God Save the Queen!

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Oh, all right!” Flora tossed a pillow at him in an attempt at putting the mood back where it belonged. “Let’s go out for fish-and-chips. Nolly is tired of eating out of a tin.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Flora looked out of the sitting room window the following morning to watch Vivian drive off, she saw the flags hanging off buildings up and down Wishbone Street, and wondered what was going on until she remembered Edna Smith saying that the Queen was coming to open the new wing of the children’s hospital. Which Flora had taken to mean in a week or two. And she hadn’t assumed that Her Majesty would pass down Wishbone Street. But those flags certainly indicated that was a possibility, if not an assured thing.

  Flora thought about Edna while she was making her bed (Vivian had left his tidy) and after plumping up the cushions in the sitting room decided not to put it off any longer and telephoned her to talk about Boris. It took several rings for Edna to answer, and when she spoke it was with quite a bit of huffing and puffing, because she had been halfway down the first flight of steps from her flat, on her way to the hairdressing shop, when she heard the phone and turned back.

  “I thought it was someone from Boris’s school,” Edna said, “wanting to know why he hasn’t been in class the last few days. I know I shouldn’t give in to him letting him stay home, but I’ll tell you, Flora, I’m afraid if I come down heavy that boy will just run off. His mother was a great one for that game. Well, that’s why I’m raising him, isn’t it, while she’s God knows where. Sometimes I think I’m at the end of my tether.”

  This is not going to be easy, thought Flora. And there’s Miss Doffit worrying that Edna might decide to blackmail her sister over the business of the tea strainer. As if she’d have the energy, poor woman.

  “I hate to do this to you, Edna, really I do,” she said, “but it’s about Boris that I’m ringing up. There was an incident yesterday that I think it’s important for you to know about.” And she went on to explain about Mrs. Much and the silver polish.

  “Oh, my heavens! The boy’s going to end up in prison, I don’t see any other end to it. And just a few weeks ago I’d have sworn on a stack of Bibles there was no more harm in him than the usual boy’s mischief.”

  “It’s not as though he caused any physical harm....” Flora suddenly wondered if she had made too much out of a boyish prank.

  “But to phone up Buckingham Palace and put the wind up the poor Queen, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look her in the face on the telly, let alone go out and watch her drive past at noon today. Oh, and I was so looking forward to it, I’d bought a new coat and shoes, but there’s no use upsetting myself about that. I’ll go and yank Mr. Boris out of his bed this minute and try to get that boy to talk to me. See if I can’t reach him somehow.”

  Flora hung up the phone and wandered listlessly about the flat for several minutes until she got herself motivated again and sat down to make a list of things she needed to do. The first thing she wrote down was “sewing machine.” She had liked to sew ever since Mrs. Bellows had taught her to stitch, and it would be fun to make a cloth to cover a display table for the shop. Her pencil began to move rapidly. Find a carpenter, talk to George from the flea market about suppliers, buy a cash register—preferably one of the lovely old brass ones.

  The list went on to a second page, and after that it was time to write a letter to Mrs. Bellows asking when Flora could go and see her in Ilford. By the time Flora looked at the clock it was close to eleven. When she glanced out the window she could see people lining the street waiting to catch a glimpse of the Queen. If she didn’t take Nolly out now, it would be an impossible crush.

  As it turned out, Nolly appeared to be quite taken by the crowd, perhaps because it brought back memories of his life at the flea market with George, and Flora had trouble persuading him to stop showing off and come back inside the shop.

  “You’d have been charging for your autograph next,” she scolded, taking off his lead. “I think we’ll watch for the Queen from the sitting room window. That way you can’t embarrass me by— Oh, well, never mind, there goes the phone. I do hope it’s Vivian, he did promise to ring, didn’t he?”

  It was Vivian, and her heart did another of those queer flip-flops.

  “Let me guess,” he said, “you and Nolly just got back from a walk.”

  “That’s true, but it isn’t really such a clever guess, seeing there’s really not a lot to do here at the moment. What about you?”

