Lydia swallowed, her throat dry. Had Mr Phipps unintentionally put her husband at risk? ‘I rather wish you had, Mr Phipps,’ she confessed shakily. ‘Is it too late to ask them not to . . . not to go ahead with their investigation?’
He hesitated. ‘But suppose something underhand or illegal is happening. Isn’t it better that we root it out? That way your husband can come to no harm.’
Slowly, Lydia resumed her task, setting out the cutlery. She fetched the cruet from the sideboard and placed it on the table with exaggerated care, trying to curb her growing agitation. ‘My husband’s work is very secret and sometimes dangerous,’ she explained. ‘I pray this does not affect him in any way.’
‘I am certain it won’t,’ he insisted. ‘Would you like me to keep you informed?’
She narrowed her eyes suddenly. ‘Is this going to upset Mrs Wickham? Oh, I do hope not! Poor soul. I’m sure she has done nothing wrong, and she’s expecting a baby!’
Mr Phipps forced a smile. ‘Might I suggest we wait and see what happens? I may have been mistaken, and if that is so we will be worrying ourselves for nothing.’
‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll try to forget all about it. I know you did it for the best, and I may be overreacting, but I haven’t heard from my husband for a while and that always makes me nervous. I shall feel better when the postman brings a letter.’ She forced a smile. ‘Worrying is what women do, Mr Phipps. We worry about our loved ones and the world in general! When you have a wife you will understand us better!’
Early next morning Mavis was outside the house, languidly sliding a supposedly clean cloth over the windows in an attempt to clean them. Her expression was sulky, as she had stayed home from work with stomach cramps and had hoped to be treated with a little more consideration. But her mother, leaving for the market, had said, ‘If you’re going to be under me feet all day you can do something useful.’
She was about to go inside again when she noticed a police constable heading along the street, and she lingered on the doorstep in the hopes of seeing something exciting. To her surprise he referred to a notebook he was carrying and stopped outside number sixteen. He knocked, waited, then knocked again, but no one answered. Mavis frowned. Was Dolly still asleep at gone nine o’clock, she wondered. Feeling rather dramatic, she hurried across and said, ‘Good morning, constable. Are you—’
‘It’s Sergeant to you, miss. Sergeant Brandle – and what’s it got to do with you why I’m here?’
‘I’m her sister, that’s what. Dolly is married to one of the Wickham brothers.’
‘Ah! The sister-in-law.’
He seemed more interested, thought Mavis. ‘We all call her Dolly, and I’m Mavis Ellerway. She may be sleeping late. She’s expecting a baby and gets tired easily. I’ll give her a shout.’ Mavis crouched in front of the letterbox, lifted the flap and shouted, ‘Dolly! Can you hear me? There’s a constab . . . I mean a police sergeant on your doorstep!’
The sergeant glanced up and down the road. ‘I’m expecting a colleague,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘I think you should go back to your own house, miss. This doesn’t concern you.’
‘It does if it concerns my sister!’ She felt the first stirrings of unease. ‘What’s it about then? She hasn’t done anything.’
‘Let’s hope not.’
Another police officer appeared at the end of the road, and Mavis now began to suspect that all was not well. Sergeant Brandle began walking to meet his colleague and Mavis was about to renew her shout through the letterbox when the door opened and Dolly, still in her nightwear, whisked her inside and shut the door.
Dolly whispered, ‘I saw them through the window. What do they want?’
‘They didn’t say! Maybe want to speak to one of the brothers.’
‘They’re not here. They . . .’
A loud rat-tat on the front door caused Dolly to back away towards the kitchen. ‘Tell them I’m ill,’ she said.
A loud rat-tat on the back door made them both jump, and then a face appeared at the kitchen window and a constable peered in.
‘Open up, Mrs Wickham! We need to speak with you.’
‘Gawdalmighty!’ whispered Dolly, clutching her nightdress close to her throat.
‘He’s seen you,’ Mavis said unnecessarily. ‘Go up and put some clothes on. I’ll take them into the front room.’
‘Do we have to let them in?’
‘It’ll look suspicious if we don’t. Go
on
!’
