The Oldham Union Workhouse fronted onto Sheepfoot Lane, and Ursula had to be escorted through the imbecile wards by the matron as they made their way to the main building. There she was met by Nellie Ackroyd, who had been assigned to the kitchens that day.
Matron agreed to let Nellie speak with Ursula for a few minutes in one of the female dormitories, away from the poor ventilation and sickening smell of the kitchen.
Nellie sat on the edge of one of the narrow beds, head bent, fiddling with her apron string.
“Nellie,” Ursula began. “I wanted to let you know that we’re planning to rebuild the factory as soon as we can. In the meantime, I have a position at the mill, cleaning the spindles.”
Nellie coughed loudly. “I used t’work a’mills, but me lungs gave out.”
“Oh . . .” Ursula wasn’t sure what to else to say. She put aside the question of finding another opportunity to get Nellie out of the workhouse and reunited with her children, and proceeded to ask Nellie about Arina.
“I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Arina,” Ursula said.
Nellie nodded her head and sniffed.
“You told the coroner’s court that she was very kind to you.”
“That she were. . . .”
“Did she ever speak of her childhood in Russia?”
“Nay. She didn’t like to talk about it. Said it were that long ago, she didn’t remember much anyway. I never ’eard her even speak Russian. Told me a bit about Paris, though. That’s where she learned ’ow to sew.”
“Yes.” Ursula remembered Katya telling her about the garment factory in the Marais district of Paris.
“Did she speak about her sister, Katya?”
“Yes.” Nellie hesitated. “She said she were really rich.”
“You heard in the court, though, didn’t you, that Katya, Arina’s sister, was dead?”
Nellie nodded.
“She died in Egypt, and my worry—which is why I’ve come to see you,” Ursula said gently, “is that Arina’s and her sister’s deaths were related in some way. So that’s why I’m asking you some questions. You see, I was a good friend of Katya’s, and as I’m sure you know, it’s hard to lose a friend.”
Nellie’s eyes swam with tears.
“Did Arina ever say anything about Katya? Anything that sounded strange or which upset her?”
Nellie shook her head.
“Are you sure there was nothing? She didn’t receive a letter, maybe?”
Nellie looked thoughtful.
“Just take a moment and see if you can remember,” Ursula urged her.
“Well, she did seem a bit upset—teary, like—a few months back . . . but we all thought it were because she hadn’t heard from her feller. The Russian—”
“Kolya?”
“Summat like that. Arina weren’t one to say much about that sorta thing. None of us did. We’d all had it wi’ men.”
Ursula, sensing Nellie was thinking about her own unfortunate love life, reached over and took Nellie’s hand.
“I’m sure it’s been hard for you.”
Nellie snatched her hand away and wiped the tears off her cheek with the back of her hand. “I aint ’ere to ask for no pity o’ yours.”
“No, of course not,” Ursula said hurriedly. “Can you remember anything else? Any other letter Arina may have mentioned from her sister?”
“No . . . only a note from ’er brother-in-law tellin’ her about her sister. She were right upset about that, of course.”
“Nothing else? Nothing strange or odd about Arina’s behavior? No mention of any other letters?”
“Well, she did tell me she thought a few of her letters ’ad gone missing, after the break-in. She seemed right cut up about it, but she didn’t want the police around about it.”
“But she seemed upset—about the letters going missing?”
Nellie screwed up her nose. “Not upset . . . more . . .”
“More what?”
“Scared.”
Seventeen
Ursula reluctantly returned to London the following Thursday to attend Friday’s Empire Day ball at Mrs. Pomfrey-Smith’s. As she sat on the train, she composed a list of all the information she had gathered thus far, and the key questions that remained regarding Katya’s and Arina’s deaths. She leaned back on the red leather seat and propped her leather-bound notebook on her lap. Tapping the end of the pencil on her chin, she stared at the blank white page and was soon lost in thought. By the time the guard knocked on the carriage door to tell her that luncheon was being served in the first-class dining car, she had compiled a long list of items, almost all questions that still needed to be addressed.
