Harold
Page 8
‘He won’t listen to me now.’
‘Yes, he will. Tell him you’re sorry.’
When I entered the bedroom he was standing looking out of the window. I stood behind him and put my hand on his shoulder, only to have it shrugged off.
‘I’m sorry, Harold.’
He turned about. His eyes were swollen and still wet and his lips were trembling as he said, ‘You seen him again and he said he did?’
‘No, I haven’t seen him again, but I believe you. I do really.’
‘Because Mr Tommy told you to.’
‘No, not because Mr Tommy told me to, but because I know now I should have believed you right from the first; you wouldn’t lie to me.’
‘Why … why didn’t you say that before?’
‘I don’t know, I’m sorry.’
‘And you shook me, and ’urt me shoulders.’
‘Yes, I know, and I’m sorry for that too.’ I bent down until our faces were on a level and said softly, ‘You don’t want to go to Gag’s, do you? You won’t leave me and go to Gag’s?’
He was silent for a moment. Then his face twisted, his arms came out and round my neck, and I hugged him close to me, so thankful that I said a prayer, which was unusual for me: Thank you, God. Oh, thank you; for I knew in this moment if I had lost this child Doctor Bell would have been right in his diagnosis, for my mind would really have skipped.
I was sorry now that I had phoned Janet for she’d come scampering round and the whole thing would be gone over again. Standing up now, I said, ‘Wash your face and then come and have a drink.’
I stroked his hair back from his brow, and as I made for the door, he said, ‘Mr Tommy said he’d take me to a football match ’safternoon. Can I?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. That’ll be nice. Yes.’ I smiled at him.
Tommy wasn’t in the drawing room. I found him in the kitchen making some coffee. He turned from the stove, saying, ‘All right?’
‘Yes, yes, I think so. Good move of yours to take him to the football match.’
‘Don’t worry. Come and sit down.’ He pressed me onto a chair.
‘I did a silly thing, I phoned Janet, she’ll be round here any minute now. I was afraid he would run to her; he said he would.’
‘Oh dear. Well, anyway, she’ll find everything back to normal.’
‘I think that’ll take some time.’
We both looked towards the door now as the lift bell rang and I said, ‘That can’t be her already. I … I hope it isn’t the Captain. What’ll I do if … ?’
‘Go and see who it is.’ He pressed me gently forward.
And a minute later when I opened the door into the outer hall I was amazed to see the Mohican coming towards me from the lift.
He was smiling. Today he had two marks on each cheek and they seemed to form deep ruts in his face making him look almost an old man. ‘I’m deputising,’ he said. ‘I’ve … I’ve come in place of Mum.’
‘Oh. Oh, come in.’
Inside the hall he stood for a moment, his glance flickering here and there as if he was appraising what he saw.
‘We’re in the kitchen just about to have coffee.’
He followed me, his shoes, the uppers of which had been made to appear like moccasins, padding softly.
Tommy could not altogether hide his astonishment as he turned from the stove and saw the Indian. I had described the Mohican to him but my description did not live up to the flesh. I made the introduction fumbling somewhat: ‘This is Mr … John Drake, and this is Tommy … Mr Balfour.’ My short arm went out one way, my normal arm the other; then I said, ‘Sit down. Sit down, John.’
‘Thank you.’ He sat down at the corner of the table, and as he did so Tommy asked him, ‘Black or white?’ A moment later I pushed the sugar basin towards him, saying, ‘Sugar?’
‘No, thanks.’ He smiled at me. I noticed his eyes again: they were deep brown nice eyes. Why on earth had he let himself go like this? Oh, what did it matter. Why had he come? That’s what I wanted to know. And right away he gave me the answer to my unspoken question.
‘If Harold said that the Captain … so-called, gave him that money, he was telling the truth.’
‘How would you know? And why do you say “so-called”?’
‘Because if he’s ever been a captain it would have been in the Salvation Army. But then, of course, they wouldn’t have had him.’ The furrows in his face deepened.
