The Insanity of Murder Read online

  ‘Sir Michael Heathridge won’t be long, sir. I told him where to find us,’ Hensman said.

  ‘Good. Show him in when he arrives. Put the tea tray on my desk, please.’

  Pike shifted the silver-framed picture of his daughter, Violet, making room on the orderly desk. The teapot shook as Singh attempted to pour. Tea dribbled from its spout and pooled onto the tray. Lady Mary tut-tutted, relieved him of the task, and poured the tea with a steady hand.

  ‘That will be all,’ Pike told the men.

  Once the tea was poured and the elderly woman settled into the visitor’s chair, Pike began.

  ‘First, Lady Mary, I’d like to thank you for joining me here. I need to ask you a few questions about —’

  ‘Where were you born, Chief Inspector? Wakefield perhaps?’

  ‘Well, I —’

  ‘It’s not just that hint of accent. It’s the tea, you know. People from Wakefield always put their milk in last and stir their spoons anti-clockwise.’

  Pike touched the knot of his tie. He’d never heard that one before. She took a bun from the plate Pike offered and began to devour it with unladylike gusto, making him wonder when she had last eaten.

  ‘We knew Wakefield well,’ she said between mouthfuls. ‘Had friends there whom we visited during the grouse season. I suspect you did not grow up in the town itself, but in one of the nearby villages?’ She leaned across the desk and regarded him with bright scrutiny. ‘You do look familiar. I think it’s your eyes. They are an unusual shade of blue, quite dark, cerulean even. And your name is Pike, is it not?’

  He squirmed inside. This kind of talk always made him uncomfortable.

  She licked icing from her fingers as she got to her feet. Pike made as if to move but she gestured for him to stay where he was.

  ‘I think I knew your mother, Mrs Amelia Pike. Taught the piano. I took lessons from her whenever I was in the region. I mean one can only take so much grouse shooting, can’t one? I always felt sorry for the little birds. Mrs Pike was married to the local schoolmaster.’

  Pike paused, teacup halfway to his lips, and stared at the woman who was now shuffling back and forth across the office. He should be on his feet too but the shock of what she’d said had made him forget his manners. He put his teacup down and stood up, searching back through the fog of time. An image began to take shape in his mind: racing green with gold lettering, shining wheels and a brass smokestack. ‘You gave me a windup train,’ he said at last, his voice not much more than an incredulous whisper.

  ‘Indeed. A Lyle-built train all the way from America.’ She dropped back into the seat again.

  Pike shook his head and sat back down. ‘Well, I never.’

  For months he had slept with that train. He must have been eleven or twelve when he had last seen Lady Mary. He remembered overhearing his mother telling his father what a determined pupil she was. ‘No talent at all, but ferociously dedicated.’

  ‘The complete opposite to that boy of ours,’ his father had answered.

  ‘And now you are a policeman? They must be very proud,’ Lady Mary said, snapping Pike back to the present.

  ‘Alas, my parents have both passed away.’ Turning in their grave most probably, he thought. A police detective, even one of senior rank, could hardly equate to a concert pianist. ‘I would love to chat, Lady Mary. Perhaps you will allow me to take you out to tea one day so we can reminisce? For now though, I’m afraid, questions need to be answered.’

  She rose once more and once more Pike made to move but she shooed him back down. Watching the woman bobbing up and down from her seat was beginning to tire him; this was as bad as a Roman Catholic Mass. Did she ever sit still for more than a minute or two?

  ‘The explosion. Of course,’ she said. ‘Forgive me for distracting you.’

  Pike smiled. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’ He removed a notebook and pen from his desk drawer. ‘First, would you mind telling me what you were doing outside the Necropolis Railway Station at approximately one o’clock this morning?’

  ‘I was looking for a friend. She often sleeps in the vicinity of the railway.’ She sat down again.

  Pike kept his face expressionless. ‘Did you find your friend?’

  ‘No, unfortunately, I did not. I became weary myself and decided to take a nap. That’s when I saw them, two young ladies pushing bicycles. Their racket woke me up. They leaned their bicycles against the railing next to the entrance and climbed over the gate. After a few minutes I heard them arguing with a man down the corridor and I decided it was time to leave — I didn’t want the man to make me go home, I still needed to find my friend, you see. I’m worried about her state of mind. She had been talking about … well, never mind. It took a few minutes for me to walk to the fountain near Waterloo and then I heard the explosion. BOOM!’ She brought her hands crashing down upon the desk.

