“Yes. It’s very sad.” Walter strolled over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself some sherry from a crystal decanter.

  His mood appeared nonchalant, but Ellen couldn’t see how he could be so blasé when something so serious had just happened to one of his students.

  “Do you want one?” he asked, holding up the decanter.

  She felt her lip curl in response to his false cheer. “No, thank you.”

  “Are Doris and Agatha upstairs?” he asked, slumping into the chair opposite her.

  “Yes, they’re with Judy.”

  “Good, good. I don’t want them overhearing us.” He took a gulp of sherry.

  “Why were you called into the police station?”

  “They wanted to interview me. Can you believe that one of them was an inspector from Scotland Yard? Scotland Yard! This is clearly a serious business. I had to find someone to teach my classes at the last minute.”

  “Did they want to speak to you about the murder?”

  Walter rested one ankle on the opposite knee and examined his sock. “Yes, because she was one of my students. I think I may have taught her a few times last year, but I didn’t know her well. It’s difficult to remember who’s who with so many students there!” He gave a little laugh, seemingly in the hope that she might join in. “They’re interviewing everyone, of course.”

  “Everyone in the entire university?”

  “No, just at the art school. And not everyone there, either. That would take forever! Just the staff and a few of the students. The ones who knew her, I suppose. They couldn’t possibly interview all the students. How long would that take? Months!”

  Ellen could tell that he was waffling now, and she noticed how quick he had been to deny knowing the girl. How stupid does he think I am? “Surely the police must have had a particular reason to interview you,” she ventured.

  “No particular reason, no. They’re interviewing lots of people, as I said. They interviewed Miss Collins, too. She was just arriving as I was leaving.”

  “I have no idea who Miss Collins is.”

  “She teaches sculpture.” Walter looked at his watch, clearly feeling he had done enough in the way of explaining himself. “I suppose I’d better get changed for dinner.”

  “There’s no hurry,” she responded. “Tell me about the girl who was murdered. Why would someone want to kill her?”

  “I have no idea whatsoever. It’s awful! She was just walking home after her lectures. She was a second-year student, I believe. She certainly didn’t deserve that.”

  “I read in the paper that her name was Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, I believe so. Elizabeth Thackeray.” Walter gazed into the bottom of his empty glass.

  “I suppose you’re going to get yourself another drink now.”

  “Does it matter if I do? A terrible thing has just happened, Ellen, and I’ve had to answer to the police about it.”

  “Do they think you did it?”

  “Of course not! But they have to suspect everyone to begin with, don’t they? And when you’re sitting in a room with them, they do a very good job of making you feel guilty, even though you’re not. They’d suspect you if you worked at the art college, too.”

  “Would they? But why on earth would I want to murder a student?”

  “Well, obviously you wouldn’t, but then neither would I. They just suspect everyone don’t they?” He got to his feet and poured himself another drink.

  Why can’t he just be truthful with me? How much longer is he going to keep stringing out these lies? Is he really a suspect in Elizabeth’s murder? Did she threaten to reveal the affair and make him snap?

  Ellen had scheduled another meeting with the solicitor. She wasn’t sure when to break the news about the divorce to Walter. She wouldn’t be able to do it for a few days now, as he was clearly upset about what had happened to his girlfriend. If only I had made my mind up about the divorce sooner. Why didn’t I plan things better? I’m married to a man who has just been interviewed by the police about a murder. What will happen if people find out?

  “You mustn’t tell anyone about this,” she said. “You realise that, don’t you?”

  “I’ve nothing to hide.” He returned to his seat.

  “You may have nothing to hide but you know the way people think. The moment they learn that the police have spoken to you, they’ll assume there must be some sort of evidence. It wouldn’t look good.”

  “Wouldn’t look good in what sense?”

  “For the reputation of our family! If this becomes widely known, customers will start asking questions when they visit my shops.”

  “Why does everything have to be about your reputation and your customers?”

  “It doesn’t. I just don’t want people asking questions.”

  Walter took a large swig from his glass. “I’m obviously an embarrassment to you.”

  She glanced at his messy hair and paint-spattered clothes. “You’re not an embarrassment to me,” she lied. “I just need to make sure that the business isn’t affected by all this. And as you’ve already pointed out, you’re completely innocent, so there’s no need for it to be affected. But you know how rumours spread and how people talk. One word that the police have spoken to you will be enough to set the gossips off. Please just keep it under your hat for now, and I’ll do the same.”

  I’ll have to hurry the divorce along now. The longer I’m associated with this man, the greater the risk that my name will be pulled into it. And what if the police decide he’s guilty? I’ll have to change my name and start all over again. What a mess!

  “It’s also for the sake of the children, Walter. Don’t even mention it to the house staff. You know how the children overhear things the servants say.”

  “And just pretend that a young woman hasn’t died?”

  “No one has to pretend that it didn’t happen, but she didn’t really mean anything to us, did she?”

  Now’s his chance to confess. Ellen stared at him, awaiting his response.

