The Mystery of the Cupboard

by Lynne Reid Banks

  The other man was already on his feet and kicking the folds of linen impatiently aside. He was shorter than the other one, very thin and wiry and looked quite a bit younger. His bristly hair was only just going grey. He wore a high-necked black sweater, dark checked trousers, and a cloth cap, and he had what appeared to be a sack full of heavy, lumpy objects clutched in his hand. Where the other, older man seemed dazed, this one was looking all around him warily with quick, bird-like movements of the head.

  The woman looked older than either of them. She was plump, with white hair done up in curling papers and an old-fashioned patchwork dressing-gown over what looked like a long white nightie. She seemed neither dazed nor wary, but outraged.

  “For ’eaven’s sake!” she exclaimed irritably. “This is too much, it is reely. Just as I thought my bad knee was in for an early night, ‘ere we go again, without a word of warning or so much as a by-your-leave! I’m too old for all this comin’ and goin’!”

  She looked around and caught sight of the older man, who was rubbing his hand over his chin with a just-about-audible rasping noise.

  “My Gawd! It’s you, Ted!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands to her fat cheeks. “After all these years! Now I know I’m not dreaming — I’m back!”

  “Hello, Elsie,” said the older man slowly. “Yes, back again, it’s like old times. Good to see you. Where’s the others, then?”

  She turned on the spot, looking all around her, and suddenly she saw Omri. She let out a shriek.

  “Eeeek! Who are you!” she yelled, pointing at him. “You ain’t her!”

  “Of course it’s not ‘her’, Else,” said the older man patiently. “How could it be ‘her’? She was on her last legs thirty years ago, don’t you remember?”

  “Oh… Oh, yes. Of course. I remember now. Poor old duck. I didn’t half cry after she sent us back that last time, knowing we’d never see her again…” She gave a sentimental sniff. “Well, but who’s this one, then?” she asked sharply, pointing again at Omri. “And where’s Jenny and the sergeant? And that thievin’ little tyke, what was his name—”

  “Could it have been — Bert Martin?”

  She spun around and saw the smaller man, who had just spoken for the first time.

  “Bert. Yes, that was it. How could I forget you, eh, you little villain? You’ve hardly changed a bit, I’d’a known you on any dark night! Still on the job, I see! No rest for the wicked, eh?”

  “Seems like it. My luck hasn’t run out neither! I don’t go in for climbing drainpipes and that, nowadays. Nice open ground-floor window — nobody at home — no dog — grand haul, easy as falling off a log. Like to see what I got?” With a cocky swagger, he opened the sack he was carrying and invited her to peer inside.

  The older man seemed to pull himself together.

  “Not so much of your sauce, Bert Martin. I’m here, don’t forget that!”

  The little man seemed to recognize the older one for the first time, though Omri knew he’d already seen him. He gave a theatrical start.

  “Cor, if it ain’t PC Plod, our friendly local copper! The terror of the night streets, the scourge of the criminal classes! Here - you have a look an’ all, why not? There’s not a lot you can do about it here, is there?” And he rattled his sack, which gave out a chinking sound.

  “I could arrest you, you little weasel!”

  “Don’t make me laugh! And what would you do with me when you had? You’re not even in uniform!”

  “I’m retired. But that don’t mean scallywags like you can break the law under my very nose and get away with it!”

  “Is that so? Look here then, Constable,” said Bert. He reached into the sack and brought out a minute silver tea pot. He rubbed it on his sleeve and held it up for inspection. “Georgian, this is — solid. Bit of all right, eh? I got the whole set here, sugar tongs and all! And a lot more besides. Jewels — carriage clock — silver-handled walking stick — got a sword in it, see?” He whipped it out, took up a fencing stance, and made a few passes. “Very nice! Lot of demand among the moneyed gentry! Fancy it for your shop window, Elsie, me old china? Do you still have your little antique business in the East End Road?”

  “You be quiet, Bert. I don’t do business with the likes of you. I’m no fence! Strictly above-board, ask anybody.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” said Bert slyly.

  Elsie bridled, her hand on her bosom. “What you hinting at? That Elsie Jackson ever received stolen goods?”