  Pike nearly jumped out of his skin.

  ‘Ha! Got you!’

  He reined in his galloping heart. This old woman was full of surprises. Just how mad was she? he wondered. ‘Would you recognise those women again, do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘Possibly, there was plenty of light about. And one of their bicycles was covered in whitish patches.’ When Pike raised an eyebrow, she shrugged. ‘Drips of paint, perhaps.’

  White paint? A thought sparked in Pike’s head. Were these the same women who had recently vandalised the Prime Minister’s motorcar, scrawling their suffragette slogans across its doors and bonnet in white paint?

  At the sound of movement in the waiting room and the murmuring of voices, Pike met Lady Mary’s eye. Her son had arrived. A well-dressed man entered after a sharp rap on the door, Singh close upon his heels.

  ‘Not again, Mother!’ the man cried as he rushed in.

  Lady Mary plumped her skirts and turned her face away with a gesture Pike was becoming familiar with.

  Singh introduced Pike to Sir Michael Heathridge.

  ‘I’m sorry for the inconvenience, gentlemen,’ Sir Michael said. ‘This is not the first time I’ve had to pick up Mother from a police station. Mother, this is getting downright embarrassing,’ he added, gently but firmly.

  The son had the same intelligent blue-grey eyes as his mother, a strong jaw, and a tall upright bearing. He plopped his top hat on Pike’s desk and kneeled before his mother, taking her hand like one about to propose marriage.

  ‘Was your room not comfortable, Mother? Was the maid unkind? Was there anything you lacked? What do I tell Doctor Fogarty? You know he’ll put a stop to your home visits if you continue to abscond like this.’ The gentleman turned to Pike. ‘My mother usually resides in the Elysium Rest Home for Gentlewomen — it’s in Surrey. She’s allowed out for regular family visits. My wife and I enjoy having her, but …’ He turned to Pike and muttered out of his mother’s earshot, ‘Senile decay, according to her doctor. The condition involves a host of problems and can make life very difficult at times.’

  ‘I was looking for my friend, Cynthia, Michael. I told you I would not rest until I found her.’

  ‘Cynthia was my mother’s childhood friend. She’s been dead fifty years,’ Sir Michael said as another aside to Pike.

  Lady Mary stiffened in her chair. ‘Not that Cynthia, silly boy, another Cynthia.’ There didn’t appear to be much wrong with her hearing.

  Sir Michael gave Pike an almost imperceptible shake of the head — ignore her.

  ‘Do you want us to put bars on the window, Mother, is that what you want?’ he asked, clearly exasperated. ‘Have you any idea how dangerous the streets are at night?’

  Pike addressed them both. ‘Your mother was witness to a crime — the explosion at the Necropolis Station.’

  ‘Good God, Mother! Now do you see what I mean? Are you all right? The explosion has been all over the morning papers.’

  Lady Mary rose and began to shuffle back and forth again. ‘I am quite well, thank you. Please don’t fuss, Michael. I can only pray that my friend was not in
the vicinity of the explosion.’

  ‘With your permission, Sir Michael,’ Pike said, ‘I would like to show your mother a series of photographs of women who are known to the police. I’m hoping she might recognise the two she saw near the station before the explosion.’

  ‘Those blasted suffragettes, do you think? Be my guest, Chief Inspector.’

  Pike was well aware how fed up most Londoners were with the antics of the suffragettes, and how their militant actions had caused many of their original supporters to ostracise them. Since their latest failure to achieve their goals — the vote and property rights — Mrs Pankhurst had declared that those in the movement were ‘guerrillists’, and justified their increasing violence as acts of war.

  ‘How long will this take, Chief Inspector? Only I need to get my mother back to the rest home.’

  ‘Not long, Sir Michael.’ Pike put his head around his office door and asked Singh to bring him the photograph album displaying all known suffragettes active in the London area.

