God Save the Queen!

by Dorothy Cannell

  “It’s not the food.” Flora began unwrapping her package and inhaling the delicious hot oily smell of battered fish and chunky chips with crispy golden bits from previous fryings sticking to them. “This is going to be wonderful!” She broke off a piece of haddock, blew on it to cool it down, and handed it to Nolly who gobbled it down with the sort of show-off bad manners that would induce a man to tuck his serviette into his neck at an ultra-posh restaurant. Then Nolly went back to looking over his shoulder and Flora followed his gaze, while saying to Vivian that he was going to think her stupid.

  “About the shop?”

  “No, not about that, although I know you would be justified. It’s just that I don’t think what’s unsettling Nolly is that he wants to go scurrying back to the flea market and George. I know this sounds boastful, but I really do think he has taken to me in a big way.”

  “Who could blame him?” Vivian handed her a chip. “But I don’t understand. What do you think is wrong with Nolly?”

  “I think his protective instincts are up.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He’s got this silly idea,” Flora offered Nolly another piece of fish, “that someone is following us. You don’t have a jealous girlfriend, do you, Vivian? I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Forget it.” Vivian sounded decidedly curt, because now his protective instincts were aroused as he looked up and down the street. “Why would you take any notice of a dog? Especially one that looks as if he has fluff for brains.”

  “Because I had that same feeling, just before we got to the fish-and-chip shop. You know how sometimes you’ll see a shadow out of the corner of your eye, and the moment you look round, it darts the other way. Nothing as solid as a real shape, but just enough to make you think someone is there....”

  Nolly gave a woof of agreement, but Vivian couldn’t bring himself to sound as though he put much stock in Flora’s feeling of unease. He hadn’t sensed anything wrong, not since that morning at Oxford Circus, and he now made up his mind that he had been programmed by his concern for Flora’s safety to imagine things. Why on earth would Aunt Mabel—even if she had murdered Hutchins—stalk Flora across London? No, it made no sense.

  “You think I’m in an overwrought emotional state, prone to all sort of weird thinking. And I suppose you’re right,” Flora said and dug back into her fish-and-chips, making sure that Nolly got his fair share.

  “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your appetite,” Vivian said and they munched companionably for several minutes until a bus turned the corner. Getting hastily to his feet, he balled up their wrapping paper and tossed it into a conveniently placed bin before saying, “This is ours. It’ll take us to within a few minutes’ walk of Wishbone Street.”

  “I hope Nolly likes buses.” Flora scooped up the dog and almost tripped over the trailing lead when climbing aboard the bus. “Shall we sit at the front so we can get off quickly if he gets sick?”

  “I could ask the bus driver if they have any of those little bags that you get on planes in case of emergency.” Vivian sat down beside her and lowered his voice. “But he didn’t look like an animal lover to me.” This lack was more than made up for by the woman with half a dozen shopping bags piled between her knees and her chin, who managed despite these restrictions to make cooing noises at Nolly. The dog promptly buried his face in Flora’s skirts.

  “We”—the plural just slipped out—“only got him today,” Flora told the woman as she stroked him, “so it’s understandable that he’s a bit shy.”

  “They always are when you first get them,” came the kindly reply. “I’ve had dogs all my married life and you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths the first few days. But once they’re sure you’re going to keep them, the honeymoon’s over, and they’ll start testing your patience just like children. Do you have any little ones at home?”

  “No.” Flora didn’t dare meet Vivian’s eyes.

  “I was just picturing happy little faces and eyes getting all big with excitement when you walked in the door with your surprise.”

  “We’re not ...” The bus swung wide around a corner, in danger of mowing down several cars; Flora had to make a grab for Nolly before he went flying off her lap.

  “We’re not,” Vivian completed the sentence for her, “expecting our first child for a few months, and we can hardly wait. So we thought we’d get the dog to break ourselves in, isn’t that right, dear?”

  “A baby, how lovely!” exclaimed the woman, readjusting her parcels.

