“Pardon me for asking, but just who are you sir?”
“The name is Johnson, William Johnson.” he said with his back to me as we walked toward the sputtering machine. “I’m a news agent from the Yorkshire Post. Heard of it?”
Indeed I had. In my profession it was prudent to be familiar with periodicals and often times with those who ran them as well. “Your editor still Simon Webley?”
The man stopped in his tracks and turned to face me, “You know Simon?”
“Some years back he provided me with a bit of archival information that I was in need of. We met only once when he was in London.”
“Information for a case I’m assuming?”
“Then you know who I am?”
“Indeed.” he said as he tossed the first bag into the back of the motor carriage. “I’d come to speak with the railroad, see if there was any new information about the recent robberies. Imagine my surprise when they told me that an inspector had caught the thief and that they’d recovered nearly one-hundred-thousand pounds worth of stolen items from her cabin.”
“A hundred-thousand? She was a very busy lady. You will excuse me if I find it hard to believe that the railroad was speaking to a reporter about items going missing on one of their trains. Very bad for business were it to get out.”
“A friend of mine with ties to the railroad let it slip some days ago. I’d promised not to publish anything until the thief had been caught so long as they kept me in the know. It was going to get out eventually but if the first wind of it the general population got was that the railroad thief had been captured it’d look like they were doing a good job protecting their passengers from theft.”
“I suppose. So you’ve deduced that if you give this mysterious inspector a ride to wherever it is that he’s going he’ll be kind enough to relate the entire tale to you for publication in your newspaper. Correct?”
“A reasonable deal wouldn’t you say?” the newspaper man twisted the ends of his mustache and grinned, “Lest you be stuck trying to find your own hire-cab at this hour.”
He had a point, it was getting dark and I desired to get to Mr. Peterson’s residence as quickly as possible. He would also be the perfect man to provide me with information about the Willings. Having run into a rather rude coachman in their employ I had even more curiosity about them than before. After loading my baggage into the car we climbed inside and I watched as Mr. Johnson struggled with the controls. I knew very little about the workings of such contraptions but he seemed to be having a time getting the braking mechanism to release.
Eventually, however, he did manage it and with a bang and a puff of black smoke we were off. I reached into my coat pocket and provided him with the address that I had been given. He seemed to recognize the name. I let him question me openly about the happenings on the train. He had quite the barrage of questions but I answered them quickly and succinctly, knowing that the sooner he finished his line of questioning I could begin my own.
Having exhausted his queries the man fell silent and I seized my chance, “Tell me about Andrew Willings. Does he have a daughter named Margaret?”
“No. He has a sister named Margaret.”
“So it is his father who is the famous orator I take it?”
“Yes, though he’s not been as much of a rabble-rouser in recent years. It would seem that Mrs. Willings has fallen ill with an ague and he is oft-times at her side. If you ask me all of those years of angry shouting built up inside her and caused her current infirmity. Anger is not good for the soul Mr. Carson.”
“Then has it fallen to Margaret and Andrew to remind the masses of their sins?”
“No. When word last reached me of Margaret she was still living in London and as to the boy Andrew he is a businessman. Lots of savvy, none of that abrasiveness that lead so many to despise his father. He owns several of the city’s textiles as well as a manufacturing plant.”
“What do they produce?”
“Parts for steam engines mostly.”
“A good business to be in if you ask me.”
William Johnson smiled and chuckled to himself.
“What?” I asked.
“Steam is on the way out Mr. Carson. This...” he pointed to the engine at the front of his car, “is the future. Petrol will power the 20th century sir.”
I scoffed at the very idea.
Changing the subject back to the Willings he asked, “Besides mistaking Andrew Willings’ fine brougham for a hire-cab and being taunted by its driver I suspect you have further interest in their family.”
“At least a passing one, yes.”
“Would it have anything to do with your former partner Mr. Parney?”
My glare made him back-pedal a bit. “Forgive me Inspector but in Leeds everyone knows the Willings. I seem to remember some years back it being news when Margaret married an inspector from London. Despite my advancing years I do seem to recall the name of Matthew Parney. He had a partner named Carson, I can only surmise that you are he.”
“Indeed I am and I commend your talented memory however I wish not to discuss my late partner if that suits you.”
“Very well Inspector. At any rate we will be at Mr. Peterson’s shortly. May I be so bold as to inquire what brings you to Leeds?”
“You may inquire, Mr. Johnson, but that is all. I’m afraid that the matter I have come to attend to is of a sensitive nature and that my client demands total silence.”
“Understandable.” he shook his head. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the Dunnings would it?”
The man was rather astute, I granted him that, but despite my surprise at him having deduced who I was in Yorkshire to see my expression remained stolid. “I’m afraid I am not at liberty to say who my employer is or who I am here to call upon. We shall leave it at that.”
“As you wish Inspector.”
