Jenny.
‘Let her come too,’ I said. ‘She may notice something.’
So Biddle found himself carrying both the portmanteau and Jenny’s bundle downstairs. Lizzie followed him.
Both women declined to enter the murder room itself but we looked everywhere else. They assured me nothing appeared to be missing or to have been moved. The sad signs of an evening so dramatically interrupted were seen in the dining room, where the table was set for the meal never taken. The kitchen smelled of the roast pork congealing in its pan; but it had mysteriously disappeared from sight.
‘I put the joint in the meat safe in your larder, missus,’ announced Bessie to Mrs Jameson. ‘If you was to leave it here on the table overnight, rats would get it.’
‘If I might have the house key, ma’am,’ I asked. ‘So that we can secure the premises when we’ve finished. You shall have it back in the morning.’
‘Of course,’ she murmured.
When all four women had left the house, Biddle and I conducted a quick second search but turned up nothing helpful. In particular, we didn’t find the missing house key. It looked as if the killer had taken it. If so, it could only mean he intended to return. Why? Had he, too, been disturbed and had no time to search for something? Not the gold half-hunter. Although a prize, it would not be worth risking his neck to return for that alone. We couldn’t yet rule out a burglar – Harper’s use of the word ‘jemmy’ worried me – but I felt strongly that this was premeditated murder. We’d have to work hard to discover what motive lay behind it.
‘Right, Constable!’ I said to him. ‘What about that girl, Jenny? What did she have to say? Did you ask her if anyone at all called here during this past week? Any hawkers, peddlers, tradesmen or delivery boys? Beggars?’
‘The baker’s roundsman came yesterday,’ Biddle said, taking out his notebook and consulting it ostentatiously. ‘That’s his regular call, sir. The same man has been doing the round as long as Jenny’s worked here. That’s nearly two years, sir,’ added Biddle. ‘That’s how long Jenny has had a place here, I mean. She’s not London-born. She comes from Chatham where her pa and brothers work in the dockyard. But she’s got an auntie in service with a Quaker family in Clapham and that’s how she comes to be working for Mrs Jameson. Her auntie found her the place. She isn’t a Quaker herself, Jenny, but she likes working in a Quaker house because it’s a good recommendation if she wanted to seek another place later. No drinking nor gambling nor bad language and so on . . . and everything kept as clean as a new pin.’
I begged Biddle to cut short Jenny’s personal history and future prospects and get on with the events leading up to the fatal day. It came down to no one calling at the house except the bread roundsman at the kitchen door that day, and a pair of Quaker ladies who’d come to take tea with Mrs Jameson the previous afternoon. The milkman’s cart came down the street both days. Jenny had gone out with a jug to fetch milk from him. He did not come round to the back of the house. Mr Tapley had received no visitor that Jenny saw, but she agreed he might have let someone in himself and taken that person upstairs unbeknown either to her or her mistress. Had she ever suspected he’d done that? No, not that Jenny had ever discovered. But she didn’t think Mr Tapley was the sort of man with anything to act furtive about. He didn’t know anyone to come calling; that was her opinion. She had not seen him on the day of the murder. She supposed he’d gone to a coffee house in the morning as usual, because he’d left his rooms when she went up to make the bed and dust. Everything had looked normal.
‘Just his books everywhere,’ Jenny had said. ‘All them words, thousands of them. Wonderful, really.’
Biddle had been inclined to agree.
Jenny could read and write and had once looked into some of
‘Let her come too,’ I said. ‘She may notice something.’
So Biddle found himself carrying both the portmanteau and Jenny’s bundle downstairs. Lizzie followed him.
Both women declined to enter the murder room itself but we looked everywhere else. They assured me nothing appeared to be missing or to have been moved. The sad signs of an evening so dramatically interrupted were seen in the dining room, where the table was set for the meal never taken. The kitchen smelled of the roast pork congealing in its pan; but it had mysteriously disappeared from sight.
‘I put the joint in the meat safe in your larder, missus,’ announced Bessie to Mrs Jameson. ‘If you was to leave it here on the table overnight, rats would get it.’
‘If I might have the house key, ma’am,’ I asked. ‘So that we can secure the premises when we’ve finished. You shall have it back in the morning.’
‘Of course,’ she murmured.
When all four women had left the house, Biddle and I conducted a quick second search but turned up nothing helpful. In particular, we didn’t find the missing house key. It looked as if the killer had taken it. If so, it could only mean he intended to return. Why? Had he, too, been disturbed and had no time to search for something? Not the gold half-hunter. Although a prize, it would not be worth risking his neck to return for that alone. We couldn’t yet rule out a burglar – Harper’s use of the word ‘jemmy’ worried me – but I felt strongly that this was premeditated murder. We’d have to work hard to discover what motive lay behind it.
‘Right, Constable!’ I said to him. ‘What about that girl, Jenny? What did she have to say? Did you ask her if anyone at all called here during this past week? Any hawkers, peddlers, tradesmen or delivery boys? Beggars?’
‘The baker’s roundsman came yesterday,’ Biddle said, taking out his notebook and consulting it ostentatiously. ‘That’s his regular call, sir. The same man has been doing the round as long as Jenny’s worked here. That’s nearly two years, sir,’ added Biddle. ‘That’s how long Jenny has had a place here, I mean. She’s not London-born. She comes from Chatham where her pa and brothers work in the dockyard. But she’s got an auntie in service with a Quaker family in Clapham and that’s how she comes to be working for Mrs Jameson. Her auntie found her the place. She isn’t a Quaker herself, Jenny, but she likes working in a Quaker house because it’s a good recommendation if she wanted to seek another place later. No drinking nor gambling nor bad language and so on . . . and everything kept as clean as a new pin.’
I begged Biddle to cut short Jenny’s personal history and future prospects and get on with the events leading up to the fatal day. It came down to no one calling at the house except the bread roundsman at the kitchen door that day, and a pair of Quaker ladies who’d come to take tea with Mrs Jameson the previous afternoon. The milkman’s cart came down the street both days. Jenny had gone out with a jug to fetch milk from him. He did not come round to the back of the house. Mr Tapley had received no visitor that Jenny saw, but she agreed he might have let someone in himself and taken that person upstairs unbeknown either to her or her mistress. Had she ever suspected he’d done that? No, not that Jenny had ever discovered. But she didn’t think Mr Tapley was the sort of man with anything to act furtive about. He didn’t know anyone to come calling; that was her opinion. She had not seen him on the day of the murder. She supposed he’d gone to a coffee house in the morning as usual, because he’d left his rooms when she went up to make the bed and dust. Everything had looked normal.
‘Just his books everywhere,’ Jenny had said. ‘All them words, thousands of them. Wonderful, really.’
Biddle had been inclined to agree.
Jenny could read and write and had once looked into some of
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