“He must love you as well,” Norah smiled broadly. “He’s certainly spent enough coin getting your family here for the wedding.”
CHAPTER 4
Constable Barnes waited until Ellen Crowe took a seat at the long oak table before pulling out a chair and sitting down. He pulled out his pencil and notebook. “Mrs. Crowe, what did the man who came to the door yesterday look like?”
“I wasn’t really paying attention, Constable. As I said, I was in a rush to get to the post office. But I’ll do my best. He was tall.”
Barnes interrupted. “What do you mean by tall? Was he my height?”
“About your height,” she replied.
“What color hair did he have?”
“He wore a hat”—she frowned—“but I think his hair might have been reddish brown, and he was wearing a black overcoat. I remember that. That’s not very useful, is it? Half the men in London have black overcoats. Oh, I do recall one aspect of his appearance. He was quite pale.”
“You’re being very helpful, ma’am,” he assured her as he scribbled down the description. He finished writing and looked up at her. “How long have you known Miss Moran?”
She drew back slightly, as though she were surprised. “Surely you heard Miss Farley tell the inspector I’ve been here twelve years.”
“Indeed I did, ma’am,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve only known her for twelve years.”
Mrs. Crowe cocked her head to one side and stared at him. “What makes you think I was acquainted with her before I came here to live?”
He met her gaze squarely. “Were you?”
She remained silent for so long that he thought she wasn’t going to answer, then she sighed and said, “Agatha Moran and I were at school together in Winchester. When she was nineteen, she left to accept a post as a governess and I stayed on as a teacher. No one here knew about our past acquaintance. Both of us preferred it that way.”
“Why was that, ma’am?” he asked.
She sat up straighter in the chair. “Miss Moran gave me a substantial discount on my rent. It would be awkward for me if the others knew what I was paying for my room. Though what’s going to happen now that she’s dead is anyone’s guess. I expect it’ll take a few months to settle her estate, but even so, I’d better start looking for another place to live.”
Barnes had been a policeman far too long to be overly shocked, yet he was taken aback by her words. “Were you fond of Miss Moran?”
“Not really.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I know that sounds callous, Constable, but it’s the truth. We weren’t close friends when we were at school, and after I moved in here, she was my landlady, nothing more.”
“Yet she gave you a substantial discount on your rent,” he prompted as he grabbed his pencil. “If you weren’t good friends, why would she do that?”
“Because she felt guilty, Constable,” Ellen Crowe retorted. “You see, the governess position she took all those years ago should have been mine. As I said, Constable, we were at school together. We were the two oldest students and both of us were seeking employment. I’d seen an advertisement for a position with a family in Portsmouth and I’d written to them asking for an interview. The wife, a Mrs. Collins, replied to my letter telling me that as the family was in need of a governess right away and that as she was going to be in Winchester the following week, she’d stop by the school to see me.” As she spoke, her voice got harsher and her eyes narrowed as the old, unforgotten resentment resurfaced.
Barnes, who’d been trying to write and watch her at the same time, stopped and gave her his full attention.
“I told Agatha about the interview,” she continued. “I was so excited to finally have a chance at a position, and of course the worst happened. On the day I was supposed to meet Mrs. Collins, I came down with the measles. Passing along a nasty disease to one’s prospective employer isn’t a good idea, so I couldn’t risk speaking to her in my condition. I’d given two of my teachers as references, so I asked one of them to please explain the situation to Mrs. Collins.” She broke off and laughed. “What a fool I was. My old teacher didn’t stand a chance; Agatha Moran met Mrs. Collins at the front gate, and two hours later, she had my position.”
Barnes stared at her curiously. Didn’t she realize she’d just given him a motive for murder? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had waited years to avenge an old wound. “And you stayed on at the school as a teacher?”
“That’s correct. Oh dear.” She smiled suddenly and shook her head. “You must think me awful. It sounds as if I hated Agatha, but I didn’t. If I’d taken the position in Portsmouth, I’d never have met my husband.”
“You did sound as if you still resented her.” Barnes grabbed the pencil.
“When I think about it, I can still get agitated,” she admitted. “But honestly, it was years ago. Even though we weren’t friends and hadn’t been in touch for years, Agatha did me a great kindness, and she more than made up for what she’d done.”
“How did you end up living here?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he believed her. She’d certainly sounded more than “agitated” to him.
“When my husband died, I was left with only a small pension,” she explained. “One day I happened to run into Agatha at Victoria Station. Odd, but we recognized one another instantly. We went to the café there and had a cup of tea. I told her about my husband and our life together. She told me about the families she’d worked for in Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight and then mentioned she owned a residential hotel for ladies here in London. One thing led to another, and soon enough, I found myself living here at a much more favorable rent than I had been paying. I was happy and grateful to have a decent roof over my head.”
He nodded. “Where were you yesterday afternoon?”
“You mean after I left the post office.” She gave him an amused smile. “I went to visit a friend in Putney. Her name is Olivia Whitley and she lives at number five River Road in Putney. We spent the afternoon together, and I took the train home. I got here in time for supper.”
