Rosemary Aitken

by Flowers for Miss Pengelly

  ‘It’s not a foreign country, Pearl. You talk as if Father did not come from there. I’ll do what Mother did, I suppose, and learn to be a wife.’

  Pearl made a scornful noise. ‘You talk about it very glibly now, Blanche dear, but you’re not fit to marry anyone. You’ve never run a household in your life. You haven’t the first idea what married life is like.’

  Blanche felt an unexpected wave of sympathy. ‘Neither have you, my dear,’ she murmured, in her gentlest voice. ‘I know that’s been a sorrow to you half your life. And I grieved for you when your beau let you down. But this is my chance to grasp a little happiness – probably the only chance I’ll ever have – surely you would not deny it to me now?’ She’d hoped to see Pearl soften but there was no reply so she said, with a sudden courage in her tone, ‘Not that you could deny it, so Josiah says. I am of age and I don’t need your consent. I’ve given him my answer and he’s already making arrangements for the banns.’

  Pearl turned away, her face as blank as stone. She still refused to speak.

  ‘Though I would like to have it, and your blessing too, if you could find it in your heart,’ Blanche said plaintively. She leaned forward and tried to take her sister’s hand, but it was snatched away. She tried a different tactic. ‘But if you can’t, we will have to do without,’ she said more coldly, getting to her feet.

  Pearl snapped her head around to glare at her and Blanche was startled to see the glint of teardrops in her eyes. ‘Do without!’ Pearl muttered. ‘It’s me who’ll do without! How am I supposed to live here on my own, manage the shop and run the library and everything besides? Did you even give a thought to things like that?’

  Blanche sat down again. ‘More thought than you suppose. Josiah says we’ll come down once a year and he will try and help you balance the accounts – I know that’s always been a trial for you. And I will try to find suppliers for you in the capital.’

  ‘We don’t need new suppliers!’ Pearl burst out, petulant. ‘We’ve always used the ones that Father chose.’

  ‘And though we have been customers for years, they still charge us full price for everything. Josiah thinks that we could get a discount if I tried – especially if we threatened to move our trade to somewhere else. We have talked it over and Josiah says—’

  ‘Josiah says!’ Pearl echoed mockingly. ‘I’m tired of hearing what Josiah says. What does he know about haberdashery? Only what you’ve told him, and what good is that? You’ve never been the slightest good at ordering, or keeping stock or making up the books.’

  ‘Only because I never had the chance!’ Blanche was rather stung. ‘But it’s true that you have always seen to everything yourself – which means you really do not need me anyway. Though I shall keep a modest interest in the shop, of course – and try to help from London, as I said before.’

  ‘And am I expected to run the place alone? I can’t afford to pay an extra pair of hands.’

  ‘You could take a lodger – there will be an empty room. That would help pay the wages for a girl. After all you won’t have me to keep – and it would prevent you from having to live here on your own.’ This time she caught the hand and held it in her own. ‘And of course you must come and visit us – just as we shall come and visit you. I couldn’t bear it if we were not friends.’

  Pearl snatched the hand away and stood up suddenly. ‘You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you – you and your precious friend? Well, since I can’t prevent you, I must make the best of it. But don’t blame me if it all ends in tears.’

  Blanche understood her sister. She was on her feet at once. ‘Then you won’t object too much? You’ll come to the wedding? It will be very small – hardly more than just the three of us.’

  Pearl said, tightly, ‘What good would it do me if I did object? You’ve already told me that you’d do it anyhow. But I decline to spend a fortune on a wedding coat; the one I have will simply have to do.’ Two tears were gently spilling from her eyes, but she did not try to wipe them from her cheeks – as if by ignoring them she could pretend they were not there. She went on in a strange unsteady voice, ‘And if I’m to be related to this wretched man, you’d better arrange to have him come to tea, I suppose.’ She turned and picked up the socks from the chair. ‘Now look what you have gone and made me do – these have got all creased, and we haven’t even put them on the shelves!’

  It was the nearest to a blessing that Blanche was going to get.

  Alex walked back to the police station in a sort of dream and almost collided with Jenkins in the entrance way.

  ‘Look out, young Dawes! What are you playing at?’ Jenkins had almost dropped the pile of papers in his hand.

