The Queens of Crime

Chapter Twenty-Five

M ARCH 29, 1931

L ONDON, E NGLAND

“To justice for May.” I raise a small crystal glass of amber liquid.

“To justice for May,” the women repeat, each careful to touch her glass with every other.

How this investigation has changed, I think. It began as a way to prove ourselves to certain male Detection Club members. But it has morphed into an urgent quest to do right.

Although it is teatime at the University Women’s Club, we eschewed tea for something stiffer. As Emma declared upon arrival, “The subject today calls for a bracing drink.” We all readily agreed to a round of sherries. Greedily, even.

Settling into the upholstered chair near the fire, I take in each Queen. How could it only be nine days since the Detection Club induction ceremony? In the short span since, we have all traversed the English Channel twice, two of us have careened north by train to Birmingham and back again, and all of us have tooled around London by Tube and tram and bus and cab. I’ve explored areas new to me and talked to all manner of folks, even impersonating a reporter to do so. Most important, I’ve walked in May’s shoes. Immersing myself in a real-life killing has transformed how I think about this terrible business, and I wonder if the Queens feel the same. Will it make it harder for us to pretend at murder again in the pages of our books?

The women have assumed their roles. Emma, our stately matriarch of sorts, has taken the center seat on the sofa across from me, another fur wrapped around her shoulders; she must have a veritable wardrobe of them. Margery and Ngaio flank her on either side, with Ngaio in her wide-legged pantsuit and Margery in a flowery frock. Agatha sits alone in the upholstered chair to my right, hiding her strength behind frumpiness as always. This tableau is becoming familiar and, dare I say, reassuring.

But I wonder about the facades. Each woman selects particular apparel and adopts a certain demeanor to assume a chosen role, one our group then reinforces with our interactions. Are these facades just costumes and disguises for the assigned parts? If Agatha dressed as a doyenne and I wore pantsuits, would we take on the qualities of Emma and Ngaio? Who are these women under their masks?

It suddenly occurs to me that everyone is silent, waiting for me to begin. Normally I’d take the helm without a second thought, but I find myself hesitating, thinking about my own role among the Queens. Questioning what I want it to be.

“What have we learned?” I finally ask.

When no one answers, I put my drink down and reach for my writing paper and pencils. “Let’s start with a timeline.”

Ngaio and I begin talking about our interview with May’s sisters, holding off on describing the hidden articles we found. They merit a separate conversation. Agatha chimes in about our discussion with Celia. When these facts are combined with those gathered during our investigation in Boulogne, the police reports, and the public record, I fill several sheets of writing paper with a series of events.

October 11: May’s last shift at the hospital before her time off

October 12–14: May spends two nights with her sisters in Dollis Hill

October 14, morning: May leaves her sisters, tells them she’s staying with Celia and her sister in London

October 14, afternoon and evening: May’s whereabouts unknown

October 15, morning: May arrives in Brighton by train and meets Celia; they stay the night

October 16, 2:00 P.M. : Girls arrive in Boulogne on the Glendower from Brighton

October 16, 2:15 P.M. : Girls take tea at H?tel Morveaux

October 16, 2:45 P.M. : Girls stroll to rue de Lille and shop; May visits the millinery alone at some point before or after her break in the park

October 16, 3:40 P.M. : May and Celia separate for approximately thirty minutes, and May sits in the park near rue de Lille

October 16, 4:16 P.M. : Girls stop in the chemist’s

October 16, 4:22 P.M. : Girls walk down to the harbor to catch the ferry back to Brighton

October 16, 4:48 P.M. : May stops in washroom at the Gare Centrale while Celia waits outside

October 16, 4:53 P.M. : MAY DISAPPEARS

October 16, 5:00 P.M. : Glendower scheduled to return to Brighton

I line all but one of the papers up on the fireplace mantel. On the final sheet, I circle “MAY DISAPPEARS” with a red pencil. Underneath it, I write: WHY AND HOW DID MAY DIE , AND BY WHOSE HAND? Then I place that piece of paper alongside the others.

“Emma? Margery? What did you learn? Do you have anything to add to the timeline?” I ask.

Margery pipes up first. “Not much on my end. Spoke with her supervisor and several nurses at the hospital who knew her. She was well liked, hardworking, and—much emphasized by the matron—never missed a shift. No one could imagine that anyone would be out to get May, of all girls. Not a single one had heard anything about a beau. Or anything tawdry about drugs. They all seemed shocked and saddened by what happened. Several of the young nurses broke down in tears.”

“Nothing unusual about her behavior in the weeks leading up to Brighton and Boulogne? Not sick?”

“No.”

“Didn’t take any days off for illness?”

“No.”

“Much appreciated, Margery.”

“I don’t know how much that helps. You three”—she gestures to me, Ngaio, and Agatha—“seem to have pieced together most of the puzzle on your own.”

Emma changes the subject to her report. “My conversations with Mr. Marks were most intriguing.”

“Do tell.” I return to my chair, pencil and paper in hand.

