We entered a series of low rooms, which to judge from the bars and rusted mangers must have been a stable once. The first was empty apart from a few fat rats wandering lazily between piles of human excrement. Two families squatted in opposite corners of the next room. It was ten feet square and there were about a dozen of them.
There was moaning in the darkness of the room beyond.
‘I have a florin,’ Sidney Grice declared, ‘for whoever knew Sarah Ashby as a child or can take me to any person who did.’
A girl called out, ‘I knew ’er, mister. Gimme the tin.’
‘You are too young.’
‘I knew ’er,’ a sunken-chested woman said from where she lay propped wheezing against a wet wall. ‘When she was a Dillinger. I used to do for them, I did.’ Her clothes were so scant that I could see the outline of her thighs, caved in and twitching like a dreaming dog.
‘Do?’
The woman shifted uncomfortably and I saw that under her makeshift cloth shawl was a yellow-faced baby.
‘Clean and cook and the like.’
‘They had servants in this place?’ I asked.
‘They ’ad me.’ She coughed wearily. ‘And this place used to be a likkle palace when they ’ad it. Crystal Court Mansions they called it. Chairs and tables and beds raised off the floor, candles, rugs. There was even pictures on the walls – art, like.’
If ever a square was misnamed it was Crystal Court. We had stumbled over refuse and around dung hills to enter the building.
‘How did they make their money?’ Sidney Grice jabbed a fat spider, squashing it on to the wall with his cane.
‘Mrs Dillinger.’ She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Came from money or so she ’ad us believe, ’er wiv all ’er airs. Still ’ad to go learning toffs’ brats foreign gabble to make ends meet, though. Most of their money came from Mr Dillinger, I reckon. ’E was a lot older than what ’is missus was and scrawny as a bat. Funny bloke ’e was, Jeremiah. All smiles and good fellow but I never trusted ’im.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
She scratched her armpit, making it bleed. ‘Ran a gambling den – poker and the like. Many a geezer come ’ere of a night but I never saw none leave wiv anyfink in their pockets.’
‘Sharp, was he?’ Sidney Grice stamped on something that scuttled towards him.
‘Sharp as cheese.’ The woman broke off to clear her chest.
‘Did anyone ever complain?’ I asked.
‘A few but the missus kept a pacifier under ’er seat and she was a dab ’and at using it.’
‘What was Sarah like?’ I asked, and my guardian grunted impatiently.
‘Stuck-up little cow.’ The woman scratched her stomach through a rip in her dress. ‘Gawd, ’er father spoilt ’er stinkin’ ’e did. Nuffink too good or too much trouble for ’is likkle princess and Gawd, she be’aved like one. She—’
‘Why are these tiles cracked?’ Sidney Grice broke in and I looked at the floor.
‘There are lots of tiles broken.’
‘Yes.’ He traced an arc in the grime. ‘But why these ones?’
‘I neither know nor care.’ I turned back. ‘Did you know William?’ I asked and she spat down herself.
‘Only when ’e came courtin’, Gawd ’elp him. She ’ad a pretty face, I’ll grant, but it ’id an ugly ’eart. We was all s’prised she went for a man wiv so likkle prospects. Her father had ’er set up for a duchess at least. Spittin’ teeth ’e was but would she listen? I fink she only went off to spite ’im.’
‘Did she not love her father?’
Sidney Grice started humming tunelessly.
‘Nobody loved ’im. You couldn’t if you was paid to.’
My guardian examined his fingernails.
‘Did William play poker?’ I asked.
‘Not ’im.’ The woman found something under her dress and slapped herself a few times to kill it. ‘A proper gent ’e was.’
‘Do you think he murdered Sarah?’ I asked.
‘I did not realize she was an expert witness,’ Sidney Grice grumbled.
‘’Ope so.’ The baby started crying and his mother licked her thumb and stuck it in his mouth. ‘Or they strung ’im up for nuffink.’
