The Bloomsbury Murder (Augusta Peel Mysteries Book 3), page 14
“You think the attack on Miss Frankland-Russell may be linked to the murders of her two friends?”
“It’s a strong possibility.”
“And you believe the attacker intended to kill her last night?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Well, that’s very shocking indeed. I wasn’t aware that there had been such a tragic incident in Miss Frankland-Russell’s history.”
“It’s very likely that she’s still in danger.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised from the sound of things. She needs to be kept safe until the police catch this lunatic. The best option would be to arrange for her to return to her parents’ place. I shall speak to Lord Frankland-Russell first thing in the morning, and I’ll also head over to the hospital to pay Miss Frankland-Russell a visit.”
“She’s in a quite bit of pain at the moment and is still suffering from shock, but the medical staff hope she’ll make a full recovery.”
“Let’s hope she will. We certainly don’t want to risk anything else happening to her. I shall make the necessary arrangements and do all I can to ensure that she’s kept safe.”
Augusta replaced the receiver on the telephone.
“Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be angry with me, Sparky,” she said. “I think he was more concerned about keeping Miss Frankland-Russell safe.”
The telephone rang again, startling her.
This time it was Philip. “Sorry to bother you so late in the evening, Augusta.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d much rather speak to you than Thomas Bewick.”
“Have you just been speaking to the fellow?”
“Yes and, just as you predicted, he wasn’t particularly impressed with me for keeping Miss Frankland-Russell’s whereabouts from him.”
“Oh dear. Was he angry?”
“Not particularly, but it’s unlikely that I’ll be paid for my time now. Not altogether surprising, I suppose. The good news is, he’s going to arrange for Miss Frankland-Russell to return home. Hopefully she’ll be safe from her attacker there.”
“That is good news. I’m still hoping to obtain an honest account from her about what happened to Mrs McCall, but I can only really do so once we’ve caught the attacker. On that note, we found something rather interesting at the Mitchells’ home. How would you like to act as scribe in another interview with Walter Mitchell tomorrow? He’s down at Marylebone Lane police station again. Only this time he’s been arrested.”
Chapter 36
“I have never laid eyes on these items before in my life,” insisted Walter Mitchell the following morning.
Augusta was sitting in the interview room at Marylebone Lane police station alongside Philip and Inspector Shellbrook.
The items Walter was referring to lay on the table: a tweed overcoat, a scruffy bowler hat and a short length of thick twine.
“You say that you don’t recognise these items,” said Inspector Shellbrook. “But how do you explain them being found inside a sack in your backyard by a member of your house staff?”
“I really don’t know!” Walter spread his hands wide. “I have no idea how they got there!” The art teacher looked even more tired than he had the previous day and he still hadn’t shaved, so the stubble on his chin was quite thick.
Augusta stared at the piece of twine and felt a cold sensation in the pit of her stomach as she imagined it being used to end the lives of two young women. She shuddered and diverted her gaze.
“These items have been closely examined,” said Inspector Shellbrook, “and we found a couple of straight, dark hairs on the sleeve of the jacket that appear to match Miss Frankland-Russell’s hair.”
Walter shrugged. “I don’t doubt that, but it wasn’t me!”
“Then how do you explain the twine? We know that a piece of twine or rope was used in all three attacks.”
“I really cannot explain it, Inspector!
“Who else could these items possibly belong to?” asked Philip. “Your wife?”
“They don’t belong to her either; not that I know of. Are you suggesting she dressed up in a man’s overcoat and hat in order to attack those young women?”
“Do you think that’s what happened?”
“I honestly don’t know what to believe, Inspector, but I can’t even begin to explain how these things were found in my backyard. Someone must have put them there.”
“Yes, someone clearly did. The only access to your backyard is through your house, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“So the person who put the items there must have walked through your house.”
“Yes. Have you interviewed the servants yet?”
“We’re in the process of doing so, and a statement has been taken from the maid who found the sack. She hadn’t given it much thought until she showed it to your wife, who alerted us. We can’t rule any of the servants out just yet but I’m sure you’ll agree, Mr Mitchell, that you seem rather more suspicious, given that you knew Elizabeth Thackeray well and also visited Dorothy Cooper shortly before her death. And the latest victim, Catherine Frankland-Russell, works at your wife’s shop. A little too much of a coincidence, I should say.”
“But I was nowhere near Great Portland Street the other night!”
“You have an alibi, do you?” asked Inspector Shellbrook.
“Yes! I was at the pub.”
“Which pub?”
“The Orange Tree on Euston Road.”
“Is that the one close to Euston station?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not terribly far from Great Portland Street. How far would you say it was, Detective Inspector Fisher?”
“About half a mile.”
“Not far at all. And only one stop away on the tube, too. You could have got there and back quite quickly.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!” protested Walter. “This is the third time you’ve interviewed me. It’s harassment!”
“We have very good reason to interview you again,” suggested Philip.
“I’m innocent, that’s all I can say on the matter. What more do you want from me?”
