A Fool and His Money

by Marina Pascoe

  Anne got up and made some tea. Her sisters had left a note propped up against the mirror saying they’d gone shopping and didn’t want to wake her. She had been awake and heard them go but didn’t feel like striking up a conversation with them. They meant well and they both loved her very much but, at the moment, she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. To the two older sisters, she had seemed to be so upset and tired over the last couple of days and they were growing more worried for her.

  Anne drew her dressing gown tighter and sipped her tea. She hadn’t eaten anything, couldn’t eat anything. She felt hungry but didn’t want anything. The last time she had felt like this was when her parents died – and Clicker had helped her to get over that a little. Now she was going through it all over again. As she watched the rain trickling down the caravan window, she saw someone hurrying across the grass. She looked closer. The woman was holding a raincoat over her head. As she watched, the figure disappeared from her sight. Seconds later there was a knock at the door. Anne rose and went to see who it was. As she opened the door, a gust of wind blew over a small vase on a nearby shelf. She pushed the door further and was surprised to see Molly James standing there. This was someone she liked less now than she had before.

  Molly seemed far from pleased to see Anne. She spoke first. ‘I was wondering if Betty or Joan were in?’

  ‘No. They’re not. What do you want?’

  ‘They said before just to look in if I needed anything.’

  The woman was holding a small jug.

  ‘Milk?’

  ‘If you can spare any – Edward hasn’t had a cup of tea yet. He’s going mad because I forgot to get milk yesterday.’

  ‘You’d better come in – I do have some.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The woman removed the coat from her head, shook it outside and came in. She looked uncomfortable and so did Anne, who worked quickly to fill the jug, spilling some of it onto the counter. Molly glanced around the small caravan, trying to avoid looking at the girl. The jug was filled and handed back.

  ‘Thanks – you’re very kind.’

  No reply was offered as the door was opened, and the woman hurried back out into the rain. Anne felt shaky and sat to finish her tea. She took a biscuit from the tin but after only a small bite threw it down on the table. She wished her sisters would hurry up. She didn’t like being alone here now.

  Bartlett and Boase finished putting everything back into their newly painted office, including Boase’s recently acquired swivel chair, which he ceremoniously placed behind his desk with a satisfied grin. Bartlett stared at him.

  ‘Are you just going to stare at it, or actually sit in it to do some work?’

  ‘Well, sir, much as I’d love to sit in my new chair, I was thinking about going back to the circus to see if I could speak to anyone else – I’m sure there’s something obvious we’ve missed. I need to know about Aitchinson. I’ve asked Penhaligon again if he can remember anything else but he says everything the man said to him, he wrote down. I thought, if it’s all right with you, I’d go up there and then go straight home – unless you need me to come back?’

  ‘Well, no, and I haven’t got any better ideas. I’ve got to go up and see Greet in a minute or two, so if you think you’ll be more use doing that, then you go ahead.’

  ‘Righto, sir. I’ll just finish this piece of cake and I’ll be on my way.’

  Boase didn’t go straight to the recreation ground. Instead he went into the town. He never took a proper break but he thought he’d have half an hour now so that he could collect a gift he’d reserved for Irene, just to remind her that he loved her. He walked through the streets until he came to Bendix and Hall, the jewellers in Arwenack Street. He entered and waited his turn. There was a rather stout woman in front of him.

  ‘Mr Bosustow – this is not up to the usual high quality service my husband and I have come to expect from you. Now, did I tell you that my husband bought this ring from Hatton Garden – that’s in London you know – especially for our fortieth wedding anniversary? That is tomorrow. I expected to have this alteration done by today and now you tell me it is not ready. I am very distressed, Mr Bosustow. Very distressed indeed.’

  Boase smiled and felt rather sorry as Mr Bosustow drew himself up to his full height of about five feet six inches and addressed the woman looming over him.

  ‘Mrs de Vere, in the first place, quite obviously, I know where Hatton Garden is. Madam, I am a jeweller. In the second place, I told you perfectly well that your ring would be altered and ready for collection tomorrow. May I have your receipt docket please?’

  Mrs de Vere rummaged through a voluminous handbag and presented the man with a yellow slip of paper. He unfolded it and held it up in front of her face and said merely one word.

  ‘Look.’

  Mrs de Vere did indeed look and now began to speak very quickly.

  ‘Well, of course, you see it’s your dreadful handwriting; shocking, that’s what it is.’

  ‘Maybe your eyesight is not what it used to be, madam. I also would not have told you to collect today as I only have two repair days each week. Now, if you would like to return tomorrow, you may collect your ring at nine o’clock, if that would suit?’

  Mrs de Vere was now reversing out of the shop and bumped into Boase who had been looking at some watches in a cabinet. He touched his hat. She made a small attempt at a curtsy and left the shop. Quentin Bosustow brushed the front of his coat and returned to his place behind the counter.

  ‘Good day, Mr Boase. How are you?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Bosustow, looks like you had your hands full there.’

  ‘Well, Mrs de Vere is a very good customer and has been for more years than I care to remember. However, she can be, shall we say, just a little trying.’

