by Emily Organ
“Don’t talk like that!” I snapped, startling myself with the sharpness of my voice.
Charlotte was silent and wide-eyed.
“You mustn’t think like that,” I said soothingly. “Please don’t do it. It’s too upsetting to even consider. I’m sure we can find him, and don’t forget that he usually has his revolver with him, so he can defend himself. We may be worrying unduly; he might simply have got caught up in a tricky aspect of a case he’s been investigating. He’ll turn up safe and sound overnight, and then all this worry will have been for nothing.”
“Perhaps he’s having second thoughts,” suggested Charlotte.
“About what?”
“About the wedding.”
“No, I’m sure that he isn’t.”
“Perhaps he no longer wishes to marry me and has taken himself away so the wedding has to be called off. Perhaps he didn’t know how to break the news to me so he’s run away to hide somewhere!”
It was a thought I briefly consoled myself with, and I felt a pang of guilt for doing so.
“Nonsense, Charlotte, he would never do such a thing. It’s getting quite late in the evening now, so let’s just hope that he isn’t missing for a second night. I think you should return to your parents’ home in Croydon, and I’m sure he will send word there as soon as he can.”
“And what if he doesn’t?”
“Then tomorrow we must begin our search in earnest. I don’t quite know where to begin, but I’ll have a think about it this evening. Perhaps you could consider anyone else we might be able to contact.”
“I will.” Charlotte nodded her head and then began to sob.
For a moment I watched her, unsure what to do.
I had grown to dislike this woman who constantly kept me and James apart, but I had only met her twice before and I didn’t know her personally at all. In front of me now I saw a woman crying for the man I loved.
I felt a lump rise into my throat. I wanted to cry like Charlotte but I couldn’t. Her tears were permitted because James was her fiancé, while any tears of mine would need to be shed in private. Seeing how desperately upset she was, I got up from my chair and rested an arm across her shoulders.
“James wouldn’t want you to be sad like this,” I said. “I know it feels as though you haven’t heard from him in a long while, but in reality it’s only been twenty-four hours. I feel certain that you’ll hear from him soon. Come now, you should be at home. Would you like me to accompany you?”
I struggled to believe I had just offered to accompany Charlotte all the way to Croydon.
“No, I’ll be fine.” She wiped her face.
“Which train station will you travel from?”
“London Bridge.”
“At least allow me to accompany you there.”
“I shall be fine, thank you Penny, I’ll travel there by cab. It will be quite quick from here.” She dried away the last of her tears.
“Would you like a spoonful of Dr Cobbold’s Remedy?” asked Mrs Garnett, who had been fidgeting with some vases behind me in a bid to overhear our conversation.
“No, thank you. I shall be all right.”
“A wise decision,” I said to Charlotte. “It’s rather unpleasant.”
“But it works!” said Mrs Garnett indignantly.
“Let’s go and find a cab,” I said. “You don’t want to leave it too late.”
By the time Charlotte and I stepped out onto Milton Street she was quite composed. The sun hung low in the sky.
“Thank you, Penny.” She stood slightly shorter than me, her eyes wide and blue. “I never thought I’d… I don’t know if this is the right thing to say or not, but I never thought I would encounter you in this way. James has spoken about you a great deal and I admit there have been times when I… when I would rather not have heard about you. I hope you’re not offended by my words.”
“Not at all,” I said quickly, wishing to put her at ease. I held out my hand for a passing hansom cab, which stopped close by.
“Thank you. And thank you for being so kind to me this evening. I’m sorry I got so upset about all this.”
“It’s completely understandable, Charlotte. It would only have been a matter of time before I’d come calling at your door. I’m pleased we’ve been able to share our concerns with each other, and although I don’t know what’s happened to James I feel sure that he will be all right.”
“Oh, I hope so, Penny. Thank you again.”
She climbed into the cab.
“Send me a telegram if you hear from him,” I said, “either to my home or to the Morning Express offices.”
“I will do. Let me give you my address,” she said, opening her bag. She pulled out a card and handed it to me. “You can send a telegram to my parents’ home.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. Have a safe journey home, and hopefully we’ll receive good news tomorrow.”
“I hope so.” She waved as the cab pulled away and I felt guilty about my duplicity. I had done what I could to comfort her, yet the poor woman had no idea how I truly felt about her future husband.
Chapter 48
Although the reassurances I had given Charlotte were heartfelt I could find no comfort in them that night. I lay awake in bed and then sat at my writing desk with the curtains open so I could watch the stars twinkle above London. It was a warm, restless night. Tiger prowled in and out through the window and I tried to imagine every possible scenario to account for James’ disappearance.
I prayed that all my worry was in vain, and that I would receive a telegram from either James or Charlotte in the morning to tell me he was safe. It was the only possible outcome I could bear to consider.
But what if no telegram arrived? What was I to do if there was still no news of him by midday? Could I endure another day of not knowing what had happened? The longer he was missing the more likely it was that he had come to serious harm.
