by Emily Organ
“And that is by visiting the scene of a murder?”
He smiled awkwardly. “Yes, there are many more pleasant things we could be doing on a morning such as this. But a profession such as mine does not accommodate those, as a rule.”
“There must be some occasions when your job is rewarding, Inspector Blakely?”
“If I can reunite a lost child with its parent, perhaps. Or find a cat who has wandered astray.”
“And remove a murderer from the streets?”
“Yes, that is extremely rewarding, and it is why I am here.” He pointed up the steep lane. “Let me take you up to the gates PC Preston climbed over the night he heard the shots and the screams. We have no hope of knowing which way Lizzie entered the cemetery, but we can at least retrace the steps we know the constable took. He is due to speak at the inquest later today to tell them what I am about to tell you.”
We walked up the lane alongside the wall of the cemetery towards a set of iron gates. I had worn my warmest woollen skirt, a lined woollen jacket and a thickly lined bonnet, which was tied beneath my chin and covered my ears. It was an old, rather unfashionable bonnet, but I craved warmth rather than style.
“I’ve alerted B Division to be on the lookout for the man who ran away from us in Kensal Green Cemetery,” said Inspector Blakely. “And I’ve asked Y Division to be on the lookout too in case he turns up somewhere here in Highgate. Do you think we could put an appeal for information about him in your newspaper?”
“Of course. I will ask Mr Fish to write something. Hopefully we can put it in tomorrow’s edition.”
As we reached the gates, the inspector opened them and we stood at the top of a path from which we could see the cemetery descending down the hillside before us. To our right I saw an enormous cedar of Lebanon, which must have been a few hundred years old.
“Peace has almost been restored to this place,” said Inspector Blakely. “There has been a great deal of interest from sightseers, as you can imagine. Y Division has had to deploy a few bobbies here over the past week to ensure that the sanctity of the cemetery is respected. We even had some day trippers arrive from Essex.”
He pointed along the path ahead of us. “PC Preston went along here in the direction from which he thought the commotion had come.”
The monuments and headstones glistened with frost in the morning sunshine and the path curved to our right, leading us towards the cedar. I felt a sickening turn in my stomach as I thought about the place where Lizzie had spent her last moments. I wanted to see it, but felt nervous that it would upset me.
What must this place have been like in the middle of the night?
Ahead of us lay London: a mass of rooftops, spires and smoking chimneys with a brownish grey pall hanging over them. Rising above it all was the great dome of St Paul’s Cathedral, just a short walk from Fleet Street.
“PC Preston must have felt rather frightened that night,” I said.
“Yes, I think he did. He could not have known whether the gunman had any more ammunition or not. There was a risk he might have been shot himself. We need to turn left here and make our way to Egyptian Avenue.”
The path continued downhill and the earth was banked up to our right. My eye was drawn to two tall stone monoliths, and as we walked closer I could see that they stood either side of a large stone archway with ornately carved stone pillars either side of it. The ornamentation bore a resemblance to the architecture of ancient Egypt.
Three women stood by the archway wrapped up in shabby coats and with bonnets pulled tightly over their ears. They watched us and one whispered something to another.
As we walked towards the women, heading for the archway, one of them approached us.
“We come lookin’ to see where Lizzie Dixie’s got shot.”
“Well you are very close to the place,” replied the inspector.
I shuddered, but the women’s faces lit up with excitement.
“Where was it then? Was it over ‘ere?” asked one, pointing to a patch of ground.
Another woman lent over to inspect the gravel.
“Sarah says she can see blood in among them stones.”
“I can’t see nothin’.”
“It’s there if yer lookin’ proper.”
All three women peered down at the ground as Inspector Blakely and I passed them.
Beyond the archway was a stone avenue punctuated by a series of doors. They resembled a row of houses, and in some respects they were: these were houses for the dead, with the family name of each vault inscribed above the respective doorway. The avenue opened into a circle lined with more vaults, and above us the large cedar branched out over our heads.
There was something other-worldly about this place.
“Lizzie had a lamp with her,” said Inspector Blakely. “PC Preston saw the glow from the archway we have just walked through, and it led him to this place.”
I followed the inspector around the circle of vaults.
After a few steps, he stopped abruptly. “This is the Lebanon Circle. And this is the spot where PC Preston found Lizzie Dixie. She was lying here with the lamp next to her, which had somehow remained lit.”
He pointed to a patch of gravelled ground in front of one of the vaults. I felt compelled to read the inscription: The Family Sepulchre of Leonard Waugh.
“Are you sure?” I found myself saying.
I knew he was speaking the truth, but it seemed hard to believe. “But she was shot. There must have been a lot of...” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.
“Everything was thoroughly doused afterwards.”
I nodded in reply and stared at the patch of gravel once again.
“And she was just lying here? Was she already dead when PC Preston found her?”
“Sadly, yes. Even if he had found her sooner I am not certain that much could have been done to save her. She had been struck by four bullets, one at close range. She had one wound to her left leg and three wounds in her back. The wounds in her back suggest she was trying to run away. We found bullet fragments lodged in the ground beneath her body, which suggests that one of the shots was fired into her back as she lay on the ground.”
