Tilly's Story

by June Francis

  She did so before asking, ‘So did you find your actress?’

  ‘Not yet. But I did visit the manager at the Playhouse and he gave me the home address of the company manager. So I decided to visit the house in Bolton and was able to talk to his wife. She gave me the name of the theatre and city where the company were performing and so I went there.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t find her?’

  ‘That’s because she’s left the company. She was spotted by one of these film makers and apparently she’s now making a film at a studio down in the south of England.’

  ‘So you’re going to go there?’ asked Tilly, hoping this meant she would do some detecting.

  ‘I thought it wiser than writing to her in case she took fright and decided not to see me,’ said Grant, sitting down at his desk. ‘Besides, I’d like to meet her because I’d like her version of things. I plan to catch a train south in exactly,’ he glanced at the clock on the wall, ‘an hour and a quarter.’

  ‘So what about your client who suspects his wife of having an affair?’ asked Tilly.

  ‘Mr Nuttall. You can take over there, Tilly.’ He pursed his lips and tapped his fingers together. ‘Her first name is Phyllis.

  ‘While I was watching her I was thinking how useful a camera would be.’

  ‘A camera?’

  ‘Yes, but even the watch-pocket “Klimax” would set me back three to eight quid, depending on the model.’

  ‘But why do you need a camera?’

  ‘I suspect the husband could be one of those men who is going to be difficult to convince that his wife isn’t up to something naughty. I know that sounds peculiar but the man has no confidence in himself when it comes to women.’

  Tilly glanced at him as she spooned tealeaves into the pot. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘She’s a good few years younger than him. He’s a weedy looking man who’s going bald. He does have a good job with a bank; one of those in this street. He’s worried she married him for his money and is now tired of him. He saw my plaque and that’s when he got the idea of having her followed.’

  ‘So what have you found out about her?’

  ‘She’s out every afternoon. Some days she goes to Stanley Park and sits watching the mums with their kiddiewinks feeding the ducks. Other times she goes to Walton Road and looks in shop windows and talks to babies in prams. She also tap dances.’

  ‘Tap dances!’

  Grant nodded. ‘It’s growing in popularity in America and now has crossed the Atlantic. I suppose it has its roots in clog dancing.’

  ‘Do you think it’s possible she could be having an affair with the teacher?’

  ‘I did spot her leaving the building with a man. I followed them but there wasn’t anything lover-like in their behaviour. Of course, that could be deliberate if they thought they might be seen. I suppose the thing to do is join the class and watch them together but tap-dancing isn’t me.’

  Tilly smiled.

  He chuckled. ‘Don’t look like that! Of course, I could surprise myself and be good at it but I don’t think so. Now is that cup of tea ready? I’m going to have to go soon.’

  Tilly poured out the tea and put a couple of biscuits on a plate. ‘Do you have a photograph of Mrs Nuttall.’

  He nodded and produced one and gave it to her.

  Tilly saw a pleasant looking woman with fair hair and smiling eyes. ‘She looks nice, not the sort of woman you’d think would be having an affair.’

  ‘But who knows what thoughts lurk behind those eyes. You only need to read the newspapers as Wendy does to know that you can’t tell a murderer from just looking at one.’ Grant bit into a biscuit and munched.

  Tilly thought of the good looking Bert Kirk and knew that to be true. ‘Have they any children?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘And how long have they been married?’

  ‘Six years. She’s in her mid-thirties and he’s pushing fifty.’

  Tilly nodded, thinking she should have no trouble keeping an eye on the woman and maybe she would get some more material for her novel, too. ‘There’s just one more thing,’ she said. ‘I don’t know Liverpool that well and I could get lost.’

  ‘Not with this you won’t,’ said Grant, producing a map of Liverpool.

  ‘You think of everything,’ said Tilly, taking it from him.

  ‘I do my best,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Good luck to you, too,’ she replied.

  * * *

  Tilly stood across the road, seemingly reading a newspaper, and saw the front door of the house open and Phyllis Nuttall come out. The woman had a good figure, which was shown to advantage in the close-fitting royal blue costume she was wearing. Tilly decided it was unlikely that she was going tap dancing because all she carried was a small handbag. Tilly watched her head in the direction of the main road. She folded the newspaper and went after her. She had a quick, determined walk and Tilly had trouble keeping up with her. Fortunately, it turned out Mrs Nuttall was only going as far as the local church hall.

