The Riddle of the River Page 9
‘But Kathleen…’ he said meekly.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But it happens. And the girl is dead. He will remain obsessed unless the thing is solved and the murderer brought to justice. Legal justice, of course. Ernest must be prevented from taking anything into his own hands.’
‘The police will find the murderer,’ he said.
‘Well and good,’ I assented. ‘I won’t object if they reach the solution before I do.’ I lay back and watched the flickering light on the ceiling.
‘Will you go to London tomorrow?’ said Arthur, propping himself on his elbow and facing me in the glow.
‘Yes,’ I said, looking into his brown eyes. He reached over and put his hand on mine. Then he took his candle and blew it out. A little puff of fragrant smoke wafted across the room. I took mine and did the same. Darkness, silence and tenderness settled over us.
1892
Bread and salami for lunch 0.25
One apple 0.05
Stabling for the donkey 0.50
Total 0.80 lire
‘Bother,’ said Guglielmo to himself. ‘My money’s already practically gone, and I haven’t even got the metal and batteries yet. Perhaps the cobbler will buy my shoes from me. I can go back barefoot.’
Tuesday, July 5th, 1898
When I came downstairs in the morning, I found Mrs Widge standing in the doorway to the dining room, holding a tray containing a large silver coffee pot, a toast rack, a covered dish and a fragrant, steaming sponge cake, and looking offended.
‘He’s gone off, ma’am,’ she said, ‘he’s gone, Mr Dixon is. He left a note.’ She gestured with her two chins towards the dining table, where an envelope was propped against the vase which decorated its centre.
‘Oh, Mrs Widge,’ I said, ‘had you prepared an extra-lovely breakfast for our guest? I’m sure if he’d known he would have stayed for it! But as it is, we shall have to enjoy it ourselves. The sponge cake will be much appreciated in the nursery, I know.’
I extracted Ernest’s note from its envelope and read it.
Dear Vanessa,
Can’t face the friendly family breakfast. You’ll understand. You know I’m counting on you. I’ve heard about the cases you’ve solved. Don’t fail me. I feel I’m staring death in the face – not sure whether it’s hers, mine or HIS, whoever he is.
Come to 10 Heron Lane in Islington, at 9 o’clock this evening. And thank you.
Ernest
Goodness, I thought to myself, as I sat alone at the table in front of the large quantity of succulent things that Mrs Widge was setting upon it. I wonder whose address that is? Whom does Ernest want me to meet? Some of the girl’s friends, I suppose. He seems to know all kinds of people in the acting world. Islington, though – that’s hardly the kind of place where actors live!
Arthur came down a few minutes later, freshly shaven, and poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting down. His eye roved appreciatively over the table.
‘Mrs Widge has outdone herself,’ he remarked. ‘Where is the happy beneficiary of all this effort?’
‘Arthur, right or wrong, he learnt last night that the girl he loved is dead,’ I said. ‘Do you expect him to be interested in sponge cake?’
‘Well, I don’t know about sponge cake, but sausages, maybe?’ he said, lifting a dish cover and spearing one with a fork. I opened my mouth indignantly, but shut it again. He cannot help it. The idea that Ernest should be in love with an actress while being married to Kathleen is not an admissible one in Arthur’s moral world. He would not deny, in theory, that such a thing can happen, and there are even moments when he might be brought reluctantly to speak of it, but certainly not at table in the clear light of day. One cannot change people.
‘He left early,’ I contented myself with saying. ‘He must have caught the first train, and he’s left me a note asking me to meet him in London at nine o’clock this evening.’
‘To meet him?’ he said, surprised.
‘Well, to meet someone. He just left an address.’
‘A bunch of murderers, probably,’ he said.
‘Nonsense, Arthur. I suppose he wants me to learn something about the dead girl’s friends and relations.’
‘One of whom killed her, unless she was killed by a passing tramp.’
