The Welfare of the Dead (35 page)

‘Why, of course. Will Lucy eat her food now, do you think? Oh, Woodrow is home – did you see him? He said he was going up.'

‘I did,' replies Annabel, sitting down opposite her cousin, leaning towards her. ‘Cousin, I . . .'

‘What, my dear? Why, you look so pale all of a sudden!'

‘Forgive me, there is no pleasant way to put this – Melissa, I am not sure that I can stay here any longer. I do not feel I am, well, quite safe.'

‘Not safe? Oh, Annabel, first Jervis, now you too!' exclaims Mrs. Woodrow. ‘This morning was too awful, I know, but, really, it is done with now. And where would you go?'

‘It is not a question of what happened this morning,' says Annabel, shaking her head. ‘Not entirely.'

‘Whatever do you mean, dear?'

‘Your husband . . . well, just now, I am sorry, Melissa, but I am afraid he nearly struck me.'

‘Woodrow? Surely not.'

‘He was punishing Lucy for not eating her food,' replies Annabel, rushing through her words. ‘He would not listen to me and he began whipping her with his belt. Cousin, she was in a terrible state, and I stepped between them and—'

‘Oh, Annabel, my dear child,' says Melissa Woodrow, with a slight hint of condescension in her voice, ‘I know you have a good heart, my dear, but you should not interfere. I mean to say, I don't know the Boston way of doing such things, but Woodrow must discipline Lucinda at times – why, it is his duty, more than anything. You know he has a temper. He cannot help that. And he did not actually strike you, I take it?'

‘No. But it is not just that – I was talking to Lucy and, well, she did not come right out and say it, but I am sure she saw them fighting.'

‘Who?'

‘Her father and the . . . and Brown. But she is too scared to say anything. She said she lied to the police.'

‘Fighting? Annabel, whatever are you implying? Besides, I was with Lucinda all morning; I am sure I would know if she was lying. I am her mother.'

‘And I must show you this,' continues Annabel, reaching down and picking up her book, her movements as hurried and anxious as her speech. She flicks through the pages until she finds the paper ticket of admission to the Holborn Casino. Mrs. Woodrow takes the ticket from her and looks at it with some perplexity.

‘I found it,' continues Annabel, ‘in the study on Saturday. I did not know if I should say anything, but now I feel I must.'

‘Annabel, I'm sorry. Are you claiming this item belongs to Jasper?'

‘Melissa, I found it, I swear. He must have dropped it there. Don't you see? He was there that night. When that poor girl was killed.'

‘You do not mean to suggest that he had anything to do with it?'

Annabel looks down at the rug, not meeting her cousin's stare. ‘I do not know.'

‘I know you have an active imagination, my dear, but this is too much. Do I understand you right? You think Jasper is somehow involved with . . . well, what happened at the Casino and this wretch in the canal?'

‘I think he knows something about it, at least. Otherwise, why did the same man follow us on Regent Street?'

‘My dear, we have discussed this already. It is just an awful coincidence. Or he took some peculiar liking to you. You must learn to curb your fancies.'

Annabel shakes her head. ‘Melissa, I am sorry to say
such a thing, really, but I am just not sure it is safe for me to stay here.'

‘My dear, you forget yourself. The man you are talking about is my husband. I dare say I know him a little better than you. You must give up this nonsense – if I did not know better, I would say this whole sorry affair has disturbed your mind.'

Annabel looks away. ‘I must tell the police, what Lucy said.'

‘You are being ridiculous, my dear. Let me go and fetch Woodrow, and we can discuss it. I am sure he can bring you to your senses.'

‘No,' says Annabel emphatically. ‘I am sorry, cousin. I think it best if I go and find a hotel. What is the big one called, on the main road, by the station? You said it was very respectable?'

‘Yes, yes, the Midland Grand,' replies Mrs. Woodrow. ‘It is – but at least stay here tonight. Good Lord, your Mama said you were headstrong, but I would never have believed this of you, Annabel. You are over-excited; a moment's sober reflection and you will see this is simply nonsensical. You cannot imagine Jasper would harm you in any way?'

‘I hope not,' she replies.

‘Where has this come from? I cannot believe it,' continues Mrs. Woodrow, her features now betraying an increasing annoyance, ‘after all we have done to make you welcome.'

‘I'm sorry, Melissa. I'd better go and pack my things.'

Mrs. Woodrow, for the first time, looks harshly at her young cousin.

‘Yes,' she says with a sigh, ‘I rather think you better. Things are difficult enough. Perhaps when you have calmed down, you will realise you are being quite unreasonable. I'd best tell Woodrow myself – whatever will he think?'

‘I think he will be happy to be rid of me.'

