The Testimony of the Hanged Man (Lizzie Martin 5) (18 page)

‘Yes, sir. I, too, hope not to have to trouble either you or your wife unnecessarily. But, as with all investigations, it depends on the progress we make.’

Now the breeze caught at his hat and he grabbed the brim to prevent it flying off his head and away into the river. ‘Do you make progress, Ross?’

‘Yes, I think so. I have now spoken to the boys who found the body.’

‘Oh, the urchins? Someone had to find her, I suppose. They are what are called mudlarks, are they not? Scavengers on the shoreline?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘One wonders what they find,’ Lamont observed. ‘A few coins, I suppose, and broken scraps of metal. The annual Boat Race between Oxford and Cambridge Universities begins just by here, you know. Then great crowds come down to see the rowers away. Many of them are fashionable people. All of them know to beware of pickpockets. But in the excitement they are careless of small items: coins, little articles of jewellery. Immediately the crowd has departed, the poor descend on the area to comb it. Any valuable thing dropped would be found almost at once. The rest of the year, well, I can’t imagine what the urchins turn up.’

‘For the very poor,’ I told him, ‘it is amazing what they can find of value to them. There are dealers to be found in London who will buy almost anything, from metal scraps to a dead cat for its fur. As it happens, something of interest to me has turned up; that is, something been found – down there.’ I pointed in the general direction of the river bank on the Putney side.

‘Oh?’ Lamont’s strongly marked black brows rose in query.

‘But I don’t want to say too much about it, you understand,’ I told him. ‘It is a small item and it might prove irrelevant.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Lamont, after a moment’s silence. ‘Well, good hunting, Inspector Ross!’

He saluted me with his cane and strode away, still holding the brim of his hat.

I continued on my way to the Yard.

Morris appeared as soon as I stepped inside the building.

‘We make progress, Sergeant!’ I told him cheerfully. I produced the gold cufflink and held it out. ‘This, I fancy, will lead us to our man.’

‘Yes, sir,’ returned Morris, peering at the object. ‘There has been progress in other matters, too, Mr Ross.’

‘Oh, how so?’

‘A message has arrived from Southampton, sir, by the telegraph. It’s from Inspector Hughes down there. Mr Dunn requests that you go to his office immediately.’

‘Ah, there you are, Ross!’ exclaimed Dunn, on my entry. ‘About time, too.’

‘I walked back from Putney, sir.’

‘I should hope so. The public purse cannot be always paying for you to ride about in cabs like a gentleman. So, how did you get on?’

I explained the recent developments to him. He listened carefully and we discussed the possible implications.

‘Hum,’ he muttered. ‘We shall have to wait and see. Leave the cufflink here with me and I will see about deciphering the assay marks and what you hope are the maker’s initials. Dr Carmichael has conducted the postmortem examination, by the way, and sent over his report. He confirms that the woman was strangled manually. He could find no sign that she struggled or fought. He suggests the assailant was both strong and determined, and suggests that the element of surprise should not be discounted.’

‘That was more or less Dr Croft’s theory,’ I said.

But Dunn was already moving on. ‘Now then, on the other matter, that of the missing child, Charlotte Canning. You’ve spoken to Morris, I suppose? He told you of this?’

He picked up a scrap of paper from his desk and held it out.

I took it and read the telegraphed message.
Missing female and child here. Suggest come at once. Hughes.
I set down the message on his desk. ‘I should go tomorrow, sir.’

‘So that will be another expense, train tickets for you to go down to Southampton and bring the Canning woman and her daughter back to London,’ Dunn grumbled. ‘Morris had better go along, too. He is a family man. At this rate, Ross, you are using up your expense allowance for the entire year! Moreover, I would remind you that if you had only taken the woman in charge when you found her sleeping as a vagrant under the arches, together with a very young child, all of this might have been avoided.’

‘At least,’ I pointed out to him unwisely, ‘we now know that Canning didn’t murder his wife and child.’

‘Go, Ross!’

I went.

Chapter Fourteen

‘THIS IS going to be a difficult business, Mr Ross,’ observed Sergeant Morris as we boarded the train for Southampton the next morning. We had already attracted some curious glances and murmured speculation from all around us. Both Morris and I were in plainclothes. But the public recognises officers of the law, especially in a pair of solid fellows with no luggage, and making little conversation, who travel with purpose in their expressions.

