A True and Faithful Brother

by Linda Stratmann

  Miss Gilbert was not comforted by this observation. ‘I can understand menfolk wanting to deny women the vote, or any voice at all in public matters, but really, what are we to do when women turn against their own? It is all very well for Mrs Cholmondeleyson with her servants and her carriages to say that she doesn’t need to think about what Parliament decrees, and imagines that she speaks for the majority.’

  ‘Has she published a statement of her beliefs and intentions?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Not yet, but it is bound to follow. As you see, she is holding a meeting at Westbourne Hall very soon, and all are welcome. I intend to go and shout her down, and we would like you to join us.’ Miss Gilbert’s triumphant smile indicated her confidence that Frances would agree.

  ‘Might I suggest a different approach?’ said Frances, who had no great wish to be arrested for disorderly behaviour.

  ‘Of course,’ said Miss Gilbert, ‘we always appreciate your advice.’

  ‘I think we ought to attend, but with the intention of discovering what they have to say, what they mean to do and how much support they have. If we simply cause a disturbance and are turned out of the hall, then we will learn nothing to our advantage. Only when we have the facts can we decide what if anything we need to do. Oh, and I think it would be unwise to carry anything that might be construed as a weapon.’

  Miss John looked understandably disappointed.

  Sarah, who arrived home with a letter of introduction to Mr Westvale of Mulberry Lodge, reported that Mr Fiske had not been able to recall anything else of importance, and was extremely agitated as someone had shown him a copy of Mr Miggs’ pamphlet. Like Frances, he was in no doubt as to the authorship, and Sarah’s visit to the printers had confirmed that their suspicions were correct. ‘Is there nothing to be done about this nuisance!’ Fiske had exclaimed. ‘I have taken legal advice, but he has been too careful and avoided a charge. If I took him to court I would be wasting my money, and what is worse, bringing him more prominently into the public mind. He is the Cinna the Poet of our age, only there is no mob to tear him for his bad verses.’

  ‘Mr Fiske told me that Cinna was a bad poet who was murdered in a play,’ Sarah explained.

  ‘Then we must wish Mr Miggs the best of health, or there will be more trouble,’ said Frances. She dispatched a note to Mr Westvale and was pleased to receive an early reply making an appointment for the following day.

  Mr Westvale lived in very comfortable circumstances, his long connection with the silk industry apparent from the lustrous yet tasteful furnishings with which he surrounded himself. Frances was conducted to his study where his role in freemasonry was proudly displayed, a large oil portrait showing him arrayed in full regalia, with apron, collar and breast jewels. On that evidence, he had been handsome in his middle years, but age had shrunk him, and his face was like a withered fruit. Nevertheless, his hair and beard were faultlessly groomed and he was every bit as debonair in his manner and clothing as his younger self.

  He greeted her with cordial respect, although there was a shadow of sadness behind his eyes. ‘It is my great pleasure to meet you Miss Doughty. Mr Fiske speaks very highly of you, and I am sure we are all most grateful to you for ridding our streets of that dreadful murderer, and at such danger to yourself.’

  ‘I often feel that the newspapers tell too dramatic a story,’ said Frances.

  ‘You are too modest. I sense a determination in you; a need to discover the truth and ensure that justice is done. That is not always easy, and yet it is a challenge you accept again and again. I did think from what I had read in the papers that you had abandoned that endeavour.’

  ‘I had, but I made an exception to help Mr Fiske, and now I believe I will go on with my former career, one in which I can do some good in the world.’

  Westvale smiled his approval. ‘How may I help you? I am as anxious as anyone to see Lancelot Dobree’s murderer brought to justice, and I cannot believe that Salter was involved.’

  ‘How long have you known them?’

  ‘Dobree I first met some twenty-five years ago, through mutual trading interests. He was an honourable and charitable man, directed by prudence. We were both members of the Mercer’s Guild and I asked him to join Mulberry Lodge. He progressed through the Lodge offices, and was a past Master. Salter did not join us at once, as he was unsure if his business, which involves considerable travelling, would allow him to be a useful member, but he did eventually join. He is currently Inner Guard.’

