Private Sorrow, A (6 page)

Molly had spent a sleepless night after her parents had left thinking about the problem of this new assignment. At 3 a.m., she made up her mind to go and see Vera Barton and tell her she couldn’t take on this job. She was a secretary, for goodness sake, and not a detective, even though Christie had joked about starting a joint agency with her in Canada. She wondered what he was doing tonight. He wrote frequently and was still running his antiques business with his father.

However, when she woke up, the morning was fine with a hint of the sun on the eastern horizon. After a pot of tea and toast, she felt ready to tackle the world. She took her notebook with the names and addresses and studied it again, along with the newspaper cuttings. The last girl to see Etta alive on the Saturday night wasn’t named in the cutting but Vera said her name was Frances Paton. She had married and was now Mrs Flynn and, according to the new address in the book, lived in Kirkton, the new housing estate that was being built on the edge of the city. As she crossed the river with the car, she recalled the depression she had felt in the darkness and throughout her sleepless night, but now everything was bright and the river shimmered in the watery sunlight. She felt so much better.

However, when she reached the office, Edna was waiting for her and explained her situation with John Knox. Molly felt so sorry for her as it looked as if she was never going to have a simple, happy life. She always seemed to land in some drama or another that was not of her own making. She sympathised with her and told Jean to reorganise the schedule. Thankfully, there was work that she could do for two weeks.

Vera had told Molly that the number eleven bus left from Victoria Road and went straight into Kirkton, so she made her way up the Wellgate steps and stood at the stop right beside the Ladywell Tavern. There was a large queue ahead of her but she managed to get a seat and she spent the journey rehearsing what she would say to Mrs Flynn. After all, it’s not every day someone turned up on your doorstep asking about the past.

Molly was amazed to see the large housing estate taking shape. These new houses would be home to the hundreds of families living in cramped and unsanitary conditions in the multitude of crumbling tenements that were now due for demolition. Mrs Flynn lived in the row of houses by the side of a line of brightly lit shops that were busy with people buying groceries, milk, rolls and papers.

Molly hadn’t had time to let the woman know she was coming, so she was unsure of her welcome as she rang the bell on the brand new door. It was eventually opened by a young girl in her teens. A voice called out from the interior of the house, ‘Who is it, Maggie?’

The girl yelled back, ‘It’s a woman wanting to speak to you, Mum.’

Molly hoped the entire interview wasn’t going to be conducted like this. If that was the case, then the whole street would hear. Thankfully, an older woman arrived at the door and the girl disappeared back into the house. Mrs Flynn was smoking a cigarette and due to the smoke, gave Molly a squint-eyed look. ‘Aye, what do you want?’

Molly’s heart sank at this stern welcome but she held her head up and said, ‘I would like to talk to you about a girl called Etta Barton. I got your address from her mother.’

Frances Flynn stared at her and held onto the handle of the door. For a brief moment, Molly thought she might faint. Then she stood aside and said, ‘Well, you better come in.’

She was ushered into a well-furnished living room. Everything looked brand new. Frances said, ‘We only got this house six months ago. We used to live in Carnegie Street, just off Ann Street. We got our house all newly furnished because our old stuff looked so shabby,’ she said proudly. ‘We’ve even left the plastic cover on the settee and chairs as we don’t want to get it dirty.’

‘Your house is lovely,’ said Molly, and she meant it.

‘Aye, it’s great to have a kitchen and bathroom, especially with the family. I’ve got my husband and two boys who are working while Maggie is still at school. She’s off sick today. Still, I miss the noise and neighbours from Carnegie Street. It’s like living in the country out here and it costs a fortune for buses into the town.’ She lit another cigarette and looked at Molly. ‘You said this was about Etta Barton? That’s going back in history. So what do you want to know? Oh and by the way, call me Frances.’

Molly explained her mission. ‘According to the newspaper, you were the last person to see her after work on the Saturday. Is that right?’

‘Yes, I think I was. But maybe she was seen on the Sunday but I don’t think anybody came forward at the time.’

‘How was she that night?’ asked Molly. ‘Did she seem happy or unhappy or worried about anything?’

