The Gang of St Bride's, page 15
part #9 of Penny Green Series
“Is this of some relevance to my father?” I asked.
“A little, I suppose. I was wondering whether the fall down the ravine had caused a similar injury to your father’s brain. Not as significant as Gage’s, of course, but enough to have caused some damage and perhaps an alteration to his personality.”
“You think my father’s personality could have been changed by his fall?”
“Not only that, but also his judgement. It might help to explain the decision he made to abandon his family.”
Chapter 29
“Her name is Margaret Brown,” said Sergeant Bradshaw.
James and I stood with him in the parade room at Thames Police Station in Wapping.
“Her mother has been calling in at all the police stations and hospitals for the past three weeks in the hope of discovering any news of her daughter,” the sergeant continued. “Now we know her identity, the inquest into her death can be resumed.”
“What do you know about her so far?” I asked.
She was twenty years old and sold fruit in Covent Garden. She lived with her mother and siblings in White Horse Yard, just off Drury Lane.”
“Did her mother know she was in the Twelve Brides gang?”
“No. She wasn’t aware that her daughter was a member of that gang or any other. Nor do we have any evidence that she was, aside from what that other young woman Sarah has told you, Miss Green. The girl claims to have known both victims, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“It would be extremely helpful if she agreed to speak to us. Perhaps you could persuade her to make a deposition at the inquest into Miss Brown’s death.”
“I can certainly try when I see her again. If I see her again,” I stressed. “I don’t know where to find her and, so far, she has refused to speak to the authorities.”
“Then the girl must be arrested,” replied Sergeant Bradshaw.
“On what grounds?”
“For her refusal to cooperate. We need her to talk, Miss Green.”
“I agree,” added James. “The riddle she passed on to us is of little use as things stand.”
“Riddle?” queried the sergeant.
James quickly filled him in.
“It could lead us to Rosie Gold,” I added.
“It could,” replied James. “But Inspector Paget is already making good progress on that front, he told me yesterday that his men have discovered she’ll be attending a party at the Mondragon Hotel in Fitzrovia this Friday. He’s planning to arrest her there.”
“That’s wonderful news!” I commented.
“In the meantime, we need to gather as much information about her as we can,” continued James. “That’s why we’re so keen to speak to this Sarah.”
“She knows nothing about Rosie Gold. I’ve already asked her.”
“She may be lying about that,” responded Sergeant Bradshaw.
“She may be lying about a lot of things,” added James. “We only have her word for the fact that Miss Miller and Miss Brown were murdered by the Twelve Brides in the first place.”
“As soon as Paget has Miss Gold in custody, we’ll be able to find out for sure,” said Sergeant Bradshaw. “In the meantime, if this Sarah girl calls on you again, Miss Green, you must summon the police as a matter of urgency.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to persuade Sarah to speak with the police,” I said to James as we left the station and walked along Wapping High Street. An odour that reminded me of rotten eggs lingered in the air as the low tide exposed the mudbanks of the river.
“I agree,” he replied. “We’ll have to spring a surprise on her.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I replied. “Besides, it would require some sort of deception on my part.”
“You appear to be placing a great deal of trust in her. How do you know it’s not misplaced?”
“It’s not trust, exactly,” I replied, “but I believe what Sarah told me about the riddle. Her manner and her words seem genuine and I feel that it would be most unreasonable to surprise her with an unexpected visit from the police. And I can’t even see how it could be done given that I have no idea when I’ll see her next.”
“If she visits you at home or at your office, you can excuse yourself for a brief moment and instruct Mrs Garnett or one of your colleagues to send me a telegram.”
“I think that would make Sarah instantly suspicious.”
“I’m sure you can come up with a convincing explanation to excuse yourself for just a brief moment.”
“But she was adamant that she didn’t want to speak to the police.”
“Of course she was! The girl no doubt has a murky past. But we can forget about any minor misdemeanours if she’s willing to help us. She’s said herself that she’d like to see the murderer of those two girls brought to justice, and the very best way for her to help is to speak to us rather than insisting that someone solve that foolish riddle of hers.”
“How do you know it’s foolish? It was obviously written for a reason. In fact, Francis and I have made some progress with it.” I told James about our journey to London Stone as we crossed the swing bridge where the street boy had snatched my bag.
“Perhaps it is the correct location,” he said, “but what are you expected to do with that information?”
“Francis and I decided it must be something to do with the public houses,” I replied. “I’m wondering whether a code word of some sort is needed when a person enquires within them.”
“And supposing you knew the code word, what would they say to you in response?”
“Perhaps they’d tell us how to find Rosie Gold.”
“It’s possible, I suppose, though it seems Inspector Paget is already quite close to doing so.”
“What puzzles me most is the number of locations we’ll need to identify from the riddle. It seems to me that we’re supposed to visit all of them.”