By the time the motor-carriage sputtered up to Mr. Peterson’s home the sun was down past the horizon. The streets were illuminated softly by the glow of a few electric lights scattered here and there. In London many a street still retained the old-fashioned gas lights but there in Leeds I could see none. All were electric. It was at that moment that I felt something that surprised me, a pleasant feeling about my long-time home, London. The gas lights provided a glow that the electrical variety could only emulate but never quite capture. Dirty, diseased and filled with crime there was at least one thing I missed about the streets of my home city.
As soon as we came to a stop I removed the infernal goggles that I’d been forced to wear, presumably to prevent an insect from taking out one of my eyes as we barreled along, and handed them back to William Johnson. He helped me with my bags and bid me a good evening before hopping back into his motorcar and once again wrestling with the brake which had irritated him so only a short while before. As I walked up to the door of the small but pleasant looking two-story home it opened and a small gray-haired man with reading spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose motioned for me to come inside.
Mr. Peterson
“Inspector…?”
“Carson. Robert Carson.”
“May I assume that your partner was unable to accompany you or will he be along shortly?” the elderly gentleman asked as he reached out to take one of my bags.
“I’m afraid Inspector Parney passed away some years ago. May I ask, how did you know to expect me?”
“Come in, come in Mr. Carson. I will explain.”
As I passed through the entrance and into the diminutive man’s home I was greeted with the pleasant smell of food being prepared and a lovely warmth that immediately began to fight off the chill I’d received whilst motoring through town.
“No one” he began, “calls on my wife and I any more in the evenings, let alone a gentleman carrying luggage. It was a fairly safe assumption that you were one of the detectives from London we’d been expecting. I must say though, I did not expect you to arrive in the company of William Johnson, a f
act that troubles me somewhat.”
“I can assure you that I have discussed none of my business with Miss Elizabeth Dunning nor have I even confirmed that she is the client I have come to see.”
“Confirmed?” the old man asked, peering over his spectacles. “So he suspects who your client is does he?”
“I cannot be sure. He merely seemed to be probing me, hoping that I would reveal some small detail, I did not. Mostly he questioned me about some happenings aboard the train.”
“Oh? Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“It seems as though the railroad has been dealing with a string of robberies and that Mr. Johnson had gotten wind of the story. On my ride up from London I managed to pinch the perpetrator. His questions were mostly related to that matter.”
The old man smiled, “Caught a criminal on the train ride did you? Spectacular! I see Miss Dunning has indeed selected the right man to investigate her concern.”
“Speaking of which…” I began but was cut off by Mr. Peterson.
“I’m afraid I know little of the issue, save for the fact that I am to escort you to the Dunning estate in the morning to meet with Miss Elizabeth and that I was to keep the matter private until you arrived.”
“Private from whom?”
“Everyone, including her own family.” he pointed to a door a short ways down the hall, “Now then, I’m sure you are hungry.”
“I would be lying if I said the smell was not enticing, however I’d not want to put you out.”
“Nonsense! My Margaret always cooks far more than we can eat alone.”
Another Margaret from Leeds, fantastic. Were she to be even one half as sweet in temperament as her cooking smelled, however, I may find myself able to look past her unfortunate moniker.
“Let me take your coat sir.” Mr. Peterson demanded. I allowed him to help me with it and watched as he stashed it in the closet nearest the front door. He then led me, slowly as he walked with a cane, into the dining room. What the Petersons’ modest home may have lacked in terms of size it certainly made up for with an abundance of coziness. Nearly every inch of wall covered in paintings or photographs, every surface adorned with knick-knacks of a thousand different varieties. Warmth emanated from every direction and I could keenly make out the sound of several fireplaces crackling with life. The amalgam of scents flowing from the kitchen poured forth with such a saturation that I could not discern one smell from the other. I had never known my grandparents but should I have I would have liked for their home to be exactly like the Petersons’. I can say that never before in my years did I feel so immediately comfortable as I did in that small house in Leeds.
“Please Mr. Carson, take a seat.”
“You may call me Robert, Mr. Peterson.”
The old man smiled as he walked around the table to the chair opposite mine. “Then by all means...call me Samuel.”
The elder gentleman was easily two times my thirty-five years so addressing him in the familiar seemed improper, however he seemed the type to insist, so I did. “Very well, Samuel it is. I certainly thank you for having me in your home. Whatever it is that your wife is preparing smells absolutely delicious.”
“I married a woman who seems to have an infinite ability to try my patience but she is one hell of a cook. No doubt,” he snickered, “she finds me immensely trying at times as well eh? What about you sir, are you married?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Surely there are scores of young ladies in London who would fancy a career man such as yourself.”
“I have little issue getting them to fancy me. It is holding on to them once they learn of my plethora of vices that has proven to be a difficult undertaking.”
Samuel laughed heartily as he grabbed my arm and shook it. “I used to make quite the arse out of m’self after a few shandy-gaffs. Me old lady had to drag me home by m’whiskers on regular occasion.”
His sudden change in articulation caught me off my guard. Until that moment his speech had been nothing but impeccable with only the slightest hint of an accent detectable in his speech. He apparently noticed the surprise on my face.