  A notice outside informed Tilly that there was to be a lantern slide show by a visiting missionary that afternoon. Such a visit seemed out of keeping with the kind of woman who would have an affair. Even so, Tilly decided to go inside because it was just possible that perhaps she was meeting someone in there.

  Tilly sat at the back of the hall and fixed her gaze on Mrs Nuttall’s hat. It was a distinctive piece of blue headgear that sat at an angle on her fair hair and had a small poke crown and narrow brim decorated by a bunch of artificial forget-me-nots. After a brief introductory talk the slide show commenced. The film had been shot in Africa and there were pictures of the countryside and wild animals. Tilly sat up straight when she saw a gorilla. What a creature! It was huge and had such a human expression in its eyes that she felt sorry for its capture. The scene changed and there were shots of a mission school with happy, smiling native children singing.

  The scraping of a chair being pushed back dragged her attention away from the screen and she realised it was Mrs Nuttall who had got up and hurried out. Tilly rushed outside and found her leaning against the railings.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Tilly, with concern.

  The woman did not answer but hastily dabbed her eyes and hurried away. Tilly let several minutes lapse before following her to Stanley Park. Mrs Nuttall appeared to be walking aimlessly along the paths, past shrubs and beds filled with spring flowers. Then they came to the lake and she sat down on a bench where some mothers and toddlers were feeding the ducks.

  Tilly stepped back into cover provided by a huddle of rhododendrons and watched with a heavily beating heart as a man came striding towards the bench. Was she about to witness an assignation? No. He walked past Mrs Nuttall without a glance.

  Several minutes passed without anything happening. Tilly began to feel foolish, asking herself why the woman should go to the hall if she planned on a lovers’ tryst here? Why had she rushed outside? Something had upset her but what?

  Suddenly Tilly felt the patter of raindrops on her hat and shoulders and watched as Mrs Nuttall rose from the bench and hurried away. Tilly followed her home and watched the door close behind her. What should she do? Stay or go? Perhaps she would come out again but with an umbrella this time. Would Grant expect her to carry on keeping an eye on the house? Tilly decided that perhaps she should stay. An hour passed and Tilly was getting wetter and colder because the rain was coming down in sheets. At last common sense prevailed and she gave up and left for home. She was shivering with cold by the time she arrived at the shop and her feet were sloshing about in her wet shoes.

  ‘Goodness me, Tilly, you look like a drowned rat,’ said Mrs Wright, glancing up from serving a customer. ‘Get inside, girl, and get out of those wet clothes.’

  Tilly did not waste any time doing what her landlady said but lifted the flap with numb hands and hurried into the back where she could hear voices. All talk stopped as she ente
red the room and there were several indrawn breaths.

  ‘Bloody hell, Tilly!’ exclaimed Wendy. ‘You look like a—’

  ‘I know – a drowned rat,’ she said in a shaky voice, trying to tug off her sodden gloves. ‘So would you if you’d been standing in the rain as long as I have.’

  ‘We got wet coming home from school,’ said Davy, ‘but not as wet as you.’

  ‘Come over to the fire,’ said Minnie. ‘Davy, you get out the way. We don’t want her catching pneumonia.’

  ‘I need to take my shoes off,’ said Tilly. ‘I’ll get the rug wet.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Wendy.

  Both sisters dragged her towards the fire and peeled off her outdoor clothes as well as her cardigan, which was damp, too. ‘I reckon you’re soaked through to your knickers,’ said Minnie, looking at her skirt.

  ‘Shut up, Min,’ hissed Wendy. ‘Not in front of the lads. Get upstairs and find Tilly some dry clothes.’ She turned to her brothers. ‘Boys, out!’ she ordered.

  They did not argue but went into the other room. Wendy helped Tilly off with her jumper and skirt before going over to a cupboard in one of the alcoves. Tilly stood in front of the fire with her eyes closed while her underwear steamed and the heat penetrated her chilled body. She held out cold hands to the fire as Wendy draped a towel about her shoulders.

