He checked the clock on the wall. His next client would be arriving shortly. “This has been a very informative opening conversation, Mrs Mitchell. Are you happy for Miss Watkins to arrange another so we can discuss your case in greater detail? I should like to allow plenty of time for us to discuss everything.”

  “Of course.” Ellen smiled. “I feel happy to have made a start, at least, though I appreciate there’s a lot to tell you and a lot more work to do.”

  “There will be, but you’re in safe hands. I’ve managed countless divorce cases in the past, many of them involving large sums of money. May I ask whether there are any children in your marriage?”

  “Yes, we have two daughters. They’re still quite young, unfortunately. I do worry about the effect this will have on them.”

  “Naturally. Let’s arrange another appointment, and then we can discuss how you wish to progress.”

  Chapter 8

  Ellen Mitchell’s legs felt weak as she stepped out of the offices of Bewick, Palmer and Curran on Cavendish Square.

  I’ve done it. I’ve finally plucked up the courage to speak to a solicitor. She opened her umbrella in the light drizzle and made her way toward her shop on Oxford Street.

  Twelve years of marriage.

  Ellen felt sad that it was about to come to an end, but she simply couldn’t endure it any longer. Not after her most recent discovery.

  Walter would be extremely shocked when he received the solicitor’s letter, but she still had time to accustom herself to that thought. She didn’t want to be too hasty; she wanted every move to be as well-thought-out as possible. She was determined to ensure that he received none of her family’s money and she needed to protect the children too. He would be shocked, but it was only right that he should pay the price for what he had done.

  The Oxford Street branch of Stanhope Fashions was just a short walk from Oxford Circus. Ellen threaded her way through the lunchtime shoppers, umbrellas jostling for space above the busy pavement.

  This flagship store always recorded the best takings. This was to be expected, given that it was located at the heart of London’s busiest shopping district.

  The shop had been here for as long as Ellen could remember. As a young girl she had visited the place with her father and she fondly recalled helping him count the money from the till at the end of each day. He had shown her how to record the takings and manage the stock. She had learned everything from him and, now that he had retired, he trusted her to run the business herself. She knew how proud he was of her. Ellen felt a lump in her throat as she considered how sad he would be to learn of her divorce.

  She counted about a dozen customers in the shop as she entered. A couple of customers were admiring a fringed black dress on one of the mannequins. Sleeveless and low-waisted, it was beaded with sequins; exactly the sort of dress that would appeal to flappers.

  Stanhope Fashions also catered to older women who were looking for something to wear for a special occasion. The prices were reasonable, so Ellen expected her shop girls to sell in volume. There were accessories to sell too: shoes, handbags, hats, headbands and fans. She frequently told her girls that they shouldn’t be selling dresses; they should be selling outfits. Although her prices were mid-range, the service had to match that of an expensive boutique. It was what encouraged the customers to return. These were all principles her father had instilled in her and she intended to stick to them as diligently as possible.

  Barbara was standing behind the counter while Lucy assisted a customer.

  Ellen was just about to step inside her office when she overheard Lucy saying: “If you’d like a bit more time to think about it, you could always come back later.”

  Ellen clenched her teeth. She positioned herself behind the counter and watched the interaction.

  “I will, if that’s all right,” replied the dowdy lady in a floppy hat. “I’m not sure I want to spend quite so much money just now.”

  Lucy thanked the customer and said that she hoped to see her again soon. Ellen’s teeth clenched even harder as she watched the dowdy customer leave the shop.

  “Miss Briggs!” she snapped at the girl. “A word out the back, if you please.”

  Lucy’s face fell, and she quickly followed her employer into her office.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” Lucy began. She was a petite young woman with dark hair.

  “What should you have said to that customer instead?”

  “She seemed so indecisive. I didn’t want to force her to make a decision, but I should have offered to sell her some accessories and then discounted the overall price.”

  “Exactly. Customers will always use the price as an excuse to leave. We need to remind them they’re getting something of great value. If they buy the dress, the shoes and the hat, we can offer them a price that can’t be matched elsewhere. You know all this.”

  “I do, miss. I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve been drilled on how to persuade customers to buy. The very first thing you learned is that you must never make it easy for them to walk out.”

  “I realise that. I really am sorry, miss.”

  Ellen sighed. Lucy was one of her better girls. Customers liked her but she wasn’t pushy enough.

  “You have a lot to learn, young lady, especially in my best store. If you can’t do a better job of persuading customers to buy, I shall have to move you over to one of the other shops. I’m sure you wouldn’t like that because I happen to know that this is the closest store to your home. I can’t imagine you’d like to spend all your wages on tube travel.”

  “No, I shouldn’t like that at all. I’ll try harder, Mrs Mitchell.”

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to speak to you about this, Miss Briggs. I’ll be watching you closely from now on.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs Mitchell. It won’t happen again.”

