The Lodger (30 page)

Mr Bates's healthy face was a study. It had turned a mottled red. ‘I've got to believe this?' he said hoarsely.

‘Yes, the document's been signed, like I said.'

‘You're crazy,' said Mr Bates, having trouble with his breathing.

‘I like to be good an' kind too,' said Maggie sweetly.

‘That ain't bein' good an' kind,' panted Mr Bates, ‘that's bein' off yer flamin' rocker. What d'yer mean by doin' a thing like that, yer silly cow?'

‘Oh, dear,' said Maggie, ‘that's not nice, Jerry.'

‘You get left a diamond mine and you give away all it's worth except two and a 'alf thousand nicker?' Mr Bates was now nearly purple.

‘I wouldn't want more than that, specially not if I 'ad a husband comf'tably off and a kind father to my girls,' said Maggie.

‘You stupid bitch,' said Mr Bates.

‘Well, I don't know,' said Maggie calmly, ‘that's 'ardly pleasant, is it? Don't you want something priceless in me and the girls?'

‘Don't make me 'ysterical,' said Mr Bates.

‘Oh, lor',' said Maggie, 'is it all off, then? Don't you need no answer to your kind proposal?'

Mr Bates looked at his watch. It was just turned nine-thirty. The Walworth pubs were still open. ‘What I need is a drink, yer brainless female,' he said, and got to his feet, his face still mottled.

‘Yes, go and 'ave a nice pint,' said Maggie. ‘Oh, you best take this money.' She rose from her chair and took an envelope from the mantelpiece. ‘It's all there, everything you lent me. I wouldn't like you to think I wasn't in proper appreciation of your kindness.'

‘Yer'll excuse me bein' speechless,' said Mr Bates. He took the envelope and left the house with a rattling slam of the front door.

Maggie smiled. Two men in her life. One had fallen flat on his face. One remained. ‘I'm goin' to buy meself a new hat an' new clothes Saturday, and invite Harry to Sunday tea again,' she said to her sewing-machine. ‘And Bobby can come too.'

Her sewing-machine voiced no objections.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The trail, so promisingly marked by the statement from Linda Jennings, had petered out. The newspapers, much to Inspector Greaves's growling disgust, had got their teeth into the failure of the police to make an arrest. They made much of the fact that the murder of Mabel Shipman followed by the attempted murder of another young woman was not something the public would accept lightly in the event of total failure.

Nicholas, walking along Walworth Road, was deep in depressing thought. He was due to meet Frank Chapman in the Rockingham public house by the Elephant and Castle, for a ham sandwich and a beer. They were then to go to Manor Place Baths to interview an employee whose wife had let slip to CID men that he was out most nights, including the two nights that mattered most. She hadn't said so before. This morning questions put casually to her had drawn the information from her. Nicholas, however, held out no great hopes. For a start, the husband was nearly sixty years old and did not own a mackintosh. In his introspective mood, Nicholas bumped into a woman coming out of Hurlocks. ‘Sorry – so sorry – '

‘So you should be, Sergeant Chamberlain, I had no idea you could be so bruising,' said Mrs Emma Carter.

‘Oh, hell,' said Nicholas, looking rueful.

‘Pardon?'

‘Not my day. Well, it was bad luck nearly knocking you over of all people.'

‘Why, am I special, then, or exceptionally fragile and delicate?' Her expression was solemn, but her eyes were teasing.

‘I was thinking of how hospitable you've been,' said Nicholas. ‘Sorry about my clumsiness. How are you?'

‘Recovering,' she said. Nicholas grimaced. ‘No, no, I'm teasing you. I'm very well, thank you, and pleased to see you. I presume, as you haven't found it necessary to call on me lately, that you've stopped worrying about me.'

‘I'm not so worried now I know you've a close friend to keep an eye on you,' said Nicholas, envying the man, whoever he was. Emma wrinkled her nose. ‘What are you doing at the moment?'

‘This is where I work in the mornings,' said Emma. ‘Hurlocks. I've just finished, and am on my way home.'

‘I'm on my way to meet my colleague,' said Nicholas. ‘Sorry again about bumping you, but —'

‘You've still got problems?' asked Emma.

‘Yes, still going round in circles, Mrs Carter. Take care now. Good luck.' Lifting his hat to her, Nicholas went on his way. He knew it would do him no good to linger. It would only stoke the fires. She was a remarkably appealing woman.

Emma stood for a moment, looking after his striding figure. She felt almost cross that he had departed so abruptly. She turned and made her way home.

Oh, bother it.

