by L. A. Nisula
Three Bodies in London
copyright (c) 2020 L. A. Nisula
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to actual places or persons is purely coincidental.
~ * ~ * ~
Join Cassie Pengear on her first three cases in London.
The Affair of the Accused Cousin - Cassie arrives in England expecting to join her cousin Milly for a vacation spent having tea and visiting museums. Instead, she finds Milly is the only suspect in the murder of a shopkeeper.
The Mystery of the Mechanical Bird - Cassie goes to send a letter home letting everyone know she’s arrived safely, only to end up accused of murder herself.
The Inconvenient Inspector - Cassie was planning on helping her new London friends move into their new flat, but when she arrives, she finds a policeman on the front step and a landlady accused of murder.
Cassie Pengear Mysteries
Book 1 Killing at the Carnival
Book 2 Death at Dinner
Book 3 Stabbing Set with Sapphires
Book 4 A Spartan Murder
Book 5 The Body in the Box Room
Book 6 A Drowning in Bath
Book 7 The Death Downstairs
Book 8 Mugs, Murder, and Mayfair
Book 9 Murder Near Slaughter
Table of Contents
The Affair of the Accused Cousin
The Mystery of the Mechanical Bird
The Inconvenient Inspector
The Affair of the Accused Cousin
WHEN MY COUSIN MILLY’S LETTER announcing her pending engagement to a corset maker arrived at Aunt Lydia’s Cleveland townhouse, I was persona non grata with the family. Still, the fact remained that Aunt Lydia’s fiancé was trying to kill her, only no one wanted to believe me. And yet no one could provide a single convincing reason for there to have been a massive amount of arsenic in her jar of Lady Viola’s Patented Face Cream, other than my theory that Mr. Farmington was setting up to murder her.
And he nearly got away with it. If I hadn’t mentioned to her doctor that what he was seeing as signs of gastritis that wasn’t responding to anything he did might also be symptoms of arsenic poisoning, no one would have bothered to check for it, and as Mr. Farmington was hanging about the sickbed in the most irritating manner, Aunt Lydia would have been married, murdered, and Mr. Farmington would have inherited whatever it was he wanted to inherit, with no one the wiser. But fortunately, the doctor did have the sense to check for arsenic—after I flattered him a bit by pointing out that if it really was gastritis, surely his cures would have worked—and everything she had used and eaten had been tested, the arsenic had been found in the face cream, and she made a full recovery. And Mr. Farmington was still free.
Aunt Lydia insisted the mistake had been made at the pharmacy and Mr. Brentwood had most likely confused her cream with something he was making up for Mrs. Woodly; after all, arsenic was common in beauty preparations when she was a girl. But I had run into Mrs. Woodly at the lending library, and as I had a copy of Emma in my hand at the time, it seemed only natural to start talking about her girlhood and the odd things people had used then and did any of them really work? She immediately began telling me of all the dangers idiotic debutantes in her day risked for their appearance, and when I finally extracted myself from the conversation, I had a long description of the various disfigurements her friends had suffered from using poisonous products, three recipes for what she considered proper beauty treatments—all of which contained enough alcohol to poison a Navy vessel—and the certainty that she would never order anything with arsenic unless she wanted it to kill rats.
So when Milly’s letter arrived a month after she’d left for London, everyone was quite ready to be rid of me, and I was more than happy to leave them to their fate and murderous fiancé. After all, I’d prevented one murder and done my best to expose it. And so, one fine September morning I boarded an airship for New York and then a cruise ship bound for England and whatever adventures Milly was having there.
~ * ~ * ~
I would be the first to admit the main reason I had been eager to go to London was not to escape difficult relatives, but the vast number of delicious murders I had read about—all completely fictional, of course—but I had not expected my trip to start off with the Mystery of the Missing Cousin. But there I was, standing on the dock at Southampton, alone. I had read every sign held up by waiting drivers at least twice, just in case she’d sent someone to fetch me, but each sign was quickly paired up with its matching passenger.
When it became clear there was to be no cousin or driver, I did the only logical thing I could think to do and went in search of the information booth. I couldn’t be the first stranded relative here in Southampton; someone there would know what to do. Fortunately, the information booth was easy enough to find by following several large signs with arrows that turned as the sign changed to indicate the direction of someplace else. It was clear one of the gears had been damaged at some point, as the sign caught every few turns and pointed in not quite the correct direction. Still, it was enough to figure out roughly where I ought to be going. The information booth had several windows, all of them busy, but with a line that was moving, slowly but consistently. Eventually, I made it to one of the windows where the woman looked at the schedule book in front of her. “No other ships from New York today, and none scheduled for tomorrow. She knew you weren’t coming from, say, Halifax or Portland?”
“New York was the closest ocean port. She’d know that.”
