“The Doctor should know.”
“Well, he didn’t. He should have talked to me before he decided how Charlie died.”
“Why?”
“Because I would have told him that Charlie got himself coshed the day after the inquest. He went from hale and hearty to bed bound, just like that.”
“Was he in a fight?”
“No. Charlie wasn’t the type. I found him in the kitchen one night, rubbing his head and sick as a dog. He said he had been sitting there minding his own business when he heard footsteps. He didn’t turn around because he thought it was me. The next thing he remembered was waking up on the floor with a lump on his head.”
“Was it a robbery?”
“Don’t be daft. This is a doss house. We’re hardly rolling in money, and what we have, I keep. Charlie never had it.”
“And he didn’t see his attacker?”
“No. It could have been anybody. Can’t trust no-one around here.”
“The door was open when I came in.”
“It always is, but Charlie was usually around, so it didn’t matter. I ‘spect they came in through the front door. It’s of no consequence now. They got him, and now we have to find another watchman.”
“Perhaps it was apoplexy, after all.”
“No, it wasn’t. Charlie got hit on the head. Pity the lump had gone, or Doctor Dukes would have seen it. Hang on a minute.” Sarah stood up and clumped down towards the other end of the room. Two women had begun to squabble, and the younger had thrown a punch.
“Break it up, or you’ll both be out on your ears,” said Sarah.
“Witch,” hissed one of the women.
“I warn you, Maggie Brown. One more word and so help me…”
Sarah glared at the women then returned to her place on the bench beside Lawrence.
“Drunken cows,” she said.
Lawrence nodded.
“You were saying about the doctor. Did you get a chance to tell him later?”
“I tried, but he didn’t listen. Just talked a load of mumbo jumbo about a blood clot pressing on Charlie’s brain. He thought it might be caused by over stimulation. It wasn't. Charlie was hurt. The only excitement he’d had in a long time was chasing some fop out of the bedroom at the back end of January. God only knows why a gentleman would want to poke around in here, but Charlie found him and got rid of him sharpish.”
“A gentleman? How did he know?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he was in tails and a top hat. As I said, I wasn’t here. It was about midday, and everyone had gone. They don’t stay here during the day. Charlie heard a noise and went upstairs to one of the dormitories. There are twelve beds - you’ll see them when you go up later. A swarthy looking fellow had the end one the previous night. I’ve seen ‘em all, but there was something about this man I didn't like. There are plenty of ruffians in the East End of London, but he wasn't that type. There was something different about him. Anyway, Charlie comes upstairs, and there’s this toff, bent over the bed feeling around for something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know, and Charlie didn’t know. He chased him away then he saw him a couple of days later talking to the same man.”
“Before Frances Coles died or after?”
“I thought you didn’t know about that?”
“I only know what you told me.”
“You’re a blooming stranger. How do I know that you’re not Charlie’s chap?”
“Do I look like a gentleman?” asked Lawrence holding his hands out in disbelief.
Sarah peered at his dirty nails. “No, you’re as common as the rest of us,” she said.
“So, was it before or after she died?”
“After, I think. Yes, a few days after. Why?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m only passing the time of day. It’s a good story, and I don’t hear many of them.”
“I’m not making it up.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You should go up now,” said Sarah. “There are only a few beds left. You’ll end up in the coffins if you don’t watch it.
Lawrence nodded. He had heard of coffin beds. Passing the night in this hell hole was bad enough, but he didn't relish the thought of sleeping in a box too small to turn in.
“G’night then,” he said and clumped up the stairs. They echoed under the impact of his boots.
There were three doors at the top of the dimly-lit stairs. Lawrence opened the door to the right. A flickering candle revealed a long dormitory containing a row of low metal beds topped with threadbare blankets. Sarah wasn’t exaggerating. There were sleeping bumps in all but two beds. Lawrence waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, then felt his way to the nearest empty bed. He pulled back the covers and got in fully dressed, anticipating a wakeful night. But after five minutes he found himself drifting effortlessly into a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A Visitor
Friday 6th March 1891
Violet was cross when she woke. She had been in the hospital since the early hours of Thursday morning. Her lightly bandaged wound covered a superficial cut. Lawrence had been right. It was not serious, and yet she was still in the hospital. Violet had spent the whole of yesterday alone in the ward and was ready to leave. Lawrence, who treated her so tenderly on Wednesday night, had vanished. He hadn't visited or sent a message since she arrived. By Thursday afternoon she had had enough and decided to return to the hotel. But when she voiced her intention, the matron dissuaded her in a way that left no room for argument. Violet was not ill. She needed no further medical care. There was no reason to stay but getting out of the hospital seemed impossible. Violet was becoming paranoid, convinced that Lawrence had persuaded the nurses to stop her from leaving. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. As a grown woman, she resented having decisions made for her.
