Rosemary Aitken

by Flowers for Miss Pengelly

  Effie was flattered to be the first to know. She made a rueful little face. ‘Not that Mrs Thatchell would let me come, of course – not if you was marrying the Prince of Wales himself.’

  ‘Prince Edward?’ Lettie giggled. ‘I wouldn’t mind, at that! He’s how old now? Eighteen? And some handsome, by his photographs. Coming back to England, so the Major says, going to study at the university.’ Her sharp little elbow dug Effie in the ribs. ‘That would be something, wouldn’t it? Walking out with him? The girl he takes a shine to will be the Queen one day.’

  ‘Lettie!’ Effie was laughing, but she was a little shocked. ‘You can’t talk about the Prince of Wales like that! He’s royalty – you should have more respect. Besides, you’re a married woman, or you’re about to be – you are supposed to keep your mind on Bert.’

  Lettie was unrepentant. ‘A cat may look at a king, they say – and I aren’t married yet. But when I am, there’ll be a vacancy – that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve got some experience as a maid, how don’t you apply? You could give your notice and get a character. Miss Caroline can be a devil when she tries – but she’s no worse than Mrs Thatchell, and the pay is good. Better than you’re getting where you are, I’m sure.’

  Effie shook her head, decisively. ‘The Knights would never have me – I’m not trained for that. General duties, that’s all I’ve ever done. Besides . . .’ She trailed off. The truth was she could not bear to work up at that house and have to witness Alex coming to and fro, dining and riding with Miss Caroline. Though she wouldn’t tell Lettie that for all the world.

  ‘Besides what?’ Lettie challenged.

  Effie thought quickly. ‘’Tisn’t certain, is it?’ she replied. ‘You told me so yourself. And look, we’ve been ’ere chatting for so long, the blessed coalman’s nearly done the road!’ She gestured to where the horse was ambling down the street. ‘If I don’t get these boots in for soling and get back double-quick, I’ll be looking for a new position on my own account!’ And without waiting for an answer she hurried quickly off.

  Lettie stared after her departing friend and made a little face at her retreating back. She was rather regretting taking Effie into her confidence. She had expected something more like gratitude – some girls would have been thrilled to death, being the first to hear about a vacancy – but Effie had not even seemed particularly pleased.

  She gave a little sniff as she set off down the street. She’d know better than to make the offer for a second time. Not that her friend was even really suitable. The Knights weren’t people to take just anyone: they advertised all over if they were wanting staff, but you really needed a recommendation from somebody they knew, like she’d had herself. She would have been prepared to put in a word for Effie, she thought – though whether Miss Caroline would listen was another thing, especially when Lettie was about to ‘let her down’. And that did look very likely: she was two months overdue and Bert would have to make an honest woman of her soon.

  Not that he was likely to object! He must have told her scores of times how much he thought of her and how he wanted to be with her all the time. No, it was the thought of what their families would say that was causing her alarm. She knew his parents slightly from the grocer’s shop – his Da was small and wiry and apt to be quite sharp with anyone who got on the wrong side of him, while Ma Symons was so skinny she was practically a stick, with a tongue that could cut pieces off you, if she chose. And probably she would do when she heard of this!

  The whole family lived above the shop, of course – not just Bert but there were younger brothers too. The Symonses had leased the place since Noah built the ark. What would they think about her moving in? Which is what it would come to, to begin with anyway – she and Bert could not afford to rent a room elsewhere, not with a baby to provide for too! She could see that there were likely to be problems about that – but there wasn’t any choice. Fayther’s present landlady had a notice up: ‘no infants, animals or Irishmen allowed’.

  Not that Fayther would have had her anyway! In fact she hardly dared to think what he was going to say. He wouldn’t take his belt to her, like some men would have done, but he was likely to be simply furious – declare that she was nothing but a terrible disgrace and refuse to see her or let her come into the house. Course, she could hope to win him over, once the child was safely born – as long as she was married before it really showed. When you had a wedding ring, people soon forgot, and there wouldn’t be a scandal, or so she had to hope, else Fayther would cut her off and leave her not a groat, although she was the only living child he had.

