The Testimony of the Hanged Man (Lizzie Martin 5) (24 page)

‘I am a police officer and not any kind of judge,’ Ben told her gently.

‘But you are a kind man, kind to me and to Charlotte from the first time we met you near Waterloo that night. I am grateful.’

I could see that Ben was at a loss to reply. He gestured feebly at her to go on.

Jane continued more briskly. ‘Hubert does not wish to divorce me for fear of public scandal.’

And for fear of the details of his treatment of his wife becoming common knowledge!
I thought
.

At this point Miss Stephens made a stifled sound as if she would clear her throat, but intended to announce she wished to make a statement. Her niece threw her a nervous glance.

‘I cannot find words to condone Mr Canning’s behaviour,’ Miss Stephens began, ‘but that is the one point on which he and I are agreed. There is no question of a public divorce hearing in an open court! It is quite unacceptable to have anyone and everyone know the details of one’s domestic existence. To have reporters sitting there and listening, scribbling it all down to print in their newspapers? No, no, it cannot be entertained. There is an inelegant but apt saying: one does not wash one’s dirty linen in public.’

Miss Stephens shook her head. ‘No such thing will happen in this case. If Jane is to return to live with me in Southampton, there will be unavoidable gossip. We accept that, but we must hope to ride it out. However, for her to return as a
divorced woman
is unthinkable. I am involved with several charitable committees and the ladies who are engaged in such good work must be above scandal. I would be asked to resign by the committees. Mr Quartermain understands that.’

So did I. Miss Stephens felt obliged to offer Jane a home, if needed. But the offer would be withdrawn if Jane were a divorced woman. So much for the charitable ladies and their good works! I thought furiously. I caught Ben’s eye on me and fought back the words on my tongue.

Jane intervened hastily to take up the explanation. ‘After much negotiation conducted by Mr Quartermain, to whom I am extremely grateful, Hubert has consented to a separation without a divorce. The details have been agreed. I am to return to Southampton and live with Aunt Alice. In the first instance, Hubert will explain my absence by telling everyone here that I have returned to care for my aunt who is ill. After a while, people will forget to ask where I am or accept that I will not reappear. That is Hubert’s hope. People may assume that I am indeed locked up in some institution and delicacy will prevent them asking for details.

‘Hubert will make me a monthly allowance so that I shall not be a financial burden on my aunt. I am not to discuss our private affairs with anyone. I am to conduct myself with what Hubert calls “decorum”. I am above all to avoid any contact with the wine shippers with whom he does business.’

Jane’s voice faltered. ‘Our daughter is to remain in London with him. It is the hardest condition but I must accept it. No court would grant me custody.’ Jane looked at Ben and essayed a faint smile. ‘Officers, when they arrest pickpockets and such people, often invite them to “come quietly”, or so I’ve heard.’

Ben smiled back at her. ‘They do sometimes say that. I’ve never said it, even as a young constable, or don’t recollect doing so.’

Jane’s smile had already faded. ‘Well, then, I am to “go quietly”. In return for my cooperation in all ways, I am to be permitted three visits a year to Charlotte. One will be at Christmas, one at Easter and one on her birthday, which falls in July. I am to make no other attempts to see her or communicate with her, or the visits will cease and not be restored. I have managed to persuade Hubert that Ellen Brady shall remain as nursemaid for the time being. That is so that Charlotte will be in the day-to-day care of someone she knows and trusts.’

‘The nursemaid expressed great fondness for your daughter when I spoke to her,’ Ben said.

Jane nodded. ‘Ellen is a good, kind girl and Charlotte loves her. I was quite surprised that Hubert agreed to her remaining as nursemaid. I do fear that Mrs Bell, who has never liked Ellen because she did not engage her, will prevail upon him to dismiss her eventually.’

Miss Stephens spoke up. ‘Canning will not dismiss the girl too soon because he will fear she will go to another household and gossip. It is the best solution to this sorry situation that we could hope for. It is all due to the efforts of Mr Quartermain.’

Jane turned to me. ‘I don’t know what you think of us, Mrs Ross, and of all this. But I want you to know that I do believe Hubert loves his daughter. He wishes to be free of me, but Charlotte’s welfare is another concern altogether. He will look after her. I would not have you think I am leaving my child in the care of someone who has no interest in her wellbeing. I know she will be excellently cared for.’

There is a world of difference between ‘excellently cared for’ and ‘loved’. But I told Jane I understood. It all confirmed what I’d been thinking earlier. I added that I was glad everything had been settled so quickly and that she was not to be cut off from her daughter completely.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is more than I expected. Hubert can be vindictive. But Mr Quartermain persuaded him how important it would be to Charlotte.’

