Devil May Care (A Jonathan Harker Mystery)

by Evans, Tony

  I was disappointed when another woman entered my compartment and occupied one of the seats opposite me. She was neatly dressed in a long grey jacket and matching walking skirt, and carried a large leather portmanteau. There was a trace of the Yorkshire accent in her voice when she apologised for her sudden appearance.

  ‘Please excuse my intrusion, Miss. Oh – I’m sorry – you may of course be Mrs! It’s just that I took you for an unmarried woman.’ A faint blush coloured my unexpected companion’s pretty face and she blinked her eyes in confusion. I decided that it would be unkind to be annoyed by her arrival. She looked even younger than me, and had something of the air of a superior governess.

  ‘Think nothing of it. This carriage is after all not reserved. And you do not appear to me to be about to produce a pipe, cigar, pug dog, screaming infant or any of the other nightmares which are commonly inflicted by the travelling public. Now, since we have no one to introduce us, let us defy convention and introduce each other. I am Miss Hester Lynton, of 12 Newsome Street, London, and a private tutor of foreign languages.’

  The young woman reached out and shook the hand I offered to her. ‘Ivy Jessop, Miss. I’m very please to meet you. Until very recently I was employed as the companion of Lady Eunice Laughton of Northway House, Chiswick. Lady Laughton sadly passed away last month, at the age of ninety-three.

  ‘And what is your current situation?’ I asked.

  Before she could answer, the guard blew his whistle and the train moved off. As it did so, the door of our compartment was flung open and two figures tumbled into the carriage next to us. The station master on duty on the platform ran alongside the train for a few yards, shouting something in our direction, but soon gave up the chase as the train gathered speed and left him behind, doubled up with the unaccustomed exertion. I could not help chuckling at his bent, wheezing figure, until the sight of our two new fellow travellers put me in a different frame of mind altogether.

  One of the two men was a mere youth, probably no more than twenty. He was dressed in a common, garish fashion in a corduroy suit, brightly patterned waistcoat and battered bowler hat, as if off to the public enclosure at the racecourse. He had a very pale, thin, rather sheep-like face, his half open mouth and protuberant eyes suggesting an intelligence not of the highest. His companion, who looked about ten years older, had more the appearance of a dissipated gentleman who had fallen on hard times. He wore an old tweed Norfolk jacket that had once been well-cut, and his flushed, coarse features made me think he was no stranger to strong drink. They sat on the far side of the coach, facing Ivy and me in silence. Ivy looked away from them out of the window, while I reached into my travelling bag and took out a newspaper I had bought before catching my cab to the station.

  The pale youth nudged his companion. ‘’Ere, Tom! The lady can read! She ain’t on the racing page, though!’

  His associate edged along his seat towards Ivy, who cringed as she tried to squeeze herself into the corner next to the window. ‘Now, my dear, what’s it to be? To start with, shall we see what’s in that bag of yours?’ He turned to me with an evil leer. ‘I’ll leave young Sid to look after you.’

  The youth chuckled at this, his eyes bulging further out from his face. I looked at Ivy and saw that she had turned as white as paper, and the trembling of her lower lip showed that she was close to tears. I was not surprised at her terror. The closed carriage of a railway train is one of the few places in England where a respectable woman can, if she is unfortunate, be closeted unchaperoned with a man intent on doing her harm. Normally the purchase of a first-class ticket would be enough to avoid such a circumstance, but these ruffians had clearly managed to board the train without paying.

  I smiled broadly at Ivy’s red-faced tormentor and reached inside my travelling bag. ‘If it’s money you are after, you need to look to the mistress, not the maid. I have something here which should interest you greatly. As to Sid, it occurs to me he may get rather more than he bargained for.’

  At that, Tom laughed out loud. ‘A woman of spirit, by G - d!’ he exclaimed. Sid wore the disconcerted expression of someone who feels that he has been made the butt of a joke which they do not understand.

  Tom was still laughing when I withdrew the small pearl handled revolver from my bag and pointed it directly at his chest. His sudden change of expression would have made the fortune of any music-hall artist who was able to reproduce it at will. Sid’s features did not alter – I could sense his limited mental powers struggling to understand the changed situation.

  ‘Some people despise these American “ladies’ specials”,’ I said, ‘But I consider that most unfair. My late father, Major Lynton, who greatly respected Americans, always used to say that they produced the world’s best hand guns and worst whisky. I would in any case always favour a low-powered weapon for use in a railway compartment, out of respect for passengers in the neighbouring carriage. Why, a shot from a Colt .45 would very probably pass right through your chest, irreparably damage the first class upholstery behind you, penetrate the wooden wall of this coach and kill anyone sitting on the other side of it. Whereas this little .22 bullet will almost certainly cease its short but useful journey somewhere inside your upper body – heart, liver, lungs, who knows?’

