God Save the Queen!

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Then why are you here?” Flora picked up her bitter lemon to demonstrate that her hands were quite steady.

  “Because after you and I crossed paths I got hold of Reggie to tell him the grandfather was deceased and it might be time to forget some promise made under pressure and make up for lost time. He said he didn’t think you’d want to know him, and I offered to come and ...”

  “Sound her out?” Vivian looked at Flora and got no response because she was staring into her drink as if it were a bottomless well.

  “That was the idea,” said the go-between. “Reggie wants you to feel free, Miss Hutchins, to see him or not as you see fit, but he also wants me to tell you that he thought about you always and sends his love.”

  “Are you going to tell us your name?” Flora needed time on safer ground.

  “My friends call me Snuffy.”

  “I hope that’s not,” she managed to say severely, “because you’ve made your reputation snuffing out people.”

  “What a horrible thought!” He looked genuinely wounded. “I came by the name because I had an enthusiasm for snuff boxes in my youth. Still do for that matter, but I swear, I haven’t added to my collection by unlawful means in a long time.”

  “Do you have any silver snuffboxes?” Flora discovered that if she channeled her thoughts straight ahead she could keep the shock of learning about her father in a separate part of her mind, to be taken out and mulled over when she stopped feeling as though she had taken a bullet between the eyes.

  “As a matter of fact,” Snuffy adjusted the knot in his mustard tie, “I have a couple of remarkably good Regency silver boxes, got them off a fence I used to know. An expert in all areas of the silver business. Worked in a museum at one time, I believe. But I’ve heard she’s going straight these days, like myself and Reggie.”

  Vivian squeezed Flora’s shoulder. “Perhaps he is, your father that is. I can’t believe he’s a heartless rascal, not with you for a daughter. It could be prison and your mother’s death straightened him out. I’ve never been one to think a leopard can’t change his spots.”

  But Flora got to her feet. “I think that I’d like to go home now. I appreciate the drink, Snuffy, and your kindness in finding me so we could have this talk ...”

  “About that,” Vivian said to the other man while also getting to his feet, “how did you know where to catch up with her?”

  “Nothing to it.” Snuffy endeavored to look modest. “Miss Hutchins spoke on the train yesterday about coming to live in Bethnal Green in a flat above a vacant shop. So it was just a matter of putting my nose to the ground and sniffing out her tracks.”

  “So you did follow her!”

  “Didn’t have to, my dear fellow. A question here, another one there, is all this sort of thing takes.”

  Vivian didn’t believe him, but chose not to stand and argue the point. It was clear Flora was desperate to get out of the pub, and so by the looks of him was Nolly, who indeed made a dash for the nearest lamppost the moment they were out the door.

  Snuffy walked to the corner of Wishbone Street with them. “So,” he said as they waited for the green light, “what would you like me to tell my friend Reggie, Miss Hutchins?”

  “Ask him to come and see me tomorrow. In the daytime, that would be best, perhaps early afternoon, because I have to go out to tea at three. Unless,” she bent down to restrain Nolly from pulling her into the road, “he would be at work at that time.”

  “I’m sure he can get round that if necessary.” Snuffy tipped his tweed cap and was suddenly just another back mingling with those of other early-evening pedestrians heading toward the tube station.

  “I don’t want to talk,” Flora told Vivian, “not yet.” What she really wished was that he would go away. Because with him at her side it was impossible not to wonder what he really thought about her being the daughter of an ex-jailbird. It was one thing to believe that she and Vivian could be friends of sorts despite their different connections to Gossinger Hall, but this altered everything.

  As they reached her door she wondered if Sir Henry and her Ladyship knew about her background, and then was fiercely sure they didn’t; she had absolute trust in her grandfather that he would never have shared her terrible secret with anyone else whilst she was left in the dark.

  “I’ll have the door open in a jiffy.” Vivian had produced the key and was inserting it in the lock.

  “You don’t have to come in.” Flora was now able to force her lips into a smile, although it made her face feel as if it were about to crack. “Really, I’d rather you didn’t. You need to get back to your own life. And I’d like to be alone until I can get used to the idea of not being an orphan.”

