Murder at the Bayswater Bicycle Club

by Linda Stratmann

  There was just a hint of chill in the air. The wind had started up blustery and James Jepson was having a struggle with some twisted bunting that had pulled loose from the podium and was threatening to fly away. ‘I’ll give him a helping hand,’ said Cedric. ‘You go on to the pavilion and order our tea. The largest pot they have. And make sure we have Bakewell tart, it’s Mrs Pirrie’s speciality.’

  As Frances walked on she watched people still deep in debate about the last race, looking for who was speaking to whom. Miss Jepson and her lady friends were in earnest conversation with Iliffe, who seemed to be reassuring them that he was unharmed. Babbit had decided to keep his distance and was surrounded by members of his own club, who were commiserating with him for the unfortunate end to the race. Frances wondered how far the attraction between Iliffe and Miss Jepson had advanced. She hoped it was not too far so that the unfortunate lady would suffer the least possible sorrow when she learned of his disgrace.

  Mrs Pirrie had emerged from the kitchen with her helpers, and they were standing on the veranda to view the proceedings. She was gazing about her anxiously and Frances realised that she must still be hoping for Sir Hugo’s return. There was something in her expression and posture that suggested she was thinking that so much anger and chaos would never have happened had Sir Hugo been there to keep an eye on things.

  As Frances was about to mount the steps she noticed something small fluttering in the grass at the side of the pavilion. A discarded handkerchief, perhaps, or a crumpled leaflet. Ordinarily she might not have taken a look, but today she was on the alert, bound to examine anything unusual. Moving closer she saw what it was, a yellow ribbon, possibly one dropped from the over-trimmed hat of Miss Hicks, the blacksmith’s daughter. The ribbons, she recalled, had been plain yellow but this one unusually was patterned with spots of red. She picked it up and saw to her concern that the red was not a pattern but drops of what was probably blood. She also realised that the ribbon had not fallen because it was stitched badly; broken ends of thread and frayed material showed that it had been torn away from the hat. She looked around but Miss Hicks was nowhere in sight, and she could not remember having seen her at all during the race. Walking further along the side of the pavilion she saw the brim of the hat on the grass, protruding a little way from behind the building, its ribbons flapping fitfully in the breeze like the tentacles of a beached sea creature.

  It was with a familiar sense of dread that Frances hurried to the corner and peered around it. Miss Hicks was lying on her back, stretched out on the grass, motionless, her arms flung wide. Several of her hat ribbons were tied tightly around her neck, cutting deeply into the tissue, compressing the throat beyond any possibility of drawing breath. There was no obvious knot, but that might have been at the back of the neck, suggesting that she had been strangled from behind. Her mouth was open as if in a final protest, and her eyes stared out blindly, the whites suffused with blood. Some drops of blood had oozed from her nostrils, and it might have been these that had stained the fallen ribbon that Frances had picked up. Apart from the open mouth and staring eyes the girl seemed calm. In the coarse silk dress, with hair piled in a series of rolls and curls, a flush on her cheeks like red paint, the body looked like a life-sized china doll.

  Miss Hicks was undoubtedly dead. Even if Frances could have instantly cut the silk away, it would not have saved her. Frances had seen death before. She had seen it in those she cared for, and in strangers. She had seen bodies newly dead and others corrupted by time. Having never known the victim she nevertheless felt pity for youth so horribly cut short. Even if the girl had been all that was said of her, she might still have had a lifetime to mend her ways. Frances waited a moment to calm herself, then carefully surveyed the body and the scene.

  Other than the marks of strangulation there was no obvious sign of injury and apart from the loss of the hat, the corpse’s clothes were not disturbed. Even the hands were clean. The attack must have been sudden, unexpected, perhaps from someone she knew and trusted, who had impulsively used the long floating ribbons to commit murder, rendering the victim unconscious almost immediately before she had a chance to resist, and then tightening them with savage finality. She had obviously been killed exactly where she lay. There were no signs either in the grass or on her clothes that she had been dragged to the spot, and it defied belief that she had been carried there without anyone noticing.

