by Emily Organ
I briefly mulled this over. “Are you saying that he fraudulently obtained the money as he didn’t own his house?”
“Exactly, Miss Green. And despite his best efforts the company in India failed for good, leaving a number of creditors in its wake. Over the past few months his chickens came home to roost. The chap who had given him the ten thousand began pursuing him through the courts to recover his funds, and his father’s estate took legal action against him for mortgaging a house he didn’t own.”
“So the long and short of this sorry tale is that he owed money?”
Edgar nodded. “Vast amounts of it. Tens of thousands of pounds. He owed it to various people, both in India and in Britain, and a number were getting rather impatient with him about it. Only a few days before his death he had been in court requesting more time to settle his debts.”
“It would have taken more than just time by the sounds of things. What a desperate situation to be in. Does Inspector Paget think a creditor had him murdered?”
“That’s one line of investigation.”
“And a very complicated one, it would seem. But why should someone he owed money to decide to have him killed? Surely they would want to keep him alive so they had a chance of seeing their money again one day.”
“I agree with you, Miss Green. Having gone to great lengths to understand the ins and outs of this case my conclusion is the same as yours. I don’t know why he should have been killed for owing money.”
“Was it some sort of punishment?”
“Perhaps, but when you’re dead you’re not really being punished any more, are you?” said Edgar.
“Unless you’re in hell,” Frederick piped up. “Perhaps Forster’s killer intended for him to suffer in purgatory.”
“Despite Forster’s debts, he may be of greater financial worth now that he’s dead than he was when he was alive,” I said. “Perhaps there is a life insurance policy the creditors can claim against, or something else in his estate which could be accessed.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” said Edgar, “and it could explain why the wife was also murdered. It meant she couldn’t inherit his estate.”
“But the Forsters have children,” I said, beginning to feel alarmed. “What if this mess passes down to them?”
“It will do, won’t it?” said Edgar.
“Has anyone warned them?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you know who began the legal proceedings against him?”
Edgar flicked through his notebook, then read aloud from the relevant page. “One is a law firm representing his father’s estate, Sadler and Campbell, and the other is a chap named Mr Chakravarty.”
“Do you know anything about either of them?”
“Nothing at all.”
Chapter 20
“Penelope, I do believe this is the most foolish thing you have ever done,” said Eliza as she sat on my bed at my lodgings. “An opium den! It’s just about the worst place you could have visited in the entire world!”
“I’m sure there are worse places, Ellie,” I replied, “and its abjection was the very reason I went there. I wanted to convey how simply dreadful these places are, and what an unpleasant drug opium is. It ruined the mind of Alfred Holland; a man who was born into comfort and wealth. Just think what it must do to the lives of so many people we never hear about.”
“Oh, I know what it does. That’s why we argued with George over dinner recently, wasn’t it? But surely you don’t need to visit these places in person, Penny. You’re putting yourself in terrible danger.”
“I like to think that by doing so I have helped educate a few more minds about the effects of opium.”
“You could do the same thing without going inside these dens.”
“Not at all. A first-hand account is what people most enjoy reading. They don’t wish to be lectured on the dangers of opium; instead, they desire to somehow experience its effects from the safety of their own homes.”
“While you put yourself in danger!”
“I wasn’t in danger, Ellie. I was accompanied by a police inspector and another news reporter, and I’m rather tired of being scolded for the decision I made. Three of you now – yourself, James and Mr Edwards – have berated me for doing what I consider to be an important part of my job.”
“It’s only because we care about you, Penelope!”
“Anyone who really cared would understand my need to do it.”
“Oh, I see. We care but we don’t care the way you would like. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, it’s not. All I ask is for a little more acceptance.”
Eliza snorted in reply.
“You should welcome articles such as mine,” I continued. “Didn’t you mention that you wished to join the Society for the Abolition of the Opium Trade?”
“Actually, I have spoken to a very nice gentleman there.”
“Did you show him my article?”
“No, I hadn’t read it by that point. But having spoken to the chap I’ve decided to propose that we add the abolition of the opium trade to our list of causes at the next meeting of the West London Women’s Society.”
“That’s excellent news, Ellie.”
“And the nice gentleman is to be our guest speaker.”
“Even better! What does George think about the idea?”
“Oh, I haven’t told him yet, but we both know what his reaction will be, don’t we? You can’t talk any sense into the man. I feel sure that he likes to think we’re still living in 1850. Please tell me you’re not planning a return visit to that opium den.”
“Of course not, it was a horrible place.”
“Good. Perhaps you can come to our next meeting and describe your experiences there.”
“I’d be very happy to, Eliza.”
“Splendid, I look forward to it! Now tell me, when are we next meeting Mr Edwards to discuss the search for Father?”
“Would this Saturday be convenient?”
“That would be absolutely fine with me. Oh, I have such a fondness for Mr Edwards. Isn’t he a delightful chap? What it must be like to have a brain as clever as his. I do hope he hurries up with his proposal. I can’t help but wonder why he’s dragging his heels.”
