"Mina, while I am out is there anything you would like me to pick up at the grocery store?" George asked, putting the breakfast dishes into the sink.
"Not especially. I was thinking I might go into town this afternoon."
"I cannot fault you, it is too fine a day to be spent inside. If there is nothing else, I'll be off."
"Oh! If you would, might you pick out a book for me at the bookstore?"
"Anything in particular?"
"Just choose what you think best."
"Will that be all?" he asked, clapping his Salvation Army cap over his black hair.
"Yes, thank you."
"I shouldn't be out too long. Good day." he said, stepping out into the cool midmorning air. I took to the sink, scrubbing the dishes as best I could with untrained hands. Keeping busy by any means was all I could do to pass the time before I could reasonably leave. Every inch of my body felt as though it were near bursting with an internal light as I bustled about, collecting those things I needed. I covered my shoulders with my shawl, hooked my umbrella over my arm and opened the door, the dewy chill told me of a late night rain bringing with it fairer weather. Oh, I mustn't forget! I strode to the bookshelf and extracted a small, folded piece of paper from within a thin novel and placed it carefully in my bag nestled beside the letter from Roger. I glanced at the clock - not yet 10:30, still too early, but then, I could not bear to be cooped up a moment longer - fixing my hat I stepped forth from the home into the bright sunlight.
I strolled down Montague feigning passing interest in the items displayed in the shop windows. I was strongly weighing the merits of a visit to the grocery in order that I might discomfit Russell (a cruel way of passing the time, I was aware - but almost irresistibly tempting in both its comedic appeal and flattery) when I saw that familiar profile lounging in a chair at a cafe table across the street, lazily nursing a cup of what I guessed to be coffee, half eaten pastry on a plate before him.
"You are a cool one, given the circumstances." I remarked, seating myself beside him.
"Should I be hiding in shadows and peeking around corners?"
"You wrote you obtained the item?"
"I did," he said, producing the small compact from his pocket. "You were very specific, the telegram must have cost you a fortune."
"Then it is a good thing I am blessed with such a fortune. Unlike some Lords who cannot be bothered to give more than a few lines."
"They were more than what was required for the task."
"If the task were to only inform me you were still alive then I suppose they were sufficient. It was only by sheer luck I was even able to contact you before you left Bletchley."
"Wasted trip that was." he grumbled. "Great expense to find nothing."
"I question whether it was wasted. What made you think she was there, anyhow?"
"I spoke to a number of Miss Chapman's associates, though she renamed herself Miss Grayson, most had not seen nor heard from her for over a week - it was her maid who informed me she had gone to Bletchley suddenly."
"I wonder how you acquired that bit of information." I raised my eyebrow as I spoke.
"I do not see where that is relevant to the facts." he answered in a manner such as to in no way obviate his probable guilt.
"Did she tell the maid of this trip in person?"
"No, she left a letter - but the maid swore it was in her handwriting."
"And there was no evidence she had ever gone to Bletchley?"
"No, so either the letter was a feint to disguise her true travel location, or she never made it there."
"I believe there is a third option."
"And that is?" he furthered, leaning forward.
"The compact if you would?" I held out my hand into which he deposited the jewel encrusted item. It was not especially valuable but the top featured a rather pleasing painting in miniature of a young boy pushing a girl on a swing on a down overlooking a vast field.
"I cannot see why you would want such a thing."
"I am more curious as to how you were able to get it from her personal vanity. Did you sneak in through the window or did you use the kitchen door?"
"I always find the door to make for far easier passage."
"I assume it was your maid friend that facilitated?"
"While the cat is away..." he grinned. Horrible man to be so shameless!
"So what is it you hope to find?"
"Well, I would not expect a man to think twice on it, but as a woman," I pulled my gloves tight and slowly opened pried the two circular pieces apart, "I have never known a person to open a compact mirror... without getting their prints on it." I displayed for him the shining reflective surface, the edges of which were swirled with three sets of delicate lines and whorls. I placed it on the table, now digging in my bag I procured the paper,
"When you told me you were unable to locate Miss Chapman in Bletchley I had my suspicions..." I spoke, examining the paper against the compact, "and there we are, Mr. Bond!" I lay down the two items before Roger, triumphantly.
