Page 12 of A Shop Girl’s Christmas (Pennington’s Department Store #3)
In the staff quarters at Pennington’s, Stephen shrugged into his overcoat before reaching for his scarf. All day, customers had been ducking inside the store to seek refuge from the unexpected rain and sleet. Money and Pennington’s black and white shopping bags had exchanged hands at a mind-boggling speed. Christmas 1911 was fast approaching, and it seemed the drop in temperatures had not dissuaded people from picking up last-minute gifts, decorations and table dressings.
Reaching into his locker, he retrieved his umbrella and hat before relocking the door. Walking to the row of seats in the centre of the room, Stephen sat heavily, blindly placing his belongings on the chair beside him as dejection settled in his stomach.
Although he was beginning to find his feet at Pennington’s, he hadn’t entirely put himself forward with regards to building a rapport with his colleagues. His old life at Scotland Yard was proving a difficult obstacle to overcome in order to be a more relaxed individual who woke, went to work and finished with a pint or two in the local pub.
The Board’s investigation into his part in the deaths of Constable Walker, Hettie and Fay continually harangued him. The days passed and, still, he received no further word from Inspector King or anyone else. The distance between Bath and London had been what Stephen had needed, but as time wore on, it felt as though he was on the moon. The lack of communication was harder to bear than he’d first envisaged. Although his torment was just. Deserved. And he’d damn well carry it for the rest of his life.
He uncurled his fisted hands and flexed his fingers, trying to push some of the tension from his body. Although he fought to deny it, he already missed policing, missed the chase, the net closing in. Even the damn paperwork had given him a deeper sense of worth than his work at the store. In his time here, he’d stopped one elderly lady at Pennington’s doors, duly escorting her to a corner of the department and asking that she return the scarf and brooch she’d lifted. Her innocent gaze had enlarged behind thick spectacles, but the paste diamonds at her throat and ears and the subtle scent of expensive perfume had done little to conceal her crimes. Joseph Carter had let her go with a warning, but the twinkle in her eyes indicated her career of shoplifting and masquerade was far from over, even if she wasn’t welcome in Pennington’s again.
Standing, Stephen put on his hat and picked up his umbrella before walking from the quarters and along a corridor to the stairs that led to the staff exit.
In addition to the elderly woman, there had been two other persons he’d apprehended. One a young boy of thirteen or fourteen caught slipping several ties from a display at the entrance to the men’s department, and a middle-aged housewife who could clearly afford the lifted shawl and set of embroidered handkerchiefs found in her handbag but had evidently felt inclined to prove something to herself and Pennington’s.
Three culprits and three warnings.
These people weren’t the criminals he was used to detaining. Surely, the monotony would get to him sooner rather than later? What then? He couldn’t make a decision about anything until he knew the state of his police career.
He continued up the stairs before pulling open the door to a narrow corridor, nodding to the colleagues who accompanied him along the way before he reached the exit and stepped outside.
He sucked in the blast of cold wind that hurtled through the alleyway, the main street shining like a beacon up ahead. Christmas decorations glistened beneath the rain, amber light reflected in the puddles from the street lamps. People rushed back and forth, their heads ducked beneath sodden hats or umbrellas, their overcoats pulled tight across their bodies. The shop windows on either side of him glittered and winked with brightly decorated displays of clothes, toys and trinkets. All manner of gifts carefully and artfully swathed in great swirls of white, green and red satin, reminding everyone of the festive season.
The one thing Bath had over his sleazier patch in London was the excitement and anticipation of Christmas. Victoria and its surrounding area faded beneath the bright lights of Oxford Street and Piccadilly and so Christmas had not been entirely felt at Scotland Yard.
At least not the gaiety.
More, the drunken brawls, domestic violence and child beatings perpetuated by the overindulgence of drink, laudanum or opium.
A person could certainly visit Harrods and Selfridge & Co for the pomp and decoration in London, but what of those living amidst the squalor and filth? Holidays were inevitably short-lived, if they knew of them at all. In Bath, people seemed to revel in events. Everyone apparently having one memory or another of the Coronation which took place earlier in the year, and nobody appeared any less eager to celebrate Christmas.
Except him.
He lifted his gaze to the banners and streamers hung across Milsom Street and tried to drum up some enthusiasm for the twenty-fifth. Nothing but the weight of his solitude echoed back to him.
Pushing his scarf deeper into the neck of his overcoat, he started his walk past Pennington’s brightly lit windows. Maybe he could pick up a fish supper for him and Ma. She deserved a treat after looking after him as she had for the last couple of weeks.
