03 - Murder in Mink (23 page)

Peg screwed up her eyes. Tight shut. She had not really
meant to kill him, at least she hoped that was the case. She had been so angry
it was hard to say exactly what was on her mind when she took the arsenic from
the pantry. Maybe she had meant to fatally harm him, but surely not? Surely
this was not Penelope Campbell? She pressed her face into her hands, wanting to
scream and let it all out; the spite, the anger, the bitterness, the grief.
Instead it lodged, as it always did, in her throat.

“I… need to go think about this for a while.” Hogarth
stood, an unearthly look on his face, as though he was seeing something unreal
in the room. He slumped away and shortly they heard the sound of his study
door.

No one else moved. Finally Clara spoke.

“Peg, there is nothing the police can do about what you
have done. In my opinion your guilt will be enough punishment. I’m just sorry
you ever thought murder was a solution to your problems.”

“Have you never hated someone Clara? So badly you wished
them dead?” Peg briefly pulled down her hands.

“Yes.” Clara said without hesitation, “But I only wished
it. I did not act.”

Peg hid back in her hands.

“What now?” She asked.

That was not Clara’s question to answer; only the
Campbell family could decide on Peg’s fate. Whatever it was, whether
estrangement or forgiveness, Clara knew one secret that would ensure Peg had a
safe future. Eustace had left her some of his money, a fair chunk by all
accounts. Since Peg did not actually murder him, there was nothing excluding
her from inheriting the money, however ethically wrong it may seem. In short,
Clara knew Peg was safe whatever happened. She just wasn’t about to say that.
Nothing would induce her to tell a would-be murderess she was to become a
wealthy woman in her own right.

More than ever Clara wished she could get out of the
Campbell home. There was nothing she wanted more than to be out of the house
and heading home.

It was late in the evening when Clara received the
message to go to the police station. She finished a sandwich Annie had kindly
made her – she had not been inclined towards dinner with the family – and asked
Timmy if he would run her into town. He was quite happy to, as long as she told
him all that had gone on with Ethel along the way. Clara could not avoid the
truth since Timmy had two eyes in his head and a brain that he occasionally
used, and he had noticed just exactly
how
Ethel was bleeding to death.

He extracted the final details, as much as they were,
under a strict oath of secrecy. Clara made no mention of Mrs Patterson and
suggested she had just been passing when she noticed something was amiss at 24
Alms Street. Timmy didn’t entirely believe her, but he was satisfied with
everything else she told him, including that Ethel was doing well.

“Tell a soul and I will skin you alive Timmy.” Clara
informed him as they pulled up outside the police station.

“I won’t say anything. Though a fine thing it was
explaining to cook what had happened to those blankets.”

Clara left the car, saying she would call the house when
she needed a ride home, and went to discover why inspector Jennings had
summoned her.

Jennings was not in his office, but in a small room at
the back of the police station, once perhaps a scullery. He was smoking and
making a cup of tea. Clara discovered him in the cubby-hole and asked what was
the matter with a look rather than words.

“We got Mrs Patterson. Thought you would like to see
her.”

Clara gave a sigh of relief.

“I imagine she is delighted to be here.”

“She gave me a piece of her mind. I was waiting for you
before I spoke to her further. She hasn’t confessed as such yet, but she knows
we have a witness to her actions.”

“Inspector if she knows anything about Shirley Cox I
would like to hear it.”

“So would I. Shall we see her now?”

The inspector took them across the hall and through to
another back room. It was sparsely appointed with a table and chairs. One
window, with bars, looked onto the back yard of the station. Mrs Patterson was
sat at the table, glaring at them.

“So you brought that tart again?” She snapped.

“Mind your tongue!” The inspector barked, “Aren’t you
already in enough trouble?”

Mrs Patterson folded her arms over her chest and gave
Clara the ‘evil eye’. Clara was unmoved.

“We have a witness Mrs Patterson. One of the girls you,
ahem, helped. Also the doctor believes he can prove the bundle we found in your
yard was a human baby.”

“Nothing to do with me, the neighbours dumped it there.
Threw it over the wall.” Mrs Patterson said quickly.

“Amazing how it landed so close to your door.” The
inspector replied blandly, “Do you suppose a jury will believe that? In my
experience juries are very biased against abortionists.”

Mrs Patterson grimaced. She wasn’t stupid. She had
survived many years in her illegal trade just because she was smart enough to
cover herself. On this occasion she had been sloppy. Why had she not taken more
care? Well, she knew the answer. She had been feeling queer, had been for
weeks, there was this constant lump in her throat making it hard to swallow and
her chest was not so good. She just hadn’t had the strength to do more than
dump the body outside her door – sloppy, sloppy! But she had gotten away with
it for so long…

“A confession would make things easier for everyone.”
Jennings continued, “If you were to co-operate, it would look favourable in the
eyes of the judge, especially if you were to name your accomplice.”

