The Bloomsbury Murder (Augusta Peel Mysteries Book 3), page 3
“I do apologise. Let’s see to that at once.” He rang his little bell again and the maid reappeared.
“Could you pour out our tea, Daisy?”
Augusta didn’t want to have tea with Hugh Farrell; she wanted to leave immediately. Daisy’s presence brought her a little comfort, but she dreaded being left alone with him. What was it Lady Hereford said about him? Am I a fool for ignoring her advice?
Daisy handed Augusta a cup of tea and poured another for her employer before leaving the room again. Augusta was determined to drink hers as quickly as possible and leave.
“Would you like some cake?” he asked.
“No, thank you. Although it does look very nice.”
“Yes, it’s rather delicious. I have a very good cook.” He sipped his tea. “What does Mr Peel do?”
Augusta deemed it wise to invent a husband for herself. “He’s a supervisor at a printing works in Clerkenwell.”
“A supervisor? Not long until he becomes a director, in that case?”
“That would be nice.”
“What does he think of his wife owning a bookshop? Is he incapable of giving Mrs Peel the life of comfort she deserves?”
“I don’t run my bookshop out of necessity, Mr Farrell. I do so because I enjoy it.”
“Oh yes, of course. As is always the way with modern women. It seems many enjoy going into the workplace these days, and some are determined to be quite independent.”
“Some women have no choice but to be independent. So many men were lost during the war.”
Hugh assumed an air of false concern again and gave a slow nod. “Quite, quite. Awful that so many young men lost their lives, and rather difficult for the ladies, too. Although I suppose for a chap like me it means there are more ladies to go around now!”
He laughed, but Augusta found it impossible to share the joke. She drained her cup, desperate to leave.
“Must you be off in such a hurry, Mrs Peel? We’re only just starting to get to know each other.”
“With all due respect, Mr Farrell, I didn’t visit you today because I wanted to get to know you. I merely wished to ask whether you could help me with my investigation into the whereabouts of Miss Frankland-Russell.”
He frowned. “That’s all you’ve come for, is it? You were just after some information from me, and now that you have it you’re ready to leave.”
“I asked you for your help, Mr Farrell, and you kindly provided it. I’m very grateful for that.”
“And so you should be. You called on me without giving any notice whatsoever and found me most hospitable. I didn’t have to comply, you know.”
“I realise that, and I’m very glad of it.”
The mood was growing increasingly uncomfortable. At the beginning there had been something lascivious about his gaze, but now it was tinged with anger.
At the risk of appearing impolite, Augusta picked up her handbag, stood and made her way over to the door. “Thank you once again, Mr Farrell.”
He jumped to his feet. Augusta didn’t like the swiftness of his movement.
“That’s it, is it?”
“I’m not sure I quite understand what it is you want from me, Mr Farrell.”
“Just a little more of your company, Mrs Peel.” He stepped toward her.
She noted that the door was close by, and that he wasn’t yet blocking it.
“Surely that’s not too much to ask,” he added quietly.
“I’m beginning to find your conduct inappropriate, Mr Farrell. I’m a married woman.”
“Do you think I care about that?”
Hugh stepped forward and grabbed her wrist, his eyes fixed on hers. “Come now,” he said quietly. “Stay a little longer. There’s more I can tell you.”
Augusta tried to twist her arm away, but he held fast to her wrist.
“If you don’t let go of me, I shall cry out,” she threatened.
“And what difference will that make?”
“Your staff will hear.”
“They are under strict instructions not to interrupt me when I have company, no matter what they hear.”
“Let go of my arm, please.”
“Only if you agree to keep me company for a while longer. There’s a pot of tea for us to finish yet. Or would you prefer something a little stronger?”
“I don’t want anything else to drink.”
Augusta wished she had heeded Lady Hereford’s warning. This was clearly a habit of his. He was stronger than her, and taller, too.
If the staff wouldn’t come if I were to call out, how will I ever get away from him? Putting up a fight would be futile. He could easily overpower me.
“All right. I’ll have another cup of tea.”
Hugh’s grip relaxed, but he held on to Augusta’s arm as he guided her back to the chaise longue she had been sitting on. This time he sat down next to her. He smelled of stale perspiration.
“That’s more like it,” he said.
“I’d feel more comfortable if you were to sit opposite me.”
“Oh, but I’m much more comfortable here, Mrs Peel.”
Augusta’s entire body was tensed, but she said nothing.
He leaned forward and poured out another cup of tea for them both. Steam rose from their cups. Then he sat back, his knee resting against hers.
How am I going to get out of here?
“Now, where were we? Oh, that’s right. You were telling me all about yourself.”
“There’s really nothing more to say about me.”
“Is that so?” Hugh picked up his cup of tea. “Maybe there’s no need for further conversation, then. What do you think?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled.
I have to get out of here. If I stay a moment longer I’ll find myself in a situation that’s impossible to escape from.
In one swift movement, Augusta grabbed his saucer and tipped the hot cup of tea into his lap.
He roared in pain and anger as Augusta jumped up from her seat and dashed out of the door.
