The Regency Detective (30 page)

‘I don’t think I’m familiar with the term “printer’s devil”,’ said Fitzpatrick.

‘It refers to the most menial of workers in the industry,’ explained Swann.

‘Ah, I see,’ said the magistrate.

‘And does a girl known as Lizzy also work there, Mr Johnson?’ said Swann, resuming his questioning.

‘Yes sir, she is a relative of Mr Tozer’s or somethin’ like that, I don’t know.’

‘She is actually Mr Tozer’s niece. And when did you last see Lizzy?’

‘The day before last, sir, we were both at work.’

‘Can you recall the exact details?’ asked Swann.

Johnson remained silent for a few moments as he attempted to think back.

‘I left the premises at six o’clock. Lizzy was still there, as Mr Tozer wanted her to do some extra work for him.’

‘And what was that work?’

‘I honestly don’t know, sir.’

‘Is it unusual that Mr Tozer asks his workers to stay there of an evening?’

‘No sir. If a job needs finishing then we stay until it is done.’

‘And do you get on with Lizzy?’ asked Swann, as he suddenly changed tack.

‘Shouldn’t that be
did
, Swann?’ interjected Fitzpatrick.

From the brief glance Swann gave him, Fitzpatrick realised he had spoken out of turn and the question’s tense was part of Swann’s method. Johnson, however, seemed unaware of what had passed between the two men.

‘Not really, sir,’ replied Johnson, ‘but if I can be honest, she is quite a slow-witted girl who is not always fast in her work. I believe Mr Tozer gave her the position through her relationship to him, rather than on any skills she possesses.’

Swann paused for a moment before asking the next question: ‘Did you know that Lizzy was murdered two nights ago?’

The reaction on Johnson’s face informed Swann quite categorically of what he needed to know.

‘Are you familiar with the content of the latest manuscript by Mr Gregor-Smith?’

‘Of course, sir,’ replied Johnson. ‘I have been typesetting it.’

‘Lizzy was murdered in the same way as the first victim in that manuscript.’

‘She might have been a bit slow and all but she certainly didn’t deserve that,’ said Johnson, having obviously now recalled the vivid details of the killing in the book. ‘Who would do such a terrible thing?’

‘That is what we are hoping to find out, Mr Johnson,’ said Swann.

The realisation dawned on Johnson.

‘You think I did it?’

‘You are one of the suspects, Mr Johnson, but if you tell us the truth as to your whereabouts for these past two days and why you did not turn up for work, you have nothing to fear.’

Johnson seemed reluctant to answer.

‘Mr Johnson, from your reaction to the news of Lizzy’s murder I believe you to be innocent of it,’ said Swann, ‘but if you do not tell us where you have been since her body was found then you may be wrongly executed.’

‘Well sirs,’ said Johnson, seemingly now wishing to co-operate, ‘I have been in Bristol these two days in the pursuit of new employment. It is for a typesetting position in a large Bristol company. I swear it to be true sirs.’

‘And you were successful in securing this position?’

‘Yes sir. I can provide the company’s address and my cousin can vouch for my presence overnight, as I stayed with him and his family.’

‘Please lift up your boots,’ requested Swann.

Johnson looked puzzled momentarily but then did as he was ordered.

‘Is this the only pair that you possess?’ asked Swann, as he viewed the man’s footwear.

Johnson nodded.

‘And what made you apply for this typesetter’s position?’

‘It was my cousin, sir, the one I stayed with in Bristol. He told me about it.’

‘No,’ interjected Fitzpatrick, unable to help himself, ‘I believe my associate means what is your reason for wishing to leave Mr Tozer’s firm. Are you not content in his employ?’

‘Thank you, Fitzpatrick,’ said Swann, happy this time that Fitzpatrick had asked the question.

‘If I may be honest sirs, Mr Tozer has, how can I say, certain troubles.’

‘Oh,’ said Swann, leaning forward, ‘and what exactly are these “troubles”?’

‘Mr Tozer is a good businessman, sirs. He has built the company up into a prosperous one and I have been with him from the beginning. He started from nothing and at its height had a turnover of several thousand pounds a year; especially after Mr Gregor-Smith signed on with the company. He has been our biggest seller for the past three years, almost outselling on his own the rest of the authors that Mr Tozer has on his books. The trouble is with Mrs Tozer, as she is not there any more.’

