CHAPTER 8

Caroline made an early start of her round of the chemist shops as she was not due to start her shift at the hospital until two in the afternoon. She decided to simply be a customer with an “anxious mother” who had difficulty sleeping, and see what products the various chemist’s offered by way of medication.

There were five shops within walking distance of the Murcheson house, according to Arthur Tollman, fount of all knowledge, who had imparted the information before he left the previous night.

As she stepped into the first chemist’s, she was relieved to see that both of the assistants were engaged with customers, which gave her the opportunity to browse the displays and see what was being offered. There were various “nerve tonics,” all containing high levels of alcohol and either laudanum, cocaine or heroin; there were three types of “infant colic” remedies, Street’s Infants’ Quietness, Atkinson’s Infants’ Preservative, and Mrs Winslow’s Soothing Syrup—all containing opium. There were various diarrhea remedies containing laudanum or opium/belladonna tinctures or morphine. There were bottles of “vapor oil” for inhaling to clear the chest, which contained alcohol and opium. There were Cocaine Toothache Drops and cocaine and quinine throat lozenges. She then spotted some bottles of Glyco Heroin, a pneumonia remedy. The array of products was bewildering and Caroline began to feel increasingly frustrated.

An assistant appeared at her elbow.

“May I help you, madam?” he enquired.

Caroline took a deep breath and adopted a confidential air. “My mother is suffering from acute anxiety—my brother is away in France, you understand—and she worries so for his safety. She is quite unable to sleep at night and my uncle recommended heroin powders as an effective remedy for the problem—but I don’t see them here on the shelves.”

“Oh yes, madam,” the young man said affably, “we sell them all the time. They usually go there.” He pointed to an empty spot on the shelves.

“Oh dear!” Caroline exclaimed. “Have you run out?”

“No, no, madam,” the young man assured her hastily. “We have simply been too busy this morning to restock the shelves. If you would like to take a seat, I will fetch some from the stock room.”

He indicated a row of wooden chairs in the corner of the shop, and Caroline took a seat. After a few moments he returned with a cardboard box, labeled “Heroin Powders” in blue writing, with the shop name and address below. Caroline took the box and opened it, all the folded paper sachets containing the powders were similarly printed with the name and address of the chemist’s shop. This was not what she was looking for—Lord Murcheson’s packets of powders were in her handbag and she knew that they were all plain, devoid of any printing whatsoever, with a particular type of envelope fold that did not match the chemist’s packets. Nevertheless, she felt an obligation to buy the product and left the shop dissatisfied.

The story was the same in every shop she entered. Heroin powders would be produced and each shop had prepared its own product and labeled each packet clearly with its own trademark and dosage details. There was nothing for it. She would have to go into the Women’s Hospital and speak to the pharmacist on duty. Perhaps she had been mistaken in thinking that the murder victim’s powders were heroin. Caroline waited for the next omnibus and considered her options.

*   *   *

Arthur Tollman had returned from Lambeth Palace armed with the knowledge that Sister Mary Francis was still very much alive and was now the Reverend Mother of an enclosed order of Anglican nuns near Newgate, in the City of London.

“Enclosed is not good, Mrs E,” he explained to Victoria. “They may refuse to see you. Enclosed orders don’t like to speak to anyone from the outside world.”

“Ye Gods! And this is where Lady Harriet was brought up! What an environment for a child!” Victoria was disgusted. “Well, enclosed or not, we must give it a try. Perhaps the mention of Lady Harriet’s name might open the door. We’ll try that tactic.”

“Well, you will, Mrs E,” counseled Arthur. “I doubt if they’ll allow me within the walls—let alone speak to me—even if I tell them I’m from the police force.”

“Alright, Mr Tollman,” Victoria said, putting on her coat. “Let’s give it our best shot.”

Victoria insisted they take a taxi cab as to take an omnibus would require two changes. Inside the taxi, Arthur advised her on how she should proceed, if she were able to get inside the convent.