Images of the severed finger sprang to mind, and as I tried to push the thought away Charlotte’s voice came into my head: Perhaps he’ll be washed up at Wapping or Rotherhithe. He told me that’s where many of them end up, at the bend in the river.
I decided to make myself a cup of cocoa, pacing my room while I waited for the water to boil. I felt exhausted as my mind swung uncontrollably between thoughts of hope and deep anguish.
I had to do something to find James, but where could I start?
Once I had made my cocoa I sat at my desk and readied myself with a pen and paper. The only useful thing I could manage was to begin writing everything down.
I sipped at the warm, sweet cocoa and a sense of calm descended upon me. I had to make the most of the moment to write my thoughts down before the next wave of panic set in.
Was James’ disappearance associated with the case he was investigating? That seemed like a safe assumption.
The murder of Mrs Forster had been carried out by a gang, some members of which were now in custody at Marylebone Lane police station. James had spoken to them on the day of his disappearance and had failed to keep his appointment with Charlotte that evening in Croydon. I felt sure the gang had accomplices who were still at large, and the possibility that the gang had ordered an attack on James was possible, despite Inspector Bowles considering it unlikely.
There was a remarkable similarity between the murders of Mr Forster and Mr Mawson. Both men had been stabbed in a public location. Mr Mawson’s killer had deliberately sought him out at the opium den and Mr Forster’s killer had done likewise at the East India Club. Could the same man have carried out both murders, and did he have a connection to the gang who were already in custody?
If it was the same killer I had to assume that he knew the gang because Mr Forster’s murder had presumably been planned alongside Mrs Forster’s. The gang had failed to find Mr Forster on that first fateful evening, so an accomplice had been sent after him. If that same accomplice had killed Mr Mawson he was still at large and might have harmed James. I shivered at t
he thought.
The day before James’ disappearance we had met with Mr Mawson, who had only realised at the end of our meeting that he might be considered a suspect in the murder of Mr Holland. Had he become so concerned by the idea of James suspecting him that he had ordered someone to attack him? If he had ordered an attack on Mr Holland it was likely he would do the same to James. But if so, why was Mr Mawson now dead?
I felt convinced that Mr Mawson had arranged the theft of Mr Holland’s diaries, as there was no doubt that they contained incriminating accounts of his time in Ghazipur. But I still couldn’t recall us having mentioned Mr Holland’s diaries to him.
So who actually knew about the diaries?
Emma Holland had shown me one in the newsroom. I recalled that Edgar and Frederick had scarpered by that point, but questioned whether my memory was accurate. I could remember her showing me the mention of Charles Mawson and felt sure that at that time we had been the only two people in the newsroom. But had Edgar or Frederick somehow overheard us and told someone about the diary? If they had, why?
The only other occasion on which I could recall discussing the diaries with Emma was in the tea room at Anderton’s Hotel. It was there that she had first told me about their existence and I had advised her to read them. It was possible that someone had overheard us, but who? Surely no one had expected to see us there as our meeting had been quite spontaneous.
Emma had told me that her cousin and her cousin’s husband also knew about the diaries, but the chances of this knowledge reaching the ears of an unscrupulous person seemed slim. Perhaps Emma had told someone else about the diaries. Or perhaps James had mentioned them to the gang at Marylebone Lane police station.
As I wrote all this down and drew lines connecting the names and times I began to feel even more confused. What I saw on the paper before me was a tangled web, and somehow James was caught up in it.
I sat back in my chair feeling defeated. There had been four murders, one disappearance and a burglary. I was trying to make sense of it all but was getting nowhere.
I saw a faint glow above the rooftops on the horizon as the summer sun heralded the start of a new day. Was James safe? Would I see him today?
I couldn’t sit around waiting for him; I had to do something. All I could think to do was pay a visit to Scotland Yard and find out whether his colleagues had any idea of his whereabouts.
During my last visit to the Yard Chief Inspector Cullen had begun to show some interest in the case. I recalled him smoking his pipe as I told him about Charles Mawson, and how he had known the Forsters and Holland. The chief inspector had raised an eyebrow when I mentioned Alfred Holland’s diary.
That was something I’d forgotten. I had told Cullen about the diary.
Could a senior detective at Scotland Yard be behind the theft of Alfred Holland’s diaries?
Chapter 49
I left home that morning having received no reassuring telegram from Charlotte. My heart felt heavy and I imagined hers feeling much the same. I travelled by underground railway from Moorgate to Westminster Bridge and arrived at Scotland Yard shortly before nine o’clock.
As I climbed the stairs to James’ office I hoped beyond hope that he would be sitting at his desk. When I walked into the office I could barely bring myself to look at his empty chair. A chill ran through me.
Chief Inspector Cullen didn’t seem remotely surprised to see me.
“Inspector Raynes is looking after the Mawson murder,” he said, leafing through some papers. “You’ll need to speak to him about the details.”
“Thank you, sir, I will do,” I replied. “Have you heard from Inspector Blakely?”