As he neared Pennington’s gilded double doors, Stephen slowed. Joseph Carter stood on the store’s steps, staring ahead, his arms crossed and seemingly oblivious to the last shoppers exiting behind him. The two doormen standing to the side of him brusquely rubbed their gloved hands together as they waited for their employer to depart so they could lock the doors and get themselves home for the night.
The expression on Carter’s face once more indicated a troubled man. No matter how many times Stephen told himself to turn away from his employer’s interest in him, Carter’s countenance made it incredibly hard to do so when it was clear he suffered.
Inhaling, Stephen stepped forward. ‘Good evening, sir.’
Carter started, his charismatic smile slipping into place, his eyes clear and alert once more. ‘Gower. Good evening. Off home, are you?’
‘Yes, sir. Thought I’d pick up some hot food along the way. It’s a good evening for fish and chips.’
‘You sound like my father. Fish and chips eaten out of the newspaper is the only way to enjoy them, according to Robert Carter.’
‘He sounds a fine man to me, sir.’
‘Oh, he is.’ Carter’s voice grew wistful. ‘One thoroughly enjoying his retirement.’
Stephen studied the thinning crowds as people hurried back and forth, a passing tram fit to bursting with commuters as they returned home after a day’s work. ‘I would’ve thought you’d be keen to get home and into the warm.’
‘Oh, I will. In a while.’
The ensuing silence and Carter’s stiffened tone prodded at Stephen’s conscience. How was he supposed to ignore a troubled civilian after what had happened last time? Could he really live with the risk of missing something that might help Carter? If Stephen turned away again…
He fought the harried beat of his heart, the way coldness swept along the length of his spine. Helping people was what he’d been trained for – what he’d spent twelve years concentrating on since he was eighteen years old. Joseph Carter was a decent man. Highly regarded by staff and customers alike. Word around the store denoted he’d quickly risen from humble beginnings as a glove maker in a small shop by Pulteney Bridge, owned by his father, to becoming one of Pennington’s executives. A skilled master of his vocation, Joseph Carter had burst into Pennington’s armed with an array of exemplary gloves and designs, going on to prove himself one half of a formidable team alongside Elizabeth Pennington. They had then fallen in love and later married.
On paper, Joseph Carter should be the cat who’d got the cream, but in these woebegone moments, he wore the expression of a man who’d lost a fortune by betting on the wrong horse.
What choice did Stephen have but to step into the lion’s den?
He cleared his throat. ‘When I first came here, you implied something was preying on your mind.’
Carter turned, his blue eyes darkening. ‘Yes, I remember.’
‘Do you mind if I ask if whatever bothered you has been resolved?’
Carter drew his concentrated gaze over Stephen’s face, a muscle leaping in his tightened jaw. He quickly turned away and stared straight ahead.
‘Far from it. In fact, the problem becomes infinitely worse every day.’ Carter spoke the cold, stilted words from between gritted teeth, his shoulders high and his entire body rigid.
Damnation. Stephen briefly closed his eyes before opening them again. ‘You inferred there’s a possibility my previous work with the police might be of some help to you.’
Carter turned again, the same dark preoccupation in his eyes. ‘I did. Do you think you could wait awhile for your fish and chips?’
Stephen nodded. What sort of trouble he’d just stepped into he had no idea, but whatever it was, he instinctively knew his quiet role at Pennington’s was endangered. Well, whether for better or for worse, it was clear there would be no going back. Of that much he was certain. ‘Yes, sir. I think I could.’
‘Then come with me.’
Carter walked back through Pennington’s main entrance, leaving Stephen to follow. He nodded at the doormen, flinching slightly when the doors were pulled closed behind him with a loud thud, the bolts thrown into place with ominous finality.
Carter led the way through Pennington’s semi-darkness towards the grand staircase.
‘We’ll have to take the stairs to the fifth floor,’ Carter said over his shoulder. ‘The lifts would have been locked down for the night.’
Stephen stared at his employer’s back. The fifth floor was the executive floor. Whatever he was about to be privy to was clearly serious.
Further trepidation pressed down on him when they emerged into the thickly carpeted corridor, the walls covered with highly polished wood panelling. Stephen glanced at the closed office doors on either side of him. Various heads of departments’ names were etched into the opaque glass windows, deadened wall sconces lining the long corridor until they entered a smaller office housing a chair and desk, wall shelving full of folders, sample books and other paraphernalia. Everything looked meticulously organised. The antithesis of his haphazard filing system at Scotland Yard, although there had never been a file, report or statement Stephen couldn’t put his hand on at any given time.
Carter glanced over his shoulder. ‘This is Mrs Chadwick’s office, my wife’s secretary. Let’s go in and see Elizabeth.’
