The Gang of St Bride's, page 1
part #9 of Penny Green Series
The Gang of St Bride’s
Penny Green Mystery Book 9
Emily Organ
Contents
The Gang of St Bride’s
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
The End
Historical Note
Thank you
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The Churchill & Pemberley Series
The Gang of St Bride’s
Emily Organ
Books in the Penny Green Series:
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Curse of the Poppy
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Death at the Workhouse
The Gang of St Bride’s
Chapter 1
Miraculous Discovery of Missing Plant Hunter
Thursday 19th February, 1885
Jubilant news was received from Amazonia at the weekend relating to the discovery of esteemed plant-hunter Mr. F. B. Green. Mr. Green was last seen during an ill-fated expedition to the United States of Colombia in 1875, shortly before he and his guide vanished within the dense jungle south-west of Bogotá. A search party led by explorer Mr. Isaac Fox-Stirling in 1876 discovered a hut Mr. Green had been staying in but uncovered no further evidence of his whereabouts.
Many feared that Mr. Green had met with an untimely end, and it is not yet clear how he has occupied his time over the past ten years. During this time no contact has been made between him and his colleagues or family on British soil. Neither the details of Mr. Green’s condition nor the circumstances of his disappearance are yet fully known.
One of the most singular aspects of this incredible discovery is the fact that Mr. Green was discovered by a gentleman who was entirely unaccustomed to foreign climes. Mr. Francis Edwards was, before embarking upon this adventure, a clerk at the British Library. His aptitude for exploring foreign lands, with the assistance of a Spanish guide, has impressed even the most seasoned of travellers. Mr. Edwards was chosen to undertake the search by virtue of his acquaintance with Mr. Green’s daughter, Miss Penelope Green.
Although Mr. Green’s whereabouts are now known, it is not, at the current time, certain whether the intrepid explorer will return to English soil. Many questions remain, as yet, unanswered.
Mr. Fox-Stirling, who carried out the initial search for Mr. Green, said: “Perhaps he suffered some delirium and lost his mind, or perhaps he was imprisoned by the natives. I should like to extend my congratulations to Mr. Francis Edwards on finding the man.”
Mr. Edwards embarked on his travels in September 1884, accompanied by Mr. Anselmo Corrales. A letter from Mr. Edwards containing a more detailed account is keenly awaited by the Green family.
Mr. Green’s wife, Mrs. Harriet Green, resides in Derbyshire. He has two daughters: Miss Penny Green, a reporter for the Morning Express newspaper, and Mrs Eliza Billington-Grieg, who is estranged from her husband, Mr. George Billington-Grieg.
Miss Penelope Green told our reporter: “We are still struggling to believe the news; however, the whole family is overjoyed that our precious father has been found, and we are indebted to Mr. Edwards for finding him. We hope he is fit and well and hasn’t suffered at all since he went missing.”
Chapter 2
“This arrived with the morning post,” I said to James as I passed him Francis’ letter from Colombia.
“It was written a month ago,” added Eliza. “Hopefully he’s on the boat home by now.”
The three of us sat in a clarence cab en route to an exhibition at the Grosvenor Gallery. The excursion had been Eliza’s idea as she was keen to view some of the Gainsborough paintings. The traffic on the busy Piccadilly shopping street was so slow that it was tempting to alight and walk to our destination in the March sunshine.
“What does the letter say?” asked James, furrowing his brow in response to the number of pages it contained. “In summary?”
“It explains how he found Father,” I replied. “He finally met with the European orchid grower based in Cali, who he’d written to us about before. He had hoped the man in question would be Father, but was disappointed to find out that he was, in fact, a German gentleman named Herr Hanzelback.”
“What happened then?”
“Fortunately, Mr Hanzelback had come across an English plant-hunter living in the jungle nearby. He told Francis the location of his settlement, and just a few days later he came face to face with Father.”
“What did your father make of that?”
“Francis explains it all in his letter if you’d care to read it.”
I took the letter back from James and leafed through it, trying to find the relevant section.
“Here it is: ‘Mr. Green regarded me cautiously, as if wondering what could possibly have brought me to this remote outpost in Amazonia. When I informed him of my great relief to finally find the gentleman I sought, he rose to his feet and greeted me warmly.’”
