by Emily Organ
My brother-in-law worked at a law firm in the narrow, cobbled thoroughfare of Austin Friars in the City of London. He appeared surprised, and slightly displeased, to see me.
“Penelope I’m extremely busy. You mustn’t make a habit of disturbing me at work.”
“I think this is the first time I have ever disturbed you at work, George.”
He sat in a large office with mahogany wainscoting and red-and-gold flocked wallpaper. A leather easy chair beside the fireplace looked particularly comfortable and I could picture him having an afternoon rest in it.
“Although I welcome you here as my sister-in-law, I’m aware that you’re currently acting in your capacity as a news reporter and that I am here in my capacity as a lawyer —”
“I won’t detain you for more than a minute, George. Please can you tell me where I might find Mr Sheridan?”
“Oh no, Penny, I cannot allow you to go pestering that man again. Both he and I are working extremely hard on the contract with the India Office, and negotiations have reached the most critical stage.”
“Yes, he mentioned that contract to me when I last spoke to him. However, I’m sure he won’t mind speaking to me again. He was quite amenable outside the Burlington Hotel last week.”
“He’s a busy man, Penny.”
“We’re all busy, George. Where’s his office?”
His mouth open and closed, but no words came out. He seemed torn between telling me and keeping the information to himself.
“It’s in the City, isn’t it?” I said. “It can’t be far from here. Just tell me and then I’ll be on my way.”
“What are you going to ask him?”
“About Mr Forster. I have reason to believe that he may have been caught up in something illegal, and I should like to find out whether Mr Sheridan knows anything more about it.”
“Mr Sheridan certainly won’t know of any illegal activity! He’s one of my most prestigious clients, and if he finds out I’ve sent you to his door —”
“He won’t find out.”
“Can you promise me that?”
“If I had really wanted to find out where Mr Sheridan’s office was I could have researched his company’s address in the records kept at the British Library. I came here because I assumed it would be quicker.”
“You’re going to tell him that you searched for the address of his company at the British Library?”
“Of course! Your name won’t come into it, I promise. Now where is he?”
“You mustn’t pester him.”
“I won’t! I have a single question to put to him about Mr Forster, and that is all. This is important, George. You heard about the murder in Whitehall, didn’t you?”
“Yes, a shocking business, that is.”
“Indeed it is, and I intend to find out who’s behind it.”
Chapter 56
“Mr Sheridan doesn’t see visitors without an appointment,” said his secretary, Miss Wainman.
She was a plump lady in a dark stuff dress. Its hem skimmed the shiny floor of a large hallway in which white pilasters supported an elaborate plasterwork ceiling. A glittering chandelier was suspended over our heads and on the wall a flattering portrait of Mr Sheridan hung next to a large map of India.
“I realise he would prefer me to have made an appointment,” I said. “However, I spoke with him just the other evening and I only wish to ask him a quick question about Mr Forster.”
After my protracted conversation with George I was growing tired of people being obstructive.
“Please, Miss Wainman,” I continued, “can’t you at least let Mr Sheridan know that I wish to have a quick word with him? Then perhaps he can decide for himself whether he wishes to speak to me or not.”
“He employs me to make these decisions for him.”
“Perhaps you could remind him that he spoke to me outside the Burlington Hotel last week. I’m sure he’ll remember.”
At that moment a door at the far end of the hall opened and a young man with a dark moustache stepped out. He acknowledged me with a nod.
“May I have a word, Miss Wainman?” he asked.
They both looked at me as if waiting for me to leave, but I stayed put. If I left, how would I ever find out any answers about Mr Forster?
“I’m here to see Mr Sheridan,” I explained to the young man.
“I see, well I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Miss Wainman,” he replied.
I was about to argue with her further when the short, round form of Mr Sheridan stepped through the door.
“I forgot to say, Grieves… Oh, hello, Miss Green. What can I do for you?”
To my relief he gave me a warm smile. I was impressed that he had remembered my name from our brief meeting.
“Good morning, Mr Sheridan. I realise this is probably an inconvenient time, but I should like to ask you a quick question about Mr Forster if I may?”
He checked his pocket watch. “I only have a few minutes. What’s happening with the investigation into his murder?”
“I wish I knew, sir.”
“Bear with me one minute, Grieves. Just wait here while I speak to Miss Green.”
“You’ve heard about the dreadful murder of Charles Mawson, I presume?” I said as he bid me sit on a velvet chair in his capacious office. Sunlight streamed in through a row of tall windows.
“I have indeed. What an awful situation.”
“Do you remember me asking you about Alfred Holland?”
He paused for a moment. “I think so… Yes, I remember now. This was before the dinner at the Burlington Hotel, wasn’t it? You asked me about Mr Forster and then Mr Holland.”
“I have discovered that both Mr Mawson and Mr Holland worked at the Ghazipur opium factory.”
“Did they indeed?”
“And they both stole opium from the factory.”
