by June Francis
‘That’s true,’ said Tilly. ‘It makes me wonder why the murderer didn’t bury the body in the park.’
‘I wondered that, too,’ said Leonard, smiling. ‘I suppose there was always the fear of him being seen and there is another entry into the Bennetts’ back garden, besides going up the side of the house.’
Tilly looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Yes. There’ve all got doors in the rear wall that back onto a lane and a grassy area, overlooking the main road. The Bennetts’ door is concealed by the outhouse.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the Alsatian growling and then it began to bark. ‘Will you quieten your dog, Mr Parker?’ said Eudora.
‘I’d best go,’ Tilly whispered.
‘I hope you have a pleasant day and don’t allow what’s happened to disturb your sleep,’ said Leonard.
‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘Bye.’ Tilly walked up the path to where she could see Eudora standing in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’
Eudora’s eyes rested on Tilly’s flushed face. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten my warning, Tilly. Mr Parker is a charmer but he’s not for you.’
Tilly bit back a sharp retort. ‘We were only talking because of his dog.’
‘It’s going to prove a nuisance, that dog. I can understand his reason for getting one but I can’t do with it barking and throwing itself at the wall or the fence every time we come outside,’ said Eudora. ‘It needs chaining up during the day or it could get out and savage someone.’
‘The Hound of the Baskervilles,’ murmured Tilly. ‘Sherlock Holmes had to shoot the beast.’
Eudora’s expression altered and she looked wistful. ‘Did you know that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has developed an interest in spiritualism? Not only did he lose his first wife early this century but he also lost his son and five members of his immediate family during the war.’
‘Poor man,’ said Tilly softly. ‘I know Rudyard Kipling lost his only son. So much sadness. I hope there’ll never be another war.’
Eudora sighed. ‘It is a tragedy for those left behind and I sometimes regret that I can no longer give them some comfort – but I made a promise. Now come in and have a cup of tea and I’ll tell you what I want you to do. I won’t be able to go with you to the Doyles after all. I’m having trouble with a builder doing some alterations to one of my properties and I need to speak to him face to face. Mal will be taking me once he and Robbie come back from the police station in Tuebrook.’
‘What do the police want with Dad?’ asked Tilly, immediately anxious.
‘Just to look at some photographs of villains to see if he can recognise our burglar.’
‘I hope he won’t work himself into a state.’
Eudora smiled. ‘Of course he won’t. He has Robbie with him and, besides, I gave him a double dose of his tonic.’
Over tea and biscuits Eudora spoke about Seb’s mother. ‘Joy was telling me that the police sergeant promised to ask Gabrielle to sing at our concert.’
‘I thought it might be best my mentioning it,’ said Tilly casually.
Eudora fixed her with a stare. ‘How tactful you are, Tilly, and you’re right, of course.’
‘I wonder who’s her accompanist.’
‘I’m sure she’ll let us know if she wanted to bring her own or is happy for you to play for her,’ said Eudora.
Tilly wondered what Alice would think of that; her sister had never got on with her mother-in-law at the best of times. Would she be prepared to support the concert if Gabrielle was going to take part?
‘You can let me know how you get on with the Doyle family on Monday morning, Tilly. We’ll be going to the office as there is a fair amount of typing for you to do and I need to speak to people,’ said Eudora.
Tilly remembered what Grant had said about her working days and she mentioned his suggestion to Eudora.
‘It sounds a sensible arrangement,’ said the older woman. ‘It does mean you’ll be able to support yourself without needing to ask your family for help. But it does give you less time for working on your novel and I think it important that you continue with your writing.’
Tilly agreed. ‘I’ll just have to make sure I fit in at least a couple of hours every evening,’ she said.
Eudora gave Tilly money for travelling expenses and she set out to catch a tram into town and another that took her along Vauxhall Road. She got off near Burlington Gardens and walked up the street where the Doyles lived. It was the start of the Easter school holidays and she found Patricia watching the younger girls and seven-year-old Jimmy playing out in the street. Tilly presumed Micky, who was nine, had gone to the park to play football with some lads from the street.