‘Were you surprised?’ I asked.
‘Not s’prised that somebody did away wiv ’er. S’prised at Willy, though – gentle as a snail ’e was. ’Aven’t I earned my florin yet?’
Sidney Grice tossed her a coin and she tested it between her gums, wheezing helplessly.
‘For another of those you can ’ave your way wiv my body, mister. Whatever you want so long as I don’t ’ave to stand up. I can’t do that but I ain’t got no diseases.’
My guardian regarded her with disgust. ‘For God’s sake, woman, you have a child.’
‘Baby don’t care, but the girl can ’old it if you’re shy.’
‘Animals,’ he said.
‘Your baby has jaundice,’ I told her. ‘You could take him to the London Hospital for free treatment.’
The woman looked up at me.
‘One less mouth to feed,’ she said, her face blank with pain.
53
The Vestry
Grace Dillinger’s face was ghostly when she ushered me in, peering out before she closed the door.
‘You have not told your guardian you were coming here?’
‘No, but I cannot see what harm—’
‘Who knows what harm that man can do me or my baby yet.’ She slid an iron bolt across and we sat between two racks of altar boys’ vestments.
‘Has there been any progress on Alice Hawkins’ murder?’ she asked.
‘Not much,’ I said. ‘My guardian still seems intent on finding more evidence against William.’
‘He will find none because there is none.’ Grace swept her head back. ‘Oh, why can he not let poor William rest in peace? Even Mr Grice cannot kill him twice.’
‘Are you still intent on emigrating?’ I asked and she bit her lower lip.
‘My desire is as strong as ever, but my means have never been weaker. I stood surety for William’s legal fees so I am obliged to settle before I can leave. I have had to sell my rings.’ She held up her bare hands.
‘I am not a wealthy woman either’ – I handed her an envelope – ‘but would this be enough?’
‘Good heavens.’ She flicked through the notes. ‘There must be nearly two hundred pounds here.’
‘Two hundred and twenty,’ I said. ‘I think that should pay for your voyage and support you for a while until you find your feet.’
‘But I cannot take this.’ She tidied her hair in agitation.
‘You must. My money got you into this… situation. I know there is nothing I can do to rectify that, but at least my money may do some good this time.’
Grace Dillinger took my hand.
‘You are so good.’ She kissed me. ‘Too good… I shall go to the shipping office first thing in the morning. There is only a week to spare.’ She looked into my eyes and hers narrowed a little. ‘You will not tell your guardian anything of this – meeting me or your kind gift?’
‘Of course not.’
Grace Dillinger smiled, but then said, ‘What is the matter?’
‘I am sorry it is ending this way. Can I see you off?’
‘It is better to say goodbye now.’
We stood up.
‘Shall I never see you again?’
Grace Dillinger hugged me.
‘God bless you, March Middleton,’ she whispered.
She opened the door into the church and was gone.
54
Cats and the Marriage Detective
The man who sat hunched in my guardian’s study was milk-faced with scattered tussocks of hair on his jowls.
‘March,’ my guardian called from his armchair by the fire, ‘I should like you to meet someone. Miss Middleton, this is Mr Froume.’
‘Delighted,’ the little man said, but made no attempt to rise o
r take my hand or even look at me.
‘Mr Froume is a marriage detective,’ my guardian continued.
‘Such is my calling.’ Mr Froume’s voice was nasal and unclear.
‘What exactly is a marriage detective?’ I asked, and his lips curled like worms on a hook.
‘Your ignorance is quite excusable’ – he crossed his legs – ‘for there are only four or five of us in the land – three in London, one in Edinburgh and one in Cambridge who is missing, presumed dead.’
He twined his legs around each other.
‘Yes, but that does not tell me what you do.’ I sat in the armchair opposite my guardian.
‘Why,’ he said, as if I were a slow child, ‘I investigate marriages.’
His legs tangled into a knot.
