Feather sat with Abigail at the kitchen table while Daniel made tea.
‘Another murder?’ said Abigail, puzzled. ‘But not at the National Gallery, I presume, or we’d have surely had a message from them.’
‘No, this one was in Sickert’s studio in Robert Street. We went there following an anonymous tip-off. Do you know it? It’s off Albany Street.’
‘I know where Robert Street is, but I didn’t know Sickert had his studio there,’ said Daniel. ‘When we interviewed him and his wife in 1888 they were living in a house in South Hampstead and he had a studio on the top floor.’ He turned to Abigail and told her: ‘Robert Street is between Clarence Gardens, where Sickert and Ellen live, and Cumberland Market where he kept Anne-Marie.’
‘I assume Sickert decided to separate his studio from his home in view of his extra-curricular activities,’ commented Abigail wryly. ‘So, was it another of his artist’s models?’
‘No, this time it was a man,’ said Feather. ‘He’s been identified as Edwin O’Tool. His throat was cut.’
‘The man who gave Sickert his alibi for the first murder,’ said Daniel, putting the cups of tea on the table for them.
‘The doctor reckons he was killed sometime late this morning. As a result, the guv’nor’s now thinking that maybe Sickert is in the frame, after all.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Abigail.
‘The timing fits,’ said Feather. ‘He could have killed him before he caught the boat train.’
‘The timing may fit, but where’s the motive?’
‘The guv’nor thinks he killed O’Tool to stop him blabbing the truth about the night he was supposed to have spent beside the sofa.’
‘No, Abigail’s right. That’s ridiculous,’ said Daniel. ‘This is someone trying to frame Sickert again.’
‘Your butcher?’ asked Feather.
‘Possibly,’ said Daniel. ‘We’re going to Smithfield tonight with our local butcher to try and talk to some of those who might be likely.’
‘Tonight?’ echoed Feather.
‘Two o’clock in the morning,’ Abigail confirmed.
‘Rather you than me,’ said Feather. ‘The guv’nor sent me to ask if you’ve got an address for Sickert in Dieppe.’
‘He wants to take him into custody again?’ asked Daniel.
‘No, he wants to find out if Sickert knew that O’Tool was staying at his studio, and who else knew.’
‘Nearly everyone who knows Sickert, I expect,’ said Abigail. ‘He and Ellen seem to live a life that’s an open book.’ She frowned thoughtfully. ‘Which is why it still strikes me as strange that Ellen Sickert apparently was unaware of just how serial an adulterer he’s been.’
‘People often only see what they want to see,’ said Feather sagely. ‘Despite them having this tempestuous relationship, by all accounts she’s always been very much in love with him.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ said Daniel. ‘That was what we picked up when we talked to them during the first Ripper investigation, and it’s been reinforced by everything we’ve learnt about them during this current one.’
‘She’s going to divorce him,’ said Abigail. ‘That’s what we’ve been told by Sickert’s sister, and Stanford Beckett at the National Gallery.’
‘You’ve met Sickert’s sister?’
‘Helena Swanwick,’ nodded Abigail. ‘She was at Ellen Sickert’s when we called there earlier.’
‘Abigail was at Girton College with her,’ added Daniel. ‘Ellen Sickert may have the address for Walter in Dieppe.’
‘I’m going to see her after I’ve left you to tell her about O’Tool’s murder. I was going to ask her for Sickert’s address in Dieppe at the same time, but she’s not very conducive to helping the police out, which is why I’m asking you.’
‘Sympathise with her. She’s got a lot to feel angry about,’ said Abigail. ‘Anyway, she’s not at their house, she’s staying with her sister, Jane, at 10 Hereford Square, Kensington. I’m sure she’ll be sociable. She was actually quite nice to us when we were there.’
‘How was the murder discovered?’ asked Daniel. ‘Sickert’s not there. Who discovered the body?’
‘There’s a woman who cleans. Not the rooms, the stairs and passages. She noticed the door to Sickert’s studio was open, so she looked in. O’Tool’s body was on the floor.’
‘Would it be possible for us to get access to Sickert’s studio?’ asked Daniel.
‘You want to check out the scene of the crime?’
‘My guess is it’s connected to the murders of the two women. I’m wondering if the murderer might have left some clues.’
Feather produced two keys on a key ring, which he put on the table.
‘14 Robert Street,’ he said. ‘I got these from the landlord. The bigger key’s the one to the front door. The smaller one is for Sickert’s studio, which is at the top of the house. The rest of the house is made up of rooms and flats. When are you going there?’
‘It’ll have to be tomorrow morning,’ said Daniel. ‘We have an appointment with some prostitutes at Charing Cross Station, and then our night trip to Smithfield.’
‘A busy time,’ commented Feather. ‘Drop the keys back to me at the Yard in the morning. If Armstrong sees you, officially you’ve called to tell me what you found out at Smithfield and Charing Cross, and I never gave you those keys.’
