individual men, and while many were doubtless there to sample the new pastime, Frances felt sure that a significant number had no interest in bicycling and were bent only on mischief. How many of the youths who paid their fee for the afternoon were out to make a profit from thieving, or meeting with criminal contacts, and passing messages and stolen items unsuspected? Was the club involved, or were its members simply the innocent providers of an opportunity for exchange?
‘What do you see?’ she asked Ratty.
He grinned. ‘Lotta things. Buyin’, sellin’, pickpocketin’, all sorts.’
‘Well, just for once you must look but do nothing. Once Mr Garton returns, walk about the field, and report back to me when you can.’
Frances tried to get a measure of how the field was laid out. It was an irregular shape, which she knew from her map to be roughly rectangular. At one end was a handsome little whitewashed pavilion with the flags of the East Acton cricket club and the Bayswater Bicycle Club quivering in the breeze. A veranda at the front of the house was provided with tables and chairs. One could enter the pavilion by a set of central wooden stairs but there were also rows of deeper steps on either side, occupied by chairs for spectators. Other onlookers were catered for by a single row of bench seating forming an oval around the field, but there was also a substantial amount of space for those who preferred to stand.
The main grassy area of the playing field had been marked out with a double row of poles and ropes for use as a bicycle track, with gaps here and there for access, although this also gave onlookers the choice of crossing the track to watch the races from inside the course. Only the central area of the field was covered with a protective tarpaulin and roped around presumably to dissuade visitors from walking on it. Surrounding the track and outside the bench seating were a variety of tents, stalls and enclosures.
A tent had been erected in one corner of the field, to which club’s wheelmen were bringing their mounts, and there was a signboard advertising free quarter hour lessons for beginners, and afternoon hire of bicycles at reduced fees. The Bayswater men were evident in their uniforms, but once they had their caps on, Frances found that from a distance they all looked rather alike, apart from Mr Toop, whose rotund figure marked him out. She wondered if one of them was the special agent sent by the silver-haired gentleman to join the club, possibly the mysterious Gideon he had mentioned.
Another tent formed a repository for accommodating the bicycles of visiting contestants, and there was also a larger roped-off area for the spectators’ machines, perfect places, thought Frances, for the exchange of news and messages with people from outside the club. An enclosure had been provided in the name of Hicks, the East Acton blacksmith, offering small repairs on the spot, with Jack Linnett and another apprentice on hand. Frances had no doubt that there would be a constant flow of custom there.
Several merchants were displaying a wide selection of used bicycles for sale. They also offered velocipedes, a design that had surely had its day, but one that had given birth to the swifter, lighter, more elegant bicycle.
Cedric returned to the field with his bicycle and wheeled it over to the club tent, then he came to join Frances and Ratty. Sarah and Professor Pounder had just arrived and began walking together, arm-in-arm, looking very comfortable. Their glances about the field appeared to be no more than the natural interest of visitors, but Frances knew that they were watching carefully. A small hand sign from Sarah told her that all was well. Tom, who was rather small for his age, began moving about the field showing an innocent childlike interest in anything and everything, smart enough to be engaging, but never going so far as to invite suspicion.
Ratty, who was much the taller of the two boys, could pass as an older youth, just the sort of lad who looked ready to enter the world of the wheel, and he hurried away to get a closer look at the bicycles for hire. Frances watched him go with an almost sisterly pride. She recalled her first meeting with him; a ragged urchin, unable to read or write, with a strong natural intelligence and an ingrained terror of authority. The support of Frances and Cedric had given him confidence and an education. The scars of his younger life would never fully heal, but they would not now prevent him making a good future for himself. He had even started working as a private informant to the police force.
‘Ah, the wheelman’s paradise!’ said Cedric, taking a deep breath to inhale the grassy scent. ‘All one could wish for is here, and there are novelties impossible to imagine until one has actually seen them.’ He offered Frances his arm, she took it, and together they began to tour the field.
All around the perimeter, tradesmen were busy setting up stalls displaying every addition to the bicycle that industry and ingenuity could create. Moving casually from each one to the next Frances was fascinated by the sheer number of ways in which manufacturers were anticipating and catering to the needs of the enthusiast. There were special paints and enamels to protect machines against the weather, devices for lighting one’s way in the dark, carrying bags that fitted neatly and unobtrusively behind the saddle and claimed to hold everything the touring man might require, and tins of concentrated meat lozenges, a single one of which was said to be as nourishing as a meal. Individual parts of both bicycles and tricycles were laid out on trestles, displayed like the sections of a disarticulated skeleton. Here were wheels, tyres, forks, spokes, oil cans, bells, ball bearings, cranks, pedals, treadles, and saddles. The amateur with less money to spend could purchase the ‘bicycle cabinet’, a boxed collection of parts that he could take home together with a set of instructions for making his own bicycle. There was everything the rider might wish to wear – suits, stockings, jockey caps, polo caps and rubber rain capes. Understandably there was also a selection of liniments and rubbing oils to anoint sore muscles and heal sprains.
Non-bicyclists could purchase sweetmeats and bottles of aerated waters in a wide variety of flavours, and, in anticipation of a large female attendan
ce, there was a selection of refreshing colognes to cool the skin in hot weather. Frances reminded herself that wherever conversation, money and products were being exchanged, so could other less commendable things.
More bicyclists were arriving in substantial numbers, displaying a variety of club uniforms mostly in sombre colours, although there were some that stood out in vibrant blue and light brown ornamented with silver and gold braid. The spectators who strolled around the field were dressed as for a summer outing, although the scene was less of an ostentatious fashion parade than Hyde Park, and in Frances’ opinion, none the worse for it.
From time to time Tom or Ratty passed by Sarah and Pounder and after a few moments came close to Frances. A brief nod suggested that there was nothing to report.
The turn about the field brought Frances and Cedric in front of the pavilion. Some apron-clad ladies had emerged from the building and were busy laying the veranda tables with cloths, china and cutlery, ready for the sandwich and salad luncheons and the scone and cake teas that were to follow. Might those ladies be the purveyors of secrets as well, wondered Frances? Ladies could be spies just as well as men, perhaps better, she thought, because they were less likely to be suspected, and conversations that men dismissed contemptuously as gossip and did not bother to attend to could have a serious purpose.
To one side of the pavilion there was a small dais with a set of steps leading up to a platform, and on a table beside it, under the watchful eye of an attendant, was a modest collection of silver cups and medals in a locked glass case. A small group of men, already perspiring in heavy bandsmen’s uniforms and carrying brass instruments, drums and music stands, were matching in line to a place near the dais, and began to arrange a convenient situation from which to entertain the crowds. A placard painted in maroon and gold, the same colours as their uniforms, announced them to be the Acton Brass Ensemble.
Murder at the Bayswater Bicycle Club Page 10
