by Emily Organ
“That’s something, I suppose. So you’re saying he was poisoned?”
“We suspect it, yes. However, it is likely to be proven by the analytical chemist once he has succeeded in extracting the poison from the body.”
“How’s he going to do that?”
“Samples had to be taken from your brother’s body for examination purposes.”
“What sort of samples?”
“Pieces of the viscera, such as the intestine, liver—”
Miss Burrell clasped a gloved hand over her mouth. “You’ve cut him up?”
“No, it’s not like that.”
I felt sympathy for James having to explain such a difficult procedure to a relative of the deceased.
“During an autopsy an incision is made from the top of the chest down to the base of the abdomen,” said James. “In this case the incision allows the police surgeon to inspect the organs of the body in order to ascertain whether there was any foul play. We are satisfied that there was in your brother’s case. Small portions of tissue have been removed and sent to a chemist, who is an expert in detecting poisons. I know this is alarming to you, but please remember that we have done all this in the pursuit of justice. When your brother died no one had any idea that someone might have caused his death. It was assumed that he had died of natural causes.”
“His heart.”
“That’s right. But the doctor who signed the certificate of death was mistaken.”
Miss Burrell rubbed her forehead. “And she did it? Catherine?”
“We don’t know. She’s gone missing, and we would very much like to speak to her.”
Miss Burrell sighed and shook her head. “There has to be some mistake. It can’t have been poison. I was living in London when he was taken sick. He’d have known if he’d been poisoned, wouldn’t he?”
“Not necessarily,” said James. “We believe arsenic was used and the poison is almost tasteless. Hidden in well-flavoured food or drink it often escapes detection. Death isn’t immediate unless the victim has consumed an extremely large dose, and the symptoms of sickness and diarrhoea can be attributed to many other causes. We suspect that in your brother’s case a number of sizeable doses were consumed over the duration of a week or two. Eventually, his body would have been so weakened that he could endure no more.”
Miss Burrell emitted a sob and James looked alarmed.
“Oh dear, I apologise,” he said, giving me an awkward sidelong glance. “I was concentrating so hard on explaining it to you, Miss Burrell, that I didn’t realise how distressing my words must have sounded.”
“It is what it is, Inspector,” she said, retrieving a handkerchief from a pocket in her skirt and dabbing at her eyes with it. “You know what you’re talking about. I’ll have to somehow explain it all to Ma and Pa when I get home. They’ll find it hard to hear.” She sniffed and wiped her nose.
“I realise that,” said James sadly. “But there has been an interesting development just this morning. We have spoken to a lady who claims she had something to do with it, so we are now wondering whether she and your former sister-in-law might have colluded.”
“Who is she?” asked Miss Burrell sharply.
“A lady by the name of Sally Chadwick.”
Miss Burrell gasped. “Sally?”
“You know her?”
“Yes, I remember she lived near them.”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with her myself,” said James. “But I understand that she has confessed to poisoning your brother as well as Catherine Curran’s latest husband, John Curran, who passed away only last week.”
Miss Burrell shook her head. “I can’t hardly believe it.”
“We suspect that another of Catherine’s husbands, Francis Peel, was also poisoned. Whether Miss Chadwick will also claim responsibility for his death remains to be seen.”
“Another husband of Catherine’s? How many has she had?”
“We have found three so far, and we suspect they were all poisoned. As you can imagine, this makes Catherine Curran appear rather guilty.”
“Especially now that she has taken flight,” I added. “That is not the usual course of action for an innocent woman.”
“But hasn’t Sally confessed?”
“Yes.”
“Then it must be her! She always was a strange one. People called her the idiot girl.” Miss Burrell shook her head in disbelief. “To think that Tom’s been dead for two years and I never would’ve thought something like this could happen. I think Sally must’ve done it.” She lowered her voice. “Tom told me she’d approached him.”
“About what?”
“I meant what I said.” Her eyes grew wider behind her thick lenses. “She approached him for his attentions,” she added in a whisper. “He said no, of course.”
“Oh, I see,” said James. “She propositioned him, you mean?”
“Call it that if you like.”
I struggled to imagine Sally doing such a thing. However, given that I barely knew the girl I concluded that it was feasible.
“Are you quite sure about that?” asked James. “It wasn’t simply a misunderstanding on your brother’s part?”
“I’m just repeating what he told me. He wasn’t the sort to misunderstand people.”
“Did he tell you what Sally’s response was when he refused her?” I asked.
“I think he said she was a bit annoyed. Ashamed, too, I reckon. She probably didn’t think he’d refuse her.”
“Was Catherine aware of this incident?”
She shrugged. “Can’t say. I don’t know if he ever told her or not. I don’t think he would’ve.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It would’ve upset her, and he wouldn’t have wanted that. Tom loved Catherine, but there were lots of things he couldn’t tell her.”
“Such as what?”
“About his stealing.”
“What sort of stealing?”
“Getting into houses and taking money and jewellery. Sometimes they’d go north of the river and do the big houses in the City.”
