Curse of the Poppy (Penny Green Series Book 5) Page 2

  Edgar groaned. “Oh no, Miss Green, you’re theorising again. Leave all that to the police.”

  “I can’t help it, Edgar! I saw Augustus Forster yesterday morning, and there was something about him which didn’t quite ring true.”

  “Are you suggesting the chap burgled his own house?”

  “No, but I happen to think it rather convenient that he wasn’t there at the time.”

  “But surely the fellow should be allowed to enjoy an evening at his usual club without being accused of committing a shocking crime! Perhaps the burglars knew he would be out and simply seized their chance.”

  “Perhaps so, but if they were merely after some valuable items, why not wait until the middle of the night when everyone in the house was fast asleep? They’d have had a better chance of pulling it off undisturbed.”

  Edgar pondered this. “That’s an interesting thought. Then you really think they wished to attack Mrs Forster and her servants?”

  “I believe so. Otherwise, why would such violence have been employed? There was no need to attack everyone in that forceful manner; I’m sure threatening them would have had the desired effect.”

  “Perhaps they were set upon by the staff.”

  “No, I think the burglars must have chosen to harm them from the off in order to approach Mrs Forster unchallenged.”

  “Then Mrs Forster was the intended target?”

  “Yes, I believe she was intentionally murdered. The burglars struck when her husband was out of the house. They ensured that the servants were incapacitated and were devastatingly brutal once they reached the poor, unsuspecting woman. The theft of valuable items was nothing but a half-hearted attempt to disguise the true motive of this crime.”

  “Only you’re saying it wasn’t; that it was, in fact, murder?”

  “I can’t say for sure, Edgar, but it’s the most plausible theory I have at the moment.”

  “Well, it’s not a bad one. Have you discussed it with your detective friend, Inspector James Blakely of the Yard?”

  “No, not yet.”

  The mere mention of James’ name made my stomach flip. I hadn’t seen him since we had shared a forbidden kiss in my sister’s hallway the previous week. It was an incident which I both felt ashamed of and treasured. James was supposed to be marrying his fiancée in just six weeks’ time.

  I also had a terrible suspicion that the kiss had been witnessed by my friend Mr Edwards, a man who had once held what I believed to be a deep affection for me.

  “Are you all right, Miss Green?” asked Edgar. “Has your mind wandered elsewhere?”

  Chapter 3

  “Your theory is an interesting one, Miss Green,” said Detective Inspector Bowles as we stood outside Mr Forster’s home. A constable guarded the door and several onlookers lingered in the midday sun. Bowles was a thick-set man with a thin moustache, and a left eye which appeared to be looking over my shoulder while his right eye was firmly fixed on me. “However, we are continuing to treat the incident as a burglary at the present time.”

  “But Inspector —”

  He raised his hand to prevent me from talking any further. “That’s enough, Miss Green. I have an important job to be getting on with and I can’t stand around being detained by news reporters any longer.”

  Inspector Bowles was the detective I had seen with Mr Forster the morning after the murder. I wanted to ask him what he and Mr Forster had been laughing about, but instead I sighed and tucked my notebook and pencil back inside my carpet bag.

  “You think there’s something more to this, do you, madam?” I turned to see a man with bushy brown whiskers. He wore a top hat and a long, dark coat. His eyes were grey and watery.

  “Were you listening in to our conversation?” I asked.

  “Apologies, madam. Miss Green, isn’t it? That’s what I heard the inspector call you. I’m Mr Charles Mawson, a friend of the Forster family.”

  “I offer you my deepest condolences, Mr Mawson. This must be a most difficult time for you.”

  “It is, rather. I came here looking for Forster, but I don’t know where the chap has gone. I don’t suppose he’ll want to set foot in his home again after the terrible tragedy that has taken place within its walls. I’m interested in this idea I overheard you mention to Inspector Bowles. Do you really think the incident could be something other than a straightforward burglary?”

