Death Waits for No Lady

by James Andrew

  ‘I follow you,’ Peacock said, though he did look to Blades as if he was wondering where this was leading.

  ‘But when Miss Wright is next seen she is found lying dead on the carpet in front of the fire. Possibly the disagreement was greater than Digby says, and he lost his temper and murdered her, using as his weapon the poker from that stand by the fire.’ At that point, Blades took out the poker from its exhibit bag and displayed it to Peacock.

  ‘Or possibly he is telling the truth. In which case, it could have been Renshaw who visited Miss Wright and did the deed. We’ve established he was in the vicinity around the time of the murder. Similarly, with Jack Osgood. He knew Miss Wright – intimately – and we know he knew his way to her house, and we can place him in Birtleby itself, and Renshaw says a car like his was there on the night of the murder, which we might try to establish. But why can we place none of these extremely sinister men in the murder room at the time Miss Wright was murdered?’ Blades now flourished the poker.

  ‘Because the fingerprints on this do not match the prints of any of them. Every strand in the investigation, every interview with a suspect breaks down at that point.’ Then he shifted his eyes from Peacock whose reactions he had been watching and turned them to the poker which was still aloft in his hand. ‘So, I suggest we examine this particularly important piece of evidence again.’

  ‘Or find who the fingerprints do belong to?’ Peacock said.

  ‘Possibly. But one thing at a time. We need Mary in here.’

  When he summoned Janet and asked her to fetch Mary, she told him that Mary was no longer working there and had gone to stay with her mother. But Blades had an idea in his head now which he did not wish to relinquish, and that was to bring Mary face to face with that poker. After finding out the address from Janet, he and Peacock drove over to it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  It was a sandstone tenement block with nothing to distinguish it from any other apart from the individual weathering on the sandstone. It was one of those built to house industrial workers, including employees from the Wright Biscuit Factory, Blades supposed. Such blocks had been built notoriously cheaply and were crammed full of people. There were even some who just lived on the stair in such buildings. Blades and Peacock trudged upwards to the top floor where they knew Mary’s family lived. The stone steps had a deep downturn in the middle from the wear of so many feet. The walls were decorated with pale green tile, broken and cracked in many places. But Blades noticed that the stairway was clean. The people living there must take their communal tasks seriously, he thought. When they reached the top landing, they perused the different doors and Peacock rapped on one with its knocker.

  It was Mary who opened the door to them just as she had at the Wright household. She no longer wore her maid’s uniform but a rather fatigued floral print that looked as if it might have been handed down from her mother.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ Mary said, with a questioning lift to her voice.

  Blades gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Sorry to bother you again, Mary, but you were very helpful and there are one or two more questions we’d like to ask you if we may.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Mary said and showed them in.

  The room she took them into seemed to double both as kitchen and living room, with some weary-looking seats in front of the kitchen range. The other furniture in the room consisted of a table and chairs, and there were some shelves covered with a variety of crockery and pans. A woman whom Blades took to be Mary’s mother was seated by the range and she stood up to meet them.

  ‘This is Inspector Blades,’ Mary said.

  ‘And Sergeant Peacock,’ Peacock added.

  ‘My Mary’s been through enough,’ Mrs Cunningham said. ‘Why have you come to see her again? I won’t stand for her being harassed.’

  Mary’s mother was a spry lady of not much body weight but with commanding eyes and an edge to her voice that suggested someone who might be used to struggling to get by but who had more than enough determination to make sure not only that she did, but also that her daughter did. And Blades was not the first large man to find himself quailing before her.

  ‘Indeed,’ Blades said. ‘You’re right. We do need to treat her properly. And we will.’

  But Mrs Cunningham must have been awaiting her opportunity to voice her feelings to the police. ‘You’ve no idea how much she’s been upset by all this. I had to take her away from that house because of the effect it was having on her. She’s only a girl, and you have to be careful with girls.’

  Blades’ appeasing smile was the most winning he could manage. ‘You’re right,’ he said – again. ‘But your daughter could be an important witness.’