Stephen nodded, made all too aware of the depth of Carter’s distraction by his use of Miss Pennington’s Christian name to an employee. He now knew that whatever Carter had to tell him was personal, and his wife had knowledge of whatever it might be. Experience had taught him it was always better when spouses knew of one another’s troubles. Secrets could become the biggest threat to any relationship and, most certainly, a hindrance to any investigation.
Relaxing his shoulders a little, Stephen followed as Carter knocked and entered a back office situated past Mrs Chadwick’s desk.
‘Elizabeth. I’ve brought Mr Gower to talk to us. It’s time we asked for help.’
She lifted her gaze from the papers on her desk and stared wide-eyed at her husband. Slowly, the shock was replaced with what looked to be unconcealed obligation. She stood, walked around her desk and stared hard into Carter’s eyes before turning to Stephen.
She smiled as she slipped her hand onto her husband’s arm as though to hold him still. ‘Mr Gower, thank you so much for agreeing to speak to us.’
Struck by the sudden and unmistakable tension that shrouded the room, unease rippled along Stephen’s spine. Before now, he’d only witnessed a relaxed closeness between the young couple in front of him. He nodded. ‘You’re welcome.’
Carter’s gaze lingered on his wife’s turned cheek, before he eased his arm from her grasp and waved towards a small seating area by the window. ‘Why don’t we take a seat?’
Stephen took a deep breath and walked across the room to sit on one of the two velvet-covered armchairs. Miss Pennington and Carter sat side by side on the settee beside him. The swish of traffic passing along the rain-soaked streets and the chatter and laughter of the passing pedestrians filtered through the windows, only enhancing the tense silence inside.
‘I think it best if I start at the beginning.’ Carter exchanged another glance with his wife, before focusing on Stephen. ‘Did you hear about the murder committed recently? A woman was killed, and her body found in an alleyway close to the river.’
Stephen’s unease escalated. ‘I did, sir. Yes.’
‘There has been pitifully brief coverage in the newspapers and, it seems to me, detectives and the police are failing to uncover any clues or information leading to an arrest. The whole thing is a farce.’
Stephen stared at Carter’s wretched expression, his eyes blazing with anger and disgust. ‘Did you know the victim, sir?’
‘No.’ Carter looked again at his wife, before closing his eyes and dipping his head. He seemed to fight to gather himself before he stared directly at Stephen. ‘But from the newspaper coverage, the similarities hit a little too close to home.’
‘Joseph…’ Elizabeth Pennington gripped her husband’s tense arm, her gaze pleading as she looked at his downturned face. ‘Maybe we should speak with Mr Gower another time. It’s been a long day. You would be better to go home and—’
‘We are speaking to Mr Gower now,’ Carter snapped. ‘I have no wish to go home or anywhere else.’
Elizabeth Pennington’s jaw tightened before she looked away, towards the windows.
Stephen slowly uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, disquiet whispering through him. ‘If you did not know this woman, can I ask why you are so clearly distressed by her death? Was she an employee of Pennington’s?’
‘No.’
‘Then—’
‘My first wife was murdered, Gower. Killed and left in an alleyway close to the river.’
Stephen stared at Carter, then Elizabeth Pennington, a prickle of trepidation passing through him. Miss Pennington, again, carefully watched her husband, her green eyes glistening with, what looked to be, unshed tears.
He clasped his hands tighter in his lap, sickness heavy in his stomach for Carter’s devastating loss. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I assume your wife’s killer was never found? That you think what happened to her might in some way be linked with this new murder?’
‘Yes.’ Carter’s eyes darkened with anger. ‘The similarities in this new killing and my first wife’s are too many to ignore. The woman’s body was found – very close to where Lillian was found. She was stabbed and the food she was carrying stolen. My wife was a charitable woman, Gower. Some might say too charitable, but there was nothing, or no one, who could’ve stopped her from helping those less fortunate.’ His hand trembled as he ran it over his face, his skin pale. ‘The dangers were many when she delivered food and clothes to the slum’s poor and, most evenings, I would accompany her for fear of her coming under attack in the exact way she was, come the end.’
Understanding dawned as Stephen stared into the sad eyes of a man who still held himself responsible for his wife’s death. ‘But you didn’t accompany her on this particular night?’
‘No.’ Carter shook his head, his hand clasping Miss Pennington’s so hard she winced, but she didn’t remove her fingers. ‘And that’s something that will never cease to haunt me.’