"She never left Wembley." he whispered, comparing for himself the two sets of prints.
"Not alive anyhow. I suspect it was Chapman, himself, who forced her to write the letter before he killed her."
"That would explain why he destroyed her face - to prevent her from being recognized."
"It would not have taken long to discover her true identity, even with the false name."
"I would assume the Salvation Army uniform was also part of his ruse."
"Without question. I believe-"
"That Chapman is posing as a member of the Salvation Army." Roger interrupted, I nodded. "But why?"
"I have reason to believe Penelope Carville is residing in Worthing."
"Penny Carville! Have you found her?" he asked.
"No. But then, as far as I am aware neither has he. I believe, with this final piece of information, I now know his entire plot."
"I believe I have an inkling as well, but tell me what you have uncovered."
"You were correct, he wants us to know he is back in England."
"But to what end? He must know we will seek him out once we know he has returned."
"I would imagine he is counting on it. You recall there were only two people in all of England who could positively identify Mr. Chapman?" Roger nodded. "And now one of them is dead and the other is believed to be in Worthing, where a number of slayings near identical to the Blackpool murders have occurred in the past month. But so far, none among them has been identified as Miss Carville, even were she to have changed her name, I would imagine she still bore a number of scars from her time in captivity which would lead her to be readily identified."
"Yes, she was rather bad off when Father discovered her. The physician was certain she would die from her wounds, but she pulled through by some miracle. Father promised her he'd find Chapman."
"And it is your belief that your father did find him in Australia?"
"Yes."
"And you also assert you found his hide out, but he had escaped on the heels of your arrival."
"Last year - there could be no doubt he had been there."
"But was it your arrival which prompted him to leave?"
"I would imagine so."
"I don't believe so. In fact, I am quite certain he had no knowledge of your visit whatsoever."
"How do you mean?" his tone was almost accusatory, I guessed he took a certain pride in having frightened his father's killer away.
"Consider this, even if he had gleaned some knowledge of all those who had put into port you still traveled under the name of Bond, am I correct?"
"Of course." his eyes widened with the dawning realization. "Of course! How could I have missed it! He would not know the name James Bond from Adam!"
"Had you been Lord Roger Norbert, perhaps he might have known you and fled. But the Outback is largely open plain-"
"Without knowing of my arrival the only way he could have escaped would have been to see me approaching his shack, and had he fled then I should have seen him. Blast! How did I miss it?" Pride, I mentally answered for him. "Which would mean he returned to England for a specific reason."
"Which I would guess to be the discovery of his sister's identity - likely he uncovered it following the death of his mother. I would imagine he obtained a copy of the will which would have allowed him to know the identity of her sole heir. You stated Mrs. Chapman was the unpleasant, grasping type - of the sort unlikely to leave money or property to any but family."
"And she had no other family aside from her two children."
"Correct. And Charles could reasonably assume the will would fail to mention him, therefore, it could be assumed that the only name on the will would be that of his sister - thus revealing her identity. And with that information it would be an easy matter to locate her."
"So why did he strive to gain our attention?"
"So that we might kill him."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well not him specifically."
"I'm not sure I gather your meaning."
"You recall I am residing with a Mr. Smith, correct?"
"Yes, doesn't he hold some rank with the Salvation Army?"
"As does his daughter."
"How have you and she gotten on?" Roger inquired, taking a sip of his coffee,
"Hard to say, exactly, as she has spent the entire duration in London." Roger sputtered,
"You mean to say you have been alone with an unmarried man this entire time?" I handed him a napkin,
"Now really, you must be mindful of your manners - no sense drawing unwanted attention. There's been nothing untoward about it, and it was not the entire time - Quentin stayed with us a few days."
"Forgive me if that does little to settle my mind."
"You really are one to talk."
"Still, you should have told me."
"And how, praytell, was I to do that?" He attempted reply but found his argument empty, "Exactly."