  ‘You’re going to have to strip everything off,’ said Wendy. ‘I can’t believe you got this wet waiting at the tram stop.’

  ‘I didn’t. I tell you, Wendy, detecting isn’t what I thought.’

  ‘What is it then?’ asked Wendy, taking a smaller towel out of the cupboard and placing it over Tilly’s head and beginning to rub her hair vigorously.

  ‘Damn, that hurts,’ croaked Tilly. ‘I watched her but it was just a waste of time. I got wetter and colder. I still feel cold.’

  ‘Stop nattering and get your underwear off and start rubbing your body to get the circulation going.’

  Tilly tried to comply with what the other girl said but it wasn’t easy because her hands had started to tingle and itch. Wendy helped her. It was a relief when she was naked and wrapped in a warm towel.

  ‘You’d be best in bed,’ said Wendy.

  ‘I need a hot drink,’ whispered Tilly.

  Minnie entered the room with an armful of clothes. ‘I brought these,’ she said.

  ‘Never mind them,’ said Wendy, waving her away. ‘I think Tilly should be in bed. You make her a hot drink and a hottie and I’ll go up with her.’

  Minnie opened her mouth to say something but one look at Tilly and she dropped the clothes on a chair and put the kettle on.

  Within half an hour Tilly was tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle after having a cup of tea. She fell asleep but woke some time in the middle of the night, feeling shivery and with a terrible headache and a sore throat, and wanting the lavatory. She managed to stumble to the lavatory but had to cling to the wall on the way back to her bedroom because she felt so dizzy. She wondered how she was going to get up in the morning and go to work. Yet she must because she had to keep her eye on Mrs Nuttall.

  Tilly tossed and turned for the rest of the night, feeling hot one minute and cold the next. It was a relief when morning came and Wendy brought her a cup of tea in bed. ‘Thanks,’ mumbled Tilly.

  Wendy stared down at her. ‘You not feeling too good?’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ said Tilly, her voice husky. ‘I have to keep my eye on Mrs-Mrs Nut-tall this afternoon.’

  ‘Who’s Mrs Nuttall?’ Wendy placed a hand on Tilly’s forehead, which was burning. She frowned and helped Tilly to sit up, and then gave the cup to her before perching on the side of the bed.

  Tilly sipped the tea.

  ‘So who’s Mrs Nuttall?’ repeated Wendy.

  Tilly hesitated and then told her. ‘So you see why I have to go?’

  ‘Don’t be daft! You’ve caught a chill and if you don’t look after yourself you’ll end up with pneumonia. You’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘I need the money,’ croaked Tilly. ‘And, besides, it’s the first bit of detecting I’ve done for Mr Simpson and I don’t want to let him down. He’s gone away on a case and left me in charge.’

  ‘It’ll be the last time you’ll be doing anything for him if you don’t listen to what I say,’ chided Wendy.

  Tilly laughed weakly. ‘It could well be so because he won’t trust me with another case if I fail him.’

  ‘I’m getting Mam. She’ll tell you what’s what,’ said Wendy.

  She hurried downstairs and into the shop, where her mother was sorting out the newspapers. ‘Tilly’s got a fever. She’s insisting she’s got to go into work and keep an eye on some woman, but I think if she’s not sensible, Mam, she could end up with pneumonia. I was wondering whether to nip over to Uncle Robbie’s and speak to Aunt Eudora. I mean, she used to be some kind of healer and she could give her something to bring down the fever. After all, that charity she works for does employ Tilly.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said her mother, frowning.

  ‘It would save on doctor’s fees,’ said Wendy.

  Her mother nodded. ‘You carry on here. I’ll go and have a look at Tilly.’

  Rita hurried upstairs and into Tilly’s bedroom. She found her on the floor, slumped against the bed. ‘What are you doing, girl?’ she asked, getting her hands beneath her armpits and heaving her onto the bed.

  ‘Have to watch Mrs Nuttall,’ she muttered.

  Placing a hand against Tilly’s burning forehead, Rita tutted. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Now get back into bed.’