The rattle of the breakfast trolley disturbed her thoughts. A bowl containing a gloopy mass bearing only a passing resemblance to porridge appeared before her. She took a spoon and tried some. It tasted like grout. She dropped the cutlery and pushed her breakfast away determined not to eat another meal in the hospital if she could help it. Violet concluded that the only way out of her predicament was to leave without telling anyone. If she didn't ask, they couldn’t refuse permission. But when she opened the door of the single wooden wardrobe by her bed, it was almost empty. Her clothes had gone, and the spindly wire coat hanger contained only a scarf that didn't belong to her. She wrenched it down and stared at it, sure her clothes were in the wardrobe yesterday. Violet took the scarf and strode to the top of the ward where a young nurse was rummaging through a filing cabinet.
"Where are my clothes?” she asked, brandishing the scarf.
The nurse looked warily towards her older colleague who was dispensing pills into tiny pots.
"Your clothes are in the laundry,” the colleague said. “You can leave this afternoon.”
“I want to leave now.”
“Sorry, matron’s orders.”
Violet was about to say that she would leave in her nightclothes if she had to when a brown-haired nurse with an obvious squint pushed the door open. She approached the older nurse. “Is Miss Smith in here?” she asked.
“I am Miss Smith,” said Violet coldly.
“There’s a visitor for you,” she said. “In the waiting room. Follow me.”
The older nurse sighed, opened a locker and removed a white dressing gown and slippers. She handed them to Violet who followed the nurse up the corridor.
“In here.” The nurse opened the door and guided Violet inside. The small room contained half a dozen armchairs and a coffee table. And a man. A man who was wearing a dog collar and who looked vaguely familiar from behind. He was staring out of the window into the hospital gardens but turned around when he heard the door open.
“Michael,” Violet exclaimed. “What are you doing here? It is so good to see you.”
“
I came as soon as I heard,” he said. “You poor thing.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?” asked the nurse, who had been waiting by the door. Michael nodded, and she left them alone in the room.
“Oh Michael.” A wave of nostalgia rushed over Violet at the sight of her old friend. She struggled to keep her tears at bay. The last time she had seen Michael was at The Vicarage in Fressingfield where she had lived happily as Mrs Harris' companion. She had not realised quite how much she missed it. Seeing the young curate made her unexpectedly homesick for a place she would never live in again.
“Come here.” Michael embraced her. Violet was not tactile, as a rule, but Michael was a man of God and her friend. He was dear to her, like a brother, and the familiarity they shared felt natural.
“I have missed you,” she whispered.
“My fault entirely. I've been busy getting to know my new parish and have not made time to visit.”
“You have your own parish?” she asked. “At last. I am so pleased. Are you still in Suffolk?”
“No, over the border,” he grinned. “I’m a Norfolk man now.”
“Then I will come and visit,” she said.
“Of course - and bring Lawrence with you.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” she said, with a frankness that startled her. “Sorry, that must sound cruel.”
“Have you argued?”
“No, but he is difficult to be around. He is selfish.”
“He sent for me, you know,” said Michael. “He cares about you.”
“Lawrence is like two different people,” said Violet. “He can be kind and caring, then he ignores me or vexes me. And he is very moody, and I am not. He can reduce my good temper to a boiling rage in a few moments.”
Michael laughed. “I have never known you to be in a boiling rage about anything.”
“Perhaps that’s an exaggeration,” she said, “but you know what I mean.”
Michael nodded. “I have come to take you back to the hotel,” he said.
“Thank goodness,” I was beginning to think I was a prisoner here.
“Well, you’re not. I’m…”
The nurse interrupted as she returned carrying a wooden tray. It held a pot of tea, cups and a plate of biscuits.
Michael took it and thanked her. He stirred the teapot with a spoon and offered the biscuits to Violet. She selected one feeling hungry for the first time in days.
“Where is Lawrence?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He sent a telegram.”
“He hasn’t visited. We are partners, but I don’t know what he is doing half the time.”
“Are you unhappy, Violet?”
“Not unhappy. I like the work, and I am good at most of it. I understand people in a way that Lawrence doesn’t, but we are not on an equal footing. He offered a partnership, yet he makes all the decisions and is always in control.”
“He is still grieving, Violet. He was not always the way he is now.”
“I know. Lawrence must have loved Catherine very much, but he hardly ever speaks of her.”
“He never forgave himself for living when they died.”
Michael poured two teas and offered one to Violet.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know the details. I wasn’t living in Bury at the time. I was studying. Francis told me all about it when I returned for the summer holidays. Catherine and the child, Lily, perished in a house fire. Lawrence came home one evening to find his house ablaze. He tried desperately to save them, and his neighbours restrained him to stop him needlessly sacrificing his own life. But there was nothing he could have done. The fire had taken too great a hold. He ruined his left hand trying to break down the burning door.”
“That’s awful. Poor Lawrence. He must have loved them very much.”
“He worshipped Catherine,” said Michael. “He adored her, and the child. It was a tragedy, all the more because they weren't meant to be home. Catherine and Lily were due to visit relatives, and Catherine decided not to go at the last minute.”
“How awful. Did you know her?”
