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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Museum Mysteries
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
London, 1899. Queen Victoria lays the foundation stone on the site of what she names as The Victoria and Albert Museum. Shortly after, the Museum Detectives Daniel Wilson and Abigail Fenton are called to the site because the dead body of curator Andrew Page has been found. The Queen is determined that nothing will sully the new museum, and by association her beloved Albert's legacy. But the more Wilson and Fenton dig, the more they discover other potential motives for Page's murder, some with potentially explosive implications. They will have to tread carefully as someone is determined to stand in their way .
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MURDER AT THE VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM
JIM ELDRIDGE
5
For Lynne, for always6
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
London 1899
The tendrils of thick, pea-souper fog snaked through the London night, fog so thick that the lights from the gas lamps in the streets were rendered useless, just blobs of pale luminous green obscured by the thick, curling, crawling smog. Anyone in the streets, and there were very few people about, had scarves tied around their noses and mouths to stop the acrid stench of burnt coal and coke being drawn down into their lungs. As it was, it stung their eyes, acid tears running down making furrows in the grime the fog brought to their faces.
No one ventured out into this fog unless their business was of vital importance. The hansom cabs were tied up, their horses stabled, because no horse could find its way in this dense murk. The prostitutes were off the streets. The beat coppers had retreated to their police stations. Even the cats had stayed indoors. Only the rats could be heard, scuttling through the rubbish in the backstreets, scavenging for food. 8
The exception was by the massive marquee in Kensington that hid the yet to be dug foundations for the new Victoria and Albert Museum. Inside, the body of a man was laid to rest on the cobbled ground. A respectable-looking man. Expensive shoes. A Savile Row tailored suit. The only thing that marred the image was the gash where his throat had been cut from ear to ear.
The fog crept under the marquee and lapped at the man’s dead body like green waves at the seashore. Then slowly engulfed him.
CHAPTER TWO
Daniel Wilson sat in the small, decorative balcony of their two-storey house overlooking Primrose Hill in north London. There was just enough space for two chairs either side of a small table, at which he and his wife, Abigail, would sit when the weather was fine and gaze out over the space of grass, trees and wildflowers that reached from their back gate to Prince Albert Road. Across that road was London Zoo with its menagerie of rare and exotic animals, and beyond that the vast open space that was Regent’s Park. He was glad that the thick fog that had plagued London for the last two days had finally lifted so that he could savour the magnificence of the view.
Daniel still marvelled at the fact that he, a workhouse boy from Camden Town who’d entered the world of menial work at the age of twelve and who’d spent most of his thirty-eight years living in the north London slum, was now here, in what was for him one of the most desirable parts of London. The success 10that he and his wife had experienced as the Museum Detectives, as the press called them, had given them the financial freedom to be able to take a long-term rent on this three-bedroomed detached house, which had electric lighting and a gas stove in the kitchen. It was a far cry from the house where he’d previously lived, and into which Abigail had moved to join him after they’d first met in Cambridge five years ago. Their previous house had been a two-up two-down terrace, with a scullery at the back and a lean-to outhouse in the backyard for the toilet. All the cooking had been done on a solid fuelled iron range in the kitchen next to the scullery. Washing had been done in the basin in the scullery, using hot water heated in kettles on the coal-fired range. Baths, which before they’d taken once a week, had been in a tin bath, brought into the kitchen from the hook where it had hung just outside the back door to the yard. It was half-filled with a mixture of hot water heated in saucepans on the range, and cold water from a tap in the scullery, carried through in a bucket. The same bucket had been used after bathing to empty the tin bath. Daniel and Abigail had shared the same bath water, taking turns to go first: one week it would be Abigail, the next Daniel, and so on. Unless both of them had had an unfortunate accident, like falling over into a pile of horse manure in the road, in which case it necessitated filling the bath twice. Now, they had a bathroom indoors, with hot water available from the tank above the boiler. They also had an indoor toilet, which meant no more trips out to the outhouse in the depths of winter holding a candle or an oil lamp. No more having to listen to the scuttling of rats and mice in the backyard.
We should have done this years ago, he thought. 11
The change had come the previous year, after Abigail returned from leading an archaeological expedition to the pyramids in Egypt, funded by Arthur Conan Doyle. Abigail, who had gained a Classics degree at Girton College at Cambridge University, had already established a reputation as a highly esteemed archaeologist for her excavations and researches in Egypt before she met Daniel when he’d been hired to investigate a murder at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge. At that time, Daniel had not long established himself as a private investigator after many years serving as a detective at Scotland Yard. His most notable work had been as part of Inspector Abberline’s squad investigating the Jack the Ripper murders. Although that case had resulted in no convictions, it had cemented Daniel’s reputation as Abberline’s sergeant, and a brilliant and dogged detective. Unfortunately, the hierarchy of the Metropolitan Police, and especially at Scotland Yard, valued sticking to orders from on high above detection brilliance. That had led to Abberline resigning from the force, with Daniel following shortly after.
