Murder in Belgravia

by Lynn Brittney

  “No, sir.” Arthur interrupted firmly. “Just me and Rigsby being pulled off normal duties. I told them it’s all about investigating old cases. Just boring administration work.”

  “Good man!” Beech was relieved.

  “That one—” Arthur nodded toward the retreating Carter “—is worried that we’re going to sully the reputation of the CID, but he’s also sniffing around to see if he might get his feet under the table. We’ll have to watch him.”

  Beech nodded.

  “I’ve found something, sir,” Arthur continued, “but I need you to identify the man.” He slid the heavy book over to Beech.

  “That’s him,” Beech said with certainty. “He’s put on a bit of weight since then but it’s definitely him.”

  At that point, Billy Rigsby appeared, which caused the CID men to pause whatever they were doing and watch him, stonily, as he made his way across the room.

  “Bit of a chill in here,” observed Billy under his breath to Arthur.

  “Ignore them, lad.”

  “I’ve got the picture of Polly, sir,” Billy said quietly.

  “And we have what we were looking for,” replied Beech, removing the photograph from the file. “Let’s take them down to the printing department.”

  As the trio left, Arthur noted that Carter made a move on the identification books and began to leaf through to find out what they had removed. He sighed.

  So unrelentingly territorial, he thought. We’re going to have to watch Carter. He’s too bloody nosy.

  CHAPTER 10

  The team sat patiently in the library, after breakfast, waiting for the delivery of Polly’s photographs. The printing press at the Yard had worked all night and Beech had already distributed hundreds of photographs of Dodds through the transport network to all London police stations. If he was in London, the beat bobbies would find him. Caroline and Victoria, posing as doctor and nurse, with Victoria dressed in her VAD uniform, would distribute the pictures of Polly to all the volunteer policewomen who were working out of two offices—both in Westminster. Beech had decided that the women police volunteers would be told that Polly was suspected of having a communicable disease and that, on no account, should any of the volunteers approach her, but just telephone in her whereabouts to the team.

  “After all,” commented Beech, “these volunteer women have no powers of detention or arrest and we do not want them to engage with Dodds, if Polly is still in his company. He could be dangerous.”

  It had also been decided, after Caroline had reported her conversation with the hospital pharmacist about the heroin and its likely source, that Arthur and Billy would investigate the London gangs.

  “Dodds, or Sumpter, whatever his real name is, was arrested and tried in the Clerkenwell area,” Arthur observed, “so, I suggest we start with the Sabini gang in Little Italy.”

  “Do you want to be armed?” Beech asked.

  Arthur declined with a shake of the head. “In my experience, sir, the gangs rarely use guns. They prefer to settle their differences with their fists, belt buckles, knives, and razors. But they won’t touch us if we are just making enquiries.”

  Caroline was alarmed. “It all sounds very dangerous, Mr Tollman!”

  Arthur smiled. “Begging your pardon, Doctor Allardyce, but I would rather stick my head in a gang hideout than negotiate with some of the harridans that are running the volunteer policewoman patrols.”

  “Don’t you approve of women getting the vote, Arthur?” asked Victoria with amusement.

  “I can’t say as I approve or disapprove, Mrs E,” replied Arthur in a measured tone. “What I don’t approve of is the violence that some of these women have resorted to in order to further their cause. I have nothing against the normal political protests, of the type undertaken by the National Union for Women Workers—you, know, the protest marches and the speeches and such. Everyone, man or woman, is entitled to try and get their point of view across to the Government. But the militant wing of the suffragettes, under the leadership of Christabel Pankhurst, put the general public at risk before the outbreak of war. We have had members of the public injured and even killed by the militant suffragettes. In 1913, before I retired, they bombed three buildings in London and burnt two down. Members of Parliament were attacked with knives, property damaged, even works of art vandalized. That sort of thing is just not necessary, in my opinion. And it certainly hasn’t furthered the cause of women being employed in the police. As far as the average policeman is concerned, it would be like us employing criminals to do policing.”

