by Emily Organ
James sipped his drink thoughtfully. “It’s a thorny situation, isn’t it? And with Cullen in charge we have our hands tied. I’m not even supposed to be working on this.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to meet me here. You have other work to concern yourself with now.”
“Don’t apologise, Penny. Having worked on the case, I remain extremely interested in its every turn.”
“Have you found much time for your grandfather’s garden recently?”
“A little; however, there isn’t much to do now. There are a few leeks still in the ground, but I think chess playing season is upon us.”
“Don’t forget you were going to teach me how to play.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” He grinned and finished off his stout.
“Would you like another drink?” I asked.
“I would be delighted to, but I must go.” He checked his pocket watch. “The future Mrs Blakely is paying me a visit this evening and I am already late.” He stood up and put on his jacket.
I felt a little stunned by his words.
“The future Mrs Blakely?” I asked, my throat tightening. “I haven’t heard you mention her before.”
“Have I not? Well, she won’t be pleased if I am late.”
I picked up my sherry glass but noticed that it was already empty. I told myself there was no reason why there shouldn’t be a future Mrs Blakely. James was the right age for marriage and perhaps I should have been more surprised that he wasn’t married already. But even as I told myself this, I felt disappointed at discovering her existence.
I stared at the woodgrain in the polished table and wondered what the future Mrs Blakely looked like. She probably had a pretty nose and a well-turned ankle.
“It’s dark and cold out there,” said James. “Would you like me to hail you a cab? I probably have enough time.”
I tried to ignore the despondency that had descended over me and made an effort to speak cheerfully. “Thank you, James, there is no need. I have decided to stay and drink another sherry.”
Chapter 39
“It is surely one of the most beautiful buildings in London.” I stared up at the facade of the British Museum’s new Natural History department. I had passed through South Kensington many times and seen this building under construction but had never stood so close to the finished article before.
“It is a wonder, isn’t it?” said Eliza. “I feel proud that Father’s collection will be on display here.”
“So do I.”
The sun glinted on the grey granite and cream stone brickwork. We walked up the steps to the main entrance, which had an archway elaborate enough to rival that of Westminster Abbey. Two Romanesque-style towers rose up either side of the main entrance. Glancing further along the building, I could see hundreds of stone-arched windows decorated with sculptures of plants and animals.
Eliza dragged her bicycle up the steps to the entrance and it made such a clattering sound that I worried a wheel or lever was about to fall off. A doorman kindly offered to look after it to save her the trouble of taking it into the museum itself.
The main hall was just as breathtaking as the exterior, with terracotta brickwork and rows of stone arches leading to a grand staircase at the far end. There were glass windows in the ceiling, supported high above our heads by broad iron arches.
“This way,” said Eliza, leading me towards the staircase.
Father’s collection was in a small, newly opened gallery on the first floor. There was space here to show more of his work and there were some colourful watercolours of bromeliads alongside his beloved orchids. A small piece of card labelled ‘Frederick Brinsley Green’ gave an overview of Father’s works. I felt a lump in my throat when I read the last sentence:
F. B. Green and his guide vanished in the Amazonian jungle in 1875.
“Doesn’t his work look wonderful here?” I said brightly, trying to force a smile. I looked at Eliza and saw tears in her eyes. I embraced her and we remained that way for some time.
“Terrible news about Joseph Taylor,” said Eliza as we walked back down the main staircase. “I hear the shows at Astley’s Amphitheatre are postponed.”
“They are.”
“And all that dreadful business of his daughter being shot.”
I didn’t correct Eliza. Most people assumed that Annie was Taylor’s daughter.
“And now he has been arrested for murdering his wife! She must have been hiding from him; she must have falsified her death to escape him. But he tracked her down and killed her, and then tried to kill their daughter!”
“Nothing is proven until he has had his trial.”
“Of course not, but it looks rather likely, doesn’t it?”
“I am not so sure.”
“Who else could have done it?”
“Lizzie knew a lot of people.”
“A lot of men, you mean? There were always such rumours, weren’t there? Do you think it could be someone she had an affair with?”
“It is not unlikely. It must be someone who knew she was still alive. I wish I could find out who. I feel I owe it to Lizzie. She funded the expedition to find Father which discovered more of his drawings.”
“It would have been preferable for him to come back in person.”
“Of course it would. And if there were ever another expedition to find Father then at least the hut where his drawings were found would be a good place to begin looking again. The hut would never have been discovered without Lizzie’s help. That is why I want justice for her so badly.”
“Perhaps when Taylor’s trial is underway you will feel satisfied that justice is being served.”
“I may, although I cannot deny the nagging sensation I have that he is not the murderer.”
The afternoon sky had clouded over, casting a grey gloom through the windows of the reading room. The electric lights flickered on and off, much to the consternation of my fellow readers, and my eyelids felt heavy as I leafed through The Short History of Ireland.