  My speech was enough to eradicate the effect of years of heavy drinking on Tom’s face. The former rosy red hue gave way to a sickly pallor, lightly tinged with green.

  ‘One more thing,’ I went on. ‘I would strongly advise you to make no sudden moves. The time it would take for one or both of you to leap towards me would be rather shorter than the time it would take me to pull this trigger – twice, if necessary.’

  I looked towards Ivy, who seemed to have recovered her composure. Indeed, there was the hint of a smile on her face as she observed the unexpected scene in front of her.

  ‘What are we to do with these fine fellows, Miss Jessop? Young Sidney here has clearly not been out of prison long. Perhaps another spell in gaol would improve his character, although I rather fear it is already damaged beyond repair.’

  Sid finally seemed to realise the trouble he was now in. ‘’Ow come you know about me being in clink, Miss? I wuz only out last month. ‘Taint my fault we jumped on the train. Tom here put me up to it.’

  I pointed towards Sid. ‘Even the most dedicated town dweller does not have a complexion quite as pale as yours. I don’t think you’ve seen much outside a prison wall for the last year or so. And your hands aren’t exactly those of a concert pianist, are they, my boy?’

  Sid splayed out his fingers and gazed at them as if they belonged to someone else. The nails were cracked and the skin engraved with deep seams of dirt. ‘Picking oakum, Miss. Ten hours a day. ‘’Urts your hands something terrible, it does.’

  Tom interrupted. ‘Shut it, Sid. When we get to Reading, we’ll deny everything. Then it’s our word against them, isn’t it?’ He looked at me, his lips curling viciously and showing a set of very yellow teeth. ‘Nice court case that’ll make, won’t it, Miss Know-all? Your fancy friends will love reading the story I’m going to tell about you and that tart in the corner.’

  Tom, whatever the defects in his personality and character, was clearly not a stupid man. Fortunately I had already anticipated his scheme.

  ‘Miss Jessop, you have travelled this line before,’ I said. Ivy nodded. ‘Can you remember whether, before we reach Reading – I think we shall be there in forty minutes – there is any stretch of track where the train slows a little?’

  Ivy looked puzzled, then her eyes widened as she realised the significance of my suggestion. She looked out of the window. We were travelling through the outer suburbs, on a small embankment with rows of houses on either side, and farmland visible in the distance.

  ‘Yes indeed. If memory serves me right, we pass through a short stretch of tunnel very shortly. Then there’s an incline up through a wooded area. The embankment is steep there, and the train has to slow down – to a speed no faster than a
trotting horse, I’d say.’

  ‘That is ideal. Now you two,’ – I waved my little revolver towards the two men – ‘You are going to change places with myself and Miss Jessop. But very slowly. I want you both by the door.’

  It was clear that Tom understood my intentions. ‘And what if we say no?’ he said sullenly.

  ‘Why then like all good generals, I will change my plans if necessary. If I kill both of you here and now, that will make for a much simpler court case. It will still be our word against yours, but as dead men, your capacity for argument will be somewhat limited. Who will your lawyer call as a character witness? The Governor of Wormwood Scrubs?’

  Tom seemed to shrink as he accepted the inevitable. ‘Very well, Miss. But if the train don’t slow enough, have pity on us, for God’s sake.’

  He and Sid stationed themselves either side of the carriage door and I waved to Ivy to indicate that she should sit opposite me at the other end of the compartment. As our train emerged from the tunnel it slowed considerably.

  ‘Right, out you go!’ I shouted. ‘Or you can stay and be used for target practice if you prefer!’

  Tom swung open the carriage door and leapt out, pulling the terrified Sid after him. Ivy and I rushed to close it after them, and we caught a brief glimpse of our two unwelcome travelling companions tumbling over the thorny slope of the embankment like children’s toys kicked downstairs.

  Our compartment was strangely quiet now that the two of us were alone once more.

  ‘Oh Miss Lynton, how can I ever thank you?’ Ivy said tearfully.

  I patted her shoulder. ‘Think nothing of it. It rather reminds me of an incident in India when I was seven years old, and a young tiger walked into the nursery through the veranda doors. My ayah clapped her hands and shouted at it, and the creature padded out the way he had come in. You see, things are never as bad as they seem. As Major Lynton used often to tell me, the important thing is never to lose one’s nerve. Now I suggest we put the whole unpleasant affair behind us. I have no intention of reporting it to the authorities. The resulting publicity would be unbearable.’