The violence of her death was unbearable. It felt as though the ground was lurching beneath me and I slumped against the wall of the sepulchre for support. I could feel beads of perspiration breaking out across my forehead and my face felt cold.
“Are you all right, Miss Green?”
“Not really.”
“My apologies, I should not have brought you here. I should have known better than to discuss this matter with you in detail. I know most ladies would cover their ears at hearing such things, but as you are a reporter I thought you would be...”
“I am fine, thank you, Inspector Blakely.” I tried to stand upright again. “I find this upsetting because I knew Lizzie and I cannot bear to think that she suffered so.”
“I understand; it is terrible. The only consolation I can offer is that the end was undoubtedly swift and she may not have known much about it. The shots PC Preston heard were fired in fairly quick succession.”
“Tell me what he heard exactly.”
“One shot, a pause and then a second. There was another pause before the third came and the final three shots were fired close together. I think the first shot was probably the one which hit the front of her left thigh. It suggests that she was facing her assailant when it was fired and that there had perhaps been an interaction before the shot came.
“Once she was hit, she tried to get away by running up Egyptian Avenue and into this section, the Lebanon Circle. The assailant must have followed her and two shots were fired, which we know missed their target because we found them lodged in the stone wall in the avenue. The fourth shot would have hit her in the back, causing her to fall here, and the last two would have been fired to ensure that the job was finished.”
“I don’t want to dwell on it.” I leaned against the wall again.
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“It was quick. Six shots fired and no casings found, which suggests a revolver. We have retrieved some bullet fragments and we think that the murderer first confronted Lizzie in front of the archway to the avenue.”
I walked back to the avenue and looked down it in the direction of the spot where Lizzie’s killer had stood in front of the archway.
“It must have been exceedingly dark here that night,” I said. “Lizzie met her killer just in front of the archway. A shot was fired and she was hit in the leg. Then she turned and ran up the avenue and into this circle. The murderer fired three more shots and one of them felled her. And then the last two shots...”
I couldn’t continue my sentence. Instead, I walked slowly down the avenue to where Lizzie’s killer had stood. I imagined the deafening gunshots and the bright flash from the barrel of the revolver. I imagined the screams and Lizzie falling.
“I have seen enough now, Inspector.”
Chapter 14
We took a walk, passing Highgate Ponds and up Parliament Hill. A wind had picked up from the west and the cool air was refreshing. The sun shone, birds swooped in the wind and a small boy was flying a red kite. We stood beside a small spinney of trees and gazed across London.
“Whoever killed Lizzie must have known her, mustn’t he?” I said. “She must have arranged to meet him at Highgate Cemetery in the middle of the night. Why else would she go to such a place at such a time?”
“We cannot find a cab driver who took Lizzie there. I am wondering whether it was within walking distance of her accommodation.”
“Her daughter must know something. I can’t believe Lizzie would not have made contact with her for the past five years.”
“She is on my list to speak to, as you know. I’ll have to get past Joseph Taylor first, though, and he is not an easy man. There was nothing in Highgate Cemetery that made you think of anything Lizzie had mentioned to you? There was no one she knew buried there?”
“No, I don’t recall her mentioning it at all. If we knew where she had been living when she was missing we would be able to locate her personal belongings. She may have had letters and diaries containing vital clues.”
“Y Division is carrying out enquiries at all the homes close to Highgate Cemetery, so hopefully that line of enquiry will lead somewhere. We may be able to find out whether she was living in the area or find more witnesses to what happened that evening. We still haven’t found a murder weapon or any other clue to the identity of Lizzie’s murderer.”
“Why did she pretend that she had drowned?”
“It’s quite a quandary. When did you last see Lizzie?”
“On the first night of her play, The Course of the Nile. I went to visit her in her dressing room after the performance. It must have been August 1878, just a month before the Princess Alice sank.”
Inspector Blakely removed his notebook from his inside coat pocket, leafed through it and read aloud from his notes: “The SS Princess Alice sank on the third of September 1878. Lizzie was known to have been travelling on the steamer after an excursion to Rosherville Gardens in Gravesend. She was travelling with a male companion, Mr Robert Holmes, who we believe paid Lizzie to accompany him that day.
“On her return journey, the Princess Alice collided with a cargo ship, the Bywell Castle, close to North Woolwich gardens at a quarter to eight in the evening. The steamer sank within five minutes and more than six hundred and fifty lives were lost.”
He looked up from his notebook and shook his head. “A terrible tragedy. I remember seeing my mother in tears when she discovered the news.” He looked back at the page. “Some of the passengers were able to clamber onto other vessels, but most lost their lives. Bodies were pulled out of the water for many days afterwards and two days after the tragedy a drowned woman who bore a resemblance to the actress Lizzie Dixie was found. As no one had seen or heard from Lizzie since the accident, it was assumed that this woman was indeed the actress. Her husband, the showman Joseph Taylor, identified his wife and her funeral was held the following week.”