“But what has your father been doing there all this time?” asked James. “Does the letter explain that?”
“A little, though I get the impression there is far more for Francis to explain to us in person. He says at the end of the letter that he’s about to depart for home, so it shouldn’t be much longer before he’s here.”
“Your father doesn’t intend to return with him?” asked James with raised eyebrows.
“It seems not,” I replied, turning to look out of the window and doing all I could to ignore the heavy sensation in my chest. I distracted myself by watching two ladies dressed in furs strolling along arm in arm. A maid walked behind them carrying several boxes.
“Father cannot bring himself to face us!” cried Eliza. “Read the part which describes what Father said, Penelope.”
I felt a lump in my throat as I turned back to the letter and read Francis’ words aloud: “‘I explained to your father that I was acquainted with his daughters and had travelled to Colombia to seek him with their blessing. At the mention of your names he became thoughtful and fell silent. Eventually the words came: “I hope they forgive me.”’”
I placed the letter down in my lap, then removed my spectacles and dabbed at my eyes with my handkerchief.
“Oh, Penny,” said James.
The softness of his words caused my chest to tighten. I held my breath and tried as hard as possible to prevent an outpouring of tears.
“I don’t understand it,” he continued. “Is he refusing to come home?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s clearly happier where he is.”
“It does matter!” James exclaimed. “You’re his daughters!”
Eliza gave a loud gulp, then began to cry. I rested my hand on her arm in an attempt to comfort her.
“There must be a viable reason, which we will no doubt come to learn in due course,” I said.
“It had better be an extremely good reason,” retorted James. “I don’t think there can be any excuse for abandoning one’s family in such a way!”
“Let’s hear what Francis has to say when he returns,” I replied. “I feel we need to learn more before we become too angry or upset about it. I’m consoling myself with the wonderful fact that Father is alive and well.”
“That’s certainly something to be grateful for,” added Eliza with a sob. “He may be a scoundrel, but at least he’s not dead!”
“Maybe he’s not a scoundrel at all,” I suggested. “Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation we should wait to hear before we make our minds up.”
James shook his head and turned his attention to the window. I could tell he was angry with my father, but that he was doing all he could not to say any more for fear of upsetting Eliza further.
“I wonder if we could write to him,” she said, drying her eyes. “We could tell him how happy we are that he’s alive. It really is such a great comfort when you consider that, until recently, we had every reason to believe he was dead.”
“How do you send a letter to someone in the jungle?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m sure a messenger could find him.”
I mulled this over for a moment. “Hopefully Francis will be able to tell us how easy that would be.”
“I wish we knew the reason why he has chosen to stay there,” she said.
“Cowardice!” commented James.
“I think we need to know more before we can pass any judgement,” I said. “We always knew the outcome of Francis’ expedition might be difficult to accept.”
“Yes, I suppose we did,” said Eliza. “If Father wasn’t dead there had to be some unpalatable reason as to why he hadn’t sent any form of communication to us for ten years.”
James shook his head again.
“Let’s turn our attention to happier events!” said my sister, forcing a cheerful expression onto her face. “There are just nine weeks left until your wedding day!”
James and I exchanged a smile. “Mother is more excited than I’ve seen her in years,” I said.
We had recently returned from a few days in Derbyshire to tell her the news of our engagement. I fondly recalled how she had embraced me, I was finally doing something that met with her approval.
“Hello, what’s this?” James pulled down the window of the carriage and requested the driver to halt.
A well-dressed lady was sitting on the pavement outside a smart jeweller’s shop. A small group of people stood around her, while several others were running, as if either attempting to escape or to chase someone.
“Something’s afoot!” said James. He slid his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a shiny florin, which he swiftly handed to me. “Here’s some money for the fare.”
“I’ll come with you,” I replied, passing the coin to Eliza.
“What?” She looked at the florin, aghast. “I don’t need this – I can cover the fare myself – where are the two of you going?”
James jumped out of the carriage as we slowed to a stop.
“What’s going on?” asked Eliza. “James, you can’t get involved, it’s your day off!”
“He can’t really pass this sort of situation by and we both need to find out what’s happening.” I got up from my seat and prepared to follow him.
“But it’s your day off too, Penelope!” my sister protested.
“I’m sorry, Ellie, but I don’t want to miss out on a story.”