‘She might have been,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘She was found in the river in the early morning, and had not spent more than a few hours there, Inspector Doherty told me. She must have been killed in the middle of the night.’ I wondered if the police knew more or less precisely at what time she actually died. Post-mortems do allow them to determine such information. I realised that I knew almost nothing about the circumstances of her death, and that my first task should really be to find out more.
To this end, I proceeded to the police headquarters after breakfast and enquired if Inspector Doherty was available. He was in, and seemed quite pleased to see me.
‘An excellent tip, that one about Geoffrey Archer,’ he told me. ‘Good work. I am very angry with Pat for stealing the bracelet, obviously. But he insists that he did it entirely without your knowledge. You should have brought it straight back here when he gave it to you, you know that. In fact, you ought to have told me immediately that you thought it might have come from Robert Sayle’s. Still, let bygones be bygones. Our talk with Archer was conclusive. The girl has been identified beyond a doubt.’
‘I suppose Mr Archer is not the murderer?’ I asked, thinking suddenly of Estelle’s anxiety on that score.
‘No,’ replied the inspector. ‘Do you think we didn’t ask ourselves that question at once? We questioned him about his relationship with her, and found out that although he was not precisely keeping her, he did give her the occasional gift of money for services rendered. The child she was expecting might have constituted a motive of sorts, though it’s not clear why it would represent a threat to a man in his position, but some people panic about such things; perhaps she was threatening to make a public scandal. However, be that as it may, he’s out of the running with a cast-iron alibi.’
‘Oh, that is interesting,’ I said. ‘Are you allowed to tell me what it is?’ If I had asked him straightforwardly, he might have been reluctant to give me details out of pure official discretion or the fear of my continuing to meddle (little did he know…), but the word ‘allowed’ had the hoped-for effect of piquing his sense of importance.
‘Certainly I can tell you. The girl Ivy Elliott was last seen at a party at Mr Archer’s home on the evening of 21st June. Mr Archer was present, obviously, and there was a fairly large number of guests. Sergeant Forth and I questioned them all.’
He handed me a list of some twenty names. Although not personally acquainted with any of them, I saw more than one that I recognised as belonging to people of the highest social standing in Cambridge. The testimony of each witness had been taken down and signed. I read rapidly through the statements. Most of them had virtually nothing to say on the subject of Ivy Elliott’s presence at, and departure from, Mr Archer’s home on the night of the dinner party. They had simply not taken any notice. A few were more observant.
Miss Elliott left a few minutes before midnight. She said she was tired and would go home; she was staying with a friend. Mr Archer spoke with her for a few moments in the hall before she left. He opened the front door and let her out himself. I saw her walking away down the drive. She was easy to make out in her white dress. The path was lamplit, and the weather was so warm that she had only a shawl over her shoulders.
The party took place in Mr Archer’s drawing room, which has large windows giving over the front garden. Miss Elliott was in the drawing room for most of the evening. She did not exactly act as hostess, but took care of the material aspects of the service, telling the servants when to bring liqueurs and biscuits, which curtains to draw and which to leave, when to light the outdoor lanterns and so on. She left quite late. I did not look at the time, but it must have been near midnight. A lot of the guests had already left at that point. Mis
s Elliott seemed tired, and going up to Geoffrey, she told him that she thought she would be on her way. She said she was going to a friend. He asked her if she was sure she wanted to leave, and pressed her to stay a little while longer. She did so, but after a few minutes she said that she was very tired, and would leave. He went out into the hall with her to bid her goodbye. He cannot have been out of the room for more than five minutes. She left, and Mr Archer returned and remained with us for the duration of the party, which continued until past two o’clock. He did not leave the room again. I am certain of it, as I was sitting on the sofa next to him for the entire time. He simply rose to his feet once or twice to say a few words to the butler.
