The Mangle Street Murders Part 21

I sat on the end of a pew at the back by myself. A grandfather clock had been set up before the altar. It was five minutes before twelve. Father Brewster went back to the front and bent to speak to somebody and, when she stood and turned, I saw that it was Grace Dillinger and that she was coming, tall and elegant, straight towards me. She was still in mourning, with no hat but a black gauze over her head hanging below her eyes, though her white face was still clearly visible.

*Miss Middleton.'

I stood and she took my hand and gave it a little squeeze.

*March.'

*Please call me Grace, and thank you for coming.'

There was a bleakness in her eyes that I had only seen in people before at the moment of their own deaths.

*I was not sure that I would be welcome after what my guardian has done and the part I played in persuading him to do it.'

Grace Dillinger touched my arm. *You are always welcome. What you did was done out of kindness.'

A poorly dressed man in his twenties came in and dropped a coin through the slot of a black iron box.

*Is there an entrance fee?' I asked and she shook her head.

*He is lighting a votive candle. It is a small offering to the church and G.o.d for a special intention.'

*May I?'

I put a sixpence in the slot.

*A penny would have done,' Grace said.

*Then perhaps you will light one with me.' The candles were about the size of crayons, and as we held the waxed wicks into the flame I saw her hand shake and put out mine to steady it.

*Oh, March.' Her voice faltered. *I am so frightened for him.' Her eyes closed briefly, then glistened through her veil in the yellow flicker. We pushed our candles into p.r.o.nged holders on the stand, and she swallowed and said, *Will you sit with me a while?'

*I feel I am intruding.'

*You are a good person and we have need of goodness tonight.'

We walked down the aisle. All eyes turned towards us as I slid into the front pew and Grace sat beside me, opening a prayer book on a page marked with a red ribbon but staring through it into the wastelands of all human suffering.

The clock stuck midnight and on the last chime Father Brewster said, *One thousand, eight hundred and forty-nine years ago another innocent man awaited execution. He asked his followers to stay awake and pray. Was it possible, he begged, that the chalice of suffering be taken from him? If it were not possible, then he would bow to his Father's will. He did bow and through his death redeemed our souls. And so now we beseech thee, Father, G.o.d of infinite mercy, though we cannot see your will, if it be possible, to save our poor brother in Christ, William Ashby, from such a cruel fate. Just as Jesus enjoined his disciples in Gethsemane, let us, in obedience to his holy will, stay awake and say the rosary together.'

Many of the congregation brought out rosaries with crosses hanging from them and began to recite a prayer to Mary. Ten times they said it, then the Lord's Prayer but with the end omitted, then a short prayer starting with Glory Be, and then they began again. I sat quietly and watched the hands that counted the beads and the hands that counted the minutes and I listened to the chanting, and I was not even aware of falling asleep but I awoke with a start to see Jesus Christ hanging from the cross, his body pierced and twisted but his expression serene, high above the altar and a candle in a red gla.s.s cup.

*My brothers and sisters in Christ,' Father Brewster was saying, and I saw the hands at seven. *We are past dawn.'

The morning was glowing through the round stained gla.s.s of the great east window. It cast its colours over the upturned faces.

*And, as we have had no news, we must accept that the deed has been done.'

Grace was on her knees beside me, her head resting on her intertwined hands.

*No,' she whispered. *Please G.o.d. No.'

*I have put aside the green of hope,' Father Brewster said, and I saw that he had changed his vestments, *for the purple of the pa.s.sion of our Lord, for we must now accept that he has taken William Ashby into his Father's house.'

The quiet was torn by a choked wail.

*No.' Grace Dillinger raised her face to the ceiling.

*And we must commend his soul-'

*No.' She flung her missal skimming towards the altar.

*To G.o.d's eternal boundless love.'

Grace Dillinger rose. Her face was fixed in unutterable despair.

*G.o.d d.a.m.n them all,' she said and swept away.

I rose to follow but Father Brewster put up his hand.

*G.o.d will find and comfort her and bring her back,' he said, but I could not reply for the disgust that filled my throat.

28.

The Hanging Sidney Grice was out when I got home. He had left early, Molly told me, following some information about a stolen racehorse. Her ap.r.o.n was smudged with blacking.

Would I like breakfast? I would not.

I had a cup of tea and went into the small courtyard garden and sat for my first cigarette under the cherry tree. I put on my cloak and walked to Tavistock Square and smoked another cigarette there, until a scandalized gentleman in a tall top hat told me not to. I wandered to Brown and Sons and bought a packet of Willet's Empires.

*'Orrible 'angin',' the news vendor called. *'Orrible 'angin'. Get all the gruesome details. See the artist's pictures. 'Orrible 'angin'.'

I had not a penny on me for the paper but if I had a hundred sovereigns in my purse, I should not have bought it. I hurried up Torrington Place and back along Gower Street, just in time to catch a glimpse of my guardian climbing out of a cab and walking briskly up the steps.

Molly was still taking his coat when I went into the house.

*Bring me a pot of tea,' he told her, *and make it a strong one.' And, tossing his cane into the stand, he marched straight into his study.

The doorbell rang.

*What a waste,' he said. *The bunglers who stole Nightjar broke his leg and he had to be destroyed.'

He flipped through a pile of letters on his desk but did not open any. Two were tossed straight into the bin.

*You worry about the life of an animal on such a day as this?'

*There were fifty guineas in it for me if he had been alive.'

*And one hundred and twenty-five pounds to send William Ashby to his death,' I told him, and swept out of the room.

I was halfway up the stairs when I heard a voice and turned to see Inspector Pound coming into the hallway. His face was grey as Molly took his things, and he did not even glance up as he went into the study.

