Murder at the British Museum

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘Of course,’ said Feather.

  ‘Would it be better if you were present when we talk to Mrs Pickering?’ suggested Daniel.

  Tudder hesitated. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘She told me while she was in a state of distress. I’m not sure how she will feel about the fact that I’ve told you. She might feel I’ve betrayed her.’

  ‘Can I suggest that when you talk to her about this, you ask her if she would like you to be with her,’ said Daniel. ‘Also, to take some of the stress out of the situation for her, I also suggest that my colleague, Miss Fenton, is present. Having another woman there might make it feel less oppressive for her.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Abigail stood looking on the Rosetta Stone with the same sense of awe and wonder she’d always felt ever since the first time she’d laid eyes on it. Three separate sections carved on a stone of black granodiorite, the middle and upper texts in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic and Demotic script, the lower section in ancient Greek; possibly the most famous of all the ancient artefacts to come from Egypt. Originally unearthed by a French soldier during Napoleon’s campaign in Egypt in 1799, it had been taken by the British following their defeat of the French in 1801, and it had been permanently on display at the British Museum since 1802. For Abigail, and for many Egyptologists, the importance of the stone was that it was the key to deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics, due to the incredible work by the Briton Thomas Young and the Frenchman Jean-François Champollion. Thanks to them there was now a far greater understanding of the meaning of the hieroglyphics being brought to the museum.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Fenton.’ Abigail turned and saw an elderly man in a steward’s uniform smiling at her. ‘Mr Ashford said he hoped you might get the chance to take a look round our Egyptian section.’

  ‘I’m delighted to take the opportunity.’

  ‘He said you’ve been at most of the famous digs in Egypt.’

  Abigail nodded. ‘Quite a few of them.’

  ‘I’d love to go there,’ said the steward. ‘To see the pyramids for myself. To be there where the builders hauled those huge stones, thousands of years ago.’

  ‘Yes, it is impressive,’ said Abigail. ‘The first time I was there, I was awe-struck by their magnificence, their splendour.’

  ‘But not so much the second time?’

  ‘Actually, I was just as awe-struck the second time. And the third. It’s not something, as an Egyptologist, you ever tire of.’ She looked admiringly again at the Rosetta Stone. ‘I’m glad Mr Ashford suggested I look. I will make a point of thanking him.’

  ‘He’s a wonderful man,’ said the steward. ‘And to think, we might have lost him.’

  ‘Lost him?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘Because of that Professor Pickering,’ said the steward. ‘I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but there was a nasty piece of work if ever there was one.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The way he treated people he considered his inferiors, which – according to the professor – was almost everyone. Certainly, all the staff here. Except for Sir Jasper, of course. He buttered him up. But the way he was with the stewards and the other staff was terrible. That’s what caused the row.’

  ‘Between him and Mr Ashford?’ said Abigail, guessing.

  ‘That’s right.’ The steward nodded. ‘Mr Ashford came across the professor giving one of the stewards a real telling-off, claiming he hadn’t shown him enough respect. He told the steward he was going to get him sacked, and it was at that point when Mr Ashford arrived. Well, Mr Ashford told the Professor good and proper that he wasn’t in charge of the staff, he – Mr Ashford – was. And if he had a complaint he was to bring it to him, not take it out on the staff. And he told him that at the museum the staff were to be accorded equal respect – those were his exact words – and he expected the professor to apologise to the steward.

  ‘Well, talk about setting off a tornado! The professor started ranting at poor Mr Ashford – I think it was because Mr Ashford had said all this in front of the steward – and said he’d get Mr Ashford sacked, and he’d make sure he never worked at this or any other museum again.’

  ‘It was an empty threat, surely,’ said Abigail. ‘Sir Jasper wouldn’t have sided with Pickering against Mr Ashford.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been down to Sir Jasper, miss. Pickering reckoned he had the ear of important members on the board of the museum. Luckily, he got killed before he could do anything about it. Lucky for us, that is, not for the professor.’

