Catherine noticed Augusta glancing at it. “I’m returning home to my parents’ house tomorrow,” she said sadly. “It’s probably for the best. I don’t want to stay in London any longer. I need to get away.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” replied Augusta. “Have you spoken to them?”

  “Not yet, but Mr Bewick has. He’s already made the travel arrangements and he’s going to accompany me there tomorrow.”

  “That sounds like an excellent plan,” said Philip. “It’s a very good idea to make peace with your parents.”

  “They told Mr Bewick they won’t insist on me marrying Mr Farrell.” She smiled. “So that’s something to be pleased about.”

  “It certainly is!” responded Augusta, happy to hear this news. “I do hope you can be fully reconciled with them.”

  “Before you go,” said Philip, “I’d like to hear exactly what happened during the altercation with Mrs McCall at St Mildred’s.”

  “Oh no. Not this again!” Catherine wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and then turned away.

  “We’ve already heard Elizabeth Thackeray’s account.”

  Catherine turned back to Philip. “How is that possible?”

  “She told someone before she died. And that person told us.”

  “But we weren’t ever supposed to speak of it!”

  “That was an agreement you made when you were schoolgirls, isn’t that right?” said Augusta. “I can quite understand why you made such an agreement back then. I’m not saying it was the right thing to do but I understand why you did it. However, that was six years ago now and Elizabeth obviously felt the need to tell someone. It was obviously too much of a burden for her to bear alone.”

  Catherine wiped her eyes. “It is. I try not to think about it. I’ve tried so hard to push it out of my mind.”

  “Can you tell us who pushed Mrs McCall?”

  “If you’ve heard Elizabeth’s story, you must already know.”

  “I’d like to hear it from you, Miss Frankland-Russell.”

  She shrugged. “Very well. I’m surprised she spoke about it, but I can only imagine that it was weighing too heavily on her conscience. It was Elizabeth who pushed Mrs McCall.”

  “Elizabeth?” queried Philip. “She said that it was Dorothy Cooper… or Dorothy Henderson, as she was then.”

  Catherine shook her head. “No, it was definitely Elizabeth. She clearly chose to keep lying about it right until the end.”

  Augusta felt astonished by this news. It seemed as though Elizabeth had wanted to confess but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. Instead, she had blamed someone else. “Why did you feel unable to tell anyone the truth until now?” she asked Catherine.

  “We swore to each other that we wouldn’t say anything. It was awful that Mrs McCall died, but she was so horrible to us. Cruel, even. And Mrs Jones refused to listen.”

  “Was Mrs Jones the headmistress at the time?”

  “Yes. No one ever intended to hurt Mrs McCall, but Elizabeth just… She had a temper, and sometimes she couldn’t help herself. It cast such a horrible shadow over our lives. And now Elizabeth and Dorothy are dead! Mary died years ago, too. And then he almost got me…” Catherine’s hands instinctively rose to her neck, as if she were recalling the attack.

  “Who might have wanted to seek revenge?” Augusta asked. “Did Mrs Mitchell have any connection to the school?”

  “My manager at Stanhope Fashions? No, I don’t think so.”

  “What about her husband?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Do you believe that you were attacked as an act of revenge for Mrs McCall’s death?”

  “Yes, I believe I was. And I think that’s why the others were attacked, too. Perhaps it’s what we all deserved.”

  “You didn’t deserve this,” said Augusta. “It’s not proper justice.”

  “And you’re quite adamant that it was Elizabeth who pushed Anne McCall?” queried Philip.

  Catherine nodded. “I saw it with my own eyes. Elizabeth didn’t think Mrs McCall would die as a result. None of us expected that. It just all got out of hand. The whole thing haunts me still. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about it. If only I hadn’t been there that day! My whole life would have been so different.”

  Augusta shook her head. “If only you’d spoken up sooner. You could have been spared all this.”

  “I know, but we’d made a pact, and I hoped it would eventually be forgotten about. How foolish I was to think that!”

