‘It’s nothing to do with anyone, if you ask me. This isn’t an office, it’s an empty attic.’ Mavis shook the box close to her ear. ‘I think it’s buried treasure!’ she grinned. ‘It rattles.’
‘It’s hardly buried!’ Looking around her, Dolly frowned. ‘You’re right, for once. You couldn’t call this an office, could you, unless it was once an office but it’s closed down and people don’t know and still keep sending letters and getting no answer.’
‘So we could go downstairs and open the letter . . . maybe answer it.’
‘Mavis! That’s a terrible idea . . . but I suppose we could.’ She sighed. ‘Better not, though. Don might be angry.’
‘Not if I did it. Anyway, how would he know? We could stick the flap down again.’
‘I said no!’
‘Hoity toity!’
Dolly had crossed the room and now peered out of the window on to the street below. ‘Strange to see my old home from somewhere else – from my married home.’ Sighing, she turned. ‘Does Ma know you’re here?’
‘It was her idea. She said, “Get over there and see if she’s all right” – meaning you.’
So her mother still cared about her. Dolly hid her relief.
An hour later, when her sister had gone and neither of the brothers had returned, Dolly put her reservations aside, put on the kettle and steamed open the envelope.
Five
When the postman called three days later in Parmettor Street he delivered a letter for Lydia which she could not understand and which came from someone she had never heard of. After reading it through several times she wondered whether to share it with her father, but decided against it. There was no reason he should understand it, and it might prey on his mind. John was away again on business so she could not discuss it with him, either. That evening, however, when Leonard Phipps came down for his evening meal, she thought she would seek a reaction from him.
‘It’s come from a Mrs Wickham,’ she told him as she carried a bowl of mashed potatoes to the table and followed it with a dish of beef stew with onions.
George drew up a chair, and Leonard helped Adam on to his chair, which boasted a cushion to give him extra height at the table.
The boy eyed the beef nervously. ‘Is there gristle, Mama?’ he asked.
George said, ‘Gristle? You must not fuss over a piece of gristle, Adam. It won’t hurt you. When I was your age I used to just shut my eyes and swallow it down. You do that, Adam, and you won’t worry about gristle ever again.’
Leonard Phipps said, ‘A letter from a stranger? How very odd. I’ll read it when I’ve finished my dinner. It smells delicious.’ He turned to George. ‘My mother says you can’t beat the smell of nicely cooked beef.’
‘Beef is good, Mr Phipps, I grant you, but for me it’s a mutton stew. Plenty of carrots and onions . . . or a pie.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, maybe that was it. A nice mutton pie.’
Lydia leaned down to her son and said softly, ‘I won’t give you any gristle, Adam. Don’t worry.’ As they helped themselves to the beef and vegetables she said, ‘The strangest part is that this woman – a Mrs Donald Wickham – also enclosed one of my letters to my husband saying that the office of PSD has closed down. I’m sure if it had done John would have told me.’
Leonard said, ‘So presumably he hasn’t read your letter. He’ll be disappointed, no doubt.’
Adam took a mouthful of meat, closed his eyes and swallowed.
George laughed. ‘Slips right down!’ he cried. ‘What did I tell you, Adam?’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘You listen to your grandpapa, young man, and you won’t go far wrong!’
Lydia began to relax. During the day, her father had not referred once to Robert, which she always looked upon as a good sign, and she was secretly hopeful that he would somehow make a startling and unexpected recovery. He certainly seemed more genial when Leonard Phipps was around.
Now George said, ‘The papers are still reporting the robbery at Glazers. Are you hearing anything on the grapevine, Mr Phipps?’
‘We are, yes. I fear the whole thing has turned rather unpleasant. The chap who was knocked unconscious has taken a turn for the worse and we expect he won’t survive much longer. We do have a witness, though, and we also have a very vague artist’s sketch of one of the perpetrators. It’s not very precise, but a man was waiting in a car outside when the raid started and our witness caught a glimpse of one of them as the other two pushed their way in, shouting and causing a panic.’
‘Shouting what, exactly?’ Lydia asked.