Five minutes later they all stood in the small front room: the two policemen looming large, the two young women feeling threatened.
The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘We need to know the whereabouts of Mr Donald Wickham and/or Mr Sidney Wickham. They are to accompany us down to the station for questioning. I should warn you two that hiding information from the police is an offence. So where are they?’
‘Gone!’ said Dolly. ‘You won’t find them here.’ She turned to Mavis. ‘Sidney said Don’s left me! Gone abroad.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘Left you? He never has!’
‘I tell you he has. Sid ought to know – he’s his brother. And I reckon Sidney’s gone too.’ She turned back to the police. ‘You can search the place – they’re not here. They’ve done a bunk, the pair of them, and it’s nothing to do with me so—’
‘Can you prove that, Mrs Wickham? Can you prove that they’ve both left home? Two of them disappearing at the same time? It’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’
‘Course I can’t
prove
it. How could I? But you can search all you like and wait here for as long as you like – they’ve skedaddled! And if they’re not coming back then . . .’ Her voice shook. ‘Good riddance to the pair of them!’
Mavis, confused, said nothing. If her sister was lying, she was doing it very well. But if she
was
lying, maybe she should play along. She said, ‘I hope he rots in hell! He was never good enough for you.’
The sergeant was eyeing her steadily with an expression that she could not read. He said, ‘Have a good look round, Constable. Start upstairs. Anything suspicious, we’ll take it along to the station.’
‘Er . . . How suspicious exactly, sir?’
‘Like jewellery . . . or a pistol!’
Mavis gasped. ‘A pistol?’ She looked at Dolly, who was very pale.
Sergeant Brandle watched the constable set off towards the stairs, then turned back to the women. To Dolly he said, ‘So what do you know about the PSD?’
‘Nothing. I haven’t lived here long. I don’t know. Since I’ve been here I’ve seen nothing, but some people came asking the same question and I couldn’t tell them anything either.’
Thoroughly frightened, Mavis said again, ‘A
pistol
?’ and clumsily crossed herself.
‘Seen any staff around? Secretary, maybe?’
Dolly shook her head.
‘What about letters? Seen any letters addressed to PSD?’
‘One. I sent it back to the sender.’
‘Were there any others sent here? Last month? Last year?’
‘Not as far as I know. I wasn’t here then.’
‘So where’s your diamond ring?’
Dolly was startled. ‘How d’you know about that? Who told you? It was my wedding ring.’
Mavis whispered, ‘A
pistol
? Oh my Godfathers!’ and sat down heavily.
‘So where’s the ring?’ The sergeant had moved a step closer to Dolly, and she tried to back away, but he snatched at her left hand where a wedding ring should have been.
She explained that Sidney had offered to get it valued for her, but then he had not returned. ‘Neither of them are here,’ she said bitterly, ‘and I’m stuck here on my own with a baby on the way!’
Mavis, recovering slightly from her fright and feeling the need to say something helpful, tried to rally her senses. ‘It’s true though, Sergeant. It
was
her wedding ring. She
is
married. They had a private wedding.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Reverend Brook, wasn’t it?’
‘Burke not Brook.’
The constable was making copious notes and did not answer. Defeated, Dolly and Mavis watched in silence as the constable returned from his search empty-handed.
‘Nothing,’ he reported.
Dolly said, ‘I told you so!’
The sergeant said, ‘Watch your tongue, young woman! If we find out you’ve lied you’ll be in deep trouble!’ He closed his notebook. ‘And when the menfolk return –
if
they ever do – be sure to tell them we were here and we’ll get them! And you two as well if you’re implicated. I can assure you Holloway Prison is no picnic, so if you want to change your stories, best let us know right away.’
Saying nothing, the sisters stared at him dully, longing for them to be gone.
‘We’ll let ourselves out.’
After the front door closed behind them, Mavis and Dolly sat in silence for a few moments, staring at each other in shocked disbelief.
‘Come over home,’ Mavis said at last. ‘Ma will be back soon. She’ll know what to do.’
Neither of them believed it, but in desperation they both got up and headed back to their mother.
