Authors: The Companion
Ann Granger (30 page)
‘Well,’ I panted to Fletcher, ‘if you want the diary, you will have to go and search for it. It is in that purse.’
He swore and hesitated. I realised his dilemma. In the obscurity, he could hardly hope to find the purse quickly, if he were lucky enough to find it at all before the fog lifted. Then there would be a chance another might get there before him: a lost purse soon acquires a finder in a London street.
But my plan for escape had failed. He did not rush off into the gloom but held me even more tightly by the arm.
‘That was foolish, Miss Martin,’ he said. ‘I shall have to go and hunt for it, of course. But I cannot allow you to wander around in this weather until someone finds you and directs you to your friend, Ross. Come!’
He hauled me forward and I stumbled beside him up some steps. He was searching in his pocket and produced some keys. Still keeping his tight and painful grip on my arm, he began to unlock the door before us.
I let out a cry for help but he only said brusquely, ‘There is no
one to hear you. They are all waiting for the fog to lift and keeping well indoors.’
one to hear you. They are all waiting for the fog to lift and keeping well indoors.’
His own door was open now – I assumed this to be his house – and he pushed me ahead of him and slammed the door behind us.
‘Go on!’ he commanded, propelling me ahead of him down the dark hallway.
I stumbled along as best I could, colliding with pieces of furniture, until we went through a doorway. Fletcher closed the door behind us and I heard a key turn in the lock.
‘One moment,’ he said.
I waited as he moved away from me in the gloom. There was a rasp of a safety match and a soft light glowed, bathing the room. He had lit an oil lamp. I saw that we were in what appeared to be a dining room, though not one much in use. A smell of undisturbed dust hung in the air and the room had a forlorn appearance. There was furniture by way of a table and a set of chairs but apart from that only a single small cupboard. I noticed no pictures or ornaments nor any sign of tableware.
Fletcher turned towards me and I could now see that he had lost his hat somewhere between the street and here. His hair tumbled untidily over his forehead. His face was white and strained and the lenses of his spectacles did not disguise the wildness in his eyes. If anything, their glitter made it worse. I realised with sinking heart that I could never reason with him.
‘You killed poor Madeleine,’ I accused him. There was nothing to be gained now by anything but bluntness. I was afraid but I told myself it would be a mistake to show it. He too, I guessed, was afraid. I had seen a cornered rat in Mary Newling’s kitchen long ago. Its terror had made it all the more dangerous. Mary had despatched it with a blow from an iron saucepan. There wasn’t a single thing in this desolate room that I could seize as a weapon.
Fletcher, faced with my air of resolve, looked shifty and momentarily uncertain.
‘She brought it about herself!’ he defended himself at last in a sulky tone.
‘She carried your child. In killing her you killed your child too! And you blame her, the victim? You are not only a common murderer but a coward. How could she have brought it about herself?’
‘I would have paid her to go away and give birth to the child somewhere. It would have been placed in an orphanage and she could have returned to the world with no one the wiser. Not to Dorset Square, of course. But I would have helped her find another situation.’ His tone was still sullen as if he knew the flaws in his reasoning were obvious.
‘How could she return to ordinary life? The gap of some months most be accounted for. And what of her feelings? She was in love with you!’
‘She was a stupid little nonentity with her mind full of ridiculous nonsense culled from the books she read,’ he retorted.
‘But you didn’t hesitate to take advantage of that!’ I flung back at him.
‘She was willing,’ he said coldly.
‘She thought you would marry her.’
‘Pah!’ he turned his head away, as if to avoid the scorn on my face. His voice when he spoke next had gained a wheedling tone as if he begged me to believe his excuses – which he had no doubt been telling himself to justify his unspeakable actions. ‘How could I do that? I am an ambitious man. What kind of a wife would she have made me? Besides, I am already engaged to a young lady who will be exactly the kind of wife I require and I don’t mean to let anything come in the way of it.’
‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you started your sordid affair with Madeleine.’
He paused for a moment and then said simply, ‘It was so easy.’
