The Penny Green series Box Set Page 7

  I glanced at the inspector, hoping he would not start asking questions at this moment.

  “Inspector, delighted to meet you.”

  Sebastian held out his hand and Inspector Blakely shook it.

  “Likewise, Mr Colehill. In fact, my mother and I watched The Miser of Shoreditch at the Theatre Royal just last month. We enjoyed it immensely.”

  “Did you now? Well, that is wonderful to hear. I am very pleased with the show; it has broadly received good reviews, apart from one or two, but then there are always some you cannot please.”

  “I heard it was a rather fashionable opening night.”

  “Yes, it was. The Prince and Princess of Wales were in attendance, which was a great honour. I really could not have wished for anything more. I feel truly blessed to have this job, I really do.”

  I admired the way Inspector Blakely had instantly put Sebastian at ease.

  “You were an actor yourself once?”

  “I was, and so was my wife. That was how we met. But treading the boards was never to be my destiny. I discovered that my talent lay on the management side. Succeeding as an actor or actress requires more than training; the foundation is laid in something less tangible than that. It is an innate ability possessed only by a select few. You know the people I mean: those who walk onto the stage wearing the very skin of their character. Every gesture, glance and word spoken is that of their character. It is as if the actor disappears into himself for the duration of the performance. I greatly admire that ability.”

  “Lizzie was like that,” I said.

  “She was.” He dabbed at his brow again. “She certainly was.”

  “So you knew Lizzie well?” Edgar piped up from behind me.

  Sebastian seemed startled by the question. “My apologies, Mr Colehill, I should introduce myself. Mr Edgar Fish from the Morning Express.” He extended his hand over my shoulder for Sebastian to shake. “Have you any idea who might have shot Lizzie, Mr Colehill?”

  Sebastian stammered at the direct question. “Well, no, I haven’t the first idea. I do not understand it at all. Are you conducting an interview for your newspaper, Mr Fish?”

  “I was just curious, Mr Colehill.”

  Sebastian gave him a guarded look and pocketed his handkerchief. The sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels drew near, and I felt relieved that our conversation was at an end.

  A bright streak of orange in the east bathed the surrounding tombs in a warm glow and the black coats of the horses shone in the early morning light as they pulled the hearse towards us. It was a polished, black, ornamental carriage with carved acanthus scrollwork and ornate finials on its roof. Lizzie’s coffin lay behind extravagantly draped black satin curtains.

  The hearse drew to a halt and the four men who had been walking behind it parted the curtains and carefully removed the coffin. They lifted it up onto their shoulders and I was struck by how light they found it. Lizzie had only been a slight woman. I struggled to believe she was in the coffin which was being carried towards the grave. In my mind, Lizzie had been dead and buried for five years.

  How could she possibly be inside the coffin I saw before me?

  Immediately behind the coffin walked Joseph Taylor in a black top hat and overcoat. He stared straight ahead without acknowledging any of the mourners. Beside him walked Annie in a long, black coat with a black hat and a black veil across her face. She carried three white lilies and I could just about see her face through the veil, but I didn’t want to stare too much.

  I wiped a tear from my cheek and glanced around at the small group of mourners, wondering what they each knew about the last few years of Lizzie’s life and about her death. Everyone bowed their heads while the vicar said his prayers.

  Was there any truth in what Inspector Blakely had said about funerals? Could one of the people present be the murderer?

  I tried to still my mind and listen to the vicar’s words. “In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?”

  Was the murderer listening to these words at this moment?

  Lizzie’s coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. “Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer; but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour...”

  My heart felt heavy and I prayed that Lizzie’s soul could finally rest in peace.

  But I feared that peace would be a long time coming.

  Chapter 12

  “It is only half past seven,” said Edgar as we walked through the cemetery with Inspector Blakely. “It feels as though it should be time for lunch.”

  “I think we need to find somewhere to eat a good breakfast,” said the inspector.

  “That’s a first-rate idea!” replied Edgar.

  “I had heard rumours that Lizzie had a daughter,” said Inspector Blakely, “and it was useful to finally clap eyes on her.”

  “Did you not meet Annie when you spoke to Mr Taylor?” I asked.

  “No, he didn’t mention her. Rather strange, considering she is his daughter.”

  “She isn’t.”

  “Oh, that explains it then.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know who her father is. Annie was ten when Lizzie married Mr Taylor.”

  “Of course. I should have realised they had not been married long enough for Annie to be his daughter.”

  “Wait!” I hissed.

  A flash of movement next to a yew tree had caught my eye. I stared at the gap between the tree and a nearby tomb, waiting to see what, or who, was there.

  But there was nothing.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I saw someone.”

  “Who?” asked Edgar.

  “I don’t know. I thought there was someone there just then. Watching us.”

  “What did they look like?” asked Inspector Blakely.

  “I don’t know. I just saw a flash of something. Dark clothing, perhaps.”

  “A man? A woman?”

  “I’m sorry, I really don’t know. Please forget I mentioned it. The uncomfortable business of this morning has left me rather jumpy. I shall be glad to find a place to eat some breakfast.”

