by Emily Organ
“Who sat on this chair yesterday evening?” asked Inspector Trotter, looking around the group.
I could remember who it was, but decided I would only speak if no one else did. I had no wish to cast empty aspersions.
Everyone glanced about them, their brows furrowed.
“Why, it was Wyndham!” exclaimed Dudley Lombard.
“Me?” replied Viscount Wyndham incredulously. “I didn’t sit there! I was on the chair next to it.” His chest was puffed up even more broadly than usual, straining at the buttons on his shirt.
“No, that’s where Mrs Glenville sat. You were on this chair here,” said Dudley Lombard.
Viscount Wyndham moved closer and surveyed the two chairs. Then he shook his head.
“Have any of the chairs been moved since yesterday evening?” asked the inspector.
“No,” said Mr Perrin. “And I agree with the young man. It was Viscount Wyndham who sat on that chair yesterday evening. I remember refilling his glass, which was placed on the table just in front of the chair.”
Viscount Wyndham glared at the butler, but said nothing.
“I must add that, after Miss Sophia was taken ill, the chair was occupied by Mrs Lombard,” the butler said.
We all turned to look at Mrs Lombard, whose face began to colour from the attention.
“Now careful, everyone,” said Ralph Lombard, stepping closer to his wife as if to protect her from the implications of Mr Perrin’s words. “We can’t be slinging accusations at one another, now. That would be very dangerous indeed. The detective must continue to gather as much information as he can. And that includes understanding where each of us was sitting last night. We must all do what we can to assist him, but we should avoid pointing the finger of blame at anyone until the inspector has finished his work.”
He took his wife’s arm and I saw that her violet eyes were watery. She looked frightened.
“Well said, Lombard,” added Wyndham.
Dudley Lombard nodded in agreement, but Mr Glenville’s scowl grew even deeper.
“Easily said when you haven’t just lost your daughter,” he muttered.
“Please rest assured that I will catch the culprit, Mr Glenville,” said Inspector Trotter.
“You need to, and fast,” replied Mr Glenville. “I will not tolerate speculation among my guests here. It will only result in people upsetting each other. Are you certain you’re capable of managing this case on your own? You examined this room after my daughter’s death, and yet you missed a crucial clue which my maid was able to discover! I want more men working on this, Inspector. How about we call in Scotland Yard?”
“With all due respect, Mr Glenville, there is no need to have the Yard involved,” replied the inspector. “I am quite confident in my ability to conduct this investigation. It is, indeed, regrettable that such a crucial piece of evidence was missed. May I commend you on your attentive and helpful staff, sir. Please trust that I will find the culprit for you. It is likely that he or she stands before me at this very moment.”
Lunch in the kitchen was cold leftovers from the dinner the night before. I struggled to eat any of the cold ham or mutton, with the terrible memories from the previous night weighing heavily on my mind.
“My lady of the house won’t eat a thing,” said Mrs Craughton. “She had no breakfast, nor would she take any pie just now. She won’t even eat a piece of bread.”
“Quite natural after a sudden death in the house,” said Mr Perrin. “Her appetite will return in due course. Do you have a bottle of Dr Cobbold’s Remedy?”
“No. Is it an effective remedy?”
“You should always have some in the house for times such as these. Four doses a day will see her right.”
“Thank you, Mr Perrin, I shall fetch some this afternoon. In fact, I should like to step out of the house for a short while. It is rather stifling in here, isn’t it?”
“You may also want to give the maid some Cobbold’s Remedy,” said Mr Perrin, nodding over at Maisie.
The poor girl sat at the table, pale and trembling. Her food sat entirely untouched in front of her.
“Come on, Maisie, you need your strength!” said the housekeeper encouragingly.
“I can’t. It won’t stay down.”
“A household is reliant on its staff, Maisie. If you don’t eat, you won’t be able to do your work. And then what will become of everyone?”
“Maybe Maisie could try to eat something later,” I suggested. “It can be difficult when your stomach feels knotted up.”
Mrs Craughton sighed and stood to her feet. “I’ll leave you be. I’m off to the pharmacy to buy the remedy. What’s it called again?”
“Dr Cobbold’s.”
“It will put everyone right again, I’m sure.”
The Wyndhams and Lombards were permitted to leave after Inspector Trotter had spoken to them. While Mrs Craughton was out at the pharmacy, I escaped to my room, sat down at the dressing table and hurriedly wrote the article Mr Sherman had requested.
The daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Glenville, Miss Sophia Glenville, died tragically at her home in Hyde Park Gate yesterday evening. Doctor Dalglish, who attended to the young woman, stated that she had been poisoned by potassium of cyanide. It is speculated that a malicious person deliberately placed the fatal poison into Miss Glenville’s glass of Pommery champagne while she was celebrating the occasion of her eighteenth birthday.
Inspector Herbert Trotter of T Division is currently investigating Miss Glenville’s death, and serious foul play is suspected. No arrests have yet been made, but Inspector Trotter is interviewing all guests who were present at Miss Glenville’s birthday celebration on the night of her death.