  She side-stepped a ragged woman with a baby in her arms, a sight which almost made her catch her breath. If she wasn’t careful, that might one day be . . . But she would not think like that!

  Perhaps her stepmother might help talk Fayther round: the woman had never had children of her own, so she might like a baby to coo over at last. She might even be willing to have it now and then, so Lettie could go scrubbing or something by and by and try to bring a bit of money in. It didn’t need a fortune-teller from the fair to see that the sooner she and Bert could get away from living with his folks and have a room somewhere that they could call their own, the happier their future life was apt to be.

  They hadn’t intended to rush it all, like this. She’d dreamt of getting married in a pretty dress and hat, with flowers and ribbons and a pair of brand-new boots, but none of that would now be possible, of course. Bert would be disappointed, too. When she had broached the subject of marriage once before, he’d been sure that they should wait and get a bit put by. ‘Want to do it proper, if I marry you.’ But circumstances had altered and he would have to change his mind.

  Mrs Lettie Symons. It sounded very nice. She walked on down on the street, letting the words go rolling round her brain, so busy with her thoughts that she was blind to everything and everybody else. Several times she almost blundered into a passer-by but she just said, ‘Sorry!’ and walked on in a dream. It might have led to trouble when she came to cross the street, but a loud voice at her shoulder, calling her by name, forced itself suddenly into her consciousness.

  ‘Be careful, young lady. Miss Pearson, isn’t it? Mind where you put your feet! There’s been a horse about!’ Funny sort of accent – not from anywhere round here. She looked up in surprise to see a stout man in a bowler hat and Ulster overcoat, mopping his red face as if he was too hot. He smiled and swept the hat off. ‘Perhaps I ought to introduce myself. The name is Broadbent. You might have heard of me?’

  Lettie stared at the stranger in surprise. ‘Not that I know of. How did you know my name?’

  He tapped his nose as if to indicate that there were lots of things that he could tell her if he chose. ‘It is my business to find things out.’ He smiled again. ‘For instance, I know that you’re a friend of Mrs Thatchell’s maid, Effie Pengelly – I believe I saw you with her just now in the street – and I understand you’ve talked about her with the grocer’s boy. Isn’t that the case?’

  This was alarming. Lettie stifled a wild desire to run. ‘Well, I might have done. There’s no law against that, is there?’ she retorted, stung. Rudeness seemed the only method of defence.

  Mr Broadbent – whoever he might be! – only smiled and mopped his brow again. ‘Of course not, Miss Pearson. But I am down here to make enquiries and this may be relevant. You may remember that there was an unclaimed body last year in the town?’

  Making enquiries! And about the corpse! Was he a policeman then? They did have plain-clothes policeman up in the capital. Perhaps she had better mind her P’s and Q’s. ‘The one who asked for Effie?’ she asked, politely now. ‘Yes, I remember. How could I forget?’

  He looked at her intently. His eyes were shrewd and searching but they were not unkind. ‘I know that after all this time it might be hard to say, but can you recall what you were doing the day before he died? In outline, anyway?’

  She nodded doubtfully. ‘I suppose so – t
hough, as you say, it was a little while ago. That would have been the Monday, wouldn’t it? Then – apart from normal chores like sweeping, dusting and putting out the outfits for the day – I would most probably have been washing lace and cleaning jewellery. One week’s much like another, when you’re a lady’s maid.’

  ‘I understand all that. But this might be important. Think before you speak. Were you talking to this grocer’s boy of yours on that day at all? Mentioning Effie anywhere where you might be overheard?’

  Lettie felt her cheeks turn burning red. ‘Shouldn’t think so for a moment!’ She snapped out the reply, then – remembering that he might be someone in authority – she added, ‘See, me and Bert had hardly started walking out by then . . .’ She gave him her most winning girlish smile. ‘We weren’t talking about other people much.’

