The Gang of St Bride's, page 12
part #9 of Penny Green Series
“What was it?”
“She said, ‘If people thought I would do nothing with my time other than sit and wait for him to return they don’t know me very well.’”
“I see! And what did she mean by that?”
“She meant to say that she has carried on with her life. She told me that after Father had been missing for about two years, she made up her mind that he was never coming back.”
“She never told me that.”
“Nor me! We were obviously more optimistic than she was.”
“She felt sure that he was either dead or would never return, then?”
“Yes, and that’s not to say she didn’t miss or grieve for him dreadfully, because she did. However, she told me she was already used to him being away a lot. Mother even confessed that she tended to allow him to slip from her mind when he went away on his travels.”
“How very sad to hear it!” I exclaimed. “I recall him being away for long periods, but whenever he returned there was always great happiness. We took such lovely family excursions together and went fishing for minnows in the stream and ate picnics. I loved those times when Father returned.”
“As did I, Penelope,” my sister replied, her eyes damp. “It doesn’t mean those times weren’t happy. But Mother and Father’s marriage was rather unconventional, wasn’t it? It had to be because he spent so much time away.”
“But no more so than a chap in the army or with other duties overseas,” said James. “He can’t use the absence from his family as an excuse for his misbehaviour!”
“Perhaps he doesn’t intend to use it as an excuse,” said Eliza, “and perhaps he never has. Perhaps he simply isn’t a good husband or father.”
James gave a snort of laughter. “I think you may be right there!”
“It’s not an easy thing to accept,” said Francis. “We all like to think our parents are perfect, but sometimes it’s just not the case.”
“Oftentimes, I would say,” said Eliza. “You would only need to meet some of the families I come across in the course of my work to see that. Distracted, drunken parents… Absent parents… Men who beat their wives and children… I could go on. I’ve had to remind myself that whatever his sins may be, Father isn’t as bad as all that.”
“He simply took himself off to the jungle for ten years and allowed his family to believe he was dead,” commented James sourly. “The families you encounter in your work are often poverty-stricken, Eliza. I don’t believe poverty can be held entirely to blame for their poor behaviour; however, it is a significant factor. As for your father, he’s an educated, intelligent, middle-class man!”
“You believe he should have known better, do you?” asked Eliza.
“Of course he should. I accept that no one is perfect, and I include myself in that description – I’ve committed my own transgressions, and I’m not proud of them – but to abandon one’s wife and children…!”
“Berating Father won’t get us anywhere,” I said. “I’m more interested in finding out how Mother is coping with it all. Could it be that she has found these past ten years a little easier than she’s been letting on?”
“It would seem so,” replied Eliza. “And I believe Mr Horace Dunhill has been of great assistance to her.”
“Who on earth is he?”
“A gentleman she’s acquainted with.”
“I’ve never heard of him!”
“Neither had I until Mother told me about him. He’s a widower, and it seems he’s been a good friend and companion to her in recent years.”
“Did you meet him?”
“No.”
I quietly pondered this for a moment. “I suppose Mother is perfectly entitled to enjoy the company of another gentleman. As she said herself, she couldn’t wait forever for Father to come home. And in light of everything that’s happened I suppose it’s just as well she didn’t.”
“Indeed. But it’s an awful shame, isn’t it? I feel extremely sad that what was once a happy marriage has come to this. Mother appears to have managed as well as she could have done, however.”
“With the help of this Mr Dunhill.”
“I imagine he’s helped her through some rather difficult times.”
I gave a hollow laugh. “I still can’t imagine her having any companion other than Father!”
“Times have changed,” replied my sister, “and she deserves a bit of companionship. Father never returned to her, so I suppose she was entitled to seek it elsewhere. Still, it’ll take some getting used to. I must say I am extremely grateful to you, Francis, for everything you’ve done.” She gave him a broad smile. “You accompanied me all the way to Derbyshire, tactfully explained your encounter with Father, demonstrated enormous patience with Mother and then put up with my company on the journey home again!”
“There’s no need to thank me,” he replied. “I considered it my duty to explain everything to Mrs Green as well as I knew how.”
I noticed they held each other’s gaze, and when she finally looked away Eliza was still smiling. I couldn’t help but smile myself at the sight. Was it possible that they were developing some sort of affection for one another?
“Thank you, Francis,” said James. “I realise it hasn’t been easy to return with such difficult news. You’ve been enormously helpful to the Green family.”
“It’s a pleasure, James. I feel content that I’ve been able to help Eliza, Penny and Mrs Green discover the truth about Mr Green.”
We all sipped our tea.
“While we’re gathered here, perhaps I could ask you both for some assistance with a rather unusual riddle,” I said, unfolding the piece of paper.
“Oh, I’m no good at riddles,” said Eliza dismissively.
“But you may know something or other about the content of this one,” I said. “I’ve been unable to make head nor tail of it so far.”
“Where’s it from?” asked Francis.
“It was given to us by a gang member.”
“A gang member?”
“Yes, someone from the Twelve Brides. Apparently, the riddle is some sort of initiation challenge for new recruits,” I said.
