House of Strangers (7 page)

Chapter 12

‘And what’s happened to her this time? That’s what I’d like to know.’ Nelly set down a dish of vegetables on the table and looked round. ‘Always the same,’ she said crossly. ‘I’m wasting my time cooking good food for the likes of her.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be in,’ said Flora. ‘Maybe you could keep something warm for her? And I’ll have a word about letting you know if she’s to be late.’

Nelly was more or less pacified. ‘ That’ll have to do.’

But Flora was worried. Neither Mr Turnbull nor Arabella took much notice. They were both used to Margery Craig’s ways. ‘I wonder she wants to live in a boarding house,’ Arabella had said once. ‘Much better to be in rooms with friends.’

But Flora was concerned about Margery. ‘We are friends now,’ the woman had said. ’Please call me Margery… Miss Craig is so formal.’ She was seldom in now, and when she did join the rest of the lodgers, she sat, not saying much and ate her meal as quickly as possible before disappearing again.

Was it something to do with the suffragettes? Was it a man, perhaps? Flora didn’t think that very likely. She hardly liked to mention her worries to Cousin Chris. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps she was just imagining things. But all the same, she was worried.

She remembered that a few days ago, someone had rung the door bell, pulling the brass handle so that the bell jingled with a demanding sound. ‘Is she here?’ The woman on the doorstep wore a long grey coat and an uncompromising felt hat. Flora had immediately recognised her as the woman who had called a few days earlier. She remembered Miss Craig arguing with the woman, the raised voices.

Now Miss Craig appeared again and Flora slipped way back into the dining room. But she couldn’t help overhearing the exchange.

‘Well - have you made up your mind?’

There was a pause then Margery Craig said, ‘Yes. Yes, all right.’

Flora saw very little of Margery during the next few days. So she was astonished when one morning there was a ring at the door and she answered it to find the same visitor on the doorstep.

‘You’re Flora, aren’t you?

Flora bemused, agreed.

‘You’ve got to come. I’ve a cab waiting.’

‘But why?’ Flora was surprised. ‘And who are you?’

‘Never mind,’ said the woman impatiently. ‘I’ll explain on the way. You are one of us, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Flora. Who on earth was this woman—a complete stranger, and so demanding.

‘Well, are you coming?’

‘Would you please explain,’ said Flora with as much dignity as she could.

‘You’re a friend of Margery Craig, aren’t you?’ said the woman sharply. ‘Well, she asked for you.’

‘For me?’

‘Yes. Get Flora, she said.’

‘What’s happened to her?’ Flora was anxious. ‘Is she in hospital?’

‘No,’ said the woman, impatiently. ‘She’s in the police station. Now, are you coming?’

On the way to the police station in the cab, Flora leant forward in her seat, hardly seeing the streets and shops that they passed.

‘You were at the meeting the other week,’ said the woman who introduced herself as Dora.

‘The suffragettes,’ said Flora.

‘We had great plans,’ said Dora gloomily. ‘We’ve got some really committed people. All we were doing was just throwing a few bricks.’ She looked at Flora accusingly. ‘And your friend has to get herself arrested.’

‘She’s not my friend,’ Flora began to say, but the other paid no attention.

‘Why she couldn’t just stroll away, as the rest of us did. But no, she had to run; I don’t think she even threw a brick, just stood at the back of the group looking a complete ninny.’ The woman sounded aggrieved.

‘What will happen?’

‘Probably she’ll got to court. Maybe get a fine, maybe a short sentence. Trouble is, the bricks did quite a bit of damage. Shop owners don’t like that.’

‘I can see they wouldn’t,’ said Flora.

They arrived at the police station, and Flora scrambled out of the cab. ‘Who are you?’ the desk sergeant looked accusingly at Flora. ‘Not another of them.’

‘I’ve come to see Miss Margery Craig,’ Flora said.

‘She’s over there.’

Flora hardly recognised the trim, self-contained Miss Craig. Her hat was askew and her hair was coming down. There was mud on her skirt and her boots, and she looked flushed and upset.

‘Margery!’ Flora crouched down beside her. ‘What happened?’

‘Thank goodness you’re here.’ Margery grasped Flora’s hand. ‘It’s been horrible…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I had no idea they were going to throw bricks. And one of them smashed a window. We’d been told - no damaging property, but there’s a few who are so hot-headed...’ she gulped.

‘And?’ Flora prompted.