  Boase smiled.

  ‘Have you come to collect your necklace?’

  ‘Yes, please. This is really very kind of you.’

  ‘Well, my father-in-law started the practice of instalments and I could see no reason to discontinue. Not all of my customers have unlimited means and why should they be deprived of a little luxury?’

  ‘Quite, Mr Bosustow.’

  The jeweller unlocked a drawer underneath the counter and withdrew a small brown envelope. He laid the contents onto a blue velvet pad.

  ‘This is such a pretty necklace, Mr Boase. I just know your fiancée will be extremely happy with it. Are emeralds a favourite of hers?’

  ‘Well, she has green eyes …’

  ‘Oh, well then this will be just perfect. Wait a moment and I’ll put it in a box for you. How about a green one?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Bosustow.

  ‘Now, let me sign your receipt and you can be on your way.’

  The business concluded, Boase left the shop and headed towards the recreation ground, sporadically touching his pocket to make sure his precious cargo was still aboard.

  Having left the jeweller’s and wanting the most direct route to the recreation ground, Boase had walked up Swanpool Street, along Woodlane and was now going along Western Terrace. As he reached the Observatory he saw someone running along the pavement on the opposite side of the road. He looked again and recognised Anne Warner. She was crying. Boase crossed over and ran up to her.

  ‘Miss Warner? Anne – it’s me, Archie Boase. Are you all right, Anne?’

  Anne collapsed against the wall.

  ‘Oh, Constable Boase. Thank you. No, I’m not quite myself, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Where are you running to?

  ‘I was looking for my sisters. They went out without me and then Molly James came over for some milk because her husband was angry with her and my sisters haven’t come back and then Edward James came and just opened my door and walked in. He was really shouting at me saying I was rude to his wife – I think he must have been drinking and, oh! I hate that horrible circus. I’m so frightened. I want my friend Clicker back.’

  Anne stopped talking and began
to cry again. Boase put his arm around her.

  ‘Come on, I was just coming to your place. I’ll take you back. I’m sure your sisters will be back in a minute. Where have they gone?’

  ‘Shopping I think.’

  ‘Oh, well, there you are then. Just like my fiancée, Irene – she loves shopping. I’m sure they won’t be long though. Let’s cross here, shall we?’

  As they headed toward the Warner caravan, Betty and Joan were waiting outside. Boase pointed to them.

  ‘There you are, Anne. Told you they wouldn’t be long.’

  The two sisters took Anne and Boase into the caravan and Anne explained what had happened.

  ‘I think your sister’s still in shock – she needs a strong cup of tea.’

  ‘You’re right, Constable Boase. Will you join us?’

  Betty was filling the kettle.

  ‘No, thank you. I just wanted another look around here and then I’ve finished for the day.’

  ‘Will you catch whoever killed Clicker?’

  Anne was drying her eyes with a handkerchief.

  ‘We’ll do our very best, Anne. I promise you that. I should be going. If any of you hear any news, be sure to let me know, will you? ’Bye then.’

  Boase had another look around the site. There were very few people around and no one had anything to tell him that was new. He wondered why Anne had got so upset about Edward James but could see from the treatment of his wife that the man could be very intimidating. He went and knocked on the door of the Jameses’ caravan but there was no reply. Boase felt irritated – he wanted to see why this man was now bullying Anne. He wandered around a bit longer, petted the ponies which were tied up by the caravan and then took the decision to come back tomorrow with a better plan.

  Anne Warner couldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to wake her sisters, so she quietly got up and poured herself a glass of water. It wasn’t a particularly warm night, but Anne had been turning over and over in her bed, recent events rattling around inside her head and she had felt uncomfortably hot. She sat quietly beside the window and drew back the curtain. The moonlight lit up the inside of the small caravan. She finished two glasses of water but felt no better. It was as though she couldn’t breathe properly. As she went to put the empty glass in the sink, it fell from her hand with such a noise it seemed to echo loudly around the caravan. She began to pick up the biggest pieces and, as she did so, a light came on in the bedroom. The door opened and Betty stood there hastily wrapping her dressing gown around herself.

  ‘What’s happened, Anne? Why are you up at this hour?’

  ‘I … I couldn’t sleep and now I’ve broken a glass. I feel very hot and a little shaky.’

  ‘Let me feel your head, dear. Anne – you’re practically on fire.’

  The older Warner girl pushed open the door of the caravan and told Anne to sit on the step.

  ‘I’ll get you a cool flannel. Wait here.’

  Betty sat on the step with Anne for five minutes then, stifling a yawn, stood up.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted. Are you feeling any better now?’

  ‘I’ve cooled down a bit, thanks.’

  ‘I’m off to bed, Anne dear, it’s almost two. Are you coming?’

  ‘I think I’ll just sit here a little longer, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Of course, but don’t be too long; you look very tired. Goodnight, Anne.’

  ‘’Night, Betty.’

