Chapter One
It was the soft mewling sound I heard first. I was approaching the Peter Pan statue in Kensington Park gardens and the October wind had stilled momentarily. I crept forward slowly, trying to ascertain its direction, thinking it must be a small animal in distress. A kitten perhaps that had wandered too far from its mother and found itself lost. But it had stopped.
I waited for a while but apart from the soft susurration of the breeze in the trees all was silent. I was about to leave and return to my brother's new house where I was visiting for a few weeks, thinking I'd imagined it, when the cry came again, louder this time and more of a whimper. It was coming from inside the evergreen bushes that surrounded the statue.
I approached gingerly not wanting to frighten the poor creature, and pushed aside the branches of the Beech, snagging my coat on the Hawthorn and not quite avoiding the sharp thorns which whipped back against my cheek and almost tore the hat from my head.
With my head bent low I pushed further into the foliage, my feet sinking slightly into the sodden ground, when the whimper became a cry.
"Good lord!" I cried out in shock.
I knew exactly what I would find before I hastily pushed aside the final low-hanging branches to reveal a cream wheel with its chromium spokes.
I leaned over the perambulator and peered in at the tightly wrapped bundle inside. Dressed all in blue I assumed it was a little boy. A small face beneath a blue knitted bonnet greeted me, red and scrunched up as he wailed, anxious upon waking and finding himself alone. I laid a hand on his chest through the layers of blankets and spoke in soothing tones. The touch, the sound of my voice, or a combination of the two had the desired effect and the heart-wrenching cries stopped. Blue tearful eyes peered at me beneath long light lashes and the quivering of the chin and lower lip ceased.
"Now then, little one. What on earth are you doing here? Don't worry, you're safe now," I said, gently wiping his wet face with my handkerchief.
As I was talking, I made sure the hood was up properly and fastened in place, then gripped the handle to manoeuvre it out of the shrubbery. It was facing the way I had entered, so a quick shove or two should do it. Releasing the brake on the wheels I once again pushed through the Hawthorn, this time snagging my lisle hose. As I kicked out to free my leg, I felt the tear of the fabric and the sharp scratch which tore the flesh below and fervently wished I had worn my slacks that morning instead of a skirt.
I staggered back onto the empty footpath, and found the wind had once again picked up and was aware of the rumble of thunder in the distance. As I looked up at the thick, leaden clouds a large fat raindrop exploded on my cheek and splashed into my eye.
"Oh dear," I said to the baby who hadn't taken his eyes off me since the moment he'd opened them. "It looks like there's a terrible storm coming. I think it best if I take you back to my house and contact the authorities."
I turned to retrace the route I'd taken earlier, my eyes constantly scanning the area for a panicking nanny or a parent who was looking for a missing child. But with the rain coming down heavily now, the few people who had been taking the air when I'd arrived had disappeared. No doubt heading back to the warmth of hearth and home or the shelter of a nearby coffee shop.
With my sister-in-law Ginny being almost seven months pregnant and resting, and my brother Gerry working on his latest novel, I'd found myself at a loose end more often than not and had taken to daily walks through the large park opposite their new house. But this particular journey, with my added responsibility, seemed to take twice as long as it had at any other time I'd ventured for a stroll around the gardens.
I hurried up Mount Walk, passing the Round Pond on my right and the bandstand on my left, before joining Studio Walk and leaving via Studio Gate. Twenty minutes after I'd pulled the baby free from the bushes, I was back at Brunswick Gardens. I raced up the flight of stone steps and shoved open the door calling for help. Then returned to the baby at the bottom.
The housekeeper arrived almost immediately and gasped at the sight of the pram. Hot on her heels was my brother Gerry.
"What's all the ruckus about?" he asked, peering over the housekeeper's shoulder. "Good Lord, Ella! What have you done now? Is that a baby?"
"Do you think you could help me up with the pram please, Gerry? I'm soaked to the skin. And to answer your questions, I've done nothing, and yes, it is a baby."
***
As we settled the pram in the hall, the grandfather clock struck three-thirty. The door was wrenched from my hand by a sudden gust of wind and slammed shut with a powerful bang, and an almighty boom of thunder cracked overhead, rattling the window panes. Swiftly followed by several flashes of lightning which caused the hall lights to flicker several times, then go off altogether.
