On a Turning Tide

by Ellie Dean

  ‘It was 1930, and there was terrible poverty,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Even here in Cliffehaven. The slums behind the railway station were pitiful, with several families squeezed into four rooms and having to share a standpipe for water and an outside lavatory between eight houses. You can’t imagine how ghastly it was.’

  ‘I’ve seen the slums in India,’ said John, ‘so unfortunately I can imagine all too well. It strikes me the fire-bombs that flattened that area must have given the poor souls a chance of decent housing.’

  ‘Not really,’ Doris replied. ‘There was no alternative housing and those bombs just made more people homeless, and poorer than ever.’ She thought fleetingly of little Rita whose home and father’s garage business had been blown to smithereens, and the hundreds of others she and the women of the WVS had tried to find homes for following that raid – and then refocused on the tale she had to tell.

  ‘I’m ashamed to say that at the time, I thought I was really quite something to be associating with that very smart, rich set, and I began to get ideas above my station and started to look down on those who really cared about me.’

  She took a deep breath, still unable to look John in the eye. ‘It took me a long while to realise that I was no better than anyone else, and that the clique of women I’d fallen into would never regard me as one of their own. I was merely there because I was useful when it came to the less glamorous tasks of organising people and events, doing the accounts and being a general dogsbody.’

  She glanced up at John, saw sympathy in his eyes and was thankful he made no comment. ‘Walter Chumley isn’t what one would call a true gentleman – he’s too brash for that – but he was always very charming on the few occasions I was invited to the manor. I never really knew him, apart from what I learned from local gossip – and I’ve never been one to take much notice of that.’

  She bit her lip. ‘But I did admire him for being such a stalwart supporter of his wife’s good works. Having a title and coat of arms on all the charity correspondence helped to bring in the donations, and Lady Chumley was very skilled at using their position in society to its full potential.’

  John remained silent and attentive, but Doris could see no condemnation in his expression, so she told him about the ghastly memorial service and her decision to resign from the committees and turn her back on all of them.

  ‘It sounds as if you’re well rid of them,’ John murmured.

  ‘I thought I was until I received Chumley’s letter inviting me to have dinner with him at the club – and the bombardment of gifts he sent round with his chauffeur.’ She knotted her hands in her lap and took a breath before meeting his steady gaze. ‘I fibbed about going to Peggy because I panicked at the thought of bumping into Chumley at the club. I wasn’t to know he’d have the brass neck to turn up here.’

  ‘My dear Doris,’ said John, reaching across to take her hand. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me all this right from the start? I would have understood and put Chumley straight before he caused you any further upset.’

  ‘I realise that now,’ she replied ruefully, ‘but rather stupidly, I thought I could deal with it on my own.’

  ‘That was very brave of you, dear lady, but men like Chumley don’t take no for an answer – not from a woman, anyway.’ He squeezed her fingers, the colour rising in his handsome face. ‘And may I say, I don’t blame him for pursuing you. You’re a most attractive, delightful woman.’

  Doris blushed furiously at this unexpected compliment and tried to calm her racing pulse. She looked down at their entwined fingers, his so strong and masculine, swamping her more delicate ones, and thought rather distractedly that she was long overdue a manicure.

  He eventually released her hand and lit them both another cigarette, which broke the intimate moment that had embarrassed them both. ‘I can see how distressing you’ve found Chumley’s pursuit, and it can’t be allowed to continue,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Do you wish me to have a word with him?’

  ‘If you think it might do any good,’ said Doris, forcing herself to think straight. ‘But I realised last night that none of this has anything to do with romance. Chumley’s after something far more important.’

  John frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘When I was part of that crowd I did the bookkeeping for the various charities. Over the last eighteen months or so, several entries began to puzzle me. New accounts had been opened in company names I’d never heard of, and money was being deposited into them from the main account with rather alarming frequency. I began to take notes of the discrepancies, because I didn’t want anyone to think I was fiddling the books.’