  He avoided her gaze and ran a hand though his hair. “No. She meant nothing at all.”

  Chapter 15

  “That’s a good day’s takings,” said Augusta, closing the cash register. “Thank you, Fred. You’ve been extremely helpful today. I’m so very pleased that you walked into my shop this morning!”

  She walked over to the door, locked it and turned the sign to ‘Closed’. It was already dark outside. “Do you think you might like to come back tomorrow?” she asked as she returned to the counter.

  “I’d be delighted to.”

  “Thank you. I may be quite busy with other work following recent events, so I’ll need someone to help look after this place.”

  “I’m more than happy to help, Mrs Peel. Does your work have anything to do with the murder?”

  “Yes. For some reason I’ve found myself doing a little detective work alongside running the shop. I had anticipated a quiet couple of weeks at first but a few unexpected things have happened recently. If you’re happy to proceed, perhaps we can consider the trial to have been a success and you can become an official employee.”

  Fred gave a broad grin. “How exciting, Mrs Peel! But don’t you want to pursue that reference from Mr Webster before you make a decision? You only have my word for it.”

  “I’ll certainly contact him, but I can already see that you’re more than capable of holding the fort here, Fred. And besides, I trust you.”

  Augusta hoped she was right on this score.

  “Thank you,” he replied. “I’ve enjoyed today.”

  “Good.”

  “And Sparky sang earlier. I didn’t recognise the tune, but I enjoyed it all the same.”

  “It wasn’t ‘Don’t Dilly Dally on the Way’, then?”

  “Can he sing that?”

  Augusta laughed. “No, but I’m sure he’d give it a good go.”

  They both noticed a movement by the door.

  “Looks like there’s a late customer,” said Fred.

  A face peered in through the glass and Augusta recognised it as Philip’s.

  “It’s Detective Inspector Fisher,” she explained, going over to unlock the door for him. “Philip!” she said, inviting him in. “Meet my new shop assistant, Fred Plummer.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr Plummer.” Philip walked into the shop, leaning on his stick as he went. “You certainly didn’t waste any time with your recruitment, Augusta.”

  “Fred found me, really. He’s been a big help today.”

  “That’s good. You’ll need some help with this place.”

  “Is it all right if I go home now, Mrs Peel?” asked Fred.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “He seems like a nice lad,” said Philip once Fred had left.

  “He is, and he did extremely well today. I had to leave him to it.”

  “That was very trusting of you, Augusta. He could have emptied the till and run off.”

  “He could have, but he didn’t. And I suspected that he wouldn’t.”

  “The shop looks good,” he said, surveying the shelves. “If only I had more time to read.” He glanced over at the door behind the counter. “And you’ve also got your hideaway out the back there.”

  “My workshop.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” He smiled. “Sparky looks settled, too.” He pushed a finger between the bars of the birdcage and waggled it. “He doesn’t seem very interested in me.”

  “That’s because you don’t have any food. Here.” Augusta pulled a bag of bird seed out from behind the counter. “You can give him something to keep him going until teatime if you like.”

  “How many meals does he have a day?”

  “Four.”

  “Four? It’s not bad being a canary, is it?” Sparky nibbled at the seed while Philip rested against the counter. “Seeing as I was working nearby today, I thought I’d drop in to let you know how we got on. The post-mortem confirmed that Miss Thackeray was strangled with a ligature… most likely a piece of rope. It wasn’t left at the scene; the murderer appears to have taken it away with him. The odd thing is, she was also attacked last week, in Gordon Square.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I hadn’t realised that until we spoke to Walter Mitchell this afternoon. He told us about the attack and that it had been reported to a constable at the time. After the interview, Inspector Harris from Hunter Street station spoke to the constable in question and he confirmed that Miss Thackeray had indeed reported the crime to him last week. A number of constables searched the place but found nobody there.”

  “Could it have been the same man both times?”

  “Either that or the girl was terribly unlucky.”

  “Was she able to give a description of her attacker after the first incident?”

  “She wasn’t able to tell the constable a great deal as it was dark at the time. The attacker pushed her to the ground from behind, apparently, but she managed to get away and run out of the square.”

  “It’s a shame she didn’t get a good view of him.”

  “Yes, a huge shame. Someone else may have seen him, however. E Division are busy knocking on doors as we speak, asking people about both incidents.”

  “Gordon Square is quite close to Torrington Square, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Torrington Square sits about one hundred yards south-west of Gordon Square, so the locations of the two attacks are very close indeed, and both are en route to Miss Thackeray’s home in Keppel Street. The assailant didn’t take any jewellery or belongings, and her clothing was left undisturbed.”

  “In which case, the motive was unlikely to have been robbery or anything more sinister.”

  “Exactly. It seems the killer wanted her dead and nothing more. At the present time, I’m tempted to believe that it was the same man who attacked her on both occasions. She got away the first time but was sadly unable to escape the second time round. There have been no other reported attacks on students in the area recently.”

