Curse of the Poppy (Penny Green Series Book 5) Read online

  “And before he went there?”

  Her face brightened. “They were extremely proud of him. He was clever and good-natured. He had lots of friends and enjoyed life. He studied at Cambridge, and when he began working for the Indian government my parents anticipated great things for him. We all did.”

  “And he was in India for five years?”

  “Yes, how do you know that?”

  “You said so at the inquest.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Did he come home at all during those five years?”

  “Once or twice, and he seemed a little more serious than when he had first departed for India, but I suppose that was to be expected. He travelled over as a boy and became a man out there. I suppose it’s only natural for someone to lose their spontaneity and sense of fun in those circumstances.”

  “Do you put the change solely down to age, or do you think there was another reason for this new display of maturity?”

  “No, just age. And I suppose living and working in a foreign country would change a man, wouldn’t it? Nobody stays the same forever.”

  “Was he happy in Ghazipur?”

  “Yes, he seemed to be. Mother and Father went out to stay with him for a while, but I didn’t go.”

  “So you saw little of him during that time.”

  “Yes, and when he returned for good he was quite different.”

  The maid brought in the tea.

  “When did you find out about the opium?” I asked.

  “It was after he’d lost his second job. He worked as a clerk for a tobacco merchant on his return, and then he ran errands for the Metropolitan Board of Works. It wasn’t the usual sort of profession you’d expect a Cambridge graduate to be pursuing. Neither job lasted long and he confessed to me that the only enjoyment he found in life came in the form of opium. He had first tried it in India and subsequently began to make regular use of it. He told me that if he went for any length of time without it he was overcome by sickness. The only way to stop the sickness was to take it again.”

  “Presumably he had no idea that he would become so dependent on it.”

  “He told me he had first taken it for toothache, and that it had given him a sensation so pleasurable he never found anything else that could compare. Not even love, it seems.”

  “Was there ever a chance of marriage for him?”

  “He told me there had been a girl in India at one time, but she had brought their courtship to an end. Whether it was her choice or her family’s I cannot tell, but I think he was more upset about that than he was willing to admit.”

  “You last saw him at Christmas, is that right?”

  “Yes, and it was so dreadful I vowed never to see him again. It transpired that I kept that vow.”

  Her eyes grew damp and her hand trembled as she lifted a cup of tea to her lips.

  “What happened at Christmas?” I asked.

  “He had terrible rows with Mother and Father; with all of us, including my cousin and her husband, with whom I share this home. We all found him detestable.”

  “What was the nature of his work in Ghazipur?”

  “He weighed the pots of opium when they arrived at the factory. It doesn’t sound like much, but he told me it was quite an important job because opium is as precious a commodity as silver. Forms had to be filled in and certificates signed, and everything was done under lock and key. Apparently, there was tight security to prevent any of the opium falling into the wrong hands.”

  “There’s nothing in what you have told me to explain why someone might have wished to kill your brother,” I said.

  “No, I cannot understand it. All I can think is that he had a disagreement with someone. Perhaps he owed money to the wrong people. He somehow managed to pay for his opium, though he didn’t have a job.”

  “Was there any money from the family?”

  “A little from Mother and Father. I can only hope that the police find out who did this to him and why. I realise he probably got himself into some dangerous situations, but I need to understand why this happened, no matter how unpalatable the truth may be.”

  Chapter 17

  I stepped out of the Morning Express offices and into the rain that evening. I began searching among the traffic on Fleet Street for an omnibus to take me home.

  “Penny!”

  I turned to see James standing beneath his umbrella outside a stationer’s shop and I felt a flip of excitement in my chest.

  “James! What are you doing here?” I hadn’t seen him since the day I had called at his home and accidentally encountered Charlotte and her mother. I had been trying my hardest not to think about him, knowing how close his wedding was, but I felt pleased that he had sought me out.

  “Were you waiting here for me?”

  “I was just passing your offices and thought you’d probably be finishing for the day about now. I read your article about the opium den.” He gestured for me to join him under his umbrella.

  “Oh, did you?”

  “What on earth were you doing in an opium den? It’s not a safe place for a lady to be at all.”

  “Or for anyone, in fact, especially not after the murder of Alfred Holland.”

  “Indeed. Have you the time to take a walk?”

  “Of course.”

  We walked west in the direction of the Strand.

  “I don’t like the thought of you wandering about Limehouse visiting opium dens,” said James.

  “Oh, it wasn’t quite like that. Inspector Reeves of K Division took us.”

  “Us?”

  “Myself and Tom Clifford from The Holborn Gazette.”

  James groaned. “Oh, no! I remember that man from the St Giles investigation.”

  “Have you come across Inspector Reeves before?”