  Frances looked around, to see where there might have been a witness to the event, but the location was secluded and away from the eyes of the crowds. All that lay behind the pavilion was an expanse of fields and distant trees. Not far from where the body lay was a small back door into the pavilion. Either the girl had walked around the side of the pavilion or through it to the back door. Frances touched nothing, she did not even walk near to or around the body in case some clue lay in the grass for the police to find. She retraced her steps, returning to the front of the pavilion, where she saw Cedric standing looking around for her.

  ‘Oh, there you are. I was beginning to worry. In fact —’ he stared at her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Where is Inspector Sharrock?’

  ‘Over there, preparing to give his speech. Why?’

  The Inspector was standing at the base of the podium staring at a sheet of paper, his lips moving as he perused the words, his expression showing no great anticipation that he was about to enjoy giving his talk.

  Frances hurried to him. ‘Inspector!’

  ‘What is it now?’ he said testily.

  ‘There has been a murder.’

  A number of emotions played across his features. At last he said, ‘Where? When?’

  Frances was still clasping the ribbon she had picked up. His eyes moved to it and he saw the spots of blood. ‘This afternoon. There is a body behind the pavilion.’

  He stuffed the paper into his pocket.

  ‘Ah, Inspector,’ said Toop running up with a smile, ‘we’ll be ready for your talk very soon.’

  ‘Talk’s cancelled,’ said Sharrock. He took Frances by the arm and strode away. Toop stood and stared in helpless bewilderment, then made to hurry after them, but both he and Cedric were quietly dissuaded by Constable Mayberry before he joined his superior.

  All was as it had been except that the fallen hat had been moved a little by the wind. Sharrock leaned over the body, and it was clear that he too knew from a glance that there was no hope. ‘What have you touched?’

  ‘Nothing. I picked up this ribbon before I found her. That was why I found her. It led me to the body.’

  ‘Do you know who she is?’

  ‘Yes, she is Miss Hicks, daughter of the local blacksmith. He isn’t here but his wife and her sister are in the pavilion helping Mrs Pirrie with the tea.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do for her. Mayberry, you’d better get Sergeant Hambling here at once. It’s a good thing he’s brought constables with him because we’re going to have to make sure that no one leaves the ground before we have everyone’s name and address. I’ll get the relatives taken aside and speak to them. One of them will have to formally identify her. Then we start asking questions. I want to look at everyone’s hands. The killer might have marks from that ribbon if we’re lucky.’

  Mayberry nodded and hurried away.

  ‘Most of the men here ride bicycles,’ said Frances. ‘I doubt there’ll be one without some sort of graze on him.’ She slipped her hands into her pockets as she said so, and fortunately Sharrock was so wrapt in thought he didn’t notice the movement. ‘Still, a cut from a silk ribbon and a scrape from a fall will look very different.’

  Mayberry returned with Sergeant Hambling, who paused and shook his head as he saw the body.

  ‘Who is the nearest doctor?’ asked Sharrock.

  ‘That would be Jepson. He ought to be here as his son is racing, but I’ve not seen him. I’ll get my constables to look.’

  ‘He — er —’ began Frances.

  Both Hambling and Sharro
ck turned and stared at her.

  ‘He was here but then he was called away on an emergency. I don’t think he has returned.’

  Sharrock’s eyes narrowed, but he made no comment. ‘Barraclough, then,’ said Hambling. ‘He’s at Church Road in Acton. I’ll send a constable to fetch him.’ He left quickly.

  Sharrock turned to Frances. ‘Miss Doughty, since you have already assured me that you are here purely for amusement and not business, might I suggest you re-join your friends and — now I know this might be hard for you — please take no further part in the investigation of this crime.’ His tone indicted that this was less of a suggestion than a command.

