Chapter 6
A message from the commissioner awaited Tennant when he arrived at the Yard the following morning.
The inspector glanced at the wall clock over the duty sergeant’s head. “Sir Richard is in his office?”
“Up this morning with the birds.”
Tennant read the note on his way to his first-floor office. He found O’Malley scanning the morning reports. “Command appearance in thirty minutes, Paddy. I spoke with the commissioner late yesterday afternoon, so something’s come up.”
“Didn’t I follow a pair of fancy suits and top hats into the building?” O’Malley said. “The looks on their faces were something brutal. ‘Mister Gathorne-Hardy to see Sir Richard,’ the younger fella says.”
“The home secretary. Well, well.” Tennant hung his overcoat on the rack and crowned it with his hat. “Has anything worth our notice come in?”
“The final report on the canvass of the wharf. The coppers found nothing to interest us. But a team is doing a door-to-door along Upper Thames just to be thorough.”
“Doctor Lewis’s postmortem concluded the obvious, and I doubt Doctor MacKay’s will find any surprises with the cabbie. But a message from Lady Styles should arrive today with actionable information.”
“The fellas who knew the whereabouts of Brigid Dowling?”
“That’s right,” Tennant said. “And we must inform the family she worked for in Clonakilty. Sir Hugo and Lady Browne. Lady Styles provided the name and address. I’ll send a telegram to the local constabulary, asking them to break the news. They’ll need to search her room for any letters.”
O’Malley stroked his bushy mustache. “I’m thinking about that ginger beard. ’Tis just about the only piece of evidence we have.”
“Put a pair of constables on it, Paddy. Have them check theatrical supply houses and the like. Businesses that cater to West End theaters and East End music halls.”
“Someone may remember a tall fella, well-dressed, who bought a ginger beard.”
Tennant reported to the commissioner at the appointed time. A dark-haired man in his middle thirties sat in an armchair across from Sir Richard, elbows on the armrests, fingers loosely laced. He turned his head at the inspector’s entrance.
“Inspector Tennant, this is Sir Lionel Dermott from the Home Office.”
Dermott unfolded his long legs and stood.
He had dressed in the Whitehall civil servant uniform: a black, double-breasted frock coat and waistcoat, dark tie, and striped, gray trousers.
Sir Lionel’s one deviation from a colorless palette was the red-and-gold paisley square he’d stuffed casually into his breast pocket.
“How do you do, Sir Lionel,” Tennant said, offering his hand. He looked around the commissioner’s office. “I understood Mister Gathorne-Hardy was here.”
“Here and gone, Inspector,” Sir Lionel said, resuming his seat. “Leaving your humble servant behind.”
The commissioner cleared his throat. “You’re not going to like this, Richard, but you’ll be accompanying Sir Lionel this afternoon to the Isle of Wight.”
“Nothing personal, I trust,” Sir Lionel murmured.
“You want me to leave London at the start of an investigation? Sir Richard, I—”
“Sergeant O’Malley can carry on for two days. I have orders from the Home Office. The queen wants to hear from the inspector in charge of the case.”
“Before I have anything meaningful to report?”
Sir Lionel waved away the objection. “Handholding. Must be done, old boy. You say, ‘Your Majesty, the investigation is running at full gallop.’ That sort of humbuggery.”
“A waste of police time,” Tennant said.
“To be sure, but for my part, I’m jolly glad to be your travel companion. Followed your ‘railway murder’ derring-do in the Illustrated Police Gazette. ‘Tennant of the Yard’ and all that.”
“Is that so?” Tennant looked at the commissioner and read his expression: Fellow’s an ass.
“Happy we’ll be rowing in the same boat, Inspector.”
“Er, yes … well.” Commissioner Mayne cleared his throat. “You’ll travel by special train to Gosport on the coast and then to the Isle of Wight. Two days should be adequate. Back on Sunday. On the way, Sir Lionel will put you in the picture.”
“Indeed, indeed. Full speed ahead. Shoulder to the wheel and whatnot.”
Tennant sighed. “Where and when do I meet you?”
“Waterloo station at one o’clock.” Sir Lionel sauntered to the door, spinning his hat. “By the way, the ‘special train’ is the queen’s royal one. Traveling in style with Bertie and the princess. Cheerio.” He bowed and exited.
“Young jackanapes,” Sir Richard muttered. “Brief Sergeant O’Malley and return to London as soon as you can.”
Tennant headed to the door, stopping when the commissioner called, “And Richard …”
“Sir?”
“I know it’s tempting, but don’t miss that train.”
Outside Tennant’s office, a constable handed him a note from Lady Styles. He read it and passed it to O’Malley. “The list of those who knew the details about Brigid Dowling’s arrival.”