‘Do you know him?’ This came from Tommy.
‘Oh yes, I know him.’
‘How on earth do you?’
The Mohican smiled a small tight smile now as he said, ‘Oh, me and my kind get around and mingle quite frequently with him and his sort.’
‘He isn’t what he appears to be then?’
‘Not by a long chalk. Oh no, not by a long chalk, Mrs Leviston.’
I liked the way he spoke my name. ‘But he sounds educated,’ I said.
‘Oh yes, you’re right there: public school; at least until he was thrown out. And you must give him credit for trying; I don’t think there’s an occupation at which he hasn’t tried his hand, at least not one that would befit a scion of the upper class.’
‘How do you know all these things?’ Tommy’s voice was stiff.
‘As I said, I get around.’
‘I should like a different answer to that.’
There was no smile on the Mohican’s face now as he replied, ‘You might like but it all depends on how much I want to give.’ And he stared at Tommy in evident hostility. Then looking at me he said, ‘Holland is a con man. I recognised him the other morning down in the hall although I hadn’t seen him for almost two years when he came out after doing a stretch for embezzlement. Beckingtree is his wife’s maiden name. She’s as bad as him. They muscled in to our gang up in Harrogate; they thought we’d act as go-betweens, you know, passing on bits of stolen stuff, but our lot wasn’t in on that kind of thing. If we were looking for trouble we only had to have a drag or dress up like this.’ He gave a slight grin now as he swept his fingers over his leather tunic, which caused the rows of spiked trinkets hanging from his neck to jangle. ‘We may do lots of things that offend the public eye—’ he now turned his gaze towards Tommy before looking back at me and ending, ‘but nicking isn’t one of them, at least—’ his head went up now and he laughed deeply as he ended, ‘not from friends anyway.’
‘But why should he give Harold money then say he didn’t?’
‘That’s got to be worked out, Mrs Leviston. To my mind he wants to lay something on the boy. What did he say to you when you went down to him?’
I told him practically what the Captain, so-called, had said.
‘Huh! There you have got a clue in the suggestion that the lad might have been doing an exchange. Have you missed anything lately around the house?’
‘No, no.’ I shook my head; then after a pause I said, ‘Well, nothing that is evident. There are a lot of specimens in the china cabinets.’ I half rose from the chair now, leant on the table and looked at Tommy and he said, ‘Let’s go and see.’
As we went towards the kitchen door, it opened and there stood Harold, his mouth agape, his face bright. ‘Hello, Johnny,’ he said.
‘Hello, boyo,’ said the Mohican.
‘What you doin’ ’ere?’
‘Well, well.’ The Mohican glanced at me. ‘I drop in to say hello to everybody and to see you in particular and I’m asked what I’m doing here. He has no manners, Mrs Leviston.’
‘He’s very pleased to see you, John.’
‘Well, I wish he would show it.’
Tommy pushed past us rather impatiently now, and we all followed him into the drawing room; but there for the second time since entering the house the Mohican gazed about him. Then looking down at Harold, he said, ‘You weren’t wrong, were you? You’re a lucky fellow. Do you want a lodger? I’ll sleep under your bed.’
Harold pushed him and laughed, saying, ‘You’d smell.’
Tommy’s voice again cut in impatiently, saying, ‘Have a look here, Maisie.’ He had opened the first door of one of the cabinets. ‘At a glance, can you see anything missing?’
I scanned the shelves, then shook my head, saying, ‘No, but all the things are catalogued.’
He walked from me down the room to the other cabinet, and once more I was standing looking at the shelves. Then I said, ‘Oh.’
‘You miss something?’
‘One of the chairs to the little suite.’ I picked up the remaining one. ‘There were two of these.’
‘Have another look. What else?’
I looked again. ‘The silver miniature case, it used to lie in the corner; Nardy said his grandfather had got it from a general. He used to carry it in his pocket when he went into battle; it held the picture of his wife. And … and’—my voice was high now as I pointed to the back of the shelf—‘the beautiful Egyptian coffee jug! It was only so high.’ I demonstrated with my fingers.
