Tilly's Story

by June Francis

  Don sat beside her. ‘Are you comfortable?’ he asked, turning towards her.

  ‘I’d have to be extremely choosy not to be,’ she said, smiling.

  There was an appreciative light in his eye. ‘If you get to feel chilly you must say so and we’ll put the top up.’

  ‘No. I like the hood down. You can see so much more this way.’

  ‘There’s a rug if you need it,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  They were silent as Joe drove along Newsham Drive and eventually out onto West Derby Road, where he had to cope with the traffic. Tilly was extremely conscious of Don’s shoulder as it brushed against hers. He broke the silence. ‘I was sorry to hear about your father, Til—Matilda. Seb told me how he died. It must have been a terrible shock. I know from your letters in the past how much he meant to you.’

  ‘Yes. It was terrible. But at least he’s at peace now. I only wish I’d got the chance to tell him the identity of the dead body he found.’

  ‘That must have been quite a shock for both of you. I got to see plenty of dead bodies during the war but I never could get used to it.’

  ‘I can certainly understand that,’ murmured Tilly. ‘One body was enough for me.’

  Don reached for her hand and drew it through his arm. ‘Shall we talk about the military button?’

  ‘Let’s.’

  He grimaced. ‘Difficult one. Buttons like it were worn by every infantry man that went to war. The eagle is the States insignia. There is no way I could trace it to any one man. Sorry.’

  Tilly would have been filled with deep disappointment if she had not already known the identity of the soldier. ‘I must admit I thought, with you coming all this way, you must have known who it belonged to.’

  ‘Nope. But I did kinda get to thinking about the soldier who it might have belonged to. Here’s an infantry man who went missing in Liverpool. Maybe he had few friends and his family back home were all dead – that’s if his having gone missing other than on the battlefield hadn’t been reported. But he could possibly have mentioned to his comrades about having relatives in Liverpool and being in two minds to look them up. Whether this was after hostilities ended and he was due to return to the States or that he never reached the Front, I don’t know. What is for certain is that he never did return home.’

  ‘I thought a lot about him myself and then I found out the truth. From what you’ve said I presume that Seb hasn’t told you that I know the identity of the soldier.’

  ‘Holy cow! How did you do that?’

  ‘I’ll tell you soon but first I’ll tell you what I thought,’ said Tilly.

  Don gazed at her intently. ‘Right. Spill the beans.’

  She smiled. ‘I wondered if he came to the Bennetts’ house before they moved in to visit the old lady who used to live there and that she killed him. I even toyed with a similar idea for my book and wrote my thoughts down in my notes but decided against it.’

  ‘Seb said you finished your novel. Satisfied with it?’

  Tilly shrugged. ‘I had to rewrite it several times. Once because the Bennetts’ next door neighbour, Leonard Parker, tore it up.’

  ‘What? Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because he believed I had put him in my book and he was a thief and a murderer,’ said Tilly casually. ‘He’s on the run from the police now.’

  Don whistled through his teeth. ‘He sounds a dangerous bloke.’

  ‘He killed our soldier but he says it was an accident, then he confessed to me that he murdered his mother.’

  Don swore and then begged her pardon. ‘How did you escape being killed yourself?’

  Tilly knew she could not tell him the truth. ‘Sheer luck, I guess. Fortunately, he didn’t get his hands on my carbon copy.’

  Don stared at her and then hugged her against him. She rested her head on his shoulder and was filled with a sense of well-being.

  They said no more after that until they were seated at a table in the Silver Grill with drinks in front of them. Don ordered a steak while Tilly asked for chicken. As she sipped her cocktail, he said, ‘Now tell me, have you sent your novel off to a publisher?’

  Tilly nodded. ‘Although the publishers might not like it.’

  ‘You’ve got a copy?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’d like to read it, if I may?’

  For a moment Tilly dithered. What if Don absolutely hated what she had written? He might say kind things but she’d know if he thought her story wasn’t fit for publication. Yet at the same time she wanted him to read it and have his opinion.