  “Word is, it has been known.”

  “I’ve nothing to say to you. It’s beneath my dignity to hold conversation with a petty criminal like you, Bert Martin!” she exclaimed indignantly, turning her back on him.

  The little man, whom Omri realized was a burglar, laughed mockingly. “Not so much of the ‘petty’ — not after tonight! Well. If you’re all too law-abidin’ to look, I’ll keep my whistle-and-flute to meself!” he said, and closed his sack again.

  There was a silence. Then the policeman glanced uneasily in Omri’s direction.

  “Manners,” he said vaguely.

  Elsie caught his glance, and turned towards Omri.

  “Quite right, Ted,” she said warmly. “We’re forgetting. Whoever he is, we wouldn’t be here without him.” She stepped towards Omri with one tiny hand extended genteelly, the other one nervously patting her hair.

  “I’m Elsie Jackson,” she said. “Ever so sorry you caught me in dishabil, as the French say.”

  He touched her hand with one finger.

  “How do you do, Mrs Jackson?”

  “Just call me Else,” she said with a girlish giggle. “Allow me to introduce Constable Terryberry.”

  “Ex-constable. I retired in ‘twenty-eight.”

  “’Twenty-eight?” repeated Elsie. “Oh! Of course, aren’t I silly. I’m before you! Goodness, what year is it for you now, Ted?”

  “1931,” said Ted.

  “Twelve years on from us, eh, Bert? And how’s the world going then? Go on, Ted, give us a preview!”

  “Oh, things is nice and quiet, at least in Britain. Bit of bother in other countries. Well, you’d expect it, wouldn’t you, foreigners. But nothing for us to fret about.”

  “So, it really was the war to end wars that we’re just finished with,” said Elsie. “Thank Gawd for that!” She turned to Omri. “It’s still only 1919 where I live,” she explained kindly.

  “So you all come from different times?”

  “No, mores the pity, Bert and me’s contemporay-nee-us,” she said carefully. “That means, we’re from the same time. Miss Jessie taught us that. Not that him and me move in the same social circles, of course,” she added, tossing her head.

  “Don’t you ever meet — in your own time — you and - er—”

  The burglar leaped forward, lithe as a cat. “Not if I sees her first, we don’t!” he said. “Seein’ she’s too high and mighty to perform the introductions, I’m Albert Martin. Bert to my friends.” They ‘shook hands’ as well as they could.

  “And who might you be when you’re at home?” asked Elsie coyly.

  “My name’s Omri,” Omri said.

  “What kind of foreign name is that then?” asked the ex-constable suspiciously.

  “It’s a Bible name,” said Omri.

  “That’s nice. Isn’t that nice, Ted?” said Elsie, giving the policeman a sharp nudge.

  “Yeah, very nice,” he muttered. “Course, Methuselah’s a bible name too, and there’s not many of them about.”

  “Nor Nebuchadnezzar,” said Elsie vaguely. “Still. Hamry’s a very nice name, almost as good as Henry.”

  “Omri.”

  “What I said, dear. Now then. Let’s be sensible. There’s things we want to ask. I mean it’s been thirty years and… Well! You can’t help being curious! Where’s little Jenny?”

  “I’m afraid she died,” said Omri.

  There was a murmur of distress in which even Bert joined.

  “OH! Never!”
exclaimed Elsie. “I am sorry! Poor little mite!”

  “She had a good life. She stayed here, you know.”

  There was a sudden silence. The other three stared at each other in amazement.

  “Stayed here? For how long?”

  “The rest of her life. Thirty years.”

  “Thirty years! You mean — small — like we are? Tiny in a giants’ world?” whispered Elsie.

  “Yes. She was well looked after.”

  Bert sat down rather suddenly on the edge of the cashbox. “Strike a light. Thirty years!”

  Elsie shuddered.

  “Like a doll! I mean, I know she had a rotten life in her own time, but… I mean you’d be just — just like a doll!”

  “Wouldn’t do for me,” said Ted. “I like my independence.”

  “I was always dead scared she wouldn’t send us back,” muttered Bert.

  “Go on! She wasn’t like that, not Miss Jessie! She’d never have kept us against our will!”