Leonard Phipps had gone up to bed around ten o’clock, but it was now nearly midnight and he had not slept at all – his mind busy with a number of matters. Some were to do with his job, and some were personal, but one was a mixture of both. When the church clock struck twelve he came to a sudden decision and sat up in bed. He would write the overdue letter to his mother, and that would mean that at least his lack of sleep had been put to good use.
Finding paper and pen, he began as usual:
Dear Mama, I hope this finds you as well as I am. Forgive me for the delay, but I have been very busy and had little free time to write.
I have settled in well with the Dayes, although the husband is hardly ever here and I wonder sometimes what he gets up to. He says he works for the government, but exactly what he does is a bit of a mystery. His wife is very kind and a good cook and looks after her four year old son and a somewhat confused father by the name of George. The truth is I feel sorry for her as she is obviously lonely . . .
He paused in some surprise and reread the last sentence. Was he sorry for her? He had not actually realized that fact. Was she lonely? She had never complained about her situation, but he supposed she must be. Was she unhappy? Having no experience of married life he had no way of telling. Thoughtfully, he went on with the letter.
Mr Daye is hardly ever at home, and I suspect she lives for his rare letters, which now seem to have stopped arriving altogether. Poor woman.
As for work, that is interesting and I think I have unearthed some kind of connection to that robbery at Glazers in Oxford Street. I did some investigation in my own time and then passed on the information to the nearest police station. I believe that two men who are arousing my suspicions may in fact be the thieves that are wanted in connection with the above robbery. Keep your fingers crossed for me, Mama. It may lead to a commendation!
Returning the pen to its place on the inkstand, he skimmed through the letter again and felt vaguely dissatisfied with it. Fearing that the letter read too much like one of his police reports, he searched for something more personal to say. His mother would want to share it with her sister and possibly with the neighbours. What should he add that would please her, he wondered. Ah yes!
The household now boasts a kitten
,
twelve weeks old and, house-trained. Although it is a tabby, little Adam has decided to call it Sooty. He is very thrilled with it, but I don’t know what Mr Daye will say when he sees it as I’m told cat fur makes him sneeze a lot.
I’m glad to hear that your rheumatism is not so bad at the moment – that must be a great relief. Don’t hesitate to buy more liniment or pills whenever you need to, Mama, because you know I will always foot the bill. It is no problem.
Don’t worry about me. I am quite safe here ‘in the smoke’ and enjoying my new life. As soon as I can manage a few days’ leave I will come home to see you and bring you a pair of London bloaters.
You are always in my prayers. Your loving son, Leonard.
He pushed aside the thought that his mother, alone now, must be even lonelier than Mrs Daye. Would she ever agree to leave Bedfordshire and join him in a flat in London? It seemed unlikely. It also seemed selfish even to think of asking her to consider it. Life was so full of problems, he thought wearily.
Sighing, Leonard found an envelope and addressed it and set it aside for posting tomorrow. Which was actually today, he realized as the church clock struck one. Blowing out the candle he returned to his bed and fell asleep within minutes.
Ten
Mrs Duggett was happily ensconced in her favourite rocking chair, officially reading the latest copy of
The Ladies Journal
but actually dozing. A loud knocking on the front door brought her back to consciousness with a start and made her heart race. A glance at the clock gave no clues, and she heaved herself from the chair, grumbling, and checked her appearance in the mirror before moving along the passage to open the door.
‘Mrs Duggett?’
She stared at the two policemen who stood on her doorstop with expressions which gave her no reassurance. To hide her dismay she said, ‘Oh dear! What have I done now? Pinched the crown jewels?’
One, a constable, rolled his eyes, but the sergeant, a few inches taller, ignored the attempt at humour and said, ‘Mr Willis Burke lives here. We’ve come to arrest him. Is he in?’
‘Arrest him?’ She had lowered her voice. Having her lodger arrested would be a gift to her neighbours, who would gloat over her shame. ‘You can’t do that!’ she protested. ‘This is a respectable street. Mr Burke is a minister of the church. He’s one of God’s chosen. He also works nights, so I’d have to wake him up.’
‘Get on with it then, because I have a warrant for his arrest.’
A curtain moved at a window across the street. It doesn’t take long, she thought resentfully and wondered how many others were peeking from behind their curtains.