by Granger, Ann
‘No menservants of any kind?’
‘No. Does that matter?’ He appeared genuinely affronted by the question.
I ignored it to ask, ‘How long have the three women worked for you?’
‘The cook-housekeeper has been employed by me for fifteen years. As for the maids, well, one of them for about a year and the other for about six months.’ As if he thought I might think it odd that the housekeeper had been with him for so long and the maids so little time, he added, ‘Mrs Bell, the housekeeper, has full charge of hiring and dismissing the maids. She sets high standards and does not tolerate slackness or insubordination. The nursemaid has been with us since the birth of my daughter. She came to us from an agency and my wife hired her.’
‘I see, please go on.’
‘I asked them where the mistress was and they professed not to know. I went up to the nursery where I found the nursemaid very distressed. She said she had not seen either her charge or my wife since mid-morning. My wife had declared her intention of going out with the child for a short walk. They had not returned. It is obvious they have been abducted. You must begin a thorough search at once! You must have informers among the criminal population. Ask among them.’
‘Have you tried the hospitals, sir?’ Morris’s voice rumbled from his place by the door.
Without turning his head, Canning snapped, ‘Yes! No accident victims have been brought in of my wife’s – or my child’s – description.’
‘With regard to your wife,’ I asked him, picking up my pen again. ‘May I inquire how old the lady is, what is her general appearance, and any other details such as the names of family members or of friends to whom she might have gone.’
‘Why on earth,’ he stuttered, ‘should she go and visit anyone and stay away two nights, leaving no word behind of her intention? Besides, she has no family other than a very elderly aunt of sorts who lives in Southampton. Nor has she any close friends.’
‘You have the name of this aunt and her address?’
‘Good Lord!’ he cried. ‘Are you to do nothing but inquire after irrelevant details? If you must know it, the aunt’s name is Miss Alice Stephens. She must be nearly eighty now. She is, as I understand it, a great-aunt of my wife’s and my wife lived with her before our marriage. I have her address somewhere at home.’
I confess my heart sank. It could be, of course, a coincidence that the name given to me by the female beneath the arches had been Jane Stephens. But . . .
‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to look out the lady’s address for me. And now, sir, you really must tell me your wife’s age and description. Even better, have you a photograph? Also of the child?’
He seemed taken aback. ‘My wife is twenty-six years of age. She is of medium height with fair hair. My daughter is three years old. I have photographs of them both at home. I should have brought some with me, of course. But whoever has kidnapped my family will have them well hidden.’
In the background, unseen by our visitor, Morris raised his eyebrows, looked at me, and then at Canning. The man was in a panic, that was true, and either did not know he was babbling what sounded like nonsense, or had persuaded himself that this was indeed the truth.
‘Perhaps, Mr Canning, I could suggest you return home now. I will call on you there shortly, as soon as I have discussed this with my superintendent. If you could have ready any photographs and the address of your wife’s aunt in Southampton, I’d be obliged. I would like to interview your servants. Be so good as to give Sergeant Morris your exact address.’ I stood up.
He rose to his feet unwillingly. ‘You are taking this seriously, I hope? I am a respectable taxpayer. I expect the police to make strenuous efforts.’
‘Very seriously, sir. Now, go home and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
He still hesitated. ‘Look here,’ he burst out, ‘my wife is utterly respectable!’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Because I know how people gossip. They may suggest – they may suggest another man is involved. I assure you, that absolutely cannot be the case.’
‘We will leave no stone unturned,’ I assured him. ‘And we make no assumptions.’
‘I don’t want you putting ideas into people’s heads,’ he said stubbornly. ‘What do you intend to ask my servants?’
‘That must wait until I see them. Now, Mr Canning, I am sure you don’t want to waste any more time, so allow me to start the hunt straight away.’
‘Oh, yes, quite,’ he mumbled. ‘But there must not be any gossip, you know. No scandal. I supply wines to important households. There must be absolutely no scandal.’
