Tilly's Story

by June Francis

  Robbie turned and faced her. ‘Sorry, Tilly. You’ve just missed him. He’s taken Nanki Poo for a walk.’

  Tilly could not conceal her amazement. ‘In the dark! What if he was to fall over something?’

  ‘You’re thinking he’s gone over to the park. Well, he says he won’t go into it,’ said Robbie, ‘so stop worrying, Tilly. And let me introduce you and Wendy and…’ He raised an eyebrow in Grant’s direction.

  ‘This is Mr Grant Simpson, Uncle Robbie.’ Wendy stepped forward. ‘He’s the friend I spoke to you about. He’s a private investigator.’

  ‘Thank you for that, Wendy,’ said Grant in a vexed undertone.

  She flushed and fell silent, moving away from him.

  Robbie and Grant shook hands. ‘May I introduce our next door neighbour, Mr Leonard Parker,’ said Robbie.

  The two men shook hands and then Leonard turned to Tilly. ‘I think we’ve already met,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  ‘That’s true,’ said Tilly, placing her small one in his strong grasp. She gazed into his handsome face and felt her cheeks warm with the admiration in his vivid blue eyes. ‘Miss Moran, isn’t it?’

  ‘You have a good memory, Mr Parker.’

  ‘So where did you meet?’ asked Grant.

  ‘We met outside,’ said Leonard, continuing to stare at Tilly. ‘It was blowing a gale.’

  ‘Later the fog came down and you could scarcely see your hand in front of your face,’ said Tilly.

  ‘I literally picked you up off the ground.’

  ‘You were in a hurry and I wanted to get out of the wind,’ she said in a breathy voice.

  Grant Simpson cleared his throat. ‘Mr Bennett, Tilly came to ask your permission to practise on your piano.’

  ‘You certainly have it, Tilly,’ said Robbie. ‘Now, Mr Parker, perhaps I can introduce you to my niece, Wendy?’

  Tilly withdrew her hand from Leonard’s and stepped aside to allow Wendy to stand in her place. ‘If you’ll all excuse me. I’ll go and practise my piano playing.’

  She hurried away, wondering why she was feeling the way she did when she hardly knew Mr Parker. How old was he? As old as Grant and Don? Did it matter? Suddenly she wanted to lose herself in her music because her insides were churning. Hopefully her fingers had not lost their skill and she would calm down. She did not want to make a hash of her playing and prove an embarrassment to the Bennetts and their guests.

  It was a relief to discover that after a few hesitant starts and discordant notes, the music flowed beneath her touch: Sonatas, dance music, popular music hall songs and even a hymn or two composed by Charles Wesley. She even rediscovered that peculiar crashing piece that she had toyed with when Seb was missing during the war.

  ‘You’re good,’ said Wendy, appearing suddenly. She rested an elbow on the top of the piano. ‘It’s not fair. You can write, you can play music and you’re witty and pretty. What chance have I got?’

  Tilly stopped playing and glanced up at her. She did not pretend to not understand what Wendy meant by that question. How could she after what Wendy’s mother had said to her. ‘You underestimate yourself.’

  ‘He’s annoyed with me because I let slip that he’s a private investigator,’ said Wendy gloomily.

  ‘I don’t suppose it really matters and he’ll probably forget about it in a few days,’ murmured Tilly, playing a few notes.

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘What do you make of Mr Parker?’ asked Tilly.

  ‘Struck.’

  Tilly lifted her eyes and stared at her. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You knocked him for six.’

  Tilly did not speak but she felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘I don’t want to get involved with either of them. I want to write. You keep your eye on your Mr Simpson, the great detective, and I’ll make sure I don’t see too much of him.’

  ‘It’s no use,’ muttered Wendy, toying with a sheet of music. ‘Mam will put her spoke in even if he did start fancying me.’

  ‘It’s your life. Don’t be so defeatist.’ Tilly closed the piano lid and stood up. ‘I’m hungry. Do you know when the food’s going to be served?’

  ‘You can help yourself now,’ said a voice behind them.

  Tilly had regained her composure and could now look Leonard in the eye without it affecting her breathing. ‘Thank you, Mr Parker. I’m starving.’

  ‘I hardly think so.’ His blue eyes ran over her figure. ‘You look ravishingly beautiful.’