"You could have gotten a room at an Inn."
"With four thousand ruffians having descended on the town like a plague of locusts? And how was your room?"
"I'd rather not discuss it."
"I should say I was safer with one preacher than at any inn."
"You never can tell with the religious type."
"I can handle myself. Besides, the point is moot, I have already stayed there these past two weeks with no incident regarding him."
"Which is to say there has been at least one incident."
"We are getting ahead of ourselves, Mr. Bond." I helped myself to a bite of his pastry.
"Obstinate tart." he grumbled. I grinned defiantly in reply.
"Anyhow, you recall Miss Chapman was dressed in a Salvation Army uniform."
"Yes, we were rather at a crossroads about that, but I believe we suspected it as another possible measure to throw off her identity."
"And to bring our attention to the case, as you recall it was only the fear that her death would spark an all out war between the Skeleton Army and the Salvation Army that began this investigation."
"It was a clever ploy."
"More clever than even that, I'm afraid. If the woman was not a member of the Salvation Army (as would have eventually been discovered) whomever murdered the woman would have had to have access to a woman's Salvation Army uniform - a fact which left precious few suspects."
"So theoretically, the murderer would have to be a member of the Salvation Army in order to have access to such a uniform."
"Or be related to a female member. At least, that would be the obvious assumption. Further, the uniform in question was that of a Captain - a fact I only recognized after having seen Ada Smith."
"That leaves a very small pool of suspects, indeed."
"Enough for the police to easily reason out possible killers to investigate. Of whom one would shine well above the rest: Lt. Smith's daughter holds the rank of Captain, he relocated to Worthing from the western coast nineteen years ago, his late wife bore some resemblance to the victims, he has been alone in the house almost since the murders began, and, most damning - I found the bindings used in the murders in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. Five Catholic-style rosaries made from knotted cord with blood on them." Urgently, he covered his lips with an upstanding finger,
"We never revealed the knotted cords were rosaries." he whispered.
"I'll admit it would have been a nice piece of information to know."
"Yes, but you know how deep anti-papist sentiment runs - if it had gotten out there would have been killings in the street." he scanned his surroundings to make sure no one had overheard. "There still might be if we are not careful. You're certain Smith is not Chapman?"
"As sure as you are that the shack in the Outback of Australia belonged to him. He could not live in both Australia and Worthing."
"And you are certain he could not have come by the knowledge of the crimes in another way, you said he lived on the western coast - do you know where?"
"I haven't asked."
"That seems like precisely the question one would ask."
"It would have been impropitious. In doing so I would have revealed I had spoken about him without his knowledge."
"I would think a man would assume such a thing - are not all you women prone to gossip?"
"And had he been the murderer I would have tipped him off to my suspicions, and there is no guarantee he would have told the truth - who is there to contradict it? That is beside the point, I am certain he is neither Chapman nor the murderer."
"What makes you so sure?"
"The fingerprints. We now know the woman murdered was Chapman's sister. If Smith were not Chapman there would have been no reason to murder her - in fact it would have been better that she, as the only known person who could identify Chapman, be left alive to exonerate him for only she could say with certainty who he wasn't. And he cannot be Chapman, Miss Chapman was blonde, almost to the point of being ginger haired, I would imagine his mother was the same, and, I would guess, his father as well." Roger nodded.
"George's daughter has dark hair, almost as dark as his, his wife is blonde: it's a simple matter of inheritance. Even if he were to somehow turn out as dark as he is, with blonde parents a blonde sister, and a blonde wife, it is terribly unlikely he would produce a dark haired daughter."
"I see your point."
"I believe Chapman intends to frame George for his crimes. With no witnesses to testify to the contrary and so much evidence against him there could be no doubt of a conviction."
"And then this... George would be hung, leaving Chapman free to live life in England as he pleases." I suddenly became quite conscious that I had been using Lt. Smith's name quite familiarly, still I was eager to confirm Roger's hypothesis,
"Precisely!"
"But do you have any clues as to Chapman's whereabouts?"