Elizabeth Pennington’s gaze was full of anguish. ‘Joseph… Mr Carter, has done everything he can think of, for many years, to find the man who murdered Lillian. Not only has he undertaken his own investigations, he has repeatedly appealed to the police for help, to no avail. As an ex-policeman you will understand how these random killings quickly become cold when they take place in areas where anger, theft and violence are commonplace.’ She glanced at Carter again, her gaze pleading and her tone soft. ‘We would really like your help, Mr Gower.’
Nausea rose bitter in Stephen’s throat as he looked between Carter and his wife, the beaten and bloodied bodies of Walker, Hettie Brown and Fay Morris rising in his mind’s eye. He swallowed. ‘I’m no longer with Scotland Yard. You know this.’
‘We do…’ Elizabeth glanced at her husband, who continued to stare at Stephen, torture etched on his face. ‘But isn’t there something you can do? Anything that might help us uncover a lead, a possibility of where or how to start looking for this man?’ She shook her head. ‘My husband cannot go on not knowing who is responsible for murdering his wife. Not seeing justice served for the woman he once loved with every part of him. This is murder. How are we to turn away from such a thing or even begin to move on with our lives without someone paying for the pain and loss of life they’ve caused?’
Claustrophobia closed in and Stephen curled his hands into fists, his pulse thumping. If the Board discovered he was embroiled in a murder investigation whilst on suspension, the chances of him being reinstated were nil to nothing. His choice of whether to return obliterated, before he’d had the opportunity to even consider the remote possibility. How in God’s name had this happened? But what the hell was he supposed to do? If he failed Carter as he had Constable Walker, Hettie and Fay, he would most likely face criminal charges, let alone losing his damn badge. But to walk away and do nothing…
He stood and held Carter’s gaze. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but—’
‘Please, Gower. At least think about it. You have family in Bath, do you not? You know the area, know how to speak to people. Please.’
Helplessness and responsibility as a public servant pressed down on him and Stephen closed his eyes to Carter’s pain. What did it matter that he eventually found the killer in London, it had done nothing to assuage Stephen’s guilt for three people being murdered under his watch. His mind was warped by blame, his skills damaged. If Carter looked to him to seek redemption for his wife and Stephen dashed the man’s remaining hopes, what then?
He turned away from Carter’s and Elizabeth Pennington’s wretched faces. The pleading in their eyes was excruciating. Pacing a circle, Stephen pushed his hand into his hair and tightly clenched the strands.
Stopping, he turned and looked deep into Carter’s eyes. ‘Whereabouts did this recent murder take place?’
‘In an alleyway by the Rising Sun public house. The name of which is an irony in itself considering its location.’ Carter stood, eagerness filling his expression. ‘I could take you there now. It would help you to see where Lillian was attacked, wouldn’t it?’
Elizabeth Pennington stepped forward and grasped her husband’s arm again, her green eyes flashing with clear impatience. ‘Joseph, let Mr Gower think.’
Stephen took a deep breath. ‘You need to speak to the Bath police. Tell them how you fear the similarities in this latest murder bear similarities to your wife’s. They will listen to you and undoubtedly take your claims seriously, if you press them.’
‘I have tried that several times. They don’t listen. They think they know best.’ Carter’s eyes bulged with rage. ‘How many times have you dismissed a civilian’s claims in the past, Mr Gower? Are you telling me when you worked for the Yard you heeded all information as it was given to you? Did you not occasionally consider people’s insight and observation as little more than overwrought hysteria?’
Stephen’s heart raced. Carter could not possibly have known how quickly, how brutally, he’d stabbed a knife into Stephen’s conscience… into his culpability. He swallowed. ‘I shouldn’t be investigating anything right now.’
‘I understand but, please, at least look into what has been reported. I’m begging you. I…’ He looked into his wife’s eyes, covered her hand where it lay on his arm. ‘We need this agony to end. It has to.’
Stephen looked at this young, inspiring couple and his heart sank. How was he to refuse them at least a preliminary enquiry? The chances were, anything Stephen attempted would come to nothing, considering how little he now knew of Bath, its districts and people. But shouldn’t he do something – anything – to try to help?
He drew in a long breath, slowly released it. ‘Gather everything you’ve already tried, any clippings of this latest murder and the similarities with your wife’s killing. I’ll take a look, but I’m not making any promises I’ll uncover any more than you have.’
Carter slumped as his gaze filled with undisguised relief. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
Stephen put on his hat and dipped his head. ‘I’ll see you both in the morning. Goodnight, sir. Miss Pennington.’
With heavy steps, Stephen walked to the door and out into the corridor, wincing when he heard a strangled sob and Miss Pennington’s soft murmurings as she comforted her husband.
Stephen closed his eyes. What in God’s name had he got himself into?