The Mantle of God

by Caron Allan

  ‘What do you...?’

  ‘Do you think I have a backbone?’

  ‘Well, haven’t you?’ His uncle asked. It was William’s turn to sigh and shake his head. He said no more, so after a moment his uncle said, ‘Eleanor said something about a Miss Manderson.’

  William could feel himself blushing. His uncle laughed softly and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘So it’s all true! Well, I’m very glad to hear it, Bill, very glad. Is it too soon to offer my congratulations?’

  ‘Very much so. Her parents will never allow her to marry a mere policeman.’

  ‘You’re a mere policeman now, but who knows what’s to come...Well, well. So that’s why you’re so determined to stay in London.’ He clinked his glass against William’s. ‘To love.’

  William couldn’t help a wry laugh as he repeated the toast.

  His uncle said, ‘Manderson. Anything to do with Herbert Manderson?’

  William, surprised, nodded. Joe said, ‘I was at college with him. Nice fellow, bit of a bumbler, but nice. Not a bean to his name when he married that saucy little piece, I can tell you.’

  William almost choked on his drink on hearing Lavinia Manderson referred to in such terms. But his interest was definitely piqued. ‘No money?’

  ‘Not a bean...’

  ‘Interesting. What about her parents?’

  ‘Oh, dead against it, obviously. But she had enough backbone for the two of them, and refused to give him up.’ Joe cast a sly look at William. ‘Does this daughter have a backbone?’

  William smiled into his drink. ‘Oh yes. Enough for two, and to spare.’

  It had been agreed the whole family would attend the Easter Sunday service at the little church in the village nearby. If the weather was fine, they would walk the half mile, and if rain threatened, they would drive.

  He slept late, after a long dreamless sleep had claimed him, and when he awoke in a large, well-decorated room, in a large, comfortable bed, it took him some time to remember where he was.

  Yes, he thought, this was far better for Eleanor, and even for Edward, than the little rented house in London, with its threadbare carpets, thin, elderly blankets, and damp patches on the walls. At some point he would tell his uncle and aunt that he wanted to accept their offer, and see if he could come to some arrangement with them. He didn’t want the financial burden of caring for his siblings to fall completely on their shoulders.

  It rained the next morning, so they did in fact go to church in the car, their uncle driving them himself, as he did not keep a chauffeur. As they sat in the cool dimness of the little country church, waiting for the service to begin, Eleanor put her arm through his and whispered, ‘So, Bill, have you seen anything of Miss Manderson lately?’

  He smiled and nodded, but there was no time to tell her anything more. The vicar appeared, and summoned the congregation to stand and sing the first hymn. Eleanor squeezed his arm and smiled back, then raised her clear voice in song.

  With half his mind occupied in thinking about the robberies, Hardy felt more like an observer of the service than a participant. The vicar, in his special Easter robes, went through the service as laid down by the church many, many years before, speaking the words that had been spoken time and again by others before him, and that would, no doubt, issue forth the length and breadth of the country, all the preordained phrases falling upon the ears of the needy, the lost, the saved and the faithful. William thought about the rites and services the vicar performed.

  On the journey back to the house, his uncle said, ‘Can you believe that the Reverend Barker and I used to scrump apples together when we were lads? Many’s the time one or other of us got a good hiding for the scrapes and mischief we got into. Not that you’d know it to look at him now, in his grand vestments, looking so Godly and important. Amazing what a difference a dog-collar can make!’ For the second time, William thought about what Dottie had told him about the function of religious vestments.

  The next morning, the headlines in the newspapers on the breakfast table proclaimed, ‘Another dinner-party robbery in London: gunshots fired: one dead.’

  Hardy, white with fear, dropped his knife and ran for the telephone at once. Within an hour he was on his way back to London and Dottie Manderson.