“Perhaps he has no intention of proposing.”
“Oh, of course he does, but he must hurry up! You’re thirty-five now, Penelope. Do you know what I think will spur him on a little? The marriage of Inspector Blakely. I think poor Mr Edwards must be aware that you and the inspector hold some sort of affection for one another.”
“We don’t.”
“Oh, Penelope, look at your face. It’s gone quite red! You’re a hopeless liar. Now mark my words, as soon as Inspector Blakely is married Mr Edwards will surely propose.”
My heart sank. I wasn’t looking forward to either event.
Chapter 21
I found James at his desk in the drab, smoky offices of Scotland Yard.
“Penny!” James stood to his feet as soon as he saw me. He wore a dark blue suit and there was a gold pin in his silk tie.
At a desk nearby sat Chief Inspector Cullen, a police officer who cared little for me. He was about fifty-five with a thick grey moustache and silver-rimmed spectacles. Having experienced a number of disagreements with me in the past he acknowledged me with only a slight nod and continued reading the papers on his desk.
“I was just passing,” I said to James, realising as I spoke that these words were becoming a common excuse between us.
“Of course.” He smiled.
“Edgar Fish explained Mr Forster’s complicated financial affairs to me.”
“Did he? That’s impressive, as they are extremely complicated.”
“And presumably the reason he and his wife were murdered.”
“Possibly. It cannot be denied that the man got himself into quite a bit of trouble. I’ve learnt a fair amount about the case from Bowles and Paget of C Division is happily co-ope
rating with me now too.”
“Both a law firm and a banker were pursuing him in the courts, were they not?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Do you know much about them?”
“Sadler and Campbell specialise in family law. I believe they were acting on behalf of his father’s estate. I’ve spoken to a clerk there but have not yet found the opportunity to meet with either Mr Sadler or Mr Campbell. Mr Chakravarty owns a deposit bank in Change Alley in the City of London.”
“Mr Chakravarty is the man who advanced Mr Forster the mortgage loan, I believe.”
“On the house Mr Forster didn’t own, yes, that’s right. I’ve spoken briefly to Mr Chakravarty, but he claimed he had no time to speak to me. I need to go back and have a more structured conversation with him. I don’t think he particularly likes speaking to the police. He strikes me as a man who has something to hide.”
“Such as what?”
“Unscrupulous money-lending tactics, probably,” Chief Inspector Cullen piped up. “I’ve come across his sort before.”
“Unscrupulous enough to have a man murdered?” I asked.
“Perhaps so.” Chief Inspector Cullen stroked his moustache and maintained an impassive expression, as if he knew more than he was prepared to say.
“Oh dear,” I said. “It seems Mr Forster chose the wrong man to borrow money from by deception.”
“Forster was a fool,” retorted Chief Inspector Cullen.
“He didn’t deserve to be murdered, though, did he?” I said.
“If a man plays with fire, sooner or later he will be burned,” he replied.
“But what about his poor wife? And their servants who were also attacked?” I said. “Surely you must have some sympathy for the family?”
“It’s not our job to be sympathetic, Miss Green, it’s our job to catch people who break the law,” stated the chief inspector.
“Do you know much about the murder of Alfred Holland in Limehouse, sir?” I asked.
“I’ve heard of it.”
“I think his death may be connected to the murders of Mr and Mrs Forster.”
Chief Inspector Cullen gave a hollow laugh. “You’re doing a spot of detective work again, are you? If and when the Metropolitan Police decides to admit the fairer sex to its ranks we shall have to consider you, though you’ll be required to lose some of those weak feminine traits, such as sympathy.”
I took a deep breath and tried to quell the anger brewing in my chest.
“The good news is that C and D Division are co-operating well with each other and with me,” said James, “and we’re certain now that the errand boy who worked for the Forsters was bribed by the gang, as five shillings were found in his possession, though he says he found the coins in the street. The officers at D Division are doing what they can to get him to talk.”
“Doing what exactly?” I said. “He’s only a boy. Presumably he’s frightened?”
Chief Inspector Cullen emitted another sarcastic laugh and I glared at him.
“I’ll check with Inspector Bowles,” said James. “You’re right, Penny, the boy is only young and probably has little understanding of the position he has found himself in.”
“Have you had an opportunity to speak to Inspector Reeves yet?” I asked.
“Good grief, Miss Green!” exclaimed Cullen. “Fancy yourself as the Commissioner of the Yard now, do you? No, Blakely has not spoken to Reeves in Limehouse, nor is there any need for him to do so. Now stop bothering the man and let him get on with his job!”
“Sir, I don’t think there’s any need —” James began.
“No defending her, Blakely! I’ve had enough of the woman’s interference. She’s an ink-slinger with ideas above her station, and I’m not having her distract you from your work any longer.” He pointed a fat finger at me. “If you don’t stop this, Miss Green, I shall have a word with your editor at the Morning Express.”
“Sir, it’s most impolite of you to speak to Miss Green in this manner,” said James.