I had once described Madeleine’s killer to Ross as a ‘monster’. Ross had replied that although he had met some monsters in his
career, he had met more frightened men driven to murder. I could see now that Fletcher was such a man, but that did not make what he had done less horrible or inexcusable or the threat to me less real.
career, he had met more frightened men driven to murder. I could see now that Fletcher was such a man, but that did not make what he had done less horrible or inexcusable or the threat to me less real.
‘Marriage?’ he said now thoughtfully, almost as if to himself. ‘She would have nothing but marriage.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Even when I made it clear I’d never marry her, she held to it. Even at the very end …’ His voice tailed away.
Even at the very end, when starved exhausted Madeleine had been his prisoner, bullied and threatened, perhaps part of the time drugged to keep her quiet when Fletcher wasn’t there, she had clung to her dream.
‘She had nothing else,’ I told him. ‘She was without family or friends; she had no money and no prospects. Her life was one of bravely borne despair. But then you opened a window for her into the world of her daydreams in which she was happy. How could you expect her to close it again? To what would she have returned?’
He shook his head violently as if he would shake my words from his hearing. When he looked at me again I saw his expression was calmer but no less frightening. It had gained a resolve in it which struck a chill into me. Madeleine had looked into those eyes and seen her death there. I was doing the same. Madeleine, by that time more than half driven out of her mind by his ill treatment, had retreated into her private world of the imagination in which she had both marriage and happiness and refused to leave it. But I was not Madeleine.
‘You cannot leave my body in Agar Town,’ I said to him, I hoped in a controlled tone.
‘I am aware of that!’ His voice cracked on the last word. ‘I shall leave it here.’
‘In this house?’ Prepared for almost anything as I was, that took me aback.
‘I cannot move you out of it, alive or dead.’ He paused, frowned and seemed to be considering his problem. ‘I shall bury you here,’
he said at last in the tone of one who has solved a conundrum. ‘Damn it, it will be a difficult task but not impossible. But first I need to retrieve the diary you threw into the street. Come along!’
he said at last in the tone of one who has solved a conundrum. ‘Damn it, it will be a difficult task but not impossible. But first I need to retrieve the diary you threw into the street. Come along!’
He strode towards me and dragged me to the door which he unlocked with one hand, still holding my arm in a painful grip with the other. Together we stumbled out into the hall again. Beneath the stairs there was a narrow wooden door. Fletcher yanked it open and hauled me forward.
I saw the top of a flight of wooden steps going downwards and realised it was a cellar. I could not escape from a living tomb – and tomb it would be. My body would be concealed in a hole hacked in the floor or bricked up into a wall. He was a man who spent his career on building sites. He could obtain the bricks. He probably had a fair knowledge of how it was done from watching the labourers at work.
All this churned through my head as I struggled. He thrust me through the door and I was forced to fling out both hands to try and save myself from flying head first down the stair into the darkness below.
Ben Ross
I BURST into Dunn’s office in such a manner that he leapt to his feet in some alarm.
‘Good heavens, Ross!’ he exclaimed. ‘Whatever is the matter, man?’
‘Fletcher, sir!’ I told him. ‘I must have a warrant for the arrest of Fletcher!’
‘Fletcher? What’s he done now?’ Dunn scowled at me. ‘See here, Inspector, the man has been as much a nuisance to me as to you but I hardly think he has done enough to get himself arrested.’
‘He has killed Madeline Hexham,’ I retorted, ‘I am sure of it. And Adams too, yes, yes, he killed Adams.’
At this Dunn opened his mouth, closed it again, sat down in his chair, put his broad countryman’s hands flat on the top of his desk and finally said, ‘Explain yourself.’
I sat down on the very edge of the chair facing the desk and leaned forward, the words pouring from me. ‘From the start he has obstructed us and tried to persuade us to leave that demolition site. He organised the removal of the body before I got there. All of this he did ostensibly in the name of the railway company, but I believe it was done for his sake and not for the sake of any delay to the work. To be able to say it was done in the name of his employers has been very convenient for him. There are so many
things now which should have roused my suspicion that I am embarrassed to think I didn’t consider him seriously before. Of course, I knew it must be someone with some knowledge of the site. But Fletcher, by his very visibility if I may so describe it, by his constant presence and the noise he made, somehow deflected me from considering him as a murderer who normally would be seeking anonymity and to hide himself from us.
things now which should have roused my suspicion that I am embarrassed to think I didn’t consider him seriously before. Of course, I knew it must be someone with some knowledge of the site. But Fletcher, by his very visibility if I may so describe it, by his constant presence and the noise he made, somehow deflected me from considering him as a murderer who normally would be seeking anonymity and to hide himself from us.