  Chief Inspector Barrie bumped into him in the corridor at the police station the next morning. ‘Ah, the very fellow! Glad you’re back, and not before time. Look here Hardy, can you pick up those robberies again? There was another one two nights ago while you were away, you might have seen the news headlines. Unfortunately, I’ve just been told I’m being seconded to this political scandal. You know, the one involving the prime minister’s daughter and that foreign prince. Strictly hush-hush, you know the sort of thing. All the case notes are on my desk. If there’s anything else you need, just leave me a note, I’ll be in and out...’

  Hardy was struck by how pale she was, and there were deep circles beneath her eyes. If only he could put his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to do any of that in front of her parents or Sergeant Maple. He did the next best thing.

  ‘Please do sit down, Miss Manderson. I just need to ask you a few more questions, I’m afraid. I’ll try not to take too long about it. Would you like anything to drink? Perhaps Mrs Manderson wouldn’t mind if Sergeant Maple rang for some tea?’

  Dottie smiled, ‘You needn’t worry. I’m quite all right, though it’s been so awful. That poor young constable.’

  ‘In that case, let’s get started. I know you’ve already told Chief Inspector Barrie all this, but could you just tell me again, in your own words, what happened. And if any of you remember anything else, please feel free to add it in.’

  And so for the next hour and a half, she and her parents went back over the events of that night. He didn’t write anything down, he just listened. And Dottie remembered how, when he had first come to speak to her after the death of Archie Dunne back in November, she had found it so odd, even unprofessional, that he didn’t make notes. Now she knew it was just that he liked to pay full attention to what he was being told. Frank Maple made notes on Hardy’s behalf.

  She told him about the tattoo on the arm of the man who had held a gun on her. His eyes gleamed with triumph as she told him about it. She had the impression it was significant. She wondered if perhaps someone else had seen it at one of the other robberies? Then she told him about the make-up on Melville’s arm that she’d noticed at the disastrous tea party, and her theory that he used make-up to disguise the tattoo. She told him how some weeks before, when Melville had reached in front of her at the restaurant, she’d seen part of the tattoo then. Belatedly she realised he hadn’t known about the dinner with Melville, and he quirked an eyebrow at her, causing her to blush, but he said nothing.

  ‘So you believe it was Dr Melville who held the gun on you at your party?’

  ‘Yes, I’m convinced it was him.’

  ‘You’re absolutely certain?’

  ‘Yes, because of the tattoo, which I’d already seen before. And his eyes. And the accent. I recognised his voice when he spoke to me. And he tried to protect me from the other man by saying he thought I had been about to faint. I think he was afraid the other man might shoot me if he thought I’d recognised Melville.’

  ‘And was it Melville who shot the young policeman?’

  ‘No, it was one of the other men.’

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘I am. But I didn’t recognise any of them at all.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Manderson, you’ve been a great help. I appreciate you giving up your time to speak to me today. I’m so very sorry your party went so badly wrong.’ He got up to leave, shook hands with her father and practically bowed to her mother, then Dottie walked him and Maple out to the front door, though Maple made an excuse and hurried down to the kitchen, presumably to snatch a few minutes with Janet.

  Dottie put her hand on William’s arm. ‘I didn’t kiss
him.’

  He turned to look at her, the door was half-open, letting in a cold draught. ‘I’m sorry?’

  She bit her lip. ‘Melville. When he took me to dinner. I didn’t—I didn’t kiss him.’

  He smiled and leaned so close she thought he was going to kiss her. ‘Good,’ he said softly, and kissed her cheek. Then he ran down the steps and he was gone.

  Dottie smiled for almost the first time in the three days since she’d turned twenty years of age. ‘Good,’ she repeated.

  It was later that same day. During a visit to her sister and brother-in-law’s, Dottie came in slowly from the hall and sat down. Flora, now fully recovered from the robbery, and George exchanged a look. It seemed as though Dottie was in a dream.

  ‘Dottie?’ George said in his usual hearty way. ‘Anything wrong, dear?’

  She looked up, frowning, and shook her head. ‘No. But... well I’ve just had an interesting chat with Cissie. It’s just something she said...’ Her voice trailed off. In her head, mental jigsaw pieces were slotting together. Surely not? Surely...

