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  Mr Sherman hadn’t called me in to offer me my job back.

  I was here for a telling-off.

  Chapter 9

  I clutched my handbag tightly on my lap, bit my lip, and waited to hear what Mr Sherman had to say.

  Having finished with the speaking tube, he sat back in his chair and puffed on his pipe before removing it to speak.

  “I can see by the expression on your face, Miss Green, that you have realised who visited me yesterday.”

  “Mr Taylor.”

  “That is correct. He was angered by your questioning of him the previous evening. Can I ask why you pretended to still be employed by this newspaper when you spoke to him?”

  “I didn’t pretend as such, Mr Sherman. I had to leave a card for him at the front of house and I only had my cards with the Morning Express written on them.”

  “You didn’t think to cross out the name of the newspaper to clarify your employment situation?”

  “I didn’t, no. Although I do think a crossing out would have looked rather untidy.”

  “Instead, you preferred to mislead the gentleman?”

  “I visited him as a friend of his former wife. I did not introduce myself as a news reporter. I apologise. I didn’t think the name of the newspaper on the card would have any bearing on the situation.”

  “What rot,” he replied sharply. “You are a clever woman, Miss Green. I would conjecture that you are cleverer than some of the male staff here. You knew that the reputation of the Morning Express would guarantee you an interview with the great showman, and sure enough it did. It is only a shame that your conduct during the meeting served to upset him.”

  I felt a cold perspiration spread under my arms. I tried to take a deep breath, but my chest was too constricted by my corset.

  “With all due respect, Mr Sherman, he was already upset at the discovery of his wife’s death. I think there was little I could have said to improve his mood.”

  Mr Sherman pointed the shank of his pipe at me accusingly. “You were tactless to visit him and deceitful to pretend that you were still a member of my staff. I thought you were better than this, Miss Green, but it seems I was wrong. Do you think I enjoy spending my afternoons trying to calm an irate showman who is holding me responsible for the behaviour of a woman who no longer works for my newspaper? Do I look like someone who has the time to do such a thing? Can you understand how embarrassing it was to have to explain to him that you no longer work here?”

  Having arrived at the office expecting good news, I now felt rather overwhelmed by disappointment. I felt the need to escape outside for a change of air.

  “I apologise unreservedly for my conduct, Mr Sherman. It was never my intention to cause upset or to bring the reputation of this newspaper into disrepute.”

  I stood and hooked my handbag over my arm. “I shall gather up all my remaining cards, place them in an envelope and post them to you at the first opportunity, so that there is no danger of this ever happening again.”

  Mr Sherman took another puff from his pipe and spoke in a calmer tone. “I am sure there is no need, Miss Green. Please don’t spend your money on the postage. You have learnt your lesson now, I take it?”

  “I most certainly have. I won’t trouble you any further, Mr Sherman. I know the evening deadline will be upon you shortly. Good afternoon.” I gave him a slight bow, walked over to the door and opened it.

  “Did I say I was finished, Miss Green?”

  I paused with my hand on the doorknob, nervous about what I was to hear next.

  “Come back here and shut that accursed door.”

  I did as I was told and turned to face him, but I didn’t sit this time. I watched him as he retrieved a fresh pipe and a tin of tobacco from his desk drawer.

  “I had another visitor yesterday who I haven’t told you about yet.” He opened the tin and began to fill the pipe with flakes of tobacco. “It was my cousin, and he wasn’t making a social call. You know who I am talking about, do you not? Commissioner Dickson of Scotland Yard.”

  My heart skipped slightly.

  “It seems you have made quite an impression on that young detective of his.”

  I felt my cheeks redden. I presumed he was referring to Inspector Blakely, but he made it seem as though I had intentionally endeavoured to impress him.

  “A detective spoke to me briefly about Lizzie Dixie a few days ago,” I said.

  “So I understand.” Mr Sherman tucked the pipe into his mouth, then shuffled the papers and books on his desk in an effort to locate a box of matches.

