Freddie rolled his eyes at Clara and she grimaced. ‘I’ll go and fetch my coat.’
* * *
‘Have you thought some more about the bloke you saw?’ asked Freddie, as they reached the riverbank.
‘Not really but I suppose I should,’ said Clara, darting him a sidelong glance and wishing they could be like the other couples taking a stroll along the river. Some were with children and feeding the ducks and swans.
Freddie took her hand and clasped it firmly. ‘How old did you think he was and what colour was his hair? How did he walk?’
Clara allowed herself a moment to enjoy the warmth and the strength of his hand before saying, ‘He was middle-aged with greying ginger hair. I remember because he doffed his cap. As for his walk… he shuffled along.’
‘Were his clothes new or shabby?’
‘Workaday clothes, I’d say.’
Freddie nodded. ‘You said he wished you good morning, so what was his voice like?’
‘He had a Scottish accent.’
Freddie was quiet a few moments and then said, ‘It might sound crazy but your description could fit Mrs Black’s gardener.’
Clara looked at him doubtfully. ‘You think so? I know I spoke to him when I visited Mrs Black. If it is him then that could explain why he seemed vaguely familiar. But what would he be doing here so early in the morning?’
‘Are you sure it was the Bennetts’ house he was looking at and not Kenny and Hanny’s? If it is him then he might have had a message for me or Hanny from Joy.’
‘If that was true then why did he go towards the footbridge?’
Freddie was silenced.
Clara tried to recall that encounter she’d had with Mrs Black’s gardener. She had followed him along the footpath to the house, that was when he had turned and spoken to her. What had he said? She tried to remember. Something about what the old man in the village had said – and she felt almost sure he had mentioned her skin. That’s right. Because she had told him that it was the colour it was because she worked in munitions. Then he had told her about working in a factory.
She glanced at Freddie. ‘He’d been ill due to working in a factory.’
‘What kind of factory?’ he asked. ‘Was it here in Chester?’
‘I don’t remember him saying, but whatever job he did, something happened to affect his brain.’
Freddie looked thoughtful. ‘There’s a lead factory near the Shropshire Union canal. I remember reading in the Chester Chronicle about a man suffering brain damage from working there.’
‘I wonder who would know if Mrs Black’s gardener had also worked there?’ asked Clara.
Freddie shrugged. ‘Mrs Black and possibly Joy. But neither are here. Of course, if Joy knew then she might have spoken to Hanny about him. Can you remember anything else he said to you?’
Clara closed her eyes and tried to picture that encounter with the man and gradually something else he had mentioned popped into her mind.
‘Family! He had children and wanted to see them but Mrs Black wouldn’t allow it.’
‘How many children?’ asked Freddie, gazing at her encouragingly.
Clara smiled. ‘It was almost a year ago. I’m not super brain.’
He grinned. ‘You’re doing pretty well.’
They walked on in silence, both deep in thought.
Suddenly, Freddie said, ‘I’m trying to remember how old Joy was when Kenny, Alice and Tilly’s father vanished from their lives.’
Clara’s eyes widened. ‘You mean… you think… wouldn’t you recognise him?’
‘I don’t remember their father, so it must be fourteen or so years ago.’
‘What about Joy? Surely she’d remember him?’
‘Maybe she never saw much of him, and he’s probably changed.’
‘Where did the family live? Was it in your street?’ asked Clara.
‘No. I believe their yard was the other side of the entry to ours,’ murmured Freddie, swinging her hand and looking thoughtful. ‘You know, he could be Mal Moran. From the little I’ve heard about what went on in those days, he wouldn’t have visited our house much. I know the mothers were friends from way back and that’s probably why Alice and Hanny became close friends. But he didn’t grow up in the area, he was from Scotland like my dah. And what with his working all day, us children wouldn’t have seen much of him.’
‘Then it probably is him,’ said Clara excitedly. ‘I told you he had a Scottish accent!’
Freddie let out a low whistle. ‘You’re right, you did. It’s a tremendous coincidence if it isn’t him.’
