Curse of the Poppy (Penny Green Series Book 5) Page 20

  “You’re right when you say that we need Inspector Blakely to pull it all together.”

  “And he’s nowhere to be found! These men you’re holding, do they have accomplices who may still be at large?”

  “It’s highly likely they do, Miss Green.”

  I shuddered. “Where are they from?”

  “From?”

  “Where do they live? Gangs usually have a territory.”

  “I don’t believe it’s that sort of gang, Miss Green. This is simply a band of miscreants which commits burglaries and possibly far worse atrocities. Its members are not precious about territory.”

  “But you must have taken down their names and addresses.”

  “I have done, yes, and most of them are from the East End.”

  “Specifically?”

  “Spitalfields, mainly, and a few from Whitechapel.”

  “Is that where you found them?”

  “Whitechapel’s H Division found them there. They have been known to the police for some time. A description of the gang had been circulated to all divisions; I believe Inspector Blakely did that. H Division picked them up in and around Commercial Street.”

  “Could they have sent a message to their accomplices after you had arrested them?”

  “I would highly doubt it.”

  “Who has visited them?”

  “Their lawyers and a few family members.”

  “They could have passed messages on to their accomplices using any of those people! Suppose they ordered someone to hunt down Inspector Blakely yesterday?”

  “I consider it extremely unlikely.”

  “Extremely unlikely, but not impossible.”

  “It wouldn’t happen.”

  “But it’s not impossible, is it?”

  “I suppose it isn’t impossible, no.”

  “So there’s a chance that a member of this gang you’ve arrested could have sent a message to an accomplice to take care of Inspector Blakely?”

  “I’ve never known it happen before.”

  “But it could have, couldn’t it?”

  “Please stop worrying, Miss Green, I’m sure Inspector Blakely is absolutely fine.”

  I left the police station and walked along Oxford Street toward Regent Circus in a despondent mood. Should I visit James’ home and check in on him? I desperately wanted to but feared another frosty reception from Charlotte and her mother.

  Perhaps the reason for his absence was a personal one, I mused, feeling a brief glimmer of hope that the wedding had been called off and James had been facing the aftermath of that decision. Then I felt concerned that perhaps something had happened to a friend or relative and taken him away from London. I felt sure that James’ absence had to be personal, and that he would contact me as soon as he was able to. I took comfort from the fact that his colleagues didn’t seem a bit concerned about him.

  I hailed an omnibus and began my journey home, reassuring myself that James couldn’t have possibly come to any harm. My mind returned to the puzzle of Mawson’s death. Who had wanted him dead, and why? Had he taken Alfred Holland’s diaries or had someone else done so?

  “You have a visitor, Miss Green,” Mrs Garnett said as soon as I stepped in through the front door. “She’s been here a while and is waiting for you in the parlour.”

  “Miss Holland?” I asked as we walked toward the back of the house. “Has something else happened?”

  “No. Who’s she? What’s happened?”

  “Forget that I mentioned her. Who is this visitor?”

  “A lady by the name of Miss Jenkins.”

  The name initially meant nothing to me. As we stepped through the door of the parlour I desperately tried to think of a connection between her and the Forsters, or with Alfred Holland.

  A fair-haired woman with a wide, apple-cheeked face gave me a muted greeting as I entered the room.

  It was James’ fiancée, Charlotte.

  Chapter 47

  Charlotte and I held each other’s gaze, the same question resting on our lips.

  “Have you —?”

  “No, have you?”

  “No.”

  “He’s been missing since yesterday evening!” cried Charlotte. “I just know that something terrible has happened to him!” She clutched a damp handkerchief in one hand.

  I sat down at the table across from her. “I’m worried too, but there must be an explanation. I’ve been looking for him today, and if it’s any consolation his colleagues aren’t particularly concerned. They all seem to think he’s busy working on the case somewhere.”

  “But he always gets in touch!”