  “We must have a look,” said the inspector, leaving the path and striding towards the tomb. “Over here, you say?”

  “Please don’t worry, Inspector Blakely!” I called after him. “I expect I was imagining it. I am rather tired.”

  But he continued walking towards the tree and the tomb, so I followed him onto the wet grass, leaving Edgar behind me on the path.

  “It is nothing,” I said, catching up with him.

  “Ah, but it is something,” he said looking down at the ground. “Do you see the flattened grass? Someone has been here.”

  I shivered and looked cautiously behind the tree, but no one appeared there. Cobwebs heavy with dew hung between the branches.

  Inspector Blakely continued to look around. “It seems that whoever it was has scarpered.”

  I glanced across the rows of headstones and monuments. A crow landed on a nearby stone cross, but I saw nothing until another movement caught my eye.

  “There!” I pointed to a dark figure in the distance that appeared to be running away from us.

  “After him!” called the inspector.

  He ran ahead and I followed, trying not to stumble over the graves. Inspector Blakely streaked off ahead of me as the heels of my boots sank into the soft wet grass. The hem of my dress was wet with dew and my corset prevented me from taking in the breaths required for such heavy exertion. I stopped and decided to leave the running to the inspector. I could see neither him nor the dark figure, so I turned and made my way back to the path.

  Edgar was waiting there, smoking his pipe. “Did you find him?” he asked.

  “Inspector Blakely has chased after him. I don’t know why the man is running away, or why he should have been standing there watching us.”

 
Edgar gave me a puzzled look and glanced towards the gates of the cemetery. “Oh, hello.”

  I followed his gaze and saw a group of darkly dressed men walking towards us.

  Edgar cackled. “They fell for it!”

  “Fell for what?”

  “I spread the word that Lizzie Dixie’s funeral was at eight o’clock.” His small eyes glinted with glee. “Now here’s a group of hacks who have missed out!”

  I watched the journalists from our rival newspapers as they drew nearer and felt pleased that they had missed the small service at Lizzie’s graveside. A few onlookers seemed to be following them and I estimated that between twenty and thirty people had arrived here, hoping to see something.

  “Too late!” shouted Edgar. “You missed it. She’s in the ground!”

  A slack-jawed man, chewing on a piece of tobacco, strode at the front of the group and scowled at Edgar. I recognised him as Tom Clifford from The Holborn Gazette.

  “What do you mean we missed it?”

  “The funeral’s finished, old chap!” Edgar laughed.

  “You told us eight o’clock.”

  “I gave you incorrect information. My mistake.”

  Tom Clifford spat onto the ground and uttered a profanity.

  I stepped away from the group and was pleased to see Inspector Blakely walking quickly down the path towards us. I walked up to him.

  “You didn’t catch him?”

  “Sadly, no.” He was breathless from running.

  “Did you get a better look at him?”

  “Not really.” He took off his hat and wiped the beads of perspiration from his brow with his sleeve. “A fairly slight fellow. Dressed in black and he wore a cap. He was blooming fast!”

  “Who was it, I wonder? And why did he run away? I cannot understand it.”

  “It is anyone’s guess. Perhaps it was someone who has had his collar tugged by my hand in the past. He was watching us, you say?”

  “That was my impression, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

  “Even if you were, there is no doubt that he was behaving suspiciously. Why run away like that? I can only assume he was interested in the funeral proceedings, and I would like to find out who he is as a matter of urgency.” He took his notebook from his pocket and made a note in it.

  “Who are all these people?” he added when he had finished writing.

  “They have come for Lizzie’s funeral. Edgar gave them the wrong time.”

  “I see.”

  Inspector Blakely replaced his hat and we passed the small crowd. Edgar was at the centre of it, laughing and joking with everyone.

  “Is there anyone in that group who I need to talk to?”

  “I don’t think so; they’re mostly hacks.”

  “Let’s leave them for the time being, then. Has your appetite recovered yet, Miss Green? I think we should find somewhere to take breakfast and talk about the case.”

  Inspector Blakely tucked into a plate of mutton chops in the restaurant of the Buchanan Hotel close to Notting Hill and Ladbroke Grove station. It was a small, comfortable place with crimson flock wallpaper and white tablecloths. I nibbled at my toast and marmalade, sipped at my coffee and thought about the contrast between Lizzie’s first funeral and the second.

  Hundreds of mourners had attended her funeral at St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden five years previously, but very few had known her personally. The handful of mourners at her graveside that morning had saddened me as I realised that only a few people had ever really mattered to her.

  Inspector Blakely placed his knife and fork side by side on his empty plate and wiped his mouth with his serviette. His suit, waistcoat and tie were black, and I noticed a simple gold pin on his tie. I wondered if it was a gift from someone as he opened his notebook, which lay beside his plate. His dark eyebrows knotted together in thought as he read through his notes and chewed on the end of his pencil.

  “My list of interesting persons remains quite small,” he said, looking over at me. “Is there something wrong with your toast, Miss Green?”

  “No.” I glanced down at the half-eaten slice on my plate. “I struggle to eat much at times like this.”

