by Emily Organ
“I’ll be with you in two minutes, Inspector Bowles,” replied James. “Do you mind if I have a quick word with Miss Green?”
The inspector shrugged in reply and James glanced around, looking for a quiet place for us to talk privately.
“Let’s nip over to the church, shall we? There’s a little courtyard there.”
We walked the short distance to All Saints church with its red and black patterned brickwork. The courtyard could be accessed via a brick archway. Once we were beneath the tall, arched windows and looming spire, James stopped. I felt nervous about what he was about to tell me. Surely it would relate to that stolen kiss.
James cleared his throat, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I felt.
“I must apologise to you, Penny, for my despicable behaviour the other evening.”
“No, you mustn’t apologise, there’s no need. Besides, it wasn’t despicable at all —”
“Mr Edwards,” said James, interrupting me. “I think he saw us.”
“Yes, I think he must have done. He avoided my gaze for the remainder of the evening.”
“I’m so sorry, Penny. I fear that I may have ruined any chance there might have been of a courtship between you and Mr Edwards.”
“There was never any chance of that,” I replied.
“Are you sure? Because I felt certain that you were beginning to hold him in a higher regard than you had previously.”
“I was, and still do, but I don’t lament the loss of a potential husband.”
“Have you seen him since the incident?”
“No, I haven’t.” I had deliberately avoided the reading room of the British Library, where Mr Edwards worked as a clerk. At the present time I felt too embarrassed to face him. Would he mention the kiss or remain silent on the matter? I couldn’t bear the thought of finding out.
“Penny, I will be married next month.”
I sighed, and my heart felt heavy. “You don’t need to remind me of that.”
“I wonder if I should perhaps speak to Mr Edwards and explain the mistake I made that evening.”
My heart gave a lurch. “You consider it a mistake?”
“Yes, Penny, it had to be.”
I stared at him, saddened by his words. “And that will be your explanation to Mr Edwards? That it was simply a mistake?”
“Yes, a mistake which I take full responsibility for. He might be more understanding of the situation if I were to explain it that way.”
“I doubt it very much.”
“But he cares for you a great deal, Penny, and I’m sure that you would feel the loss of his acquaintance acutely. Perhaps more than you realise.”
“You seem rather keen for me to remain good friends with Mr Edwards,” I said.
“I am, Penny.”
I paused to consider this.
“Perhaps it makes you feel better that I have Mr Edwards at my side,” I said. “Maybe it makes you feel less distressed about your own impending marriage, which you seem intent on continuing with despite everything.”
“I have to, Penny.”
“As you’ve explained to me in the past.”
“I’m sorry if my actions have in any way given you hope that the marriage might be called off. That’s why I wished to apologise to you in private.”
I felt tears pricking the backs of my eyes as I looked up at the tall church windows. I had harboured a vague hope that the kiss might have prompted James to cancel his nuptials, but I finally realised that it would go ahead regardless and there was nothing I could do about it.
I clenched my teeth in anger.
“Well, I suppose you could explain matters to Mr Edwards,” I replied, intrigued as to how James would approach the conversation. Perhaps a vengeful part of me wanted him to be placed in such a difficult situation. “I’m not sure what he’d make of it at all. I can’t imagine him being particularly polite about the matter.”
“Then I shall do so, Penny. I shall explain to him that the kiss was no one’s fault but my own, and that you were entirely blameless.”
“That would make me seem very virtuous indeed.”
“It’s the truth, and it’s important that he knows it.”
“Then that settles it, James. Shall I tell you my theory about Olivia Forster’s murder?”
“It’s settled? You’re happy to simply change the subject to something completely different?”
“No, I’m not, but there’s nothing I can say that will change the situation, is there? If you must know, I enjoyed our kiss and I was not at all blameless in the matter. You don’t have anything to apologise for, but your impending marriage has no doubt left you feeling remorseful about the incident, so if you wish to apologise and explain matters to Mr Edwards I shall leave you to do just that.”
“I see.”
An uncomfortable pause ensued.
I had the urge to plead with James to call off his wedding. I wanted to tell him he wasn’t being truthful to his fiancée, Charlotte. Most of all, I wanted to tell him that he was making a mistake. But if I revealed the strength of my feelings for him I knew there was a possibility I would drive him away. Instead of explaining how I truly felt, I told James what had made me suspicious about the burglary and Olivia Forster’s death.
“I’ll have a good look around inside the house and see what I can deduce from it,” he said once I had finished. “I shall also speak to the staff when they’re sufficiently recovered.”
“But do you agree that my theory holds weight?”
“It cannot be ruled out, Penny.”
“Good. Do you know who I think is behind this? The husband.”
“Mr Forster?”
“Yes, he was conveniently absent at the time, and when I saw him here the morning after the murder there was something rather odd about his manner. Do you know, I actually heard him laugh?”
“Really?”
“Yes, as if he and Inspector Bowles were sharing a private joke. Something’s not quite right, and I have heard of so-called burglaries being used to cover up an alternative motive before.”
