‘But now they are back at work?’
‘The necessity to eat and feed a family has a great influence on a man’s mind. That and two thousand troops in the city with cavalry on the corner of every major thoroughfare. People soon got the message.’
Dickens saw one man walking along, his shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets and cap pulled down over his eyes. ‘Looks like they are beaten, downtrodden.’
‘They are. But what to do? It is the way of the modern world.’
‘But at what cost, Harrison?’ he finally said. ‘At what cost?’
Chapter TEN
Monday, December 16, 2019
Buxton Residential Home, Derbyshire
After the meeting, Jayne decided to drive to see Robert and Vera rather than visit her old pals in Manchester nick. She would be going into town in the next week or so and could visit them before Christmas, perhaps taking in a single malt as a gift. She remembered how Sergeant McNally loved his single malts.
After a long discussion, Jayne had finally decided to take the Dickens job. As she put the car in gear and heard Bowie blasting out from the speakers, she tried to remember why.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Underwood, I promised myself I would take a break before Christmas and if I take your job, I know I wouldn’t be able to do that. So, unfortunately, I must decline.’
‘But please, Jayne, you’re our last hope.’
‘You’ve tried other genealogists?’
Underwood looked down and spoke quietly. ‘No. Another investigator.’
‘That’s why you’re so short of time, isn’t it?’
‘I briefed somebody one month ago, but nothing happened. They just sat on the job and told us two days ago that they couldn’t find Robert Duckworth.’
A silence descended over the table.
Finally, Ronald Welsh spoke, his eyes staring at her. ‘I really would like you to do it, Mrs Sinclair. I have a good feeling about you.’
She indicated right at the end of the street and then left on to Great Ancoats Street. From here it was a relatively easy route on to the A6 to head out on the long drive to Buxton, where her dad’s residential home was located.
As she remembered the conversation, she realised it was Ronald’s words that had finally made up her mind. She was a sucker for ‘good feelings’.
‘Look,’ she eventually said, ‘I can give you three days’ work, that’s all I have free. I don’t know if we can find this Robert Duckworth in that time, but that’s all the time I have.’
‘And that’s all the time we have too, Jayne. The auction will definitely go ahead on December nineteenth, whatever happens.’
‘I can’t promise any results in three days…’
‘We understand.’ Michael Underwood coughed. ‘As for payment?’
‘You just need to pay my daily rate plus expenses.’
‘There’s a slight problem with that…’
‘Which is?’
‘Until the auction goes through, we don’t actually have any money. But if you can discover who Robert Duckworth was, and if he has a living family, then it could add another sixty thousand pounds to the auction price. We might just have a bidding war on our hands.’ He smiled and rubbed his palms together.
Ronald jumped in. ‘But it’s not the money that’s the most important thing, is it, Mrs Sinclair? It’s discovering something new. Finding out who was the inspiration for one of Dickens’ most famous characters.’
Ronald understood her so well. Money was the least of her worries. ‘You can pay me after the auction.’
Michael Underwood rubbed his hands again. ‘Great, when will you start?’
‘As soon as I can. I’d like to read A Christmas Carol again first, remind myself of the characters and the story. Last time I read it I was still at school.’
‘You don’t know what you’ve been missing, Mrs Sinclair. It’s a wonderful story, one of my favourites from Dickens.’
And that was it. They stood up and shook hands. Michael Underwood gave her a file with photocopies of the title pages and inscriptions from the book.
Why had she said yes?
More work was the last thing she needed. What she really wanted was a break away from the past, a time to live in the present, and a plan for the future. At the moment, she had none of these and another year was nearly over. What would 2020 hold for her?
She dismissed these thoughts from her mind and concentrated on driving to Buxton. Down the A6 through Stockport and New Mills, the hills of the Pennines creeping ever closer. On either side of the road, posters from the recently completed election stood forlornly in people’s gardens.
She never voted herself, believing it only encouraged politicians. As a copper, she had always been steadfastly neutral when she was policing any demonstration or rally. As a servant of the crown, it was the least she could do.
Fifty minutes later, she was parking up outside Robert and Vera’s residential home. It was located in an old Victorian house in beautiful grounds. Robert had chosen it three years ago, when he had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. Jayne had gone through anguish at the thought of being separated from him. But he had insisted. ‘It’s for the best, love. You have your own life to lead and here I’ll get the care I need.’
‘But…’
‘No more ifs and buts, I’ve decided and that’s that.’
Once Robert had made his mind up, an earthquake couldn’t move him. It turned out to be the best decision he had ever made. Inside the home, he had met another resident, Vera Atkins. They had fallen in love and married. Jayne had never seen her stepfather so happy, not even when he was married to her mother. The marriage had put a spring in his step and a bounce in his heart. He looked like a brand new person.
Jayne locked the car and went into reception. ‘Are they in the usual place?’
The receptionist shook her head. ‘No, they’re not in their corner in the TV room. You’ll find them in the annex beneath the large picture window. But still doing their crossword.’
Jayne walked through the TV room and into the annex. Her stepfather and his wife were in the corner. Vera raised her arm in greeting as soon as she saw Jayne.
‘I thought you’d have finished that book already.’
Her father looked up. ‘You only gave us this Guardian Book of Crosswords last week, give us a chance.’
She bent down and kissed her father on the top of his head. ‘I’m only teasing you, Dad. I know you’ll have it finished by tomorrow.’