  ‘To what?’ Mary doesn’t know anything and she’s a good girl. She’s done nothing wrong. She’s fourteen. I should have been there when you were questioning her before. You’d no right.’

  Blades considered this. ‘She was working away from home as an adult. And there was another adult present, Janet Farrell.’

  ‘I ought to have been there all the same. I’m her mother. I’m not leaving her alone with you this time. If you want to question her, you do so in front of me.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Now Blades signalled to Peacock. ‘Bring out the fire iron set from Miss Wright’s and lay it on that table.’ Peacock took them out from a leather bag. Then Blades took the poker from the evidence bag that he carried and laid it beside the other irons. ‘Now Mary, I want you to look at these.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Mary came over to the table and peered at them. ‘Is that the poker that killed her?’

  ‘It is.’

  She gasped. ‘And is that the blood still on it? That makes you shudder. Poor Miss Wright. She was a proper lady. It’s dreadful to think she’s been killed.’

  ‘You’re right. It is.’ Blades showed patience, but he wanted his questions answered. ‘Now the fire irons. You must have cleaned these often enough.’

  ‘I cleaned the fire brasses all right, sir, faithfully, till they shone bright as anything, and every day.’

  ‘Look at them more carefully. Is there anything you notice about them?’

  Mary ran her eyes over every single one, slowly, trying not to miss any detail, sighed, looked up at Blades, then perused them again. A puzzled look appeared in her face.

  ‘That can’t be right.’

  ‘What?’ Blades said. Peacock’s and Mary’s eyes stared at the poker, as did her mother’s. Blades continued to study Mary’s face.

  ‘The brass on that poker’s different,’ she said. ‘It’s not as dark a yellow.’ There was a surprised note in her voice and her eyes stared. ‘The pattern’s the same. If you didn’t look at the brasses altogether, there’s no way you would notice. Now that’s funny.’ Her eyes continued to run over the tongs, the shovel, the brush, and the poker. ‘They’re very alike but that poker’s newer. It’s as if it was bought at a different time.’

  ‘You cleaned them every day,’ Blades said. ‘And it’s the first time you’ve noticed that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mary said, as she continued to stare. ‘Now why wouldn’t I see that?’ Blades, not wanting to put words in her mouth, waited. Then the words rushed from Mary. ‘It’s a different poker. That’s not the one I cleaned every day. It couldn’t have been. I would have noticed. Now, why is that a different poker?’

  ‘You’re quite sure?’ Blades said.

  Mary considered the poker again.

  ‘As sure as I’m standing here,’ she said.

  ‘You’d swear to that in court?’

  ‘Court? I don’t want to go to court.’

  ‘What’s this about a court?’ her mother said. ‘Mary’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘As a witness only,’ Blades said. ‘And it might not be required. But that is how definite you are?’

  Mary stood looking between her mother and Blades, unsure about how to respond.

  ‘Go on, Mary,’ her mother said. ‘Just tell him the truth.’ />
  ‘It’s not the same poker. I’m sure of that. But how did a different poker get there?’

  ‘That’s for us to establish,’ Blades said.

  ‘Janet won’t be happy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She was particular about the brasses and that’s an odd set now. She had me polish those brasses over and over till I got it right sometimes. And the thing is, with them being used in the fire, they did pick up stains, and you didn’t get rid of them easily. But there was no excuse. She’s demanding. Even with the mistress sometimes.’

  ‘The mistress?’ Blades said.

  ‘Liked to know well in advance what meals were required so she could be all organized. She’s a brilliant cook. You should taste her soufflé. But she’s pernickety.’

  ‘With the mistress?’ Blades asked again.

  Mary caught her breath. ‘Oh, the mistress’ word is law. Or was. But Janet did question her sometimes. I don’t know how she had the nerve. I wouldn’t myself. It was because she’s worked in that house thirty-five years as she’s always saying, I suppose. She even had a bit of a row with her not long ago.’

  ‘Did you hear any of it?’

  ‘It was only a few words, still they were going at it.’

  ‘And the words were?’

