by C. G Oster
Chapter 20
DESPITE THE COLD, it was a clear, sunny day. It was a day where most people who could, wanted to spend the afternoon outside of their houses after a long, wet autumn. The weather lifted everyone’s spirits—particularly as most hoped there would be no visit from the Luftwaffe that night. Hopefully the clear weather held, although it would be a freezing cold night if it did.
A woman was darning socks on the stoop of her house, taking in the warming sun on her pale legs. New clothes couldn't be found for love or money these days, so even the most tattered socks had to be repaired. Dory smiled as the woman looked up and turned her attention down the road.
The street she was looking for was around the corner, where a Mr. Dellow lived. Sadly, Dory couldn't remember much about her initial visit here, but she had crossed him off her list. It wasn't until she turned the corner and saw the place when she recalled that he hadn't answered the door and a neighbor had told her he wasn't home.
Instead of going back to the house in question, she went straight to the corner shop and again walked past the queue, which was significantly shorter than the one she had tackled that morning. They must have run out of sugar.
This shopkeep was thin with a receding hairline. Dory pushed her way through the queue to quiet grumbles.
"I am looking for Mr. Dellow," she said. "Is he by chance registered here?"
"He is," the man said.
"Have you seen him the last few days?"
"People come and go all the time. I can't recall such things."
Dory smiled tightly. This wasn't very helpful. "When do you think you saw him last?"
"Couldn't tell you," the man said and Dory realized he was just an unhelpful type. Probably wouldn't help with a glass of water if she was on fire. She'd met the type before, the kind who did nothing more than they had to, and she was more than grateful that he wasn't responsible for catering to her ration book, because he would probably do all he could to cheat people out of what they were due simply because he could. Everyone knew that most shopkeepers had a stash under their counter for people who were willing to part with more than the official price.
With a sigh, Dory turned back to the line of people. "Anyone know Mr. Dellow?"
"Lives down the road, the house to the left. Green sashes on his window."
Dory tried to focus in on the man who'd spoken. "Seen him lately?"
"Couldn't tell you, just got back into town from up north."
"He usually spends some time in the library down towards the high street, I think."
"Thank you," Dory said. None of this was the confirmation she needed.
Exiting the shop, she walked back toward Mr. Dellow's house and opened the small gate to the tiny front yard. There was no sign of anyone inside and no one came as she knocked on the door. Looking down at her feet, she waited, but no one came.
Next door, the curtain twitched slightly, but no one came out.
Taking a step back, Dory looked up at the upper windows, but there was no indication of anyone looking outside, and the bay window at the front of his house had net curtains which stopped her from looking inside.
There was nothing to indicate anything. Even the street was surprisingly quiet. There was one woman down the street, tending her small garden, but otherwise, most houses looked locked and deserted. Clearly people were working.
Dory walked toward the only woman outside. "Hello, there. I am looking for Mr. Dellow, who doesn't seem to be home. You don't by any chance know where I could find him, do you?"
"Sorry, I've just moved into the street. I lived some streets down until my house got bombed."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
"This is my sister's house. She might know, but she'll be at work for hours yet. Don't come home until past eleven sometimes. I don't suppose you could call back then?"
That would be quite impossible. "Hopefully that will be unnecessary," Dory said, but wondered if she might have to speak to this woman. Sunday would be her day off. Actually, depending on the woman's work, that might not be the case. "Thank you for your help," Dory said before walking away.
Looking around, there seemed no one else around. Who would have thought it would be so difficult to find someone to speak to. Maybe a warden, but they weren't out this time of day. They came out after hours, and she was working then.
In the end, she had to give up. Well, she wasn't giving up, but there was nothing else she could do right then. She wrote in her notebook that she needed to come back to this one, and told herself that perhaps she would address the easy ones before narrowing down to the ones that were difficult.
There was one more on her list for that afternoon, which was simply getting confirmation that the man was who he said he was, and the first person she asked was happy to do so. This one could be crossed off. Turned out some of them were easy.
On her way to work, she forewent the intended pilchard meal and picked up a cup of pea soup, which was warm and filling in the rapidly cooling evening. It wasn't until now that she noticed how cold her fingers were as they stung a little with the warmth of the cup.
"Any luck?" Vera asked when Dory walked onto the roof.
"Still not home, and there was no one there to ask. So Mr. Dellow is still unaccounted for. I'm sure the neighbors saw me, but they didn't come out."
"If it was the same one as before, they knew why you were there. Might not have had anything more to say."
"Could be," Dory agreed.
Dusk was painting beautiful colors across the sky. She'd never paid attention to dusk as much as she did here, regularly standing on the roof, waiting for evening to come.
"I think we'll have a quiet night," Vera said, sitting down in the canvas chair that creaked with her weight.
"I hope so."
"Betsy said it's very quiet."