  “Yes, I can see your point, Arthur,” agreed Victoria.

  “However,” Arthur conceded, “I will say that the other group of women police volunteers, the WSPP, organized by the National Union for Women Workers, are altogether a different kettle of fish. They make it a policy of not using suffragettes and they are more concerned with women’s safety. Those women I can deal with. The WSPU lot, run by former suffragettes, like some sort of militant army, scare me to death.”

  Caroline was transfixed by Billy, who was binding his rigid left hand with tape. “Can I do that for you, Constable Rigsby?” she asked.

  “That would be helpful, Miss,” said Billy, who was finding himself increasingly frustrated by trying to do it himself.

  Caroline removed the mess of tape that was round his scarred hand and began the process again.

  “Make it tight, Miss,” he said, “around the knuckles—but leave the thumb free.”

  “How did you get this injury?” she asked, noting the scar that went across the back of his hand from between the thumb and forefinger.

  “Shrapnel,” he said diffidently, “nearly cut my thumb off. Gave me this as well,” he added, pointing to the scar on his face. “But it doesn’t matter.” He seemed quite cheerful. “This is the hand that I punch with.” He raised up his right hand and it was sporting a gleaming brass knuckle duster.

  “Well, that’s going to do some damage,” murmured Beech, somewhat in awe.

  “Most definitely, sir,” said Billy with relish.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Arthur reassured Beech, “I’ll keep young Billy here in check. We won’t have any unnecessary brawling.”

  The doorbell rang and there was some exchange of conversation in the hall. Mrs Beddowes knocked and put her head around the library door.

  “Chief Inspector Beech, there is a delivery for you and the man wants a signature.”

  “At once, Mrs Beddowes,” said Beech, following her out into the hallway. A police van was busy unloading two boxes into the hallway. Beech signed the chit and the van left. “These boxes are far too heavy for the ladies to carry,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

  “They could use the old perambulator,” said Lady Maud in his ear, making him jump.

  “Beg your pardon, Maud?”

  “The old perambulator. The one Nanny used to use when Victoria was small. It’s up in the attic. I kept it for when I have grandchildren. Might as well put it to use. I expect we can send young Constable Rigsby up to get it.”

  Billy was duly dispatched and the perambulator was brought down and dusted off. He then lifted the two boxes into the contraption.

  “Perfect fit,” he pronounced, as everyone gathered around.

  “Victoria,” said Beech, “see if you can push the thing.”

  Victoria pushed it around the hallway with ease. “No problem. And it will get lighter, of course, as we proceed.”

  Caroline laughed. “In your VAD uniform, you look just like a nanny anyway!”

  “Would it be unseemly if I came with you?” enquired Lady Maud. “Only I should rather like to see these women volunteers. One has heard so much about them.”

  The women looked at Beech for permission.

  “Well, as long as you keep up the pretence, Maud, and don’t breathe a word about what we’re doing here, I don’t see why not.”

  “Cross my heart!” said Lady Maud sincerely and added, “What fun!,�
�� to Caroline and Victoria.

  “I think we should pretend that Polly is Lady Maud’s servant,” Caroline added, “and she has gone missing after being exposed to a tropical disease.”

  Lady Maud took up the story with gusto. “We can say that my brother was visiting from China and he went down with yellow fever.”

  Beech raised his eyes heavenward. “Just don’t make it too fanciful, ladies. We don’t want it to cause a panic among the women patrols.”

  “Oh, quite.” Lady Maud was suitably chastened. “I shall just get my coat and hat and we can be on our way.”

  Beech turned to Arthur. “Would I be of any use if I came with you, Tollman?” he enquired.

  Arthur shook his head firmly. “No, sir, with all due respect. I know these villains and they know me—and Billy, well he’s a bit of muscle, for show, if you like, sir. If you come with us—a Chief Inspector, and all—word will spread like wildfire around the rookeries that this enquiry is something more important, and Dodds will go to ground for sure.”