“Must I go to the gallery by myself then?”
“We’ll meet you there later!” I replied, hopping out of the carriage.
I gave Eliza a wave and shut the cab door. She pursed her lips and glared at me as the carriage pulled away.
Chapter 3
I could see the blue uniform of a police constable among the melee, and as we moved closer it became clear that he was trying to keep everyone calm. The lady sitting on the ground wore a smart moss-green dress with a matching hat and looked to be around fifty years of age. A young lady was crouched down beside her.
“I’m all right, I’m all right!” grumbled the older lady. “Just let me get up!”
“But you’ve had such a dreadful shock, Mother!” said the young lady.
“I’ve survived far worse.”
“It’s an absolute disgrace!” fumed a gentleman in a velvet-trimmed jacket and top hat. “This sort of thing keeps happening. Something needs to be done about them!”
“About whom?” I asked.
“The vagabonds roaming our streets! It shouldn’t be allowed to happen on Piccadilly!”
“What’s happened?”
“This lady’s been robbed! Her purse was cut from her wrist!”
“Did you see who did it?”
“Three women,” a lady called out from close by. “We saw them running away!”
“Which way did they go?” I asked.
Fingers were pointed in a westerly direction, toward the location of Hyde Park.
I joined James, who was talking to the constable.
“They’ve taken off,” said the constable. “A member of the public has already gone after them. A woman, believe it or not!”
“I saw them turn up Sackville Street,” added the young lady who had been tending to her mother.
“Right under the noses of the officers at Vine Street police station,” said the man in the top hat. “It’s a disgrace that the police keep allowing these people to get away with it!”
“Let’s see if we can catch them,” said James, dashing off in the direction of the three women and the lady pursuing them.
I followed after him, feeling burdened by my long skirts and tight corset.
James turned into Sackville Street and I followed suit. The street was home to a number of cloth merchants, with rolls of fabric filling the shop windows and covering the trestle tables laid out on the pavement.
“Did you see any women running this way?” I asked a lady with an oversized feather in her hat.
“Yes, they went that way,” she replied, pointing up the street. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been a robbery.”
“Oh, goodness. Not again!”
I felt many pairs of eyes on me as I continued running. I had to hold my spectacles in place to keep them from slipping off my nose.
“Is everything all right?” a gentleman with grey whiskers called out. “What the devil’s going on?”
“There’s been a robbery,” I called back. “Did you happen to see any women running this way?”
“Yes, three or four of them!”
I eventually reached the crossroads at the top of the street, where James had stopped outside a public house. He was speaking to a lady in a blue flannel dress who looked about thirty years of age. She held her hat in her hand, and her brown hair had fallen loose from its pins. Her complexion was freckled and her face was flushed from the exertion of running.
“I did my best, Inspector,” she puffed, “but somehow I lost them. I can only assume they ran into this public house here. That’s the only explanation I can give for their sudden disappearance. But when I went inside there was no sign of them, and the fellow working behind the bar hadn’t seen them either.”
James glanced over at the crossroads. “I suppose there are a number of directions they could have run off in,” he said. “There were three women, you say?”
“Yes. The first thing I knew of it was when an elderly lady fell to the ground and three others ran off, which instantly struck me as suspicious, Once I’d seen that there were people on hand to assist the old lady, I decided to give chase. I didn’t expect them to take off as they did. They’re clearly well-practised at scarpering.”
“Can you describe them for me?” James asked, taking out his notebook.
“I’m afraid I didn’t get a good look at their faces, Inspector. They were all wearing hats, which were quite dark in colour. Not particularly fancy hats, but smart. One of them had a dark feather in hers. Their clothing was dark, too.”
“Any idea of the colour?”
“One was dark blue and I’m sure another wore dark brown. Well, it was more of a burgundy sort of colour, actually. They hitched up their skirts in the most unladylike manner and made a run for it. One of them glanced back at me, now I come to think of it. It was a very quick glance, but enough for me to see that she had a smirk on her face, as if she were amused by my attempt to chase them down. She urged the others on with some sort of encouraging cry, and they moved even more swiftly after that.”
“What did this particular lady look like?”
“I remember her being young. She was the lady in the burgundy. Fair-haired from what I could tell, though most of her hair was pinned beneath her hat.”