‘Understood,’ said Daniel. He picked the keys up and dropped them in his pocket. ‘Is there any chance of examining O’Tool’s body while we’re at the Yard? I assume it’s at the mortuary.’
‘Only if the chief superintendent isn’t around,’ said Feather, getting to his feet and putting on his hat.
PC Wurzel was waiting for them at the ticket office at Charing Cross Station.
‘I’ve lined up a couple of the women who were closest to Kate,’ he told them. ‘Jenny Kipps and Dolly Pinn. I’ll introduce you to them and then I’ll have to get on with my rounds. But if you need anything else, you can always leave a message for me at the station in the Strand.’
They followed him to the Ladies Waiting Room, where two women overdressed in voluminous skirts and blouses, their faces heavily rouged, stood chatting. The two women stopped as they saw Wurzel approaching with Daniel and Abigail.
‘Here you are, ladies, the two people I told you about. Mr Daniel Wilson and Miss Abigail Fenton, the famous Museum Detectives.’ To Daniel and Abigail he announced: ‘That’s Jenny Kipps with the red blouse, and Dolly Pinn with the blue hat.’
‘Thank you very much for agreeing to talk with us,’ said Abigail.
‘Thank you for wanting to find the bastard what done poor Kate,’ said Jenny venomously. ‘She didn’t deserve to die like that. No one deserves to die like that.’
‘Mr Wilson was one of Inspector Abberline’s team during the first Ripper murders, so he’s an old hand at this sort of thing,’ said Wurzel. ‘No better man. If anyone can find the bastard who did this, he can.’ Then he added hastily, with an apologetic look at Abigail. ‘And Miss Fenton, too, of course. Anyway, I’ll leave you together. And, as I said, if you need me, you know where to find me.’
With that he touched the edge of his helmet with his finger, gave a nod, and departed.
‘He’s all right, is Pete,’ said Dolly as they watched him leave. ‘He was a bit sweet on Kate. I guess that’s why he’s keen to catch whoever did it.’ She looked at Abigail, a look of curiosity on her face. ‘You really a detective, miss?’
‘I am,’ said Abigail. ‘Or, rather, I have been since Mr Wilson and I started working together.’
‘In the papers they call you an Egypto … Egypt … something ologist.’
‘Egyptologist,’ said Abigail. ‘Yes, I do that as well.’
‘They say it’s stuff to do with the pyramids,’ continued Dolly.
‘It is,’ said Abigail.
‘How do you get to do stuff like that?’ asked Dolly. ‘I mean, you’re a woman.’
‘I went to university,’ Abigail told them.
Both women looked stunned.
‘I didn’t know women were allowed to go to university,’ said Jenny.
‘Only one or two universities,’ said Abigail. ‘But I hope the others will catch up and let women in.’
‘We never even went to school proper,’ said Dolly.
‘But you learnt to read, since you read about us in the papers,’ said Abigail. ‘That’s very impressive.’
Both women looked uncomfortable, and Jenny said: ‘We can only read bits. It was Pete Wurzel who read to us about you in the papers.’
‘Pete says he’ll help us learn to read,’ added Dolly. ‘He says we can improve ourselves and not do what we do.’
‘That’s very commendable of him,’ said Abigail.
‘Yes, he’s a good bloke,’ said Jenny. ‘Anyway, you want to know about Kate.’
‘Yes, please,’ said Abigail. ‘Our big question is, was there anyone among the … ah … men she knew, who frightened her? Who she might have thought was dangerous.’
Both women shook their heads.
‘No, Kate was wise to that,’ said Dolly. ‘If she thought a bloke might damage her in some way, beat her up or something, she wouldn’t go with him. Not that it didn’t happen, but not badly.’
‘And she wasn’t averse to giving ’em a kick in the balls if things got difficult,’ said Jenny.
‘She wouldn’t let ’em tie her up, like some like to,’ said Dolly. ‘And she wouldn’t take it up the arse cos she never wanted them to be behind her, ever since one of ’em tried to strangle her.’
‘When was that?’ asked Daniel.
‘Over two years ago, but she never forgot it.’
‘Usually she just gave ’em a hand job, or sucked ’em off, but there were a few she did the whole thing with.’
‘Were there any particular people she mentioned as strange?’ asked Daniel.
‘Not really,’ said Jenny. ‘There was the toff, as she called him, who was odd, but in a nice way.’
‘What way’s that?’ asked Daniel.
‘He used to send his man, his driver, into the station to find her, and they’d go to his carriage, which was outside. Kate said he was lovely. He never did anything, never wanted anything from her, just wanted to talk.’
‘About what?’ asked Daniel.
‘Her,’ said Jenny. ‘She said he never talked about himself, just wanted to know what she’d been up to, where she lived, what she wanted to do. That sort of thing.’
‘And he paid her, same as if they’d actually done something,’ said Dolly.
‘Did you ever see this man?’ Daniel asked.