  ‘This is a hard question I know, but are you aware of anything questionable in Mr Dobree’s life that could have led to his murder?’

  Westvale smiled gently. ‘I promise you, Miss Doughty, unless we have all been thoroughly hoodwinked these many years, there is nothing of that kind.’

  ‘Mr Marsden told the inquest that Mr Dobree was concerned about something, although he did not say what, and this may well have informed his behaviour, even if his worries were unfounded. Mr Fiske has confirmed to me that he thought Mr Dobree had something on his mind. This may have led him to leave the Lodge during the meeting and could well have been connected with his plans to go away. Can you enlighten me at all?’

  Westvale gave the question very intense thought. ‘There is no doubt in my mind that Dobree was a troubled man. In the last weeks of his life there was a heavy burden weighing on him. The last time I saw him was about a week before his death, at the last meeting of Mulberry Lodge he attended. I asked him what was troubling him; I thought at first that it was an issue with his health and asked if he was well, and he assured me that his health remained strong and that no member of his family was indisposed. I knew of course that he was retired from business, so it was clear that it could not be that. He saw what I was thinking and told me that he was not in any financial difficulties. Finally he spoke to me in confidence as a friend, a confidence I only break now that he is no more, and in the hopes of finding his murderer. He said that he suspected a serious irregularity regarding a brother Mason, but he could not act upon it or reveal it to another person until he was certain of his facts. The consequences of acting before he was certain could be catastrophic if he was wrong.’

  ‘Catastrophic to whom? Himself? His family? His charities? The Lodge?’

  Westvale smiled. ‘A very good question. He didn’t say. I advised him to consider employing a detective, but he said he didn’t want to involve anyone else. I could see, however, that the suggestion had set him thinking, so it is possible that despite this, he might have done so. At any rate he had no more to say on the subject, at least nothing that he would tell me.’

  Exploring the inner thoughts of a deceased man was hard, but Frances wondered if the next topic discussed by the two friends would reveal something; a thought that might have emerged from the earlier one. ‘Was that the end of your conversation or did it go on? What else did you talk about?’

  Westvale leaned forward and balanced his chin on his hands. ‘I think we went on to discuss his forthcoming visit to the Literati. I don’t think there was anything of moment he had to convey, merely that he was due to be a guest.’

  ‘Had he visited the Literati before?’

  ‘I’m not sure he had. It is a fairly recently formed Lodge. They use the same Lodge room as Mulberry.’

  ‘He didn’t reveal where he planned to go after the meeting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In all the years that you and he have been members of Mulberry Lodge, has he ever left a meeting while it was in progress?’

  ‘Never. I am certain of it. He did not do so when I was present, and if he had done such an extraordinary thing during a meeting I did not attend I would have been sure to be told of it.’

  ‘But if it was dark he might have slipped out and come back without anyone knowing?’

  Westvale shook his head. ‘I don’t see how. In any case, the period of darkness is not in all our ceremonies.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Fiske told me it only occurs during a raising. But ther
e must have been such ceremonies in Mulberry Lodge?’

  ‘Oh yes, and we have records of them and who attended and in what capacity. But Dobree, as an officer of Mulberry Lodge, would have been participating in the ritual. He would have been fully occupied and would not have had the opportunity to go out unnoticed.’

  ‘I see, whereas as a guest of the Literati he was not so occupied, and could have slipped out unseen?’

  Westvale permitted himself a smile. ‘Leaving aside the question of the locked, guarded and tyled doors, yes.’

  ‘Do you or any members of the Mulberry Lodge have keys to any of the external tavern doors – the ones that lead into the High Street, Linfield Gardens or the alleyway, Linfield Walk?’

