The Hyde Park Headsman Read online

  “Were you anywhere near the bandstand?” Pitt asked, looking at them one at a time.

  They all shook their heads. Again there was no way of telling whether they were speaking the truth, but he thought they probably were. If anyone had seen the corpse there would have been screams, a commotion. Word would have spread.

  “I see.”

  He thanked them and left, walking out past a sour and uncharacteristically curious Bert. He was afraid for business, the only sensitive area in his soul. Pitt ignored him and went out into the street. He did not dislike the women. He knew too many of their stories, and even the knowledge of drink and disease, vulgarity, manipulation and greed did not alter the fact that for almost all of them, there was little other chance of survival in London. They were unemployable as domestic servants, although that was how many of them had begun. One had to have references. A charge of immorality, true or not, an accusation of thieving, even if the mistress had merely mislaid an ornament or a pin, a comb, an earring—any of a dozen tiny items, it made no difference; a girl without a character reference would get no other post. There was no redress, and seldom a second chance. More than one handsome parlormaid had found herself on the streets because the master would not keep his hands off her.

  Others found the sweatshops, match factories or markets too hard, far too little reward. The risk of disease on the streets was high, but then it was high anyway. At least they were less likely to starve to death.

  Men like Bert, or the other pimp, Fat George, he regarded in a totally different light. And the sadistic and perverted Wee Georgie he would have seen dead with pleasure.

  But what the women said made sense. He thought about it as he went back down the Edgware Road, passing peddlers and costermongers and a woman selling peppermint drink. He stopped and bought a sandwich from a stall, and a mug of tea. He walked on slowly, listening to the chatter, gossip, haggling and abuse that ebbed and flowed around him. Occasionally he was greeted by name, and he replied briefly.

  Twice he heard someone say “The Headsman,” and knew whom they meant. Already the horror was there, the sudden silence and the chill, even in the sun and the bustle of the streets. There was fear—cold, gray fear—underneath the banter and the attempts to make a joke of it.

  Was there a madman loose? Or was there some connection between Captain the Honorable Oakley Winthrop, R.N., and the conductor Aidan Arledge, something personal and so dreadful it had brought them both to their deaths?

  He increased his pace till he was striding along the footpath so swiftly people scattered in front of him, grumbling about his manners.

  “Hey?” one man yelled indignantly. “They put out the fire in 1660! Yer too late!”

  “It was 1666!” Pitt yelled back at him, correcting his history with satisfaction.

  Back in the office in Bow Street, le Grange was waiting for him. As soon as he saw Pitt’s attire his ingenuous face filled with surprise and incomprehension.

  “Are you all right, sir? You look—well …”

  “Yes I am quite all right, thank you,” Pitt answered, going around him and sitting down at the desk. “Have you something to report?”

  “Yes sir. At least, Mr. Tellman said as I should come and say as there isn’t really anything new … sir.”

  “Did he?” Pitt was irritated. That was one slip of protocol he had never indulged in, sending a sergeant to Micah Drummond to report progress. Either he had ignored him completely or he had come himself. “So Mr. Tellman has achieved nothing at all?”

  “Oh no, sir.” Le Grange looked upset. “That ain’t what I mean, sir, not at all. ’E’s been very busy. Never stopped, in fact. ’E’s seen the bandsman what found Arledge, but ’e don’t know nothing. Just unfortunate, you might say. And o’ course ’e did question the park keeper, same as before, but ’e don’t know nothing either. Thoroughly scared he were.”

  “Of Tellman or the lunatic?” Pitt asked with only a thread of sarcasm.

  Le Grange weighed his answer for several moments. “Of Mr. Tellman, I think, sir,” he said at last. “Mr. Tellman being there, like, and the lunatic not.”

  “Very pragmatic,” Pitt remarked.

  “What, sir?”

  “A good choice. What else?”

  Le Grange looked at Pitt carefully. He took a deep breath.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you shouldn’t ’a gone questioning the criminal element yerself. There ain’t no need. And Mr. Tellman’s got a real skill at it. ’E don’t waste no time bein’ nice, and nobody tells ’im lies. ’E won’t stand fer it. There are ways, sir, and it ain’t what a senior officer like yourself needs to be doing.”