  Doris tapped the ash from her cigarette into the hearth, disconcerted by the trembling in her hand as she remembered her encounter with Lady Chumley. ‘I tackled Lady Chumley over it as she was the treasurer and always did the banking, and showed her my notes. But she assured me these new accounts were quite legitimate, and that they offered a much better rate of interest. She ordered me – rather forcefully – to burn the notes and forget all about it.’

  John leaned forward, his attention fully engaged. ‘But you still had your suspicions?’

  She nodded. ‘I was not wholly convinced by Lady Chumley’s explanation. There were no accounts for these companies, no paper trail at all as to where the monies were being spent. So I made copious notes about what I suspected, listing the names of the companies and so on, and the amount of money that was disappearing. To safeguard my own back, I lodged them in a safety deposit box at my solicitor’s. And thank God I did, because if I’d taken them home, they’d have gone up in smoke along with everything else.’

  She paused momentarily, seeing again the awful flames that had devoured her home and killed so many people. ‘Shortly after that conversation those books disappeared and she presented me with new ones that just showed the income, expenses and donations that had gone through the usual bank account. There was no sign of any of the previous account books, and our income had fallen quite alarmingly.’

  ‘So the Chumleys were siphoning off the money into their own accounts?’

  ‘That’s my suspicion. I was reluctant to believe it at the time, as I considered Lady Chumley to be a good friend, and I’d always had the highest regard for her, but something inside me wouldn’t let it go. But without those books, I can’t prove anything – and Lady Chumley was killed before I had the chance to question her again.’

  She had a sudden memory of the distressing inquest that had followed the fire. ‘Lady Chumley’s body was found in what had been my bedroom,’ she murmured. ‘I wondered at the time what she’d been doing up there, but now it occurs to me she might have been trying to get into my wall safe. I remember mentioning it to her when I had it installed shortly after my husband left me. I was so shocked and grieved by her death, and the deaths of all those other women, that I didn’t give it any further thought.’

  ‘Mmm.’ John sat back in the chair, deep in thought. ‘Do you still possess those notes, Doris? Are they what you think Chumley’s after?’

  Doris was too ashamed to admit that at first she’d been flattered by his attentions, and seriously tempted, but once she’d given it a great deal of thought, she’d realised what he was really up to, and was furious with herself for being a deluded fool. ‘I do have them, and yes, I’m sure that’s why Chumley’s bothering me.’

  ‘But how would he know they exist?’

  ‘Lady Chumley must have told him I’d questioned the accounts and made notes which she’d ordered me to destroy. She probably thought I was dazzled enough by their position in the town, and daunted by her strong personality, to do as she’d asked – and I have to confess that I was a bit – but the seriousness of my suspicions outweighed the danger of upsetting them both. Walter Chumley hasn’t got where he is by taking things on chance – and the annual audit is due any time now. Which I’m now quite sure is why he’s suddenly started turning up here.’

  ‘If Chum
ley is helping himself to the charity money, then he must be a very worried man,’ said John.

  Doris shivered. ‘Do you really think he’d go so far as to try and steal them from me?’

  John took her hand again. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you, Doris. I’m sorry. But I wouldn’t put anything past that man.’

  Doris gained some strength from his clasp and felt a little better, but the knowledge that Chumley might bring real trouble to her door was disturbing to say the least. ‘You talk as if you know more than I about him,’ she said.

  John squeezed her fingers before settling back into his chair. ‘There are rumours going round that all is not well with the Chumley finances,’ he said with a serious expression. ‘He has a large house in Mayfair, and it’s said that he stretched himself financially when he bought that run-down manor, spending twice as much again on the repairs and refurbishment. He entertains on a grand scale, has bought hunting and race horses and likes to gamble in the London casinos and on the stock market. There is talk that he has huge gambling debts, and I know for a fact that his bar bill at the Officers’ Club has not been paid for months.’

  ‘I had no idea,’ she gasped. ‘But how on earth did you get to know all this?’