After letting Miss Elliott out, Mr Archer came back to the drawing room, where he remained with us for more than two hours. He did not leave the drawing room again, I am certain of it. In fact, we were both sitting on the sofa during the whole of the conversation that followed. My husband does not support the same parliamentary candidate as Mr Archer, and this led to quite an argument. Spokes came in once or twice to see if anything was needed, since Miss Elliott had left. After Miss Elliott’s departure, the servants brought new drinks as well as tea for two ladies who desired it, and several trays of small cakes. At one point – it must have been an hour or so after Miss Elliott left – Mr Archer sent the servants to bed. Several guests left before Miss Elliott, and she sent out for cabs for some of them. The remaining ones, myself, my husband and four or five others, left together. It was already after 2 o’clock in the morning.
From seven o’clock to midnight, when she left, Miss Elliott was the one who would come here to the kitchen whenever anything was needed. She didn’t oversee the dinner service, she sat at the table with the others. But she made sure the drawing room and dining room were arranged properly before the guests came and after. She did the flowers herself and made sure everything was dusted. After the dinner was over, there was music, and more refreshments were served throughout the evening. That was how Mr Archer wanted things. It’s not our place to question that. Miss Elliott was pleasant and polite in her ways. We had nothing against her. After she left Mr Spokes went in to the drawing room to see with Mr Archer what was wanted.
Miss Elliott played the role of housekeeper during the party, making sure that all ran smoothly. The whole pretence was perfectly shocking, if you ask me. Miss Elliott is not a housekeeper, and I was surprised that Mr Archer permitted such a person to mingle with his guests, when we all know what she is. Had I known she would be present, I should not have accepted the invitation. Indeed, I was quite surprised that she actually left. She claimed that she was staying with a friend. She and Mr Archer avoided showing any signs of vulgarity in our presence, but I saw them standing in the hall when she left, and he was holding her hands in his, and then he pulled out a roll of bank notes and pressed them into her hands! Yes, he certainly did. No, I cannot guess how much money passed between them, but it was no trifle, I assure you! I was both shocked and disgusted. I shall not set foot in Chippendale House again.
‘Did you notice that he gave her money?’ I said to Inspector Doherty, surprised by the vehemence of this last statement.
‘Well,’ he said uncomfortably, ‘what do you expect?’
‘Oh, I know,’ I said, ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant that it’s strange that the money was not found on her. Or was it?’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ he said.
‘Where did she put it?’ I wondered. ‘Was she carrying a bag of any kind?’
‘We asked Archer that. Look here.’
He separated Mr Archer’s statement from the others, and handed it to me, pointing to the lines at the end. I read:
As far as I remember, she was not carrying anything. Yes, I did give her money as payment for her services during the evening. I gave Miss Elliott three pounds. She folded the notes and slipped them into her dress. I then bid her goodbye and opened the front door for her. She walked out and down the drive. I shut the door and returned to my guests. I did not leave the party at any time. I never saw Miss Elliott again.
‘It’s all very odd,’ I said, looking up. ‘Where can she have been going, all by herself, on foot, at midnight? Why on earth didn’t she simply stay at Mr Archer’s home?’
‘Read Archer’s statement from the beginning,’ he counselled me. ‘It’s quite interesting.’
I met Miss Elliott through friends two years ago. To be more precise, these friends, who are very fond of theatre, had invested some money in a newly formed theatre company and were invited to a cast party after their first successful production. I was visiting these friends at the time, and joined them there. I met Miss Elliott upon that occasion.
I developed a strong affection for this charming young woman and used to employ her services from time to time, because I enjoyed her company, and also in order to aid her financially. She was an actress, but her position was obviously quite precarious; she earned very little and was not with any established theatre, although I believe that she subsequently found work with an experimental roving company, which plays in tents, or open fields, or some such thing. At any rate, it wasn’t very serious, and she was in straitened means, so I was pleased to be able to contribute to her welfare.
