‘See you at the weddin’,’ said Ronnie.
‘You’ll see my dad as well, so don’t try to get off with me.’
‘Why not?’
‘’E’ll bash your face in,’ said Sally.
‘I still like you,’ grinned Ronnie, and went off whistling again.
Sally opened her packet and disclosed het bridesmaid’s present, a lovely chased silver bracelet. With it was a note from Sammy.
‘To Sally, my new sister. Lots of love, Sally love. Sammy.’
Susie’s bridal present was a gold bracelet, suitably engraved. Susie, on receipt of it, wondered if she could ask the lovely man to give Sally a job in one of the firm’s shops.
Annie was preparing for battle. Not of a noisy kind or of the kind where blood would flow. Nor of the kind that would spoil the wedding celebrations. The battlefield would be a quiet corner in the Institute. Will wouldn’t finish up actually wounded, but he might have a headache as well as an earache. She’d let him know she wasn’t going to be kissed like he’d kissed her and then be expected to listen to him more or less saying that the most she could look forward to was a picture postcard from somewhere in India. Just you wait, Will Brown.
Will was preparing to enjoy the wedding as much as he could, without having any idea of what was going to hit him. Aside from that, Dr McManus had asked him this morning if Annie used scent. Scent? Yes, you could be allergic to scent. That could have brought on your attack after you left her on Sunday night. I don’t think Annie uses scent, said Will, but Susie does. Not every scent need affect you, said Dr McManus. I’m a case for the dustbin if any scent at all affects me, said Will.
The evening being sunny, Boots and Emily took a walk. Tim and Rosie went with them, except that Rosie took Tim by the hand and made him walk with her in advance of their parents.
‘What you doing this for?’ asked Tim.
‘So that Mum and Dad can have lovey-dovey Easter talk,’ said Rosie.
‘What, about choc’late Easter eggs?’ asked Tim hopefully.
‘Crikey, what a clever boy,’ said Rosie, ‘fancy guessing right.’ She was sure, however, that Boots was going to talk to Emily about her being too thin.
Emily was saying, ‘Boots, I’m goin’ to see Dr McManus. Dr Thompson said I could if I want, he said a second opinion might help.’
‘Good idea,’ said Boots.
‘I don’t want to end up as a collection of walkin’ bones,’ said Emily.
‘You’d rattle,’ said Boots lightly. It was one way of bringing a smile to her face, making little jokes. She didn’t like anyone being a wet blanket about her condition. Wet blankets had never been a great favourite with Emily.
She was smiling as she said, ‘Stop tryin’ to make me laugh, I might come apart.’
‘Not you, Em, you’ll always soldier on.’
‘Bless yer,’ said Emily. ‘Look at our Rosie, she’s always so nice with Tim. Aren’t we lucky, all of us havin’ each other? Is Polly Simms goin’ to write to you?’
‘Hello, where did that question come from?’ asked Boots.
‘From all me suspicions that she’s only gone to darkest Africa so’s she can play hard to get,’ said Emily.
‘Silly girl,’ said Boots.
‘Who, me?’
‘Yes, you,’ said Boots, and put an arm around her waist.
Rosie, glancing back, smiled.
‘There, I told you,’ she said to Tim, who was trying out a hop, skip and jump way of getting along. ‘They’re having lovey-dovey.’
‘I like choc’late Easter eggs better,’ said four-year-old Tim.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THERE WAS NO day off on Good Friday for some workers, including Henry Brannigan. And of all the cursed luck, he trod on a line on his way to work. Coming out of a baker’s shop, where he’d bought a couple of hot cross buns to eat with his can of mid-morning tea, he stepped aside for two women. If things hadn’t changed a bit for him, he’d have stood his ground or barged his way between them. But his companionship with Madge had been making him act like a gent. He’d been stepping aside, although always with an eye for the lines. This time he did it without taking heed. He actually had a careless moment. Immediately, he knew a line was under the sole of his boot. He knew it. He looked down. Curse it, there it was, his right boot on a line. He had to start watching out for bad luck from then on.
The works manager arrived on the site at twenty to twelve. He spent ten minutes inspecting progress, then demoted the foreman on the spot. He cast his eyes around, then spoke.
‘Brannigan, come here.’
