The Bermondsey Poisoner

by Emily Organ

  Mr Childers’ lower lip began to protrude. “But Uncle…” he said tentatively.

  “Thank you for all your help, boy,” wheezed Mr Conway, patting him on the shoulder.

  I was unable to suppress a smile at the proprietor’s use of the word boy.

  “You stepped in when it was needed, and I’m quite sure the staff at the West London Mercury will be pleased to have you back with them again.”

  I felt a warm flood of relief in my chest to hear that the Morning Express offices could finally return to normal.

  Mr Childers glanced at each of us in turn. “I see. My return to the Mercury is immediate, is it?”

  “Why not, Crispin? Today is as good as any other day.”

  “Well, it’s been a pleasure working here,” he said, giving each of us a nod.

  “Don’t forget your report,” I said, handing it back to him. “It’s probably quite interesting if you live in west London. I would say that it is of less interest to readers in the rest of the metropolis.”

  His lip rose in a sneer and everyone remained silent as he left the room.

  “Cheerio, Mr Childers!” called Edgar as the door closed behind him.

  Mr Conway sighed. “The boy’s mother will no doubt be calling round this evening to box my ears. I’d better pre-empt the event with a telegram. I’ll leave you in charge here, Sherman. Good to have you back. That lawyer’s a fine chap, isn’t he? Money well spent, I’d say.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Mr Sherman shook his head as Mr Conway left the room. “We’ve lost a lot of readers in just two weeks. We need to get them back again. You all know what to do, so let’s get moving. Miss Green, go and find out what the hapless police are doing about the Bermondsey poisoner. Henry told me about the hotchpotch in court yesterday.”

  “It was far from perfect, sir. Please pass on my gratitude to your brother. Hopefully Miss Chadwick’s predicament will be better understood now.”

  “I will do. Now get on with it.”

  “It’s good to have you back—”

  The door slammed closed behind him before I had finished my sentence.

  Chapter 45

  I travelled to Bermondsey police station, and when I stepped inside I found Maggie polishing the reception desk.

  “Busy innit, Miss Green? They’re so busy all the time these police officers. Everyone’s been comin’ an’ goin’ today.”

  “Is Inspector Blakely here, Maggie?” I asked.

  “Gone down Lambeth station to see Inspector Austen, ’e ’as.”

  “Thank you. You’re helping to keep track of everyone, are you?”

  “I does what I can ter ’elp!” she said with a smile.

  Sergeant Richards joined us. “It seems you were right about the woman we had in custody,” he said. “Her name is Molly Coutts.”

  “Did she speak to you?”

  “No, but her mother came down here yesterday. She was relieved to have finally found her; the poor woman had been worried silly.”

  “The mother travelled here from Chislehurst?”

  “No, it turns out Molly and her family are from Bermondsey. Her mother had received word about a woman matching Molly’s description being held here.”

  “Then Molly is from this area after all. Why didn’t she speak up?”

  Sergeant Richards shrugged. “I don’t know. She seemed frightened to me.”

  “And she looked it. But even so you’d have thought the girl would have made some attempt to defend herself. At least she is safely home now, and hopefully recovering from her ordeal.”

  I remembered how fearful Molly had looked inside the police cell. We had five dreadful crimes on our hands and two young women who appeared to have been implicated and intimidated by a third party.

  “There have been a number of supposed sightings of Catherine in the Vauxhall area,” said James when I caught up with him at Lambeth police station.

  He looked less pale than he had, but still appeared rather tired. I could tell that he had returned to work without giving himself enough time to recuperate, though I could understand why he had done so. He was as desperate as I was to have the case resolved.

  “The difficulty we have is in deciding which sightings to follow up on,” he added.

  “There will no doubt be a number of time-wasters,” added Inspector Austen, his face looking redder than ever, “but we have hundreds of men out on the streets, and we’ve drafted in help from Walworth, Clapham and Battersea.”

  “Surely it’s only a matter of time before she’s found,” I said.

  “We certainly hope so,” said James. “I’m worried she may have run off to Kent again.”

  “How can you be sure that Catherine Curran ever ran off to Kent?” I asked. “The only evidence we have are the reported sightings.”

  “And that’s all the evidence we can go on.”

  “But perhaps the sightings were incorrect?”

  “Some will have been, but you spoke to a lady yourself on the Old Kent Road who said ‘Jane Taylor’ had stayed with her. And she stayed at that pub on the riverfront, didn’t she?”

  “Someone stayed at that pub.”

  “What are you suggesting, Penny?” asked James.

  “What if it was Molly Coutts who stayed at that pub? Perhaps she also stayed at the lodgings on the Old Kent Road. Suppose Catherine Curran coerced Molly into pretending that she was Catherine on the run from the police? The two women bear a striking resemblance to one another, and it served as an extremely effective distraction. While everyone was chasing about after Molly, Catherine was able to concentrate on disrupting the inquiries being made in London.”

  “Namely the murders of Inspector Martin and Benjamin Taylor.”

  “Exactly!”

  Inspector Austen shook his head. “I don’t think she can have coerced anyone else to pretend to be her. After all, she must have known that the girl’s true identity would eventually be discovered.”