‘“Put up your hands!”’ He shrugged. ‘Not very original, was it? I suspect they had not planned that part of the raid in much detail.’
She shook her head. ‘And in broad daylight, too! How do they dare to try it? You would imagine that the chances against them succeeding were huge.’
Leonard shrugged. ‘There are people who will stop at nothing. They seem to disregard the risks. Maybe they enjoy the thrill of the theft itself and also the excitement of a possible chase. Not to mention the satisfaction they must feel when – if – they succeed.’
‘As these bounders did!’ George pursed his lips. ‘Would you assume that they have done it before? And got away unscathed?’
Leonard nodded. ‘We think they are professional thieves. Beginners would never have started with a big London store.’
Lydia said, ‘That would be foolhardy in the extreme.’
Leonard refilled his water glass. ‘Of course, all the jewellers are now on high alert, but they’ll forget as time passes. The witness says the two men rushed out of the shop and scrambled into the car and one of them shouted, “Go, Will!”’ He grinned. ‘Broke two of the golden rules. Don’t let anyone hear your voice and don’t use names! We conclude that the one who called out was a Londoner and the driver was called Will!’
Lydia frowned. ‘So his name must have been William Somebody. A useful clue, isn’t it?’
Her father laughed. ‘Hardly! Think how many Williams there must be in London!’
Leonard smiled at her. ‘But you’re right, Mrs Daye. It’s better than nothing.’
She nodded. ‘And now the poor man who was knocked down may die?’
‘Yes. It was probably an accident, but he’s still in a critical condition. Same method as the last two – rush in, terrify them, snatch whatever’s within reach and scarper! London accents, so most likely local men rather than a gang from, say, Manchester. Stolen car, later abandoned in a brewer’s yard in Peckham.’
George said, ‘I had a son, but he’s . . . I suppose he’s grown up now. Don’t see much of him. Robert, I mean.’ He looked at Lydia and lowered his voice. ‘Or is he dead?’
‘He died a good few years ago, Father,’ she reminded him gently.
‘Ah! I thought as much . . . but he was called Robert, not William. You’re getting a bit mixed up, dear.’ He turned to Leonard. ‘I keep an eye open for him, Mr Phipps. You never know, do you? Not these days.’
‘No–o. I suppose not.’
Adam said, ‘Is it trifle, Mama? Or rice pudding?’
‘It’s trifle, Adam,’ she told him, grateful for the interruption. ‘And what a nice clean plate! You’ve eaten all your dinner.’
George smiled proudly. ‘You see that, Mr Phipps? The boy’s got a good appetite.’
Later that evening George retired to bed early, and Lydia found herself alone with Leonard Phipps.
When the church clock struck nine he said, ‘I’m on an early shift tomorrow so I’d best get some sleep. Did you want me to have a look at your mysterious letter before I go up?’
‘If you would be so kind,’ she replied eagerly. ‘I’m probably making much ado about nothing, but it does seem odd.’
She handed it to him, and he read it silently:
Dear Lydia, I fownd yor letter in the atic of my home (Im newly wed) and you shoud know the office of PSD is closed so the letter will not reech yor husband. Yors truly, Mrs Donald Wickham.
He handed b
ack the letter, and Lydia regarded him uneasily. ‘I suppose my husband forgot to mention it.’
‘You’ll no doubt mention it to him when he next comes home – which will be when, exactly?’
‘That’s it. I never know. He is rarely able to let me know in advance, but I shall show him the letter, certainly.’
‘This Mrs Wickham is obviously not a secretary – her spelling shows that – but if she is recently married and has moved into number sixteen she must know what she is talking about. What does your husband actually do, Mrs Daye?’
Lydia hesitated. ‘I’m not allowed to discuss it, but I can say he works for the government on . . . on secret business. He travels for them and is often away for days at a time. Sometimes weeks.’ Seeing that he was not satisfied, she tried to elaborate. ‘I think it’s to do with documents that they can’t trust to the postal system.’
‘Like a courier? Is that what you mean?’
‘If that’s what couriers do, then yes. John says it’s safer that I don’t know too much because then I can’t accidentally let anything slip.’