Abigail’s return from Egypt the previous summer had led to them both realising that this relationship was one that was for ever. And so, after years of deliberating and putting things off, they’d married, and the former Abigail Fenton became Mrs Abigail Wilson, although when giving lectures and talks on archaeology, she was still billed as Abigail Fenton.
‘It’s important you keep your own name,’ Daniel had insisted. ‘You’ve spent your career building the reputation of Abigail Fenton, not Abigail Wilson.’
With marriage had come the move. Daniel had always been the reluctant one, his house in Camden Town, small and lacking 12all amenities, had been the one secure place in his life. Abigail never complained about it, even though she’d come from a far more comfortable background in Cambridge. It was Daniel who said: ‘We’re both nearly forty. We don’t want to be lugging a tin bath around as we get older, and have to put up with going out into the dark whenever we need to use the toilet.’ And so they’d moved. Not far, just a mile or so, but the social distance between Primrose Hill and Camden Town was enormous. And the glory of sitting on this balcony, as he was now, and looking out over the acres of fresh greenery from his own house filled Daniel with a happiness that was almost overwhelming.
‘Enjoying the view?’
Abigail stepped through the French doors of their bedroom to join him, settling herself down on the other chair.
‘I am,’ said Daniel. ‘And I was just thinking, we should have done this years ago.’
‘We’re doing it now, and that’s what counts,’ said Abigail. She held a single sheet of paper, along with the envelope from which she’d taken it, in her hand. ‘A uniformed messenger has just delivered this.’
Daniel frowned. ‘I didn’t hear the bell ring.’
‘I was in the living room and saw him approaching,’ said Abigail. ‘As he looked official, I opened the door.’ She held the piece of paper out towards him. ‘It’s from Buckingham Palace. Someone called Sir Anthony Thurrington, personal secretary to the Queen.’
Daniel looked at her stunned, then turned his attention to the letter, which bore the words Buckingham Palace at its letterhead.
‘You’ll see he says we are invited to a private audience 13with Her Majesty Queen Victoria this afternoon at 2 p.m. at Buckingham Palace. He adds it is a matter of the utmost urgency.’
‘I’m not sure if we can make it,’ said Daniel doubtfully. ‘It’s very short notice. I was intending to clean the windows this afternoon.’
Abigail stared at him. ‘What!’
He grinned at her. ‘I was joking, obviously.’ But then he looked serious as he added: ‘But there is a point to be made here. These people who think they are so important that they can just summon people to drop everything and come running at their whim.’
‘She is important! She’s the Queen, for God’s sake! How much more important can anyone be?’
‘Yes, but it’s a point.’
‘You used to do it when you were at Scotland Yard,’ accused Abigail. ‘You summoned people to attend.’
‘That was on official business.’
‘And what do you think this is?’
‘It says a private audience.’
‘You think she’s inviting us to the palace for tea and cakes and social chit-chat?’ demanded Abigail, outraged.
‘All right, there’s no need to get upset.’
‘There’s every need to get upset. This is the Queen. Empress of half the world, and you’re quibbling over whether to go and see her at her summons.’
‘I’m not quibbling.’
‘Yes, you are.’ She frowned. ‘What could she want with us?’
‘Perhaps she wants to congratulate you on your expedition last year to Egypt. The first to be led by a British woman.’ 14
Abigail shook her head. ‘If it was that, this Sir Anthony wouldn’t have added this is an urgent matter. What’s happened to the royal family recently that might concern us?’
‘The Queen formally laid the foundation stone for the new Victoria and Albert Museum last month,’ mused Daniel.
‘How does that affect us?’
‘I have no idea. I’m just digging up things that have been in the newspapers lately. A few days ago there was a suggestion of a scandal involving the Prince of Wales in one of the gutter press rags.’
‘What sort of scandal?’
‘I didn’t read it properly. I just saw it in the newsagent’s shop when I was picking up a copy of The Times. Knowing what they say about the prince, it could be some woman he’s supposed to be having an affair with, or something to do with his gambling.’
‘I can hardly see that the Queen would want to talk to us about anything like that,’ said Abigail.
‘True,’ Daniel agreed. Suddenly a thought struck him and he reached and picked up that morning’s Times, which he’d put on the table. ‘Wait! I saw something in this morning’s paper. I haven’t read the story properly, but the words Victoria and Albert were in there.’
‘What was it about?’
Daniel turned over the pages of the newspaper, then said triumphantly: ‘I think this might be it. “The dead body of a man was discovered yesterday morning at the site of the new Victoria and Albert Museum which is currently under construction. The dead man has been identified as one Andrew Page, a curator of the South Kensington Museum.”’
‘That’s got to be it,’ said Abigail.
CHAPTER THREE
The hansom cab dropped Daniel and Abigail at the imposing East Wing of the palace, then turned and made its way across the courtyard towards the Mall, leaving Daniel and Abigail to approach the two soldiers on duty in sentry boxes either side of the entrance.
The soldiers, standing rigidly to attention, their rifles held firmly, butts on the ground, gave them barely a glance before resuming their fixed gaze directly ahead.
