The Birthday Present (10 page)

Mrs Trilby looked at her unhappily. ‘Well, that’s another bit of bad news, dear. Seems the police notified him that he was being taken into custody and charged and there was some rent owing so the landlord came round to—’

Rose gave a small cry. ‘Oh, not the bailiffs! I can’t bear it. I don’t believe it. Pa would have paid the rent. He was never short of cash. He was so lucky on the  . . . horses.’ She sank down on a stool and covered her face with her hands. ‘Don’t say he didn’t win that money! Don’t say he  . . . Oh Pa! What have you done?’

She wondered what the bailiffs would take if they were sent in to try and recoup the rent that was owed. They had so little that was of any value. And how would she pay the rent? The answer was that she could not do it. Her life, so exciting a few hours back, was now collapsing around her. She stood up unsteadily. ‘I think I’m going to be sick!’ she murmured.

‘Not in here, you aren’t!’ snapped Mrs Trilby and, rolling her eyes, she pushed Rose none too gently out of the back door into the yard. Clinging to the mangle, Rose threw up on to a pile of ashes, recently raked from Mrs Trilby’s stove.

The following day was Tuesday and by ten thirty in the morning Letitia Bennley was happily immersed in plans for the wedding. She sat at the table on the terrace in the sunshine surrounded by lists of people she wanted to invite, those she might invite and those she definitely would not invite. She wore a lightweight dress and jacket in pale green with matching shoes and a large straw hat and, framed by the white trellis behind her, she imagined that she presented the kind of elegant woman that the da Silva family would appreciate. She regretted the fact that only her two brothers were around to see her. Marie would not be down until later.

‘Let me see  . . .’ she mused. ‘Alison Wentropp? I’m having second thoughts about her because I’d have to include her mother and she’s so awfully fat! She will certainly lower the tone and ruin the photographs! Unless we make sure she is in the back row  . . . Alison did invite me to her Easter Bonnet party and that was fun.’ She put a question mark against the Wentropps. ‘Although I do want her to see me on the day, not just in the photograph!’ She circled the question mark and moved on.

The problem was that the da Silvas had so many friends and hopelessly outnumbered Letitia’s. Bernard had hinted that the venue – his uncle’s house – would easily accommodate fifty people. Letitia wanted to make sure that she had as many guests as he had but the Bennleys were a small family. Obviously her mother and Gerard would not be invited – she had decided to pretend, if questions were asked, that Mother was devoted to Gerard who was an invalid and refused to leave him in the care of others.

‘Aunt Daisy  . . . ?’ The maiden aunt who was crippled with rheumatism and never left her large cottage in Dorset. ‘No.’

There were two uncles – one of whom was too fond of his drink to be invited although he had once been something unimportant at the British Consulate in Denmark and would otherwise have qualified for inclusion. She sighed. The second uncle, on her father’s side, was a remote figure with whom they exchanged Christmas cards but had not seen for at least twenty-five years. Maybe they could risk an invitation. She added another question mark and glanced up as Marcus approached and patted the seat next to her. He sat down, looking his usual awkward self.

‘You’ll be glad to know you are on my wedding list,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘So do please send me a decent present. I’m wondering whether or not to invite Uncle Henry  . . .’

‘Uncle Henry? We haven’t set eyes on him for years.’

‘I know but I’m sure he wouldn’t accept. The point is to present a decent invitation list to Bernard’s mother when I go to lunch on Thursday so she doesn’t think we are completely beyond the pale! She’ll be able to send out dozens of invitations. If the people on my list don’t come no one can blame me – and they might send presents.’ She added his name to the list and smiled at him. ‘Don’t look so gloomy, Marcus. You’ll enjoy it on the day – and then you’ll be rid of me!’ She laughed, waiting for him to deny it.

Instead he said, ‘Marie wants to be with Mother for a few weeks, or more. She needs her. It’s understandable.’

Letitia’s eyes narrowed and she set down the pencil, placing it carefully alongside the notebook. The excitement faded from her face. ‘If you are going to ask me to take her over there, the answer’s “No”. You know my feelings. The man’s a swine and Mother was a fool ever to allow him to  . . .’ She swallowed hard.

‘Father wasn’t anything to boast about, either. Just because you were his favourite you think he was a wonderful man but he made Mother unhappy.’

‘She betrayed him!’

‘If Father had treated her better she might have remained faithful.’