Mrs Patterson started to shake her head, but then
wondered why she was bothering. It was all over, wasn’t it? They had her, a
witness and a body, they had never come so close before. So what was the point
in protecting that bloody vicar? In any case what had he ever done for her?
When she had started this sickness and asked for a little consideration had he
come? Had he dropped by to check on her? No! He had continued his trips to
London and brought her girls at all hours of the night, even after she said she
was through with the whole business.

And hadn’t she been feeling just a touch anxious over her
immortal soul these last weeks? Funny how the thought of dying had crept into
her mind and with it worries about her actions in the eyes of God. What did He
make of her? Sometimes, when the pain was bad in the middle of the night, she
started to think of all the things her mother had told her about God as a child
and it had made her a little scared about the way she had lived. Soon, she
feared, soon she would be meeting her maker and what would He say?

Draper had been no help when she had asked. For a man of
the cloth his concept of God was flimsy at best. He had smiled his watery smile
and changed the subject. So what help was he? No, she didn’t owe him anything.
It was time Millicent Patterson thought of herself and herself alone. She
resolved her mind to the truth, maybe it would ease a little of that fear she
had grown accustomed to. In any case, the police had a doctor, which was more
than could be said for Mrs Patterson. Maybe she could get some medicine and not
die after all.

“So if I confess, what then?” Mrs Patterson asked.

“That depends on the magistrates, not me.” Jennings took
out some plain paper and a pencil, “But they usually take these things into
consideration.”

“And my age, they got to consider that. And me health,
that ain’t so good.”

“You have still committed a crime, you can’t escape
that.”

“So you say, I was only helping those girls, but I see I
will be judged for it.”

Jennings gave her an unimpressed look.

“Does that mean you will make a confession?”

“What do you want?”

“We can keep this quite simple, how about ‘I, Mrs…”

“Millicent.” Mrs Patterson said as the inspector looked
to her to fill in the gap.

“I, Mrs Millicent Patterson, hereby swear in front of
Inspector Jennings of the Surrey constabulary, that I have been conducting
illegal abortions within my premises at King Street for the last…”

“Twelve.”

“…twelve years. During which time I have worked in
association with…”

“Reverend Irving Draper.”

“…Reverend Irving Draper, to perform these illegal
actions. I am aware my deeds were a crime and have made this confession with my
full co-operation.” Jennings finished off the paper, “If you are happy I will
have this typed up for you to sign?”

Mrs Patterson nodded solemnly.

“Back in a moment.” The inspector disappeared briefly,
giving Clara and Mrs Patterson a chance to glare at each other with mutual
dislike, before he returned.

“Now to our next business,” The inspector sat down
contentedly in his chair, very pleased with his evening’s work, “Tell me all
you know about the Reverend Draper.”

“What don’t I know?” Mrs Patterson snorted, “I always
smile when someone calls him vicar, what sort of a vicar is he?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Mrs Patterson was suddenly rather pleased to be the
centre of attention, especially as it was no longer concerned with her. She
puffed herself up, proud to have something useful to tell the police and began
her revelations with gusto.

“Reverend Draper came knocking on my door back when I was
in London. Those were grand days, I was rolling in it because the city Madams
sent all their girls to me. I was the best then and they paid me well. I hardly
ever lost a girl in my charge and if I did it was usually the strumpet’s fault
for not following my advice.”

Clara bit hard on her tongue, silence was not easy at
that moment.

“One day, a few years before the war I has a knock on my
door and there is this man, dressed all in black. I think he’s an undertaker,
but no he has this little white collar on.” Mrs Patterson mimed with her
fingers a collar around someone’s neck, “He were a clergyman, on my doorstep! I
was beside myself, what could he want? I half told him where to go, when he
said I need use of your talents. Well, I could see it weren’t for him so I ask
the usual questions, who, when, how far gone is she? Well he has a cab waiting
down the road and he goes back and he fetches this girl. A regular doxy as far
as I could tell, I wasn’t sure what he was about. But he says, she’s his
mistress and she’s pregnant, and he says he can’t be having that, what with the
church and all. So I sorts her out all right and off they go.