“I suggest, Mrs E, that you adopt the ‘Lady Harriet is gravely ill and she wanted the Reverend Mother to know’ ploy, in order to get an interview. Then, after discussing Lady Harriet’s situation just say that milady wanted Polly to be at her bedside and see what reaction you get.”

“Righto,” said Victoria breezily, “I appreciate the advice, Mr Tollman. But what do I do if they produce Polly and then either they or she refuses to come with me?”

“Then you must call me to come in and arrest the girl on suspicion of murder,” he said firmly. “There can be no beating about the bush. The convent can protest all it wants but a policeman has the right of entry to arrest a suspect.”

“Can’t she claim sanctuary or something—it being a holy place?” Victoria asked naïvely.

Arthur chuckled. “No, Mrs E. They abolished that privilege in the seventeenth century. I thought you studied law?” he chided her gently.

“So I did, Mr Tollman, but there wasn’t any reference whatsoever in my studies about the rights of religious organizations. I must plug that gap in my knowledge, at once!”

Arthur liked Victoria tremendously. He recognized in her the same thirst for knowledge that he possessed. He reflected that perhaps women like Victoria would be an asset to the police force, once the prejudice of the male officers toward women had all blown over.

In fact, he thought, I shouldn’t be surprised if this war turns everything on its head. Who knows? Women might get the vote after all.

He shook his head in amused disbelief.

Victoria noticed his amusement and said, “Sorry, Mr Tollman, I must seem such a novice to you. No pun intended.”

It took him a moment to understand the nun analogy and he smiled broadly.

“Far from it, Mrs E. I was just thinking to myself how much the police force might actually appreciate a lively brain like yours, if only they could take the blinkers off and bring themselves to employ women. Believe me, you would run rings around some of the young men recruits I’ve had to take in hand! Take our young Billy, for example. Good lad—very good lad—but he doesn’t have a deductive bone in his body.”

“Ah—” Victoria smiled “—but I’m sure he has other talents!”

Arthur nodded. “He does, he does. He’s honest, which is sometimes hard to find in the London police force where the temptation to be corrupt often overwhelms common sense; he’s willing, which is a pleasure when I can honestly say I’ve had my fill of young coppers who don’t want to get their hands dirty or do the boring clerical work; and he’s disciplined because of his Guards training. Billy Rigsby will always follow orders to the letter. He’ll be a bloody good policeman one day but probably not a detective … oops, pardon my French, Madam.” Arthur realized he’d got a bit carried away.

Victoria laughed. “Mr Tollman, please don’t ever apologize for swearing in my presence. I come from a long line of army wives and daughters. I’ve heard far worse, I can assure you.”

“Daughter of the Regiment, eh?” Arthur was impressed. “What regiment, may I ask?”

“My father was a Colonel in the Royal Fusiliers, as was my grandfather and my great grandfather. My father died in the Boer War and my grandfather died in the Crimean War. I don’t remember where my great grandfather died—somewhere in India, I think. We’re a family of very self-sufficient widows,” she added briskly, then she smiled, “Well, you’ve met my mother, so you know that.”

Arthur returned her smile. “I am a fervent admirer of your mother. A clever and resourceful woman.”

Victoria laughed. “Ha! You wait until she thrashes you at cribbage! You may not admire her quite so much then! Oh, look! We’re here.”

They bundled out of the taxi and Victoria insisted on paying, much to Arthur’s embarrassment. The taxi driver gave him a sardonic look, which prompted Arthur to assert his masculinity, produce his warrant card, and demand a receipt. The taxi driver wiped the smile off his face and wrote out a note.

As he drove off, Arthur said to Victoria, “Always get a receipt, Mrs E. We give them to the Chief Inspector and he reimburses us. It comes out of the budget.” He added, by way of a lecture, “We can’t have wealthy young ladies subsidizing the London police force, you know.”

Suitably chastened, Victoria agreed that she would remember the instruction and they approached the convent building. It was indistinguishable from the commercial buildings around it save for its lack of any kind of nameplate. All the other buildings had big shiny brass plates beside their doors pronouncing them to be banks or investment houses. The convent had a small plaque on its black door, beneath a large, closed grille and barely noticeable to the casual passer-by. It read “The Community of St Martha—please ring the bell.”

