Rosemary Aitken (25 page)

‘If we’d had you in plaster of Paris, like they would have done in town, it would have held you better. But it will come, in time. Though mind you take it easy for a day or two – just around the house until you’re used to it.’

The man had spoken as if Walter was likely to have set off for a stroll, but it was a major undertaking just to hobble down the stairs – and he had to sit down for an hour and recover, even then. It was ridiculous. He had always been so strong! But now his arms were aching from merely doing that – though he was profoundly grateful for the change of scene.

There was one ambition that he had managed to achieve. When he got his breath back, and Madge was busy upstairs putting right the bed, he went out to the yard and visited the privy on his own – it wasn’t easy, dealing with your clothes when you were trying to balance on a crutch and half a leg – but it gave him a feeling of dignity after all these weeks of struggling to use the wretched chamber-pot (and having to ask his sister to help him, even then).

Madge was furious when she found out, of course. ‘You could have fallen over, and where should we be then!’ But he refused to promise that he’d wait for her to go out with him next time.

‘I’m not a damty child, Madge. I managed this time, and I will again. You watch, now I’m up and walking I’ll get stronger every day. Now hand me that tea cloth and I’ll help you wipe the cloam. Make myself a bit more useful than I’ve been till now. Don’t make that face at me. I can dry up while I’m sitting here, on the settle by the fire.’

And so he did. But the effort of walking all that way had taken more out of him than he supposed and he must have nodded off, because he only woke up when the rest of them came in, and were clamouring round the kitchen table for their tea.

‘You had a visitor a little while ago,’ Madge called, from the scullery where she was slicing bread. ‘But when she saw you sleeping she went away again. Wouldn’t disturb you for the world, she said.’

Walter paused in the act of spearing a pickled onion to join his slice of home-made brawn. ‘Never Effie?’ He could not keep the disappointment from his voice. ‘She don’t belong to come on Monday as a rule.’

‘Don’t be so bally daft! As if I’d let her go without you seeing her!’ His sister came in with the laden plate and put it on the table with the butter pat. The younger children all reached out at once, but Madge said sharply, ‘Cheese or butter, you can take your choice. Not you, Walter; you and Joe can have a bit of each. Menfolk need the extra to keep up their strength.’ She doled out the little cubes of crumbly cheese, which she must have got from Crowdie earlier in the day. ‘No, it was Mrs Richards asking after you. Tommy Richards’ widow,’ she added, as if Walter might misunderstand. ‘Came with Peter Kellow – he says they’ll call again. Asked to be remembered to you, by the way.’

‘’Spect it will be Thursday that we see him then,’ he muttered with a grin, then – before anyone could ask him what he meant by that – he added, ‘So I’ll make sure that I’m managing these crutches a bit better before then. Though p’raps you’d better give me an ’and to get upstairs first time, Joe, old lad.’

It was an awful struggle, worse than getting down – largely because Joe had no sense at all of how to help, let alone hold the candle up to light the way – but they managed in the end and Walter was quite glad to settle into bed again. But he meant what he had said: he would walk a little further every single day. Tomorrow would be better and the next day better still. Perhaps he could even get back out to the shed – with a stool to sit on he could use his tools a bit, re-sole those shoes that Madge was on about and maybe even do a bit of whittling. Imagine if Effie could find him doing that!

Full of these happy thoughts he fell asleep, before he’d even had the time to blow the night-light out. Madge must have looked in later and snuffed it out herself.

Effie had lingered at the haberdashery for longer than she should, but there was no sign of Lettie anywhere. She was rather disappointed, for she had hoped to see her friend – not only to hear more details of the wedding plans (Lettie would surely have begun to make them now), but also because she wanted to ask her for advice.

About Peter Kellow. What was she to do? Even Pa was in the know about him, it appeared, and kept on dropping hints – what a nice boy Peter was, how the two families had known each other for years, and what hard-working, honest fellows all the Kellows were. And it was true; she was aware of that. Peter was everything a girl like her could want – except he wasn’t Alex. She gave herself a shake. What difference did it make? Alex wasn’t walking out with her these days, giving her half-accidental kisses in the lane; he was off courting that Miss Caroline! It didn’t help Effie’s state of mind to know that she very likely had herself to blame – she was the one who’d said that it would never do, because of the difference between their families. But he didn’t have to take her so quickly at her word, she thought indignantly.