Chapter 6
“It’s only a piece of apple, Sparky. It’s not going to bite you.”
The canary regarded her cautiously from his perch on the back of a dining chair.
She held out the morsel of food in her palm. “You like apple. It’s your favourite.”
This appeared to convince him. He fluttered onto her hand and helped himself to the fruit.
A knock at the door startled them both. Sparky flew up to his usual sanctuary on the curtain rail.
“Who could that be at this hour?” Augusta muttered to herself.
Peering through the peephole in her door, she saw a familiar figure in a trench coat and smart suit. He had already removed his hat. The man had dark, greying hair and narrow, wide-set eyes.
Detective Inspector Philip Fisher greeted her with a warm smile when she opened the door.
“Augusta! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“It certainly has. come in.” She felt relieved to see a friendly face after her ordeal with Hugh Farrell.
Philip stepped inside the room, leaning on his walking stick as he moved, then made himself comfortable on her settee.
“I received a telephone call from Lady Hereford,” he announced.
“Really? Why?!” Augusta was surprised by this unforeseen development. What’s Lady Hereford doing contacting Philip?
“She told me about the unusual task you’ve been given.”
“She telephoned to tell you about that?”
“Yes, and it sounds rather interesting. I do hope Catherine Frankland-Russell can be found safe and well. Her disappearance is certainly a cause for concern.”
“Yes. I hope we can track her down. I still don’t understand why Lady Hereford telephoned you about it, though.”
“She asked me to accompany you to speak to a gentleman she told you about. Mr Farrell, I think his name was. She said he was a friend of the Frankland-Russell family but she felt you shouldn’t go to visit him alone.”
“She did warn me about him.”
“You can’t be too careful with some chaps. He sounds like a bit of a funny one. Do let me know when you’d like to visit him.”
Augusta felt a pang of shame for taking such a risk. “I already have,” she reluctantly admitted.
“Oh! That was rather hasty. How did it go?”
“He gave me the name of a friend of Miss Frankland-Russell’s.”
“I see. Then my journey here has been rather a waste.”
“A waste?”
“Not quite a waste.” He smiled. “I’m sorry. That sounded rather rude, didn’t it? It’s good to see you again, Augusta.”
“Would a glass of brandy make your visit more worthwhile?”
“A brandy would be lovely, thank you.”
Augusta fetched the decanter and poured out two glasses.
“Where’s Sparky?” asked Philip, noticing the empty cage.
“Up on the curtain rail above your head.”
He looked up and chuckled. “So he is. It must almost be his bedtime.”
“Yes, it is. I was just giving him his supper when he was startled by someone knocking at the door.”
“Oh dear. I’m sorry to have interrupted his routine. I have a habit of doing that with my son, too. He’s often settled and ready for bed, and then I get home from work and make him all over-excited again. It annoys my wife terribly.”
Augusta handed him his drink and sat down.
“There was no need for Lady Hereford to have worried about that Farrell chap, then?” he asked.
“There was every reason to worry about him. I found him revolting and lecherous.”
Philip’s face fell. “Oh, goodness. I hope he didn’t hurt you. If that man laid a finger on you—”
“It was nothing I couldn’t withstand. But he did end up with a hot cup of tea in his lap.”
“Oh dear! I’d laugh if the matter wasn’t so serious. I wish I’d spoken to you sooner, Augusta. You shouldn’t have had to endure that. I shall look him up in the files when I’m back at the Yard tomorrow and see if there’s any opportunity to give him a difficult time about something.”
“That would be lovely.”
Philip shook his head. “Lady Hereford shouldn’t really have given you his name.”
“She clearly had second thoughts, and that’s why she telephoned you.”
“I don’t suppose she was expecting you to be so hasty about visiting him. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. The worst he did was grab my wrist and then sit rather close to me on the chaise longue.”
“At least you managed to get some information out of him. That was all you were after, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. The young lady he mentioned is called Elizabeth Thackeray. Apparently, she studies at the Slade School of Fine Art and was a friend of Miss Frankland-Russell’s when they were young. There’s no guarantee that she knows where she is now, of course, but that’s all I have to go on.”
“I’m surprised the Frankland-Russells haven’t contacted the police yet, given that there has been no word from her for six months. I’d want answers if she were my daughter. Though perhaps she’s done this sort of disappearing act before.” He took a sip of his drink. “You must let me know how you get on, Augusta. I may be able to help. Though I must say, I’m surprised you agreed to take on the work. I thought you were too busy with your new shop.”
“I am! I tried to say no, but there’s something about a young woman going missing that I found difficult to ignore. I think I shall have to advertise for some help in the shop. I need someone who can run things while I’m engaged with this task. The solicitor told me there will be some sort of payment, so perhaps I could put the money toward employing someone.”
“That makes a lot of sense.” Philip sat back and smiled at her. “I wonder what you really are, Augusta. Are you a bookshop owner or a private detective?”
“A bookshop owner. I’m certainly not a private detective!” She took a gulp of brandy. “Although for some reason, these mysteries seem to have a habit of finding me.”