  “What did Walter Mitchell have to say for himself? Do you think he could have done it?”

  “It’s difficult to tell after just one conversation. He seemed genuinely upset about her death but that doesn’t mean he didn’t murder her. He may have changed his mind about their relationship and wanted her out of the way, or perhaps she had threatened to tell his wife about the affair. The post-mortem revealed that the girl wasn’t pregnant. Sadly, that has been the reason for similar murders in the past. I couldn’t quite get the measure of Walter Mitchell. He mentioned you, however.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes. He said you’d visited Elizabeth at the Slade School.”

  “That sounds about right. I did stand about watching her for a while. I feel rather bad about it now as she must have found it rather unnerving, but I wouldn’t have done so if she had been more forthcoming.”

  “Well, your visit seems to have prompted an urgent action on her part as she subsequently paid a visit to a friend of hers called Dorothy Cooper. Mr Mitchell didn’t appear to know anything about Mrs Cooper – he’s never even met her – but apparently he drove Elizabeth to her house, and she was in there for about ten minutes.”

  “Did Elizabeth tell him what the conversation was about?”

  “Apparently not. All we have is Mrs Cooper’s name and an address. I wondered if you might like to go and speak to her?”

  “I suppose I could give it a try. Is she aware of Elizabeth Thackeray’s death yet?”

  “It’s been all over the newspapers today so I’d be surprised if she wasn’t. But I suppose it’s best to be mindful of the possibility that she hasn’t yet heard the news. It looks as though I’m pulling you into an investigation once again, Augusta.”

  “One I was already partly involved with, I suppose. But I’m feeling rather worried now, Philip. Do you think Miss Thackeray might have been murdered because I went to speak to her?”

  “Why would she have been?”

  “It’s a bit of an odd coincidence, don’t you think? I asked her about Catherine Frankland-Russell and found her evasive in her answers, as if she were hiding something. Then that very same evening she was murdered!”

  “It may just be a coincidence and nothing more.”

  “But what if it isn’t? What if someone silenced her because she really did know something about Catherine?”

  Chapter 16

  “I like the colour,” said the red-haired customer as she twisted around on her toes to survey the deep-blue evening dress in the mirror from every possible angle. “I’m just not so sure about the fit.”

  “We can adjust it for you,” responded Lucy, aware that Mrs Mitchell was within earshot. “Where would you like it to be altered?”

  The customer continued to look in the mirror. “I think it needs a lot of adjusting. It would most likely become a whole new dress altogether.”

  “The cut is lovely and straight,” said Lucy. “A very fashionable look at the moment.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. But I’m afraid I’m not a terribly fashionable woman.”

  “Perhaps you could become one.”

  “Perhaps. But once you’ve become a little set in your ways, it can be difficult to change them. I know I should probably try to wear a dress like this but I simply wouldn’t feel comfortable in it.”

  “How about making it into a whole outfit rather than just a dress?”

  The lady frowned. “What do you mean? Spend even more money on something I don’t feel comfortable in?”

  If Mrs Mitchell hadn’t been in the shop, Lucy would have happily let the customer change out of the dress and go on her merry way. She did not enjoy adopting such a pushy approach.

  “We could offer it at a discount,” Lucy said, stepping over to a colourful hat display. She picked up a dark-blue cloche hat with a beaded silk ribbon around it, carefully placing it on the customer’s head. “Don’t you think the dress looks better with a matching accessory?”

  The red-haired woman pushed out her lips as she considered this. Before she could respond, Lucy placed a blue feathered fan in her hand.

  “Now you have a full outfit,” she said. “And we have some lovely silk shawls that would match.”

  “Really? I do like the idea of a shawl to cover my shoulders.”

  Lucy found one with fine golden threads woven into it which shimmered in the light. She could see that the customer was beginning to look more impressed.

  “The fit of the dress looks better now,” the woman said, twisting around again.

  “It fits you perfectly. It’s just a case of accustoming yourself to a different cut from the style you usually wear.”

  After a short negotiation about the discount, the customer left with the full outfit, along with a necklace she had spotted on display at the counter.

  Lucy felt relieved to have made the sale.

  “That was very good, Lucy,” said Mrs Mitchell. “You listened to me and did what I asked.”

  “I do try to do my job well, miss.” Lucy couldn’t afford to lose her job. She was completely reliant on it to keep a roof over her head, even if that roof belonged to a drab lodging near Regent’s Park.

  It was a quiet morning in the shop, so once the customer had left, Barbara opened a newspaper on the counter, pushed her spectacles up her nose and began to read.

  “Are there any updates about the murder?” Lucy asked. She had scarcely believed the news when she saw it the previous day. “I read that she was a student at the Slade School of Fine Art. That’s where your husband works, isn’t it, Mrs Mitchell?”

  Her employer’s lips thinned. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Did he know her?”

  “I believe he taught her in the past.” Mrs Mitchell’s face was rigid.

  “They haven’t caught the killer yet, have they?” asked Lucy.

 

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