The Bloomsbury Murder (Augusta Peel Mysteries Book 3), page 7
“Not as far as I know,” Ellen replied. “Put that newspaper away now, Barbara. We don’t want customers walking in and seeing you reading it. That hat display could do with a bit of rearranging, Lucy,” she added. “The displays need to be changed regularly to keep the store interesting for our regular customers.”
“Of course.” Lucy walked over to the hat display and began to remove the hats. Once she had done so, she started putting them back in new positions. She decided to group them by colour rather than by style this time.
She stifled a yawn. She had barely slept a wink the previous night for thinking about the murder. Was it a random attack? Or did someone intentionally murder Elizabeth Thackeray?
Lucy was desperate to find out more. She had hoped that Mrs Mitchell might have heard something of note from her husband, but her employer didn’t seem interested in talking about it. In fact, there was something unusual about the way she was refusing to talk about it. Usually when such a terrible incident occurred, people wanted to discuss it. Those who remained silent often knew more than they were letting on.
Chapter 17
Augusta stood in the hallway of number twenty-three Manchester Street, waiting for the housekeeper to return. A mahogany grandfather clock ticked away steadily. The walls were wood-panelled and a colourful carpet runner led up to the staircase. Dorothy Cooper and her husband seemed to occupy the entire building which meant they were wealthy. Augusta was well aware that many large London townhouses were being converted into more affordable flats these days.
The housekeeper, a plump lady in a navy dress, emerged from a doorway to Augusta’s right. “Mrs Cooper has requested more information,” she said. “What is it you wish to ask her, exactly?”
“I’m investigating the murder of Elizabeth Thackeray, who I believe was a friend of Mrs Cooper’s. I’m assisting Scotland Yard with their inquiries. We want to find out as much as we can about Miss Thackeray as it’s possible that she knew her assailant. A vital clue to his identity may lie in her recent activities.”
The housekeeper nodded, then disappeared back through the door. A short while later she returned to tell Augusta that Mrs Cooper had agreed to see her.
Dorothy Cooper was seated in her parlour at a table covered with a lace tablecloth. She had fair, bobbed hair and wore an apricot-coloured day dress. She regarded Augusta warily as she entered the room.
“Please accept my condolences on the death of your friend, Mrs Cooper,” said Augusta.
“Thank you.” Dorothy gave a weak smile and gestured for Augusta to sit. “She wasn’t a close friend, just someone I knew many years ago. How can I help?”
“Thank you for agreeing to see me. I understand that Miss Thackeray paid you a visit just a few days ago.”
A flicker of surprise registered on Dorothy’s face. “How did you know that?”
“The information was passed to me by Scotland Yard. They asked me to come and have a chat with you.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, not at all. I’m just trying to find out everything I can about Miss Thackeray in the hope that we can find out who committed this awful crime. It’s thought that perhaps her attack wasn’t a random act, you see. We think someone may have been after her specifically.”
“Oh, that’s awful.” Dorothy looked down at her hands in her lap. “When she told me about the first attack she was convinced it was a man who was trying to…” She shifted in her seat. “Well, you know…”
“I know what you mean.”
She looked up at Augusta again. “I don’t think she believed someone was actually after her. She just thought she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s an awful shame she wasn’t able to get away the second time.”
“How long had you known Elizabeth?”
“Since we were girls. Our families knew each other, but we didn’t really remain firm friends. We rarely saw each other.”
“What was the reason for her visit the other day?”
Dorothy opened her mouth a little, then closed it again. “She said she was just passing.”
“I understand she was brought here by a friend of hers, Walter Mitchell. They just happened to drive along this street, did they?”
Dorothy shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“I suspect there was a reason for Miss Thackeray’s visit, Mrs Cooper, and it’s important that you tell me what it was. We really need to find out who did this to her.”
Dorothy looked down at her hands again. “I really can’t recall a specific reason. She was only here for ten minutes or so. The housekeeper will be able to confirm that.”
“Did Miss Thackeray seem worried about anything?”
“No, I don’t think so. In fact, she seemed quite happy to be out with her boyfriend.”
“Did he come inside the house at all?”
“No, he didn’t. He waited outside.” She looked up at Augusta. “Do you think he did it?” she asked. “It does happen, doesn’t it?”
“It does indeed. The police are investigating all possibilities as we speak. But I notice you still haven’t told me what it was that Miss Thackeray came here to speak to you about.”
Dorothy bent her head again.
“I don’t know you very well, Mrs Cooper,” said Augusta. “In fact, I don’t know you at all. But judging by your manner, I deduce there’s something you’re not telling me. Miss Thackeray clearly had a reason to visit you a few days ago. You said yourself that you hadn’t seen each other for quite a while. What was it she came to speak to you about?”
Dorothy bit her lip, then looked up at the ceiling. She appeared to be grappling with her thoughts.
What could her secret be?
“Fine, I shall tell you,” she said sullenly. “She came to see me because you had unnerved her. She told me you visited her at the Slade and spoke to her after a lecture. She didn’t know who you were, and neither do I, for that matter. It wasn’t nice to just turn up and speak to her like that.”