This is it, thought Henry Brannigan, the bleeding bad luck’s caught up with me already, and I’m going to lose a well-paid job. And that means giving Madge the push from the flat.
‘What’s the trouble, guv?’ he asked.
‘The gang’s not pulling its weight, that’s the trouble, Brannigan,’ said the works manager. ‘Your bloody foreman’s useless.’
‘Maybe he is,’ said Henry Brannigan, ‘but I ain’t.’
‘I grant that. How’d you get on with the rest of the men?’
‘I don’t spend time socializin’ with any of ’em, I’ve got me work to do.’
‘Right. You’re the foreman at ten more bob a week. But you’ll be out on your neck if you don’t get the right amount of work out of them. That clear?’
‘That’s clear, guv.’ Henry Brannigan gave no indication of how astounded he was.
‘Right. Inform your gang and get ’em working. That includes Duffy, who’s just lost the foreman’s job.’
Henry Brannigan got the men working and the ex-foreman too, the while wondering if fateful bad luck was going to come chasing after good luck. Bad luck could arrive in the form of a pickaxe being accidentally dropped on his head by one of the men.
Madge spent the day helping at the orphanage with her friend, taking with her six pounds of bull’s-eyes, which she had made up into little packets of five sweets each. She was allowed to give them out to the girls and boys, and was able to talk to the nine-year-old girl, Lucy Peters, who had taken her fancy. Lucy was pathetically eager to have a family adopt her. It did happen from time to time, one child or another being given a home, and they were nearly always the younger children.
‘Where’s that scatty girl got to?’ grumbled Freddy, and went out to the gate to have another look for her. Will had taken Sally and Susie for a tram ride all the way to Purley, to help calm the nerves of tomorrow’s bride and bridesmaid. But we’ve got things to do, Susie had said. No, you haven’t, said Will, everything’s organized, and the pair of you are only trying to find something that isn’t. So at two o’clock, the three of them left, by which time young Cassie was late. She’d said she’d come round at a quarter to two and go to Ruskin Park again on his bike. She’d bring Tabby, she said. You won’t, said Freddy. Cassie said perhaps his mum would mind him again then. Mum and Dad’s going for a walk, said Freddy. Oh, I’ll bring his piece of string, said Cassie, and they can take him with them. Freddy ordered her to leave the daft cat at home. Oh, all right, I’ll see, said Cassie.
It was now a quarter to three, and Freddy was by himself, his mum and dad out on their walk. So he rode round to Cassie’s house in Blackwood Street, although he knew he might miss her if she was on her way, because she could wander dreamily in all directions before arriving in Caulfield Place.
There was no answer. Mr Ford had taken Annie, Nellie and Charlie for a bus ride to Hyde Park, the day being warm and fine, the April breeze quite balmy. Freddy started to ride around the back streets in a search for his wandering mate. He rode everywhere he could think of, stopping once or twice to ask kids if they’d seen Cassie Ford. Who’s she? He described her. No, we ain’t seen her. He kept going back home during his tour of the streets, but there was no Cassie, and his parents were still out. They were actually in the house of neighbours in Browning Street, having been invited in for a cup of tea and a bit of a chat.
By half
-past four, Freddy was frankly a worried lad. Cassie wasn’t so daft as to lose herself. He rode again to Blackwood Street, but she wasn’t at home, nor was anyone else. He asked a girl if she’d seen Cassie Ford.
‘Yes, I seen ’er come out of ’er house ages ago,’ said the girl.
‘D’yer know what time it was?’ asked Freddy.
‘Well, I might if I ’ad a watch, but I ain’t. It was just ages ago.’
That really worried Freddy. Again he searched around, and again he went back home. Nobody was there. So he rode to Rodney Road police station and told the desk sergeant all about Cassie and how she was missing.
‘If you’re havin’ us on, me tad, you’re for it,’ said the desk sergeant.
‘Course I ain’t ’aving you on,’ said Freddy. ‘She was comin’ round to our ’ouse at quarter to two, an’ look at yer clock, it’s gone five.’
‘Where’s her fam’ly?’
‘I dunno,’ said Freddy, ‘except they ain’t in.’
‘Well, she’s probably with them.’
‘No, she ain’t,’ said Freddy, ‘if she’d gone with them she’d ’ave come an’ told me first. She’s me mate.’