‘She has left him?’ enquired Fitzpatrick.

‘No, she is not right in the mind, they say.’

‘And how did this come about?’ asked Swann.

‘No one knows. Mr Tozer does not speak of it and I am sure if he was to hear anyone else discussing it, they would be out of a job. All I know, and I would be most grateful to you if it was not repeated to Mr Tozer, in case my new position falls through, is that his wife has been taken to a place for those people whose minds are unstable, if you know what I mean, sirs. Mr Tozer is beside himself with anger.’

‘But why would that make you seek another employment, especially one in a different city?’

‘Well, they say because of his anger, his judgement has become untrustworthy and he has also got himself in debt, paying for his wife’s treatment and not being able to run the financial side of the business properly. He had the opportunity to put another writer under contract recently but for some reason he was not able to obtain his signature. It was as good as signed, although I heard it was something to do with Mr Gregor-Smith, who was an acquaintance.’

Swann put his hand to his chin and thought for a few moments.

‘Do you think that Mr Gregor-Smith could have carried out the murders?’ asked Fitzpatrick.

Swann was again happy for Johnson to answer Fitzpatrick’s question.

‘I do not know Mr Gregor-Smith personally,’ replied Johnson, ‘I mainly know him by reputation and if one went by that, then …’

‘Well, exactly,’ said Fitzpatrick.

‘Well, exactly what, Fitzpatrick?’ asked Swann.

‘Um, I do not know exactly,’ responded the magistrate, a little sheepishly.

‘I have only actually met him on a couple of occasions,’ continued Johnson, ‘when he has delivered his manuscripts, but at those times I found him pleasant and nothing like the papers make him out to be.’

‘That is more exacting,’ said Swann. ‘Well Mr Johnson, we wish you every success with your new employment, you are free to go if my associate agrees.’

‘I am not sure that Kirby would …’

‘Fitzpatrick, it is
you
that is here, not him. Besides, as far as Kirby is concerned the murderer already resides behind bars, so I am certain he would not wish to have another possible suspect turn up outside the prison as well.’

‘I see your point, Swann. Well, if you believe Mr Johnson should go free, then I will sign the papers.’

‘Thank you, Fitzpatrick.’

After Johnson had been allowed to leave, Fitzpatrick and Swann stayed in the room to discuss the matter.

‘So what convinced you of his innocence, Swann?’

‘It was mainly from the way he reacted to the news of the girl’s murder. Unless he is a fine actor, it showed in his eyes that he was unaware of it previously.’

‘So we are back to Mr Gregor-Smith, then?’

‘No,’ said Swann. ‘I still think, perhaps even more so now, that someone is trying to frame him and I am starting to believe I know who it may be.’

‘Can I have a crack at it?’ asked Fitzpatrick.

‘Certainly,’ said Swann.

‘Well, I think it may be connected to the other writer Tozer was going to sign to his firm. It might be that Gregor-Smith in some way interfered in the deal and the other writer was angry.’

‘Why would he do that?’ asked Swann.

‘If you are the best-selling author with a publishing firm, as Gregor-Smith seems to be,’ said Fitzpatrick, warming to the task, ‘you may not want any rivals to that position, even if this other writer is an acquaintance.’

‘So you are saying that it is the writer who has sought revenge?’ said Swann.

‘I know it is conjecture, but nevertheless a possibility. Would you not agree?’

‘It is certainly an interesting piece of deduction, Fitzpatrick,’ said Swann. He did not wish to be drawn into further speculation, however, and so changed the subject. ‘I meant to enquire as to whether you received any wine at your office yesterday?’

‘Yes, indeed I did,’ replied Fitzpatrick. ‘A case of German hock arrived while I was away. There was no note with it though or explanation as to why it had been delivered or who it was from. I did wonder if you had anything to do with it and had intended to ask you about it at the first opportune moment.’

‘I assume you realised the bottles do not actually contain hock,’ said Swann.

‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ Fitzpatrick answered, ‘especially as the initials
T.J.
were engraved on each bottle.’

