by Emily Organ
James sighed and we paused beside the arch. A flight of worn steps ran beneath it to the street on a lower level.
“It’s not as simple as you make it sound, Penny. Scotland Yard can’t spend all its time trying to establish whether a crime carried out in one part of the metropolis has anything to do with a crime committed in another part.”
“You managed it with the St Giles murders.”
“Because we were quite certain from early on that there was only one culprit.”
“Do you think the three murders might have been committed by the same person?”
“I wouldn’t completely rule it out, but there’s no evidence to suggest it.”
“What about the opium connection?”
“There could be something in it, or it may simply be coincidence.”
“But you would consider it if I could find some evidence to support the theory?”
“Of course, Penny, but you’re a news reporter and it’s not really your job to go about trying to establish such things.”
“But if I don’t do it who will?”
“If there’s a connection between the Forsters and Alfred Holland I’m sure something will come to light sooner or later.”
“You’re content to just wait for something to come to light, are you? And what if it doesn’t?”
“Then perhaps there is no connection after all.”
“What an extremely lackadaisical manner of doing things!” I fumed, marching down the stone steps before James could respond.
Chapter 18
“Penny, you’ll get soaked without an umbrella!” James called, following me down the steps. “The Yard only has so many men. Chief Inspector Cullen won’t allow me to get involved in any case I pick and choose. And I feel sure that the divisions will make the Yard aware as soon as they need our help.”
“But they don’t even know when they need help,” I retorted. “I’m surprised at your reaction to this, James. I thought you would want to be involved in these cases.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, Penny, but my hands are tied. At least I’ve been involved in Mrs Forster’s case. Perhaps there’s something I can do from my work on that.”
“What progress has there been so far?” I asked.
We stood under James’ umbrella beside a row of trees which bordered Temple Gardens. Beyond them was the Victoria Embankment and the River Thames.
“The staff at the Forsters’ home say the gang was well organised and its members seemed to know what they were doing. They used their cudgels to incapacitate the staff but inflicted wounds on Mrs Forster which were deliberately intended to end her life. They kept asking the servants where Mr and Mrs Forster were.”
“As if they were after them rather than the valuables?”
“Exactly. They remained calm for most of the time, using intimidation and violence only where necessary. The housekeeper told me she felt sure the men were comfortable with what they were doing, as if they were well-practised at it. It’s interesting that they completely spared the errand boy.”
“Because he’s a child, perhaps.”
“Possibly, but there might be another explanation. It’s intriguing that the gang knew exactly how to break in. I think they had been given information about the layout of the house before the break-in.”
“Do you think the boy might have told them?”
“It’s possible. The gang may have bribed him with something. He might not have considered that he was doing anything wrong at the time. I have tried asking him whether that’s what happened, but he has given me little information so far.”
“If someone bribed him and he tells you who it is that could lead you straight to the men who carried out the act.”
“Absolutely, so I’m hoping that if he has something to tell us he will do so very soon.”
“Do you believe the gang also intended to attack Mr Forster that evening?”
“Yes, they were probably disappointed to find him out of the house.”
“Which explains why he was tracked down just a few days later and stabbed in St James’s Square.”
“Yes.”
“So Inspector Paget of C Division should allow you to be involved in Mr Forster’s case considering that the murders were almost certainly carried out by the same people.”
“I’m trying to convince him of that at the present time.”
“The Forsters may have been murdered by people who were paid to kill them,” I said, “and Inspector Reeves has the same theory regarding Mr Holland’s murder. He believes the culprit was a paid assassin.”
“That may be the very connection we’re looking for. We just need more evidence.”
“Inspector Reeves has a few witness statements from people who saw the gunman before and after he shot Mr Holland. Maybe the description bears some resemblance to one of the men described by Mr and Mrs Forster’s staff.”
“Perhaps I should speak to Inspector Reeves about the case, then. That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?” James said with a smile.
“Yes.” I smiled in return.
The rain was starting to ease. We crossed Victoria Embankment and stood overlooking Temple Pier, where numerous passengers were embarking a pleasure steamer for an outing downriver. I told James about my meeting with Mr Mawson at the India Office.
“He seems innocent of any wrongdoing,” I said, “but I can’t help recalling how keen he was to find out Mr Forster’s location after the murder of Mrs Forster. Perhaps he passed the information on to someone.”
“Have you told Inspector Paget about him?”
“No, I haven’t met with Inspector Paget and I’m not supposed to be working on the story at all. Edgar Fish has it.”
“Oh dear, really?”
“Yes, it’s all rather frustrating. I suppose I could ask Edgar to mention Mr Mawson to Inspector Paget, but he doesn’t like doing any more work than he absolutely has to. You should visit Mr Mawson at the India Office; it’s only a stone’s throw from Scotland Yard. Mr Mawson was with Mr Forster the evening before he died, so he might be able to tell you something useful.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but neither you nor I can officially take control of the work. We must leave it to the other detectives and reporters.”