  “Once or twice. He’s a slippery character. I can’t imagine he took you on a tour of the opium den out of pure goodwill. Did he ask you for money?”

  “Yes, three shillings.”

  James shook his head.

  “We visited the opium den where Alfred Holland was shot.”

  “So your article said.”

  “I met with Alfred’s sister this morning, and she has no idea who might have wanted to murder him.”

  “I can’t imagine Inspector Reeves having much of an idea either,” said James.

  “Alfred Holland came from a good family,” I said. “His death seems to have marked the end of a tragic descent into destitution. He worked in India, did you know that?”

  “I didn’t. I’m afraid I’m not terribly familiar with the case.”

  “I’ve been trying to find out whether he met the Forsters while he was out there.”

  “The odds of that are fairly slim, aren’t they?”

  “I realise that, but both Mr Forster and Mr Holland worked within the opium industry.”

  “Along with a good many other people.”

  I sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever convince anyone to consider the possibility that the murders could be connected.”

  We paused beside the lofty arches of the law courts.

  “Let’s cross here,” said James.

  We darted between the carts and carriages, and turned into Essex Street.

  “If the murders are connected we need to find the evidence that links them,” said James. “I’m assisting D Division with Mrs Forster’s case and working on Inspector Paget of C Division to allow me to help with Mr Forster’s case. As for Mr Holland, that’s K Division and I must say that I don’t trust Inspector Reeves one bit. I sometimes wonder who he’s actually working for.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just rumour. But you understand what I’m saying, don’t you? It’s rather difficult to pull all these separate incidents together and try to connect them.”

  We passed the Essex Head Tavern and made our way toward a handsome archway at the end of the street.

  “But you work for Scotland Yard,” I said. “You’re well
placed to work on all these cases and discover the connection.”

  “I can’t just march in and demand that I take over these cases, Penny. I’m not senior enough to seize control.”

  “But you know there’s little possibility that Inspector Bowles or Paget will consider that a murder in Limehouse could be linked to the murder of the Forsters in Fitzrovia and Mayfair. They’re very different parts of London. What this situation needs is a detective like you to consider the cases side by side.”

  James sighed and we paused beside the arch. A flight of worn steps ran beneath it to the street on a lower level.

  “It’s not as simple as you make it sound, Penny. Scotland Yard can’t spend all its time trying to establish whether a crime carried out in one part of the metropolis has anything to do with a crime committed in another part.”

  “You managed it with the St Giles murders.”

  “Because we were quite certain from early on that there was only one culprit.”

  “Do you think the three murders might have been committed by the same person?”

  “I wouldn’t completely rule it out, but there’s no evidence to suggest it.”

  “What about the opium connection?”

  “There could be something in it, or it may simply be coincidence.”

  “But you would consider it if I could find some evidence to support the theory?”

  “Of course, Penny, but you’re a news reporter and it’s not really your job to go about trying to establish such things.”

  “But if I don’t do it who will?”

  “If there’s a connection between the Forsters and Alfred Holland I’m sure something will come to light sooner or later.”

  “You’re content to just wait for something to come to light, are you? And what if it doesn’t?”

  “Then perhaps there is no connection after all.”

  “What an extremely lackadaisical manner of doing things!” I fumed, marching down the stone steps before James could respond.

  Chapter 18

  “Penny, you’ll get soaked without an umbrella!” James called, following me down the steps. “The Yard only has so many men. Chief Inspector Cullen won’t allow me to get involved in any case I pick and choose. And I feel sure that the divisions will make the Yard aware as soon as they need our help.”

  “But they don’t even know when they need help,” I retorted. “I’m surprised at your reaction to this, James. I thought you would want to be involved in these cases.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, Penny, but my hands are tied. At least I’ve been involved in Mrs Forster’s case. Perhaps there’s something I can do from my work on that.”

  “What progress has there been so far?” I asked.

  We stood under James’ umbrella beside a row of trees which bordered Temple Gardens. Beyond them was the Victoria Embankment and the River Thames.

  “The staff at the Forsters’ home say the gang was well organised and its members seemed to know what they were doing. They used their cudgels to incapacitate the staff but inflicted wounds on Mrs Forster which were deliberately intended to end her life. They kept asking the servants where Mr and Mrs Forster were.”

  “As if they were after them rather than the valuables?”

  “Exactly. They remained calm for most of the time, using intimidation and violence only where necessary. The housekeeper told me she felt sure the men were comfortable with what they were doing, as if they were well-practised at it. It’s interesting that they completely spared the errand boy.”

  “Because he’s a child, perhaps.”

  “Possibly, but there might be another explanation. It’s intriguing that the gang knew exactly how to break in. I think they had been given information about the layout of the house before the break-in.”

  “Do you think the boy might have told them?”

