Sweet Things Dying - Chapter XXVIII

Cole and Quinn return to the Bloom household and unravel further dark secrets...

XXVIII

London

December 1887

Henrietta Bloom, in handsome mourning dresses, petticoat and bonnet, stood at the door, her departure stalled by the collection of policemen now gathered outside of her home.

“Is the reverend in?” Quinn asked as he mounted the steps to her door. “And Mr. Pearson?”

Mrs. Bloom placed a hand at her throat. “Both have gone off,” she said. “Not an hour ago, to prepare for Friday evening services. Milly and I were just on our way to attend.”

“Then I am sorry madam, but I must delay your departure further. It is essential that we speak.”

She swallowed, resignation in her saddened eyes. “Yes, I am sure it is, Inspector.” She opened the door for them. “Please.”

Four uniformed policemen remained on the street while Cole and Quinn followed Mrs. Bloom into the parlour. A low fire crackled in the grate. Mrs. Bloom turned up one of the sconces and brightened the room. She sat in a winged armchair; the two detectives remained standing.

“You are clearly not surprised we’re here,” Quinn said.

“There has been nothing but detectives in and out this past week,” she replied.

“Our visit this evening brings with it a different, if related, purpose. But I suspect that’s not entirely of surprise to you either.”

“You have learned something about my husband.”

“Not just him,” Cole said.

She met their stony stares, her mouth a grim line. “I see,” she said, voice low. “You have discovered much then. You’ve seen the Jewish barber on Cable Street?”

“I’m happy to hear you admit to knowledge of the barber,” said Quinn. “Why you hid such knowledge during our initial enquiries concerns me, as does your apparent involvement in your own girl’s murder.”

“You accuse me of it?” More than fear or surprise, a note of hurt hung on the question.

“More than I wish to accuse that poor boy now rotting in our cells.”

Both men held their granite expressions, revealing nothing of Quinn’s deception. In truth, Cohen now occupied the cell Wright had, for the last two days, been locked within. Cohen’s statement had seen Wright released on condition. The young, heartbroken sailor had taken his release swearing he would aid the police in their investigation, if only to honour the girl he had been forbidden to love.

“Should you have any shred of conscience,” Quinn said, “hold dear anything of your Christian values, you would do best to secure Mr. Wright’s innocence, for the barber has made it clear where the guilt lies. Now, will you?”

“Mr. Wright is no murderer,” she said, “but neither am I. I can swear it to you – can swear it under God. What has happened to Heather, I did not mean for it.”

“That’s grown hard to believe,” said Cole, “in light of all we’ve learned. You can swear your innocence under God all you wish, but your silence all this time has allowed two innocent men to be hunted and accused, all while Heather was left to rot in a river. It is time you put a proper end to this and swear to those who you know to be guilty.”

Henrietta Bloom hung her head and sobbed. From her dress she withdrew a silken handkerchief, pressing it to her eyes.

“For Christ’s sake!” Cole said.

In a soft yet firm voice, Quinn said, “Come, madam. If you are to speak, I suggest you do so now here in the comfort of your home. Else, I shall buckle you and cart you out before your neighbours and see that you speak at the station. You must tell me everything that happened to Heather – you know you must, it’s the right thing to do for her.”

“Really,” she replied, “I know so little of what’s happened. You must accept that…”

A new voice, small and sharp, cut through the thick air of the parlour:

“But you do know something.”

Milly Bloom, in dark mourning dresses and bonnet to match her mother, stood in the doorway. She looked at the two detectives and her mother in turn, but finally settled her gaze on the latter. It cut as sharply as her tone.

“Not now, Milly!”

The girl charged into the room: “Yes now, mother. Why do you wish to keep waiting? You kid yourself into thinking God will fix all this on His own. He cannot. If anything, by putting a policeman and Mr. Cole here before you, He has done what is needed – the rest is in your hands now.”

“You are being insolent and blasphemous, Milly. Get out!”

“And you are being a coward. It is time to speak and be the mother you need to be, and not the one who failed Heather.”

A physical blow could not have hit Henrietta Bloom more firmly. She went white and sank into her chair, tears staining her cheeks.