A Metropolitan Murder (18 page)

‘With respect, Inspector, this is a peculiar hour to be calling at my home,' says Dr. Harris, once Clara has ushered the men inside and left the room. Dr. Harris's normally beatific expression is marred by a slight wrinkling of his brow.

‘Well, with respect, sir, it is a matter of some importance. Perhaps if we could speak in private; it is a little delicate . . .'

Mrs. Harris, seated opposite her husband, visibly colours.

‘I am sure anything you might say to my husband might be said to me, Inspector,' she interjects.

‘Really, my dear,' says Dr. Harris, ‘I should think if the gentleman says the matter is delicate . . . well, I mean to say, I expect he knows his own business.'

Mrs. Harris appears shocked by this rare rebuke, however mild, and merely replies with one of the unique wordless exclamations she reserves for such occasions, something between a snort and a cough. None the less, she vacates the room, closing the door behind her with an eloquent thud.

Dr. Harris smiles at this small triumph, his features almost returning to their normal calm composition.

‘Now, Inspector, do take a seat and tell me what can possibly bring you here.'

‘Well, sir, I understand you are a governor of the Holborn Refuge for Penitent Women?'

‘Ah, I see. Some difficulty with one of the girls, is it? Yes, I have the honour of supporting that institution.'

‘Perhaps you know of a girl called Bowker, a Sally Bowker?'

‘I cannot say I do, Inspector. Not all the girls are mine, as it were. Many are there upon recommendation of others.'

‘Other governors?'

‘Indeed. I confess, I believe I know the name of the girl, but I could not say much else. Certainly I could not personally vouch for her. Has she done something to, ah, bring herself to your attention, Inspector?'

‘You could say that, sir,' interjects Watkins.

‘How so?'

‘She was the girl that was murdered on the railway two nights ago, sir,' replies Webb.

‘Really? What was she doing there?'

‘We cannot account for it as yet, sir,' says Webb. ‘And so, to be quite clear, you are sure that there is no particular connection between yourself and the dead woman?'

‘Indeed I am. I must say, Inspector, if that is all you came here for then you might have waited . . .'

‘No, sir. There is a little more to it. You are also the sponsor of a certain Agnes White at the refuge, are you not?'

‘Agnes White? Oh yes, that is the case; a difficult female. So unlike her daughter, which I suppose is something of a blessing.'

‘Your, ah, maid?'

‘Ah, I see that Miss Sparrow has acquainted you with our circumstances. I can tell you do not approve of me giving such a girl employment. What about you, sergeant? You look uncomfortable.'

‘No, sir,' replies Watkins, ‘though if you were to ask my opinion, I can only say I never knew any leopard what changed its spots, if you understand me, sir.'

‘I do, sergeant. But, surely, we should allow for the possibility of repentance, should we not?'

‘I couldn't say, sir.'

‘I see,' replies Dr. Harris, a little curtly. ‘But, forgive me, what has Agnes White, or Clara for that matter, to do with this awful railway business?'

‘The mother shared a room with Bowker, sir. And she has now gone missing herself.'

‘Agnes, gone missing? Well, I fear it is not for the first time. But I would not read much into that, Inspector. Miss Sparrow will tell you that Agnes White has the most refractory nature she has ever encountered.'

‘And you would disagree?'

‘Not at all. But I believe there is hope, even for her.'

‘I understand she has been given several chances at the refuge? That is unusual, is it not?'

Dr. Harris frowns. ‘In truth, Inspector, it is only for her daughter's sake that we have persisted with her. If you knew something of the history of the case . . .'

‘Perhaps you could tell me, sir. And, if it is no trouble, perhaps Watkins here could go and interview the girl? I didn't know about her mother, you see, when I saw her this morning; we might have a few more questions for her.'

‘This morning?'

‘Yes, I met her at the refuge.'

‘Ah, I see. Quite. Yes, well, I suppose your sergeant had best proceed with his business. What do you wish to know, Inspector?'

‘Well, tell me about this Agnes White, sir. How did you come across her?'

Sergeant Watkins quits the drawing room of the house in Doughty Street, and almost collides with the figure of Mrs. Harris, whom he finds nearby upon the narrow landing, standing conspicuously close to the door.

‘Sergeant.'

‘Ma'am. Perhaps you can direct me to your maidservant, ma'am.'

‘White?'

‘That's the one, ma'am.'

‘I knew it!' exclaims Mrs. Harris, triumphantly.

‘Ma'am?'

‘That girl, sergeant, has been nothing but a trial.'

‘Really, ma'am?'

‘No grasp of the most basic household business,' she exclaims. ‘A positive trial.'

‘Really, ma'am?' repeats the sergeant, showing a polite but well-judged disinterest in Mrs. Harris's domestic afflictions. ‘I'll perhaps find her in the kitchen, will I, ma'am?'

‘I'll show you, sergeant.'

