The Bloomsbury Murder (Augusta Peel Mysteries Book 3), page 12
The young woman fidgeted with her hands. “His clients’ names are confidential, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sure they are. However, I’m an inspector from Scotland Yard, and I’d really like to speak to Mrs Mitchell as soon as possible.” He showed the secretary his warrant card.
“I’m not supposed to disturb Mr Bewick when he’s with a client.”
“I’m afraid you must when an inspector from Scotland Yard requests it.”
She sniffed and walked off toward Mr Bewick’s office.
“I suppose there’s always a chance that it’s a different Mr Bewick she’s meeting with,” Philip whispered to Augusta. “We’d look rather foolish then, wouldn’t we? It’s important that we at least pretend to know exactly what we’re doing, though.”
The secretary returned a short while later and said that Mr Bewick was willing to admit them.
If Thomas Bewick was irritated by the interruption, he didn’t show it. “This is a surprise, Inspector. Has something happened?” Dressed in a smart grey suit with a burgundy tie and handkerchief, he leaned against his desk as he spoke.
Ellen Mitchell was dressed in blue and sat scowling at them from one of the plum-coloured sofas.
“Something or other is always happening, Mr Bewick,” replied Philip. “I do apologise for the interruption, but we would really appreciate a quick word with Mrs Mitchell, if it’s not too inconvenient. It won’t take long.”
“Of course. I’ll pop downstairs while you do that.”
“No, wait!” Ellen called out. “I’d like you to stay here, Mr Bewick.” She turned to Philip. “Anything you have to say to me can be said in the presence of my lawyer.”
Philip glanced at Thomas, who gave an acquiescent nod. “Very well,” he said.
Augusta and Philip took a seat on the sofa opposite Ellen, who was immediately joined by her lawyer.
“We’ve got a bit of a conundrum on our hands, Mrs Mitchell,” said Philip. “We spoke to your husband this morning, and one thing he said contradicted something you told us.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” she replied. “You’ve hauled him in for questioning again, have you? I imagine he’s extremely tired and disorientated by now. It’s no wonder he’s started contradicting himself.”
“He’s not contradicting himself, Mrs Mitchell. He’s contradicting you.”
“He recently discovered that I intend to divorce him, Inspector, so his mind is probably very muddled. If you must know, that was the reason for my visit to Mr Bewick this morning.”
“I see. I’m sorry to hear about the divorce. I realise this must be a difficult time for you, so I’ll get on with it. Why did you pretend not to know about your husband’s affair?”
Ellen pushed her lower lip out and gave a bemused shrug. “Are you accusing me of lying, Inspector?”
“It seems you knew about the affair with Elizabeth Thackeray before I told you about it. Is that right?”
Ellen glanced across at her lawyer, then back at Philip. “I knew he was up to something. A wife always knows.”
“But did you know it was Elizabeth Thackeray he was having an affair with?”
She smoothed her hair, then examined a manicured fingernail. “I saw them together once. She was in his sidecar. We don’t live very far from the university, you see.”
“So you’re now admitting that you knew your husband was having an affair with Miss Thackeray before I shared that information with you?”
She scratched behind her ear. “I had an inkling. Is that all you need to know? Mr Bewick and I have a lot of work to be getting on with.”
“May I ask why you lied to us, Mrs Mitchell?”
“I don’t recall lying to you.”
“When I informed you of your husband’s friendship, as I put it, with Mrs Thackeray, you acted as though it were a shocking piece of news to you.”
“I don’t recall that, but I remember being quite upset. It always upsets me to hear any mention of it.” She pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed at her face with it, unconvincingly.
“Is there anything else, Inspector?” asked Mr Bewick.
“Just one more question. Mrs Mitchell, did you know about your husband’s relationship with Elizabeth Thackeray before she was murdered?”
“How would I remember that? I know that I found out quite recently, but I can’t even remember when the girl was murdered now.”
“It was five days ago. Were you aware of the affair before then?”
