Missing Person (29 page)

‘Yet I wouldn’t discount the possibility that he knew them, and that you’re right, Polly, in thinking it the reason why he joined them in their car,’ said Boots. His stepfather probably knew all kinds of people, dubious and otherwise, none of whom he would have thought of bringing home to meet Chinese Lady. ‘What’s suspicious is the act of allowing them to drive him away. If I know your grandpa, Rosie, he’d have had the back door of the car open before it began to pass Captain Arnold’s.’

‘Edwin never had suspicious acquaintances,’ said Chinese Lady, fidgeting and frowning.

‘Well,’ said Captain Arnold, ‘Mr Osborne’s exact
description
of the woman’s hat was brown with two green feathers, Mrs Finch. Would you have met any lady acquaintance of your husband who had a hat like that?’

‘Beg your pardon?’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Sounds frightfully old-fashioned,’ said Polly.

Boots sat up. Something had clicked.

‘Can we be clear about that, Captain Arnold?’ he said. ‘Mr Osborne definitely referred to a brown hat with two green feathers in it?’

‘He was definite about it to me,’ said Captain Arnold.

‘But you didn’t notice the feathers yourself when you caught your glimpse of the woman beside the driver?’

‘My glance was too brief,’ said Captain Arnold, ‘and in any case, old fellow, I imagine the feathers would have been touching the roof of the car.’

‘It’s not possible,’ said Boots. The comment was reflective, spoken to himself. His mind began to work overtime, drawing for him a picture of Cassie riding in his car with him in King and Queen Street and suddenly pointing out to him a lady who had a parrot, a lady called Mrs Harper who, with her husband and brother-in-law, had taken up occupation, according to Cassie, of the house that had once been the home of the witch-like Mrs Chivers and daughter Elsie. The picture, becoming clearer while Rosie gazed at him with the eyes of a girl who was closer to his mind than even his wife was, took in the hat Mrs Harper had been wearing, a brown one with two feathers. It was the kind of hat some cockney women would stick with however old-fashioned it was. But could he seriously consider the possibility that the woman in the car was Mrs Harper? What were the odds against two
women
owning identical hats? Then there was the brown costume. Mrs Harper had been wearing one of that colour when he saw her in King and Queen Street, coming from the market. Could a coincidence of that kind, identical hats and costumes, be credible?

‘Daddy?’ said Rosie, a little excitement showing.

‘I’m thinking, poppet.’

‘Daddy, you’re on to something.’ Rosie’s blue eyes were alight with the hope that he was going to perform his miracle.

‘Share your thoughts, Boots old scout,’ said Polly.

There was something else to think about, something that Cassie had said about Mrs Harper, the woman who had a talking parrot. Boots fastened on to it and its peculiar factor, feeling it could be made relevant if he gave it enough thought.

‘We’re going home,’ he said.

‘What, now?’ said Chinese Lady. ‘But it’s gone ten o’clock.’

‘The answer’s not here,’ said Boots, ‘nor in Guildford. It’s nearer home. Well, that’s my feeling now and I’m sticking with it until events blow it apart, which I hope they won’t. Captain Arnold, thanks very much for everything, a pleasure to have met you and to have had so much help from you.’

‘You’re able to get on the track of the bounders?’ said Captain Arnold.

‘We’re able to get on the track of a hopeful conclusion,’ said Boots.

‘Well, tell us, for God’s sake,’ said Polly.

‘I’ll talk on the way,’ said Boots, ‘and I’d like us to be on our way as soon as I’ve settled our bill.’

‘Oh, golly, Daddy, you’re the One Above all right,’ said Rosie, eyes shining.

‘Rosie, Rosie, that’s nearly blasphemy,’ said Chinese Lady in shock.

‘Nearer our God art thou, Boots,’ said Polly, close to laughter despite the traumatic nature of events and the fact that they were now going to ride on the back of what he’d referred to only as a hopeful conclusion.

‘I don’t like anyone saying such things,’ said Chinese Lady. All the same, she was a new woman. Boots, to her way of thinking, knew where to find Edwin. She’d talk to him afterwards about letting himself be called the One Above. When all was said and done, he was a music hall comedian most of the time. Still, he wasn’t her only oldest son for nothing, he was the most thinking one in the family.