  “I was surprised, too,” was all Flora could manage.

  “No one ever told her where babies come from,” Vivian said cheerily. This got a laugh from the woman and a scowl from the supposed mother-to-be as Vivian got to his feet. “Hold on to me, Flora.” He extended a hand to her. “We don’t want you falling if the bus gives a lurch before it comes to a stop.”

  “You really are the limit,” she told him when they were back on firm ground and Nolly was woofing to get down. “Fancy telling a bunch of lies to that nice woman; look, she’s waving at us out the window.”

  “She wanted us to be a couple with dreams for the future, so why disappoint her? I expect if there had been more time she would have asked for our address and sent us some hand-knitted bootees.”

  Flora tugged on the lead and marched ahead, nose in the air. “Come on, Nolly. Now we’ll never be able to believe a word Mr. Gossinger says, and it is a terrible thing when trust is broken between people.”

  “In other words, the pregnancy is off?”

  “Definitely.” It was impossible to repress a smile as Vivian fell in step beside her. They had just passed the block of council flats where Edna Smith and her grandson Boris lived when a man’s voice spoke suddenly from behind them.

  “Excuse me,” the voice was as soft as a tap on the shoulder, “but would it offend if I had a word with you?”

  “With me or the lady?” Vivian pounced around on the speaker, which was strictly speaking Nolly’s job, but the wretched dog actually wagged his tail in greeting.

  “Do I know you?” Flora looked into the man’s face. A faint sense of recognition stirred, before slipping away. The gentleman—for he had yet to prove himself otherwise—wore a tweed cap and a sporting sort of jacket with a mustard tie. As for the rest of him, there wasn’t much to say; he was in every way quite ordinary. That’s the only way I could describe him to the police, she thought, gathering Nolly into her arms, if he should suddenly pull out a knife or a gun and Vivian and I had to fight for our lives to get away. She was wishing rather desperately that she was wearing one of her 1920’s cloche hats so she could yank out a hat pin, preferably one of the rusty ones, should he try any funny stuff.

  “Look here,” Vivian stepped in front of her, fists clenched at the ready as he addressed the man, “have you been following us for most of the day?”

  “Heaven forbid!” The response came in quite a jolly voice. “If you won’t take offense—that is to say any more than you clearly have done already—I’ve had better things to do with my time. I’ve been putting in an honest day’s work at the races. Made a bundle, by the way, and to celebrate my good fortune I’d like to invite Miss Hutchins to the pub—there’s quite a decent one nearby—for a drink and a chat.”

  “Then we have met before?” asked Flora.

  “On two occasions, as I am happy to remember.”

  The gentleman smiled broadly, showing teeth that certainly didn’t look as though they belonged to the big bad wolf.

  “I’m sorry ... you’ll have to remind me of where and when I made your acquaintance.”

  “Flora,” Vivian took hold of her arm and tried to draw her on down the street, “he’s feeding you the oldest line in the book.”

  “But he does know my name,” Flora protested.

  “Which of course means nothing,” the man interjected smoothly before Vivian could do so. “I could have found out who you are, Miss Hutchins, from a neighb
or or shopkeeper. Easiest thing in the world.”

  “Now he’s trying to con you with apparent sincerity that he’s on the level, but I’m not buying it.”

  “But this has to do with me,” said Flora, “and I don’t see any harm in going to the pub with him. There’s usually safety in numbers, and I do admit I’m curious....”

  “He hasn’t even told you his name.” Vivian resented having to come off like a heavy-handed father.

  “I know, and I understand why you’re worried,” Flora moved closer to him, “but you see I do have this feeling that I’ve met him before—

  “Then why can’t he say who he is, right this minute?” Vivian glowered at the man. “Instead of making a mystery of it in order to lure you off to some pub? If in fact that’s where he intends taking you.”

  “Because what I have to tell Miss Hutchins doesn’t just involve ourselves, but a third party,” the man said. “And she may find the situation calls for a drink.”

