by Evelyn James
Emma glanced at Clara, the look in her eyes hopeful. Clara nodded to her, she had what she needed.
“Thank you, Ruby, for answering my questions,” Clara said softly.
Ruby mumbled something inaudible and then slipped off to sleep. Emma and Clara left the room and headed back downstairs.
“What does this mean?” Emma asked Clara as they paused in the tiny hallway that divided the front and back of the house.
“I think there is a strong possibility that Wallace Sunderland murdered John. I can’t say why, but the evidence all points in that direction,” Clara paused. “He also was very close to the town hall when John died, which he shouldn’t have been. He should have been at his home.”
Emma gave a small gasp. It seemed odd to have a name for the murderer of John Morley, it suddenly made everything feel more real.
“What will you do now?” Emma asked.
Clara glanced out the window, at the darkening night. It was late, too late to chase down Wallace Sunderland.
“I’m going home,” Clara said. “Then, tomorrow, I am going to track down the man I think killed John Morley.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The rain clouds had appeared the next day, which rather summed up Clara’s mood. She felt unsettled, and gloomy, a sense of foreboding hanging over her. Tommy accompanied her to the town hall, having been restored as her budding assistant in the detective business. He had been forgiven for his mishap with Miss Holbein, especially after he had told Clara all he had learned from Victor and that the man genuinely seemed to care about Nellie. Clara thought it was remarkable, in a way, but everyone deserves a little love in their life, and maybe Victor would bring out the best in Nellie, after all. She was not looking forward to explaining all this to Mrs Wilton, but that was a problem for another day.
“Wallace Sunderland,” Tommy had been musing on what Clara had told him about the man as they had walked. “Would he really murder an old friend?”
“I don’t know, Tommy, but he fits all the facts I have so far learned. The only other solution is that Dr Browning is really a murderer.”
“And that poor fellow does not look likely to live long enough to confess, if that’s the case.”
Clara had rung the hospital before they had left the house and asked after Dr Browning. It had taken some persuasion to get the information she was after, but she had finally spoken to a nurse attending the academic. It seemed his fever was affecting his heart, and there were grave concerns as to whether he would survive.
“The nurse said that they would know more by tonight if he was likely to recover,” Clara replied. “If he did kill John Morley, the toll it has taken on him is worse than any prison sentence and will likely cost him his life.”
“And if he is innocent in all this, the strain of events might have killed him. Tragic.”
They mounted the steps to the town hall and the porter automatically asked for their tickets. Clara was slightly annoyed that Dr Browning had failed to explain adequately that she was allowed access to the exhibition any time she wished. She had lost count how many times she had told the porter about her reason for being there, and each time he had insisted on speaking to Dr Browning first before he would let her in. Only, today, there was no Dr Browning present.
“I’m looking for Wallace Sunderland,” Clara told him.
The porter looked at her snootily, he really had a chip on his shoulder.
“He went to the yard, last I saw him. You can go around the back.”
Clara wanted to give the man a piece of her mind, but she held her tongue and obediently walked down the alley to the back of the town hall. Tommy was humming to himself and Clara thought he was amused by events. She tried to shake the tension from herself as they entered the yard. Wallace was stood at a bench, fitting a pane of glass into a wooden frame. He looked up as they appeared.
“Would you believe an elderly gentleman managed to put the end of his walking stick through one of the display cases?” He grumbled in exasperation. “Why do old people wave their sticks about like that? He was pointing out a fossil to his wife and he smashed the glass to shards. What a mess.”
Wallace carefully rested the glass in the frame and started to fix it in place with putty.
“Wallace, why did you tell no one that you knew John Morley?” Clara asked him quietly.
Wallace froze, the putty slopping off the tiny palette knife he was using.
“What did you say?”
“You went to school with John Morley,” Clara persisted. “You could have identified him for the police, but you didn’t. You acted as if you did not know him.”
“It was a long time ago,” Wallace said. “I went to the war. I forgot about John.”
“Really?” Clara said, her tone sharp. “Because I know that John asked a friend to help him break into the town hall the night he died. A friend who had a connection to the exhibition and could get him in.”
“Oh no!” Wallace dropped the putty knife and stood up straight. “No! You are not blaming his death on me! I was not here that night!”
“I think you were,” Clara continued calmly. “You fetched me from my house only a short time after the murder. You had to be nearby, not at home as you were meant to be. What other reason could there be for you being here than that you had helped John break in?”
“That’s not it!” Wallace shook his head furiously. “I was never inside the town hall that night, I swear!”
“Then why were you here?” Clara demanded. “If you were not helping John Morley, why were you not at home?”
“You’ve got this all wrong!” Wallace was clenching his teeth as he spoke. “I would never kill John!”
“Are you saying he did not ask you for help to get into the town hall?” Clara pushed him.
“No!” Wallace clutched his head in his hands.
“Quite frankly, I’m not convinced,” Clara folded her arms and glared at him. “So far I have heard no reason why you were here and not at home, which makes me suspect you are lying.”