  ‘When was this confrontation?’

  ‘On the Saturday, two days before Professor Pickering was killed.’

  ‘As you say, that was very fortunate for Mr Ashford,’ said Abigail. ‘Do you happen to know who the steward was that Professor Pickering was abusing, the one who witnessed the exchange between the professor and Mr Ashford?’

  ‘Henry Smith. Lovely old man. Been here years.’

  Daniel returned to their small office at the museum to find a note from Abigail: I have news. I’ll see you at home.

  Concerned, Daniel headed for Camden Town and found Abigail studying Professor Pickering’s book.

  ‘Your note said you had news,’ he said. ‘Good or bad?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘We have a new suspect, and as it’s Mr Ashford I couldn’t leave a note to that effect, and it’s not something we could talk about there in case we were overheard.’

  ‘Ashford?’ said Daniel, bewildered.

  Abigail told him about the altercation between Ashford and Pickering, and Pickering’s threat to get the board at the museum to have him dismissed.

  ‘That was on the Saturday. Pickering couldn’t have done anything about it on the Sunday, and he was killed on Monday morning before he could make good on his threat.’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘I don’t see it,’ he said. ‘Ashford doesn’t come across as a killer.’

  ‘You’ve said yourself, the successful killers – those who get away with it – don’t. That job at the museum means everything to him, you don’t think he’d kill to keep it?’

  Daniel sat down, deep in thought. ‘It’s plausible,’ he said. ‘And he’s fit and agile enough to climb over the partition of the toilet cubicle. And he knows the way the museum operates.’

  ‘And he’s very efficient in the way he goes about things,’ added Abigail. ‘What shall we do? Talk to him?’

  ‘We have to,’ said Daniel. ‘But first, we’re due to meet Mrs Pickering at her house in the morning.’

  ‘You and Inspector Feather?’

  ‘And you. This is going to be a delicate matter, and your presence could be crucial on whether we get some satisfactory answers from her or not.’

  ‘About what?’ asked Abigail.

  ‘About her late husband fathering a child, on the maid of some friends, and then denying it.’

  He told her what Tudder had told them about Elsie Bowler turning up at the house. ‘She was obviously angry.’

  ‘And you think it might have been this Elsie Bowler who stabbed Pickering?’

  ‘I don’t know, but we might have a better idea when we talk to Mrs Pickering tomorrow. And then, afterwards, we’ll seek out David Ashford and talk to him.’ He sighed. ‘We started out with no suspects, and now we’re accumulating them at a rate of knots.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘Thank you for talking to us, Mrs Pickering,’ said Daniel, ‘We are aware this is a difficult time for you, made worse by the revelation about Elsie Bowler.’

  They were back in the drawing room of the Pickering house by Regent’s Park, but the atmosphere was different from the rather tense one of their previous visit. Daniel guessed that was thanks to Tudder having spoken to Mrs Pickering beforehand. Nevertheless, he had decided that friendly civility was the right tone to adopt if they were to get the information they needed.

  Mrs Pickering sat in the same chair as she had before, Tudder once more standing in the bay
window, looking on, while Daniel, Abigail and John Feather sat in a semicircle of chairs drawn up to face Mrs Pickering.

  ‘I’ve asked my colleague, Miss Fenton, to be here in case you would prefer to engage with her, rather than myself or Inspector Feather,’ said Daniel.

  ‘No, I am happy to answer your questions, Mr Wilson. Although I do appreciate your thoughtfulness in bringing Miss Fenton into this discussion.’

  ‘First, as I’m sure you can appreciate, we need to talk to Elsie Bowler, even if just to eliminate her from our enquiries. We understand you have her address.’

  ‘I have the address she gave me earlier this year,’ said Mrs Pickering. She handed Daniel a piece of paper. ‘Whether she is still there is another matter.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sure, if she isn’t, this will give us enough information to be able to find out where she went to. Next, we understand the substance of the allegation made by Elsie against your late husband. Without wishing to appear prurient in any way, is it possible there might have been other such cases in your husband’s past?’

