by Emily Organ
“Apparently, the man was initially reluctant to meet in the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, but Wiggins insisted on it because he wanted to be in a place where there would be other people he knew. He felt wary of Evans; he didn’t feel sure he could trust him. He said the man was very generous in buying drinks. Wiggins admitted to me that he wasn’t a regular drinker, and on the odd occasion when he did partake, he didn’t drink much. But he said that after two drinks he began to feel rather odd.”
“Just two drinks,” I mused. “Do you think the man might have put something in them?”
“I suspect that he might have. He may well have administered a small dose of something which was enough to incapacitate Mr Wiggins but not cause him lasting harm. He says that his memory failed him for the remainder of that evening, and that he woke the next morning to find poor Elizabeth dead. At no point did he imagine that the stranger had anything to do with it. He blamed himself entirely.”
“I suppose we cannot be completely sure that Mr Evans committed the crime.”
“Not until we have managed to find the man himself. But it’s a fair assumption to make for the time being.”
“If Mr Evans approached Mr Wiggins a week before Elizabeth’s murder, the attack was clearly planned well in advance. But if Mr Evans did kill Elizabeth, I cannot understand his motive.”
“Me neither. I need to ask Elizabeth’s brother, John Morrison, if he has ever come across the man before. There is another option, of course.”
“Which is what?”
“That someone paid Mr Evans to carry out Elizabeth’s murder.”
“Why should they have done so?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But it may mean that our Mr Evans has done this sort of thing before. Evans may not even be his real name. I’ve sent a telegram out to all divisions asking if they are aware of any men for hire operating in their area. It may be that he’s known to the police. I have obtained a reasonable description of him from Mr O’Donnell. He describes him as a broad man wearing a long coat, so thankfully the description is similar to that given by the Whippet fellow.”
“So who could have paid Mr Evans to carry out the attack? Viscount Wyndham? Mr Lombard? Dudley Lombard?”
“Or Mr Glenville, perhaps.”
“But why?”
“I think why is the crucial question here, Penny. I need to find this Evans chap first. He may yet be an innocent man, after all. I wondered if the Morning Express might publish an appeal for information on the man. If he’s of the criminal fraternity, there may be someone he has fallen out with who would like to inform the police of his whereabouts.”
“Certainly. I should be happy to, James.”
I glanced at my colleagues. They had lost interest in our conversation and were busy talking about cricket. I took the opportunity to whisper an apology to James for jumping out of the cab and walking away.
“There is no need to apologise, Penny,” he replied quietly. “I shouldn’t have laughed at you in that manner.”
“It’s because you don’t like Glenville,” I said. “But I don’t mind that. You’re allowed to dislike him.”
“And you like him,” said James.
“I don’t suppose we can agree on everything, can we?”
He smiled. “No. Not until we can be certain of the truth. I’ll keep you informed, Penny.”
A messenger boy delivered a telegram to me the following week. It was from James. His message instructed me to meet him, Inspector Cullen and Inspector Trotter at the Glenville house the following day. They were ready to make an arrest.
Chapter 46
I approached the house in Hyde Park Gate with trepidation. Twelve days had passed since I had left and I’d hoped I should never have to return. Who did James intend to arrest? I had barely slept the previous night for thinking about it.
It was a warm spring afternoon and I wore my blue linen jacket with a lace collar and a matching linen skirt. As I drew closer to the house, I saw the short form of Viscount Wyndham and his petite wife walking up the steps to the door. I paused to watch them.
Were they James’ suspects? Was he to arrest both or just one of them? If so, which?
I took a deep breath and continued walking. Mrs Craughton had already shown the Wyndhams into the house by the time I reached the door. She held it open for me as I climbed the steps, looking me up and down as I approached. I realised she was unaccustomed to seeing me in everyday clothes.
“How are you, Mrs Craughton?”
“You’ll find them in the library,” she replied sullenly.