  “Indeed?” Pitt felt both insulted and excluded. Le Grange was telling him plainly as he dared that Tellman was better at the job.

  “Well sir.” Le Grange was insensitive to danger. “It’s beneath you now, sir, isn’t it?”

  “No it’s not. I learned some very useful things from some of the prostitutes. They don’t think it’s a lunatic at all.”

  “No sir?” le Grange said politely, disbelief all through his bland face. “Well I wouldn’t take much notice o’ what them sorts o’ people says. They ain’t exactly noted for their truthfulness, are they? Mr. Tellman says as they’d sell their mothers fer a flatch I mean an ’a’penny to you, sir. And beggin’ your pardon again, sir, but you’re too much the gentleman with ’em. They’ll run rings ’round you.”

  “Is that what Mr. Tellman says?” Pitt said quickly.

  Le Grange blanched. “Well—yes sir—in a manner o’ speaking. This is a real bad case, sir. We got no time to pussy around wi’ people, especially that sort.”

  “And do you think they know who killed those men, le Grange?”

  “Well …”

  “Don’t you think they’d be willing enough to help us if they could?”

  Le Grange’s face softened with amusement. “Oh no, sir. That’s where you got them wrong. They ’ate us. They’d not give us the time of day, willing like.”

  “No, le Grange,” Pitt corrected. “That’s where you are wrong, and Tellman, if he agrees with you. They don’t give a toss about us one way or the other. What they do care about is business. And believe me, the Hyde Park Headsman is bad for business—very bad.”

  Le Grange sucked in his breath sharply as realization dawned on him. Gradually the full understanding came to him of just what Pitt meant, and with it the dawning of respect.

  “Oh—well. Yes, I see. I suppose so.”

  “indisputably so,” Pitt agreed. “And you may report that back to Mr. Tellman when you see him. Find any witnesses yet?”

  “Nothing very good.” Le Grange’s face was pink and he moved from one foot to the other. “Arledge definitely weren’t there at ten o’clock. We got a judy what took a customer there after then, and she swears there weren’t no one anywhere near, or she’d not ’ave—well …” He stopped, not sure what words to use.

  “Quite. Is that all?”

  “No sir. Mr. Tellman went to see the widow, poor soul.”

  “And?” Pitt demanded.

  “Well sir, ’e says she’s a very decent sort of lady—”

  “For Heaven’s sake, le Grange!” Pitt exploded. “What did you expect? That she’d come to the door in scarlet pantaloons and a feather in her hair?”

  Le Grange stared at him in total consternation.

  “Of course she’s a decent woman,” Pitt said in exasperation. “What did he learn? What time did Arledge go out? Did he go alone? Where did he say he was going, and what for? A walk, to meet someone, to visit someone?”

  Le Grange looked aggrieved.

  “She said ’e went out about a quarter past ten, sir, just for a breath of air. ’E did that sometimes. She weren’t worried because it’s the sort o’ thing gentlemen do on a spring evening, especially if they live near the park.”

  “Where do they live? You didn’t say.”

  “Mount Street.”


  “I see. What else did Mrs. Arledge say?”

  “She weren’t anxious when she didn’t ’ear ’im come ’ome, because she were very tired that night, and she just went ter bed and fell asleep straight orf. It was only in the morning when ’e didn’t come down for breakfast that she got worried.”

  “And did she know Captain Winthrop?”

  Le Grange’s face fell.

  “Mr. Tellman didn’t ask?” Pitt opened his eyes very wide. “No sir, I don’t recall as ’e said. But if it were a lunatic, sir, what difference would that make?”

  “None at all. But if it wasn’t, then it might make all the difference in the world.”

  “Must be, sir. Mightn’t ’a bin, just the one. But two, that’s the work of a madman, sir.” Le Grange’s smooth face shone with conviction.

  “That’s Tellman’s opinion?”

  “Yes sir.” Le Grange was aware of Pitt’s irritation, and for the first time it discomforted him. “Maybe Wee Georgie’s gone too far at last,” he suggested. “ ’E’s a proper nasty little creature. Mr. Tellman’s always said that one day ’e’d swing.”