‘So you are one of those people who sneaks around checking if people are having assignations?’ I asked.
‘Oh, the very idea.’ Mr Froume wiggled his bony fingers. ‘No, Miss Middleton, I am more of a modern historian. I look into the documentation of marriages to find out if they are valid. You would be surprised how many people’s certificates are invalidated by clerical errors. You would be appalled also to discover how many marriages are in fact bigamous whether by design, deceit or oversight. I hope I have not shocked you, young lady, with such rough conversation but such is the world in which I move.’
‘You will have to try harder than that to make Miss Middleton blush,’ Sidney Grice said and turned to me. ‘Mr Froume has some news which might be of interest to you, March.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Indeed.’ Mr Froume uncurled his legs. ‘I have been looking into the marital status of one William Ashby and his deceased wife, Sarah née Dillinger.’
‘And what have you found?’
Mr Froume simpered. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
Sidney Grice clapped his hands in satisfaction. ‘Capital. Excellent. This man has done in six weeks what the entire police force would have wasted six months over.’
‘I have been in countries where I knew not a single word of the language,’ I said, ‘but I could understand the natives more easily than I can make any sense at all from your remarks. What is remarkable about finding nothing out in six weeks? I could have found nothing out in six minutes and not expect to get applauded or paid for my pains.’
‘Ah no, miss.’ Mr Froume tapped his nose infuriatingly. ‘You devalue the sweep of my achievement. I and the men I sent out across the land have managed to show in six weeks that there is nothing to be found.’
I could not bring myself to look at this man who could not bring himself to look at me.
‘The last time I screamed was when a Bengal tiger jumped on to my bed,’ I said. ‘It was such a loud, long and piercing scream that the tiger took fright and leaped out of the window. If you do not stop playing silly parlour games I shall demonstrate it now.’
My guardian touched his eye. ‘Mr Froume has managed to establish by a detailed trawling of all the records held in this country that William Ashby and Sarah Dillinger were not and never had been married.’
‘And what of it?’
‘Are you not horrified?’ my guardian asked.
‘Not in the least,’ I said. ‘I have known many people who have lived as man and wife without going through a wedding ceremony. It is usually because they cannot afford it. They are not necessarily immoral.’
Sidney Grice threw his hands up as if tossing a large balloon.
‘Poverty is a vice in itself,’ he said, ‘but I hope I have never given you the impression that I am interested in morality. Do you not see, March? This is one of the most damning pieces of evidence we have uncovered yet.’
Mr Froume looked up. His eyes flicked over to me as if I were that tiger and then away again. I looked at both of them and said nothing. Life was simpler when I was dealing with cats.
It was only after we had treated the privates that we turned our attention back to the subaltern. The bandage was soaked in blood which had caked hard, gluing it to the man’s skin. He cried out in agony as I tried to peel it off. I poured some water from a jug and that made it a little easier, but he still whimpered as I cut through the cloth.
I pitied him, of course, but all I could think was, thank God he was not you.
Oh, Edward, if you had only seen what I saw… I know you would understand. I tell myself a thousand times a day.
55
Shoe Laces
‘These shoe laces are absolutely delicious,’ my guardian observed over lunch.
‘Lovely,’ I said.
Sidney Grice grunted. ‘So how is the book?’
‘Lovely,’ I said.
My guardian put down his knife. ‘You have been staring at the index for over twenty minutes now.’
‘Not that long, surely?’
He drew out his watch and flipped open the lid.
‘Twenty-four minutes without turning a page or uttering a word.’
‘I am just a little tired and, anyway, you often do not speak to me.’
‘That is when I am studying a book or considering a case, or I am angry with you,’ he said. ‘You are not studying a book and you do not look angry. Your eyebrows form a hedgerow across the bridge of your nose when you are. So what are you engrossed in?’
‘I saw Mrs Dillinger again a few days ago.’