They looked to the side of the door and there was a large brass button bell. Victoria pressed it and Arthur deliberately stood to one side of the door so that he could not be seen by whoever might open the grille.

“Introduce yourself as ‘The Honorable,’ ” he hissed, and when a questioning look crossed Victoria’s face he said, “Trust me!,” with a sense of urgency.

The grille slid to one side. Victoria could see nothing through the thin slats of metal.

“This is an enclosed religious order. We do not receive visitors,” said a woman’s voice from the blackness.

“Forgive me,” Victoria said loudly, “this is a matter of some urgency. My name is The Honorable Victoria Ellingham and I have been sent by Lady Harriet Murcheson to speak with the Reverend Mother.”

“One moment, please.” The grille slid shut and Victoria raised her eyebrows and shrugged at Arthur. He motioned to her to stay there and wait.

After a few moments, the grille opened again and the voice said, “Reverend Mother will receive you. I will open the door and you may enter.”

“Thank you,” she replied and gave Arthur a “thumbs-up” as various bolts were slid to one side on the heavy door. She stepped inside to the cool and dark interior. The receiving nun inclined her head, bolted the door firmly shut, and motioned Victoria to follow her. Not a word was spoken by either of them until the nun opened the door to an office and announced, “Reverend Mother, this is The Honorable Victoria Ellingham.”

“Thank you, Sister Agnes,” said the Reverend Mother softly as the nun inclined her head and left. “Miss—Mrs? Ellingham, please take a seat,” and she indicated the guest chair by the desk.

“It’s Mrs Ellingham, Reverend Mother. And thank you for seeing me,” Victoria said as she sat and removed her gloves.

“May I offer you some tea?”

“Most kind, but no thank you.”

“Now, Mrs Ellingham, I believe you have been sent by Lady Harriet Murcheson? How is Lady Harriet? We understand she is ill?”

The revelation that the Reverend Mother knew about Lady Harriet’s illness was startling to Victoria but she was careful not to give any indication of surprise.

“She is gravely ill, Reverend Mother, and, at present, is fighting for her life in the Women’s Hospital.”

“Oh!” Tears sprang to the elderly nun’s eyes. “I had no idea! I was told merely that she was ill, there were no details given. We shall pray for her, of course. What has caused her illness?”

Victoria was perplexed by the fact that, if Polly was within the convent and she had told the Reverend Mother that Lady Harriet was ill, why had she not told them about the murder?

“Reverend Mother, this will come as a shock to you, but Lady Harriet’s husband has been murdered …”

The Reverend Mother gasped in horror and made the sign of the cross.

“Before he was murdered,” Victoria continued, “he brutally attacked Lady Harriet. He injured her so badly that she had to be operated upon and she now hovers between life and death in the hospital.”

By now, the tears were freely trickling down the Reverend Mother’s face and she murmured “My poor Harriet …” as though she were her mother. It was obvious that she cared deeply about the woman who had once been in her charge.

“Before she lapsed into unconsciousness, Lady Harriet asked if I could fetch the young girl, Polly, to her bedside,” Victoria lied.

“But Polly has gone!” said the Reverend Mother in surprise. “Her uncle came for her yesterday afternoon!”

“Her uncle?” Victoria was alarmed.

“Yes. Mr Dodds. He brought her here—let me see—three nights ago—in the early hours of the morning. It was about an hour before Lauds—our three a.m. observation of prayer. It was most disconcerting! He rang the bell at the back of the convent, the tradesman’s entrance, and Sister Augusta, who was in the kitchen at the time, answered. She thought it might have been an early milk delivery, which we have sometimes received at that hour. Mr Dodds was standing there with the poor little girl, who was, Sister Augusta said, shivering and in some distress. He said that Lady Harriet had sent the girl to us for safekeeping as there was an emergency at home and she was ill.”