  She took a deep breath. ‘OK! I’ll give it to you when we get back to the house.’

  His face split into a smile. ‘I look forward to reading it.’ He changed the subject, reaching across the table and taking her hand. ‘I know I’m a bit of a crock, Matilda. But I still want to marry you. If you were to accept me then you must realise that your enjoyment of life might be curtailed somewhat. For instance, I’d really enjoy whirling you round a dance floor but if we danced it would be more of a hop and a skip.’

  She was touched by his words and felt a deep urge to reassure him that she was no gadabout who only cared about her own happiness. ‘Just because dancing has become all the rage it does not mean that we have to do it. We can have fun doing other things.’

  His face softened. ‘I’m glad you feel like that, but perhaps I’m rushing things. It’s just so great seeing you again that I had to let you know how I feel.’

  Tilly said seriously, ‘You’re still prepared to wait until I’m twenty-one?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t want to rush you.’ He paused and said hesitantly, ‘but Seb did say something about some other guy.’

  ‘Yes, there’s been a couple of men I fancied for a while.’ She rested her chin in her hand. ‘I wondered about the blonde in one of your magazine features.’

  ‘Lisa,’ he said instantly. ‘She was a nursing sister in Flanders who lost her husband, poor kid.’

  ‘You were on first name terms.’

  ‘Yes, but…’ He grinned suddenly. ‘No need to be jealous. We were fellow compatriots in a foreign land, that’s all. I didn’t want to marry her.’

  ‘Is that so?’ She chuckled. ‘Then I’ll remind you that I’ll be nineteen in July. Old enough, do you think to—’

  His face lit up. ‘Are you saying you’d marry me then?’

  She winked. ‘That depends on what you say about my book. I’ll give you my answer then.’

  Don looked as if he was about to say something more but their meal arrived and she changed the subject, telling him about the fun she’d had working for Grant Simpson, the great detective, and how he had fancied her but that while she had liked him, she had never wanted to marry him. ‘Besides, Wendy loves him and I couldn’t have spoilt her chances.’

  ‘You’re a thoughtful, kind person, Matilda Moran,’ said Don, leaning across the table and planting a kiss on her mouth. ‘But then I always knew that from the first moment we met.’

  ‘I thought you were quite mad,’ said Tilly, her lips tingling. She and Don had never kissed properly and she was now more than eager to discover what its full effect on her might be.

  On the drive back to the house their conversation struck a lighter note and they discussed films and music. Tilly was in a dreamlike state after the cocktail and wine and enjoyed the feel of his arm around her.

  When they arrived at the house, she told him to wait whilst she fetched the carbon copy of her manuscript. She was as quick as she could be and within ten minutes he had the precious pages in his grasp.

  ‘Goodnight, Don. I hope you enjoy it,’ she said tentatively. ‘Some of it is based on real events. I thought What if? and made up the rest of it.’

  ‘Thanks, Matilda. I’m sure I’ll find it interesting.’ Don brought her against him and kissed her long and deep. She melted into his arms and returned his kiss. She felt as if she was floating on air. Then he lifted his fair head and rubbed noses
with her. ‘I’ll drop by in the morning.’

  Tilly nodded. ‘Thanks for dinner.’ She said goodnight to Joe and hurried indoors.

  * * *

  Don made himself comfortable in the basket chair in his hotel bedroom and placed the carbon copy of Tilly’s novel on the tray in front of him and began to read. When he finished, dawn was breaking over the Liverpool skyline. He was stiff and his eyes felt as if they were filled with grit. He had meant it when he had said to Tilly that he was sure he would find her book interesting but he had not really expected it to be so enthralling. After all, she was still only young and had seen little of the world. He found it incredible that her work showed so much perception about people. Despite what she had said about some of the story being based on real events, he had still half-expected it to be similar to the kind of romantic novels his mother and sisters read. He certainly had not expected it to be the page-turner it turned out to be.

  He went to bed and slept for a few hours and when Joe woke him, the book was still playing over in Don’s head.

