Rosemary Aitken (4 page)

Alex cleared his throat. ‘That is what I’ve come here to explain – if we might just get past.’

She glowered up at him. ‘Maids don’t come in the front door, in this house any road. Effie can go round the back, like she belongs to do. And you, young fellow – policeman you may be – but since you’ve come with ’er, I’d be obliged if you would go round that way too and don’t go putting your great boots where I’ve just washed the step.’

Effie was already tugging at his arm, pulling him down the narrow alley to the back. ‘That’s Mrs Mitchell, comes to scrub for us,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t take no notice, she’s as sour as grapes.’

He nodded, ‘So I see!’

Effie almost giggled. ‘Well, we’d be sour as well, if we had six children and a sick man to keep. Her husband’s got too weak to leave his bed, poor man, and she’s reduced to scrubbing to scrape enough to eat. People make allowances – give her a scrap or two sometimes, if there is anything to spare – though you’d wait till the millennium if you wanted gratitude. Cook generally saves her a thick end of the loaf – and my dear life, here she’s coming with it now!’

A large stout woman in a pinafore and cap had just rounded the corner of the house carrying a small parcel wrapped up in newspaper, but she caught sight of Effie and brought herself up short. ‘Effie Pengelly! Where in heaven have you been? You’ve had us in confluptions, worrying!’ She looked at Alex, very doubtfully. ‘And now I see the police have brought you home. Never been in some sort of accident, has she?’ she added, in a different tone, addressing the question directly to himself.

Alex tried to adopt a sober look, the way a policeman should. ‘Not an accident exactly, I am glad to say. But there has been an unpleasant incident. A man has died – apparently of cold behind the Westons’ shop – and Effie has been trying to assist us with the case.’

The Cook’s face lost its stern look and became concerned. ‘Find the body, did she? Poor lamb – that must have been an awful shock. Here!’ She pushed the little packet into Alex’s hand. ‘You take that round and leave it by the corner at the front. It’s for Mrs Mitchell – she knows to look for it. Meanwhile I’ll take Effie in and see she gets some tea – a strong cup with some sugar – before she goes upstairs. She’ll need it too, if I am any judge; Mrs Thatchell’s waiting and she’s in a proper stew – but I’ll make sure she knows the rights and wrongs of this.’

Alex was unwilling to be parted from the girl. He said, stubbornly, ‘I’ll do that if you like. My orders were to bring her back to her employer and explain the reason she was late – she feared she’d be in trouble.’

The cook squared her shoulders. ‘Well, so she would have been. But finding corpses – that’s a different thing. It’s kind of you to offer, but you leave the girl with me. The mistress don’t like having strangers in the house, and very likely it would make things worse. I’ll see that Mrs Thatchell knows what’s been happening.’

Effie gave him an imploring look. ‘I didn’t actually find the body, Mrs Lane – Miss Blanche and the butcher did that earlier. It was only that I had to see it afterwards . . .’ She trailed off as Alex shook his head at her.

‘And that was shock enough!’ he said, as firmly as he could. The girl was being offered sympathy – no point in wilfully repudiating that and he wasn’t helping her by lingering. He turned to Effie. ‘So if Mrs Lane – is it? – will undertake to see that you get that cup of tea, I will leave you in her care as she suggests, and get back to the station to write up my report.’ He raised his helmet with a fingertip and grinned. ‘Not forgetting to deliver this parcel as I go.’

He was rewarded with a grateful smile from both. But he was thoughtful as he turned away. If Mrs Thatchell was as suspicious of strangers as all that, how would she react when she learned that this strange tramp had been asking for the girl? And it was very likely that she would hear of it – Effie was too honest to conceal anything. He sighed. It seemed there wasn’t anything that he could do to help: as the Cook had said, it was probably wisest to leave the matter there.

What a pity, he thought inwardly. He’d been imagining himself as knight-errant to the girl. And now, who knew if they’d ever meet again? Perhaps he could find a reason for calling here another time? Or better still . . . He could not help himself – as he paused at the corner to put the parcel down, he turned and called to Effie’s now-retreating back. ‘Remember! If you need me – as a witness or for anything at all – you know where I am.’

But the cook was hurrying her away and she did not turn round.

