by Emily Organ
“But not the most important answer of all!” I remonstrated. “Who is behind all this?”
Chapter 45
Father O’Callaghan, an elderly Irishman, was clearly distressed about Father Keane’s death. James had arrived at the workhouse and the pair of us were sitting with Father O’Callaghan in the little chapel. He told us how he had sat by Father Keane’s bedside and administered the last rites as his colleague approached death.
“Was he able to speak to you at all?” I asked.
“He could only say a little.”
“What did he say?” asked James.
“It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, to be honest with you. His breathing was laboured and he seemed to be trying to say something about a cake.”
“The poison!” I said. “The poison had to be in the cake!”
“Poison?” asked the priest, raising his bushy grey eyebrows. “He was poisoned?”
“We cannot be certain yet,” replied James.
“Of course he was!” I said vehemently.
“Let’s await the results of the post-mortem before we jump to any conclusions,” said James. “I know it looks like a case of poisoning, and I think we should treat it as such, but we must wait for it be confirmed before we tell anyone that was the cause.”
“Suspected poisoning, then,” I said.
“Well, it’s a sad day indeed when someone decides to poison a priest,” said Father O’Callaghan mournfully. “We can comfort ourselves with the knowledge that whoever did so will be forever separated from God and cast into the eternal fire.”
“Once he is dead himself, perhaps,” I retorted. “But what about now? He must be found right away!”
“We need to find that aconitine,” said James, glancing at the crumpled telegram Father Keane had sent me, which he held in his hand. “Perhaps he found the source and then it was used against him.”
“Put into a cake, by the sound of it!” I said. “That would have required quite a degree of planning.”
“Did Father Keane tell you who gave him the cake, Father?”
“His words were quite jumbled, but I got the impression that it was a lady who gave him the cake, Inspector. He said the word ‘she’ a few times, but I couldn’t quite discern the other words associated with it.”
“No names?”
“Not that I could discern. I wish I’d listened more closely to what he was trying to tell me now. If I’d known it was important…”
“Please don’t blame yourself, Father,” I said. “You did everything you could, and you must have been a source of great comfort in his final moments.”
“I never suspected foul play. And because his words weren’t making a lot of sense I just assumed it was some form of delirium. I’ll keep thinking about what he said and try to remember as much as I possibly can.”
“Thank you, Father,” said James. “I realise how distressing this must be for you. I know that you will have administered last rites many times, but presumably you have only done so a few times for someone you knew well. This must be an exceptionally sad day for you.”
“The Lord will help me. He helps all of us in our hour of need.”
“Indeed. It’s possible that the information you’ve shared with us may be helpful to the investigation. I’ll speak to Inspector Ferguson next and see what he makes of it.”
We found Inspector Ferguson in the administration block.
“Fortunately, the sight of a priest tends to remain in a person’s mind,” he said. “We have located a number of witnesses who saw Father Keane as he left the workhouse and walked down Hoxton Street in the direction of Hoxton Square. He was seen entering and leaving the telegraph office, and the staff at the telegraph office recall him dropping in to send a telegram.”
“Was he unaccompanied?” asked James.
“Yes.”
“And the cake?” I asked.
“Odd as it sounds, Father Keane was seen to be eating something after he had left the telegraph office,” replied Ferguson. “Witnesses believed it to be cake, and indeed a piece of fruit cake was found, partially wrapped in paper, close to where he was found outside the Bacchus.”
“Was he seen with it before he entered the telegraph office?” I asked.
“We believe he had it with him when he entered, because the clerk we spoke to there said he placed an item – wrapped completely in paper and tied with string at the time – on the counter next to him.”
“So someone in the workhouse could have given him that piece of cake,” I said, “maybe as a gift.”
“It could have been a gift. And I agree that it was probably given to him while he was at the workhouse. He clearly decided to eat it as he walked back to St Monica’s. Dr Kemp believes that Father Keane displayed signs of poisoning, so the cake has been taken to an analytical chemist at the Royal Institution. I hope to receive the results from him tomorrow.”
“And in the meantime there will be a post-mortem,” said James.
“Yes, that is being carried out today. However it usually takes a few days to allow time for the relevant tests to be conducted in the case of a poisoning.”
“I remember it well from the case of the Bermondsey poisoner,” said James with a sigh.
“And while we wait, the culprit will have plenty of opportunity to cover his tracks,” I said.
“Or her tracks,” corrected James. “Remember that Father O’Callaghan mentioned Father Keane talking about a woman.”
“We’ll get every man we have searching that workhouse,” replied Inspector Ferguson. “The poison will be hidden somewhere there, and hopefully we’ll find the rest of the cake, too.”
“Perhaps someone in the bakehouse would know about it,” I suggested. “Cake isn’t often served to the inmates, is it? Perhaps it’s unusual for cake to be baked there.”
“Possibly,” replied Inspector Ferguson. “I think it is most often eaten by the staff.”
“Has there been any word on Mr Lennox yet?” asked James.
