Children of the Tide (20 page)

A Secret and A Dream

A
short man opened the front door to Number Sixteen Bedford Square.

“Good evening, sirs,” he said. When he learned his callers were gentlemen from the Metropolitan Detective Police, he stepped back, wary but polite. “Please come this way, sirs,” the butler said. “May I take your hats?” The butler walked ahead and led Caldwell and Endersby into a small parlour with a fire in its grate. Presently, an ample woman appeared. On her face was a frown of concern and Endersby wondered if she might prove an obstacle, indeed a great wall to climb to get at facts.

“Mrs. Wells,” she replied to Endersby's first question.

“You are well acquainted with Dr. Josiah Benton?” Endersby asked. Caldwell in the meantime had taken out his notebook and was quietly writing down all the questions and responses. “Well enough, sir. He is my employer,” Mrs. Wells reported. “Ten years now.” Endersby sensed tightness, hesitation. Was Mrs. Wells, like many guilty people, unable to disguise their fear of being found out? Earlier, while questioning Mr. Henry Lardle, Endersby had learned of the peculiar tastes of Dr. Josiah Benton. Might Mrs. Wells prove to be an accomplice in what seemed to be a horrific type of adult behaviour? “I know nothing of such, sir,” Mrs. Wells replied when confronted with Lardle's observations. She blinked twice and twisted her mouth on hearing the wretch's name.

“Sir, my position here is as cook,” she announced. “I manage the larder and the kitchen and I prepare each of Dr. Benton's meals. That is all I am paid to perform, and it is all of what I am paid to know about. As to this Lardle man, I have no acquaintance with such a person.”

“How odd, then, Mrs. Wells,” the inspector continued. “He mentioned you and your name and the delights of your pastry — handouts he claimed — for he said he often came to the back entrance of this fine house and was met not only by the butler but frequently by you. In fact, Mr. Lardle felt quite at home here in Bedford Square. He praised Dr. Benton as a firm but fair-minded employer whose sole interest in him was his ability to search out, find and then procure a regular selection of
young innocent girls.”

The stress the inspector put on the last three words brought a sudden blanching to Mrs. Wells's face. Not a second later, her hands covered her teary eyes. “I cannot say, sir. I cannot say at all,” she said. “Is your employer at home, Mrs. Wells?”

“He was, sir. But he has stepped out at this hour for one of his daily strolls.”

“Do you know which way he has gone?”

“I cannot say, sir. I cannot,” the woman dried her eyes and puffed out her chest. “He is a good and honourable man, sir. Mr. Lardle does not know Josiah — Dr. Benton — as well as I do; he is kind and gentle and without fault.”

“I must insist, then, that you show me a room which Mr. Lardle stated had been set aside in this very house for Dr. Benton's assignations with the young girls brought to his back door.”

“Oh, my, sir. Assignations? You make Dr. Benton sound like a reprobate. He is nothing of the sort.”

“Nevertheless, Mrs. Wells. I demand to see this place as proof of some kind to support Mr. Lardle's claims.”

“A scum man, no question, sir,” Mrs. Wells blurted out.

“You admit then, you know of Mr. Henry Lardle?'

“I admit it,” Mrs. Wells said, giving in. “And I can say with much fervour that Lardle has somehow enchanted Dr. Benton.” The woman blew her nose and crossed her hands in front of her.

“With your permission, Mrs. Wells, I shall ask my sergeant-at-hand, Mr. Caldwell, to search the rooms of this house. I ask that you have a servant stand by the front and back doors and to call out if anyone — Dr. Benton in particular — wishes to come in or go out.”

Reluctantly, Mrs. Wells nodded and gave the orders. She then asked Inspector Endersby to sit down in the foyer by the stairs, where he continued his questions.

“Tell me, Mrs. Wells. What facts do you know of Lardle?”

“Little. He is unwashed. He was once in the army up north. He has poor lodgings and he wanders the streets at night.”

“Has Dr. Benton ever mentioned anything about his background?”