‘What do we do?’ asked Daniel. ‘Is there a bell we ring?’
A well-dressed man in his early sixties appeared from the palace entrance and came down the steps towards them.
‘Mr and Mrs Wilson, I presume?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Daniel.’
‘I am Sir Anthony Thurrington, one of the Queen’s advisers. Thank you for coming, and for being punctual.’
He held out his hand to them and they each shook it. 16Thurrington was a short man, thin, expensively attired in a long dark frock coat with a white carnation in the buttonhole.
He went back up the steps and into the palace, Daniel and Abigail following. Once inside he stopped and turned to look at them enquiringly as he asked: ‘If you saw this morning’s newspapers, I believe you may already have an idea why the Queen has summoned you.’
‘The body of the man found at the site of the new Victoria and Albert Museum?’ asked Abigail.
‘Exactly so,’ said Thurrington. ‘She has heard of your reputation for solving murders committed in the nation’s most prestigious museums and wishes you to investigate.’
‘I assume the police are already engaged on the case,’ said Daniel.
‘They are,’ said Thurrington. ‘A Chief Superintendent Armstrong is the officer in charge.’
‘And he has been advised of our involvement?’
Thurrington hesitated, then said, ‘Not directly. I believe Her Majesty wished to talk to you first. Have you met the Queen, or been to Buckingham Palace, before?’
‘No,’ they replied.
‘Just a few words about the protocol before I take you to the throne room, which is where she’ll see you. The Queen will be seated during your audience with her. She is eighty years old and rather frail, but her mind is still vitally alert. You are to remain standing. When you arrive in front of her, you, Mr Wilson, will bow. There is no need for a deep bow, a head and shoulders will suffice. You, Mrs Wilson, will curtsey. Again, there is no need for an over-ostentatious curtsey, a discreet bob will be all that is required. 17
‘Do not offer to shake her hand. If she wishes to shake hands, she will proffer hers. You will refer to the Queen as “Your Majesty” the first time she speaks to you, and thereafter as “ma’am”; pronounced as in “jam”, not as in “farm”.’ He looked at them enquiringly. ‘Do you have any questions before I take you through?’
‘None, but I’m sure we will have some afterwards. Especially finding out as much as we can about Mr Page, the man who was killed.’
‘That’s no problem. I will escort you out after the audience with Her Majesty, and we can talk details then.’ He hesitated for a moment, then said in low and confidential tones: ‘I must alert you to the fact you will undoubtedly be aware of a smell of damp here at the palace. This is because Her Majesty spends very little time here. You must be aware that after her beloved Albert died nearly forty years ago, she became somewhat of a recluse, electing to stay at Windsor, Balmoral, or her residence on the Isle of Wight, Osborne House. For many years after Prince Albert’s death, Buckingham Palace was abandoned, and it was only after some gentle persuasion that she returned to occasionally to take residence here. She could not, and still cannot to a great extent, abide being here with the memories of happy times with her late husband.
‘She is only here at the moment because she decided to journey to the site of the new museum from Buckingham Palace as it was nearer than her other residences. She had stated her intention to return to the Isle of Wight before this appalling incident. Now, she wants to stay here until the mystery of this dreadful occurrence is solved. So I can only urge you to discover 18who the culprits are as swiftly as possible. As I said, the Queen is frail and the damp in this building does not aid her health. Now, if you’re ready, please follow me.’
He led the way along a series of wide, long corridors, the high ceilings and supporting columns decorated with gold-painted mouldings. Every wall was covered with large paintings, some portraits, some landscapes. But despite the aura of wealth and grandeur, they both caught the pervading smell of damp as they walked.
Finally, Thurrington stopped beside a pair of tall, dark wood double doors, on either side of which stood a footman wearing an ornate costume adorned with frills of lace around the knees and carrying decorated wooden staves. Thurrington murmured something to the footmen, and they knocked at the door with their staves. The door opened and Thurrington walked through, followed by Daniel and Abigail, passing two more footmen into the throne room.
Having been told that this was a ‘private audience’, both Daniel and Abigail were stunned to be presented with the sight of the Queen sitting on an ornate gold throne on a raised platform, surrounded by what looked to be a crowd of about twenty people. Most of the men and women standing behind the throne and to either side of the Queen seemed to be servants, with possibly some royal advisers, notably the elderly men, some bearded or moustachioed, who wore dark formal suits and sombre expressions. The two of the group who caught the eye of both Daniel and Abigail were a short man of Asian appearance, wearing ornately decorated Indian clothes, who stood to one side of the throne, and a stately looking woman in her mid-forties standing on the other side. 19
‘That’s Princess Beatrice,’ Abigail whispered to Daniel as they neared the platform, accompanied by Sir Anthony Thurrington. ‘The Queen’s youngest daughter and her constant companion.’
‘And the man in the Indian costume?’
‘No idea,’ said Abigail.
They reached the raised platform and Thurrington stepped forward.
