by T E Kinsey
The door opened again, this time to reveal Puddle. She was pulling on her coat and still had her hat in her hand.
‘Sorry about that, darling,’ she said as she put on the cloche hat and fastened it in place with a lethally long pin. ‘She’s not the warmest of individuals.’
Ellie held the door for her and they clambered into the back of the cab. She gave the driver an address in Wimbledon and settled back to talk to Puddle.
‘Why the heck do you stay with her?’
‘She’s vile, and her husband can be a bit on the lecherous side, but their house is gorgeous. And the rent is so reasonable. I could get much less grief and have my bum ogled far less if I lived somewhere else, but my room is to die for. And they have an inside lav.’
‘It certainly does seem like quite a posh place. What does he do for a living?’
‘Something junior in the City, I think.’
‘They don’t seem like the sort of people who would need a lodger.’
‘I’ve always wondered about that, but finding out would entail asking. And asking requires conversation and a little bit of . . . oh, I don’t know . . . is “intimacy” too much of a word? But you know what I mean. I’d have to get to know them a good deal better than I’d like, just for the sake of sating my idle curiosity.’
Ellie laughed. ‘Well, I hope I haven’t caused any trouble.’
‘I’d have been on yet another final warning if you’d been a musician, but she noticed your clobber and decided you were too well dressed to be one of us, so your unannounced visit was overlooked just this once.’
‘Yet another final warning?’
‘Oh, I get one a week, darling. She’s never going to throw me out – I’m neat and tidy, I pay my rent on time, and I haven’t yet strangled her husband to death for leering at me. I’m a model tenant.’
‘It sounds like a perfect arrangement, then,’ said Ellie. ‘Apart from the bullying and the lechery.’
‘It’s amazing what one is prepared to put up with in return for a decent billet.’
The taxi headed up to Wandsworth and then turned south again to skirt Wimbledon Common before darting off into one of the many side streets. It pulled up outside an impressive Victorian villa. Ellie thanked the driver and paid the fare, adding a generous tip.
‘Thank you very much, ma’am,’ he said with an extremely happy smile. ‘Do you want me to wait for you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ellie. ‘I’ve no idea how long we’ll be.’
‘It’s no trouble. I reckon you’ll have a job getting a cab home if I don’t wait. To be honest with you, I’m outside me area a bit. I only have to know the roads six miles from Charing Cross – this is no man’s land as far as I’m concerned so I ain’t keen on stickin’ me flag up out here. Who knows where they’ll want to go. I ain’t even sure if I’m legal, like, so I’d only be headin’ back over the river. You’d be doin’ me a favour – it’ll give me a fare back to town.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘That’s settled, then. It’s me lunchtime, after all. I’m happy to sit here for a bit and eat me sarnies. My missus makes a lovely fish-paste sandwich.’
‘Do you have tea?’
‘Got me flask right here,’ he said, and patted a holdall on the floor beside him.
‘Thank you very much . . . ?’
‘Tommy, ma’am. Tommy Butler. Though the lads all call me Tubs.’ He patted his ample belly proudly.
‘Well, thank you, Tommy. I’ll send word if it seems like we’ll be too long, and we’ll just take our chances. We can get the District Railway from Wimbledon if it comes to it.’
‘I’ll be here, ma’am,’ said Tommy. ‘You need an ’and with them cases?’
‘No, we’re fine, thank you.’
‘Right you are. See you in a tick.’
They left him to his fish-paste sandwiches and walked up the garden path to the gleaming front door of the house. Puddle knocked, and moments later the door was answered by a conservatively dressed middle-aged woman. Puddle had met her before – this was the Adamses’ housekeeper.
‘Hello,’ said Puddle. ‘I’m Isabella Puddephatt and this is my friend, Mrs Maloney. Mr and Mrs Adams are expecting me.’
‘They are, miss. Please come in.’
The housekeeper took their coats and led them to the drawing room.
A tall man wearing a dark jacket and grey trousers leaped to his feet. Ellie had known Blanche long enough to be able to see a family resemblance immediately. There was no doubt that this was her brother.
‘Puddle,’ he said, holding open his arms for an embrace. ‘Thank you for coming.’