  He smiled. ‘I keep my eyes and ears open, and there are people at the Officers’ Club who have good cause to know that Chumley is strapped for cash, and doesn’t pay his debts. He owes Bertie Grantley-Adams fifty pounds on a wager they made several months ago, and he never did pay Major Radwell after losing to him at cards. I could go on, but you get the picture.’

  ‘Good grief,’ muttered Doris. ‘The man’s a crook.’

  ‘He’s a complete bounder, and an absolute cad,’ said John with distaste.

  Doris was still finding it hard to absorb what she’d learned. ‘And here’s me thinking he was regarded as someone to look up to,’ she breathed.

  ‘I wish you had those notes here, Doris. This would be a good time for us to go through them.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ said Doris. ‘I collected all my papers from the solicitor’s after I moved in. I’ll go and get them.’

  She was still feeling a little shaky after all those revelations, but she went into the bedroom and took the cardboard box from the wardrobe. It was filled with letters from Anthony and her younger sister Doreen, and all the paperwork relating to the lease on the bungalow and her divorce from Ted. Nestled in the bottom of the box were two secretarial notepads filled with shorthand and columns of figures. She plucked them out and sat for a moment, rifling through the pages, wondering what can of worms she was about to open – and if she had the courage to go ahead.

  Deciding Chumley deserved to be exposed before things went any further, she left the bedroom and found John in the kitchen making a pot of tea. Doris hunted out cups and saucers, then realised it was almost lunchtime. Glad of the momentary respite during this distressing morning, she went to the larder and gave a cluck of annoyance.

  ‘There’s a bit of cheese and some bread for lunch, but not much more, I’m afraid,’ she apologised. ‘With all that’s been going on this week I haven’t had time to do any shopping – and I still find it rather distressing to go into the Home and Colonial now that Ted’s no longer there.’

  ‘That’s quite understandable,’ John said sympathetically. ‘I’ll nip next door for a jar of pickled onions, some chutney and more bread and cheese.’

  Minutes later they were sitting at the table eating their lunch with cups of tea as she translated her shorthand for him and explained the columns of figures.

  ‘I’m not a bookkeeper,’ said John, ‘but even I can see why you became suspicious. There are institutions here that I’ve never heard of – not that I’m an expert in such things, you understand – and the sudden drop in income is very odd.’

  ‘I just wish I could get hold of the original books,’ she said. ‘But I suspect they’re long gone by now.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they are.’ He drank the last of his tea and studied the notebooks thoughtfully. ‘I think the best place for those would be the office safe,’ he said. ‘But before we lock them away, we’re going to visit a friend of mine.’

  Doris regarded him warily. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she murmured. ‘Is it wise to show them to anyone else?’

  ‘If we’re to get to the bottom of this, yes,’ he said firmly. ‘James Harcourt is a fellow officer I know and trust, and he’s recently taken over as manager of Barclays Bank in the High Street. His position there means he’s a man of discretion, and I’m hoping he’ll shed some light on those names you’ve got down there.’

  ‘But what do I do about Chumley?’ she asked nervously. ‘He could turn up here at any time.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Chumley,’ said John with a grim set to his chin. ‘I’ll deal with him.’

  She felt a dart of alarm. ‘Oh, John, you will be careful, won’t you?’

  He chuckled and patted her hand. ‘I was a colonel in the Indian Rifles and have faced far worse than Chumley. Please don’t worry yourself on my behalf. Now, get your coat and hat, and once we’ve seen James, I shall treat you to afternoon tea at the club.’

  She suddenly felt nervous again. ‘What if Chumley’s there?’

  ‘Army tactics, Doris. Once you’ve got the enemy in your sights, shoot the blighter first. Puts them off their stride, don’t you know.’

  Doris giggled quite girlishly. He was awfully attractive and commanding when he spoke like that.

  Two hours later John decided it would be kinder to Doris not to risk bumping into Chumley, and they were sitting in the lounge at the golf club. A table draped in white linen and dressed with silverware and finest bone china was before them, displaying plates of tiny cucumber sandwiches, scones and rock buns, with small bowls of strawberry jam and thick cream.