“No!” Wallace dug his fingers into his hair, looking distraught. “I’m not going to be hanged for that man.”
“Which man?” Tommy asked.
Wallace was muttering under his breath, arguing with himself. He finally rounded on them.
“I never killed John, but I was here that night,” he said, breathless at the confession. “It was a coincidence, that’s all.”
“I am finding that very hard to believe,” Clara gave a bitter laugh at the nonsense he was spouting.
“Look, I came to the town hall to…” Wallace bit on his lip, the words not wanting to be spoken. “I can’t believe this is happening. You have to understand, I did not know that John intended to break in that night. I wasn’t with him, I never knew anything until Dr Browning came rushing out and was calling for the police. He was in such a state, I didn’t give it a thought, I just ran over to see what the matter was.”
“Then why were you here?” Clara demanded in exasperation.
Wallace didn’t want to explain himself, but the only other option was to face arrest for the murder of a friend – and there was a death penalty for murder. He bit so hard on his lip it went white.
“Look, you mustn’t tell the police or anything,” he said.
“I am making no promises,” Clara told him coldly. “As far as I am concerned, you are a murderer unless you can give me a good reason as to why you were here and not helping John Morley.”
“I have a reason,” Wallace groaned. “But it will cause me so much trouble if it gets back to Dr Browning.”
“More trouble than a noose about your neck?” Tommy asked.
Wallace sagged, he saw the hole he was in and that there was no real way out without explaining himself to Clara.
“I was only doing as I was asked,” he said. “I want you to understand that, you don’t say no to a man like that.”
“Who are you talking about?” Clara asked in annoy
ance, wanting to shake the information from Wallace.
“The Earl,” Wallace slowly admitted. “He has been paying me since the exhibition began to write and deliver threatening letters to Dr Browning.”
Clara did not react with the surprise he was expecting.
“I saw that the packing paper you use for the smaller exhibits was the same as that used to write the letters,” she said. “I knew someone from the exhibition was writing the notes.”
“It was me,” Wallace threw up his hands as he exclaimed this. “The Earl told me what to write at first, but I got the hang of it all and started making my own up. The night John died, I was coming here to slip another note under the door. I always deliver the notes by hand, so there is no postal mark. The Earl told me to do that. You can ask him.”
Clara believed Wallace could be the note writer, she just wasn’t so sure that excluded him from also killing John Morley.
“That is the truth!” Wallace insisted when he saw the look on her face.
“I believe you wrote the threats,” Clara told him. “I just don’t see how that prevents you from murdering John Morley.”
“I’m explaining why I was here!” Wallace shouted at her. “You have to believe me!”
“I think you are going to have to speak to the police, old boy,” Tommy said quietly.
“I didn’t kill him,” Wallace was almost tearful as he pleaded with them. “I should never have agreed to have supper with him. He always was getting me into trouble, even as boys. My father said the war did me a favour, breaking my ties with him, and now I am accused of his murder.”
Wallace grimaced and then hid his face with a hand.
“I was as shocked as everyone else when I saw his body.”
“Come on Wallace,” Tommy took him by the arm. “The Inspector will want to know all this.”
Wallace started to follow Tommy from the yard, defeated, when Clara put out a hand and stopped them both.
“Not yet. Something isn’t quite right,” Clara glanced between them. “Why would Wallace kill John?”
Tommy paused. It was the one question none of them had been able to answer – why had John been killed?
“I had no argument with John,” Wallace hastily added. “I hadn’t seen him in years.”
Tommy looked unconvinced, but Clara would not be budged. She had this feeling, an instinct, that told her Wallace was not her man.
“You will have to tell the police about the letters,” she told Wallace. “But, for the time being, I’m not accusing you of murder.”
“Thank goodness!” Wallace gasped with relief. “I would never hurt John. He was a friend. I had no quarrel with him.”
They allowed Wallace to go back to his work on the glass pane. He was shaking from head-to-foot and Clara thought there was a risk he might break the glass by accident, but that was not her problem. She and Tommy turned to leave the yard.
“If not Wallace, then who?” Tommy asked his sister.
Clara had come to a halt, looking up at the houses behind the town hall.
“What is it?” Tommy said.
“Maud Hickson is waving at me,” Clara replied, her eyes on the top floor of one of the houses. “I think she wants to speak to me.”
They headed around the roads to Miss Clarence’s shop. The woman gave Clara a suspicious look as she entered.
“Was the dress not to your satisfaction?” She asked cautiously. The overpriced gown had been delivered the previous day to Clara’s home address.
“It is lovely,” Clara said. “But I would like to ask your niece to make some adjustments on another item for me.”
Clara lied smoothly.
“Which item?” Miss Clarence narrowed her eyes.
Clara thought quickly.
“The dress I am wearing, the bodice is just not right,” Clara was wearing a coat, so Miss Clarence could not see the dress and determine for herself if it needed adjustment.
“My niece does not do odd jobs for people,” she commented coolly. “She only adjusts items customers have bought here.”