‘Mr and Mrs Wilson, Your Majesty,’ he said.
Daniel made his discreet bow, as instructed and Abigail lowered herself into a curtsey, before straightening up.
Thurrington had told them that the Queen was frail, but she didn’t look it. She was dressed in a long black dress, trimmed with a collar of white lace, which encased her stout figure. On her head she wore a lace cap barely covering her grey hair, which had been pulled back. Her face looked pale and strained, but there was a strength to her which showed in the firmness of her jaw and the steely light in her eyes as she studied them. Physically frail, perhaps, but most definitely not in an emotional sense. This was a strong determined woman, very much in charge.
‘You are the couple who I believe are known as The Museum Detectives?’
‘We are, Your Majesty.’
‘No doubt you have heard of the outrage that has been perpetrated at the site of the new museum dedicated to my late and dearly beloved Albert, the Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington. The dead body of a man has been found there. Apparently murdered.’
‘So we understand, Your Majesty.’
‘I cannot have this!’ Although she kept her voice level, there 20was no mistaking her anger, her indignation. ‘This museum is to be a testament to my dear Albert, to laud his achievements and make his name known for generations to come. This appalling murder desecrates his name and everything he stands for. I will not have it! You will find out who committed this heinous crime and bring them to justice. It is the only way to clean this taint from the museum.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Daniel.
Victoria turned to Abigail and asked: ‘Mrs Wilson, you are a detective as well?’
‘I am, ma’am.’
‘I was informed you were an archaeologist. That you’d recently led an expedition to the pyramids.’
‘That is correct, ma’am.’
‘The first by a British woman.’
Abigail was about to tell her that actually there were other British women who’d carried out archaeological excavations in Egypt before her, but then reasoned that none of them could be said to have led an expedition. That, coupled with the thought that correcting the Queen in front of the whole royal entourage was not necessarily a wise move. Instead, she nodded and said: ‘Yes, ma’am, I’m honoured to say.’
‘I hope you and your husband are as successful in solving this case as you were in Egypt,’ said the Queen. ‘You will keep me informed of progress through Sir Anthony Thurrington.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Abigail, and once more bobbed into a curtsey while Daniel added his own ‘Yes, ma’am’ and gave a small bow, before they both followed Thurrington back towards the double doors, past the footmen, and into the long corridor.
‘If you come to my office, I’ll appraise you of the situation, 21and give you a list of any contacts you need for your investigation,’ said Thurrington.
As they walked along the corridor, Abigail commented, ‘This is the first time we’ve been asked to investigate a murder at a museum that hasn’t even been built yet.’
‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Sir Anthony. ‘To be exact, the Victoria and Albert Museum will be the final and concluding phase of a museum that has been developed at the site over the last forty years.’
‘You mean the South Kensington Museum,’ said Abigail.
‘Yes, but in fact its roots can be traced even further back to the Great Exhibition of 1851, which was Prince Albert’s concept. You remember it, I’m sure.’
‘Neither of us were even born then.’
‘Yes, but you know of it.’
‘Hyde Park,’ said Daniel. ‘The vast building made of glass, known as the Crystal Palace.’
‘Vast, indeed,’ nodded Thurrington. ‘Nearly nineteen hundred feet long by five hundred feet wide, built of a cast iron frame and filled with massive glass windows. Even the ceiling was made of glass. Most of the glass was made in Birmingham in order to showcase the importance of the Midlands in glass production.’
‘Yes, we’ve seen it,’ said Daniel. ‘It was moved and re-erected in Sydenham a couple of years after the Exhibition and the area was renamed Crystal Palace.’
‘Ah, but you never saw it in its glory as the home of the Great Exhibition,’ enthused Thurrington. ‘Magnificent! It was called The Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations, and that’s exactly what it was. The building’s vastness 22meant that it was able to house trees of all kinds. Statues were everywhere. Working examples of industrial machinery. People could watch the entire process of cotton production, from spinning to the finished cloth, for example.
‘The huge Trophy Telescope with a focal length of 16 feet towered over the people who came to admire it. The gems and diamonds on show included the world’s largest known diamond, the Koh-i-Noor, along with the Daria-i-Noor, one of the rarest pink diamonds in the world. There were arts and crafts from all over the world. The New Zealand exhibits were all made from natural resources made by the Maori. The exhibition was the perfect combination of old handcrafts and modern machinery.’
By now their journey through the maze of twisting and turning corridors and passages had brought them to a door marked ‘Sir Anthony Thurrington’. Thurrington pushed it open and ushered them into his office. The room was quite spartan when compared with the opulence of the throne room and the high-ceilinged corridors: a large desk and three chairs. The walls were lined with shelves filled from ceiling to floor with papers and books. Thurrington gestured for them to sit before taking his seat behind the desk.
