Rags, Bones and Donkey Stones (Sequel)

by B A Lightfoot

  ‘No, no. One will do, thank you.’

  ‘Was Mr Molineaux in love with this singing canary?’ Amy asked, immune to the hurt that her enquiry might engender.

  ‘Salford Canary, Ames, not singing canary,’ Pippin corrected.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I mean. Did Mr Molineaux go a bit head-over-heels sort of thing?’

  Mrs Frobisher’s head bowed and she fiddled with a protruding piece of cane on the handle of her wicker basket. ‘I suppose that he must have been totally infatuated by her. She led him along and he was very gullible. He never realised that she was just using him. He had good connections in the theatre and his family were very well placed down south. That evil woman just got what she wanted then left him without even a by your leave. He… he couldn’t cope with it.’

  ‘Hope that you don’t mind me asking, Mrs Frobisher,’ Pippin said, ‘but why did he stay in Salford after that? Could he not have just gone back to his mother’s house?’

  ‘He went off the rails. Drinking a lot and using laudanum. He finished up in Prestwich mental institute for five years. His mother died whilst he was in there and his father disowned him. What else could the poor man do? Perhaps in Salford he could embrace his pain. The people at the Hippodrome were very kind and helped him a lot and he gradually pieced together some kind of life for himself.’

  ‘Do you still love him, Mrs Frobisher?’ Amy asked. A slight tremor in the shoulders betrayed the lady’s surprise and she fiddled with her purse.

  ‘I used to play the piano for a living, my dear,’ Mrs Frobisher eventually said. ‘I learned to channel my emotions into my music.’

  Chapter 20

  There was a brief rap on the front door as the handle turned. ‘It’s only me,’ Liam announced.

  ‘It’s only us,’ Bridget corrected him. Edward looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was twenty minutes yet before they had arranged to meet but he was grateful for the distraction of his friend. Pippin had spent the morning wearing an irritatingly smug smile and could barely contain her excitement as the time approached for their meeting. Her mother’s temper had become increasingly frayed as Pippin refused to disclose the cause of her animation. Whilst their daughter had accompanied her younger siblings to the children’s morning service at Salford Central, both he and Laura had questioned their eldest son, Edward, in the hope of gleaning some information, but to no avail.

  ‘I’ll go and mash the tea,’ Laura said. ‘Liam’s always ready for a brew.’

  ‘Alright, love,’ Edward said. ‘Don’t wind it for too long.’

  ‘And one for me as well, please,’ Bridget said as she emerged through the door. ‘It is getting bitterly cold out there. The tram conductors are out with their smudge lamps, the fog is getting so thick.’

  ‘It’s real brass monkey weather,’ Liam exclaimed as he walked into the room. ‘Alright, mate?’ he said, clapping Edward on the shoulder. ‘Chuck a bit more coke on the fire to warm us up or I’ll need a drop of whisky in my tea.’

  ‘You’ve more chance of the coke on the fire than the whisky in your stomach,’ Edward laughed. ‘If the weather is that bad, I don’t suppose anybody else will come.’

  ‘No, it’s asking a bit much for something that is neither here nor there. I’ve got nothing to add to what I said last time. I don’t think any of us knows who this Salford Canary woman is and I am sure that she is nothing to do with me. Has anybody else come up with anything?’

  ‘Well, I know that the girls went to see Granny Higgins last week so they’ll have an interesting story to tell there. And Pippin has been behaving like the cat that found the cream all morning, so maybe she has some new information.’

  ‘It’s probably more to do with boys than canaries,’ Laura observed drily from the kitchen.

  A loud clattering on the stairs heralded the breathless approach of Pippin. ‘Quick, they’re coming. Tidy up quick.’

  ‘Calm down, love,’ Laura said. ‘Who’s coming? And why are you getting so worked up about it?’

  ‘It’s Amy and Billy Murphy coming down the street. And behind them I saw Callum with that posh girl that he is going out with.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Laura groaned. ‘Brig, will you clear the table for me? There’s a clean tablecloth in that top drawer, over there. Ed, could you get the Sunday irons out. Ben blackleaded them yesterday and I meant to put them out.’

