The Pawnbroker's Niece

by June Francis

  ‘Sorry! I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there!’

  ‘Apology accepted.’ She smiled up into his angry face. He released her and pushed his cap to the back of his head; a clump of black curls sprang out onto his forehead. She thought how unfair it was that between them he and Jimmy had hair and eyes that any girl would envy.

  The anger died in his face. ‘You’re Rita from the pawnshop. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to see your father.’

  ‘About what?’ His tone was clipped.

  She hesitated. ‘I’m not really supposed to talk about business to anybody but the client.’

  ‘Client? That sounds official.’

  ‘It is.’

  He changed the subject abruptly. ‘Has your aunt had any luck getting her stolen property back?’

  The question surprised her. ‘Not so far. But I have my suspicions about who’s behind the dirty deed. He hit me over the head, you know!’

  Billy’s expression froze. ‘He hit you! I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Yeah!’ She grimaced. ‘Not too hard but hard enough to stun me and make his escape.’

  ‘The bloody swine!’ He put an arm about her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know you came that close to seeing who it was.’

  She quite liked the feel of his arm around her. ‘Not close enough. Although, as I said, I have my suspicions who’s behind the theft.’

  ‘And who would that be?’

  ‘Mr McGinty. Well, he couldn’t have done the actual deed but I think he’s the brains behind it. Although…’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Has he got that many brains?’

  ‘Who’s Mr McGinty?’

  ‘Our char’s husband.’

  Billy looked thoughtful. ‘I can see how that would make him a number one suspect. I suppose she could have let him in?’

  ‘No! She doesn’t live on the premises. Besides, the burglar got through the skylight. I tell you — he won’t get through there again if he was to try. Aunt Margaret had the locksmith out.’

  ‘Very wise,’ said Billy.

  Rita thought he was about to say something else when a voice behind her said, ‘I thought I told you to go, Billy! I’ll not have you stirring up trouble here again.’

  Rita whirled round and saw a man so like Billy that he could only be his father. His face was set in uncompromising lines.

  ‘Don’t worry; I’m going!’ Billy’s voice quivered with anger. ‘There’ll come a time, Pops, when you’ll want my help. I tell yer — you’ll have to beg for it!’ He brushed past Rita and strode towards the gates.

  She stared after him in dismay.

  ‘What can I do for you, young lady?’

  Reluctantly she turned and marvelled afresh at that amazing likeness to Billy.

  ‘It’s rude to stare,’ said William.

  Rita drew herself up to her full height of five foot two inches. From her bag she produced a large brown envelope ‘My aunt, Miss Margaret Sinclair, sent me. I have an agreement here for you to sign regarding the debt she has taken over on your behalf. I’m to wait while you read and sign both papers.’ Rita’s tone was brisk. ‘You will keep one of the copies for your own records.’

  ‘You must be Eve’s girl.’ He made no move to take the envelope but folded his arms across his chest and smiled.

  It was a smile of such charm that she was bowled over. ‘Of course, you knew Mam!’

  ‘Yes. We spent a fair amount of time in each other’s company. She was a laugh. D’you hear from her?’

  Rita hesitated, wondering how much Margaret had told this man about them.

  ‘Ha! I see. You don’t.’

  She recognised sympathy when she saw it. ‘She’s written a couple of times but not to me. Mind you, if she hadn’t left, then I wouldn’t be here because I wouldn’t have met Billy and Jimmy.’

  This was news to William. ‘Where was this? I seem to remember your aunt mentioning you meeting my stepdaughter but not the lads.’

  ‘That’s right. She came into the pawnshop and —’

  ‘And when was that?’

  ‘Months ago. She…’ Suddenly Rita was remembering the conversation she had heard between Alice and Jimmy in this yard.

  ‘She what?’

  Rita gripped her lower lip between her teeth and gazed at him helplessly. ‘Ask her!’

  He smiled. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’ll get to the bottom of it myself.’

  Relieved, Rita held out the agreement to him.

  He took a fountain pen from his breast pocket, glanced through the typescript and signed both sheets.

