Death in Kensington (Augusta Peel 1920s Mysteries Book 8), page 1
DEATH IN KENSINGTON
An Augusta Peel Mystery Book 8
EMILY ORGAN
Copyright © 2024 by Emily Organ
All rights reserved.
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Emily Organ has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Contents
The Augusta Peel Series
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
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
The End
Historical Note
The Dockland Murder
Also by Emily Organ
Thank you
The Augusta Peel Series
Death in Soho
Murder in the Air
The Bloomsbury Murder
The Tower Bridge Murder
Death in Westminster
Murder on the Thames
The Baker Street Murders
Death in Kensington
The Dockland Murder
Chapter 1
‘You’re not smiling, Lola.’
‘We’re not supposed to.’
‘That was for the previous photograph. I want you smiling for this one. Didn’t you hear me explain it? All the other girls did.’
Lola glared at the other girls.
They were all wearing woollen fur-trimmed dresses in sapphire blue, emerald green, and magenta pink.
Lola forced a smile and Cedric Langley took the photograph.
‘I’m too hot,’ she said, peeling off her thick gloves. ‘Why are we wearing these clothes when it’s eighty degrees outside?’
‘It’s the autumn and winter collection,’ said Sylvia. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Can you put your gloves back on please, Lola,’ said Cedric.
‘No, I’m too hot. Can’t I just put my hands in my pockets?’
‘No, we need to see the gloves.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they’re part of the collection.’
‘Well, they’re inside out now. It’s going to take me ages to turn them the right way out.’
Cedric marched over to her. ‘Give them here, then.’ He snatched the gloves from her and turned them the right way out. ‘Here.’ He thrust them back at her.
Lola sulked as she put them back on.
‘Can you stop messing about now, Lola?’ said Daphne. ‘We all want to get on. We’ve got three more outfits to go yet.’
‘Three?’
‘Yes, three,’ said Cedric, striding back to his camera. ‘Now come on. Let’s get some good pictures.’
Lola cooperated for a while, and Cedric’s mood improved. She was difficult, but she was easily the most beautiful of Miss Kingsley’s models. Every outfit looked perfect on her. She was tall, slender, and long-limbed. Her face had sharp, defined cheekbones, full lips and eyes like two dark pools. The camera adored her.
His good mood didn’t last for long.
‘I’m tired,’ said Lola. ‘Can we have a break?’
Cedric clenched his teeth. ‘You can have five minutes.’
‘Five? I want ten.’
‘Alright then. Ten. And not a minute over.’
Lola was infuriating. She tested the patience of everyone around her. The girl had to be careful in this industry. If she upset the wrong person, who knew what might happen?
Chapter 2
‘You’ve done a remarkable job repairing this, Augusta.’ Fred examined the copy of Bleak House by Charles Dickens. Bound in red Morocco leather with gilt lettering on the spine, it was a heavy book with almost a thousand pages.
‘I enjoyed working on it,’ said Augusta.
They stood at the counter in her bookshop. Sparky the canary eyed Augusta from his cage, waiting expectantly for some more birdseed to be passed to him through the bars.
‘We need to decide on a price for the book,’ said Fred.
‘A shilling and sixpence.’
‘Really? I think two shillings and sixpence would be better.’
‘Would anyone spend that much on it?’
‘Of course they would, Augusta! It’s a lovely book which is in excellent condition now you’ve repaired it.’
‘Well, we could try two shillings and sixpence,’ said Augusta. ‘And after it sits unsold on the shelf for a month, we can reduce the price.’
Fred laughed. ‘Alright then. But I’m sure someone will buy it for two and six.’
The bell above the shop door rang as a young woman stepped inside. She wore a pale blue summer dress and round spectacles. She had an attractive heart-shaped face and bobbed hair.
‘Can we help you with anything?’ asked Augusta.
‘Have you got anything by Charles Dickens?’ she asked.
‘Yes, we have.’ Augusta smiled and pointed at the book in Fred’s hand.
‘This is Bleak House,’ Fred said to the customer. ‘Do you have a particular book in mind?’
The shrill ring of the telephone behind the counter interrupted them. Augusta answered it while Fred continued dealing with the customer.
‘Hello Augusta, it’s Philip.’
‘Where are you? I thought you were in your office upstairs.’
He chuckled. ‘I am.’
‘Why are you telephoning me?’
‘I thought it would be fun.’
‘Rather than walk down a staircase?’
‘Yes. It’s rather lazy of me, isn’t it?’