  “She almost certainly knew that, but Molly has kept everyone off her trail for more than three weeks! And that allowed her to kill another two men.”

  “You may be right, Penny,” said James, “but I wish I could understand what sort of hold Catherine has over Sally and Molly to make them agree to do her bidding.”

  “She chose meek, naive women; the sort who would be suggestible. She most likely intimidated them and perhaps even bribed them.”

  “She possibly used blackmail,” added Inspector Austen. “In some cases the threat of telling someone else a piece of harmful information is enough to persuade the victim to do something they normally wouldn’t do.”

  “That makes sense,” said James. “And if it’s true, Catherine Curran is even more scheming than we first thought.”

  I remained in Lambeth for a while to assist with the search. I called in at various shops and public houses, and wrote down the details of any possible sightings in my notebook. Many people claimed to have seen her, adding credence to Inspector Austen’s theory that a significant number had to be time-wasters.

  At the end of the afternoon, James and I travelled by horse tram up to Westminster Bridge. The tram stopped close to St Thomas’ Hospital, and from there we walked across the bridge toward the Houses of Parliament. A warm wind blew upstream, carrying the smoke from the steamboats with it.

  “I found your telegram,” said James. “Charlotte apologised for not having shown it to me.”

  “I’m pleased that you received it in the end,” I said. “Not that it was particularly interesting. I kept the wording simple as I suspected Charlotte would read it.”

  James smiled.

  “I was quite worried about you,” I continued. “I thought you might have been poisoned.”

  “So did I for a while!” He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so sick in my life.”

  “Perhaps you were.”

  “Poisoned?”

  “When did you first begin to feel unwell?”

&n
bsp; “It was after Charles Martin’s funeral. I assumed it was due to something I had eaten or drunk there.”

  “It may well have been,” I said. “Did you leave your drink unattended at any time?”

  “No,” said James, before pausing to consider. “I don’t think so, anyway. I did have a few drinks, and I have to say that everything was rather hazy by the end of the day. I suppose it is quite likely that I left my drink unattended at some point.”

  “So someone could possibly have tipped poison into it?”

  “It’s possible, but extremely unlikely. Are you suggesting that Catherine was there?”

  “She might have been. How many people were at the wake?”

  “Mostly those who attended the funeral service. Apart from you, Penny.”

  “I decided to leave you to spend time with your colleagues.”

  “Catherine couldn’t possibly have been there,” he said, “or someone would have noticed her. And surely she wouldn’t have been so brazen, would she?”

  “Possibly not in a room filled with police officers! Perhaps you weren’t poisoned after all. I suppose I’m becoming rather preoccupied with arsenic.”

  “That’s not so surprising, Penny.”

  He glanced behind him, as if looking for someone in particular.

  “Is something the matter?” I asked.

  “No, I just feel rather on edge, if truth be told. Ever since I returned to work I’ve had the odd sensation that I am being watched.”

  I looked behind us and then across the road to the other side of the bridge. I found myself looking for a petite, fair-haired woman, but I couldn’t see anyone who matched Catherine’s description.

  “I still feel a bit odd from the illness,” said James. “It’s probably just my imagination playing tricks on me.”

  “I think you should trust your instincts,” I said.

  “I’m not quite sure what they’re telling me at the moment. I feel as though two days of lying in bed unwell has robbed me of my senses.”

  “Being tended to by Charlotte.”

  “I detest being tended to! There is nothing worse than being reliant on another human being for your everyday needs.”

  “It can’t be helped if you’re unwell.”

  “I realise that, but I’m a terrible patient. Poor Charlotte has had to put up with quite a lot of nonsense from me.”

  “Perhaps that’s why she hid the telegram I sent.”

  “She didn’t hide it; she just didn’t give it to me.”

  “It’s almost the same thing.”

  “You’re right. It’s tantamount to the same thing, isn’t it? It’s no secret that she feels envious about our working relationship.”

  “And that’s not really surprising.”

  “No, I suppose it’s not.”

  “What do you think she would do if she knew?” I asked pausing beside one of the ornate gas lamps on the bridge.

  “Knew about what?” He turned to face me.

  “In the Tower Subway. The kiss.”

  “Oh, that.” James scratched his temple.

  “Do you think she would still agree to marry you in two days’ time if she knew?”

  “Oh goodness, I don’t know.” He looked down at the ground. “Probably not, I suppose.” He looked up at me. “And I wouldn’t blame her.”

  “Me neither.”

  James’ eyes widened. “You wouldn’t tell her, would you?”

  I laughed. “Of course not. Why should I do that?”

  “To stop the wedding.”

  “I’ve done all I can on that front,” I replied as I continued walking across the bridge. “I wouldn’t stoop so low as to sabotage the day. There’s only one person who can change what happens on Saturday, James, and that’s you.”

  Chapter 46

  “Oh, there you are,” said my landlady, tying up her bonnet as I arrived home. “I’m just off out with Mrs Wilkinson. I’ve warmed up some pea soup for your tea. You’ll find the pot on the stove.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Garnett. Where are you headed?”