“Mother of God.” The sergeant whistled. “’Tis a lineup of royal equerries and other swells. Major Peter FitzGerald, Captain Oliver Montgomery, Captain Frederick Locock, the Honorable George Trevor, and a Home Office fella named—”
“Sir Lionel Dermott. He was one of the ‘fancy suits’ you followed into the Yard this morning.”
“Everything will have double pairs of eyes on them,” O’Malley said. “And decisions from on high taking three times as long.”
Tennant related the details of his meeting with the commissioner.
“So, I’m on my own for two days, is it?”
“See if you can wrap it up before I return, Paddy. Bag the fellow, and we’re done with it.”
“I’ll be doing my best. Where do you want me to start?”
“The servants at Marlborough House. Several traveled to the Isle of Wight with the Prince and Princess of Wales, including the prince’s manservant.”
O’Malley tapped his nose. “I’ll see if I can sniff out any servant hall gossip.”
“Wait until Their Royal Highnesses leave for the Isle of Wight. The staff may speak more freely once they leave the house.”
“And after that?”
“Find out what you can about Sir Lionel Dermott. Drop in for a pint at the pubs around the Home Office. Chat up the junior clerks.”
O’Malley grinned. “Always happy when duty mixes with pleasure.’
“Dermott’s an odd duck. I’d like to know how odd.”
In Julia’s examining room, Lady Styles buttoned the back of Princess Alexandra’s gown.
While the princess dressed, Julia considered what to say. The prince, not Alexandra, needed advice, but who would tell him to avoid risky partners to lessen the danger to his wife?
As Susan fastened the clasp on Alexandra’s choker necklace, the princess looked at her and said in lightly accented English, “You will stay and listen to the doctor?” She turned to Julia. “That is permitted?”
“Of course.” Julia gestured to the two chairs facing her desk.
Lady Styles wrapped a shawl around Alexandra’s thin shoulders and sat beside her. After a moment’s pause, the princess said, “Never have my male doctors made such a thorough examination. Truly, it would be most embarrassing. I think many women must prefer you, Doctor.”
Julia smiled and said, “I’m afraid the opposite is also true and explains why I have no male private patients.”
Princess Alexandra looked down at her gripped hands. In a quavering voice, she asked, “Can you tell me what is wrong, Doctor?”
“Your Royal Highness, I see no evidence of infection beyond the swelling confined to your knee. Something triggered a septic arthritis. Time and rest will heal it. You have nothing else to fear … at least right now.”
“Thank God.” The princess had been sitting as still and straight as a post. She sank back against the chair. “Oh, thank you, Doctor. For once, I shall sleep.”
Julia saw Lady Styles register the implication of the words “right now,” although she feared they were lost on the princess. “Worrying about one’s health can undermine it,” Julia said. “As can other worries. Two shocking deaths. One in the queen’s household.”
“Horrible.” Alexandra pulled her wrap tighter. “Those poor girls. I pray the police will soon have an answer.”
Julia’s glance flickered over Alexandra’s slender frame. “How is your appetite?”
The princess smiled. “Like Her Majesty, you are about to tell me I am too thin.”
“A little, perhaps.”
“I’ll see if we can coax the princess to eat a little more,” Lady Styles said. “Her Royal Highness enjoys physical activity, Doctor,” Lady Styles said. “What do you advise?”
“The princess should continue to use her stick to avoid unnecessary strain on the leg. Short walks are in order, but avoid climbing stairs when you can. And rest with the knee elevated.”
Susan sighed. “At the queen’s command, we leave today for a month’s visit to Osborne House. Her Majesty expects family and guests to … dance attendance.”
“Lady Styles, you have your work cut out for you.” Julia stood and smiled. “Thinking of ways to minimize the dancing.”
Princess Alexandra and Susan followed Julia out the side door of her ground-floor office.
Their carriage waited at the end of a pathway that led to a gate at the edge of the property.
A cab slowed and stopped by the main walkway.
Inspector Tennant got out, glanced to his left, and then away.
He paid the cabbie and headed to the front door.
The princess had been fiddling with her glove buttons and hadn’t noticed him. Lady Styles looked away, fixing her attention on the carriage as they walked. Twenty minutes later came a knock on her door. Julia had been expecting it.
“Come in, Richard,” she called.
He held up a lightly bandaged hand. “Courtesy of your grandfather. At a pinch, I can manage a pencil.” He shook his head when Julia patted a chairback in invitation. “I can’t stay.”
“Thank you for your discretion just now.”
“Of course. I assumed it wasn’t a social call.”
“I don’t believe the princess noticed you.”
“Just as well. I’m traveling with the royal party this afternoon.” Tennant explained the circumstances. “Sergeant O’Malley will make a start while I’m away.”
“I see.”