He held his hand out and she slipped her hand into his with a small shiver of pleasure.
Equally delighted, they walked in silence until Daisy remembered her request. ‘They thought you might come to Sunday dinner next week – come at twelve and stay until four.’ She glanced at him. ‘Does that sound too formal? It will only be a roast hen and potatoes and carrots and one of Ma’s fruit pies. Ma mashes the carrots with a knob of butter and some pepper.’
‘It sounds perfect, Miss Letts. I accept with alacrity in case they change their minds! But please don’t allow your mother to become anxious. Dry bread and cheese would be sufficient for Sunday dinner if you were there.’
Overwhelmed by the compliment, Daisy opened her mouth but nothing came out.
‘That’s settled then,’ he told her. ‘Please thank them for the invitation and say I accept.’
As they began to walk on he said, ‘And now for my news. It’s about the Pennington family but I’m telling you in strictest confidence and you must promise never to tell a soul that I told you.’
‘The Penningtons?’ She frowned. ‘What is there to tell about them? I probably know more about them than you do! I live with them – and work for them. They’re a difficult family in some ways but . . .’ She shrugged.
‘So–o, what exactly do you know about them?’
‘Let me think . . . Hettie is a busybody, Albert I hardly ever see, Dilys is a widow and rather nicer than Hettie – but then Hettie is only a Pennington by marriage. Monty is Monty and he’s rather nice, I think. A . . . a mild man.’
‘And what do you know about Monty’s wife? Anything?’
‘Only that she died years ago . . . and everyone loved her. She was very kind . . .’
‘And she was childless?’
‘Yes. That must have been disappointing but . . .’
‘Suppose I told you – and remember this is in strictest confidence – if anyone in the office finds out I’ve told you, I could lose my job.’ He stopped and looked at her.
Immediately nervous, Daisy said, ‘Then maybe you’d better not.’
‘But I trust you to keep a secret, Daisy. You would, wouldn’t you?’
‘Most certainly I would. Cross my heart and hope to die!’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘Is it very dreadful? It’s not a . . . a murder or anything?
‘No! It’s nothing like that.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t look so worried.’
‘But I am worried.’
Steven took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Pennington, that is Cressida Pennington, went to Switzerland, had a child and brought it back to England for adoption.’
Daisy stopped in her tracks. After a long moment she said, ‘I don’t believe you! Is this supposed to be a joke or something?’
‘It’s not a joke, Daisy. It’s the truth. Cross my heart and—’
‘Stop it, Steven! Cressida didn’t have any children. I told you . . . and if she had, why would they have the baby adopted? It doesn’t make sense. You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘I’ve seen it written down in black and white!’
‘Then it’s lies!’
They walked on in an uncomfortable silence.
Steven squeezed her hand. ‘You don’t have to defend them, Daisy. They must have had their reasons. The child may have been . . . ill in some way and they might have had it adopted by a nurse who could look after it properly.’
‘Then why keep it a secret?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s not the reason. It might have been . . . Well, how can I put it? Montague Pennington might not be the father.’
Daisy gasped. ‘Not the father? Steven, how could you say such a thing!’
‘I’m only guessing. But you can’t deny the facts. There are documents to prove that there was a child born in a clinic in Switzerland – and Cressida Pennington is named as the mother.’
‘And the father?’ They reached a seat and Daisy brushed off a few leaves and sat down. For a few moments they gazed in silence across the river while a few hopeful ducks paddled towards them.
‘It was “Father Unknown”.’ He hesitated, sitting down beside her. ‘Sometimes that means that the mother doesn’t want the father to be named.’
Daisy felt confused and totally stricken. She had assumed that she knew the family reasonably well and now she was having doubts. Cressida had always been a well-loved but tragic figure, ministering to her unfortunate aunt but now it appeared that she was somewhat devious and had had a child by a man who was not her husband. It was shocking but, if she was honest, almost thrilling in parts . . . and she could not share her new-found knowledge with anyone.
After a moment she said, ‘Was it a boy or a girl?’