Mr. Alexander Glenville owns the Blundell & Co vinegar factory in Vauxhall and the Archdale vinegar factory in Bermondsey. His late daughter was engaged to be married to Master Dudley Lombard, the son of Mr. Ralph Lombard, who owns the Lombard gin distillery in Vauxhall.
I also wrote a note to my editor:
I assume Mr. Conway’s investigation into Mr. Glenville’s business dealings is now concluded. I will give the housekeeper notice of my resignation and return to the office either tomorrow or Tuesday.
I folded the two pieces of paper into an envelope, sealed it and hid it on top of my wardrobe, ready for the messenger boy to collect it. I couldn’t yet think of an excuse to give Mrs Craughton if she asked me what the lad had come to collect. I sensed this would be a good opportunity to return the key to her office. I made my way downstairs, but was disappointed to find that the door was locked.
Further along the corridor, the door to the library opened and Inspector Trotter’s head peered out.
“It’s Florence Parker, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Can you step in here and answer some questions, please?”
Chapter 22
I followed the inspector into the library, where he had arranged his papers into neat piles on the mahogany table. The ghost twins stared down at me through a haze of pipe smoke. I sat at the table and wondered whether I should be truthful with the inspector about who I was. If I was honest, there was a danger that the rest of the household would soon discover the truth. Then what would happen? The atmosphere in the house was difficult enough as it was.
I decided to keep my cover for a day or two longer. Then I would explain to the inspector and the Glenvilles who I truly was. And I would leave.
Inspector Trotter sat opposite me, fidgeting for a moment with his pen and the pot of ink, and then his pipe. He reached for the teapot.
“Oh dear, it’s gone cold. Please could you fetch me some more once we’re finished here, Florence?”
I nodded.
“Right then, here we go.” He leafed through his notebook to find a blank page. “So your name is Miss Florence Parker?”
“Yes,” I replied.
He must have detected the lack of certainty in my voice, as his brow furrowed slight
ly and he looked at me more closely. I was lying to a police officer, and it felt as though I was doing something terribly wrong.
“And this is a question I must ask everyone, I’m afraid. What is your age?”
“Thirty-four.”
“And you live here at this address. Mrs Craughton tells me you are a new member of staff here. Where did you live previously?”
I was about to reply with my Milton Street address, but just managed to correct myself to the address of my supposed previous employer in time.
“Berkeley Square.”
“And the house number there?”
“I think it was number twenty. The home of Mrs Fothergill.” I felt a cold perspiration under my arms. I would have been much more comfortable had I confessed to the inspector who I really was.
“And I understand that you were present when Miss Sophia met her unfortunate end.” His lisp meant that he especially struggled with the words ‘Miss Sophia’.
“Yes, I was.”
“And can you give me your account of what you saw that evening, Florence?”
I told him what I could remember. He listened intently, puffing on his pipe and writing in his notebook. I noticed that his handwriting style was rather slow and laborious. I wondered why detectives didn’t have to learn shorthand, as journalists did.
“And as you witnessed the distressing spectacle, Florence, what were your thoughts regarding the cause of Miss Sophia’s death?”
“I didn’t have the first clue. I could see that she was struggling to breathe. I thought she was choking for a moment, as she didn’t seem able to get any air. I imagined that perhaps she had a sudden complication with her lungs or heart. I had never seen her unwell before. I couldn’t believe it when the doctor said she had been poisoned with cyanide. I cannot understand how someone could have poisoned her, or why they should want to do so! She had never caused anyone any harm.”
“Bear with me while I write this down. Oh, darn it! My nib has broken.”
I waited impatiently as the inspector found another pen and painstakingly filled it with ink.
“There we go. Now, where were we? Ah yes. I think you pre-empted my next question, which is: are you aware of anyone who might bear animosity towards Miss Sophia?”
“I barely knew her. I have only been here for a week, so I’m sure other members of the household would be able to tell you more than I can. I witnessed some bickering in the family, but it struck me as entirely normal familial behaviour. She was a young woman with modern ideas, and as such it would inevitably bring her into conflict with her loved ones from time to time. But they spoke fondly of her to me, and Mr Glenville was rather proud of her intelligence. He told me she had inherited many of his traits.”
“I must say you’re rather well-spoken for a maid, Florence.”
“Am I?” I felt a surge of heat rush up to my face. “I had a good upbringing, Inspector. My parents sent me to school.”
He nodded and returned to his notebook. I wiped my damp palms on my apron and prayed that our interview would soon be concluded.
“Have you had many dealings with Miss Sophia over the past week?”
“Not many. I waited table while she was dining with her family.”
“So mealtimes were the only times you encountered Miss Sophia during the past week?”
“Yes.”
“And on each occasion there were other members of the household present?”
“Yes, both family and staff.”
“And yesterday evening Miss Sophia seemed her usual self?”
“She did.”
“How would you describe her mood?”
“If I were to speak honestly, I would say that she had looked rather bored at times. I don’t think she was the sort of girl who enjoyed parties very much. But she seemed to have a pleasant enough evening. Until—”
“Did you see anyone interfere with her glass of champagne?”