  “No… She wouldn’t,” said Bert. He gave a meaning look at Omri.

  They all exchanged glances and then looked at Omri. Their little faces were suddenly pale and strained.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “You — you ain’t going to keep us here?” Bert asked anxiously, all his bravado gone. “I mean — with her — she’d bring us every now and again, but it was only to pass the time like, to keep her company. I didn’t mind, once I got the hang of it, but there was never no question of us not going back!”

  “I dunno so much,” put in Ted, the policeman, with anxiety in his tone. “You remember Sergeant Ellis — Charlie? He was always restless, going on about his duty, how he had to get back to his regiment and fight Boney, and Miss Jessie used to get him to tell her about the war and that.” He turned to Omri. “He was from Boney’s time - Napoleon Bonaparte, y’know. And when he’d describe the battles, she’d say, ‘I’m not sending you back to that, Charlie Ellis, you’re staying here!’”

  “That’s right! I remember now! There was big quarrels, him wanting to get back to do his duty, her wanting to keep him safe!”

  “She was right,” said Omri soberly.

  They all looked at him again.

  “Right? What do you mean?”

  He unrolled the fourth hanky and showed them the pitiful remains of Sergeant Charlie Ellis.

  Bert blew out his breath in a low whistle. “You mean—”

  “She sent him back all right. And he got killed.”

  There was a shocked silence. Then Ted picked up the red uniform jacket. He lifted it to his nose.

  “Damp,” he said. “Well, not now. But it’s been damp. Look - it’s got patches of green mould on it.” He touched the tip of his tongue to the stained cloth. “Salt… I wonder… Remember, Else, Miss Jessie used to tell him. ‘There’s a big sea battle coming up and it’ll be terrible, you don’t want to be in that!’ It was Trafalgar she meant. You and I knew that. But Charlie used to say, ‘If Nelson needs me…’”

  “That was a victory for us, though, wasn’t it?” asked Omri. “Trafalgar? When Nelson was killed.”

  Ted nodded. “We won, all right, but many good men died to give us the victory, and Charlie — he must’ve been one of ’em.”

  “Was he in the Navy?” asked Omri.

  “No, no. Army. But they always had to have soldiers on the ships. The sailors — I’m not saying they weren’t brave, but they was pressed. Not volunteers. They grabbed ’em off the streets and forced ’em to serve, and there had to be soldiers on board the ships to make sure they did their duty.” He shook his head.

  Elsie was straightening out the uniform trousers. “Poor Charlie. He was a good lad. Always cheerful, one for a joke, though not always the kind ladies ought to hear… Lucky I’m no prude!” She shed a tear over the helmet and laid it down tenderly amid the handkerchief lace.

  Ted was very subdued. “He was Irish. He believed in leprechauns and I don’t know what. It was him led us to understand we was part of a bit of magic, not drunk nor dreaming nor dead—”

  “That was what I thought at first when she brung us,” Bert interjected. “I thought I’d been topped!”

  “You will be, an’ all, one of these fine days!” said Ted.

  “This is the twentieth century, they don’t hang a man for burglary nowadays,” said Elsie.

  “In Charlie’s day, they did,” said Bert. “He was always on at me to reform, said I’d come to a sticky end… Well. He did and I didn’t, which only goes to show.”

  “It shows the good die young,” said Elsie tartly.

  “And he didn’t come to no bad end,” said Ted. “He died for his country. Better love hath no man than this.” He took a large handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose loudly.

  Omri said, cautiously, “Could you tell me anything about - about Mrs Driscoll?”

  “Miss Jessie? She was ever so kind,” said Elsie. “A real lady. We was that upset when she told us how ill she was, I think even Bert piped an eye when we said goodbye for the last time. Jenny was inconsolable.”

  “Do you know how she found out — about the magic?”

  “Oh, yes! She told us that,” said the policeman. “Y’see, her son give her a few little toy figures made of—-” He stopped. “What was that stuff she told us, Else?”

  “Plastic,” said Omri.