  Her face appeared to become pinched as she weighed up this question. Then she said, ‘My husband was a selfish man when it came to his appetites. It is possible there may have been other such incidents. I assume you are looking for people who might have felt enough anger at him over them to have carried out the attack on him?’

  ‘It is possible.’ Daniel nodded. ‘It would help us if you are able to let us have the names of people he might have upset in this way.’

  She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Upset? My husband raped women. Usually servants, but I know of two occasions when his victims were women of the house. One a daughter, one a wife.’

  ‘But no charges were ever laid against him?’

  ‘And risk the shame such exposure would bring?’ she said angrily. ‘Yes, I will give you the names of the families. I know of them because I know my husband was barred from their houses ever after. But I would ask you to be discreet. Not to protect my late husband’s reputation, but for the sake of the women and their families.’

  ‘I promise you we will be the soul of discretion,’ Daniel assured her solemnly.

  As the front door closed behind Daniel, Abigail and Feather, all three were aware of the intense feelings there had been in that house: the anger of Mrs Pickering, the protectiveness of Joshua Tudder.

  ‘What a hideous man Pickering was!’ burst out Abigail. ‘How could she have remained married to him for all those years?’

  ‘Catholics don’t divorce,’ said Feather.

  ‘But she could have left him! Lived her life without him as an odious presence.’

  ‘And how would she have survived financially?’ asked Daniel. ‘You yourself said about the difficulty a married woman has with owning property, or her own finances.’

  Feather indicated the cab waiting for him at the kerbside. ‘I’m heading back to the Yard,’ he said. ‘Can I offer you a lift?’

  Daniel was just about to accept, when Abigail cut in with, ‘That’s very kind of you, John, but I was going to suggest that Daniel and I catch an omnibus. For me, it’s the ideal way to get to know London, sitting on the open top deck and seeing the hustle and bustle of the city, the different areas. A cab is more comfortable and quicker, but …’

  ‘I understand.’ Feather smiled. ‘When I was young that was the way I learnt my way about London. That, and on foot.’ He doffed his hat to them and made his way to the waiting cab.

  ‘So, an omnibus it is,’ said Daniel. ‘There’s a good service from Parkway which will take us.’

  They strolled through the park to Parkway, where they boarded a horse-drawn omnibus. They were lucky enough to find two seats at the front of the upper deck, giving Abigail the view she desired as the bus rattled slowly along over the cobbles.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ she said.

  ‘Providing it isn’t raining,’ said Daniel. ‘And being at the front does rather put us in the line of fire whenever the horse breaks wind or decides to evacuate its bowels. Which, I’ve noticed, horses tend to do with great frequency.’

  Abigail laughed. ‘You have no romance in your soul, Daniel Wilson!’ she chided him.

  He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

  ‘On the contrary, I can imagine nothing more romantic than seeing the London I love from the top deck of a bus in company with the woman I love.’

  The bus rolled on, making frequent stops on its journey along Parkway, then southward along Camden High Street. As the bus neared Plender Street, Daniel suggested, ‘We could get off and take some leisure. After all, our house is just a few paces away.’

  ‘We have a job to do,’ she said firmly. ‘I already feel that this bus journey is a luxury we should not be taking. We should be back at the museum, reporting the information about Elsie Bowler to Sir Jasper.’

  ‘And we will,’ said Daniel. ‘At a slow pace, perhaps, but the horse pulling the bus is a dray, a Shire, not a racer. Slower, but more reliable.’

  The bus continued its journey south, and as it drew up at the junction of Eversholt Street and Euston Road, the conductor called out, ‘St Pancras New Church!’

  Abigail looked at the huge edifice, built in the Roman style, the whole of the front faced with a row of tall Doric columns supporting a decorated frieze, the same as at the British Museum, and asked, ‘What happened to St Pancras Old Church?’