  Edward took the poker out of the fireplace and replaced it with the set that was stored under the sideboard. Bridget cleared the table and Laura went to the cupboard and took out two Staffordshire pot dogs that she quickly wiped with a pot towel and carefully placed one at each end of the mantelpiece. She then bent forward at the side of Edward’s chair, picked up his chipped pint mug and passed it to Pippin, instructing her to remove it to the kitchen and to give the china tea set a quick wipe out. As Edward leant forward to protest at the loss of his unfinished beverage, she whipped the antimacassar from behind his head, dragged some drying clothes from the rack above the table and stuffed them all into the middle drawer below the large, built-in cupboard.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Craigie, it’s me.’ A damp but cheerful Amy came into the room with Liam’s son, Billy, followed seconds later by Callum holding the arm of the slightly apprehensive Jean Peterson.

  ‘I’m sorry to surprise you with an extra guest,’ Callum apologised, ‘but we have just been to a meeting and they have cancelled the buses up to the Height because of the fog. I thought that if I bring Jean with me here the buses might be running later, or else I will walk home with her. I didn’t want her walking by herself in this weather. Oh, by the way, this is Jean, Jean, this is Mrs Craigie, Edward, Bridget and Liam, Pippin, Amy and Billy Murphy.’

  Edward got to his feet and took Jean’s hand that she had now extracted from her chinchilla fur muffler. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, shaking it gently as though holding a delicate porcelain moulding.

  ‘And you as well, Mr Craigie. I have heard so much about you all that I have been longing to meet you. I hope that you don’t mind me joining your little group. Callum has told me about this mysterious painting. It all sounds so thrilling. You must feel like detectives unravelling some deep, hidden secrets.’

  ‘Aye, well, I think our Pippin might have something interesting to tell us,’ Edward said, easing himself back into his seat. ‘That’s if she can ever manage to get that silly grin off her face and get her mouth working again.’

  ‘Dad,’ Pippin said, adopting an expression of haughty reprimand. ‘There is nothing wrong with my face. I was just saving myself until Ames was here.’

  Jean shook hands with the others, energising the room with her smile and her spontaneous comments. ‘This is just so exciting,’ she told Pippin. ‘Are you going to shock us with your revelations?’

  Laura touched Jean’s arm and guided her towards the table. ‘Come on in and make yourself at home. Sorry about the mess,’ she apologised, removing Edward’s Sunday newspaper, opened at the sports page, along with two comics from an upright dining chair. ‘We have only just got the others off to Sunday School. Give your coat to Edward and he will hang it by the back door for you. I’m Laura, by the way. No need to stand on ceremony. You sit down there by the table and I’ll get you a cup of tea.’

  Edward stifled a cough as he raised himself out of his chair again and took Jean’s coat. He smelt a faint tangy perfume as she thanked him and he asked her if he should take her hat. She smiled and said that she would just put it on the table, thank you, and, yes, she would be warm enough sitting there and that it was lovely of them to let her stay and that it was lucky, in a way, that the weather had turned so bad because otherwise Callum would never have invited her. Edward explained that it was good that it had worked out like that because, if her visit had been planned, they would have spent two weeks getting ready and he might have had to redecorate. Jean touched his arm and said that she wouldn’t deserve such special treatment and that it was so much nicer that it had been spontaneous.
Liam edged alongside Edward and asked if she would like a woolly blanket over her legs if she was going to be sat near that door, which she declined and said that she would be fine. Liam wondered whether Laura might just have a spot of brandy in the cupboard if she would like some in her tea and that he hoped that she wouldn’t be too bored because it was just a bit of a silly story. Jean touched Liam’s hand and said thank you but she would probably collapse in an embarrassing heap on the floor if she had some brandy and that it was really her privilege to meet such real heroes.

  ‘Come on you two, don’t just stand there gawping,’ Laura said, putting down a tray carrying their best china tea service. ‘Let our guest enjoy a nice cup of tea in peace.’ She spread five cups and saucers round the table then put the milk jug and sugar bowl in the centre. ‘The girls are having some ginger beer and I have left my cup in the kitchen while I’m doing a bit of sorting out.’ Edward put the spoons on the saucers, realising that, although there were six cups in the set, one had a chip in the side where young Ben had caught it on the tap.

  ‘Right, everybody, should we start now,’ Pippin shouted. ‘We have just loads of things to tell you.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, love,’ her mother shouted from the kitchen. ‘I don’t want to miss anything. I won’t be a minute.’ She emerged, seconds later, carrying a plate of jam tarts and butterfly buns. ‘Right, you can carry on now.’