“I’m convinced,” Ursula later told Winifred as they sat together in the front parlor in Chester Square, “that the letter we found was sent to Arina in the last few days before her death. It wasn’t one of the letters she spoke of to Nellie Ackroyd—not one of the ones that went missing. I believe that those are likely to be letters from Katya. I’m not sure what they contained, but what if Katya wrote to Arina telling her of her investigations into the
Bregenz
? What if that’s why Katya was murdered? What if she told Arina, and that was why Arina was killed?”
“That’s a lot of what-ifs, Sully. Are you sure there’s a connection between Katya’s and Arina’s deaths?”
“If there wasn’t a connection, why would Chief Inspector Harrison be involved?”
“True,” Winifred admitted.
“So,” Ursula continued, “if the fragments we found are from the killer—most likely they are his or her instructions to Arina to meet her at the factory that night—then we need to focus on decoding these. That could be our strongest chance of discovering the connection between Arina’s and Katya’s deaths.”
“And what about Chief Inspector Harrison?”
“He’s not about to help me. In his mind, I’m just an interfering girl sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted.”
“And Alexei?” Winifred asked. “What’s his role in all this?”
“Maybe the letter will tell us,” Ursula answered.
“Perhaps,” Winifred mused. “It’s certainly a place to start. Perhaps it will help us understand George Aldwych’s role in all this. From all you’ve told me, I still think there’s more to his so-called confession than meets the eye.”
“You may be right, Freddie, but I also need to work out why Katya was so interested in this ship, the
Bregenz,
and what that damned man Whittaker was up to in Egypt. I simply don’t understand what the significance of that ship could possibly be. Was it something to do with the cargo, the passengers?”
Winifred eyed her friend closely. “What about Lord Wrotham? Could his Foreign Office contacts help?”
“I can’t ask him anything more,” Ursula interrupted swiftly. “Things are too . . . too muddled between us. I can’t think straight when he’s around. And besides,” she ended, “I think I need to work this out for myself.”
“I’m sure if he learns anything further about the
Bregenz
or Whittaker, he’ll let you know,” Winifred replied.
Ursula shrugged. “Perhaps,”
“What about Dobbs?” Winifred ventured.
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten about him, or what I saw that day. I just don’t know what I can do about it or his offer. If I’m to stop his destroying Hugh Carmichael’s business, I’d better have darn good evidence. Telling Harrison, or Lord Wrotham, that I think Dobbs is holding some poor man prisoner in his basement is more likely to get me sent to the nearest asylum.”
“Well,” Winifred said sensibly, “we just have to focus on the evidence we do have, and I really think if we’re to have any chance of deciphering this letter, we need Lady Winterton. She’s the one who has spent the most time researching all this code stuff. I really think she’s become quite the expert. Besides, neither of us know enough Russian. How are we to even know if we’ve succeeded in decoding it?”
Ursula still looked unconvinced.
“We wouldn’t have to tell her anything except the bare details. And, Sully, she’s one of us. I think we can trust her.”
An hour later Lady Winterton entered Ursula’s study and sat down with an expectant smile.
“So,” she said, “why all the cloak and dagger? I’m assuming this is not WSPU business.”
“No, it’s of a more personal nature,” Winifred began before Ursula cut in.
“We have some pieces of a letter. Written in Russian, and written, we suspect, in code.”
“Can I ask what the letter is about?”
“It’s a love letter,” Ursula blurted out, ignoring Winifred’s raised eyebrows. “At least, that’s what a mutual friend of ours is worried about. She wants to know if her fiancé is involved in an improper liaison, and she came to us for help.”
Lady Winterton looked surprised, but appeared to accept Ursula’s explanation.
Ursula drew the curtains in the study as Winifred moved a chair for Lady Winterton up against the mahogany desk. Ursula laid out the copy of the letter fragments that Winifred had drawn up.
Lady Winterton drew out a pair of pince-nez glasses from a beaded bag that hung from her skirt and peered over it.
“I’ve been reading some very interesting texts,” she said as she drew out her notebook and fountain pen and proceeded to start writing. “One,
Le Cryptographie militaire
, was most enlightening. I’ve also been reading Kasiski’s famous treatise on solving the Vigenère cipher, of course,
Die Geheimschiffer und Die Dechiffir Kunst
.” Lady Winterton looked up expectantly. “I have you to thank, Ursula, for that; your mention of the Vigenère cipher was very helpful.” Both Ursula and Winifred regarded her blankly. Lady Winterton laughed, took off her glasses, and sat back in her chair. She then proceeded to explain the various forms of codes and ciphers she had discovered in her research. Both Ursula and Winifred listened closely.