  Chapter 9

  A light drizzle fell on Augusta and throngs of students as she made her way along Gower Street toward the Slade School of Fine Art. It was located on the campus of University College London in Bloomsbury. A columned portico came into view the moment she turned in through the campus gate and she saw that the stone university buildings were arranged around a quad.

  After making initial enquiries, Augusta discovered that the Slade School was located within the building on the northern side of the quad. She found a porter sitting behind a polished desk in the small entrance hall.

  “I’d like to speak to Elizabeth Thackeray, please. I understand she’s a student here.”

  “And you are?”

  “Mrs Augusta Peel, a private detective. I’m carrying out some important work on behalf of a law firm.”

  “Elizabeth Thackeray, you say? I’ll need to check whether she’s a student here.”

  Augusta waited patiently while he consulted a book on his desk. Two long corridors extended in opposite directions either side of her, and she could hear the faint sound of voices behind closed doors. A wooden staircase rose up to the floor above on the far side of the porter’s desk.

  “She’s one of our second-year students,” said the porter, “but you can’t disturb her now. They’re in the middle of lectures. You’ll have to come back later.”

  “What time?”

  “About twenty minutes.”

  Augusta bided her time by walking up and down Gower Street. She admired the imposing red-brick edifice of University College Hospital across the road. Students loitered outside a row of Georgian townhouses further down the street which suggested that the previously residential buildings had become part of the university.

  Augusta had been forced to close the shop while she carried out this work. She thought of the customers who might be disappointed and would inevitably buy their books elsewhere. She had written a notice that morning saying, ‘Help Wanted’ but had forgotten to pop it in the window before she left.

  The corridors were filled with students when Augusta returned to the art school. Some were carrying sketchbooks and many wore overalls over their clothes. Augusta decided to make her way along one of the corridors and keep asking people to point her in the direction of Elizabeth Thackeray until she found her.

  Eventually, her luck came in.

  “Over there,” said a young man.

  He pointed to a prim-looking woman with short, waved brown hair and round spectacles. She wore a buttoned-up, collared dress made from grey wool, and was clutching a sketchpad to her chest.

  Augusta made her way through the crowd to speak to her. “Miss Thackeray?”

  The young woman gave a cautious nod.

  “My name is Mrs Augusta Peel. I’m a private detective.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

  “I’ve been tasked with investigating the whereabouts of Miss Catherine Frankland-Russell,” continued Augusta. “She appears to be missing. Do you happen to know where she might be?”

  Elizabeth gave a resolute shake of the head. “No, sorry. I can’t help you.” Her lips thinned, as if she wished to say no more.

  “Have you seen her recently?”

  “No, I haven’t seen her at all.”

  “But you do know who I’m talking about?”

  The young woman gave this some thought, then eventually said, “I knew her a long time ago.”

  “I understand that you were friends when you were young.”

  “I haven’t seen her for years. I have no idea where she might be these days.”

  “She’s somewhere in London, I believe. Have you seen her around here by any chance?”

  “I’ve already told you I haven’t. Now, I must go.”

  Augusta didn’t want to pester Elizabeth any further, so she simply stood by and watched as the young woman walked away.

  She seems rather evasive. Why?

  Augusta remained in the corridor for a while. She noticed that Elizabeth didn’t immediately hurry off. Instead, she lingered near a doorway, as if she were waiting for someone. She kept glancing over at Augusta, apparently uneasy that the private detective was watching her.

  Who is she waiting for?

  Augusta’s question was swiftly answered when a man in his forties stepped out into the corridor. He was tall with a boyish, chubby face and scruffy brown hair and he wore paint-spattered overalls over his clothes. A member of the teaching staff? Augusta wondered.

  She watched as the pair walked down the corridor together and were lost in the crowd.

  Augusta felt disappointed. She had expected Elizabeth to be more helpful.

  What’s she hiding?

  Chapter 10

  A motorbike roared up a residential street in Marylebone later that afternoon. Elizabeth sat in the sidecar, looking out for the right house. When she saw it, she gave the driver a sharp tap on the arm and the motorbike came to an abrupt halt, flinging her forward. She pulled off her goggles, hat and gloves before climbing out.

  “I shan’t be long,” she said to the rider.

  She walked up the steps of the neat three-storey house and knocked at the door. Her heart was pounding as she waited for a reply. How will I be received?

  She surveyed the street. It appeared to be a wealthy neighbourhood and she deduced that Dorothy Cooper had married well. But will Dorothy want to speak to me?

  “Elizabeth? Has something happened?”

  Dorothy rose from her seat the moment the maid showed Elizabeth in. She was a few inches taller than Elizabeth and appeared well-groomed, with neat, fair hair and carefully applied rouge. Jewellery sparkled at her ears and throat, and she wore a turquoise dress of fine silk. Dorothy somehow seemed older than her now that she was married.

