by Granger, Ann
‘That’ll be tricky,’ said Morris.
Dunn listened with remarkable, not to say unusual, patience as I recounted Lizzie’s adventures in Putney. Towards the end of my tale, however, he began to look worried.
‘Mrs Ross isn’t going back there, is she?’ he asked. ‘I trust not?’
‘I have made it absolutely clear to her that it would be inadvisable,’ I told him.
‘Think she’ll listen to you?’
‘I am confident, sir, that she will. Lizzie is very sensible. She won’t go back to Putney.’ I did not mention that she meant to speak to the porter at Somerset House.
Dunn got up and walked about the room for a minute or two, rubbing his close-cropped head of hair and scowling. Eventually, at the far end of the room, he stopped, swung round to face me and announced, ‘I shall take responsibility, should the necessity arise, for Mrs Ross’s actions.’
This was such an astounding statement, that I couldn’t answer for a moment. I stood there, probably with my mouth open, and gazed at him. At last I rallied and asked, ‘Why, sir?’
‘Oh, come, Ross. Let’s not be naïve. When you came to me before about this and I told you we could not investigate, I more or less dropped a hint I wouldn’t object to Mrs Ross deploying her undoubted skills.’
At the time he had, indeed, suddenly inquired after Lizzie. ‘Mr Dunn,’ I said firmly, ‘if anyone is to take responsibility, it lies with me. She is my wife, after all, and I knew all about her trip to Putney before she went. The thing is, now we know what she found out, is it not possible for us to carry out some quiet investigation of the points raised? Lizzie can’t go back to the scene of the crime, if there was a crime. We are agreed. Lizzie understands that. But someone – that is to say, we, as the police – should follow up in some way. For example, may I not send Sergeant Morris to Somerset House to obtain a death certificate for the late Isaiah Sheldon? It would be helpful to know the cause of death stated on it.’
‘Yes, there is no reason why we shouldn’t take a look at it,’ Dunn agreed. ‘But the whole thing must be kept very quiet.’
‘Yes, sir, I understand.’
I sought out Morris immediately and dispatched him to Somerset House. He had not been gone very long when Constable Biddle appeared, his youthful features wearing a strangely secretive expression.
‘I have a note for you, sir,’ he said in a hoarse whisper that somehow carried more clearly on the air than his normal voice.
‘From whom?’ I asked.
‘From Mrs Ross, sir.’
Biddle is a well-meaning youth and promising as a constable, but being young he is apt to dramatise events. His favoured reading in his leisure moments are the so-called ‘penny dreadfuls’, those tales of highwaymen, pirates, vampires, explorers stumbling upon lost civilisations, that sort of stuff. I know this because he lends some of the less lurid ones to Bessie, with whom he has a sort of unofficial arrangement. That is to say, they are not walking out, as both Lizzie and Mrs Biddle mère agree they are too young. But on a Sunday afternoon, it is not unusual to find Biddle sitting in our kitchen, drinking our tea and eating our cake. Delivering this week’s reading matter is often given as an excuse for his presence. I did ask Lizzie if she approved of Bessie reading yarns of that kind. Lizzie replied that she preferred Bessie to have a taste for swashbuckling men of action in her literature, rather than for tales featuring swooning females with adoring swains.
‘She might,’ I objected, ‘identify Biddle with a swashbuckling gallant, and from there it could be only a step to adoring swain.’
‘Oh, really, Ben,’ retorted Lizzie. ‘Bessie has her head screwed on the right way. Besides, Biddle is nothing like a pirate or a highwayman. As to his being a gallant . . .’
This was true. Bessie was of a practical turn of mind. In any case, Biddle hardly looked the part of romantic hero. He was also clumsy and apt to fall over his own stout boots.
‘Is Mrs Ross waiting downstairs?’ I exclaimed, rising to my feet.
‘No, sir, she’s left. She said she would not disturb you, but asked me to give this to you as soon as possible, direct into your hand.’
He stood there, looking hopeful. Awaiting part two, no doubt.