‘We were all told to stroll away as if nothing had happened. But then the police arrived and I was at the back of the group with a couple of others. And we were arrested.’ She continued, ‘I’ve to be in court this morning.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Flora impulsively.

‘Oh, would you? Would you really? You are a good friend.’

‘Have you been here overnight?’

Margery nodded. ‘In a cell. Can you imagine? Just a horrible grey blanket—’

‘And have you eaten?’ Flora was practical.

Margery shuddered. ‘Just bread and cocoa. It was disgusting.’

‘Come on.’ Flora went over to the desk sergeant .

‘We get them often, these suffragettes or whatever they call themselves,’ he grumbled. ‘Now what is it?’

‘My friend would like to wash and tidy up before she goes into court,’ said Flora, ‘and maybe she could have a mug of tea.’

‘And a bacon and egg breakfast no doubt, on a silver tray,’ said the sergeant. ‘You don’t want much, do you? This is a police station, not a hotel.’

Flora stood her ground. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to make a formal complaint,’ she said.

She was astonished at herself. She was shaking, partly with cold, partly with nerves, but she glanced over at Margery Craig, a pathetic, woebegone figure.

‘Oh, all right.’ The man called to a constable. ‘See and get madam a mug of tea.’

‘It will be all right, you’ll see,’ Flora said consolingly to Margery.

‘But I’ve been such a fool. Why did I let myself be talked into this? I should have known the committee were setting out to destroy and burn and damage.’ Her head sank on her chest and then she looked up at Flora, her eyes filled with horror.

‘They won’t force feed me, will they?’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear that. I’m not a bit brave.’

Flora thought that the women who were force fed were extraordinarily brave. She had read descriptions and it sounded truly horrible. And yet these women were prepared to undergo such treatment because they believed in the cause. You had to admire them, she told herself.

But now…‘Of course they won’t force feed you. And you might even get off with a fine. After all, you weren’t throwing bricks.’

‘No, I wasn’t, was I?’ said Margery. She grasped the mug of tea handed to her by a constable. ‘Oh, Flora… I don’t know what I would have done without you. You are a true friend in time of need.’

Looking at the woman she knew as Miss Craig, who had always seemed so terrifying, Flora couldn’t help feeling a little glow of pride. No one had ever spoken to her like this before—‘a true friend.’ That was something.

‘Come on,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘It must soon be time for us to go into court.’

*

‘I was glad you were there,’ said Margery as they boarded the tram.

‘I told you it would be all right,’ said Flora, who was shaking even more now that the ordeal was over. She had been far from confident, and half expected that Margery would receive a prison sentence. Her spirits had revived.

‘I wonder what happened to the others,’ said Flora.

‘Only a couple of us were arrested. To make an example, I should think. Well, I’ll hear from them when we next meet.’

‘You’re not…’ Flora was astonished. ‘You’re not going back to the movement?’

‘But of course,’ Margery looked surprised. ‘Why shouldn’t I We’ll never get votes for women if we don’t campaign—spread the word.’

‘But…’ Flora stammered, ‘you might not get off next time.’

‘Oh, I won’t necessarily be militant,’ said Margery airily. ‘But I’ll go on campaigning. The movement needs all the support it can get.’

‘And what will you destroy next?’ asked Flora in an icy tone. ‘Pillar boxes, then railway stations, churches… where do you draw the line?’

‘I only know,’ said Margery, ‘that I will not let this… incident stop me.’

‘I suggest you think it over,’ said Flora.

‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy,’ Margery said sharply. ‘I know you don’t support the cause.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Flora interrupted.

Margery lapsed into silence.

‘Do think it over,’ said Flora. ‘You might not be so fortunate next time.’

Margery Craig was no longer the woebegone creature Flora had seen in the police station. She was much more her usual self. ‘Fortunate!’ said Margery. ‘Yes, I suppose I am—to be able to stand up for the cause.’

Flora’s temper flared. ‘Oh, don’t be so silly.’

From then on, for the rest of the journey, Margery was silent. Flora, tired and exasperated, longed for the comfort and peace of home. Some people, she thought, were difficult to help.

*

‘So where have you been?’ Cousin Chris looked up from her newspaper.

‘I’m sorry. It was very early and I didn’t like to wake you.’

‘Sit down and tell me all about it.’

Flora sank down on the little chair opposite Cousin Chris. ‘Well…’ She proceeded to tell her story.

‘I think you have done well,’ said Cousin Chris when she had finished, ‘but I really can’t have you running here there and everywhere after a silly woman who is old enough to manage her own affairs.’