“I’m not a polite man; you know that, Blakely. Now this woman has charmed you for long enough. Ask her to leave immediately.”
“There is no need to ask me. I’m already on my way out.”
“Penny, I…” James’ eyes were full of concern, but I knew that I couldn’t stay here for a moment longer.
“You have your work to get on with, James. Thank you for taking the time to listen.”
I turned and left, angered by the hot tears pricking the backs of my eyes.
Chapter 22
As I sat at my writing desk that evening I wondered whether there was any truth to what Chief Inspector Cullen had said. Perhaps I was interfering in the police investigations too much. It had been wrong of me to call on James at his home and his place of work. I realised that my actions were borne out of frustration, and that I wanted to see James even more than I wanted to secure justice for the Forsters and Mr Holland.
Perhaps it’s time to accept that my hands are tied, I mused. I can’t keep telling James that I just happened to be ‘passing by’. Time and time again I had tried to accept that he was marrying someone else, but I simply couldn’t. His betrothal to Charlotte should have quelled my affection for him, but it never had. If anything, it had made it stronger.
Not only did I enjoy James’ company, but working with him had proved invaluable on many occasions. We had solved a number of cases together and I had never met anyone else I could work with so effectively.
I tried to remind myself that I was just a news reporter: that my job was to report on events and tell people what was happening. It wasn’t my job to influence an investigation; that had to be left to the police. It was frustrating, however, when the police failed to ask the right questions and missed important witnesses or evidence.
I looked around my small lodgings with the bed at one end and the little stove at the other. I didn’t have a large house like my sister, or a husband and children to distract me. My job consumed all my waking hours because there was little else occupying my life. It was no wonder I became so involved in each story I worked on, or that I had invested so much in James.
I realised Chief Inspector Cullen had been right to accuse me of being overly sympathetic, and that I sometimes allowed my emotions to take precedence over logic. Was it because I was a woman? Could I persuade myself to care less?
A knock at the door startled me, but before I could answer it swung open. Mrs Garnett marched in with my cat under her arm and a scowl on her face.
“There she is!” I said with a smile. “I was wondering where Tiger had got to.”
“I found her asleep by my stove again,” said Mrs Garnett, dropping Tiger onto the floor. “I’ve told you many times before that I won’t have her in my rooms. When you took her in you assured me she would be a roof cat.”
Tiger remained where she was with her fur ruffled and wearing a scowl that almost matched Mrs Garnett’s.
“She is! I don’t even know how she gets into your rooms. I am sorry, Mrs Garnett.”
“Through the window is how she does it. I fling water at her but she doesn’t care!”
“Naughty Tiger,” I scolded unconvincingly.
“You’ll have to get rid of her if she keeps doing it.”
“Oh, no! She only likes to sleep by your stove, Mrs Garnett. Surely that’s not so very terrible?”
“She’s scratched my chair and she jumps up onto my shelves.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And she gives me sneezing fits.”
“I hadn’t realised that.”
“I’ll be sneezing all night now. I shan’t get any sleep.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Mrs Garnett.”
“It is true! The only thing that stops it is scrubbing my floors with carbolic soap. I can’t say I want to be doing that at ten o’clock at night. Do you want to come and scrub my floors?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then keep your c
at out of my rooms!”
“I’ll try, Mrs Garnett, I’m sorry, I…”
A sob threatened to interrupt my words. The scolding from my landlady on top of the rebuke from Chief Inspector Cullen was proving a little too much.
“Oh, there’s no need for tears, Miss Green,” said Mrs Garnett, passing me her handkerchief.
I lifted up my spectacles and wiped my eyes. “I know there isn’t, I’m sorry. I’ve had quite a busy day and I’ve been thinking about things too much.”
“What sort of things?”
“Work things.”
Mrs Garnett sucked her lip. “You should do a different sort of job, Miss Green. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.”
“But I like my work.”
Mrs Garnett gave a soft laugh. “So it seems.”
“I just need to learn to forget about it at the end of each day.” I dabbed my eyes again with the handkerchief.
“You absolutely do. That’s what my husband Hercules did, you know. Once he was at home you couldn’t move him from his chair. He would sit there like a giant boulder not worrying about a thing. Meanwhile, I was the one fetching and carrying all over the place. The only thing that would get him to move was a tap on the knees with the carpet beater.”
I laughed. “Knowing you, Mrs Garnett, it was more than a tap.” Tiger jumped up onto my lap. As I stroked between her ears she gave a little murmur and began to purr. “I think the best solution is to treat my profession as an office clerk would treat his. I just need to work the usual hours, go home at a regular time and not let each story consume me.”
“If you say so, Miss Green. That all sounds sensible to me.”
“It’s what my colleagues Mr Fish and Mr Potter do.”
“I’m sure they do. Men don’t seem to bear the weight of the world on their shoulders like us women. Hercules wasn’t often the type I could learn from, but he did know how to sit down and not worry about anything.”
“Except you and the carpet beater.”
