‘Dawn then, probably.’
‘Miss their bloody breakfasts.’
We lit the gas, warmed some soup for the four of us and decided that Gwen would take the night shift upstairs.
‘Do you want to come up and see her, Nell?’
‘Better not. She’ll only start arguing again if she sees me.’
Gwen said goodnight and went upstairs with the soup. Amy came down, looking exhausted. She’s a dance teacher in ordinary life and weighs about as much as a litter of kittens, with twice the energy, but the waiting was wearing her down. We sorted out our sleeping arrangements. Amy was persuaded to have the chaise-longue. I made a nest of blankets on the rag rug in front of the fireplace. We took our shoes off, but didn’t undress. I made sure I’d put my shoes under a chair where I could find them easily when the knock on the door came. You’re at a disadvantage meeting police boots in stockinged feet.
* * *
None of us slept much. Now and then I heard boards creaking upstairs. Amy lay on her back, arms at her sides, too disciplined. I dozed now and then but the slightest noise brought me immediately wide awake. The only point when I came near deep sleep I imagined I was back in the dark of the boathouse and must have made some noise.
‘What’s up, Nell? Are they here?’
I was right. Amy hadn’t been sleeping.
‘No. Sorry. Go back to sleep.’
We both pretended. It got light around four. Just after five, horse hooves and wheels outside brought Amy and me to our feet but it was only the milkman. At six Gwen came down, rubbing her eyes.
‘She’s asleep, thank God.’
By seven there was so much traffic noise from Heath Street that we wouldn’t have heard platoons of police arriving. It was the holiday, of course. There were charabancs of people on outings grinding uphill to Hampstead Heath, motor buses hooting, and children shouting. It looked a dull weather day, but it didn’t sound as if that was bothering anybody.
‘Perhaps they won’t come when it’s a holiday,’ Amy said.
Gwen and I didn’t answer. Then, just as Amy was talking about having a wash and I was looking for the coffee grinder, it happened. There was a knock on the door. We hadn’t heard wheels or tramping feet. It was quite a soft, apologetic knock, not the thundering we’d expected. Still, it froze us. Amy stood, blouse half unbuttoned and slipping off at the shoulder. I noticed the coffee grinder propping up a pile of dictionaries but left it where it was. Gwen’s eyes closed and her fists bunched. The only movement came from upstairs. It was bare feet hitting the floor.
I hissed at Gwen, ‘Go up there. Stay with her.’
Gwen went, reluctantly. Whoever it was, standing on the other side of the door, might have heard her going upstairs. I’d expected another knock by now, more demanding, but he was as patient as a cat at a mouse-hole. Amy buttoned her blouse, fingers trembling. This was her first experience of this sort of thing. The second knock at last, a little louder. I prepared my expression of respectable and puzzled householder (not that it would deceive them in the least, but there are conventions about these occasions) and went to open the door.
* * *
It threw me. I was totally and completely at a loss. I’d expected a policeman in uniform on the doorstep, several more behind him, a vehicle waiting at the kerb. I’d even expected to be shoulder-charged against the door frame, dispensing with the ‘puzzled householder’ formalities. Nothing would have come as a surprise except what I saw. A man in plain clothes. Not the Special Branch’s version, but country tweeds that looked as if they should have bits of heather and dog hairs clinging to them. He was tall and thin, with dark eyes set deep into their sockets and a quiff of dark hair falling over his forehead. He held a brown trilby hat in his left hand. His right hand held a plump bunch of lily-of-the-valley. He’d been smiling, but the smile faded when he saw my face. For a few seconds we stared at each other then he handed the lily-of-the-valley to me.
‘Good morning, Nell. I hope I’m not too early.’ My hand closed round the cool stems of the flowers. Their scent came to me like something from another world. I could see he was disappointed.
‘You said if I got here early we could go somewhere like Box Hill and walk. But we’ll have to be back in time for the opera.’
‘Opera?’