  Chapter Four

  Michael had insisted that the maid take her street clothes and burn them. Quite unreasonable, Lady Mary had thought at the time, but her son had made it up to her by speeding as fast as his little motorcar was able, down the twisting country roads. She loved to travel fast, even if it meant they were back at the rest home in less than two hours.

  The home could have been a lot worse — it was quite civilised really, Lady Mary reflected as she shuffled into the drawing room for her pre-dinner sherry. Mr Beamish, one of the white-coated attendants, met Mary at the door with a glass of sherry on a silver tray.

  ‘Welcome back m’lady. Your uniform is on your bed, please don’t forget to change into it before dinner,’ he said.

  Mary glanced down at her black gown with the jet beads. ‘I’m still grieving for my husband, Mr Beamish.’

  ‘Rules are rules, Lady Mary.’

  Mary took the offered sherry. ‘Thank you, Mr Beamish.’

  Not everyone was allowed to drink, but as she and Eva weren’t on any dangerous pills, they were permitted to have an evening tipple together. Alcohol was considered to be a calmative by Doctor Fogarty.

  The room was dark and wood panelled. Some of the patients were tied to their chairs and appeared to be sleeping; heads lolling, jowls moist. One woman paced the floor pulling non-existent hair from her bald scalp.

  Mary had been present when the attendants had shaved Mrs Butterman’s hair off. They’d said it was better they did the job for her than she injure herself with all the pulling and the yanking. They were right, Mary supposed. Though nothing could shake the memory of Mrs Butterman being bound in the straitjacket while the job was being done. Mary trembled as she recalled the scene. A drop of sherry slid down the glass and onto her hand. She licked it off. Hadn’t Doctor Fogarty threatened her with the straitjacket upon her return from her previous escape? She vaguely remembered Michael (darling boy) forbidding him to do it. There was something to be said for having a title.

  Mary looked around the room for her friend and spotted her in a comfortable chair in a cosy corner next to the empty fireplace. Eva raised her hand and patted the seat of the chair next to her. On the other side of Eva, Bet-Bet sat, busy with her knitting. Bet-Bet did not acknowledge Lady Mary’s arrival. Her knitting had grown considerably since Mary had last seen it and now coiled around her ankles like a snake.

  ‘You’re back sooner than expected, Mary,’ Eva said by way of greeting.

  ‘I think I’m in trouble again,’ Mary said as she sank into the comfortable chintz armchair.

  Eva smiled and shook her head. Her shiny dark hair was arranged in a modern bob, a fine gold chain twisting amongst the tresses. With dark eyes and milky white skin, Mary thought that Eva bore an uncanny resemblance to Cleopatra.

  ‘What have you done this time?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Oh, let me see.’ Mary reached into her reticule, removed a notebook and tried to decipher Michael’s untidy writing. Poor Michael was always being thrashed at school for the poor quality of his writing. ‘Ah yes. I saw some women climb the gate into the Necropolis Station. It is believed the suffragettes planted a bomb and blew the station up.’

  Eva’s face lit up with excitement. ‘Let me see that,’ she said, almost snatching the notebook from Mary’s grasp. Newspapers were banned at the home and the women were starved for news of the outside world. Eva frowned as she tried to decipher the writing.

  ‘It says here that Michael will be returning to pick you up the day after tomorrow and take you back to London for the identity parade. Why not keep you in London if you are needed again so soon?’

  ‘Oh, you should have heard him go on.’ Mary couldn’t forget that. ‘I’ve been sent back here as a punishment for my naughtiness. Anyone would think that he was the father and I the child! All I did was climb from the window and visit the station. I was only trying to find Cynthia. I have been so worried since she said she was going to …’ Mary lost her thread. ‘What was she going to do, dear?’

  Eva sighed. ‘Take her own life,’ she reminded Mary.

  Eva had written Mary a note to remind her what to do and what to say when she found Cynthia. Mary could feel the note now, scratching at the skin beneath the sleeve of her dress. She and Eva were certain that if Cynthia apologised to Doctor Fogarty and promised never to run away again, she would be accepted back — her family was paying enough for her residency at the Elysium after all.

  But Cynthia had not been at any of her regular haunts and Mary had not been able to find her anywhere. It was as if she had disappeared into the river fog.