The curtains in the house were still closed, but the gas lamps lit the way. When I reached the library, I was surprised by the number of people present. I could see the Glenville family and the Lombards. Viscount and Lady Wyndham were just taking their seats. Extra chairs had been brought into the room from the drawing room.
I caught Mr Glenville’s eye. He glanced at me briefly before looking away. I cautiously approached him.
“I apologise if you think my behaviour deceitful,” I said.
He rested his dark eyes on me and pursed his lips together.
“You may have noticed that nothing untoward has been written in the Morning Express,” I continued. “I have been respectful of your privacy and the tragic events which occurred while I was working here.”
“Do you wish me to congratulate you?” he asked bitterly.
“No. I only wish to explain myself.”
I found a space to stand by the wall, not far from Mr Perrin and a newly appointed maid. Mrs Glenville was seated by the fire with Jane, her face veiled. Maurice sat on a chair by the window and the Lombard family sat silently on a row of three chairs. There was no sign of Tipsy the dog. Nor was there any sign of James. My stomach turned uncomfortably.
What was James planning?
He arrived a few moments later, accompanied by the barrel-shaped Inspector Trotter and Chief Inspector Cullen, whose thick grey moustache masked his mouth. James looked handsome in his sombre dark suit, and he raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement when he caught my eye. I smiled.
Chief Inspector Cullen began the proceedings.
“Thank you all for gathering here at such short notice, and thank you Mr and Mrs Glenville for allowing my colleagues into your home again. I realise how difficult the past few weeks have been for you and your family. Hopefully, we won’t detain you for long. My colleagues Inspector Blakely and Inspector Trotter have almost completed their work on this investigation, and it has been far wider reaching than any of us could have envisaged. I will hand over to my colleague at Scotland Yard, Inspector James Blakely, who has some further information for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said James, stepping forward. “I echo Chief Inspector Cullen’s thanks to you all for gathering here today. It is a little over two weeks since Miss Sophia tragically lost her life. And as we remember her, I would also like to acknowledge a girl and another woman who have also passed away in recent weeks. The first is Maisie Brown, and the second is Elizabeth Wiggins, known to many of you as Betsy. Both worked as maids in this household.”
He paused to allow for a respectful silence, then continued.
“Everyone who was present at Miss Sophia’s birthday celebration is here today, with the sad exception of Miss Sophia and Maisie. Viscount Wyndham, was it a surprise to you and your wife to receive an invitation to Miss Sophia’s birthday dinner? I understand your relationship with Mr Glenville had soured prior to the event.”
“That’s rather overstating it, Inspector,” stated Mr Glenville. “But I will admit that Wyndham and I hadn’t seen eye to eye, and I felt it was time to make amends.”
“Is that your understanding of the situation, Viscount Wyndham?” asked James.
“Well, I suppose so. There’s no need to make a fuss over the matter, though. What does it have to do with anything?”
“Let us consider now the cyanide with which Miss Sophia was poisoned,” continued James. “An empt
y packet of the poison was found tucked behind the cushion of one of the chairs in the drawing room. It was ascertained that both Viscount Wyndham and Mrs Lombard sat upon that chair on the evening of Miss Sophia’s death.”
As I watched James, I thought back to the moment we had first met on the steps of the British Library and how young and awkward he had seemed then. He seemed older and more assured now. I felt proud of him.
“I know what you’re going to say next, Inspector!” Viscount Wyndham interjected. “Because I’m a photographer, I use potassium of cyanide on a regular basis. Therefore, I must have taken some of the supply from my dark room and brought it into this house in order to poison Miss Sophia. I cannot deny that there is some logic behind the suggestion, Inspector, but you’re lacking a motive. Why should I poison the poor girl?”
“In revenge for the way Maurice has been overlooked,” suggested James.
Lady Wyndham shrieked and covered her delicate features with her gloved hands.
