Chapter 2
Benedict Hartley had achieved the rank of Detective Chief Inspector through sheer hard work and excellent investigative skills. The fact that his brother, Arthur, was the Viscount Lavenham was neither here nor there in Ben’s opinion. Unfortunately, the majority of his co-workers thought otherwise.
For the most part, they formed two camps - those who thought to ingratiate themselves with the younger brother of a peer of the realm, and those who thought Hartley was simply riding on said peer’s coattails. Neither camp was particularly concerned whether Ben was actually good at his job or not.
As a newly promoted Chief Inspector, Benedict Hartley had been unexpectedly transferred to the Exeter police force to replace the previous incumbent – one Henry Shackleford - a man who had, in fact, earned the respect of those around him.
All except the Chief Commissioner, Sir Charles Drayton, who Benedict had swiftly come to realise was nothing but a conceited coxcomb.
However, there was no getting around the fact that the conceited coxcomb in question was a long-time acquaintance of his brother, Arthur – and that connection might have helped his appointment, but it hadn’t helped Ben’s credibility one whit.
And in truth, he and his brother had been estranged since their uncle died.
Sighing, Ben looked down at the report in front of him. Lost in the spectres of the past, the words floated past his eyes unheeded.
The two of them had been so close growing up – right up until their father’s older brother had fallen from a horse and broken his neck.
Childless, it left Arthur the heir to the Viscountcy, and all of a sudden, a career in the police force for the new Viscount’s younger brother had become an embarrassment.
In actual fact, Arthur had urged him to resign, but Ben possessed a stubborn streak a mile wide - and besides, he loved his job.
He couldn’t see why the devil he had to give up his profession to pander to a sibling who seemed determined to adopt the very worst traits of England’s aristocratic society.
At the end of the day, Arthur’s good fortune did not extend to his brother.
Gritting his teeth, Benedict pushed the resentment deep down inside. The knowledge that he was here primarily due to Arthur’s machinations didn’t sit well, but he was determined to prove himself to both his superiors and his colleagues.
He looked back down at the report.
A very valuable emerald necklace had been stolen from the home of one Mrs Lavinia Pettigrew, whose listed address was the very prestigious Belgrave Road in Torquay.
It was the fourth such robbery in as many weeks according to the local police in Torbay and since they’d managed to unearth nothing aside from the fact that all the victims were wealthy widows, a request for assistance had been sent to the larger, neighbouring police force in Exeter.
Where it had landed on Benedict Hartley’s desk.
All four widows had already been interviewed by the Torquay police, and though Chief Inspector Hartley fully intended to quiz each in turn, he decided to interview the latest victim first while the incident remained fresh in Lavinia Pettigrew’s mind.
To that end, he’d sent a telegram requesting an audience at eleven a.m., two days hence.
In the meantime, he would review the evidence collected at the scene of the other three thefts.
Henry Shackleford gave a small chuckle as Beatrix handed him his afternoon tea. ‘Imagine my surprise when it became apparent that it wasn’t just any female Mrs Pettigrew wished to speak with, but a particular one. Someone she’d heard very favourable comments about.’
‘Who?’ Arabella asked, taking a bite out of her Battenburg slice.
Her father looked over at her, a broad smile on his face. ‘You, my dear. She wished to speak with you – or rather, the kind, softly spoken young lady with the dove-grey eyes.’
Bernice gave a derisive snort as Bella looked on, open-mouthed. ‘She clearly hasn’t heard you trying to get Daisy out of bed in the morning.’
‘Well, she couldn’t have been referring to Charlotte,’ Bea added, picking up her own tea and sitting back down.
Their aunt bristled indignantly. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly capable of being the very essence of compassion,’ she declared with her customary sniff.
‘Says the woman with a reputation for eating vinegar with a deuced fork,’ her brother scoffed.
‘It’s hardly my fault that I have no time for clatterfarts,’ Charlotte argued stiffly.
‘We cannot discount gossips and blather-mouths,’ countered Henry. ‘However much they set your teeth on edge.’