  “I do wish you well on your return home, Miss Frankland-Russell,” said Philip. “What time do you leave tomorrow?”

  “The train leaves at midday from Euston, so it’s only a short walk from here. I’m meeting Mr Bewick at the station.”

  “Good luck,” said Augusta. “Perhaps I can telephone you in a few days’ time to find out how you’re keeping?”

  Catherine smiled. “I should like that.”

  “Who do you really think pushed Mrs McCall?” Augusta asked Philip as they stepped out onto Longford Street.

  “Probably Miss Thackeray. Or perhaps it was Mrs Cooper after all. Oh, I’m not sure we’ll ever be completely certain. I’m planning to visit St Mildred’s in the morning to establish which of the Mitchells had a connection to the school or to Mrs McCall. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Yes, I would. Hopefully Fred will be willing to mind the shop for me again.”

  “I should think that he’s quite used to it by now!”

  “Seeing as it’s close by, I’d like to pay a quick visit to Great Titchfield Street before I head back there.”

  “The Mitchells’ house?”

  “Yes. I want to see if there’s any other possible way into their backyard.”

  “I’ve checked. There isn’t.”

  “I’d just like to make doubly sure myself.”

  Chapter 39

  Miss Roberts reluctantly agreed to meet with Augusta and Philip the following morning. Her lips were pushed firmly together and her neck and shoulders were visibly tense. If Augusta hadn’t been accompanied by an inspector from Scotland Yard, she suspected the headmistress would have refused to see her. Instead, Miss Roberts stared impassively at her visitors as they sat across the desk from her.

  “We’re fairly certain that the recent murders have something to do with the death of Anne McCall,” explained Philip. “We just have a few further questions for you about that.”

  “It’s not a topic we often discuss here.”

  “So I gather.”

  “It’s bad for morale.”

  “I can imagine, Miss Roberts. However, we’d like to find out whether a man named Walter Mitchell has ever worked at this school. It’s most likely that he taught art, if so.”

  The headmistress shook her head. “I don’t recall the name. However, as I explained to Mrs Peel during her last visit, I haven’t been here for very long. I’ll go and ask my secretary to join us. She can bring in the relevant records so we can look him up among the list of previous teachers.”

  She left the room and returned a short while later with a stocky, fair-haired woman. They both carried heavy books, which they placed on a table at the side of the room.

  “This is my secretary, Mrs Steel,” said Miss Roberts. “She doesn’t recall a Mr Mitchell working here at all.” She turned to the secretary. “How long have you worked here, Mrs Steel?”

  “About eight years.”

  “Eight years,” repeated Miss Roberts as she turned back to Philip and Augusta. “Do you have a rough idea of the dates he might have been here?”

  “I don’t,” replied Philip. “In fact, it’s only a guess that he ever worked here at all. Perhaps the records could be checked all the same. Do they go back as far as ten years?”

  “They go back almost seventy years, Inspector.”

  “Well, there’s obviously no need to check that far back.” He gave a low chuckle in an attempt to lighten the sombre mood. It had no visible effect.

  “Please begin looking through the records, Mrs Steel,” instructed the headmistress. “Start in 1911, so we can cover the past ten years.”

  “What about a Mrs Ellen Mitchell?” asked Philip.

  The headmistress sighed, as though it were impertinent to add yet another name to the mix. “I don’t remember her, either. Does she bear any relation to Walter Mitchell?”

  “She’s his wife.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s possible that her name may have been recorded as Ellen Stanhope,” Philip added. “That was her maiden name.”

  “Very well,” replied Miss Roberts. “Did you hear that, Mrs Steel? You’re looking for a Walter Mitchell and an Ellen Mitchell or Stanhope. Do any of those names ring a bell at all?”

  “They don’t, but I’ll look them up all the same.”

  A few minutes later, Mrs Steel confirmed that none of these names were listed among the teachers’ records.

  “I’ve gone all the way back to 1911,” she said. “Do you want me to look even further back?”

  “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” replied Philip.

