by Pat Herbert
“I know. I told her she’s mad,” said May eagerly, now that she had Danny on her side. “Anyway, I’d better go. I’ve got something special for tea tonight. And you’re invited.”
“Will your mam and da’ be there?”
“Of course. They always look forward to seeing you, Danny.”
“I’d like to see you on your own sometimes, flower,” he said, rubbing his body up against hers suggestively.
“Stop it!” said May in mock horror. “You don’t want us to be in the same boat as Alice, do you?”
Danny watched May as she strolled up the road towards the bus stop. He scratched his curly head and sighed. He loved her, but her attitude towards poor Alice was worrying him. It was a side to her he hadn’t seen before, and he didn’t like it.
29th January 1958: Wandsworth
Anbolin Amery-Judge loved the vicarage, and the vicar as well. She had been invited to stay for Christmas, and December had turned into January and she was still there. Since the death of her cat a year ago, she had no real incentive to go back to her Holloway home, which was being looked after by her faithful old companion, Maud. She liked Maud, but she could be a miserable, cantankerous so-and-so, and the vicarage was such a happy place. And even though the vicar’s housekeeper could also be described as ‘miserable’ and ‘cantankerous’, Anbolin didn’t take Nancy seriously. There was a heart of gold under that gruff exterior, she was sure.
But, now near the end of January, she was forced to admit that it was about time to return home. She couldn’t leave everything to Maud, it wasn’t fair on her. It was a few days after she and Bernard had visited Beattie Driver and the Ladywell cemetery when she came to this decision. Anbolin knew, in her heart of hearts, that she was incapable of solving the Alice Troy mystery. Although she wanted to stay and find out what Alice wanted, she knew it was better left to Bernard’s doctor friend to do this. Anyway, old Maud would be missing her dreadfully by now, even though she knew she would only moan when she got there.
“’Morning, Nancy,” she said on entering the kitchen. The delicious smell of frying bacon greeted her as she sat down at the table.
“’Morning,” replied Nancy, placing a cereal bowl in front of her. The next minute a generous dollop of porridge was in it. “Add your own hot milk and sugar, there’s a love. Must see to the mushrooms.”
Anbolin would miss these breakfasts most of all. Not only was there porridge to start, there was a plate of eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and fried bread to get through before she got to the thick slices of toast and marmalade. There was plenty of orange juice and as many cups of tea as she could drink without leaking. Maud’s breakfasts paled into insignificance beside the vicarage ones.
“I think I’d best be going home, Nancy,” she said, between mouthfuls of creamy porridge. How Nancy managed to make the oaty cereal so delicious, she would never know. No one in her lifetime had made porridge like it. She certainly had never managed it herself.
“Why, ducks?” asked Nancy, a little saddened at the prospect of her imminent departure. She had come to regard her as almost a fixture at the vicarage, along with Beelzebub and the faulty central heating system. There was no doubt Anbolin made a lot of extra work, but she liked having her around to talk to. And she made a pleasant change from having to listen to poor lovesick Lucy Carter all the time.
“Well, I don’t suppose you want me hanging around indefinitely. I was only invited for Christmas, after all.”
“Never mind that. You stay as long as you want, love. Has the vicar asked you to go? If so, I’ll give ’im a piece of my mind – ”
“No, no, Nancy, not at all. I just feel I should be home, that’s all. I’ve been here for over a month as it is. Maud’ll leave if I don’t go back soon.”
“Well, you know best,” said Nancy, dishing out the fried food onto a large plate for her. “I wish you could do something for Lucy before you go, though.”
“That woman needs a kick up the backside,” said Anbolin, munching happily. The fried bread was delicious. “The doc’ll never marry her. She needs to get out a bit more. Find herself a bloke who’ll do the decent thing and wed her. She’s not too old to have kiddies, is she?”
Nancy shook her head. “I should say she’s got a few years left, but she’d better get a move on.”
“Does she want children?”