‘Boris Godunov. I managed to get tickets for this evening. Chaliapin’s singing.’
From inside, Gwen’s voice, sharp and anxious. ‘Nell, what’s happening?’
He’d already registered there was something wrong. Now he was annoyed as well. He’d come all the way from Manchester and goodness knows what the opera tickets had cost.
‘You’ve got visitors? I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
He’d gone stiff and formal.
‘Bill, I…’
‘Only, when I suggested coming down at Whitsun you said…’
‘Oh God, so I did.’
‘Nell, who is it? If I’d realised there were people staying with you, I’d have…’
‘You’d better come in.’
Gwen was standing with her back against the table, glaring. Amy’s eyes were wide and scared. The two of them took in Bill then looked beyond him for the rest of the squad.
‘It’s all right,’ I told them. ‘It’s only a friend.’
The room was in more of a mess than usual. There were bedclothes folded on the chaise-longue, blankets piled on the armchair, ashes in the grate. Bill’s air of having just walked in from the country made the sickroom fug from upstairs seem worse than ever. I introduced him to Gwen and Amy as a friend of mine, a barrister, Bill Musgrave. They shook hands guardedly, obviously wondering why I’d gone and invited him during this crisis. There were men who supported us, but somehow Bill at first sight didn’t fit the picture. I said, ‘I’d like to offer you a coffee, but you’d better go.’
Even Gwen looked shocked at this lack of hospitality.
‘I could make the coffee, if you like, Nell. Shall I put these in water?’
I was still clutching the lily-of-the-valley. She took them from me and went out to the kitchen.
I said to Bill, ‘You can have a coffee, if you like, then you really must go. We’re expecting the police at any moment.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Have you been burgled?’
It took me a while to realise he was joking.
‘They’re looking for a woman who was out on licence. The Special Branch have been watching this place for days.’
‘I think I passed one of them on the way here.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Plump, pink face, bowler with curly brim.’
‘Gradey.’
‘Polite bloke. I asked him for directions.’
‘But you knew where I live.’
‘Yes. Just wanted to see his expression.’
He grinned at me. This was all new to him, but Bill was a quick learner.
‘Bill, I’m sorry I forgot I invited you, but so many things have…’
‘Evidently. Mind if I sit down?’ He moved the bedding aside and settled on the chaise-longue.
‘I shouldn’t sit down for long. It won’t do your career any good to be arrested.’
The floorboards creaked overhead. Amy looked at me then went upstairs in a hurry.
‘What for?’
‘Aiding and abetting.’
‘I suppose I shouldn’t ask who’s upstairs.’
‘No.’
‘So I’m supposed to drink my coffee, get the train back to Manchester and leave you to it?’
‘I’m sorry about the tickets. I’d have liked to hear Chaliapin. They say he sings the—’
* * *
Which was when it happened of course, just when I’d started for a few seconds to think like a normal human being. There must have been the sound of a car turning into the street, but I didn’t register it until it stopped outside and simultaneously Amy’s voice came high and sharp from upstairs.
‘Nell, I
think it’s them.’
This time the knock on the door was thunderous. Gwen came through from the kitchen and took up position beside me. She glanced at Bill who was still sitting on the chaise-longue, looking no more than politely interested.
‘We can’t put him out the back door. They’ll have a man there.’
‘Yes. Remember, Bill, it’s nothing to do with you. You just happened to be visiting.’
Another thunderous knock. ‘Open up! Police!’
I was annoyed my heart was thumping so much. I smoothed my hair and went to the front door. A sergeant in uniform was on the step with two constables behind him.
‘Are you Miss Eleanor Bray?’
He’d cut himself shaving. There was a nick on his cheekbone with a bit of cotton waste stuck to it surrounded by a tuft of blond bristles. He was already angry, probably at having to work on a holiday. I said nothing – usual policy.
‘We have reason to think you are harbouring a licence-expired prisoner. I have a warrant to search these premises.’
‘May I see it?’