They all said goodbye to Captain Arnold, and while Boots settled the bill the others went up to their rooms to freshen up for the journey home. It would be midnight at least by the time they got there.

Mr Finch, having thought everything through and made up his mind which way to jump, composed himself and went to sleep. His guard, the senior man for this the second night, stared at him. The traitor to Germany had fallen asleep without an effort? Did he think, then, that they weren’t serious about getting him aboard the German merchant ship if he refused to cooperate, not serious about informing his wife of his origins and his years as a German agent? He would find out just how serious everything was when, after a secret trial in Berlin, he was due to be executed by a firing squad. Better for him if he did cooperate and went freely back to Germany in civilized companionship with them. Better for them too, for a cooperative return would please their immediate superior in the Nazi secret police.

The senior man showed a faint smile then. Here was a man, German-born, who, in falling calmly to sleep when his life was under threat, must be an asset to the new Germany. Perhaps, if he did refuse to cooperate, he would not be shot, after all. He was too impressive a man. Himmler, perhaps, would have someone go to work on him.

The woman came up.

‘Does he want anything?’ she asked.

‘He’s asleep, sound asleep.’

‘Blimey, what a character,’ she said in English, and the senior man looked at her in some distaste. She could not be left to her own devices. She was too fond of gin. She would have to be disposed of. They could fill her with gin and drown her in a horse trough when they left this place late tomorrow night. She’d been useful as a cockney woman ostensibly living with her husband and having his brother as a lodger. It had been a macabre gesture, using this particular house, although it had not had the expected disturbing effect on the renegade. He had accepted it as calmly as all else. It had disturbed the woman more. She’d complained there were noises. In her coarse inbred cockney way, she talked about bleedin’ things going bump in the bloody night. Drink less gin, they told her. Because of her German father and the way he’d suffered at the hands of an anti-German mob, it had been easy to recruit her services for the purpose of trapping a traitor and holding him until they could make him do their bidding one way or another. The original plan had been to first take a good look at his house, then for the woman to knock on his door just as darkness fell one evening. She was to ask to see him if he did not answer the door himself. No, she would not come in, she would speak to him on his doorstep and
in
private. And when he did appear they would appear themselves, and take him swiftly and silently. It was seeing him when they were looking at the house that caused the change of plan, the temptation irresistible. They followed him and his wife all the way to Farnham, waited by the Red Lion Hotel during lunch, hoping to eventually catch him on his own, and then shadowed them on a shopping expedition before following them to the Hog’s Back Hotel, where the opportunity of taking him occurred. They brought him to this house at well gone midnight, after motoring around for hours although they had hastened during the early stage of their departure from the hotel car park. The woman, who was an idiot whenever the sharpness of her mind failed her, had complained about leaving her parrot all day. That bird was due to have its neck wrung. It repeated things they had said to it in German.

Mr Finch slept on. The German lit a candle and turned out the gas lamp. Only a very faint light touched the drawn blind.

They were driving through summer darkness, and Polly was in a state of disbelief.

‘My God,’ she said, ‘you’re pinning your hopes on a woman because she was wearing a hat with two green feathers? There must still be fifty thousand hats with feathers in London alone. My stepmama has one that she refuses to throw away.’

‘It’s not the kind we’re talking about,’ said Boots. He had explained why he thought the woman in the car could be Mrs Harper, he had explained who Mrs Harper was and where she lived along with two men, one supposedly her husband. He had also talked about the murder that had taken place there in 1914,
when
Mr Finch lodged with the Adams in a house two doors away. Chinese Lady, from the back of the car, said she wished he didn’t have to mention that. Boots said the mention was to remind her that Mr Finch and Elsie Chivers enjoyed a quietly affectionate relationship, that he was a staunch witness for the defence when Elsie was tried for the murder, and that eventually he and Elsie disappeared.

‘Oh, yes, we all thought they’d eloped and gone to live where she couldn’t be gossiped about after she was found not guilty,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘But they didn’t get married, after all, and poor Elsie went out of her mind after a bit. It was very sad, Miss Simms.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard about it,’ said Polly.