"From what I have gathered, he has joined with the Salvation Army. I have my suspicions as to who, but I am not certain."
"I take it more than one man fits the bill then?"
"Two are the most likely candidates. Both are Cadets, joined up in the last year, and both have had access to the home of Lt. Smith. But, unfortunately, so has everyone else in town, for he has never cultivated the habit of locking his doors." Roger's face fell into his palm - he sighed deeply,
"So it literally could be anyone." I nodded gravely. "So what leads you to suspect these two over the how many thousand other men currently occupying Worthing?"
"Mr. William Kitt has the most complete access to Lt. Smith's house as he seems to function as Smith's personal assistant. Physically, he could easily overpower a woman and carry her body to wherever he intended to dump it. During the time period when Miss Hayword was strung up he was not accounted for."
"I take it Miss Hayword was the fifth victim?" I colored, having forgotten his absence.
Yes."
"What do you mean, strung up?"
"Just as it sounds, the murderer lashed her between a rain barrel and the second story landing of a fire escape so she hung, suspended, in midair." Roger raised his brows in surprise,
"He's never done that before."
"The entire thing was strange. Normally, he hides the corpse waiting for it to be found, but in this instance I believe he orchestrated the find."
"Howso?"
"He waited for the barmaid next door to go out the back door and then locked her out knowing she would most likely take the alley to the front."
"And that is where she discovered the body, am I to take it?"
"Yes, it was her screams which alerted us to its presence."
"So he wanted it found at a particular time."
"Yes, it was right after we had served the poor for the evening."
"Were you in the habit of attending these events?"
"No. George was discouraged after the Magistrates hearing so I volunteered."
"Because you pitied him." I nodded. "You realize you suspected him of murdering four women at the time?"
"Yes." I answered, lowering my eyes in shame.
"You're twenty two years old and yet you still have no sense in your head!" he cried out in exasperation.
"Well, it was a good thing I was all sensibility then, for had I not gone I would not have witnessed the scene firsthand."
"So it was you who answered the cries of the barmaid?"
"Lt. Smith and I, yes."
"Was there anything else unusual about the victim?"
"She was not killed in the same manner as the other women. It appeared she had been incised before her death, and those incisions were more irregular and cut more deeply into the flesh. She also had bruises around her neck as though she had been manually strangled."
"But she still bore the marks of the bindings?"
"Yes."
"Tell me about Miss Hayword?"
"She was well known to Lt. Smith, mid twenties-"
"So a good deal younger than the other victims." I nodded, continuing,
"She was French in feature, Lt. Smith claimed she had been ruined in her youth and had since adopted a disgraceful lifestyle, but that she had been frequently attending Salvation Army events- What are you thinking?" Roger had raised a hand to his temple as though in deep contemplation.
"Miss Hayword knew Miss Carville." My jaw dropped, "Oh come now, close your mouth, you look like a codfish. Chapman must have overheard her speaking about Penny and tortured her in an attempt to gain information as to her whereabouts. She must have been a very good friend to Miss Carville."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he strangled her in a rage, my guess is she refused to surrender her friend to his tender mercies and so he lost his temper and choked her to death. He probably strung her up in hopes of causing Miss Carville to panic and thus accidentally reveal herself. If Miss Hayword had told the location of Miss Carville I am certain we should have found her body by now. Thus she must have been a very good friend indeed." I was astounded. How had I missed something so obvious? "Anyhow, I believe we were discussing Mr. Kitt, you said he was not accounted for at the time the body was hung?"
"No."
"Could anyone else have possibly slipped away from the group, unnoticed, and strung her up? I imagine, it could not have took long to do if he had already hidden the body nearby." I nodded,
"I did not notice anyone slip off, but then, I was distracted by my work."
"Is there anything else that might indict Mr. Kitt?"
"There was something, the other night he was quite keen to warn me about Lt. Smith."
"Warn you in what way?"
"Something about Smith favoring blondes, it was all very strange. Then he went off on a diatribe about his mother."
"He would hardly be the first man who did not care for his mother."
"No... it was more than that... there was something sinister about it. It felt as though he wished to poison her with the venom of words."