“How many are there likely to be?”
“I think I’ve identified five clues and that could mean five locations. Five public houses, possibly.”
“It could take a while to find them,” he replied with a sigh.
“Francis has proved helpful so far.”
“He has little else to do with his time at the moment. Don’t forget that I can still be of help even if I am busy. I solved the Blackfriars clue, didn’t I?”
“Yes, James, you did.”
Although he had been largely dismissive of the riddle, I sensed he was also sorely tempted to have a go at solving it, especially when it came to pitting his wits against those of Francis Edwards.
We paused beside a large warehouse with the words ‘Watson’s Wharf’ painted on its side, and James removed his notebook from his pocket.
“Tell me the names of the public houses you’ve visited, and I’ll make some enquiries. If it transpires that any of these establishments have known criminal connections, we could question the publicans further.”
I pulled my notebook from my carpet bag and read the names aloud to him. “The Crown on Blackfriars Road, just south of the bridge. The King’s Arms on Cannon Street, opposite the station. And the Three Feathers, right next to the station.”
“Why did you choose these particular public houses?”
“They’re the closest ones to the suggested location. And each is on a corner, which is how the riddle describes them.”
“Do you have the riddle with you?”
“I always have the riddle with me.” I smiled as I searched for it in my bag before handing it over.
“‘There’s a friendly hostelry on every corner,’” he read. “‘Call at the one with our best-known mourner.’ What does that second part mean?” He ran a hand over his chin.
“It suggests we don’t need to call in at all the hostelries; only at the one with the ‘best-known mourner’, whoever that might be.”
“You’ve written down one from your visit to Blackfriars Bridge and two in the vicinity of London Stone.”
“Yes. We didn’t know which public house near London Stone was the right one. If there is a right one, that is. It could be that the public houses have nothing to do with it after all.”
“I think there may be something in what you’ve said,” said James. “Hostelries are mentioned in the riddle and there seems to be no doubt that we need to visit one of them if we’re to solve it.”
I peered over at the riddle in his hand, willing a new idea to spring out at us from its familiar words.
“Royal!” said James eventually.
“Royal rewards?” I said. “In the last line?”
“Yes. The word ‘royal’ is interesting. Look at the names of the public houses you’ve visited. Two of them have royal connections: The Crown and The King’s Arms.”
“You’re right, James!”
“It may be nothing more than coincidence. Let’s not read too much into it just yet.”
“But if we can work out the other locations and visit them, we could look out for another public house with a royal-sounding name!”
“It’s just an idea, The Three Feathers might also have some relevance for all I know.”
“Feathers and crown?”
“One crown, three feathers? Perhaps we need a pub name with two of something. It may be a sequence. Then four of something, five of something and so on.”
“The riddle doesn’t allude to that, but it does mention the word royal.”
The names of various public houses with royal names ran through my head.
“Prince…” I said. “Queen… Oh, just a moment!”
“What?”
“The Queen, our best-known mourner!” I grinned.
“Yes! That could be it, couldn’t it?”
“Prince Albert died in 1861, didn’t he?”
“I think so.
“And she’s been in mourning ever since then.”
“Twenty-four years.”
“Surely she has to be our best-known mourner! I think we need to find a public house that bears the Queen’s name.”
“And that’s the one we must call at, according to the riddle.”
I pondered this for a moment. “I hope we’re right. Do you think we’re right, James?”
“I can’t think of any other explanation at the moment, but it’s important that we keep our minds open.”
“There’s a possibility that the train stations may also be relevant, as well as public houses with numbered names, such as the Three Feathers. We must try to keep track of those ideas, too. I’m worried we might be placing too much hope in public houses with royal names.”
“We’ll need to identify the other locations to be certain.”
“We will indeed. But where are they?” I looked down at the riddle again. “The letter to the Galtans part completely baffles me. But the Earl of Pembroke’s home and the place where Hamlet once trod the boards should be easier to solve. I shall continue with my research. Francis is likely to have some other good ideas.”
“I think we managed quite well without him just now,” said James with a smile.
He handed me the riddle and I tucked it back inside my carpet bag.
“Francis mentioned something quite interesting when we visited London Stone,” I said as we continued along Wapping High Street. “He wondered whether my father’s fall into the ravine may have caused some damage to his brain.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. I imagine it caused great damage to most of his body.”
“We know it did because he broke a leg, an arm and several ribs. But Francis suggested he may be suffering a form of brain disease from the injury to his head.”
James gave an interested nod. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Francis mentioned the case of Phineas Gage, the American railroad worker whose character changed after a metal rod passed through his head.”
James gave a laugh. “That’s rather a different scenario from falling down a ravine!”