  “You’re right, he does. I was due to meet him this morning to visit the sister of one of the murder victims but heard nothing from him. I’m sure he’s all right, though.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I wish to remain hopeful.” I thought of the severed finger and realised how unconvincing my words sounded.

  “So what do we do?” asked Charlotte. “I’ve called at the police station closest to his home, but I’m not sure what they’ll do. James is the police!”

  “I’m sure there must be something we can do.” I had no idea what, and found myself wondering why I was attempting to reassure Charlotte when I was just as worried about James myself.

  “How does an officer of the law simply vanish?” asked Mrs Garnett. “Perhaps he has been kidnapped.”

  Charlotte’s face crumpled.

  “We don’t know, Mrs Garnett,” I said, “and we need to be careful about idle speculation. There’s no use in frightening ourselves with unlikely possibilities.”

  “But she might be right!” said Charlotte.

  “And she might be wrong,” I replied. “When did you last see James?”

  “The day before yesterday. He was supposed to take the train down to Croydon yesterday evening to discuss our meeting with the vicar of St John the Baptist church, as we’re meeting him this Saturday. It’s only five weeks until our wedding!”

  “Yes, I know. But he didn’t come down to Croydon?”

  “No, he didn’t turn up! I assumed his work had detained him, but he always sends a telegram when that happens and we received nothing. I sent him one this morning and I must confess that it was rather a scolding note, which I bitterly regret because it now appears as though something has happened to him. I didn’t realise, you see. I thought he had forgotten all about our arrangement, but he never forgets things like that as a general rule.”

  “Something has detained him, there’s no doubt about that,” I said. “But let’s not assume that it’s anything awful. Where have you looked for him today?”

  “I called at his home and there was no answer. I spoke to his neighbours and they hadn’t seen him all day. I called at the police station in St John’s Wood and then at Scotland Yard, but there wasn’t really anyone at the Yard to speak to. They were all involved with a murder that had happened close by, apparently.”

  “That’s right, it was Charles Mawson. I managed to get to the murder scene, but James wasn’t there. I asked Chief Inspector Cullen if he had seen him but he hadn’t.”

  “I’ve sent telegrams to all his family and friends,” said Charlotte, “and no one has heard anything from him.”

  I felt a sickening turn in my stomach once again.

  “And then I thought I’d come and see you,” continued Charlotte. “James had told me you lived in Milton Street, so I knocked on a good number of doors before I found you. I had hoped you would know something, but I see that you’re also worried about him and now I’m exceptionally concerned. Where is he? How can he have simply disappeared?”

  “There must be an explanation,” I said, aware that I was stating the obvious. “And we will find him.”

  “But how?”

  “I don’t know yet, Miss Jenkins.”

  “Don’t worry about formality at a time like this. Call me Charlotte.”

  My mind turned over and over. I cou
ldn’t think where to begin looking for James.

  “Where do his parents live?” I asked.

  “Wembley. They replied to my telegram saying they hadn’t heard from him, and now they’re also concerned about his whereabouts. I didn’t want to trouble them because I knew they would worry.”

  “And you went to the police station?”

  “Yes, the one on New Street near James’ home. They told me they’d look out for him, but we need more than that, don’t we? We need someone to search for him. What if he’s in the river?”

  My stomach turned once more. “No, he couldn’t be. It’s impossible.”

  “He could have fallen in, or perhaps someone pushed him! It would take days to find him if so. Perhaps he’ll be washed up at Wapping or Rotherhithe. He told me that’s where many of them end up, at the bend in the river.”

  “Don’t talk like that!” I snapped, startling myself with the sharpness of my voice.

  Charlotte was silent and wide-eyed.

  “You mustn’t think like that,” I said soothingly. “Please don’t do it. It’s too upsetting to even consider. I’m sure we can find him, and don’t forget that he usually has his revolver with him, so he can defend himself. We may be worrying unduly; he might simply have got caught up in a tricky aspect of a case he’s been investigating. He’ll turn up safe and sound overnight, and then all this worry will have been for nothing.”