“So have I, Penny, and I can see how there might be some truth to your speculation. I’ll find out what Inspector Bowles has discovered so far and carry out my own investigations into the matter. I’ll also try to ascertain what they were laughing about.”
“Thank you, James. You will let me know how you get on, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. I know how keen you are to know every detail of each case you report on.” He smiled.
“Perhaps we can meet at the Museum Tavern again to discuss it,” I suggested. “Oh, I’ve just remembered that we’re not supposed to meet there any more. Charlotte wouldn’t like it. Forget that I ever mentioned it. I shall see you again soon, no doubt.”
Chapter 4
“What a delightful pair of vases, Mrs Billington-Grieg.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m so pleased you like them, Mrs Lennox,” my sister Eliza replied.
About a dozen of us were sitting in her drawing room in Bayswater, gathered together for a meeting of the West London Women’s Society.
“The vases are Cantonese,” continued Eliza, “and although I would like to say they were gifted to me, they were in fact gifted to my husband, George. A show of gratitude from a wealthy client of his. I forget his name, but he trades in Chinese wares, and thankfully for me George is quite happy to have these vases displayed by our fireplace so that visitors such as yourselves can enjoy them.”
“I’ve been collecting Chinese porcelain plates for some years now,” said Mrs Lennox, “and on my birthday I ask the housekeeper to serve dinner on them. For the remainder of the year they remain solely on display!”
This anecdote was met with genteel laughter. I leafed through my notebook waiting for the polite conversation to end so that Eliza could begin chairing the meeting.
“My sister, Miss Penelope Green, has joined us at last!” she announced to the group. “Welcome, Penelope. I’m awar
e that as a working woman you struggle to find the time to attend our meetings regularly. I’m extremely pleased you could join us today.”
I smiled and wished all the faces would turn away from me. I was only there because I felt guilty for not having turned up to any of the meetings for several months.
Eliza stood between the Cantonese vases and updated us on the progress, or lack of it, in women’s suffrage over the past few weeks. Like me, she was fair-haired and brown-eyed. She wore a divided blue skirt made of soft cotton with a matching jacket. Over the past year she had begun to adopt rational dress: comfortable, functional clothing which allowed her to ride her bicycle with ease. Glancing around the room I could see that some of the other ladies were wearing similar attire, though a number still conformed to the traditional corseted style with a tight bodice and full skirts. I felt too accustomed to my corset to abandon it altogether, but it was loosely laced and my blouse and skirt were of a practical, rather than decorative, design.
“I think the Bishop of Carlisle’s letter is extremely encouraging,” commented a lady with a beak-like nose and silver hair. “Never before has such a high-ranking member of the Church conceded that women should have the vote.”
“Unmarried women,” corrected a younger woman with dark hair so curly it was fighting back against its pins. “The bishop maintains that married women should not have the vote because husband and wife must be as one on the matter. If the husband has the vote there is no need for the wife to have it as well.”
“Such a ridiculous notion!” said Eliza. “George and I never agree on anything!”
“Ah, but in the eyes of God you are as one,” said the curly-haired woman with a smile.
“If only we were,” replied Eliza. “George is still concerned about the case of Mrs Cynthia Leonard, an American lady he read about in the newspaper.”
“Who is she?” asked Mrs Lennox.
“It’s reported that she went to a women’s suffrage conference in New York and then refused to return to her husband. Apparently, she wishes to be ‘untrammelled in her life’s work’.”
“Hurrah for Mrs Leonard!” I piped up, instantly wishing I hadn’t as all the faces immediately turned toward me again.
Eliza scowled in response to the interruption. “A judge in New York has now granted her the divorce,” she added.
“While I cannot deny that women’s suffrage is a noble cause, it seems a step too far to be divorcing one’s husband over the matter,” said the silver-haired lady.
“It does indeed, Mrs Knatchbull,” said Eliza, “and I now find myself having to reassure George that I’m not about to do the same thing! Poor chap.”
“I always refer prophets of doom to the queen,” said Mrs Lennox. “When they complain about women’s suffrage I ask them whether they’re aware that a woman has governed the destinies of this country for forty-seven years! And I might add that she has done so with more diplomatic skill and grace than any man could ever have achieved.”
This statement was met with many nods of approval.
“Agreed,” said a red-haired lady in a tightly laced dress. “Our great queen is often overlooked in this debate.”
“I do so enjoy it when the West London Women are here,” said Eliza as she plumped up a cushion once the ladies had left. “Did you enjoy the debate?”
“Indeed I did, Ellie.” In all honesty the time had seemed to drag. Some interesting points had been made, but there had been a good deal of superfluous chatter, which always bored me.
“This is the first opportunity I’ve had to ask you, Penelope,” said Eliza, “but did something irregular pass between you and Mr Edwards at the dinner party we had for Mr Fox-Stirling last week? I couldn’t help but notice that the man was rather sullen following Inspector Blakely’s brief visit.”
“Not that I’m aware of, Ellie.” I willed my face not to redden as I told the lie.
“James called in to update you on the case you had been working on together, and then, to my knowledge, you spoke for a while in the hallway. I asked Mr Edwards to fetch you for pudding, but when the pair of you returned I swear that not a single word passed between you for the remainder of the evening.”