Michael nodded. “Very well. She was a family friend. My brother, Francis was the best man at their wedding.”
“They must have been very much in love.”
“They were,” he said, “though the strength of his adoration, must have been difficult to bear sometimes. Catherine was only human…” His voice trailed away as he stared across the garden, lost in thought.
“I will try to be more understanding in future,” said Violet.
“It’s been three years,” said Michael. “Things will improve. Lawrence will get used to it. Just give him time. Anyway, I’ve booked a room at your hotel, so let’s get you back there. Then we’ll wait until Lawrence puts in an appearance.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Regal Hotel
They did not have long to wait. Michael and Violet were sitting in the reading room of The Regal Hotel pouring over a selection of old newspapers when Lawrence burst through the door with no warning.
“Ah, Michael. Good, I’m glad you came.”
“Lawrence, is that you?”
Lawrence gazed at the backs of his hands and touched his cheeks. They were rough with artificial hair.
“God, just as well there’s nobody else in here,” said Lawrence, releasing the beard. He peeled the moustache from his lip and removed the coat which he placed on the arm of the chair, then touched his hand to his head. “Damn it all,” he said. “I’ve left the hat behind. That will cost a pretty penny.”
“You look dreadful,” said Violet. “What on earth have you been doing.
“Investigating,” Lawrence replied. “Sleeping in a doss house, to be precise.” He scratched his leg and pulled up the bottom of the grimy trousers exposing his calf. “Bed bugs,” he grimaced. “I’m not surprised. It was an awful place. Pity anyone who has to sleep there more than once.”
“Was it really necessary?”
“I wouldn’t have got anything out of her, the lodging house keeper that is, if I wasn’t a customer. My presence there had to be believable.”
“And did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Did you get anything out of her?”
“I think so,” said Lawrence slowly, perching on the arm of the chair.
“I wouldn’t,” said Violet.
Lawrence stood, but it was too late. A smear of charcoal decorated the fawn covered chair.
He sighed.
“Don’t touch it,” said Violet. “Your hands are filthy, and you’ll only make it worse.” She pulled a delicate lace handkerchief from the arm of her dress and dabbed at the stain, removing the worst of it.
“You seem happier,” said Lawrence. “Has Michael been looking after you?”
Michael smiled. “She doesn’t need much looking after.”
“He has been wonderful company,” said Violet. “Just what I needed after two days alone.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lawrence. “There was something I needed to do.”
“Well, you didn’t have to make me a prisoner,” Violet said. “If it hadn’t been for Michael, I wouldn’t speak to you again. The matron wouldn’t let me leave.”
“It was for your own good,” said Lawrence. “It’s not safe for you to be alone.”
“I’ll decide what’s right for me,” said Violet.
“Well, we’re all here together now,” said Michael, in a conciliatory tone.
“Yes, we are,” said Lawrence, “and there is much to discuss. But first I need to get out of this disguise before the odd job man sees me.”
“You didn’t,” sighed Violet.
“I’ll put it back,” said Lawrence shortly, “with a few extra coins to make up for the missing hat. It was worth it. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Lawrence left the room and shut the door with a soft click.
“See what I mean,” said Violet. “He is intolera
ble.”
Michael spent the next few minutes defending Lawrence’s behaviour. True, his friend had taken charge of Violet as if she was his wife or child. But Lawrence's concern for Violet was evident to Michael. He was both worried about her and passionate about his case.
“But what is he investigating?” countered Violet. “He jumps around from one matter to another, none of which I expect to see any income from.”
“He has always been a little unorthodox,” said Michael. “He was something of a maverick even when he was in the force, but his methods work. He has never failed to solve a case.”
Violet took a breath and was about to reply when Lawrence returned looking cleaner and more presentable.”
“Better,” said Violet raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell us what you discovered over the last few days?”
Lawrence relayed the information as succinctly as possible. Violet and Michael sat quietly and listened to Lawrence speak without interrupting. When he finally finished, Violet rose and paced angrily around the room. “I simply don’t believe it,” she snapped.
“What don’t you believe?” asked Lawrence, surprised. “I’m not making it up.”
“I know. But the idea of a conspiracy from within the Society for Psychical Research is ludicrous. I’ve met them, Lawrence. They are gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen are not immune from evil.”
“I can vouch for that,” said Michael.
“I daresay,” Violet continued. “But why would you believe the word of a man like D’Onston over the actions of educated men. They are not as you describe, Lawrence. I will introduce you to Arthur, and you will see for yourself.”
“That is out of the question,” said Lawrence. “And you must not see him again, or any other man who belongs to this organisation. It could be any one of them.”
“Arthur is taking me to Kew Gardens tomorrow,” said Violet, “and I am going.”
“You’re supposed to be my partner,” said Lawrence. “Your job is to help with the investigation, not to go swanning around London with your gentleman friend.”
Violet gasped. “I do not know what you are implying, but there is nothing of that nature between Dr Myers and I.”
The Lawrence Harpham Boxset Page 41
