CHAPTER 4

P.C. Billy Rigsby stood in the relative quiet of the early morning at Waterloo Station. He was absolutely still, like a statue—six feet seven inches from toe to top of his helmet—and he waited patiently with eager anticipation. The Clerk Sergeant had come to him late last night and told him that he was being seconded to a special unit—orders of Chief Inspector Beech.

“Why me?” Billy had asked, secretly delighted that he was going to get out from behind a desk.

“I dunno, perhaps he wants someone thumped?” the Sergeant had replied sarcastically, and Billy had grinned. “Orders are for you to report to Waterloo Station at eight tomorrow morning and meet the Chief Inspector off a train.”

The reference to “thumping” someone was because everyone at Scotland Yard knew that, prior to the war, Billy Rigsby, aka “The Greek,” had been the youngest ever light heavyweight boxing champion of The Grenadier Guards. His nickname had come from the fact that his Sergeant Major, who ran the boxing team, once said of him, “Stripped down, he looks like a bleedin’ Greek God but he’s got the most vicious right hand I’ve ever seen.” From then on, he had been referred to by the rest of the Regiment as “The Greek.” Glory days—all wiped out on the battlefield at Mons, when he ended up in a field hospital with a shattered left hand, a head wound and a severe case of shell shock. The Guards didn’t want him anymore. “You can’t fire a rifle properly with a gammy hand, son,” they told him while he was still in the hospital. But they found him a place in the police force—although the Met wasn’t entirely sure what to do with him either and, for the last five months, Billy Rigsby had languished in the clerical department at Scotland Yard, while his pent-up energy nearly drove him insane. He prayed fervently that this new job would give him more physical work. Something suited to his talents.

“Constable,” a female voice said and Billy looked down at a small Red Cross nurse holding a mug of tea. “The girls thought you could do with a brew,” she said, nodding toward a gaggle of nurses manning a tea wagon who waved and giggled.

Billy flashed them a disarming smile and a wink as he took off his helmet and accepted the mug of tea. The small nurse in front of him gasped as the removal of his helmet revealed a scar, which went from his hairline, across his right cheekbone, finishing almost at the corner of his mouth.

“Does your helmet strap make that scar hurt?” she enquired anxiously.

“Nah,” said Billy nonchalantly. “I’m used to it now. Thanks for the tea, miss. I’ll bring the mug back when I’m finished.”

Flustered, she hurried off to impart the news to her colleagues that the tall, handsome policeman would be coming over to return his mug. Billy grinned. He liked women—too much, his mother said—and they definitely liked him. The scar, he had found, had added to his appeal, rather than diminished it. Shame about the bloody hand though, he thought to himself as he awkwardly tried to hold the mug with his black-gloved left hand, which he was unable to clench.

Billy looked up from his mug to see that the arrivals board was being changed and he noted, with a start, that the Chief Inspector’s train was due any minute. He raced over to the Red Cross wagon, dumped his mug, and shouted “Thanks girls! Most welcome!,” and ran full-pelt over to the platform, leaving a clutch of nurses disappointed at being deprived of the hoped-for conversation.

He put his helmet back on and stood, ramrod straight, at the ticket barrier. He knew the Chief Inspector quite well. Beech had always taken an interest in him, as they had both been invalided out of the army at the same time and they had both been in the Guards—Billy in the Grenadiers and Beech in the Coldstream. Both regiments were taught to despise each other because of some dispute in the seventeenth century, but Billy found the whole thing a nonsense. “A soldier is a soldier,” he used to say. “We all bleed the same.”

Beech alighted from the train and Billy noted that he was accompanied by an ethereally beautiful woman. Wife? He wondered. Whoever she was, she was a bit on the thin side for Billy’s liking.

On reaching the ticket barrier, Beech extended his hand and, for a moment, Billy was confused as he realized he was expected to shake it. Embarrassed at this break from protocol, he nevertheless co-operated with the handshake and said gruffly, “Good train journey, sir?”

“Yes, yes!” Beech seemed enthusiastic. “P.C. Rigsby—Billy—I am glad you are to be a part of my special team. May I introduce another member of that team—Victoria Ellingham.”

Momentarily, Billy was stunned and he managed a cursory nod and a croaked “Ma-am” by way of acknowledgement.

Beech smiled. “I can see you are somewhat taken aback, P.C. Rigsby. All will be revealed shortly. Ah! Here’s the porter with Mrs Ellingham’s luggage!” A small mountain of suitcases was wheeled past and Billy recognized expensive luggage when he saw it. “We shall take a taxi to the Women’s Hospital and I will explain everything on the way,” Beech commanded everyone to follow and a bemused Billy took up the rear. It had been a long time since he had been in a taxi—not something a Constable’s pay would stretch to—and he was unsure how to deal with this unusual situation.

