by L. A. Nisula
The other diners seemed to be primarily made up of older ladies. Anyone close to Nora’s age seemed to be a paid companion sitting with her employer. I would think Nora would stand out dining alone in this setting, especially if it was a regular visit. Although it didn’t seem the sort of place she would want to visit. Still, a free meal and an extra few hours off most likely made up for the less than exciting atmosphere.
Then there was the question of why Mrs. Fetherton sent her here at all. I had thought it sounded strange to send a maid to a tea shop every week to learn how to serve at table, and now that I saw the chosen establishment in person, it seemed even stranger. Everyone was rushing around. I had the feeling that the shop was under-staffed and there weren’t enough people to handle all of the tables. From the way everyone seemed to know where they were going and what they were supposed to be doing, I had the impression this was a normal state of affairs and not a temporary situation caused by someone not showing up for a shift. While it made for an efficiently run shop, it was not the sort of careful attention to detail I would have expected a parlor maid to learn for serving guests. Surely Mrs. Fetherton could have found a less expensive and more useful place to teach her.
I was interrupted by my tea arriving. If I was going to learn anything, it would have to be from the girl bringing it. “You must have a lot of regular clients.”
“Oh yes, the old dears do like the familiar.”
“So mostly older ladies?”
“Look around.”
I nodded. “Then you would remember if a young lady, in her early twenties say, came here on a regular basis?”
“I suppose. Wait, is this why the police were here, looking for this young lady?” She leaned in, clearly eager for the story.
I wasn’t sure what the best course of action was, so I hedged my bets. “It may be, I’m not officially with the police.”
“They won’t tell us a word of what it was about. Caroline says they’re stealing girls and smuggling them off to Australia, but I told her that was mad.” She looked at me, clearly hoping I’d confirm some equally ridiculous story.
“I doubt that’s why they were here.”
“And the person’s not in trouble, are they? I’d hate to get someone in trouble.” But she would quite clearly love to hear about it.
It seemed I couldn’t continue talking around it indefinitely. “No, I just want to know where she was when the murder happened.”
At the mention of murder, the girl squealed, although I thought there was more excitement in the sound than actual fear.
“She wasn’t the one murdered, or directly involved, at least I don’t think she was, involved, I mean. But tea here was her alibi, so I wanted to see if I could confirm it.”
“Joanna, table four is out of biscuits and table sixteen is ready for their check.” The maître d’ had snuck up on us or I would never have brought up murder at all. He glared at me. “Miss, I am afraid there has been a problem with your order. I’m afraid we won’t be able to serve you.”
Apparently he thought that passed for a polite way of throwing me out. “How terrible. Did the rats get at it?” I was tempted to say it loudly and watch the reactions of the other patrons but restrained myself. Nonetheless, the older couple at the next table both turned to look at us then began examining the plate of sandwiches on their table.
The maître d’ was not amused. “I’ll show you to the door.”
“I only wanted to find out if someone was here yesterday. Perhaps you could tell me?”
“The police are handling that matter, are they not?”
“But she was a regular customer, and this seems like the sort of place where the staff would become acquainted with their regular customers’ preferences.” I hoped it came out as flattery.
Even if it did, it didn’t work on him. “I can assure you no one who frequents this establishment has had, or ever will have, anything to do with the police.”
We were at the door by now, so I knew there was no hope of getting any more help. I settled for saying, “I’m very glad to know no one here has ever had their handbag stolen or their house burgled. Pity about the rats. Good day.”
The maître d’ continued to glare at me as I stormed off and rounded the corner. Halfway down the block, I found another tea shop, smaller and filled with a more varied clientele. I went in and ordered another pot of tea and a cheese bun and considered what I’d learned, which was not much. There was something off about Nora’s alibi, though. Even with a name that could be confused for Smith, it should have been easy to confirm she was there. I couldn’t see any of the constables Inspector Wainwright worked with regularly not thinking to give Nora’s description when they asked after her, and even a bad description of Nora should have produced a lead simply from her age and regular visits. I doubt there were many girls in their twenties who visited every Wednesday. Unless the maître d’ had thought a mere constable was not worth dealing with and had handed over the least possible information without allowing him to talk to any of the staff. That was certainly possible. He seemed the type. I thought about it as I finished my tea but got no further along that line of reasoning.
Despite the fact that I hadn’t proven anything about Nora’s alibi, I decided that was a good day’s work done. I had traced the steps of several suspects, determined that Miss Hayes did indeed know Randall was seeing someone else at the same time and intending to confront him, and I had found nothing to connect Milly to any of it. I felt I had discharged any obligation to my cousin, and it was time to make Inspector Wainwright very happy by dropping the investigation. I still had all of my lovely wool waiting to be knit up, and a good-sized stack of typing, both of which would have to wait until I’d rested.
~*~*~
When I got back to Paddington Street, I went straight to my flat, flopped into my chair, and started to take off my boots. I’d barely gotten the laces undone when there was a knock at the door. I ignored it. Whoever it was would just have to wait until I was ready, which meant until I’d eaten and slept.