"Is this Mr. Kitt a clever fellow?"
"No, he strikes me a rather stupid, brute of a man."
"So he is either precisely what he appears, or one of the finest actors of our age. Who is the other man?"
"A Kenneth Hartnett. Recently returned from Africa, at least that is his claim."
"What is his relation to Smith?"
"The pair seem to share a certain antipathy, though why I could not say."
"And what sort of man is he?"
"He has the manners of a gentleman and is quite charming. He is rather a handsome fellow, I doubt he would need to use force in order to capture a woman, but equally, I have no doubt he could if he wished to."
"Is he intelligent?"
"He is very clever, I would wager he is moreso that than intelligent."
"What has caused you to suspect him?"
"He was very interested in getting information regarding the discovery of Miss Hayword." I preferred to omit the detail where he had gotten me so inebriated I willingly volunteered the information.
"What else?" Roger pressed.
"We found him in the house yesterday evening after we had been away for the day."
"Was he rummaging about?"
"No, he appeared to be... waiting for us. And then there was this..." I threw the torn envelope on the table so Roger could see the seal. He picked it up, turning it over curiously,
"It's the letter I sent you last night."
"He gave it to me. Take a look at the seal." Roger held the seal close to his eyes,
"Someone's tampered with it!" he exclaimed.
"Which is precisely why I hoped to find you early."
"You think he may try to follow you?"
"I have no doubt of it. But he should not be on the prowl until after lunch."
"Lord Norbert?" a familiar voice exhaled. Roger and I both started, I felt my blood run cold with dread.
"I beg your pardon?" Roger answered the very pale Lt. Smith.
"I'm sorry, for a moment it was like I had seen a ghost, you just looked so like a man I once knew: a Lord Francis Norbert."
"Yes, he was my father." Roger still appeared aloof,
"You must be Roger then! I haven't seen you since you were just a lad."
"Then you have the advantage for I cannot recall having seen you before at all." Roger shot back, coolly. I shut my eyes, this was not going well.
"Your father attended my ordination in Whitehaven. It was an honor to have one of the great Lords of Cumberland present."
"Ah yes, Whitehaven. Father did always try to attend the local ordinations, he always felt it was best to be in the good graces of a Vicar before he became a Bishop. And you are...?"
"Lt. George Smith of the Salvation Army. Pleasure to make you acquaintance." he said, extending a hand. Roger shot me an icy glare before assuming a cheery smile,
"The pleasure is all mine Lt. Smith."
"I see you are familiar with Miss Moore." George observed.
"Yes, we are acquainted through our mutual friends, the Underhills of Sutton At Hone. I believe she said you were familiar with them?" I sunk my face into my hands, I could kill him.
"Yes! Rev. Underhill and I served together!"
"Well, it is grand to meet you, I'm glad to hear you are taking such good care of Miss Moore."
"Are you in town long?"
"Only a few days, I believe, but we shall see."
"Have you found an inn yet?"
"Yes, but the less said about it the better, I'm afraid. There seems to be an unusual amount of riff raff about - at least I take it to be unusual, given Worthing's reputation."
"Hopefully they won't be around for much longer. But in the meantime you may stay at my house if you like, it's nothing fancy, but we do have an empty guest room and it is quiet." I shook my head trying to gain Lt. Smith's attention, but he was too far gone.
"Why that sounds delightful!" Oh how I despised this side of Roger. "I would be honored to stay with you - that is, if Miss Moore doesn't object."
"No, not in the least!" I answered enthusiastically with a fake smile plastered on my face - I hated him so very much.
"Good, then it is settled. If you would prefer I can take you there now."
"Yes, that would be quite acceptable. Miss Moore, are you ready?" Roger said, extending a hand to help me up. I glanced up - how did he manage to look so infuriatingly gallant in these moments? I nodded, clasping his hand in my own - if I was to be bound for hell it was certain I would take him with me. We followed a short distance behind Lt. Smith,
"You honestly could not ask where he was from? Whitehaven!"
"Shut your gob." I shot back.