Boots had said that if the woman was Mrs Harper, and if she and the two men had taken Mr Finch to the house of soul-destroying memories, it was probably because they felt it would have a demoralizing effect on him. Chinese Lady said she’d never heard anything more wicked, it would upset him enough to make him ill. Boots said he doubted that, but perhaps the men felt it would give them a mental advantage. In any case, the woman in the hat and costume had to be investigated. It was then that Polly expressed her disbelief in his conclusions.

‘And why would the men want a mental advantage?’ she asked. ‘What’s their quarrel with your stepfather?’

Boots, driving through an almost deserted Guildford, said, ‘My stepfather wasn’t always a civil servant.’

‘No, he was a river pilot for ages, wasn’t he?’ said Rosie. ‘And he sailed the seas as a young man.’

‘Boots, do you mean he may have made enemies?’ asked Polly. Out of Guildford, the car’s headlamps projected beams of light into the darkness.

‘It could have happened,’ said Boots.

‘I can’t take kindly to that,’ said Chinese Lady, who had never seen her second husband as anything less than a gentleman.

‘What exactly do you intend to do?’ asked Polly of Boots.

‘Raid the house,’ said Boots.

‘Oh, ye gods,’ breathed Polly. She smiled. ‘What fun, old soldier.’

‘Boots, stop talkin’ like you’re goin’ to raid it yourself,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘you know I don’t hold with hooliganism. I remember you once got into a fight with two boys at Peckham Rye on account of them messin’ about with Lizzy and Em’ly.’

‘Oh, did he do that, Nana, did Daddy set about them?’ asked Rosie, excitement and hopes as high as they could go.

‘I nearly died of shame at me only oldest son fightin’ with boys in public,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘and I came close to boxin’ his ears.’ Very much a new woman now because she had this maternal trust in Boots being right about his conclusions, she added, almost with a smile, ‘Still, Em’ly did go around saying he’d been very heroic. All the same, you listen to me, Boots, don’t you go into that house thinkin’ you can kick those men to death.’

‘It seems a suitable place to do murder,’ said Polly, tongue in cheek.

‘Miss Simms, I wish you wouldn’t say such things – oh, and must you drive so fast in the dark, Boots?’

‘It’s not fast, old lady,’ said Boots, ‘it only seems as if it is.’

‘Anyway, go, Daddy, go,’ said Rosie.

Boots drove on, mentally active. He was talking to himself.

I’ll hit yer, I’ll hit yer, I’ll hit yer
.

He was trying to make something else of it, something he felt he would recognize as being relevant.

It happened when they were passing through Sutton.

I’ll hit yer, I’ll hit yer, heil hit yer, heil Hitler
.

Bloody hell, he thought. Cassie, you dreamboat.

CHINESE LADY HAD
been persuaded to go to bed. So had Rosie, due to return to school in the morning. Emily, out of bed and in her dressing-gown, was making a pot of tea. Polly, in charge of her own car again, was outside the house in Red Post Hill, free to return home at last. Not that she was in any hurry, even though it was well past midnight. Frankly, her adrenalin had been high throughout the apparently hopeless search for clues and pointers. Now Boots was saying goodnight to her.

‘What a very good friend you are, Polly,’ he said.

‘You may think that, I think it’s a curse,’ she said, seated in her car. ‘Friendship’s platonic. I’m not made for that kind of stuff, not with you. You’ll find that out one day, and when you do you’ll think you need to call out the fire brigade.’

‘Sounds as if it might be fatal,’ said Boots, ‘but it’ll be a famous way to go.’

‘Oh, we’ll drop off God’s demented world together, darling,’ murmured Polly, ‘because where you go I’ll be right behind you. When are you intending to make this raid?’

‘Before the night’s out,’ said Boots.

‘Then I’m coming with you, you crazy man.’

‘You’re not. You’re going home. You’ve already been a tower of strength, and a very decorative one. The friendship we enjoy might have its frustrations—’

‘Might have? It does have.’

‘But I’d miss if it fell to pieces. Goodnight, Polly.’ Boots bent his head and kissed her, with the light of the nearest street lamp too distant to reach them. Polly, naturally responsive, kissed him back.

‘Do that again,’ she breathed.

‘Goodnight, Polly, all my thanks,’ he said and faded away from her.

‘Take care,’ she said. Strangely, she was smiling as she drove home. Well, he cared for her, which was something to treasure. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.