  “This detective is working on the Lizzie Dixie case and needs all the help he can get. He is only a young chap, as I understand it, but he happens to be the son of a chief superintendent, which strengthens his position. And it seems he has won golden opinions, despite his youth. I think Chief Inspector Cullen would serve better on the case, but what does my opinion matter? Ah! There they are.”

  The editor took up the box of matches and lit his pipe. “Commissioner Dickson feels that he was perhaps rather overzealous in ordering your dismissal earlier this year. He acknowledges that some aspects of the Doughty Street case were questionable.”

  I sighed with relief and smiled.

  This was the news I had been waiting for.

  “I am happy that the commissioner has finally seen sense,” I replied.

  Mr Sherman scowled. “He has always seen sense, but a man is entitled to rethink his decisions.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Mr Sherman.”

  “Commissioner Dickson feels that having you reinstated here would serve as an apology for past mistakes and would also provide his detective with a useful source of information in relation to the Lizzie Dixie case. There is a great deal of public interest in it, as you can imagine.”

  “Yes, I can imagine. Thank you, Mr Sherman. And do please thank Commissioner Dickson on my behalf when you see him next.”

  Mr Sherman dismissed this last comment with a wave and searched through the papers on his desk again. “I need a piece done on the Corrupt and Illegal Practices Prevention Act, which has just been passed in parliament.”

  I nodded in reply.

  “Can you have that done for me by tomorrow afternoon? Just a summary; four hundred words will do it.”

  After the scolding, I found it hard to believe what I was hearing. “You want me to write an article? Does this mean I have a job here again?”

  “Why else would I ask you for a summary of the new act?”

  “Thank you, Mr Sherman!” I felt a grin spread across my face. “I am extremely grateful that you have reconsidered my position, especially in light of the unfortunate incident with Mr Taylor. I can promise that no such incident will ever happen again.”

  “I am sure it won’t.” He held up a piece of paper and began reading it, which I took as a sign to leave.

  “And once I have written my piece on the new act, I will get to grips with the Lizzie Dixie story.”

  “There is no need; Edgar Fish has it. There will be plenty for you to work on, don’t worry. Just help the detective out when he asks you and pass on all the exclusive news to Edgar Fish. That’s what I agreed with Commissioner Dickson. We help him and, in exchange, we have the exclusives.”

  Chapter 10

  Although I had not been given the Lizzie Dixie story to work on, I was permitted to meet with Inspector Blakely a few days later. A hansom cab took me to Kensal Green Cemetery one morning, shortly before dawn. Once I had paid the driver, I found my way through the grey gloom towards the tall iron gates which were already standing ajar. I pushed one of them open and could just make out a ribbon of pathway snaking ahead of me. I chided myself for not bringing a lantern.

  I could see the pale forms of tombs and monuments as I turned right and made my way over to Lizzie’s grave. I had visited her burial place a number of times over the years, and now had to accept that I had been paying my respects to a woman whose identity was unknown. Each time I had c
ome here, Lizzie had been living somewhere in secret. I felt a mixture of anger and sadness about it. Meanwhile, another victim of the Princess Alice sinking had been buried in Lizzie’s grave, and on this particular morning her body was to be exhumed.

  Once her coffin was removed, Lizzie would be buried. I had been told that the early morning burial ceremony was to be kept brief and far removed from the public gaze.

  A blackbird started up its early morning song, its cheerfulness at odds with the sombre environment. There was a damp, earthy smell on the cold morning air and I shivered in my black satin dress and jacket, which were suitable for mourning but offered no protection against the cold.

  I recoiled as the strands of a cobweb stuck to my face, hurriedly wiping them away with my gloved hands. As I walked alone in the murk, my heart began to thud more rapidly. The crunch of my boots on the gravelled path sounded deafening. I glanced around at the sleeping places of the dead all around me, worrying that someone or something was about to jump out. I tried to calm myself and remember that I had no belief in ghosts; however, the chasm between the living and the dead sometimes felt narrow.