Lettie Pearson was getting really anxious by this time. She had been hovering near the Westons’ shop for half an hour at least, shifting her weight from foot to foot and looking out for Effie all the while. Of course she was a little late herself today (serve her right for stopping to gossip to that good-looking grocer’s boy!) but time was really getting on and there was no sign of Effie anywhere.

This was beginning to be worrying. It was a library Tuesday and in a minute she would have to go in and return the books she had, without the one that Effie had borrowed for the week. But it was due today and if it wasn’t back there’d be a lateness fine and Miss Caroline was sure to come to hear of it. Miss Pearl sent out reminder letters, if the books were overdue, and besides there would be a title not crossed out on Miss Caroline’s page in the Misses Westons’ book, so Lettie would only be able to take five others home today. Even her mistress (who didn’t even read the jolly things) would notice that! So their clever little scheme was bound to come to light – and then wouldn’t hoity-toity Miss Caroline have a picnic-day!

She gave a fretful sigh. Effie would only say that this had served them right and they should never have been doing it. Effie was like that – too cautious by a mile, and left to herself she would never have dreamed up a risky thing like this. But perhaps she had been right. Was it possible that Lettie’s famous luck was running out?

Because Lettie was lucky – or so people said. Lucky to have the post with Miss Caroline at all: if her stepmother hadn’t been related to the cook up there, Lettie would never have had the slightest chance, despite being the cleverest in her class at school by half. Lucky to be so pretty with that long red hair. Lucky to have good brains, as well, her stepmother would say – and her stepmother should know, since she was quite the silliest woman you could ever meet: though it had to be allowed that she was good to Fayther and had done her best for Lettie, according to her lights.

‘Lucky to have a stepmother who looks out for you!’ No doubt, but Lettie could not help but feel that it would have been a great deal luckier if that horse hadn’t run away and trampled Mother up against the wall in the first place.

The really lucky people, she had always thought, were ones like Miss Caroline Evalina Knight – spoiled and difficult and dafter than a bat, who had everything she wanted before she asked for it and had never done a hand’s turn of anything useful in her life. In fact Lettie had never known her apply herself to anything at all, useful or otherwise, except occasionally to paint insipid pictures of flowers in a vase.

Miss Caroline’s real talent was finding fault with things: from the way that Lettie made a clatter on the stairs to the way the breakfast tray was laid. Indeed she’d even threatened to complain to her Papa, and though Lettie took that with a pinch of salt, it paid to be specially careful for a day or two; Major Knight would probably dismiss the whole staff on the spot if his beloved daughter ever asked him to. It wasn’t wise to annoy Miss Caroline so it was important that Effie turned up very soon indeed. Otherwise . . .

Dear Heaven and all the angels! There was Effie now, being escorted by a policeman, of all people, at the far end of the street – it looked as if he was marching her back home. He was clearly asking questions and Effie chatted back.

What had she been saying? It must be about the books. Was the policeman going to come for Lettie next? Her mind began to race. Perhaps she could offer to return the lending fee. She began to calculate if she had a few pence clear, but she’d spent it all on ribbons yesterday to impress the grocer’s boy. She could pawn her combs perhaps? She was getting ready to promise something of the kind but the policeman did not even glance at her, just helped Effie firmly across the road and they disappeared again towards where Mrs Thatchell lived.

She sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be. It was obvious that Effie was not involving her. It made her feel quite guilty – would she have done as much? – though it was a great relief. But it didn’t solve the problem. What about the missing book? And there was no escaping; Miss Blanche was on the step, baring her long teeth in a horsey smile.

‘Ah, it’s young Lettie, isn’t it, come for Miss Caroline’s books? I’m sorry if there was no-one in the shop. Have you been waiting? Miss Pearl and I were talking to the butcher in the court and didn’t realize we couldn’t hear the bell. I’m afraid there was a little incident there this morning, and we had to call the police. But it’s all been taken care of and we’re back to normal now. So come in, do. Have you brought back some books?’

She had of course – but only five of them. But there was nothing for it except to go inside and hand them in, before they started earning lateness fines themselves. Perhaps she could pass the missing volume off as a mistake? She put them quickly on the shelf reserved for the returns, but there was no disguising the fact that she did not have all six. There were no others – if any had come in, the Miss Westons had obviously already dealt with them.