  “After being with Uncle Henry again I’ve decided that my suspicions of last night mark me as a ranting, raving lunatic. As for Aunt Mabel, she looks awful. Uncle Henry says she’s been sick quite a bit lately, especially in the mornings. If she weren’t the age she is, I’d be predicting a visit from the stork. And, Flora ...”

  “Yes?”

  “Something else has happened here. A body was found yesterday buried under the compost heap of the Dower House Nursery Garden.”

  “A person’s body?” Flora sank down on the arm of the settee. “I mean ... not a dog or a cat?”

  “It was a man.”

  “Vivian?”

  “Yes?”

  “I am wondering,” Flora had trouble squeezing the words out, “if it could be Mr. Tipp? When Mrs. Much was here yesterday she mentioned he’d told her he didn’t have any living relations. So how could he be staying with his ill cousin?”

  “Mrs. Much could have misunderstood.”

  “Yes, she said that could have been it; it’s just that I’m suddenly thinking that I wasn’t always kind to Mr. Tipp. I’m fond of him, but sometimes as a child I used to call him Felt-Tip behind his back because his first name was Philip and I thought Philip Tipp was such a silly sounding name.”

  “Flora, I’m sure he’s all right.”

  “Yes ... of course, he must be.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Please don’t speed.”

  “Promise.”

  “Good-bye,” and Flora pressed the disconnect button because she didn’t want to let go of the receiver immediately. When she finally put it down and stood, she saw she had sat on her hat. She made herself go downstairs and steam it out with the kettle, and had almost completed this exercise when the doorbell rang. As she went to the door she thought that she seemed to have been doing that a lot lately, starting something and getting interrupted in the middle. Who would it be this time: Edna? Boris? Reggie? She hoped it would be nice Mr. or Mrs. Singhh! Nothing complicated about either of them.

  It was Miss Doffit. “I was worried about Vivian,” she said without preamble, stepping spryly inside, looking as though she were going to a garden party in soft shades of mauve and blue and topped by one of her smartest feathery hats. “I’m terribly worried because he didn’t come home last night.”

  “But he phoned,” said Flora, “I was right there when he spoke to you.”

  “Oh, that explains it!” Miss Doffit’s face plumped up in a smile. “That’s why his voice sounded funny; I thought it was because his kidnappers had a gun at his back.”

  “You didn’t really!”

  “I’m just teasing, dear. Being an old lady, I love to see young love in bloom. I suppose you’ve thought that Henry and Mabel will be a little surprised at first. Henry, of course, will take it well. He’s always been so fond of you. Just as I have. But Mabel’s bound to kick up a stink. And of course there will be talk among the local people and among those in Vivian’s set. There are always those who don’t like to see a girl like yourself do well. But that’s what I’ll be there for, to help smooth the way, and it will make my last few years on earth among the happiest of my life, because I do so love to be needed.”

  “Miss Doffit,” said Flora, locking the door, “you’re thinking we’re back in the trunk room at Gossinger playing make-believe. This is real life, not a fairy tale. Vivian and I are friends. That’s all there is to it. I know it seems odd his being here so much, but there are reasons—ones that I
’d rather not go into right now—that have nothing to do with romance.”

  Miss Doffit’s face fell. “Oh, my dear girl, I do hope you haven’t been feeling so depressed over your grandfather’s death that you’ve been contemplating something foolish?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  “What a relief. Because I’m so looking forward to being in the thick of things. You will let me help pick your trousseau, dear? Mine is still in my bottom drawer. I found it just a little while ago when I looked through some things I had in storage. It’s amazing, some of the things that turn up at such times.” Miss Doffit looked thoughtful. “My parents threw away money like bath water, and yet they were the most confirmed hoarders of stuff that most people would have got rid of years ago. But I’m obviously no better, because I’ve continued to pay out money since their deaths on storage fees. And I’m going to let you into a little secret, Flora.”

  “What is it?” Flora was only half listening. She kept thinking about the body of a man found across the road from Gossinger. She couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that had taken hold of her the moment she’d hung up the phone and was cut off from Vivian’s voice.

  “... It’s about the tea strainer.”

  “What is?”

  “The secret I’m about to tell you.”

  “Oh. I’m listening.”