‘Getting back to what I said about the Victoria and Albert Museum stemming from the Great Exhibition: Prince Albert’s idea was to make the exhibition permanent, and on a grand scale. His ambition was to create a museum of design that would inspire others and lead to this country being one of the foremost in the world when it came to combining the arts with the sciences. The first stage came with the opening of the South Kensington Museum, in 1857, the existing buildings that you referred to. The first of those buildings was opened by Queen Victoria and 23Prince Albert. It was also known as the Museum of Works of Art, and it included a Department of Science. It also housed the National Art Training School, which became the Royal College of Art.
‘The following year new galleries were added, including some displaying pictures from the National Gallery. The building also included a Female Art School. As you know, in December 1861, tragically, Prince Albert died. But the work continued in his name. In 1860 he’d already started to have a roof built over the open court, creating new galleries, and this work continued after his death, and was finished in 1862. This roofing created two new huge display areas, the North and South Courts.
‘In 1863 residential buildings for senior staff were built, along with more galleries.
‘In 1865 a huge gallery was built to display Raphael’s full-size tapestries for the Sistine Chapel, which were loaned from the Royal Collection. In that same year a new grand central entrance was built. Between 1867 and 1873 the Science Schools were added. Then, between 1879 and 1883 the National Art Library was built.
‘Finally, in 1891, proposals were invited to unify the whole range of buildings as one museum. The chosen design was that by Aston Webb, the architect. This would have new galleries, a new entrance, and a new public face along Cromwell Road and Exhibition Road. The whole building would house the art and science collections. And now, with the laying of the foundation stone by Her Majesty, construction can at last begin. I assume you will be visiting the site where the body was discovered.’
‘Indeed,’ said Daniel.
‘I will send you a letter of authority to give you unfettered 24access to the site, and to wherever else you need to visit, and anyone you feel it is necessary to talk to.’
‘Anyone?’ queried Abigail.
‘Anyone,’ confirmed Thurrington firmly. ‘The Queen is determined that this case be solved, and urgently.’
‘If you could let us have details of the murdered man to begin with,’ said Daniel.
Thurrington nodded and took a sheet of paper from his desk, which he passed to them.
‘I had anticipated that. This is Andrew Page’s private address. His wife’s name is there as well, Mrs Gretchen Page.’
‘Gretchen?’ queried Abigail.
‘She’s German,’ explained Thurrington. ‘I’ve also given you the name of his immediate colleagues at the museum, and his solicitor in case you need to enquire into his private business.’
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel, putting the sheet of paper into his pocket.
Thurrington took a card from his desk drawer and wrote a few words on it.
‘As an interim measure until my official letter arrives, this card, signed by me and on the authority of the Queen, gives you permission to go anywhere and interview anyone.’
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel, and he added the card to his pocket.
Thurrington looked at them pointedly as he said: ‘One thing I would add. Because of protocol and convention, we prefer it that nothing that is said between yourselves and the Queen is passed on to other parties.’
‘The press?’ enquired Daniel.
‘Exactly,’ said Thurrington.
‘So the fact that Her Majesty mentioned Abigail’s expedition 25to Egypt…?’ queried Daniel.
‘That would be acceptable,’ said Thurrington. ‘It’s praise for a British subject and gives no information about Her Majesty.’
‘By the way,’ asked Abigail, ‘who was that Indian man who was with Her Majesty? She seemed very reliant on him.’
‘Oh, she is. That’s The Munshi.’
‘What’s a Munshi?’
‘It means secretary or teacher in Urdu. His name is Abdul Karim and he came to work as a waiter at the palace in 1887, but Her Majesty was so impressed by him that a year later he was appointed her private secretary. As well as acting as her secretary and her clerk, he’s also teaching the Queen Urdu.’
‘She’s learning Urdu at her age?’
‘She feels it’s something she needs to do as Empress of India.’
‘That is very advanced thinking for her,’ said Abigail.
‘It is,’ agreed Thurrington. He gave a sly half-smile. ‘Not that all the family would agree with you.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’d better give you advance warning because undoubtedly you’ll encounter them sooner or later, as Her Majesty has given you the authority to carry out your investigation among members of the royal family. Certain of her family don’t approve of the Munshi. And they include her eldest son and heir to the throne, Prince Albert Edward.
‘To give you an example, in 1889 the Prince of Wales hosted an entertainment for the Queen at his home in Sandringham. When Karim found he’d been allocated a seat with the servants rather than the gentry, he retired to his room feeling he’d been insulted. When the Queen learnt of this she remonstrated with her eldest son and told him that he should have been seated 26among the household. The following year the Queen attended the Braemar Games, accompanied by Karim. Her son, Prince Arthur, approached the Queen’s Private Secretary, Sir Henry Ponsonby, to express his outrage at this Indian being allowed to mingle with the gentry. Sir Henry informed him that Karim was there by order of the Queen and advised him to take the matter up with his mother.’
‘And did he?’
‘No. The problem is that the Queen has a very high opinion of the Munshi, as he has of himself. Meanwhile, her family have a very low opinion of him. Very low indeed.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Daniel and Abigail walked away from Buckingham Palace and headed to Trafalgar Square.