It took a while to carefully load the luggage into the front of the taxi cab beside the driver, then Beech and Victoria sat inside. Billy took off his helmet and hunched down to peer into the cab. “Um … there’s really not enough room for me, sir. I’ll find other transport and meet you there.”

“Nonsense!” said Beech, as breezily he could. “Victoria, sit on my lap, then you can squeeze in beside me, Rigsby. I really must talk to you.”

Victoria obligingly moved onto Beech’s lap, and Billy reluctantly maneuvered himself into the vacant space and, once seated, he stared fixedly ahead, clutching his helmet in embarrassment.

Then Beech began to talk about the need for women to be involved in the policing of women’s crimes. He explained, without too much of the horrific detail, the case of Lady Harriet, who refused to speak to anyone other than a woman. Then, finally, he detailed his conversation with the Commissioner and the team he was being allowed to set up. By the end of all that, Billy Rigsby was looking squarely at Beech and seemed to have overcome his discomfort at the lady perched on the Chief Inspector’s lap. When Beech explained that Victoria was a trained lawyer, Billy exclaimed, “Get away!,” and flashed her an admiring smile.

“So what, exactly, would be my role in this team, sir?” Billy asked hopefully.

“Well, firstly as a bodyguard for the two ladies,” Beech explained and Billy nodded. “Strong arm” he could do. He began to feel more relaxed about everything. “And, secondly,” Beech continued, “if the ladies uncover a crime, you, of course, as a serving policeman, will be the only one with the actual power of arrest.”

“P.C. Rigsby seems to be happy now,” murmured Victoria to Beech, noting the smile that was slowly spreading across Billy’s face.

Yes, Billy was happy. The whole set-up was unconventional but that suited his rebellious nature. It had to be kept a secret and he rather liked that too. But, most of all, he understood the role he was to play. Being a bodyguard and making arrests appealed to his strong sense of masculinity. Billy was a very happy young man indeed.

On arrival at the Women’s Hospital, the taxi disgorged its occupants and was told to wait. Billy, still clutching his helmet, followed the others obediently.

A woman in a white coat was being embraced enthusiastically by Victoria Ellingham and Billy hung back a little, awaiting instructions.

“Rigsby,” said Beech, “Meet another member of our team, Doctor Caroline Allardyce.” This time Billy was prepared and he extended his hand to the female doctor with relish. “Caroline,” Beech added, “Billy will be your strong right hand.”

“How very obliging of you, Peter, to provide us with our own personal Adonis,” Caroline said dryly as she shook Billy’s hand.

Billy laughed. He didn’t understand what she had called him but it sounded Greek and he figured it was complimentary. He liked this one. She had curves in all the right places and a look of fun in her eyes.

“Now behave yourself, Caro,” admonished Beech. “Let’s not frighten the poor lad before we’ve started work. How is Lady Harriet?”

Caroline became businesslike. “She’s awake but heavily drugged. It will be touch and go, Peter. She won’t talk to me. I have tried but she doesn’t regard me as her equal. I think, whatever the sex, she regards doctors as higher servants, I’m afraid. You know—one step above butlers. I do believe that this woman was raised in the Georgian era. I’ve never met any young woman with such entrenched and enclosed views of Society. Let’s hope that Victoria has more luck.”

“You must introduce Victoria as the Honorable Mrs Ellingham,” counseled Beech. Victoria made a small protest but Beech insisted. “No, no. Caroline is not exaggerating. Lady Harriet has the most developed sense of snobbery. You must go in with all titles on display or we shall never get anything out of her. Now—” he turned to Billy “—you and I, Rigsby, shall leave the ladies to their task and we shall visit our new headquarters and then the crime scene.”

“Yes, sir.” Billy stood to attention and then made a little bow to the women. “Ladies, pleased to make your acquaintance.” And with that the men left.

Caroline watched them lope back to the taxi with a look of wonderment on her face. “Wherever did Peter find such a specimen?” she murmured. “I shall ask P.C Rigsby to donate his body to medical science when he dies. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Caroline, you’re incorrigible!” Victoria was greatly amused. “Stop salivating and show me to Lady Harriet’s room!”

Caroline interrupted her reverie to say, “Do you know, I’ve just noticed how terribly thin you are, Victoria! Are you quite well?”

“I’m fine and I’m eating for England! I have truly missed you, Caroline. And, by the way, I loathe your hair.”

The two friends linked arms, laughing, and made their way up the stairs.