  Neither of them knew what to say, for their visit to Major James Harcourt had stunned them. It looked as if Doris’s suspicions had been proven correct, and that the Chumleys had taken out accounts in false company names to syphon off the money from the charities. It was frustrating that it was Sunday and everything was closed, but James had kept the notebooks, promising he’d start digging first thing in the morning, for some of those accounts were held at his bank.

  Doris became aware of Cordelia and Bertie waving to them from the table by the window, and nodded back before turning away. The last thing she needed today was Cordelia twittering on about nothing whilst Bertie gave one of his hearty monologues about some endless game of golf.

  ‘What are we going to do, John?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s nothing much we can do without hard evidence,’ he replied, taking charge of the silver teapot. ‘James is well placed to find out more, and he’ll get back to us if he finds anything untoward.’ He leaned towards her, his voice barely above a murmur so he couldn’t be overheard. ‘However, I suspect Chumley has covered his tracks very carefully. This is theft on a grand scale.’

  ‘But he can’t be allowed to get away with it,’ hissed Doris. ‘He’s stealing from charities to feather his own nest. He has to be stopped somehow.’

  John handed her the cup. ‘If James uncovers anything you can be sure he’ll inform the police. We can do no more. But at least those notebooks will be secure with him.’

  Doris felt quite ill at the thought of Chumley getting away with it, and even the sight of such a luxurious tea couldn’t tempt her appetite. ‘It’s not fair,’ she muttered.

  ‘Life rarely is, unfortunately,’ John replied. He reached for her hand to stop her fidgeting with the linen table napkin. ‘But we’re all right, aren’t we, Doris?’ he murmured, his gaze direct and steady.

  She felt quite weak when he looked at her like that – and as it was a new experience, she wasn’t sure how to handle it. ‘Yes, I rather think we are,’ she managed.

  ‘Jolly good,’ he said softly. ‘Now let’s enjoy our tea.’

  Peggy had been delighted to hear from Cordelia that Doris and John White wer
e clearly getting on very well, but was rather envious at the thought of them sharing what sounded like a slap-up afternoon tea. It seemed that even during these austere days there was always a way round rationing – if you were prepared to pay for it.

  However, Peggy was even more delighted on Monday morning to hear on the early news that the Americans had at long last gained a massive German surrender at Aachen, which was the first town to be captured on German soil. It was hoped that the way would now be clear to advance into the heavily industrialised Ruhr Basin and capture a series of dams in the Hurtgen Forest which would open up the road to Berlin.

  This German surrender had lifted everyone’s spirits, and Peggy left Beach View that morning with a spring in her step. She kissed Daisy goodbye at the door of the crèche and hurried into the factory, eager to begin her new job.

  Climbing the stairs to Solly’s office, she walked in to find her friend, Madge, already busy at her typewriter. ‘Good morning,’ she said cheerfully. ‘How are you today?’

  Madge grinned back at her. ‘All the better for hearing about Aachen this morning. Solly and Loretta are down in the delivery bay. The cloth has arrived for those demob suits and flannel trousers.’

  ‘Righto. I’d better get down there then. TTFN.’ Peggy ran down the stairs and weaved her way through the long lines of machines, nodding and smiling at the women working them, but not stopping to chat. She didn’t want Solly to think she was dawdling on her first day.

  She became aware that Winnie Holman and Gladys Bright were watching her with narrowed eyes and, although she’d given a great deal of thought over how to deal with them, she knew there would be some sort of confrontation before the day was out. She could only hope that Loretta and Solly would agree to her idea.

  Winnie looked like everyone’s favourite granny, with a cottage-loaf figure, rosy apple cheeks and thick grey hair fastened into a bun on the top of her head. She smiled a lot and called everyone deary and ducks, but could take umbrage in a flash, and had been known to cause a good deal of trouble amongst the other women.