Frances gave this a bit of thought and shook her head. ‘I think she looked just the same as usual. We weren’t really friends. It was just that we sometimes met on the Murraygate when we finished work – Etta worked in Markies and I was a junior saleswoman in Grafton’s clothes shop, which was directly across from Marks and Spencer.’ She glanced ruefully at Molly. ‘You wouldn’t think I was once a fashion lover, would you?’ she said, fingering the sloppy, worn-out looking cardigan and shabby skirt. ‘But I loved clothes away back then and I dressed really well. Not like Etta, she always looked old-fashioned. As I said, after work, if we met in the street, we would walk up the Hilltown together as she lived just a few yards away from me.’

‘Did she ever mention she had a boyfriend or someone she was fond of?’

‘I don’t remember a boyfriend but I do know she was very close to her father. She adored him. She once told me that her mother had said he was dead. That’s when he was in the army during the First World War. I believe he was missing but he turned up after the war was over and she said she never forgave her mother for telling her lies. I said, “But your poor mother was told he was missing presumed dead, so it wasn’t her fault.”’ Frances leant forward and looked at Molly. ‘Do you know what she said when I said that?’ Molly shook her head. Frances whispered, ‘She told me she wished it had been her mother who had been missing presumed dead and that she would never ever forgive her for lying to her. Aye, she was a queer lass now I come to think of it.’

‘Did you think her father tried to tell her the truth about the war and defend his wife?’

‘Yes, I know he did because I overheard him one day. He said, “It’s not your mum’s fault, because she couldn’t help it.”’

‘When was this?’

Frances rubbed her nose and lit another cigarette. ‘I think it was just before his accident and her disappearance. I think it was the week before. He came to meet her at work just as I arrived and she was angry about something and he said it wasn’t her mum’s fault. She never mentioned anything to me about it, not then and not on that last evening.’ She looked at Molly in despair. ‘I told the police all about it. They questioned me so much that my parents had to put a stop to it. They said I had told them all I knew but the police thought I might remember something, but I didn’t.’

‘And have you remembered anything, however small, after so long?’

Frances laughed. ‘Aye, just that Etta’s disappearance was a bloody nuisance. My manageress in the shop wasn’t very pleased with my involvement, so that’s why my parents had to put a stop to the questioning. They told the policeman that my job was at stake and that I was being treated as if I was some sort of criminal. Then, after a few weeks, everything died down. There must have been some other story for the papers to print and my life went on as usual. I sometimes wonder what did happen to her, whether she’s alive or dead, but to be honest, I don’t really care that much. I found her a strange girl with an intensity that I’d never seen in other pals of my age.’

Molly stood up and thanked the woman for her help.

‘So do you think you’ll find out what happened?’ asked Frances.

‘I don’t know,’ said Molly truthfully.

While she was sitting on the bus on her way back, Molly decided to go and see Mrs Jankowski again. When she was back in Gina’s house, she apologised for bothering her. ‘I wonder if you have the address for Anita Armstrong?’

Gina said she didn’t but she could give her Maria’s address and she would know where the woman stayed. ‘After all, she bring her here to play bridge so she must know where she stays.’

Maria Janetta lived in Hill Street, so Molly made her way there. Maria was surprised to see this stranger at her door but she knew Anita’s address. It was two closes down from hers. Molly hoped Anita would be at home and was relieved when the door was answered. ‘Can I have a word, Mrs Armstrong? It’s about Vera Barton.’

Anita almost fell over her feet to let Molly in. ‘Oh yes, come in, come in.’ She led the way through a long lobby to the living room. Molly noticed it was very comfortably furnished with thick velvet curtains at the window, comfy chairs and a sofa. There was also a small television on a table. Molly realised that money was no object in this household.

She declined a cup of tea, getting straight to the point, ‘You were a neighbour of the Barton’s in 1929, I believe.’

‘Oh yes, we were. Bill and I were just married and we managed to rent this small house at 96 Hilltown. Not in the same block as the Bartons but we knew them by sight.’ said Anita. ‘I remember Vera very well, as she was a beautiful woman. She must have been in her early thirties then because Etta would have been about fifteen. Poor Etta. She didn’t inherit her mother’s good looks. In fact, she was a very plain looking girl and always seemed to have a surly expression. Not like her mum.’