There was no more to be said. We drank our tea. The maid popped her head through the door and offered to ‘refresh the pot’, but we refused and rose to take our leave. Miss Stephens thanked us again for coming and told us that she had arranged with the cabman who had brought them to the hotel to return on Monday and take them to Waterloo.

‘He is a man of most alarming appearance,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘but he selected this hotel for us so his judgement is sound.’

‘His name is Wally Slater,’ I told her. ‘You may rely on him completely.’

Ben and I walked slowly together down the road in silence. I slipped my hand into his and he squeezed my fingers. An omnibus came rumbling by, the hooves of the sweating horses clattering on the road. Ben hailed it and we climbed aboard and made our way homeward.

I do not think either of us was ever more pleased to approach our little house within earshot of the great railway at work at Waterloo. The great engines groaned and clanked behind us as we crossed the bridge. Great clouds of steam billowed into the air. There were pleasure craft on the river. Folk wore their best. Bessie opened the door to us with a broad grin and a ‘Here you are, then!’ which is not the way any well-trained maid should greet her returning employers. Constable Biddle, off duty, was sitting in the kitchen with his latest delivery of lurid reading. An empty plate scattered with cake crumbs was before him. His Sunday suit was near to bursting at the seams and his collar had lost a stud and was askew. Home had never appeared such a warm and welcoming place.

Chapter Twenty

IT WAS almost two weeks since I had visited Miss Stephens and Jane Canning with Ben. They had returned to Southampton. Ben had new cases to investigate and I was back in Aunt Parry’s over-furnished drawing room, drinking tea and listening to her litany of complaints. She now moved on effortlessly to the next of these. Frank had left London to visit his prospective new constituency. But he had written to her with a description of the place and community he would in future represent (providing he was elected).

‘It does not sound the kind of place I would have wished for him,’ she lamented. ‘I had hoped for some peaceful rural constituency where he might follow the pursuits of a country gentleman. Instead it is a place where they make all manner of pottery, the whole population engaged in it. The air glows red all night, Frank writes, from the furnaces that never go out. Great clouds of smoke hang constantly above, and can be seen from miles away.’

‘I think Frank would find a rural constituency a trifle dull. He has always liked to be where things are happening and to face a challenge. He adapted to life in Russia and, after that, to life in China,’ I went on to assure her. ‘He will have no problem adapting to his new situation.’

‘I dare say,’ said Aunt Parry, clearly unconvinced. ‘He also writes he is considering becoming engaged to be married.’

Goodness! I thought. Frank has wasted no time.

Aunt Parry paused to take solace in a buttered scone. ‘I do hope he has chosen wisely. Her name is Patience Wellings. I have looked in several books of reference, but I cannot find her family. I understand her father is in commerce. My late husband, Josiah, was in commerce and so I have no objection to that. It is just that I had hoped for a more elevated connection for Frank.’

I was relieved to hear that Frank appeared to have been guided by common sense. I said I looked forward to meeting Miss Wellings.

‘So do I,’ said Aunt Parry gloomily.

It was best to change the subject. ‘Have you had any luck finding a new companion, Aunt Parry?’

She brightened. ‘Yes, Miss Rosa Featherstone will arrive in a week’s time, from Birmingham. She is a schoolmaster’s daughter and so I hope she will be able to read aloud clearly, without stumbling over long words, as Laetitia Bunn used to do. I hope for the best, Elizabeth, as you know I always do. But I have had so many disappointments concerning companions. All the ones I have liked best have left to be married . . . as you did. You abandoned me with no thought, Elizabeth, and to marry a policeman. Do not think I have anything but a high opinion of Inspector Ross – but really, murder!’ She shuddered.

‘He does not always have to investigate murders,’ I protested.

‘It seems to me he is always engaged in that way,’ Aunt Parry retorted. ‘Every time you come to visit me, the inspector is busy with yet another gruesome crime. Such a disagreeable business and I do wonder that Inspector Ross has chosen to make a career of dealing with it.’

‘Well, someone must do it,’ I offered.

‘I dare say,’ returned Aunt Parry fretfully. ‘But you did not need to marry him, all the same. What on earth do you talk about over dinner?’

I could not resist replying, ‘Sometimes about the current murder investigation, Aunt Parry, though of course not always.’

She sat back and stared at me. ‘Really, Elizabeth, life is unpleasant enough. Do ring for Simms. All the scones are gone and those crumpets are quite cold. We need more and hotter ones.’