‘And why did she choose the dead of night to steal the money?’ I asked. ‘She could have taken it while everyone else was in church on Sunday. She’d have had a free run of the house, and been away several hours before they got home. She didn’t need to kill those people. Even if for some reason she had to steal the money at dead of night, they were asleep – they weren’t threatening her.’
Heron reached for his coffee but didn’t comment.
‘And what happened to the money?’ I worked through a possible sequence of events. ‘The box was opened with a key which presumably Samuel Gregson kept close. As an inmate of the house, Alice could have had easy access to that. But only the money was taken – the box was left. So she must have put the coins in a bag, or in her pocket. But that means she would have been carrying them when she climbed down the rope – and she wasn’t running like a woman with a heavy burden.’
‘Perhaps there wasn’t much in the box.’ Heron nodded at yet another acquaintance.
‘Then why murder for it? Surely she’d have made certain in advance it was worth the effort?’
‘Perhaps there was no money at all – perhaps it was government stocks? Or Mrs Gregson’s best jewellery.’
‘There’s no suggestion Mrs Gregson had expensive jewellery. Gregson was evidently not a generous man.’
Heron sipped coffee. ‘Then she moved the contents of the box before the crime.’
I thought of the rope of sheets. ‘If she moved the money earlier, and took her time to make the rope, as she must, then it was all planned in advance – though the theft would have to have been at the last moment, or Gregson might have missed the money. But if she already had the money, there was even less reason to kill them.’
Heron paused for a moment. ‘Then only one answer comes to mind.’
I nodded. ‘She wanted to kill them.’
We sat in silence as the noise of the coffee house raged around us. Almost everyone, it seemed, was discussing the murders. More than one gentleman bemoaned the fact he’d never set eyes on Alice Gregson. She was christened an Amazon, a doughty warrior. Gregson, it seemed, was not regarded with a great deal of sympathy; he’d apparently not been entirely aboveboard in some of his financial dealings. Several gentlemen mentioned grossly inflated bills they’d received from him.
I set my head back against the chair. ‘Alice had only been here four days – she hardly knew any of them. What had they ever done to her?’
A spirit slid down the wall, hesitated on the edge of the table as if unwilling to interrupt us. It was an old spirit, rather faint. It said, ‘Pray excuse me, my dear sirs, but I have a message for Mr Patterson from Lawyer Armstrong. Would he oblige Mr Armstrong by visiting him in his rooms as soon as possible.’
Heron permitted himself a small smile. ‘There must be a problem with the will.’
‘I don’t see why it should involve me.’ I got up nevertheless. Armstrong is a sensible man, who wouldn’t inconvenience me for no reason.
Heron said, ‘Is there any point in telling you to be careful? You do, after all, now have a wife to consider.’
That brought to mind other occasions on which he’d told me to take care – and when I’d taken no notice of him and paid the price.
‘I’ll try,’ I said.
He raised one elegant eyebrow.
Nine
If there is one thing the English enjoy more than anything else, it is a good family argument; they can cosset these with the greatest enjoyment for decades.
[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe
Froidevaux, 18 January 1737]
Lawyer Armstrong’s house stands in Amen Corner behind St Nicholas’s church, not far from the head of the steep Side. A brisk short walk from the Fleece, snow crunching underfoot and sunshine warming my back. Armstrong was waiting in the sunlit outer room of his office; he greeted me with a smile that had a great deal of relief in it, and thanked me for
Heron reached for his coffee but didn’t comment.
‘And what happened to the money?’ I worked through a possible sequence of events. ‘The box was opened with a key which presumably Samuel Gregson kept close. As an inmate of the house, Alice could have had easy access to that. But only the money was taken – the box was left. So she must have put the coins in a bag, or in her pocket. But that means she would have been carrying them when she climbed down the rope – and she wasn’t running like a woman with a heavy burden.’
‘Perhaps there wasn’t much in the box.’ Heron nodded at yet another acquaintance.
‘Then why murder for it? Surely she’d have made certain in advance it was worth the effort?’
‘Perhaps there was no money at all – perhaps it was government stocks? Or Mrs Gregson’s best jewellery.’
‘There’s no suggestion Mrs Gregson had expensive jewellery. Gregson was evidently not a generous man.’
Heron sipped coffee. ‘Then she moved the contents of the box before the crime.’
I thought of the rope of sheets. ‘If she moved the money earlier, and took her time to make the rope, as she must, then it was all planned in advance – though the theft would have to have been at the last moment, or Gregson might have missed the money. But if she already had the money, there was even less reason to kill them.’
Heron paused for a moment. ‘Then only one answer comes to mind.’
I nodded. ‘She wanted to kill them.’
We sat in silence as the noise of the coffee house raged around us. Almost everyone, it seemed, was discussing the murders. More than one gentleman bemoaned the fact he’d never set eyes on Alice Gregson. She was christened an Amazon, a doughty warrior. Gregson, it seemed, was not regarded with a great deal of sympathy; he’d apparently not been entirely aboveboard in some of his financial dealings. Several gentlemen mentioned grossly inflated bills they’d received from him.
I set my head back against the chair. ‘Alice had only been here four days – she hardly knew any of them. What had they ever done to her?’
A spirit slid down the wall, hesitated on the edge of the table as if unwilling to interrupt us. It was an old spirit, rather faint. It said, ‘Pray excuse me, my dear sirs, but I have a message for Mr Patterson from Lawyer Armstrong. Would he oblige Mr Armstrong by visiting him in his rooms as soon as possible.’
Heron permitted himself a small smile. ‘There must be a problem with the will.’
‘I don’t see why it should involve me.’ I got up nevertheless. Armstrong is a sensible man, who wouldn’t inconvenience me for no reason.
Heron said, ‘Is there any point in telling you to be careful? You do, after all, now have a wife to consider.’
That brought to mind other occasions on which he’d told me to take care – and when I’d taken no notice of him and paid the price.
‘I’ll try,’ I said.
He raised one elegant eyebrow.
Nine
If there is one thing the English enjoy more than anything else, it is a good family argument; they can cosset these with the greatest enjoyment for decades.
[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe
Froidevaux, 18 January 1737]
Lawyer Armstrong’s house stands in Amen Corner behind St Nicholas’s church, not far from the head of the steep Side. A brisk short walk from the Fleece, snow crunching underfoot and sunshine warming my back. Armstrong was waiting in the sunlit outer room of his office; he greeted me with a smile that had a great deal of relief in it, and thanked me for
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