Augusta felt relieved that she finally seemed to be getting somewhere. “I’m saddened to hear that my sudden appearance at the art school unnerved her. That certainly wasn’t my intention. I didn’t find Miss Thackeray particularly talkative. Perhaps if she’d allowed a little more time for discussion she would have realised that my visit was nothing to worry about at all. She did appear to be hiding something from me, and I would venture to say that you’re doing the same thing, Mrs Cooper. Your business is your own, of course, but I really would appreciate your help in finding out who did this to Miss Thackeray. I’m very sad that she was worried by my visit. Am I really so intimidating?”
Dorothy smiled a little. “No, you’re not intimidating, Mrs Peel. It wasn’t you that upset Elizabeth. It was what you said.”
“What did I say that upset her?”
“You asked after Catherine Frankland-Russell. She doesn’t like talking about Catherine, you see. They fell out a long time ago and she tended to find any talk of her upsetting.”
“I see. Perhaps I should have explained that I had been asked by Miss Frankland-Russell’s family to locate her. Did you happen to know Miss Frankland-Russell, by any chance?”
Dorothy paused briefly before replying. “Yes, we both knew her. A long time ago now. Neither of us have anything to do with her these days. Why did Catherine’s family ask you to find her?”
“They’ve had no contact with her for some time and they’re worried about her. Her parents are extremely keen to hear that she’s safe and well, as am I. I only spoke to Miss Thackeray because I was looking for Miss Frankland-Russell. And now Miss Thackeray is no longer with us, which is desperately sad. I didn’t know her but, having spoken to her just a few days ago, it’s very difficult to accept that this has happened to her. So I’m now trying to find out two things: where Miss Frankland-Russell is and who murdered Miss Thackeray. Anything you can do to help me would be much appreciated, Mrs Cooper.” Augusta fixed her eyes on the young woman, hoping Dorothy could see how keen she was to have her help.
Dorothy sighed. “I last heard news of Catherine from mutual friends. That would have been about a year ago now, as it was shortly before I got married. I heard she was working at a shop in London.”
“Thank you,” said Augusta with smile. “That’s a great relief. I was worried about her well-being but it sounds as though she’s probably safe and well. You’ve been extremely helpful, Mrs Cooper. Do you happen to know what type of shop it is or where it might be situated?”
“All I know is that it was a clothes shop on Oxford Street. She may not even work there anymore. Someone mentioned it to me, but I can’t even remember who it was now. It was during a day out at Kew Gardens. A whole group of us went there.”
“A clothes shop on Oxford Street, did you say?”
Dorothy nodded.
“Thank you, Mrs Cooper.”
Augusta concluded that Mrs Cooper evidently wasn’t going to divulge the real reason for Miss Thackeray’s visit but at least there was a glimmer of hope. A clothes shop on Oxford Street. The street was a mile long and consisted of little other than shops. Rather a vague lead but certainly better than nothing.
Chapter 18
Have I said too much?
Once Augusta had left her home, Dorothy began to worry that she had given away more than she should have. But what else could I have done? It would have been difficult to lie to Mrs Peel, she seemed the sort of lady who could spot lies quite easily.
What will she tell the police?
The housekeeper, Mrs O’Reilly, had shown Mrs Peel out before heading down to the kitchen where she was preparing lunch for one o’clock. That meant Dorothy had half-an-hour to herself. She wondered whether that would be enough to carry out the plan she was formulating in her head.
She stepped out into the hallway and crept past the ticking grandfather clock. Then she made her way up the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked. Sneaking about her own home like this seemed foolish but she was determined that no one else should find out what she was up to. Mrs O’Reilly was a little nosy at times and there was always a risk of her mentioning something she had seen to Dorothy’s husband.
Reaching the landing at the top of the stairs, Dorothy turned and made her way past her bedroom, dressing room and a guest room. Then she climbed another flight of stairs up to the second floor. After that, she was able to move about more easily as there was little chance of Mrs O’Reilly hearing her from the kitchen down in the basement.
The final flight of steps up to the attic was a narrow staircase with a thin carpet runner. Before the war, the rooms at the top of the house had been occupied by live-in servants. These days, Dorothy and her husband used the rooms for storage.
The smaller of the two rooms contained Dorothy’s old belongings. Trunks and tea chests were stacked along one side of the wall and a rocking horse she had loved as a child stood beneath the window. She stroked the horse’s mane, smiling as she recalled the many times she had done the same thing as a young girl. She had planned to find someone who could give the horse a fresh lick of paint and fix its broken ear. Then it would be perfect for her own children to play with in the future.
She turned to the stack of luggage and pulled out a leather trunk. She dusted it off, set it down on the floor and opened the clasps.
The trunk was crammed full of mementoes from her schooldays: notebooks, sketches, diaries, certificates and rosettes. There was even a small silver cup she had been awarded as reading champion. Dorothy eventually found a large, tatty envelope filled with photographs. She couldn’t resist taking one last look at them. She spotted herself in a photograph of the school lacrosse team; the one sport she had really excelled at. Another photograph showed her knitting socks for soldiers with her school friends.