“They? Who were his accomplices?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. I don’t mind telling you about Tom now that he’s gone and no one can go arresting him for it, but I don’t want to go getting anyone else in trouble. Besides, I can’t remember any of their names, and for all I know they’ve probably been caught by now anyway.”
“Was your brother ever arrested?”
“I think he was in the cells a few times for being drunk, but that’s all I know about it.”
“Did you get to know Catherine well in the time she was married to your brother?” I asked.
“Yes, of sorts. She wouldn’t have poisoned anyone, though. Catherine wasn’t like that. She loved Thomas. You should have seen her after he died. Broke her heart, it did.”
“Do you know anything about her family?” asked James.
“They live down Kent way. Orpington.”
“Both her parents?”
“I think so. Only time I saw them was when they came to Tom and Catherine’s wedding. There were some sisters and all.”
“All living in Orpington?”
“I think so.”
“Do you have an address for any of them?”
“I don’t, sorry.”
“There have been some sightings of Catherine,” said James. “And it seems she has remained local for the time being. We believe she took lodgings on the Old Kent Road for a few nights and also stayed at The Angel public house on the riverfront. To your knowledge, Miss Burrell, does she have any family members or friends in those areas?”
“I don’t know. She may have, but it’s a good few years since I saw her and people move about, don’t they? I can’t say for sure about friends, but I know she wouldn’t poison anyone. That’s not like her at all.”
“Did she have a close friendship with Sally Chadwick?” asked James.
Miss Burrell shook her he
ad. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you have any idea how Miss Chadwick might have known each of Catherine’s husbands well enough to give them all poisoned beer?”
She shook her head again. “I’ve got no idea. Sally approached Tom, so maybe she did the same thing with the others. But when and how she did it… I just don’t know. Has she been arrested?”
“I’m not sure yet. Inspector Martin is currently speaking with her.”
“Can I see her?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I want to see her!” Her eyes flashed with anger. “I want to ask her why she murdered our Tom!”
“That’s what we are all trying to find out, Miss Burrell,” James said calmly. “Please leave the matter with us so we can uncover the truth. If it transpires that Miss Chadwick is responsible for the murders of these three men I’m sure a fair number of people would wish to see her in person. There’s no doubt they would wish her some harm, and it wouldn’t be a safe situation for her to be in. Please rest assured that she will face judgment in the proper legal manner.”
I struggled to imagine Sally appearing in court. I felt sure that she would have no real understanding of what was happening to her. I hoped her confession would be dismissed as mere fantasy.
“There’s no evidence yet to support what Miss Chadwick has told us,” I added. “Perhaps she wasn’t responsible for poisoning your brother after all.”
I didn’t care for the sharp look Miss Burrell gave me in response. She clearly wished to believe that her brother’s murderer had been apprehended.
Chapter 18
“Where have you been, Miss Green?” asked a white-faced Mr Childers when I arrived back at the newsroom.
“Bermondsey,” I replied. “A woman has confessed to being the poisoner in the Curran case.”
“You’ve been in Bermondsey all day, have you?” he asked, checking his watch.
“I completed some work in the reading room to begin with.”
“You are in the habit of working there, are you?”
“Yes,” I replied, baffled by the question. “I need to consult the books and periodicals stored there for my articles.”
“And you leave it until three o’clock to visit the office, just an hour before deadline, I see.”
“I’ve been out reporting, Mr Childers.”
I cast an exasperated glance at Edgar and Frederick, whose glum expressions suggested they had been subjected to a similar inquisition by the stand-in editor.
“And what of your article on the Sudanese campaign?”
“I was planning to speak to you about that on my return,” I replied. “As the confession from the alleged poisoner in Bermondsey is important news I thought it should take precedence over Sudan for tomorrow’s edition.”
“The editor decides which stories take precedence, Miss Green, not the reporters.” Spots of red appeared high on Mr Childers’ white cheekbones. “Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t written your article on the campaign?”
“I’ve carried out the research, Mr Childers. It wouldn’t take me long to write it up.”
“Good, because you only have an hour.”
“I also have the article about the Bermondsey poisoner to write, Mr Childers.”
“If you have time to write it before the deadline and there’s enough space we will do our best to publish it.”
“But it’s rather more important than the Sudanese campaign, which is a long, ongoing story if I may say so. The poisonings in Bermondsey are of great interest to our readers because they happened here in London.”
“Our readers are interested in a wide range of topics, Miss Green. The gory details of a poisoning might not appeal to many.”
I felt irritated by the manner in which Mr Childers referred to ‘our readers’ as if he had been working at the Morning Express for years.
“Two, possibly three, poisonings,” I corrected. “This is a big story, Mr Childers.”
“A big story if you live in Bermondsey, perhaps. It is of less interest to our readers in Kensington.”
“Scotland Yard is now involved, and another possible culprit is still on the run.”
“So I understand, and we must leave it all in the capable hands of the police. I expect to see you at your desk first thing each morning, Miss Green, so we can discuss the stories you are to write about.”
