CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Georgina Crofton’s house was on Gerrard Street, facing onto the Horticultural Gardens. In good weather, the Gardens were a popular gathering place, dapper mashers in their straw hats strolled the paths covertly eyeing the nursemaids wheeling perambulators or the servant girls and seamstresses on their days off chattering together on the benches, also covertly eyeing the dandies. But on this bleak January morning the park was deserted.
The house was large and elegant, built of pale buff-coloured brick with a green door and window trim. The front steps curved to the door and the path was paved with slate. It was possible Miss Crofton made a good living from her work, but Murdoch thought the look of the house more suggested long entrenched wealth. He tugged on the bell and while he was waiting for the door to open, he banged the muddy snow off his boots. He was just about to pull more heartily on the bell when the door was opened by an elderly woman in the plain navy dress of a housekeeper.
“Yes?”
The woman’s tone was supercilious, her expression disdainful. Murdoch had encountered the snobbishness of servants many times before but it still irritated him. He handed her his card.
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Acting Detective Murdoch and I would like to speak to Miss Georgina Crofton.”
He expected more disdain but her reaction was the opposite. She looked alarmed.
“Oh dear, so there are thieves in the neighbourhood. We feared as much. Come in, please. Miss Georgina is in her studio. I’ll get her at once.” She started off down the hall, then turned back to him.
“Shall I fetch Mrs. Crofton as well? She is in her chambers.”
That sounded rather legal but Murdoch knew it was just a pretentious way of saying Mrs. Crofton was not dressed yet.
“No, don’t bother her. Miss Georgina will be sufficient.”
The housekeeper pulled back the brocade portieres from the drawing-room door.
“You can wait in here, sir. It’s a bit chilly, I haven’t got the fire going yet.”
Murdoch gave a little deprecating shrug. “It’s what I deserve for calling at such an early hour, ma’am.”
She looked flustered and, pushing aside another set of curtains, she ushered him into the room and hurried away down the hall.
The air of the drawing room was cool but the decorations were not. Murdoch had never seen anything quite like them. His first impression was that the room was spacious and full of sunlight, but he realized that this was an illusion created by a screen of mirrored panels at a right angle to the wall. The room was actually fairly small and much of the space was taken up by three Turkish couches covered by woven blankets of deep blue with a sun yellow and fire-red zigzag design. The woollen curtains looped across the threshold were of the same pattern. The most unusual feature, however, were the window frames, which had a facade of slender white columns supporting arched lintels with scalloped edges, decorated in gold filigree. In the window bays were two earthenware pots, each filled with man-high pale green plants with flat, oblong spiny leaves. The marble fireplace was reflected several times over in the mirrors as was a brass birdcage where a pale yellow bird cocked its head at him curiously. Murdoch felt as if he had entered a foreign country.
He was about to test the tip of one of the spiny plants to see if it was as sharp as it appeared to be when the portieres were pushed aside and a woman made her entrance, heading straight for him, her hand outstretched. The housekeeper was behind her.
“Detective Murdoch, I’m Georgina Crofton. Mrs. Buchanan tells me you are in pursuit of thieves.”
He shook hands although initially she had crooked her hand as to almost invite a kiss. She wasn’t in the least imperious, however, and he put the gesture down to finishing-school training. Like her drawing room, Miss Crofton was exotic. She was tall, past middle age, with a face that seemed all nose and chin. Her hair was braided on top of her head and wrapped with a flowered scarf. She was wearing a long holland smock so bedaubed with paint it might have been used for her palette and she smelled faintly of turpentine.
“As a matter of fact, ma’am, that is not why I am here. I have no knowledge of thieves in the area.”
She turned to the housekeeper. “But I thought you said…”
“That’s what he told me, ma’am.”
Murdoch had done no such thing but he didn’t want to wrangle with the woman.
“Not thieves, ma’am, but a very serious matter I wish to discuss with you.”
He thought an expression of wariness flashed across Georgina’s face, but she said affably, “Of course, perhaps, Mrs. Buchanan, you would be so good as to bring us some chocolate. I haven’t had my morning chocolate, Mr. Murdoch, so I do hope you will join me.”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
“Dear me. I’d better wait then. Hannah would you mind…perhaps Mrs. Crofton needs your assistance?”
The housekeeper didn’t look happy about having to leave but she did so, pushing through the curtains like an actress making her exit.
“Please sit down, Mr. Murdoch.” Georgina waved at one of the couches and took the one opposite. Murdoch moved aside a red tasselled bolster so he had room to sit while Miss Crofton reached over to one of the lacquered tables beside her, snapped open an ornate silver box, and took out a thin brown cigarillo.
“Would you like one, Mr. Murdoch?”
Briefly, he was tempted, they didn’t come his way that often, but he shook his head.
“I hope you don’t mind if I do. I’m quite an addict to the demon tobacco.” She put her cigarette in a little clip on a stick, lit it, and drew in a deep grateful breath. The tobacco smell was slightly perfumed.
“So what is the nature of your business, sir?”
Murdoch took the envelope from his pocket, removed the mourning card, and held it in front of her.
“Did you take this photograph, ma’am?”
She held out her hand. “Let me see.”
“I’ll just hold it for you, if you don’t mind, ma’am.”
He leaned closer and she peered at it with myopic eyes. “Why yes, that’s the Dowdell infant, isn’t it? Poor lamb, he was with us such a short time and his parents were devastated at his loss.” She blinked at Murdoch. “I don’t understand why you, a police officer, are asking me about this photograph. How did it come into your possession?”
He didn’t have a chance to answer before the door opened and Mrs. Buchanan returned, wheeling a tea trolley.