  ‘Ah, that still exists,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s not far away from here. It’s in St Pancras Gardens, quite near St Pancras Railway Station.’

  ‘Why did they build a new church if there was already an old one?’

  ‘Because the old church is tiny. It’s also said to be the oldest Christian place of worship in Britain.’

  She looked at him and frowned. ‘Surely not older than Canterbury, or Westminster?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Daniel. ‘Someone dated it as being built around the year 500. Someone else claimed it was built even earlier, about 300, but if it was much of that has gone. 500 seems about right.’

  ‘I have to see this!’ she said excitedly. ‘Has anyone carried out any archaeological surveys there?’

  ‘Hallowed ground.’ Daniel smiled. ‘I don’t think you’d get official approval for digging it up. There was enough controversy when they had to move some of the graves from the old cemetery to bring the railway lines into St Pancras.’

  As they journeyed, Daniel pointed out that the one street they rode down bore various names: Woburn Square, Tavistock Square, Bedford Square, Russell Square.

  ‘So called because this area is owned by the Russell family, who also bear the titles of the Duke of Bedford and the Marquis of Tavistock, not to mention others.’

  ‘If you ever decide to abandon being a detective you’d make a very good tour guide,’ said Abigail.

  When the bus pulled up at Great Russell Street they alighted and headed for the museum.

  ‘I feel for a short while we were on holiday,’ said Abigail, then sighed. ‘But now back to the matter in hand.’

  They walked up the steps and into the main entrance, and saw the figure of David Ashford at the reception desk. He looked in an agitated state.

  ‘Something’s happened,’ murmured Daniel.

  As they headed towards Ashford, he turned and saw them, then rushed towards them, relief writ large on his features. ‘Thank heavens you’re here!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was trying to find out where you were.’

  ‘We were at Professor Pickering’s house, talking to his widow,’ said Daniel. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Sir Jasper’s received a threatening letter. It claims to be from the person who killed Professor Pickering, and is demanding money or more people will die.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Daniel and Abigail sat opposite Sir Jasper and took the note he handed to them. David Ashford had tried to sit, but his agitation over the letter made stillness impossible for him, and he stood, every now and then pacing the room.

&
nbsp; The letter was unsigned, just a few lines on a sheet of writing paper.

  Professor Pickering was the first. More will die unless you pay £1,000. Leave the money in a parcel tonight at midnight under the bench nearest to the Clarence Gate entrance to Regent’s Park. Do not tell the police or someone will die.

  ‘When did it arrive?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Late this morning. It was handed in at reception, marked for my attention.’

  Daniel examined the letter and the envelope that had contained it, then passed them both to Abigail.

  ‘An educated hand,’ she said.

  ‘What shall we do?’ asked Sir Jasper.

  ‘Tell the police,’ said Daniel. ‘It may be a hoax, or it may be someone using the murders to make some money, or it may actually be connected to the murders. Whichever it is, you have to tell the police. Which means Superintendent Armstrong, as he’s in charge of the case.’

  Sir Jasper sighed, then nodded. He reached for a sheet of notepaper and wrote a few words, then handed it to Ashford.

  ‘Arrange for a messenger to get this to Superintendent Armstrong as a matter of urgency.’

  Superintendent Armstrong looked taken aback when he and John Feather entered Sir Jasper’s office and found Daniel and Abigail already there. He scowled at Daniel.

  ‘So, you’re here, Wilson.’

  ‘I am indeed,’ said Daniel. ‘Allow me to introduce my partner, Miss Abigail Fenton.’

  Armstrong looked at Abigail and gave a sniff of disapproval, then grunted, ‘A woman.’

  ‘I see you have good powers of observation, Superintendent,’ said Abigail. ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Mr Wilson has told me so much about you.’

  Armstrong glared at them, then said in frosty tones, ‘I can see no reason why they should be involved in this, Sir Jasper.’

  ‘It was Mr Wilson who insisted I contacted you when I received the letter, despite the threat contained in it,’ countered Sir Jasper.