  “I hope so,” Pitt said with feeling. “But not for beheading Captain Winthrop. Wait till we got a prostitute with a shiv in the back.”

  “Fat George could ’ave done it. ’E’s as strong as an ox.”

  “He’s probably as heavy as one, but why would he behead two perfectly ordinary gentlemen walking through the park?”

  “Maybe they weren’t ordinary?” le Grange offered. “Mr. Tellman says as some o’ these fancy gents ’as very funny tastes. ’E knew o’ one what liked ’is women ter—”

  “And did they murder him?” Pitt interrupted.

  “Well—no—they just charged ’im double.”

  “Precisely. Murder is bad for business, le Grange, and whatever else Fat George is, he’s a businessman. Go and find out more about Aidan Arledge. I don’t suppose you’ve discovered where he was killed yet, have you?”

  “Well—no sir, not yet.”

  “Then get on with it!”

  “Yes sir! Will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes it will.”

  Le Grange beat a hasty retreat, leaving Pitt wondering if he were capable of changing his loyalties from Tellman to him. How many of the other men felt the same? The sense of well-being with which Pitt had strode across the park had now totally withered away. He felt hemmed in. Farnsworth on one side was frightened for the reputation of the police, and no doubt feeling the pressure of it through the public demanding an arrest; and on the other, Tellman was growing more and more resentful at Pitt’s promotion, and his contempt for him was increasing by the day. He took no trouble to conceal it from the other men, in fact it seemed he enjoyed to take them along with him.

  Whatever had made Pitt accept Micah Drummond’s offer? It was not the right job for him. He had not the nature nor the social position. He was not a diplomat and he was certainly not a gentleman.

  He would go and see Mrs. Arledge himself. There must be a connection between the two men somewhere, unless it really was a random lunatic.

  He was outside in Bow Street walking along the pavement when two ladies skirted around him, moving at least two yards to the left. Then he remembered he was not dressed as a superintendent in charge of Bow Street police station, and certainly not in a fit state to visit the widow of a gentleman.

  He returned home a little after six, tired and dispirited, longing to sit down in the warmth of the kitchen, have a good meal, tell Charlotte what had happened, what he knew, and above all to share his fears and doubts about himself and the job. She would encourage him, tell him he was perfectly equal to it. She might not know, and her words would spring more from loyalty than any understanding of what was really involved, but nonetheless he would feel immeasurably better for it.

  But when he neared the kitchen door there was no one there except Gracie.

  “ ’Ell?, sir,” she said cheerfully, her bright little face lighting up with pleasure. She was very neatly dressed, her collar clean, her apron starched and immaculate, ribbons tied tightly behind her tiny waist. She looked freshly scrubbed and beaming with importance. “Yer supper’s ready, sir, an’ I can get yer a bowl of ’ot water right away, an’ another for yer feet if you like?”

  “Thank you,” he accepted. “One will be enough.”

  She looked him up and down dubiously. “What about a tub, sir? You bin in them rookery kind o’ places again, ’aven’t yer?”

  “Yes.” He sat down on one of the hard chairs and without asking she bent in front of him and unlaced his boots. “Where’s Mrs. Pitt?” he asked.

  “Oh, she’s still at the new ’ouse, sir. Like ter be there all evenin’, I shouldn’t wonder,” she replied, standing up and going to fetch a basin of steaming water. “There’s a terrible lot ter be done, sir, an’ she said as I was to make your supper—that was if you came ’ome for supper, o’ course. An’ I done some lamb stew for yer, sir, wi’ potatoes an’ onions an’ some ’erbs from the new garden.” Her eyes were bright with pride in it.

  He swallowed his disappointment with difficulty. Charlotte had been away so often lately he was beginning to feel unreasonably resentful. And it was unreasonable, he knew that. She was working at the new house with builders, decorators, plumbers and so on, things he would have done himself had he the time, but none of those arguments stopped the feeling of having been let down.

  “Thank you, Gracie,” he said somberly. “It sounds excellent. Where are the children?”