‘They were especially created for the cellar of Thomas Jewel,’ said Swann, ‘a financier living in Paris, as the initials testify. During the war with France he had kept a very low profile, but after the Treaty of Amiens had carelessly allowed his presence to become known. When the peace was broken earlier this year and war with Bonaparte resumed, he was forced to leave his home and consequently abandoned his beloved collection. Given the fact that the borders between our two countries were then closed, as you know, Thomas Jewel, on his return to England, began the process of covertly arranging transport of the contents of his wine cellar, using whatever means he could, and at the same time placing orders for new vintages. One such order was for half a dozen cases of Chateau d’Yquem, 1799. However, they never reached their intended recipient. Having been smuggled out of France under the guise of ordinary German hock, the consignment was shipwrecked off the Cornish coast, seized by the government as contraband and then sold at auction. The six cases were purchased by a wine merchant who then unknowingly sold them on to Pickwick at the White Hart. I fortuitously happened to help in the transaction and secured half of them, one of which was the case delivered to your office.’

‘How did you come to know all this?’

‘Largely through a recent article in a wine periodical, which reported Thomas Jewel’s death, fittingly attributed to a broken heart through the loss of his cellar, and then a piece of deductive reasoning after seeing an unrelated advert in the same publication of an upcoming auction.’

‘That is an incredible story,’ replied Fitzpatrick. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Swann. So to what degree am I in your debt for them?’

‘Consider it a gift, Fitzpatrick,’ replied Swann. ‘In honour of our continuing friendship.’

‘That is most generous of you, Swann.’

Shortly afterwards, the two men bade each other goodnight and Swann made his way back to Great Pulteney Street. On arriving at the house, he was informed by Emily that her mistress had yet to return from the art exhibition. Swann had left Mary at the gallery with Lockhart and although he was not overly concerned at present, decided that he would stay awake until he heard her come home. He changed into his night clothing and retired to the library, where the fire had recently been lit by Emily. Swann sat in an armchair watching the fire while contemplating the facts of his present investigation; he always found staring at the flickering flames conducive to deductive thinking.

As far as Swann was aware, there were only three people possibly connected to the manuscript from which the murders had been apparently copied; the writer, the senior typesetter and the publisher. Swann believed Gregor-Smith and Johnson to be innocent but this left Tozer as the prime suspect and Swann did not have a convincing motive at present. Fitzpatrick’s suggestion that it might be the other writer was certainly intriguing, but given that Gregor-Smith had mentioned he never let anyone else read his work before it is published, it could be assumed that this possible rival to his best-selling status was ruled out as well.

Swann felt as if there was a piece of the puzzle missing and that once this was discovered, the case would solve itself. What that particular piece was, however, he did not yet know, but as he considered several possibilities, he found himself becoming mesmerised by the hypnotic, iridescent flames and his eyelids slowly began to close.

Wednesday 30th November, 1803

My dearest Aunt Harriet

I begin this letter with the most wonderously happy news. Edmund has this very evening offered a proposal of marriage and I have accepted. We attended an exhibition of landscape work by my art teacher, Mr Luchini, and afterwards Edmund escorted me for a late supper at a restaurant with which he has recently become acquainted. It was here, and during the final course, he produced an engagement ring and made his proposition.

He is aware that our going forward with this arrangement and the setting of an actual date for our betrothal is dependent on certain approvals; these I wish to come from my brother and yourself, my dear aunt. I hope neither of you will find any reason for objection, however, as I am beside myself with happiness.

In regard to Edmund’s proposal, I cannot say I was taken completely by surprise by it, as we seem to have become closer lately, even though he has been in London on business often. Perhaps it is true what they say, that absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.

This happiness at the prospect of becoming a wife may seem contradictory, given my new programme of reading, but I do not believe it to be so. I remember the talk I attended at your house last month and what your speaker, Catherine Jennings, felt regarding the subject of marriage. As she herself believed, the responsibility lies solely with the woman herself in so much as she should ensure in her own mind that the man she marries will not stand in the way of her continuing personal development. And I believe Edmund to be such a man, as he is considerate and willingly allows me to have my own opinion. At the same time I am secure in the knowledge it is not for financial gain I marry. ‘The road of matrimony for financial reasons is surely the road to the spirit’s dissolution,’ I now hear Catherine’s voice once more and like her I feel it is better a woman lives a financially impoverished existence than a spiritually impoverished one.