‘Thank you, Constable!’ I told him. ‘Off you go.’
Biddle withdrew, still looking furtive and a little disappointed.
‘The Shadow strikes again . . .’ I murmured as I unfolded the piece of notepaper he’d given me.
The note was brief and to the point.
The doctor’s name was Croft.
No signature but I knew my wife’s handwriting. It seemed the constable was not the only one with the taste for drama. So, Dr Croft had attended Isaiah Sheldon. The porter’s wife has a good memory, I thought to myself, refolding the note and tucking it into my waistcoat pocket. But is Dr Croft still to be found and will Dunn agree to my seeking him out?
The next thing to happen was that the post arrived and was brought to me. Amongst it was a large envelope with the Southampton postmark. ‘Aha!’ I exclaimed to myself. ‘This will be in reply to my request for someone to call on Miss Alice Stephens. It seems they discovered too much for a telegraphed reply.’ I tore it open eagerly.
The report of Inspector Reuben Hughes
I have now called, as per your request, on Miss Alice Stephens at her home in Southampton. She expressed great alarm on learning that her great-niece, Jane Canning, was missing, together with her young child. She declared she had neither seen nor heard from Mrs Canning. Miss Stephens struck me as an upright, religious lady of strong principles. She is the sort who would tell the truth, however painful. I fancy we can therefore believe her when she says she has no knowledge of Mrs Canning’s whereabouts.
I also inquired about the husband, Hubert Canning, and whether she had heard from him. To date, she has not. This struck me as odd. I asked about the circumstances leading to the marriage. Miss Stephens told me that Jane Stephens (as she was before her marriage) met Hubert Canning in Southampton. He was there on a matter of business, visiting a wine shipper. During this visit, he mentioned to the wine shipper that he (Canning) would like to find himself a wife. The wine shipper, by the name of Graham, told his wife. Mrs Graham was acquainted with Miss Stephens, and Jane, through their common attendance at St Michael’s church. The older ladies were engaged in charitable work and sat on several committees. Miss Stephens is in her late seventies and had begun to worry what would become of Jane, should she herself become infirm or pass away. A dinner party was arranged at the Grahams’ house, attended by the Stephens ladies. Jane found favour with Mr Canning. Mr Canning found favour with Miss Alice. It was true that he was somewhat older than would have been ideal, but he was comfortably situated and her niece would have a large house and servants.
It is not clear whether Mr Canning found equal favour with Miss Jane. But the great aunt told her she could not hope for a better offer. I gather that Miss Jane had no money of her own and depended absolutely on her elderly relative for a roof over her head and all necessities. Miss Alice indicated to me that her resources were not limitless and she admitted that it would be a great help to her personally to have ‘Jane off my hands’. I quote her words, although, after she had spoken them, she coloured and hastened to assure me that having Jane with her had always been a pleasure. Miss Alice then became anxious and asked me whether Mr Canning had misrepresented his financial situation to her. I replied that, as far as I knew, he had not. Miss Alice expressed astonishment that Jane should have left such a comfortable home and taken the little girl with her.
It is my private impression that Miss Alice Stephens revealed a trace of guilt when expressing her dismay. She had, after all, urged the match on the young woman. Miss Stephens is not, I believe, a woman generally given to Doubt. But I may have left her with a trace of it in her mind. She will contact me at once if she receives any kind of news, or if Canning contacts her. I will, however, call on her again if I do not hear from her
. This is in case Canning gets in touch with her and dissuades her from contacting the police.
Inspector Ben Ross
I now understood the background to the Cannings’ marriage. Lizzie had been right in her interpretation of the reasons for the match. Jane had not been in a position to refuse Hubert Canning when he came a-courting.
