The Gang of St Bride's, page 17
part #9 of Penny Green Series
“I haven’t seen any other public houses,” I said to Sarah. “Only The Rising Sun.”
“It don’t sound like a royal name ter me.”
“No, it doesn’t. Perhaps we were mistaken about the royal names. Perhaps we’re mistaken about the names of the public houses having any sort of relevance at all.”
Our circular route brought us back to the theatre. I paused in front of the building and looked up at its large, pitched roof. The entrance had a wide, columned porch, beneath which we sheltered from the rain for a short while.
“We’ve had a good look around and I’m struggling to see anything that might be of relevance to the riddle,” I said, pulling the piece of paper out of my bag one more time and looking at it. “‘Hamlet no longer treads the boards,’” I said again in the hope that the answer would suddenly be revealed to me.
I glanced around at our wet surroundings, and at the rain dripping off the front of the porch. A ball of frustration began to expand in my chest. This seemed to have been the most fruitless visit of all.
“I don’t know what the answer here is supposed to be,” I said, pushing the riddle back into my bag, aware that it was becoming so crumpled that I would soon need to copy it out again.
I glanced over at Sarah, who stood watching the rain. She said nothing in response. Perhaps it was unreasonable of me, but I felt a snap of irritation that she had no ideas to share. I was so used to the lively conversation I frequently shared with James, Eliza and Francis that I perhaps had unrealistic expectations of this girl with her limited education.
“I suppose we should take a cab back,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Miss Green.”
“Whatever for?”
“I ain’t been much ’elp, ’ave I? There weren’t no point me comin’ ‘ere with yer.”
Sarah spoke as if she had somehow read my mind, making me feel ashamed of my unspoken irritability.
“There’s no need to apologise, Sarah. And besides, perhaps this is simply the wrong location. Or perhaps it’s the right location but the clue is something other than a public house. To be quite honest, I feel as though my patience is beginning to run out. It would make matters much easier if you could just tell the police everything you know about the gang.”
“But I don’t know nothin’. I’ve told yer!”
“You could tell them where to find Miss Danby, for a start.”
“What, and get meself murdered fer me trouble?”
“No one need ever know you spoke to them.”
“They’d find out some’ow. Them types always do.”
Chapter 32
In the reading room that afternoon I worked on an article about the number of births and deaths registered in London the previous week. Once I had grown tired of it, I looked up the Earl of Pembroke in Burke’s Peerage and made a note of everything which seemed relevant. Then I read through these notes and sighed. Even if I managed to identify a location related to this part of the riddle, I was likely to be met with the same disappointment I’d faced at Sadler’s Wells Theatre.
“Penny!” came a whisper at my shoulder.
It was James. I returned his smile, then hurriedly packed away my papers so we could talk outside.
“Sarah eventually turned up,” I said as we stood on the steps of the British Museum. The rain had stopped and gentle rays of sunshine were making their way through the clouds. “I saw her on the street after I’d left The London Stage offices and was in a cab travelling toward Sadler’s Wells Theatre. She came with me, in fact.”
“At least she showed up. We spotted three or four girls matching her description,” he said, “but none admitted to being called Sarah.”
I told James she had been approached by two men but had told them her name was Millie.
He shook his head and tutted. “We nearly had her, then. Had we seen her speaking to you we could have been certain. It was rather clever of her to reply with another name. I’ll speak to the constables who approached Millie, as she called herself, and hopefully they’ll be able to spot her again in future. Did she reveal anything more about herself during your visit to Sadler’s Wells?”
“Not really.”
I told James about the disappointing visit, then added, “I don’t think it can have been the right location. It didn’t feel right, at least. It was rather too leafy and green, and too far away from the centre of London.”
“Are you sure the riddle is worth all this time you’re spending on it?”
“I was sure we’d made some progress the other day when we realised there was a royal connection between the public house names.”
“But how can you be sure we’re right?”
“I can’t be completely sure, but it seemed to make sense. And if we stumble upon a public house with the Queen’s name upon it, I shall feel certain that we’re correct.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then there must be another connection.”
“How much longer do you intend to work on this? I’d much rather we questioned Sarah to find out what she knows.”
“I don’t think she knows very much at all.”
‘That’s what she wants you to believe, but someone will have recruited her to the gang. She must know some of the other members, and who knows what else they’ve told her?”
“We can’t force Sarah to talk, James.”
“There are ways and means.”
“She’s had a difficult life. You mustn’t treat her harshly in any way.”
“I’m not suggesting for a minute that we would, but there are certain negotiation techniques we can employ.”
“I’ll let you know when she visits me next.”
“She’ll probably slip through the net again, knowing her!”
“She told me she sometimes goes to the Oxford Musical Hall and also to a pastry shop on Avery Row. Perhaps your men could try looking out for her there.”