‘I suppose it was when Lizzie, I mean Miss Martin—’
Dunn’s bushy eyebrows twitched but he said nothing.
‘When she told me that Fletcher and Mrs Parry were known to one another and that he had visited that house, it was then I began to see him differently, if you like. It drew him into the picture and it worried me that he hadn’t even mentioned it, let alone the possibility that he might have met Madeleine there on previous visits. He was gambling it wouldn’t come out. He reckoned Mrs Parry wouldn’t talk much about how close she was to the building going on at Agar Town. No one wants to be known as a slum landlord and after Madeleine’s body was found there, she liked even less the idea that people would associate her with the place. So he was pretty sure his name wouldn’t come up via her. But he didn’t know about Miss Martin and it must have given him a shock when she walked in that day and found him at lunch with her employer. He didn’t know she’d tell me, but he realised she might mention it somewhere and someone would pass it on.
‘I believe that at first he had Madeleine hidden somewhere other than Agar Town, some private house most likely. His own, perhaps. He is a man of some substance, with plans to marry well, and I dare say he has thought about buying a property. After a while it became dangerous to keep her there any longer and he moved her to Agar Town. I believe he had decided by then that she must die. But he could not do this without some help and the person whose help he sought was the foreman, Adams.’
I had been hurrying my explanation fearing Dunn would stop
me; but he showed no sign of doing so and I was able to slow my speech and take the points more calmly.
me; but he showed no sign of doing so and I was able to slow my speech and take the points more calmly.
‘Fletcher probably knew Adams of old and knew him to be without scruple, if the money were right. From Adams’s point of view, to help Fletcher would stand him in good stead, should difficulties arise at his place of work. Whatever he did in the future, Fletcher would protect him. There would be no fear he would ever be dismissed from his job, for as long as Fletcher remained clerk of the works. They would be bound to one another, obliged to protect one another. So somehow Madeleine was moved, probably in a drugged state, to Agar Town. That would explain why she had taken no food during the last days of her life. I know I cannot prove it, Mr Dunn, yet I think I am more or less right.’
‘More or less is not good enough,’ growled Dunn.
‘I have been speaking to Constable Biddle, sir,’ I said. I repeated what Biddle had told me. ‘Fletcher saw Biddle climbing down into that cellar where, I believe, he had Madeleine hidden prior to her death and, indeed, murdered her. He could not be sure there might not be some clue revealed by daylight flooding into it. Something he might have dropped, perhaps. He couldn’t risk it. He hurried over there, hoping to persuade Biddle to abandon his descent. But Biddle was set on exploring the cellar and Fletcher panicked, reacting instinctively and causing the lad to fall. It was foolish but if Biddle were injured and forced to retire from the scene it is likely blame would fall on the constable and Fletcher would get away with it.’
‘Panic,’ said Dunn thoughtfully. ‘It would be a foolish thing for him to do, but if he panicked, he might do it.’
‘Yes, sir, but it was his behaviour at Limehouse,’ I repeated, ‘which should have alerted me. I think Adams became greedy, suggested in some way that Fletcher should remember he was beholden to him and should show his gratitude with some tangible gift. Or Fletcher may simply have decided that he couldn’t trust
Adams and the foreman must die. He arranged to meet the man in Limehouse on Friday evening. Fletcher went there disguised. They drank, Fletcher moderately but ensuring his companion drank freely. He may even have dropped some drug into his ale. I wish it had been Carmichael who conducted the postmortem!
Adams and the foreman must die. He arranged to meet the man in Limehouse on Friday evening. Fletcher went there disguised. They drank, Fletcher moderately but ensuring his companion drank freely. He may even have dropped some drug into his ale. I wish it had been Carmichael who conducted the postmortem!