  “We’re going out to look for that Curran woman! I can’t believe she’s on the run again after escaping from her police cell.”

  “She didn’t escape.”

  “Then how did she get out again? Did they release her?”

  “No, they haven’t arrested her at all. They arrested the wrong person.”

  Mrs Garnett sucked her lip disapprovingly. “That’s the problem with the police. They’re getting worse and worse. It won’t be long before it’s down to normal, everyday citizens like you and me to keep the peace.”

  “Good luck with the search, Mrs Garnett.”

  “Do you want to come with us? I can wait five minutes while you have your soup.”

  “No, not this time. I have work to be getting on with.”

  “Work again, tsk. There will come a time when you realise you need to do something else to make a difference in this world. Life isn’t just about work, you know.”

  I forced a smile. “Thank you for your advice, Mrs Garnett. Don’t stay out too late.”

  “Mrs Wilkinson and I will stay together at all times. We’ll be quite safe.”

  I sat in my room and tried not to think about James’ impending wedding, but the more I tried to avoid these thoughts the more they invaded my mind. An image of Charlotte kept repeating itself in my mind. She was grinning from ear to ear while wearing her white wedding gown.

  Perhaps I should tell her the truth after all, I mused. I had assured James that I wouldn’t dream of ruining the wedding, but it was still within my power to do something to stop it.

  The thought was extremely tempting, but I wanted him to be the one to call off the wedding. If not, I would have to accept the fact that he didn’t care for me as much as I had hoped.

  A letter arrived the following morning, and it provided a welcome distraction from my thoughts about James’ wedding.

  Dearest Penny and Eliza,

  I have reached the shores of Colombia! I write this letter at a rudimentary train station in Salgar, from whence we are awaiting a train to Barranquilla. The train station consists of six simple mud huts and a number of pigs so lean that they resemble dogs. The natives are friendly, though clearly not accustomed to wearing much apparel. The heat in this part of the world is almost unbearable when wearing European fashion! There is some concern that air this warm may be infectious, so I shall take every precaution to ensure that I remain in good health.

  We are waiting for our luggage to be inspected by customs officials, and I am told that the train journey will last an hour through the thick jungle. I’m looking forward to some respite from my travels in Barranquilla. I will be staying at a small French hotel, which is, by all accounts, a pleasant and inexpensive place.

  From Barranquilla my journey will take me up the Magdalena River! I am enormously excited about the next stage of my expedition, when I shall begin to see more of this country your father clearly loved so much.

  I shall endeavour to update you on my search as often as the capricious postal system allows.

  I remain your loyal and trusting friend.

  With fondest regards,

  Francis Edwards

  I felt immensely relieved that Francis had arrived safely, and that his search for Father could finally begin in earnest. I also felt envious of him. I wished that I could travel through the jungle on a train and take a boat up the River Magdalena. Life in London held little appeal for me now that James was on the cusp of being married.

  Mrs Garnett joined me in the hallway.

  “Mr Edwards has arrived in Colombia!” I said with a jubilant smile.

  “Rather him than me,” she replied, running her feather duster over the mirror by the stairs.

  “You wouldn’t like to see Colombia?”

  “I’d like to see it, all right, but I don’t like boats. I can’t be doing with them. Even a steamboat on the Thames is too much for me.”

 
“You travelled to Britain from Africa by boat, did you not?”

  “That’s what has put me off for life! I was seven years old and it terrified me. I don’t like the sea, or anything in or on it.”

  “But you’d like to live in Margate, by the sea?”

  “Oh, I can look at it, all right. I’m happy with just looking at it. But don’t ask me to travel on it!”

  “I won’t, Mrs Garnett.”

  “So what does his letter say? Is he still lovesick?”

  “No, and I don’t think he ever was lovesick, as you describe it.” I showed her the letter.

  “Of course he was,” she replied, sucking her lip again as she took the letter from my hand. “You should have seen his face whenever he visited you here.”

  “I did see his face!”

  “Ah, but you didn’t properly see it. You didn’t notice the subtle expressions that dance across a man’s face when he’s in love.”

  “I didn’t see those, no. How did you get on with your search for Catherine Curran?”

  “No sign of her, but Mrs Wilkinson thinks she may be hiding out in some disused buildings close to the candle works in Lambeth. Do you know the ones I mean? Right by the railway arches and not far from Lambeth Palace. In fact, the Archbishop’s Gardens would be a good hiding place, wouldn’t they? She could probably find a way to get inside, and I shouldn’t think many people would go searching for her there.”

  “Apart from you and Mrs Wilkinson.”

  “I suppose we would need permission from the archbishop, wouldn’t we? Unless we were to sneak in. The gardens are so large he’d hardly notice us there. Mention it to the police, will you?”

  “I will, Mrs Garnett.”

  Chapter 47

  I walked along Fenchurch Street in the City with Francis’ letter in mind. Drizzle pattered onto my umbrella until I eventually found the place I was looking for. A panel above the polished wooden door was inscribed with ‘Edward Archdale and Co.’ in gold lettering.