  “Of course, I understand,” agreed Beech, feeling a little surplus to requirements. “Then I think the best thing I can do is go back to the Yard so that any of the bobbies who spot Dodds know where to find me.”

  “That would be sensible, sir.” Arthur was relieved. He was going to have his hands full keeping Billy in check. Having to watch the Chief Inspector’s back would be too much for him to handle.

  So they all went their separate ways. The ladies set off for the offices of the women’s patrols, Arthur and Billy went about their grim business and Beech decided to take a leisurely stroll back to the Yard.

  * * *

  When Victoria, Caroline, and Lady Maud arrived at the Westminster offices of the newly named Women’s Police Service, the relaxed jollity of their journey by foot was instantly dispelled when they were confronted by the WPS “Commandant” Margaret Damer Dawson and her assistant Mary Allen. For once, Lady Maud was lost for words as she shook hands with the two women in uniform with severely cropped hair. Damer Dawson was also wearing a monocle.

  Caroline—sensing with some amusement that Lady Maud had never encountered such masculine women before, and was unsure how to proceed—smoothly took charge.

  “Thank you for seeing us this morning, Commandant,” she began, “I’m Doctor Allardyce from The Women’s Hospital, this is my nurse, Mrs Ellingham, and Lady Maud has already introduced herself. We have come here in the hope that you might be able to give us some assistance.”

  “Take a seat, ladies,” Damer Dawson said gruffly. “Please explain how the WPS can help you.”

  “A young servant girl of Lady Maud’s has disappeared,” Caroline continued, “and we fear that she may have contracted a contagious disease …”

  “My brother has become ill with yellow fever …” Maud had found her voice, albeit a weak one.

  “The police have been kind enough to reproduce the girl’s photograph and we wondered if it could be circulated among your volunteers and if they could telephone us if they spot her.”

  “Seems simple enough,” agreed the Commandant.

  “You understand that, on no account, must they personally engage with the girl? We would not wish any of your ladies to contract the disease.” Caroline handed over a sample photograph. “You will see that, on the back of the photograph, is printed the warning ‘Do not approach this girl. Please telephone Mayfair one hundred and report her whereabouts.’ ”

  “How many of these photographs do you have?” enquired the Commandant.

  “We have two boxes in a perambulator outside. One box for your group of volunteers, and one box for the Women’s Special Police Patrols.” She tried to ignore the scowl that this produced on the face of Damer Dawson.

  As expected, the Commandant wasted no time in belittling the organization that, in her eyes, were the “competition.”

  “The WSPP is a largely ineffective body of well-meaning but disorganized middle-class women. However, I understand that you wish to employ every possible resource to find this girl. Allen,” she barked to her assistant, “go and get one of these boxes and start the distribution to our officers.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Allen, and Caroline spotted a small flicker of disapproval on Lady Maud’s face.

  “Most kind, Commandant,” Caroline murmured. “Nurse Ellingham, could you please show the Assistant Commandant where we have left the boxes.”

  “Yes, Doctor Allardyce,” Victoria said with a perfectly straight face, and stood up. Miss Allen opened the door for her and they left.

  Lady Maud could not resist being nosy. “Miss Damer Dawson—I believe your mother is Lady Walsingham?”

  “Yes,” the answer was brief and unrevealing.

  “Oh. I met her several times during The Season. How is she?”

  “I presume she is well, Lady Maud. We haven’t really spoken in a while.”

  Caroline sensed that they had outstayed their welcome, so she thanked the Commandant once more for her assistance and ushered Lady Maud out of the office to the waiting Victoria.

  “The box was lifted out of the perambulator without any effort and has gone off to work its magic,” she informed the other two.

  Maud looked flustered. “I do believe, “she whispered conspiratorially,” that is the first time I have had a conversation with a Sapphist.”

  Caroline laughed. “It probably isn’t, Maud,” she whispered back. “They don’t all look like army majors, you know.”

  Maud looked alarmed. “Do you mean one can’t always tell? Dear me! I feel my education has been sadly lacking.”