‘See the gentleman out, Morris,’ I said, adding, ‘be sure to get the address in St John’s Wood.’ As Canning moved out of earshot I added quietly, ‘Then take yourself, with a constable to help you, over to the river by Waterloo Bridge Station. See if you can locate anyone who was in the area of the arches last night, other rough sleepers, prostitutes, anyone who might have seen the person I encountered. Inquire of the workhouses, and anywhere else you can think of.’
Chapter Four
‘WELL, WELL, this is a delicate business, indeed, Ross.’ Dunn rubbed his chin.
I had gone at once to report the whole matter to him, and tell him of the woman giving the name Jane Stephens, whom I’d encountered the night before.
‘You think,’ Dunn continued, ‘that the woman you met may well be the absconded wife of this fellow Canning?’
‘I do think it, sir. I asked her name and she obviously did not want to give her married name, for fear we would connect her at once with her husband. She knew he’d have to go to the police sooner or later and declare them both missing, or it would appear very odd. She had to think up another name quickly and the only one to pop into her head was that of this elderly relative who lives in Southampton, Stephens. It may even be her own maiden name.’
‘The woman under the arches claimed her husband had abandoned her and the child?’
‘Yes, but I suspected at the time the truth was the reverse; that she had run away from him. I had the strong impression, sir, that she was a woman of good background and only recently fallen on such hard times.’
‘How would you describe Canning’s manner?’
‘He is most anxious, above all, to avoid scandal. That would affect his personal reputation and he supplies wines, he was keen to tell me, to the very best households.’ I made no effort to disguise my disapproval.
Dunn nodded. ‘Not worried for their physical safety?’
‘If so, he didn’t mention it once, sir. He only talked of having enemies and being known to be successful. He insists he has received no communication from those he claims– or imagines – responsible. I had to ask him more than once to describe his wife and tell me her age. At best I put that down to his being in a state of confusion. Less charitably, I’d say because he is not anxious to draw attention to what I’d guess to be twenty-five years’ difference in their ages. He did insist there could be no other man.’
‘Hum,’ murmured Dunn. He stopped rubbing his chin and scratched the crown of his bristly head of hair. ‘So we are in a fix, eh? You have not mentioned the woman Stephens to Canning?’
‘No, sir. After all, I don’t know for certain that it was his wife I met. I suspect it, but unless I find her I can’t establish it as a fact. As it is, if I tell him right away that his wife and child have been sleeping under arches by the river, I dread to think how he will react. He’ll probably refuse to accept the very idea, and fly into a rage, as well. I couldn’t blame him. It does seem preposterous, now that I say it aloud to you. A woman runs from a household with three servants to sleep under the arches? If I were Canning, and someone told me that, I wouldn’t believe it.’
Dunn interrupted me. ‘But there is a strong possibility that you came across the missing woman and child last night and, if we don’t find the wife anywhere else, then the husband must be told.’
He gave an irritated sigh
and scrubbed once more at his hair. ‘You chased all over London last night following Mills’s allegations, yet you left this well-spoken woman and her child under the arches. I understand you took pity on her, Ross, when you did not arrest her for vagrancy. But you should have done so, or found the constable on that beat and directed him to do so. If you had done so, this matter could have been sorted out already today. Jane Stephens, whether she is the missing wife or not, would have appeared before the magistrates this morning. If her story was false, they’d have realised it and got to the bottom of it.
‘As it is, we have to start seeking her all over London with little or no idea where she might be. The woman, if she left of her own accord, cannot be forced to return to her husband, but the child is another matter. At the moment, the little girl is under the age of seven. Were the parents to divorce, the mother might have some hope that the court would allow her to have custody until the child reaches seven. But, even so, at age seven the law will return the child to its father. His rights in that matter are clear.
‘I must say,’ Dunn added, ‘that as she left the matrimonial home in such an irregular way, and as it’s possible she took the child with her to sleep in the streets as a vagrant, I doubt very much that any judge would consider her a fit person to have custody! At any rate, in the absence of any application to a court, Jane Canning does not have custody of her daughter. The rights are therefore assumed to lie with the father. Thus the mother has abducted the child. What led up to this sad situation is not our affair, Ross. Our job is to find the infant Charlotte Canning.’