  Anne remained on the step, looking up at the bright moon and thinking about her dear old friend, Clicker. She thought about her parents and how much she missed them. As she was about to get up, she thought she heard a sound just across the grass. She listened. Nothing now. It must be her imagination; she was very tired, after all. As she rose, she saw a shadow darting across between the caravans opposite her own. It was clearly a person running swiftly. Anne stared harder then became afraid. After what had happened to Clicker, who knew what might happen next? She ran quickly inside the caravan and bolted the door.

  Chapter Six

  Edward James put the Falmouth Packet onto the table and picked up his knife and fork.

  ‘Have you read this, Molly? It says the police are looking for anyone who was near Hunter’s Path the night Clicker was killed. Well, they needn’t look at me, I wasn’t there. Blast it, Molly, do we have to have eggs every day? Why can’t we have a bit of bacon once in a while?’

  ‘Because bacon costs money and that doesn’t go far, that’s why. It looks like old man Martin isn’t going to pay us again – that’s twice now. Reckons, with the show off, he just can’t afford it and that the police won’t let us leave until they’re satisfied that no one here had anything to do with the murder.’

  ‘Well, we can’t go on, with no money. Have you got anything left from your father?’

  ‘About two pounds ten.’

  ‘Is that all – what the hell have you been doing with it?’

  Edward rose from his chair, knife in hand. Molly stepped back.

  ‘Stop it, Ed, you’re frightening me. I’ve been as careful as I can with the money – it’s not easy when there’s nothing coming in. Please sit down and eat your breakfast. Here you are, here’s a nice cup of tea.’

  Trembling, Molly put the cup on the table. She had never been afraid of anyone in her younger days but since she met her husband, well, he could be very frightening when he was in a temper. She shouldn’t have to be afraid. She took a little money from a jug under the sink.

  ‘Look, we haven’t completely run out of money – why don’t I go to the shop and get a nice bit of bacon for your breakfast tomorrow?’

  ‘Come here.’

  ‘What? What for?’

  ‘I said, come here.’

  She walked towards him and he pulled her onto his lap. He kissed her.

  ‘Stop it, Ed, don’t be silly let me go.’

  ‘I really love you, Molly. Why are you so on edge lately? You know I didn’t have anything to do with your father being killed, don’t you?’

  ‘Course I do. Now let me go to the shop. I shan’t be long.’

  Edward watched his wife through the window and sat back down to finish his breakfast.

  Bartlett called Constable Penhaligon into his office.

  ‘Penhaligon, is there any news of this Aitchinson character?’

  ‘I’m really sorry, sir, no there isn’t. We’ve tried everything we can think of.’

  The door opened and Boase walked in.

  ‘Morning, sir, morning, Penhaligon – am I interrupting something?’

  ‘No, come in, Boase. I was just asking Penhaligon about our mysterious Mr Aitchinson. Greet nearly had a stroke this morning shouting at me. He’s going too far but I suppose he has a point – Aitchinson is all we have to go on. No one saw anything near Hunter’s Path that night, there’s really no one else to ask. I’m stumped. Carry on, Penhaligon.’

  Bartlett turned back to Boase.

  ‘You any further forward on this, Boase?’

  Boase was laying open a large napkin on his desk to reveal two ham sandwiches. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  ‘BOASE!’

  ‘Sorry, sir, didn’t have time for breakfast. I went to the recreation ground last evening but nothing doing. Although I did see Anne Warner in a state running along Western Terrace. I had to take her back to the caravan. She was in a right panic.’

  ‘Did she say why?’

  ‘Well, I think it’s just the shock of everything. She’s quite a timid little creature and very young. I think it all got on top of her. I left her with her sisters, anyway. I don’t know what next, sir.’

  ‘Do you think this has all come from within the circus, or outside, Boase?’

  ‘If I’m honest, I do think it’s on the inside – but at the moment I can’t even tell you why.’

  ‘Well, your hunches are usually fairly reliable. We’re just going to have to go back again, and keep going back until this is sorted,
or before Greet has a heart attack.’

  ‘Want to go now, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Hurry up with that sandwich and we’ll be off, catch them nice and early. Get a car, will you, I’m shattered.’

  The two men knocked at a few caravans and spoke to some of the troupe but the story was just the same; Clicker was a lovely old man, why would anyone want to kill him? and no, they hadn’t seen anything or anyone suspicious.

  ‘I just don’t understand this, Boase. When someone is murdered in a little place like this, there’s always someone who knows something, however small. It’s not like when I was in London – that was a real big job, although I suppose there were more people closer together, all snooping.’

  Boase couldn’t help laughing at the vision he had conjured up, of lots of nosy Londoners all spying on each other.

  ‘Do you miss it, sir? Being in London?’

  ‘Some aspects I do, others not at all. The air is so clean and lovely here. But, of course, the most important thing, my Caroline. I think if we’d stayed in London she might not even still be here. Yes, I think she’d be gone by now with her illnesses. She’s so much better now and no error. Indeed, I’d do anything to see her well and she really loves it here, I can tell.’

  Bartlett lit his pipe and looked at Boase.

  ‘Did you hear what I just said?’

  His constable was staring into the distance.

  ‘Boase, what are you thinking about?’

  ‘We spoke to Howard Smith and his son, Gregory – the fire-eaters – didn’t we?’