Puddle hugged him awkwardly. ‘Hello, Bill. This is Ellie Maloney.’
‘Skins’s wife? I’ve heard so much about you. Blanche talked about you all the time. Delighted to finally meet you.’
Ellie offered him her hand, but he embraced her, too.
‘Please, sit. Grace has taken the children to the Common to give us some peace. I didn’t know if you’d want to eat. To tell you the truth, I’ve not been eating well. I asked Mrs Green – that’s our housekeeper, Hilda Green – I asked her to bring us some tea. I hope that’s all right. I can get her to make you some sandwiches if you’d prefer. Or anything. I—’
‘Bill,’ said Puddle kindly. ‘It’s all right. We’re fine. Tea will be lovely.’
‘Righto, righto,’ said Bill.
He began to pace nervously up and down the room.
‘Have you . . . ah . . . have you brought the . . . ah . . . the doo-dah. The whatnot.’
‘The sax and clarinet?’ said Puddle. ‘Yes.’
She took the two cases from Ellie and presented them to him. He took them both, almost reverentially, but didn’t open either of them. He placed the smaller case carefully on a side table, and held out the larger one for Puddle.
‘Would you do the honours? Would you mind? I understand if you’d rather not, but it would be a great comfort if you’d play a little for me.’
Puddle took the case and opened it up. She was reaching inside when Mrs Green arrived with the tea. The housekeeper fussed about for a few moments, setting cups in saucers and lifting the tea cosy to check the temperature of the pot.
‘I’d give it another couple of minutes to steep,’ she said. ‘Will there be anything else?’
‘No, Mrs Green, thank you,’ said Bill. ‘That’s very kind.’
Puddle waited until the housekeeper had withdrawn before assembling the saxophone. She frowned at the mouthpiece as she adjusted the reed, then blew a few experimental notes. She thought for a moment.
‘Ellie, darling, would you mind accompanying me on the piano?’
‘Of course not,’ said Ellie. ‘Mr Adams? Would you mind if I . . . ?’
‘Bill, please. And no, not at all. It’s my wife’s but she hardly plays these days. We keep it for the children – the older ones are having lessons. It’s important, don’t you think? A social skill. I wish I’d kept it up but Blanche was always the musical one in our family. I would be out climbing trees or playing with a rugger ball when I should have been practising. Funny, the things one regrets, isn’t it? I had all that time, all those opportunities laid on for me, and I just thought it was a terrible imposition when I could have been having fun instead. And it would have meant spending time indoors with my stupid sister. I couldn’t imagine anything more ghastly at the time. I’d give anything to be able to spend time indoors with my stupid sister now.’
He fell silent.
Puddle touched Ellie’s arm and nodded towards the piano. ‘Do you know “I’ll Still Be Dreaming With You”?’
‘Barty’s song? It’s beautiful. I heard it at the Augmented Ninth one night and made him teach me.’
Ellie sat at the piano. She had to think for a moment to remember the introduction, but her fingers knew it. She began to play, and as the verse began, Puddle joined in. Ellie was surprised to realize
that she knew the band so well she was able to hear that Puddle wasn’t playing her own instrument. It was still Puddle’s style – always slightly more precise than Blanche – but the tone was different. The playing was Puddle’s, but the tone was unmistakably Blanche’s. It was as though something of Blanche were with them. They all felt it.
When the song was finished, Puddle wordlessly returned the saxophone to its case and closed it. She propped it up beside Bill’s chair.
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly as he wiped his eyes. ‘That was rather more emotional than I’d expected. You must forgive me.’
Puddle touched his hand but still said nothing. Ellie poured three cups of tea.
‘Have you heard anything from the police?’ said Bill suddenly.
‘No,’ said Ellie. ‘No one has. Not even our friend on the force.’
‘You have a friend on the police force?’
‘More of a recent acquaintance if I’m honest, but a friendly one. He’s keeping an eye on things for us.’
‘They won’t even let us bury her,’ he said.
‘No, I know,’ said Puddle. ‘I’m sure it won’t be long now.’