‘Is your mother in, Patricia?’ she asked.
Patricia hesitated. ‘Yes, but me uncle’s with her and he chased us out.’
‘I didn’t know you had an uncle. Why did he chase you out?’
‘Yer real nosy, aren’t yer?’ said Patricia with a spurt of irritation. ‘But if yer must know he wanted a private word with me mam.’
‘I want a private word with her, too,’ said Tilly firmly.
‘Yer best not having it today,’ said Patricia. ‘He wouldn’t like it that we have the likes of you visitin’ us. He’s a real hard nut.’
‘Is he going to help you as a family?’
A sharp laugh escaped the girl. ‘Now that would be the day, wouldn’t it? He never came when Dad was home, only when he wanted something from Mam and he could get her on her own. She’s his big sister, yer see, and she has a misplaced sense of loyalty where he’s concerned.’
‘So what does he want this time?’ Tilly asked, wondering how Mrs Doyle could help her brother when she couldn’t even help herself and her children.
‘How the hell should I know?’ said Patricia scathingly. ‘He wants to keep it a secret, that’s why we’ve been chased out.’
Tilly considered the situation for the moment. ‘Well, he’s not going to be there all morning, is he? So I might as well hang around until he’s gone.’
Patricia sighed heavily. ‘I wish yer wouldn’t. It’ll do no good.’
‘Let me be the judge of that. How’s Anthony?’
She hesitated. ‘He’s OK. Although—’
Tilly pounced on the word. ‘Although what?’
‘He’s got a bit of a sniffle and a cough.’
Tilly’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your mam hasn’t pawned those clothes I brought or the blankets, has she?’
‘Why d’yer say that?’ asked Patricia indignantly. ‘I told yer I’m looking out for all of us, especially the baby.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Tilly, her voice softening. ‘It’s just that I know how difficult it must be for you.’
‘Yer think yer do but yer don’t really,’ said Patricia roughly. ‘To do that yer’d have to be me and yer can’t be me.’
‘You’re very perceptive,’ said Tilly, smiling.
‘That’s a big word. What’s it mean?’
‘You’ve got a clear understanding of who you are and who I am.’
Patricia laughed. ‘That’s easy, Miss. I’m a nobody and yer a somebody.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Yes it is!’ cried Patricia.
Suddenly there was the sound of a door opening and the girl glanced in the direction of her home. ‘What is it?’ whispered Tilly.
‘It’s him,’ said Patricia. ‘Get away from me. He’ll take one look at yer and know what yer are. He doesn’t trust anyone according to Mam.’ She seized her younger twin sisters, Mary and Maureen, and hurried them away.
Tilly glanced at the man standing outside the Doyles’ house, talking to Mrs Doyle, and thought he did indeed look a tough nut. She decided to go for a walk round the neighbourhood and come back in half an hour. Hopefully, by then, she would have a chance to speak to Mrs Doyle.
It was as Tilly was strolling along Scotland Road, gazing in the shop windows that she saw Leon
ard Parker coming out of a pawnshop. What on earth was he doing there? She was debating whether to go up and speak to him when the man she recognised as Mrs Doyle’s brother walked up to him. Whatever they had to say to each other was said in fierce whispers. She wondered how they knew each other and whether Patricia’s uncle could possibly work in Leonard’s shipyard. Maybe he was arguing about the cut in piecework in the shipyards. But even if she was right about that, it did not explain why Mr Parker was coming out of a pawnshop. It was not the kind of place she would have envisaged him frequenting. Suddenly the two men parted and went in opposite directions.
On impulse Tilly decided to follow Leonard but knew she would have to hurry or she could lose sight of him amongst the Saturday morning shoppers. Fortunately he was wearing a distinctive jacket with a dogtooth pattern, so she had little difficulty in keeping track of him. Even so, she was glad when he left the crowds behind and turned into a street that led towards the docks. Suddenly he came to a halt in front of two large gates and in one of them was a Judas gate, which he opened with a key. He stepped inside and locked the door behind him. Unable to follow him in there, she turned away and headed for the Doyles’ house.