“Not much. She just wants the doc. Is there nothing you can try to see if it’s on the cards, like? I know you don’t do tea leaves or the Tarot, but what about a crystal ball? Do you ’ave one of them?”
“I used to dabble a bit with the crystal gazing,” said Anbolin. “But I don’t suppose I’d be any good at it now.”
“’Ave you got one ’ere? A crystal ball, like?”
“I always carry one around,” said Anbolin. Her copious bag always felt like a ton weight because of it. Acres of knitting weighed nothing at all.
“Look, before you leave, can you see if there’s anything in it for ’er? I mean, if not, you could make it up, couldn’t you?”
“Make it up?” Anbolin was shocked. She had never pretended anything mystical in her life. Everything she had achieved as a medium had been through genuine readings. The thought of misleading anyone, even for the right reasons, was anathema to her.
“I s’pose you wouldn’t, would you? I want old Luce to cheer up a bit, that’s all. If she thought there was a new man on the ’orizon maybe she would stop going around with a face like a slapped arse all the time.”
“And what if I did tell her something like that? And what if nothing happened after all? She’d call me a fraud and before you know it my reputation would be in shreds. No, love, I can’t risk that.”
“But maybe you could look into the crystal, and if you see something genuine you could pass that on to ’er.”
“I could if you’d like. But what if all I see is more of the same. No new man and no luck with the doc? That’d make her more miserable than ever, wouldn’t it?”
Nancy poured out some more tea for Anbolin and herself. She slumped down at the kitchen table. “I think we should risk it, don’t you?”
29th January 1958: Wandsworth
Nancy barged into Bernard’s study shortly after four o’clock in the afternoon. As the door opened, a draft of cold air blew in. The vicarage’s ancient heating system was having trouble keeping up with the demands being made upon it by the unusually long cold snap, but at least the study was warm. The landing outside was anything but.
“Please shut the door, Mrs Aitch,” Bernard wailed, “you’re letting all the cold air in.” He shivered and looked at Beelzebub curled up on the chair by the fire. He hadn’t moved. Still, he thought, he’s got a fur coat on.
“Beg your pardon, I’m sure,” said Mrs Harper huffily. It wasn’t her fault the vicarage stipend didn’t stretch to fixing faulty boilers. “There’s a woman down below who wants to see you.”
“Does she have a name, Mrs Aitch?” Bernard was irritable this afternoon, despite the tea and sandwiches provided just five minutes before by his faithful housekeeper. There were crumpets, too, dripping with butter. And cakes. But he was still irritable. His foul mood was chiefly due to Robbie’s refusal to help with the Alice Troy murder mystery. He remained adamant that Howard Drake was guilty and deserved to hang. It wasn’t like his friend, and he couldn’t understand his attitude.
“A name? Well, I suppose so,” said Nancy, “most people ’ave.”
“And what is it then? Do I know her?”
“I don’t, but you might. Looks like a flibbertigibbet to me. Fancies ’erself, that one.”
“Right, so you’re telling me there’s a woman downstairs who has called round to see me who you don’t know, but who looks as if she thinks a lot of herself. Have I got that right?”
Mrs Harper looked at Bernard with astonishment. She had never seen him so cross. She only told him there was a woman to see him. Shoot the messenger, why didn’t he?
“She said i
t’s important,” sniffed Mrs Harper. “Thought you might like to see ’er.”
“Very well,” said Bernard with a sigh. “You’d better show her up, Mrs Aitch.” He was a little curious about this mysterious visitor, but he wasn’t really in the mood to see anyone. All he wanted was to have his afternoon tea in peace, and stroke the cat.
“Right you are.” Nancy turned to do his bidding.
“Oh – and you’d better bring an extra cuppa.”
“Hello, Bernie. Long time no see.” Celia Pargeter flounced into the room.
“Hello, Celia,” said Bernard, unsure whether to be pleased at the sight of the beautiful woman he had first met on holiday in Blackpool the year before. He knew she was seeing Robbie, but now here she was visiting him. Another reason for him and Robbie to fall out, he supposed. Although, perhaps he needn’t find out. “What brings you to see me on such an afternoon?”