“Well, there is a ship from Halifax due at three, and one from Portland tomorrow. She could be meeting one of those if she was mistaken. Are you sure she knew you were coming on a sailing vessel? Could she be waiting for you at the airship dock? There are three scheduled to arrive from New York today.”
“She was the one who suggested the boat.” She’d said it was more romantic and the only way to really experience the White Cliffs of Dover. Which I hadn’t seen as I’d docked in Southampton. “And I told her when I was leaving too, so it would have to be a very long airship ride.”
“I see. Well then, the best I can suggest is for you to leave your name here with me, and at the airship information desk in case she is confused, and find yourself a room nearby to wait for her, or make your way to London on your own.”
I nodded. Milly being confused was quite possible, although it was more likely about the date I was arriving than how. So was her forgetting about me completely. “How far is the train station?”
“Ten minutes down the road once you clear the docks. I’ll get you a map. The airship information booth is at the top of the stairs there.” She handed over a small map with both routes marked on it.
I left one of my American calling cards with Milly’s name written on the back and a note that I’d gone on to London alone. I left another card at the airship information booth, then went to find the train station.
~ * ~ * ~
The train station was an easy walk from the docks. It had clearly been planned to allow travelers to get there easily. As it seemed everyone else was pushing their bags along the sidewalk on the trolleys from the docks, I did the same. Before I could buy a train ticket, I had to change my American dollars into British pounds, then I stopped at the telegraph office to send a note to Milly’s address in case she was still in London, letting her know I was on my way and not to bother coming to Southampton, and finally the ticket office. At least trains to London were plentiful and frequent.<
br />
Once I’d found the correct platform and managed to get my luggage up the three steps to the train and stowed in the shelves at the end of the car, I picked a car with one other woman in it, a tourist I took to be German since her newspaper was written in that language. She glanced up when I came in, then went back to her news. I settled into my seat and pulled out my letter from Milly.
Dearest Cassie,
Come by all means. The husbands are not as thick on the ground as Mamma said, and I’m not sure she realizes that the American girls all had the money; the lords over here are all land rich and cash poor. Although I don’t think that’s why I’m really here. Is Mr. Farmington still hanging around the place? He called on her five times before I left. I think she wanted to get me out of the way so he could improve on that, and me catching a husband would make it seem like it was for my benefit. Anyway, come and I’ll show you the sights: tea in the Cotswolds, Shakespeare in Stratford, maybe even try a trip to the Highlands or Hadrian’s Wall. There’s room for two in my apartment, if you don’t mind the couch. I’m sure Mother’s told you it’s quite a respectable place, run by Lady Fitzpatrick’s former governess so it’s all very well-chaperoned. Feel free to show this to your mother so she doesn’t fret.
Looking forward to seeing you,
Milly
No mention of anything that would keep her in town, and no mention of a suitor. Milly became quite forgetful when there was a suitor of her own choosing involved. I folded the letter and put it back into my handbag. It was most likely that she’d forgotten the date, even without a gentleman caller involved. The only question was whether it was the date I was coming or the date itself. I took out the novel I’d been reading on the boat and sat with it on my lap, watching the green hills and white blobs I assumed were sheep pass by.
~ * ~ * ~
My first London train station and I couldn’t properly enjoy it. Dragging my cases down to the platform was easier than getting them onto the train had been, in spite of the ridiculously high last step from the train to the platform far below, but I decided it was worth the extra expense of a cab to get my bags to Milly’s flat. Otherwise, I’d be dragging them down even more, although properly sized, steps while trying to figure out the map of the new underground steam rail system and figuring out where Nell Lane was and which stop would take me there.
I found the address Milly had sent me easily enough, helped by the fact that the cab driver set me down directly in front of it, but when I saw the building, I rechecked the address on the letter she’d sent. She clearly said the building was run by a respectable former governess to a Lady Fitzpatrick. The house I was standing in front of was a perfectly normal red brick boarding house in a less than perfectly respectable neighborhood. I went to the front door and knocked.
The door was opened by an older woman. She seemed respectable enough, not particularly neat, and definitely not related in any way to Lady anything. I was beginning to remember how Milly’s mind worked. “Mrs. Fitzpatrick?”
“That’s right. But I’m not letting the room yet. After the trial, you can try again.” She moved to close the door in my face.
“I’m looking for my cousin.” I stuck my smallest suitcase in the door to stop her from closing it. “Her name is Milly Prynne.”
She flung the door open and grabbed my small suitcase. “Oh love, it’s good you’re here. She needs a friend. Come in, come in.” There didn’t seem to be much of an option besides following her inside and dragging the rest of my cases behind me, across a small foyer with yellow wallpaper that had seen better days, and up a flight of stairs, all the while trying not to trip on the threads sticking out of the faded carpet runner where it bent over the edges of the steps.