‘You never liked him.’

‘He never liked me! He made me feel like a freak. When you came along he was delighted – his little princess! He ignored me and made such a fuss of you that he and Mother argued about it. I heard them. Mama said he—’ He was beginning to sound agitated and stopped abruptly.

He was annoyed with himself, Letitia realized with a small spark of triumph, for revealing the hurt he had felt all those years ago. She had revelled in her father’s admiration.

Marcus went on. ‘But we’re getting off the point. Marie has asked me if I would take her over if Rose comes with us.’

Taken aback, Letitia frowned. ‘Rose Paton?’

‘Yes. I don’t know if she’ll agree but—’

‘
I
don’t agree. She’s not at all suitable.’

‘How can you say that? You’ve invited her to your wedding, haven’t you?’

Flustered, Letitia cast her mind back. ‘I may have said something but if she doesn’t get an invitation she won’t be coming.’

‘But you promised her an invitation. You can’t disappoint her! Anyway you said I can bring a friend. You actually said that she could come as my friend so I shall bring her with me.’

Letitia raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh dear! Please don’t tell me that you like the funny little thing.’

‘She’s not funny but yes I do like her but not in the way you mean. We all liked her, if you remember. Even Bernard.’

Letitia’s elegant poise deserted her momentarily. ‘Bernard? I’m sure he didn’t.’

Marcus shrugged. ‘To get back to what we were talking about – Marie’s request that she should spend time with Mother. Of course we must make that possible and if Rose would come with us that would solve the problem. If Rose agrees, that is.’

Letitia thought rapidly. ‘It would have to be a holiday for her. We don’t want to pay her anything.’

‘On the contrary, we would have to pay her as a travelling companion because she has work of her own as a singer and would be forced to miss it. She can’t exist on fresh air.’

Letitia regarded her brother with something akin to loathing. Why did he have to spoil her morning? She had been feeling very cheerful with life and had been looking forward to making her invitation list and then Marcus had to blunder in and ruin everything. The way he always did when they were children, she thought.

‘By work you mean ironing and singing in seedy halls. Well, she won’t need much compensation for losing that!’

Marcus flushed angrily. ‘I think what you mean is – “I hope she will agree to go with Marie and I shall be grateful that
I
don’t have to make the journey”! That would be a generous reply in the circumstances but then generosity was never your strong point, was it!’

They glared angrily at each other and Letitia flirted with the idea of crossing her brother off the list but that would look odd and she didn’t want the da Silvas to think she was at odds with members of her family. She swallowed hard and her anger turned to anxiety. What had Bernard said about liking Rose, she wondered uneasily. She desperately wanted to know but would die rather than ask Marcus.

He broke the long silence. ‘Then I’ll go in search of her and ask her if she’ll do it for us. I also want to know what happened at her interview with that Markham chap. Steven seemed to think he was a reasonable man but I’m not so sure.’

‘She’s not exactly a shrinking violet, Marcus. I’m sure she can look after herself without you trailing after her. She’s chosen a tough profession so she’ll have to take the rough with the smooth. Let me know what she says.’ She turned back to her lists, trying to hide the fact that the conversation had upset her.

He hesitated for a moment as if he was about to add something but she glanced up from beneath the brim of her straw hat and said, ‘You still here?’

Four

PC Arnold Wicker smiled at the young woman on the other side of the front desk. ‘And what can we do for you, miss?’ he asked, smiling. ‘Cat stuck up a tree, is it? Little brother got his head stuck in some railings?’ He fancied himself as a bit of a wag. His mother always laughed at his jokes and so did Doris, his young lady.

This particular young lady did not even smile. She said ‘Hilarious! I need to speak to someone a little more senior. Is PC Stump around by any chance?’

‘’Fraid not.’ She was looking a bit stern but she was still pretty. Blonde curls were a weakness of his. ‘Will I do, miss? Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll see if I can help.’

‘I’d rather speak to PC Stump.’

‘He’s still on leave. His wife died. Did you know? Poor blighter. Knock you sideways, something like that. Funeral’s Friday.’

‘I’ll talk to someone else then. It’s about my father, Alan Paton. My neighbour says he’s been arrested. I’m Rose Paton and I want to  . . . to make a complaint of wrongful arrest. It’s got to be a mistake. I need to talk to him.’