  Amy asked Liam for the picture and propped it against the Westminster chimer in the middle of the mantelpiece. Jean looked at it inquisitively, a puzzled frown crossing her forehead. The girls briefly recapped on how the picture had first been found in some clothes donated by Nellie Grimshaw. Liam shifted uncomfortably at the disclosure to their eminent guest of his occupation as a rag-and-bone man. Addressing the group with an absolute, though unrehearsed, synchronicity Pippin and Amy recounted their visit to Granny Higgins and the revelation of her son’s anguish and suicide resulting from his relationship with the mysterious singer. There was general agreement that this was an important discovery as nobody had known that she had had a son.

  ‘Fancy me getting involved with a woman like that,’ Liam said, realising, belatedly, when he noticed his wife’s scathing look, that his attempt to lighten the mood of the group with jocularity had been misplaced. Pippin then went on to relate the curious incident that had taken place over a glass of Mr Artingstall’s hot Vimto.

  ‘That would be Lily Frobisher,’ Edward said, when the two girls described the elegant lady who squeezed the Spanish Sevilles. ‘The piano teacher who lives in one of those big houses on Howard Street.’

  ‘Mrs Frobisher? I know her,’ Liam added. ‘Smart woman. A good looking lady in her day, I would imagine.’

  ‘Fancy Eppie being called Henry Molineaux,’ Laura said. ‘I don’t think anybody has ever thought about him having a real name. Eppie just seemed to fit the bill and that was it.’

  ‘I wonder how they met, Eppie and Mrs Frobisher,’ Bridget reflected. ‘Maybe he was having piano lessons.’

  ‘Well they didn’t do him much good,’ Liam said. ‘He still can’t play a note of music. He must have been paying more attention to her charms than her teaching skills.’

  ‘There is one thing, Uncle Liam,’ Callum offered. ‘It proves that there was never any connection between you and this Salford Canary. She was way before your time. You would have only been a young lad when she was making a name for herself.’

  ‘He wasn’t such a young lad on that picture,’ Bridget observed. ‘I knew him by then and I can vouch for the fact that he was definitely quite grown up.’

  The girls sniggered and Liam searched unsuccessfully for a suitable response. Laura held her hand out to gain attention. ‘We should think about what we know,’ she said. ‘Thanks mostly to the work that the girls have been doing, we know that this lady was a singer of some description who performed in the area in the 1880’s and 1890’s. She probably left for London sometime in the mid 90’s and there she seems to have enjoyed some success. None of us remember her because we were, at best, only youngsters by then.’

  ‘She was very beautiful,’ Amy said.

  ‘And unquestionably ruthless and ambitious,’ Laura added.

  ‘She seems to have left behind a trail of devastation,’ Edward said. ‘Granny Higgins’ lad lost his life and Eppie’s was ruined by her. How many more were there that we don’t know about? There is something odd about all this that I can’t put my finger on.’

  ‘What is odd,’ observed Bridget, ‘is that my Liam is in a painting at the side of a notorious hoor who is old enough to be his mother.’

  Liam became suddenly animated by this intimation of his wife’s suspicions. ‘Brig, I swear to you that I have no memory of this woman and I am absolutely certain that I have never, ever in my life laid eyes on her, never mind laid a finger or even a hand on her, and certainly, may God strike me down and reduce me to a pile of cinders if I am lying to you, I have never…’

  ‘Li, sweetheart, you are beginning to sound like a Dublin seanachie,’ Bridget said. ‘Let’s just sit quietly and try to work out why that should be. Why would anybody paint a picture of you with a woman who, by that time, was middle aged. Was it the Canary woman who commissioned the painting herself and, if so, why? Or was it somebody else who had it done in order to implicate you and cause trouble?’

  ‘That would mean it was somebody who had a grudge against Liam,’ said Edward, ‘and I have been pretty close to him most of his life and cannot think of anybody who felt like that.’

  ‘Don’t mind me saying this, but maybe it is connected with you, Aunt Bridget,’ Callum ventured.

  Bridget looked startled. ‘What, you don’t think that I have organised all this just to have a chance of giving Liam a hard time do you?’

  ‘Oh, er, no, Aunt Brig. Definitely not,’ Callum blustered. ‘Nothing further from my mind, actually. What I mean is that you have always been a very attractive woman, well, you know what I mean,’ he said, turning to Liam.