  “It will explain why I was so relieved when Vivian rang last night and said you had got it back. Because, you see, I was the one who found it the first time and gave it to Mabel. I knew she would be thrilled to be the one to place it in Henry’s hands and see him really smile at her. She was going to surprise him with it on his birthday. That was my idea. So romantic, don’t you think? Henry isn’t the demonstrative sort. I’m sure he’s extremely fond of Mabel, but like most men he needs to be reminded once in a while that his wife is a desirable woman. But—not wishing to be unkind—poor dear Mabel doesn’t have the figure for nylon nighties or that sort of thing. However, I couldn’t help but think that if Henry saw her standing there with that tea strainer in her hands, even wearing one of her shapeless woollies and tweed skirts, he was bound to find her irresistible. I pictured them,” Miss Doffit’s eyes turned dreamy, “gazing hand in hand at the tea strainer, while love blossomed anew. Given all that, how could Mabel not realize how much she needed me in her life? Meaning I would never again have to worry about putting the occasional foot wrong and one day being shown the door.”

  “But where was the tea strainer all those years?” Flora asked. Curiosity pushed aside the dark uneasy feeling that had settled on her like the mist on the day of her grandfather’s funeral.

  “All I can tell you, dear, is where I found it. Which was in a lacquered box at the bottom of an old tea chest, which was in storage along with the rest of my parents’ things. My guess is that one of my forebears was present the day Queen Charlotte came to tea, and took it. I’d like to think it was a child who did it, for a prank, although I do have to admit that I don’t come from unblemished stock. A brother of mine had to leave the Bank of England because he took an unauthorized increase in salary.”

  “Miss Doffit, if Vivian were here, he would call you a marvel!” And Flora could not resist giving the old lady a hug.

  “Thank you, dear. And now, don’t you think we should be getting upstairs? You were going to invite me to look out the window and watch the Queen ride past? Or did you plan to stand outside? I’m afraid I’m not much good in crowds anymore, but I don’t want to spoil your pleasure.”

  “I was going to watch from upstairs,” Flora assured her, “because given the crowd, the view will be better.”

  “Oh, good. You know, I have never stopped being thrilled at getting a glimpse of Her Majesty. I think it’s because with so many people saying how strongly I resemble her mother, I feel particularly close to our dear Queen.” Miss Doffit certainly sounded giddy with excitement as she followed Flora across the floor.

  Flora led the way upstairs into the sitting room, where Nolly came toddling over to her, insisting on a pat on the back for behaving himself while she was gone.

  “He’s not much of a watchdog, is he?” said Miss Doffit, who had stationed herself at the window and was taking something out of her blue leather handbag. “At least not when you’re here. He did bark when I was standing outside the shop the other night, but I suppose he feels safe when his mummy is home.”

  Why did Flora instantly feel that she had never felt less safe in her entire life? Was it because Nolly gave a little whimper just as she bent to lift him up? She remembered he had made a similar sound the day Reggie had rung the bell. But he hadn’t made a sound when Mrs. Much had shown up. Flora had put that down to his having by then really settled into his new home, and being much more interested in his red ball or in taking a nap than in who came in or out.

  But was it that women didn’t arouse his protective instincts? Now he was sniffing his way to the door, which Flora had closed behind her on entering the sitting room, and his whimper turned into a growl. And it wasn’t the sporting kind he used to let the red ball or his other toys know who was boss. This was the real thing. He was telling her that someone—a decidedly unwelcome someone—was outside, creeping ever so softly up the stairs. Not that Flora really needed to be told, because she heard the tiniest creak, no more than a whisper really, of a stair board under foot, followed by a pause, which seemed to freeze in time, so that Flora seemed to see Miss Doffit larger than life ... standing by the window with a pair of glasses in her right hand, and the blue and mauve plumes of her hat fluttering in the breeze.

  “It has to be Vivian,” Flora said, through lips that couldn’t quite get themselves around the words; but of course she knew it wasn’t Vivian because even if he had flown he couldn’t possibly be back here this soon. “Oh, my goodness, why am I standing here like a rock?” She charged at the door, but it was too late: before she could turn the key in the lock, she found herself shoved aside by the door being pushed inward, and someone stepped into the room.