Hilda Bannister was sitting in a wing chair next to the sofa when Witherspoon got to the landing on the second floor. His interview with Miss Farley had been very short, as she claimed she’d neither seen nor heard anything suspicious yesterday. He hoped that Constable Barnes was having better luck with Mrs. Crowe.
“There’s naught wrong with my hearing,” Hilda said as she spotted him. “I might be old, but I’m of sound mind and strong limb.” Her face was as wrinkled as a raisin, her eyes watery, and the few wisps of hair she had left were pure white.
“I’m sure you are, Miss Bannister,” he said as he sat down on the sofa. “That’s why I’m so very anxious to speak with you.”
“It took you long enough to get up here,” she charged. “I’ve been waiting.”
“I had to speak with Miss Farley,” he replied. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Now, do you recall what time it was that the man came to speak to Miss Moran yesterday?”
She thought for a moment. “I don’t recall exactly what time it was; my clock is in my room and I was out here. But it was sometime in the morning when I heard someone knocking loud enough to wake the dead. Usually Mrs. Middleton takes care of the door, but she was gone to do the shopping, so I guess one of the others must have opened up.”
Witherspoon gave her an encouraging nod. “And you were sitting right out here when he was let into the house?”
“That’s right, I was sitting here in my usual spot.”
“Could you hear what was being said?”
“Not exactly, but I could tell it was a man.” She chuckled. “So as I was alone here, I got up and scurried out onto the top step so I could have a listen. Life’s awfully boring when you get to be my age. My eyes are weak so I can’t read as much as I’d like”—she tapped the cane propped against her cushion—“and with my rheumatism, getting about is a little hard, so whenever there’s a bit of excitement in the house, I l
ike to take an interest.”
“Yes, of course you do,” he answered quickly. He rather admired her willingness to confess to being an eavesdropper. He’d observed that wanting to overhear what others said without being seen was a very common desire, yet very few people would actually admit to such an activity. “Did you hear what the man said?”
“I just heard him yelling that he had to talk to Agatha Moran,” she said. “Miss Moran must have heard him shouting as well, because she came out of her office and told him to come with her. They went back inside and she closed the door, more’s the pity. It’s a very thick door, Inspector, but not thick enough to keep everything quiet. After a little while, I heard her screaming at him like a common fishwife.”
“Were you able to make out any of the words?” he asked hopefully.
“She called him names.” She grinned, revealing a surprisingly even set of white teeth. “None of the ones I heard were very flattering, either.”
Witherspoon wondered if it would be indelicate if he asked her to repeat what she’d heard. He started to speak and then thought better of it. For a lady of her advanced years, perhaps it would be best to get some paper and ask her to write the words.
But before he could suggest that course of action, she continued. “She called him a coward. I heard that one very clearly. I suspect the entire neighborhood heard it, she was shouting it loud enough.”
Apparently, she wasn’t the least embarrassed to repeat what she’d heard.
“Then she called him a craven, spineless excuse for a man and told him that if he wasn’t going to do anything about it, he should stop wasting her time and just go.”
“This is very useful, Miss Bannister,” Witherspoon said eagerly. “Please go on.”
“They had come out of the office by then and were in the hallway just below. That’s why I was able to hear them so clearly.”
“How long was the man here?”
She tapped her finger against her chin. “Not long. Certainly not more than ten or fifteen minutes. They were in the office talking quietly for a good part of that time and then she started screaming at him. By the sound of it, he got out of here as fast as possible.” She laughed. “I think he was making a run for it, if you know what I mean.”
“Did you happen to hear any sort of a response from the man? Did he say anything when Miss Moran raised her voice?”
“Not too much,” she replied. “But when he reached the front door, he said something like—” She broke off with a frown. “I want to make sure I repeat what he said correctly.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” Witherspoon gave her another encouraging smile.
“He said, ‘You’ve no right to ask such a thing of me. The years haven’t been kind to me, either, and now that I’ve a real chance at happiness, I’m not going to risk it for someone I don’t even know.’ Then he opened the front door and left. He must have not closed it properly, because I heard her run down the hallway, and a second later, she slammed the door shut.” Her eyes grew troubled and she looked away. “I think she was crying by then. No, I tell a lie. I know she was. I could hear her sobbing.” She sighed. “I felt really awful for her, but I knew she wouldn’t appreciate any words of comfort. She wasn’t one to show her feelings. That’s what was so surprising about the whole incident. Agatha Moran has been my landlady for years, and this is the first time I’ve ever heard her raise her voice. It was frightening, Inspector, very frightening.”
Witherspoon reached over and patted her hand. “I’m sure it was, Miss Bannister. Something had upset Miss Moran dreadfully, and I suspect that whatever trouble the poor woman had found had much to do with her murder. But you must take comfort in the fact that we’ll do our very best to find the person who took her life. Are you certain you didn’t catch a glimpse of the man? It would be useful if we had some sort of description of him.” He knew that Barnes would be able to get a description from Ellen Crowe, but it never hurt to have more than one.
She shook her head. “I tried to move farther down the stairs to get a peek at him, but I wasn’t fast enough to see his face. All I saw was a tall, dark blur as he left. These eyes of mine are old. I’m sorry, Inspector. I wish I could help you.”