“I am here sometimes,” I replied, “but often I go to the reading room or another location first, depending on the story I’m working on.”
“You come to this office first!” Mr Childers wagged a long, thin finger at me and I felt my jaw clench in anger. “I don’t expect you to make your first appearance at three o’clock in the afternoon, full of plans to write about something I have never even asked you to!”
“It’s an ongoing investigation I have been reporting on!”
“And being argumentative about it, to boot. This is what happens when you allow women into the workplace. Did Mr Sherman allow you to speak to him in this manner?”
“There was no need to. Mr Sherman had full confidence in my capabilities as a news reporter.”
“It seems as though he let his reporters rule the roost.”
“Not at all!” Edgar piped up. “You should have seen the roastings he gave me. And I deserved them most of the time, I’ll admit that.”
“Mr Sherman trusted us to do our jobs properly,” I added.
Edgar stood to his feet. “Mr Childers, there is no one here who works as hard as Miss Green, I can vouch for that. She’s a spinster and has little family to speak of, and that means she is able to devote every hour of every day to her work.”
“Thank you for the veiled compliment, Edgar,” I said.
“Veiled? I thought I had spoken very highly of you, Miss Green.”
“I can see that it was well meant. Thank you.”
Mr Childers’ face was red and damp with perspiration. I could see that the confrontation was making him quite distressed.
“Less of the talking, Miss Green. Just get on with it,” he said bitterly. “We are now five minutes closer to the deadline than we were when you arrived.”
He left the room and I sat down at my desk, my fists balled in fury.
“Who does that upstart think he is?” I snarled.
“Mr Conway’s nephew, that’s who he is,” replied Edgar. “And he certainly hasn’t been given this job based on his skill and expertise. But don’t worry, Miss Green. Frederick and I have it all under control.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’ll regret talking to any of us in that manner, won’t he, Potter?”
Frederick nodded with a smirk.
“What are you planning to do?”
“Just a little jiggery-pokery, Miss Green,” replied Edgar.
“What does that mean, exactly?”
Edgar lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ve already put a tack on his chair, haven’t I, Potter?”
Frederick giggled like a naughty schoolboy.
“But we don’t know if he’s sat down on it yet. There have been no yelps forthcoming from the editor’s office.”
I sighed.
“But he deserves it, Miss Green!”
“Of course he deserves it, but antagonising him isn’t going to help us, is it? It’s just going to make him worse.”
“What do you propose we do?”
“I don’t suppose there’s a lot we can do, is there? Perhaps we should just allow him to believe he’s in charge.”
“I see what you mean, Miss Green. His behaviour suggests he is a nervous sort of man who may be worried that he’s not going to do a decent job of running his uncle’s paper. I bet he has a nickname for Conway, such as Blimpy or something of that ilk.”
Frederick chuckled. “Why Blimpy?”
“Because you can just imagine him saying it, can’t you? Uncle Blimpy, in a whiny sort of voice.”
Frederick and I laughed.
“Oh dear,” I sai
d. “I can’t bear the thought of Mr Sherman being permanently ousted. Surely we’re not going to be stuck with Childers forever.”
“I can’t imagine Uncle Blimpy getting rid of him and putting Sherman back in,” said Edgar. “And how could Sherman possibly come back here after what’s happened? He may face trial, and if he’s found guilty he might end up doing a few months of hard labour.”
I shuddered. “Mr Sherman would never cope with that.”
“He wouldn’t have a choice,” said Edgar. “I have a lot of respect for the chap, but if you break the law you have to be ready to face the punishment.”
“The whole thing was rather a surprise,” said Frederick. “He often told us about his visits to the Turkish baths, but I had no idea that any untoward activities took place there.”
“I had heard stories of untoward activities in some of those places,” said Edgar, “but I have visited them in the past and never encountered anything out of the ordinary. I never imagined that Mr Sherman would have got himself caught up in any of it. Perhaps it’s a mistake. In fact, it must be a mistake. I know the chap’s not married, but that doesn’t mean he would get involved in any funny business. He just hasn’t met the right lady yet.”
“I don’t think he wants to meet the right lady,” I said.
“You know better than us on this matter, do you, Miss Green?”
“No, it’s just a guess.”
Despite Mr Sherman’s arrest, I still wished to keep the secret he had imparted to me down in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. “I’m worried about him,” I continued. “From what I’ve read, all the men who were arrested have been granted bail, but I can’t see him coping well with this situation.”
“It’s the shame more than anything,” said Edgar. “And the ruin of one’s reputation. I should think his friends will be quick to desert him.”
Chapter 19
Defying Mr Childers’ orders to report to the office at the beginning of each day, I went straight to the reading room the next morning. I climbed the steps to the upper gallery, where I hoped to find some books which would help me with my ongoing articles about the Sudan campaign. From here I could look down on the circular room and watch the readers working quietly at the long desks which radiated out from the head librarian’s dais. The sight of Mr Retchford bustling about proudly made me feel the absence of Francis even more keenly.