“I beg your pardon, Inspector?” Wyndham cried out, jumping up from his chair. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Maurice, the only male heir in the Glenville family, was overlooked in favour of his sister,” said James. “Despite the common perception that the boy is an idiot or a lunatic of some sort, both you and I know, Wyndham, that he is more than capable of inheriting his father’s fortune.”
“Yes, he is!” said Wyndham. “He is very capable of doing so, and over the years my wife and I have spent a great deal of time with the boy. He was lucky to escape an institution, but that doesn’t mean that those in the Glenville household have had any time for him. The boy is continually ignored by them!”
“He is not!” objected Mrs Glenville, her face still hidden behind her mourning veil.
“Yes he is, Camilla! And as a childless man, I relished the opportunity to play a fatherly role. Alexander and Camilla didn’t like me doing so, Inspector, because I apparently undermine their role as parents. That’s the argument that led to our estrangement. But you still managed to visit us a few times, didn’t you, Maurice?”
The boy nodded in reply.
“But if you think that means I killed Miss Sophia, I’m extremely worried about the state of law and order in this country!” said Wyndham.
“Viscount Wyndham, I have more to say yet,” said James calmly. “Please take your seat.”
“But you have accused my husband of murder!” Lady Wyndham cried out.
“I have accused him of nothing, my lady, I merely stated that he had a motive for Miss Sophia’s murder.”
Viscount Wyndham stared at James for a while longer, then slowly sat down.
Chapter 47
“Miss Sophia Glenville was engaged to be married to Master Dudley Lombard,” said James. “However, it is no secret to anyone now that she harboured feelings for another man.”
I glanced over at Dudley, whose droopy features were turned down toward the floor. His mother’s face was so stern that it might have been hewn from granite.
“Miss Sophia was in love with a gentleman called Mr John Morrison,” said James. “The brother of Elizabeth Wiggins, known as Betsy during her time here.”
“What?” Lady Wyndham called out. “In love with the maid’s brother?”
Mr Glenville shook his head.
“Wasn’t Betsy a negro?” asked Lady Wyndham. “Which can only mean that her brother is also a negro!” Her mouth hung open in a mixture of shock and amusement.
Dudley Lombard and his parents looked thoroughly downcast.
“Miss Sophia and Mr Morrison had been meeting in secret for approximately six months,” continued James. “Their last meeting before Miss Sophia’s death was on Wednesday the twenty-sixth of March, three days before Miss Sophia died. Although the two met clandestinely, their relationship was no secret. Mr and Mrs Glenville were aware of the relationship, as was the housekeeper Mrs Craughton, and Mr and Mrs Lombard.”
A number of glances were exchanged, but no one spoke.
“Mr and Mrs Lombard found out about the assignations because Mrs Craughton wrote them a letter informing them of it. Can you explain why you did so, Mrs Craughton?” asked James.
“They needed to know,” replied the housekeeper with a scowl. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but the girl was being deceitful. I was trying to help the Lombard family.”
“You had not been asked by the Lombard family to spy on Miss Sophia and report back?”
“No!”
“That is most interesting, because someone was tasked with spying on Miss Sophia. I shall get to that shortly. Mr and Mrs Lombard, the letter from Mrs Craughton must have caused some anger in your household?”
“Yes!” said Dudley, standing up. There were blotches of red on his cheeks. “I was the one who was angry! She was supposed to be my wife!”
His outburst surprised me. I wasn’t aware that Dudley had known about the letter.
His lower lip began to quiver. “She didn’t even apologise to me! She just stood and stared, as if I meant nothing to her!”
“You confronted Miss Sophia regarding the letter?” asked James.
“Yes! I expected an explanation and an apology! But there was nothing. She had a cold, cold heart.”
“Why didn’t you mention this in our interviews, Master Lombard?”
“It wasn’t relevant.” He sat down in his seat again.
“You should have been honest with the detectives!” Ralph Lombard hissed at his son. “You should have spoken up sooner and saved your embarrassment now. You’ve made a fool of yourself.”