Chapter 7
“This letter for Lord Frankland-Russell is ready for your signature, sir,” said Thomas Bewick’s secretary, sliding the paper across the desk to him.
“Thank you, Miss Watkins.”
Thomas began to read through the letter as she left the room. He wondered how Augusta Peel was faring in her search for Miss Frankland-Russell. She hadn’t been given much information to go on.
Is she really as good at solving mysteries as I've heard?
It had only been two days since she had visited, so he couldn’t expect her to have made much progress yet, but he felt impatient all the same.
The letter was to inform Lord Frankland-Russell and his wife that the firm had retained the services of a private lady detective to carry out the search for their daughter. He couldn’t help feeling pleased with his choice.
Surely a lady detective will find it easier to track down a young woman. Mrs Peel would understand the mind of a young woman better than he ever could. And she was genteel, so anyone she spoke to would consider her less threatening and more approachable than a police officer or male detective. She was the sort of woman who would easily be able to obtain useful information from others.
He was interrupted by Miss Watkins once again.
“My apologies, sir, but there’s a lady here to see you. She says she hopes you’re not too busy to meet with her.”
Thomas consulted his diary. Although he preferred to see clients by appointment, he wasn’t averse to seeing people who called in speculatively from time to time.
“I have about ten minutes before my next appointment. Would you mind making that clear to her before you show her in, Miss Watkins? What’s her name?”
“Of course, sir. It’s Mrs Ellen Mitchell.”
Mrs Mitchell was a handsome woman in her mid-thirties. She had fair, jaw-length hair, and her burgundy jacket and skirt were trimmed with silk ribbon. Thomas determined from her appearance that she would most likely be able to afford his fees.
She appeared fidgety and nervous as she seated herself in the chair opposite him. Thomas smiled and did his best to put her at ease.
“What can I help you with, Mrs Mitchell?”
She looked down at her hands. “I’ve been considering something for a while, and… Well, I hope you don’t mind me calling on you like this. One of your cards was dropped through my door and I noticed that there was something in particular you might be able to assist me with…”
“What is it, Mrs Mitchell?”
“I’m… I’m having to summon quite a bit of courage to ask you about this. I… Well, I should like to obtain a divorce.”
Thomas relaxed back into his chair and gave her a reassuring nod to let her know that this wouldn’t be a problem at all. She looked visibly relieved.
“I must commend you on your bravery, Mrs Mitchell. I do hope the proverbial weight has lifted from your shoulders a little now that you’ve had the courage to approach me.”
Ellen sniffed and gave a weak smile, her green eyes moist. “Actually, it has. I’ve been worrying about it for such a long time. Several months, in fact. I’ve deliberated over it and doubted myself...”
“Of course you have. It’s a very difficult decision to arrive at. But rest assured, Mrs Mitchell. I have many clients who have made the same decision and have gone on to lead happy, enjoyable lives after such an event. Although no woman would wish to become a divorcee, these decisions must sometimes be made as a matter of practicality.”
“Yes. And it absolutely is a matter of practicality.”
“Please be encouraged that you’ve made the right decision by visiting me today, Mrs Mitchell. I conduct business on behalf of a good number of respectable families. Before we discuss your case any further, however, I should like to ensure that you are happy with my fee structure.”
He pushed a card across the desk toward her, which set out his basic costs. “I know many lawyers prefer not to discuss fees upfront, but I like to ensure that my clients are fully aware of their financial commitments. I enjoy strong relationships with all my clients, and I believe honesty is crucial from the outset. So I shall ask you to confirm that you are happy with my fees now. If so, we can proceed.”
Ellen looked down at the card in front of her, bit the side of her lip, then nodded.
“Is that a yes, Mrs Mitchell?”
“Yes, I’m happy to proceed. Money isn’t an enormous concern of mine, and I’d be very grateful if this matter could be dealt with as quickly as possible.”
“Absolutely. Let’s see what we can do, shall we?” Thomas whisked the fee card away and readied himself with pen and paper. “Perhaps you can begin by giving me a few details about yourself and your husband.”
“My name is Mrs Ellen Mitchell and I own a chain of ladies’ fashion shops in London.”
“How very interesting. What’s the name of your clothing chain?”
“Stanhope Fashions. It’s a family business. I inherited it from my father.”
“It’s very admirable of you to have kept the shops going yourself, Mrs Mitchell. It’s always so much easier to hand the day-to-day operations over to someone else, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I like to be fully involved. I spend most of my time at the Oxford Street branch. The others are in Kensington, Marylebone and Covent Garden, and they’re all run by ladies I trust wholeheartedly.”
“Does your husband help with the family business?”
“No, he’s an artist.”
“An artist? How fascinating. Anyone I might have heard of?”
“No. He doesn’t spend a great deal of time painting these days. He teaches instead.”
“Very interesting, all the same.”
Given that Mr Mitchell was little more than an art teacher by the sounds of things, Thomas deduced that most of the money lay on Mrs Mitchell’s side of the family. This was presumably why she seemed so willing to employ the services of an expensive lawyer. She was keen to ensure that her interests were well protected.