  “Perhaps he’s having second thoughts,” suggested Charlotte.

  “About what?”

  “About the wedding.”

  “No, I’m sure that he isn’t.”

  “Perhaps he no longer wishes to marry me and has taken himself away so the wedding has to be called off. Perhaps he didn’t know how to break the news to me so he’s run away to hide somewhere!”

  It was a thought I briefly consoled myself with, and I felt a pang of guilt for doing so.

  “Nonsense, Charlotte, he would never do such a thing. It’s getting quite late in the evening now, so let’s just hope that he isn’t missing for a second night. I think you should return to your parents’ home in Croydon, and I’m sure he will send word there as soon as he can.”

  “And what if he doesn’t?”

  “Then tomorrow we must begin our search in earnest. I don’t quite know where to begin, but I’ll have a think about it this evening. Perhaps you could consider anyone else we might be able to contact.”

  “I will.” Charlotte nodded her head and then began to sob.

  For a moment I watched her, unsure what to do.

  I had grown to dislike this woman who constantly kept me and James apart, but I had only met her twice before and I didn’t know her personally at all. In front of me now I saw a woman crying for the man I loved.

  I felt a lump rise into my throat. I wanted to cry like Charlotte but I couldn’t. Her tears were permitted because James was her fiancé, while any tears of mine would need to be shed in private. Seeing how desperately upset she was, I got up from my chair and rested an arm across her shoulders.

  “James wouldn’t want you to be sad like this,” I said. “I know it feels as though you haven’t heard from him in a long while, but in reality it’s only been twenty-four hours. I feel certain that you’ll hear from him soon. Come now, you should be at home. Would you like me to accompany you?”

  I struggled to believe I had just offered to accompany Charlotte all the way to Croydon.

  “No, I’ll be fine.” She wiped her face.

  “Which train station will you travel from?”

  “London Bridge.”

  “At least allow me to accompany you there.”

  “I shall be fine, thank you Penny, I’ll travel there by cab. It will be quite quick from here.” She dried away the last of her tears.

  “Would you like a spoonful of Dr Cobbold’s Remedy?” asked Mrs Garnett, who had been fidgeting with some vases behind me in a bid to overhear our conversation.

  “No, thank you. I shall be all right.”

  “A wise decision,” I said to Charlotte. “It’s rather unpleasant.”

  “But it works!” said Mrs Garnett indignantly.

  “Let’s go and find a cab,” I said. “You don’t want to leave it too late.”

  By the time Charlotte and I stepped out onto Milton Street she was quite composed. The sun hung low in the sky.

  “Thank you, Penny.” She stood slightly shorter than me, her eyes wide and blue. “I never thought I’d… I don’t know if this is the right thing to say or not, but I never thought I would encounter you in this way. James has spoken about you a great deal and I admit there have been times when I… when I would rather not have heard about you. I hope you’re not offended by my words.”

  “Not at all,” I said quickly, wishing to put her at ease. I held out my hand for a passing hansom cab, which stopped close by.

  “Thank you. And thank you for being so kind to me this evening. I’m sorry I got so upset about all this.”

  “It’s completely understandable, Charlotte. It would only have been a matter of time before I’d come calling at your door. I’m pleased we’ve been able to share our concerns with each other, and although I don’t know what’s happened to James I feel sure that he will be all right.”

  “Oh, I hope so, Penny. Thank you again.”

  She climbed into the cab.

  “Send me a telegram if you hear from him,” I said, “either to my home or to the Morning Express offices.”

  “I will do. Let me give you my address,” she said, opening her bag. She pulled out a card and handed it to me. “You can send a telegram to my parents’ home.”

  “Thank you, Charlotte. Have a safe journey home, and hopefully we’ll receive good news tomorrow.”