“The other incompetents.”
James laughed. “It seems you have a high opinion of our colleagues.”
A break in the cloud allowed the setting sun to cast its golden light across the river, bathing the ships and barges moored by the wharves on the south bank.
“I miss our meetings at the Museum Tavern,” I said. The words had left my mouth before I had time to consider them.
James gave a small sigh. “They’re not over yet. We’ll have more of them.”
I turned to look at him. “Are you sure? I thought the future Mrs Blakely was rather disapproving of our conversations at that establishment.”
“I put it down to her pre-wedding nerves.”
“Do you have pre-wedding nerves?”
James thought for a moment before replying. “No.”
“Why not? It’s a life-changing event.”
“I don’t like to think of it changing anything so very much.”
“Of course it will! If Charlotte won’t allow you to meet with me at the Museum Tavern now she’s even less likely to after the wedding.”
“Nonsense, she’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I don’t think she will be.”
“You don’t know her as well as I do, Penny. Once the wedding is over and done with she will become her usual calm self again.”
I quietly disagreed but chose not to argue with him. “I do apologise for interrupting your evening with Charlotte and her mother the other day.”
“It was a welcome interruption.”
“It wasn’t really, was it? You weren’t able to invite me in and Charlotte didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me.”
“Pre-wedding nerves, as I say.”
“I don’t think she likes me.”
“Of course she likes you, Penny!”
“I wouldn’t like me if I were her.”
“You’re beginning to confuse me with statements like that. How’s Mr Edwards?”
“His usual self. Sometimes I feel you only bring him up to make yourself feel better about your impending wedding.”
James gave me an incredulous look.
“What does that mean?”
“Perhaps you feel less guilty about your choice knowing there is a potential husband for me waiting in the wings.”
“You think I should like to see you married to Mr Edwards?”
“Yes, I think you would. It would reassure you that you’re making the right decision. It would mean there was no longer any alternative. It would suggest that fate rather than your free will had determined events.”
James scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Penny. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s why you tried so hard to ensure that Mr Edwards and I remained on friendly terms, isn’t it? You were even willing to paint yourself as the villain in order that he would forgive me. He doesn’t for a moment consider that I was willing to kiss you that evening; he believes me to be an innocent victim. In fact, he probably feels sorry for me, which is deplorable.”
“I apologise if my attempts to repair your reputation were somewhat clumsy.”
“I didn’t need you to repair my reputation, James!”
“No?” He fixed me with his bright blue eyes. “And what would Mr Edwards have thought had he known you were a willing participant in that kiss? What would he have told people about you, Penny? The thought of you becoming a topic of gossip was too much to bear. What if your sister had found out? You’re an intelligent, respectable woman, and you don’t deserve to be the topic of tittle-tattle across West London’s drawing rooms.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t have come to that.”
“I believe it would have done, but if Mr Edwards considers you blameless your reputation is saved. And as for all this nonsense about me wanting you to marry him, nothing could be further from the truth. Do you think I can bear the thought of you hanging on to another man’s arm?”
“It would make you feel better about your own nuptials.”
“It would do nothing of the sort! If you were to ask me honestly what I think about Mr Edwards I would say that I wish the man had never taken up employment in the reading room and found you there. I wish the man didn’t even exist!”
“Now you know how I feel about Charlotte.”
There was a long silence.
James stared at me and I boldly looked him in the eye, not regretting for one moment what I had just said.
Chapter 19
“Did you actually have to go inside the opium den, Miss Green?” whispered Mr Edwards in the reading room. “Would a description of it not have satisfied you?”
“That wouldn’t have been proper news reporting, Mr Edwards,” I replied softly. “It’s important to be able to report on such information first hand.”
I had been carrying out some tiresome research on the Franchise Bill when Mr Edwards approached me.
“I think it terribly irresponsible for a police officer to allow a lady into such a place!” he said with a frown.
“I don’t think Inspector Reeves minds who comes along on his opium den tours so long as he gets his three shillings,” I replied.
“That’s even worse! The man has no scruples.”
“I can’t say I enjoyed my visit, but it meant I could write authentically for others to read. If just a handful of people who read my article are dissuaded from frequenting these places my work has surely served a purpose.”
“I suppose so, but I don’t see why you should put yourself at risk, Miss Green.”
“I have put myself at risk in this job before, Mr Edwards, and I shall probably do so again. My work often leads me to unpleasant people and places.”
He sighed and handed me some papers. “I’ve gone through The Homeward Mail’s 1881 editions, and here are some references I found. I don’t know how useful they might be. Did you find my last set of notes helpful?”
“I certainly did. They led me to Mr Mawson and I was able to speak with him.”