He put it into my hand, standing aside as he did it so that the constables could get through. I let them barge in, praying that Gwen would do as she was told. She managed not to raise a hand to them, but only by gripping the edge of the table so hard I thought her fingers would make dents in the wood.
‘Who’s she?’ said the sergeant, following them in, looking at Gwen.
‘Seen her before, sir,’ one of the constables told him. ‘She’s June Price’s friend.’
‘And I suppose your little friend is upstairs, is she?’
The sergeant moved towards the stairs. Gwen let go of the table and lurched at him. I tried to grab her and missed. Then suddenly Bill was on his feet, blocking her path. The police were so intent on Gwen and me that they hadn’t noticed him sitting there quietly.
‘Good morning, sergeant. May I see your identification, please?’
Bill was taller than the policeman and managed, in spite of the country tweeds, to radiate an air of authority. I suppose it came from cross-examining police witnesses in court. The sergeant stopped with his foot on the first stair. Gwen’s rush was checked just enough for me to grab her hand and squeeze it warningly.
‘So who might you be, sir?’
‘My name is William Musgrave. I’m a barrister.’
The sergeant gave me a hurt look. Having lawyers ready on the scene wasn’t part of the game.
‘Are you resident at these premises, sir?’
Bill ignored the question. ‘Your identification, sergeant.’
Reluctantly, the man unbuttoned his tunic pocket. Bill took his time checking the document and handed it back.
‘Have you a search warrant?’
I was still clutching it. I handed it to Bill who read it through slowly as if trying to memorise it, moving his lips as he read. I knew he was a fast reader who could take in documents at a glance, so it was a good act. It gave time for my heartbeats to slow down and Gwen to unclench her fists and move back to the table, even if she couldn’t stop herself glancing upstairs. It was all quiet up there.
‘It all seems to be in order.’
Bill handed the warrant back to me. Gwen looked betrayed. I think she hoped he might have found some flaw in it.
‘So if you’ve no objection, sir, we’ll be getting on with our duty.’
Bill stood back. The sergeant went upstairs, followed by the two constables. Their studded boots sounded like riveters in a shipyard.
Bill said to me: ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, Nell.’
‘You tried.’
I was grateful, but all my attention was on what was happening upstairs. I heard the sergeant’s steps stop on the landing, heard the bedroom door creak. Then Amy’s voice, trembling with fear and anger.
‘Have some respect. There’s a sick woman in here.’
Then a little gasp of pain. I found out later one of them had trodden on her toes – accidentally of course. The door creaked wider. Heavy steps approached the bed.
‘Miss Price, your licence expired…’
Then, silence. Not a word or a slither of a boot stud. A silence buzzing with amazement. Gwen looked at me then bent her head and crossed her arms on her chest, rocking backwards and forwards. The silence was broken by the sergeant’s voice.
‘Where’s she gone?’
Then a constable: ‘The window’s open, sir. She’s gone out of the window.’
It was our turn to be surprised. Gwen looked at me – alarmed, questioning.
Three pairs of boots came thudding down the stairs. The sergeant and constables rushed out of the front door in a blur of navy blue. I heard the sergeant yelling to somebody else, presumably the man they’d posted at the back door.
‘Interesting,’ said Bill. ‘Do you think we might go out and see what’s happening?’
Bill, Gwen and I followed them out on to the street. People were leaning out of windows, collecting in groups on the pavement, asking each other what was going on. All of them were looking up to the rooftops, although there was nothing to see but disturbed pigeons fluttering about. A gang of urchins who’d decided this was more interesting than the fairground were whooping and cheering. Our three policemen plus the one from round the back were standing in the middle of the road, also looking up. If the urchins’ cheers were for them they were doing nothing to deserve them. They stood at a loss, not noticing us. Then there was a louder whoop from the boys, and a shout of ‘There she is.’ I looked up where somebody was pointing. There was a chimney stack between my house and the next, with six chimneypots on it. A figure in a dark dress was standing on the stack, arm hooked round one of the pots. Gwen gasped and grabbed me by the shoulder.