“It’s worth a try, but I’m beginning to feel as though she’s leading us a merry dance.”
The sun had broken away from the clouds and was beginning to warm the steps we were standing upon.
“Meanwhile I’ve encountered someone else who’s keen to help,” James added.
“Who might that be?”
“The lady who chased the three girls after the street robbery on Piccadilly. Do you remember her?”
“Mrs Worthers?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve encountered her a couple of times, most recently on Blackfriars Bridge. I’m not sure what she was doing there.”
“Crossing the river, perhaps?” James smiled.
“Very amusing! I was surprised to see her there, that’s all.”
“She’s proven to be a useful witness of a few more robberies in the Piccadilly area.”
“Does she just stand around waiting for them to happen?”
“It almost seems that way! From what I understand, she lives locally and is rather concerned about crime levels in the area. She’s been able to give us good descriptions of the women involved, and Inspector Paget has already made a couple of arrests. If she continues to help us and Paget manages to arrest Rosie Gold, we may not need to speak to Sarah at all.”
“I feel sure we’re about to make progress with this, James. Either you’ll manage to speak to Sarah or we’ll have the riddle solved. I’ve just looked up the Earl of Pembroke in Burke’s Peerage. I’m assuming the riddle refers to the current earl.”
“Why so?”
“Because there have been hordes of them over the years. The title is currently in its tenth iteration, having been revived in 1551. The current Earl of Pembroke is the thirteenth.”
“And where is the family seat?”
“Wilton House in Wiltshire.”
“Do you intend to travel to Wiltshire?”
“I hope that won’t be necessary. There must be a London location to find.”
“The earl’s London home, perhaps. Have you found out where that is yet?”
“Not yet. ‘The Earl of Pembroke rests his head’, the riddle says. That suggests a place where he sleeps, doesn’t it? Perhaps he has a favourite hotel in London.”
“Or perhaps it means a final resting place. Perhaps the riddle refers to a deceased Earl of Pembroke.”
“But which one?”
“His father, perhaps? Where is he buried?”
“I wrote it down.” I took out my notebook and leafed through my jottings. “Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris.”
“That’s even further away than Wiltshire! Does the title of ‘earl’ have anything to do with Pembroke in Wales?”
“The original title did. About seven hundred years ago the family seat was Pembroke Castle.”
“Which is nowhere near London either.”
“Perhaps this initiation ritual involves a lot of travelling about.”
“But it’s for a gang of London-based thieves. It can’t be that complicated.”
“In which case it must refer to the Earl of Pembroke’s London home.”
“Or his favourite hotel.” James shook his head. “Penny, I think you need to forget about this riddle for now. It’s too much of a distraction, and we can’t even be certain that it’ll lead us to anything useful.”
I closed my notebook and put it back in my bag. “I don’t want to give up hope just yet,” I said.
“I’m not suggesting you should, but you probably need to make a judgement on how much time you plan to devote to it.”
“I’ll forget about it for now, shall I?”
James laughed. “I’m not suggesting you completely forget about it. Just try not to let it take up too much of your time.”
“I’ll change the subject, then, at least. Eliza and I are to visit Dr Sherman tomorrow to discuss the possible impact of Father’s head injury.”
“Are you indeed? It’ll be interesting to hear what the physician has to say on the matter.”
“If the injury had any bearing on his behaviour it will help me feel a little better about the whole situation.”
Chapter 33
Eliza and I met at Ludgate Hill Station, this time our destination was Clapham Station.
“It’s Dr Henry Sherman, is it?” she asked as we waited on the draughty platform.
“Yes, my editor’s twin brother,” I replied. “Hopefully he can tell us a little more about the possible effects of an injury to the head.”
“I do hope so. Poor Father. I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve been rather unkind about him.”
“You haven’t, Ellie, you were understandably upset.”
“But he can’t help it if his injury caused him to abandon his family, can he?”
“We can’t be sure that’s what happened yet,” I replied. “That’s why I want to speak to Dr Sherman.”
“What sort of doctor is he?”
“He’s a medical registrar at St George’s Hospital, but I don’t know what his specialism is.”
As the train trundled through south London, Eliza told me she and Francis had visited Hyde Park together, taking turns to ride her bicycle there.
“Without a chaperone again?” I asked with mock scorn.
“We don’t require one. It’s not as though we’re courting!”
“But we’ve already discussed this, Ellie. A married lady fraternising with a bachelor cannot be considered entirely respectable.”
She laughed. “You’re a fine one to talk, Penelope!”
“Did you and Francis enjoy your bicycle ride?”
“Yes. It’s purely because he’s thinking of purchasing a bicycle himself, you see. Nothing more than that.”
I pictured the two of them enjoying the spring sunshine in Hyde Park together and smiled.
“What does that expression mean, Penelope?”
“I think you hold some affection for Francis, Ellie.”