‘Hm.’ He frowned. ‘So where does he live when he’s not here?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t need to know, you see. Hotels, I suppose. Sometimes his business takes him abroad. That address in Mansoor Street was always the place where he could collect my letters to him.’ She smiled.
‘It all sounds very important.’
‘I believe it is. I’m rather proud of him, to tell you the truth.’
‘You must be. You seem to deal with it very well, but it must be lonely for you.’
Lydia shrugged. ‘I’m used to it – and there’s Adam and Father. I miss John, naturally, but I can’t claim to be lonely. Not that Father is good company, but I can’t blame him for his condition. He must be very confused much of the time, and I try to keep his memory as clear as I can.’
‘If it’s not too personal a question, may I ask what happened to your brother Robert?’
She hesitated. ‘My brother was killed in a road accident. He was only thirteen. I was ten and I worshipped him. I’m sure he found me a nuisance, but he loomed large in my little world. For a long time they were afraid to tell me he was dead so I kept waiting for him to come home from the hospital.’
‘That must have been terrible for you. I’m so sorry.’
Lydia sighed. ‘Two vehicles collided in the street. One was a hackney carriage, and the horse reared up and somehow slipped its traces and raced through the crowd on the pavement.’ She swallowed hard. ‘It trampled several people including Robert, who died a few weeks later in hospital. My mother maintained that it broke my father’s heart and was the beginning of his . . . difficulties.’
‘What a nightmare! I shouldn’t have asked for details. It was thoughtless of me. Do please forgive me, Mrs Daye.’
She took several deep breaths.
To change the subject, Leonard said, ‘So your husband is not a spy!’
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact. A very upright citizen, in fact. Father likes to tease me. It seems to amuse him, and I can put up with it most of the time – but, of course, I don’t like Adam to hear it. He adores his father.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘But look at the time! And you have an early start in the morning. I hope the weather improves for you.’
‘So do I. Early-morning fog is what I hate most. Yesterday it was a real pea-souper! My mother swears that it gets into the lungs. “London lungs”, she calls it, like a disease, because of all the soot and smoke in the air.’
‘My husband thinks London is the dirtiest city in the world.’
‘I dare say if he travels a lot he can make a judgement.’
They made their ‘goodnights’ and Lydia watched him as he went up the stairs. As lodgers go, she thought, Leonard Phipps is a pleasant person to have about the house.
Next morning at number sixteen Don and Sidney ate their bread and dripping in an uneasy silence until Don said, ‘Out with it!’
‘That ring!’ Sidney had been trying to pluck up the courage to air his grievance. ‘You hung on to it. You said you’d got rid of it all and divvied up the money.’
‘So I did. Who says I didn’t?’
‘I do. I’ve got eyes in my head. The ring you gave to Dolly.’
‘It’s glass, you idiot.’
‘You’re lying, Don. You’re a cheat and a liar!’
‘Watch your mouth, Sid, or I might just punch it!’
‘It’s a diamond,’ cried Sidney, red-faced with anger. ‘I’m not as daft as I look. It’s your way of keeping a bit extra for yourself. I’m wise to you now, Don. I thought something was adrift last time, but I couldn’t prove it. I knew I couldn’t trust you! Now I’m sure.’
‘Last time? What happened last time?’ Don sprinkled pepper and salt on to his bread and dripping, counting to ten inside his head and hoping he had not been rumbled. He had always kept back a small amount to satisfy himself for being the brains of the business. He could not do the jobs alone so Sid was a necessary accomplice, but he, Don, planned the operations and sold on the goods.
‘What happened?’ Sidney glared at him. ‘You told me those pearls were second-rate, but I spotted them in a shop in Chelsea. I recognized that clasp.’
Don stopped eating and leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. ‘It’s glass!’ he repeated slowly and emphatically.
‘What? Glass?’ He looked confused, as Don had intended.
‘The ring. The so-called diamond. It’s glass.’
‘I’m talking about the pearls – about last time.’
