Murder at the Bayswater Bicycle Club

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘He will, yes. He hasn’t ridden a bicycle since, and today I think he is only here to award the cup in his brother’s name, and see his memory honoured.’ She looked wistful, and seemed about to rise and go about her business again.

  ‘I expect the police must have asked you all a lot of questions,’ Frances prompted.

  ‘Yes, they came and talked to all of us to find out where we had been in the last hour. Not that anyone would have harmed Mr Vance, but they thought we might have seen something suspicious.’

  ‘And had anyone?’

  ‘No, well at the time of the murder we were almost all of us in the lodge having our tea. Mr Ross-Fielder was riding up from his home – he didn’t see anyone near where he found poor Mr Vance – and Mr Toop had gone to see his mother.’

  ‘Mr Toop didn’t ride?’

  ‘No, he looked after the coach house.’

  ‘So after the riders came back, there was no one looking after the coach house?’

  ‘Oh, there was, because Mr Iliffe very kindly volunteered to do it. I said to him, “But Mr Iliffe, you don’t want to miss your tea,” and he said I wasn’t to worry about that as he would come in and have it later. But then I thought to myself, he will need some refreshment after the ride, so I asked Mr Waterfield to take a cup of tea and a sandwich plate out to him, and very grateful for it he was, too.’

  ‘Did you tell the police about the sociable?’

  ‘Oh yes. I think it must have been a lady and gent out for a ride on their own machine who decided to turn around and go back the way they had come, and the easiest way to do that is to come down the carriage drive and go out again. I’ve seen folks do that before, on tricycles, too. If they know Sir Hugo they’ll know he won’t object.’

  ‘Did the couple ever come forward?’

  Mrs Pirrie shook her head. ‘I don’t believe they did. I read about the trial in the newspapers of course, but there was no witness who’d been riding about in a sociable that day.’

  ‘Do you remember how they were dressed? Was the man in a club uniform?’

  ‘No, he was just in a gent’s suit, and the lady wore a cape.’

  ‘Would you recognise them again if you saw them?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so; well, I only saw them from the back. I told the police everything I knew.’

  ‘What a dreadful tragedy!’ Frances exclaimed. ‘And I heard there was a man hanged for it. A farmer, wasn’t he?’

  Mrs Pirrie wrinkled her nose. ‘Pig-man. Nasty low sort. He got what he deserved.’

  ‘There was no doubt that he was guilty? I mean, with there not being any witnesses?’

  ‘Well who else could it have been? He’d threatened violence against all bicycling gentlemen again and again. That poor boy of his, you know young Jack Linnett who mends the bicycles, that’s his son. The father led him a terrible life, and the lad is well rid of him. Chalk and cheese those two. The lad’s a good lad and I won’t hear a word against him.’

  There was a cheer from the field as the last race of the morning, a two-mile for novices, laboured to a finish.

  ‘They’ll be wanting their lunches soon,’ said Mrs Pirrie, standing up. ‘I’d better get on.’

  Frances studied the race list. The first events after luncheon were the short rides for seniors, then there were one-and two-mile handicaps in the second, of which Cedric was entered. After that was the much anticipated three-mile for professionals, and a break for tea, followed by the amateur champion of champions long-distance race. Frances knew that by rights she ought to have gone home immediately after Sir Hugo had been borne to safety. She wondered if the silver-haired gentleman would be angry with her for disobeying him. Mr Grove, however, who was present and nominally in control of the mission, had not ordered her away. Perhaps he had the authority to change the rules as events unfolded.