There was no sign of the girls in the street, so she knocked at the door. Patricia answered it. ‘I thought it might be you,’ she said. ‘Well, yer’ve missed Mam because she’s gone out on a message. But yer can come in if yer like and have a look at the baby.’
Tilly accepted the girl’s invitation. As she entered the kitchen it struck her afresh how little of this world’s goods this family had but at least spring had arrived and it would not be long before summer was here and there would be no need for a fire at all.
Patricia took Tilly over to the perambulator where the baby lay. He was well wrapped up but his little nose was running and his cheeks were flushed. She knew something about childish complaints having helped care for her nephews and niece. This little one might just have caught a common cold but if it worsened it could go on his chest and turn into something more serious. Mrs Doyle could not afford to get a doctor out to him and she wondered what was the best thing to do.
‘What d’yer think?’ asked Patricia.
‘You’re doing the best you can by keeping him warm but if he should get feverish then let us know.’ Tilly took out a scrap of paper and wrote Eudora Bennett’s address on it and her telephone number. ‘Mrs Bennett will help you in an emergency.’
Patricia looked relieved and took the paper and pocketed it along with the pennies Tilly gave her. ‘Thanks. Yer’d best go now, just in case the brother comes back.’
‘What does your uncle do for a living?’ asked Tilly.
‘He works down at the docks. Why d’yer ask?’
‘Does he work in a shipyard?’
‘Maybe.’
Tilly produced a bag of sweets and handed them to Patricia. ‘Share these with your sisters and brothers. I’ll see you again soon.’
A smile lit up Patricia’s thin face as she took the treat. ‘No, yer’ve done enough. I’ll get in touch with Mrs Bennett if we’re desperate. I’ll miss yer coming but yer best staying away while the brother’s on the prowl.’
‘If you’d rather I did that then I will,’ said Tilly, although she had every intention of keeping an eye on the family without calling at the house. She would need to mention the uncle to Eudora but would leave seeing her until next week. She decided to keep quiet about seeing him talking to Leonard Parker. After all, there might be a completely innocent explanation. Besides, she wanted to get off home and do some writing.
* * *
‘Have you said something to Grant Simpson about me?’ asked Wendy, resting a shoulder against the doorjamb of Tilly’s bedroom.
‘No. Why should you think that?’ Tilly lifted her eyes from her typewriter. She thought the other girl looked pale and strained. ‘I’d rather you didn’t disturb me when I’m writing but if you want to talk, then come in and shut the door behind you. You’re letting in the noise of Pete practising and that’s distracting me, too.’
Wendy did as Tilly suggested and closed the door and sat on the bed. ‘How’s it going?’ she asked.
Tilly pulled a face. ‘I’ve had to rewrite what I’d already done because my heroine decided she wasn’t going to do what I originally planned for her. My hero isn’t behaving himself either. He’s going to get himself into real trouble if he’s not careful.’
‘What are you going on about?’ said Wendy, staring at her as if she were mad.
‘Don’t ask,’ groaned Tilly, removing a sheet of paper and turning it over so she could type on the back. ‘So what’s this about Mr Simpson?’
‘He hasn’t been in the shop for days.’
Tilly thought about her last conversation with her employer. ‘It’s possible he’s away on a case, making the most of the Easter weekend,’ she said cautiously. ‘I can’t swear to that but it’s a possibility.’
‘What case?’ asked Wendy, perking up.
‘It’s confidential so I can’t talk about it,’ said Tilly, taking a bag of sweets from a drawer and popping a chocolate lime into her mouth. She offered the bag to Wendy, who shook her head.
‘No thanks. I eat too many sweets. If Mam knew the times I helped myself she’d have a fit. Fortunately, she’s more out of the shop than she’s in. Visiting her cronies from the old street. Mrs Pain for one. D’you remember her?’