“Really?” Mr Sheridan raised an eyebrow. “How ever did they manage that? There are so many checks and balances in place I would have thought it impossible.”
“They falsified records.”
“Goodness me!” He sat back in his chair. “Both were caught and subsequently murdered.”
“It has to be the reason they were murdered, doesn’t it?”
“When you put it like that, I suppose it does. Presumably the Indian government took a rather dim view of their behaviour.”
“Yes, more so with Mr Holland than with Mr Mawson. Apparently, Mr Mawson had an uncle at the India Office who arranged employment for him there. Both men were coerced into stealing and Holland was apparently approached a number of times. He only agreed to it when he began to fear for his life.”
“Oh dear, that is terrible.”
“The opium the men stole was part of an illegal trade, and I’m wondering whether Mr Forster might also have had something to do with it.”
Disappointingly, Sheridan shook his head. “Oh no, never.”
“Are you sure? It might explain why all three men were targeted.”
“No, Mr Forster wasn’t the type to get involved in anything like that.”
“He had money troubles, did he not?”
“He did, and perhaps if he had got involved in something of that ilk his money troubles might have been solved!” Mr Sheridan gave a congenial laugh. “I apologise, that was rather flippant of me. No, he liked to do things properly. He wouldn’t have got himself mixed up with stolen opium, that’s for sure. It’s far too dangerous.”
“Are you quite sure about that?” I asked, disappointed that my theory had not been confirmed.
“Quite sure, Miss Green. He worked for me for a number of years and also ran his own merchant company for a time. You and I know that it wasn’t successful, but he tried. It’s a shame he wasn’t particularly good at managing his money. That’s ultimately what led to his downfall.”
He observed my downcast face. “I apologise that I haven’t told you what you wished to hear, but if there’s anything else I can help with at an
y time do just ask. I want to find out what happened to the poor man just as much as you. In fact, I’m considering putting up some money through Scotland Yard to offer a reward for any information that leads to an arrest.”
“I’m sure that would be of great help. Thank you, Mr Sheridan.”
Chapter 57
“I wondered whether I would see you again, Miss Green,” said Mr Chakravarty. He sat back in his chair and regarded me with a slight sneer. “Your attire is quite different today from when we last met. I hope you’re not still expecting the mortgage offer to stand.”
“Mr Chakravarty, I’d like to explain —”
He held up his hand to stop me. “There’s no need; I know you’re a news reporter with the Morning Express. I can’t say that I understand what that charade was all about with Mr Billington-Grieg, but as there was no attempt to rob or defraud me I can only view it as a harmless waste of time.”
“I wish to apologise for being deceitful.”
“Is that why you’ve come to visit me today? Did your conscience get the better of you?”
“Partly yes, and —”
“You want something from me.”
“I came here to ask you a question.”
“What sort of question?”
“Regarding the late Mr Forster.”
“I recall some gauche enquiries being made about him during your last visit. What makes you think I want to talk about the man? The sooner I can forget about him the better.”
“I wish to confirm something I have learned about him.”
“And you believe that I can fulfil your wish?”
“I hope so.”
“And you think I would be happy to do so after you and your brother-in-law sat in this very room last week and told me a tall tale about requiring a mortgage?”
“I apologise —”
“You wasted an hour of my time. That hour could have been spent with someone who had legitimate business with me.”
“I regret what happened, Mr Chakravarty, and I must ask you to forgive me.”
He gave a dry laugh. “If only you could have seen what an unconvincing duo you made! The pair of you were incredibly nervous, no doubt aware of the poorly devised plan you had come here to execute. Why couldn’t you speak to me directly as a news reporter?”
“I thought you might refuse to talk to me.”
Mr Chakravarty laughed again. “The irony is that you have now come to me as a news reporter anyway. Don’t you see how foolish you look, Miss Green?”
I felt tempted to lay part of the blame at James’ feet, but as he wasn’t present to defend himself I decided to accept the criticism as it was presented to me. I sat in my chair and listened patiently to Mr Chakravarty, aware that I had little chance of getting what I wanted from him until he had said his piece.
“I’ve done business with a lot of scoundrels, and over the years I’ve learned how to spot them. Forster caught me out, but on the whole I pride myself on being able to discern those who are genuine from those who are not.”
“Then why didn’t you confront me and Mr Billington-Grieg at the time?”
“It would have been an embarrassment, wouldn’t it? I try and avoid uncomfortable confrontations wherever possible. I’ve learned that it’s often better to allow my enemies to think they’ve got away with something.”
“I wouldn’t wish you to consider me an enemy, Mr Chakravarty.”
“Then don’t lie to me, Miss Green.”
“I shan’t lie to you again.”
“Good, though I’m sure you’re only saying that because you want something from me.”
“I wish to ask you a question because I’m trying to find out why four people with links to India have been brutally murdered within the past few weeks. I’m also trying to find my colleague, Inspector James Blakely, who has been missing for three days. My question to you will be quick and simple. If you have no intention of answering it please say so now and I’ll make my enquiries elsewhere.”