Don sat back. ‘If you saw those pearls on sale for top whack then Jimmy Fisk has cheated me. You should have told me.’ He tried to look aggrieved. ‘Bit late now. Can’t prove anything. They’ll be long gone.’ He sighed heavily. Glancing at his brother he saw the doubt he had hoped to provoke and took his chance. ‘As for the ring, you can take it to a jeweller. Don’t shake your head! I want you to. Set your mind at ease. Take it to Arnie Harrold. He’ll tell you what it is.’ He held his breath, crossing the fingers of his left hand beneath the table. Arnie Harrold was a fence, and what he did not know about precious stones was not worth knowing. ‘But don’t tell Dolly!’ he added. ‘She thinks it’s real, bless her.’
‘I’d have to tell her to get hold of the ring.’
‘Just say you want to know how much I paid for it!’ He was thinking on his feet now, praying that he could convince his brother of his honesty. ‘Tell her not to tell me you’ve asked to borrow it.’ He sighed. ‘You are so suspicious, Sid! After all these years, and you still don’t trust me. I suppose it’s just in your nature.’
Sidney wavered. ‘What about the other one? Lydia.’
Don’s heart sank. ‘Lydia? What about her?’
‘Have you given her one? I bet you have. I bet you’ve given them both a diamond ring! You thieving bugger!’ He sprang to his feet and glared down at Don. ‘So you owe me, Don Wickham. Whatever those rings are worth you owe me the same!’
‘I owe you nothing, Sid.’ He spoke regretfully, as if to a child. ‘I’ve told you, the ring is glass. Ask her. You have my permission.’ He held out both hands in a helpless gesture. ‘What have I got to lose? Take the ring and check it out with Arnie, and then let’s hear your apology!’ He saw the indecision in his brother’s eyes. He told himself he was almost there. ‘And I haven’t given Lydia anything you don’t know about. You have the answer, Sid. You’ve always had the answer. You can walk away from it all.’
‘You need me!’
‘I don’t. It’s you that needs me! We’ve done very nicely for ourselves all these years, but if you want to go it alone, suits me.’
He stood up, and at that moment the front door opened and Dolly came in, breathless and beaming, with a basket full of food from the market. ‘I’ve got a nice bit of ’addock . . .’ she began, but then noticed the tension in the air. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Something happened?’
Don grinned. ‘Only Sid in one of his moods. He’ll get over it. I think he’s jealous. I told him, “Find a woman of your own!”’
She smiled, setting down the basket on the kitchen table. ‘My sister’s not spoken for,’ she told him.
He laughed. ‘He’s seen your sister!’
Dolly gasped, then laughed. She pretended to cuff him round the ear, but allowed him to catch her wrist and pull her down on to his lap. ‘You’re a wicked man, Don Wickham!’ she said as his arms closed around her. Catching sight of her ring she held it out to admire it.
Don said, ‘Remember what I said, won’t you – never take it off. Not for anyone. Understand?’
‘As if I would!’
‘Promise.’
She held up a hand as if taking the oath in court. ‘I promise, so help me God!’
‘If you break your promise you break our love!’ He was rather pleased with that.
‘Promise on God’s honour!’
He hugged her. ‘That’ll do me, Dolly.’
Dolly spent the night worrying about her mother’s disapproval, but by the time dawn came she had come up with a plan to pacify her mother. She would find the vicar who had married them and collect the marriage lines. When her mother saw that she really was married, she would hopefully recover from her sulks and all would be well.
After breakfast she washed up the breakfast things and swept the crumbs from the table into her hand and tossed them into the sink.
Sidney had been very quiet throughout the meal, and now he gave her a strange look. ‘That ring,’ he said. ‘Like to lend it to me for a bit? I’ll take care of it.’
‘Lend you my ring?’ She stared at him in horror. ‘No, I wouldn’t, Sidney.’ He raised her hand so they could both see it. ‘This is my wedding ring, and it—’
‘It should be a plain gold band.’
‘Well, it isn’t, so there! It’s better than a plain gold band, and I’m never going to take it off. Never!’ She folded her arms and gave a defiant toss of her head. ‘I promised on my honour, if you must know. Anyway, what d’you want with it?’
The Great Betrayal Page 7