  “Upstairs, sir. I told ’em not to bother yer till you’d ’ad yer supper.” She screwed up her face and regarded him narrowly. “Yer lookin’ a little peaked, sir. Shall I get yer summat ter eat before yer change yer clothes? I’m sure it don’t matter, not in the kitchen, like.”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “Thank you,” he accepted. “That would be a good idea.”

  She looked relieved. It was a big responsibility Charlotte had left her with. She was not a cook, just a maid-of-all-work who was day by day growing into a mixture of housemaid, parlormaid and kitchen maid, with a good deal of nursery maid as well. She was desperately eager to please him, and not a little in awe. She had been even prouder of his promotion than some of his family.

  Hastily she set about mashing potatoes and serving them with a thick, deliciously aromatic stew, then sat down at the end of the table to await his further needs or instructions. She regarded him steadily, still a small pucker between her brows.

  “Would you like some pudding, sir?” she asked at length. “I got some treacle sponge.”

  “Yes, yes I would.” Treacle sponge was one of his favorites, which he thought she knew.

  Her face lit up again, and she forgot to behave with the new dignity she had assumed and scrambled off the seat to get it for him. She presented it with a flourish.

  “Thank you,” he accepted. Actually it was extremely good, and he told her so.

  She blushed with pleasure.

  “Yer gettin’ closer ter catchin’ the ’Eadsman?” she asked with concern.

  “Not much.” He continued eating, then thought that was a bit abrupt. “I have been asking the local prostitutes if they knew of anyone who has been abusing the girls and brought a pimp down on them, but they say not. They’ve none of them seen anything, no one living in the park or wandering around.”

  “D’yer believe ’em?” she asked skeptically.

  He smiled at her. “I don’t know. It would take a lot for a pimp to kill a customer, if he paid—let alone two.”

  “Maybe they would if the customer marked a girl, like?” she said thoughtfully. “That’s damaging goods. If you break summat in a shop, yer ’as ter pay for it”

  “Quite true,” he agreed, his mouth full of sponge and treacle.

  “Yer like a nice ’ot cup o’ tea?” she offered.

  “Yes—please.”

  She got up and went over to the kettle, apparently lost in contemplation. Several
minutes later she returned with a mug full of tea and set it on the table. She did not even seem to have considered bringing the whole teapot.

  “Gracie?” he said questioningly.

  “Yes sir? Is that too strong?”

  “No, it’s just right. What are you thinking about, the girls in the park?”

  Her face cleared and she looked at him out of innocent eyes.

  “Oh, nuffink really. I ’spec they told yer the truth. Why not?”

  It was a wholly unsatisfactory answer, but he did not know why. He drank the tea and thanked her again, then excused himself. He must go upstairs and change into his best clothes. Since Charlotte was not home, he would go and visit the widow of Aidan Arledge.

  It was early evening when he finally passed his card to Dulcie Arledge’s butler in Mount Street and then was shown into a charming withdrawing room facing onto a garden with a long lawn sloping down to an old wall. The comer of a conservatory was just visible around the edge of a clump of lilies, the last light gleaming on its glass panes. Dulcie Arledge herself was naturally dressed entirely in black, but it could not mar the delicacy of her skin or the softness of her brown hair. She was as Bailey had said: a woman full of grace and pleasantness, with the sort of features that were not ostentatiously beautiful, yet carried their own regularity. There was nothing in her to offend. In every detail she was comely and feminine.

  “How courteous of you to come in person, Superintendent,” she said with a gesture of acknowledgment “However, I fear I can tell you little beyond what I have already said to your men.”

  She led him over to a chair upholstered in a pattern of damask roses, its wooden arms heavily carved. Another sat opposite it, complementing the deeper wine-red of the curtains and muted pink of the embossed wallpaper. The proportions of the room were perfect, and in the few moments in which he had to notice such things, the furniture appeared to be rosewood.

  She indicated one of the chairs, and as he accepted, sat in the other herself.

  “Nevertheless, Mrs. Arledge,” he said gently, “I would appreciate it very much if you would recount the events of that evening to me, as you recall them.”