  “Sorry, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Vivian told her. “Somehow—and you can put the arrogance down to my unfortunate background—I believe we’re in this together.”

  “You do have an undue sense of your own importance.” Flora looked at him through suddenly wet lashes.

  “There’s nothing undue about it,” he said, switching on the shop lights and pushing her gently through the door. “You need me desperately.”

  “What do you mean?” She brushed a hand across her eyes.

  “You seem to have forgotten that Nolly does not live by his looks alone. He has to eat. And it seems unlikely to me that you brought any dog food along in one of your cases.”

  “Oh, poor darling, what a wicked mother I am!” Flora exclaimed. She dropped to her knees and cradled the starving animal in her arms. “I don’t deserve to be a pet owner. Do you think there’ll be a shop open?” she asked Vivian.

  “You leave that to me. If there isn’t, I may have to try to do some breaking and entering which at least would have the advantage of ensuring that you don’t go accusing me of looking down my nose at your father.”

  “I never said anything like that,” Flora said, stung.

  “You don’t have to.” Vivian touched a finger to her cheek. “I can read your mind, my sweet.”

  What more was there to be said?

  “Thank you,” she murmured as Vivian headed for his car. “And don’t run out of petrol, or forget to put the hand brake on when you park.”

  “He did that for me,” said Flora, closing the door as his taillights disappeared down the street. “The dog food was just a lucky excuse so he could clear off for a bit and leave me to sort myself out. Isn’t he the most special man in the whole world, Nolly? No, don’t answer that! Tell me I have no business thinking about him in that sort of way, and that it isn’t possible to fall in love with someone when you’re a little girl and discover when you’re all grown up that the man is even more wonderful than the handsome prince. That sort of thing is for fairy tales, and my life isn’t turning out that way. How’s that for self-pity?”

  Nolly sat with his head tilted to one side, his ears adorable triangles and his heart in his eyes.

  “I know what you are trying to say,” said Flora. “It’s that I should get you a bowl of water and some cheese crackers from that picnic basket on the counter. And that afterward I should think about what I’m going to say to my father, should he show up tomorrow. Oh, you think I should be guided by you, that if you try to take a nip out of his trouser leg I’m to take it he’s not to be trusted. And if you snuffle all over him with enthusiastic kisses that will be the tip-off that he’s truly sorry for everything that happened and all is forgiven. Am I right?”

  Flora didn’t have a bowl, but she did unearth a battered saucepan from the back of one of the kitchen cupboards, and while she filled it with water and set it down on the tile floor for Nolly to splash his face in, she thought about her mother, something she had trained herself not to do. Had she been terribly unhappy when she died, and was it fair for her mother to have extracted that promise from Reggie? Oh, why didn’t I ask Grandpa more about her when there was time? Poor Mummy! Flora felt the tears lining her lashes. How can I even think about blaming her for any of this? She j
ust wanted to protect me, and what is fondest can’t always be wise. Then again, maybe she was right. Flora knew a moment of horror at the thought of her own father taking her away from Grandpa.

  “Oh, you stupid girl!” she said out loud. “Instead of whimpering like a spoilt baby, you should be thanking your lucky stars for your wonderful, carefree childhood. No one ever had more in the way of love.”

  Flora went back into the empty shop, her mind a picture book of memories. I didn’t just have Grandpa, she thought. For a little while I had dear Mrs. Bellows to coddle me and tell me bedtime stories when he couldn’t because Sir Henry had people for dinner. Those lovely stories about the Queen. Mrs. Bellows always made her seem so real—so that I understood, even though I was still a bit jealous when I was little, why Grandpa believed the sun rose and set on Her Majesty. And there was Sir Henry ... He was never anything but kind, giving me toffees and encouraging me to make his home my castle. And I mustn’t forget old Miss Doffit coming for visits and following me up to the trunk room, as eager as the child I was to dress up and pretend to be a duchess in crushed velvet cloaks and feather boas.