  “I just wanted to let you know,” began Elizabeth. “A lady came to see me today. She’s looking for Catherine.”

  “Catherine?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I didn’t know where she was.”

  “Did she ask anything else?”

  “She said that Catherine was missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “I didn’t ask any questions. I just wanted to get away.”

  Dorothy seated herself at the parlour table and wiped her brow. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  “Only Walter.”

  “Who’s Walter?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  “I heard a noisy motorbike out on the street just now. Is that how you got here?”

  “Yes, it belongs to Walter. I travel in the sidecar.”

  Dorothy shuddered. “Dangerous things.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Did the woman who spoke to you give her name?”

  “Augusta Peel.”

  Dorothy shook her head. “The name means nothing to me. What did she look like?”

  “She was about thirty-five, possibly forty, with wavy auburn hair. Plain-looking clothes. She told me she was a private detective.”

  “A private detective? What would a private detective want with Catherine?”

  “I don’t know. Although I could make an educated guess.”

  “If that were the reason, she would have wanted to speak to you about it, too. I don’t think it can be that. It must be something Catherine’s got herself mixed up in.”

  “Have you seen her recently?”

  “No. Anyway, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “I know, but Mrs Peel’s visit has unnerved me. I haven’t heard Catherine’s name mentioned for so long.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it’s nothing for us to worry about.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because otherwise that detective woman would have come for us as well, wouldn’t she? Nobody has called here about Catherine aside from you. You could have written me a letter instead of coming in person, you know.”

  “What if someone else had read it?”

  “I could have burned it.”

  “But how could I have been certain that no one else would read it before you did? I thought coming here myself was the safest option.”

  “How did you know I lived here?”

  “I looked your husband up in the directory. You needn’t worry, Dorothy. I’m going now.”

  Dorothy got to her feet. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been very welcoming. It’s just that… Well, we need to be careful.”

  “I know.”

  “How are you keeping?”

  “I’m well, thank you. I’m a student now. At the art school.”

  “I’m sure you’re destined to stay in education forever, Elizabeth. You really enjoy studying, don’t you? I was never any good at it.”

  “But look at this lovely home you have. I’m sure you must feel pleased with what you’ve achieved.”

  “Yes, I’ve been quite lucky. All I need now is a family.”

  “I’m sure that will follow in due course.”

  “I hope so.”

  Elizabeth smiled. She had always got on well with Dorothy. It was a shame they still had to keep themselves apart. Surely enough time has passed by now…

  She turned to leave. “I’d better not keep Walter waiting any longer.”

  “Is he from the art college as well?”

  “Yes. He looks after me so kindly. I was attacked last week, and he was ever so good to me afterwards.”

  “You were attacked?” Dorothy brought a hand up to her face in shock.

  “Yes. I don’t know who it was. A man trying to have his way with me, probably. But I got away.”

  “But that’s so scary!”

  “I know. But Walter has promised to protect me, so I should be all right now.”

  “Good, I do hope so. I don’t suppose you ever hear from the other two, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. I suppose it’s better that way. Look after yourself, Elizabeth.”

  Chapter 11

  Augusta examined her copy of A Tale of Two Cities the following morning and wondered whether the grey-coated customer had read this particular Dickens novel. If not, he might be interested in reading it once she had reattached the cover.

  She laid it out on her worktable which was well-lit by the sunshine that was streaming in through the frosted glass window. It was a vast improvement compared with the basement workshop where she had previously toiled, although she missed the rumble of tube trains beneath her feet.

  Augusta decided to remove the book’s broken spine. She had just begun to snip away at it when the bell on the counter rang. She put down her tools and headed into the shop.

  A dark-skinned young man of about twenty stood on the other side of the counter. He wore spectacles and a tweed suit and he was carrying a newspaper under one arm. “Is the position still available?”

  “You mean the sign in the window? I only put it there half an hour ago.”

  “Am I your first applicant?”

  “Yes, you are!” Augusta laughed. “Do you have any experience of working in a bookshop?”

  “I worked at Webster’s, just around the corner from here. Do you know it?”

  “Yes, I’ve visited it a couple of times.” Webster’s looked as though it had been in the bookselling business for many years.

  “Mr Webster sold the business, and the new chap, Mr Fairburn, brought his own staff with him so I wasn’t needed any more.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  The young man seemed polite and well-mannered. He appeared to be a promising candidate.

  He peered into Sparky’s cage. “You have a canary.”

  “I’m looking after him for a lady who’s in hospital at the moment. He’s called Sparky and he’ll be very pleased that you didn’t call him a budgerigar.”

  “I knew he was a canary straight away. My mother keeps them.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a notebook and pen. “Mr Webster will be able to provide you with a reference for me.”

  “That would be very useful.”

  “I’ll give you his address.” He wrote down a Bloomsbury address in neat handwriting, then ripped out the page and handed it to her.

 

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