  “Do you mind if I eat it?”

  “Not at all. Are you sure you want to? It looks a bit sorry for itself with me having eaten some of it.”

  I passed the plate to him and he ate the toast while flicking through his notebook.

  “I would like to speak to Lizzie’s daughter, Annie,” he said. “Do you know much about her?”

  I told him about my visit to Astley’s Amphitheatre earlier in the week and how Annie had seemed reluctant to speak to me.

  “I wonder if she is quite influenced by Joseph Taylor’s presence,” said the inspector. “It sounds as though she might have said more to you if he hadn’t been there. If I could somehow speak to her alone that would be preferable. Although I suppose I would need a chaperone. You could act as chaperone, couldn’t you?”

  “If she and Mr Taylor are happy with that, I could.”

  “I can’t imagine Mr Taylor being happy with anything.” He wrote something in his notebook.

  “Me neither. He has always struck me as a cantankerous man.”

  “He will have to lighten his mood as I still have a good many questions for him. I also need to speak to Mr Colehill. He seems more amenable.”

  “I am sure he will be as helpful as he can. He was very fond of Lizzie.”

  “They worked together?”

  “Yes, for many years. Mr Colehill first discovered Lizzie when she was nineteen years old.”

  “So she owed her livelihood to him?”

  “I suppose she did. She performed under many other managers, of course, and her success was attributed to her own ability rather than anything Sebastian specifically did.”

  “But if it hadn’t been for him, she might not have become an actress in the first place?”

  “Possibly. Maybe she would have done so, but we will never know. Sebastian was a big help to her, and he was supportive throughout her career.”

  “And then we have the other suspects.”

  “Are Annie, Mr Taylor and Mr Colehill suspects?”

  Inspector Blakely put down his pencil and grimaced. “Not just yet. One of them has to be, if not all of them. I like to describe them as people of interest. They knew Lizzie and I feel fairly certain she was murdered by someone she knew; by someone who knew she was still alive. That could make our list of suspects rather narrow, couldn’t it?” He picked up his pencil again. “The other names I need to note down are Sir Edmund Erskine and Mr Hugh Dowdeswell. I assume Lizzie knew them through her work. Her other work,” he added, raising an eyebrow.

  “That sounds sensible to me,” I said. “There are probably other men too.”

  “There may well be, and I need to track them all down. Can you think of anyone else I may have missed?”

  “Lizzie had a large family, but I don’t think any of them live in England. If her mother is still alive she is probably in Dublin and I know a few of Lizzie’s brothers emigrated to America. I thought Lizzie had come to London with her older sister, but I don’t ever recall meeting her and I don’t know her name.”

  The inspector made a note of this. “Lizzie’s father?” he asked.

  “I seem to remember her saying that he had died. She told me he was a ne’er-do-well and was in Kilmainham Gaol. The family was poor and she helped her mother make matches and sew clothes. She became a housemaid when she was fourteen.”

  “And Lizzie, or Hannah as she was called at that time, moved to London with her sister to work in service. Am I right?”

  “Yes, they did well and found work with the wealthy Burrell family in Belgravia.”

  “And I’ve already ascertained that her brothers went to America. I have heard rumours that they are friendly with the Fenian leader, Mr O’Donovan Rossa, out there.”

  “I have also heard that said.”

  “And Lizzie sympathi
sed with the Irish cause?”

  “Yes, she did. I can’t say she would have agreed with the Fenian dynamite campaign, but she supported home rule. She said the Great Famine should never be allowed to happen again and that as long as the British were in charge she worried that it would.”

  “Sir Edmund and Mr Dowdeswell are both liberals, and therefore more sympathetic to the Irish cause than some. Even so, Lizzie’s relationship with them creates a complicated situation, especially with her brothers supporting the Fenians in America.”

  “You think she could have been murdered for her political connections?”

  “Anything is possible at this stage, Miss Green. I am trying to determine how far my investigations must extend.”

  I felt reassured that Inspector Blakely intended to be thorough in his investigation. The more we talked about the case the more complicated I realised it was. “It seems that although there are only a few people of interest, there are many possibilities to consider,” I said.

  “Exactly. And I am not entirely sure where to start. I will be happier when I can get hold of that young man who ran away from us at the cemetery, I think he could be someone of importance to us.”

  Chapter 13

  The following day I met with Inspector Blakely at another cemetery. This time the location was Highgate; the scene of Lizzie’s murder. I knew this was to be another difficult day, but I decided that visiting the place where Lizzie had died might help me accept what had happened to her. Perhaps it would give me some ideas about who had committed the murder. Perhaps part of me also wanted to visit out of morbid curiosity.

  I travelled by horse-drawn tram up to Highgate and then walked through the frosty residential streets and through the east side of Highgate Cemetery until I reached Swain’s Lane. Inspector Blakely was waiting for me by the gate at the west side. He wore a tweed overcoat and a bowler hat.

  “Good morning, Miss Green. It is a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” He smiled and looked up at the blue sky. “I don’t suppose it will be long before the fog returns, so we must make the most of it.”