Augusta couldn’t imagine Mrs Stanton being overjoyed by his visit.
‘So what did you think when you came across the letter?’ he asked.
‘I was quite surprised because it was ten years old.’ Augusta answered more of the reporter’s mundane questions, then told him she had work to be getting on with.
‘Of course. Do you mind if a photographer calls in later to take your photograph?’
‘Yes, I do mind.’
His face fell. ‘You don’t want your photograph in the Daily London News?’
‘No. I really don’t.’
‘We can give your shop a mention. You might get a few new customers out of it.’
‘I’m quite alright. Thank you.’
‘Very well. Thank you for your time, Mrs Peel. The article should be published the day after tomorrow. Keep an eye out for it!’
Chapter 11
Philip persuaded Inspector Whitman to send a constable to Mrs Stanton and have another look at the letter.
‘It’s young Constable Simpson,’ Philip told Augusta. ‘I know his father well, we worked together at the Yard. I’ve had a word with Simpson and he’s happy for you to accompany him.’
‘Really?’
‘And it will probably help because you’ve already met Mrs Stanton. Your presence might put her at ease.’
‘I don’t know about that. She’s not the sort of woman I can imagine being at ease.’
Augusta met Constable Simpson outside number 15, Baker Street. He was slender with pale, pimpled skin and looked no older than twenty. Inspector Whitman had clearly offered up his most junior officer.
Jane Stanton was unimpressed when she answered the door to them. ‘I don’t understand this interest all of a sudden,’ she said. ‘Nothing has happened for ten years and now I’ve got detectives, reporters and police officers on my doorstep.’
Once they were seated in her sitting room, Constable Simpson asked to see the letter which Mrs Stanton had received after her brother’s disappearance.
‘Very well.’ She left the room to fetch it and returned a few moments later. ‘I don’t know what you’ll be able to do with it, but here it is.’ She handed it to the constable. He examined the envelope then scrutinised the letter inside it.
‘And you’re sure this letter wasn’t from your brother?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Alexander never typed his letters, and the wording is not how he spoke. I think someone typed this letter because they were unable to forge his handwriting.’
Constable Simpson nodded. ‘That makes sense. By typing the letter, the problem of forged handwriting is solved. This letter suggests your brother decided to start a new life in the north of England. Was that something he mentioned to you beforehand?’
‘No never. He never expressed any intention to start a new life elsewhere. And he wouldn’t have done. He seemed happy here in London. There was no reason for him to leave and start a new life elsewhere.’
‘Do you know what the state of his finances was?’
‘Finances?’ Mrs Stanton clutched her pearls. Augusta was surprised by the alarm on her face. Then she appeared to recover herself. ‘His finances were fine. He had no financial worries.’
‘Do you have any family members living up north?’
‘None. And with all due respect to you, Constable, I went through all of this with the police ten years ago. When you were still in short trousers. I have nothing new to tell you, I’m afraid.’
Augusta found her manner odd. Even though a decade had passed, surely Jane Stanton would still want to do what she could to find her brother?
Constable Simpson seemed unbothered by Mrs Stanton’s caustic remark about his age. ‘Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm your brother?’ he asked.
‘No. I can’t think of anyone at all. He was completely harmless. He wouldn’t have hurt anyone. Not intentionally anyway…’ she trailed off and fidgeted with her pearls.
‘Are you saying he hurt someone unintentionally?’ asked Augusta.
‘Well he was involved in an accident about a year before he disappeared.’
‘What sort of accident?’ asked Constable Simpson.
‘He collided with someone when he was riding his bicycle. Unfortunately, the man died a few days later in hospital. It wasn’t Alexander’s fault, the man just stepped out in front of him.’
‘Where did this happen?’
‘In Finchley. The man was called Mr Connolly. He’d been drinking all afternoon in The Queen’s Head on Regent’s Park Road. When he staggered out of the pub, he wasn’t concentrating on his surroundings. He stepped out into the road and collided with Alexander. It was at the bottom of a hill, so Alexander was going at quite a speed. Alexander was hurt too, he broke his arm. And he hurt his back as well.
‘The inquest ruled it was an accident. Although it’s quite obvious Mr Connolly was at fault. He was under the influence of drink and so his judgement was impaired. Mr Connolly’s family pointed the finger at Alexander though. They said he had been cycling dangerously. He had been riding down a hill, that’s all there is to it.’
‘Why did they think Alexander was at fault?’ asked Augusta.
‘Because they didn’t want to accept that their husband, father and brother was careless enough to step into the path of a bicycle. They were upset about it, and they wanted someone to blame. So that’s why they blamed Alexander.’