Mr Edwards’ face brightened. “That’s good news indeed! Did he have anything interesting to tell you?”
“A little more about the Forsters, and I asked whether he knew anything about Alfred Holland.”
“Ah yes, that Holland chap is the reason you visited the opium den, isn’t he?”
I nodded.
“I’m relieved you got out of there alive,” he said.
I stifled a laugh. “Of course I did. There was no danger there.”
“We’re talking about opium addicts, Miss Green!”
“Opium sends them into a stupor, Mr Edwards. They weren’t even aware that I was present.”
Mr Edwards shook his head disapprovingly. “Have you thought of a suitable date for a walk in the park with your sister and myself?”
“Oh, I think so,” I said, having forgotten all about it.
“When would suit?”
“This Saturday, perhaps? I’ll need to make sure Eliza is available.”
“Good. I shall await confirmation from you. I’ll leave you to your work now, Miss Green.” He smiled and gave me a little bow.
I tried to concentrate on my article about the Franchise Bill but it was proving difficult. The conversation with James by the river kept running through my mind. I felt surprised at myself for stating that I wished Charlotte didn’t exist, but I still could not bring myself to regret the words I had spoken.
Although it had been extremely useful to discuss my work with James I had found our past few meetings rather uncomfortable. With his wedding just weeks away our conversations felt fraught with tension. There was no escaping the event that was about to change everything. James had said that it wouldn’t, but I knew he was pretending even to himself. Once he became a married man our relationship would inevitably change. People would disapprove of any time we spent together, even if it was arranged merely to discuss work. His wife would have a legitimate hold over everything he did.
“Ah, Miss Green! The close friend of Tom Clifford’s,” said Edgar as I entered the newsroom just in time to meet my deadline that afternoon.
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” I replied curtly.
“But Tom is telling everyone down at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese how much he enjoyed your company in Limehouse.”
“He’s using sarcasm, Edgar,” I replied.
“Actually, I don’t think he is. He was rather flattered by your company, I believe.”
I gave an empty laugh.
“And if I may say so, Miss Green, your article about the opium den was far better written than his,” added Edgar.
“I doubt that would be much of an achievement,” I said.
Edgar lowered his voice. “So, did you try it?”
“Try what?”
“The opium! John Chinaman selects the very best of it, doesn’t he? Opium can be found all over London, but if you want the best quality a Chinese opium den in Limehouse would be just the place to find it, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, Edgar.”
“Tom tried it,” he said. “He told us all about it at the Cheshire Cheese. He confessed that it’s most gloriously perfumed, and induced in him a soothing, floating, dreamlike state.”
“He said he felt as though he were a spoonful of gently warmed syrup,” added Frederick.
“I’m pleased to hear that he enjoyed it,” I said.
“You weren’t tempted?”
“Not for a moment. It was one of the most miserable places I have ever set foot in, besides the fact that a man was shot there!”
“That’s not particularly pleasant,” said Edgar. “I think that would have put me off trying it as well.”
“I would
have gone to a different opium den,” said Frederick.
“Exactly, Potter. I don’t think I could feel at ease in a room where I knew a man had been shot to death,” said Edgar.
“While we’re on the topic of murder,” I said, “have Inspector Bowles or Inspector Paget made any progress?”
“Paget’s done a bit of work. It seems Mr Forster had complicated legal affairs,” said Edgar. “He bought a trading company in Calcutta about ten years ago but it ran into financial difficulties. For a few years he maintained the belief that its fortunes would rise again, so he funded the company with loans. When he came close to defaulting on them he decided to use his property in London as a source of income.”
“The house in Margaret Street?”
“Yes. The Forster family has owned it for many years and it was occupied by a tenant while they were in India. When he arranged a mortgage to fund his company in India there were problems with the bill of sale.”
“Such as what?”
“It became clear to the individual who was advancing the mortgage that Forster was, in fact, trying to submit a fraudulent bill of sale.”
“Why should he do that?”
“Forster needed to provide a bill of sale for his home and furniture in order to be granted the mortgage advance, but he didn’t want to provide a legally binding document. The reason for his deception was that the house wasn’t strictly his to mortgage. It was part of his father’s estate, which was being held in trust.”
“I see, though I think I may have lost the thread now.”
“I did as well. It takes a few iterations to get your mind around this situation.”
“But I don’t understand. I thought Mr and Mrs Forster were wealthy?”
“They probably were once upon a time. And then these financial difficulties arose, and Forster clearly did a good job of pretending he still had money.”
“Like many a good man,” Frederick chipped in.
“So, to continue,” said Edgar, “Forster managed to find another individual who wasn’t so eagle-eyed with the bill of sale, and that person advanced him a sum of ten thousand pounds, which Forster put into his failing company in India.”