‘I hope,’ continued Morris, ‘that the female in question, Mrs Canning, won’t be in floods of tears. A little girl, also . . . it’s going to look very strange, if I may be so bold, sir. Two big fellows like us, chivvying along a sobbing female and child. It wouldn’t surprise me if we will not be attacked by the crowd.’

‘Sergeant!’ I protested. ‘You are taking a pessimistic view without any reason.’ Morris looked at me. ‘Very well, you have some reason,’ I admitted. ‘But Mrs Canning will not, I trust, be in tears all the way to London. As for the child, you are a father, Morris. Use your paternal skills. It’s why the superintendent wanted you to come with me.’

‘It’s hardly our business,’ said Morris with unlooked-for obstinacy. ‘Of course the lady shouldn’t have taken the little girl away from her home without the child’s own father’s permission. But to send two officers from Scotland Yard to arrest the lady? It’s not like we don’t have that murder out at Putney to attend to, sir.’

‘Morris, I am well aware of all this. I don’t need a lecture. If the mother had simply taken the child and gone at once to Southampton by train, as we are doing now, and if, having arrived at Miss Stephens’s home, either Mrs Canning herself or Miss Stephens had informed Hubert Canning immediately, it would be another matter. Canning would have boarded a train and gone at once to retrieve his daughter. The issue would have ended in a divorce court or been settled privately. The police would not have been involved. But that is not what happened, I would remind you, Sergeant! Canning came to us and declared his wife and child missing, and so they were.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Morris. ‘In my view, sir, Mr Canning had come very close to wasting police time. He told us they’d been abducted by a gang of criminals!’

‘He was mistaken. I don’t need to point out to you, Morris, that my own position in all of this has been much criticised. I left the woman under the arches . . .’ I drew a deep breath. ‘I’d be obliged if we let the matter drop until we get there, is that understood?’

‘Right-o,’ said Morris, folding his hands and leaning back in his seat.

Other people clambered into our carriage and that settled the matter.

I had been looking forward to meeting Inspector Hughes who had given the impression, from our correspondence, of being a sensible fellow. He was on the short side for an officer, probably just the minimum height, but stocky in build, with black hair and a round, good-natured face, and a soft Welsh lilt to his voice.

‘Well, now,’ he said, when we were all seated. ‘This is the way of it. I don’t have Mrs Canning locked up in a cell. It did not seem the best thing. She is with Miss Stephens, her aunt, and the little girl also. I don’t think there is any fear of them absconding. Mrs Canning is in no fit state, nor the child. She walked here from London, you know.’

‘Walked?’ I could not keep the dismay from my voice, ‘what, all the way? What about the child? She could not have walked.’

‘No, Mr Ross. Mostly, the mother carried the child on her back, which slowed her progress and made it more difficult. They existed by begging along the way. Mrs Canning arrived at her aunt’s home in a state of exhaustion. Miss Stephens put them both to bed at once, and sent for a doctor. She next sent a message to me. By the time I arrived at her house, I should warn you, Miss Stephens had also engaged a lawyer on her niece’s behalf. Miss Stephens is not young, but she is a very energetic lady, and one who knows her own mind. I did mention to you, Ross, in my letter, that I fancied Miss Stephens might feel some responsibility for her niece’s present predicament. I won’t call it guilt. But she did urge the marriage and it turned out badly, it seems.’

‘Engaging a lawyer to argue Mrs Canning’s cause will cost them dear,’ I said. ‘But it is probably the most prudent thing from her point of view.’

‘The lawyer in question is a Mr Quartermain. He is not charging any fee, as I understand it. He is a local man and is giving his services as a friend. He is acquainted with Miss Stephens through the charitable works the lady has engaged in over the years.’ After a pause, Hughes added, ‘Very fortunate, you might say.’

‘It is a great pity,’ I muttered, ‘that they did not consult Mr Quartermain when the marriage was being discussed in the first place.’

‘Wise after the event, Mr Ross, wise after the event,’ replied Hughes placidly. ‘I, myself, married one of my cousins. I didn’t gain any family I didn’t already have! That wasn’t the reason I chose my wife, of course. But at least I knew what I was getting. Well, now, it only remains for you and me – and the sergeant here – to go to Miss Stephens’s address. You can talk to the lady and make arrangements to take her and the little girl back to London with you.’