‘So what do we do?’ asked Clara. ‘Tilly’s bound to ask if I’ve remembered where I saw him when we get back.’
He nodded. ‘You said that you believed he was harmless, do you still think that, knowing he used to beat his wife?’
Clara hesitated. ‘I can’t be absolutely sure, but I wouldn’t have thought Mrs Black would employ him if she thought he was dangerous. Maybe he just wanted to have a look at his children and grandchildren.’
Freddie nodded. ‘You’re right. But knowing Alice doesn’t want Tilly to meet her father, I think we have to keep quiet until Alice and Seb get back, and then we tell them what we think.’
Clara agreed.
‘Now,’ he said, his eyes warm as they met hers. ‘Shall we talk of something else? Are you looking forward to the party? It’s only a few days away.’
She was relieved to change the subject. ‘Yes, although, if Alice isn’t back by then, I’ll have to look after Georgie.’
‘There’ll be others there with children,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m sure they won’t mind watching him for a short while if there’s any dancing at the party.’
‘You think there will be dancing? Because if there is, I don’t know what I’m going to wear. I know Alice said I can borrow something of hers but I can’t say I feel right about nosing through her clothes.’ A sigh escaped her.
‘Then borrow something from Tilly. You are much of a size and she has some nice clothes.’
Clara agreed that the younger girl certainly did know how to dress, but she very much doubted she would be asking for a loan of an outfit for the christening. She decided to put it out of her mind for now and instead asked him how he had enjoyed his time at the repair yard.
After that they talked idly as they continued to amble alongside the river, content just to be in one another’s company. Yet Clara felt each had moved a step closer to knowing the other better after the walk.
By the time they returned to the house it was dusk and she half-expected Freddie to say goodnight and go home, but he was to prove how solicitous he was of hers and Tilly’s safety by making a search of the gardens before banging on the door and ordering Tilly to open up. He waited until she had done so before saying goodnight, and then waited until they were both inside and had closed the door before leaving.
Tilly shot the bolts and then, without a word, went into the drawing room. Clara guessed from her moody expression that if the younger girl was desperate for a heart to heart, she was expecting Clara to initiate it. She felt sorry for Tilly, but she accepted Freddie’s decision that it would be best to wait until Alice returned before saying anything about their suspicions concerning the identity of the man she had seen across the way. As for Tilly’s prowler, could he possibly have been a figment of her imagination?
As Clara climbed the stairs, she was aware of the sound of music. Pausing, she listened a moment and was impressed by Tilly’s piano playing. Then she carried on up the stairs to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was Maundy Thursday and Clara was in the garden playing ball with Georgie when she heard someone at the front door. Telling Georgie to be a good boy, she hurried to the front of the house. A telegraph boy was just about to wheel his bicycle away when she called to him. He handed her an envelope. She opened it and read the brief message. We will both be home this evening. Love Alice and Seb.
Relief soar
ed inside Clara and she fumbled for a penny in her pocket and was glad to find one. She handed it to the boy and watched as he went on down the path. She stood a moment gazing into space, hoping all was well with her cousin’s arm. Then she began to think about food. She had already bought ingredients for that evening’s meal. As she walked round the side of the house, she wondered what she could give Alice and Seb to eat.
Then she saw what Georgie was doing in the garden and a roar escaped her as she began to run. He had found a trowel from somewhere and dug in the soil, dislocating a plant in the process. Not only were his clothes filthy but he was pulling leaves from the plant and stuffing them in his mouth.
‘Oh, hell,’ she wailed, praying that the plant was not poisonous. It would be terrible if Alice and Seb arrived home to find their youngest son had died due to her negligence. She prised open his mouth and tried to remove every scrap of greenery from its interior. He protested and bit her finger. It took all her willpower not to smack him.
‘Naughty,’ she said fiercely.
‘What’s the trouble?’ asked a voice behind her.
Clara turned her head and saw a woman standing there with a pram. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
‘I’m Emma Davies, a friend of the family. I’m looking for Alice.’
‘She’s away. She and Seb will be back late this evening. Perhaps if you can come back tomorrow?’
