by Emily Organ
“I didn’t need you to repair my reputation, James!”
“No?” He fixed me with his bright blue eyes. “And what would Mr Edwards have thought had he known you were a willing participant in that kiss? What would he have told people about you, Penny? The thought of you becoming a topic of gossip was too much to bear. What if your sister had found out? You’re an intelligent, respectable woman, and you don’t deserve to be the topic of tittle-tattle across West London’s drawing rooms.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t have come to that.”
“I believe it would have done, but if Mr Edwards considers you blameless your reputation is saved. And as for all this nonsense about me wanting you to marry him, nothing could be further from the truth. Do you think I can bear the thought of you hanging on to another man’s arm?”
“It would make you feel better about your own nuptials.”
“It would do nothing of the sort! If you were to ask me honestly what I think about Mr Edwards I would say that I wish the man had never taken up employment in the reading room and found you there. I wish the man didn’t even exist!”
“Now you know how I feel about Charlotte.”
There was a long silence.
James stared at me and I boldly looked him in the eye, not regretting for one moment what I had just said.
Chapter 19
“Did you actually have to go inside the opium den, Miss Green?” whispered Mr Edwards in the reading room. “Would a description of it not have satisfied you?”
“That wouldn’t have been proper news reporting, Mr Edwards,” I replied softly. “It’s important to be able to report on such information first hand.”
I had been carrying out some tiresome research on the Franchise Bill when Mr Edwards approached me.
“I think it terribly irresponsible for a police officer to allow a lady into such a place!” he said with a frown.
“I don’t think Inspector Reeves minds who comes along on his opium den tours so long as he gets his three shillings,” I replied.
“That’s even worse! The man has no scruples.”
“I can’t say I enjoyed my visit, but it meant I could write authentically for others to read. If just a handful of people who read my article are dissuaded from frequenting these places my work has surely served a purpose.”
“I suppose so, but I don’t see why you should put yourself at risk, Miss Green.”
“I have put myself at risk in this job before, Mr Edwards, and I shall probably do so again. My work often leads me to unpleasant people and places.”
He sighed and handed me some papers. “I’ve gone through The Homeward Mail’s 1881 editions, and here are some references I found. I don’t know how useful they might be. Did you find my last set of notes helpful?”
“I certainly did. They led me to Mr Mawson and I was able to speak with him.”
Mr Edwards’ face brightened. “That’s good news indeed! Did he have anything interesting to tell you?”
“A little more about the Forsters, and I asked whether he knew anything about Alfred Holland.”
“Ah yes, that Holland chap is the reason you visited the opium den, isn’t he?”
I nodded.
“I’m relieved you got out of there alive,” he said.
I stifled a laugh. “Of course I did. There was no danger there.”
“We’re talking about opium addicts, Miss Green!”
“Opium sends them into a stupor, Mr Edwards. They weren’t even aware that I was present.”
Mr Edwards shook his head disapprovingly. “Have you thought of a suitable date for a walk in the park with your sister and myself?”
“Oh, I think so,” I said, having forgotten all about it.
“When would suit?”
“This Saturday, perhaps? I’ll need to make sure Eliza is available.”
“Good. I shall await confirmation from you. I’ll leave you to your work now, Miss Green.” He smiled and gave me a little bow.
I tried to concentrate on my article about the Franchise Bill but it was proving difficult. The conversation with James by the river kept running through my mind. I felt surprised at myself for stating that I wished Charlotte didn’t exist, but I still could not bring myself to regret the words I had spoken.
Although it had been extremely useful to discuss my work with James I had found our past few meetings rather uncomfortable. With his wedding just weeks away our conversations felt fraught with tension. There was no escaping the event that was about to change everything. James had said that it wouldn’t, but I knew he was pretending even to himself. Once he became a married man our relationship would inevitably change. People would disapprove of any time we spent together, even if it was arranged merely to discuss work. His wife would have a legitimate hold over everything he did.
“Ah, Miss Green! The close friend of Tom Clifford’s,” said Edgar as I entered the newsroom just in time to meet my deadline that afternoon.
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” I replied curtly.
“But Tom is telling everyone down at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese how much he enjoyed your company in Limehouse.”
“He’s using sarcasm, Edgar,” I replied.
“Actually, I don’t think he is. He was rather flattered by your company, I believe.”
I gave an empty laugh.
“And if I may say so, Miss Green, your article about the opium den was far better written than his,” added Edgar.
“I doubt that would be much of an achievement,” I said.
Edgar lowered his voice. “So, did you try it?”
“Try what?”
“The opium! John Chinaman selects the very best of it, doesn’t he? Opium can be found all over London, but if you want the best quality a Chinese opium den in Limehouse would be just the place to find it, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, Edgar.”
“Tom tried it,” he said. “He told us all about it at the Cheshire Cheese. He confessed that it’s most gloriously perfumed, and induced in him a soothing, floating, dreamlike state.”