And now Lettie must find some new ones to take home; Miss Caroline would be sure to notice otherwise. She selected five at random – hardly bothering to see which ones they were – then went up to the counter so that Miss Blanche could issue them. Lettie could hardly wait for all the rigmarole – taking the card out of the book and filing it in the little box under today’s date, stamping the due date on the book itself, writing the titles in spiky script in the foolscap register under Miss Caroline’s account and finally taking the penny lending fee for each.

Miss Blanche stamped the books and began to write the titles against Miss Caroline’s account. She did the first two and then looked up surprised. ‘Oh, you didn’t need to put this through again. You could just have brought it straight up here and I’d change the date by hand. But I’m glad your mistress liked it. I’ve never known her take a book out twice. Or was it just that she didn’t finish it?’

For a moment Lettie didn’t understand.

She must have looked puzzled because Miss Blanche gave a laugh. ‘Either way, she must have wanted it. If we get another by that author, I’ll put it by for you!’

And Lettie, who had just recognized the cover of the book, and worked out that Effie had somehow – bless her – contrived to return the missing volume to the shelf, managed to stammer, ‘That would be kind, Miss Blanche, though I think my mistress simply hadn’t read it!’ Which at least was true!

She and Effie had got away with it. She was so relieved she stopped to gossip with the grocer’s boy again, when he happened to ride past on his bicycle, accidentally-on-purpose, with deliveries. He was a handsome fellow with a pair of laughing eyes and hair that curled around his temples like an advertisement for brilliantine. He teased her for her freckles and she tarried far too long.

Miss Caroline was very sharp with her when she got back. ‘Lettie, I shall be obliged to part with you if this goes on much more. I send you on an errand and you’re not back for hours. And even then you do not do it right. These titles are all boring, every one of them – and for some reason you only brought me five!’ She did not even notice she’d had one of them before, though she was quick to demand the penny change, of course.

It wasn’t until Lettie was climbing into bed that it occurred to her to think again about her friend, and wonder why – if it was not about the books – Effie had been walking through the town in company with a constable of police.

Mrs Thatchell was still madder than a bull – Effie could see that the moment she walked in, from Madam’s tight lips and the tell-tale spots of angry colour in her cheeks – but Cook had gone upstairs ahead and had obviously had some kind of word with her, so all that happened was that the mistress gave a disapproving snort and looked at Effie coldly down her long bony nose.

‘Well, girl, so you’ve deigned to come back here at last, though I understand that even now you haven’t managed to fetch my books and silks. What’s all this that Cook is telling me? Some cock and bantam story that it is not your fault at all, but that a dead body was discovered in the street and you had to stop and answer a lot of questions by the police?’

Effie nodded earnestly. ‘Yes, Madam, that’s right. I’m sorry. I did not have the chance to get your things. I’ll go down again this minute and pick them up for you.’

‘Indeed you will! And I should hope so too!’ Mrs Thatchell swept imaginary hair into the hairgrips which she always wore to hold her tight grey plaits in their two fierce coils just above her ears. ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to, when an employer can’t expect to have her errands run without her servants being called upon to get involved with matters that are no concern of theirs!’ She made a tutting noise. ‘Who was it anyway? Some tramp, I understand.’

Effie was about to say that she had only been ‘called upon’ because the dead man had asked for her by name, but one glance at Mrs Thatchell’s beaky face was enough to tell her that was not a good idea. Instead she said, ‘That is the problem, Madam. They don’t know who he is; he seems to be a stranger – they were trying to find out.’

‘So why ever would the policemen want to talk to you?’ The angry red patches in Mrs Thatchell’s cheeks looked even brighter now. ‘What could they possibly suppose that you would know? You don’t consort with vagrants, I suppose?’

Effie closed her eyes. She would be for it now! Mrs Thatchell hated anything that ‘smelt of trouble’. She said, carefully, ‘From something that he said before he died, they think he might have known my mother’s cousin in America, perhaps. That’s why the police thought that maybe I could help, but when I looked, I’d never seen the man before. So they’re going out to Penvarris and they’re going to ask my Pa.’ She waited for Mrs Thatchell to exclaim that since the Pengelly family brought problems to the door by knowing down-and-outs it would be better if they parted company.