“Well blow me if he don’t come back a few months later
and now he has another girl in tow! I’ve done it again Mrs Patterson, he says,
I just can’t resist a pretty face. Well, this next girl is a slip of a thing
and it’s a nasty job and she comes over a bit funny. So I set her in my back
room and keep an eye and the vicar hangs around and he is talk, talk, talk.
Quite a business this, he says. How much you paid? Not enough, I laugh, well he
laughs too and says he knows a few girls could use me, not just the regular
doxies, but decent girls who’ve got themselves in trouble and don’t know where
to go. Girls from good families who have got money to pay well. He hears things
in the church, he says, he can spread the word that he can help them. Well I
think he is full of bull, but he says we should try it anyhow, and I suppose he
persuades me.

“Anyway he takes his girl away and within a week he is
back again. I’ve got one Mrs Patterson, he says, daughter of local squire, been
busy with a farmhand, needs some help. Came to me through a friend of a friend.
She’ll pay well for the service and us keeping quiet. Then he tells me how much
she will pay and my eyes almost fall out my head. So I say yes and I kept
saying yes for the next twelve years.”

Mrs Patterson puffed out her cheeks as she paused for
breath. For a moment she was quite carried away with herself.

“Twelve years.” She repeated.

“All this time Reverend Draper has been an agent for
you?” Jennings asked.

“If you like.” Agreed Mrs Patterson, “He seems to find
the girls all right and he keeps quiet. He still spends most of his time in
London. I dare say some of them he brings are really girls
he
has gotten
into trouble. Just lately it’s become a bit of a nuisance.”

Jennings nodded and duly wrote down what she had said.
There was a tap on the door and the constable Clara had stuffed in the back of
a hearse appeared with a typed copy of Mrs Patterson’s statement. Jennings
offered her a pen to sign it.

Meanwhile Clara was thinking hard, she had a question she
was burning to ask. A question that possibly only Mrs Patterson and the good
vicar Draper could answer. She glanced at Jennings, trying to sense if it was
alright to butt in. He was making notes and not looking up. Finally Clara could
not resist anymore.

“Mrs Patterson what do you know about a woman named
Shirley Cox?”

Jennings’ head shot up. Mrs Patterson gave Clara a look
of low regard.

“Can she ask me a question?” She demanded in imperial
tones.

Jennings stared at Clara a moment.

“She can.” He answered.

Mrs Patterson huffed to herself and fussed with her paper
statement before her.

“Don’t seem like she has the authority.”

“Please answer Miss Fitzgerald.” Jennings said more
sternly.

Mrs Patterson focused again on Clara.

“Miss? Yes, you look like one of these lasses who abhor
men.”

Clara refused to be offended.

“Mrs Patterson, you may insult me as you please, it does
not change my question. Nor will it change the fact that once this short
interview is over I will leave this room quite freely. Bear all this in mind as
you level comments at me, since they may just go against you in court.” Clara
wasn’t sure if all that was true, but Mrs Patterson believed her and it
flustered her into talking.

“Now, now, I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.” Mrs
Patterson gave a little smile, “I can tell you what I know about Shirley Cox,
which isn’t a lot I might add.”

“Anything would be good. I am aware she was connected to
Reverend Draper.”

“Connected?” Mrs Patterson gave a tight laugh, “You could
say that, all right. She was his mistress for more years than I know. At least
until 1915 or 1916.”

Clara’s heart missed a beat.

“His mistress?”

“One of a handful he always has on the go. He brought her
to me a few times for my services. I think the last was in 1915. That may have
been when he was through with her too. She was getting on, you know. He likes
them young. I can’t say a lot about her. She was quiet, sullen. Professional, I
thought to myself, like the doxies. Probably she was one of them normally. It
was all business between her and me. Some of the other girls, the
non-professionals, want a chat as it happens. Not this one, not a word slipped
through her lips.”

“Are you saying the last time you saw her was in 1915?”

“Saw her, yes. Heard about her… that’s another matter.”
Mrs Patterson’s eyes crinkled with pleasure as she saw the way the conversation
was heading, “Will anything I say about this matter go into consideration for
me? I mean, am I helping to solve her murder or some such?”

“I’ll put it all before the judge.” Jennings said
noncommittally, “I will inform him how useful you have been. If your
information proves correct, of course.”

“Oh it’s correct!” Mrs Patterson said firmly, “Now what
can I tell you about that girl?”

“Did she visit Reverend Draper in the last few days?”
Clara asked.

“Last Saturday. She upset Draper a lot. He said she was
after money, blackmailed him, said she would tell the bishop all about him if
he didn’t pay up. He was shaking in his boots thinking about it.” Mrs Patterson
grinned, “He came to me wanting to know what he could do. Said she was ruining
everything he had built for himself. Well, what did I care? Silly old fool. I
sent him away and said he would have to sort himself out, I had no more time
for him. Does that help you?”