Rosemary Aitken (18 page)

‘Evenin’, Mr Pengelly, sir,’ this apparition said. ‘Or I should say, “good afternoon”. I was on the early shift today – thought I’d call by and see how you were getting on.’

Walter murmured, ‘Kind of you, I’m sure,’ but his mind was working overtime. What on earth was this young miner doing here?

Kellow coughed and made a gesture towards the empty chair. ‘Is it all right if I . . .?’

‘Of course, young fellow. Sit down, sit down do!’ Walter said with sudden guilty heartiness. It occurred to him that something must have happened at the mine to bring Peter Kellow calling, so he added anxiously, as the young man pulled the chair up closer to the bed, ‘News then, is there?’

Peter shook his head. ‘Nothing in particular. Just thought you’d like a call, keep you up to date with how things are down there. Jack Maddern told me he’d been in once or twice – did he tell you that there’d been another fall along that seam? No one hurt though, that time – which is just as well. On the look-out for it, I suppose, after what happened to you and poor old Tom.’

‘How’s the Richards boy then?’ Walter heard himself enquire, though he tried not to think about that eyeless socket more than he could help.

Peter made a doubtful face. ‘Sad business that was. Lost that eye of course, and the other one is damaged, never be the same, though they think he’ll have a bit of sight in it – enough to work up at the shaking-tables, perhaps, or even fetching for the carpenter. Don’t know what will come of the poor lad otherwise, but they had a whip-round for him at the mine, in any case – and the Miners’ Friendly has made a contribution too, so that will help the family manage for a little while.’ His ears had turned an even brighter shade of pink. ‘I saw Mrs Richards in the street, in fact, when I was coming here tonight. Says she means to come and have a word with you herself.’

Walter gave an inward sigh. I’ll bet she does, he thought. And I have no excuse to offer her. All those years of training and experience – and what do I bring her family, but injury and loss? He shook his head. ‘Poor woman, she must blame me for drilling where I did.’

Peter stared at him. ‘Course it was devastating for her, losing Tom like that, and she blamed everyone at first – but what she said to me was, when she thought it out, if it was not for you she would not have Jimmy either. Wanted to come and thank you, is what she said to me – and as for the bad rock, don’t blame yourself for that. Everybody knows that was an accident. If you didn’t spot it no-one could have done. Cap’n Maddern told me once that I should study you, because you could read rock better’n anybody else he ever met. You remember that new stope that they were going to cut . . .’

And they were still talking mining when Madge came up the stairs. ‘Walter Pengelly, are you still chattering? I declare, you’ve got less sense than Farmer Crowdie’s goose! Supposed to be resting, that’s what the doctor said, and here you are, holding an audience like the King and Queen.’

Peter Kellow had turned pink again. ‘I’m some sorry, Mrs Martin, I don’t mean to wear him out,’ he said earnestly. He was already on his feet and edging to the door. ‘Only thought he might like a bit of gossip from the mine.’

‘And so I did,’ Walter retorted, sticking up for him. ‘It’s my ankle that I’m resting, not my tongue. Won’t hurt my leg to have a bit of chat. In fact, I do believe it’s done me good. Give me something sensible to think about.’ He smiled at Peter.

‘Some glad to hear it!’ Peter pulled his cap out and seemed about to jam it on his head. ‘Well, I’ll be off then!’ But he didn’t go. Instead he hesitated for a moment at the door, then seemed to pluck up courage and turned back again. ‘Be all right if I came again, some time?’

Madge looked at him coldly and replied, as though Walter wasn’t there, ‘That’s kind of you, I’m sure. But I can’t see why you’d want to do a thing like that. ’Tisn’t as if you were working in his pare. Young man like you – haven’t you got a family of your own, will want you home?’

Peter had turned scarlet but he held his ground. ‘Thing is, Mrs Martin, I feel involved in this. I was the one they sent into Penzance to tell Miss Effie about the accident and bring her back out here on Crowdie’s cart. Didn’t seem right to come in with her then, but stands to reason that I wanted to enquire.’