‘A girl named Dorothea.’
‘That name was on the birth certificate?’
He nodded.
‘Does it say who adopted her?’
Steven shook his head. ‘I suppose the adoption papers would say who they were but we don’t have a copy. But there is one more envelope that cannot be opened until sometime next month. Very hush-hush!’ He patted her arm. ‘Don’t take it to heart. It’s hardly the end of the world.’
‘But it’s so sad . . . and poor Cressida! And poor Dorothea!’
By this time Steven was regretting his decision to pass on the information. He stood up. ‘Well, that was my news,’ he said briskly. ‘No more to be said. Time to retrace our steps and pop in somewhere for a nice pot of tea and a cake.’
Daisy rose slowly to her feet. ‘I won’t tell a soul,’ she promised, as they turned back the way they had come.
‘So you’re not upset?’
‘Upset? No, why should I be?’
‘And not a word to anyone.’
‘Cross my heart!’
‘It’s just a nice little mystery.’ He grinned at her. ‘I thought you’d like it.’
‘I do like it,’ she admitted with a rush of honesty. ‘I don’t think I should but – I do!’
Hettie’s letter to her brother-in-law arrived by the first post the next day and while he read it, his face grew red and his porridge grew cold.
Daisy watched him, puzzled. Who could this letter be from, she wondered anxiously, and why was it upsetting him? ‘Do eat your porridge,’ she suggested, hoping he would be prompted by her interruption, to share the contents with her. It worked.
Slowly he looked up, pushing the letter aside. ‘It’s from Hettie and Dilys.’
‘Oh no! Has something else happened there?’
‘Nothing to do with the harassments but –’ he paused to eat a spoonful of porridge – ‘read it for yourself, Daisy. You’ll need to know what’s going on. It has hurt me very deeply and you will see what I mean when you’ve read it.’
Daisy, thoroughly alarmed by this, reached for it with some hesitation.
She read aloud. ‘Dear Montague, Dilys and I are sure this letter will come as a relief to you and we want to assure you that we are both most concerned for your happiness and peace of mind over the coming years. That is in the forefront of our minds.’
‘Forefront of their minds! Poppycock!’ he muttered.
‘I think they mean well,’ Daisy said dubiously.
‘Well I don’t!’
She went on. ‘You, will, I’m sure, admit (if only to yourself) that you are becoming rather vague and no doubt find daily life more arduous than of late when you were a few years younger. The management of the family money must weigh heavily on your shoulders and this is a burden Dilys and I are willing to share with you. In fact, if the doctor feels that the strain is too much for you, we will undertake to deal with it in its entirety on your behalf . . .’
Daisy glanced up at him. ‘Becoming rather vague? What does she mean exactly?’
‘That I’m a silly old duffer in my dotage and no longer fit to handle the family finances!’ He added more sugar to his chilled porridge, tasted it and frowned. Putting down the spoon he said, ‘They’ve ruined my appetite! Beastly interfering old women!’
‘You’re not at all vague!’ Daisy regarded him with concern. ‘You’re perfectly fit and able. Elderly, yes, but vague, no! And what is this hint about a doctor? Are you ill?’
‘Certainly not! I’m as fit as a fiddle. A darned sight fitter than I was a year ago when I was tucked up in bed all day! I know Miss Dutton meant well but she was wrong to coddle me.’ He added milk to his porridge and stirred it angrily. ‘Read the rest of it.’
‘If a visit to the doctor results in a confirmation of your limitations, Albert and I would be prepared to apply for an order of power of attorney which means that you need no longer worry about the state of the family finances.
Do please give this idea serious consideration, Montague. You know you can trust us to do whatever is best for you (and for the family) and that your welfare will always be our first concern.
Your devoted sister-in-law, Henrietta.’
Daisy raised her eyebrows. ‘Henrietta? Is that her real name?’