‘Surely she’s not…’
The figure raised its free arm, acknowledging applause. The urchins had changed sides and were now cheering her. For a moment I shared Gwen’s fear that she was going to jump, a last gesture of defiance to the police and the whole corrupt business, but I should have known her better than that. She picked her way carefully round the chimneypots, sat astride the roof ridge, then disappeared down the other side of the roof.
‘A skylight,’ I said. ‘There’ll be a skylight.’
The sergeant must have come to the same conclusion and realised that when she did come down to earth, it would be in the next street. Two constables were sent running back towards Heath Street to cut her off that way, the sergeant and the other constable rushed along the street and round the corner in the other direction. The constable was shrilling on his whistle, goodness knows why. Some of the boys and a couple of dogs were sprinting after them. I joined the chase with some vague but not very hopeful idea of trying to create a diversion and heard Gwen’s limping run coming after me. The police rounded the corner and came to a halt, looking up. Then a new noise added itself to the uproar. Behind us, in the street we’d just left, a motorcar horn was parping like a giant bullfrog. From the same direction there were cries of ‘There she is!’ The sergeant and constable looked at each other then started running back the way they’d come, almost cannoning into Gwen who’d just turned the corner. Gwen looked at me, pale-faced, panting.
‘They’ll get her. Why didn’t she…’
‘She’ll think of something.’
The two of us were alone now, in the street at the back of my house. Gwen, shaking with the effort of running, wanted to get back to where things were happening, but I made her wait. Then, halfway down the street, a door opened. A figure in a dark dress slipped out of it and came dashing down the street towards us. As she passed, she gave us the thumbs-up sign. Then she was gone, scudding away towards Hampstead Heath, where she’d be lost within minutes among thousands of holidaying Londoners. Gwen clung to me, half laughing, half crying.
‘Nell, I can’t believe it.’
‘Shall we go back?’
We walked shakily back round the corner. The pandemonium in our street was worse than ever. When w
e got back Amy and Bill were there in the crowd. Amy was worried, looking for us. Bill was actually chatting to the sergeant, who looked red-faced and depressed.
‘Ah, here you are, Nell. I was just explaining to Sergeant Hedger that no offence has been committed.’
The door and ground-floor windows of my house were wide open. A constable put his head out of the living-room window.
‘Nobody here, sergeant.’
‘Have you looked in the attic?’
‘Evans is doing it now.’
An upper window opened and another constable put his head out. His face was covered with dust and there were cobwebs on his tunic.
‘Not there either, sir.’
Disgustedly, he told them to come out.
Bill said. ‘So you’re confirming that there’s nobody wanted by the police in Miss Bray’s house?’
‘There was, sir.’
‘How do you know?’
‘They’d got the Price woman up there in the bedroom. She skipped out over the roof. You saw her yourself.’
‘No, sergeant. I saw a person on the roof who appeared to be a woman. I’ve no idea of her identity. Have you?’
‘It stands to reason.’
‘How? Are you able to identify her as Miss Price?’
‘No, but they’d had her up there since Thursday so it must have been her.’
‘How do you know?’
The sergeant said nothing. The activities of Special Branch were supposed to be secret.
‘When your officer went into the bedroom there was nobody in the bed. Is that correct?’
‘Because she’d just gone out of the window.’
‘But there was nobody in the bed?’
‘Well, no, but…’
‘So where’s your proof that it was the woman you were looking for? Had she been kind enough to leave her card on the pillow?’
By then the sergeant was looking like a man defeated. Bill pressed his advantage.
‘So the facts are as follows. In pursuance of your duty, and properly equipped with a warrant, you carry out a search of Miss Bray’s house. The person you’re looking for is not present and you have no proof that she ever was present. I’d suggest that your proper course now is to apologise to Miss Bray for the inconvenience you have caused her and to carry on your search elsewhere.’
The Perfect Daughter Page 3