Emma hesitated. ‘Perhaps I should try Hanny again. I got no answer when I knocked earlier.’
‘She’s probably gone shopping and her mother mightn’t have heard you,’ said Clara, giving her attention to Georgie once more.
‘What’s he done?’
Clara said grimly, ‘I left him playing ball while I answered the door. When I got back he’d found a trowel from somewhere and dug up this plant and has been eating it. I’m worried in case it’s poisonous.’
Emma left the pram and inspected the plant in question. She plucked a leaf and squeezed it between her fingers and sniffed it. ‘It’s bergamot, if I’m not mistaken, and safe to eat.’
‘That’s a relief! My mam used to put potherbs in her stews but I’ve never come across this one before.’ She smiled up at Emma.
‘Neither had I until Mrs Black had me picking the leaves from her garden for her potions.’
‘You know Mrs Black?’ said Clara, her eyes bright with interest.
Emma nodded. ‘I used to work for her. I keep thinking I must make the effort to visit her in Eastham but, what with the children and my mam not being too good since my brothers were killed, I’ve just not had the chance.’ Her face was almost unbelievably sad.
Clara felt for her. ‘I am so sorry. I lost my dad.’
Emma sighed. ‘The twins were only twenty and my dad’s a swine. As for Chris, who’s… missing…’ Her voice trailed off and there was a long silence. She changed the subject. ‘So would I be right in thinking you’re Clara?’
‘My fame’s gone before me, has it?’ joked Clara.
Emma smiled. ‘You have a look of Seb and all that Hanny said was good.’
Clara thanked her then gasped because she saw that Georgie was now stuffing soil down the front of his blouson. ‘What are you doing?’ she cried, realising she had neglected her duties yet again. She grabbed his hand and removed the trowel from his grasp before pulling him to his feet. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I’m going to have to deal with him.’
Emma tried to conceal a smile. ‘Would you like me to replant that bergamot? You don’t want it to die.’
‘Yes, please,’ answered Clara, swinging Georgie up into her arms. Immediately he began to struggle to get down, but Clara wasn’t having any nonsense and carried him, kicking and yelling towards the house. She was halfway up the garden when she thought of something and turned and shouted, ‘Perhaps you’d like to come in and have a cup of tea. Hanny might be back by the time you’ve drunk it.’
‘Thanks. I won’t say no,’ said Emma. ‘It’s a bit of a walk from Garden Lane.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘The other side of Chester. You go in. I’ll see you in a few minutes.’
By the time Emma entered the kitchen with her baby daughter, Georgie’s hands and face were clean and he was rolling a piece of dough on a corner of the table. ‘That’s quietened him down,’ said Emma, watching him. ‘Do you look after kids for a living?’
Clara laughed. ‘No! Although, I’m enjoying my time here and I’ll miss him when I go back home. My proper job is as a cashier in a cinema, but we had to close down due to the flu.’
‘Terrible disease,’ said Emma. ‘You think all is well and your men are safe and then that happens.’
‘But thousands have survived and are steadily getting demobbed. I saw this photo in this newspaper the potatoes were wrapped in.’ Clara spread the sheet on the table. ‘Don’t they look relieved.’
Emma gazed at the picture of the soldiers and then the colour drained from her face. ‘What is it?’ asked Clara. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Emma did not speak but fumbled for a chair. Clara hurried to help her because she was holding her child.
‘It’s the strangest thing…’ said Emma.
‘What is?’
Emma cleared her throat but no words came.
Clara felt quite concerned for her. ‘Are you all right? Would you like me to go and see if Hanny is back yet?’
Emma gazed at her. ‘Would you? I’ll keep my eye on the kettle and Georgie. It’s just that I’m still feeling a bit light-headed.’
Clara nodded and hurried out. But she only got as far as the gate when she saw Hanny coming from the direction of the bridge pushing the pram. Clara called her name.
Hanny came hurrying towards her. ‘What is it? Is it news from Alice?’