  It was Mr. Tipp, looking more skeletal than she remembered. But he most definitely was not dead. In fact, for all his stooped posture, wispy hair, and sunken cheeks, Mr. Tipp held the gun he was pointing at Flora in a gloved hand that looked to be rock steady.

  “Why, whatever is he doing here?” Miss Doffit asked in a voice that was also amazingly level.

  “I wasn’t counting on your being here, madam.” Mr. Tipp had the grace to flinch when looking at one of his betters. “I’m sorry as how it should have turned out this way.”

  “Well, let’s not worry about your feelings,” the game old lady responded crisply. “Think about mine and poor Flora’s and put that silly thing away.”

  “Ever so sorry, but I can’t do that, madam.”

  “Then I’m just going to have to stick my head out the window and scream bloody murder.”

  “If you do—pardon the impudence—I’ll have to shoot you in the back of the head. Now I’m not saying that would be as much fun as talking to Mrs. Much about the possibility Hutchins was murdered, and laughing up my sleeve. But it wouldn’t keep me awake nights if I had to put a bullet through you, Miss Doffit. It’s not like you has the Gossinger name. And with me that’s all what counts.”

  “I think he means business, Flora.” The old lady spoke without a quaver. “I have to tell you, dear, that Henry never liked him.”

  “Neither did Grandpa.”

  “I knew that,” said Mr. Tipp, “and that’s why it gave me no end of pleasure to bump him off. Not as I wouldn’t have done it whatever my personal feelings, because, you see—I suppose you could say I was like Hutchins in one way at least: I had to think about the good of the Family. My own people has been at Gossinger for hundreds of years, I’m part of the place in a way Hutchins and you, Flora, never could be. And then to hear Sir Henry was going to leave the dear old place to him—I couldn’t never let it happen.”

  “Always listening at keyholes,” said Miss Doffit. “That�
�s what Sir Henry always said.”

  “It didn’t matter to me none what Sir Henry thought about me. He was entitled. He’s master of Gossinger.” Mr. Tipp moved the gun an inch closer to Flora. “I have to say that I don’t know as I’d have gone about getting rid of Hutchins, if I hadn’t seen that schoolboy corning out of the tower sitting room.”

  “Boris?” Flora wished she dared move to pick up Nolly, who was shivering at her feet.

  “That’s him. He’d gone in to talk to her Ladyship on account of her being his grandma’s sister. She’d told him to get out, and he was livid as only little kiddies get. He said someone should stuff the old bat down the garderobe. And something about the way he spoke gave me the notion he’d been up to something. As well he had. Him and another boy—Edward somebody. When I dragged him off to the garderobe by his ear, I found the whelps had locked Hutchins in the garderobe.”

  “He ... Boris ... he didn’t see what you did to Grandpa?”

  “He cleared off. Then I went and did what had to be done to save Gossinger for the rightful heir, which is Mr. Vivian.”

  “Did you make Grandpa write that note, the one saying God save the Queen?” Flora wasn’t just talking to play for time and pray for a miracle; she needed to know as much as this demented man would tell her about her grandfather’s last moment.

  “No, I wrote that.” Mr. Tipp’s lips crept upward into a thin smile. “I was never fond of you at the best of times, Flora, always making free of the house when you was little. Playing dress-up with Doffit here, in the trunk room, like you was Sir Henry’s own family. So I thought as how it would be getting in a nice little jab to put down those words and make you think Hutchins’s last thoughts was of Her Majesty, not his precious granddaughter.”

  “I should have realized.”

  “But there was another note, one what Hutchins did write and put under the door, saying two boys had locked him in and he needed to be let out. That was typical of him, and I have to say I admired that part of him, the one that wouldn’t let him make a big commotion if there was any other choice. And with Mrs. Much and you, Flora, along with myself, going past the garderobe as often as we did, it was likely he’d have been let out quick. If it makes you feel any better,” Mr. Tipp’s face seemed to soften in a way that somehow made it even more unpleasant, “Hutchins wasn’t what you’d call fighting fit when I opened the garderobe door. The stuffiness had obviously got to him, and he wasn’t none too steady on his feet. As I reached out to him he passed out, made my job easy as a wink. And the rest wasn’t no harder.”