Well, it was no good standing around here any longer, pretending to be having trouble matching silks. She’d already taken half a dozen to the door ‘to see them in the light’ but actually to look for Lettie up and down the street, and now there was no further possible excuse. She went back to the silks she’d started with, and had intended to purchase all along, and took them to the counter for Miss Pearl to wrap.

Miss Pearl was looking particularly sour. ‘Made up your mind then, have you?’ she enquired, stretching her thin mouth into a mirthless smile. ‘That’s one and ninepence, after all that time.’

Effie fumbled in the pocket of her cape and pulled out the necessary coins. ‘It’s always difficult to match the greens,’ she offered, apologetically. ‘If I could ask Miss Blanche—’

Miss Weston cut her off. ‘Well unfortunately, that isn’t possible, because she isn’t here. Found some new errand to take her into town. She’s taken to doing that almost every day. I’ve told her we could pay an errand-boy, but no! Claims that exercise is beneficial to her health. Leaves me on my own like this to man the shop – just when we are having an enormous run on gloves. And when I remonstrate it seems to make her worse. I don’t know what’s got into her – it’s not like Blanche at all.’

Effie had the wit to realize that this complaint was not really addressed to her at all, but that Miss Pearl simply needed to let off steam a bit, so she just said brightly, ‘Yes. I saw her this morning walking down the street. And she was looking blooming, so perhaps she’s right. They do say that exercise is good for you these days – even if you are a lady like Miss Blanche.’ (She did not add that when she’d glimpsed her near the post office, Miss Blanche had been engrossed in conversation with a man – that Mr Broadbent who had called at Mrs Thatchell’s house the other day. Perhaps she was helping him with his enquiries.)

Miss Pearl pulled her thin mouth thinner still. ‘I never heard such nonsense. Exercise indeed!’ She pressed the buttons on the cash register and made the price come up, while she put the florin in the open drawer and took out a threepenny bit. ‘And threepence change.’

Effie took the tiny coin and slipped it in her purse, while Miss Pearl put the silks into a paper bag. ‘Well, I’ll have to hurry,’ she said aloud, to no one in particular. ‘Mrs Thatchell will be wanting . . .’ She broke off as she heard the shop door ring.

It was Miss Blanche returning, and she was not alone. It was not Mr Broadbent opening the door and standing back to let the lady through, instead it was a man in policeman’s uniform.

‘Alex!’ Effie could not believe her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you, Effie,’ Miss Blanche replied. Her horse face was radiant, and she gave a girlish laugh. ‘I told him that I’d seen you walking up this way and that you usually came on Tuesday to the shop. I was on my way myself, so I came back with him.’

Miss Pearl had set her face into a frown. ‘Bringing the police into the shop again! My dear Blanche, what on earth will people think!’

Alex gave her his most disarming smile. ‘They’ll think exactly what you would hope they’d think – that you two ladies are on good terms with the police. But I won’t cause you any more embarrassment. I’ll speak to Miss Pengelly outside in the street.’ He opened the shop door. ‘Miss Pengelly, if you wouldn’t mind? Official business; it won’t take very long.’

Effie, who had been listening to all this with dismay, found her tongue again. ‘Official business? What’s this all about?’ But he had grasped her gently by the arm and was propelling her outside. On the pavement she turned to glare at him. ‘And why am I “Miss Pengelly”, suddenly?’

He shook his head at her. ‘It’s all right, Effie. Don’t disturb yourself. I just did not want those two to overhear. But I have some news I thought that you should hear. It’s about that man who died.’

‘Captain Royston? If that really was his name.’

‘I believe it was. I found a photograph at Major Knight’s. I think it’s the same man. You saw a picture of him, didn’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Good-looking fellow with a big moustache and wavy hair, smart as all get out in army uniform. Didn’t look much like the corpse I saw, but as I said to Mr Broadbent, it just might have been – if you took off the whiskers and thinned out the hair and face. The picture must have been taken years and years ago. If he was old and poor and hungry he’d get thin, I suppose.’

Alex nodded. ‘It’s possible. And your picture does sound very much like mine.’

She looked up at him – then turned away again. She didn’t want to look into his eyes. ‘How don’t you go and talk to Mr Broadbent then? He’s got the photograph.’