His eyes widened. Of course. They had found stolen goods stashed away in his house earlier in the day and they’d caught him red-handed, so to speak. Some mistake! ‘They found the stolen property, miss. Tipped off by his partner in crime. We’ve got them both under lock and key.’

That took her back a bit. He saw the doubt written clear as day on her face. Nice eyes. Shame about the father.

She pulled herself together. ‘Then I want to be a character witness. I know him. He must have been led astray. Can’t he be released on bail or something? He’s not dangerous.’

He laughed. ‘Sorry, miss, but can’t be done. Rules is rules, as they say. They’ll both be up before the magistrate – most likely next week. But I have to say they don’t have a leg to stand on. They’ll both go down.’ He could almost see the thoughts whirring round in her brain. Plucky little thing.

‘Then I’ll make a statement. He’s  . . . he’s always been weak. I’ll admit that. He might be stupid but he’s not bad  . . . and the money he had came from his gambling. He liked a flutter on the horses and he was very shrewd. He  . . . he understood racing. Studied it all his life.’

He shrugged. ‘Not up to me, miss.’

‘But if I could prove that he didn’t get any money from it? That would count in his favour, wouldn’t it? I mean, if he didn’t profit from the burglaries that would make a difference. If I can find the bookie’s runner, I know where he waits for the bets, and—’

He interrupted her, leaning forward, glancing over his shoulder as though afraid of being heard. ‘He said something, your father, about the rent. About he wanted to leave you a message but we don’t encourage that sort of thing.’

‘The rent?’ She tried to look innocent of any prior knowledge. ‘What about it?’

‘Owing, I reckon, don’t you? I mean, what else?’

Rose wanted to scream. It would be all round the neighbourhood at this rate. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about.

The constable now glanced past her as the door swung open behind her. A man came in and said ‘Rose?’ and she turned, dismayed.

‘Marcus! Oh no!’ Why did he have to turn up and witness her downfall, she thought hysterically.

Without any warning, Alan Paton’s daughter burst into tears and the two men exchanged discomfited glances.

‘Women!’ mouthed Arnold.

‘It’s all a mistake,’ Rose insisted as she and Marcus hurried along the High Street in search of the man who took the illegal bets and rushed them to the bookie. ‘The man’s name is Wilf Todmore. Pa has often mentioned him. Look! There he is!’ She pointed. ‘On that corner by the pawnbroker’s.’

Marcus said, ‘Do you expect him to admit it?’

‘If I explain the circumstances.’ She speeded up and arrived at the corner almost out of breath.

The man saw them coming and glanced round nervously.

Marcus took hold of her arm but she shook him off.

‘Mr Todmore, would you be willing to sign something at the—’

‘I never sign nothing!’ he told her.

‘Please. It’s nothing bad. It’s just that my father was one of your clients – his name is—’

‘I don’t have no clients, miss. And my name’s Sydney Cooper.’ He looked at Marcus and tapped his forehead. ‘Bit, you know, is she?’

‘No I’m not!’ cried Rose, her voice rising. ‘Leave him out of this.’

Todmore put a finger to his lips and muttered, ‘Keep your voice down, you silly cow!’

‘Sorry.’ She lowered her voice. ‘My father’s name is Alan Paton and he’s a regular with you. He often gets lucky with the horses and—’

‘Horses? Dunno what you’re talking about, miss.’

Marcus looked embarrassed. ‘He’s not the man, Rose,’ he hissed urgently. ‘Do please come away. You’re making a scene.’

She rounded on him angrily. ‘Stop interfering, Marcus. I’ll make a scene if I want to. My pa is in a lot of trouble and I’m doing my best to sort it out. People like you wouldn’t understand so mind your own business and I’ll mind mine!’ Her voice shook and a few more tears trickled unheeded down her face. She turned back to the bookie’s runner but at that moment a large, elderly woman arrived. She was dressed in black from head to foot except for a sacking apron and a battered straw hat with faded red ribbons. She held out a few coins to the man Rose thought of as Wilf Todmore.

‘Here y’are, Sydney.’ She had lowered her voice. ‘Three thirty, each way on Bright Star.’

Glancing quickly around him, he took out a small notebook, scribbled something, tore out half the page and handed it to her. ‘How’s hubby?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘He won’t get no better but he ain’t no worse, thanks for askin’.’ She looked at Rose. ‘’Aven’t I seen you at The White Horse? Aren’t you the singer with the brolly?’