The multitude of unfamiliar noises started the baby crying again and Ginny appeared at the top of the stairs asking what all the noise was about. Then her eyes lit on the pram and widened in shock.
"Ella! You've brought a baby home. Whatever for?"
"Well, it was either that or leave him hidden in the bushes in a torrential downpour," I said, unpinning my sodden hat and throwing it on the hall table.
By this time Ginny had made her way carefully down the stairs and was lifting the screaming child into her arms, rocking him gently and cooing. It certainly did the trick and once again he quieted down, peering intensely at this new face with a quizzical frown.
"I say, old girl," said Gerry. "What do you mean by ‘leave him in the bushes’?"
"Exactly what I said, Gerry. I found him abandoned in the shrubbery by the Peter Pan statue. No sign of a nanny or parents anywhere within the immediate vicinity, nor en route back here. So I brought him home. Now if you don't mind, I need to get changed. Then I'll call Baxter and see if he's had any reports of a missing child."
Detective Sergeant Baxter was my colleague at Scotland Yard when my consultancy services were required, and we'd worked a number of successful cases together. If anyone could find out to whom the child belonged, it would be him.
"I say, Ella, do you know your face is bleeding and your stocking is ripped?"
"I do, Gerry. I had an argument with a Hawthorn bush."
"Well, at least your shoes match. Ah, no, I spoke too soon."
I glanced down at my feet with a frown. One dark brown shoe (left foot) and one black shoe (right foot) stared back at me. I sighed. It wasn't the first time I'd done this. I'd thought buying the same style of shoe in two different colours was a good idea. Time saving and practical. I wouldn't do it again.
"Well, I can't do anything about it now. Besides, we have more than my fashion sense to worry about."
"Poor little mite. Who would do such a thing?" Ginny said, handing the infant to the housekeeper with instructions to take him to the newly-decorated nursery. "There should be everything you need to make him more comfortable."
"Darling, there's enough in the nursery to make most of the children in the city comfortable," Gerry grinned.
It was true. Ever since they'd been given confirmation of the new addition to the family Ginny had been shopping. I'd had it from Gerry that they now owned a matinee jacket in every colour of the rainbow and had had to purchase a new wardrobe to house it all.
"Oh, Gerry, you do exaggerate," she said with a giggle. "Now, Ella, you go and get changed. You're absolutely drenched, darling. I'll send Betty up to see to your cuts."
"There's no need, I can manage those, but if she could perhaps mend the tear in my coat and see to my shoes? I'm afraid my hose are beyond repair."
"Of course. Ella, do you think I should call Uncle Albert about the baby? The parents must be frantic with worry and he'll know what to do."
Sir Montesford, or Uncle Albert as we knew him, wasn't actually a blood relative but was a good friend of the family as well as being Ginny's Godfather. He was also the Chief of Police and the man responsible for employing me as a consultant detective with Scotland Yard. While I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that should his favourite Goddaughter telephone asking for his help then he would oblige, but by the same token he was also far too senior an officer to involve in a case such as this. That's what Baxter and I were for. I said as much to Ginny who nodded.
"Yes, I suppose you're right. Besides, I've just remembered he's at the House of Lords today. Tea will be ready in the drawing room when you are."
"Don't worry, Ginny, I'm sure Baxter will reunite the baby with his family lickety-split and that will be the end of it."
"Famous last words," Gerry said with a smile.
I should have listened to him.
***
In my room I cleaned the two small cuts on my face and leg, then hurriedly dried my sodden hair and brushed it into a style not unlike a bird's nest. I glared at it in the looking glass, as though through force of will alone it would miraculously form itself into a sleek and perfectly coiffed style. No such luck. It remained a fright.
I dressed warmly, hoping I hadn't made another fashion faux pas. The lights were still out and with the storm raging outside I could hardly see a thing. I opted to wear my dark pink felt slippers, easily recognised by touch alone, with an interwoven light pink ribbon and bow. Not something I would have chosen for myself but they were a gift from Ginny and remarkably comfortable. It was either those or a second pair of mismatched shoes.
Dashing downstairs, I lifted the telephone receiver in the hall and put a call through to Baxter at The Yard. While I waited Betty, the maid, came up from the kitchen with a laden tea tray and gave me a cheeky smile.