“I’d say that it was quite likely, yes. I think I was already speaking to Mr Bewick by that point.”
“Let me consult my notes,” Thomas said, getting up from his seat. He strode over to the large desk and leafed through some papers. “I can confirm that Mrs Mitchell first called on me exactly six days ago. It was then that she first asked me about obtaining a divorce.”
“The day before Elizabeth Thackeray was murdered,” replied Philip.
“But looking back at my notes,” continued the lawyer, “I see that there is no mention of Mr Mitchell’s affair or of the girl, so I’m unable to confirm whether my client knew of the affair when she visited my office.”
Augusta was disappointed to hear this. Mr Bewick seemed to be providing Mrs Mitchell with a reasonable defence.
Philip turned to Ellen. “But surely you can recall whether you knew about your husband’s affair or not at that point?”
“My memory is rather vague now,” she responded. “Our marriage hasn’t been right for a long time.”
“I don’t like being lied to, Mrs Mitchell.”
“To the best of my recollection, I have never actually lied to you, Inspector. Didn’t you just deduce that my husband’s affair with Elizabeth Thackeray was news to me the last time we spoke?”
Philip ran his hand over his chin, clearly frustrated that she was deliberately complicating the matter. He rose to his feet and picked up his walking stick.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs Mitchell. Mr Bewick.”
He began to walk toward the door, and Augusta followed behind him.
“If there’s anything else I can help with, Inspector, please don’t hesitate to call on me again,” said Thomas Bewick. “Oh, and Mrs Peel?”
Augusta reluctantly turned to face him, knowing what he was about to ask.
“Any word on the matter we recently discussed?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr Bewick. I really don’t know where she is.”
“She’s lying, isn’t she?” said Philip as they stepped out onto Cavendish Square. “In fact, she’s lying about lying! How irritating that we decided to speak to her without all the relevant documents in front of us. It was a bit rash going to see her at her solicitor’s office. I’ll head back to the Yard to go through the file and reread her exact words from that interview.”
“She’s very cunning,” added Augusta. “I hope you manage to find something helpful in the notes. I wonder why she’s lying to us?”
“That’s anyone’s guess. I suppose you’ll need to be getting back to the shop now.”
“I really should, but I’ll have to trust Fred to mind things a short while longer. I’d like to pay a visit to St Mildred’s School in Hampstead first.”
Chapter 31
St Mildred’s School for Girls was a large, austere, red-brick building with mullioned windows. It sat within modest-sized grounds close to a wealthy residential area in South Hampstead. It was easy to reach by tube, and the faint warmth of the sun made the walk along its gravelled driveway quite pleasant.
A neat sign at the entrance door informed Augusta that the headmistress’s name was Miss Roberts. Once inside, she was informed by Miss Roberts’s secretary that the headmistress would only be able to see her for ten minutes.
Moments later, Augusta found herself standing inside a large office. One wall was lined with books while another had tall, leaded windows that looked out over the grounds. Portraits of various stern-faced women hung on the walls. Augusta deduced that they depicted former teachers and notable alumni.
As she seated herself opposite Miss Roberts, Augusta felt fidgety and light-headed. This situation reminded her of being scolded by the headmistress during her own schooldays. She tried to reassure herself that those days had long since passed.
Miss Roberts was about fifty years old with wavy grey hair and horn-rimmed spectacles. A neat bow had been tied at the collar of her dark-blue blouse.
“I’m a private detective,” Augusta explained, “and I’m assisting Scotland Yard with one of their investigations. You’ve no doubt heard about the recent deaths of two young women: Elizabeth Thackeray and Dorothy Cooper. Mrs Cooper’s maiden name was Henderson. I understand both girls attended this school.”
“Yes, I believe they did,” replied the headmistress solemnly. “I wasn’t here during their time but I heard from members of my staff that the two women studied here. It’s caused a great deal of shock, as I’m sure you can imagine; to the teachers who knew them and also to the school as a whole. It’s dreadful to think that something so awful could happen to two former pupils.”