James addressed Ralph Lombard. “So concerned were you, Mr Lombard, about Miss Sophia’s infidelity that you suggested a marriage with Miss Sophia’s sister, Miss Jane, did you not?”
Jane Glenville stared at Ralph Lombard, but he averted his eyes from hers and cleared his throat. “Alexander and I had a brief discussion about it, but it came to nothing. It was never a serious conversation, you must understand.”
“He propositioned me!” Jane piped up.
“Who did, Miss Jane?” James questioned.
“Master Dudley. He asked me if I would be his wife!”
The blotches spread further across Dudley’s face, and Mr Glenville glared at him.
“You propositioned my fifteen-year-old daughter?” he asked angrily.
“Now hold on, Glenville,” said Ralph Lombard, standing to his feet. “It was merely a thought Dudley had after the conversation we had. His intention wasn’t serious at any point. You must remember that he was extremely hurt by Miss Sophia’s betrayal.”
“You should have kept her under control,” Mary Lombard added coldly.
“How dare you!” cried Mrs Glenville, rising unsteadily to her feet.
“Perhaps a plan was being hatched between the two families,” Viscount Wyndham chipped in. “Miss Sophia had behaved dishonourably, so maybe they decided it would be preferable to have the alliance founded on a more conventional marriage between Dudley and Jane.”
Mr Lombard and Mr Glenville turned on him simultaneously.
“Watch yourself, Wyndham!” warned Mr Glenville.
“Apologise for your remarks!” added Mr Lombard.
Inspector Cullen stepped forward. “Now, now, gentlemen. You must calm yourselves. Tempers are running high.”
“How dare he say such a thing?” said Ralph Lombard. “Wyndham knows he’s the chief suspect, as he was the one caught with the cyanide. We have to watch him. He’ll say and do anything to have the finger pointed at someone else!”
“Let us change the topic of conversation to Maisie,” James suggested. “She joined this household a year ago, and was a chatty, carefree girl. However, she was devastated by Miss Sophia’s death, not only because she had got on well with her mistress, but also because she feared she hadn’t done her job properly.”
He paused and looked around the room, as if gauging everyone’s reaction to this statement. “Maisie was not only paid for her
work as a maid. She was also paid to follow Miss Sophia’s every move.”
Mrs Glenville laughed. “How ridiculous, Inspector!”
“It explains why Miss Green heard Maisie’s door close not long after Miss Green had encountered Miss Sophia on the servants’ staircase on the night of the twenty-sixth of March. Maisie had been tasked with following Miss Sophia that evening.”
Everyone turned to look at me.
“Did you actually see her?” Mr Glenville asked me.
“No, but I heard her door close,” I replied. “It must have been her. I can’t think who else it could have been.”
“I’ll admit that we paid the maid to follow Sophia,” said Mr Glenville. “Camilla and I were worried about our daughter. We wanted to know where she was going, and with whom she was meeting. Sophia had unconventional notions about the world, and we were concerned that she was keeping company with the wrong sorts of people. Mrs Lombard helpfully told us a few moments back that we needed to keep Sophia under control. I can assure everyone here that we endeavoured to do so.”
James nodded. “Thank you, Mr Glenville, for the clarification. An inquest has been opened into Maisie’s death, and is currently awaiting further evidence about what happened to her on the night she died. It seems the girl wrote a short note, then threw herself down from the top of the servants’ stairwell. Her death appears to have been a suicide; however, there are several factors which make me doubt this.
“Firstly, Maisie was illiterate and would have been incapable of writing a note. Secondly, Miss Green heard footsteps shortly after Maisie fell, which suggests that someone left the scene of her death. If that person witnessed her fall, why have they not come forward to explain what they saw? I can only guess that the reason they have remained silent is that the person in question murdered her. Maisie had scratches on her arms, which may have occurred during a struggle with the person who pushed her.