  Tilly was too weak to argue and clambered beneath the bedcovers. She lay down and closed her eyes. Her head was banging away and when she tried to swallow her throat really hurt. She moaned, feeling more miserable than she had ever felt in her life before. Perhaps she would die. If she did then she was going to let a lot of people down.

  * * *

  ‘So will I go and speak to Aunt Eudora?’ asked Wendy, as soon as her mother entered the shop.

  ‘Yes! We don’t want her family saying we didn’t do all we could for her,’ said Rita.

  ‘Shall I fill a hot water bottle for Tilly before I go to work?’ asked Minnie, coming into the shop. ‘She’s moaning up there.’

  ‘You do that,’ said her mother. ‘You’ll have to get the cold one from her bed.’

  Wendy said, ‘I’ll nip up and get it and tell her I’m going for Aunt Eudora.’

  Before her mother could stop her, Wendy rushed upstairs. Tilly had thrown off the bedcovers and lay curled up, shivering. Wendy saw the cold hot water bottle and grabbed it before drawing up the bedclothes so they covered Tilly’s shoulders. ‘Tilly!’ she called. ‘I’m going to get Aunt Eudora. She’ll make you better.’

  ‘Mrs Nuttall,’ muttered Tilly.

  Wendy said, ‘You mustn’t worry about her.’

  Suddenly Tilly shot out a hand and grabbed her wrist. ‘Help me. You follow her.’

  ‘Me!’ cried Wendy.

  Tilly’s hand slid from Wendy’s wrist and dropped onto the bed and her eyelids closed. Wendy felt her pulse, which was rapid, and tucked her arm beneath the bedclothes. Then she hurried downstairs, placed the cold hot water bottle on the kitchen table, put on her hat and coat and left the house.

  Wendy almost jumped out of her skin when the Alsatian let out a flurry of barks and its head appeared above the fence. ‘Go away, dog,’ she yelled, and ran up the Bennetts’ path and round the back. She let herself into the kitchen and found herself the object of several pairs of eyes.

  ‘Wendy! What are you doing here so early?’ asked Robbie.

  ‘Tilly’s ill. She got soaked yesterday and she’s burning up,’ panted Wendy, staring at Eudora. ‘We’ve kept her in bed. I thought you might be able to give her something, you having been a healer.’

  Eudora glanced at Joy. ‘Oh dear,’ said the latter, looking worried. ‘Do you think I should get in touch with Kenny and have him te
ll Alice?’

  ‘No,’ said Eudora firmly. ‘I’m sure Tilly wouldn’t want us to do that unless matters become desperate.’ She drained her teacup and stood up. ‘I’ll just get a few things and then I’ll be with you, Wendy.’

  ‘Should I let her dad know?’ asked Wendy.

  ‘Not just yet,’ said Eudora. ‘We don’t want him getting upset anymore than he is already at the moment.’ She hurried from the kitchen.

  ‘I hope Tilly’s going to be all right,’ said Robbie, looking concerned.

  Wendy sat down suddenly because she had gone weak at the knees. ‘So do I.’ She realised just how much she wanted Tilly to get better despite her having the job with Grant Simpson that she would have liked herself.

  * * *

  ‘Hello, Tilly, dear,’ said Eudora, helping her to sit up against the pillows. ‘I just want you to swallow this for me.’

  ‘What is it?’ muttered Tilly, forcing her eyelids open and trying to focus on Eudora’s face.

  ‘Medicine, dear. It’ll make you feel better. Now, open your mouth.’

  Wendy watched as Eudora persuaded Tilly to drink the draught she had made from various herbs and dried berries that she had crushed into a powder. Wendy prayed it would do the trick. She watched Tilly’s throat move and heard her utter a tiny cry of pain as the medicine went down. Then Eudora kept Tilly’s mouth closed with a gentle hand as she lowered her against the pillows.

  ‘How often will she need to have one of them?’ asked Wendy.

  ‘Every four hours,’ replied Eudora. ‘But try to get her to drink weak milkless tea sweetened with honey or rosehip syrup if she complains of being thirsty. A watch will have to be kept on her, especially during the night.’

  ‘Perhaps we should send for her sister,’ said Wendy.

  ‘No!’ Eudora turned quickly and stared at her. ‘Alice has young children and a husband to take care of and it’s the same with Hanny.’