“That’s quite alright, ma’am,” he said quickly. “Your statement is very useful, and I’m sure it’ll help us in our inquiries.”
“Good. I liked Agatha Moran. She was decent to me and to everyone else in this house.”
Smythe put his hand in his pocket and jingled some coins together as he stepped out of the small shed used by the hansom cab drivers for having a quick cup of tea and taking a break. He’d been all over North London, and so far he’d not found out a blooming thing. He’d questioned all the drivers, but none of them had picked up a woman matching Agatha Moran’s description. But as there was also an omnibus stop two streets over from her house, it was likely she might have used the omnibus and not a cab.
He pulled his coat tighter against the chill wind and started across the road. As he dodged past a cooper’s van, he spotted a pub and decided to try his luck. There was always gossip to be had in a pub.
He pushed through the door of the Angels Arms Pub, paused just inside, and surveyed the area. It was a good, working-class establishment: plain whitewashed walls, wood floors scratched and scarred with age, and wooden benches along the walls. A small fire burned in the fireplace on the far side of the room, and people crowded up against the bar as all the tables and benches were full. He worked his way through the crowd to the bar and wedged himself between a lad in a porkpie hat and an elderly woman.
The pub was busy, so it took a few minutes to get the barman’s attention, but he was in no hurry. He leaned slightly to his left trying to hear what the young man next to him was saying to his companion, a young woman wearing an overcoat and a maid’s cap.
Their voices were so low, he couldn’t hear a word.
He leaned to his right, trying to hear what a white-haired old dear on that side was talking about, and as Luty would say, he hit pay dirt.
“Eddie Butcher claims that she was being followed. He was outside cleaning the Morrisons’ gutters yesterday afternoon when she came out her front door. It had stopped raining for a bit, and Eddie was trying to get the job done so he could be paid. Anyways, he said there was a man that ducked out of the stairwell at the Hogart place, that’s the empty building just next to hers, and he trailed after her,” the woman said to her companion, a younger dark- haired woman with a basket containing a few wilting flowers on the counter in front of her.
“Don’t be daft,” basket lady scoffed. “Half the roughs in Barnsbury have been dossing in that stairwell. Besides, you can’t believe a word he says. Eddie lies. He makes up tales as easy as water chucks down a drainpipe. Who would possibly want to follow Agatha Moran? The woman was an old stick if there ever was one. My Daisy goes in and cleans at the hotel every month or so when they do the heavy work, and she says the woman is so proper she wouldn’t raise her voice if the ruddy room was on fire. She got murdered because she just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. These days, crime is getting terrible.”
“What’ll you have, sir?” The barman’s voice pulled his attention away from the women.
“A pint of bitter,” he said quickly.
“I’d not be so sure of that,” the other woman shot back. “She was murdered in Bayswater, and that area has more constables than a dog has fleas. Posh areas always get better patrollin’ than the rest of us. Besides, the Moran woman might be a proper old stick now, but have you ever wondered where she got the money for that hotel?”
“She saved it up from her wages,” basket lady snapped impatiently. “She used to be a governess—”
“Rubbish. No governess makes enough money to buy a house that size and turn it into a moneymakin’ business,” the other woman retorted. “You didn’t live here when Agatha Moran come along, but I did. She bought that property freehold and then spent thousands
of pounds makin’ the place habitable. Believe me, there was plenty of gossip about her then. The place is huge and it’s got a big garden in the back. A place like that doesn’t come cheap.”
“Maybe she inherited money from her family.” Basket lady picked up her glass and drained it.
“Agatha Moran didn’t have any family.” The elderly woman smiled maliciously. “I told you, my friend cleans for her neighbor every now and again. She said she heard Miss Moran herself say that the reason she opened the hotel was so women like her, women with no family to fall back on, could have a decent place to live.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t have family at one time,” basket lady insisted as she slapped her empty glass onto the counter. “And I liked her. She was always very pleasant when she came into the shop. She never got impatient when I was servin’ other customers and always treated me with courtesy. I’m sorry she’s dead.”
“Well I’m sorry she’s dead, too.” The white-haired woman sniffed disapprovingly. “But I think there was someone followin’ her that day. You’re not the only one who knows someone. My friend Mary Thompson works in the house next door and she told me that there’s been two men showin’ up at the hotel in the last week. Both of them were nicely dressed—”
Basket lady interrupted. “They were probably bankers or lawyers. Agatha Moran was a businesswoman.”
“And a proper businesswoman would have gone to the bank or a solicitor’s office,” the other woman argued. She suddenly stopped speaking and stared straight at Smythe. “What are you lookin’ at?”
Smythe started in surprise. Blast a Spaniard, he really had forgotten how to handle himself when he was on the hunt. He shouldn’t have been caught openly eavesdropping. But he recovered quickly. “Forgive me ma’am”—he doffed his cap politely—“but I wasn’t meanin’ to listen to your conversation, it’s just that when I ’eard you speakin’, I realized you were talkin’ about Miss Agatha Moran’s murder.”
Prime Crime Holiday Bundle Page 63