‘For her sins.’ He fell silent, brooding but then snatched back the letter and tore it in half. ‘Devoted sister-in-law? Who does she think she is fooling with this nonsense. Firstly, I do not need help with financial matters and secondly, if I ever do, I shall certainly not turn to Hettie or Albert – or even Dilys although I’m sure my sister has been dragged into this plan against her better judgement.’ He tried the porridge half-heartedly and said, ‘You always make it too sweet!’
Wisely, Daisy ignored the comment. ‘What will you do about the letter?’
‘Nothing . . . at least, nothing that Hettie will ever know about.’ He smiled slowly. ‘I shall make an appointment to see my doctor and explain the position I am in. He will doubtless give me a clean bill of health.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘And I shall ask for a written statement, dated and signed, of his professional medical opinion. If the matter is ever raised again, I shall send them a copy and that will pull the rug from under their feet!’ His smile broadened. ‘And they will fall on their derrieres, my dear, and I shall be there to applaud their fall!’
‘But you won’t answer the letter?’ She rather hoped he would. Then there would be fireworks. A bit of excitement!
‘Certainly not! I would not lower myself to take any heed of it. I may decide to ignore it completely. That will infuriate them.’
‘Suppose they ask me if you received the letter?’
He thought about it. ‘Then you will say I did receive a letter but I laughed, tore it up and tossed the pieces into the fire! When you asked me about it, say that I replied that “it was of no consequence”.’ He frowned. ‘Or I could compose a stinging letter in reply . . . or telephone her and tell her what I think of the letter. If they want to follow this up, they will have to approach me face to face and I doubt they would dare.’
Later, thinking about the letter and Monty’s choice of reply, Daisy felt a flash of anger towards Hettie and Dilys because she was not fooled by the old man’s show of bravado. Their suggestion of his incompetence had hurt his pride and she would not forgive them for that unkindness.
Soon after two o’clock Daisy returned from her trip to the butcher with a triumphant smile on her face. She had been dispatched to his shop with a letter of complaint from her employer and now waxed lyrical about the confrontation. ‘He read it,’ she told him, ‘but then a customer came in for some liver and then after that he read it again and he didn’t know what to say. The boy was bustling around, boning a leg of lamb for one of the customers and he kept looking at me – the boy, I mean – and then he winked.’ She smiled at the memory.
‘I didn’t send you down there to make eyes at the butcher’s boy!’ Monty grumbled. ‘What did he say about my complaint.’
‘He was very sorry and didn’t know how it happened. He’d never charged anyone twice for the same bill. He said Miss Dutton would vouch for that!’
‘Well, of course she would,’ Monty told her. ‘He didn’t dare try it on with her. She had too much experience to be caught like that! He was trying it on because you’re new and inexperienced. So did he return the money you’d given him?’
‘Yes.’ She grinned. ‘And he sent half a pound of bacon rashers “by way of an apology and a sign of good faith”! That’s how he put it. I put them in the larder.’
‘Half a pound of bacon, eh? That was good of him. Also makes me think he was guilty as charged but we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, Daisy, but watch him in future.’
‘Like a hawk!’
He frowned. ‘I need you now to run another errand for me, Daisy. I’ll send you over in a taxi – to Albert’s, that is, because it worries me that he’s all alone there now that Hettie has hightailed it to Dilys’s place. I don’t like to think that he might be in any danger from Stanley.’
Taxi rides were few and far between in Daisy’s life and she immediately agreed to the idea.
‘I don’t want him to think I’m fussing,’ Monty explained, ‘so I shall pretend I want to invite him to lunch tomorrow – what are we having? Will there be enough for three of us if he accepts?’
‘I could make a bacon roll – we’ve still got some suet – and a rice pudding? Would that do?’
‘Certainly it would although I doubt he’ll accept the invitation. He’s a lazy devil and likes his home comforts.’
‘He might wonder why you didn’t just telephone him.’
‘Say ours has been out of order for the last twenty-four hours. I just want to know that he’s dealing with everything.’