The two men named as suspects in the underground railway explosions, McCafferty and O’Riordan, had been cleared in connection with the bombings. There was little more to report on, other than some experimental explosions which were being carried out in Woolwich to ascertain how much explosive material the bombers had used.
“Penny?”
James had walked up to my desk without me noticing.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered. “Did you enjoy your evening?”
“Enjoy it?” He looked at me quizzically.
“With the future Mrs Blakely?”
“Oh that. Yes, thank you. Take a look at this.” He spoke as quietly as possible and placed a letter addressed to Inspector Cullen on my desk.
“What is it?”
“A letter from Sir Edmund to Cullen. Do you recognise the handwriting?”
“No.”
“Good. Then the anonymous letters you have received are not from Sir Edmund.”
“Is that all you came here to tell me?”
James appeared affronted by my blunt reply and picked up the letter again.
“Thankfully, it isn’t,” he said, tucking the letter into his inside pocket. “I came here to tell you that Cullen has asked me to write a report to the magistrates outlining the evidence against Taylor. I have been given three days to complete it.”
“But you’re not even convinced that Taylor is the murderer.”
“No, I’m not.”
“This whole affair is a mess!” I threw down my pen in annoyance, causing the ink to splatter across my page. “The wrong man has been arrested and now you have to convince the magistrates that he should stand trial when you don’t even believe he murdered Lizzie!”
“Madam, you are disturbing my work,” said a man with bushy red whiskers who was seated next to me.
“I do apologise.”
“We can’t talk here any longer,” whispered James. “But let me reassure you that I
am actually bringing you good news. Inspector Cullen has put me in charge of the case again while he works on the Wandsworth murder. May I be permitted to visit you this evening? There are further developments.”
“Of course.” I felt my heart skip. “That is wonderful news, James.”
I felt myself smiling as he departed.
Chapter 40
I hurriedly tidied my room that evening in anticipation of James’ visit. I dusted the shelves, swept the floor and gathered the papers on my writing desk into a neat pile. The paraffin lamp emitted a rather gloomy light, so I lit some candles and placed them around the room to make it look as cheery as possible. Then I positioned my chair so that it was angled at a comfortable distance from the end of my bed. I could sit on the bed and James could sit on the chair.
I took my place on the bed and waited. As Tiger walked across my lap, I wondered what James would make of my lowly lodgings.
Was I destined to live in this room for the rest of my days?
My thoughts were interrupted by a rap at the door and I opened it to find Mrs Garnett standing there with James. He greeted me with a broad smile.
“It is the detective again,” she said. “Has someone else been shot?”
“Not that I know of,” I replied. “Do come in, James.”
“You will keep your door open while he visits, won’t you?” asked Mrs Garnett, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. “He may be a detective, but I don’t usually permit gentleman callers at this hour. He must leave by eight o’clock.”
“Absolutely,” I replied.
“Please don’t worry yourself, Mrs Garnett,” said James. “I am here on police business and this will not take long.”
As he stepped into the room, Mrs Garnett sucked her lip disapprovingly and left.
“Can I offer you a drink of something?” I asked. “Coffee? Cocoa? Sherry?”
“Sherry would be wonderful, thank you.”
I gestured to the seat by my writing desk. James took off his hat and placed it on my desk, hanging his coat over the back of the chair. I reached under my bed for the bottle of sherry and saw Tiger hiding under there, her eyes flashing at me.
With a horrible lurch in my stomach, I realised I had no glasses with which to drink the sherry. I walked over to my stove and took down the two tin cups from their hooks on the wall. I poured out the sherry and handed James’ drink to him apologetically. He thanked me and made no mention of the tin cup.
I sat on the bed and took a gulp of sherry, feeling awkward that James was in my room. I was pleased to see him, but welcoming him here felt as though I was allowing him access to a private part of my life. My lodgings told him more about who I was, and I wasn’t sure I felt comfortable about that. Most of all, I was worried what he would think of me.
“I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you’re back on the case, James.”
“I am also very happy about it.” He leant forward with an elbow on each knee and his cup of sherry cradled in his hands. “But I have to work quickly now. I was too slow before and time is not on my side. Cullen wants me to have the report written for the magistrates, but before I do that I need to rule out the other possible suspects.”
“Who do you think they are?”
“I think there are two other people who might have harmed Lizzie. The first is someone at Westminster. It may not be Sir Edmund or Hugh Dowdeswell, but they are the best starting point we have. The other is Sebastian. I propose to rule Sebastian out first, as that will be a little simpler than the Westminster connection.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“By finding an alibi for him. The most obvious person is his wife.”
“That makes sense.”
“Once I have done that, I will need to tackle Sir Edmund and Hugh Dowdeswell.”
“Oh dear.” I had a sinking feeling in my chest. “I fear this will not be quick. While you are investigating the politicians, Cullen will be pressuring you for the report on Taylor.”