  Inevitably she contrasted the attitudes of Cedric and Mr Grove. Cedric was so worried about her safety that she had been obliged to promise him she would go home as soon as he had raced. Mr Grove, on the other hand, accepted without complaint that she could remain in a place of potential danger, a position that she found both frightening and exciting. She began to wonder what Miss Dauntless would have done.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Mr Toop ascended the dais once more to announce that there would be an interval of one hour in which luncheon could be had. Refreshments, thought Frances, were for many an essential part of the day’s entertainment, and sure enough, from her vantage point on the veranda she saw a drift of visitors approaching like a shoal of hungry fish coming to feed. Fortunately, there was an indoor tearoom for those who had not yet secured their table outside. Others had brought picnic baskets and were sitting on the benches laying out feasts of cold roast fowl, ham and bread and butter, or spreading blankets on the grass and opening bottles of aerated lemonade. The bright field resembled the green canvas of a painting, with summer dresses displayed like patches of flowers.

  Frances studied the scene for familiar faces and unusual incidents. Cedric was having his bicycle checked over by Jack Linnett and Maud Jepson was being carefully squired by her brother. Frances wondered if those deadly rivals Iliffe and Babbit were likely to meet again, but neither was in plain sight. They were probably mingling with groups of other similarly uniformed bicyclists. She thought she saw Mr Grove on one occasion, but he was adept at hiding in a crowd and no sooner had she noticed him than he had vanished.

  Mr Hopper was lurking by the scoreboard waiting for business. Every so often he delved into his pocket, removed something that he examined closely and then put it back. Frances thought it could be a roll of banknotes, or a betting book. The velocipede of his bulky assistant Peters was grinding about the field, although he occasionally paused to take a bite out of a large pie.

  A flutter of yellow ribbons marked out the elaborate bonnet of Miss Hicks, the blacksmith’s imprudent daughter. She paraded herself around the groups of bicyclists in the manner of a street vendor displaying a tray of confectionary and occasionally stopped to speak to them, but they appeared disinclined to engage her in any but the briefest of conversations. Some actually tipped their hats in dismissal, and turned away from her, and she was obliged to move on. She passed the blacksmith’s enclosure, but did not pause in her walk to speak to her father’s apprentices. Miss Hicks, thought Frances, was learning an important lesson. Flirting with young gentlemen above one’s station was something to be conducted in private. Any attempt at coquettish behaviour in front of their friends and relations would meet with a very cold response.

  Sarah and Professor Pounder took a table on the veranda nearby. Signs were exchanged to the effect that there was nothing new to report, but they kept strictly to their agreement not to converse without good reason to preserve the secrecy of the mission. Nevertheless, they spoke loudly enough for Frances to learn that the Professor had reported the suspicious behaviour of a youth who appeared to be planning to steal the trophies while an associate created a diversion, and Sarah had apprehended a pickpocket and handed him in to the police. Tom was moving about the tables offering handbills from bicycle manufacturers. He winked at Frances as he passed by but said nothing. She was beginning to suspect that he and Ratty had known all about Mr Grove’s true identity for some time and had possibly even carried messages for him, but had been sworn to silence. She resolved to pay far more attention the next time the boys exchanged significant glances.

  As Frances ate her salad lunch she realised how dreadfully she missed not being able to share her thoughts with Sarah. She was also obeying the strict orders of the silver-haired gentleman not to write anything down in a notebook, and she could see the good sense of this. She was obliged therefore to sit alone and revolve in her mind all that had occurred to date, and consider what mysteries remained unresolved.

  The most important questions were who had drugged Sir Hugo and what precisely did they hope to gain by it? What had Sir Hugo intended to do in London and what was the
subject of his proposed meeting with General Farrow? What was Jack Linnett hiding? And who had attacked Mr Grove? While it was obvious that these events were all part of a larger conspiracy, Frances wondered if there was any connection between them and the escaped convict Coote? Who had vandalised Ross-Fielder’s bicycle? Who was EDW who had abandoned his velocipede in the old garden at Springfield Lodge? Who were the couple in the sociable who had failed to come forward after the murder of Morton Vance? In fact, who had actually killed Vance? The more Frances thought about it, the more she felt certain that Sam Linnett had been convicted simply because of his prior threats and his unsavoury demeanour and not because of any evidence that proved he was the murderer.

