Rosemary Aitken (6 page)

Taking up his proper duties was a little different, especially since Penzance was half-a-day away from home, but it was interesting work and he’d even earned a medal that Mama could boast about – though it was only for being part of the police procession on Coronation Day. So even Sergeant Vigo’s constant jibes and jokes, and the continuous quizzing on the Instruction Manual, did not dismay Alex in the least; he had endured a great deal worse at school. Besides, he was almost certain that by now he’d won himself a measure of respect: surely the sergeant had manipulated things so that Alex could walk that girl Effie home the other day?

He put his foolscap notebook down upon the bed, feeling a little guilty under the accusing eyes of the new King in the picture on the wall. But there was time enough a little later to brush up on the classifications of a felony. Instead he thought about that strange business with the corpse.

There had been little progress on identifying it – it had no distinguishing marks of any kind, apart from one mole on the left buttock, which was no help at all! Letters to nearby workhouses had given them no leads, there was nothing useful from the London shirt-maker, and none of the local landladies had taken in a visitor remotely answering the description of the corpse. A pity, Alex thought. He had been rather hoping to have something to report. It would have given him a reason for calling at the house again – if only to offer reassurance to the girl.

He sighed. Funny sort of business, but the girl was nice. Effie Pengelly. He hadn’t seen her since, though he’d made a special point of walking down that way, any time he got the chance – even when his duties didn’t strictly take him there. But there had been no sign of Effie, nor indeed the cook, nor even of that snappy woman who was scrubbing down the step. Alex had been ready to have a word with her, at worst, but there had been no opportunity even to do that. Would it be improper for him to call there openly, just to let Effie know there’d been no further news and that the parish had agreed to give the body burial? Or would that simply make more trouble for the girl? Maybe . . .

‘Well, young Dawes, you intending on sitting up all night?’ It was Jenkins, the police administrative clerk with whom he shared the room, who was already dropping his braces down his arms and loosening his collar so that he could wash. ‘Time will come when I’ll be told to put you down for duty overnight, to man the place, then you’ll be wanting a mattress on the floor downstairs, no doubt – so you can take your forty-winks if you’re not wanted in the town. Half a mind to put you down for night-duty tonight, teach you to keep proper hours like the rest of us.’ He buried his face in the cold water from the jug, came up scarlet and towelled himself dry, then emptied the washbowl into the pail of slops. ‘Now, you going to blow that candle out, young fellow, or shall I?’

Alex started. He hadn’t realized how the time had passed. ‘I’ve got the snuffer, I will see to it. Just give me half a mo!’ He found himself scrambling to prepare for bed. The classifications of a felony, like Effie and the proper polishing of boots, would have to wait until another day.

‘What do you mean, the Westons found a body in the court?’ Lettie gave the grocer’s boy a playful push. ‘Get out of it, you silly thing! I don’t believe a word.’

He was standing, leaning against his bicycle, balancing the weight of the basket on the front, but he freed his right hand from the handlebars. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die!’ He made a vague cross-shape across his chest with one finger, then raised it to his mouth. ‘Slit my tongue if this should prove a lie! It was even in the paper, just a paragraph.’ He rolled his eyes at her. He was better-looking than that Rudolf Valentino was, and his name was Bert – she’d got that fact out of him. He was an awful tease, as she was well aware, and he was grinning now, but he seemed to be earnest about this. ‘Why don’t you ask your pretty little friend – Effie is it? She can tell you more.’

Lettie frowned. Of course it was not surprising if he noticed Effie’s looks, but all the same she didn’t like him saying that. ‘Effie? She’s all right, if you admire that sort of thing. But what’s she got to do with it?’

Bert laughed and chucked her underneath her chin. ‘Now, now, don’t be jealous. You know that I’ve got eyes for you, my ’andsome, and for no-one else. Wouldn’t have noticed ’er if it hadn’t been for you, but I have seen you with her once or twice. Far too thin and peaky for my taste, and anyway it’s obvious I wouldn’t stand a chance. Smitten with that policeman, that’s as clear as day.’