“What an odd thing to do!” Victoria interrupted.

“Well, yes,” Reverend Mother continued. “But Sister Augusta was also one of those sisters who took a great part in the raising of Lady Harriet and she immediately took the girl in and her uncle left.”

“What did the girl, Polly, say during her time here, Reverend Mother?”

“Absolutely nothing, apart from ‘thank you’ every time she was given food, a bed or clothing. She was totally mute and obviously in some distress. I myself tried to talk to her—to ascertain what exactly had happened in Lady Harriet’s house—but she just looked miserable and shook her head. But she never once cried. None of us ever saw her cry. And when her uncle came to take her away yesterday …”

“Sorry to interrupt, Reverend Mother, but when was this?”

“Between None and Vespers—I would say about five o’clock in the afternoon. This time, I was summoned and I spoke to the man at the rear entrance while Sister Martha went to fetch Polly. He seemed quite calm and said that the emergency was over and Lady Harriet was better. He would not be drawn on the exact nature of the ‘emergency’ and when Polly saw him and he repeated what he had said to me, it was the first time I saw the girl smile and she seemed to go with him willingly. He said, before leaving, that Lady Harriet would visit us to explain everything, so I was surprised when you arrived instead.”

Victoria stood and said with some urgency, “Reverend Mother, I thank you for all your help today but I must leave now, as the girl Polly may be in great danger. The man who brought her here and retrieved her is not her uncle and, as I have told you, Lady Harriet lies gravely ill in the hospital. I must seek the help of the police immediately.”

“Of course, of course!” Reverend Mother was agitated. “I do hope that we have not contributed to this dreadful situation … if we had known … we never would have let the girl leave. We are too trusting, I suppose …” her voice trailed off in despair.

“You were not to know,” said Victoria, by way of reassurance. “Rest assured the police will find Polly and let us hope that Lady Harriet will recover and come to see you in due course.”

“We shall pray for you, Mrs Ellingham, Pray for your success.”

Victoria was shown out into the street and she grabbed the patiently waiting Arthur.

“Polly has been taken somewhere by the butler, Dodds. He brought her here in the early hours after the murder and he collected her yesterday evening. Said he was her uncle.”

Arthur looked grim-faced. “We need to telephone the Chief Inspector,” he said. “Follow me. We’ll go up Petticoat Lane to get to Bishopsgate Police Station. It’s the City Police mob and they don’t like the Met poaching on their territory but I’ll think of something.”

Victoria nodded and followed Arthur at breakneck speed through the street-market maze known as Petticoat Lane. There were indeed a large number of petticoats hanging up on the market stalls. The market traders, mostly Jewish, judging by their clothing and hairstyles, were shouting out their wares. Rack after rack of women’s clothing was on view. Adjacent streets were selling fruit and vegetables and the main thoroughfare was teeming with the working classes of the East End, browsing and shopping. Arthur grabbed her hand and began ducking and diving in and out of the crowd, pulling her after him. Victoria found it fascinating and vowed to return with Caroline but, for now, all she could do was concentrate on keeping her footing and keeping up with Arthur.

Eventually, they reached the main street of Bishopsgate and Arthur stopped. “There’s the station,” he said, pointing across the road, “Now I’m going to go over there and flash my warrant card and ask to use the telephone. I think you’d better wait outside, Mrs Ellingham, if you wouldn’t mind. I may be some time. I need to telephone the Murcheson house because that’s where Mr Beech said he was going today, and then, if he’s not there I need to telephone your home and, finally, Scotland Yard. Let’s hope I can track him down.”

Victoria nodded and decided to pretend to look in the nearest shop, which turned out to be a tobacconist’s with a rather interesting display of pipes and other smoking paraphernalia.

Surprisingly, Arthur appeared rather sooner than she thought he would.

“No luck?” she asked.

“On the contrary, I got Mr Beech first time. He’s still at the Murcheson house. The butler hasn’t been seen since yesterday and the cook discovered two bloodstained items of clothing in the dustbins. He says he’ll meet us back in Mayfair.”