  Tilly forced herself to laugh. ‘Oh, please, Mr Parker, you’ll be turning my head. I’m only an office girl and I have to keep my feet firmly on the ground.’

  ‘That’s not quite true,’ said Wendy. ‘Don’t you believe her, Mr Parker! She’s far more talented than that: Tilly’s a writer.’

  ‘A writer?’ He gazed at Tilly. ‘You look a bit young to be published.’

  ‘But I am. Only articles and short stories,’ said Tilly, ‘but—’

  Wendy interrupted her. ‘She’s writing a novel.’

  ‘A novel?’ Leonard gave Tilly a teasing smile. ‘I suppose it’s a romance?’

  ‘I’m not yet sure what genre it’ll fit in,’ she said. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr Parker, I really am very hungry.’ She made to brush past him but he stopped her by taking her arm.

  ‘So what do you think of crime novels? Have you read this new author, Miss Christie? She has a silly little foreigner for a detective.’

  ‘Hercule Poirot,’ said Tilly, feeling as if his fingers were burning through the sleeve of her dress. ‘Yes, I’ve read her first book and I disagree with you. I thought he was clever to work out the identity of the murderer.’

  ‘He’s something of an oddity, you must admit. In real life he wouldn’t have a chance to get near the body or ferret out the murderer. It was quite a clever murder so I do admire Miss Christie. Poison is a woman’s weapon.’

  ‘You think so?’ asked Tilly.

  Grant was suddenly on the other side of Tilly. ‘I believe Miss Christie worked in a pharmacy during the war,’ he said, ‘so she knows her poisons.’

  ‘Fiction reflecting real life, you think?’ said Leonard.

  Wendy decided to join in the discussion, ‘There was a case a few months ago of a Yorkshire farmer who was accused of the attempted murder of nine people,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’ asked Grant, looking interested.

  Wendy nodded. ‘He poisoned a box of chocolates and then offered it round. He had forged a will and they had dared to contest it, so he was really annoyed with them, I guess.’

  ‘What poison did he use?’ asked Tilly, fascinated by the snippets of information Wendy found in the newspapers.

  ‘Strychnine. It’s what they use to kill rats,’ said Wendy. ‘It makes you think, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Makes you think what, Miss Wright?’ asked Leonard.

  ‘That the means of getting rid of someone you want out of the way is surprisingly ready to hand,’ she said slowly. ‘Not that I want to get rid of anyone,’ she added hastily, looking at Tilly.

  Tilly raised her eyebrows. ‘You’ve given me an idea. But food first.’

  Mr Parker laughed. ‘So the mention of strychnine in the chocolates hasn’t put you off your supper, Miss Moran?’

  ‘No, Mr Parker. It certainly hasn’t.’ Tilly removed his hand from her sleeve and left the room without a backward glance.

  The others followed. ‘I’ve never met a girl like her before,’ said Leonard.

  ‘You mean you’ve never met a writer?’ said Wendy, thinking of what Tilly had said to her earlier. ‘Well, now you have, Mr Parker, perhaps you’d best make the most of it. It’s possible that one day she might put you in a book and you’d both be famous.’

  ‘Now there’s a thought,’ murmured Leonard. ‘Although, to be honest, Miss Wright, I’m a man who much prefers to remain in the background. If you’ll excuse me.’

  He left her and Grant, staring after him.

  ‘What d
o you make of him?’ asked Grant.

  ‘He seems nice enough,’ said Wendy, glancing up at him.

  A frowning Grant said, ‘You’re such an innocent, Wendy. I’m going to get something to eat.’ He walked away.

  Wendy felt like stamping her foot. Instead, she followed him to the buffet table where she found Tilly helping herself to food. She was just about to speak to her when Eudora came up to them and said, ‘Tilly, how lovely you look this evening.’

  ‘Lovely food, Mrs Bennett,’ said Tilly, biting into a sandwich. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I’m really hungry.’

  Eudora brushed back a strand of pure silver hair amongst the black and smiled. ‘You eat up, dear. I like to see people with a healthy appetite.’

  ‘Wendy was telling us about a man who tried to kill nine people by poisoning a box of chocolates. What do you think of that?’ Tilly took another bite of her sandwich, which contained tinned salmon and was delicious.