‘Make sure it isn’t on one of the other shelves.’
‘It couldn’t be.’ I turned to Tommy. ‘They’ve always been on the same shelf and I’ve never altered Nardy’s arrangement, nor he his father’s.’
I turned now swiftly and looked down on Harold, saying, ‘Did you ever see the Captain come near the china cabinets?’
He shook his head. ‘No; we just played cards or chess.’
‘He’d be much too clever to let anyone see him taking an interest in the china cabinets, or anything else in the house. He’s no amateur is the Captain,’ said the Mohican. He now looked down on Harold, saying, ‘I could do with another cup of that coffee. May he go and get me one, Mrs Leviston? Or don’t you let him pour out?’
‘Oh, he can pour out, and he can make tea or coffee as good as the next. Go along, Harold, and get John a cup of coffee.’
Whether Harold knew he was being dismissed or not, he didn’t hesitate but left the room. And now the Mohican, looking at me, said, ‘I know what you’d like to do, go down and demand that they return these things. But by this time they will have been exchanged for a tenth of their value. And you’ll have to be careful here because he would come back on the boy; you see you did go to him and ask if he had given the boy money. It would be only his word against the boy’s. And as he said, boys are apt to do deals in exchange, and these things in here would look like little trinkets to any boy.’
‘Well, you seem to have the whole business in hand, what do you suggest?’ Tommy’s voice sounded curt, which made me want to turn on him and say, ‘You’re judging him by his clothes, he’s a nice boy.’ Oh, what a term that is. But he was nice; I sensed it. It would not have surprised me had the Mohican taken umbrage at the tone, but he contained his immediate feelings and said, ‘There are a number of shops he could have taken the stuff to, one in particular that I know of. The fellow deals with small bits like this. Could you make little drawings of the things missing?’
‘Yes, yes, I could, especially of the chair.’
He asked now, ‘Have you a jewel case or anything like that?’
‘I haven’t got a case but there are two trays fitted into the dressing-table drawer: one is fitted to hold rings, the other brooches and suchlike, and I’ve got three or four little boxes with jewellery in them, pieces that my husband bought me.’
‘When did you last look at them?’
‘Oh, I use the ring tray practically every day; as for the others I may not have opened the boxes … oh, perhaps for weeks.’
‘Would you like to go and have a look?’
I left the room, and in the hall I passed Harold bearing the requested cup of coffee. It was white, but I made no comment; only to say, ‘Mind you don’t spill it.’
In my bedroom I pulled open the top drawer of the dressing table and counted my rings. There were seven. Then I looked at the oddments on the brooch tray. As far as I could remember there was nothing missing from that. Now I picked up the first of the four boxes and in it there lay a gold-leaf spray of lily of the valley. It was a delicate thing. I recalled the day Nardy had given it to me. I closed the lid slowly on it and picked up the biggest box of the three. In it should have been a platinum and gold filigree brooch holding three small rubies and two diamonds representing the hearts and flowers in the centre of the exquisite work.
I closed my eyes tightly. My teeth were clenched together. I had the desire to rush from the room, spring into that lift, dash into that flat and accuse those two dirty thieves. Everything within me was racing. I quickly opened other boxes. One held a gold chain and pendant, the other was empty.
I entered the drawing room, gasping now as if I had been running. I was about to burst out with my news when I saw Harold gazing at me. With an effort I held back and, looking at the Mohican, I said, ‘Was your coffee all right?’
‘Yes, fine.’ I had noticed that the cup was empty and realised that neither the Mohican nor Tommy would ask in front of Harold what I had found. I did not realise though that I was beating my chest with the flat of my hand until Harold said, ‘What you doin’ that for?’
‘What?’
‘Hittin’ yourself?’
‘Oh, I have a slight pain. I think I’ve got a bit of cold.’