“Having spent more than a handful of years in the service of the Dunning family I learned to regulate the amount of northern that escapes my lips. You’ll excuse me if I forgot myself for a moment. I reasoned that a Londoner with a fondness for drink would take no offense at it.”
“Indeed I do not.” I wondered what offense he might take had he suspected that my debauchery lie in many places other than just at the bottom of a bottle. I sought to change the topic. “The Dunning family then, they are not northerners themselves?”
“Oh heavens no.” he chuckled. “The father, Michael Dunning, came up from Swindon as a lad and bought up the failing Eight Hill Estate from the Murphy family, renamed it Larchwood.”
“Since he was but a young man I can only assume that his fortune is inherited.”
Samuel nodded. “Second cousin of an Earl or something along those lines. I was the agent of his estate for nearly forty years but never pried into his personal history.”
“A secretive man then?”
“No…” he started, “not particularly, but as you’ll see for yourself soon enough he’s not the chattiest fellow on Earth either. Very quiet and whiles away much of his time away from others.”
“His family?”
“Aye. He’ll go for walks about the property and not be seen until supper. Just his way I suppose.” we turned both as a clatter from the kitchen startled us. “Margaret? You all right in there dear?”
“Yes love. It was just an empty muffin tin. Are you and the gentleman ready to be served?”
“At your convenience dear, don’t hurry on our accounts.” he turned back to face me, “I would offer you a drink Inspector but I’m afraid the missus has forbade me to bring a bottle into this house. Still, I regret that you should be made to want due to the foibles of my youth.”
“Not at all Mr. Peterson. Think nothing of it. Now I must ask, you have spent some forty years in the employ of this man yet you collude with his daughter to bring an inspector from London to his estate without his knowledge? Why?”
The old man sat back in his chair, eyes locked with mine. I hoped that I had not insulted him, the question was intended to be direct, not offensive. A moment later he leaned in, this time closer than before, and spoke in a hushed tone.
“Do not mistake me sir. I am loyal to Master Dunning. It is thanks to him above all others that I came up from my misery to have a comfortable home and a doting wife to call my own. Before meeting him in a stroke of sheer luck I lived as something of a vagabond, working what odd jobs I could find for my meals and bedding down in every padding-ken from here to Romaldkirk.”
“Still, Inspector, those Dunning children hold a special place in my heart. I watched them grow from wee little ones into fine adults, especially that Elizabeth. Never once has she treated me as anything other than a part of the family and if she asks for my assistance I render it without question. I believe her to be of impeccable moral character and I am certain that you will find her the same. While I may find it difficult to believe that anything warranting the services of an inspector such as yourself could have been perpetrated by any member of the family if the young miss deems it necessary I honor her request.”
“It sounds as though you hold the young lady in very high regard.”
“The missus and I were incapable of having any children of our own but the Dunnings had four. With Mr. Dunning’s rather aloof nature and his wife’s frequent ailments it fell to the nannies and close friends of the family to spend a lot of time with the young ones. Most wealthy families would no-doubt be appalled at the very thought but the Dunning children spent many a night in our home and to this day call my wife and I Aunt and Uncle. As you can observe from the warm atmosphere of our home my Margaret would have made an excellent mother and she so enjoyed whenever we had occasion to take care of the children. We
found each of them to be kind and intelligent but none more so than Miss Elizabeth. I can say with profound sincerity that I am proud to have had a hand in rearing that young lady.”
“What of Mr. Dunning himself? I should like to know more about how you met him? You said that it was through a stroke of sheer luck.”
“Well, as I said before I squandered several years of my youth as a gentleman of the road. Work just so happened to take me through Leeds and I happened to be in the right place at the right time to push Mr. Dunning out of the way of a runaway carriage. Not knowing what sort of fellow he might be I feared a good flogging for having shoved him face-first into the mud but instead he took me into his home, newly acquired at the time, and offered me a position on the estate.”
“So...a detached individual but something of an altruist?”
“Oh yes. Not a year has gone by that I have not received a healthy Christmas-time consideration on top of my already generous salary. Even now that I have retired the master typically sends ‘round a messenger bearing a generous consideration and a letter of thanks sometime in mid-December. As to his withdrawn character it has only been in the last few years that it has troubled me. Mind you he was never a terribly social chap but with age he seems to desire contact with his friends and family even less than before.”
“An ailment he is concealing perhaps?”
“I do not believe so. When I have had occasion to see him he has always been in the best of spirits, he shakes my hand and smiles as we spend a few moments catching up but then he wanders off again.”
“I see…” I was about to probe him for information regarding Miss Dunning’s summoning of me but at that moment his wife, Margaret, walked into the dining room carrying a covered dish of fine silver with wisps of steam escaping from its edges.
“Ah, looks like dinner is ready.” the older gentleman declared and gave his wife a warm smile. “It smells delicious my dear. Do you need a hand bringing the rest in from the kitchen?”
A Case Most Peculiar Page 3