  “It’s possible. The gang may have bribed him with something. He might not have considered that he was doing anything wrong at the time. I have tried asking him whether that’s what happened, but he has given me little information so far.”

  “If someone bribed him and he tells you who it is that could lead you straight to the men who carried out the act.”

  “Absolutely, so I’m hoping that if he has something to tell us he will do so very soon.”

  “Do you believe the gang also intended to attack Mr Forster that evening?”

  “Yes, they were probably disappointed to find him out of the house.”

  “Which explains why he was tracked down just a few days later and stabbed in St James’s Square.”

  “Yes.”

  “So Inspector Paget of C Division should allow you to be involved in Mr Forster’s case considering that the murders were almost certainly carried out by the same people.”

  “I’m trying to convince him of that at the present time.”

  “The Forsters may have been murdered by people who were paid to kill them,” I said, “and Inspector Reeves has the same theory regarding Mr Holland’s murder. He believes the culprit was a paid assassin.”

  “That may be the very connection we’re looking for. We just need more evidence.”

  “Inspector Reeves has a few witness statements from people who saw the gunman before and after he shot Mr Holland. Maybe the description bears some resemblance to one of the men described by Mr and Mrs Forster’s staff.”

  “Perhaps I should speak to Inspector Reeves about the case, then. That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?” James said with a smile.

  “Yes.” I smiled in return.

  The rain was starting to ease. We crossed Victoria Embankment and stood overlooking Temple Pier, where numerous passengers were embarking a pleasure steamer for an outing downriver. I told James about my meeting with Mr Mawson at the India Office.

  “He seems innocent of any wrongdoing,” I said, “but I can’t help recalling how keen he was to find out Mr Forster’s location after the murder of Mrs Forster. Perhaps he passed the information on to someone.”

  “Have you told Inspector Paget about him?”

  “No, I haven’t met with Inspector Paget and I’m not supposed to be working on the story at all. Edgar Fish has it.”

  “Oh dear, really?”

  “Yes, it’s all rather frustrating. I suppose I could ask Edgar to mention Mr Mawson to Inspector Paget, but he doesn’t like doing any more work than he absolutely has to. You should visit Mr Mawson at the India Office; it’s only a stone’s throw from Scotland Yard. Mr Mawson was with Mr Forster the evening before he died, so he might be able to tell you something useful.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but neither you nor I can officially take control of the work. We must leave it to the other detectives and reporters.”

  “The other incompetents.”

  James laughed. “It seems you have a high opinion of our colleagues.”

  A break in the cloud allowed the setting sun to cast its golden light across the river, bathing the ships and barges moored by the wharves on the south bank.

  “I miss our meetings at the Museum Tavern,” I said. The words had left my mouth before I had time to consider them.

  James gave a small sigh. “They’re not over yet. We’ll have more of them.”

  I turned to look at him. “Are you sure? I thought the future Mrs Blakely was rather disapproving of our conversations at that establishment.”

  “I put it down to her pre-wedding nerves.”

  “Do you have pre-wedding nerves?”

  James thought for a moment before replying. “No.”

  “Why not? It’s a life-changing event.”

  “I don’t like to think of it changing anything so very much.”

  “Of course it will! If Charlotte won’t allow you to meet with me at the Museum Tavern now she’s even less likely to after the wedding.”

  “Nonsense, she’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t think she will be.”

  “You don’t kno
w her as well as I do, Penny. Once the wedding is over and done with she will become her usual calm self again.”

  I quietly disagreed but chose not to argue with him. “I do apologise for interrupting your evening with Charlotte and her mother the other day.”

  “It was a welcome interruption.”

  “It wasn’t really, was it? You weren’t able to invite me in and Charlotte didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me.”

  “Pre-wedding nerves, as I say.”

  “I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Of course she likes you, Penny!”

  “I wouldn’t like me if I were her.”

  “You’re beginning to confuse me with statements like that. How’s Mr Edwards?”

  “His usual self. Sometimes I feel you only bring him up to make yourself feel better about your impending wedding.”

  James gave me an incredulous look.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Perhaps you feel less guilty about your choice knowing there is a potential husband for me waiting in the wings.”

  “You think I should like to see you married to Mr Edwards?”

  “Yes, I think you would. It would reassure you that you’re making the right decision. It would mean there was no longer any alternative. It would suggest that fate rather than your free will had determined events.”

  James scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Penny. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s why you tried so hard to ensure that Mr Edwards and I remained on friendly terms, isn’t it? You were even willing to paint yourself as the villain in order that he would forgive me. He doesn’t for a moment consider that I was willing to kiss you that evening; he believes me to be an innocent victim. In fact, he probably feels sorry for me, which is deplorable.”

  “I apologise if my attempts to repair your reputation were somewhat clumsy.”