‘However, Adams was pushed or tripped or somehow caused to fall into the river and either in his drunken state could not save himself, or Fletcher stood by with a stave to push him back in or hold him under. He then went home, trusting to his disguise, to the protection of the fog which shrouded the waterside at night, and the natural inclination of the local inhabitants to turn a blind eye to anything which might bring the police to the area.
‘He thought he’d got rid of the man. But when he went to the site the following morning to his horror he found me there asking for Adams. When I told him I intended to go to Adams’s lodgings to try and find out what had happened to explain the foreman’s disappearance, Fletcher was faced with a dilemma. He didn’t want to return to Limehouse so soon. But if he didn’t go with me, he would not know what I discovered. So he came. His behaviour, in retrospect, was odd. He fussed a great deal over his safety yet he led me down the street and stopped before that lodging house in a way which should have suggested to me he had been there before. He covered his face with his handkerchief as soon as the landlady opened the door to us. He kept it covered the whole time we were there, supposedly against the evil odours of the place but in reality because he feared recognition, for all his disguise on his previous visit. But most of all it was his attitude to the beggar.’
‘Beggar?’ asked Dunn. ‘Which beggar was this?’
‘A cripple, a self-proclaimed old soldier. He waited for us by the carriage and intercepted Fletcher, asking for alms. Fletcher had previously with clear reluctance given two shillings to Mrs Riley the landlady at my request. He continued to grumble about that on the way home. But yet, he gave money to the beggar. Why
such generosity? I then remembered the beggar’s words.’ I cleared my throat and recited them as I recalled them. ‘“You’re a fine gentleman, ain’t you, sir? You ain’t a peeler. I’m only trying to keep body and soul together. You understand, sir, don’t you?”’
such generosity? I then remembered the beggar’s words.’ I cleared my throat and recited them as I recalled them. ‘“You’re a fine gentleman, ain’t you, sir? You ain’t a peeler. I’m only trying to keep body and soul together. You understand, sir, don’t you?”’
‘Ah,’ said Dunn softly. ‘You think that either the beggar had recognised Fletcher or Fletcher, having a bad conscience, believed he did!’
‘Yes, sir, I do think it.’
Dunn leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. I waited impatiently. At last Dunn spoke.
‘We can’t arrest him on conjectures without evidence. You may well be right. But he is the sort of fellow who will have a good lawyer and if we cannot make the charges stick, we shall be not only in trouble, we shall be made objects of ridicule.’ He ran a hand through his thatch of hair. ‘Think of the gentlemen of the press!’ he said grimly.
‘But, sir—’
‘Now, now,’ said Dunn gently but in a manner which stopped me in my tracks. ‘You are a young man of great promise, Ross, and I don’t want to see you blight what might be an excellent career by a foolish and very public mistake. You have reached your present rank at an early age and I am one who would like to see you go further. So, listen to me. There is more than one way to skin a cat. From what you tell me of the incident with Biddle, Mr Fletcher is panicked by any unexpected development. Go and find Fletcher and ask him politely to come at once with you to the Yard as we wish to discuss the case with him. He may be suspicious but he will not refuse. After all, he has been here of his own free will almost daily making our lives a misery. It would look very odd in him to refuse now. When we get him here we’ll begin by discussing Adams and asking Fletcher questions about the man and his habits, and above all about his relationship with Fletcher. How long had Fletcher known him? Had he ever met with him other than at work? When we have him well and truly nervous
we’ll turn to his acquaintance with Mrs Parry and enquire how familiar he is with Dorset Square. Why has he never mentioned any of this to us? Is he sure he never met the deceased girl? He’ll know we are in a position to check that with Mrs Parry. If he admits he did meet her, we shall ask her why, then, he has not spoken up to say so. Did he not recognise her body? She was not so disfigured as to be unrecognisable. Did he know that Mrs Parry’s companion had been reported to the police as missing? Either he will bluster, become confused and crack – or he will hold firm, may even threaten us with his lawyer, and oblige us to let him walk out of here. We shall have men ready to follow him because, mark my words …’
we’ll turn to his acquaintance with Mrs Parry and enquire how familiar he is with Dorset Square. Why has he never mentioned any of this to us? Is he sure he never met the deceased girl? He’ll know we are in a position to check that with Mrs Parry. If he admits he did meet her, we shall ask her why, then, he has not spoken up to say so. Did he not recognise her body? She was not so disfigured as to be unrecognisable. Did he know that Mrs Parry’s companion had been reported to the police as missing? Either he will bluster, become confused and crack – or he will hold firm, may even threaten us with his lawyer, and oblige us to let him walk out of here. We shall have men ready to follow him because, mark my words …’
Dunn leaned forward with a wolfish grin. ‘By now he will be in a fine state and my belief is that if he’s guilty, he will cut and run. Then we’ll have him!’
