A Metropolitan Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

aware of this, and looks anything but comfortable.
    Finally, nine o’clock comes. The bells of St Dunstan-in-the-West chime out in Fleet Street, and carry across the rooftops. Clara pauses for a moment, then hesitantly approaches the familiar steps that lead to the front door of the refuge. It is painted black, and has a large iron-work knocker, no doubt intended to represent the features of some impressive animal. The breed, however, is quite unintelligible, the iron’s original character having been quite worn away by the demands of its daily existence. In this, the knocker bears some slight sympathetic relation to the house’s inhabitants.
    Clara tries striking lightly upon the door.
    No reply.
    She tries the knocker again.
    The door swings open just as she raps upon it for a second time. The woman who stands before her is the lady superintendent herself, Miss Sparrow, in her day uniform of dark blue cloth, a colour not dissimilar to that worn by the Metropolitan Police.
    â€˜Ah, Miss White,’ she says, ‘you realise you are early? The visiting period is from five minutes past nine to half-past, precisely. We place a high price uponpunctuality here; I am sure you can recall?’
    â€˜I am sorry, ma’am, but it is rather cold outside, and I thought there would be no harm.’
    â€˜That is all very well, but you know we must all set an example to the girls. Still,’ she says, ‘I suppose you had better come in, now you are here.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    Clara White follows her into the hall but Miss Sparrow comes to a halt even before there is a chance to shut the door behind them.
    â€˜Miss White, before we proceed any further, I am afraid your mother is still rather unwell, or, at least, that is how it appears. And, I am sorry to impart to you that I also have certain suspicions about her conduct.’
    â€˜Suspicions, ma’am?’ Clara’s heart sinks.
    â€˜You will recall our third Golden Rule, no doubt? I fear your mother does not abide by it.’
    Clara struggles to recall the particulars of the guidance offered by the refuge. Her answer is not intended to be humorous, and, in truth, she colours slightly as she says it.
    â€˜Chastity?’
    Miss Sparrow herself blushes.
    â€˜Really, Miss White! Temperance, Miss White. Temperance is the Third Rule. I entered her room yesterday, whilst she was doing her chores, and believe I smelt gin.’
    She waits for the full weight of this statement to impact upon the girl, but there is little sign of shock. Indeed, though there is undoubtedly disquiet in Clara’s face, it is tempered by a long-standing familiarity with her mother’s transgressions.
    â€˜You cannot be sure, ma’am?’ says Clara, hesitantly. ‘Might it be one of the other women?’
    Miss Sparrow wavers. ‘At present, I have no proof,that is true. But you recall the view we take of intoxicating liquors, Miss White?’
    â€˜I do. But, perhaps, ma’am, if that is all, I might see her now?’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose you may,’ replies Miss Sparrow, somewhat grudgingly. ‘You are fortunate to be allowed such frequent visits by your employers.’
    Clara nods.
    â€˜Very well. Follow me,’ the superintendent continues, imperiously striding up the stairs, though her guest might easily find her way unaided. At the top of the landing she comes to a halt. ‘Ten minutes and no more, Miss White,’ she says sternly, leaving the visitor by the door and stalking off back down the stairs. ‘We do not want to tire her, do we?’
    Clara White watches Philomena Sparrow return to her study, then peers into the room. Agnes White sits upon the side of the bed; she looks small and shrunken, and shudders with each cough, her shoulders tense and her cheeks bulging. The room, no doubt once a library or something similar, when the house was a private residence, now merely contains two iron beds for its