  She was horrified. ‘You should never sign anything without reading it first.’

  ‘I think I can trust Maggie not to diddle me,’ he said smoothly, placing the papers back in the envelope and handing it to her.

  She frowned. ‘It doesn’t show good business sense not to read an agreement — and you should have kept one of the sheets.’

  She removed a paper from the envelope and handed it to him.

  A clatter of hooves caused them to look round.

  Jimmy brought the horse to a standstill and sprang from the cart. ‘You’ve got to do something about Billy, Pops. He nearly caused an accident, standing in the middle of the road forcing me to stop. I nearly ran him down! And what does he do but bloody drags me down from the cart and punches me. Look!’ He thrust his jaw almost under William’s nose.

  Rita could see the swelling on one side. ‘Why should he do that?’

  Jimmy’s head slewed in her direction and consternation showed in his eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘She’s here on business. Get inside and have Alice put some witch hazel on it.’

  ‘B-but what business?’ demanded Jimmy.

  ‘Later!’ William faced Rita. ‘Thanks for bringing that, and give my regards to your aunt.’

  Rita had no choice but to leave. She paused at the gates and looked back, wondering why Billy had punched Jimmy. He and his stepfather had vanished, but on the doorstep stood a woman in a dressing gown. Her greying hair was dishevelled, her face haggard and unfriendly. She clenched her fist and brandished it in the girl’s direction before going back into the house and slamming the door.

  *

  Margaret handed the suit over the counter to the young girl, thanked her and said, ‘See you Monday.’

  Rita held the door open and closed it after her.

  ‘Well, did he sign?’ said Margaret.

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t read them properly.’ Rita frowned as she placed the envelope containing the credit agreement on the counter.

  Margaret smiled as she picked up the envelope. ‘Trusts me, does he?’

  ‘So he says.’

  ‘Good. Then everything will be fine as long as he keeps up the repayments. If he doesn’t then things’ll get awkward.’

  Rita could imagine. ‘I saw his wife. At least I think it was her.’

  ‘And?’ Margaret stared over her spectacles.

  ‘In a dressing gown at this time of day.’ Rita rested her arms on the counter.

  ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘A mess.’

  ‘Poor her! Poor Will! I get a feeling that’s not a happy household,’ said Margaret, going into the storeroom and placing the credit agreement in the filing cabinet.

  Rita thought that herself — and it wasn’t only because Mr Brodie was up to his eyes in debt. Why had Billy punched Jimmy? And why were he and his father at loggerheads? And what was wrong with Mrs Brodie? Would Alice tell Mr Brodie that she’d pawned the vase Billy had given her? She wished she could have eavesdropped on the conversations going on at the yard, but that night she was to have other things to worry about.

  Chapter Eight

  Rita was having a bad dream. She was being buried alive, could hear the sound of the spade against the coffin! She screamed but no sound came out and so she hammered with her fists against the lid, but this time she could hear a distinct thud, th
ud. She woke, lying on her stomach with her hands against the bedhead. Oh, the relief! Her thudding heart slowed its beat and, realising her pillow had slipped off the bed, she picked it up and placed it behind her head. Not daring to close her eyes yet in case the nightmare came swooping in again on bats’ wings, she remained sitting up until the memory of the dream faded and she felt brave enough to climb out of bed. Desperate for a drink, she went downstairs.

  By the time she reached the scullery her eyes were accustomed to the dark and she could make out cupboards, cooker and sink. The moggy approached, purring. ‘Not mousing?’ she whispered, glad of its company.

  She put on the kettle, talking to the cat in whispers as she put a match to the mantle; only then did she notice the door to the cellar was open. She clicked down the latch and poured milk into a saucer for the cat, and took a bourbon from the biscuit tin.

  She felt much better after the tea and was washing her cup and saucer when she heard the stairs creak. Her heart seemed to bounce into her throat but then she pulled herself together. It would be her aunt. She put the crockery away, expecting Margaret to join her, but when she didn’t Rita experienced that peculiar sensation of the hairs rising on the back of her neck. Could a burglar have got in again? She tiptoed through the kitchen and into the lobby, pausing there to listen. At first she did not hear anything and then there was the sound of movement in the storeroom.

