“Come with me Frances,” said Pearce with an air of authority.
He got up from around his desk and ushered Lady Marmalade out of his office. He locked the door behind him. The air raid sirens usually gave at least five or more minutes to get to shelter. Frances followed Pearce as he jogged down the hall, meeting up with other members of Scotland Yard.
When everyone was out, a constable locked the door behind them. Scotland Yard was now locked down. Some had stayed behind, and would, until the last minute to take in any stragglers before disappearing into the underground shelters. Four constables were stationed outside and would wait to ensure that the streets were clear and everyone had found shelter.
Most of them, including Frances and Pearce made it to the nearest underground and shelter and waited. As they dashed inside, Frances looked up and noticed a flight of four spitfires zipping by at incredible speed, not terrible high above them.
“Go get them, boys,” she said, waving, not they saw her.
Another flight of spitfires followed shortly after as Frances and Pearce made their way into the underground shelter. They were packed into the station like sardines, but it was very orderly and the mood was calm but optimistic.
They found a small bench to sit on while the ebbing of the sirens continued and more people poured into the shelter from above.
“How are Ethel and the boys?” asked Frances, trying to make small talk.
Pearce looked around at the citizens of London all huddled together in this station as others were huddled in other underground stations around the city. His men were helping to keep order and find quieter areas for women and men with children.
“She’s fine, though she worries about me, as you can imagine. She’s with her sister up in Blairgowrie, not far from Dundee. The Germans don’t seem to get that far north, thanks to our flyboys. It’s also a smaller community and it’s safer for everyone concerned.”
Pearce put his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked around at the faces all huddled together. Some of the children were scared, you could see it. A few of the girls were crying and being consoled by mothers. Some of the men had long faces. It had been a long war, made longer by the poor start Britain had made at first. Though things were starting to edge in her favor.
“Nigel will be eleven on the twenty second. He’s very excited about his birthday, he hopes to be a pilot one day. We’ll see if that lasts. I’m hoping to make it out for his birthday if I can get the time.”
“I’ll make sure you get the time, Devlin,” said Frances. And she meant it too. Though Eric was no longer with her, she had kept up their friendship with the Commissioner. She would make sure he got the time to spend with his sons and wife.
Pearce looked at her and grinned.
“Do you always get what you want?”
“When it comes to helping my friends, usually.”
A young girl being dragged along by her mother walked by and then stopped just in front of Lady Marmalade. She was scruffy and her dress had a tear in it. Her face had a couple of dabs of dirt on her cheeks. She smiled at Frances. She clutched a bear to her face and chewed on its ear.
Frances smiled at her and dug into her handbag. She usually kept a few sweets in it just in case she might be able to hand out one or two to any children looking like they could use a sweetie. She found a packet of Rowntrees’ Juicy-Fruits and offered it to the little girl. She let go of her mother’s hand and pulled out a candy. The girl’s mother looked down and smiled, seeing Frances give the young one a candy.
Lady Marmalade lifted the packet up to the mother. She smiled for a moment and then shook her head sadly.
“No, thank you,” she said.
“Go on, you’ll like them,” said Frances, offering the packet up higher. The young women gave in and took one out of the bag.
“Thank you,” she said and looked down at her daughter. “What do you say, Beck?”
The young girl looked up shyly at Lady Marmalade, hiding her face behind her weather beaten bear. She closed her eyes and stuck the candy in the corner of her mouth.
“Thank you, ma’am,” she said.
“It’s my pleasure,” said Frances, smiling at the young girl.
“Why don’t you take them all, my dear,” said Frances offering the bag up to the young mother, who protested by putting her hand out.
“I couldn’t.”
“Please, share a little sweetness in this time of madness. There are lots more where these came from.”
“Are you sure?”
Frances nodded and the young woman took the packet of sweets from Frances, smiled a sad smile and then moved on farther down towards the end of the shelter. Frances watched them go, hoping that this war would end soon so that the young girl and those her age would have nothing much to remember it by except for distant memories and the kindness of strangers. Frances turned to Pearce.
“And how is Miles?”
Pearce looked up at her and his eyes sparkled and his face brightened just thinking of his family.
“He’s wonderful. He’ll be seven in August. Different to his brother, you know. He much prefers to play with his toy soldiers. Every time I have a chance to speak with him he tells me that we’re winning.”
Pearce looked off and the expression on his face changed to one of resignation. Frances put her hand on his forearm.
“I think we are, you know, Devlin, I think we are. Things are turning for the better this year. I’m sure we’re halfway through, if not better.”
Pearce looked at Frances through eyes covered with the mist of misgivings.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I most certainly am,” she said, patting his arm and looking off at all the faces gathered there in that shelter to take comfort from each other from the brewing storm. The storm of war, a storm that would never end quickly enough.
TEN
Chapter 10
THE air raid sirens had come and gone like unruly schoolchildren hauled back inside after the lunchtime bell. Frances had left Pearce at the underground shelter to help some of those who had momentarily lost children and loved ones.