The evening stretched on, and as expected, there was no attack that night. Didn't mean the Germans didn't go elsewhere where there was cloud cover. It made sense now that the Government refused to release the weather report. Why hand Germans the knowledge of where to strike? This way, they had to find out for themselves, which they seemed to manage well enough. They had to have spies all over the country.
Everyone was terrified of spies, suspecting everyone they met. 'Loose lips sink ships,' the saying went.
The stars came out and shone brightly in the sky as the city was plunged into darkness. The moon revealed the skyline of the city, but as with every night, each light in the city was quelled or covered. Even the cars that drove around at night often had hoods for the headlights so they shone only at the street directly in front of them.
Tucking her hands under her arms, Dory walked around, wishing they could light a fire. It was freezing that night. Plumes of steam came with every exhale. Gingerly hopping from one foot to the other, Dory tried to get her blood moving.
She wondered where everyone was that night. Ridley. In the morning, he would be going back to wherever it was he spent his time. Somewhere south, somewhere with sun that tanned him. Livinia, who was probably somewhere in the city, dining with her friends. Lady Pettifer who was likely in bed in Wallisford Hall. Vivian who stubbornly refused to be in touch, making them all worry—even her. Who would have thought she would at one point worry about Vivian Fellingworth?
Dory's brother might be working. At the tender age of sixteen, he had been sent to work in the mines, and from what she understood, they worked around the clock. It was a horrid job, but the country needed coal, more than they needed him as a soldier, and as selfish as it was, she was glad. It was the most horrible thing in the world to send their boys and men over to the continent to fight.
It was hard not to hate the Germans for doing this, for causing this. They had to be stopped. There was no other option. What everyone feared, though, was the day they crossed the Channel and invaded. Dory for one would pick up arms if that happened. How could she not? The insistence that women should not fight could surely not hold
if the Germans invaded. Perhaps they were plotting it as she stood there in the moonlight, trying to keep warm.
Chapter 21
NOTHING MADE TIME drag as much as standing on a freezing cold roof all night. As they watched, the moon shifted across the sky and finally settled. It felt like merciful release when the light of day started cresting the sky.
"Well, let's hope it stays clear for a while," Vera said. "I think we need to bring more blankets tomorrow."
"Good idea. I am chilled to my bones."
As the stars faded, the sun lit up the skies in pinks, purples and mauves. Hopefully the sun would be strong enough to provide a bit of heat on such a winter's day—enough to melt the frost that had settled everywhere.
Walking down the stairs, Dory's knees felt stiff and creaky, wondering if she should get some more of that pea soup to warm her. It was a bit rich for breakfast, though. Maybe a warm ham butty and a cup of coffee. That sounded divine.
The mobile canteen was just setting up and they had no coffee that morning, only tea. Dory ordered one.
"I'm going to my mum's," Betsy said and ran across the road, leaving Vera and Dory sitting on a low wall, the cold of the bricks seeping into their backsides.
"I think I need to buy some mittens," Dory said.
"Good luck trying to find some."
"For once, I wish I had actually taken up knitting."
Maybe she should ask Lady Pettifer to lend her a set of gloves. Dory knew she was happy to help, but she hated asking. Normally it wasn't an issue, the great searchlight was hot enough for her not to need a coat most of the time, but on the clear nights when nothing happened, they just about froze.
"Are you going home or are you sleuthing again?" Vera asked.
"I am going over to the River Lea."
"That's quite a walk."
"There was a man there who I need to see. I only spoke to the maid."
"Murdered by the maid. What a way to go."
Dory chuckled, because she could actually see how a member of staff could murder their employer. There had been an odd time or two when she would quite happily have murdered Vivian. "Most murders happen by someone in the house. Mostly the wife or husband."
"Familiarity breeds contempt."
With a frown, Dory ate her butty. How awful would it be to exist in a marriage where one or both parties wished the other dead?
"Forty years of being married to someone and finally they snap. That last time of dragging mud onto the carpet, or slurping their tea, and the final straw is broken," Vera said. "My bet is on the wife."
"To drag the body all the way from River Lea to dump at Pennyfield Street."
"No need to ruin it with practicality. My bet is still on the wife. If she didn't do it, she wished she'd done it. Mark my words."
"Maybe marriage isn't for you, Vera."
"I've been wondering the same myself recently. Have you been wondering about what you're going to do after the war?"
"Unfortunately I still think that is a long time coming."
"I hope not. We could all be living under German rule, forced to marry some of those kraut-eating bullies."
"We'll all fight to the last bullet," Dory said.
Vera toasted her mug to hers. "Yes, we will. I better go. Mrs. Rosen wants me to help her move some furniture."
"Give your cup to me. I'll return them," Dory said and finished her own tea.
Before long, she was walking down the high street toward Limehouse. The neighborhood she was visiting was nicer than some of the others, and she wasn't sure that Mr. Jones would appear at the local shop at all. His staff would do his shopping for him, so she wasn't sure how she could corroborate the story that he was there.