I could tell that while Mr Chakravarty had no wish to help me he couldn’t help but feel intrigued.
“I’m rather busy at the present time,” he said.
“Then I shall take my leave of you. I apologise for wasting your time further,” I said as I rose from my seat.
“What was your question, Miss Green?”
“Do you mean to answer it?”
“I can’t say either way until I know what the question is!”
It felt as though the conversation were turning into a game. I sat down again.
“I have reason to believe that Mr Forster may have been involved in the illegal trade of opium.”
“On what grounds?”
“I heard it from someone who worked at the Ghazipur opium factory in India.”
“Someone who knew him?”
“Of sorts. To your knowledge, was his merchant company involved in the procurement of stolen opium?”
Chakravarty paused to light his pipe.
“I made enquiries about the man after I realised he had defrauded me. The enquiries I made would seem to support your suggestion.”
“So I’m right! He had an arrangement with certain workers in Ghazipur that they would supply him with opium, which he then sold illegally to buyers in China?”
“I didn’t get into the detail, but I discovered enough to realise that the man was up to no good. I should have made my enquiries before lending him the money, but I let my guard down. There was something rather disarming about the man; he was quite likeable. I should have been more careful.”
“Are you familiar with Sheridan and Company?” I asked.
“I am indeed.”
“I spoke with Mr Sheridan this morning and he thinks Forster’s murder must be connected to his financial difficulties. However, I’m inclined to think the illegal opium trading could have been the cause. Engaging in such an activity is likely to have brought him into contact with unscrupulous people, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
“So which do you think it is?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Mr Chakravarty regarded me with a cool expression, giving nothing away.
“The money trouble or the illegal opium: which was the motive for his murder?”
“I have no idea, Miss Green. The police will find it all out, no doubt. Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter. What’s important is that Forster’s misdemeanours caught up with him in the end.”
Chapter 58
It was late afternoon by the time I entered the reading room. During my omnibus journey I had pondered the information everyone had given me that day. If Augustus Forster, Alfred Holland and Charles Mawson had all been involved in the theft of opium, a single motive for their deaths appeared to have made itself clear. The motive for Mr Forster’s death appeared to have been extended to Mrs Forster even though she was likely to have been innocent of any involvement in her husband’s affairs.
I couldn’t understand why Mr Chakravarty was so sure that Forster had been involved in illegal opium dealing when Mr Sheridan was certain that he hadn’t. Sheridan had known Forster better than Chakravarty, so it made sense to believe his words. And Chakravarty had a motive for wishing Forster harm for defrauding him. I deduced that he might have been keen to support the idea of an alternative motive to deflect attention away from himself.
“Penny, how are you?” whispered Francis once I was seated at a desk. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“There’s no need to worry about me,” I replied. “Worry about James instead; there is still no word on his whereabouts.”
“Is there not?” Francis’ face grew more sombre. “I’m sure Scotland Yard are doing all they can to find him.”
“Actually, I don’t think they are,” I said. “I have an odd suspicion that Chief Inspector Cullen is hiding something from me, and I don’t know why. I’ve told him he needs to tell poor Charlotte, James’ fiancée, what he knows. It’s dreadful for her to have to sit around
waiting for news.”
“And for you, I imagine.”
“For all of us! You consider James a friend, too, don’t you?”
Francis exhibited an odd expression. “Of sorts,” he replied.
“But it’s poor Charlotte who’s suffering the most,” I said, keen to pretend that I didn’t care as much for James as she did.
“Yes, I feel dreadfully sorry for Charlotte,” he said.
Francis’ manner seemed slightly offhand. Was it possible that he had realised how deeply worried I was about James? I decided to change the subject.
“I think I’ve found a motive for these dreadful murders,” I said, “but there are still a few matters that are confusing me slightly. I shall have a read through some copies of The Homeward Mail and see if I can find any more mentions of Mr Forster, Mr Mawson or Mr Holland in there.”
“Of course!” Francis seemed cheered by the opportunity to help. “Which year in particular?”
“1883 again, I think, and particularly the summer editions. I know we’ve looked through them already, but there must be something we’ve missed. I want to find out if Forster got himself into any trouble in India. I’ve met someone who says he did and someone who says he didn’t; I don’t know who to believe. If The Homeward Mail cannot tell me I shall have to visit the India Office again and ask there.”
“No, don’t go near the India Office, Penny. Not after that terrible murder.”
“I shall be fine, Francis. No one will be bothered with me.”
It wasn’t long before I grew tired of leafing through page after page of The Homeward Mail. I could find no further information on the three men. I decided to call on Chief Inspector Cullen again and find out what he was doing in the search for James.
I walked down the steps of the British Museum and stepped out onto Great Russell Street, looking for a hansom cab to hail. The evening was sunny and uncomfortably warm. I crossed the road to find a cab travelling in the right direction. I had almost reached the Museum Tavern when I felt a sharp grip on my right arm. I tried to pull away, but the grip tightened.