Walter looked thoughtfully at him. Effie, eh? And today was Thursday, by his reckoning. Was that why Peter Kellow was so interested in his health, all of a sudden? Well, it had to happen some day – Joe was right in that. And if it did happen, Effie could do worse. Nice boys, the Kellows, all hard-working like their dad. He said, casual-like, ‘Well it’s nice of you. Matter of fact, Effie generally belongs to come herself on Thursday, but she couldn’t do, this week – cause she took that time off to come and see me and so she had to work this afternoon in lieu. Be here next week, I should think, and I’m sure she’d want to thank you, if you happened to look by.’

Young Kellow had turned the colour of iron water from the mine. ‘I’ll come in again then – let you know what’s happening down the mine. If Mrs Martin doesn’t think I’ll wear you out, that is.’

‘I suppose so!’ Madge gave a doubtful sniff. ‘Since Walter says you can. I have to say you’ve brightened him a bit. A bit of company won’t do him any harm.’

So she hadn’t put two and two together, like he had, Walter thought – never saw that it was Effie that the boy had come to see! Just as well, or Madge might have forbidden him to come, and it had been nice to talk to someone who knew life underground, for Joe only brought home news that reached the surface-men. He said, with feeling, ‘I would be glad to see you, Peter, any time at all! Enjoyed our bit of chat.’

It was enough to make his sister say, a little grudgingly, ‘Well, come back if you want to, but keep it short next time. I don’t want him exhausted. I’ve got enough to do, to keep him occupied, without him wanting nursing all the time.’ She turned to Walter. ‘And that reminds me, what’s happened to my wool? I thought you were going to wind it up for me.’

You would think that she would have more sense than to say that right out loud, in front of company! But Peter Kellow – mercifully – had felt himself dismissed, and had already pulled his cap on and tiptoed down the stairs.

Blanche Weston was just walking past the Anchor Inn when she saw the familiar figure coming out of it.

‘Why, Mr Broadbent, what a happy accident!’ she cried, waving her folded umbrella in salute. (It was not entirely an accident, in fact; she had timed her arrival for the sort of time he might have finished breakfast and be ready to go out and she had already walked round the block three times.)

He saw her approaching and doffed his bowler hat. ‘Miss Blanche!’ He seemed delighted, making her turn pink. (Pity, when she had purposely picked out her dark-red gown and coat; she must look like a petunia!) But he looked quite approving as he went on, affably, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you have something you wished to say to me – some information that might be of help?’

She had been practising her answer all the way from home – a tiny detail or two that she could offer as excuse – but now that she had actually met him face to face her wits deserted her. Instead of the pretty little speech that she’d prepared she found herself stammering, ‘Well, not really, no. I simply happened to be passing this way, that is all.’ As soon as she had said the words she wished devoutly that she could call them back.

It was absurd. The Anchor Inn was right beside the sea and apart from rope-makers and riggers and that sort of thing there was nowhere in the area she could be heading for.

Broadbent must have known that but he swept a little bow. ‘Well, I shall count myself most fortunate. Indeed if you’ve completed your business hereabouts perhaps I could escort you back into the town?’

It was more than she had dreamt of; all she had envisaged was a brief, polite exchange. But to walk her back into Penzance! What a thrilling thought! She was torn between the guilty temptation to agree and the near certainty that they would be observed and someone would mention her foolishness to Pearl. However, Mr Broadbent – ‘Josiah’ as she called him to herself – would be returning to London very soon, and having spent such pains in running into him she could not let him go without regretting it. Pearl could be dealt with later.

She gave him a smile, painfully aware of her enormous teeth. ‘That would be delightful – though perhaps we could walk up through the alleyway, rather than the street? That way we are less likely to be seen – people talk so in a town like this!’

He twinkled at her. ‘In that case, may I tempt you to some tea instead? There is a little tea room up there on the way, which will just be open at this time of day. I have frequented it once or twice before – and can recommend the tea and toast. Perhaps you would care to step inside where we can talk without being subject to so many prying eyes?’

‘Really, Mr Broadbent! That’s very kind of you. But do you think it wise? On such short acquaintance?’ Blanche was all aflutter. She had never taken morning tea, alone in male company, in all her thirty years. But sadly propriety must be observed, so she added, ‘After all, we’ve scarcely met. I should not care to give the wrong impression if my sister – for instance – should come to hear of it.’ She knew that she had gone that ugly pink again. ‘I am quite sure that she would not approve.’