Lettie stared at him. ‘What policeman?’ she began, and then remembered what she had seen. ‘Oh! I think I know the one. I saw them in the street together Tuesday fortnight gone.’ Truth to tell she felt a little bit betrayed. Lettie was supposed to be the daring one who had admirers, not mousey little Effie, with her timid ways. Come to think of it, in fact, she’d not seen Effie since, though she’d looked out for her both Tuesdays at the shop. Obviously her so-called friend had found other things to do! But Lettie wasn’t going to say as much to Bert. She tossed her thick auburn curls and said, dismissively, ‘I don’t believe there’s anything in that. Effie would have told me and she’s never said a word.’

‘Course she wouldn’t,’ Bert retorted with a smile. ‘Anyway she might not have had the chance. From what I hear they’d never met before that day. He took her down the station to ask about the corpse – and next thing you know they’re walking up the street, gazing at each other like a pair of lovesick swans. Saw them with my own eyes, when I was coming to meet you.’

Lettie was still frowning. ‘Took her down the station? About the corpse you say?’ Up until that minute she’d been sure that it was about the books, although of course she’d never mentioned that affair to Bert. ‘Why in heaven’s name would they want her about that?’

‘Seems the fellow came asking for her in the Westons’ shop. Butcher’s son told me, and he ought to know – his father was the one who looked across the wall and saw the dead body lying in the court. When they called Miss Pearl out, the first thing that she said was that the man had been hanging round the door the day before, enquiring if she knew an Effie Pengelly in the town. Though why he went there asking is a mystery to me. Think he’d ask a policeman or something, wouldn’t you?’

Lettie tossed her hair back from her face again. ‘He must have known she was keen on needlework. Effie won a prize for sewing, you know, at school – donated by some ancient biddy who approved of seamstresses. Prouder’n a peacock, Effie was of that – though it was only an old sewing-box, when all was said and done.’ She wrinkled her brow into a prettier frown. ‘Here, Bert, you don’t suppose this man had some connection with all that?’

Bert shrugged his shoulders. ‘Search me, me ’andsome – I don’t know, or care! I just heard there’d been a dead man found behind the shop, and I knew you often go there, so I thought you’d like to know. I’m only surprised you didn’t hear of it before.’

‘Miss Blanche did say there had been trouble in the alleyway, that day – but I thought she meant the wretched urchins had been throwing stones again. Never crossed my mind it might be more than that.’

He was giving her his broadest grin. ‘Trust the Miss Westons to try and hush it up – but they really couldn’t hope to keep it secret very long, especially when the papers got a hold of it. Anyway the butcher’s boy had seen the corpse, so the news was all round town before the day was out.’

‘Well, never reached me then.’ Lettie gave a flounce.

‘Too busy running after your Miss Caroline?’ Bert gave a knowing wink. ‘Too busy to meet me for weeks, I do know that!’

Lettie gave him another little punch. ‘Well, so I was. She keeps me on the run. Harder than a trapped badger to please, she is, as well. Half a minute late and she wants a full report – everywhere I’ve been and everyone I’ve met.’ She gave him a little smile. ‘Not that I necessarily tell her everything. I’d only have her keeping me indoors and scolding me for having followers. Which reminds me, I suppose I’d better hurry now, before I’m late again.’

‘Poor Miss Caroline! That would never do.’ Bert seized the handlebars with both his hands again. ‘So perhaps it’s better if I don’t wait round for you like this. Someone will see us and then she’s sure to hear.’

‘Bert Symons!’ Lettie’s tone was playful, but she was really hurt. ‘Don’t go saying things like that. That isn’t what I meant. You know I’d hate it if we never met.’

He pushed his laden bicycle along an inch or two, till the top pedal was where he wanted it. He planted his right foot on it and paused. ‘Who said anything about not meeting you?’ he said. ‘Get a half-day, sometimes, don’t you? Maybe we could get together then – go for a walk around Mount Misery or something of the kind, if you aren’t doing anything else particular.’

Lettie always went to see her stepmother that day, and stopped to tea with Pa, but she wasn’t going to say so and seem to turn Bert down. She found herself saying, ‘I get off at one o’clock on Monday afternoon. I’d have to meet you up there, or we’d be seen for sure. And no good if it’s raining.’ It sounded rather grudging – which she hadn’t meant.