Perhaps she simply should insist on seeing him, but it was too early to call on someone. Maybe if she waited, she would see him appear and go to work. Then she could approach him on the street and confirm his identity. Being a man of that age, he could be retired, but no one retired in this war.
Taking a seat on a bench further down the river, she watched the house and intermittently the barges that had started moving along the still, early morning waters of the river. Birds were noisily taking their places and Dory had to tell herself off for getting distracted.
Neighboring men started appearing out of their doors, wearing trench coats and hats, carrying umbrellas. This was a fairly well-off neighborhood of clerks and accountants. On the other side of the river were warehouses and offices. Import and export businesses as the city's goods came through this area. Where London traded with the rest of the world.
But Mr. Jones' door remained stubbornly closed. Finally it opened and a woman stepped out. By her clothes, Dory knew this wasn't the lady of the house. She was not dressed in accordance with the rest of the street, and she carried a shopping basket. This was a maid, or a housekeeper, going to do her shopping.
Dory was certain the maid that had initially opened the door to her and told her that Mr. Jones indeed lived there was younger. This woman was older. But now, Dory was torn about following this woman or staying to observe the door.
Technically, she could go ask this woman about Mr. Jones and she would have a corroborating story, but this was staff, and nothing happened within a house that other staff didn't know about. They would certainly know if relations were bad enough that a member of staff had murdered their employer. No, it felt wrong approaching this woman. If someone within the house had murdered the man, they had to be in on it together. There was no other way.
In saying that, Lady Wallisford had killed poor Nora Sands and no one had been the wiser. The point was that no one in the house had been complicit in hiding the murder. Dory's corroboration had to come from somewhere else. Perhaps a neighbor. The only way she would get that would be to knock on someone's door.
The housekeeper walked down the street, wearing her tweed jacket and sensible shoes. Nothing showy about this woman. The kind of person you would scarcely notice. Dory had to admit that she could hardly imagine the woman murdering anyone, but this was not about Dory's assumptions. Assumptions led to wrong answers.
A man appeared, holding a briefcase and Dory decided this was the person she would approach. "Excuse me," she called.
The man stopped and regarded her as she approached across the street.
"I am wondering if you know Mr. Jones. I believe he lives hereabouts."
"Yes," the man said, turning to consider the houses. "That one, number… sixteen, I believe."
"Do you know him?"
"Not well. We've met, of course. My wife knew his late wife. Widower."
"Oh, I am sorry to hear that." At this point, the man became curious about her motive. She could see it in his eyes. "My mother in law knew them a long time ago and I was just delivering a letter."
"Oh, I see," the man said, clearly believing her. "Well, number sixteen."
She really was becoming an accomplished liar. Perhaps not something to be proud of, but it was useful. Unlike Ridley, who couldn't really hide who he was and what he needed, she could be more stealthy.
"Have you seen him lately?" Dory asked. "I understand they were a very handsome couple. At least when my mother-in-law knew them."
"Well, I suppose they were a handsome couple. He became much more quiet after his wife died."
"Have you seen him lately?" Dory pushed.
"Uhmm," the man said, distracted by the question, rather than Dory's pushiness. "It's probably been a while now that I come to think of it."
This registered with Dory more than the man probably expected. "I thought I would knock on his door, but I'm afraid he might have left for work. I only have half a day. Do you know where I could find him if he's not at home?"
"He works at Pollack and Altman Insurers right next to Monument station."
"I should seek him there," Dory said. "Give him a chance to send a note back to Doris."
"Of course," the man said and gave a nod before continuing his walk.
She really was an accomplished liar, although she didn't think it was a skill her mother would be proud of. Lady Pettifer would be more enthusiastic about this revelation. Her lies had gained her much, though. She now knew where he worked and that he hadn't been seen for a while by at least one of his neighbors. The house was clearly occupied as the housekeeper went shopping in the morning. This wasn't the kind of neighborhood where there would be a second house in the country, like in some parts of London. This was likely the one and only residence of Mr Jones.
That was all well and good, but the simplest thing would be to knock on the door and ask for Mr. Jones. It could well be that he would come to the door and introduce himself. All this subterfuge might be for nothing.
Dory did just that and the same maid as before answered the door. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jones is not here," she said. "Would you like to leave a message? I can pass it on. He is a very busy man and also highly private, so sending requests through the mail might be the best option."
"Oh, of course," Dory said, feeling like an intruder. She smiled as the maid closed the door and then turned. The feeling of being intrusive followed her down the stairs back to the street, but then the doubts started to surface. Maybe she should have stressed how important it was to see him, but the young woman had said he was not there, which meant he must have left very early for work, before Dory got there shortly after the crack of dawn.
Chapter 22
WAKING IN THE AFTERNOON, Dory felt groggy, but also excited. Her inquiries that morning had made her even more suspicious. There was something wrong and she felt it in her bones, but she couldn't exactly put her finger on what.