There was a second knock and then I heard Mrs. Albright call through the door. “It’s just me, Cassie. I brought scones.”
I sighed and pulled myself out of the chair. She did make nice scones.
Mrs. Albright had also brought cake and sandwiches. “I thought you’d need something after the time you’ve had.”
“How did you know?”
“Well, you left with Milly at six yesterday and came back at half eight this morning. Then you’d barely gotten back and went out again with that annoying Mr. Fetherton and have been gone since.” She arranged the plates she’d brought on the table. Scones and butter and cheese and some of the preserves from the shop down the street. “Were the police helpful, at least?”
I picked up a scone. “It was Inspector Wainwright, so no, not particularly.”
“Inspector Wainwright?” She put a plate of tea sandwiches down with a clank. “I thought you had to bail her out her for some reason, but I really thought he of all people would have more sense than to arrest her.”
“Randall got it wrong. He’d only brought her in for questioning. She’s been released, but it seems she is a suspect. She did know Randall was seeing the victim at the same time.”
“And how is Milly?”
“Concerned that Randall will be accused and not at all worried that she might be. She actually said she’d have killed Randall if she’d known about Miss Hayes—that’s the victim.”
Mrs. Albright raised an eyebrow. “And was this before or after she let them know she knew about her?”
“Before, since she hasn’t told them she knew about her. She almost didn’t tell me, but she slipped.”
Mrs. Albright shook her head. “What are you going to do?”
“What Inspector Wainwright wants for a change and let him investigate in peace. He is certainly welcome to Randall Fetherton.”
Mrs. Albright nodded. “And good riddance to him. Now I’ll lea
ve you to eat in peace. Bring the plates back whenever you like.”
I was going to tell her she could stay, even though the prospect of a bit of time alone sounded very nice, but I had just bitten into a sandwich and wasn’t able to speak until she had already left. I suspected that was part of her plan and continued with my meal.
As I was finishing the last cucumber sandwich, the bell on the pneumatic tube rang. I considered ignoring it, but I decided there was no harm in seeing who it was, at least. I brought a third scone with me as I went to check. I recognized the mint-green edge of the card at once. Milly. I was tempted to ignore her. I had wasted the better part of two whole days on her and Randall, after all. But Milly was not one who took to being ignored well, and I had forgotten to try to hide the fact that I was at home when I entered, so I decided it was best to get it over with and sent the latchkey down. That was something to suggest to my tinkerer friend Kate, a pneumatic tube system that could hide when you were home but didn’t want it known. She was always fond of figuring out how to make useful but slightly socially skewed items, like her steam-powered window lift which she sold as a kit to young ladies, strictly for fire safety of course. Anything else raised or lowered to a bedroom window was not the intention of the inventors, as they insisted often.
Milly was at my door before I could note down the idea. She brushed past me and went to the tea table, then seemed surprised to find only one clearly used cup and half the scones gone. “So, how did your investigating progress?”
“Well enough.” I wondered if she merely wanted to hear what I had done when we’d parted ways. If that was it, I could spare her a few moments and a cup of tea, although I doubted it would be that simple.
“So you proved that Randall didn’t do it?”
I put the spare cup down in front of her and took another scone before she ate all that were left. “I’m not convinced it wasn’t him.”
“Cassie, of course he didn’t do it. What would his motive be?” She helped herself to the teapot and looked around for the cream and sugar, which I didn’t need so hadn’t put out. I didn’t get up to get them.
“It seems Miss Hayes knew about you, at least in the abstract, and was trying to find out more.”
“In the abstract? Don’t talk in riddles.” Milly went into the kitchen to look for the sugar. I heard her banging her way through my cupboards.
I wondered if it would be more trouble to stop her rummaging or to fix it later. “She knew you existed but not your name.” I took another scone, leaving only one for Milly.
Milly came back empty-handed. “And how is that a motive?”
“She could have confronted him, or he might have known she was close to figuring it out, or she may have found out something else about him that he wanted kept secret.” Seeing Milly wasn’t convinced, I added, “Or she could have attacked him, and he killed her in self-defense.”
Milly shook her head. “I can’t see him doing anything so—decisive.”
“Well, it’s up to Inspector Wainwright now.”
“Cassie, how could you?”
“I know you didn’t do it, so Inspector Wainwright won’t have anything on you, and if Randall is foolish enough to be involved, that’s his misfortune, not mine.” And he was just foolish enough to be a part of it, and to think he could fool Inspector Wainwright.
“Cassie, you can’t leave Randall to his own wits. He’s barely got any.”
“Something we agree on. Were you going to have that scone?”
“I’ve no appetite. Not when Randall is still in trouble.”
“You could go and tell Inspector Wainwright how certain you are.” I knew how that visit would thrill them both. It was quite possible neither would forgive me, and in my current mood, that didn’t seem like a bad thing, particularly if it meant neither of them would speak to me either.