“Yes, it’s not very pleasant out there, but spring should be here soon.”
“Let’s hope so. Won’t you sit down?”
“Thank you, dear.” She whipped off her warm scarf and flung it over Beelzebub who looked up in terror, woken from a dream of skewered goldfish and squashed budgerigars. “Sorry, little chap,” she said, seeing the cat for the first time. She stroked him gently and he started to purr at once. Nice lady, thought the cat. He liked women.
“Just remove him,” said Bernard. “Mind the fur, though. You might want Mrs Aitch to give the cushion a brush before you sit down.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, picking up the cat and sitting down. She cuddled Beelzebub and continued to stroke him on her lap. Bernard was beginning to think he had seriously misjudged her. If he had known she was a cat lover, he might have been more inclined to like her.
At this point, Nancy returned with a cup, saucer and plate. “’Ere you are,” she said. “’Ope there’s enough grub there between the two of you. Got some more cakes and crumpets if you need ’em.”
“This looks lovely,” said Celia, giving her an ingratiating smile.
Mrs Harper only sniffed. She could smile at her till the cows came home, she thought, but it didn’t cut any ice with her. Handsome is as handsome does was a favourite saying of the old housekeeper. She always distrusted beautiful people on sight and Celia was damned by her looks. No one could be that beautiful and be entirely trustworthy. So thought Nancy Harper, and Nancy Harper was never wrong.
As she left the study, a thought struck her. It seemed Bernard knew this woman from somewhere, and she wondered if this was the one he and Robbie had met at Blackpool, the woman that Robbie was now taking out and causing poor Lucy such misery. She felt certain that it was. No wonder Lucy was so upset. She didn’t stand a chance against this one. Not with someone as shallow as the doc, anyway.
***
“I hope you don’t mind me coming to see you, Bernie. I’ve been meaning to for a while, but I want your advice. It’s very important.”
“Of course. I will do anything I can to help. Does Robbie know you’re here, by the way?”
“No, he doesn’t, and I don’t intend to tell him.” Her looks darkened. “He’s being very stubborn.”
“Stubborn? What about?”
“I told him that I was doing some prison visiting, for something to do, you know – ”
“Oh, yes. Robbie told me. I got the impression he doesn’t approve.”
“No, well, that’s his problem. I find it interesting. I especially found one prisoner very interesting. that was when Robbie seemed to get more annoyed.”
“Let me guess. Howard Drake?”
“Yes. Did he tell you?”
“Yes. He seems to think that you’re taking too much of an interest in him. Or that’s what I gathered. He doesn’t think you should waste your time. Says he’s guilty and that’s that. He’s jealous, if you ask me.”
“Well, for goodness sake! Jealous of a man who’s about to be hanged! He must be mad.”
“I know, but that’s Robbie for you. Can’t stand to see you show interest in any other man but himself, whatever the circumstances. Mind you, Howard Drake is a good-looking man, isn’t he?” Bernard raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.
“Well, yes. He’s quite presentable, I suppose, for a condemned man. But that’s not why I’m interested in him. Surely you don’t think that?”
Bernard didn’t really know what to think. “Anyway, why have you come to me about it?” he said, without answering her question.
“Well, he’s one of your parishioners, isn’t he? He told me that he and his wife attended your services every Sunday without fail, until this business. He wants to see you.”
“I was planning to go and see him tomorrow actually. Something has happened which I want to talk to him about.” Bernard proceeded to tell Celia about the victim’s grave, and the dog’s reaction to it. “Annie and I went to see for ourselves,” he continued. “There was no doubt. It was only Alice’s grave that seemed to make the poor dog go loopy. He seemed scared to death of it.”
“Gosh, that’s amazing! You mentioned Annie. Is that Anbolin?”
“Yes, that’s right. Of course, you met her with us in Blackpool last year, didn’t you? She’s still here, a left over from Christmas.” He grinned.