  ‘It was just as I was walking in with a tray and then they turned and looked at me and they seemed to remember themselves. I didn’t really catch what it was about, but I did hear the mistress saying, “I’ll thank you not to question that.”’

  ‘Did you talk about this with Janet later?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. Janet said the mistress had been discussing the next week’s meals with her and she was wanting changes from the usual, which I think Janet took to be a slight. But there you are. Miss Wright pays the wage and if she goes off your suet dumplings, you’d better cook something else, I suppose. Not that there would be anything wrong with Janet’s suet dumplings. I couldn’t believe the food in that house when I first saw it.’

  ‘I couldn’t credit it either when she told me about it,’ Mary’s mother said. ‘I was jealous of what Mary was getting to eat, never mind what she said her mistress was being served up.’

  ‘So, Miss Wright definitely said, “I’ll thank you not to question that”?’ Blades said.

  ‘Janet had told her the new menu would take far longer than usual, as new menus do.’

  ‘So, a disagreement about something minor?’

  ‘Not that you’d have thought it anything minor the way Janet reacted to it. She was seething.’

  This Blades wondered about. Why all the emotion and tension over that?

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The new poker must have come from somewhere, and Thompson’s, the ironmongers in the centre of Birtleby, seemed the sensible place to start looking. Or it could have come from a house close by, or further away, or anywhere at all. But if it had come from Thompson’s that would make things simpler, so Blades and Peacock paid it a visit. There were other ironmongers in Birtleby, but Blades knew from the bills he had seen in Miss Wright’s desk that the Wright household dealt with Thompson’s.

  The shop windows held a cornucopia of daily items, tin bread bins, buckets, and a variety of white china milk jugs. A selection of baskets hung from a rope suspended from above the front door so that you were compelled to view these items for sale as you entered. There was also a display of tools in the window on your left as you went in. But there was no sign of fire irons anywhere in what could be seen displayed outside the shop.

  When they entered, they saw a man in brown overalls standing behind the centre counter serving a customer. Behind him was an array of wooden, labelled drawers, holding screws, nails, washers, and rawlplugs amongst other things. When Blades looked to the right, behind a row of brass coal scuttles, he saw an assortment of fire irons, some in brass, some of iron painted black and some in plain iron. Blades and Peacock walked over and perused these. Peacock picked up one poker and studied it before dismissing it. When the shopkeeper had stopped serving his customer, Blades approached him.

  He was a middle-aged man, almost completely bald but pink-skinned and healthy-looking. He was a fleshy man obviously used to a comfortable life, who had an easy-going and ready smile for customers, which he now used as he addressed Blades. As the name above the shop was Edward Thompson and this man looked like the owner, Blades assumed he addressed Edward Thompson himself.

  ‘How can I help you, sir?’

  Blades gave him a polite smile in return. Then Blades put the evidence bag on the counter in front of the man, extracted the poker, and said, ‘I’m looking for a matching set of fire irons for this.’ As he did this, he produced his card. ‘It’s a police matter.’

  Thompson stared at the poker. The traces of blood were still on it, but he didn’t allow himself to be discomfited. ‘Possibly through the back,’ he said, then turned and walked into his back-shop. He came out with a couple of pieces from a set and laid them on the counter to compare. Then he said, ‘When you look at them side by side, they’re nothing like each other, are they?’ He turned and took those irons back through, before coming back with some more, which he also placed on the counter beside it. ‘That’s a match,’ he said.

  Blades and Peacock stared, then a grin appeared on both faces at the same time. ‘Have you sold any others like this recently?’ Blades asked.

  The shopkeeper stroked his moustache as he pondered. ‘I can check my books, but the answer will be no. This is the only set like this in the shop, it’s still here, and we haven’t stocked this type before.’

  This was disappointing, and Blades and Peacock said nothing at first before Peacock spoke. ‘Do you sell individual pokers similar to that?’

  ‘Close to it anyway.’ Then Thompson opened a drawer below the counter and pulled out one that, on careful scrutiny, did match the poker from the evidence bag not only in design, but equally importantly, in the tone of the brass.