As we climbed the stairs, Mrs. Fitzpatrick rambled on. “I’ll put you in your cousin’s rooms. Room only, no meals, but there’s space to cook, just don’t burn the place down. She’s paid through to the end of the month. That’s why I will not rent her room, no matter who asks. And it may all work out. We must keep hoping. It may all work out.”
That did not sound good. “What may work out?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here? For the trial?”
I was getting a bad feeling about all of it. “What trial?”
I almost ran into Mrs. Fitzpatrick as she stopped in the middle of the staircase.
“You don’t know about the trial? What about the arrest?”
My bad feeling got worse.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick turned sharply on the stairs and began to descend. “We’ll go to my flat, and have a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you about it.”
I wasn’t sure which sounded worse, arrest or trial. I tried to press myself against the railing so she could pass me. Now the question was, did Aunt Lydia know about any of this when she suggested I come?
At the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Fitzpatrick shifted my suitcase to her left hand, put her right firmly around my waist, and steered me back down the hallway. She didn’t stop hovering until she had me settled in her kitchen with a cup of tea and a plate of some kind of thin cookies.
I sipped the tea and nearly burned my mouth. As I put it aside to cool, I asked, “Where is Milly?”
“I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you, but you have to know. She’s at Scotland Yard, or wherever it is they keep the murderers.”
“Murderers?” That sounded even worse than I had been imagining.
“I’m afraid so, my dear. They came two days ago and arrested her. She’s supposed to have killed some shopkeeper, but I didn’t hear why she did it. Why they said she did it, I mean.”
“You say she’d being held at Scotland Yard?”
Mrs. Fitzpatrick nodded.
“Then I’d better try to see her.” After getting myself safely to London and Milly’s rooms, the last thing I wanted was to go out again, but someone had to sort Milly out.
“I have a spare set of keys to Milly’s flat here so you can let yourself in. Just leave your bags there, dear, and I’ll bring them up.”
And probably go through them, but I took the keys, thanked her, and left.
~ * ~ * ~
It turned out visiting a prisoner at Scotland Yard was far more involved than I’d expected. It seemed much simpler in books. But once I had navigated the Underground and managed to find Scotland Yard itself, discovering in the process that people give you very odd looks when you ask them where it is—as if a criminal would be looking for Scotland Yard— the tedious part began. There were lines to wait in to get forms, then other lines to wait in to submit the completed forms, then yet another set of lines to discover whether or not I would be allowed in to see Milly. I pointed out as often as I could that I was her cousin, as it seemed being family might give me the best chance of being allowed in. Something worked, for, when I got to the head of what felt like the hundredth line I’d stood in that day, I was given a stack of papers stamped with the word “visitor” and pointed in the direction of another line for a very small elevator. At least that seemed to be progress.
Once I was out of the elevator, things seemed to move a bit faster. I was lead to a room with a bare table, two hard chairs, and shabby paint on the walls. I sat in the nearer chair and waited, imagining all kinds of horrors for Milly. I had just gotten her picking oakum in a damp dungeon when I heard,
“Cassie, how nice of you to call.”
I turned to see Milly all but bouncing into the room. She was accompanied by a far less cheerful matron. Milly sat across from me and waited while the matron unlocked her handcuffs. “Keep your hands in sight at all times.”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
I moved mine from my lap to the table. “Of course, ma’am.”
Milly seemed all right. My worst fears seemed unfounded: she wasn’t starving and the grey dress she was wearing was plain, but far from rags. She interrupted my musings with a cheery, “So, how are you enjoying London?”
“It’s fine, but what about you?”
“Oh,
this is just a little mix-up. I didn’t actually kill Mr. Hilliard.”
She didn’t seem to be taking this quite as seriously as she ought to, even for Milly. I tried to begin with the most basic worries. “Does your mother know?”
“I haven’t told her.”
“Would you like me to write to her? Send a telegram?”
“No, no. She didn’t want me hanging around, so she can find out from the newspapers same as everyone else.”
I closed my eyes. Aunt Lydia couldn’t find out something like this in the newspapers. “Are you sure this is big enough to make the American papers?”
Milly shrugged.
I let that go. “What about this corset maker you’re engaged to? Can he help?” At least he would know more of the legal system than what was found in novels.
“Corset maker? Oh, him. He isn’t real. I thought it would give Mother quite a turn to hear I was engaged to someone like that instead of a duke or something.”
I should have known. I decided against telling her Aunt Lydia had been looking forward to free underthings and tried to think of the next practical step. “Do you have a lawyer?”
“There’s a barrister that’s visited me. Is that what I want?”
“What’s his name? I’ll check him out.” I scrawled the name on a page of my notebook after carefully extracting it from my handbag, being sure to keep it in full view of the matron at all times. “What happened?”
Milly scrunched up her nose. “I suppose I may as well tell someone in the family. I was going to see Mr. Hilliard about a job in his shop. If I’m planning on staying in London, I’ll have to get money from somewhere until I get my shares sorted out. But when I got there, he was on the floor.”
