by Pat Herbert
“Still, I expect she’ll be back soon, Mrs Aitch,” said Bernard with a grin, “she can’t seem to stay away.”
Nancy gave him an enigmatic smile. “I think that little cat will keep her away for a bit,” she said. “She’s been missing ’er cat what died last year, so she ’ad no one to rush ’ome to. ’Er ’ousekeeper runs the place like clockwork so she ’ad no worries about that. But now she’s got the cat, I think she’ll want to stay ’ome more and look after it.”
“How clever of you, Mrs Aitch,” said Bernard, as he made his way up the stairs to his study.
“I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” declared Nancy to his retreating back, before returning to her kitchen domain.
***
About an hour later, Robbie was in Bernard’s study pacing up and down. He looked worried.
“Do sit down, Robbie, you’ll wear the carpet out,” said Bernard from his chair by the fire. Beelzebub, seated at his feet, looked up, seeming to echo his master’s instruction. He didn’t appreciate these interruptions to his sleeping pattern.
“To tell you the truth, old boy, I don’t know what to do,” said Robbie, coming over to the opposite chair and sitting down on the edge of it, prepared to get up again any minute.
“Did you see Annie safely on her train?”
“Yes, yes.”
“And you made sure the cat was safe?”
“Yes, of course. The old girl and her familiar are safely on their way home, together with the entire contents of your kitchen larder.”
“Well, then, what’s the matter? Shall I ask Mrs Aitch to make some tea?”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Bernie. Tea! Always tea! You throw money at Lipton’s whenever there’s a crisis!”
“Sorry I spoke,” said Bernard, a bit miffed. “Look, if this is a crisis, can you tell me what sort of crisis it is?”
At this point Beelzebub got up, stretched and, with his tail pointing disdainfully up at the ceiling, made his feline way to the door and waited patiently for Bernard to open it and let him out. Bernard obliged and returned to his comfortable chair.
“Robbie, for the last time, what’s troubling you?”
“I’ve got to go to Stockwell, now.”
“Stockwell? Why Stockwell? What’s at Stockwell?” He thought if he said the name of the place often enough, he would begin to understand why Robbie needed to go there.
“I wish I knew.”
“For goodness sake, Robbie, I think you should have a drink even if it’s not eleven o’clock yet.” He got up to go to the cupboard for the Glenfiddich.
“No, better not, need my wits about me.”
“All right.” Bernard sat down again. He was at a loss what else to say to him.
“It’s this Alice Troy,” said Robbie suddenly.
“Have you seen the headline in the paper this morning? Looks like poor Drake won’t be getting a reprieve,” said Bernard.
“I know. Not sure I care about that, but Alice is plaguing the life out of me still. She’s there day and night, not so you can ever really see her, but she’s there all the same. Sometimes I almost think I see her, but it’s just a flash for an instant. I see the edge of her red dress disappearing around a corner, just out of the side of my eye. She never makes her presence clear to me. But it’s her all right.”
Bernard thought the Alice Troy business was beginning to unhinge him. How could he believe Howard Drake was guilty, when all the time he professed to being haunted by the girl’s ghost? Why would Alice be a restless spirit if they’d got the right man? She was trying to tell Robbie that he wasn’t the murderer, he was sure of it. She was pointing him in another direction, and apparently that direction was Stockwell.
“I think, Robbie, either you’re going mad or we have to go to Stockwell right now,” said Bernard with determination.
Robbie jumped up. “I’m not going mad, I really am not,” he insisted. “Are you sure you want to come with me?”
“Of course. Do you know where in Stockwell we should be going?”
“No, not yet. But Alice will be in the car with us and I’m sure she’ll get the message through to me somehow.”
***
Bernard wasn’t sure he liked the idea of sharing a car ride with a ghost. That was inviting an accident. He sat nervously beside Robbie as they drove towards their destination. “Is she sitting in the back, Robbie? I mean, she’s not on my lap, is she?”