  ‘What did ...?’ Flora began but Dottie held up her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, I must just pop down and see Cissie again. If I’m right, I think William might want to speak with her.’

  ‘Certainly, but...’ Flora’s words fell on deaf ears. Dottie was already out of the drawing room and heading down the back stairs to the kitchen. ‘I could have rung for Cissie, she needn’t have gone down there herself,’ she commented to her husband then went back to trying to unpick the row of knitting that had gone wrong.

  There was a light on in William Hardy’s house. The soft glow of it showed through the transom window above the front door as Dottie came up the steps and took hold of the heavy black-painted knocker. The sound of it was like the last trump awakening the dead for judgement.

  A moment later and the door was opened by the man himself, in his shirtsleeves and no tie. He looked both disconcerted and pleased to see her, but before he could invite her in, or utter any kind of greeting, she’d pushed past him and was halfway to the kitchen. By the time he’d shut the door and returned, she was already filling the kettle, her coat thrown over the back of one of the chairs.

  He watched her for a moment, standing leaning back against the dresser, his arms folded across his chest. His face wore an amused expression, though his eyes weren’t giving too much away.

  She set the kettle on the stove, wrestled with getting the stove to light, then cast about her for cups and spoons. For a well-born young lady, she had a practical bent he liked.

  ‘And you can take that smug expression off your face, for starters,’ she told him, trying hard not to laugh. ‘I’m not here to see you, I just need to tell you something relevant to your investigation.’

  She found the cups, and rinsed a teaspoon under the tap. Not finding a towel to dry it on, because he hadn’t remembered to wash any, she made use of the hem of her sleeve. She avoided looking at him as long as possible, but finally, there wasn’t anything else left to do. She turned large wondering eyes on him.

  ‘Come here,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t boss me about! Just because you’re a man, you think you can order me about. And anyway, I’m not coming over there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because if I do, you’ll kiss me, obviously. And I know how men get when a woman gets within kissing distance.’

  ‘And how is that, exactly?’

  She floundered. But she’d wrestled with enough amorous young men on the doorsteps of houses, the dimly-lit boxes of theatres, the dancefloors of hotels and restaurants of Britain to know she was right. ‘Well, you know. They get ‘all unnecessary’, as Janet would say.’

  He laughed then. ‘And Janet is probably an expert in that field after walking out with Frank Maple for the last six weeks or so.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if they did any actual walking out,’ Dottie grumbled, ‘And how Mother hasn’t caught them, I’ll never know. From what I can make out, they spend all their time indoors.’ She glared at the stove. Why didn’t that wretched kettle boil?

  He’d crossed the room without her hearing him. Standing behind her, he put his arms about her, and dropped his head to nuzzle her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed as her head tilted back to lean against him.

  A few moments later Hardy sighed. ‘Hmm, you’re right. I’m definitely feeling all unnecessary.’ With great reluctance, he let her go and went to sit down at the table, anything to put a little distance between them. Papers strewed the table’s surface; he had been going through all the statements yet again.

  She wasn’t sure whether she was glad or not by the distance he put between them. She probably ought not to have come in the first place, knowing they would be alone in the house together. The kettle finally boiled. The tea caddy yielded barely enough tea for their drinks. Dottie carried the cups over and set them down on the one small clear patch of the table-top. ‘Have you eaten?’ Since his mother had died and his sister had gone away to stay with their uncle, it was her constant concern that he was not eating properly.

  He had to think about it, which didn’t bode well. ‘Er, no, not as such.’

  ‘I knew it!’ She went to look in the pantry. From inside, her voice sounded hollow and echoing. ‘There’s nothing in here except two jars of jam and half a bag of flour. You haven’t even got any more tea! What on earth have you been living on?’

  He shrugged. Not that she could see that. She shut the door and came back, one hand on her hip, the other reaching for her coat. ‘Do you want to eat first or talk shop?’