  Mr Broadbent surprised her. He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I can imagine that. Well, that seems to be conclusive. Thank you very much. Though you might just check that with this Bert of yours, when you see him next. Are you likely to run into him today? If so, I could come with you and speak to him myself.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think we’ll find him at this time of day. He’ll be out about his rounds.’ That was not true at all. Bert would have his bicycle all right, and there would be an order in the basket on the front, but he’d be waiting for her by the bandstand on the Promenade – she had told him last week that she’d meet him there today, on the excuse of taking letters to the post. Of course she had been hoping that things would be all right by now, but nothing had happened and she’d missed another month. She was simply going to have to talk to him – and she did not want any policeman interrupting that. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘he’d tell you the same thing.’

  Broadbent smiled at her so knowingly that she was almost sure he guessed, but he just said, ‘In the meantime, if you think of anything, would you let me know? I’m staying at the Anchor for a day or two – or Miss Blanche Weston would take a message, I am sure. So, Miss Pearson, I will wish you a good day.’ And he put his bowler hat on and went strolling down the street.

  Lettie waited till he was out of sight, then hurried to complete the errand at the post office and hastened off towards the Promenade. She didn’t have a lot of time – she was already late – but it was absolutely urgent that she should talk to Bert.

  It was surprisingly windy on the Promenade today. Alex was glad of the chin-strap to keep his helmet on, otherwise it might have gone the way of the child’s bonnet which was even now bowling merrily over the railings and out into the sea, while a hapless nursemaid watched it in dismay. If he had been a little quicker he might have rescued it, in proper constabulary fashion, but he had been too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice what was happening until it was too late.

  He nodded at the nursemaid and her charges as they passed. ‘Morning, miss!’ but she was too busy scolding the culprit to respond. Pretty girl. She reminded him of Effie – though she did not have the smile, or the figure either really. He gave himself a shake. Every woman under forty-five seemed to remind him of Effie nowadays. It wasn’t sensible. He must think of something else.

  He devoted his attention to a pair of bicycles, in case either of them matched the description of a stolen one, and to the appearance of a ragged urchin lad, pushing a barrow piled with rabbit skins, who looked about seven and should have been in school.

  ‘Doing an errand for me Ma before I go!’ the child protested and Alex let him go, though he had his doubts, both about the school attendance and whether the skins had been honestly obtained or conveniently lifted from behind the butcher’s shop. He would keep his eye out for the boy another time, he thought, and woe betide him if he caught him doing it again.

  The wind was getting stronger all the time and there was beginning to be a hint of rain in it. People were scuttling for shelter as he watched – even the nursemaid had ceased to scold her charges and was leading them somewhere firmly by the hand. In a minute it would start to pour. Alex tutted. He should have brought his waterproof, not just his shoulder-cape. Perhaps he would take shelter in the bandstand for a while – at least it would keep him in the dry.

  He was hurrying towards it, lowering his head against the wind and rain, when he realized that it was already occupied. There were two people in it, with their backs to him, and they seemed to be having some kind of argument.

  ‘And I tell you that it is, whose else’s would it be!’ A woman’s voice, quite loud and angry. Tearfully angry, by the sound of it. Surely it was a voice he recognized? He looked a little closer and of course it was – it was that friend of Effie’s and her grocer friend. ‘You wait till I tell Fayther, he’ll be after you. He will tell your parents.’

  ‘You think they would believe you? Don’t you be so daft.’ The boy was talking softly, but in an angry hiss. ‘You can’t prove anything. It could be anyone. I’ll tell them that I never had to anything to do with it.’

  Alex was close behind them by this time. He could not help but overhear and he felt embarrassed at interrupting them. This was clearly something personal they were arguing about – he did not think to question what it was. Well, he wasn’t going to let their squabble keep him in the rain. He cleared his throat loudly to warn them he was there.