  I walked a little faster, wishing I had arranged to meet Inspector Blakely at the cemetery gates so I had someone to accompany me through the graveyard. I thought about Lizzie out walking in Highgate Cemetery late at night.

  What had she been doing there? Had she arranged to meet her killer? If so, did that mean she had known him?

  I reached a fork and took the path to the right, relieved that it would not be long before I reached the grave. It was both reassuring and spooky to see lights flickering in the midst of the tombs. As I walked closer to the lights, I could hear the sound of shovels digging into the earth, along with the snort of a horse and the jingle of a bridle. On the path ahead of me, I could just make out the shape of a carriage and two horses. Presumably it was there to take the coffin away.

  I arrived at the graveside and saw a small group of dark figures standing close to it, watching as two men dug in the lamplight. It didn’t seem right; dead people weren’t supposed to be dug up. I wished I hadn’t decided to come here on such a dismal morning.

  “Here it is,” said one of the gravediggers. I heard the light tap of a shovel against wood as confirmation. A shiver ran down my back and I stood a short distance away from the group, not wishing to get too close to the open grave.

  Someone in a bowler hat had noticed my arrival and walked over to me.

  “Good morning, Miss Green.”

  I had only met Inspector Blakely once, but his vaguely familiar voice felt reassuring to me on a morning such as this. He held a bullseye lantern, which cast some light onto his face, and I could see a faint line of stubble on his chin, as if getting up at this early hour had not given him sufficient time to shave.

  “Good morning, Inspector Blakely.” I felt relieved to have someone friendly to talk to. “And thank you for helping me get my job back.”

  “My pleasure.” I could just about see his smile in the gloom. “Although Commissioner Dickson did not take a great deal of convincing. I think he knew he had behaved a little harshly towards you. And I am not sure you should be thanking me on a grim morning such as this.” He glanced at the open grave and grimaced.

  “How is the investigation going?”

  “Slowly,” he replied quietly. “We have identified a few people of interest, but there are no firm suspects yet. It will be interesting to see who turns up this morning to see Lizzie interred. Funerals are invaluable for murder investigations as they allow us to find out who was close to the victim. The murderer himself may even turn up; it’s not unheard of.”

  “Is that right?” I glanced around us warily.

  “I might need you to help me identify a few faces.”

  I heard some quiet muttering from one of the men standing close by and saw that he was a vicar wearing black robes, a soft black hat and a stark white collar. I realised he was praying and wondered if I should bow my head and listen.

  The gravediggers were leaning into the grave, trying to haul up the coffin under the guidance of a man who I guessed was an undertaker. On the ground next to him lay the lid of the tomb, upon which lay a sleeping angel carved in stone.

  “Are you here undercover?” I whispered to the inspector.

  “No, Mr Taylor is expected here and he will recognise me. I plan to stand back and watch, and I hope that my presence will not be considered intrusive.”

  The coffin was finally hauled out of the ground and the undertaker dusted it free of dirt with his handkerchief. The vicar’s prayers grew louder and I recognised the words of the Lord’s Prayer. The coffin was slowly carried over to the waiting carriage as we all stood in silence with our heads bowed. I wondered whether we would ever find out who the dead woman was.

  We remained silent as the coffin was placed inside the carriage, and listened to the sound of hooves and the grind of wheels on gravel as the coffin was taken away.

  Chapter 11

  I glanced over at the dark pit, which was soon to be Lizzie’s grave. The sleeping angel lay beside it. The sky was a lighter grey now and it would not be long until sunrise.

  Inspector Blakely extinguished his lantern. “I was unable to find a coffee stall on Harrow Road,” he said. “I struggle to do anything without my morning cup of coffee. I usually rely on the breakfast stall on Northumberland Avenue, where I get a slice of bread and butter with coffee for tuppence. And if there’s time I breakfast at Russell’s in Whitehall Place. Have you tried it? They do the most marvellous mutton chops, eggs and toast in there.”