‘What are you telephoning about? I feel like I’m being summoned by the master of the household.’
‘I’ve got someone here with me at the moment. He’s asking for my help with something, and we think you could help us too. Do you have a spare five minutes?’
Augusta glanced at Fred and the young woman. They were chatting happily. ‘Alright then. Who’s with you?’
‘Come up and see.’
Augusta wondered if Philip had a surprise in store for her as she climbed the stairs to his detective agency. But the man who was sitting with Philip in his office was fairly unremarkable. He was a stout grey-haired gentleman whom she recognised as a detective from Scotland Yard.
The two men got to their feet. ‘Do you remember Detective Inspector Morris, Augusta?’ said Philip.
‘Yes, I do.’ She shook the detective’s hand.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Mrs Peel.’ They had last met when Philip had taken a leave of absence from his work and Augusta had spoken to the detective when she had been worried about his whereabouts.
‘I’m sorry about the telephone call, Augusta,’ said Philip as they sat down. ‘I won’t do it again. I thought it would be fun to try once.’
‘And was it fun?’
‘I suppose it was. A little.’
Augusta turned to Detective Inspector Morris. ‘You need our help?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I need your detective skills.’
Chapter 3
‘I’ve given Mr Fisher a brief explanation,’ said Detective Inspector Morris. ‘And he suggested you’d be able to help too, Mrs Peel. About three years ago, there was a burglary at the home of Lord and Lady Montpelier in Belgravia. A number of items were taken, including a rather valuable painting known as Sunset at the Temple of Artemis.’
‘That sounds like a nice painting,’ said Augusta, picturing a classical scene with a red-streaked sky.
‘Perhaps I wasn’t educated well enough,’ said Philip. ‘But what is the Temple of Artemis?’ He addressed his question to the detective, who shrugged his shoulders. Both men then looked at Augusta.
‘It’s one of the seven wonders of the ancient world,’ she said. ‘It’s an ancient Greek temple and its site was rediscovered at Ephesus about fifty years ago.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Philip.
‘Haven’t you visited the display at the British Museum? Some of the fragments are displayed there.’
‘No, I haven’t. I must go and have a look,’ said Philip.
‘But let’s concentrate on finding the painting first,’ said Detective Inspector Morris. ‘I forget the name of the person who painted it, art isn’t my strongest subject.’ He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and took out a photograph. ‘“R. C. Riverhouse. 1798”,’ he read from the back of the photograph. ‘That’s who painted it. R. C. Riverhouse.’
He laid the photograph on Philip’s desk, and they leant forward to examine it. The picture was sepia and a little blurry. It showed a ruined classical temple with fallen columns and a half-collapsed entablature. Three nymph-like women with flowing hair and diaphanous robes posed daintily by the structure while a dramatic sunset occupied the background.
Augusta squinted at the picture. ‘I would like to see it in colour,’ she said. ‘I may be able to look up a better copy in a library. I’m sure it will have been catalogued in a book somewhere.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said the detective. ‘I didn’t think of that myself. Anyway, back to the details. The burglary at Lord and Lady Montpelier’s home was very professional. The thieves knew what they were looking for and took only the most valuable items. They targeted a number of wealthy homes in Belgravia over a period of a few months. I’m happy to say the Flying Squad collared them.’ He turned to Augusta. ‘The Flying Squad is a new team of detectives which uses motor cars to patrol London and arrest thieves and other ne’er-do-wells. Thanks to their work, the Belgravia burglars are now serving long prison sentences.’
Augusta nodded politely. She had heard of the Flying Squad.
‘There’s a problem, though,’ continued Detective Inspector Morris. ‘We’re having difficulty recovering some of the items stolen by the gang. These professional robbers sell on their spoils rather quickly. We’ve recovered some items, but many are still missing.’
‘Including Sunset at the Temple of Artemis?’
‘Absolutely, Mrs Peel. And although Lord Montpelier is grateful we imprisoned the gang, he’s not particularly happy that we haven’t been able to recover his favourite painting. And it’s even more important that we find it because he is quite seriously ill.’
‘Oh no,’ said Philip. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘He’s quite elderly and therefore weakened by age. He’s informed me his doctor says he may not live to see the end of this year. So, as you can appreciate, he would like to see his painting again. We’re fortunate he’s funding us with a good sum of money to recover the painting, but we also find ourselves quite overworked at the present time. This is why I’ve come to you for help, Mr Fisher.’
‘Very well. But this could be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Have you got any idea where the painting could be?’