  Blades struggled to control his excitement. There might be a solution to the murder here if he could grasp it.

  ‘Has anyone bought one of these lately?’ Peacock asked.

  ‘We’ve sold a few in the last month,’ the shopkeeper replied, ‘but I don’t keep a record of everyone we sell a poker to.’

  But Peacock didn’t give up easily.

  ‘You do business with Elmwood Hall, don’t you?’

  ‘The Wright place?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Is this to do with the Wright murder?’ Thompson said, and gave Peacock a look that held a surprising amount of tension. ‘Yes. Janet often comes in here. She’s the housekeeper there.’

  ‘She didn’t buy one of these pokers, did she?’ Peacock said.

  Apparently not liking the possible significance of his reply, the shopkeeper paused before making it. ‘Janet? Oh, yes. She did buy one of those.’

  ‘Can you say when?’ Blades asked.

  The shopkeeper hesitated again. ‘A few weeks ago, which would’ve been before Miss Wright’s murder. You’re not suggesting Janet did it, are you?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ Blades replied. ‘I’m establishing facts.’ But the shopkeeper was right. That was where Blades’ thoughts were tending, not that he could understand why Janet would do anything like that, or how switching pokers fitted in the murder scenario, but it would bear pondering.

  Then, as they turned to go, Peacock asked one final question. ‘And do you remember anything about the other people you sold that poker to?’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  The drive back gave Blades time for thought. He was considering that if they were succeeding in establishing the murder weapon with the mysterious fingerprints was not used to kill Evelyn Wright but had been switched with the one that had, then the obvious line of thought was that there might not be any reason to dismiss Renshaw from the investigation. After all, he was there, and he had a record. But what was the motive? Could it have been frustr
ation because he could not sell his mining shares to Evelyn and he was desperate for the money? Had she been insulting about it? Blades supposed it was possible if it did not entirely convince him. Or Jack Osgood? Had he done it? The prints on the poker did not clear him anymore either. Renshaw had described a car at the scene as one similar to Osgood’s, though similar was not enough when Osgood had so many witnesses providing him with an alibi. And was testimony from Renshaw reliable? This took Blades back to considering Digby and he wondered whether he ought to have dismissed him as a suspect. He was beginning to feel he had been faced with one conundrum after another which he may have thought he had worked out but that he could make neither head nor tail of now.

  His mind was running to Janet as well. Anybody linked to that house had always been theoretically a suspect because of their connection to it, but there had been nothing else that had pointed to her. Then the thread of Blades’ investigations, the trail of the poker whose fingerprints did not fit, did lead to questioning her.

  Blades thought of what his mother had said of the lives of servants. She had enjoyed her life in service though she had been glad of the chance to leave her position of cook in a grand household because marriage had given her children and a family life. She was glad of the skills she had learned in the kitchen, and the work ethic she had acquired in service; she still kept an immaculate range, and cooked meals that made the mouth water. But then Blades’ mother always had a positive attitude to life. Even when their cottage had been flooded, she had rallied quickly from the initial despondency and said it was an opportunity, not a disaster, a chance to make their home better than it had been before. She had held the same position in service that Janet did, and Blades couldn’t imagine his mother committing murder. Though they were different people with different personalities. If it was possible Janet had committed these murders, what led up to this?

  Blades thought of what he knew about Janet. She was an orphan who’d been brought up and educated for service. That must have been a difficult childhood. He supposed she would have relied on the other girls for companionship and support. The staff at orphanages varied, he knew. No doubt they meant well, but it was employment for them, not the natural relationship of parent to child. And some of them may have overdone discipline. But she had a sister, and at the same orphanage, he supposed. That must have helped. Wait though. What was that story Janet had told? Something about when her sister had died? Janet had not been able to go to her when she was dying because of Mr Wright. That was reason enough for her to hate the Wrights, he supposed. Janet’s sister had been the only family she had, and with the circumstances of their upbringing, they must have had a close bond. But thinking of her murdering Evelyn Wright because of that stretched the imagination.