  Alex shook his head. The truth was that he hardly knew himself what he was ‘playing at’. He had set out to find Effie, to tell her his news, but he had not planned to promise to see her on the bus – that had simply seemed the natural, proper thing to do when he was in her presence. But now he had the problem of dealing with the Knights: he would have to let them know that he would not be there, and they would doubtless be a bit offended, as it was, by his premature departure on his last visit there. He heaved a heartfelt sigh.

  ‘Good God, man, what’s the matter?’ Jenkins had dropped his teasing tone and sounded genuinely concerned. ‘You look and sound as if the problems of the world are on your back.’

  Alex shook his head. ‘Oh, it’s nothing really. Just given myself a problem for Thursday afternoon. I’m wondering if I ought to try to change my duty-shift that day.’

  ‘Ah!’ Jenkins gave a would-be friendly leer. ‘Women problems, is it? Wish I had your luck.’ He tapped the pile of papers with a forefinger. ‘Which reminds me – there’s something here that might just interest you. That “unidentified” that we were dealing with – wasn’t there some connection with that maidservant you used to squire about, before you started consorting with the gentry every week?’

  Alex was unnerved by that description of events. It made him sound a cad. Perhaps he was, he thought. He said, in a rather priggish tone of voice, ‘No connection had been proved at all. Unless you’ve got something there tells us otherwise.’

  Jenkins raised an eyebrow. ‘Steady on, old chap! I’m only pursuing information which you gave me yourself. I wrote as you suggested to the Army Board and I’ve just had a reply. Come to the desk a minute and I’ll let you see.’

  He led the way and Alex followed him into the room.

  Jenkins rifled through the papers. ‘Here it is. “Re: Richard Thatchell Royston. I have the honour to reply to your enquiry . . . Blah, blah, blah . . . Mentioned in despatches, served South Africa . . .” Yes, here’s the bit we want: “Returned to England September 1903 . . . Court-martialled in December of that year . . . conduct likely to bring the service into disrepute, evidence of general moral turpitude and two days’ absence without official leave. Stripped of his rank and dishonourably discharged . . .” There’s quite a lot, but that’s the gist of it. You’d better read it through and let me have it back.’ He handed the document to Alex as he spoke.

  Alex stared at it. ‘Richard Thatchell Royston?’ Surely that could not be a coincidence. It was not unusual for people to carry their mother’s maiden name. There must be a connection. And it would make sense. Effie had told him the story about the former maid called Efigenia. They had even laughed about it at the time – how Mrs Thatchell had preferred to go on calling her new maid ‘Effie’ too (rather than Ethel, as she’d wanted at the time), because it was easier to remember that – although it was impossible for Alex to think of Effie as ever having any other name.

  ‘What’s in a name?’ He’d learned that play at school and quoted from the speech before he’d realized it.

  Jenkins frowned at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Alex put the papers back down on the desk. ‘I think you might have solved our little mystery. I don’t think it was my Effie that he wanted after all. We may have been searching for acorns up a linden
tree. But I suppose I ought to check. I’m quite sure that Miss Weston told me that he’d said “Pengelly” too – I wonder if he did, or if she just supplied that when trying to recall?’ He nodded to Jenkins. ‘I’ll go and talk to her, and if I learn what I expect to learn I’ll go and see what Mrs Thatchell has to say, and find out if this fellow was a relative. And I think I’ll call in on that Broadbent man as well. I hear he has a photo that might be relevant.’ He jammed his helmet on his head and made as if to leave.

  Jenkins called after him, ‘But what about the letter?’

  Alex paused a moment and then went back for it. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll take it with me after all. It might help if I am carrying what evidence we have.’

  The administrative police clerk handed it to him and went on fossicking. ‘And there’s another letter for you, somewhere. A personal one this time – from your mother, by the look of it. Judging by the post-mark anyway. Yes, here it is.’ He produced the monogrammed envelope with a knowing smile.

  Alex glanced at the distinctive, spidery handwriting. It was Mater’s hand all right, no doubt complaining that he’d upset the Knights. He stuffed it in his pocket, as it was. He’d deal with all that later; just for now it seemed imperative to go and sort this other business out. The worry had caused poor Effie lots of sleepless nights.