‘We’ve got an idea. There’s an art dealer who goes by the name of Briggs. He’s been placing advertisements in a fine art magazine recently. The Mayfair address he uses roused my suspicion because it’s close to an address associated with a criminal art dealer who went by the name of Fleming. Now, I have a hunch that Briggs and Fleming are the same man. When things got too warm for Fleming, he laid low for a while before renaming himself as Briggs.’
‘How do you know he has the painting?’ asked Philip.
‘I don’t. But I know Fleming has worked with several criminal gangs in the past. He’s well-presented and well-spoken and can easily fool unsuspecting buyers into purchasing stolen art. I suspect he’s running out of money and has now invented himself as Briggs, so he can sell off a few things.’
‘Can’t you just go to the address and arrest him?’ asked Augusta.
‘We don’t actually have any evidence yet that Briggs is trying to sell stolen art. I’m assuming he is, but we need evidence. We need someone to act as an interested buyer and hopefully see the painting in his possession. Once that’s confirmed, then we can swoop in.’
‘So this is an undercover job,’ said Philip.
‘Exactly. And he will be extremely wary about undercover police officers posing as potential buyers. We have to tread very carefully indeed.’
‘So this is why you’d like me to be involved,’ said Augusta. ‘Because I can’t possibly be an undercover police officer?’
‘Yes, correct, Mrs Peel! However,’ he held up his hand in a warning gesture, ‘Briggs is an unpleasant man. He’s of the criminal class, and we don’t want to leave you alone with a fellow like that. So you’ll need to take someone with you.’
Augusta glanced at Philip.
‘That’s right, Augusta,’ he said. ‘Take me.’
‘But surely he’ll guess you’re an undercover police officer?’
‘I’m not a police officer anymore.’
‘You know what criminals are like, Philip. They can spot a plainclothes detective, or even a former detective, at thirty yards.’
‘Yes, this is a risk,’ said Detective Inspector Morris. ‘And it’s a challenge I think we can overcome if the pair of you pose as a married couple.’
‘Married?’ Augusta felt herself blushing so much that she couldn’t bring herself to look at Philip. ‘I suppose it makes sense.’
‘Yes I suppose it does,’ said Philip. She wondered if he felt happy about the proposal, but it was difficult to tell from his short response.
‘So can I leave it with you?’ said Detective Inspector Morris.
‘Yes,’ said Philip.
‘I’ll drop a file in tomorrow with all the details. As soon as you’ve come up with a plan, let me know.’
‘We will do,’ said Augusta.
‘Wonderful.’ The detective got to his feet and put on his hat. ‘I’ll speak to you again shortly, Mr and Mrs Fisher.’
Augusta felt herself blush again at the description as the detective left the room.
‘It sounds like an interesting job, doesn’t it, Augusta?’ said Philip.
‘Yes, it does. We did a lot of undercover work during the war, so hopefully it won’t be too tricky.’
‘No, I think we’ll be fine. We’ll make sure Lord Montpelier gets his precious painting back.’ The telephone on Philip’s desk rang. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I should answer this.’
Augusta excused herself and returned downstairs to the shop. To her surprise, Fred was still talking to the young woman. She was holding a heavy-looking shopping bag, and Augusta suspected Fred had sold her a few books.
They paused their conversation as Augusta reached the foot of the stairs.
‘We were just discussing Miss Havisham in Great Expectations,’ Fred said to her.
‘Please don’t stop on my account,’ said Augusta, as she made her way to the shop counter.
‘Oh, it’s quite alright. I’d better get going,’ said the young woman. ‘I’ve just realised the time!’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Fred. ‘And once you’ve finished those books, you know where to come for more.’
‘Yes, I do.’
The pair smiled and held each other’s gaze for a moment. Augusta busied herself with some papers behind the counter.
‘Well, I’ll be off,’ said the young woman.
‘It was lovely to meet you,’ said Fred.
‘And you.’
‘Bye.’
Fred waited until the shop door had closed. ‘Harriet bought your copy of Bleak House, Augusta.’
‘For two and six?’
‘Yes. We should have priced it at three shillings.’
‘No, that would have been too much. Her name’s Harriet, you say?’
Fred gave a coy smile. ‘Yes. I told her my name, too. Just in case she comes back again.’
Augusta felt fairly sure she would.
Chapter 4
Lady Hereford called in at Augusta’s bookshop that afternoon. Her nurse wheeled her into the shop in her bath chair. The old lady wore a broad-brimmed summer hat trimmed with silk flowers.