“Yes, Inspector. Mr. Lardle was once accused of murder. It seems he was found innocent of the charge. A woman, sir, I believe. A washerwoman.”

“Can you describe any of his features you can recall. His face, for example.”

“But, sir, you have met the man. You have seen his face.”

“His face has an odd mark, I agree, Mrs. Wells,” replied Endersby. “At least it is all I can see in the dim light of a prison cell.”

“Well, Inspector, it seems he was born with a puckered muscle in his cheek. Dr. Benton explained to me it was the result of a midwife's poor skills.”

“This is all you know?”

“He is not violent so far as I can tell. And he has a woman.”

“A sister, a wife?”

“A woman, sir,” said Mrs. Wells, her mouth turning down. “He says she lives with'im, says she puts up with 'im and loves 'im.”

“Do you know where they live?” asked Endersby.

“I believe in a court on Drury Lane. Short by the St. Giles Workhouse. The butler knows for certain.”

“I thank you,” Endersby said politely. “Now, Mrs. Wells, difficult as this may be, I wish you to lead me up to this room Mr. Lardle has told me about. He has never seen it but he imagines it is a place ...”

“Come this way, sir,” Mrs. Wells said. “It is a most decent and sweet room, if I may venture my opinion.” Up the central hall stairs and onto the second floor, Endersby noticed fine wallpapers, a carved desk, a short passage leading to a little bedroom. The door was unlocked. “Please, Inspector,” Mrs. Wells said showing him in.

On the little pink table one of the teacups still sat half full of cold tea. The inspector looked about. The room indeed was unusual, but neat and suited to the tastes of a child, particularly a girl. “I have sometimes brought tea to Dr. Benton's young visitors,” Mrs. Wells confessed. Endersby now watched the woman's eyes. They shone with pride. Was Mrs. Wells in thrall to Dr. Benton and refused to see what his actions might imply? Was Henry Lardle correct in claiming that Dr. Benton, like many men of his station, was fond of physical pleasures with virginal girls? And was it therefore true that Lardle — a man once suspected of murder — had stolen girls from alleys and workhouses and killed any person who stood in his way of his weekly fistful of coins?

“I thank you, Mrs. Wells. In the best interest of Dr. Benton, I strongly suggest you do not tell him of what we have seen and heard today. I wish to discuss these matters with the man himself.” With her eyes tearing up again, Mrs. Wells nodded and led the inspector downstairs where Caldwell was waiting in the foyer. “Rooms empty, sir. No doctor hiding in closets or cupboards,” said Caldwell.

“Thank you, Sergeant. Mrs. Wells, please gather your servants and the butler here as quickly as you can.” The woman rushed into the kitchen. “A most intriguing place, Caldwell. I am somewhat at a loss at this moment to figure out how this Dr. Benton thinks.”

“In what way, sir?”

“Is he a miscreant? Is Lardle a true procurer of whores or is there some secret we have yet to uncover.”

Before Caldwell could comment, Mrs. Wells reappeared with the butler, a footman and three housemaids. “Thank you, all,” said Endersby, his voice gentle. “I must ask all of you to stand on your honour. Dr. Benton and his accomplice, Mr. Henry Lardle, are under suspicion for a crime.”

Two of the housemaids uttered cries of alarm. “My sergeant and I are members of the detective police and we now ask you to send us word when your employer returns home. I will ask you, Mrs. Wells, to be certain Dr. Benton is comfortable and not alarmed and that he stays indoors over the next twenty-four hours. You believe he is a good, honest man. Please advise him, then, on the matter of his safety and be aware that if he escapes for any reason, the law in its pursuit may be harsh.” The small group all bowed their heads. The gesture touched Endersby and he wondered about the nature of Dr. Benton and whether he was, indeed, capable of criminal activities. Mrs. Wells then ushered him and Caldwell out to the street. Bedford Square gleamed in the light, the brick fronts of houses shining with polished glass windows.