The interview with the man who worked at Manor Place Baths produced nothing but an explosion of cockney indignation. And why shouldn't he take umbrage when all he did on his nights out was to play darts around the pubs with his mates? Sod off, go and ask them.

We'll have to.

You do that.

Sorry you've been troubled.

So am I.

Walworth brooded by day on the murderer lurking in its midst, and kept its young women indoors at night.

‘So there you are, my pets,' said Maggie. All the girls were home from school, and Maggie had told them of yesterday's happenings, although that did not include what had taken place between her and the lodger. The girls were spellbound.

‘Oh, Mum, oh, crikey,' breathed Meg.

‘Mum, it's a miracle,' said Trary, utterly blissed for her mother.

‘Uncle 'Enry's like Jesus,' said Lily. ‘Jesus did miracles.'

‘I never met Uncle 'Enry,' said Daisy. ‘Mum, d'you fink 'e'd let you buy me some new boots that don't let water?'

‘You're goin' to have expensive shoes, love, not boots,' said Maggie. ‘You're all goin' to have shoes, not boots, and lots of new clothes. Lots. Trary can have lots of new stockings because she's nearly fourteen and because she likes to feel proud when Bobby's walkin' her 'ome from school – now don't break up the happy 'ome.'

The girls were all joyously dancing. ‘We're rich, we're rich!' Girlish exuberance produced a riot of noise.

‘I'd like to hear meself speak, if you don't mind,' said Maggie. ‘Daisy, stop jumpin'. Meg, and you too, Trary, stop wavin' your clothes in the air, just look at you. Listen, is that Bobby comin' back, is that him I can hear comin' down the passage?'

Trary, whose clothes were high and her legs kicking, hastily pushed everything back into place. Maggie laughed. ‘That caught you, my girl,' she said. ‘Still, it's nice to know you've got modest ways, love. Boys can be cheeky enough, without givin' them any encouragement.'

‘Oh, I don't care,' said Trary, eyes alight with the joy of being alive. She gave her mum a hug. They all gave her a hug. Maggie's eyes turned a little misty. ‘Mum, you're the best ever.'

Maggie coughed. ‘Well, we've got money for all the rainy days now,' she said. ‘I'll take you all out on Saturday, we'll all go shoppin' for new clothes and things. We'll go to Hurlocks, they're the best drapers.'

‘Oh, yes, I met an awf'lly nice lady who served me when I bought that hankie for Bobby,' said Trary.

‘We'll see if she'll serve us,' said Maggie. ‘And I thought, oh, yes,' she added casually, ‘p'raps we'd better invite Constable Bradshaw to tea again on Sunday, seein' 'ow kind he was to come an' show me that notice in the newspaper. Yes, we ought to show our gratefulness.'

‘We can't not,' said Trary, ‘gratefulness is special.'

‘Well, yes, all right,' said Maggie, ‘if that's what all you girls would like. I'll send 'im a note invitin' him. If you're sure.'

‘What's mum askin' us for?' enquired Lily of Meg.

‘Oh, I expect it's something to do with a widow's secrets,' said Meg. ‘Mum's a widow.'

‘Is she really rich?' asked Daisy, still awe-struck by thousands of pounds.

‘No, I'm not,' said Maggie crisply, ‘and don't any of you go puttin' it about that I am. We've just got something to spend on clothes and things, and for rainy days.' But she knew they had a little more than that. They could actually buy a house, they could buy a nice one with a garden for three hundred pounds, and never have to pay rent again. That prospect made her feel giddy. ‘Well, then, p'raps Trary could take a note round to Mr Bradshaw this evenin'.'

‘I'd love to,' said Trary, already in love with the idea of having a policeman as a father.

‘I'll go with her,' said Meg.

‘Me too,' said Lily.

‘I'm only little,' said Daisy.

‘Oh, you can come too, little girl,' said Meg graciously.

‘I likes 'Arry,' said Daisy.

‘Daisy, don't you call him that,' said Maggie, ‘it's disrespectful.'

‘Crikey,' said Daisy, ‘I didn't know I was old enough to be dis'pectful.'

‘I'm not sure what Mr Bradshaw's goin' to say if you all turn up on 'is doorstep,' said Maggie. ‘It might be carryin' gratefulness a bit far.'

‘Oh, I'm sure he'd like to see all of us, Mum,' said Trary. ‘Well, he lives all alone, and visitors must be awf'lly welcome to him. His disappointment might be bitter if only one of us turned up. I can't think why some nice comely woman doesn't go and marry him.'

‘A what one?' asked Maggie, having not unusual difficulty in keeping her face straight.