‘I know,’ said Flora humbly. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’

‘There is something you could do for me,’ said Cousin Chris slowly.

*

‘I would like you to search the attic again,’ said Chris. ‘There is a bureau there with photographs and old letters. Perhaps you could look there, and if you could make another search for the china shepherdess… it must be there somewhere.

‘Of course, I’ll be glad to.’

The next day Flora put on an old wrapper and tied a scarf round her head, remembering how dusty it was in the attic.

She propped the door open and with some misgivings skirted the piles of crates and boxes. The bureau stood against the far wall. She pulled out the top drawer and it came away quite easily but there was not much inside - old bills, a few old programmes.

The middle drawer was more difficult. Flora tugged at it, muttering under her breath, but it refused to move. Then suddenly, as she pulled again at the brass handles, it fell outwards, catapulting Flora to the ground among a mass of papers, old photographs, and letters.

She sat down, rubbing her elbow where the edge of the drawer had caught it.

A drawer full of memories, she thought, and would they really be of interest even to Cousin Chris? She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting old steamer tickets, theatre programmes, and timetables.

‘Well, I promised,’ she said to herself. ‘I’ll try the bottom drawer and then that’s it.’

The drawer moved quite easily and Flora gazed, astonished at the contents.

There were old newspapers, old magazines - and - she caught her breath, wrapped in a copy of
The
Scotsman
, something which felt like broken pieces of china.

Carefully Flora opened the newspaper. and stared at the contents. There in four or five pieces was the china shepherdess.

She sat for a few moments, her mind racing. Who had been here? Who had hidden the china ornament?

She decided that the best thing to do was to take the pieces down to Cousin Chris along with the photographs and letters. She looked around for a cardboard box and carefully put into it all the letters and photographs from the drawer and the broken china shepherdess in its newspaper wrapping on top.

Chapter 13

Flora stopped in the kitchen doorway, a little puzzled. Betsy and a large, plump girl with bright red hair were sitting at the table, drinking tea and eating fruit cake. A small child in a grubby pinafore played around their feet.

Betsy jumped up, looking embarrassed. The other girl sat, quite composed.

‘It’s my sister Nessie, Miss,’ said Betsy hurriedly. ‘She’s come to visit me, just for the day like. And she’s brought the bairn. Nelly’s out. It’s her half day.’

The child looked stolidly at Flora. She was eating a piece of bread and jam and most of the jam was smeared over her face.

‘Oh?’ Flora supposed it was all right, and Nelly allowed visitors.

‘It’s Nelly’s half day off,’ said Betsy hurriedly.

‘I know.’ Flora remained standing in the doorway.

‘Nelly doesn’t mind,’ said Betsy all in a rush. ‘She said I could have Nessie and the bairn in for a cup of tea. As long as it wasn’t a young man.’

Nessie gave a guffaw. ‘No young men, eh? Pretty dull for you here.’

‘Very well.’ Flora closed the door quietly behind her, making up her mind to ask Cousin Chris if there were rules about visitors.

But the two sisters weren’t doing any harm. But as she went upstairs, she could hear loud laughter. It wasn’t like Betsy, she thought. And her sister, fiery-haired with a bold stare, didn’t look as if she came from the same family. But there, she thought, you often found great differences in families.

When she went downstairs later on, to light the oven and heat up the steak pie that Nelly had left, there was no sign of the visitor, but there were other things on her mind. When she went in to take Cousin Chris her cup of tea, she found to her alarm that Chris was lying back in her chair, her eyes half closed and her face greyish.

‘Are you all right?’ Flora knelt down beside her cousin and put her hand on Chris’s pulse.

‘Nothing at all,’ said Chris faintly. ‘I get these turns from time to time.’ She attempted a smile. ‘Don’t be alarmed. I’m quite all right.’

But Flora was not reassured. ‘I think we should call your doctor,’ she said.

‘Don’t make a fuss.’ Chris tried to sit up.

‘Just to be on the safe side.’

Dr Black was away on a call, so it was his partner, a younger man, who called a little later.

‘I usually have Dr Black,’ said Chris, who was beginning to recover.

‘He’s out visiting a patient,’ the young doctor explained. ‘Will I do?’

‘You’ll have to,’ Chris grumbled, and Flora was relieved to find that she was recovering her spirits.

He examined Chris carefully, and wrote out a prescription.

‘I’m wasting your time,‘ Chris protested.

‘Nothing of the sort.’ He gave her a broad smile, and Flora could see that Chris had taken to the young man.