Robbie gave one of his loud, short laughs. “She’s not anywhere, exactly. Just – just about.”
Bernard had no idea what his friend meant by ‘about’. Either she was there or she wasn’t. They drove in silence for a while, and as they drew into Stockwell, Robbie slowed down and stopped in a side street.
“What have we stopped for?” queried Bernard. He was worried that Alice Troy was seated on his lap, possibly giggling at him and tweaking his nose. He could imagine her doing that, given the kind of person she was, if the newspaper reports were anything to go by. Skittish, that was Alice. Probably had little, or no, respect for the cloth.
“I’m waiting for Alice to transmit her thought waves to me,” said Robbie. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Suddenly he started the engine and moved off.
“You know where to go?”
“Shut up, Bernie, I’m concentrating.”
He drove up and down several streets, apparently no clearer about his destination than he was before they set off. Bernard was beginning to think they were going to be spending the whole day driving around Stockwell when his friend suddenly pulled up outside of a run-down terraced house on the corner of Granville Road.
“Here we are,” said Robbie. “We’ve arrived. She wants us to come here.”
Bernard wound down his window and stared out at the building. It was one among a whole row of similar buildings, most of them in need of severe renovation. This particular one had been converted into several flats. There seemed to be no sign of life behind the dingy curtains. Probably the occupants were at work at this time of the day, or just out, glad to get away from the miserable place for a few hours.
Robbie got out of the car and walked to the gate. Staring at the front door, he could see three separate bells by the side of it.
He and Bernard walked up the path to take a closer look. The bells were named “Wells”, “Blowers” and “Graham”. Without hesitation, Robbie pressed the middle one, “Blowers”.
***
May stared at the two men standing on the doorstep. She had been dozing by the fire when the shrill ring of the bell had disturbed her into wakefulness. She saw the flash of red which told her Alice was in the room, but so far no books or ornaments had been disturbed. She was glad that someone had come to call on her, and hoped it was Pete Farrell with news of their next catering assignment. Two weeks without any work was beginning to get on her nerves.
She was disappointed at first when she saw Bernard and Robbie at the door. Then she felt a little scared. They weren’t about to rob or rape her, were they? They didn’t really look the type, but you never could tell. She saw that the younger one was wearing a clerical collar, and she felt reassured. Besides, now that she looked at him more closely, he had a nice, friendly, open face, with soulful brown eyes. A bit like Danny’s.
She decided to trust those eyes, and invited them in. It broke up the monotony, at least.
“Well?” she began, as both men stood nervously in the middle of the tiny living room. “What do you want?”
Robbie was the first to speak. “I don’t know how to put this, Miss….?”
“Stubbs, May Stubbs. But you can call me May.”
“May, you see, it’s about Alice Troy.”
“What?” May was shocked. She hadn’t associated her two respectable-looking visitors with someone like Alice. Suddenly, books started to fly off the shelf.
Robbie seemed unperturbed at this, but Bernard leapt up in amazement. “What’s all this? What’s going on?” he cried.
May shrugged. “Don’t worry, just ignore it. It’s only Alice. She always does that.”
“She seems a little angry with you, if I may say so,” said Robbie calmly.
Bernard, who watched in horror, as every book on the shelf landed on the floor, some perilously close to his feet, knew now, beyond any doubt, that Alice Troy was a very restless spirit indeed.
“Oh, she just wants to make a nuisance of herself,” said May seemingly unconcerned, lighting up a cigarette without offering the pack to her visitors. She blew smoke into the air and coughed.
“You knew her, then?” asked Robbie.
“I used to work with her. We were friends, sort of. But I didn’t like the way she treated men. She was pretty and she knew it. Got them slavering at her feet, she did.”
“Yes, it sort of came across at the trial – well, according to the newspaper reports,” said Robbie. “But have you any idea why she’s haunting you? You see, she’s haunting me, too.”