  Frances nodded. ‘You are quite right, Inspector. It will be hard.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Frances obediently withdrew, but not as far as Sharrock might have liked. She watched the development of events from a distance, and could even overhear some of the orders being given. Since she alone of all the civilians, apart from the murderer, knew what had occurred she was able to interpret what she saw and heard. Police actions progressed rapidly and as unobtrusively as possible. Sergeant Hambling and his men, under the direction of Inspector Sharrock, took charge of the area where the body lay, and formed a human barrier beyond which visitors were not permitted to go. One of the Acton constables was ordered to commandeer a bicycle to fetch Surgeon Barraclough, and in view of the large numbers present at the cricket ground, he was also to telegraph the Hammersmith police for further assistance. Sharrock deputised Mayberry to take Toop aside for a quiet conversation to put him in the picture, then prepared to break the terrible news to the family. Even though it was an unpleasant duty he had performed many times before, Frances could still see the Inspector taking a moment to steel himself before entering the pavilion.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Cedric. ‘It’s not that convict is it? Has he been found?’

  Frances drew him aside and spoke quietly. ‘I’m sorry to say that I have just found a body. Miss Hicks. She was behind the pavilion, and she has been murdered.’ Cedric stared at her in appalled silence. Moments later they heard cries of distress from within the pavilion. ‘Inspector Sharrock has just informed her mother and aunt.’

  Cedric put his arm around Frances’ shoulders and gave her a cousinly hug. ‘And now, of course, I really must take you home. No arguments this time.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Inspector Sharrock has decreed that no one can leave until we have all been questioned, so I couldn’t go home even if I wanted to, and neither can you, or indeed anyone here.’

  ‘But that will take hours!’ he gasped.

  ‘They have summoned additional forces from Hammersmith.’

  ‘Oh, what a tragedy! This has been the most horrible day imaginable. First the attempt on Sir Hugo, then the demise of honourable sport and now this. Is there nothing I can do? Any assistance at all — I am your man!’

  Frances gave this some thought. ‘The Inspector has told Miss Hicks’s mother and aunt, and I am assuming that someone will be sent to the smithy to tell her father, but what about Jack Linnett? He will need a friend with him when he hears the news.’

  Cedric nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll stand by him. Prepare him for the worst.’ He hurried to the repair enclosure, and Frances saw him take the youth gently by the arm and lead him aside. Although Frances did not suspect Jack Linnett of the murder any more than anyone else, she thought that in due course knowing how he had taken the news could be useful.

  By now, the police activity had alerted most of those present that something unusual was happening. People began to gather in the area of the pavilion, and saw the human barrier of police preventing access to the back of the building, and a constable stationed at the door. Rumours were beginning to fly about, some suggesting that the convict Coote had been trapped inside and was about to be captured, others that there had been an outbreak of food poisoning in the kitchens, and no one was allowed to enter, still others that there had been a terrible accident and a doctor was on his way. Frances said nothing. She assumed that Mrs Hicks and her sister had been led to view the body by the back door as she did not see them.

  Tom had been threading his way carefully through the crowd and quickly reached Frances. ‘What’s up?’ he hissed. ‘P’lice is all over. ‘Oo’s dead, then?’

  ‘Miss Hicks, the blacksmith’s daughter,’ whispered Frances. ‘She’s been strangled. Make sure that Sarah and Professor Pounder and Ratty and Mr Grove all know.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Not sure I seen Mr Grove much this last ’alf ’our. Dunno what ’e’s up to. Law to ’imself that one.’ He hurried away.

  As Frances waited for more news she tried to recall when it was that she had last seen the murdered girl. She had definitely seen her moving amongst the young gentlemen during the luncheon period, but had not noticed her particularly since. Then she recalled Cedric saying she had given him a ribbon after he had failed to win the two-mile race. That could only have been minutes before the professionals’ race began. The crowds had then been numerous and pressing as Iliffe and Babbit had arrived for their duel, and all eyes had been on the bicyclists. All eyes including her own, Frances realised with a feeling of deep shame, as she recognised that she had been caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment and not continued her observations as carefully as she ought to have done. It was no matter that she had already promised Cedric that she would return home soon afterwards, there was no excuse for such a terrible lapse of attention.