“How does it relate to your work?” asked Francis.
“That’s a good question,” said Eliza. “Penelope’s employment has always been rather unconventional, though. Surely you’ve realised that by now, Francis?”
“I’m hoping that by solving this riddle we’ll be able to work out who was behind the river murders,” I said.
“Please be careful!” exclaimed Eliza.
“I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” said Francis.
“Despite the certainty I have that my colleagues and I will find a more conventional way into this gang,” said James, “Penny is intent on solving the riddle.”
“Let’s forget about all that for now,” I said. “Take a look at this for a moment, Francis, and let me know your initial thoughts.”
I passed the piece of paper to him and he stared at it for a while, his brow furrowed.
“What do you make of it?” I asked. “Does any of the riddle make sense to you?”
“No, I can’t say that it does.”
“But you’re the clever one!” said Eliza. “Penelope expected you to solve it in an instant!”
“Not quite,” I responded. “Is there nothing at all in the riddle that means something to you, Francis? What about the Latin part? That is Latin, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s Latin all right. Lapis Milliaris refers to a type of Roman milestone, I believe.”
“Not a jewel?”
“No, I’d definitely say a milestone.”
“Let me have a look,” said Eliza, peering down at the piece of paper. It says, ‘The Lapis Milliaris is one of our gems.’ How puzzling.”
“Why would it be described as a gem?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” replied Francis. “A gem is a precious stone, but a precious stone is quite different from a milestone.”
“Of course.” I thought of the type of weatherworn milestone one typically saw at the side of the road and struggled to understand why it might be described as a gem.
“Is that what we’re to look out for?” asked James. “A milestone?”
“There are hundreds of milestones lying around,” I said. “Perhaps it relates to a particularly important one.” An interesting thought occurred to me. “Perhaps it’s Charing Cross. Isn’t that the official centre of London, from which point all distances are measured?”
“Close by,” replied Francis. “The actual location is just south of Trafalgar Square, where the statue of Charles I on horseback stands.”
“Is there a milestone there?”
“Not that I recall. Only a statue.”
“We’d have to go and look,” I said.
“It’s spitting distance from Scotland Yard,” said James, “but I don’t recall ever seeing a milestone there.”
“It says, ‘From the Order of Preachers, cross the Thames’,” Francis mused. “The Order of Preachers refers to the Dominicans, I think.”
“Really?” I asked. “How sure are you about that?”
“Reasonably certain,” he replied. “I can’t think what else it might be.”
“‘Cross the Thames’,” said James. “We think that could be a bridge or a ferry.”
“It sounds as though you need to visit the Dominicans, then cross the River Thames,” Eliza suggested with a smile. “You see, I can be of help with these things.”
“But where are the Dominicans?” I asked. “Do they have a priory of some sort?”
“That’s a good question,” said Francis. “I’m sure a priory has been built in North London since the time of the Catholic Emancipation.”
“Can you remember where?”
“I’m afraid not, but we could look it up.”
“But North London is nowhere near the Thames,” said James.
“That’s a fair point,” replied Francis. “This riddle points to the existence of a priory on the riverside.”
“Has there ever been a priory by the river?” I asked. “Before the Dissolution of the Monasteries, perhaps?”
“Blackfriars!” announced James.
“Yes, of course!” said Francis with a grin. “That’s what it must be.”
“How did you come up with that?” I asked James.
“I don’t really know. It must have been resting at the back of my mind somewhere. I simply thought of monks besides the river and then I thought of Blackfriars. It has to be right, doesn’t it?”
“It does indeed!” said Francis. “The Dominicans are also known as Blackfriars because of their black capes. And the area of Blackfriars is where their medieval priory once stood.”
“Blackfriars Bridge,” I added. “That’s where you cross the Thames, isn’t it? We need to walk over Blackfriars Bridge.”
“Of course!” Francis replied. But to what end?”
“I’ve no idea,” said James. “A milestone, perhaps?”
Chapter 25
Intrigued by the riddle, Eliza had agreed to accompany me the day I went to investigate Blackfriars. We met one morning in Water Lane, a narrow street behind Ludgate Hill train station.
“So where was the Dominicans’ priory?” she asked.
“Somewhere in this location. We’re standing beside Apothecaries’ Hall.” I pointed out a decorative arch within a brown-brick facade. “I recall Francis telling us the Society of Apothecaries moved into a section of the priory after it had been dissolved. Then the building was almost completely destroyed during the Great Fire of London but was later rebuilt.”
“You’ve done well to remember the detail of Francis’ conversation, Penelope. He knows an awful lot of things, doesn’t he? I try my best to remain interested in it all – I am interested, in fact – but I simply struggle to remember it all.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mind,” I said. “No one else’s brain seems to retain as much information as his. As we’re next to the location where the priory once stood, it makes sense to walk down to the river and cross over the bridge.”