“He said he felt as though he were a spoonful of gently warmed syrup,” added Frederick.
“I’m pleased to hear that he enjoyed it,” I said.
“You weren’t tempted?”
“Not for a moment. It was one of the most miserable places I have ever set foot in, besides the fact that a man was shot there!”
“That’s not particularly pleasant,” said Edgar. “I think that would have put me off trying it as well.”
“I would have gone to a different opium den,” said Frederick.
“Exactly, Potter. I don’t think I could feel at ease in a room where I knew a man had been shot to death,” said Edgar.
“While we’re on the topic of murder,” I said, “have Inspector Bowles or Inspector Paget made any progress?”
“Paget’s done a bit of work. It seems Mr Forster had complicated legal affairs,” said Edgar. “He bought a trading company in Calcutta about ten years ago but it ran into financial difficulties. For a few years he maintained the belief that its fortunes would rise again, so he funded the company with loans. When he came close to defaulting on them he decided to use his property in London as a source of income.”
“The house in Margaret Street?”
“Yes. The Forster family has owned it for many years and it was occupied by a tenant while they were in India. When he arranged a mortgage to fund his company in India there were problems with the bill of sale.”
“Such as what?”
“It became clear to the individual who was advancing the mortgage that Forster was, in fact, trying to submit a fraudulent bill of sale.”
“Why should he do that?”
“Forster needed to provide a bill of sale for his home and furniture in order to be granted the mortgage advance, but he didn’t want to provide a legally binding document. The reason for his deception was that the house wasn’t strictly his to mortgage.
It was part of his father’s estate, which was being held in trust.”
“I see, though I think I may have lost the thread now.”
“I did as well. It takes a few iterations to get your mind around this situation.”
“But I don’t understand. I thought Mr and Mrs Forster were wealthy?”
“They probably were once upon a time. And then these financial difficulties arose, and Forster clearly did a good job of pretending he still had money.”
“Like many a good man,” Frederick chipped in.
“So, to continue,” said Edgar, “Forster managed to find another individual who wasn’t so eagle-eyed with the bill of sale, and that person advanced him a sum of ten thousand pounds, which Forster put into his failing company in India.”
I briefly mulled this over. “Are you saying that he fraudulently obtained the money as he didn’t own his house?”
“Exactly, Miss Green. And despite his best efforts the company in India failed for good, leaving a number of creditors in its wake. Over the past few months his chickens came home to roost. The chap who had given him the ten thousand began pursuing him through the courts to recover his funds, and his father’s estate took legal action against him for mortgaging a house he didn’t own.”
“So the long and short of this sorry tale is that he owed money?”
Edgar nodded. “Vast amounts of it. Tens of thousands of pounds. He owed it to various people, both in India and in Britain, and a number were getting rather impatient with him about it. Only a few days before his death he had been in court requesting more time to settle his debts.”
“It would have taken more than just time by the sounds of things. What a desperate situation to be in. Does Inspector Paget think a creditor had him murdered?”
“That’s one line of investigation.”
“And a very complicated one, it would seem. But why should someone he owed money to decide to have him killed? Surely they would want to keep him alive so they had a chance of seeing their money again one day.”
“I agree with you, Miss Green. Having gone to great lengths to understand the ins and outs of this case my conclusion is the same as yours. I don’t know why he should have been killed for owing money.”
“Was it some sort of punishment?”
“Perhaps, but when you’re dead you’re not really being punished any more, are you?” said Edgar.
“Unless you’re in hell,” Frederick piped up. “Perhaps Forster’s killer intended for him to suffer in purgatory.”
“Despite Forster’s debts, he may be of greater financial worth now that he’s dead than he was when he was alive,” I said. “Perhaps there is a life insurance policy the creditors can claim against, or something else in his estate which could be accessed.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” said Edgar, “and it could explain why the wife was also murdered. It meant she couldn’t inherit his estate.”
“But the Forsters have children,” I said, beginning to feel alarmed. “What if this mess passes down to them?”
“It will do, won’t it?” said Edgar.
“Has anyone warned them?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you know who began the legal proceedings against him?”
Edgar flicked through his notebook, then read aloud from the relevant page. “One is a law firm representing his father’s estate, Sadler and Campbell, and the other is a chap named Mr Chakravarty.”
“Do you know anything about either of them?”
“Nothing at all.”
Chapter 20
“Penelope, I do believe this is the most foolish thing you have ever done,” said Eliza as she sat on my bed at my lodgings. “An opium den! It’s just about the worst place you could have visited in the entire world!”
“I’m sure there are worse places, Ellie,” I replied, “and its abjection was the very reason I went there. I wanted to convey how simply dreadful these places are, and what an unpleasant drug opium is. It ruined the mind of Alfred Holland; a man who was born into comfort and wealth. Just think what it must do to the lives of so many people we never hear about.”