  “That’s it. New stuff she said, and this son of hers hated it because it ruined his toy business and he lost all his money. He brought some plastic toys to show her how inferior they was to the good old tin soldiers he used to make. And she put these little toys all away in the cupboard that we come in. She put them in and she locked the door and said to herself, ‘That’s where they belong, where he won’t have to see ’em when he comes to visit me.’”

  “Not that he did come to visit her, so’s you’d notice,” said Elsie. “Not much of a son, if you ask me!”

  “Well, anyhow,” went on Ted, “that first time, we — all us five, Jenny and Charlie and us three — we was all suddenly awake in the dark together. Course we didn’t know each other, we couldn’t see each other, we was just — all of a sudden, like — there. We was a lot younger then, of course. Jenny can’t have been more than nineteen, Bert was just a nipper. Charlie’d just taken the King’s shilling, I’d been eight years in the force, Else was—!”

  “Never you mind how old I was!”

  “And we was all scared stiff. And Charlie started hollering and Jenny and Elsie was crying and I was banging on the inside of the door, and trying to calm everybody down, and suddenly the door opened, and there she was, staring at us - this big face! Cor, you could have knocked me over with a fewer!”

  “You could have knocked her over with one, and all,” said Bert with a snigger. “You never saw anyone so surprised in your life! Threw herself into a proper fit!”

  “Well, after we stopped having hy-strikes and calmed down a bit,” said Elsie, “we started talking and reckoning it out, what had happened. And she told us this story about the cupboard and the key she locked it with.”

  “I know about that,” said Omri.

  “Yes, well… Bit out of the common, to say the least, but we had to believe it, because - well. Because it was happening. And she made tea for us and we drank it out of her thimble, which was like drinking it out of a barrel, but she made a good cuppa, I will say that. And we started to get to know each other.”

  “Can’t say we turned into the best of chinas,” said Bert, “though I liked Charlie well enough, and Jenny - well, she was a dainty little piece. I could have fancied her if she’d’ve fancied me, but she didn’t. She liked Charlie better, him being in the uniform and all that, but what was the use? He’d been born a hundred years too early for her!”

  “Yeah, we all had our own lives back there to worry about,” said Elsie. “But comin’ here and visitin’ Miss Jessie made a break, like. Better than a holiday in some ways. She’d feed us special food and tell us all sor
ts that was happenin’ in her time, or had happened between hers and ours — though she didn’t tell us everythin’.”

  “No. She kept the bad bits to herself. She never said a dicky-bird about the Great War for instance. When that come along I thought, ‘Miss Jessie must’ve known what we was in for. Too kind to tell us, there being nothing we could do to avoid it.’ She was wise in her way.”

  Omri thought he could stay here listening to this new lot of little people telling their stories for ever. But soon enough Gillon and Tony would be back and it’d be teatime.

  “Do you mind if I send you back now?” he said.

  They exchanged relieved glances. “That’s all right, duck,” said Elsie. “Can we go back through the cupboard, though, and not that little box thing? I don’t like the idea of squashing into that, all of us together,” said Elsie. “Indecent.”

  “Okay,” said Omri.

  He lifted them carefully one by one onto the shelf of the cupboard. Bert was the heaviest, because of his sack of stolen goods.

  They waved to him, and Elsie blew him a kiss.

  Omri turned away to extract the key from the keyhole of the cashbox. When he turned back, he noticed that Bert had fished something out of the sack and was showing it to Elsie.

  “Before we part, me old Else, just give this a quick butcher’s,” he was saying. “If you can resist making me an offer for this little lot, you’re not the dealer I take you for.”

  “Now don’t tempt me, you bad boy,” she was saying. “Who d’you think I am, Fagin? - Ooooh, look! Look, Ted! Aren’t they loverly!”

  She and Ted both bent irresistibly over what Bert held in his hand. It looked like a tiny box.

  “Lovely red leather,” said Elsie admiringly, stroking it. “Italian, those are. I seen ’em before — loverly.”

  “But it’s what’s inside that counts,” gloated Bert. “Go on, Elsie, have a look, a look won’t hurt.”

  “I think we ought to be getting back—” put in the policeman uncomfortably.

  But a strange, an impossible idea had come into Omri’s mind.