“Really? That’s not how I remember it.”
“Were any cross words exchanged between Mr Edwards and Inspector Blakely? I suppose there must be a little resentment on both sides.”
“Resentment? What nonsense!” My voice sounded less than convincing. “If Mr Edwards became sullen I cannot imagine why. Perhaps he was tired, or maybe he’s prone to changeable moods.”
“It was certainly changeable that evening,” said Eliza. “Which is a shame, as he had been enjoying Mr Fox-Stirling’s tales of adventure, hadn’t he?”
“He had. And I was pleased that Mr Fox-Stirling agreed over dinner that he would start the search for Father in Colombia again.”
Our father had vanished in Amazonia nine years previously while undertaking one of his famous plant-hunting expeditions.
“Yes, isn’t that wonderful news? And it’s encouraging that he has agreed to take a Spanish interpreter along with him this time. I’m still in a state of wonderment that Mr Edwards should have donated such a large sum to aid the search effort. It’s incredibly generous of him, and certainly demonstrates the size of the torch he holds for you, Penelope. Don’t ever upset him, will you?”
I smiled meekly.
“Now we have only the remainder of the money to raise,” continued Eliza. “I shall organise some fundraisers, but I shall need your help with those.”
“Of course.”
She watched my face for longer than felt comfortable.
“I still think there’s something you’re not telling me, Penelope.”
“Regarding what?”
“Oh, never mind. I can see that you’re not in the mood to admit anything to me at the present time, but the truth will out sooner or later.”
Chapter 5
I had begun to make progress on the book I was writing about my father’s life. By committing time to it each evening I had managed to write between five hundred and a thousand words each day. Some comprised transcriptions of his letters and diaries, so I had found it quite difficult to add my own narrative. However, with perseverance and much crossing out, I was finally beginning to achieve something.
The ending of the book would depend on the result of Mr Fox-Stirling’s search for my father, which had been planned for the following year.
I worked at my writing desk in my garret room in front of a little window which looked out over the rooftops. My cat Tiger was usually close by as I worked, either sitting out on the roof watching the birds on the chimneys or resting on my desk. Sometimes she was determined to sit on the piece of paper upon which I was trying to write.
It was usually when I was most absorbed in my work that my landlady would come knocking at my door with a message.
“There’s a gentleman here to see you, Miss Green!”
Could it be James? I wondered. My heart skipped hopefully, but then I reminded myself of our conversation beside All Saints church. His wedding was going ahead and I would have to do my very best to suppress any affection I held for him.
I smoothed down my cotton skirts and adjusted the pins in my hair.
“Miss Green!” my landlady called impatiently.
I opened the door. “Yes, Mrs Garnett?”
Her steel-grey curls sprung out from beneath her bonnet. A widow of about fifty, she had come to London from British West Africa as a child. The whites of her eyes contrasted with her dark skin as she gave me an excitable look. She lowered her voice to a whisper.
“It’s that lovesick gentleman from the library!”
It was Mr Edwards.
“I see. Thank you, Mrs Garnett.”
“Well come on, then. Don’t keep him waiting!”
I reluctantly descended the narrow wooden stairs behind my landlady. Why was Mr Edwards here? What had he come to say to me? And wha
t could I say to him in return?
I could feel the heat rising in my face as I thought about the kiss with James, which Mr Edwards had undoubtedly witnessed.
I followed Mrs Garnett down the wide, carpeted staircase which led to the hallway as a prickly ball of shame rolled in my stomach. I wished I could be anywhere but here.
Mr Edwards stood by the hallway table holding his bowler hat in one hand. He wore a pale grey summer suit and the fringe of his sandy hair partly obscured his spectacles.
“Mr Edwards,” I said as cheerfully as possible. “What a pleasant surprise!”
“Miss Green.”
His greeting was polite but solemn, and I steeled myself for a difficult conversation. Having once agreed we’d refer to each other by first name, we appeared to be on surname terms again. Mrs Garnett remained in the hallway with us, looking from one to the other as if waiting to see who would speak next.
“Mrs Garnett, I hope it isn’t untoward of me to request this, but please may I speak to Miss Green alone for a few minutes?”
My landlady sucked her lip disapprovingly.
“What about a chaperone?” she asked.
Mr Edwards nodded. “I understand your concern, Mrs Garnett, but please rest assured that I only wish to have a quick conversation with Miss Green. My intentions are entirely honourable, and I can assure you that I would never take advantage of a lady.” He spoke these last few words with emphasis, as if referring to my kiss with James.
“I should hope not!” retorted Mrs Garnett. “However, it would not be appropriate for me to allow the two of you to use my parlour. I have known all matter of mishaps occur in parlours.”
“I’m sure it will be quite suitable for us to speak here in the hallway,” I suggested.
Mrs Garnett nodded but showed no sign of moving.
“The evening air is quite pleasant,” said Mr Edwards. “Shall we talk outside on the steps?”
“What an excellent idea, Mr Edwards,” I replied.