‘What about Dave Barton? What was your impression of him?’

Anita’s chatter seemed to dry up and she looked pensive. ‘I didn’t know him so well. He worked in a foundry somewhere but sometimes, on a Sunday, I would see him and Etta going for a walk. She adored him. I could tell by the way she looked at him. My elderly neighbour next door said she’d known him and his family for years and he was a very moody man. He hadn’t always been like that but the war changed him, she said, just like it changed hundreds of men who came home traumatised or injured. I felt sorry for them. Then after six months, Bill’s father opened another hardware shop in Glasgow and we went to live there. We’ve moved back here because Bill’s dad died this summer and Bill manages the shop here while our two sons run the branch in Glasgow.’

Molly put her notebook away and thanked Anita for her help. When they reached the door, Anita said, ‘Oh, I forgot to mention the lodgers.’

Molly said, ‘What lodgers?’

Anita became flustered. ‘Well, they weren’t really lodgers, but mainly young people who needed accommodation when they were at the Technical College in Bell Street or the university. When Vera’s husband was missing during the war, she registered with the education department and said she was willing to put up one person at a time in her house. It was to earn money for Etta and help her pay the bills. She didn’t have people all the time, just when someone needed accommodation, and she continued to put students up even after Dave returned.

‘When we were living in our house, I remember Dave and Vera had a young girl staying with them. She was a very pretty girl who was studying at the university. The rumour was that Dave fancied this girl very much and that Etta didn’t like it one bit. My neighbour, the one I mentioned earlier, told me that Etta’s nose was put out of joint.’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘It was just a rumour put about by this neighbour, who was a terrible old gossip, and probably wasn’t true. Some of the stories she told me would make your hair curl.’

This was just the sort of person Molly needed. ‘I don’t suppose she’s still alive?’

Anita shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, she was about eighty years old away back then.’

‘What was her name?’

Anita had to think about this. ‘It was Mrs Pert. Nosey old besom if you ask me.’

‘Can you remember the name of the student?’

Anita looked doubtful. ‘It was such a long time ago and I don’t think she was there for very long.’

Molly was disappointed but she smiled and walked to the door.

‘Thank you so much for all your help and if you remember anything else, let me know.’ She handed Anita a card. ‘My telephone number is there or you can call at the agency.’

Molly went straight to the office. She had to sort out the jobs for Mary and Edna. This trouble with John Knox had thrown the work schedule into disarray. Mary was due to start at Keiller’s sweet factory on Monday, so maybe Edna could fill in the last week of Mary’s assignment at a city office and then, if this stalemate lasted any longer, then she would have to reorganise everything.

Molly felt tired. It was all this questioning and, although she was getting a better picture of Dave and Etta, she was no nearer to finding the girl. Jean was busy on the phone about a cleaning job that had come up. At least the cleaners were all kept busy and Mrs Jankowski had booked Maisie for the next few Monday mornings.

‘I like Maisie,’ she had said. ‘She do what I tell her and not stand around doing nothing. Not like the last young girl I had. She was lazy and hopeless.’

Molly was pleased at the praise and she hoped that Alice and Deanna were also making good impressions. It was almost four o’clock and Molly decided to go upstairs and check through all her statements. She would also look through the addresses from Vera’s book again. There were quite a few and she didn’t know which ones were relevant to Etta.

She had just gone upstairs when Jean called up. ‘Molly, there’s someone here to see you.’

Molly was surprised to see Anita. She was dressed in a cosy checked coat with a brown scarf, hat and gloves. She looked like she was going to a wedding or some other grand occasion but no, she had only popped down to Woolworths for a look around and the Home and Colonial shop in the Wellgate for her groceries. All this information tumbled out like bullets from a machine gun. Jean looked amused.

‘After you left, I thought so hard to remember the student’s name. Then it came to me. She was called Sasha but I can’t remember her second name. I think I recalled her first name because I always thought it was exotic.’