‘Where to first?’ asked Daniel, studying the details he’d been given for Andrew Page. ‘The widow?’
‘I suggest the scene of the crime,’ said Abigail. ‘Or, at least, where the body was dumped. He may not necessarily have been killed there.’
‘In that case, we’ll take a cab,’ said Daniel.
‘I can remember when you said you liked to walk everywhere,’ smiled Abigail.
‘Ah, but that was when I was an urchin from the slums. Now I’m living in middle-class comfort in Primrose Hill. Also, we’re on a mission from none other than Her Majesty the Queen, which means costs will be reimbursed.’
As always, there was a line of horse-drawn hansom cabs waiting for passengers at Trafalgar Square, and they 28commandeered one to take them to the South Kensington Museum. As they journeyed, Daniel tapped his pocket.
‘I’m glad Sir Anthony gave us that card of authority,’ he said. ‘I remember seeing pictures in the newspaper about the Queen laying the foundation stone for the new museum, and it was done in this enormous marquee, almost as big as parts of Buckingham Palace, so I expect there’ll be officials on duty there who’ll otherwise send us away with a flea in our ear.’
‘Yes, I saw that,’ nodded Abigail. ‘A marquee so big it housed the Queen in her open landau drawn by four horses, along with sundry servants, and what looked to me like hundreds of courtiers and officials. And it could hardly be said that she laid the foundation stone. There it was, standing about four feet high next to her coach, held up by chains to a ten-feet-high hoist.’
‘But she was there and saw it lifted into place,’ countered Daniel. ‘I expect in royal terms that counts as laying a foundation stone. After all, she’s almost eighty. You surely didn’t expect her to lift it herself and slide it into place, then pick up a spade and start shovelling cement.’
Abigail laughed. ‘What a wonderful image! It would have increased her popularity among the general public.’
‘It would also have finished her off,’ said Daniel. He gave a sly smile. ‘I’m surprised the Prince of Wales didn’t suggest to her that she do it.’
‘Daniel, that’s a wicked thing to say!’ said Abigail.
‘Well, he has been waiting a long time to be king,’ said Daniel. ‘He’s nearly sixty. He surely must be wondering if he’ll ever get on the throne, and if so, how long he’ll be on it.’
The hansom cab dropped them at the corner of Cromwell 29Road and Exhibition Road. The enormous marquee of striped material was still there, enclosing the building plot that would bring together all the existing buildings and galleries and unite them into this new museum. They approached the entrance to the marquee and found a man sitting on a stool just inside it.
‘Private property,’ the man said, getting to his feet as they were about to enter. ‘No admission.’
Daniel took the card that Sir Anthony Thurrington had given him from his pocket and held it out to the man.
‘We’re here on official business on the orders of the Queen,’ he told him. ‘Her Majesty has asked us to investigate the murder of the dead man who was found here yesterday, Mr Andrew Page.’
The man read the card, then immediately stood almost to attention as he handed it back to Daniel.
‘This is an honour, sir, madam,’ he said. ‘And I’d be most grateful when you report back to Her Majesty if you’d mention my name and tell her I was very helpful. I’m Stephen Ward. I was the one who found him, you know.’
‘In that case, Mr Ward, your information will be invaluable and we will certainly make sure Her Majesty knows how vital your assistance has been. We are Mr and Mrs Wilson. Would you show us where you found the body, and in what circumstances?’
‘Certainly.’
With that, Ward led them to where the foundation stone had been put in place and now stood up prominently from the ground.
‘It was here, right by the foundation stone. How it is, the place is closed up during the night, and I’m the first one on 30duty in the morning. At one o’clock my relief, Billy Carter, comes on and takes over, and he locks up at six o’clock.’
‘How do you lock a marquee?’ asked Abigail, curious.
‘There’s a bar that goes across the entrance with a padlock on it. Me and Billy are the ones with the keys, so he locks it at night and I unlock it in the morning.’ He shook his head ruefully as he added: ‘Of course, it only keeps out carriages and such. If anyone wanted to get in at night, they could slide under the canvas. That’s what the police think must have happened.
‘Anyway, I came in and saw this bloke lying by the foundation stone. At first, I thought he was a drunk who’d sneaked in the tent to sleep it off, but when I shook him, I saw his throat had been cut.’
‘Was there much blood?’ asked Daniel.
‘No. If there had been I’d have spotted it before I touched the body. So somebody must have killed him somewhere else, then brought the body here. There was blood on his shirt over his heart, so he must have been stabbed as well. Why would they do that?’
‘That’s what we’re hoping to find out,’ said Daniel.
‘It’s sacrilege, that’s what it is. To dump a dead body at the same spot where the Queen laid this stone. I was here on duty when she did it, so I saw it all, the whole occasion from where my post was, just outside the tent. I was on guard to make sure that only the right people came in.’ He pointed at the foundation stone indignantly. ‘It’s special, that is.’
They looked at the words carved in capitals in the stone:
this stone was laid by her majesty queen victoria, empress of india, on the 17th day of 31may 1899 in the 62nd year of her reign, for the completion of the south kensington museum inaugurated by his royal highness the prince consort andHENCEFORTHto be known as the victoria and albert museum.