  Jenkins was saying, ‘Not going to open it?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘Not at the moment. I want to follow up this information that you got for me.’ He was about to move away, but it suddenly occurred to him that if he did not answer her letter by return, Mama might try to telephone him here – she would not care what people thought. He turned back to Jenkins. ‘If she rings here asking for me – which she might, although I’ve warned her that it’s not appropriate – just tell her that I’m on duty and not available, but I will write her when I can. It will be true enough. There’s a lot to do in connection with this case. And I’d better do it quickly. There’s no time to spare.’

  He was not sure why he felt such urgency, but he genuinely did. He wanted to prove that he could solve this thing himself, and it also seemed important to free Effie from her doubts. Clutching the Army document he picked up his cape and baton and, almost neglecting to salute the Station Inspector who had just come in, marched out into the street, leaving a startled pair of policemen staring after him.

  Effie was astonished when she got back to the shop to find a policeman’s bicycle propped up beside the wall. She positively rushed round to the kitchen door.

  Mrs Lane looked up at her as she arrived. ‘Well here you are at last, and just in time as well. I’m in a quandary what I ought to do. We’ve had a policeman and a gentleman arrive and insist on seeing Mrs Thatchell straight away. I tried to turn them off, but they made such a fuss that in the end she came out of the morning room herself – and to my surprise she made me let them in. Well I came and made a tray of tea, of course – well, you would do, wouldn’t you, when there are visitors? But it’s been twenty minutes and she hasn’t rung for it. I don’t know if I should take it up or no.’ She gazed at Effie, who was taking off her cloak. ‘But you’re here now, so you had better go.’

  ‘Me?’ Effie was alarmed. She didn’t relish the idea of barging in, if Mrs Thatchell didn’t want the tea. She knew how her employer treated people who interrupted her.

  ‘Well, you got those silks to take her, haven’t you? I heard her tell you to bring them straight away. Besides it’s your job – if it’s anyone’s – to take the tea tray in.’ She gave Effie a funny sideways look. ‘What’s more, it’s your two gentlemen who are up there with her now.’

  ‘My two gentlemen?’ Effie cried, amazed. ‘What gentlemen are those? I don’t know any gentlemen at all.’ Then she remembered the police bicycle outside. ‘You don’t mean Alex? The young constable that came?’

  Cook looked triumphant. ‘If that’s his name, then that’s exactly who I mean. And that bowler-hatted fellow that you talked to on the step. Don’t think I didn’t see him, ’cause I’ve got eyes, you know – I saw you when I was taking out some scraps, to leave for Mrs Mitchell when she came.’

  ‘Mr Broadbent? What’s he doing here again?’ Effie felt uneasy suddenly. ‘Here, it isn’t about that blessed corpse again, I hope? I’ve told them till I’m sick of saying it that I had never seen him in my life before.’ She turned to Mrs Lane. ‘Well there is only one way to find out. Let’s have that blooming tray. She’ll have my guts for garters, but at least I’ll know the worst – and if I take the tea up, it will give me an excuse.’

  ‘You’re a good girl, Effie.’ Cook looked quite relieved. ‘Let me freshen up the tea.’ She took a cloth and seized the kettle from the hob as she suited the action to the word. ‘There, that’s better. You can take it up. And if she’s nasty, tell her you was sent.’

  ‘I’d better take these damty silks to her as well.’ Effie slipped them in her pocket as she spoke. ‘Though I’m bound to be wrong, if I do or if I don’t. You know what Mrs Thatchell can be like.’ She picked up the heavy tray.

  Cook came up and held the swing baize door for her, and Effie sidled to the morning room. Her heart was beating like a drummer at the fair as she balanced the tea-tray on the what-not in the hall, and tapped softly on the door.

  Mrs Thatchell did not answer her and Effie stood a moment, wondering what to do. But then the door swung open and to her surprise she found Mr Broadbent smiling down at her. ‘Ah, Miss Pengelly. And you’ve brought some tea. I think your mistress might be glad of it. You had better come inside.’ He stood aside to let her walk into the room.

  Mrs Thatchell was sitting in her normal chair, but that was the only normal thing about the way she looked. Her hair was half-dishevelled, as if she’d had her hands in it, and her face was all contorted and red and streaked with tears.