  She inched her way in that direction and it was as if the last break-in was being repeated as she crept through the open door. A rasp of a match and light flared but this time the face she saw was long, unshaven and its owner wore a black eye-patch. She almost dropped on the spot. So Mr McGinty had been behind the last theft! The match went out.

  Rita should have learnt her lesson from the last time and froze, but she had been holding her breath without realising and it came out in a whoosh. She heard him curse, and she decided to run upstairs and get her aunt. But she only managed to get through the door when she was grabbed from behind. She screamed and then a hand covered her mouth. She kicked out but only succeeded in stubbing her big toe, which hurt like hell. The next moment she was falling backwards and landed on top of Mr McGinty. She struggled to get up while he was cursing and swearing — such words that she had not heard since a fight between Dolly and another prostitute when she was a kid. Then she was seized by the arm, dragged upright and thrust aside. Startled, she stared at the dark shape bending over the man on the floor. Then came the crunch of bone on bone as Mr McGinty attempted to get to his feet, only to be sent crashing to the floor.

  The black figure straightened and she could see the faint gleam of his eyes. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered.

  He grabbed her arm and hustled her out of the storeroom and closed the door on her. She heard something being shifted about and when she tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. She put her ear to the panel and heard a faint screeching.

  ‘Rita, is that you?’ She spun round.

  Immediately she shaded her eyes from the light of the torch. ‘Aunt Margaret, Mr McGinty’s in there.’

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘I saw him! He grabbed me, but you’re not going to believe this — another fella all dressed in black dragged him off me, KO’d him, then pushed me out here. I don’t know how he got in, but he’s looking for something.’

  ‘Then out of the way and let me get in! I’ve got the poker with me.’ Margaret handed the torch to Rita and brandished the poker in the air like a sword as she turned the doorknob and pushed. The door barely moved.

  ‘He’s put something against it but perhaps if we both push we’ll be able to shift it,’ whispered Rita.

  They threw themselves at the door and, after several attempts, managed to move whatever was behind it, enough for them to squeeze through the gap.

  Margaret played the torch about the room and caught Mr McGinty in its beam. He was on the floor, groaning and trying to get up. Without saying a word they hurried over and sat on him. He swore and attempted to throw them off and would have succeeded if Margaret had not hit him on the head with the poker.

  She and Rita stood up; the girl hurried into the shop and saw the door wide open. She stepped outside and looked up and down the street but it was deserted.

  Margaret came and stood beside her. ‘Got away, did he?’

  Rita nodded.

  They went back inside and closed the door. ‘You get dressed, Rita, and see if you can find the constable. If not you’ll have to go up to the bridewell.’

  ‘You’ll be OK on your own with him?’

  ‘If he makes a move I’ll bop him over the head again. In the meantime, I’ll find something to tie him up with.’

  Rita was dressed and out in five minutes. As she went in search of the bobby she wondered whether to mention the man in black. After all, he had done to Mr McGinty what she would have liked to do herself since setting eyes on him.

  Margaret used the washing line to tie up her char’s husband, grateful for the lessons in knots her brother had taught Eve and herself. It only seemed like yesterday, and she thought he would have been proud of her. After she trussed Mr McGinty up as fine as a piece of brisket she went and dressed. When she came downstairs again he was stirring and struggling against his bonds.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother if I was you,’ she said, pulling up a chair.

  ‘Oh, me bleedin’ head,’ he groaned. ‘What did yer have to go and hit me for? I meant yer no harm.’

  ‘Pull the other one! What were you doing here but to steal from me?’

  ‘I haven’t taken nothing,’ he said sullenly. ‘Yer can search me if yer like.’

  ‘No thanks!’ She shuddered at the thought of going through his pockets. ‘I’ll leave that to the police.’ As if on cue, there was a knocking on the shop door and she hurried to answer it.

  The first thing the two policemen did was to compliment her on her knots. Then they searched Mr McGinty, despite his protesting his innocence.