“Yes, I have good news on that front. He was arrested last night near Merthyr Tydfil, so I shall be travelling to Paddington Station later today to meet him and his accompanying police officers off the train.”
“Excellent!” said James.
“There’s an awful lot to unravel here,” continued Inspector Ferguson. “Although Hicks has admitted to stealing Miss Lloyd’s body, he is refusing to tell us anything more. He seems unwilling to implicate anyone at the workhouse, yet I’m sure at least one of them knew what was going on.”
“Has Mr Hale told you much so far?”
“No. He continues to maintain his innocence.”
“Perhaps he really is innocent,” suggested James.
“I doubt it,” replied Inspector Ferguson. “We’ll have to persevere with him. In the meantime we have Father Keane’s possible murderer to find, and from the sounds of it we’re looking for a woman.”
Chapter 46
James and Inspector Ferguson agreed on how the search would be conducted, then James and I made our way to the bakehouse. Inside, a group of women kneaded dough at one table while a group of men worked at another. A row of stoves covered one wall. Everyone in the room paused to watch us as we entered.
James introduced himself and asked who was in charge.
“That’d be me, Mrs Griffiths,” replied a small, round-faced lady with steel-rimmed spectacles. She stepped forward and gave us an awkward smile.
“Please could you tell us who bakes the cakes here?” James asked.
Her face fell. “This is abaht the poor priest, ain’t it? I heard ’e fell ill after ’e ate a bitta cake. I dunno what ’appened; it weren’t nuffink to do wiv me!”
“Do you bake the cakes yourself, Mrs Griffiths?”
“Yeah. And Betty ’elps me.”
“Betty?”
A young woman stepped forward and joined Mrs Griffiths, nervously twisting her apron in her hands.
“Have you baked a fruit
cake recently?” James asked the pair.
“We bake fifteen of ’em each week,” replied Mrs Griffiths.
“For whom?”
“Master and matron, an’ the officers and clerks, and whatnot. I dunno ’ow the priest got ’is ’ands on some of it.”
“Then it’s not baked for the inmates?”
Mrs Griffiths shook her head. “They gets the bread.”
“Has anyone specifically asked you to bake an extra fruit cake this week?”
She shook her head again. “No, sir. We baked fifteen of ’em Monday, din’t we Betty? That does us for the ’ole week, then.”
“Did anyone give you any extra ingredients to put in one or more of them?”
“No, there weren’t nuffink like that. We didn’t put nuffink in as would ’arm ’im, and no one’s told us ter put nuffink in, did they Betty?”
The girl shook her head.
“What did you put in the cakes?”
“Jus’ the usual!”
“Can you list the ingredients?”
“Flour, eggs, sugar, milk, molasses, bakin’ powder, currants, raisins, lemon, nutmeg and plenty o’ spice.”
“Enough to bake fifteen cakes in total, I assume.”
“Yep.”
“In one bowl?”
“There ain’t enough room in one bowl, Inspector! Five bowls with enough mix for three of ’em.”
“I see. So if something harmful had been added to one bowl three cakes would be affected.”
“Nuffink ‘armful was put in none o’ the bowls. I was there meself the ’ole time.”
I surveyed the earnest faces of Mrs Griffiths and Betty, struggling to believe that either woman might have poisoned the cake mixture.
“Thank you for speaking to me,” said James. “It’s likely that either I or my colleague Inspector Ferguson will need to speak to you both again. In the meantime, please think about whether anyone else might have had an opportunity to tamper with any of the cake mixture you’ve made recently.”
“We’ll ’ave a think, sir.”
“Where are the cakes stored once they’re baked?”
“They’re wrapped up in paper, tied wiv string and sent over ter the main block.”
“The administration block?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whereabouts?”
“To a cupboard in the master’s office.”
We came across Mrs Hodges shortly after leaving the bakehouse.
“What’s going on, Inspector?” she asked. “This workhouse is filled with police officers! It’s very alarming for the inmates.”
“I’m sorry that the inmates are distressed,” he replied, “but it’s important that we locate the cake and the poison that is likely to have killed Father Keane.”
“I realise that, but couldn’t it be done in a more orderly manner? There are constables everywhere!”
“It’s a necessary precaution, Mrs Hodges. Did you happen to give Father Keane a slice of cake?”
“No, I did not! Are you trying to suggest that I poisoned him?”
“No. I’m merely asking whether you gave him a slice of cake.”
“I find your manner quite impertinent, Inspector. I’ve a good mind to ask every police officer on the premises to leave!”
“Have you no wish to find out who is behind the suspicious deaths that have taken place here, Mrs Hodges?”
“Are they suspicious?”
“Even if they’re not, I’d say that ten empty coffins are certainly suspicious, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s something the undertaker was responsible for, and you’ve already arrested him.”
“And there’ll be more arrests to make before the day is out. Now please excuse me, Mrs Hodges, but I really must get on with my job.”
“With a newspaper reporter in tow? What is the nature of the relationship between you, exactly?”
“Miss Green was the first person to realise that something untoward was happening within these walls. My only regret is that I didn’t start listening to her sooner.”