He shook his head at her. ‘Won’t be next week, either. I’ll have to work around it, organize deliveries to make sure I can be free – but the week after, that should be all right. Can’t say for certain right away of course, but I’ll look out for you in town and try to let you know.’ He dropped one eyelid in a fearsome wink. ‘Make sure you wear your thickest boots, though, if we’re going to walk. Can be very muddy at this time of year, especially if you happen to wander off the path.’

‘Off the path? You cheeky blighter!’ she called after him, but he was already gone, leaving Lettie with a fluttering heart. It was official then. Lettie Pearson was really ‘walking out’. Now that was something to tell Effie when they met!

She could think of nothing else as she hurried back to work. She wasn’t keen on walking expeditions as a general rule, but this one promised to be quite different! And one thing was certain – wandering off the path or not – she was going to wear her Sunday best and not her clumsy boots. She was already planning what excuse she’d give to her stepmother and Pa.

The story about the body was in the newspaper. Effie actually saw it for herself, on a piece of the Evening Tidings that the green-grocer had used to wrap the swedes and carrots in
the week’s delivery – Mrs Thatchell didn’t take a paper as a rule. But there it was. Great big letters in the middle of the page.

‘Unknown Man Found Dead in Alleyway,’ the headline said.

That wasn’t quite the way of it, she thought. Actually it had been found in the little court behind the haberdashery shop, but probably the Misses Weston wouldn’t want that noised abroad – it might put people off coming there. It had quite put Effie off calling there herself! She still had to go, of course, but these days she hurried to make any purchases and hunt out the sort of books that Mrs Thatchell liked, then got away as fast as possible – she hadn’t lingered to see Lettie once since the incident. No more sneaking off with Miss Caroline’s borrowings! The very thought of all that made her go shaky at the knees.

In fact, the memory of the fright she’d had that day still made her wake up sometimes in a sweat, and she kept dreaming of that policeman standing outside on the street – but that was not surprising. He was in her daydreams too, though that was obviously different and she did not mind at all.

She had actually glimpsed him once or twice, that nice young constable. Well, more than once or twice! He seemed to be patrolling regularly up this very street – perhaps his new beat was taking him this way. She’d even wondered about calling out to him, one day when Mrs Lane was busy with a cake, but he was clearly doing his duties at the time, pausing every now and then to gaze carefully around. Probably on the look-out for thieves and vagabonds – and you must not interrupt a man when he’s busy with his work, she’d learned that lesson long ago from Uncle Joe.

She shook her head and turned her attention back to the piece of the Evening Tidings and the rest of the report.
The paragraph was lengthy but it did not tell you much. Extensive police enquiries had been made but no-one had come forward to identify the man, who was believed to come from London (which was news to her) but this had not been proved. A witness had been found who thought he ‘might have seen the subject on a train’ but could not swear to it or say exactly when, and a railway ticket discovered on the corpse was indecipherable. Finally, since all normal channels had been exhaustively explored and death by natural causes officially confirmed, the body had been released and subsequently buried by the parish charities.

So at least it was all over, Effie thought.

The ‘Tidings’ had done their best to make it sound sensational – ‘foul play was not suspected’ and all that – but in the end it was simply rather sad. A man that no-one knew or seemed to care about, dying a lonely death and now lying unmourned in an unmarked pauper’s grave. Poor fellow! She couldn’t help wondering who he might have been and how he came to be asking about her, but now, presumably, nobody would ever know. Thank heaven there was no mention of all that. Effie wondered if she had the constable to thank for keeping her name out of the report; there would almost certainly have been trouble otherwise.

She sighed and put the paper to one side – it would be used for wrapping peelings and passed on to Mrs Lane’s cousin for the pigs – and tried to concentrate upon her chores. The first task was to put the vegetables away. That meant going into the larder-room. She had never really got accustomed to town-ways of doing things – potatoes and carrots that went on open racks instead of being kept in straw-heaps in a barn, and apples in a fruit-bowl instead of in the dark – but she was learning fast. Just as she was learning how to polish knives and leather boots, black-lead the range or coax a tiny heap of coals into a fire – jobs that Uncle Joe or Pa had always done at home. She shook the loose earth from the root-crops into a kitchen-pail, then arranged the items neatly with the onions on the rack.