  Augusta gave this some thought, Walter Mitchell appeared to be about forty-five years old. It was possible that he had worked at the school as far back as twenty years ago.

  “We’d be going back to a time when Miss Frankland-Russell and her friends were little more than babies,” she said to Philip. “Does that matter?”

  He stroked his chin and gave this some thought. “I don’t suppose it does. What we need to prove is whether Walter or Ellen Mitchell had any connection to the school. If it turns out they did, we’ll need to establish whether they had any connection to Mrs McCall. Even if the connection goes back a long way, it may still be relevant.”

  They waited in silence while the secretary leafed through the book.

  “No, nothing,” she announced.

  “Thank you for all your hard work, Mrs Steel,” said the headmistress. She turned to Philip. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help to you, Inspector.”

  Philip pondered for a moment. “Is it possible that Mr and Mrs Mitchell’s children attend this school?”

  “Do you happen to know their names?”

  He pulled out his notebook and leafed through it. “Agatha and Doris,” he replied once he had found the relevant page.

  “I pride myself on knowing the names of all our girls, and I’m afraid we don’t have an Agatha or a Doris Mitchell here.”

  Philip sighed and closed his book. “Oh, well. Never mind. I was just desperately trying to find some sort of connection between the Mitchells and this school.”

  “I can see that. May I ask why?”

  “They’ve both played an important part in our investigation.”

  Miss Roberts stood to her feet. “Well, I’m sorry that we haven’t been able to find a connection for you, Inspector. Is it possible that the recent murders have nothing to do with Mrs McCall’s death after all?”

  “Oh, but they must do! I feel sure of it.”

  Miss Roberts seemed keen for them to leave, so Augusta and Philip made their way toward the door. Their visit had been frustratingly unrewarding.

  Augusta was struck by a sudden thought. She stopped and turned to face Miss Roberts. “Mrs McCall…” she commented.

  “Yes.”

  “Was she married?”

  “I assume so.”

  “She was widowed,” said Mrs Steel. “Her husband died young. I recall that she came to work here shortly after his death.”

  “Was her maiden name Mitchell, by any chance?” asked Augusta.

  “I don’t know,” replied the headmistress.

  The secretary shrugged.

  “Yes, there could be something in that idea, Augusta!” said Philip, his eyes wide. “If her maiden name was Mitchell, she may have been related to Walter Mitchell. Or perhaps her maiden name was Stanhope. That way she may have been related to Ellen Mitchell. Who could tell us, do you think?”

  “The games mistress I spoke to during my last visit!” said Augusta, her heart began to pound with excitement. “Miss Worsley. Would she know?”

  “She may well do,” responded the headmistress, “but she’ll be teaching at the moment.”

  “Then interrupt her!” replied Philip. “This is very important, Miss Roberts. If Mrs McCall was related to Walter or Ellen Mitchell, we need to know as a matter of urgency!”

  The headmistress walked over to the door. “If you insist, Inspector, I shall go and fetch her right away. I do hope all this will be worth our while.”

  The window of the office overlooked the school field. Augusta and Philip watched as the thin, grey figure of Miss Roberts strode out across the green expanse toward the games mistress, who was overseeing hockey drills.

  A short while later, Miss Worsley entered the office alongside Miss Roberts, her face had been reddened by the cold wind.

  “I’ve already asked the games mistress your question, Inspector,” said Miss Roberts. “However, I can tell you now that it’s not Mitchell. Or Stanhope, either, for that matter.”

  “That’s a shame,” replied Philip. “We won’t keep you much longer, Miss Worsley. For what it’s worth, would you mind telling us the name Mrs McCall was known by before she married?”

  “I can’t remember it exactly, but I know that it began with a ‘b’. Berwick, I think it was.”

  Augusta jumped. “Bewick?” she asked.

  “Could have been.”

  Philip turned to Augusta and she could see in his eyes that he had reached the same conclusion as her.

  Thomas Bewick. The Frankland-Russells’ solicitor.

  “He’s meeting her at Euston to take her home!” Augusta exclaimed.