A short time later, a cab is directed to the front door of Duncan Terrace, where Annabel Krout stands waiting with her belongings. Her cousin stands beside her, ensuring the cab-man has proper instructions for the loading of each item of luggage, but there are few words exchanged between Mrs. Woodrow and her American guest. At last, when everything is stowed inside, with half a dozen items upon the rack on the roof, Annabel Krout gets in, and the vehicle rattles off towards Pentonville.

As it turns on to the City Road, a solitary man makes a note of the cab's number in his pocket-book, and signals to another cab, parked near by, which immediately follows Miss Krout's carriage.

Inspector Hanson, meanwhile, returns his pocketbook to his jacket, and looks back along Duncan Terrace.

Mrs. Woodrow returns to the morning-room where her husband stands warming his hands before the fire.

‘Is she gone then?' he asks.

‘Yes.'

‘Well, I'm sorry for it, Melissa, but really, a man can only put up with so much in his own home, eh? If that's a sample of the average Yankee female, well, thank heavens for the English variety.'

‘Woodrow, please.'

‘I hope you do not think I ought to have asked her to stay? The girl's practically determined to give me in charge; and what's all this nonsense about Lucinda?'

Mrs. Woodrow shakes her head.

‘I need a stiff brandy,' says Woodrow.

Mrs. Woodrow nods as her husband leaves the room. She lifts up her hand, and opens the piece of crumpled paper in her palm. Again, she reads the decorous language of the Holborn Casino's injunctions to its customers; then she squeezes it into a ball for a second time, and throws it into the fire.

 

M
R
. B
ROWN
? Y
ES
, I saw him lurking in the road, outside the house. It was rather comical, a large man like that skulking about behind the shrubbery. It is a miracle the whole street did not remark on it. Well, you saw the fellow yourself – it would take more than a couple of twigs to conceal a man of his size, eh? He recognised me too, of course – he was not the sort to forget a face, I should think – but I do not think he knew what to make of it.

Did I intend to kill him?

I should hope so, Miss Krout. One would not want to leave such things to chance.

It was not so difficult as all that. I could see what had happened. It was Brown who had been through the rooms at the hotel and hid the evidence; though I suppose I was a little naïve to imagine that a procurer should behave with integrity under such circumstances. I should count myself lucky he did not dispose of the girls entirely; I would have had to begin from scratch.

I am sorry, Miss Krout. You ask these questions, after all. If you do not wish to—

No? Very well. I could see what he was about. It was simply a matter of money. In any case, I made the appropriate noises; said that I might act as agent for a
certain party, and so on. I said I was going home along the canal, that we might talk along the way. He was a little shy, but I expect he was curious to know more, to see where I lived, if nothing else. Doubtless he set me down as one of his future marks; the man was nothing if not a thorough rogue. We went down the path together, and then I stepped to one side and pretended to see something in the water. He was not so strong as you might expect. Besides, my limited experience in these matters suggests that surprise more than compensates for muscle. And he did not think that I was dangerous, I am sure of that. He certainly did not expect me to dash his brains against the wall. Indeed, I recall, he did look rather surprised. But, then, I suppose anyone would.

Remorse? I do not think so. The fellow was a parasite; a leech. What else do you call a man who makes his living in such a manner, off the backs of profligates? And then to add blackmail to his crimes! God's judgment awaits all the whoremongers and adulterers, Miss Krout, you may mark my words. It is a terrible thing to defile the marriage bed, you see?

Of course. Again, forgive me. I did not mean to sermonise; it is too late for all that. Yes, I made quite sure that he was dead, then toppled him into the water; I intended to hide him, at least until I might make my escape. I had an idea that he might sink, but he was too full of wind for that. And I was foolish to go along the canal, of course; I might have been seen by the lock-keeper. I ought to have gone directly back to the road.

In any case, it did not matter. It served my purpose well enough.

H
AVING FINISHED HER
breakfast, Annabel Krout wanders through her new suite at the Midland Grand Hotel. It consists of two substantial rooms, bedroom and sitting-room, upon the second floor of the great building. Both are lavishly decorated, walls panelled with perfect oak wainscoting, and each possessing a fire-place with a surround of blue-green marble supporting the mantel. A great gilt mirror hangs above the hearth, confidently reflecting the entire room back at the occupant. Above the carved, floreted wood of the wainscot is a stencilled wall-paper of spectacular colour, coruscating patterns of flowers in deepest red and green, the like of which Annabel has never quite seen before. And yet, once alone in the sitting-room, Annabel pays little attention to her surroundings; certainly there is no outward impression that they gladden her in the least. Rather, she merely stands, staring out of the room's tall windows, looking over the smoky rooftops of Bloomsbury, at the spires of distant metropolitan churches that penetrate the haze, then she lowers her gaze to watch the parade of morning traffic on the Euston Road below.