The fresh sea air was an invigorating change to London’s soot and fog. The gulls wheeled and shrieked above us. Morris had stopped looking as if the end of the world was nigh, and appeared to be enjoying his walk. Hughes asked me if I’d ever visited the area before. I told him that both Morris and I had once been called upon in a professional capacity to hurry down to this part of Hampshire, albeit just across Southampton Water, in the area of the New Forest.

‘The Shore House murder, eh?’ said Hughes. ‘I wasn’t here myself at the time, but I have heard of that case.’

Miss Stephens lived in a neat terraced house not far from the sea front promenade and the ancient grey city walls. I could have guessed this was a maiden lady’s abode. The lace curtains were crisp and as white as snow. The minute scrap of ground between the house and the pavement was set with a row of potted geraniums, standing on pristine gravel. The windowpanes gleamed with much polishing, as did the brass doorknocker.

‘You had better wait outside, Morris,’ I said. ‘The presence indoors of three of us would be overpowering. Besides, we don’t want to be interrupted, and, should a crowd gather – which might happen – you can send them all on their way.’

‘Oh, the neighbours have had plenty to talk about since Mrs Canning arrived,’ said Hughes. ‘They will all have been expecting us and be watching from behind the curtains!’

Our rap at the door summoned a middle-aged, capable-looking maid who ushered me inside quickly. But not fast enough to prevent the neighbours spotting the activity. Even if they hadn’t already done so, they couldn’t miss Morris standing rigidly outside with his hands behind his back.

We waited in a parlour of daunting neatness for a very few minutes before we heard a rustle of skirts and the two ladies appeared.

I was truly very shocked at the sight of Jane Canning. She wore what appeared to be a well-washed gown, perhaps one left behind when she had originally moved to London. She was as thin as a wraith and her skin burned as dark as a gypsy’s from exposure to the sun on her long journey by foot to the south coast. Her features were so drawn she appeared quite ten or fifteen years older than I knew her to be. I remembered the photograph I’d seen in which she had been a new mama with her baby on her lap; and the earlier one obviously taken at the time of her marriage. This hardly seemed the same woman. She looked at us with nervous inquiry in her eyes.

‘I am very pleased to see you safe and sound, Mrs Canning,’ I said to her.

‘I am very pleased that it is you who has come, Inspector Ross,’ she replied. ‘You were kind to me that evening.’

Hughes, who did not know of our encounter beneath the arches at Waterloo, looked surprised and glanced at me.

‘Perhaps not as kind as you would have me,’ I told Jane Canning. ‘I should not have left you there alone, with your daughter.’ I turned to Miss Stephens. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.’

Miss Stephens was as I might have imagined the owner of this spick-and-span little house to be. She was a spruce and surprisingly handsome woman. Despite her age, her hair was still quite dark with only streaks of grey in it. She stood as bolt upright as a guardsman and fixed me with a gimlet eye.

‘You should know, Inspector Ross, that my niece arrived at my door in a lamentable condition.’

Jane looked down at the carpet.

Miss Stephens continued. ‘She had worn out her shoes completely on the long walk here and arrived barefoot. Her clothing was in rags. The maid did not recognise her, on opening the door, and thought it a beggar. My niece had to remind her who she was. Sarah – the maid – let out a shriek and I came running. I had never thought to see such a sight, I can tell you.’

I thought Jane about to dissolve in tears at hearing her miserable appearance so bluntly described.

‘Perhaps Inspector Hughes has already told you,’ rolled on Miss Stephens, ‘that I have engaged the services of Mr Quartermain, the lawyer?’

‘Indeed, ma’am, he has. But I must still take Mrs Canning and the child back to London with me today. I have spoken to the nursemaid, Ellen Brady,’ I added to Jane. ‘I think I have a fair idea what led to your leaving St John’s Wood.’

‘It was foolish of me,’ she said. ‘But I was panicked. I thought my husband and the doctor meant to send me to an asylum.’

‘Hah!’ cried Miss Stephens. ‘They ought to send him to an asylum.’