  He hesitated. ‘Look, I can’t really...’

  ‘Good lord!’ she said, ‘I mean, everyone knows policemen are badly paid, but I had no idea it was this bad. I’ll take you out for dinner, and I will pay. You can swallow your male pride for once.’

  Common sense prevailed, and after a moment he nodded. ‘It’s just that there have been rather a lot of extra expenses of late. I’m not usually quite so...’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, keen to reassure him. ‘And it will get easier over time. You’ve only had your promotion a couple of months ago.’ She stared at him. He wasn’t sure what she meant by it. He stayed where he was, staring back at her. At length, her tone something between exasperation and amusement, she said, ‘Well, William, go and change your shirt and put on a jacket and tie. I’m not going out in public with you looking like that.’

  He did as he was told, running upstairs, filled with excitement. His second evening out with her! He felt embarrassed by the idea of her paying, but he had to admit she was right. He did need to eat, and he couldn’t afford it. But once things got back to normal—whatever that was—he could pay her back and take on his proper role as the breadwinner. It was only one dinner, after all, there was no need to make quite so much of it.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Dottie was writing out a shopping list. She would give it to Janet later, and make sure the items were obtained for him. He could come and collect them himself, that would give her the excuse of seeing him again. She’d need to remember to tell her mother he was coming to dinner the next evening.

  He was downstairs again ten minutes later, clean, tidy, hastily shaved and looking buoyant. It was a look she recognised, again from all the dinner dates and drinks parties she’d attended in the company of the opposite sex. It was the look of a male getting ready to take liberties. She smiled and shook her head. Men were so predictable. She had gathered up his papers into a neat pile. ‘Shall we bring these with us, or can I trust you to behave yourself if I come back with you after dinner?’

  ‘I promise to behave,’ he told her solemnly. ‘Scout’s honour.’

  She gave him a withering look. ‘You were never in the boy scouts.’

  They were still arguing about it as they walked into the little restaurant around the corner.

  They ate quickly and didn’t linger. Back in his kitchen, Dottie was ready to get down to business.
/>   ‘With all the guests invited to my party, we had to borrow Cissie and Greeley from Flora, you know, to help out.’

  He nodded, not really seeing where this was going.

  She came to sit beside him at the table. He felt comfortable with her so close, and when she leaned her head against his shoulder, it felt only natural to put his arm round her and hold her close to his side. He kissed her hair.

  ‘Pay attention!’ She swatted his knee. ‘This afternoon, at Flora’s for our baby-knitting group of two, I popped downstairs to the lavatory there, it’s really the one for the servants, but it’s a bit closer than going upstairs. And then Cissie told me that on the night of my party, just as we all went in to dinner, Mrs Gerard had asked her to direct her to it.

  ‘Mrs Gerard told Cissie that her knee was playing up, she has arthritis, you know. Mrs Gerard said she couldn’t manage the stairs, so she wanted to quickly pop to the servants’ lavatory which you probably don’t know is right next to the back door. Cissie said Mrs Gerard was most insistent that no one should know, as it embarrassed her to admit to feeling her age. Cissie said she didn’t say anything before because she felt sorry for the old lady. Actually, I saw her go out, and I guessed where she was going. She’s rather renowned for her untimely visits to the W.C.’

  If Dottie had held any doubts at all about either the relevance or the importance of this information, these were immediately dispelled by William leaping to his feet and rummaging through his heap of papers. After a minute he found what he was looking for; he pulled out a statement and began to read it through, his eyes scanning the lines rapidly until he found the right part.

  ‘Look at this,’ he said, and thrust the page at her, sitting beside her once more.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A witness statement. The guest was someone present at the dinner party of a Mr Gareth Smedley-Judd, at his home in Hitchin, Hertfordshire, a little more than six weeks ago.’

  ‘I’m assuming there was a robbery there too?’

  ‘There was.’

  ‘Any relation to Ian Smedley-Judd?’