“I know, it will not be easy. But I have promising news from Inspector Lloyd. So far, the description he has of the man who fired the shots at Annie in the amphitheatre is that he wore a tweed cap and had a pale moustache.”
I felt a buzz of excitement. “So it could be the same man that was seen at Highgate the night that Lizzie died? And the one I saw at the cemetery and in the hotel?”
“The description is similar, so we can be hopeful that there is a connection. I feel rather frustrated that we have been unable to find that man so far. He has been crucial to our investigation ever since the beginning. I will issue another request for information via the press. Your colleague, Edgar, can write a useful paragraph again for me, I am sure.”
“If only I had caught up with him at the hotel!”
“You did your best. Don’t worry, I have a feeling that he is never too far away. I think he is watching our every move. Hello! What a pretty cat.”
I felt Tiger rub against my skirts. I leant down and stroked her. “She must like you,” I said. “She doesn’t usually come out from under the bed when visitors are here.”
James drained his cup and placed it on my desk.
“More sherry?” I asked.
“Thank you. Firstly, let me tell you a most interesting thing I discovered this morning.”
James reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out an envelope. “I spoke with Taylor first thing. He was frank about being in Highgate the night that Lizzie died, but he says he didn’t go into the cemetery because the gates were locked. He may have been a fit man in his youth, but he would struggle to clamber over the fence as the young man managed to.”
“So what was he doing there?”
“He was sent something.”
James pulled a square of red silk from the envelope. “Someone posted this to his home.” He held the square of silk in one hand and unfolded it with the other. I leaned forward to take a closer look.
Inside the piece of silk was a gold locket, and it struck me that it was quite an expensive one because the small bird it displayed was moulded in gold, with jewels on its wings and tail. It was sitting on a branch, which was also carefully crafted in gold, and next to it was a delicate little nest with three small pearls for eggs.
“Someone posted this to Taylor?”
James nodded and moved his hand towards me. “Open it.”
Carefully, I picked up the locket and fitted the nail of my thumb into the clasp at its side. The little case opened and inside were two small, oval-shaped photographs. The picture on the left was of Lizzie, with her dark hair brushed over one shoulder and flowers pinned above her right ear. It was Lizzie as I remembered her, so it was likely to have been taken before the sinking of the Princess Alice.
On the right-hand side of the locket was a photograph of Sebastian, looking about ten years younger than he was now. He wore a high collar and was scowling slightly at the camera.
“Where did this come from? Did it once belong to Lizzie?”
“Either to her or Sebastian, I imagine.”
“So one of them sent this to Taylor? What was the writing on the envelope like? I might be able to recognise Lizzie’s writing.”
James handed me the envelope and I was aware that he was watching my face, as if he were trying to read my reaction.
The handwriting was in black ink and crudely executed, as if a child wrote it.
I leapt up from my bed and dashed over to my writing desk, where I had stashed the two anonymous letters in a little drawer. I pulled them out and compared them with the envelope which had contained the locket.
“They’re all written in the same ink!” I exclaimed. “And the handwriting has been disguised on two of them, but whoever sent them forgot to disguise it on the first envelope. The same person sent all three!” I waved them excitedly. “The postmark is also the same!”
“There is something else in the envelope which contained the locket,” said James.
I lo
oked inside and found a small piece of folded paper. I opened it and saw the same childish writing again.
“Highgate Cemetery, midnight tomorrow,” I read.
I staggered backwards and slumped down onto my bed. “This was posted the day before Lizzie was murdered,” I said. “Do you think it was sent by the man who murdered her?”
“It is possible. I would say with certainty that it came from someone who knew about the plan to murder Lizzie. This person wished to frame Taylor. He wanted Taylor to be near the cemetery at the time Lizzie died.”
“Why didn’t Taylor tell us about this before now?”
“Because he believes he would have been arrested for her murder. Now that he has been arrested, he feels he has nothing to lose by showing it to us. He claims it is proof that he didn’t murder Lizzie; that he was invited there and simply went to find out why someone had sent it to him.”
“Did he say what he thought about seeing Sebastian and Lizzie’s photographs together in the locket?”
“He says it wasn’t a surprise, and that he knew their relationship had never really ended. It was the cause of many arguments, but he admits that he kept mistresses throughout their marriage. Perhaps that’s what drove Lizzie back to Sebastian. By the time Lizzie was supposedly drowned on the Princess Alice, her marriage to Taylor had long since deteriorated.”
“Annie told me that Lizzie wished to leave him.”
James nodded. “I’ve followed up on the rest of Taylor’s story and I think he is telling the truth. Having been unable to make his way inside the cemetery, he left and stayed at the Dalrymple Hotel nearby. I spoke to the owner of that hotel earlier today, who confirmed Taylor’s story. The following morning, Taylor returned home and I visited him shortly after that to tell him of Lizzie’s death.”
“I cannot believe Cullen failed to uncover any of this.”