  ‘Did you find Cynthia?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Alas, no.’ Mary took a sip of sherry.

  Eva said nothing, but stared at the empty grate.

  Mary had last seen Cynthia at the almost completed Embankment Gardens. Her friend had been terribly upset and agitated, even more upset than she had been in the home before she’d run away. She told Mary, as they huddled from the wind under a shared piece of sacking, that she was contemplating taking her own life. Mary knew she should have forced Cynthia to come back with her then, but her own thoughts at the time had been so jumbled: delight at finding her friend, excitement at the sight of the barges jostling on the river, the speed of the motorcars on Waterloo Bridge, and the scurrying workers laying the new sewerage line. She’d only remembered the distressing part of the conversation after she’d returned to the home.

  ‘You’re lucky that you can come and go. It must be wonderful to go home, even if it is for only a short time,’ Eva said in a tone of deep sadness. ‘I would love to be able to get away from this place.’

  Mary searched for some words of comfort. ‘But you managed a trip to London recently, didn’t you, dear?’

  ‘Only for the night, a quick trip by train there and back. I wanted to see how easy it had been for Cynthia and Laurentia to escape. It was clever of Cynthia to steal those clothes from the nurse and hide them under the floorboards of her room. I wonder if that’s what Laurentia did too? Laurentia was certainly quiet about it. Didn’t tell anyone about her plans, unlike Cynthia, who was quite the talker.’

  ‘At least you know now that you can escape too if you so wish.’

  ‘And I’m going to escape also,’ Bet-Bet interrupted. Mary had forgotten she was there. Bet-Bet held up her knitting. ‘When this is long enough I’m going to throw it out of my window and climb down it.’

  Mary and Eva exchanged glances. ‘That’s very nice, dear,’ Mary said as Bet-Bet resumed her work, wondering briefly how Bet-Bet planned on squeezing through the window bars.

  ‘Yes, if all else fails, I suppose I can escape,’ Eva said in a lowered voice. ‘And if my lawyer doesn’t jolly well write back to me soon I might have to. They watch me like hawks in this place. Cynthia is lucky. Like you, she seems able to blend into the street. It was hours before the attendants even realised she was missing. I only dared go overnight — stayed out for but a few hours and then
returned. All hell broke loose then, didn’t it?’

  ‘They’d been combing the grounds for you,’ Mary remembered vaguely.

  ‘And I paid the price — a week in solitary. They should have thanked me for returning.’ Eva sighed. ‘Truth be told, I hated that taste of freedom. I couldn’t pull the vagrant look off anyway; I was doomed to fail.’

  ‘Beauty has its drawbacks,’ Mary said, glad to see how the remark made her friend smile.

  ‘I was hoping to see Bevan, you know, try to talk some sense into him. He used to live close to the station. But when I visited his old house and asked for him, the maid said he no longer lived there.’

  ‘I could not have coped with a Bevan.’ Mary sighed. ‘I was blessed to have a husband like George.’

  ‘You were.’ Eva placed her sherry on the table next to her. ‘This is a terrible place, Mary. Fogarty does the most awful things.’

  ‘He does indeed,’ Mary said, nodding, not quite sure what Eva was talking about.

  ‘We need to get this place investigated and closed down. Too many women in here are locked up illegally for the convenience of their relatives. Take my case, for example —’

  ‘I do remember your case, my dear. Some things stick, you know. Charming policeman, knew him when he was a boy. No sign of Cynthia, though. I do so worry about her.’

  ‘What policeman?’

  ‘The one investigating the bombing.’

  Eva absently traced the rim of her sherry glass. ‘So you are pally with a policeman,’ she mused. ‘Do you think he would investigate this place if he knew what was going on here?’

  ‘Oh, he’s sure to,’ Mary answered. ‘He was an excellent piano player.’

  Eva looked at Mary for a moment, and shook her head. Then she shrugged and her beautiful face lit up with a glorious smile. ‘In that case, I think I have a plan.’

  They raised their glasses. The delicate ring of crystal was drowned out by the sound of their laughter. Laughter at what, Mary didn’t quite know. Whatever it was about, it was good to see the dear girl laugh again.