Sidney Grice clipped the lid of his watch shut. ‘Why did you not tell me this sooner?’
‘I did not think it important.’
He slipped the watch back into his waistcoat pocket and said carefully, ‘You had a meeting with the mother-in-law of a man that I helped convict of her daughter’s murder, a woman who has sworn publicly to destroy me and who, with the aid of her clerical lackey, stirred up riots resulting in the destruction of property and very nearly the loss of my life. I have been pilloried in the press and abused in public because of her. My reputation has been tarnished, my integrity brought into question and my professional expertise ridiculed at her instigation. And you did not think it worth a mention that you were socializing with her?’
‘I saw no—’
‘I am surprised you did not invite her round for dinner or offer her lodgings. It is just as well you had already spent all your money on her.’ He touched his eye. ‘You had spent all your money, hadn’t you?’
I hesitated before I said, ‘Almost.’
‘And how much did you have left?’
‘Two hundred and twenty pounds but—’
‘And how much did you give her? Let me guess. Two hundred and twenty—’
‘Pounds,’ I broke in, ‘but I would have given her a thousand if I had it.’
‘It is just as well you did not then.’ He picked up his pencil and pointed it at me. ‘Explain.’
‘Do you want to know why I met her or kept it a secret or gave her the money?’ I asked.
‘All three.’
‘One, because I felt sorry for her; two, because I knew you would try to stop me before I went and berate me afterwards; and three, because I felt sorry for her,’ I said, and pushed my plate away.
Sidney Grice took his pince-nez off and polished the lenses with his napkin.
‘I want you to promise me something, March,’ he said at last. ‘That you will never meet with or have any communication with Mrs Dillinger again.’
‘I have no plans to see her again.’
‘Promise me.’ His face was deadly serious.
‘But why?’
‘Because,’ he said quietly, ‘she is by far the most dangerous woman I have ever known.’
56
Gulph’s Grief
I sat and stared at my guardian for a long time. Was this his macabre idea of humour? He did not look like he was joking but returned my gaze steadily.
‘How can you say that?’ I asked and his gaze fell away.
‘I am reluctantly forced to that conclusion.’
He took out his watch again but did not glance at it, only twiddling the chain aro
und distractedly.
‘But why? How?’
He wrapped the chain around the little finger of his left hand. ‘I have been looking through my archives.’ He unwrapped the chain and put the watch down.
‘You are not going to tell me that because you found a similar case—’
Sidney Grice raised his hands. ‘Bear with me, March. There was a case in Birmingham some twenty-three years ago, which is why I was unfamiliar with it. A man by the name of Brian Gulph had an argument with his wife about an expensive cutlery set she had bought. He tried to take it away from her and in the struggle she was fatally stabbed in the throat. His sister came into the room and suggested that they make the death look like the work of an interrupted burglar, which they proceeded to do, ransacking the cupboards and hiding a few small pieces of jewellery. Gulph’s grief was clearly genuine and their story might well have been believed had his sister not been greedy and kept some of the jewellery, appearing in public in her sister-in-law’s pearls and pawning a brooch. Gulph was arrested and found guilty of murder. His sister was sweet-faced enough to convince the jury that she believed that jewellery to be innocent gifts, and he was sentenced to death. At the last minute he told the truth – that the death had been an accident but that he had panicked. He was not believed as his sister stoutly denied it. She was frightened that she might be charged with being an accessory after the fact and hanged alongside him. So Gulph walked to the gallows alone, protesting his innocence until the moment he dropped.’
He looked down at his watch again. ‘Does any of that sound familiar?’
‘Are you suggesting that William Ashby killed Sarah by accident, as he claimed?’ I asked, but my guardian shook his head. He looked up. His hair had fallen into a curl on his forehead and his face was pale.
‘No, March,’ he said. ‘I am suggesting that William Ashby did not kill his wife at all.’
57
The Mangle Street Murders Page 21