  ‘Madam?’ Effie put the tray down and went across to her. ‘Is something the matter?’ It was a stupid question – there obviously was.

  Her mistress looked up dully. ‘Oh, tell her, someone, do. She’ll have to find out sometime. What does it matter now? For years and years I’ve tried to live it down, but it’s come back to haunt me. I thought that I’d be safe here, but I shall have to go. I can’t stay in Penzance once this has got about.’

  ‘Why, what is it, madam?’ Effie cried. This was not the Mrs Thatchell that she knew at all.

  ‘Effie!’ It was Alex. She hadn’t noticed him, standing by the window with his helmet in his hand. ‘This concerns you slightly. It is best you understand, though there isn’t any need to spread the news outside this room. You understand?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Mrs Thatchell is understandably upset . . .’

  But he couldn’t finish because Mrs Thatchell was saying, inexplicably, ‘Please don’t call me that. Miss Borlaise will do me very well. It is what I was born with, and it’s all that I deserve.’

  ‘But . . .’ Effie started, but Alex raised a hand to silence her.

  ‘It’s an unhappy story. Not Mrs Thatchell’s fault. And I’m sorry, madam, but I’m going to call you that, because you deserve a title of respectability. The thing is, Effie, she was married once—’

  ‘Only I wasn’t!’ Mrs Thatchell snapped.

  Alex went on as if she hadn’t said a word. ‘Or she believed she was: there was a proper wedding ceremony and she had a ring, though she married a man of whom her family did not much approve.’

  ‘They said he was a gambler,’ Mrs Thatchell said. ‘But he was worse than that. He was already married – if I only knew – and with a child as well. Of course, I knew he often went away, but he told me it was army business and I never questioned it. And then he was posted to South Africa. I missed him terribly, but he wrote me every month and I thought that I was lucky – can you imagine that! And when I heard that he was coming home, I went up to meet him – but I was not the only one! This other woman and her child were there, and when I asked for Ricky Thatchell, I was told there wasn’t one. It
wasn’t even his proper surname – as I soon found out.’ She buried her streaked face in both her hands.

  ‘His name was Royston,’ Mr Broadbent said. ‘Thatchell was his mother’s maiden name and he reverted to it, for the second wife. I suppose he thought it would be hard for anyone to trace. And he might have got away with it for years, if it hadn’t been for that decision to go and meet the ship. Of course the women met. The Army tried to hush it up – these things are not good for the reputation of the force – but they court-martialled him. He made it easy for them, it appears, by escaping custody and following your employer to beg her to have him back.’

  ‘So he was absent without official leave,’ Alex put in. ‘Cashiering matter, for an officer, so they were able to be vague about the other charges on the sheet. But that was the end of Royston’s military career. He had to go back to his legal wife, of course, though to do him justice I believe that if she had agreed to give him a divorce he would have preferred to marry Miss Borlaise.’

  ‘I would not have had him,’ Mrs Thatchell said. ‘After a divorce! And he wasn’t just cashiered. Afterwards they put him in prison for a week, for bigamy! Imagine the disgrace! I’m only glad my parents did not live to learn how right they were and what a mistake my so-called marriage proved to be.’

  Effie was shaking her head in disbelief. ‘But I don’t understand. What was he doing here? I suppose it was him who was found dead in the court – though you would not have known it from the photograph.’

  Alex nodded. ‘We’re satisfied it was. His second wife was able to identify a certain – shall we call it – identifying mark.’ He looked at Mrs Thatchell.

  ‘He had a strange-shaped mole,’ she said, reluctantly. ‘Low down on his . . . on his lower back.’

  Alex nodded. ‘The sort of thing that only a wife or mother would generally know. And the notes record a similar marking on the corpse. So it appears that we do have an identity. As for why he came here, that seems clear enough. As Mr Broadbent told you, I believe, Royston had been living in a state of penury and had long been estranged from his legal wife – ever since this incident in fact – but she died of a fever together with the child. So since she had adamantly refused to grant her husband a divorce, and there were no other relatives, the estate would have come to Royston in the end. He had probably found out. He had been trying for months to contact Miss Borlaise – presumably to beg her to have him back again, now that he was in a position to provide for her and make her properly his wife.’