“He has a very specific recollection of seeing a young woman perfectly fitting May’s description at the little garden near one end of rue de Lille called the Jardin éphémère. Exactly as his friend told us.” Emma is puffed up like a peacock describing this interview and expands a bit more when she continues. “But that isn’t the intriguing tidbit. Mr. Marks had been on a bench, reading the paper, when he saw girls fitting May’s and Celia’s descriptions enter. When Celia left, May sat by herself on a bench opposite him for a few minutes, crying. At that point, a gentleman in a nondescript tan overcoat and bowler hat approached her. They engaged in a brief animated conversation, then May appeared agitated. Mr. Marks approached to see if she was all right, and that ended May’s conversation with the man. The stranger stormed off, and Mr. Marks asked May if she’d like him to take her for a cup of tea somewhere to calm her nerves. She thanked him but declined. Mr. Marks returned to his bench and his newspaper, and May pulled out paper and a pencil from her handbag. Then she started writing, filling several pages, for several minutes. At that point, she popped up and walked in the direction of rue de Lille, presumably to rejoin Celia.”

I sit back in my chair. “This is news indeed.”

Agatha asks, “Did May seem to know the man? Or was he a local pest she was shooing off?”

Emma replies, “Mr. Marks had never laid eyes on the man before. Otherwise he couldn’t tell me many details about his appearance or May’s relationship to him.”

I suspect that Mr. Marks is the town snoop, for which I am immensely grateful. Who else would take such careful note of May’s actions? Rising from my chair, I walk over to the timeline and add “May encounters man in Jardin éphémère” next to “May and Celia separate for approximately thirty minutes, and May sits in the park near rue de Lille.”

“This comports with what Celia told us about the brief time she and May spent apart, although Celia said nothing about a man accosting May during that period,” I say, to which Agatha replies, “Perhaps May never told Celia.”

“But why wouldn’t she?” I ask, speaking mostly to myself. A murmur passes through the women as they ponder the same question. Why would May keep this information from Celia?

When no one proffers a plausible answer, I continue. “We uncovered a few more important items during our time with May’s sisters and Celia. In the box of May’s belongings brought to Mrs. Davis’s home from the hospital housing, there were two silk dresses by Madame Isobel—”

Margery interjects, “Ooo—Madame Isobel dresses are lovely but very pricey.”

“Exactly,” Ngaio says. “They’d be far outside the range of a nurse’s salary. Plus the family is not well-to-do. This raises the question of where May got them.”

“Also in that box, Ngaio and I discovered two hidden items,” I say.

“What did you find?” Emma sits erect, scooting to the very edge of her seat.

Ngaio goes first. “In the pocket of one of the Madame Isobel dresses, we found tickets to a West End show, Cavalcade, dated August 20.”

“How could May afford those tickets?” Margery asks. “Trainee nurses make practically nothing.”

“Our question exactly,” Ngaio says.

I chime in. “Agatha and I got some answers to that question and more when we interviewed Celia.”

“Yes,” Agatha says. “It seems as though May had a ‘friend’ who gave her the tickets. May took Celia with her when the friend couldn’t attend the performance with May.”

“The same friend who gifted her the pricey Madame Isobel gowns?” Emma asks.

I glance at Agatha; we’d discussed this extensively after we left Celia. “We strongly suspect that might be the case. But Celia does not know the identity of this friend.”

Margery asks the question we are all thinking. “Could it be the elusive beau?”

“Perhaps,” Agatha says. “Celia believed May had a suitor, but May would not share his name. After the show, May’s ‘friend’ asked her to go backstage and thank someone for the tickets.”

“Did Celia meet this person?” Ngaio asks.

“No. May insisted that she go alone. She was gone a long time, and when she finally reunited with Celia, her mood was off,” I say.

“Do we know what happened?” Ngaio persists.

“May refused to talk about it,” Agatha answers.

Emma is thoughtful. “This certainly supports our suspicions that May had a boyfriend or paramour of some sort. Someone who gave her expensive clothes and theater tickets and—”

Margery interrupts. “Got her pregnant.”

“Perhaps,” Agatha says. “Let’s add the August theater visit to the timeline.”

Standing up, I add in pencil:

August 20: May and Celia attend Cavalcade, using tickets given by a mysterious ‘friend.’ May visits a friend of this ‘friend’ backstage.

The women silently cogitate over these developments. But we are far from done, and Emma realizes it.

“What was the second object you found among May’s belongings?” she asks.

“In the binding of a family Bible, we found a Daily Herald article from October 2 tucked away,” I explain.

“What was it about?” Margery asks. “The play? Someone she knew?”

“A missing girl,” I say slowly.

Emma recoils into her seat. “Good Lord. Was she prescient?”

Just then, the door to the private room swings open. A waiter stands in the doorframe, presumably to announce the readiness of our table. Emma casts a pointed glance at Ngaio, who huffs at the reminder that she must enter the dining room discreetly, through the servants’ hallway. Even though the club is broad-minded, certain standards are enforced. And it simply won’t do to have Ngaio stride through the lobby in her pants.

It is then I notice that the waiter has been rendered immobile. When I follow his gaze, I see that the timeline has caught his attention. I suppose the University Women’s Club isn’t the usual spot for a murder investigation.

“May we help you?” I attempt to reanimate the young man.

“Apologies, ma’am.” In his gloved hand, he holds up an envelope. “This came for Mrs. Fleming.”

I reach out, knowing immediately who sent the missive. Only Mac calls me Mrs. Fleming. To everyone else, I am Dorothy Sayers.

Opening the unsealed flap, I slide out the note, skim it, and announce, “There’s been a development in May’s case. A confession.”