“Caldwell,” said Endersby. “First, please return to Dr. Benton's and ask the butler for the address of Mr. Lardle. We shall take up the matter of his ‘woman', if she exists. Then, to the station house nearby, and on my orders have two constables sent immediately to guard the front and back of Benton's house. Explain the matter to the desk sergeant and be sure to counter any refusal by telling about the murders and our present case.

“Yes, sir. I will in haste.”

“I believe, Caldwell, we can rely on Mrs. Wells and her servants. I have an inkling that Dr. Benton will not bolt. For there seems to be something odd in this clean house.”

“Certainly, sir,” Caldwell answered.

“And Caldwell. This day has passed and we have yet to locate Malibran. He claimed not to know where his ‘pity-man' has fled, but my gut tells me differently. Send a constable to relieve the present guard at his lodgings in Nightingale Lane where we met earlier this morning. Tonight, Malibran might sneak out. Come to Number Six Cursitor Street at midnight. I will by then have returned from the theatre. We can attempt to locate Malibran along the Strand — if he is there singing.”

Still, though his mind could endure much turmoil, Endersby was unable to relinquish his mood of uncertainty. The hansom he hired had broken free from London's ever-growing river of early evening vehicles and found a path of quiet through back streets out of Bedford Square. Endersby meditated on his day: the gaff discovery was fortuitous — no question. But what of young Grimsby? What “matter to prove innocence” did his odd father hold in secret?
Do not jump so eagerly to a conviction, old gander,
Endersby thought. The cabby had to knock twice on the cab roof to awaken the dozing inspector on arrival at Number Six Cursitor Street. After a quick sponge bath in his study, the inspector joined his beloved Harriet at the dinner table. For this evening's repast, Mrs. Endersby had requested that Solange, their young French cook, prepare an English-styled supper rather than the usual soup, fish, and fowl
a la francaise
.

“Ah, splendid,” cried Endersby, napkin tucked under his chin, knife and fork raised.

“Dear Mr. Endersby,” Harriet cautioned. “Be gentle, sir. We have time to eat. Do not gorge yourself.”

“Madam, I thank you for your admonitory words. You shall not see a repetition of my ‘demon appetite' as you witnessed earlier this morning.”On one platter set before them and fried whitings and potatoes; on another, suet dumplings; two plates of mutton cutlets with parsley, and one of the inspector's favourites, cold calf's tongue in a small dish with the boiled brains arranged around it. A light Spanish port was followed by a slice of Hampton cheddar.

“Delicious indeed,” said the inspector, smiling, when they had finished. “And penny-wise,” added Mrs. Endersby. The two stood up from the table and walked arm in arm down to the street. A cab was hailed and the journey started toward Covent Garden Theatre. A fine breezy evening. “Lovers tonight,” Harriet said, looking into his eyes. “Confused but soon reconciled.”

Endersby blushed a little. “Lovers?” he asked. “Not
Macbeth
, then?” Endersby looked confused.

“In fact, not,” Harriet explained.

“Forests and fairy glens are the fare.” With her profile framed by her bonnet, Harriet Endersby looked as lovely at forty-one as she had at twenty.
A fine first mate, indeed,
the inspector reflected:
she weathers storms, bears the doldrums without complaint, steers a clear passage through roiling wave.
Endersby lifted his arm and placed it snugly around Harriet's shoulders.

Sitting down in Covent Garden Theatre, Endersby noted to himself how this aristocratic theatre had changed. Boxes and private rooms had become much cheaper; the pit was always full now of clerks and salesmen rather than the cheroot-smoking dandies in silk Endersby had once seen as a boy. As always, the galleries resounded with the laughter and stomping feet of coal carriers, footmen and their wives, and large families eating their cold dinners on their laps.“Here, take two for now,” Harriet said, handing Endersby an open tin box full of homemade sugared almonds. Endersby's back soon relaxed and by the time the drum rolls had finished and the baton of the conductor was raised, the inspector was in an open-hearted mood to watch the dream of a midsummer's night.

After the theatre, over late-evening tea by the hearth, Endersby looked into the eyes of Harriet, who was at work with her sewing kit.