  “It was wrong of me,” Flora stood and talked to Nolly whose mustache was still dripping with water, “it was very wrong to blame Lady Gossinger because things changed after she came. After all, I couldn’t expect to go romping through the house, sucking on toffees, my whole life long. If she never liked me much it was because I brought that on myself ...”

  She didn’t get to finish cutting herself down to size because the shop door opened and Vivian walked in carrying a paper carrier bag. “What have you been doing?” he asked. “Deciding where you’re going to put the shelves and what to put on them when you go into business?”

  “No, I did a lot of soul-searching while you were gone. And I’ve decided that it’s not the end of the world to find out I have a father who’s been on the wrong side of the law. Maybe I’ll like him, if he does show up, maybe not, but either way it won’t matter all that much, because he didn’t bring me up.”

  “And he can’t change anything about who you are.”

  “Only to people on the outside, but there’s nothing I can do about that, is there? So why waste time even thinking about it, when Nolly must be starving. I don’t suppose you thought to buy a bowl? The old saucepan I found is rather disgusting.”

  “I thought of everything.” Vivian was already unloading his purchases on the shop counter. “Three different tins of gourmet doggy chow, a tin opener, biscuits, a ball, some rawhide chews, and even a bottle of canine vitamins.”

  “You’re marvelous. How much do I owe you?”

  “Another night’s lodging. The sad truth, Flora, is that I’m not happy in my digs....”

  “You’re talking rubbish again. You’ve a bee in your bonnet that I shouldn’t be alone. I expect you’re thinking that my father might turn up here in the middle of the night.”

  “We only have Snuffy’s word for it that you even have a father.” Vivian had been dwelling on this point during the better part of the drive back from his shopping expedition.

  “But why would he make up such a story?”

  “That’s the question.” Vivian got busy with the tin opener. “But I intend to be here tomorrow to help size up Reggie. Here, Nolly,” he held out the bowl and the little dog gave the red ball a last look as if daring it to move while his back was turned before scampering toward his dinner.

  “Wait a minute.” Flora took the bowl out of Vivian’s hands. “I think we should break some biscuits on top.”

  “Why? You want to make it into shepherd’s pie?”

  “No, silly, because I’ve seen people—the real doggy sort, you know, breeders and show types—do that on television shows where they explain how to raise champions.”

  “I’m not sure Nolly has that sort of future.”

  “No, I don’t suppose he does.” Flora laughed and put the bowl down. “But perhaps I can teach him to say grace.”

  “Some other time.” Vivian took hold of her hand. “You haven’t been upstairs yet, have you?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Because, and don’t drag your feet or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you up to the flat, I want you to tell me how you plan to decorate the place.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be doing much of that if I go ahead with the shop—which reminds me,” Flora dodged around him and ran ahead up the stairs, “I should ring up her Ladyship tonight from the call box on the corner, before I chicken out. You don’t think it’s too late, do you? That’s one thing I will have to splurge on, a clock for the ...”

  “What’s the matter?” Vivian came up behind her as she stood transfixed in the sitting room doorway.

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “Believe what?”

  “The clock! The one Grandpa and I had in our sitting room at Gossinger, it’s here on the mantelpiece, and ...” she crossed the floor in a daze, “here’s his fireside chair, the sofa, the bookcases and corner cupboard, and that’s our drop-leaf table under the window! I don’t understand ... how did it all get here?”

  “There’s more as you will see when you check the bedrooms. I rang up Uncle Henry late last night after you were in bed and he found a couple of chaps to drive everything up here today. This morning while you were still asleep I had a spare key to the shop made and left it with Mrs. Smith, and she agreed to be here to let the men in at the appointed time. I know you, you’re going to accuse me of being an awful busybody, Flora ...”