He glanced at the empty desk. “No, not yet. We’re looking into it.”
“What are you doing about his disappearance? What do you think has happened to him?”
“I really don’t know, Miss Green. The chap must have been caught up in some bother.”
“Do you know what sort of bother?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because as far as I knew he was busy working on the Forster case. What else might he have got himself caught up in?”
“That’s what we’re trying to establish.”
“You know about the severed finger, don’t you?”
“Yes, we know all about that.”
“It was presumably sent to him as a warning, and now the person who sent it appears to have gone one step further.”
“It may not be that simple.”
“None of it is simple, Chief Inspector!”
“There’s no need to be curt with me.”
“I didn’t sleep last night, and yesterday evening Inspector Blakely’s fiancée Charlotte visited me. She’s terribly distraught about his disappearance, as are his parents. He’s supposed to be getting married in five weeks’ time! Everyone is beside themselves with worry.”
“I’m sure they are, Miss Green. Inspector Blakely’s colleagues are also concerned, and I’m a little bothered that one of my best detectives has not been seen for almost two days.”
“What exactly are you doing about it?”
He sighed and regarded me over the rims of his spectacles. “We’re looking into it, as I’ve already explained. It’s unfortunate timing as we’ve had a sequence of horrendous murders, not least the dreadful business at the India Office yesterday.”
“But surely the same people are behind all these tragic events?”
“Are they? That seems rather a grand assumption to make, Miss Green. It’s not how we approach things here at the Yard.”
“Why should someone wish to steal Alfred Holland’s diaries?”
Chief Inspector Cullen shook his head as if he had just been boxed about the ears. “They’ve been stolen, have they?”
“Yes!” I went on to explain how Emma Holland’s home had been burgled.
“I see,” he said when I had finished giving my explanation. I detected a slight smile beneath his thick moustache. “Perhaps Blakely has made off with them!”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” I snapped.
“It was to begin with, but on reflection it’s an interesting thought. We know that he wanted to read the diaries, and it must have been frustrating for him to discover that Emma Holland was not at home when you called there together. So instead of going to meet his fiancée that evening he hatched a plan to break into Miss Holland’s home and steal the diaries. Having successfully carried off the theft he has chosen to lay low for a few days.”
“James would never do anything like that!” I said scornfully.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know James. He wouldn’t break into a house and frighten people. Besides, he didn’t need to. Our plan was to meet Emma Holland the following day and look at the diaries then.”
“Perhaps you don’t know Blakely as well as you think you do.”
“I know him well enough to know he would never behave in such a way.”
“Sometimes detectives need to behave in unpredictable ways to pursue a successful outcome in a case.”
I paused for a moment, struggling to comprehend what I was hearing. Could there be any truth to what Chief Inspector Cullen was saying? It was certainly a reassuring explanation for James’ disappearance, but I simply couldn’t imagine him doing such a thing. It didn’t seem right.
“I don’t believe it,” I said.
“I shouldn’t like to believe it either,” he replied, lighting his pipe. “But as a detective myself I know that I must consider all the possibilities, and one of those possibilities is Inspector Blakely behaving out of character. It would be a mistake to presume that everyone is completely predictable.”
“Someone threatened Inspector Blakely,” I retorted. “Someone committed the dreadful act of severing a man’s finger from his hand. That person is capable of extreme violence, and I for one am incredibly worried about James. It would be a mistake to console yourself with the theory that he stole something and is
in hiding. He’s in danger, and the longer it takes us to find him...” I trailed off momentarily, mindful of what had happened to Charles Mawson only the previous day. “They have to be connected to the gang Inspector Bowles of D Division is holding at Marylebone Lane. Have you spoken to him?”
“Inspector Raynes has.”
“Is Inspector Raynes carrying out the work Inspector Blakely had been doing?”
“For the time being, yes. You’ll probably want to go and bother him now.”
“Sometimes I find your manner quite offensive, sir.”
“Offensive is a strong word, Miss Green.”
“I recall you describing me as an ink-slinger with ideas above my station. You accused me of distracting Inspector Blakely from his work and threatened to have a word with Mr Sherman about my conduct.”
“I don’t see the need to haul all this up now, Miss Green. We have a detective missing and a lot of work to do. Now go and bother Inspector Raynes, as I’ve already suggested.”
“Did you order those diaries to be stolen, Chief Inspector Cullen?”
He removed his pipe from his mouth. “What a preposterous question! Why on earth would I do such a thing?”
“Because barely anyone else knew of their existence, sir.”
“That’s the only reason you have for accusing me?”
“At the moment, yes, but something doesn’t seem quite right to me. You seemed completely unconcerned by Inspector Blakely’s disappearance yesterday —”
“I was distracted by an horrific murder!”
“And there doesn’t seem to be a great urgency about the search for him today.”
“I would get a darn sight more done if you weren’t here pestering me, now leave this office at once! He pointed a large forefinger at the door.
“What’s going on, Chief Inspector? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“I said get out!”
Not wishing to rile him any further, I did as he asked.