He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Then we must take care it does not come to her attention,’ he replied. ‘The tea shop is the very place. If you would care to take my arm . . .?’ She thought his touch would brand her very flesh as he guided her gently up the alleyway she’d been referring to. In fact it was a good thing that she did have his support, for it was cobbled underfoot and rather treacherous, though obviously she had not known that when she spoke – it was so dark and narrow it was not a route she’d ever used before.

Halfway up there was a junction where it crossed another lane, and there, indeed, stood a little tea shop, though it seemed that it was closed. There was a printed notice saying so, but the door was half-open and through the window-glass you could see a waitress in a black uniform getting down the chairs, which had clearly been placed upside-down on tables overnight.

The girl saw them looking and said politely, ‘I’m sorry, we don’t open until half past ten. That’s five minutes yet.’

Blanche was disappointed and about to turn away but Mr Broadbent was made of sterner stuff. He smiled at the waitress in his most winning way. ‘Now that is a pity – since I’ve been here before, and I was strongly recommending your buttered toast and jam.’ He kept on smiling but did not move an inch.

The girl looked at him with more interest. ‘Oh yes, sir, I remember.’ She glanced around, as if someone might observe, then gave a skittish laugh. ‘Well, seeing that it’s you, sir, and you’ve been before! The owner isn’t here till later on, but I could make an exception for a few minutes I suppose.’

And a moment later he was guiding Blanche into the shop. ‘Thank you, young lady!’ he murmured to the girl. He looked around the room. ‘Would it be possible – that table over there, in the little alcove at the back?’ He dropped his voice. ‘This lady and I have business to discuss – a tricky matter of an inheritance – and naturally we should prefer to be discreet.’ He tapped one pudgy finger against his fleshy nose as though the waitress was a co-conspirator. ‘I am sure that we can rely on you to see that we’re not overheard?’

The girl was clearly flattered by this show of confidence. She coloured prettily and led the way towards the table he had specified. She got the chairs down, set them round and spread a table cloth. ‘Will it be tea and buttered toast and jam for two, sir?’ she enquired and when Josiah told her that it would she pottered off to get it straight away.

Blanche looked at her companion as he hung up their outdoor coats. He was not handsome – very far from that – but it was obvious he had a way with him. ‘Charm’, that was the word that she was looking for. No doubt in his profession it was a requisite but it was pleasant all the same. A charming male companion who was buying her some tea. It was quite the most exciting moment of her life – especially sweet, because she knew that Pearl would disapprove.

Her host had sat down opposite by now and was smiling at her across the table cloth. ‘What did I tell you? They’re most obliging here. Now then, my dear Miss Blanche Weston, what is it you sought me out to say? It’s obvious that you must have had something on your mind; I can’t believe you merely desired my company.’

Oh but I did, Josiah
, she murmured inwardly, but aloud she said, ‘There was a little matter which occurred to me. The man you came about. I believe there was a railway ticket in his coat. I don’t know if you were aware of that.’ There! She had remembered something new to offer him.

He received it gravely. ‘Ah, yes, the ticket! We did know that, in fact. It was part of the information that the police sent on to us, and it was even mentioned in the papers, I believe.’

She nodded. ‘That’s where I learned of it. The return half of a ticket, so they said, but so damaged by the rain that it was impossible to see where it was issued from.’

‘The police did not have much hope that it would lead us anywhere,’ he agreed, ‘but working on the assumption that it was Royston or his friend and that they were likely to have come from Paddington third-class, I had my own enquiries made.’ He leaned forward and murmured confidentially, ‘And I understand that a guard has now been found who thinks he may have seen the passenger. The early train, third-class carriage, the day before
the death.’ He paused for her approval, leaning back again.

She obliged him by saying, admiringly, ‘That was clever of him. There must have been scores of people on that train.’

Josiah looked decidedly gratified at this. ‘He noticed him because he looked so frail and ill, appeared to have no luggage with him, sought the last compartment, spoke to nobody and seemed to take no refreshment of any kind throughout the trip – though the guard could not be absolutely sure of that because the third-class compartments were non-corridor and he could only look in from time to time when the train was at a station. However after Plymouth the man appeared to be asleep, so he left him to it and thought no more of it – until our agent spoke to him, that is. I got a wire from London only yesterday. It’s in my pocket now.’ He pulled back the collar of his jacket so that she could glimpse the yellow telegram within, but at the moment the waitress reappeared from the kitchen at the rear carrying their tray of tea and toast.