“Really?” May showed a sign of interest for the first time since they had arrived. “You knew her too, then? She made a fool of you, too?”
Robbie was indignant. “No, I never knew her. I think I disturbed her spirit at her grave and she’s been following me ever since. She led me here, to you.”
“But why should you have visited her grave if you didn’t know her?”
Robbie sighed, it seemed too convoluted a story to explain. “I have a psychic gift, dear,” he said. It seemed to be enough to satisfy her.
Bernard wondered where, if anywhere, this was leading. He was still feeling nervous, but at least Alice had stopped throwing books at him.
“Have you any idea, any idea at all, why Alice is so restless? And, particularly, why she should bring us to you?” Robbie was asking.
May fumbled for another cigarette and lit it with a trembling hand. “No, of course not,” she said, coughing as the nicotine invaded her lungs. “I must be same as you, psychic.”
12th July 1957: Catford
Howard Drake looked at the hastily scribbled note he’d received that morning from Alice Troy. Luckily his wife hadn’t seen it among the post, and he was able to pocket it surreptitiously while her back was turned. He was hoping that he had heard the last of Alice, as it had been several weeks since he had confronted her in her Catford bedsit. He had dared to think that maybe she had realised he wasn’t going to do what she wanted, and had decided to stick with Pete Farrell after all.
But the letter quickly disabused him of that hope. He read the none-too-polite words with dismay. She demanded, in no uncertain terms, that he come and see her that very day, otherwise she ‘wouldn’t answer for the consequences’.
He had no choice but to make a detour on his return from work that evening. It had been another glorious summer’s day, if a little too hot to work comfortably, especially since a senior clerk had pulled rank and robbed him of his electric fan. But now that the sun had finally set, the night air was warm and balmy and, if he hadn’t been on this unpleasant errand, he would have been enjoying his stroll along the quiet Catford streets. He had only visited this part of London once before, and had hoped never to visit it again.
He turned into MaryRuth Street where Alice’s bedsit was located on the corner. There were at least half a dozen bedsits besides her own, all contained within one not over-large terraced house. What a way to live, thought Howard. He could almost feel sorry for her, if he didn’t hate her so much.
Alice greeted him with a friendly smile which took him by surprise. He had expected her welcome to be anything but warm, judging by the tone of her letter.
“Hello, Alice, I got your letter,” he said, returning her smile nervously.
“I was wondering when you were going to put in an appearance again,” she said, the smile no longer in evidence. “Come in.”
The place was the same as he’d remembered it, and just as depressing. She looked even more like a neglected housewife than ever, having grown fatter, as was natural of course, but it still didn’t sit well on her. He could hardly recognise the vivacious young woman who had seduced him in Scarborough just a few months before.
“What do you want, Alice?” he said, trying not to sound antagonistic.
“I think I made that clear to you on your last visit. I was wondering how the divorce was coming along?”
“I think I made it clear to you that I have no intention of divorcing my wife. My offer to help financially is still open, but that’s all.”
“Financial help? I’m not going to have an abortion. It’s too late for that, anyway.”
“Look, I don’t want you to do anything you’re not happy with. And I’m prepared to help with maintenance. I earn a reasonable salary, so I can manage something each month. I mean, we needn’t go to court or anything, need we?”
He knew as soon as he had said the words that they were a mistake. She would think, rightly, that he wasn’t concerned about her at all. It was his own skin he wanted to save.
Alice’s face took on a crimson hue. “No, of course, we wouldn’t want to get the courts involved, would we? Much too public. It would all come out then what kind of a man you really are. I bet the bank where you work wouldn’t be too happy about it. They’d probably sack you, wouldn’t they?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t choose my words very carefully,” he said, trying to backtrack as fast as he could. “I only meant all that sort of thing would be too traumatic for you in your condition. We can settle it between ourselves, can’t we? Like civilised people?”
“So,” she said slowly, almost as if he hadn’t spoken, “am I to understand that you don’t intend to marry me?”