‘Yes, sir, from what I’ve seen of Canning,’ I told him, ‘I can’t believe he’d ever agree to a divorce. He’s terrified of scandal.’
Had I taken pity on Jane Stephens last night, when I left her and her daughter under the arches? I wondered. Or had my mind been so busy with Mills’s tale and the consequences that I simply had not bothered to do anything about Jane? At any rate, my failure to apply the strict letter of the law with regard to vagrancy would do nothing to restore my standing with the high commissioner.
‘The puzzling thing is . . .’ Dunn peered at the clock on the wall as if it might supply not only the time of day but also the answer to our problem. ‘Why did she leave him, eh? He’s a well-to-do, respected man. She lives in a good part of town in a house with three servants plus a nurserymaid. Canning insists no lover is involved, you say. But he would not be the only man to discover his wife’s interest has strayed; and the first he knows of it is when she decamps. In this case, however, Mrs Canning has taken the child with her.’ Dunn shook his head. ‘That suggests she has not run to a lover.’
Dunn turned his gaze from the clock to me. ‘Well, Ross, bearing all that in mind, what does it suggest to you?’
‘That there is something amiss in that household,’ I said promptly. ‘I am anxious to interview the servants. Morris is down by the river with a constable, trying to find anyone who saw Jane there and may have spoken to her.’
‘River Police?’ Dunn asked in a flat tone.
‘I had already sent young Biddle over there to ask about bodies, sir.’
‘It’s late.’ Dunn glanced again at the clock. ‘You had better hurry over to St John’s Wood and speak to those servants before their employer has too long to coach them.’ The superintendent pulled a face. ‘Though he has had two days to do that! You might be lucky enough to find a neighbour who saw her leave the house.’
The superintendent leaned back in his chair. ‘If it does indeed turn out that you met his wife last night by the river, then Canning may have good reason to bless the fact. If he’d simply come in with the tale of an unexplained disappearance without witnesses, we might have suspected him of being responsible. Husbands have murdered inconvenient wives before now.’ Dunn scowled. ‘I will make inquiries about his business affairs, Ross. No doubt he has his family insured. If his business has got into difficulties, he may have concocted some plot . . . but you can leave that to me. See what you can turn up at St John’s Wood.’
Canning’s house proved to be a solid, detached building standing behind a high wall. The house was rendered in white stucco and boasted an elegant porch supported on classical columns. There was evidence of a basement beneath and two more floors above the ground floor. The windows of the topmost one were small and probably indicated rooms given over to the domestic staff. All this confirmed Mr Canning was a wealthy man. Moreover, seeing this imposing dwelling, I had to wonder what on earth had led his wife to take their child and run away from it. I also wondered that he only employed a staff of three (nursemaid excluded), and no butler or footman.
Canning was awaiting me with some impatience and opened the front door to me himself.
‘The staff are in the back parlour. It seemed to me a suitable place for you to conduct the interview. This way . . .’ He stepped out briskly but I called him back.
‘There is no need to take me yourself, sir. Just tell me which door it is.’
I wanted the staff to speak freely and the sight of their employer would only serve to reinforce any instructions he’d given them.
Canning turned, clearly nonplussed. ‘If you insist,’ he agreed with clear reluctance.
The women were all waiting for me, standing in line. They must have heard my voice in the hallway. The oldest of them was a stern-faced matron of some fifty to sixty summers garbed in black and with a white lace widow’s cap pinned atop her steel grey hair. She stepped forward as I entered.
‘I am Mrs Bell, the cook-housekeeper,’ she said.
‘And I am Inspector Ross, Mrs Bell. I need to speak to you all, but I wish to do it separately.’ The maids would not speak freely in front of this dragon.
Mrs Bell opened her mouth as if she would object. Before she could speak, I added, ‘That is the normal procedure.’