“Have you ever heard of Saint Mildred’s school, Mr Mitchell?”
“No, where’s that?”
“It’s in South Hampstead.”
“No.”
“Did you ever know a lady named Anne McCall?”
“No, who’s she?”
“She was a teacher at the school.”
Mr Mitchell scratched his head. “I don’t understand what all this has to do with anything, Inspector.”
“Are you sure?”
Augusta watched Walter closely as he examined the grain in the tabletop. He appeared to be deep in thought.
Is he about to confess?
“We haven’t got all day, Mr Mitchell,” said Inspector Shellbrook. “If you’ve something to say, just spit it out.”
“Elizabeth told me a secret once,” he began, still looking down at the table. “A horrible story! It was something she’d had to live with and she made me swear never to tell anyone. I’ve kept it quiet for as long as I can but I suppose I should probably mention it. After all, Elizabeth’s gone. There’s no bringing her back now, is there?”
He lifted his eyes and addressed Philip directly. “It was when you mentioned the school just now. And the teacher. I don’t know why you asked it, but Elizabeth told me about a teacher who had died, and she said that she was there at the time. She didn’t tell me the name of the school or the teacher, but she told me she had nightmares about it.”
“This is very interesting, Mr Mitchell. Can you tell us anything more?”
“She was with her friends. One of them was Dorothy Cooper, but I can’t remember the names of the others. I only remember Dorothy because she visited her recently. Elizabeth told me that there was an argument with a teacher and that Dorothy pushed her down a flight of stairs! Unfortunately, the teacher died and the police got involved. They were all terrified that they would end up in prison! They had to pretend it was an accident, so they told the police the teacher had slipped and fallen. She wasn’t a nice teacher, apparently, but I still don’t think she deserved to die like that. The friends agreed that they would all cover up the truth.”
“Is that why no one was willing to admit that Dorothy Cooper was responsible for the teacher’s death?”
“Elizabeth said they were all close friends but they were a bit scared of Dorothy. She threatened to get them into trouble if they breathed a word of it to anyone.”
“Susan Peterson and Mary Colbourne,” said Philip matter-of-factly. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Elizabeth never mentioned their names to you?”
“No.”
“And you’ve never come across them yourself?”
“No.”
Philip consulted his notes. “My men carried out some research, which revealed that Mary Colbourne died after falling into the River Thames in the summer of 1918. Do you know anything about that?”
“No. Why would I?”
“And Susan Peterson died the year before Miss Colbourne. Her body was also found in the river.”
“Were they friends of Elizabeth’s?”
“Yes. And although their deaths were treated as accidental drownings at the time, we now feel fairly sure that they were murdered.”
Walter shook his head. “How dreadful,” he said. “But you must understand, Inspector, that I had nothing to do with any of it.”
“What do you think?” Philip asked Augusta as they left Marylebone Lane police station. “Do you think Walter Mitchell is being truthful with us?”
“He seems to be. I got the sense that he really hadn’t seen those items before. It was interesting to hear that Mrs Cooper was the one who pushed Anne McCall.”
“Yes, that was very interesting. I’ll need to verify his account with Miss Frankland-Russell. She left the hospital last night, apparently, and is now at home with a lady constable from the Women’s Police Patrol who has been tasked with keeping an eye on her.”
“That’s good news. Let’s hope she’s feeling much better by now. It’s difficult to imagine why Walter Mitchell would be the murderer. He claimed not to have known the school or the teacher, so why would he seek revenge for Mrs McCall’s death?”
“He could be bluffing. Maybe he does have some sort of connection to the school or Anne McCall. And don’t forget that the clothing and weapon that appear to have been used in the attacks were found in his backyard.”
“But why put them there? It’s the sort of thing the guilty person would do if he or she deliberately wanted someone to find them. I think the sack was planted there.”
“By Ellen Mitchell, perhaps?”
“Could be.”
“But she called the police when the maid found the sack.”
“A double bluff on her part, perhaps. Maybe she’s so keen to incriminate her husband that she decided to frame him for murder. She wants to divorce him, but framing him for murder would also be a good way to get rid of him.”
“What a thought! I suppose the only way to find out is to pay her another visit.”
Chapter 37
Ellen Mitchell rolled her eyes as Augusta and Philip stepped inside her shop on Oxford Street. She looked as fashionable as ever in a smart lilac dress and matching headband.
“What can you possibly want with me now? Isn’t it bad enough that my husband has been arrested?”
“Yes, that is rather unfortunate,” replied Philip, “but it’s also rather unfortunate that two girls have been murdered and a member of your staff has been attacked. I’m just as keen as you are to resolve this matter, Mrs Mitchell. Is there somewhere private we can go to talk?”
She led them into the office at the back of the shop. “If you’re about to accuse me of lying again...”
“Please just allow me to ask you a few questions, Mrs Mitchell,” said Philip. “We want to make this as succinct as possible. As you well know, a sack containing several suspicious items was found in the yard of your home yesterday. Have you any idea how it might have ended up there?”