‘What’s her name again?’
‘Cassie Ford.’
‘And her fam’ly live where?’
‘Ten Blackwood Street,’ said Freddy. He described Cassie and gave her age.
The police sergeant alerted himself then. Missing girls. Scotland Yard.
‘Right, Freddy Brown, you’re a bright lad, after all. We’ll get someone round to her house immediate.’
‘But there’s no-one there.’
‘There might be now, Freddy, and we’d like to talk to her fam’ly. They might know where she went if she didn’t go with them.’
‘But she was comin’ to see me, I told yer,’ said Freddy.
‘She might have changed her mind. Now don’t you worry, we’ll see to it. You keep searchin’, like you have been and come and tell us if you find her. Will you do that?’
‘All right,’ said Freddy.
‘Good lad.’
Freddy rode back home. A taxi passed him as he turned into Caulfield Place. He was in hope that Cassie would be at his gate. She wasn’t, but the taxi pulled up outside it. Freddy rode up. Out stepped a man he knew, a man he liked. It was Sammy’s eldest brother, Boots. His daughter Rosie followed him out of the taxi. Father and daughter were both laden with gift parcels.
‘Hello, Freddy,’ said Boots, and asked the cabbie to wait.
‘I got yer, guv,’ said the cabbie, and kept his clock ticking.
‘Hello, Freddy,’ said Rosie. They’d met once. They were going to be loosely related. ‘We come bearing gifts, don’t we, Daddy?’
‘Wedding gifts from various members of the family,’ said Boots.
‘Ev’ryone’s out except me,’ said Freddy.
‘Well, we’ll load them on to you,’ said Boots.
Freddy led the way into the house, and Boots and Rosie placed the gifts on the parlour table. The parlour was awash with wedding presents.
‘Mister Adams—’ Freddy hesitated.
‘What’s up, Freddy?’ Boots liked the boy.
‘It’s Cassie.’
‘Who’s Cassie?’
Freddy rushed into words. Boots eyed him searchingly. Rosie looked concerned.
‘If you’ve been to the police, Freddy,’ said Boots, ‘how can I help?’
‘I dunno, Mister Adams, honest I don’t,’ said Freddy, ‘except I think – well, I think – Mister Adams, I dunno what I think.’ What he actually thought was that Boots was the kind of bloke he needed at the moment.
‘Daddy, you’ve got to help look,’ said Rosie, ‘we can’t just leave Freddy here on his own. He’s Susie’s brother. Well, Aunt Susie’s, I suppose. I mean my aunt from tomorrow. Daddy, buck up.’
‘Come on, Freddy, we’ll use the taxi,’ said Boots, ‘we’ll eat up the streets with that.’
‘Yes, come on, Freddy,’ said Rosie, ‘let’s all buck up.’
Thirty minutes later, they were still riding around in the taxi. They’d been first to Cassie’s house, where there was still no-one home. Boots thought that just as well in one way, for the hope was that Cassie could be found before her family were sent into a state of alarm. He had his mind on the murdered girl and the missing girls. And he didn’t doubt that Cassie was somewhere in this area, whether she was lost or someone had her.
He asked the cabbie to head for the police station. Once there, he spoke to the desk sergeant, who said he had men out searching, men who were making regular calls at Blackwood Street. Boots asked to use the phone. He had a quiet authority. He phoned home. Chinese Lady answered. He explained what he was doing and that he and Rosie would be late back. Chinese Lady said she didn’t mind what time he and Rosie got back, that Emily wouldn’t mind either, as long as he found the girl.
‘You got a tickin’ meter, guv,’ said the cabbie, as he re-entered the taxi.
‘Never mind that,’ said Boots.
‘I’m with yer all the way,’ said the cabbie, who knew what the search was all about now. ‘Let’s get goin’, eh?’
They set off again, the cabbie pulling up whenever required to, so that Boots or Freddy could get out and ask the relevant questions of people. They widened the search, then headed back towards Browning Street. Freddy shouted.
‘It’s ’er cat! Look! Mister Adams, look!’
Tabby was whisking away down the shabby street, the street in which sagging timber gates guarded the entrance to a destroyed factory.
‘Pull up,’ said Boots.
The taxi came to a stop outside the gates.