‘Comely,' said Trary. ‘That's attractive with a nice figure.'

‘Crumbs, our Trary, don't she fink of funny fings to say?' said Daisy.

‘I see,' said Maggie, ‘attractive with a nice figure. That sounds like Mavis Smith.' Mavis Smith was the unmarried daughter of neighbours. ‘Yes, I suppose she's what you'd call comely. Shall I invite 'er to tea as well, so's she can be company for Mr Bradshaw at the table?'

‘Oh, Mum, 'eaven forgive you if you do,' said Trary in horror. ‘She's a lump, she's all soft and lumpy.'

‘But Mr Bradshaw might like her,' said Maggie.

‘Mum, you can't ask her,' said Trary, aghast, ‘we'd all fall down dead, an' Mr Bradshaw as well, I shouldn't wonder.'

‘Well, all right,' said Maggie.

‘You shouldn't give us nasty turns like that,' said Trary, ‘not at our ages.'

‘You give me all kinds of turns, lovey, with the way your mind works,' smiled Maggie. ‘Oh, and when you next see Bobby, you could at least invite 'im. You forgot last time.'

‘Yes, Mum. I suppose we could put up with a talkin' machine comin' to Sunday tea, especially now Uncle Henry's taken kind care of our rainy days. We can count our blessings, can't we? Mum, what's happened to Mr Bates?'

‘He 'ad to leave,' said Maggie, ‘he's done all his City business, he was gone by the time I got home from me morning's work.'

‘Ain't 'e comin' back?' asked Lily.

‘Don't we 'ave a lodger no more?' asked Meg.

‘Well, pets, we don't really need one now, do we?' said Maggie.

Gladness put warm light in Trary's eyes. Now there was only Mr Bradshaw. Oh, he'd just got to marry her mum. Her mum deserved what Uncle Henry had left her, and she deserved a nice husband too.

Harry, opening his front door, was greeted by Trary, spokesman for the party of four.

‘Good evening, Mr Bradshaw, hasn't it been a lovely day?'

‘Good evening, Miss Trary Wilson, yes, it's been lovely apart from the wind and the showers. Is that Daisy and Lily and Meg behind you?'

‘Yes, they've all come,' said Trary, ‘you know what young children are.'

‘I'm not young, not now I'm growin',' said Meg. ‘Mister, we brought a note from our mum. Trary's got it. Well, she's the oldest an' bossiest.'

‘Come in,' said Harry. They surged in happily, eager and curious to see what his house was like. He sat them down in his living-room, which was as his mother had kept it before she began her decline. The brown leather armchairs and the matching sofa had known years of wear, but had comfortably endured. Trary looked around, instinctively seeking signs that he was in need of a wife. Yes, he was. A picture on the wall hung a little crookedly, ornaments on the mantelpiece needed proper arranging, and books and newspapers on a table were all higgledy-piggledy. And perhaps there was washing-up not done in the scullery.

The girls were chatting away to him. Trary produced her mother's note and handed it to him. He broke open the envelope, took out the note and read it.

Dear Harry, I had an interesting time at the solicitors, it was so kind you letting me know. The girls would like you to come to tea again on Sunday, and I would too, we all hope we can expect you about four o'clock. Then after tea I'll tell you what the solicitors said. Yours sincerely, Maggie.

Trary, watching him, saw a smile appear, ‘Oh, can you come on Sunday?' she asked impulsively.

‘I'm on duty, but I finish at three,' said Harry. ‘Tell your mum I can't wait to get there, especially if there's goin' to be another fruit cake. Are all of you invited too?'

‘Us?' said Lily.

‘What's 'e mean?' whispered Daisy.

‘Oh, you silly, Mr Bradshaw,' said Meg, ‘mum don't have to invite us, we're 'er fam'ly.'

‘I just wanted to make sure,' said Harry, ‘seein' it wouldn't be as much fun if you weren't there.'

‘All of us?' said Meg.

‘All of you,' said Harry.

‘I likes 'Arry,' said Daisy in an aside to Lily.

Trary laughed. Harry gave her a wink.

Bobby wasn't outside the school the following afternoon. Oh, that boy again, thought Trary. If he couldn't be reliable, she'd have to dress him down a bit. Most boys needed dressing down, anyway, and at least once a week. She'd read that in a girls' story book, the heroine had said it to her father, and it had sounded right to Trary. And you could tell that that Bobby Reeves was a boy you had to dress down regularly, for his own good. Otherwise, he'd get above himself, like all cheeky boys did. A girl could live a terrible downtrodden life if she let herself walk out regular with a boy who'd been allowed to get above himself.