He closed his bag and said, ‘Either Dr Black or I will come to see you tomorrow, just to find out how you’re getting on.’

As Flora showed the young man out, she said, ‘She will be all right, won’t she?’

He paused. ‘Are you a relative?’

‘A second cousin,’ Flora explained. ‘I… sort of help in the house.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘don’t let her over-exert herself. Has she a history of heart trouble?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Flora helplessly. ‘She’s always been very tough.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said reassuringly. ‘She’s pretty strong for her age, and if you’re here, there’s someone to keep an eye on her, see that she doesn’t get over excited or worry a lot.’

Flora went back slowly into Cousin Chris’s sitting room.

‘Do you think you should lie down?’ she asked, knowing quite well what the answer would be.

‘Lie down! A piece of nonsense!’ said Chris. Flora was relieved to see her colour returning.

‘All right.’ Flora didn’t press the point. ‘I’ll fetch you a cup of tea.’ When she went down to the kitchen, she remembered Betsy’s sister, and Flora, in the flurry of the moment, had quite forgotten to ask Chris whether she allowed visitors.

The next day Chris had recovered. Her colour was back to normal and she was her usual self. Then Flora recalled that she had said nothing about the china shepherdess.

‘I’m afraid…’ she began.

‘You haven’t found the shepherdess.’ said Chris.

‘Yes, I have but…’ Flora explained that she had searched the bureau drawer and found the broken pieces of the china figure. ‘It’s not smashed to bits,’ she said, trying to be reassuring. ‘I’m sure it could be repaired.’

‘But who could have done such a thing!’ exclaimed Chris. ‘How underhand!’

Flora thought of the people who had been in the attic. There was Mr Turnbull… but no, that was impossible. What would he want with a china figure?

Now and then Nelly went up there to whisk a duster around. But she would never… Someone had been in the house, exploring.

‘Leave it to me,’ she told Cousin Chris. ‘I’ll find out.’

On Nelly’s next half day, Flora made a point of going into the kitchen where Betsy was half-heartedly scouring the saucepans. ‘Sit down a moment,’ Flora said sternly. ‘I want to ask you something.’

Betsy looked apprehensive.

‘I never went into the boarders’ rooms,’ she said hastily. ‘If there’s anything missing, it wasn’t me.’

‘I didn’t say anything about things missing from the boarders’ rooms,’ said Flora. ‘What made you think that?’

‘Nothing,’ the girl mumbled.

‘Did you take the china shepherdess?’

‘It wasn’t me. I never touched it. Honest truth, Miss..’

The girl began to cry.

‘I never said you touched it, Betsy,’ said Flora. ‘But someone did. And someone broke it. It was your sister, wasn’t it?’

Betsy gulped.

‘I told her she wasn’t to go up there. I said the missus wouldn’t like it. But she wanted to see the ghost.’

‘There isn’t any ghost,’ said Flora wearily.

‘And the bairn—the bairn wanted to see the parrot’s cage.’

‘So,’ said Flora.

‘Bairns are all the same; they want to touch things,’ said Betsy, a little defiantly now.

‘So it was your sister’s wee girl that broke the china shepherdess.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ Betsy wailed. ‘But I’ll get the sack, won’t I?’

‘That’s not up to me, ‘ said Flora. ‘I’ll have to tell Miss Dunbar.’

Faced with Cousin Chris, Betsy broke down. ‘It was just the once, my sister and her bairn came. I told them no’ to touch anything, but the bairn’s that wild.’

‘It will have to be repaired,’ said Chris. ‘And you must promise me that you won’t bring your sister and the child here again.’

‘They just wanted to see the house and all the bonnie things up in the attic,’ sniffed Betsy.

‘That’s as may be,’ said Chris sternly.

‘I’ll no’ let them in again.’

‘If you had asked Nelly or Miss Flora here…’ said Chris. ‘Go on then, you silly girl, dry your eyes, and we’ll say no more about it.’

Later, Flora asked, ‘Are you going to stop the cost of mending the china out of her wages?’

Chris shook her head. ‘What would be the use?’ She looked a little sadly at the broken pieces. ‘She has little enough and the family need her wages.’

‘And she can stay?’

‘Why not?’ said Chris. ‘I have an affection for the shepherdess, but it is only a possession, after all.’

Flora looked at her cousin. The tough, no-nonsense Chris had a softer side.

‘I’m sure she can be mended,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll find out, will I?’