“Miss Thackeray and Mrs Cooper had a friend, Catherine Frankland-Russell. I understand she was also a pupil here.”
“Was she? I couldn’t tell you, I’m afraid.”
“Is there a teacher I can speak to who might remember Miss Frankland-Russell? And the other two girls as well?”
Miss Roberts glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Lessons will be finishing shortly. Miss Worsley might see you, I suppose. She’s the games mistress and has been teaching here for about fifteen years. She might remember the girls.”
Augusta followed Miss Roberts as she walked briskly along the corridor, the tap-tap of her heels echoing noisily on the wooden floorboards. She pushed open a door that opened out onto a colonnaded walkway. Beyond this lay a large emerald-green playing field where a game of lacrosse was in progress. Miss Roberts strode out onto the field and Augusta trailed after her.
As she approached the girls, she recalled being hit in the face by a lacrosse ball at her own school. She had lost a tooth in the incident but had been instructed to play on regardless. She resolved not to hold Miss Worsley in the same contempt in which she had held her own games mistress all those years ago.
The whistle sounded and the girls immediately stopped playing. Miss Worsley gave the girls who hadn’t put in enough effort a dressing-down, then dispatched everyone back to the changing rooms.
“Miss Worsley,” said the headmistress, “this is Mrs Peel, a private detective. She has some questions about Elizabeth Thackeray and Dorothy Cooper, or Dorothy Henderson, as she was known during her time here. You remember them, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Miss Worsley was a broad-shouldered woman of about forty. She wore a navy blazer and skirt with a matching headband to keep her bobbed hair in place.
“Do you remember a friend of theirs, Catherine Frankland-Russell?” asked Augusta.
“Yes, I remember her all right.” She appeared to have no fond memories of the girl, judging by her solemn expression.
“Would you mind telling me exactly what you remember of them?” Augusta asked. “I spoke to both Elizabeth Thackeray and Dorothy Cooper before they were killed, but they were reluctant to say much about each other. I’ve found Catherine Frankland-Russell to be equally reluctant. It’s as if they’ve all been tasked with keeping some sort of secret. I’m beginning to believe that the secret must be uncovered if the murders are ever to be solved.”
Miss Worsley fixed her gaze on the houses at the far end of the playing field. “I’m guessing that will have something to do with Mrs McCall,” she responded.
Augusta heard an intake of breath from the headmistress next to her.
“Who’s Mrs McCall?” Augusta asked.
The games mistress turned to face Miss Roberts and, raising one hand to shield her eyes from the low sun, asked, “am I permitted to explain?”
“In the briefest of words,” responded the headmistress. “It’s a matter we prefer not to discuss here at St Mildred’s.”
“It happened during the war,” Miss Worsley told Augusta. “In early 1915. That was when Mrs McCall died.”
“How dreadful. It was quite sudden, was it?”
“I’d say so. She fell down the main staircase.”
“She died here at the school?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Shortly before she died, she’d been involved in an altercation with a group of girls. Troublemakers, they were.”
“Elizabeth, Dorothy and Catherine?”
“Yes, and two more. Susan Peterson and Mary Colbourne.”
“And she fell because of the altercation?”
“Well, that’s the trouble. No one really knows for sure.”
“I hope this has answered your question, Mrs Peel,” interrupted the headmistress, “but it’s obviously not an incident we are keen to dwell on.”
“It’s very shocking,” replied Augusta. “Were the police involved?”
“They were,” responded Miss Worsley, “and if you ask me, they struggled to manage those five girls or get anything pertinent out of them. They played the police like a fiddle. Ridiculous, isn’t it? The police can catch all manner of crooks and gangsters, but a group of schoolgirls? They just didn’t know what to do with them. They let them all go in the end. The girls protected each other, and that was that.”