  ‘I am quite sure none of us do. Mr Neilson is very careful and vigilant. You will find nothing slipshod in his arrangements.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Frances was deep in thought all the way home. Dobree’s discussion with Westvale about his visit to the Literati might have been intended to move the subject away from something he felt uncomfortable talking about, or, more interestingly, it could have followed from his hidden thoughts. Had it just occurred to Dobree that the specific circumstances of the Literati meeting gave him an opportunity he would not have had in his own Lodge? The chance, at a time when there would have been witnesses to his being present during a Lodge meeting, to be in quite another place? Westvale had suggested to Dobree that he hire a detective, something that he felt unwilling to do, and Marsden had mentioned something similar. Perhaps, thought Frances, Dobree had decided to act as a detective himself, as she had once done. If so, it seemed probable that he had only intended to be out of the room for a few minutes, just during the period of darkness, enough time to meet secretly with someone, or listen in on a conversation, and then return without anyone being any the wiser. She recalled the fact that the Literati included a ritual known as an address, which Mulberry did not. The period of covering darkness in the Literati Lodge was therefore longer than in Mulberry.

  Given that Dobree was without hat or coat, he cannot have intended to leave the building for long, if at all. Which still left the question of where he had been killed and how he had got to the place where his body had been found. Frances was beginning to wonder if Dobree could have done what he did without the collusion of another person, someone he had hired, perhaps, not so much to investigate sensitive secrets but to help him achieve what might have seemed impossible alone.

  On her return, Frances found a Mrs Maxwell waiting for a consultation, and such was the client’s distress that it was some while before she was able to explain the reason for her visit. It transpired that her cat, Fluff, a devoted companion and confidante for many years, had vanished one afternoon after being permitted to snooze in her garden in a patch of rare winter sunshine. There was no cat like Fluff, she declared, none more loyal, or with a sweeter purr or softer coat. She felt sure that Fluff, who was in the last season of a cat’s life, and whose eyesight had been failing, had wandered away and been trapped in some outhouse or stable somewhere, and was in danger of starving to death. She had advertised in the newspapers without result, but now appealed to Miss Doughty’s wondrous ability to find lost pets. Mrs Maxwell had an oval locket with a miniature of the adored feline, and a watercolour portrait she had painted herself. On this evidence, Fluff was a plump and sleepily contented animal, with white fur in downy profusion, attractively streaked and spotted in dark grey, and tiny blue eyes sunk deeply into a pudgy face. There was a glitter in those ailing eyes which suggested that Fluff would despise anything that came within scenting distance that was not handing her a dish of food. Whatever Frances thought of pets, she knew better than to say anything other than what a beautiful creature the missing darling must be.

  Mrs Maxwell had scarcely departed, leaving a trail of teardrops as she went, when Tom and Ratty arrived looking pleased with themselves. Frances was hoping that they had identified the miscreant who had earned himself the soubriquet ‘the Bayswater Gown-slasher’ but apart from some near misses no progress had been made. The subject of their visit was 2 Linfield Gardens.

  ‘Watched the place all day, nothing doin’, no one goin’ in or out,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve got men still there, lookin’. But it’s locked up, tight as a trap.’

  ‘Well, keep up the work,’ said Frances. ‘Sooner or later the new owner or his agent will go in and then I might be able to take a look. I only wish I knew what I was looking for.’

  Tom and Ratty glanced at each other and grinned.

  Frances was not sure she liked those grins. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘We got over the wall into the yard,’ said Tom.

  ‘How did you manage that? I hope you weren’t seen.’

  ‘No spyin’ eyes about. I stood on Ratty’s shoulders, peeked over, nothin’ much to see but I thought I could scramble over the wall. Once I was in, there was enough wood an’ old bricks lyin’ about, so I made a pile, stood on it an’ ’elped Ratty get over.’

  ‘So we ’ad a look about,’ Ratty went on, ‘dint touch nothin’ like you said, so it was just accidental like that we found the stuff.’

  ‘Stuff?’

  ‘Things what someone might wanter steal. Dint know what some of ’em rightly was. There was silky and shiny stuff, an’ a ring, an’ things that looked like medals, and there was other stuff too but we thought we oughtn’t to touch any of it.’

  ‘Where was all this? I hope you didn’t break into the house?’