"Cor blimey, Miss Bridges. You've had a day of it, haven't you? A baby! Who'd have thought it. Poor little bairn. I wonder what happened?"
Betty was an excellent maid but chattered like a magpie and like most young under-stair staff loved to gossip. Luckily, I was saved from having to reply when Baxter came on the line. I returned Betty's smile and indicated she should take the tea in before it got cold.
"Hello, Miss Bridges."
"Hello, Baxter, how are you?"
"Fair to middling. How about yourself?"
"Quite well, Baxter, thank you. But I'm afraid this isn't so much a social call."
"Didn't think it would be for a moment, Miss Bridges. How can I help?"
"I've found a baby, Baxter."
There was a slight pause before Baxter cleared his throat.
"A baby? As in...?"
"Yes. A small human being. A boy, I think, as he’s dressed all in blue. I found him in his pram in Kensington Park hidden in the bushes by the Peter Pan statue. I wonder if you could see if there's been a report of him missing from his parents or his nanny?"
"Of course. Where is the boy now? He's unharmed I take it?"
"Oh yes, he's fine. I brought him home with me."
"Right. Well, leave it with me, Miss Bridges. I shall make some inquiries and telephone you back if I have something to report."
"Thank you, Baxter."
I gave him the telephone number, then replaced the receiver and joined Gerry and Ginny in the drawing room. The fire was roaring in the grate, giving out much needed warmth and light, and Gerry had lit candles while we waited for the electricity to come back on.
Ginny poured me a cup of tea and rested it on a side table while I helped myself to the array of sandwiches and cakes. As to be expected the conversation centered around the extraordinary goings-on of that afternoon.
"I'm shocked that someone would do that to a small baby," Ginny said, nibbling on a French fancy. "Or any child for that matter."
"We don't know what happened yet. Perhaps they thought they were keeping him safe?" I said.
"But from what? What possible danger could there be in the palace gardens?"
"I really don't know, Ginny. I'm as baffled as you are."
"It's all dashed odd," Gerry said, lashing his scone with strawberry preserve. I'd brought it with me. The fruit had been picked from my own garden on Linhay Island and my former housekeeper, Mrs Parsons, had made the jam. "I mean what would have happened if you'd not found him? A torrential rain pour like this with the Long Water just behind where he was found. My God, he could have..."
"Oh, Gerry don't!" cried Ginny. Then to my surprise promptly burst into tears.
This was a side to Ginny I had never seen. She was unfailingly a positive person who always looked on the bright side and saw humour in almost everything. In fact, more often than not she took things far less seriously than she ought on occasion. And while Gerry had warned me it may happen, according to their Doctor it was perfectly normal for a woman in her condition to be prone to bouts of hysteria, it still came as a shock to me.
Gerry jumped up and sat by her side, holding her close and apologising for his tactless remark. Ginny rallied quickly and sniffed, delicately patting her eyes with her handkerchief.
"Oh dear. I'm so sorry. I can't seem to help it."
I told her not to fret so, her response was perfectly normal.
"I found him in ample time, darling. Call it fate or serendipity, but the fact is he's safe and I'm sure Baxter will telephone soon to say he's found the child's parents. Then he can go home."
Just then, as though he'd heard me across London, the telephone bell rang and Betty came to tell me Baxter was on the line.
"Hello again, Miss Bridges. Baxter here with some news. Apparently at three-thirty a Mr James Parfitt stopped a police constable in the Italian Gardens a bit further north from where you found the baby. Almost pulled him off his bicycle by all accounts. Anyway, he was most agitated, saying his baby son and the nanny were missing."
I brought the map of Kensington Palace gardens to mind. Yes, I travelled west to return home so mine and the father's paths wouldn't have crossed.
"Does he live close by?" I asked.
"Yes, in Mayfair. The constable accompanied him home and I've been in touch personally to inform him the boy has been found. I'll come and collect him myself and take him home."
"Alright. Thank you, Baxter. Do you know how it happened by the way? I mean it's not every day a baby is abandoned in the park."
"Not as yet. I'll know more when I see Mr Parfitt. Unfortunately, the nanny is still unaccounted for."