“That really is all we have time for,” interjected Miss Roberts. “I’m sorry to hurry you, Mrs Peel, but Miss Worsley has another class to teach.”
Chapter 32
“Here are the files,” said Philip, walking into his office with a heavy box under his arm.
Augusta had called in at Scotland Yard following her visit to St Mildred’s and was relieved to discover that he hadn’t yet left for home.
“Let me take that box from you,” she said, worried he was about to topple over as he tried to balance with his walking stick.
She placed the box down on his desk and Philip opened it. He pulled out a file and read the details on the first page. “January 1915,” he announced. “Does that sound about right?”
Augusta nodded.
He pulled out another file and handed it to her. Then the pair sat down to read about the circumstances of Anne McCall’s death.
Between them, they deduced that the teacher had been admitted to hospital on the 12th of January 1915, having suffered serious injuries from a fall down the staircase at Saint Mildred’s. She had died from her injuries later that evening. Shortly before her accident, there had been a disagreement between her and a group of five girls: Elizabeth Thackeray, Catherine Frankland-Russell, Dorothy Henderson, Susan Peterson and Mary Colbourne. The girls were aged fifteen and sixteen at the time.
The incident appeared to have followed a series of disagreements between these girls and the schoolmistress. Dorothy Henderson had felt picked on by Mrs McCall and had been angry to have received what she believed to be excessive punishments for minor misdemeanours. The case file suggested that she had been successful in rallying support from her friends and in confronting the teacher. Following the incident, all of the girls had been expelled.
“There’s a lot to read through here,” said Philip. “From what I can see, there are numerous statements relating to the bickering and tension that led up to Mrs McCall’s death. There are statements here from each of the girls and it appears that it wasn’t just Dorothy who felt picked on. Each had a tale to tell about constant punishments such as being made to stand outside for long periods, being hit on the hands and legs with a cane, and being made to translate lengthy passages of the Greek New Testament. Not unusual punishments in themselves, but the fact that they were handed out for little or no wrongdoing seems to be the thing that angered the girls.
“Some of them told their parents about it and Dorothy Henderson’s parents wrote to the headmistress. That letter has been added to this file. Mrs McCall is reported to have been angry that Dorothy’s parents complained and she bore a particular grudge against the girl after that.” He continued to flick through the documents in front of him.
“The headmistress at the time doesn’t appear to have handled the situation well,” said Augusta. “It says here that her name was Mrs Jones.”
“No, it doesn’t appear to have been handled well at all,” agreed Philip. “And this sorry series of events culminated in a slanging match at the top of the stairs that day in January 1915. The girls said that the schoolmistress fell by accident, but the school and the police believed she was pushed.”
“Why did they think that?”
“The girls’ statements didn’t match up. Some said Mrs McCall had stumbled and fallen down the stairs of her own accord. Others said Mrs McCall had given one of the girls a shove and that the girl had reciprocated.”
“They said that she pushed Mrs McCall down the stairs?”
“It seems that way.”
“Which girl was it?”
“No one was ever named,” replied Philip. “They must have agreed between themselves not to drop anyone in it. I can see now that it must have been a difficult case to investigate. The only witnesses were the five girls, and they were all treated as suspects. It’s no wonder they all tried to cover for themselves.”
“And each other. I wonder where Susan Peterson and Mary Colbourne are now.”
“It would be interesting to track them down and find out if they’d be willing to speak about the sorry event all these years later. I’ll get someone to search them out. I imagine a dark cloud lingered over the girls and their friendships after they were expelled.”
“I can see now why they didn’t like to talk about it.”
“I should think it was an episode they were all extremely ashamed about. If only we’d known this sooner, we could have asked Miss Thackeray and Mrs Cooper about it.”
Augusta recalled the fire at Dorothy Cooper’s home. “Didn’t the housekeeper say that Mrs Cooper had been burning personal papers? I wonder if they contained any references to the school? Perhaps she was trying to eliminate any record that could tie her to it or to Mrs McCall’s death.”