“Of course I do! But not in the romantic sense; merely because he’s a thoroughly decent fellow who has gone to great lengths to help our family. Not only is he brave and generous, but he’s also a very interesting chap. He’s enormously clever, too.”
“He is indeed.”
“I do wish you’d stop smiling at me in that odd way.”
“You deserve some happiness, Ellie,” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Having wasted years of your life with that miserable husband of yours, you deserve an opportunity to spend some time with a gentleman who is good company and enjoys yours.”
“I think you’re reading too much into things, Penelope. It’s not that I deserve to spend time with Francis, but more that I enjoy seeing him. I’m looking forward to having more bicycle rides with him.”
“It would be fine by me if you wished to admit that your affection was romantic in nature,” I said. “He’s a thoroughly decent man, as you say, and would no doubt care for you a great deal.”
“I’m a married woman, Penelope!”
“A married woman who happens to be estranged from her husband.”
“I won’t hear another word about it! Now, you may be interested to learn that the head librarian has offered Francis new employment.”
“That’s wonderful! He must be very pleased about that.”
“He is.”
Eliza smiled and I noticed there was a slight flush to her face.
“He’s been extremely supportive of the work Mrs Sutherland and I have been doing for the London Women’s Rights Society,” she continued. “He’s even offered to attend our inaugural meeting. You haven’t forgotten about it, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Good.”
“Remind me of the date again.”
“You had forgotten, hadn’t you? It’s on the twenty-second of April.”
Dr Sherman lived in a curved row of smart townhouses, appropriately named Crescent Grove, which was just across the street from Clapham Common. His housekeeper showed us into the drawing room where he joined us a short while later.
I had last seen him while investigating the Bermondsey poisoner case. He looked remarkably similar to his brother, with the same thick black moustache and his hair parted to one side. He greeted us warmly and bade us take a seat on a settee upholstered in a smart brocade. The print of a ruined abbey above the fireplace caught my eye, its dark, broken walls silhouetted against a hazy sky.
“The Ruins of Holyrood Chapel,” said Dr Sherman, noticing my glance. “In Edinburgh. I feel quite an attachment to the city where I studied medicine.”
“I’ve heard it’s ever so beautiful,” commented Eliza.
“Parts of it are breathtaking, though it’s a city not without its problems. Like London, I suppose.”
I tried to accustom myself once again to conversing with a man who looked just like my editor but whose mannerisms were so different. He was more animated in his speech and his voice had a softer tone to it.
A maid brought in a tray of tea.
“My brother said you’d like to speak to me about injuries of the brain,” he said. “It’s not a subject I’m a great expert on, I’m afraid.”
“But you must know more than the average layperson,” I replied.
He gave a laugh. “Oh, I should hope so. I believe the case you wish to discuss concerns your father. I’ve read about him being found in South America, by the way. You must be overjoyed.”
“We’re overjoyed that he’s alive. It was the best news we could ever have hoped to receive. We are, however, a little concerned about the state of his health.”
“I must say at this point that, without being able to examine a patient directly, I’m unable to suggest any clear diagnosis.”
“We realise that, but there’s an idea we should like to discuss with you if possible.”
I told Dr Sherman about my father’s fall down the ravine and how we suspected he might have suffered an injury to his head.
“Could the injury have caused a form of brain disease?” I asked. “Might it have impaired his judgement?”
“It sounds like a valid concern, if I may say so,” he replied. “And from your description it would seem your father is not quite as you remember him. That will be due, in the most part, to him having lived in a jungle environment for the past ten years, of course. But the complaint of headaches is an interesting one.”
“Have you come across this sort of thing before?” I asked.
He smoothed a finger over his moustache as he gave this question some thought. “There was a murder trial in Liverpool about four years ago,” he replied. “The defendant was Arthur Watson, a man who had suffered a severe injury to his head five years previously. He was on trial for the murder of his thirteen-month-old daughter.”
“Oh, how awful!” exclaimed Eliza.
“The crime was truly barbaric. However, the deliberations during the trial revolved around how accountable the man was for his actions. It was reported that after the accident the pupil in one of his eyes was larger than in the other. He had suffered fits and attacks of paralysis, and his manner was excitable and restless, which he claimed had left him unable to work. Unfortunately, he was also given to the habit of drinking, and this affected him a great deal more because of his medical condition. His doctor strongly advised him to stop. Advice he ignored, I might add. There was a great deal of debate among the medical experts at the trial over whether the head injury had caused him to suffer some form of brain disease or not.”
“What conclusion did they reach?’
“The physicians were never able to agree, I’m afraid. Some said the accident had indeed affected his brain, while others said there was no evidence of it.”
“And what did the jury decide?”
“They found him guilty of his daughter’s murder, and the judge ruled that he had known he was committing a terrible crime.”