***
Three-quarters of an hour later Baxter arrived at the door. And divested of his coat, hat and umbrella was shown into the drawing room by Betty where I waited for him. Gerry had gone back to his writing and Ginny was upstairs with the baby.
"Hello, Baxter. Come in and get warm by the fire. Apologies for the gloom, I'm afraid the lights have gone out. Something to do with the storm I expect. Would you like some tea?"
Baxter shook his head. "I partook of a cuppa at The Yard before I came out. But I'll take you up on the seat by the fire, it's raging a good one out there. Tree limbs are down all over and half of London has lost power. It's a good job you found the bairn when you did, Miss Bridges. That's all I can say."
Once settled he took out his notebook and pencil.
"So, can you tell me what happened?"
It took me less than ten minutes to recount my movements up to finding the baby, and the hurried return journey while I tried to outrun the pending storm.
"The clock struck the half hour as I got through the door. I just made it before the heavens opened thoroughly."
"And you saw no one fitting a nanny's description in the vicinity of the statue?"
"I saw no one at all, Baxter, nanny or otherwise. The wind had got up and the rain had started. Not to mention the deafening rumbles of thunder. It was apparent a heavy storm was imminent and people had left to find shelter. You've not found her then?"
Baxter finished recording my statement and returned his notebook to his inside jacket pocket.
"I'm afraid not. Her name's Josephine Brown and according to Mrs Elizabeth Parfitt she wouldn't have disappeared intentionally, especially while being in charge of the boy. She adores Rupert, that's the bairn's name by the way, and is a most responsible and trustworthy member of staff. She can't think what's happened but is adamant it must be something dreadful."
"Are your men still searching?" I asked, thinking how impossible it must be with the weather as it was.
"No. I've had to call it off. I've risked them enough as it is. We'll start again as soon as it's light. Assuming the storm has blown itself out by then."
He rose from his chair eager to be on his way and I rang the bell for Betty. She appeared so quickly it was obvious she'd been hovering in the hall. I frowned at her, letting her know I was aware of her eavesdropping. She looked suitably abashed, but I knew her contriteness wouldn't last.
"Betty, please tell Mrs Bridges that Detective Baxter will return the baby now."
The maid ran up the stairs and I helped Baxter on with his coat.
"Are you walking across the park in this, Baxter? We do have the child's pram but even so it will be a terrible ordeal."
"Don't you fret, Miss Bridges. I have a car and a driver waiting at the kerb. I'll take the boy back on his own and make arrangements for the pram to be collected and returned to the parents later."
As Ginny handed over the baby and thanked Baxter, I conveyed my hopes that he would find the nanny in good health soon and put an end to the mystery.
"I hope so too, Miss Bridges," he said. "I really do."
Chapter Two
Gerry, Ginny and I all took breakfast together in the orangerie the next morning. Then, as had been the routine for the week so far, Gerry retired to the library to work on his latest novel and Ginny to her upstairs salon. She was currently organising the New Year's Eve ball at the Dorchester.
I had just poured myself a second cup of coffee when Betty entered.
"Detective Baxter to see you, miss."
"Good morning, Baxter," I said, as he strode into the room. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon. Have you come for the pram?"
"The pram? Oh, no it's another matter."
The look on his face told me it wasn't happy news. "Sit down and have a cup of coffee and tell me what's happened. I can tell the news isn't good. Is it the nanny? Have you found her?"
"We've found a body, Miss Bridges. Female. Too early to say whether it's definitely Josephine Brown, but it's probable under the circumstances."
"Oh, Baxter, no," I said in dismay. "When was she found?"
Baxter glanced at his wristwatch. "About a quarter of an hour ago. I hurried here as soon as the alarm was sounded. We're waiting on the pathologist now."
"Where was she found?"
"Trapped under the Serpentine Bridge."
The bridge marked the boundary between Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. The Serpentine Lake was recreational and created at the behest of Queen Caroline in 1730. The Long water was the name given to the long and narrow western half of the lake. And it was directly behind where I'd found the child.
"Initial thoughts are she slipped, banged her head and fell unconscious into the Long Water," Baxter continued. "Then the current, which I admit has been faster than normal due to the rain and the storm, swept her down to the bridge."
"But you don't think that's what happened?"
He shook his head. "No, I don't."