  “I have no idea, Mr Mawson. I suppose it’s in my nature to speculate on these matters. You should ignore most of what I say; I’m nothing more than a nosy news reporter!”

  “Ah, I see. For a moment you seemed rather earnest about your thoughts on the matter. Do you know how the burglars got inside the house?”

  “Through a kitchen window at the rear of the house.”

  “Oh dear. So they set upon the staff at first?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Bludgeoned with cudgels, weren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then they went upstairs and attacked poor Olivia.” He shook his head. “Dreadful business. How many of them were present, do you know?”

  “Four, I believe.”

  “They would have covered their faces, I imagine, so it will be quite impossible for the police to catch them unless the stolen goods appear for sale at some market stall in the near future, which might arouse suspicion. Though they could sell the valuables in another city altogether, couldn’t they? That would cover their tracks rather well. You can see how solving these crimes becomes a battle of wits between the criminals and the police, can’t you?”

  “You can indeed.”

  “I wonder what evidence the police have uncovered so far. I should like to find out.”

  “Have you known the Forster family for long, Mr Mawson?”

  “Yes, for some years, in actual fact. I spent some time in India and became acquainted with Mr Forster there.”

  “He worked for a large merchant company, did he not?”

  “Yes, Sheridan and Company.”

  “What sort of merchant is it?”

  “It trades in a number of items; principally cotton and opium. It’s one of the largest firms in Calcutta and employs a number of people here in London too.”

  “Did you work for the same company while you were there?”

  “No, I worked for the Indian government. I first met the Forsters while dining at a club in Calcutta, and subsequent to that we often enjoyed riding, shooting and picnicking together; that sort of thing. I returned a year ago.” He sighed. “I do miss those days, and now everything has changed. I don’t suppose you know where Mr Forster has gone, do you?”

  I was surprised that Mr Mawson didn’t know the answer to this question himself.

  “I’m afraid I don’t. He was here yesterday morning, but I suppose he must wish to stay away from the house for the time being. Do the Forsters have any children?”

  “A son and a daughter. The son is at Oxford and the daughter is married to a chap in Bristol. He works in shipping. Dear me, I struggle to believe that we have lost poor Olivia in this frightful way. I do hope Forster’s all right. I wish I knew where he was.”

  “The police might have an idea as to his whereabouts.”

  “They might, mightn’t they? I say, Inspector!”

  Inspector Bowles turned to acknowledge him.

  “Do you know where Forster is at the moment? I’m Mr Mawson, a friend of the family.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say where he is,” Bowles replied, suddenly distracted by a man who was swiftly approaching. “Good afternoon, Inspector Blakely.”

  I caught my breath before slowly turning to face James.

  “Penny!”

  He grinned at me and I felt my face redden. He wore his customary bowler hat along with a smart grey suit and waistcoat. He held my gaze with his sparkling blue eyes.

  “Hello, James.”

  “It’s terribly sad, isn’t it?” His face grew solemn as he glanced up at the Forsters’ house.<
br />
  Mr Mawson wandered off to speak to a police constable, presumably hoping to find out where his friend might be.

  “Immensely sad,” I said. “I was here yesterday morning and spoke with the neighbour, Mrs Yarborough. She’s headed off to Somerset now.”

  “I read your interview with her in the Morning Express and I’m not surprised she has decided to leave. This whole business is rather unpleasant.”

  “Miss Green has been trying to persuade me that this was more than just a violent burglary, Inspector Blakely,” Inspector Bowles interjected.

  “What makes you think that, Penny?” asked James.

  “A few things —”

  “No, don’t you be getting into all that again,” said Bowles, “there’s important work to be done. Come on, Blakely, I’ll show you the crime scene.”

  “I’ll be with you in two minutes, Inspector Bowles,” replied James. “Do you mind if I have a quick word with Miss Green?”

  The inspector shrugged in reply and James glanced around, looking for a quiet place for us to talk privately.