I saw Miss Elliott regularly, but not very frequently; perhaps two or three times a month. Sometimes I saw her in London, other times I wrote to her to propose some little service up here in Cambridge, and if the schedule did not interfere with her rehearsals, I would then send her a train ticket and she would come. I did not become involved in the rest of her life in any way. As far as I know she was a busy young lady with a great many colleagues, friends and acquaintances, but I am not acquainted with any of them. I was not in the habit of interfering in any way in her personal life.
Yes, I bought her the ivory bracelet a week or two ago, on one of her visits to Cambridge. She had come up to help me sort some old pictures. It was a pleasure to me to be able to offer her a small gift. She was really a good-hearted young person. At that time, I asked if she would be willing to return to Cambridge on the twenty-first of June, in order to help me with the organisation of the evening dinner and party for twenty guests. I much prefer organising things this way to having the servants come in to get their orders, or going out to the kitchen continually myself, or having a fixed and rigidly timed plan beforehand. Yes, I do have a housekeeper, of course, but I preferred to have Miss Elliott in and out of the drawing room than Mrs Munn.
I really do not know where she went when she left my house. She told me that she was tired and wished to leave, even though the party was not quite over. I thought it a little strange that she wished to walk into Cambridge at midnight, but she said she was going to a friend’s and that there was nothing to worry about. Let me be blunt; the streets at night hold no terror for young women such as she. I did not think much about it and let her go.
As far as I remember, she was not carrying anything. Yes, I did give her money as payment for her services during the evening. I gave Miss Elliott three pounds. She folded the notes and slipped them into her dress. I then bid her goodbye and opened the front door for her. She walked out and down the drive. I shut the door and returned to my guests. I did not leave the party at any time. I never saw Miss Elliott again.
‘So this is his alibi?’ I said. ‘The fact that he remained at the party until two o’clock in the morning? What did he do after that?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he told me. ‘After that she was already dead. As it turns out, she must have been killed very shortly after midnight. The post-mortem showed definitively that she was killed within an hour of leaving the house at the very most.’
‘Really!’ I said. ‘That’s strange, very strange. How can they be so sure? Isn’t the time of death usually rather vague?’
‘When you have to guess it from the condition of the corpse itself, yes,’ he said. ‘But in this case, there were the, ah, the stomach contents.’ He glanced at me apologetically. ‘You
see, the meal was partially although not much digested, but the stomach contained fragments of practically undigested food…actual biscuit crumbs. They were identified as almond-flavoured wafers. We were able to determine that Mr Archer had a tray of such biscuits served at eleven-thirty, and not before. Given their state, the pathologist claims that they must have been in the stomach for a period of half an hour to an hour.’
‘She could have eaten them any time between eleven-thirty and midnight,’ I said.
‘Yes. So we can narrow down the time of her death to the half-hour between twelve-thirty and one o’clock,’ he replied.
‘It’s so peculiar, though,’ I said. ‘Didn’t you tell me that she had been floating in the river for about three hours? What time did you say the body was discovered?’
‘At seven. Yes, I agree that it is very odd. The results of the post-mortem clearly indicate that she was strangled before one o’clock and placed in the water around four or even five o’clock. Even by stretching the medically established times, the two events cannot possibly be brought to within less than three or four hours of each other.’
‘So she was killed somewhere, and her body transported to the river later?’ I asked.
‘Who knows? She was found in a place almost directly on her way from Chippendale House to the centre of town, so at first I wondered if her body had not been left on the bank of the river, and rolled or slipped in of itself after some lapse of time. But there were no stains of grass or mud on her clothing to substantiate that idea, nor could we find a specific imprint where the body might have lain, even searching some distance upriver. We may never know exactly where she was actually dropped in, but we can estimate the farthest possible distance, since drowned bodies sink after some time if they do not become caught, as this one did. We searched up and down both banks over the whole area, but the trouble is not that there are no marks, but that there are far too many. The riverbank is constantly being trampled by people and animals. We found nothing conclusive. Still, as far as Archer’s involvement is concerned, his alibi seems final. We’re looking into the circumstances of the girl’s life in London.’