‘I’m sure the police have already asked you,’ said Ellie, ‘but did Blanche have any enemies we didn’t know of? We only knew her as a friend and a member of the band. I’m not sure any of us knows much about each other’s lives outside work.’
‘No,’ said Bill. ‘At least not that I was ever aware of. She was a kind girl. You know she was a nurse in the war? Ma and Pa were furious with her for putting herself in danger like that, but she insisted she had to go and help. That’s the sort of girl she was, not the sort to have enemies and be poisoned in gentlemen’s clubs.’
‘We saw her nursing skills in action one day at the club. She stitched up the dance teacher’s arm. It was quite a revelation,’ said Puddle. ‘She was so calm, so . . . well, so skilful. I’d never really thought about the realities of nursing before. I suppose I always thought it was kind words and cups of tea. Starched uniforms and a smiling face. But she cleaned the wound, stitched it up, and put on a bandage, all the while chatting away about her time in France as though she were having tea with the vicar.’
Bill laughed for the first time. ‘That’s our Blanche. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to some lunch? It really is no trouble. Grace and the progeny will be back soon and they’ll be starving after playing on the Common.’
‘I think we ought to be getting off,’ said Puddle. ‘I’m glad we were able to bring you some mementoes of Blanche, and I do so very much hope we can keep in touch, but . . .’
‘Things to do, people to see,’ he said with a smile. ‘I ought to be getting back to the office myself, to tell you the truth. It really is jolly kind of you to have come all this way. Well, Balham’s not that far, I don’t suppose. But you, Mrs Maloney, you must have come quite a way. Didn’t Blanche say you lived in Bloomsbury?’
‘Not far from the British Museum, that’s right,’ said Ellie.
‘I’d love to move back into town, but the practice is here so it’s just more convenient to stay put. Do you have a car?’
‘It’s top of my husband’s shopping list, but no, not yet. We have a cab waiting.’
‘Oh, my goodness,’ he said. ‘Then you must away. It must be costing you a fortune to have him out there waiting for you. You should have said.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Ellie. ‘We came to a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I would like to let the poor fella get back to his “manor”, as I believe you guys say.’
‘Quite right. Thank you so much for bringing Blanche’s things. And do, please, keep in touch. I know how much she loved you all and it would be a comfort to hear of your successes.’
Following the English fashion, their goodbyes took another five minutes, but eventually Ellie and Puddle made it back to Tommy’s cab. He was just putting the lid on his flask when they arrived.
‘Perfect timing, ladies,’ he said. ‘Where to? Balham and Bloomsbury?’
Ellie turned to Puddle. ‘Do you have anything to get back for?’
‘No, just the usual bullying and lechery. Why?’
‘Why not come back to our place. You can hang out there for the afternoon, then stay for dinner. Barty comes round on Thursday evenings and we all eat together. It’ll be fun.’
‘That sounds like a much better plan, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. You get on well with the boys and it’ll be nice to have another woman about the place.’
‘Thank you very much, then. I’d love to. Oh.’
‘Oh?’
‘Am I dressed all right for dinner in Bloomsbury? I don’t want to show myself up.’
‘You goof,’ said Ellie. ‘We’ll skip Balham and head straight for Bloomsbury, please.’
‘Right you are, ma’am. Sit back and I’ll have you there in a jiffy.’
‘Thanks, Tommy,’ said Ellie. ‘That’ll be swell.’
It really didn’t hurt to turn up the Yankeeness from time to time – people genuinely seemed to enjoy it.
Puddle was playing on the floor with Edward and Catherine when Dunn arrived. Vincent von Bear was hosting a tea party to which Catherine’s doll – the inexplicably named Dodo Pickleknickers – had been invited, along with Charlie the Lion and Captain Pointy-Hat of the Household Cavalry. Puddle was having a whale of a time with the miniature tea set, but both children had long since grown bored of the party itself and were busying themselves delivering essential supplies using Edward’s tin lorry.
‘Looks like you over-ordered on the imaginary cakes there, Pudds,’ said Dunn as he sat down to watch. ‘That’s the fourth lorryload to arrive since I got here.’