‘That’s more special because of what’s under it,’ the man continued. ‘A casket made of beaten copper decorated with gold, with a Royal Crown on top, was buried beneath the foundation stone so it’ll be there for ever. I saw it myself before they put it in place. Inside the casket is a letter to the Queen by the Duke of Devonshire with a history of the museum and all the different things that are inside it. Like I say, it’s very special.’
Daniel looked around at the vast area inside the marquee. ‘Apart from the foundation stone having been put here, no work seems to have actually started on the building,’ he commented.
‘Well, it’s really only the new entrance that’s going to go up, along with some new galleries and such. The new facade, is what they call it. And there’s things to be sorted out first before work proper begins, like how the new rooms and galleries are going to be linked up with the older ones.’
‘You said the police came?’
‘They did. I hailed a passing bobby. There’s usually one around here, what with all the museums and such being here and got to be protected. The bobby took a look, then went off and came back with a detective from Scotland Yard.’
‘Did you catch the detective’s name?’
‘He was an Inspector Feather. He asked a lot of questions. Then he went into the building and asked for someone senior to come out and take a look. It was one of the secretaries who came 32out, poor woman, and she looked at the dead man and said “Oh my God! It’s Mr Page!” I thought she was going to faint, but she didn’t, fair play to her. She stood her ground, even though you could see she was all shook up. The detective took her back into the museum. Then he came back to talk to me more.’
‘Do you know the secretary’s name?’
Ward shook his head. ‘No. But you’ll soon find out if you go into the museum. They’ll know.
‘The detective then asked me about finding the body, and he asked for Billy’s address. He wanted to talk to him to make sure he’d locked the padlock properly the night before, and if he’d seen anyone suspicious before he locked up. Billy told me all about it when he came in today at lunchtime so we could change shifts.’
Abigail looked around the marquee, puzzled.
‘But you’re here this afternoon, not Billy?’ she said.
Ward looked a bit awkward.
‘The truth is, Billy’s a bit of a sensitive soul. He took a look at the stone when he arrived for his shift yesterday and said he couldn’t cope with being where a murder had been done. He’s afraid of ghosts. So, after we’d talked and he’d told me what the detective had asked him about, he said he had to go home. He said he needed time to recover.’
‘How much time?’
‘Well, I’m hoping not long. He asked me if I’d do his afternoon shift yesterday, and then do another double shift today. If he don’t turn up tomorrow, I’m gonna have to see the boss and ask them to get someone else in for the afternoons. I don’t mind doing a double shift two days on the trot, the extra money is always useful, but I need my own time.’ 33
‘Had Billy seen anyone suspicious?’ asked Daniel.
‘No. Nothing. But then, he was quite shaken up when he was here.’
‘Had you seen Mr Page before?’ asked Abigail.
‘He seemed familiar, so it’s possible I might have, ma’am. But not that I can recall. There’s been lots of people passing in and out of here ever since the marquee went up, most of ’em to do with the new museum.’
‘Do you know where they took the body?’ asked Daniel.
‘No. They just put it in a van and went off with it.’
They thanked Mr Ward and left the marquee.
‘We need to talk to the secretary who identified Page,’ said Abigail.
‘Yes,’ agreed Daniel. He took out his watch. ‘But it’s coming up to five o’clock. The office will be closing soon, if it isn’t closed already, and we need time to talk to her properly, and also to his colleagues on the list that Thurrington gave us. I suggest we return tomorrow morning.’
‘A cab again?’ asked Abigail.
‘How about a walk?’ asked Daniel. ‘It will clear our heads.’
‘My head doesn’t need clearing,’ said Abigail. ‘But, if yours does, I’m happy to walk with you.’
As they walked, they discussed what they’d learnt so far about the murder.
‘He was killed somewhere else and his body dumped there, right by the foundation stone with that inscription,’ said Abigail.
‘So it’s intended as a message of some sort, aimed either at the Queen, or the late Prince Albert, or the museum itself. But which?’ asked Daniel. ‘The fact that it was a curator who died at the museum suggests the message is aimed at the museum. But 34why? And why now? The South Kensington Museum has been there for nearly forty years.’
‘Lately there’s been some publicity given to those who believe that museums in the Western world that display items from poorer nations are guilty of theft, and that the items should be returned to their original countries,’ said Abigail. ‘There’s been quite a lot about Egyptian artefacts in museums in England.’
‘I thought all the items in our museums had been bought and paid for.’
‘Usually, yes. But, if you remember, what we found on our first investigation in Cambridge is that not all of the money paid gets back to the people who should have got it.’
‘Wherever there’s money being paid out, there are always unscrupulous people who want a bigger share,’ said Daniel.
‘Do you think that’s what’s happened here? There’s been some financial chicanery and maybe Andrew Page was involved? And this is revenge?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sure it’ll be a possibility we have to look into. Or maybe it’s nothing to do with that, maybe Andrew Page was killed because of someone he’d angered in some other way.’ He sighed. ‘I think this is going to be a difficult one to unravel.’