The door was closed, but I was down and into the room just as the inspector slumped into an armchair. He stood and greeted me.

*You look rather pale, Inspector,' I said.

*He was just about to tell me about the fuss at the hanging,' my guardian said.

*Why? What happened?'

*A botched job.' The inspector tugged at his moustaches. *The worst I have ever witnessed and I have seen a few poor ones. To give Ashby his due, he stepped on to that trap with as much quiet dignity as any man could muster. He was much the worse for his gaol fever but he walked and stood unaided to the spot. All the usual stuff about being innocent of the crime, of course, but you expect that. The Chaplain said his prayers. The sentence was read out. Everybody stood back and the hangman pulled the lever but nothing happened. The trap would not open. The hangman stamped on it. They even made Ashby jump up and down, but it was well and truly jammed.

*They took him off and brought in a carpenter. The wood had warped and he had to shave it down. Then the hangman started an argument. He had been delayed and relied on his a.s.sistant to a.s.sess the condemned man, but apparently Ashby had a stouter neck than he had been led to believe and he did not think the rope was long enough. There is a conflict at present between the short-drop stranglers and the long-drop neck-breakers. The hangman wanted a quick death and insisted on a longer rope, and it took twenty minutes to produce one, and all that time Ashby had to stand and listen to them quarrel while the carpenter planed the planks and tested the lever.

*Eventually they got him back on the trap and put the noose round his neck and the padre repeated his bunk.u.m, and they all stood back and the lever was pulled and the trap dropped, but only by a foot. Ashby stumbled and was choking with one leg jammed in the gap, so they hauled him up by the neck and called the carpenter back to saw a larger piece off. Then they put Ashby back on the trap, by which time the observers were incensed and saying that his sentence should be commuted to life imprisonment, so the governor sent out for further instructions and Ashby stood another hour or more while Vernon Harcourt, the Home Secretary, was found riding on Rotten Row.

*Apparently he was very petulant at being disturbed and told them just to get on with it. When the news came back, Ashby's nerve broke. So at seven fifty-five, almost two hours after the prescribed time, he was dragged struggling and screaming on to the trap to fall so far that his head was ripped clean off his body. The hangman's a.s.sistant fainted and several other officials were unwell.'

*Excellent.' Sidney Grice clapped his hands.

*How so?' Inspector Pound asked quietly.

*He got a taste of his own medicine,' Sidney Grice said. *Where is the deterrent or the punishment if the guilty man does not suffer?'

*What kind of people are we protecting if he does?' I asked, and Sidney Grice smirked and said, *I have warned you already about reading philosophy books. They fill the head with ideas, and ideas in the feminine head can all too easily upset her mental equilibrium. This is not my opinion but the result of many years of scientific research by doctors in the Bedlam Royal Hospital for the Insane.'

*Then they are more in need of treatment than their patients,' I said, and my guardian sniffed.

*The strange thing is,' the inspector said, *that Ashby was still insisting his wife's death was an accident.'

*Forty accidents.' My guardian snorted. *But I see you are a little disturbed by the experience, Inspector. What you need is an intoxicatingly strong drink a of tea.'

29.

The Pity A week had pa.s.sed since the execution and Sidney Grice seemed somewhat subdued. He spoke to me even less than usual at mealtimes and immersed himself in his files in between times. He was called out once to deal with a fraudulent insurance claim and took me to the scene of the alleged burglary, but other than that our lives became very dull indeed.

It was on the Tuesday morning that Inspector Pound called on us next. I took him into the study and explained that my guardian was at the funeral of a friend but that he should be home shortly.

*I did not know he had any friends,' Inspector Pound said, standing by the window to the street.

*Are you not his friend?'

*I have a good opinion of his forensic skills.' The inspector peered round the fretwork screen. *Look at that.'

I joined him at the window to see a landau pa.s.s, with a heraldic shield on the door, and the solitary pa.s.senger, a haughty young man with a weak chin and a tall silk hat.

*That is Edwin Lord Worlington. He is probably the most eligible bachelor in England and, therefore, the world, but he has still not settled upon a wife.'

*I do not suppose his amphibian eyes have helped.'

Inspector Pound laughed and said, *An income of over forty thousand pounds would make most women overlook that.'

*But what about you?' I asked. *I think you said you live with your sister. Do you not have a wife?'

*No.' He turned and surveyed my profile. *And it is a pity you are so poor and plain. And a shame you have such intelligence and spirit, Miss Middleton. You might otherwise make a man an acceptable spouse. Even Mr Grice might be improved by having one.'

I laughed. *I cannot imagine him ever taking a wife.'

*But,' the inspector raised his eyebrows, *I have heard it said that he was engaged once to be married.'

*Really? But who was she and what happened?'

Inspector Pound shrugged. *I know nothing else about it. She probably fled the country.'

I laughed and asked, *Am I very plain then?'

*I will wager you have never even been kissed.'

*You would win your bet,' I said, and the inspector leaned towards me. At that moment we heard the front doorbell ring and, shortly afterwards, my guardian came in to find us sitting primly by the fire. He had a black suit on and his hair was plastered down.

*Did you get caught in the rain?' I asked.

*It would take more than rain to catch me out,' he said. *I was fully expecting it.'

*But not prepared by taking an umbrella,' Inspector Pound said.

The two men shook hands and my guardian shuddered.

*I have a horror of umbrellas a great black things flapping over my head. They are one of the four things that truly frighten me.' He tugged the bell rope. *Well, Inspector, you would hardly want to visit Miss Middleton so I a.s.sume you are here on police business.'

Inspector Pound nodded.

*Would you like me to leave?' I asked, but Inspector Pound said, *This may interest you too, though I hope it is of no interest at all.'