He looked up. “And you attended the funeral along with around two hundred other people.”
“Yes, it was quite a commemoration. Lizzie was much loved.”
“Somehow she got out of the water that day and we need to understand why she made the decision not to return to her husband and daughter. Instead, she completely disappeared.”
We both looked out across London again and I couldn’t stop my mind dwelling on the violence of Lizzie’s death. I had reported on murders many times in the past and although I had felt great sorrow for the victims, this was the first time I had actually known one of them.
Inspector Blakely checked his watch. “I must get back to the Yard. I hope to leave a little earlier this evening and get to Battersea before sundown to help my grandfather pull up his leeks.” He returned his watch to his waistcoat pocket.
“You like gardening?” I asked.
“I’m beginning to. My grandfather grows many vegetables, but is becoming too infirm to tend them. He asked me to help him last year and since then I have visited him on a regular basis. I find great solace in nurturing plants. Tomatoes.” He gave me a wink. “My grandfather is particularly skilled at growing tomatoes. They are all finished now, of course, but there are still plenty of potatoes in the ground if you would care for any?”
“If they are surplus to your needs then yes, thank you.”
“And leeks. I can also give you some leeks.”
“That would be very kind. I have always liked the thought of having a garden one day myself. My mother likes to grow dahlias. She has quite a large garden at home in Derbyshire.”
“That’s where you grew up?”
“Yes, I have fond memories of our garden there. My father planned to build a glasshouse where he could grow exotic plants from the seeds which he had collected. Mother does a good job of maintaining the garden and I must ensure I am there next summer when the dahlias are flowering.” I pictured the large, colourful blooms and the buzz of bees in warm sunshine. The thought was a welcome relief from the cold and the sombre cemetery.
“Yes, you must ensure that you are there next summer. I would like to try growing some dahlias next year in my grandfather’s garden. They make lovely cut flowers, don’t they?”
“Last summer I brought a bunch of them back to London from Derbyshire and they really brightened up my room.”
“I am sure they did.”
We exchanged a smile.
“Gardening must be a welcome respite from the bleakness of your work, Inspector.”
“It certainly is. It’s not an uncommon hobby for detectives. Thank you for putting the happy thought of dahlias in my mind.” He smiled again. “I really must go. Now that we have done the unpleasant business of visiting the scene where Lizzie lost her life, do please think more about the last time you saw her and the conversation you had with her. Did she mention her marriage or her brothers? What was her frame of mind?”
“I will try to recall it, Inspector.”
“Thank you. And thank you for all your help so far, Miss Green. I would like you to accompany me to see Mr Taylor so that I can speak to Annie with a chaperone present. Would that suit you?”
I nodded. “I am happy to help, Inspector. I will not rest until we find the person who did this to her.”
Chapter 15
I spent the afternoon in the reading room finishing some paragraphs on the proposed withdrawal of British troops from Egypt. Before long, I felt my eyelids grow heavy. I looked up at the pale blue dome above me and tried to recall the last conversation I had ever had with Lizzie. It had been in her dressing room after the opening night of The Course of the Nile. I remembered that she had been in a sombre mood that evening.
It had taken her a long time to remove the elaborate hairpieces and make-up required to play the role of Cleopatra, and once she was done she had examined herself in her dressing room mirror and frowned.
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��Now I see myself again and I can no longer forget who I am. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be Cleopatra all the time?”
She wore a silky blue, kimono-style dressing gown with pink and white blossoms on it. I admired the way it shimmered in the gaslight and thought Lizzie looked beautiful without her stage make-up and with her hair brushed loose.
“You don’t mean that,” I said.
“Don’t I?” She turned to me and placed a clay pipe between her lips, then lit it. “I would like to spend the rest of my life being someone other than myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I have done things I am not proud of to get where I am today.”
“We have all done things we are not proud of.”
“No, Penny. Not to the extent I’m talking about.”
“What have you done that was so bad?”
Lizzie blew out a puff of smoke. “I was a maid for the Burrell family when I first arrived in London. From the moment I joined their household, I craved the lifestyle they led. The father, Charles Burrell, approached me one evening. I thought he cared for me and I was flattered by his attentions. He was a wealthy man and highly thought of, and his desiring me made me feel important. I was only thinking about myself, of course. I didn’t spare a thought for his wife. I was a foolish and selfish girl back then.”
“And very young. I should imagine you were frightened.”
“Frightened? Why?”
“If you had turned him down you would perhaps have lost your job. Were you fearful about refusing him?”
“I was too impressed by him to turn him down. But there is some truth in what you say. I would not have been able to refuse him; he would never have let me. But that was just the start, Penny. Charles Burrell has meant nothing to me for many years now. My relationship with him was just the beginning. Once I had sinned I knew I could never be a proper wife, and I liked to be desired. Being an actress made me desirable; I could dress up and look beautiful. So that’s what I did, and I made lots of money from it.