“You know what you’re like if you don’t have your chocolate,” she said to Georgina, ignoring Murdoch.
Georgina smiled. “Hannah has been here since I was born. She feels she has the right to supersede my decisions.”
The housekeeper lit a spirit lamp on the trolley and set an exquisite china pot on top of the ring.
“Please continue, sir,” said Miss Crofton.
“I prefer to wait, ma’am.”
“My goodness, you can say absolutely anything in front of Mrs. Buchanan. We have no secrets from her.”
Maybe you do and maybe you don’t, thought Murdoch, but I’m not about to flash photographs like these in front of an elderly servant.
“I’ll wait,” he repeated and saw the tightening of the housekeeper’s lips. She desperately wanted to put him in his place and establish hers but didn’t quite dare. She picked up a grater and a block of chocolate and shaved slivers into the pot. She gave it a thorough stirring, then poured some of the hot liquid into a china mug.
Behind Miss Crofton, Murdoch caught a glimpse of his own reflection. In his grey sealskin coat, he looked as out of place as a sparrow among parrots.
Mrs. Buchanan handed the mug to her mistress but made no attempt to leave.
“Mr. Murdoch is inquiring about one of my photographs, Hannah, but so far he hasn’t said why. Surely you are not come to offer me a commission for the police are you, Mr. Murdoch?”
“No, ma’am.”
Miss Crofton extinguished her cigarette on a silver dish. “Hannah, would you be so kind as to bring me a slice or two of that delicious seed cake you baked yesterday. I find I’m quite peckish.”
Mrs. Buchanan shot a poisonous look at Murdoch and she flounced away, as much as a woman who is stiff with rheumatism can flounce.
As soon as the door closed, Georgina frowned at Murdoch.
“I have hurt her feelings, sir, and I never wish to do that to somebody as valuable as my good nanny. What can possibly be so serious that it necessitates this secrecy?”
He handed her the card. “Look on the reverse if you will, ma’am.”
She turned the photograph over, then held it closer to her face so she could read the words.
“Good gracious me. How disgusting. Who wrote such things?”
“I don’t know for certain. That is what I am trying to find out. The photograph was discovered by a teacher in the desk of a young pupil at one of our schools.”
“Has the boy been charged?”
“It was actually a girl, ma’am. And no she has not been charged as yet. She denied all knowledge of the photograph and how it came to be in her desk.”
“Somebody is trying to cause trouble for her then?”
Murdoch shrugged. “Perhaps. When was the photograph taken?”
“Three months ago.”
“Who else would have a copy of this photograph, ma’am? Other than Mr. and Mrs. Dowdell?”
“I can’t really say. They ordered ten cards, which I made and delivered to them, but they no doubt gave them out to various people.”
“Do you have a copy yourself?”
“Yes. I have the original plates and I usually retain a print in my files.”
“Who else has access to your files, Miss Crofton?”
“They are not under lock and key if that’s what you mean. Anybody in my household can open them if they wish.”
Murdoch had taken out his notebook. “Who is in the household, Miss Crofton?”
“My mother, Mrs. Buchanan, our housekeeper, and our maid, Ruby.”
“Her last name?”
“Adams.”
“How long has she been in your employ?”
“About six months I suppose, surely that is irrelevant.”
“Would you mind checking your files to see if the card is still there?”
“Of course it’s there. Why on earth would it not be?”
“The brother of the girl in question says she had several photographs in her possession and some of them were mourning cards. Unfortunately, he didn’t know where she obtained them. There is an older sister who is in service, we don’t know exactly where. The girl has disappeared and is supposedly staying with her.” Murdoch closed the notebook. “I would like to speak to your maid, if I may.”
Georgina lit another cigarette. “I can assure you, Mr. Murdoch, we are not harbouring any lost child. We have a small household, and unless she is stowed in the water closet, I have not seen her.” She puffed again and stared at him. “I do hope you believe me?”
Murdoch thought her distress seemed genuine, but he wasn’t about to assume it was all righteous indignation. Not yet, not by a long shot.
“It isn’t a matter of whether or not I believe you, ma’am. I would like to talk to Ruby Adams.”
“In other words, you don’t take my word.”
“I’m a police officer, Miss Crofton. It’s my job to be thorough.”
She flushed at his response. “Very well, but I cannot permit you to speak to Ruby. She is timid enough as it is and speaking to a policeman would frighten her out of a week’s growth. We have worked hard to bring her to the point she is now. Besides, she is not the girl you are looking for. Ruby is an orphan. She had no family connections whatsoever. She came with excellent references and has never given a moment of trouble.”
“I must insist, ma’am.”
“Very well, if you must.” She got up and tugged on the embroidered bell pull beside the fireplace. Mrs. Buchanan came in through the curtains so quickly, Murdoch wondered if she’d been eavesdropping in the hall.
“Ah, Hannah. Is Ruby in the house?”
“No ma’am. She is out on an errand.”
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Murdoch. She isn’t here. She is probably gone for the morning.”
He turned to the housekeeper. “When do you expect Ruby to return?”
“Like Miss Georgina said, she has gone for the entire morning”
“A long errand.”
“Yes, it is.”
Miss Crofton extinguished her cigarette. “Hannah, will you go to the studio and look in my filing cupboard. I need to know if the Dowdell photograph is still there. That’s Dowdell. You can bring it here.”
The housekeeper left with the air of one who has won a victory. The bird gave a soft peep, and Georgina took yet another cigarette from the box and lit it. Murdoch thought that the action covered up the woman’s uneasiness. She had dropped all pretence of polite manners and they sat in silence until the housekeeper returned.