  Philip nodded. “Midday, didn’t she say?”

  Augusta glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was twenty-past eleven.

  “I need to make a quick telephone call,” said Philip. “Can I please use your telephone, Miss Roberts? I’ll make sure the Yard reimburses you for the call.”

  “Of course. What’s the significance of all this? Is it something to do with the surname Berwick?”

  “Bewick,” replied Philip as he picked up the receiver. Once through to the telephone exchange, he asked to be connected to Lord Frankland-Russell. “Do you happen to know where in Shropshire they live, Augusta?” he asked. “The operator wants an address.”

  Augusta took a deep breath, desperately trying to recall the name of the house Lady Hereford had mentioned. It was on the tip of her tongue… “Harkup!” she said finally. “Harkup House. I don’t know whereabouts in Shropshire that is, though.”

  “Hopefully that’ll be enough.” He relayed this to the operator and was finally put through to the Frankland-Russell residence.

  Augusta tried to accustom herself to the idea that Thomas Bewick was somehow related to Anne McCall. The shared surname was too much of a coincidence for them not to be connected. Is he her brother?

  Philip briefly spoke to a staff member at the household before connecting with Lord Frankland-Russell. “I’m telephoning to ask whether you’re expecting your daughter, Catherine, to arrive home today… She’s due to leave London by train shortly… Your solicitor is accompanying her… Thomas Bewick…”

  A minute later, Philip replaced the telephone receiver. “The old boy had no idea what I was talking about,” he said. “He wasn’t expecting Miss Frankland-Russell home today. And as for Thomas Bewick, he’s never heard of the man!”

  Chapter 40

  “So that’s why he wanted me to find her!” exclaimed Augusta.

  “What’s going on?” asked Miss Roberts.

  “I need to make another telephone call,” replied Philip, picking up the telephone receiver. He put in a call to Scotland Yard and requested assistance at Euston station. Then he rang off. “We need to get going, Augusta.”

  Outside, they hurried toward Finchley Road. “Bewick wanted Catherine dead,” said Augusta, “but he couldn’t track her down because she’d changed her name!”

  They stopped outside a public house, desperately searching for a taxi. A steady stream of traffic flowed past them.

  Philip checked his watch. “We’ve only got half an hour!”

  “We have to get there before twelve,” said Augusta. “Can’t you just flag down another vehicle?”

  “I might have to. I’d prefer to take a taxi, as the drivers know how to pick up the pace when they need to. Oh, there’s one over on the other side of the road!” Philip waved his walking stick at it. “Over here!” he yelled.

  The taxi eventually slowed, swung around and stopped by the kerbside.

  “Euston station, as quickly as you can please,” urged Philip, showing the driver his warrant card.

  The driver nodded and they were off.

  Augusta’s mind whirled as she attempted to understand what had happened. “He tracked down the other girls,” she said, “but he couldn’t find Miss Frankland-Russell. And I’ve gone and helped him. I’ve delivered her right into his hands!”

  “You weren’t to know, Augusta. He fooled us all.”

  “That explains why he asked me not to contact her parents. They had no idea what he was up to! Miss Frankland-Russell thought it odd that they would suddenly want to find her again. As far as she was concerned, they had washed their hands of her.” Augusta felt a pang of anger. “And to think that I felt such sympathy for them! I felt so bad that they were missing their daughter and wanted to find out where she was. It was all lies!”

  “He’s certainly a master manipulator,” responded Philip. “I’m concerned about what he intends to do to Miss Frankland-Russell once he gets hold of her. The best thing we can do now is hurry to Euston and stop them before they get on that train.”

  The taxi made its way south toward Regent’s Park.

  “If Thomas Bewick did murder those girls,” said Philip, “he somehow managed to plant that sack of clothing in the Mitchells’ yard. He knew where they lived because he was assisting Ellen Mitchell with her divorce, wasn’t he? I imagine he must have visited the house at some point. But how did he leave the sack there without anyone noticing? I’m sure the servants would have mentioned something if he’d turned up at the house with it.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17