  Don could not wait to see Tilly so she could untangle fact from fiction for him and within no time at all he was knocking at Robbie Bennett’s door.

  Joy answered it. ‘I know who you’ve come to see,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Is that Don?’ called Tilly, appearing at Joy’s side a moment later.

  ‘Sure is,’ said Don, holding out her carbon copy to her. ‘I couldn’t put it down. I’ve been up all night reading it.’

  Tilly put her hands to hot cheeks. ‘You liked it?’

  ‘Loved it! If the publisher doesn’t take it – mind you, I’m sure he will – then I’ll give you the name of a good American publisher.’

  ‘Oh, Don!’ Tilly dropped the carbon copy and flung herself at him, almost knocking him off balance.

  ‘You’d best come in,’ said Joy, gathering up the typewritten pages. ‘I think I’ll have a read of this myself.’

  Tilly was about to say No, wait for the book! but stopped herself. She owed Joy a lot. ‘You do that, but don’t let anyone else know. They can wait for the book.’ She grinned at Joy.

  ‘It’ll be our secret,’ said Joy, hurrying ahead of them into the house.

  Once they were seated on the sofa in front of the fire in the drawing room, which they had to themselves, Don said, ‘So tell me what’s true and what isn’t. I can understand why Leonard Parker should tear up your partial manuscript if your villain was based on him. But am I to believe that there really was an American detective hired to find out whether the stolen property had been smuggled into America, where it was sold for a fortune to collectors?’

  ‘No,’ said Tilly, smiling. ‘But I got to wondering where Leonard went when he went missing for weeks at a time. It was mentioned at one time that he had been to America, so I thought that perhaps that was where Eudora Bennett’s antique Oriental vases disappeared to.’

  Don smiled faintly. ‘You hint that your heroine might marry the detective, Duggie Parsons.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ murmured Tilly. ‘I thought that maybe they’d get together and do some more detecting in another murder mystery.’

  ‘Your mind is definitely darker than I ever imagined, Matilda.’

  ‘Life is dark for many since the war,’ said Tilly, a shadow in her eyes.

  ‘I notice that you have your villain fighting with your detective hero aboard ship and the villain ends up falling overboard in the mid-Atlantic,’ said Don, gazing at her intently. ‘But you don’t know what happened to Parker?’

  Tilly had often wondered about that since Leonard had walked out after leaving her tied up. ‘He owned a shipyard so maybe he managed to disguise himself and leave on a ship under an assumed name.’

  ‘Going to America?’ asked Don.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  There was a long silence before Don said, ‘This orphan gang who live on the streets. Their leader is quite a caring and spirited girl, who looks after the other kids. I’m glad they all end up being adopted by a rich childless couple.’

  Tilly smiled. ‘I did base her on someone I know. Although I can’t see Patricia and her siblings really picking pockets and being forced to climb through pantry windows to let the burglars in by opening the back door.’

  ‘So where are the real kids?’ asked Don.

  ‘In the Seamen’s Orphanage,’ said Tilly. ‘I kept intending to go and visit them but I’ve been so busy, but now I have more times on my hands…’ She let the words hang in the air.

  ‘So there isn’t really a rich couple who adopts them?’

  Tilly sighed. ‘I’m afraid not. They did stay here for a while but when Mrs Bennett died, Mr Bennett couldn’t cope.’

  Don was silent for several moments, and then he said, ‘I’d like to meet her and her siblings. I’m sure there’s rich folk in America who would be interested in their story. I’d take some pictures and they’d go in a magazine or newspapers.’

  Tilly’s face lit up. ‘I’ll telephone and see if I can arrange it,’ she said.

  She did so and it was agreed that they could visit the orphanage and Don could take some pictures.

  * * *

  The orphanage was a large sprawling building with two wings. The girls slept in one and the boys in the other, although they shared the dining facilities, as well as classrooms, the hospital and the adjoining chapel. The building backed on to a railway line and was not far from Tuebrook police station. Tilly could understand why Patricia had dreaded the thought of having to live there with her siblings because it was such a big place. The adults who looked after the children certainly did their best to take care of those in their charge, but what with its long, echoing corridors and large dormitories, the building lacked the cosy security of the small terraced house where the Doyle children had been reared.