A fresh breeze whipped at our hats as we followed the course of the railway line past the rumble of printing presses within The Times newspaper offices and across the wide thoroughfare of Queen Victoria Street. Blackfriars Bridge led us out over the river, where the wind tugged even harder at our hats and the trains clattered over the iron railway bridge which ran alongside us.
A broad vista opened up around us. The dome of St Paul’s Cathedral soared up beyond the railway bridge, and ahead of us the southern bank of the river was lined with wharves and warehouses. Plumes of smoke rose up from the factory chimneys.
“Did you enjoy Francis’ company during your trip to Derbyshire?” I asked my sister.
“Of course. He is very pleasant company indeed. I have always held Francis in high regard, as you know.”
“Perhaps even higher now that he has been able to solve the puzzle of Father’s disappearance.”
“Naturally! Don’t you feel the same way, Penelope? It’s quite remarkable what he’s been able to achieve.”
“And to think that you travelled to Derbyshire together without a chaperone!” I smiled.
“There was no call for a chaperone.”
“Might it not seem a little untoward for a married lady to travel such a great distance with an unmarried gentleman?”
“Well yes, I suppose it was rather irregular. But then it was rather an irregular situation. We had to visit Mother swiftly in the hope that she would learn nothing about Father from the newspapers, so we had little choice in the matter. What are you suggesting, Penelope?”
I smiled again.
“Oh, I see that you’re joking with me.”
“I’m the last person to pass judgement on the situation, Ellie. I don’t mind a bit, but it amuses me that neither of you questioned whether it would be appropriate to embark upon your journey together.”
“There wasn’t time to find another female companion. Besides, as a lady who is estranged from her husband and attempting to divorce him, I’m not the sort of woman society smiles upon, am I? I’ve received my fair share of judgement in recent months, and to be honest with you, Penelope, I can’t say that I care all that much about it any more.”
“That’s the spirit!” I said.
Clouds of steam rose into the air from a steamboat passing beneath the bridge. As it did so, a brown-haired lady in a blue dress walked past us, holding on to her hat. She seemed strangely familiar. I stopped and turned to watch her retreating form.
“Do you know her?” asked my sister.
“She looked familiar. For a moment I couldn’t place her, but I realise now that it was Mrs Worthers, whom I’ve encountered a couple of times in Piccadilly now.”
“And who is she?”
“I don’t know her well. She chased the women who committed the street robbery we witnessed, and she knows the jeweller I spoke to about the gangs, Mr Sowerby. That’s all I know about her.”
I turned around again and we resumed our walk across the bridge.
“I see,” said Eliza. “Well, it isn’t too uncommon to pass someone you recognise.”
“No, I suppose it’s not. There’s just something about her that seems a little… I don’t know.”
“What?”
“Mysterious, I suppose.”
“Sometimes I feel as though you want to find a story in everything, Penelope. She’s probably just another ordinary woman like you and me. Anyway,” she said with a grin, “it’s only six weeks until your wedding day now, is it not? I can’t wait! It’ll be such a wonderful day. Do you feel prepared?”
“I feel fairly well prepared for the day itself, and I’m certainly looking forward to it. I’m just not sure I’ve fully accustomed myself to how different life will be afterwards. I shall be leaving my home and my job behind. It feels like quite a wrench.”
“I’m sure it does. Is there no opportunity at all to keep your current employment at the Morning Express?”
“I intend to broach the subject with Mr Sherman again. The decision ultimately rests with Mr Conway, and he always takes rather a traditional view of such matters.”
“It would be a terrible shame if you had to leave. As your sister, I often feel your job puts you at unnecessary risk and you’d be better off doing something more befitting of a wife once you’re married. But that said, I also know how much enjoyment your work gives you. And quite frankly, you wouldn’t really be yourself if you had to stop doing it.”
“You’re right, Ellie. It wouldn’t feel right at all. I’ll do what I can to change their minds, but I fear the odds are stacked against me.”
“If they insist upon it you could come and work for Mrs Sutherland and me at the London Women’s Rights Society!”
“I suppose so.” Important though Eliza and Mrs Sutherland’s work was, I felt little excitement at such a prospect. Perhaps I just had to accept that certain sacrifices would have to be made in the pursuit of love.
“I can’t say that you seem overly enthusiastic about the idea, Penelope.”
“Oh, please don’t take offence, Ellie.” I turned toward her. “I’m sure that once James and I are married I would happily consider such a possibility. It’s just that at the moment the idea seems…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish my sentence.
“I understand, Penelope. You have a lot to think about at the present time. But when you do feel ready to consider it, I’m sure you would take to Mrs Sutherland quite well. She can be a funny fish at times, but she’s led such an interesting life.”
“Why is she a funny fish?”
“She likes to do things a certain way and can be a little short with me when I disagree with her. Whenever there is a decision to make, she insists on discussing every little aspect of it. I prefer to just get things done rather than spend a lot of time talking about them. That said, she has some fascinating stories to tell. She was born an only child and was therefore the sole heir to her father’s many businesses. He died when she was just sixteen years of age! She owns various factories and shops as well as a few residential properties. She’s an extremely busy lady, as you can imagine.”