"And nor do I. It can't have been an accident because if that were the case the pram would have been left in the open. Yet it was hidden quite cleverly and to my mind deliberately. Once again, Baxter, it looks as though you and I have a murder to solve."
***
If I had wondered at all about the strength of the previous night's storm, walking through Kensington Gardens that morning left me with no doubt whatsoever.
The scenes of devastation and destruction were everywhere. The wind had whipped up to an unprecedented level overnight, which had kept me awake until the early hours. Now the remnants of windows, roof tiles and broken bricks lay in the street.
We skirted the obstructions, including a small newspaper kiosk which had been blown over and had come to a stop against the park railing. Yards from where it normally stood. Sodden newspapers and magazines littered the street and were caught high up in tree branches.
As we neared the gate to the park, we saw several well-established trees had been uprooted and lay across the pathways and lawns. Incongruously the sky was a pale blue and a weak sun was beginning to shine.
The constable guarding the gate nodded deferentially to my colleague and let us through. There was a constable on each gate, Baxter informed me, and the gardens were closed.
The heavy rain had left behind large puddles and a handful of areas were flooded and impassable. Already there were several crews made up of men from the London Fire Brigade, police and locals hard at work beginning the clear up, the Kensington Palace gardeners directing efforts. I had no doubt that if the devastation I could see around me extended to the rest of London and beyond, the army would be drafted in to help directly. Although the area around the bridge had been declared a crime scene with no access to anyone but the police. Luckily our route was relatively straightforward.
"Good heavens, Baxter, I've never seen such damage from a storm in my life. I do hope my cottage is alright."
My home was on Linhay Island at the very Southern end of the country, and barely a stone's throw from the English Channel.
"Well, I believe the South West caught the brunt of it before it moved inland so you may have escaped the worst. Let's hope so, eh?"
"Yes, indeed. Thank you, Baxter."
There really was nothing I could do. Although I would telephone my housekeeper later to check she and my other staff were unscathed.
As we neared the Serpentine Bridge, I could see several police constables milling about on the bank. The body had come to rest close to the shore line thankfully, trapped by a boulder at the base of the nearest of the five arches.
"Has the pathologist arrived yet?" Baxter called down.
"Not yet, sir."
While Baxter scrambled down the slippery bank to speak with his men, I happened to glance up at the bridge to see a forlorn figure staring back at me, wearing a familiar uniform. It was the ghost of the nanny whose body lay trapped in the water below.
My purchase of the Yellow Cottage on Linhay, a place I had first fallen in love with as a child, had come with a rather unusual gift: the ability to see spirits. In particular those whose lives had ended in suspicious circumstances. They appeared to me, and me only, in their quest for help in solving the mysteries of their untimely deaths. It had changed the direction of my life completely and was the very reason I had become a consultant detective with Scotland Yard in the first place.
So far the cases I had been involved in I had managed to solve successfully. With no small help from Baxter and my Aunt Margaret. I only hoped I could do the same for Josephine Brown.
***
A few minutes after descending the slope to the level bank, Baxter turned and raised a hand. I was just about to answer his wave when I realised I wasn't the intended recipient. I looked behind me to see Doctor Mortimer Smythe, the police surgeon, loping towards us. His long legs eating up the ground twice as fast as mine had done.
"Well, well, well, Miss Bridges. This is a surprise. How are you?"
"I believe the correct response is fair to middling, Doctor Smythe," I said as Baxter joined us. "How have you been?"
He laughed. "You've been working with Baxter for too long. I'm well, thank you for asking. Which is more than I can say for this poor soul," he said, nodding at the body in the water.
As he spoke, I saw movement to his rear and leaned back to see a black four-legged shape with green eyes staring at me. It was my cat Phantom. Another of the gifts that had come with my cottage, and also a spirit. Mortimer, noticing my gaze, looked in the same direction but of course saw nothing.
"Something of interest, Ella?"
"No. I was just gauging the distance from where I found the baby."
Mortimer started. "Baby? You don't mean I have two bodies to deal with?"
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Mortimer. No, the baby is fine. I found him abandoned yesterday and took him home. Baxter has already reunited him with his parents."
"We think the body down there is the nanny," Baxter explained.
"Ah, I see. Right, well let me get down there and we'll see what's what, shall we?"