  ‘No we never went in,’ said Tom. ‘I saw some little bits’ve the outer walling of the ’ouse that ’ad fallen down, an’ I thought there might be some reason for it. It looked solid enough, but when I tapped on it with a stick I ’eard it was ’ollow underneath. So I called Ratty over an’ we found some bricks were loose. Well we reckoned they was like that for some reason, so we worked on ’em and it wasn’t ’ard to get two bricks out. It was a bit too dark to see exac’ly what was there, but it looked like some kind of ’idden treasure so we got more bricks out to see better and when we saw all the shiny stuff we thought the best thing to do was cover it all up again and come and tell you about it.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ said Frances. ‘And now we must all go and tell Inspector Payne of the Kensington police.’

  Tom and Ratty exchanged worried looks.

  ‘I will advise him that you were working for me, looking for a missing animal, and take full responsibility for anything you have done. I doubt that he will question it. In fact, I have a new commission for you, a Mrs Maxwell, whose cat, Fluff, has wandered away. Fluff is the best cat in the world and Mrs Maxwell is very anxious for her safe return.’ Frances handed over the picture.

  ‘No ’urry then,’ said Tom. ‘It could live off its own fat for a fortnight.’

  ‘Now then, both of you, I will take you to Kensington to see Inspector Payne.’

  ‘Do we ’ave to?’ snarled Ratty.

  ‘I know you don’t like the police, but it will be better for you if you tell them what you have found and not hide anything. In any case, you will be demonstrating your superior detecting skills.’

  ‘I tole Ratty ’e oughter apply for copperin’,’ said Tom, ‘but ’e won’t ’ave it.’

  Ratty scowled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  At Kensington police station Frances took the lead and informed the desk sergeant that the boys she had employed to search for a missing pet had stumbled by chance on what she thought were the items missing from the corpse of Lancelot Dobree. There was an immediate flurry of action and they did not have to wait long before Payne appeared and beckoned them into his office.

  ‘Were you present at this discovery?’ he asked Frances, sinking wearily into his chair.

  ‘No, but I take responsibility for the actions of my agents. In this case both are minors and do not have parents to guide them, so I saw it as my duty to accompany them here.’

  ‘I am sure you did,’ he said dr
ily. ‘But I want to hear it in their words, not yours. You, young man,’ he nodded at Ratty, ‘what’s your name?’

  Ratty’s head had sunk inside his collar like a tortoise drawing its head under its shell. ‘Ratty,’ he muttered. ‘I calls myself Jonsmif if I goes to give evydence.’

  ‘Well that’s a good start.’

  ‘Ratty is very observant and has provided valuable information to the police in a number of cases,’ said Frances.

  Payne ignored her and pointed to Tom. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m Tom Smith, of “Tom Smith’s Men”. Ratty ’ere is one of my best men. We both work for Miss Doughty.’

  Payne studied the nervously cowering Ratty for a moment. ‘Alright, Tom Smith, tell me all about it.’

  Tom was not far into his description when Payne sat up straight and took a keen interest. He jotted a few notes. ‘We’ll go along now and you can show me what you found. How did you get into the premises?’

  ‘We shinned over the wall,’ said Tom. ‘As soon as we ’eard the poor little lost puss cryin’ for its mother.’ He displayed the picture of Fluff. ‘I mean we couldn’t leave it to die now could we?’

  Payne gave a heavy sigh. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I believe the property has been sold since the body was found,’ said Frances. ‘Mr Johnstone, the man who last viewed it, has bought the business of Munro & Son, so he might be able to tell you who has the keys.’

  ‘Then let’s take a look,’ said Payne, rising to his feet. On the way out of the station he signalled to a constable to accompany him. ‘We won’t be needing you, Miss Doughty, you can run along home now.’

  ‘I beg to differ. I must accompany the boys in the capacity of guardian and advisor.’

  ‘Are you usually this hard to shake off?’

  Frances smiled, and Tom and Ratty laughed.

  Payne disdained the idea of a cab and strode hard towards the High Street, somewhat disconcerted to find that Frances, with her youth, energy and long legs, was easily able despite the weight of her skirts to keep pace with him. Frances was taller than most men, but Payne was about an inch or two taller than she, or would have been if he had not been so hunched with irritation.