  Then they all looked at each other and laughed.

  “Right,” said Victoria briskly, turning the perambulator around, “off to the next lot!”

  * * *

  The office of the WSPP was in busy disarray and a cheerful woman called Miss Gardiner announced that she was the Secretary and would be happy to see them. Once again Caroline went through the story of Polly and Miss Gardiner seemed most concerned.

  “We shall, of course, distribute the photographs immediately,” said Miss Gardiner, without hesitation. “Can I offer you ladies a cup of tea?”

  Lady Maud smiled broadly. “How civilized!” she exclaimed cheerily. “More civilized than your colleagues down the road,” she added without any attempt at tact.

  “Ah,” replied Miss Gardiner, with a satisfied smile, “I was wondering if you had visited the WPS, Lady Maud. Quite formidable, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Miss Gardiner. Formidable is the word I was looking for.”

  Tea was ordered and the ladies sat around a desk quizzing Miss Gardiner on the work that her own organization was undertaking.

  “I’m afraid we have evolved into a sort of ‘moral guardianship,’ which some of the women feel a little unhappy about,” she explained as she poured tea briskly.

  “How so?” asked Caroline, puzzled.

  “Sadly, the war has brought to light some of the less refined behavior among women in London,” Miss Gardiner continued. “Many seem to have taken the presence of soldiers in the city as a license to set themselves up as amateur prostitutes. Our ladies seem to spend most of their time stopping women from soliciting in the public houses and other areas frequented by soldiers. Not to mention separating couples in public places where young girls seem to be happy to part with their favors for no money at all.”

  “Good Lord!” exclaimed Lady Maud. “Society seems to have gone to hell in a handbasket!”

  “Mm.” Miss Gardiner agreed. “Obviously, ladies, we are talking about a minority who engage in this kind of behavior. The majority of women in London are hard-working, decent individuals who are doing their bit. But it is the minority that we find ourselves in the WSPP having to deal with. The male police force has no idea how to deal with it. Obviously it’s not an offence to give sexual favors to a man, if you are not charging for it. All we can do is take the girls to one side and caution them. Fortunately, many of the a
rmies, particularly the overseas regiments, seemed to have issued their men with prophylactics and stern warnings about disease. The New Zealanders appear to be particularly well provided for,” she added and then regaled them with a story about one of their volunteer policewomen being shown a bag full of “rubbers” by an obliging squaddie from New Zealand.

  “Gracious!” Lady Maud almost choked on her biscuit. “I can see I’ve led a very sheltered life! But how on earth do your ladies cope with all this immorality?”

  “We only send married women out on such patrols,” answered Miss Gardiner, as though it was nothing more than picking up litter. “We send the single girls into the workplaces to police matters there.”

  “And what do your ladies do in the workplaces?” asked Victoria, fascinated by this glimpse into gritty police work.

  “Well,” Miss Gardiner warmed to her subject and helped herself to another biscuit, “they break up fights—very common in the factories, where the women work in difficult and stressful environments—and they watch for any theft. Again, this can arise quite often in offices, where women bring handbags containing money and personal items. And, we often have to deal with medical emergencies, mostly in the munitions factories, where the women can be struck down due to exposure to TNT, fumes from lead, and other metals. All our ladies have comprehensive first aid training,” she added, “but most of it is common sense.”

  “Do they not have proper medics in the munitions factories?” asked Caroline anxiously.

  “Oh no, Doctor Allardyce!” Miss Gardiner seemed astonished that Caroline would assume such a thing. “Sometimes they have a doctor who goes in once a month and does some basic inspections. We have been petitioning the Government for some time to introduce safety measures and permanent medical supervision but we just keep being fobbed off and told that we mustn’t disrupt the war effort. Perhaps you could do something?”

  “Perhaps I could,” said Caroline, grimly.

  “How splendid!” Miss Gardiner could sense another convert to the women’s cause. “I’ll just get the reports we have done. Feel free to take them away with you and have a good read. You can return them when you’re finished. There’s no rush.”