‘It’s risky, sir,’ I dared to protest.
Dunn shook his tousled head. ‘No, no, he will run. I’m an old hand, Ross, and I’ve seen it before. He has gambled that we would never even think he might be our murderer. But just as he interpreted the words of the Limehouse cripple to mean he’d been recognised, and Constable Biddle’s curiosity to mean the lad had actually spotted something below in the cellar, so he’ll interpret our words to mean we are on to him. He’ll seek to save his skin. I believe it’s the only way we’ll get him; if we frighten him enough to break his nerve and make him bolt.’
Dunn leaned back in his chair again. ‘Well, well, why are you waiting here? You had better go out and find him,’ he advised me. ‘And issue a pressing invitation to him to join us.’
Elizabeth Martin
I would have fallen headlong and might well have broken some bones or even my neck but my hand, flailing in the empty air,
struck against a rickety rail. I grasped it with the desperation of a drowning man grabbing a floating spar and it saved me. Behind and above me the door was slammed shut. I heard the key turn. I was plunged into darkness, hanging awkwardly from the rail. My sweating fingers slowly released their grip and I sank down on to the steps beneath me where I sat panting, knowing that I had very little time to live.
struck against a rickety rail. I grasped it with the desperation of a drowning man grabbing a floating spar and it saved me. Behind and above me the door was slammed shut. I heard the key turn. I was plunged into darkness, hanging awkwardly from the rail. My sweating fingers slowly released their grip and I sank down on to the steps beneath me where I sat panting, knowing that I had very little time to live.
Fletcher would be on his way to search in the fog for my purse. With luck that would take him some while. But he might be lucky and stumble across it and then he’d see the diary was not in it and realise I’d lied to him. I had the diary but it was still on my person. He would hasten back, furious at being deceived, and my fate would be sealed.
My eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark and I saw that it was not as complete as I’d thought. There was a glimmer of light which just made it possible to make out the outline of the cellar below me. I made my way cautiously down the rest of the steps and saw that the light came from an opening of horizontal oblong shape which was high above my head and must be at pavement level. But how to reach it? And if I reached it, could I possibly squeeze through it? I moved forward and immediately stumbled over something and fell forward, throwing out my hands to save myself.
I landed awkwardly and painfully but at a slight upwards angle. My fall had been broken by what felt like a heap of rocks. I sprawled across it and my searching fingers felt the outline of a variety of shapes, some larger, some smaller, irregular in form but with a glossy surface. Dust had been disturbed and rose to fill my nostrils with a familiar odour. Coal!
Now I knew what that opening was up there. It was the access to the coal chute by which the fuel was delivered to the house. If I could only climb up there I might not be able to get through it but I could hope to attract the attention of a passer-by with my cries. But would there be any pedestrians in this awful weather?
Would Fletcher be the only one out there, casting back and forth across the street in his search for the purse? If there were others, would they be able to hear me in the muffling fog or locate my voice if they did?
Would Fletcher be the only one out there, casting back and forth across the street in his search for the purse? If there were others, would they be able to hear me in the muffling fog or locate my voice if they did?
Those were the odds against which I had to gamble. But first there was the diary to think about. Fletcher must not get his hands on it.
I took it from my pocket and, making my way to the wall against which the cascade of coal rested, pushed the diary well in among the lumps towards the back of the heap. I then began to prepare for my climb.
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