‘I just walked out of the house with Charlotte,’ Jane continued. ‘I had some idea I might find employment and support us both. But the money I had with me was so very little. It paid for only one night’s lodging in a very unpleasant and dirty place. The landlady there was – she guessed what might have happened, that I’d run away. I mentioned to her that I hoped to find employment and she said – she said that a young woman such as myself had always one sure way of earning money. I knew what she meant.’

‘Scandalous!’ snapped Miss Stephens.

‘I left the place immediately the next morning and did not dare to try and find anywhere else. I spent what I had on food. I had virtually nothing left when you saw me that evening. I knew that, sooner or later, Hubert would go to the police. I realised I had only one place I could hope to go, and that was to Aunt Alice and beg her to take us in. I had no money for any form of travel. I had to walk.’

‘It is a miracle she got here,’ said Miss Stephens.

I didn’t disagree with her. ‘And now I must ask to see the child, Charlotte Canning,’ I said to Mrs Canning.

Jane spoke quickly before her aunt could reply. ‘I’ll fetch her,’ she said and left the room.

Now that we were alone for a moment, Miss Stephens said fiercely, ‘I wish that wretch Canning had never set foot in Southampton! He led my niece a miserable existence. Oh, I don’t deny, and nor does Jane, that she had a comfortable house to live in, and servants, and he paid her dress bills without a quibble. Mr Quartermain tells me that all that will go strongly in Canning’s favour. The fact that he almost made her a prisoner in the house will count for nothing. Then that incompetent medical man he brought in to examine Jane will give his sorry opinion: that she ought to be sent to some kind of special clinic. He’ll state as much, as a so-called expert in such matters, to any judge. They will believe him. It will be almost impossible to get justice for Jane, but Mr Quartermain – and I – will not give up without a fight!’

‘I am glad to hear it, ma’am,’ I said. ‘But I must still take them both back to Mr Canning.’

‘I shall accompany my great-niece,’ declared Miss Stephens.

This rather took the wind out of my sails. ‘Well, ma’am, you need not fear that your niece will be treated by us with anything but courtesy. Sergeant Morris, who is waiting outside, has five or six children and one grandchild. He is very good with the little ones.’

‘That is neither here nor there. I am not worried about you or your sergeant. I am worried about that fiend, Canning. You mean to return to London by the railway?’

‘Yes, it is not too long a journey.’

‘Then you cannot prevent my accompanying you. The railway exists to carry the public. I am a member of the public. I shall be in possession of a valid ticket. I shall go with you.’

I heard Jane Canning speaking in a low encouraging tone and a moment later a little girl peeped into the room.

‘Hullo, there, Miss Charlotte!’ encouraged Hughes. ‘I think you remember me, eh? I came to see your mama.’

Charlotte sidled in, her mother close behind her. She, too, was as brown as a berry but otherwise appeared in a reasonable state. Most of the scraps of food begged by Jane along the way had obviously gone to feed her daughter. The child was dressed in new clothing.

‘This is Mr Ross, Charlotte,’ said Jane to her, pointing at me.

But while Hughes was a known figure and accepted, I was not. Charlotte turned and buried her face in her mother’s skirts.

‘We are all packed and ready,’ said Miss Stephens briskly. ‘We have been expecting you.’

Jane held her daughter’s hand. At her aunt’s words, she must have given an involuntary jerk, because the little girl looked up at her mother in alarm. Jane bent and whispered in Charlotte’s ear and stroked the child’s hair with her free hand.

I had never before regretted having become a police officer. But I can honestly say that for a moment then, I did so.

We all set out as a little party to walk to the railway terminus. Our progress had to be at the pace set by the child, so it was leisurely. It was further slowed by the large numbers of other walkers all about us. But it was a fine day and to anyone observing us we must have appeared no more than a set of visitors, mopping up the sights. Morris carried Jane’s small bag of belongings and Hughes nobly carried the not-much-larger portmanteau of Miss Stephens. We must have progressed about half the distance when something altogether unexpected happened.

Whilst not being a firm believer in Fate, I do not dismiss it altogether. What else could have brought Lizzie and me together after so many years? What of the long-ago sudden summer storm that drove Mills to seek refuge – and made him a witness to a murder? Or, come to that, was it only fickle chance that James Mills, the young student, was walking by the river when his eye was taken by a pretty girl in a punt, being propelled along by a stranger? Yet that stranger, a lifetime later, would be the cause of Mills going to the gallows.