“I don’t think that this is a substitution cipher,” Lady Winterton concluded. “The Cyrillic letters used don’t follow any pattern likely for that. I also doubt that a really elaborate cipher would have been used for something like a love letter. I mean, you wouldn’t expect someone to have the necessary skill to develop or unscramble such an effort.”
Ursula and Winifred exchanged glances, but Lady Winterton didn’t seem to notice. She merely instructed them to remain quiet while she tried some alternative methods of deciphering what was written. Ursula waited anxiously, but in the end, after nearly two hours, Lady Winterton sat back on her chair with a resigned sigh. “It’s no good,” she said. “I can’t get anything to work. Nothing translates into anything that even resembles actual Russian words. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I can help you.”
Ursula unhooked her collar and sat back in her chair. She felt stiff and uncomfortably hot from being in the overheated study for so long.
“I must confess,” Lady Winterton continued, “it seems strange that such an elaborate cipher, whatever it may be, was used for a love letter. But I guess I’m just a novice at this after all.”
Winifred got to her feet, stretched, and yawned loudly.
“I’ll at least leave you my Russian dictionary, just in case you can use it,” Lady Winterton said. “And I’ll send over some of my books in case you want to do some research yourselves.”
“Thank you,” Ursula replied before Winifred exclaimed, “Crikey! It’s nearly midnight.”
“Time obviously ran away with us,” Lady Winterton responded with a smile as she too got to her feet. She looked unruffled as always.
“I expect I will be seeing you at the Empire Day ball tomorrow night, Ursula,” Lady Winterton said.
“Yes,” Ursula replied, rising and ringing the bell for Biggs.
“I assume you and Lord Wrotham will be arriving together.”
“No,” Ursula replied. “I will be going alone.”
“Lord Wrotham is out of town?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you and Lord Wrotham were . . .” Lady Winterton left the question hanging in the air.
“It’s late, and I’m sure everyone’s very tired!” Winifred interrupted, sparing Ursula the need to reply.
Biggs entered bearing Lady Winterton’s hat, coat, and gloves. He calmly informed her that Samuels was already waiting outside to drive her home. Ursula gave Biggs a grateful smile. Even in the dead of night, he could be relied upon to behave impeccably.
“I hope to see you tomorrow evening,” Lady Winterton said. “I’m only sorry I could not help you more.”
The next morning, bleary-eyed and pensive, Ursula sat in the front parlor, trying to decide on her next steps. She resisted the temptation to call Lord Wrotham, knowing that to do so was likely to raise only further confusion as to the nature of their relationship. Lady Winterton had unsettled her enough in this regard.
Tapping her fingers lightly, she gazed out over Chester Square. Presently she rang the bell for Biggs.
“Yes, Miss.”
“I’d like you to telephone Christopher Dobbs’s residence. Tell his butler or whomever it is that answers that I’d like to set up a meeting with him. Preferably today.”
“Of course, Miss.” Biggs replied and exited the room. Ursula sat on the Mackmurdo sofa and stared out the window.
A few minutes later Biggs returned.
“I’m afraid Jeffries informs me that Mr. Dobbs is otherwise engaged this morning. He is expecting visitors apparently. I inquired whether Mr. Dobbs would be available by Monday or Tuesday, but Jeffries was decidedly noncommittal.”
“Never mind, Biggs,” Ursula replied, but she was intrigued by the reference to visitors. It was too enticing to ignore. “Actually,” Ursula called out as Biggs was about to leave, “ask Samuels to bring Bertie round right away. I need to go out for a few hours.”
“Shall I tell Cook to expect you back in time for luncheon?”
“Yes,” Ursula answered distractedly. “Oh, and tell Julia not to worry. I promise to leave plenty of time to get ready for tonight’s ball.”
“Very well,” Biggs responded, and left to find Samuels.
Ursula jumped to her feet and grabbed her notebook and pencil. As she opened the door to the hallway, Julia approached, carrying her suit jacket, hat, and gloves.