‘I tried to cancel,’ she said, ‘but the girl on the other end of the phone just kept saying, “More cakes, more cakes.” I don’t think there’s anything I can do.’
‘More cakes,’ said Catherine with a giggle, and drove the tin lorry forcefully into Puddle’s leg.
‘Come on, Maloney Monsters,’ said Ellie. ‘Time for your bath.’
‘Can Isabella read us a story?’ asked Edward.
‘Isabella?’ said Dunn. ‘Who’s Isabella?’
‘She is,’ said the children in unison, pointing at Puddle.
‘Is she really?’ he said. ‘Well, I never. But I usually read you a story on Thursdays.’
‘Oh,’ said Edward, earnestly. ‘That’s a pickle.’
Dunn laughed. ‘Isn’t it just? I don’t mind if you really want Isabella Puddle to read to you. She’s not here as often as I am. What do you say, Pudds? Fancy reading a story?’
‘I’m sure I’d be delighted,’ said Puddle. ‘But you have to choose. I want to make sure it’s one you’ll like.’
‘All right,’ said Edward. ‘Uncle Barty tells us about the Teddy Bear King. We both like those stories.’
Puddle looked imploringly at Dunn for an explanation.
Dunn laughed again. ‘She probably doesn’t know those. But don’t worry – I’ll explain it all to her while you’re in the bath. She’ll be up to speed in no time.’
‘You can say no if you want to,’ said Ellie.
‘Oh, but I’d love to,’ said Puddle. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more.’
‘You’re very lucky kids,’ said Ellie. ‘Off you go, then, or Nanny will be sending out a search party.’
The children raced out of the room and clattered up the stairs. Puddle began making neat piles of the toys.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Ellie. ‘Just hoick it all in the box any old how – they’ll soon find what they want.’
Together they put the toys into a wooden chest that lived beside the piano.
Skins arrived with a bottle of gin.
‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ said Puddle. ‘I thought you were just avoiding the tidying up.’
‘I always avoid the tidying up,’ he said. ‘But we were also out of gin, so I went down to Mrs P’s
mysterious pantry to fetch a fresh bottle. What can I get you?’
‘Do you have any lemons?’ asked Puddle.
‘Always.’
‘Tom Collins, then, please.’
‘Good choice. Ells Bells?’
‘I’ll have the same if you’re making one.’
‘Two Tom Collinses coming up. Mr Dunn?’
‘Got any of that absinthe left?’ said Dunn.
‘Loads. You’re the only one who drinks it.’
‘Sazerac for me, then.’
‘They’re just showing off ’cause you’re here, you know,’ said Skins to Puddle with a wink. ‘He makes do with a scotch and soda, and she drinks gin straight from the bottle. That’s why we keep running out.’
He was a keen and knowledgeable barman, but a slow one. During the laborious mixing process, Dunn had ample opportunity to tell Puddle the story of the Evil Bear King, and by the time the drinks were ready Puddle had to leave to tell the children the next instalment.
By the time Puddle and Ellie returned, Lottie had brought the dinner up from the kitchen and they were able to sit down and eat straight away.
‘So, how did it go with Blanche’s brother?’ said Dunn as he helped himself to potatoes. ‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s like a male version of Blanche,’ said Ellie.
‘Only sadder,’ added Puddle.
‘Was he pleased with the sax and clarinet?’ asked Skins.
‘Very,’ said Ellie. ‘Puddle played for him. It was rather touching.’
‘What did you play?’ asked Dunn.
‘One of yours,’ said Puddle. ‘“I’ll Still Be Dreaming With You”. With Ellie on piano. It was lovely, actually.’
‘She always liked that one,’ said Dunn. ‘I’m glad it went well.’
‘It did,’ said Ellie. ‘We didn’t stay long, though. It wasn’t a comfortable experience, to be honest, but I’m glad we were able to take him a memento of his sister. Those instruments were such an important part of her.’
‘They were,’ agreed Puddle. She tucked into her lamb chop, then frowned at a memory.
‘Something wrong with the food, honey?’ asked Ellie.
‘No, no. Oh my goodness, no. It’s delicious. I was just thinking about this afternoon. Did either of you boys mess about with the sax while it was in your pal’s shop?’