  “Is that so?” The ugly suspicion that had haunted Vivian ever since Hutchins’s death now had him by the throat. Could this man be a plainclothes policeman? Come to probe Flora for information that would assist him in his inquiries? Vivian now cursed himself for not preparing her by voicing his own concerns. Instead, he’d played the knight in shining armor. Damn! He was worse than a fatuous fool, he was a heel! And Flora would hate him forever once she got past the horror of what she was about to learn about Aunt Mabel’s reaction to Uncle Henry’s will.

  “You will come too, won’t you?” She was looking at him with an appealing light in her smoky blue eyes as she hugged Nolly to her chin.

  “What do you think?” he said, wishing he could kiss her right there on the street with people passing by and the copper—for that’s what he surely was—taking notes.

  “I’d really prefer to talk to Miss Hutchins alone,” put in the other man. “Seeing that what I have to say to her is of a highly confidential nature.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.” Flora stood up as tall as was possible for her without wearing a hat. “Because if Mr. Vivian Gossinger doesn’t come, neither do I. And that’s final! There is nothing on earth you can’t tell me in front of him, Mr. Question Mark.”

  “The lady always gets to choose.” The man spread his hands in a gesture of capitulation and a few minutes later they were walking into the Blue Anchor, where the atmosphere was three parts slopped beer and two parts stubbed-out cigarettes. There was only room to inch sideways through the noisy throng and hope you didn’t get jostled into the Ladies or Gents and get trapped inside until closing time. So there wasn’t any opportunity to focus on the decor, but Flora didn’t have the feeling of being transported back to the Boy and Fish where she had sometimes gone with her grandfather for a glass of cider on Sunday afternoons.

  “Why don’t the two of you find us a table,” said the man, “and I’ll get the drinks. What will it be?”

  “A bitter lemon, please,” said Flora, and Vivian said that he would have the same.

  “Over there,” Flora tugged at his arm, “those people are just getting up. Nolly has been giving them the evil eye, which may have hastened their departure. Come on, before someone else grabs the space.”

  “I’m shuffling as fast as I can,” Vivian told her. He narrowly missed getting hit in the eye by somebody brandishing a tankard while singing “Happy Birthday” in a loud, beery voice to an unseen entity. “Is it only me, or do you feel as though you’re being compressed so you can go through the post?”

  “I’m sitting down,” Flora’s voice floated toward him, “just two more steps to your right.”

  “Thank God, I was afraid I would never see you again.” Vivian took his seat next to her under a broad window ledge filled with brass pots. “And I hope those plants aren’t hogging more than their share of what little oxygen there is to go around.”

  “I think they’re plastic.”

  “No, they’re real ones grown to deceive the eye into thinking they are fakes.”

  “So people will forget to water them,” Flora laughed, “and have to buy new ones?”

  “Exactly,” said Vivian, spilling out words in an attempt to stop himself from thinking about the ongoing nightmare of Hutchins’s death. “The couple who run the market garden across from Gossinger were telling me, when I went across to buy Aunt Mabel a plant for her birthday, that it is getting harder to compete with the really good fakes.”

  “Have you ever minded about the Dower House and its grounds being leased?” Flora asked.

  Whereupon Vivian was about to say his only regret was that it would have provided alternative accommodation for Lady Gossinger on her husband’s death— which would have been getting onto a sticky subject. But he was stalled by the third in their party (not counting Nolly) approaching with a clutch of drinks in his hands.

  “Here we are!” He set down the glasses and seated himself across from them. “To everyone’s good health.”

  “And to the truth, please,” said Flora. “Where have we met before?”

  Vivian fully expected the man, now edging a finger around his foaming glass of bitter, to abruptly assume the manner of a professional policeman and explain that he had seen, perhaps spoken to, Flora at her grandfather’s inquest. What he actually said was almost as upsetting.