While I had managed to put on matching shoes that morning they were thoroughly impractical for this sort of business. However, the alternative was a pair of wellington boots which belonged to Gerry, Ginny not owning any, and stuffed with several pairs of socks to make them fit better. Not a viable option as far as I was concerned. So, with the aid of Baxter I managed to slip and slide myself down the bank without falling, much to my relief.
Baxter and I stood out of the way while Mortimer directed the constables in the safe and gentle removal of the body from the water onto higher ground. Then, they too stood a respectful distance away and let the pathologist do his work.
We had only been observing for a few minutes when there was a shout from further up the bank. A constable who had been scouring along the edge of the Long Water was waving his arms.
"Looks like one of my lads has found something," Baxter said. "We'll leave you to it, Mortimer. Back shortly."
***
The Long Water started at The Italian Gardens to the North of the park and stretched down to the bridge. Beyond, it joined the Serpentine lake.
Not quite half way between the two, nearer to the North side, was the statue of J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan, deliberately concealed within the foliage. It was where I had discovered the baby. It was also where the constable now stood awaiting our arrival.
We walked in single file, Baxter taking the lead and me bringing up the rear. Between us Phantom stalked along, head and tail both held high with what I could only surmise was disdain. He practically vibrated with annoyance and I was sure he rolled his eyes at me at least once.
"How was I supposed to know you were trying to attract my attention?" I hissed quietly. But not quietly enough.
"Did you say something, Miss Bridges?" Baxter called from a yard or two in front.
"Nothing important. Just thinking out loud."
Phantom stalked on, ignoring me, then as we reached the waiting policeman, disappeared into thin air. His job was done.
"What have you got for me then, Pike?" Baxter asked.
"A handbag, sir," he replied from the bank below. "It's caught on a branch down there. I haven't touched it."
"Good man."
"Is it in the water, constable?" I asked.
"Partly, miss."
"We need to retrieve it, Baxter, before the contents are completely ruined."
I felt around in my pocket for a handkerchief and held it out for the waiting officer. He climbed a couple of feet up the bank and took it from my outstretched hand.
"Thread it through the handle and then try to loosen it. If there are fingerprints to be found we don't want to obliterate them with our own."
"Yes, miss."
"And try not to fall in, Pike. I don't relish the idea of coming in to rescue you."
Pike grimaced. "No fear, sir. I can't swim."
He carefully inched his way back to the water's edge while Baxter and I took a cursory glance around the vicinity. Baxter picked up a fallen branch and thrust aside the foliage on either side of the footpath until he came to something of note.
"Looks like there could have been a bit of a scuffle here," he said, pointing to the bushes a little further beyond those I'd been in yesterday. I had a look and had to agree with him.
"Yes, it's possible. Especially considering it's right where the baby was hidden. But with the storm last night it could just as easily have been damage from that. We'll need to have a closer look, Baxter. See if anything in the way of evidence can be found. Footprints are obviously out due to the layer of leaves and the soaked ground, but something might have been dropped."
Baxter nodded. "I'll get Pike and another man to go through it. They can have a look at where the pram was hidden too."
"Got it, sir," Pike said from behind us and handed the handkerchief to Baxter, the bag swinging below, water draining out onto the footpath.
"Well done, Pike."
"I say. That's a jolly expensive handbag for a nanny," I said, looking at it more closely. "If I'm not mistaken, it's a Cartier!"
In between the case of a murdered vicar at the church fete and rushing off to the Riviera to help my mother with a missing friend, I'd been involved in helping a fashion house whose designs were being copied. It had helped tremendously with my knowledge of fashion. Even though I was predisposed to taking comfort and practicality over what was deemed popular myself.
"I see," said Baxter. Who I could tell by his voice didn't, really.
"It's worth hundreds of pounds, Baxter."
"For a handbag?"
"It's a luxury item. And certainly not one your average nanny could afford."
"Well, that's certainly curious. But we'll know as soon as we open it whether it's hers or not. I'll give it to Mortimer, he's got all the gubbins necessary to do it properly. Now, Pike, I have another job for you and Robins. I'll send him over shortly."
While Baxter explained to the eager constable the possibility of a second crime scene, and the various instructions he was to adhere to, I began to wander back in the direction of the bridge. I was hoping Mortimer would have the information we needed by this time.