‘Why? We’ve only just started. And we have unfettered access to everyone.’
‘Yes, but with the Queen herself involved, I can see that changing. I bet there are lots of vested interests at stake, most of which we don’t know about.’
CHAPTER FIVE
When they arrived home they were surprised to find their old friend, Joe Dalton, a reporter with the Daily Telegraph waiting for them.
‘Joe!’ Daniel greeted him cheerfully. ‘This is a surprise! Have you been waiting long?’
‘Ten minutes or so.’
‘What brings you here?’
Dalton smiled. ‘I thought that would have been obvious to the museum detectives.’
Abigail gave a mock shudder, then asked: ‘You’ve heard?’
‘All Fleet Street has heard. We had a press release from Buckingham Palace telling us that Mr and Mrs Wilson have been asked by Her Majesty Queen Victoria to investigate the recent appalling murder of Mr Andrew Page, whose body was discovered at the site of the proposed Victoria and Albert Museum. So, naturally, I’ve come for a comment from you.’ 36
Daniel shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it’ll have to be “no comment” at this stage, Joe, until we receive official confirmation of our appointment. At the moment, all we’ve got is a card of authority. We don’t want to jump the gun and then find out Her Majesty has changed her mind.’
‘But we can offer you a cup of coffee and an off-the-record chat,’ said Abigail.
‘That way we can pick your brains.’
Abigail led the way into the house and stopped. She picked up a buff envelope that was lying on the doormat.
‘It’s got Buckingham Palace stamped on it,’ she said, examining the envelope. ‘So either this is to authorise us, or it’s to say Her Majesty has changed her mind.’
They went through to the kitchen, Abigail opening the envelope as they walked.
‘It’s our authority,’ she announced. ‘We are officially on the case.’
‘Excellent,’ said Daniel, filling the kettle and putting it on the gas stove.
‘So now can you give me a comment?’ asked Dalton, sitting down at the table.
‘To be honest, we know very little at this stage. Andrew Page was a curator for the Victoria and Albert Museum and his body was discovered by a security guard inside the large marquee outside the entrance. His throat had been cut and the lack of blood at the site suggests he was killed somewhere else and his body dumped there.’
‘We know that already,’ said Dalton, slightly impatiently. ‘What have you got? What did Her Majesty say to you when you saw her?’ 37
‘She ordered us to find out who had committed the murder,’ said Abigail.
‘Is that it?’ asked Dalton, disappointed.
‘She also talked to Abigail about the expedition she led to the pyramids last year,’ said Daniel.
‘What did she say about it?’
‘She was complimentary.’
Dalton gave a muted sigh. ‘It’s not much,’ he complained.
‘We’ve only been commissioned to look into the murder a couple of hours ago,’ said Abigail. ‘We need to look into things before we can start commenting on the case.’
‘And even then, we can’t really report on how it’s going in case it puts the investigation at risk,’ said Daniel. ‘You know that, Joe.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Dalton. ‘But I can say you were invited to the palace to meet the Queen, who asked you to look into the murder?’
‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘As the palace have already told the press that, I don’t think that’s breaking any confidences.’
‘What was she wearing?’ asked Dalton, his pencil poised over his open notebook.
‘Are you writing the fashion column now?’ asked Abigail with a smile.
‘Our readers like this kind of detail,’ said Dalton.
‘She was dressed the same way she’s been dressed for the past forty years. In black.’
‘Who else was there when you met her?’ asked Dalton.
‘Ah, now that would be breaking confidences,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m afraid we’ve been warned off talking about our audience by some senior people at the palace.’ 38
‘I’m guessing that would be Sir Anthony Thurrington,’ said Dalton. ‘He’s the Queen’s watchdog.’
‘Why don’t you talk to him?’ asked Abigail. ‘He’d be able to give you what you want.’
Dalton shook his head. ‘He only gives out what he wants us to know, which is usually nothing.’ He sighed. ‘All we’ve got is a dead man.’
‘We know the dead man’s name,’ said Daniel. ‘Andrew Page. That’s a start. Often we don’t even have that. What do you know about him?’
‘Nothing,’ said Dalton. ‘I’ve never come across him or heard anything about him. But then, I’m about news.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps I’ll talk to Adrian Hegley. He’s the Telegraph arts correspondent. He must have known him. The trouble is he’s a terrible gossip, so much of what he says we can’t print.’
‘Why?’
‘Because his stories are usually scurrilous and full of innuendo.’
‘That doesn’t stop some papers printing them.’
‘The gutter press, possibly, but not The Telegraph. We are respectable.’
‘He still sounds like the person we need to talk to,’ said Daniel. ‘We have to start somewhere, and a gossip is usually a good place to begin. Even if it’s unreliable, there is often a grain of truth in there somewhere, and at this moment we know hardly anything about Andrew Page. Is he usually at the office?’