‘I must be off,’ the Mohican said; ‘I have places to visit and things to see. I have far to go, being Thursday’s child.’
Then turning to me he said, ‘Could you get me that piece of paper?’
‘Oh, yes, yes.’ I went out and into my study and there made rough outline drawings of the things that were missing, including the two brooches. When I returned to the hall both Tommy and the Mohican were standing there, and Tommy, while motioning towards the drawing-room door, said, ‘I’ve told him to stay by the fire.’
The Mohican said, ‘Well?’
‘Two brooches, one very valuable.’ And I handed him the paper and pointed, ‘It’s like that, diamonds and rubies.’ Then I added, ‘I can’t believe it: she was so ladylike, so sweet, so friendly.’
Both Tommy and I now stared at him as, striking a pose, he said,
‘False friend, wilt thou smile or weep
When my life is laid asleep?
Little cares for a smile or a tear,
The clay-cold corpse upon the bier!
Farewell! Heigho!
What is this whispers low?
There is a snake in thy smile, my dear;
And bitter poison within thy tear.’
Tommy, who is a connoisseur of poetry, and who at one time before he became embittered against his mother, would declaim it whenever the opportunity occurred, stared at the Mohican and said, ‘The Dirge of Beatrice.’
‘Correct. You like Shelley?’
It was a moment before Tommy answered, ‘With others, yes.’
‘Don’t look so surprised.’ The Mohican was smiling broadly. ‘Besides pot, we have our other pleasures.’ And he turned to me, saying, ‘Goodbye, Mrs Leviston. We’ll be in touch, and shortly I hope.’
I made no reply to this but opened the door and followed him to the lift, and there I said quietly, ‘Thanks, John.’
‘You are very welcome, Mrs Leviston,’ he said, just as quietly.
When I returned to the hall Tommy shook his head and said, ‘I can’t understand him, nor that lot at all.’
‘He’s a nice fellow underneath.’
‘Yes, perhaps, but why let himself go like that?’
‘Perhaps he doesn’t consider it letting himself go.’
Drawing closer to me now, he put his arm around my shoulder and asked, ‘What are you going to say when they’—he thumbed towards the floor—‘phone up and ask about babysitting?’
‘I’ll say I’m not well, or some such excuse.’
‘Then that will mean no more trips for us, unless you get another ba
bysitter.’
I glanced up at him as I replied, ‘There’s always the Mohican.’
‘Oh. Oh, you couldn’t have him.’
I drew myself from his embrace. ‘I could, you know. Definitely I could. There’s much more in him than meets the eye.’
‘You’re right there; there would have to be.’
‘They are not all alike.’
‘Then why is it they all act in the same way?’
‘Oh Tommy.’ I visibly drooped before him. ‘Don’t start an argument, or even a discussion. I feel absolutely done in.’
‘I’m sorry, but all this proves to me one thing: I should be here all the time, then I’d be able to take him off your hands.’
‘I don’t want him taken off my hands,’ and I pushed him from me; ‘that’s the last thing I want done for me. I love him, Tommy, I need him. You’ll always have to understand that.’
He stared at me hard for a moment, then said, ‘Please, Maisie, don’t make him into a greater opponent than Nardy; I couldn’t stand it.’
Six
All the weekend I was fuming inside: I wanted to get on the phone and scream down at that thieving pair below, or better still, phone the police because, as the Mohican had said, they had a record, at least he had. But, as the Mohican had also said, you have to furnish the police with more than the present suspicion concerning five pound notes and the missing pieces. And what is more, I’d had that dreadful pain in the night. I’d woken up in a sweat at about half past twelve, and my anger was intensified then by the thought of the suggestion that this excruciating pain was a figment of my imagination. And then on Sunday I hadn’t had the comfort of Tommy: he had gone down to Brighton to visit Bella, a very nice oldish woman who had been a servant to his mother for years, a slave would have been a more appropriate title, and whom he had set up in a flat in a place of her choice when his mother’s secret fortune had come to light.