‘No need, ma'am, no need. I'm sure I can locate it myself. You stay where you are.'

‘You ask me about Agnes White, Inspector? ' says Dr. Harris, sitting back in his chair. ‘Well, let me begin by asking if you know of my own career?'

‘Can't say I do, sir.'

‘Well, that is understandable. I am hardly renowned for my work. Suffice to say, I was for many years a medical man and gave some of my time freely to the poor.'

‘Commendable, sir.'

‘I am glad you think so. Well, in that occupation, I became cognisant of the vast gulf between the various classes of our great metropolis, a gulf in both their material situation and health, and, worse still, in a gulf in understanding. We know so little of the poor, do we not, Inspector?'

‘I suspect I know more than most, sir.'

‘Well, that is surely so, but you are an exception. In any case, since my retirement from medical practice I have taken it upon myself to study the evils attendant upon the growth of our great city, with relation to the poorer classes, and to enquire into the, ah, darker recesses of the capital.'

‘I'd say that sounds rather like my occupation,' replies the inspector.

Dr. Harris smiles. ‘Please, Inspector, I fear you misunderstand me; I am no detective. I am, by nature, the most sedentary of men. My exploration is principally of the literary nature. I read, I write letters, the occasional pamphlet. If I am stirred to it, I rail against mankind's iniquities in the letters page of the
Chronicle
.'

‘You are a reformer of sorts, then, sir?'

‘Of course, my dear fellow. Nothing good prospers in darkness, does it? There are many stones in this city that ought to be lifted up, and a light shone upon what is found underneath.'

‘My sergeant might say best to let them lie.'

‘He might, but he would be thoroughly wrongheaded.'

Webb smiles.

‘And Agnes White?'

‘Ah yes, forgive my digression, Inspector. Well, upon rare occasions, I have also been obliged to confirm the reality of particular facts or observations, and made a few hesitant steps into the worse districts of our great city. It was on one such sally that I first came across Agnes White: a visit to Wapping, in fact, accompanied by one of your good constables. I believe his name was Broderick. Do you know him?'

‘I do not believe so. I do not know the Thames Division so well.'

‘Of course, foolish of me. Well, never mind. At all
events, I had a mind to enquire into low lodging houses, in particular around the docks, and I came across her in just such a place. She was quite a ruin, Inspector, though not the worst of her kind, not by a long way.'

‘And you took pity upon the woman?'

‘Not quite, Inspector, that is the curious thing. It was, and remains, my privilege, as a governor, to annually recommend a couple of women to the refuge; and, indeed, I do actively look out for suitable candidates if an opportunity arises. But there were several likely women that night, all seemingly earnest in a desire to improve their lot, all having a good character from Constable Broderick or, at least, as good as might be expected in their circumstances.'

‘All whores?'

‘That is rather blunt. None the less, as you say, Inspector. But White was quite singular.'

‘How so?'

‘She wanted nothing for herself. Rather, she impressed upon me her sole desire in life was to see her daughter “set right”. She told me at length how the girl was likely to follow the same wretched course as she herself had taken, and how terribly the thought afflicted her. In short, Inspector, she seemed a peculiarly selfless creature, for one of her kind, and quite conscious of her own wrongdoing without any hopes for herself. I was so affected that I wondered whether it was not right that I should do something for the daughter, at the very least.'

‘And so you . . . ?'

‘I sought her daughter out; she was in lodgings near the Strand and, I believe, already semi-criminal in her ways. I offered her a place at refuge and the prospect of emigration at the end of her time there.'

‘Emigration?'

‘It is the principal hope of salvation for most of the girls. But what do you think, Inspector? Clara refused. She said that she could not contemplate leaving her mother behind. What perfect symmetry, eh? The estranged but devoted daughter, and the selfless
mater
?'

‘If you say so, sir,' replies Webb, ‘though I find it a little too romantic for my taste. In short, you gave the daughter employment?'

‘Indeed I did, after she had benefitted from Miss Sparrow's training. I gave it much thought, but charity begins at home, does it not, Inspector? And I persuaded Miss Sparrow to take on the challenge of Clara's mother. Though I cannot help but wonder if that was a mistake.'

‘A mistake, sir?'

‘In truth, Inspector, Agnes White has been nothing but trouble to her keepers and, I suspect, a poor influence upon her daughter. But, come, surely none of this helps you with this awful railway business?'

Inspector Webb pauses and looks down at his shoes, a habit to which he is rather prone when contemplating a particular problem.

‘I wouldn't assume anything, sir. I never do.'

Sergeant Watkins sits at the kitchen table, a cup of tea beside him, and Clara White on a stool nearby. Alice attends to some business in the larder, though keeping herself within earshot of the policeman's conversation.

‘Now, Clara, is it?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Well, I'll wager you know our business. The poor girl that was strangled at Baker Street.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘And do you know who she was, and where she lived?'