  ‘You are right. Let us talk of other things,’ Ivy said. ‘You were asking about my current situation?’

  ‘Yes, but I have no wish to intrude on your private affairs.’

  Ivy smiled shyly. ‘Not at all. Indeed, it would be something of a relief to speak to someone. Perhaps I should first explain that thanks to a small legacy from Lady Laughton I am fortunately in no immediate financial need. Hence my choice of a first class railway ticket. As a young woman travelling alone...’ Her voice tailed off in some embarrassment.

  ‘I quite understand. That is my own position exactly.’

  Ivy recovered her composure. ‘I am currently lodging with my elder sister and her husband in Swindon. He is a senior engineer employed by the railway. They have a large family and are very glad of the rent that I am able to pay them. I am looking for a new situation, and travelled up to London this morning on an early train for an interview. I’m afraid the position did not turn out to be suitable. I am now returning to Swindon, where hopefully the evening papers might bring other opportunities to my notice.’

  ‘If you will forgive my curiosity, what sort of post are you looking for?’

  Ivy appeared embarrassed. ‘That’s my difficulty, Miss. You see, my father, a West Country curate with an Oxford University education, a small cottage and a smaller income, made it his business to teach his three daughters at home. His views on female education were unconventional. The result is that my English, French and mathematics are rather better than my cooking and sewing. I entered Lady Laughton’s service five years ago, at the age of seventeen – I am only twenty two now – and to tell you the honest truth, it has spoiled me. She was a cultivated gentlewoman, whose mind remained strong to the last. I fear that I will never obtain such a position again.’

  I frowned. ‘But surely there are posts for lady’s companions advertised frequently?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Ivy laughed. ‘Reading out gossip from the illustrated papers, indulging pet dogs and organising visits to fashionable continental hotels! I intend to avoid such a fate for as long as possible. To be honest, a plain, honest housekeeper’s job would be more congenial to me than such a situation.’

  I nodded sympathetically. I could see that in her position Ivy Jessop’s good education could be a disadvantage.

  ‘This is hardly fair,’ I said. ‘You’ve supplied me with all your information and I have offered nothing in return. I must say that I have been struck by the similarity of our situation in life.’

  Ivy look surprised. ‘Really, Miss? You are surely not in service yourself? I took you for a gentlewoman as soon as I saw you.’

  ‘No, not in service,’ I said. ‘However, I must make my own way in the world, just like you. After my mother passed away I remained in India with my father. It was not until the age of twenty two that I finally saw my native country. When my Aunt Dorothy had died, she very generously left me her London town house, and a small but sufficient income, which I supplement through private foreign language lessons. My cousin Alfred, an Inspector in the Metropolitan Police, is my only living relative.’

  The train slowed and stopped at a local halt. There appeared to be no-one waiting on the small rural platform. ‘Next stop Reading,’ Ivy announced. ‘We should be there in half an hour. Are you travelling far today?’

  ‘Only as far as Chippenham. I’m visiting an old friend of my late Aunt, and returning to London tomorrow.’

  For the next few minutes we sat in silence. Then Ivy picked up the newspaper I had put down, and pointed to a prominent advertisement on the front page.

  ‘I know the lady who has placed this notice,’ she said, a note of surprise in her voice. ‘It’s Mrs Laura Markham, of Carlton House, Pangbourne. Her brother was a good friend of my late father. They were at Oxford together.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘She is offering a reward of £200 to anyone who can tell her the whereabouts of her missing governess! Let me see...A Miss Emma Williams, who disappeared on the morning of Monday 3rd March.’

  ‘That is the day before yesterday. Your acquaintance has been very prompt. It would seem that there is £200 which might be very easily earned by some enterprising person.’

  ‘But surely the County Police will be investigating the case?’

  ‘Not necessarily, unless foul play is definitely detected. Fortunately we live in a free country, and someone who chooses to disappear is under no obligation to inform anyone. Moreover, we can be sure that in this case there are no obviously suspicious circumstances, other than the fact that Miss Williams has acted quite out of character.

  ‘How can you be so sure, Miss Lynton?’

  ‘If there were suspicious circumstances, then the police force would be involved. If that were the case, and all the resources of the police were being used to locate the young woman, why should Mrs Markham choose to offer such a large sum of money to get additional help? No, it is clear that there are no reasons to suspect a criminal act has occurred.’

  ‘And why must Miss Williams have acted out of character?’

  I smiled. ‘If this young governess was a woman who often behaved in such a fashion, Mrs Markham might be angry, but I doubt that she would be so obviously worried about the safety of her employee. But it would seem to me that the solution is obvious.’

  ‘Then please tell me. I would like us to help Mrs Markham if we can.’

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