She wasn’t looking but she could feel him smile and his voice was gentle as he said, ‘Of course, I’ll have to do that. I always knew I would. But I wanted to see you, if the truth was told. This gave me an excuse. I promised I’d tell you if I discovered anything.’

She did look at him then. ‘I thought that you were seeing someone else.’

‘And so are you,’ he countered. ‘I saw you riding with him on that cart. And then you sent that note, saying that you wouldn’t meet me, because of some incident at home. And when I remembered the way that fellow looked at you . . .’

She interrupted. ‘Incident?’ She wrinkled up her nose. ‘I wrote no such thing. I said that there had been an accident. My poor Pa has been laid up in bed, with his leg all splinted and his ankle broke – there was a fall of bad rock in the mine. One man was killed and another boy was hurt – I’m surprised you never heard.’

He shook his head. ‘Not a police matter, I suppose. I did see something mentioned in the press, about there being a fatality, but it was not a name I knew. It just said that two other members of the team were hurt but were not in any danger of their lives. I never imagined it would concern your Pa. I’m sorry to hear that. I know how much your father means to you. How is he managing?’

She made a face. ‘Not as well as I would like him to – though he’s got his crutches now and should be beginning to get around on them. So I hope to find him better when I next go home.’

‘Which will be on Thursday?’ Alex said.

She nodded. ‘And before you ask, I shall be doing that. Obviously I can’t be meeting you, with Pa the way he is.’ She realized as she said it that Alex had not suggested that she should.

He grinned, the grin that always made her knees go weak. ‘Wouldn’t expect otherwise, Effie. But you’ll be catching the noon horse-bus I expect? Suppose that I was there to see you on to it? I know you think it isn’t sensible but I have missed our little chats.’

‘And what about Miss Knight?’

‘Miss Knight can do without me for one afternoon.’

He said it so bitterly that she was moved to say, ‘You mustn’t hurt her feelings, not on account of feeling sympathy for me. Lettie says Miss Caroline is very fond of you.’

He gave a scornful laugh. ‘I don’t think there’s any danger that it will break her heart. What Caroline is really fond of is herself. I should be more sorry to offend her family. The Major, in particular, has been good to me. He has even unwittingly brought me back to you – if it were not for him I never would have found that photograph at all. Dicky Royston was his aide-de-camp.’

‘Whatever is an aidy-camp?’ she asked, and then realized what he’d said. ‘Dicky Royston?’ She emphasized the word. ‘Then it isn’t the same man after all. Mr Broadbent said that he was Arthur, I am sure.’

He stared at her. ‘You are quite sure of that?’ He frowned. ‘Might be a brother or something I suppose. But you’re sure that he said Arthur?’

‘Well I think he called him “Artie”, but isn’t it the same? Peter Kellow’s father is called Arthur, I am sure, but they always call him Artie down the mine.’

Alex slapped his thigh. ‘Not Artie!’ he said suddenly. ‘It’s R.T. Don’t you see? It must be his initials. And you see the possible significance of that?’

She thought for a moment before she got the point. ‘You mean it might have been the same with me? Maybe it wasn’t Effie that he wanted after all? It was F. E. Pengelly he was looking for?’ She let out a long sigh. ‘Be some relief to me, if that was true. But who on earth is that? I don’t know any Pengellys with names that start with “F”. Though, come to think of it, there might have been a second-cousin Frank who went abroad. Australia or something. But that was years ago. Why would anyone be looking for him here?’

Alex was grinning. ‘It is a lead, at least. The shipping offices have lists of all their passengers. I’ll put Jenkins on to it. He has already written to Army Lists and Records to enquire about Lieutenant Richard Royston and his subsequent career.’ He made a wry face. ‘Apparently he had a glittering record in the field but Knight says he was dishonourably discharged.’

The words brought Effie to her senses, suddenly. ‘Dear Lord! And so shall I be, if I don’t get home. Mrs Thatchell will be having vapours as it is.’

‘Then I won’t delay you longer.’ He gave her a shy smile. ‘But I’ll see you Thursday?’

She nodded silently and hurried off but the promise gave her wings and she was not as late as she had feared she would be. But she got an awful jawing from Mrs Thatchell anyway, for having left the bag of sewing silks behind her in the shop. She had to do without her lunch and scuttle back for them.