  ‘I’m never surprised by the strange behaviour of the human race,’ said Eudora. ‘It’s what makes life so interesting.’

  ‘I’d agree,’ said Tilly.

  ‘For instance, your father and those holes he kept digging and filling in a short while ago.’

  ‘I know. It’s odd,’ said Tilly. ‘Perhaps it was moles. Have you asked him about them?’

  ‘No. I’m sure he had his reasons and, besides, he’s stopped now the frost has made the ground too hard to get his spade into it.’

  ‘What if he starts up all over again in the spring?’ said Tilly.

  ‘Then, dear, I really would have to speak to him.’ She patted Tilly’s shoulder. ‘Now, you eat your fill and have a glass of champagne. I’m looking forward to hearing you entertain us later.’

  The rest of the evening passed off smoothly. Tilly played the piano and was clapped and cheered. She looked for Leonard Parker amongst those listening but he seemed to have vanished and she was aware of disappointment. She saw her father briefly but made no mention of holes. What was the point if he was no longer digging them? By the time midnight chimed she had forgotten all about them, cheering in the New Year as church bells and the ship hooters on the Mersey sounded a welcome. She had managed to survive the past six months, almost independently of her family. She could only hope that she could continue to do so during 1921 and prayed that it would be a healthy, happy year for all those she loved and cared about.

  Part Two

  February-September 1921

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Listen to this,’ said Wendy, glancing up from the newspaper as Tilly entered the shop.

  ‘Go on,’ she said, resting her elbows on the counter and fixing her with a stare. ‘I could do with some entertainment right now. Something that will make me laugh. That woman will be the death of me.’

  ‘I presume you mean Miss Langton? Well, this should tickle you.’ Wendy read out aloud, ‘Weird Merseyside spook, remarkable manifestation and its effects in vicarage. It was felt but seldom visible. Panic-stricken maids leave due to nerves whilst dog barks at the vicar’s favourite chair. Apparently, the vicar died ten years ago,’ she added.

  ‘You should read that to your Aunt Eudora,’ said Tilly. ‘She might be able to help them get rid of the ghost.’

  ‘No, I daren’t do that because Uncle Robbie wants her to have nothing to do with getting in touch with the spirits,’ said Wendy. ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  Tilly shrugged. ‘I’ve an open mind. Anything funnier than that?’

  Wendy turned over a page. ‘There’s a piece about the latest in the Sex War.’

  Tilly straightened up. ‘Go on?’

  ‘It happened in America. Apparently girls at various churches have refused to keep company with men who smoke – while the men will have nothing to do with girls who wear knee-length skirts, silk-stockings, paint their virgin cheeks or have hairstyles that hide their ears.’

  Tilly crinkled her nose. ‘What’s wrong with hiding their ears?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s a new hairstyle.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. It’s in America again.’

  Tilly thought fleetingly of Don and could not imagine him being against the modern girl. ‘So what’s it say?’

  ‘A judge in Springfield, Ohio, has ordered a waist-high curtain to be hung before the jury-box so that the lower extremities of women won’t distract the police as they give evidence.’

  Tilly smiled. ‘He and Miss Langton would make a pair. She’s forever going on about the length of my skirts, saying they’re too short when they’re at least an inch below my knees. She told me that she’s had complaints.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  ‘No. Because I’d be able to tell if anyone who came in disapproved of my legs.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ve had a couple of wolf whistles.’

  ‘That’s what’s probably got up her nose,’ said Wendy. ‘Seen anything of Mr Parker?’

  Tilly said casually, ‘No. And I’m not planning to. I told you I’ve no time for men. What about Grant? Have you seen him?’

  ‘Not for a week or so,’ said Wendy, folding the newspaper. ‘And when I did see him he seemed to be in another world. I don’t think he heard half of what I said.’

  ‘Perhaps he has a case that’s exercising his mind,’ suggested Tilly.

  Wendy sighed. ‘Well, if he has, he’s keeping it to himself like the good private investigator he is.’

  Tilly said no more but went into the back, said hello to the family, and went upstairs to change. She felt slightly guilty because she had made no mention to Wendy about having seen Grant, herself. He had visited the insurance office several times since the beginning of the New Year. Apparently, he had known Mr Holmes when he was a policeman attached to Tuebrook police station. She decided that next time she saw him then she would try and persuade him to spill the beans about his latest case.