Frances had gone back home to an empty house, except for Ginny and Alfred. Declan and Everard had long left. Declan to the family business and Everard, as Frances remembered, worked at Cambridge as a reader in antiquities. But that was earlier in the day.
It was now past lunchtime and Frances and Alfred were standing outside Dr. Kenyon Dankworth’s surgery offices. It was four p.m.; Alfred opened the door for Frances and they walked in.
“Good afternoon,” said the receptionist behind the front desk.
She was a bright and happy woman with red hair done up in a bun. She wore a modest amount of makeup that subdued her freckled face. She had the kindly look about her of a sister or young aunt.
“Hello, dear,” said Frances, “I’m here to see Dr. Dankworth. I telephoned earlier, and he should be expecting us. Lady Frances Marmalade and Mr. Alfred Donahue.”
“Yes, of course. Please have a seat my Lady and I’ll fetch him right away.”
The receptionist left her desk and entered through a door to the side of it, where she disappeared. Lady Marmalade and Alfred took a seat and waited. It wasn’t a long wait. The receptionist came back out followed by Dr. Kenyon Dankworth.
“Thank you, Peggy,” he said to her as she went back to her desk.
Dr. Dankworth looked to be in his late forties. His hair was jet black and one couldn’t tell if it was dyed or natural. Dr. Dankworth was tall at around six and a half feet, but he carried it proudly, no slumping shoulders or bowed back. His nose was sharp and pinched and his jaw square. He was ruggedly handsome with a high widow’s peak and thin hair that was combed back slickly. He had deep creases from his nose to the corners of his mouth.
He held out his hand as Frances and Alfred stood.
“How do you do, I’m Dr. Kenyon Dankworth.”
“Good day, doctor,” s
aid Lady Marmalade smiling sweetly, and shaking his hand. “I’m Lady Frances Marmalade. Please call me Frances.”
“Alfred Donahue,” as they too shook each others hands.
Frances couldn’t help but notice that Dr. Dankworth’s hands were soft and slender for such a big man. More like a pianist’s hands than a surgeon’s. Though how the two might differ she wasn’t quite sure. Dr. Dankworth didn’t smile. His tone was cordial but lacked warmth.
“Let’s talk in my office,” he said, as he led them through the door he had just recently exited. On their first right was a large spacious office with a buttoned leather couch against the far wall and two similarly buttoned leather chairs across from his desk. He walked around and sat himself down in his leather chair and reached for a silver cigarette tin.
He opened it up and offered cigarettes to both Frances and Alfred, and they both declined. Dr. Dankworth took one out and tapped it against the side of the case. He put it in his mouth and picked up a Ronson Grecian lighter which he lit it with. He inhaled deeply, pulled at what appeared to be imaginary tobacco on his lips and then pulled a glass ashtray towards him where he wiped whatever might have been on his fingers, off onto the lip.
He was bladed towards them and had his right forearm on his desk which held his cigarette, and was within reach of the ashtray. Frances couldn’t help but notice that the ashtray was empty. She wondered if he was just a casual smoker or whether he didn’t get much time in the day to take a cigarette break. The tin of cigarettes he offered was only two thirds full.
To Dr. Dankworth’s left was a large window that opened onto a small garden that held a variety of roses. The window was open and even against the tobacco smoke, Frances could smell the sweet rose perfume being nudged into the office by the gentle breeze.
“You mentioned you wanted to speak with me about Ms. Hollingsberry,” said Dr. Dankworth.
“Yes, I did. Firstly though, I would like to thank you for your time doctor, I know you must be a very busy man.”
He waved it off with his hand. The one that held the cigarette, and the smoke streaming from it jiggled like a belly dancer.
“Not at all. It’s not often I get to entertain a real Lady. But please, call me Kenyon.”
“Thank you, Kenyon.”
“What is it that I can help you with regarding Ms. Hollingsberry.”
He took a puff of his cigarette and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. He tapped the barely grown ash onto the ashtray where only a few flakes fell off.
“I don’t know if you’ve been told, but Madge has been receiving some threatening letters over the past several months.”
Frances stopped and looked at Dr. Dankworth. He took another puff on his cigarette and inhaled. He nodded and the smoke trailed out his nose like vapor.
“She has mentioned that, yes. She hasn’t shown them to me, perhaps because I felt indifferent to them.”
“I take them quite seriously.”
“Then the police should likely be involved,” he said matter of factly.
“I have met with Inspector Pearce just this morning and he’ll be looking into it. I’d rather uncover the culprit who has written these letters sooner rather than later.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they seem to threaten her very life, and I can’t overlook that. I won’t overlook it.”
“Understandably so.”
“Why are you indifferent to these threatening letters?”
“Because, Frances; Madge, if I might speak candidly, is a hypochondriac and she’s always complaining about something or someone. At least that has been my experience. So when she mentioned these horrible letters she had received, I suppose I patronized her about them and she didn’t bother to pursue it any further.”
“Well, as I said, I’m taking them quite seriously.”
“May I ask you, Frances, how you’ve come to be involved with this matter.”