My colleague, Inspector Hughes, had done an excellent job and I was much obliged to him. He must have visited Miss Stephens as soon as my message arrived and he had been at pains to elicit as much background information as he could. Hughes thought it odd that Canning had not contacted Miss Stephens to find out if she had heard from Jane. I had met Canning and, to me, it was consistent with his desire to keep the scandal from becoming known. If he’d told Miss Stephens, she might well have told her friends, the Grahams, since it was at their suggestion, and in their home, that Canning had met his future wife. Graham was a wine shipper and would have mentioned it to others in that line of business. Soon everyone would know – everyone in Canning’s limited world, that is. Canning would be very displeased to find the news had reached Southampton. Good, let him sweat.
Now all I could do was wait. I took the letter to Superintendent Dunn who read it through and snorted.
‘Keep an eye on that fellow, Canning,’ he said. ‘I’m still not sure he’s not done away with them both.’
‘She and the child were alive when they left the house,’ I pointed out. ‘The housekeeper and nurserymaid are witnesses. I saw mother and child – at least the child’s foot and heard her whimper – two evenings later beneath the arches.’
‘But no one has seen them since!’ snapped Dunn. ‘If you found her beneath the arches, so might he have done. You told him where to look.’
It seemed I could do nothing right.
A little later that morning, Morris arrived back from his visit to Somerset House.
‘Got it, sir!’ he exclaimed, waving a piece of paper in the air.
So here it was, the death certificate of Isaiah Matthew Sheldon, retired coffee importer. He had died at his home, Fox House, at the age of eighty-three. Cause of death was given as cardiac failure and certified by W. Croft MB. The death had been reported to the registrar by – at this point I could not prevent myself uttering an exclamation of surprise.
‘Charles Lamont!’ I cried. ‘So he was already acquainted with the family!’
‘Hanging around the young lady,’ said Morris in dire tones. ‘Scented a fortune when the old fellow died.’
‘Yes, I wonder what Mr Sheldon’s opinion of Lamont was? He had been many years in business and he probably – as you suggest, Morris – recognised a fortune hunter. So I fancy we’re safe in assuming that Mr Sheldon was an obstacle to his niece’s marriage.’
Morris felt he should remind me. ‘It wasn’t Lamont that was seen pressing a cushion down on the old man’s face. It was the young lady.’
‘Men and women have done all manner of strange things for love, Morris.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ said Morris disapprovingly.
I returned to the cause of death and the doctor’s name attached to it. ‘Dr Croft was called and gives the cause of death as cardiac failure. He does not appear to have had any suspicions.’
‘The old gentleman was eighty-three, Mr Ross.’
‘I wonder,’ I mused, ‘if Dr Croft is still alive and to be found.’
‘I took the liberty,’ said Morris, ‘of calling by a library and consulting the medical registers. Dr Croft was still living in Putney and practising medicine in eighteen sixty-four. Later than that, I can’t find him. He may have died, sir, or retired.’
People sometimes make the mistake of underestimating Morris. He is a shrewd officer and utterly reliable. What’s more, he is capable of acting on his own initiative, an invaluable trait.
‘If we are in luck, then he has only retired. He may still be at the same address where he resided only four years ago.’ I contemplated the death certificate again. ‘I must try and speak with this medical gentleman.’
‘Doctors don’t like talking about their patients,’ Morris reminded me.
‘This patient died sixteen years ago. Besides, I am a police officer.’
‘Mr Dunn might not go for it, sir.’
‘I don’t like it, Ross,’ said Dunn, confirming the sergeant’s forecast. ‘Even if this medical man is still alive and you can find him, he apparently had no doubts at the time about the cause of death and was happy to have his name on this certificate. He won’t like having you arrive on his doorstep to suggest he was mistaken. At any rate, he will want to know the reason for your interest in something that happened sixteen years ago – and has not occasioned any comment since then until now.’
Dunn stopped to draw breath and peer at me with a gimlet eye.
‘I will be very tactful, sir,’ I assured him.
‘You will have to show the diplomacy of an ambassador and enjoy a fair measure of good luck. He will be entitled to throw you out, police officer or not. What are you going to say when he asks the reason for your investigation?’
‘I shall say –’ I searched my brains – ‘I shall say that a rumour has been reported to us and we are anxious to settle the matter quickly and close the file.’