“Is she here now? Can I see her?”
***
Anbolin brought her never-ending knitting to the study shortly after this request was issued. She was delighted to see Celia again, and the delight was mutual. The two women couldn’t be more different, but they got along together like a house on fire. Bernard smiled to see them. She couldn’t be so bad if Anbolin liked her. He valued the old woman’s opinion highly; she wasn’t the kind to be bamboozled by a pretty face.
They began to chat pleasantly about their Blackpool adventure, remembering the endless hot summer that had now turned to a seemingly endless cold winter. Outside the study window, the snow had started to fall once more. Bernard banked up the fire.
“I don’t know what we can do about this business,” said Bernard, when the conversation reverted to the plight of Howard Drake. “Unless we can prevail on the police to reopen the case, or we do some investigating for ourselves.”
“We can hardly go to the police, can we?” said Celia. “They’ll laugh us out of the station when we tell them why we think he’s innocent. Some dog that’s frightened of the victim’s grave! Oh yes, I can see them wearing that. And what if it’s just some horrible plant there that the dog’s reacting to?”
“Yes, you have a point,” said Anbolin. “Maybe we need to go back to the cemetery and check around. There were quite a few flowers on Alice’s grave come to think of it, so there might be some variety among them that the poor creature’s allergic to.” She picked up her knitting and began to click away furiously.
“I don’t think it’s anything to do with plants or flowers,” said Bernard. “The mutt knows his onions. There’s a restless spirit there, I’m sure of it. And it’s got to be Alice Troy. Don’t you agree?”
The other two nodded. “We need Robbie to come with us to see her spirit,” he continued. “We need his psychic gift, begging your pardon, Annie.”
Celia reached out and gave her a hug. “I will talk to him tonight,” she said, getting up to leave. “We’re meeting for a drink at the Feathers at seven. I’ll persuade him to visit the grave, don’t worry.”
“I hope you have better luck than I did,” said Bernard, unconvinced.
12th June 1957: Margate
May Stubbs didn’t like being away from home these days. Now that Danny had moved to Stockwell to be near her, it seemed wrong that she should have to spend so much time away from him. But she had to go where the company sent her, and this time it was to cater for a three-day conference in Margate. Ordinarily, she would have been happy to be by the sea, especially as the weather was so pleasant. June was a warm, carefree month as a rule, one she always looked forward to, and this year was no exception.
As she strolled alo
ng the promenade during a well-earned break, she looked at the sun sparkling on the waves and the seagulls sunning themselves on top of them. It was a perfect scene, but she missed Danny; he would have loved it here on such a day as this.
He had been upset with her over her attitude to Alice’s plight, but he seemed all right now. The subject wasn’t mentioned after their disagreement, and she wasn’t about to raise it again. He had soon forgotten poor old Alice, anyway. Danny loved only her, he had actually said so the day before she left for Margate. He couldn’t wait for her to come back. As she was thinking about him, she became aware that someone was calling her name.
“Hey, wait, May! I want a word.”
She stopped and turned round to see Pete Farrell running towards her. What does he want? she wondered, annoyed that her reverie had been interrupted. She just wanted to be left alone to think about Danny.
“Goodness!” he said as he caught up with her. “You walk fast for a little ’un.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t aware I was walking that fast. My mind was elsewhere.”
“Just wanted to ask you something,” he said, when he had got his breath back. “Shall we go and have a cuppa at that café over there?”
May shrugged. “If you’d like. I mean, we serve it all day, but why not?”
When they were seated with their tea, she spooned in two sugars and stirred vigorously. “So, Pete, what do you want to talk to me about? Are you unhappy with my work? I’m sorry if I seem a bit distracted at the moment….”
He stopped her. “No, your work’s fine. I was wondering what’s the matter with Ali.”
Her again, thought May unkindly. But she knew Pete was stuck on her, and she felt sorry for him. “Why, do you think there is something the matter?” she said, stalling.