“I’m quite sure that there is no need for her to be here.”
“And I’m quite sure that there is. Good day, Mrs Hodges.”
James and I made our way to the master’s office in the administration block.
“Perhaps Mrs Hodges is the woman Father Keane was referring to?” I said.
“She could be, I suppose. Her manner is defensive rather than helpful, so perhaps she has something to hide.”
“If three cakes have been poisoned, someone else must surely have been affected by now?”
“It’s quite likely, isn’t it? Perhaps the poison was only added to the piece Father Keane consumed. If the cakes are stored in Mr Hale’s office it would have been quite easy for him to poison one of them. However, given that he has been in police custody for the past few days it’s difficult to see how he had anything to do with the poisoning. We need to find out who else has access to that cupboard in his office.”
“Did you discover anything further about Dr Macpherson?” I asked.
“I made a few enquiries at the lodging houses of St Luke’s and Cripplegate,” he replied, “and a number of people have come across him. He and Hicks have an arrangement in place with St Luke’s Asylum, and he is also known at the offices of the City of London coroner. He’s not the only one, of course. The clerk I spoke to at the coroner’s office told me a number of anatomy schools are in regular contact with them, some of which are from medical schools outside London.”
“Such as Cambridge,” I said. “Dr Macpherson told me that himself. They’re all in dire need of corpses for dissection.”
“And wherever there is demand people will see the opportunity to make money,” he replied sourly. “I’ve informed Inspector Stroud at Old Jewry about our investigation, and he’s arranging for the City of London police to look into this as well. We may yet discover some wrongdoing on Dr Macpherson’s part.”
We entered the infirmary block and made our way along the corridor that led through it. As we walked, we heard raised voices.
“There must be some mistake, Inspector!” came a shout from behind us.
We retraced our steps to the corridor that led toward the men’s wards. We could see Dr Kemp and Inspector Ferguson locked in a heated discussion outside the medical officer’s office.
“Is everything all right?” asked James.
“No!” replied Dr Kemp, wiping his brow. “They’ve found poison in Miss Turner’s room, but it cannot be true!”
“I’m afraid it is,” replied Inspector Ferguson, turning to James. “The jar of stolen capsules and the remains of a fruit cake were found on top of a wardrobe in Miss Turner’s room.
“The aconitine?” I asked, astonished.
“Dr Kemp has identified it as the missing jar of poison,” replied Inspector Ferguson.
“And what of Miss Turner?” asked James.
“My men are looking for her at this very moment,” replied the inspector. “She was last seen on one of the women’s wards about half an hour ago, but there has been no sign of her since her room was searched.”
“Then there is no time to waste!” said James. “We’ll help with the search.”
“My men have barred all the exits,” replied Inspector Ferguson, “so we’re hoping she is still somewhere within the confines of this building.”
I thought of Miss Turner and how I’d seen her busy at work on the wards when I had come to help with reading to the patients. She had always seemed to be such a kind lady. Could she really be a murderer?
“She was last seen on the women’s wards, you say?” James asked.
“Yes, but my men have already checked there.”
“Have they questioned the patients on that ward?”
“They certainly haven’t had time to question all of them as yet.”
“Miss Green and I will go there now and ask each of them whether they have any idea where she may have gone,” said Jame
s.
“What’s goin’ on?” Mrs King called out when we arrived on the first ward. “There’s people comin’ an’ goin’, an’ comin’ an’ goin’.”
James introduced himself to her and she gave us both a smile.
“You’re the lady what does the readin’, ain’t you?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“What’s goin’ on terday, Hinspector?” she asked.
“Have you seen the nurse, Miss Turner, recently?”
“Not recent, no.”
“Have you seen her at all this morning?”
“Oh yeah, she’s been ’ere.”
“Can you recall how long ago that was?”
“I’m blowed if I know.”
“Was it within the past hour, do you think?”
“Like I says, I really dunno!”
My eyes rested on the door in the corner of the room and recalled Mrs King complaining that Miss Turner always seemed to be opening and closing it. I walked over and tried the handle, but it was locked.
“Where does this door lead?” asked James, who had swiftly joined me.
“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just a cupboard, but apparently Miss Turner opens this door a good deal.”
James knocked on the door. “Miss Turner?”
There was no reply.
“Does anyone know whether this door has been opened this morning?” James called out to the ward.
His question was met with a host of blank faces.
“I haven’t seen it open today,” said a young nurse, stepping forward. “It’s Miss Turner’s cupboard, sir, and we don’t know where she is.”
“Do you happen to have a key for this cupboard?” he asked.
She shook her head in reply.
“Then there’s only one thing for it,” said James.
He took a few steps back, then launched himself at the door, aiming his shoulder just above the lock. The door moved slightly on impact but remained steadfastly locked.
“Whatcha doin’, Hinspector?” Mrs King cried out.
James launched his shoulder at the door twice more but the door refused to give way.
“I’ll have to try this, then,” he said, taking a larger step back.