  Lettie and her companion swung around at once. When she saw Alex she let out a cry.

  ‘Well, here’s a policeman and he’ll speak up for me. Constable Dawes, you’ve seen me walking out with Bert? You remember, up Mount Misery?’

  She looked so intense that Alex was alarmed. ‘Well of course I remember. Bert Symons, isn’t it?’ He smiled at the fellow who was scowling back. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you for a second time, but I wanted to come under the bandstand from the rain; I think there’s going to be a deluge before long.’

  Lettie turned back to her beau, exclaiming, ‘There, what I did tell you! I’ve got witnesses. Not just any witness, but a constable. So you can’t go claiming that you’ve never heard of me. And what about all those promises you used to make? I never expected that you’d be overjoyed but I never dreamt that you would carry on like this.’

  Alex found that he was frowning. This wasn’t making sense. ‘Witnesses to what, exactly?’ he enquired.

  Bert Symons raised a sullen face to him. ‘Witness to the fact that she’s got me in a trap and now I suppose I’ll bloody have to marry her – though the lord knows what my parents are going to make of that. I expect my Da will beat the living daylights out of me – and hers will very likely do the same.’ He glared at Lettie as though he wished her dead.

  Lettie looked at Alex. ‘That’s only thanks to you. But at least he’s agreed to marry me – that’s something I suppose.’

  Alex had just made sense of this. He felt an utter fool. He muttered, ‘Well, I must be getting back. Congratulations, Mr Symons – if that’s appropriate. Lettie, I wish you every happiness, of course.’ And he left them to it as quickly as he could – just as the serious rain began to fall.

  Four

  It was taking simply ages in the butcher’s shop. There were queues of people in front of her and most of them seemed to want their order cut in chops. It seemed they required every awkward sort of cut, so the owner was kept busy fetching down the different carcasses off hooks and chopping pieces off them on his butcher’s block. Effie was almost tempted to leave her errand till another day but it would have to be Thursday if she did and then – as she’d said to Lettie – she would more than likely miss the midday bus. There wasn’t another one to Penvarris for hours so it would take her half the afternoon to walk, and with Pa awaiting her she didn’t want to get there and have to come straight back. So she stuck it out and waited while the folk in front of her requested brawn or trotters or suet in a piece.

  But at last she reached the counter and handed in her two and six, and watched while the butcher wrote it in the book against Aunt Madge’s name. She glanced through the window at the watchmaker opposite, who had a larg
e clock mounted on the wall above his door. Dear Heaven, it was very nearly half past ten! She’d better get those boots delivered mighty quick!

  She was in such haste to leave the shop that she almost collided with a portly gentleman who was standing in the queue. He caught her eye and smiled as though they were acquaintances – and his face did look familiar, somehow, though she couldn’t for a moment remember where they’d met.

  There was no time to stop and think about it now. There were still those boots to deal with and she’d be wanted back. She was almost tempted to break into a run but she restrained herself – and fortunately there was no-one waiting at the shoemaker’s.

  She reached into the basket on her arm and gave the cobbler Mrs Thatchell’s Sunday boots to sole. ‘See you make them dainty,’ she said, unwrapping them. That was what her mistress had instructed her to say.

  The shoemaker seemed to know it. He spat out the hobnails he was holding in his teeth and turned to smile at her. ‘But she’ll be wanting segs, I s’pose?’ He gestured to the pile of assorted iron heel and toe plates he kept beside his last.

  ‘I expect so.’ Effie nodded.

  ‘She generally does.’ He picked the shoes up, marked a number on the soles in chalk and put them with the piles of others on the shelf. ‘Ready by Tuesday,’ he said breezily, tearing off a numbered chitty from the book and giving it to her with a grin. ‘Seeing how she wants them “dainty” – and with segs as well.’

  ‘Tuesday, but that’s ages! She might want them for church,’ Effie protested. ‘I can’t imagine what she’s going to say.’