“It seems I’ll have to figure out some way to help him myself. Good evening, Cassie.”
I was quite content for her to do whatever she felt was needed to help Randall, so long as it didn’t involve me. “Good evening, Milly.”
Milly picked up the last scone and started nibbling on it on her way out. Apparently, her appetite had returned now that she was taking over Randall’s defense. I locked up behind her then went to my typewriter to see what work I had. After the day I’d had, typing up reports of forgers beating up distributors didn’t interest me. I settled on a simple pickpocketing case and got to work. One case, then some tea and knitting, then bed. It seemed simple enough.
Chapter 8
THE FIRST CASE I PICKED UP ended up being short, so I did another, and another after that, and ended up with a nice dent made in my typing and no progress on my knitting at all before I decided bed was the best option. The next morning I found I only had one case involving forgery and assault to type up and then a free day to decide on a knitting pattern, perhaps go out and buy a new one, or swatch a few lace patterns. I was petting the yarns in the box Ada had given me, trying to decide where I would start, when the bell on the pneumatic tube rang. I considered ignoring it in case Milly had decided Randall’s defense was too complex for her to handle on her own, but no one who knew me would think I had left home so early in the morning.
I could tell at once that the card in the tube wasn’t Milly’s but one of the dull, functional ones Scotland Yard handed out, this one belonging to Constable Kittering. I sent down the key at once and opened the door to the flat for him.
It hadn’t been more than a few moments when I heard footsteps on the stairs and then the familiar blond head in its custodian helmet appeared around the bend in the landing.
“Constable Kittering, how nice to see you. Would you like some tea?”
Constable Kittering shook his head. “This isn’t a social call, I’m afraid.”
“You need to take another statement about the incident on Rusham Street? We can have tea while you do that.” I was going to offer some of Mrs. Albright’s almond cake, but I remembered he didn’t care for it.
“No, no, we have a suspect in custody.”
“Oh, thank you for letting me know.” That was unusual. I hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble with Inspector Wainwright for letting me know.
“And she’s asking to see you.”
“Me?” And then I understood what that meant. “No, you can’t mean...”
“I’m afraid so, miss. Your cousin.”
“But it couldn’t have been her. She called on me before we went there to ask me to go with them. I was with her.”
“Well, she’s asking to see you. You could try to tell Inspector Wainwright when you get there.”
“I will. Let me get my hat.”
“I’ll put the tea things away for you, shall I?”
So he thought things were serious if he was being so domestically helpful. I gathered up my hat and gloves while Constable Kittering brought my plate and cups into the kitchen and put them in the washbasin. I was tempted to see if things were dire enough for him to do the washing-up as well, but I decided it was best to get to the Yard as quickly as possible, so I grabbed up my handbag and keys and told him I was ready to leave.
~*~*~
At Scotland Yard, as I was with Constable Kittering, I was able to pass the lines in the lobby and proceed directly to the staff lift and up to the detective’s floor. Constable Kittering knocked on Inspector Wainwright’s door then stepped aside so I could enter.
Even though Inspector Wainwright had to know I was coming—he had sent Constable Kittering for me after all—he still managed to look irritated and as if I’d interrupted something important. As his—or I suppose more properly Milly’s—summons had interrupted my breakfast, I thought I was right to be equally annoyed. Wasting time on pleasantries would just put us both in a worse mood, so I went straight to the point. “Why on earth did you arrest Milly?”
Inspector Wainwright closed his eyes. “Miss Pengear, do you honestly think I would arrest your cousin if I didn’t have good rea
son to think she was a suspect?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“Knowing full well that she is your cousin, and you would take such an action as an invitation to interfere in my case? It is not an invitation, by the way. I feel I should be very clear about that.”
“But she didn’t do it, and if you aren’t going to see that, then I suppose I will have to investigate, or interfere as you call it.”
“I know she didn’t do it, Miss Pengear, which is why she has only been arrested and not charged.”
That did not sound as promising as it should have, but I was beginning to think I ought to be annoyed with Milly, not Inspector Wainwright. I sank down into the more comfortable of the two guest chairs. “What has she done now?”
“Only confessed to the whole thing.”
I groaned. And I’d practically told her the only way I would investigate was if she were arrested. “Do I want to know what she said?”
That made Inspector Wainwright smile. Apparently he was enjoying my troubles. “I don’t know. Shall I tell you and see?”
I sighed. I knew I wouldn’t get the full story from Milly when I asked her. “You’d better.”
He leaned back in his chair and consulted the folder on his desk. “According to her, she’s known about Miss Hayes for quite some time, mainly through conversations Mr. Fetherton had with an acquaintance by the name of Hargrove, who happens to be known to us as a bookmaker and money-lender. Apparently Mr. Hargrove mentioned her name several times.”
Another bit of information I had alerted her to the importance of. “And you’ve already spoken to him,” I said before remembering that Inspector Wainwright didn’t know about that particular piece of investigating I’d done.