There was a silence. ‘You have got your teeth into this, Ross, haven’t you?’ said Dunn. ‘You have considered, I suppose, the possibility that Croft will report your visit to Mr and Mrs Lamont?’
‘I shall ask him to keep the matter private, sir. Besides, he won’t want to start a rumour of his own that he might have made a mistake on a death certificate.’
When Dunn still looked unhappy, I added, ‘I will go this evening, sir, in my own time.’
Dunn sighed. ‘This matter has already been discussed at the highest level, Ross, and a decision taken then that there was no case to investigate.’
‘That was when we had nothing but the unsubstantiated word of Mills. Now we know that the place and date of the death tally, and the description of Fox House and its location are also just as Mills told it; and that the deceased was an elderly man. Everything we’ve learned has confirmed Mills’s tale.’ I hesitated. ‘From Lizzie’s visit, and what she and the cabman learned, there was some gossip at the time about Miss Sheldon, as she was, and Mr Lamont – how soon she married . . . and that he was considered locally to be a fortune hunter.’
‘I cannot give you the authority,’ said Dunn suddenly. ‘I must take it further up. I will consult the assistant commissioner and his decision, Ross, will be final! Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, with sinking heart.
I returned to my office and told Morris that his efforts that morning had probably been in vain. But here I was unexpectedly proved wrong. Dunn appeared an hour later in my office, a place he rarely set foot in.
‘Ah, Ross,’ he said. He looked somewhat confused, and even redder in complexion than normal.
‘Yes, sir? Have you spoken to the assistant commissioner, sir?’
‘I have. He was good enough to listen but showed little sign of any real interest in what I had to tell him. Until, that is, I chanced to mention the name of Charles Lamont. The assistant commissioner has come across Mr Lamont, it seems. Mr Lamont is a gambling man. The assistant commissioner, I should stress, is not! However, not long ago he attended a private party at a gentleman’s residence in the country. There among other guests he met Charles Lamont. We know it is the same man because Lamont mentioned that he was originally from Guernsey. Late in the evening, after dinner, the tables were set out for cards. The assistant commissioner did not play. But he did observe play and was startled at the amounts of money being wagered, won and lost. Mr Lamont, apparently, lost heavily, having played, in the assistant commissioner’s opinion, recklessly. Lamont was also rather drunk and reacted initially to his considerable losses with anger. He declared the cards had run against him all evening, but that he would “make it up next time”. In view of this, the assistan
t commissioner has, you might say, developed a personal interest in the matter. He declared to me that he would not want a fellow like Lamont in his family. He agrees that you should seek out the doctor. But you are to say as little as possible and make your visit brief.’
I told Morris this, hardly able to disguise my elation. Even Morris displayed moderate enthusiasm. I next sought out Biddle and asked him if he would be so good, on his way home, as to call by my house and tell my wife I would be late and not home in time for supper. Biddle replied that he would be delighted to oblige. Thus we all ended the working day on a note of optimism.
Chapter Eight
WHEN I had finished my day at the Yard, I hired a fly to take me out to Putney. I trusted that, as my visit was now official, I might be able to reclaim the cost as expenses. Accordingly I made good time and arrived before the house given as the doctor’s address in the 1864 medical register. It was still light, a windless, mellow September evening. The house was a square, redbrick building standing on a large plot of ground. I thought it had probably been built at the beginning of the century.
I asked my driver to wait and set off to knock at the door. It was opened by a neatly dressed maidservant with the look of a country girl about her. She appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen, and had a suggestion of a squint. On my inquiring whether Dr Croft still lived there, she replied at once:
‘The master don’t see patients no more. He’s given up all the doctoring.’
At least that meant he still lived there. ‘I don’t want to see him about my health. It’s another matter.’
The maid looked doubtful. ‘Who shall I say wants him?’
‘Inspector Ross from Scotland Yard.’ I handed her my card.
She peered at it in some dismay. ‘We didn’t send for no policeman.’
I was beginning to wonder if the doctor had engaged this maid as an act of charity.