  ‘I do indeed, lad,’ said Liam enthusiastically, grateful for the opportunity to redeem himself. ‘Always thought that since the first day I set eyes on her. But are you saying that Brig’s good looks are a problem?’

  ‘Well, yes, in a way, I suppose. What I was wondering was if there was some secret admirer lurking in the background. Somebody who, perhaps, might have done this in order to cause a rift between the two of you.’

  ‘You know, you’ve got something there, young Callum. Brig always had a queue of admirers, didn’t you dear? Used to have to fight them off sometimes, there were so many.’

  Bridget laughed. ‘Well, it was never quite that bad. There might have been a few but, as you well know, there was only one that I was ever interested in and that was you.’

  ‘You have to say that it does sound a plausible explanation,’ Edward observed. ‘Whoever did this must have just chosen this woman because she was so good looking.’

  ‘So are you saying that it was Harry Grimshaw who was secretly lusting after our Bridget, then?’ Laura demanded. ‘Because, if you are, then I think that you must be completely crackers.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Edward said defensively. ‘But it would be interesting to know how the painting came into his possession.’

  ‘Do you know,’ Bridget said. ‘Now I think about it. The suit that it was in wasn’t particularly a good quality outfit. It was not bad, but it was of a standard that you would have expected from a local gents’ outfitters. But whoever had that painting done can’t have been short of a bit of money. You would have expected them to have a quality tailor.’

  ‘Mr Murphy, do you remember having the photograph taken?’ Pippin asked.

  ‘Which photograph was that, sweetheart.’

  ‘The photograph that was used to do this painting. If you didn’t sit for it then they must have used a photograph to get such a good likeness,’ Pippin reasoned.

  ‘I’m sorry, love. You are barking up the wrong tree there.
I had a photograph taken for my first communion and the next one that I had taken was when I got married. There was nothing in between. We didn’t have the money to indulge in what Ma used to call vanities.’

  ‘Do you know, we are getting nowhere with this discussion,’ Laura sighed. ‘We are just going round in circles. I certainly don’t believe that there was ever anything sinister about this as far as Liam is concerned.’

  ‘Thanks, Laura. I need all the allies that I can get.’

  ‘You are welcome. And I can’t believe that there are any German spies hanging about the street corners in Salford waiting for the chance to avenge some terrible crime that he has committed. I mean, it is not as though he was some big important general or something.’

  ‘Well, I did my bit out there,’ Liam protested.

  ‘Of course you did, love,’ his wife soothed. ‘And you had an awful time; you all did. But Laura is right. I have never doubted you but you obviously wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery. The trouble is that we are getting nowhere. I personally don’t believe that it was a secret admirer. Neither Harry Grimshaw, who, incidentally, I didn’t even know existed at the time, or any other of the lads who were around in those days. There’s none of them who would have had either the gumption or the money to do such a thing. I’m sorry to have to say all this but we are getting no nearer an answer. All we know is that this woman was a very flighty character and walked roughshod over people. I think that we should just forget the whole thing.’

  ‘I agree,’ Laura said. ‘It’s all in the past now and we should just get on with our lives. God knows, we have more than enough problems in the here and now to be worried about than some wicked woman from thirty years ago who we don’t even know the name of.’

  ‘I… I’m not sure, I couldn’t really say. I… might be able to help you there.’ Jean’s voice was tense, her face white and taut as she rose from her chair to look more closely at the painting. ‘There just seems something familiar about the woman. I don’t really know. It’s just that, well, my Aunt Agnes was a singer. She was with the D’Oyly Carte Company and I know that she was with them in London for a while. Dada always used to say that prim old Agnes had been quite a girl in her time until she married a banker. He has died now, bless him, but he was a lovely man. I have never really given it much thought before. It’s just that earlier you said about that poor Mrs Frobisher. I knew her through a mutual friend who had had piano lessons off her. I was at a Halle concert once with Aunt Agnes and I saw Mrs Frobisher. I called to her to say hello but when she saw Aunt Agnes, well…, I was shocked. The hate in her face, just for a few seconds, then she turned and walked off. I couldn’t believe it. I asked Aunt Agnes about it but she just shrugged it off. Said it was probably just professional jealousy. Now I wonder. I can’t say that the woman in the picture is definitely my aunt, but there is a look about her that does seem uncomfortably familiar.’