She felt a heavy sadness the moment she saw Elizabeth in the photographs. Only two days had passed since her old friend’s visit and now she was dead.
How can it be so?
It had to have been an opportunistic attack. Although that’s what Elizabeth had thought after the first time. Did the same person attack her the second time? If so, perhaps Dorothy also had something to worry about.
She picked up the trunk and carried it into the other attic room. This room was larger and overlooked the street. Beyond the window, a gusty wind was whisking the clouds across a grey sky. Dorothy gathered up the contents of the trunk and began throwing them into the fireplace.
Where are the matches?
There was no box on the mantelpiece. She dashed down the narrow stairs to fetch the matches from the fireplace in her bedroom, hoping all the while that Mrs O’Reilly wouldn’t come up from the kitchen at the worst possible moment and see what she was doing.
As she returned to the attic room, Dorothy saw her personal items lying in the fireplace once again. She felt a lump in her throat.
I have to do this. People have started asking questions. I’ve worked really hard to the hide the truth for so long. All the evidence has to go.
Holding back a sob, Dorothy lit a match and dropped it in among the papers and photographs. There was an instant whoosh of flame.
However, the smoke didn’t go up the chimney. Instead, it billowed out into the room.
The chimney was blocked.
Cursing, Dorothy ran over to the sash window and tried to push it up. It hadn’t been opened in some time so the frame was jammed. She struggled for a minute or two and eventually forced it open.
I have to get rid of everything!
Bending down, she scooped up more papers and photographs from the trunk and threw them into the fireplace. She tried to fan the smoke toward the window but it simply whirled around the room, stinging her eyes.
Have I made a terrible mistake?
The windowpane rattled as a strong gust of wind blew in, causing some of the papers to be whipped out of the fireplace. They landed on the hearthrug, which, to Dorothy’s horror, caught alight. She stamped out the flames with her foot, grabbed the poker and tried to keep everything in the fireplace so it would quickly burn away.
She paused to grab the last few papers from the trunk and it was only then that she noticed the flames in the corner of the room. A scrap of burning papers had landed there without her noticing and one corner of the floorboard was alight.
The smoke was growing unbearable. Dorothy knew that if she closed the window she would choke, but the breeze from the window kept scattering the papers out of the fire.
There has to be something else I can do to save the situation.
Dashing downstairs once again, she headed for the bathroom where there was a jug and running water. It wouldn’t be long before someone else noticed the fire. She would have to be quick.
But, by the time she returned to the attic room, three small fires were alight. Eyes stinging from the smoke, she poured water on one but there wasn’t enough to tackle the other two. The smoke had reached the back of her throat, making her gag and choke.
Dorothy staggered back toward the door.
The fire was out of control.
Chapter 19
“Catherine Frankland-Russell once worked in a clothes shop on Oxford Street,” Augusta said to Philip in his office at Scotland Yard. “At least, that’s what Dorothy Cooper told me.”
“Interesting! Do you know if she still does?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you the name of the shop?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Any other clues about it?”
“None.”
“It’ll be quite a task to find the right one, then. I’ll see if I can get some men on the case. We really need to determine whether Miss Thackeray’s death had anything to do with Miss Frankland-Russell.”
“I’m worried that someone may have decided to silence Miss Thackeray after I spoke to her about her missing friend.”
“Shall we find out what the lawyer makes of it?”
“Thomas Bewick?”
“Yes. He’s the one who got you involved in all this in the first place, isn’t he? I think we need to tell him what’s happened and see if we can find out why someone might not want Catherine Frankland-Russell to be found.”
“How nice to see you again, Mrs Peel,” said Thomas Bewick as Augusta and Philip stepped into his elegant office. “Ah, you have a colleague with you this time.”
“Detective Inspector Philip Fisher from Scotland Yard,” announced Augusta.
“An inspector from the Yard!” The lawyer gave an impressed nod as he shook Philip’s hand. “Delighted to meet you, Inspector. Do please take a seat, both of you.”
The pair made themselves comfortable on one of the plum-coloured sofas.
“Is there any news of Miss Frankland-Russell?” asked Mr Bewick, sitting himself opposite them.
“We think she may be working in a clothes shop on Oxford Street,” replied Augusta. “An old friend of hers gave me the information.”
“Really?” His eyebrows lifted. “That’s wonderful news! In which case, she clearly hasn’t come to any harm.”
“We can’t be completely certain of that just yet, but it is hopeful news. Now it’s just a case of finding her.”
“And with a bit of luck, that should be quite quick, shouldn’t it?”
“With a bit of luck, yes. Although there are rather a lot of shops on Oxford Street.”
“There are indeed. Thank you for this new information, Mrs Peel. I shall telephone Lord Frankland-Russell as soon as we’re finished here and tell him the promising news.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear it, and hopefully we’ll have more to tell him shortly. In the meantime, I’d like to ask you a few more questions, Mr Bewick, because something very unpleasant has happened since I began my investigations into Miss Frankland-Russell’s whereabouts.”
“Oh dear.”
“You’ve no doubt heard about the recent murder in Torrington Square?”