Howard sighed. “I don’t seem to be able to get through to you. I can’t marry you, my wife is having a baby too. You should marry Pete.”
“So that’s all you have to say to me, is it?” She looked grim.
“Yes, Alice, that’s all I have to say.”
“In that case, I’ve got no alternative.”
“I’m glad you’re seeing reason at last.”
“I’ll have no alternative but to let your employers know the situation.”
Howard was horrified. “You wouldn’t! You wouldn’t tell them!”
Alice just smiled. “What have I got to lose? You won’t marry me and you got me pregnant. I think your bosses will take a dim view of that.”
Howard thought that was an understatement. His immediate boss, Mike Jargross, had met Flora on several occasions, and he had danced with her at the staff Christmas party. Mike had been impressed with his wife and he knew he was in line for promotion soon, especially since congratulating him about his impending fatherhood. If Mike knew that that impending fatherhood extended to another woman as well, he might, as Alice said, ‘take a dim view of it’. He wouldn’t be the one to sack him, but he would certainly not oppose his sacking, which the higher echelons would insist upon. He couldn’t let that happen.
Perhaps he could lie to Alice, say he would get a divorce and marry her; it would buy him some time. But it went against his grain. And it wasn’t fair on her. Whatever way he looked at it, someone had got the girl pregnant, and the child was just as likely to be his as Pete’s. He decided to try another tack.
“I can see I’m wasting my time,” he said. “I don’t know what else to say to you. If you want to ruin my life, you’d better go ahead and do it. You’ve already ruined my marriage, getting me the sack will seem like a walk in the park after that.” He didn’t feel as sanguine as he sounded, but it threw Alice for a moment. She hadn’t expected him to react that way. She couldn’t understand it. Did he really want to run the risk of losing his job?
“Well, you can be sure I will. They’ll know all about what you get up to at their expense. When you should have been bonding with your colleagues and attending training seminars, you were frolicking with one of the waitresses. That’ll really put the cat among the pigeons. No promotion for you, old boy.”
Howard jus
t sighed and said nothing more. He looked at his watch. It was gone ten o’clock. He had phoned Flora from the telephone box just along the street before his visit, but she would be worried by now. He told her he had to work late, but it was a paper-thin excuse and no doubt she would have seen through it. He rarely worked this late. Perhaps she thought he was with his fancy woman which, in a way, he supposed he was.
“I can’t be bothered to argue with you anymore, Alice,” he said at last. “You do what you have to do. If you see sense and want my financial help, you know where to find me.”
With that, he left the flat and stomped down the stairs, nearly bumping into a rotund, elderly woman who appeared out of the flat on the floor below. He mumbled an apology and swept past her into the street.
“Some people!” she grumbled. “Got no manners, the young these days.”
***
Alice, meanwhile, sat and fumed. He had told her to do her worst, and it seemed as if he had meant it. Maybe the bank where he worked condoned that sort of thing, she thought. Turned a blind eye to it, blast them. But she thought, on balance, it was just bravado on his part. Anyway, the fight had gone out of her these days. Weeks and weeks of morning sickness had taken their toll. She had written the letter to him in a last ditch attempt to get him to marry her, and it had all come to nothing. She had had her last fight with Howard Drake. He could go to the devil for all she cared.
Sighing, she got up to make some cocoa but, as she did so, there was a ring at the doorbell. She grinned smugly as she turned off the gas under the milk saucepan. If it was Howard again, maybe she would tell him he had nothing more to fear from her, or maybe she wouldn’t.
But it wasn’t Howard returning with his tail between his legs; it was May.
“Hello,” she said, “what brings you here at this time of night?”
“I’ve just had another row with Danny about you,” said May. “I think we need to talk.”
“Come in, why don’t you,” said Alice. “Want some cocoa?”
“No thanks. I just want to know what you’re playing at. Is it for sympathy?”
Alice was puzzled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