  “Oh, no, I’m not!” She turned to him, eyes blinded with tears. “You’ve given me a big piece of my life back and I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”

  “You could agree,” said Vivian, smiling at her, “to let me spend the night in the newly furnished spare bedroom.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What’s wrong, m’dear? You’re looking frightfully glum!” Sir Henry Gossinger laid aside his sporting periodical in an attempt to give his wife her rightful share of his attention. “Was half asleep when the new housekeeper—still forget her name—came into the room and said you were wanted on the phone. Not bad news, I hope.”

  “I’m not sure what to call it.” Lady Gossinger plumped down on a chair and stared into space.

  “Ah, I’ve got it!” Her husband brightened. “Mrs. Frost, that’s the woman’s name. Mumbly sort of person, can never understand the half of what she’s saying. But I imagine some people could say the same about me. Does her best, I suppose; trouble is, the place will never be the same without Hutchins. End of an era and all that.” Sir Henry’s face settled into unhappy lines. “Miss the chap more every day. Wonder how little Flora is getting along?”

  “It was her on the telephone.”

  “What’s that?” Sir Henry sat more upright in his chair. “Rang to say the furniture turned up all right, did she? Must say that was damned decent of Vivian to see to all that. Should have thought of it m’self.”

  “Just for once, Henry, would you stop talking to yourself and answering all your own questions?” Her Ladyship thumped a fist on her tweed-skirted knee.

  “Sorry, m’dear. Unfeeling sort of chap you married, deserve better, you know.” Sir Henry could not have been more contrite. It was plain from looking at her, at the shadows under her eyes and the new hollows in her cheeks that matched the tone of her voice, that Mabel wasn’t herself. Hadn’t been since Hutchins’s death.

  “Should have realized you were feeling low,” he said. “On top of everything else, Tipp had to take himself off. Couldn’t help his cousin or whoever it was being taken ill, but damn inconsiderate not to have got in touch to let us know when he’s likely to be back. I’ll get you a glass of sherry, while you tell me everything little Flora had to say.”

  “I wish you would stop calling her that!” Lady Gossinger took refuge in anger because it seemed the safest emotion these days. “It makes you sound so fatuous.”

  “You’re right, m’
dear, she’s a grown woman.”

  “And a wily one at that! It turns out she wasn’t satisfied with getting the flat rent-free for a year. Now she wants to reopen the shop, selling secondhand goods. And believe it or not, she’s somehow managed to get young Vivian into her pocket. He was right there when she was on the phone. I could hear him in the background before he took the receiver and explained to me what a wonderful idea this is.”

  “Isn’t it?” Sir Henry stood at the drinks cabinet with the sherry decanter in his hands. “Seems to me Flora would do a bang-up job of running a place like that. Always thought she was wasted in our gift shop here. Hutchins worried about that, told me so. Wanted her to spread her wings. But she had it in her head it wasn’t right to leave him.”

  “She’s certainly making up for lost time!” Her Ladyship slumped back in her chair, which like most of the furniture was not designed for maximum comfort. “Oh, do give me that sherry, Henry, and don’t pay any attention to my snarls. I don’t mean to be such an ogre.”

  This was true; she was only making matters worse giving vent to her resentment of Flora. After all, Henry hadn’t said anything recently about changing his will. He’d probably decided there was no rush, but she had not a doubt in the world that he still intended to leave Gossinger Hall to the girl. But that concern had to go on the back burner. What haunted her day and night—to the point that she couldn’t eat or sleep)—was the fear that what she had done would come to light. Henry might be a softie in many ways; he had never displayed the least suspicion that she might have stuffed Hutchins down the garderobe. But there were some things he would never forgive. And her attempt to undo a potentially fatal mistake had met with dismal failure. Her Ladyship gripped the arms of her chair and thought about hitting a certain person over the head with a heavy object.

  “Here’s your sherry, m’dear.” Sir Henry placed the glass in her hand and hovered at her elbow. It occurred to him that she might have been wearing the same clothes for close on a fortnight, and her hair wasn’t right, it stuck out in places where it shouldn’t have and lay flat where it should have sat up. Sir Henry experienced an unusual urge to stoop and kiss his wife’s cheek. Instead, he patted her shoulder before picking up his own glass of sherry and resuming his seat.