“It is, yes,” I replied impatiently. “However, the similarity lies in the possible damage done. If Father suffered an injury which affected his brain it might help to explain his odd behaviour. Francis told me Father suffers from headaches and enjoys telling jokes. I don’t recall him ever being a joke-teller. Perhaps his personality was altered by the fall.”
James gave this some thought. “I must admit I didn’t take the suggestion enormously seriously when you first suggested it, Penny. But now you’ve explained it I can see how that could perhaps be why your Father has behaved so abominably toward you all.”
“Although I feel very sad that he has possibly suffered such a serious injury to his brain, it could go some way to explaining his behaviour. It would provide some sort of reason.”
“He can’t go using it as an excuse, though.”
“But what if he was unable to help himself? Perhaps he isn’t as accountable for his actions as we assumed if his brain has been affected.”
“It’s a difficult one to comprehend.”
“I intend to speak to a doctor about my theory,” I said. “Hopefully an expert can tell me if it’s even possible.”
Chapter 30
Edgar Fish swiftly hid something beneath a pile of papers on his desk as I entered the newsroom. Miss Welton, who stood next to him, had clearly been looking at something over his shoulder.
“Good morning, Miss Green!” Edgar chirped.
“What are you hiding?”
He pushed his lower lip out in apparent puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
“You hid something on your desk when I walked into the room,” I said.
“I don’t think I did—”
“I’m not a complete fool, Edgar,” I interrupted. “Why would you need to hide something from me?”
He sighed, realising there was little point in pretending any longer.
“Is it a secret?” I asked.
“No, it’s nothing secret,” he replied with a resigned air as he pulled a newspaper out from beneath the pile of papers.
I saw that it was a copy of The Holborn Gazette.
“What have they written about my father now?” I asked.
“How did you know it was about your father, Miss Green?”
“Because that’s the only reason I can think of to explain why you would hide it.”
“All right then, you’ve obviously got me all worked out.”
“That’s hardly difficult!” Frederick piped up.
“I would strongly advise against you reading it, Miss Green,” said Miss Welton.
“I’ve better things to do with my time than read that inferior publication.” I sat down at my desk. “Will you please tell me what the article said?”
“I have some typewriting to do,” said Miss Welton, making a swift exit.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell you, Miss Green,” said Edgar.
My stony stare prompted a swift response from Frederick. “I think you’ll have to tell Miss Green, Fish. She won’t stand for it otherwise.”
“No, I won’t,” I replied, staring Edgar directly in the eye.
“Oh, all right. But please don’t be angry with me, Miss Green. I wasn’t the one who wrote it.”
“I have no doubt my good friend Tom Clifford did.”
“You’re quite right.”
“What did he say?”
“He emphasised the surprise everyone felt after your father was found to be leading a double life.”
“And no doubt he has sensationalised the tale.”
“Yes, he has sensationalised it quite a bit, there’s no doubt about that.”
“In his defence, it does make for a rather good story, doesn’t it?” I said.
Edgar raised his eyebrows. “That’s extremely accommodating of you, Miss Green.”
“I expected some of the publications to make the most of it. Hopefully they’ll grow tired of the story before long and then it will all be forgotten about.”
“How very magnanimous of you,” said Edgar.
“I feel as though I’ve been presented with a choice of either magnanimity or anger,” I replied. “And I feel compelled to choose the former.”
“I’m impressed,” he replied. “I’m not convinced I’d manage it in the same situation.”
“That’s the fairer sex for you,” added Frederick. “Always full of grit and determination.”
A slam of the newsroom door announced the arrival of Mr Sherman, who was perusing a piece of paper.
“Here you are, Miss Green. I’ve a nice light piece for the ladies’ column this week. Three hundred ladies have been asked to give their favourite Christian names, and the results are here. The most popular is Mary, followed by Anna and then Elizabeth.”
“Where does Penelope feature on the list?” I asked.
“I can’t see it at all, I’m afraid. Nevertheless, I think it would be quite entertaining to include the results, don’t you think?” He handed me the piece of paper.
“Yes. Thank you, sir.”
“What’s the latest on the two girls found in the river?”
I told him what we had learned of the second girl, Margaret Brown.
“That’s good progress. Now all they need to do is find the culprit. Make sure you keep track of the story.”
“I intend to, sir. Until the twenty-second of May, at least.”
He gave an uncomfortable smile.
“Sir, I was wondering whether I could speak with your brother,” I ventured.
“Why’s that, Miss Green?”
“In his capacity as a physician, I should add.”
Mr Sherman’s twin brother had agreed to give his expert medical opinion in the Bermondsey poisoner case I had worked on.
“I should like to find out whether a man’s personality could be affected by an injury to his head,” I added.
Mr Sherman considered this. “I’m sure we’ve reported on one or two instances where that has proved to be the case.”
“I’d like to hear the view of a medical professional, if at all possible. Do you think he’d be willing to speak with me?”