  It was playtime when they arrived and while Don spoke to someone in charge and Joe lugged his equipment about and took some shots of the building, Tilly asked one of the assistants if she could speak to Patricia Doyle. ‘You’ll have to be quick because the needlework class starts soon,’ warned the woman.

  Tilly went over to Don and told him what she was doing. He nodded and said he would come with her. They were shown into a yard where children were milling about and the noise level was deafening. She looked about for Patricia amongst the navy-clad children with sailor collars to their uniform and suddenly spotted her with Kathleen. Tilly hurried over to them, calling Patricia’s name. Don followed more slowly.

  Patricia’s face lit up. ‘Miss Moran! I thought yer’d forgotten about us,’ she cried, clutching Tilly’s hand.

  ‘No! I should have come before now but so much has happened since I last saw you that I just haven’t had time. I should have made time but…’ Tilly gripped her hand tightly. ‘No excuses! I’m sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Yer here now. Have yer come to get us out? Has Mr Bennett changed his mind? I was never so happy as when I was living in his house. I was sorry when Mrs Bennett died,’ she said earnestly. ‘She really cared about us.’

  ‘Yes, she did,’ said Tilly. ‘But I’m sorry, love, that’s not why I’m here. I had hoped you and the others had settled down.’

  Patricia’s smile faded. ‘No! One of the teachers treats me like I’m a fool because I’m behind with me reading and says me writing leaves much to be desired, as well. Some of the other girls skit the way me and me sisters talk. Then there’s the baby…’ Her voice trailed off and a muscle in her throat convulsed.

  Tilly felt terrible and suddenly frightened. ‘What about the baby? He’s not—’

  ‘No! He’s not dead.’ She pulled her hand out of Tilly’s grasp. ‘She adopted him.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘That Mrs Nuttall who tap danced at the concert.’

  Tilly was relieved. ‘But isn’t that a good thing? The Nuttalls are comfortably off. They’ll look after him and give him a good life.’

  ‘Yer don’t understand!’ cri
ed Patricia. ‘He won’t be ours anymore. They’ll turn him into one of them. They’ll change his name to Nuttall. He won’t be a Doyle anymore and he’ll grow up not knowing us.’

  Tilly understood. But what could she do? It had been simple in her book to provide a rich couple with a large house who could keep the family together, but real life was different. ‘I’m sorry, Patricia. I never thought…’

  ‘No. Most grown-ups don’t. They forget what it was like to be a kid,’ said Patricia in a dull voice. ‘So why are yer here?’

  Tilly told her.

  The girl perked up and glanced at Don. ‘American, hey? Is he your boyfriend?’

  Tilly smiled. ‘I suppose you could call him that. He has been asking me to marry him for quite some time.’

  ‘And will you?’

  ‘Probably.’ Tilly looked up at Don and winked.

  ‘I did notice that your hero’s initials were the same as mine and that he had fair hair.’ There was a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘I always knew you were quick on the uptake,’ said Tilly.

  ‘So what’s your answer?’ asked Don, reaching out for her hand and grasping it firmly.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘I think you can guess but I’m not going to say “Yes” here. I want somewhere more romantic,’ she said in a dreamy voice.

  Don chuckled. ‘I suppose you want gypsy violins playing, red roses on the table and champagne?’

  ‘That would do me for starters,’ interrupted Patricia. ‘I suppose I couldn’t be one of yer bridesmaids?’ she added eagerly.

  Tilly glanced down at her and knew that here was something she could do for the girl. ‘I don’t see why not – you and your sisters – and my nieces. As well as Don’s female relatives who would like to take part,’ she added, looking up at him mischievously.

  Patricia let out a whoop and flung her arms around her. ‘Does this mean we’ll all get new frocks?’ Her voice was muffled against Tilly’s coat.