*   *   *

Beech and Billy arrived at Lady Maud’s house in Hanover Square and it took the two of them to unload and transport Victoria’s luggage to the front door.

“Why do women own so many clothes?” sighed an exasperated Beech, after he had unlocked the door and Billy had piled the suitcases up in the hallway. Billy grinned and then whistled in appreciation at the grandeur of the interior of the house.

“Is this to be our HQ, sir?” he said in a disbelieving voice.

“Ha! Yes! Courtesy of Mrs Ellingham’s mother, Lady Maud. Who will be joining us later, by the way, along with her cook and maid. So, you shall have good grub, lively conversation and a decent bed to sleep in.”

“What, sir? I get to sleep here?” Billy could hardly believe his luck.

“Well, we can’t have you dossing down at the station house, can we?” Beech was quite emphatic. “It’s your job to look after the ladies, Rigsby, and I’m afraid that may be a twenty-four hour job. I should have warned you, I’m sorry.”

“No, no apology needed, sir! Believe me, I’m only too happy to oblige.” Billy felt like the cat that got the cream.

Beech patted him on the shoulder. “Good man. Chose you for your Guards’ discipline and all that.”

“Yes, sir. Won’t let you down, sir.”

Beech was restless. “Look, Rigsby, we’ll sort out your actual room and stuff later. Right now, I really want to go back to the crime scene. Oblige me by hailing another taxi cab, would you?”

“Right away, sir.” Billy stepped swiftly out on to the pavement, put on his helmet, spotted a passing taxi, and blew a piercing blast on his police whistle. The taxi obligingly swerved into the kerb and Billy opened the door for his new Chief and then followed him into the cab.

On the way to Belgravia, Beech filled the young policeman in on the more intimate details of Lady Harriet’s injuries.

Billy sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Sounds like the bastard husband got his dues, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Mm. My sentiments exactly, Rigsby. But the problem is that Doctor Allardyce believes that Lady Harriet would have been so badly injured that she would not have been able to inflict the fatal blow on her husband, so I think we are looking for someone else who stabbed Lord Murcheson to save the wife from further attack.”

“The butler, sir?”

Beech laughed. “That would be nice and pat! But I think not. Another man would possibly have struck Lord Murcheson a blow and knocked him out, or shot him or, at the very least, restrained him. Stabbing him through the heart with a pair of scissors strikes me … and I may be wrong in my assumption … as a woman’s action. What do you think?”

Billy was flattered to be asked his opinion. He felt that the Chief Inspector was right and told him so.

“Which brings me to my next point.” Beech looked at Billy with some embarrassment. “I have noted that you seem to have a way with the fairer sex, Rigsby. Would I be wrong in that observation?”

Billy laughed and flushed a little. “I must admit, I like to chat to the ladies and they seem to like to chat back, if you know what I mean.”

Beech smiled. “Quite. You have an ability that I entirely lack. Oh, I mean I can talk to ladies, if I’ve known them for a very long time—but not with any great ease. So, I think it might be best if you have a little chat with the female servants in the Murcheson household. Not question them … just go down in the kitchen and make yourself at home. Get the cook to give you a cup of tea and a sticky bun. Let the women chat around you, as it were. Do you get my drift?”

“Perfectly, sir. Don’t you worry; it’ll be like visiting my womenfolk at home. Before you know it, they’ll be telling me all their aches and pains and all the neighborhood gossip. Leave it to me.”

“Good man.” Beech heaved a sigh of relief. “Knew I could count on you.”

Once in the house in Belgravia, Beech told the butler that he would need to undertake a detailed examination of the bedroom in which the murder had taken place.

“Of course, sir,” the butler nodded in deference. “Will there be anything else that you require?”

“Er, yes.” Beech adopted an air of authority. “I shall require you to attend upon me in the bedroom please, as I have some further questions for you. But first, could you take my constable downstairs to your cook? He’s been on his feet since the early hours and is in desperate need of a cup of tea and some food.”

“At once, sir.” The butler inclined his head toward Beech and motioned with his hand for Billy to follow him.

“Thank you, Chief Inspector. Most kind of you.” Billy winked at Beech as he passed by.

The butler opened the kitchen door at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m sure you can fend for yourself, constable. Just ask Cook for what you want.” Then the butler turned back up the stairs.

Billy stepped through the half-opened door and grinned.

“So,” he said cheerily, “which one of you lovely ladies is going to make a starving policeman a cup of tea and a sandwich?”

Four women’s mouths opened as they gazed upon Billy Rigsby and, suddenly, the kitchen burst into a frenzy of activity as they sat him down and began catering to this unexpected gift of the day.