‘Yes,’ said Tilly. ‘She’s the cleaner who told me about the job in the insurance office, isn’t she? I haven’t seen her around for a while.’
Wendy nodded. ‘That’s because she’s developed terrible rheumatism in her knees.’
‘Poor old thing. Surely she must be entitled to the old age pension.’
‘Hell, Tilly, you have to be seventy to get that and five bob doesn’t go far these days.’ Wendy wandered round the bedroom and picked up a magazine lying on the floor in a corner. ‘You didn’t buy this in our shop,’ she said.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Wendy plonked the magazine on the desk. ‘It’s American, it’s got the dollar sign on.’
Tilly glanced at it. ‘Your Aunt Eudora gave it to me. I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet.’
Wendy sat on the bed and began to flick over pages. ‘It’s got lots of pictures. Oh, look! It’s got a photo, the same as the one you have in the drawer.’
Tilly sighed. ‘You’re going to have to go. I can’t concentrate.’
‘Look!’ Wendy came over to her and placed the open magazine on top of a pile of paper. ‘It’s sad, isn’t it? I wonder where me dad’s buried. I’d like to visit his grave one day and put some flowers on it.’
Tilly looked at the picture of the war graves and realised that Wendy was right. It was the same as one of those that Don had sent to her; that meant he must be working for this magazine. She felt a stir of excitement as she read the prose beneath the photograph and then began to read the article from the beginning and looked at the other photographs. There was a picture of Don with a smiling blonde, who had her hand on his shoulder. It gave her quite a shock seeing him with a woman.
‘He must be clever,’ said Wendy. ‘Just like Grant Simpson.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘Bet he has money, too.’
Tilly did not answer but found herself wondering whether Don and the blonde were close friends. How old was the magazine? She turned to the front and saw it had been issued several months ago. He could be anywhere with this blonde for company. She felt an ache inside her. What if he had decided to marry a woman of his own age, believing because Tilly had failed to meet him in Liverpool that she did not care enough about him?
Tilly dropped the magazine on the floor and turned to Wendy. ‘Now you’ve shown it to me, will you go, please?’ she said fiercely. ‘I’ve work to do.’
‘OK! I’m going but what about Grant Simpson?’ asked Wendy.
‘He told me to go into the office on Wednesday. I’ll find out then whether he’s been away o
r not.’
Wendy nodded and left the room.
Tilly picked up the magazine, turned to the photograph of Don and the blonde. She gazed down at it for a moment, with tears in her eyes, before throwing the periodical into a corner.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Hey, Tilly!’ called Grant, waving to her from across Fenwick Street the following Wednesday.
‘Mr Simpson,’ she said, clutching the bottle of milk and smiling as he arrived on the pavement in front of her. ‘Did you go away? Wendy said you haven’t been in the shop.’
‘Ahhh, young Wendy. She makes me smile, that girl,’ said Grant.
‘Why is that?’ asked Tilly, watching him unlock the door.
‘Because she’s always so welcoming and keeps me informed of what’s going on in the wider world. In a way it was she who gave me an idea about the actress case.’
‘What idea was that, Mr Simpson?’ asked Tilly, following him inside.
‘Newspapers. They inform us about who’s performing and what’s on in the various cities and towns. There’s also a newspaper specifically for those in the entertainment business. Since reading one I’ve discovered that life is tough for some in the business. Quite a number are out of work. There’s been a drop in stage work.’
‘Do you think it’s because people can’t afford to go to the theatre or due to the growth of cinemas?’
‘Both play their part, I should imagine. It’s also true that some of the top singers are now recording their voices, so those who can afford to buy a gramophone don’t have to go out to find entertainment – they can play records of the great singers in the comfort of their own home.’ He paused to open the door upstairs and crossed the room to his desk. ‘Put the kettle on, Tilly, I’m parched and desperate for a cuppa.’