Dr. Dankworth smoked his cigarette and tapped a more quantitative amount of ash into the ashtray. He blew the smoke at the tip of his cigarette, watching it glow angrily.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Kenyon, I didn’t introduce myself properly. I’m what you might call a part time sleuth. Sort of what Sherlock Holmes or Miss. Marple are, only I’m real.”
Dr. Dankworth looked up at Frances and raised his eyebrow.
“Fascinating. So, a sort-of-sleuth, then?”
Frances nodded. She watched him smoking, wondering how a man dedicated to medicine and healing would want to smoke cigarettes, which seemed to her like a bad idea if your goal was the best of health.
“I’m curious, Frances, if you don’t mind me inquiring. Why would a Lady want to interest herself in the miseries of others? I deal with death on a weekly basis, and it’s not my favorite part of my profession.”
“You’re quite right, it is difficult sometimes, dealing with human misery and cruelty. But my goal has always been to find justice for the victims, even if they are no longer with us to enjoy the justice. I feel it is my way to give back to society. And if I’m effective, which I usually am, then perhaps there is less incentive for the criminals to commit their crimes. So long as I’m on the case I believe that there is a greater chance of success in capturing and bringing to justice the rogues involved.”
Dr. Dankworth nodded inhaling a puff from his cigarette.
“I suppose you and I are in a similar profession of bringing healing, though perhaps yours is of the more spiritual variety.”
“That’s a good way of putting it.”
“How did you get involved in this sort of work originally?”
Frances looked down at her handbag in her lap. Her hands were folded over it neatly and she still wore her scarf from earlier in the day.
“A dear family friend was murdered many years ago and for the longest time I felt she hadn’t received justice, and I went on to prove that an innocent man had been sent to jail for the crime he didn’t commit. I managed to set him free and bring the real murderer to justice. I found that I was quite good at it.”
Frances smiled at him. Dr. Dankworth nodded slowly, not smiling, still wearing his poker face. He took a last puff from his cigarette and squashed it out. There was a quarter of it left which he bent over itself.
“Peggy!” he said, rather loudly.
It took Frances by surprise. His voice carried with great volume and authority that she hadn’t expected. To this point he was cordial and his voice was friendly enough, even if it was quiet. Peggy came into the room moments later. He held up the ashtray to her and she came over to Frances’ side of the desk and took it from him.
“Can you clear it out for me, please?”
“Yes, doctor.”
And just like that she left.
“I enjoy smoking, but I can’t stand the smell of dead tobacco once I’ve finished.”
Frances didn’t know what to say to that.
“I see.”
Dr. Dankworth swiveled his chair round so he was facing Frances and Alfred. He clasped his hands in front of him making a V of his arms, pointing towards Frances.
“What did these letters say?”
“All of them quoted Deuteronomy chapter 5 verse 9...”
“Thou shalt not bow down thyself unto them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me...”
Frances smiled and nodded her head.
“They don’t quote the scripture literally, but they do mentioned punishing the children for the sins of the father to the third and fourth generation. Are you a religious man, Kenyon?”
“Not particularly, but I was raised by a clergyman and his wife, and each year I was expected to read the bible from cover to cover. I managed to do that over twelve times. Some verses stick with you.”
“So you weren’t raised by your parents.”
Dr. Dankworth closed his eyes and lowered his head. He shook it
quickly, much like a dog might shake his head to wring the water from his coat.
“No, sorry, that came across incorrectly. My father was the clergyman and my mother his wife... of course,” Dr. Dankworth smiled quickly for the first time. “My father was a religious man. You could say I knew him more as a clergyman than as a father.”
Frances nodded.
“I understand. Not the warmest childhood then, I imagine?”
“That is a kind way to put it.”
“My father was no teddy bear, either,” said Alfred.
Dr. Dankworth looked over at the old man and nodded.
“Right, and you play the hand that life deals you. I’ve turned out all right, I’ve got a productive surgery and I’m content. You can’t ask for much more.”
“I think children should be able to ask for more and be given it. Kind and loving parents should be the minimum,” said Frances.
Dankworth looked up at Lady Marmalade then leaned back into his chair and put his hands on the top of his head.
“It’s a nice dream,” he said. “But not all of us get to live easy lives born with silver spoons in our mouths. My father, the clergyman, could only find work in Swansea, a rough town full of coal miners, whores and drunkards.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow at the strong words Dr. Dankworth was using. Frances didn’t bat an eyelid, she’d heard worse. She just shrugged.
“That’s just how it was. No soft pillows to catch my falls.”
“I thought I detected a slight Welsh accent,” said Frances.
“It comes out more when I’m angry,” said Dankworth.
“I’m sorry for the difficult childhood you had. Still doesn’t make it right.”
“I’m not. Made me who I am.”
Frances didn’t believe him. There was a bitter pill that still sat in the pit of his stomach like a hard stone. Some children can pass it, others, the more sensitive, and she felt that Dr. Dankworth was of those, never got over the trauma of childhood.
“I can quote you two other passages where the sins of our fathers are mentioned.”
Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 33