  Regarding her mission, Frances’ observation was that the opportunities to pass secret information were so numerous it was impossible for her to distinguish what was significant, what was normal commerce and what might be related to some other criminal activity. Mr Hopper, for example; was he simply operating an illegal betting business, or dipping his toes into something larger?

  It was a very good luncheon but Frances hardly tasted it. She knew that once Cedric had raced, she must leave and all those questions would remain unanswered. Even if she stayed she was hardly likely to be able to answer them in a single afternoon.

  Nearby, Rufus Goring was enjoying his luncheon in the company of Miss Farrow, her brother George and the General. It was a friendly enough gathering, and Mr Goring was in a cheerful mood discussing the races that had taken place so far and wishing young Farrow good luck in the two-mile. Miss Farrow said almost nothing, but simply smiled a great deal, which appeared to be all that was required of her. The General was not in the best of moods. He had the demeanour of a man who valued his time and did not like it wasted by the incompetence of others. Not only was Sir Hugo not there for the arranged meeting without leaving any message to say when he might return, but he had then been asked to make an impromptu speech. No amount of salad, however good, would compensate for that.

  Miss Farrow was not a girl of exceptional attractions, but she had made the most of the portion she had been allotted. Her gown and bonnet were delicate and fashionable and she had manners to match. She liked to emphasise her charms by touching the glossy golden curls clustering at her temples, smoothing the soft silk of her skirt and inspecting the pristine lace of her gloves. Every so often she gazed at Mr Goring’s face as if mesmerised by the beauty of his moustache. Curiously, she did not address him directly and he did not address her. Whatever their interest in each other it did not include conversation. Both, thought Frances, laid great store by appearances, and she wondered if there was any great character within either.

  George Farrow, while accepting good wishes for the forthcoming race, looked a little nervous. He seemed unable to settle comfortably, and ate almost nothing. While he was making an effort to attend to the conversation it was clear that his thoughts were elsewhere. Occasionally he allowed his gaze to flicker across the field but whatever or whoever he was looking for was not at first apparent. Then he gave a more intense stare. Frances tried to follow his line of sight. Who was he looking at? Mr Grove was talking to Jack Linnett, Miss Hicks was fluttering her ribbons at Mr Toop, who appeared not to find them at all interesting, and Peters had just ridden past the veranda on his velocipede. Could it be one of these, or another person entirely who had so interested him?

  ‘George!’ snapped the General. ‘Pay attention, won’t you! If Sir Hugo doesn’t appear, you must send him a letter first thing tomorrow, and this time make sure he knows when I expect to see him!’

  ‘Yes, father,’ said George. He hung his head over his plate and stirred its contents with his fork.

  ‘I hope you are not taking any notice of that dreadful hussy,’ said Miss Farrow. ‘What a fright she is in that horrid dress!’

  ‘I’ve never spoken to her,’ said George.

  Rufus Goring glanced at young Farrow and raised his eyebrows as if to imply that he detected a flaw in that statement.

  ‘I should hope not!’ barked the General.

  ‘Her impudence is extraordinary,’ continued Miss Farrow. ‘Do you know the girl once spoke to me in a most familiar way and hinted that we might become better acquainted in the future. Whatever could she have meant? I would not have her as my laundry maid.’

  There were some further words spoken, but unfortunately they were drowned by the efforts of the Acton Brass Ensemble, which burst vigorously into sound and performed mightily for about half an hour.

  Cedric joined Frances at the table for luncheon and assured her that his bicycle was now at the very peak of its condition and beauty. He didn’t expect to win the race – there were, he was forced to admit, younger men than he in the saddle – but he hoped to give a good account of himself. Cedric, Frances reflected, was always a little imprecise about his age. He occasionally admitted to being in the region of thirty, but never revealed whether the number was less or more. Since he took great care with his appearance he probably hoped to be in the region of thirty for many years to come.