‘No. Just his driver. And we didn’t see much of him. He always had a black scarf wrapped round the lower half of his face and a hat.’
‘How long had he been coming to see her?’
‘He first came about two months ago,’ said Jenny after a bit of thought.
‘And he just chose her?’
‘No. The driver said he was looking for a Kate Branson for his master. He promised her there’d be no funny business. And there wasn’t. That’s what Kate told us when she got back. No business at all. Just talking.’
‘And he came back again?’
Jenny nodded. ‘About a fortnight later. Then, a fortnight after that. And then every so often after that.’
‘When was the last time he came to see her?’
‘About a week ago. When she came back she was all excited, and we both thought they’d finally done it, which would have pleased her because she really liked him.’
‘She always said he was a perfect gentleman,’ added Dolly.
‘And he hasn’t been back since?’
‘Not as far as we know. Though that last time, when she was all happy after seeing him, she told us she thought things were going to be better for her.’
‘Like he’d made a promise of something nice to her,’ said Dolly. ‘Then this happens. Some bastard rips her apart.’
As Daniel and Abigail walked up Charing Cross Road on their way home, Abigail said: ‘You think it’s this man, don’t you? The toff, as they call him.’
‘It’s all very suggestive of it,’ said Daniel. ‘Neither woman was killed at the gallery, where they were found. This carriage sounds ideal for moving a dead body around.’
‘We didn’t get much of a description of him, or his driver,’ said Abigail.
‘Kate told Jenny and Dolly she thought the man was in his forties,’ said Daniel. ‘Well spoken. Upper class. Posh, in her words. And wealthy.’
‘But there was no mention of him coming for her on the night she was killed.’
‘I expect he’d arranged for her to be waiting at a certain spot, away from the station.’
‘Yes, that makes sense,’ agreed Abigail. ‘But there’s nothing for us to identify him.’
‘If it is him, we know more than we did before,’ said Daniel.
‘Very different from your butcher,’ pointed out Abigail.
‘Unless they’re working together,’ said Daniel.
‘In the way that Sickert was said to be working with Sir William Gull and Prince Albert Victor,’ added Abigail. She nodded. ‘It’s a possibility.’ Then she suddenly said: ‘By the way, I may have been wrong about Constable Wurzel. His character, I mean. His encouraging Dolly and Jenny to learn to read. Offering to help teach them. It’s not what I expected.’
John Feather stood in the drawing room of the house and watched Ellen Sickert and her sister Jane, as they sat straight-backed beside one another on the settee.
‘I’m very sorry to tell you that Mr Edwin O’Tool, a friend of your husband’s, was found dead at his studio in Robert Street today. He’d been murdered.’
Ellen Sickert gave a shudder and Jane reached out and gripped her sister’s hand.
‘How?’ asked Ellen.
‘His throat had been cut. It’s believed it happened sometime this morning. Mr O’Tool’s body was only discovered by the cleaner when she went into the studio when she noticed the door was open. I’m here to inform you, and also to ask if you have an address for your husband in Dieppe.’
‘Why?’ asked Ellen.
‘So that we can write to him and inform him of what’s happened.’
‘I’ll write to him,’ said Ellen.
‘We do need to inform him officially,’ said Feather.
‘You have informed me. I’m his wife, and also the person who pays the rent for his studio in Robert Street.’
‘Very well,’ nodded Feather. ‘When you write to him, would you ask him to make contact with us at Scotland Yard?’
‘Why?’ she asked again.
‘We want to catch the person who murdered Mr O’Tool. We have no information about him, where he lived, his acquaintances … anything that can lead us to his murderer. We know that your husband knew him and associated with him from the statements that your household gave to Sir Bramley Petton, and the fact that he was found dead in your husband’s studio. Do you know anything about Mr O’Tool?’
‘Other than the fact that Walter brought him home that one evening and the two of them got drunk, no.’
‘Then Mr Sickert is the only one who can give us any information about him,’ said Feather.
‘Are we in danger, Inspector? My sister and I?’ asked Jane.
Feather frowned.
‘Danger, ma’am?’
‘Two women associated with Walter, both of whom modelled for him, have been murdered recently. A friend of his – or, at least, a drinking acquaintance – has also been murdered. Whoever is doing these things seems to be concentrating on people close to Walter. So how safe are we?’
Damn! thought Feather. That thought hadn’t even occurred to him. It struck him that there was no trace of nervousness or fear in her in what she asked, she was just asking a straight question; and he realised that Jane Cobden was as strong a person as her sister.
‘I don’t know,’ Feather admitted. ‘I suggest I arrange for a constable to stay on duty outside your house, and I’ll arrange for others to take his place during the night.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jane. ‘That will be a great relief.’ She looked at her sister. ‘Won’t it, Nellie?’
Ellen hesitated, then nodded.
‘Yes. Thank you, Inspector. And in return, I’ll give you Walter’s address in Dieppe. I shall still write to him, but I shall also inform him to expect a letter from you.’