  “Let’s nip over to the church, shall we? There’s a little courtyard there.”

  We walked the short distance to All Saints church with its red and black patterned brickwork. The courtyard could be accessed via a brick archway. Once we were beneath the tall, arched windows and looming spire, James stopped. I felt nervous about what he was about to tell me. Surely it would relate to that stolen kiss.

  James cleared his throat, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I felt.

  “I must apologise to you, Penny, for my despicable behaviour the other evening.”

  “No, you mustn’t apologise, there’s no need. Besides, it wasn’t despicable at all —”

  “Mr Edwards,” said James, interrupting me. “I think he saw us.”

  “Yes, I think he must have done. He avoided my gaze for the remainder of the evening.”

  “I’m so sorry, Penny. I fear that I may have ruined any chance there might have been of a courtship between you and Mr Edwards.”

  “There was never any chance of that,” I replied.

  “Are you sure? Because I felt certain that you were beginning to hold him in a higher regard than you had previously.”

  “I was, and still do, but I don’t lament the loss of a potential husband.”

  “Have you seen him since the incident?”

  “No, I haven’t.” I had deliberately avoided the reading room of the British Library, where Mr Edwards worked as a clerk. At the present time I felt too embarrassed to face him. Would he mention the kiss or remain silent on the matter? I couldn’t bear the thought of finding out.

  “Penny, I will be married next month.”

  I sighed, and my heart felt heavy. “You don’t need to remind me of that.”

  “I wonder if I should perhaps speak to Mr Edwards and explain the mistake I made that evening.”

  My heart gave a lurch. “You consider it a mistake?”

  “Yes, Penny, it had to be.”

  I stared at him, saddened by his words. “And that will be your explanation to Mr Edwards? That it was simply a mistake?”

  “Yes, a mistake which I take full responsibility for. He might be more understanding of the situation if I were to explain it that way.”

  “I doubt it very much.”

  “But he cares for you a great deal, Penny, and I’m sure that you would feel the loss of his acquaintance acutely. Perhaps more than you realise.”

  “You seem rather keen for me to remain good friends with Mr Edwards,” I said.

  “I am, Penny.”

  I paused to consider this.

  “Perhaps it makes you feel better that I have Mr Edwards at my side,” I said. “Maybe it makes you feel less distressed about your own impending marriage, which you seem intent on continuing with despite everything.”

  “I have to, Penny.”

  “As you’ve explained to me in the past.”

  “I’m sorry if my actions have in any way given you hope that the marriage might be called off. That’s why I wished to apologise to you in private.”

  I felt tears pricking the backs of my eyes as I looked up at the tall church windows. I had harboured a vague hope that the kiss might have prompted James to cancel his nuptials, but I finally realised that it would go ahead regardless and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I clenched my teeth in anger.

  “Well, I suppose you could explain matters to Mr Edwards,” I replied, intrigued as to how James would approach the conversation. Perhaps a vengeful part of me wanted him to be placed in such a difficult situation. “I’m not sure what he’d make of it at all. I can’t imagine him being particularly polite about the matter.”

  “Then I shall do so, Penny. I shall explain to him that the kiss was no one’s fault but my own, and that you were entirely blameless.”

  “That would make me seem very virtuous indeed.”

  “It’s the truth, and it’s important that he knows it.”

  “Then that settles it, James. Shall I tell you my theory about Olivia Forster’s murder?”

  “It’s settled? You’re happy to simply change the subject to something completely different?”

  “No, I’m not, but there’s nothing I can say that will change the situation, is there? If you must know, I enjoyed our kiss and I was not at all blameless in the matter. You don’t have anything to apologise for, but your impending marriage has no doubt left you feeling remorseful about the incident, so if you wish to apologise and explain matters to Mr Edwards I shall leave you to do just that.”

  “I see.”

  An uncomfortable pause ensued.