She could not argue with that, no matter what Canning may have instructed. ‘Very well, sir.’ She turned to the two maids and a very small, pale-faced girl no more than nineteen who must be the nursemaid. ‘The three of you wait in the kitchen.’
They filed out obediently. I noticed, as she passed by me, that the nursemaid had very swollen and red-rimmed eyes. She must have done a lot of weeping since the disappearance of her charge. The younger of the two maids cast me a curious glance but the other kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead of her.
‘Well, now, Mrs Bell,’ I said when we were alone. ‘Let us sit down.’
She sat, with back ramrod-straight and hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were fixed on me without any sign of nervousness and her mouth formed a straight line. I would have my work cut out to learn anything from her.
‘When did you last see your mistress?’ I asked.
‘The day before yesterday, sir.’
‘At what time of the day and in what circumstances?’
‘It was half-past eleven in the morning, sir. The parlour clock had just chimed the half-hour. I came into the hall by chance and saw Mrs Canning tying the ribbons of her cape. She was wearing a small hat. The little girl was with her, also dressed for the street.’
‘You spoke to her?’
‘Yes, sir. I asked, “Are you going out, madam? Will you not take Ellen with you?”’ At my raised eyebrow, she added, ‘Ellen is the nursemaid.’
‘And Mrs Canning replied, what?’
‘That she had no need of Ellen and would not be more than an hour at the most. She fancied the child needed exercise and fresh air. She then left and did not come back.’
‘What did you do, when you realised she had not returned? How did you learn it?’
‘I am also the cook, Inspector. I had expected to serve her some luncheon. But Purvis – the parlourmaid – came to tell me that the mistress had not returned and luncheon would have to be delayed.’
‘Were you surprised?’
‘Yes, of course, sir. Mrs Canning had told me herself she would not be away above an hour.’
‘Did you make any effort to find out t
he reason for her continued absence?’
‘I sent out Ellen to look for them – for Mrs Canning and Miss Charlotte. Ellen scoured the streets around and asked passers-by but could get no news of them. Then Mr Canning came home.’ The housekeeper’s mouth snapped shut. I could imagine the scene when Canning got there. The staff would all have been blamed, as if it could be in any way their fault.
‘Have you any idea what could have happened to Mrs Canning?’
‘None whatsoever, sir,’ Mrs Bell said firmly. ‘Unless, as Mr Canning believes, they have been snatched away by some dreadful criminals.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Mr Canning thinks it,’ she said simply.
‘Do you think it?’ I asked her gently.
‘It is not my place to speculate,’ she said, meeting my eye.
‘Had Mrs Canning ever done anything like this before? Gone out – with or without her daughter – and returned late?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Would you say Mrs Canning was a happy woman?’
‘Of course, sir.’
I tried another approach. ‘You are the cook here. Do Mr and Mrs Canning entertain much? It would be a good deal of work for you with only the two maids to help.’
‘Mr and Mrs Canning do not entertain.’ But my question had riled her. She did not mean to let me go away thinking she couldn’t manage a simple dinner party. ‘It would be well within my competence but I believe Mr Canning entertains his business acquaintances in town. I am the cook-housekeeper, Inspector. I take my orders and I supervise the other staff. I do not ask any questions. That is not my place.’
I would make no further progress in this conversation today. I thanked her and asked her to send in Purvis. I did not get on any better either with the parlourmaid or the housemaid, whose name was Higgins. The three women would have given the celebrated wise monkeys a run for their reputation in seeing, hearing and speaking no evil. That left me with my last hope, the nursemaid, Ellen Brady.
The nursemaid was probably a pretty girl in normal circumstances, soberly dressed in grey with a snowy white apron like a little Quakeress, with a starched white cap covering her brown hair. But her face and manner were ravaged by her distress. She sat down at my invitation and promptly burst into tears. I urged her to take heart and still her sobs. Privately, I was not displeased. After the rigid self-discipline of the previous three witnesses, at last someone who might let something interesting escape her lips.