  ‘Then what’s this?’ said one, pulling out a small cotton bag drawn tightly at the neck with string. He loosened it and shook the contents out on the counter.

  Rita and Margaret stared at the rings and silver watch. They glanced at each other but neither said a word.

  *

  Rita sat on her bed with her knees hunched and her chin in her hands, trying to remember every detail of those moments when the intruder in black had hustled her out of the room. There was something niggling at the back of her mind. What was that smell which had clung to him? Some kind of polish, but not the stuff used on furniture. A little click had gone on in her brain. Could the intruder be the same as the one from the last break-in? If only she could remember where she had come across that smell.

  Margaret entered the room and sat on the bed. ‘Perhaps you can tell me how my stolen property from months ago turned up in Mr McGinty’s pocket?’ she said pleasantly. ‘Its description seems to have slipped the police’s mind but you recognised it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes! And I’m convinced the intruder put it there.’

  ‘Which means that he must have taken it.’

  Rita nodded. She felt unhappy about that. ‘So what are we going to do?’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention him to the police?’

  ‘I didn’t like to. Have you told them?’

  Margaret pleated the bedcover between her fingers, her expression absorbed, head bent, with her hair curling like a huge halo giving her a definite aura. ‘I told them that I never saw him, but Mr McGinty told them that there was definitely another man in the storeroom, and that he’s innocent. They don’t believe him. He’s admitted he came after my money but couldn’t get in my room. As you know, I always lock it and since the last break-in I place a chair beneath the doorknob.

  ‘So what…?’

  ‘They have enough on him to put him away for years. They went back to his house and searched the place. They’ve been wanting an excuse for ages, apparently.’

  Rita
sat up straight. ‘They found something?’

  ‘Lead under a tarpaulin in the yard.’

  The girl laughed. ‘Got him! So Sam was right.’

  ‘What’s he to do with this?’

  Rita told her what Sam had said months ago about some real tough blokes going round the back of the McGintys’ house and coming back with a loaded cart covered in tarpaulin. ‘I bet Mrs McGinty’s up the wall with all this. I bet she’s told them he’s been framed.’

  Margaret smiled. ‘You’re wrong. Apparently she went for him because he went back on a promise to her…said he’d never get involved with the bad ’uns again. She’s washed her hands of him.’

  ‘Marvellous!’ Rita wanted to dance round the room. ‘So it doesn’t matter whether we mention the black intruder or not?’

  Margaret shook her head. ‘Want to know how he got in?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ She stared at her, bright-eyed.

  ‘Sawed through the chain on the grating and dropped into the cellar. He was able to open the latch from the other side with a gadget they found in his pocket.’

  ‘You think our black intruder got in the same way?’

  Margaret shrugged. ‘Possibly! Although why he took such a chance to return my property to me is a mystery. Maybe his conscience got to him.’ She rose from the bed. ‘Anyway, I’m glad he knocked Mr McGinty down for us, and when Mrs M gets over the shock I’m sure it’ll be the making of her.’

  ‘Will she still be coming here?’

  Margaret paused in the doorway. ‘What’ll she live on if I sack her? She’s a hard worker and with him gone I’m sure she won’t be so bolshie.’

  Rita agreed. ‘I’d still like to know who the mystery man is.’

  Margaret said grimly, ‘Me too. Don’t forget he hit you over the head last time. One thing’s for sure: he won’t get in again. I’m having thicker chains and a good strong lock put on the grid and bolts top and bottom on the cellar door. If he wants to visit in the middle of the night a third time he’ll need to come down the chimney!’

  *

  Strangely enough, Rita was thinking about what her aunt had said a few weeks later when she saw Jimmy down by the docks caught up in a traffic jam. The fumes and noise of vehicles, the tooting of horns and shouts of carters were enough to give anyone a headache, and she had a blinder. Mr McGinty’s trial was coming up and she was to be called as a witness. She dodged through the traffic and came alongside the cart, looking up at Jimmy. His swollen jaw was back to normal and he was as handsome as ever but looking really cheesed off.