The taxi arrived promptly and Daisy soon found herself at Macauley Buildings on Widcome Hill. She told the taxi driver to wait for her then rang the bell. Waiting on the step, she peered through the window on either side of the steps but saw no sign of life. Thinking that maybe he was a little deaf, she used the knocker – three loud knocks. Still no reply. She crouched down to look through the letterbox. All was quiet.
‘So either he isn’t there,’ she reasoned aloud, ‘or he is unable to come to the door.’ At once she felt a flutter of apprehension. Putting her mouth close to the letterbox she shouted, ‘Mr Pennington! It’s me, Daisy, from your brother’s house!’
The uneasy silence continued. Was he ill in bed? Or worse, had he been attacked by his son? Stepping back she stared up at what she assumed was a bedroom window.
The taxi driver called, ‘Out of luck, ducks?’
‘I’m not sure.’ On a whim, she began to search for a key and found one almost immediately, hidden under a flower pot containing a dead shrub. She held it up to the taxi driver and said, ‘I’ll just check. I won’t be long.’
Letting herself into the house was an uncomfortable feeling and as she closed the front door behind her, she was aware of a growing alarm, not only for Albert Pennington but also for herself. Stanley might be around, hiding somewhere.
‘Mr Pennington! Are you there?’ her voice echoed as she looked around the passage with its red tiled floor and an ornate mahogany coat stand which also catered for umbrellas. Receiving no answer she began to inspect the rooms, fearing to discover the worst.
Five minutes later, having satisfied herself that there was no intruder hiding on the ground floor, she was halfway up the stairs, still shouting for Mr Pennington and announcing her own presence, when a door creaked at the far end of the landing.
‘Who’s there?’
Above her, on the landing, Albert had suddenly appeared wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt. He looked dishevelled and anxious, darting nervous glances around him.
‘It’s me. Daisy. Your brother sent me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He stared at her as if at a ghost. Worried, she asked gently, ‘Are you ill?’
‘No . . . that is, yes. I mean I have felt unwell and thought it best to rest.’
‘Should I call the doctor?’
‘No, no! I’m quite recovered. I’ll come down and we’ll have a cup of tea together – or maybe a glass of sherry!’ He forced a timid smile.
Daisy found her way
around his kitchen which was in something of a muddle. Soon they were sitting at the kitchen table nursing cups of tea and Daisy was explaining her mission when there was a knock at the front door.
Albert jumped in alarm. ‘I’m not here!’ he cried loudly. ‘Whoever it is I’m . . . I’m away for a few days.’
Daisy stared at him. ‘If you’re not here you can’t be shouting at him.’
‘Oh! No. I see that.’ He sank back on to his chair. ‘Don’t answer it.’
‘But there’s a taxi outside the door. The driver knows I’m in here.’
Albert’s face grew pale and his lips quivered. ‘What shall we do? It’s him! It’s Stanley!’
‘It might be the taxi driver.’
He was too frightened to understand her. ‘What’s that you say?’
‘I said, ‘It might be the taxi driver. I’ll go and see.’
‘Be careful, Daisy!’
She hurried down the passage and stood hesitating by the door her hand on the catch. ‘Who is it? Is it the taxi driver?’
‘Yes.’
With a sigh of relief she opened the door but her greeting died on her lips as the door was immediately pushed back, knocking her over as a man shouldered his way in. Before Daisy could get back on her feet he had closed the door behind him and Daisy knew instinctively that this was Stanley. He was unshaven, shabbily dressed and smelled appalling. Worse still, he was carrying a pistol.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he growled. ‘Where’s the old man?’
Reaching out he grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet.
Daisy said nothing. The shock of his arrival had affected her mind and all she could do was stammer incoherently. Fortunately Albert appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, in a pathetic attempt to go to Daisy’s aid.
‘Leave the girl alone!’ he said shakily. ‘She’s nobody. Nothing to do with me. My brother’s housemaid.’
Affronted, Daisy found her voice. ‘I’m a trainee housekeeper!’
Pushing Daisy in front of him, Stanley made his way into the kitchen where he pushed her on to a chair and stood over them both, the pistol at the ready.
He said, ‘Don’t either of you try anything!’
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