‘Mister Adams, the cat, it came out through the gates!’ shouted Freddy. ‘I saw it!’
Tabby was disappearing fast. A moment later the street was deserted except for the taxi. The derelict ruin of the factory brooded in the evening light of Good Friday, a day given over to religious rites. Boots alighted, followed by Freddy and Rosie.
‘Mister Adams, there’s a place in there where Cassie might be, honest there is,’ said Freddy, and told Boots of the time he’d been here with her, looking for her cat, and how he’d found it in what was left of the factory. He said there was a room that looked as if it was sometimes used by a night watchman. It had a bed, a table and cupboards.
‘Right, Freddy, we’ll go in,’ said Boots.
‘I’ll come with yer, guv,’ said the cabbie. He switched off his meter and climbed out.
‘All right, troops,’ said Boots, ‘it’s the first lead we’ve had, so let’s see what we can make of it. Perhaps Cassie got herself locked in.’
Freddy thought what a great bloke he was, and as calm as you like. He’d been a sergeant in the war. Freddy reckoned he ought to have been a general.
Boots squeezed his way through the gap in the gates and brought Rosie through after him. Freddy and the cabbie followed. Boots saw the standing section. It looked gaunt and forlorn. He led the way around the mounds of brick and rubble. Feet made crunching noises. They reached the barred and padlocked door. Boarded windows stared blankly. Freddy shouted.
‘Cassie? Cassie? You there, Cassie?’ He banged on the door with his fist. They listened. There was no response, not a single sound. Boots examined the padlock and the stout metal bar.
‘Anything in your taxi that might help?’ he asked the cabbie.
‘I reckon there is,’ said the cabbie, and returned to his taxi at speed.
‘Daddy, could she be in there?’ asked Rosie, hopeful but uncertain.
‘We’ll see, kitten,’ said Boots, thinking that if the girl was inside or had been, then she hadn’t got in by herself. The padlock was evidence of that. Apart from his set mouth, he hid his feelings, which were all to do with a murdered and buried girl, and what might have happened to Freddy’s young friend, Cassie.
The cabbie returned with a wrench. Boots took it and used it to savage the bar and burst it from its timber bed. That allowed
him to open the door. Silent gloom seemed to actually stare at him.
‘It’s upstairs, the room,’ said Freddy. Boots went in. He turned.
‘Rosie, stay there,’ he said.
‘But, Daddy—’
‘Stay.’
‘Yes, all right,’ said Rosie. She wasn’t afraid, not while he was present, but there was no way she would go against him.
‘I’ll stay with ’er, guv,’ said the cabbie, ‘you just holler if you need me.’ But he knew, as Boots knew, that the only person who could possibly be inside this standing section was a girl who had been locked in. A girl who might or might not be alive.
‘Come on, Freddy,’ said Boots. The lad plainly was not going to stand and wait himself. Boots, however, did not let him lead the way. If there was only a body to be discovered, he was not going to let Freddy see it. He walked through the passage, stopping to open doors on either side.
‘No, it’s up the stairs, Mister Adams,’ breathed Freddy.
‘It’s as well to take a look down here first,’ said Boots. Reaching the wooden stairs in the gloom, he began to climb them, Freddy behind him. The stairs did not creak, but the landing did, just a little. Boots halted, the silence a lonely and discouraging one.
‘It’s that door,’ said Freddy pointing.
‘Right, Freddy, guard the other doors.’
‘Guard ’em?’ Freddy wanted to rush into that certain room. Boots wasn’t going to let him.
‘Just in case,’ he said. He advanced, turned the handle of the door in question and quietly opened it. And there she was, a girl, a young girl, on a truckle bed, untidy blankets beneath her. She was seemingly asleep. Freddy deserted his post. He had to look. He appeared at the open door as Boots entered the room. He gave a yelp of joyful relief.
‘That’s ’er, Mister Adams, that’s Cassie!’
‘Stay there, Freddy.’ Boots moved to the bed. The girl, was she asleep or dead? He went down on one knee and gently turned her head. He looked down into her face. Cassie sighed, but her eyes remained closed. Well, praise be to God, thought Boots, and the steel inside him became less cold and rigid. Freddy appeared beside him.
‘’Elp, she’s asleep,’ he said.
On Mother Brown's Doorstep Page 25