  There was another small gathering on the veranda, Henry Ross-Fielder, accompanied by a couple who were obviously his parents and a young man who, like the father, also wore a clerical collar. Frances recalled Cedric saying that Ross-Fielder’s brother was in the Church, and presumed that this was he. She mused on the question of family resemblances since she could see that Henry Ross-Fielder was a younger version of his father in both face and form, while the non-bicycling clerical brother had the rounder face and more generously proportioned figure of his mother. They seemed like a close-knit and harmonious group, with deep sympathies existing between them. A leaflet was lying on the table they shared, one of those distributed by the Acton police regarding the missing Mr Coote. The reverend gentleman was shaking his head in dismay and Ross-Fielder clasped him sympathetically by the shoulder. The father glanced at him with a look of pain, and after some whispered words, sighed and nodded. Whatever comfort had been offered, it seemed to have little effect. While the sons looked concerned, Mrs Ross-Fielder maintained an enigmatic air and said almost nothing, but every so often the façade of dignity cracked and revealed that she too was troubled.

  At last Mr Toop mounted the platform, speaking trumpet in one hand and a paper in the other. He waved the paper impatiently at the bandleader, who eventually understood that some reduction in sound was required if speeches were to be heard, and the ensemble ground to a stop.

  ‘And now,’ said Mr Toop, ‘we have an exciting programme of events for this afternoon! We have a series of one-mile flat starts for those seniors who did not reach the final twelve for the champions race. Then there are the one-and two-mile intermediate handicaps, and of course the race for professional riders, which I know many of you are anticipating with keen interest. Our own Mr Paul Iliffe,’ here there were cheers from the audience, ‘will be challenged by men from four other clubs. After tea, the last race will of course be the Victor Ludorum! Finally, there will be the grand prizegiving, and that will include the very special award of the Morton Vance memorial cup for the most sporting bicyclist. And I have just been given to understand there will in addition be a very special surprise announcement. What that might be, I cannot of course divulge! You will also be favoured with an address to which I urge you all to pay great attention. Inspector Sharrock of Paddington Green Police will be speaking to you on a very important subject – safety.’

  Sharrock’s speech was undoubtedly important but Frances thought it was not destined to hold the attention of his audience. As she saw it, the police were caught in the middle of two armies who, while not actually at war, were in a state of antagonism. On the one hand there were the carriage drivers whose presence on the road with their horses was a tradition as old as civilisation. Laws had been enacted to protect them and their horses, and also state what a carriage or a rider was permitted to do. Then along came the interloper, the bicycle, which was such a new means of locomotion that it was h
ard to see what it might be allowed to do or prohibited from doing, or even what it actually was. These two factions were vying for the same space, often the same business, and it was a situation fraught with danger. Frances hoped that in time they would come to some amicable arrangement.

  ‘Cedric,’ said Frances, cautiously.

  ‘Ah, I think I know what you are about to ask,’ he said.

  ‘I know I promised you that I would leave once you have ridden, but I am sure you wouldn’t want to miss the professionals’ race, or the champions race or the prize giving. And neither would I.’

  ‘And you want to stay on,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t see any danger about, do you?’

  ‘It’s not visible danger that concerns me. Your friend Grove seems to know the risks and he was still caught out. He is a strong fellow and you are not.’

  ‘But there comes a time when one must be allowed to take risks and make mistakes. You said that your man, Joseph, is horribly afraid for you when you go out on the bicycle, but he wouldn’t try and dissuade you from doing it.’

  Cedric sighed. ‘Very well, this is what we will do. We will watch Iliffe and Babbit have their duel, then go for a nice cup of tea and one of Mrs Pirrie’s lovely cakes, and then we go home. I insist.’

  Unwillingly, Frances was obliged to agree.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The first events of the afternoon were merely to whet the appetite for the keenly anticipated final contests, the professionals’ race and the race of champions.

  Frances felt she would like to see the professionals ride from a closer position than the pavilion and moved to the barrier rope well before the intermediate handicaps started to secure a good view. Compared with the previous races there was some good humour and sportsmanship amongst the competitors, who saw their contests as amusing exercises rather than serious rivalry. The race marshal appointed the riders to their positions and they shook hands before they took their places.