*

‘Listen, Flora, I have something to tell you.’

‘What’s that?’

Flora was already a few yards ahead of Will. Flora couldn’t resist the urge to scuff through the beech leaves carpeting the path. She glanced up at the autumn sky and the wisps of cloud trailing into the far distance, and sighed happily.

She waited for Will to catch her up. ‘Did you want to tell me something?’

Will grasped her hand. ‘Stay still a moment, Flora. Please.’ He sounded so serious that Flora gazed at him in surprise. ‘I haven’t been quite straight with you. I’ve meant to tell you for a while, but there never seemed to be a right moment.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Your cousin has been so kind—inviting me to meals, and that.’

‘Well,’ Flora said, trying to lighten the atmosphere, ‘you do need feeding up. And I don’t suppose you and your friends can cook—men don’t.’ She went on, ‘I do appreciate your inviting me out, concerts and so on. But you mustn’t feel you have to.’

Now was the moment, she thought, to mention something that had been on her mind. How could he afford all these outings? Cabs, meals out, visits to the theatre.

‘It’s expensive,’ she went on, ‘taking me out. I do enjoy it, but I’m just as happy with a walk, like this today. And,’ she plunged on, ‘maybe you don’t earn very much.’

‘Well,’ Will hesitated. ‘I should perhaps have said.’

‘Don’t.’ Flora interrupted him. ‘I know what you’re going to say. You aren’t very poor at all. I never thought you were.’

Will looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well… ‘ Flora paused. ‘If you were a poor shipping clerk, your cuffs would be frayed - sitting at a desk all day. You would not be able to afford a clean collar every day. But your collars are always immaculate. You say you sometimes walk from your digs to the office, but your boots are like new, so I think that maybe you take a tram - there and back. So you are not short of money for laundry bills and other expenses. Yet you have made no secret of working in a shipping office, so I suspect that you are not just a humble clerk. Didn’t Conan Doyle make Sherlock Holmes deduce from a man’s appearance where he worked? For example, he could tell from a man’s fingers if he worked in an office. Possibly you are more senior and learning the business?’

Will gazed at her in astonishment. ‘How did you guess all that?’

Flora blushed. ‘I’ve told you before I am a great admirer of Conan Doyle and the stories of Sherlock Holmes, so I try to observe everyone I meet, and make guesses about their way of life.’

Will laughed. ‘My word! You are quite the detective, aren’t you? A lady detective.’

‘That’s what I should like to be,’ said Flora. ‘Though I can’t see any prospect of my ever entering the profession. But tell me—was I right about you?’

Will nodded. ‘Pretty accurate. My father died, oh years ago, and my uncle James, my late uncle, took me into the firm, to train. It’s Harding and Halliday; you may have heard of them.’

‘Yes, well, I have.’ Flora recognised the name of the large shipping company.

‘I wanted to start from the bottom,’ Will went on. ‘Just so that no one could say I was the boss’s nephew - and that’s how I got promotion.’

‘So that’s why you share digs with the other clerks.’ said Flora.

‘Do you mind?’ he said. ‘I mean that I wasn’t frank with you to begin with. That I let you go on thinking I was just in a lowly position, earning a poor sort of wage. And now… well, I’m not rich, but I can afford to take you to concerts, that sort of thing.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Flora said. ‘In fact I rather admire you working your way up in the firm. And,’ her face flushed, ‘I like you for yourself.’

He reached out a hand across the table. ‘That’s as it should be. Now let’s go and have tea and I could eat a Paris bun. What about you?’

*

Flora continued to be puzzled about Mr Turnbull. What was he doing here? She knew he taught at the local high school, but he was often quiet, even secretive. Sometimes he would take little part in the conversation at the dinner table, as if he was preoccupied with something else, and after the meal would rise quickly and make his way back to his room.

Once or twice she had met him on the stairs, and he would mumble something and move past her in a furtive kind of way. And several times she had passed him on her way to the attic—what was he doing there? Was he searching for something?

Flora knew that he was often at home during the day, on those days when he had no classes to teach. So she decided to find out once and for all, and one quiet afternoon, when Cousin Chris slept and Nelly was drowsing in front of the range with a magazine, she made her way up to the attic

The door stood open and she could hear faint sounds of movement inside. What if he was armed? What if he confronted her and tried to push her down the stairs? Flora’s imagination ran riot and she took a deep breath. ‘Control yourself,’ she thought. ‘This is no way for a private detective to behave.’

Very gingerly she pushed the door open.