  It did mean, however, that Miss Hicks had most probably been killed during the race. Had her killer planned the murder? Frances thought not, since it seemed like an action taken in the heat of the moment, and not with any means the killer had brought in preparation, but by strangling the victim with her own ribbons. The meeting, on the other hand, could well have been planned, even if it had only been arranged that day. Miss Hicks had walked about the field and spoken to many of the young men there. In one of those conversations perhaps an interview had been arranged, and all by word of mouth with no evidence left to find. The ideal time for a meeting that was meant to be unobserved was when everyone’s attention would be elsewhere. The professionals’ race was the perfect opportunity. And the location was out of the way and out of sight. But what was the subject of the conversation? Whatever had been discussed, the encounter had erupted into murderous violence.

  Frances next turned her thoughts to who could not possibly have committed the murder. There were of course the teeming crowds around the racetrack, but the only individuals she could be sure of were Cedric, who had been by her side throughout, the five men who had taken part in the race, and the handicapper who was continuously watching the proceedings. There were, on the other hand, two men who she did not think had been on the field at the time – Peters, Mr Hopper’s brutish assistant, and Mr Grove. Now she thought about it, Hopper had been looking about for someone or something, and this could well have been the absent Peters. The other great unknown, however, was the convict Mr Coote. Could Miss Hicks have somehow been involved in that business?

  The other thought engaging Frances was the behaviour of the people who were at the event. It was a cool individual who could commit a murder in the heat of the moment and then not look flustered. Now she considered it, there were a number of people who had seemed less than calm that day, even before the murder had taken place. Ross-Fielder and his family had appeared unhappy but that was almost certainly because of their concern about the escape of the convict Coote. George Farrow had also seemed anxious, although that could have been due to his bullying father who was angry at Sir Hugo’s non-appearance. His worried scanning of the crowds could have been in the hope of seeing Sir Hugo’s arrival, but what had he seen that had so caught his attention? Mrs Pirrie, even though she had been told where Sir Hugo was supposed to be, had revealed a growing concern about his continued absence. Mr Toop was flustered and nervous but that was understandable since he was trying to supervise an ev
ent in which the patron had unaccountably gone missing, and he was having to make some emergency decisions.

  Frances glanced across the field to where Cedric had taken Jack Linnett aside, holding him firmly by the shoulder as he talked to him. Jack put his face in his hands and sobbed, and Cedric supplied a handkerchief.

  At last, with the gathering crowds becoming increasingly restive, Inspector Sharrock emerged from the pavilion and made his way brusquely through the throng to the podium, where he mounted the platform, picked up the speaking trumpet and gestured for silence. The chatterers fell into an expectant hush.

  ‘Ladies and gents, I’m sorry to have to tell you that no one is allowed to leave the cricket ground at present, except on police business.’ A groan arose, but he quelled it with a gesture. ‘There has been a very serious incident, and it may be necessary to ask questions of you all. I will be using the tearoom to conduct interviews. Please be patient and the better the co-operation you give to the police the sooner you’ll be allowed home.’

  He made to descend, but there was a torrent of shouted questions. Sharrock paused, held up his hands for silence once more, and spoke again. ‘That is all I intend to say for now. I will make another announcement in due course.’ This time he ignored the calls for answers, put down the speaking trumpet and returned indoors.

  The curiosity of the assembled throng was freshly fuelled. The most devoted gossips divided their energies between inventing speculation that was almost as bad as the reality, and trying to extract information from those constables with whom they were acquainted. The constables stayed true to their duty and remained sternly impassive.

  Some minutes later, a new sensation swept through the field as Surgeon Barraclough arrived in a fly and was conducted to the rear of the pavilion by constables who were under orders to ensure that none but the medical man should approach the scene of the crime. The crowd pressed after him with questions but he simply shook his head and waved them away with his top hat.