‘A telegram has come saying they’ll be home this evening but that’s not what I want you for. I’ve a friend of yours here. An Emma Davies. She’s taken a funny turn, so I offered to go and see if you were in.’
Hanny looked surprised. ‘I wonder what’s wrong.’
‘Come and find out,’ said Clara.
Hanny followed her to the back of the house and, leaving the sleeping twins outside in their pram, followed Clara into the kitchen.
Emma seemed to have recovered her composure but still looked worried. She flashed Hanny a relieved smile. ‘I’m so glad to see you. I might be just imagining things but see if you can spot someone we know in this photo.’ She placed a finger on the picture of the soldiers. ‘This lot are about to be demobbed.’
Hanny rested both hands on the table and gazed down at the photograph. Her eyes scanned the faces of the men, most were looking straight ahead and smiling for the camera but there were those who looked impatient and one who presented only his profile. Her gaze fixed on him. ‘Oh my God! It can’t be. He’s dead!’ she cried.
‘He doesn’t look very dead there,’ said Emma grimly.
Clara could contain her curiosity no longer. ‘Who is it?’
‘My brother Bert,’ muttered Hanny, the muscles of her face taut. ‘But there has to be a mistake. Are you sure this isn’t a very old newspaper?’
‘I’m not daft, Hanny. I checked the date. It’s last month’s,’ said Emma, her fists clenching. ‘How can this be right? He was supposed to have been killed in action and yet here he is, alive and kicking.’
‘Which one are we looking at?’ asked Clara, gazing over Hanny’s shoulder.
Hanny pointed. ‘You can’t see his face properly but it’s my brother all right. He’s a handsome devil. I can’t understand how he can be in this photo.’
‘Does it give the name of the regiment the soldiers belong to?’ Clara asked, glancing at the lines of print beneath the picture. ‘Perhaps you could trace the soldiers that way.’
‘Now there’s an idea,’ said Emma, giving Clara an approving stare. ‘Trouble is, the men will most likely have dispersed by now. What we need is a detective.’
‘Someone like
Sherlock Holmes,’ suggested Clara. ‘Did you see that film with William Gillette playing Holmes?’
‘I wish,’ said Hanny, tapping her fingers on the newspaper. ‘Unfortunately Holmes isn’t available, so we need someone else to solve this mystery,’ said Emma, folding the newspaper.
‘If it’s all right with you,’ said Hanny, reaching out a hand. ‘I want that to show Kenny. Alice and Seb will need to see it, too. They have to be warned.’ Her expression was stern. ‘Bert might look like a Greek god but he’ll be out to cause trouble.’
‘But why?’ asked Clara.
‘Because he hates us,’ said Hanny softly. ‘He might be my brother but he’s not the least bit like Freddie. Bert’s a total swine.’
Emma said, ‘I’d best go. The kids will be in for lunch, so I’ll have to put my skates on or I won’t make it home in time.’
‘I’ll have to get a move on, too,’ said Hanny, tucking a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear. ‘We’ll see ourselves out, Clara. There’s nothing you want?’
Clara shook her head. ‘I need to get food for Alice and Seb but I’ll go out later.’
Hanny nodded. ‘Let us know when they arrive.’
A few minutes later, as Clara saw to Georgie’s lunch, she turned over in her mind what she knew about Bert. She remembered Tilly telling her that this house was said to have been haunted by the ghost of the woman whose life he had destroyed. On such a lovely spring day, it was hard to believe that such violence could take place here. Yet it had, so it was no wonder Hanny and Emma insisted Seb and Alice must know that the man they believed to be dead was very much alive. She hoped the hours would not drag until they arrived home.
* * *
Clara watched as Alice kissed her children and Seb gave them a one-armed hug and a kiss. One might think they had been parted for a month instead of a week. She was reminded of her own parents and wished they were still alive. Freddie, who had come round, slipped out, unnoticed in all the excitement. When calm had been restored, the children were ushered to bed by Tilly with the promise that their parents would tell them a story later. Alice and Seb sat down to sausages, mashed potato and turnip.
When the Clouds Go Rolling By Page 26