  “I hope so.” She waved as the cab pulled away and I felt guilty about my duplicity. I had done what I could to comfort her, yet the poor woman had no idea how I truly felt about her future husband.

  Chapter 48

  Although the reassurances I had given Charlotte were heartfelt I could find no comfort in them that night. I lay awake in bed and then sat at my writing desk with the curtains open so I could watch the stars twinkle above London. It was a warm, restless night. Tiger prowled in and out through the window and I tried to imagine every possible scenario to account for James’ disappearance.

  I prayed that all my worry was in vain, and that I would receive a telegram from either James or Charlotte in the morning to tell me he was safe. It was the only possible outcome I could bear to consider.

  But what if no telegram arrived? What was I to do if there was still no news of him by midday? Could I endure another day of not knowing what had happened? The longer he was missing the more likely it was that he had come to serious harm.

  Images of the severed finger sprang to mind, and as I tried to push the thought away Charlotte’s voice came into my head: Perhaps he’ll be washed up at Wapping or Rotherhithe. He told me that’s where many of them end up, at the bend in the river.

  I decided to make myself a cup of cocoa, pacing my room while I waited for the water to boil. I felt exhausted as my mind swung uncontrollably between thoughts of hope and deep anguish.

  I had to do something to find James, but where could I start?

  Once I had made my cocoa I sat at my desk and readied myself with a pen and paper. The only useful thing I could manage was to begin writing everything down.

  I sipped at the warm, sweet cocoa and a sense of calm descended upon me. I had to make the most of the moment to write my thoughts down before the next wave of panic set in.

  Was James’ disappearance associated with the case he was investigating? That seemed like a safe assumption.

  The murder of Mrs Forster had been carried out by a gang, some members of which were now in custody at Marylebone Lane police station. James had spoken to them on the day of his disappearance and had failed to keep his appointment with Charlotte that evening in Croydon. I felt sure the gang had accomplices who w
ere still at large, and the possibility that the gang had ordered an attack on James was possible, despite Inspector Bowles considering it unlikely.

  There was a remarkable similarity between the murders of Mr Forster and Mr Mawson. Both men had been stabbed in a public location. Mr Mawson’s killer had deliberately sought him out at the opium den and Mr Forster’s killer had done likewise at the East India Club. Could the same man have carried out both murders, and did he have a connection to the gang who were already in custody?

  If it was the same killer I had to assume that he knew the gang because Mr Forster’s murder had presumably been planned alongside Mrs Forster’s. The gang had failed to find Mr Forster on that first fateful evening, so an accomplice had been sent after him. If that same accomplice had killed Mr Mawson he was still at large and might have harmed James. I shivered at the thought.

  The day before James’ disappearance we had met with Mr Mawson, who had only realised at the end of our meeting that he might be considered a suspect in the murder of Mr Holland. Had he become so concerned by the idea of James suspecting him that he had ordered someone to attack him? If he had ordered an attack on Mr Holland it was likely he would do the same to James. But if so, why was Mr Mawson now dead?

  I felt convinced that Mr Mawson had arranged the theft of Mr Holland’s diaries, as there was no doubt that they contained incriminating accounts of his time in Ghazipur. But I still couldn’t recall us having mentioned Mr Holland’s diaries to him.

  So who actually knew about the diaries?

  Emma Holland had shown me one in the newsroom. I recalled that Edgar and Frederick had scarpered by that point, but questioned whether my memory was accurate. I could remember her showing me the mention of Charles Mawson and felt sure that at that time we had been the only two people in the newsroom. But had Edgar or Frederick somehow overheard us and told someone about the diary? If they had, why?

  The only other occasion on which I could recall discussing the diaries with Emma was in the tea room at Anderton’s Hotel. It was there that she had first told me about their existence and I had advised her to read them. It was possible that someone had overheard us, but who? Surely no one had expected to see us there as our meeting had been quite spontaneous.