“No.”
“Do you think that could have been a possibility?”
“I suppose it could have been, but I didn’t witness anyone do it. That’s why I’m so surprised. I suppose if someone was determined to poison her, they would have found a way without drawing attention to themselves.”
“This nib is rather scratchy.” He held up his pen and examined it closely. “Pens simply aren’t up to the task these days, are they? I’m sure they stain your fingers far more than they used to. Now, what did I have in mind to ask next?”
As he leafed through his notebook, I decided there was something rather amateurish about his conduct. I began to doubt that he was capable of catching Miss Sophia’s murderer.
“Ah yes, here we are!” he said. “Who was Miss Sophia sitting closest to in the drawing room?”
“Master Lombard and Master Glenville.”
“And who did you see sitting on the chair upon which the empty packet of cyanide was found?”
“I remember Viscount Wyndham sitting there, Inspector. And then there was some confusion while Miss Sophia...” I felt my throat tighten. “…As she struggled to breathe. We were all moving about the room, and I think by that stage many of us were standing. When I give it some thought, however, I can recall that Mary Lombard was sitting on that same chair by the time the doctor arrived.”
There was another long pause as he wrote this down, tutting intermittently at the ink splashes from his pen.
“Is my account similar to the others you’ve heard so far, Inspector?” I asked.
“Fairly similar, yes.” He dipped his pen into the ink pot and examined the nib again.
“And what will happen once you’ve interviewed everyone in the house? Presumably, one or more will give a false account. How do you decide who’s telling the truth, Inspector?”
He looked up and smiled condescendingly. “That’s the skill of a detective’s work, Florence.”
I had my doubts that Inspector Trotter was a skilled detective.
“Where did the murderer obtain the cyanide?” I asked. “Do you know if any such substance is kept in this house? I haven’t come across any myself. And what if the murderer is one of the Wyndhams or the Lombards? They have left the house now, and could easily make their escape!”
Inspector Trotter removed his pipe from his mouth. “You have a lively mind.”
“I’m sorry. I have an inquisitive nature.” I stopped talking, aware that I was in danger of letting slip who I really was.
“Thank you, Florence. That will be all. Have you anything else you would like to tell me about?”
“That is all, Inspector. I’ve only been here a short while, so I have very little information to enlighten you with, I’m afraid. I only knew Miss Sophia briefly, but she was an extremely pleasant and likeable young lady who had a bright future ahead of her, and I… Oh, wait.”
“What is it?”
I realised I had forgotten to tell Inspector Trotter about my encounter with Sophia on the servants’ staircase. I described the incident to him, and he listened with a great deal of interest.
“Now this is rather intriguing,” he said. “Miss Sophia didn’t tell you where she’d been, or with whom?”
“No. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t feel it was my place to do so. I certainly wish I had now. And I also wish I had mentioned it to Mr and Mrs Glenville. She made me promise not to tell them.”
I realised her parents would most likely find out about the secret meeting now and would be angry with me for not having mentioned it.
“And you think this was something she did regularly?”
“That was the impression she gave. I can’t say I’m right, however, as she didn’t specifically mention that she had done so before.”
The inspector sat back in his chair and inspected the bowl of his pipe. This was clearly new information to him. Was I the only person to know that Sophia had done such a thing?
“I must add something else which happened after I encountered Miss Sophia on the servants’ staircase.”
I told the inspector about the footsteps I’d heard, and the opening and closing of Maisie’s door.
“Hmm. Also interesting,” he said as he laboriously wrote it down. “And from the way Miss Sophia spoke with you that evening, do you think it’s fair to assume that she had no wish to marry Master Lombard?”
“She seemed quite angry and upset at the mention of his name. I assumed at the time that she had just met with a man she truly loved.”
“And you have no idea as to his identity?”
“None. She mentioned that she might be willing to tell me more in the future, but we never found a chance to have another conversation on the matter.”
“So you think it would be fair to say that Miss Sophia was unhappy about her engagement to Master Lombard?”
“Her demeanour certainly suggested that to me.”
“So it seems we have a young woman who appeared happy to those around her, but in reality harboured animosity towards the man who was to be her husband,” said the inspector, his attention fixed on his notebook.
Then he looked up at me. “Did Miss Sophia explain why she didn’t wish to marry Master Lombard?”
“Not at all. She refused to be drawn on the subject.”
“Interesting. Very interesting. Thank you for your time, Florence. You’ve been most helpful. You are free to leave.”
Chapter 23
I went to fetch Inspector Trotter some more tea, and when I returned to the library I could hear voices through the closed door.
“You have witnessed arguments between Miss Sophia and her brother and sister, Mr Perrin?” asked the inspector.
“I have, sir.”
“Can you elaborate any further?”
“I would describe the arguments as little more than squabbling, sir. Quite natural, and not unusual among young people.”
“So the arguments in the family didn’t concern you?”
“No, sir.”
“Did Miss Sophia argue much with her parents?”