She sighed. “No idea at all. I’ve had to reach the very unpleasant conclusion that my husband must have put it there. I can’t tell you how difficult it was for me to have to consider that he may actually be guilty of such a heinous act.”
“We’ve just spoken to him, and he denies any responsibility for the attacks.”
“I suppose he would, though, wouldn’t he?”
“Do you truly believe that he carried them out?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think any more, Inspector.”
“At the moment, Mrs Mitchell, I’m rather inclined to believe him,” said Philip. “I don’t think he has any idea at all how those items found their way into your backyard.”
Ellen wrinkled her nose. “Really? You believe he’s telling the truth?”
“Yes, I do.”
She gave a sigh. “I see what you’re getting at now. You think I must have had something to do with it.”
“Did you?”
“No! From what I understand, the bag contained a man’s overcoat, a man’s hat and a piece of rope that was almost certainly used in the attacks. What would I want with a man’s coat and hat? If you’re suggesting that I dressed up in them and went about murdering those girls, you’re quite mistaken. Inspector. I would have looked very foolish in that sort of get-up!”
“The attacks were carried out under the cover of darkness,” Philip replied. “Someone who saw a dark figure wearing a long coat and hat like the ones you found might well have assumed they had seen a man, yet it’s quite possible that a woman was wearing them.”
“The idea seems perfectly preposterous! If it wasn’t my husband, it has to have been one of the servants. Have you interviewed them yet?”
“We shall be interviewing everyone in your household, Mrs Mitchell. You don’t seem to have shown a great deal of concern for the young woman who worked for you, Catherine Frankland-Russell.”
“Of course I’m concerned! It’s absolutely awful that the poor girl was attacked. I still don’t understand why she lied to me about who she was, though.”
“She had her reasons.”
“I’m sure she did! But I must say that I felt a little affronted by it. It’s not right!”
“Have you visited her since the attack?”
“Not yet.”
“Perhaps you should. I heard she’s just returned home to continue her recovery. While we’re here, have you ever heard of Saint Mildred’s School, Mrs Mitchell?”
“I think so. It’s in north London somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Yes, South Hampstead. Have you ever been acquainted with a woman named Anne McCall?”
“No. Who’s she?”
“She was a teacher at the school, but she died six years ago. I was just interested to know whether you recalled encountering her at any time.”
“No. I’ve never visited the school, and I’m certainly not familiar with any of the teachers’ names. Why are you asking me all this?”
“We’re simply trying to get to the bottom of this case, Mrs Mitchell. Thank you for your time. We shall have to go and continue our investigations elsewhere.”
“Do you intend to let him go?”
“Your husband, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll discuss it with D Division, but it’s possible that we’ll need to hold him until we can be quite certain that he wasn’t behind the attacks.”
“Do you think she was trying to frame her husband?” Augusta asked Philip as they left the shop.
“It’s possible. But if she was, it would suggest that she’s the one behind the murders. I can see a clear motive for her murdering Elizabeth Thackeray and, although I’m not sure what her motive would have been for attacking Catherine Frankland-Russell, there is a connection there. As for Dorothy Cooper, I’ve no idea why she might have wanted to murder her.”
“Unless there’s a connection between Ellen Mitchell and the school after all.”
“Perhaps there is. That’s something we’ll need to find out… and soon.” Philip checked his watch. “In the meantime, shall we pay Miss Frankland-Russell a quick visit? Having heard what Walter Mitchell had to say about the death of Mrs McCall, I’d like to see whether Catherine feels she can finally tell us the truth about what happened at St Mildred’s.”
Chapter 38
“Yeah, she’s ’ere,” said Catherine’s red-faced landlady. “Second floor, third door along.” She pointed toward the wooden staircase. “You’ll see the lady constable up there.”
As she climbed the creaking stairs ahead of Philip, Augusta surveyed the crumbling plasterwork and considered how different this place must be compared with the large homes Catherine Frankland-Russell had previously lived in with her family.
The police officer was sitting on a chair outside Catherine’s door and she stood to her feet as they approached. Her dark blue coat was tightly belted at the waist. Her skirt was long, and she wore a wide-brimmed hat and shiny black boots.
Philip introduced himself and Augusta.
“I’m WPC Hawkins,” she replied. “Miss Frankland-Russell returned home yesterday evening and my colleagues and I have been taking it in turns to keep watch here. I’m happy to say there’s been nothing untoward to report at all.”
“That’s very good news,” replied Philip. “Thank you for keeping a close eye on her.”
Catherine answered the door wearing a simple brown dress and a scarf around her neck which Augusta guessed had been chosen to cover the bruising on her neck.
She gave them a weak smile as she invited them inside. “There isn’t much space,” she said. “I don’t often have visitors here.”
The room had a small kitchenette at one end and a bed and wardrobe at the other. A table with two chairs had been set up by the window. The room seemed rather bare, and Augusta realised that most of the girl’s belongings were most likely inside the open trunk resting on her bed.