“Oh, I know what it does. That’s why we argued with George over dinner recently, wasn’t it? But surely you don’t need to visit these places in person, Penny. You’re putting yourself in terrible danger.”
“I like to think that by doing so I have helped educate a few more minds about the effects of opium.”
“You could do the same thing without going inside these dens.”
“Not at all. A first-hand account is what people most enjoy reading. They don’t wish to be lectured on the dangers of opium; instead, they desire to somehow experience its effects from the safety of their own homes.”
“While you put yourself in danger!”
“I wasn’t in danger, Ellie. I was accompanied by a police inspector and another news reporter, and I’m rather tired of being scolded for the decision I made. Three of you now – yourself, James and Mr Edwards – have berated me for doing what I consider to be an important part of my job.”
“It’s only because we care about you, Penelope!”
“Anyone who really cared would understand my need to do it.”
“Oh, I see. We care but we don’t care the way you would like. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, it’s not. All I ask is for a little more acceptance.”
Eliza snorted in reply.
“You should welcome articles such as mine,” I continued. “Didn’t you mention that you wished to join the Society for the Abolition of the Opium Trade?”
“Actually, I have spoken to a very nice gentleman there.”
“Did you show him my article?”
“No, I hadn’t read it by that point. But having spoken to the chap I’ve decided to propose that we add the abolition of the opium trade to our list of causes at the next meeting of the West London Women’s Society.”
“That’s excellent news, Ellie.”
“And the nice gentleman is to be our guest speaker.”
“Even better! What does George think about the idea?”
“Oh, I haven’t told him yet, but we both know what his reaction will be, don’t we? You can’t talk any sense into the man. I feel sure that he likes to think we’re still living in 1850. Please tell me you’re not planning a return visit to that opium den.”
“Of course not, it was a horrible place.”
“Good. Perhaps you can come to our next meeting and describe your experiences there.”
“I’d be very happy to, Eliza.”
“Splendid, I look forward to it! Now tell me, when are we next meeting Mr Edwards to discuss the search for Father?”
“Would this Saturday be convenient?”
“That would be absolutely fine with me. Oh, I have such a fondness for Mr Edwards. Isn’t he a delightful chap? What it must be like to have a brain as clever as his. I do hope he hurries up with his proposal. I can’t help but wonder why he’s dragging his heels.”
“Perhaps he has no intention of proposing.”
“Oh, of course he does, but he must hurry up! You’re thirty-five now, Penelope. Do you know what I think will spur him on a little? The marriage of Inspector Blakely. I think poor Mr Edwards must be aware that you and the inspector hold some sort of affection for one another.”
“We don’t.”
“Oh, Penelope, look at your face. It’s gone quite red! You’re a hopeless liar. Now mark my words, as soon as Inspector Blakely is married Mr Edwards will surely propose.”
My heart sank. I wasn’t looking forward to either event.
Chapter 21
I found James at his desk in the drab, smoky offices of Scotland Yard.
“Penny!” James stood to his feet as soon as he saw me. He wore a dark blue suit and there was a gold pin in his silk tie.
At a desk nearby sat Chief Inspector Cullen, a police officer who cared little for me. He was about fifty-five with a thi
ck grey moustache and silver-rimmed spectacles. Having experienced a number of disagreements with me in the past he acknowledged me with only a slight nod and continued reading the papers on his desk.
“I was just passing,” I said to James, realising as I spoke that these words were becoming a common excuse between us.
“Of course.” He smiled.
“Edgar Fish explained Mr Forster’s complicated financial affairs to me.”
“Did he? That’s impressive, as they are extremely complicated.”
“And presumably the reason he and his wife were murdered.”
“Possibly. It cannot be denied that the man got himself into quite a bit of trouble. I’ve learnt a fair amount about the case from Bowles and Paget of C Division is happily co-operating with me now too.”
“Both a law firm and a banker were pursuing him in the courts, were they not?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Do you know much about them?”
“Sadler and Campbell specialise in family law. I believe they were acting on behalf of his father’s estate. I’ve spoken to a clerk there but have not yet found the opportunity to meet with either Mr Sadler or Mr Campbell. Mr Chakravarty owns a deposit bank in Change Alley in the City of London.”
“Mr Chakravarty is the man who advanced Mr Forster the mortgage loan, I believe.”
“On the house Mr Forster didn’t own, yes, that’s right. I’ve spoken briefly to Mr Chakravarty, but he claimed he had no time to speak to me. I need to go back and have a more structured conversation with him. I don’t think he particularly likes speaking to the police. He strikes me as a man who has something to hide.”
“Such as what?”
“Unscrupulous money-lending tactics, probably,” Chief Inspector Cullen piped up. “I’ve come across his sort before.”
“Unscrupulous enough to have a man murdered?” I asked.
“Perhaps so.” Chief Inspector Cullen stroked his moustache and maintained an impassive expression, as if he knew more than he was prepared to say.