  * * *

  ‘Good morning, Miss Moran,’ said Grant, breezing into the office a few weeks later. ‘Miss Langton!’ He inclined his head in her direction and received a sour look for his effort.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Simpson,’ said Tilly, smiling at him. ‘What can we do for you?’

  ‘It’s not your place to ask such a question,’ snapped Miss Langton from over by the filing cabinet. ‘I’m in charge here. What is it you want, Mr Simpson?’

  ‘To see Mr Holmes. There’s been an interesting development,’ he said, striding over to the manager’s office and knocking on the door.

  Miss Langton immediately scurried after him. ‘You must let me enquire whether he’s available first,’ she said.

  A voice called, ‘Come in.’

  ‘There, he can see me,’ said Grant, winking at Tilly. He went inside and closed the door in the secretary’s face.

  Miss Langton spun round. Swiftly, Tilly lowered her head to the figures she was entering in a ledger.

  ‘Did you say something?’ asked Miss Langton.

  ‘No,’ said Tilly, keeping her eyes on her work.

  ‘You sniggered then.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Why should I?’

  ‘Because you thought it was funny.’

  ‘Thought what was funny?’ asked Tilly. ‘Did you tell a joke?’

  The woman marched over to where Tilly was sitting and slapped the desk. ‘I do not make jokes.’

  ‘No,’ sighed Tilly, and lowered her head to her work again.

  ‘He winked at you. You’re a flirt. When you first came here, I thought you were different from those other girls. Now you’re nothing but trouble.’

  ‘I’m not a flirt,’ said Tilly fiercely, throwing her pen on the desk. ‘And I’m not a troublemaker either. All you do is pick, pick, pick on me. You can’t stand it that I’m young. You want to be young again and have men find you attractive. Perhaps you regret never having married.’

  The colour drained from Miss Langton’s face and the skin around her nose and mouth looked pinched. ‘How dare you! You will leave now!�
��

  Tilly hung onto her temper, realising she should not have let her tongue run away with her. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Langton, I shouldn’t have said that. Your private life is none of my business.’

  ‘I don’t want your apology,’ said the older woman breathing heavily. ‘I want you out.’

  Tilly’s control over her temper slipped. ‘It’s not your place to fire me,’ she said. ‘As soon as Mr Simpson comes out the office I’m going to speak to Mr Holmes and tell him you’ve been victimising me.’

  Miss Langton turned puce. ‘You will what?’ She leant across the desk and slapped Tilly across the face.

  Tilly’s head jerked back with the force of the blow and she let out a cry.

  Mr Holmes’s door opened and he said, ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘She-she w-was impudent,’ gasped Miss Langton. ‘I will not put-put up with such behaviour in my office.’

  Grant had followed the manager out and stared at Tilly, who had a hand to her cheek. ‘What did she do, Tilly?’

  She did not answer, only lowering her hand. ‘She hit you?’

  ‘She asked for it,’ said Miss Langton, collapsing into a chair and burying her face in her hands.

  Mr Holmes sighed. ‘Miss Moran, are you badly hurt?’

  ‘I’ll survive,’ said Tilly, reaching for her pen with trembling fingers.

  ‘Then perhaps you could go to the bakery and bring us some buns back and we could have a cup of tea?’

  ‘OK,’ said Tilly, getting to her feet. ‘How many buns and do I take the money out of the petty cash?’

  ‘Four, Miss Moran. We’ll have one each,’ he replied, ‘and yes, use the petty cash. Thank you.’

  ‘But surely you’re not going to allow Miss Langton get away with hitting Miss Moran?’ burst out Grant.

  Tilly darted him a glance as she fetched her coat and hat and shook her head.

  ‘I’ll deal with this in my own way, Grant,’ said Mr Holmes firmly. ‘Now if you’ll wait for me in my office.’

  Grant looked at Tilly and hesitated. She managed a small smile and shrugged on her coat before turning away. She stopped in front of Miss Langton because it was the older woman who was in charge of the petty cash but her shoulders were shaking. Tilly decided to get the key herself and take the money. This she did and then left the office.