Bella didn’t think now was the time to mention that only a few hours ago, Charlotte had articulated those exact words when describing her brother…
‘You must always remember that in our business, clatterfarts are frequently the people most likely to let information slip,’ Henry added.
‘I think Aunt Charlotte prefers the kneecap method,’ declared Bernice with a grin, earning her the look.
‘Have you arranged another appointment with Mrs Pettigrew?’ Bella asked hurriedly.
Her father nodded. ‘Midday, the day after tomorrow -both you and Alex. I suggest Beatrix also accompanies you. The experience will be good for her.’
‘I’d rather stick pins in my eyes,’ Bea contested hotly, a sentiment which was roundly ignored.
‘Did Mrs Pettigrew give you any information at all?’ Arabella asked.
‘Only that the theft is the fourth such occurrence in Torquay in as many weeks,’ Henry answered. ‘So, while you’re interviewing Mrs Pettigrew, Lottie and I will make enquires at Torquay police station.’
There was a short silence as everyone else in the room mulled over the fact that their father intended to let their Aunt loose on the poor unsuspecting peelers in Torquay.
All eyes swung to the aunt in question, though predictably, only Bernice actually said what everyone else was thinking. ‘What if they lock Charlotte up?’
There was no doubt that Billy Wiggins was exceedingly proud to be working for the Shackleford family, especially since the foundation of the detective agency.
In fact, his ambition to become a butler had been replaced with the determination to become something far greater in his eyes…
A Private Detective – like the one in the newspaper stories that Miss Alex read out loud to him every week.
The fact that Billy was a bright, enthusiastic lad with an unquestionable have a go approach would no doubt be very useful to the Agency in the future.
However, such boldness in a boy of not yet ten summers had the unfortunate potential of causing more problems than it solved - especially when the said nine-year-old was only now learning to read and write.
Indeed, this was the reason Henry Shackleford gave for refusing to allow Billy any involvement in the agency’s investigations.
In truth, the real reason for keeping Billy well away from such shenanigans was quite simply fear.
The boy had nearly lost his life during the Winner Street case and had proved far too willing to put himself in danger.
Although neither Henry nor Charlotte had voiced it aloud, both knew that losing Billy would break something inside them that could never be fixed.
So, until he was of an age to make his own decisions, they would endeavour to keep him safe and out of trouble.
But what they didn’t yet realise was that Billy’s strengths didn’t lie in either the written word or even the world of numbers, but in observation.
Billy Wiggins saw and took notice of everything.
He understood why Mr Henry and Miss Charlotte hadn’t asked for his assistance – but that hadn’t stopped him from eavesdropping when the opportunity arose.
Indeed, he told himself he was simply being prudent.
His ma always used to say, ‘give our Bill a bloody inch an’ ‘e’ll take a mile,’ and that kind of thinking had always stood the boy in good stead…
Thus, he was fully aware of the purpose and destinations of both parties and had spent a good half an hour debating which group would be best to follow.
In the end, he’d decided on the younger Shacklefords since he was more likely to be able to board a train illicitly than a private carriage.
The last time he’d tried to stow away in the Shackleford carriage, Albert had copped him, and he’d ended up peeling potatoes for Mrs Williams for an entire month.
As he followed discreetly behind the three young women, Billy couldn’t help reflecting that they would certainly benefit from a lesson in observational skills after remaining completely oblivious to his presence all the way up Torbay Road. Truly, they didn’t once look back.
As they traversed the level crossing next to Paignton Railway Station, he hung back, watching through the safety gate as they entered the station and walked through onto the platform.
The train had not yet arrived and even the most incurious individual would be unlikely to miss him amongst the mere half a dozen people waiting for the next train. Hopefully, once the gate opened to block the road, he’d be able to dash the short way up the tracks and board at the last minute.
As he waited, he glanced idly behind him and caught sight of a middle-aged woman dressed in widow’s weeds walking towards him. He wondered if it was her husband she was mourning. His own ma had been forced to wear black for nigh on a year – for a man she bloody hated.