“Now I think about it,” Clara said slyly, “I’m not so sure about that other dress. I might have to return it.”
“No returns once adjustments are made,” Miss Clarence said fast.
“Oh dear, then I may have to tell my friends about my dissatisfaction,” Clara placed special emphasis on the last word and Miss Clarence was quick to respond.
“My niece could spare you a moment or two, but this will not become a habit. She is not your personal seamstress.”
“Thank you,” Clara smiled politely, heading for the doorway behind the counter.
Tommy started to follow, and Miss Clarence nearly went purple with indignation.
“I shall not have a man in my back corridor!” She told him firmly.
Tommy was so startled he took a step back from her, then he looked to Clara.
“You wait here,” she told him. “You know, maybe have a look at some pieces of jewellery for Annie. She deserves a little present after the trouble you have put her through lately.”
Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but Clara hurried to slip through the door. She could only imagine the glee on Miss Clarence’s face as she contemplated a sale. The woman’s avarice was truly remarkable, along with intimidating. Tommy would be unlikely to escape without buying something and that would give Clara plenty of time to speak to Maud.
She wondered what the girl wanted. She had been waving quite frantically to get Clara’s attention from the window. It must be urgent. Clara made her way up the stairs, finding the steep flights just as exhausting as the first time she mounted them. She was out-of-breath as she knocked on the door to Maud’s rooms. The girl opened the door quickly and gave a sigh of relief.
“I am so glad you came!” She said, shuffling back so Clara could enter. “I have been hoping to catch you. I couldn’t leave my work to find you, my aunt would never have allowed it. I should have fallen dreadfully behind.”
Clara did not voice her opinion that Maud’s aunt was a slave-driver, taking advantage of her niece.
“When I saw you in the town hall yard, I so hoped you would look in my direction!” Maud clasped a hand to her chest, looking almost horrified at the thought she might have missed Clara. “I could not think what else to do!”
“Why do you want to see me?” Clara asked.
“Oh Miss Fitzgerald, since you last spoke to me, I have spent so many hours thinking over and over that night,” Maud said. “I wanted to be helpful to you.”
“You were,” Clara soothed her.
“No, I wasn’t,” Maud brushed off her comment. “But that doesn’t matter now. I have remembered something Miss Fitzgerald! Something very important!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maud had Clara sit in the armchair by the window.
“I have been sitting here and thinking ever since I last saw you,” she said. “Trying so hard to remember that night and to recall anything that might be helpful. Honestly, for a long time I could not think of anything, then, last night, I was staring out of the window as the moon broke through the clouds and thinking how its light glinted on any shiny surface it hit, and then I remembered!”
Maud was almost breathless with excitement.
“When I saw the two gentlemen in the yard it was the night of the full moon. It seemed almost as bright as day as I looked out. If only I had seen those men’s faces, I am sure I would have recalled every detail of them,” Maud crouched down by the arm of the chair and pointed out the window. “The men were moving back and forth, I think they were looking in the crates. Anyway, they caught my attention and I glanced up; as I did, one of the men turned his shoulders towards me and I saw the moon glint off something just for a moment. I had forgotten all about it, until I sat here looking at the moonlight. That man had something on his right lapel, something that was shiny and could reflect the light of the moon just for a moment. I think that might be important, don’t you
?”
Clara was unsure, many people wore things on their lapel. It could have been something in a top pocket, like a cigarette case, or it could have been a brass button that had been polished.
“Another thing,” Maud persisted, “everything came back to me as I was sitting here thinking. And, maybe this is not of interest to you, but I thought to myself what a nice jacket the second man was wearing. I spend a lot of time looking at clothes and I can tell when someone has had an item made for them and when they just bought a rough fit.
“The other man, his jacket hung loose on him, it was a size too big I would say, and the shoulders were too wide. It had no shape to it and, without meaning to sound crass, you could tell it was a working man’s jacket. But the second man, his jacket fitted him perfectly, it had been either made for him or adjusted to fit him. Probably no one else would have noticed such a thing by moonlight, but I did. Is it of use to you?”
Clara was thinking fast – a well-dressed man with something shiny on his right lapel – that indicated one person in particular, but why would he have killed John Morley?
“Maud, you have helped me enormously,” Clara told her. “I cannot thank you enough.”
Maud was delighted with herself.
“I am so glad I could be of use! I spend so much time looking out of this window,” Maud sighed. “And there I thought I was a forgotten seamstress of no interest to anyone.”
Clara rested a hand on her arm.
“You are of interest to me,” she reassured her.
~~~*~~~
She returned to Tommy downstairs. Miss Clarence gave her a snide look and Clara guessed she would not be welcome in future unless she was buying something expensive. Tommy had a thin, square box in his hand and was looking a little dazed. Clara gave him a questioning look as they left the shop.
“Did you know jewellery cost so much?” He asked Clara.
“She sold you something then?”
“I think it was the priciest thing in the shop,” Tommy shook his head, trying to refresh his senses. “I feel as though I have been at the wrong end of a terrifying interrogation.”