  “I’m the one you kindly gave a lift in your car, on the day of your grandfather’s funeral,” the man said. “Now don’t leap out of your seats,” he added, calmly sipping his beer. “I’m a reformed character.”

  “Since you robbed the bank at Maidenbury?” Flora gripped her glass of bitter lemon in both hands while Nolly sat very still on her lap, deciding—being occasionally a sensible dog—that this was not the moment to interrupt with the smallest woof.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said the man, as Vivian opened his mouth, “but believe me, that job doesn’t count. I only took out my own money, all of which, if it will ease your minds, came from an honest source. A dear old auntie who left everything to me in the hope that I would behave myself if not short of the ready. Unfortunately, by way of some fancy footwork on the part of her lawyers, it was tied up while I was a guest of Her Majesty. And, yes, I will admit the fault, I don’t have any patience with red tape.”

  “You’re a crook!” Vivian closed the inch or two gap between him and Flora. In reward, he got a nip from Nolly.

  “Recovering.” The man produced a bland smile. “In fact I began to think seriously about entering the Church, but after trying it for a day I decided I could not take those tight collars and shiny black suits.”

  “It was you!” Flora exclaimed. “You were the priest on the train to King’s Cross! He was sitting next to Mr. Ferncliffe,” she explained to Vivian, “Boris Smith’s teacher, the one in charge of the school outing to Gossinger.”

  “A dull sort of fellow,” the bank robber, alias man of God, said, “not at all your type, Miss Hutchins. I am sure your boyfriend here has nothing to worry about.”

  “You’re the one who should be worried.” Vivian leaned across the table. “The police are likely to be extremely interested when Flora and I pay them a visit and report our meeting with you.”

  The man shook his head. “Not a very Christian attitude. It makes me glad I decided against the Church. Here I am, breaking cover, because I wish to do Miss Hutchins a good turn. I appreciated her giving me a lift that day, and this is the thanks I get from you, sir.”

  “What sort of good turn?” Flora asked him.

  “It has to do with a friend of mine.”

  “Go on,” said Vivian, unable to put a lid on his curiosity.

  “I’m talking about a fellow I got to know when we were both serving our country behind bars.” He smiled blandly. “The way we looked at it, that was two more jobs, legal or otherwise, for the unemployed. My friend and I had been in the same line of business, con jobs, before going inside. Robbing the rich to help poor us is the way we’d looked at it. But after the first ei
ghteen months or so we’d had enough of talking shop and neither of us was into woodwork; so naturally we shifted to personal stuff. And it was then that my friend—we’ll call him Reggie, because that’s his name—told me he was married to a great girl, but she died. Complications from asthma, I think it was. Anyway, Reggie’d get very down at times and blame himself for her death, because he was convinced that finding out what he’d been up to had put a strain on her heart.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Flora asked him in a stifled voice.

  “Because there was a child.”

  “And you are someone who likes to stir the pot,” said Vivian, fighting down the urge to plant his fist in the other man’s face.

  “It was a little girl. After her mother’s death she went to live with her maternal grandfather, who was butler at a place called Gossinger Hall, which I happened to know of because my old auntie, the one who died and left me the loot, lived not far from Maidenbury and liked to do her shopping and,” again he smiled, “banking there.”

  “And you kept in touch with your friend?” Flora drew warmth from Nolly.

  “He got out before I did, but he wrote and came to see me sometimes. I told you, Reggie was the right stuff, the sort to stick by his friends.”

  “But not the sort to stick by his daughter,” Vivian said before he could stop himself.

  “Or was it,” Flora bit down on her lip, “that the grandfather of this girl insisted he stay away, because he thought that would be best for her?”

  “No, that wasn’t it. From what Reggie told me, the old man thought the girl was entitled to know the truth and to decide for herself whether or not she wanted contact with her father. He thought secrets were dangerous, but Reggie had made a promise to his wife, when she went back to her maiden name, that he would stay away from their daughter, so she would never have to know that he had been inside.”