  “Usually I like the thought of mutton chops for breakfast,” I replied, “but this morning my appetite feels rather subdued.”

  “Mr Fish,” said the inspector.

  I turned to see Edgar’s tall frame appear at my side. He nodded to us both.

  “Rather early, isn’t it?” He wore a top hat and dark overcoat, and he lit his clay pipe before peering over at the empty grave. “I see they’ve taken her out.”

  “Yes, the coffin has been exhumed,” said the inspector.

  “Did they take a look inside it or will they do that later? We need to know who the dead woman is.”

  “She will be examined by the police doctor in the mortuary,” replied Inspector Blakely.

  Edgar drew a sharp intake of breath. “Five years she’s been down there. It’s not going to be pretty.”

  I felt nauseous at the thought, and at Edgar’s lack of tact.

  “You’ll let me know as soon as they find out who she is, won’t you, Blakely? The public want to know the identity of the mystery woman.”

  “It is possible that we may never find out.”

  “We have to, one way or another. If the doctor can give me a physical description, we shall make a public appeal. Better still, we could get an illustration of her drawn up and someone might recognise her.”

  “That sounds like an interesting idea,” replied the inspector.

  I looked around us and noticed that a few mourners had arrived. One was a smartly dressed older gentleman, who looked familiar. He had thick, grey whiskers and wore a black overcoat and top hat. He held a shiny wooden cane by his side and the thought occurred to me that it could be a cane shotgun: a secret weapon designed for wealthy gentlemen who did not wish to carry anything conspicuous. It was probably my fancy getting the better of me, but I could picture a man such as him walking through Highgate Cemetery one evening and firing shots at a person before walking calmly away and rousing little suspicion.

  He glanced at me, so I looked away in the direction of a younger man, who also seemed familiar. He was dressed in black with a well-waxed blond moustache. He had a receding chin.

  How had these men known Lizzie?

  “Sir Edmund Erskine, Member of Parliament for Dorset,” muttered Inspector Blakely.

  “Of course,” I replied, looking at the older man. “I remember him now. He was at the opening ceremony for the Royal College of
Music earlier this year. I saw him accompanying the Prince of Wales. The other man is also an MP, I am sure of it. Mr Dowdeswell, I think.”

  “Member of Parliament for Lambeth,” Edgar added.

  The presence of the two politicians confirmed an uncomfortable aspect of Lizzie’s life. She had been the paid companion of wealthy men. I suppose she could have been described as a courtesan.

  “It’s rather brave of them to turn up,” said Edgar.

  “I think it rather respectful of them,” I said.

  The pair of gravediggers rested on their shovels and took a pinch of snuff while a tall, thin figure strolled slowly towards the graveside.

  “That gentleman there is Sebastian Colehill,” I said quietly to the inspector. “He is the proprietor of the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane and knew Lizzie for most of her career.”

  “Marvellous.” He retrieved a notebook and pencil from the inside pocket of his overcoat and wrote the information down.

  “I shall introduce you to him,” I said.

  I walked over to Sebastian, unsure as to whether he would welcome a conversation with a detective at this moment. To my annoyance, Edgar Fish followed close behind us.

  “Good morning, Mr Colehill.”

  “Miss Green!” Sebastian’s pale face broke out into a smile. “How are you?” He wore a long, dark overcoat and carried an ivory-topped cane in a leather-gloved hand.

  “I am well under the circumstances, thank you.”

  “The same. This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” He dabbed at his brow with a dark silk handkerchief.

  “Mr Colehill, I would like to introduce you to Inspector Blakely. He is leading the investigation into Lizzie’s death. As you can imagine, the case is an extremely difficult one, so I am sure he would welcome an opportunity to speak to you about Lizzie at some point. Not right now, of course.”