  I had the urge to plead with James to call off his wedding. I wanted to tell him he wasn’t being truthful to his fiancée, Charlotte. Most of all, I wanted to tell him that he was making a mistake. But if I revealed the strength of my feelings for him I knew there was a possibility I would drive him away. Instead of explaining how I truly felt, I told James what had made me suspicious about the burglary and Olivia Forster’s death.

  “I’ll have a good look around inside the house and see what I can deduce from it,” he said once I had finished. “I shall also speak to the staff when they’re sufficiently recovered.”

  “But do you agree that my theory holds weight?”

  “It cannot be ruled out, Penny.”

  “Good. Do you know who I think is behind this? The husband.”

  “Mr Forster?”

  “Yes, he was conveniently absent at the time, and when I saw him here the morning after the murder there was something rather odd about his manner. Do you know, I actually heard him laugh?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, as if he and Inspector Bowles were sharing a private joke. Something’s not quite right, and I have heard of so-called burglaries being used to cover up an alternative motive before.”

  “So have I, Penny, and I can see how there might be some truth to your speculation. I’ll find out what Inspector Bowles has discovered so far and carry out my own investigations into the matter. I’ll also try to ascertain what they were laughing about.”

  “Thank you, James. You will let me know how you get on, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will. I know how keen you are to know every detail of each case you report on.” He smiled.

  “Perhaps we can meet at the Museum Tavern again to discuss it,” I suggested. “Oh, I’ve just remembered that we’re not supposed to meet there any more. Charlotte wouldn’t like it. Forget that I ever mentioned it. I shall see you again soon, no doubt.”

  Chapter 4

  “What a delightful pair of vases, Mrs Billington-Grieg.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’m so pleased you like them, Mrs Lennox,” my sister Eliza replied.

  About a dozen of us were sitting in her drawing room in Bayswater, gathered together for a meeting of the West London Women’s Society.

  “The vases are Cantonese,” continued Eliz
a, “and although I would like to say they were gifted to me, they were in fact gifted to my husband, George. A show of gratitude from a wealthy client of his. I forget his name, but he trades in Chinese wares, and thankfully for me George is quite happy to have these vases displayed by our fireplace so that visitors such as yourselves can enjoy them.”

  “I’ve been collecting Chinese porcelain plates for some years now,” said Mrs Lennox, “and on my birthday I ask the housekeeper to serve dinner on them. For the remainder of the year they remain solely on display!”

  This anecdote was met with genteel laughter. I leafed through my notebook waiting for the polite conversation to end so that Eliza could begin chairing the meeting.

  “My sister, Miss Penelope Green, has joined us at last!” she announced to the group. “Welcome, Penelope. I’m aware that as a working woman you struggle to find the time to attend our meetings regularly. I’m extremely pleased you could join us today.”

  I smiled and wished all the faces would turn away from me. I was only there because I felt guilty for not having turned up to any of the meetings for several months.

  Eliza stood between the Cantonese vases and updated us on the progress, or lack of it, in women’s suffrage over the past few weeks. Like me, she was fair-haired and brown-eyed. She wore a divided blue skirt made of soft cotton with a matching jacket. Over the past year she had begun to adopt rational dress: comfortable, functional clothing which allowed her to ride her bicycle with ease. Glancing around the room I could see that some of the other ladies were wearing similar attire, though a number still conformed to the traditional corseted style with a tight bodice and full skirts. I felt too accustomed to my corset to abandon it altogether, but it was loosely laced and my blouse and skirt were of a practical, rather than decorative, design.

  “I think the Bishop of Carlisle’s letter is extremely encouraging,” commented a lady with a beak-like nose and silver hair. “Never before has such a high-ranking member of the Church conceded that women should have the vote.”

  “Unmarried women,” corrected a younger woman with dark hair so curly it was fighting back against its pins. “The bishop maintains that married women should not have the vote because husband and wife must be as one on the matter. If the husband has the vote there is no need for the wife to have it as well.”