Her father held up the book. ‘Still got twelve to go, plus some of the bloody clues are still not coming together. Me and Vera have puzzled over this one for an hour already. “Somebody who wants more has a nothing body part in return.” It’s six letters then five and we’ve got the second letter, “l”, and the fourth, “v”. The last letter of the second word is “t”.’
Jayne looked over his shoulder at the half-completed crossword. She gave them both these books to help pass the time and because she knew it reinforced her father’s belief that it exercised his brain. ‘I haven’t a clue, Dad, you know I’m hopeless at these things.’
‘We think it probably means somebody who wants more,’ said Vera, leaning into Robert, ‘but we’re not sure.’
And then all of a sudden, Jayne knew the answer. She smiled at her stepmother and stepfather. ‘This is how it feels, does it? When you know the answer to a clue and nobody else does?’
‘You’ve worked it out? Tell us the answer.’ Robert poised his pen over the book.
Jayne stretched her neck. ‘This is a nice feeling, I could get used to this very easily.’
‘Don’t tease an old man, love.’
She kissed his head again. ‘You’re not old, Robert, you just have a few years under your belt. And the answer is Oliver Twist.’
Robert stared at the book for a long time. ‘She’s right, you know, Vera – it is Oliver Twist. He was somebody who wanted more and the zero plus liver makes Oliver. The
last bit about “in return” refers to the Twist part.’
‘Well done, Jayne,’ said Vera. ‘We’ll make you a crossword addict yet.’
Jayne laughed. ‘No chance, it’s just a coincidence, that’s all.’
Her father looked up at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘A coincidence?’
‘I’ve just been asked to look into somebody who lived in Manchester with a possible connection to Charles Dickens.’
‘That sounds interesting.’
‘It is, but I’ve only got three days to work on it. Take a look at these.’ Jayne showed the photocopies to both of them.
‘But that would be wonderful, Jayne. If you could prove a connection to Manchester for this man, it would be grand.’
‘It was one of my favourite books when I was young,’ said Vera. ‘We read it at Sunday School before every Christmas. I was even in a play about it once.’
‘I can only just remember the novel. I’m going to read it again tonight.’
‘Do that, love. Won’t take you long, it’s only a short Christmas novella.’ Then a look passed between Robert and Vera. After a short pause, her father continued speaking. ‘Talking about Christmas, lass, would you mind if we went up to Scotland to see Vera’s relatives this year? We’d probably stay on over Hogmanay too.’
Jayne was taken aback. She always spent Christmas with Robert, and had done every year since she was a girl and her mother had married him.
For her, Robert and Christmas were one and the same.
She remembered one year – she must have been about nine or ten and her belief in Father Christmas was under threat – she had stayed awake as late as she could, listening at the door. She heard her mother talking to Robert in her usual sharp tones. ‘Why do you bother dressing up in that ridiculous outfit every year? She can’t see you, she’s fast asleep.’
Jayne opened the door a crack. Robert was dressed as Santa Claus, putting out the presents in front of the Christmas tree he insisted on buying every year.
‘It’s the spirit of Christmas, love, just in case Jayne sees me. I’d like her to believe in Santa Claus for as long as she can.’
Jayne closed the door quietly and scurried into her bed. The next morning she pretended she had seen Santa Claus laying out the gifts beneath the tree.
‘I told you, lass, he comes every year, just for you,’ Robert had said.
‘You don’t mind, do you, Jayne?’
Vera’s question brought her mind racing back to the present. ‘Of course not, you guys go and enjoy yourselves. Have a great time in Scotland.’
‘It’s just that we won’t go if you’re going to be on your own, lass. We wouldn’t want you to spend Christmas alone.’
Jayne found an excuse in a little white lie. ‘Don’t worry, Tom is taking me out. One of those posh dos where I’ll have to get dressed up and wear high heels.’ She paused for a moment, thinking of her research this morning. ‘How are you related to these people, Vera?’
‘Through my great-uncle, Sam Duckworth. They moved up to Scotland years ago. I used to spend many happy summer days visiting them.’
‘Your grandfather was Francis Duckworth, wasn’t he?’
‘That’s right. How did you know?’
Robert coughed. ‘You came across the name when you were looking for Vera’s brother, didn’t you, Jayne?’
‘Yes… yes, I did,’ she stammered.
Her father was very quick at covering for her, he knew she was working on Vera’s family tree.
There was a slight pause and then her step-mother spoke. ‘Talking about my brother in Australia, we’re thinking of going there in late February. Get away from the winter and fly somewhere warm. What do you think, Jayne?’
‘A great idea. It’s a long flight but I’m sure it would be great to see Harry again.’
There was another cough from Robert. ‘What Vera means is that she’d love you to join us. You’ve been working so hard recently, it would be lovely for you to have a break.’
Jayne thought for a moment. She’d never been to Australia, and it would be wonderful to spend some time with Vera and Robert, seeing the country. ‘I don’t know, Robert, I am busy at the moment—’
‘All the more reason for you to have a break,’ interrupted Vera. ‘You could do with a holiday – and anyway, don’t you have clients in Australia? You could visit them at the same time. Call it a working holiday…’
Vera was a smart woman.
‘Let’s decide after Christmas,’ Jayne said finally.
‘And you don’t mind us not being here at Christmas?’
‘Of course not, you both have a wonderful time in Scotland.’
‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ said Vera, ‘we were so worried about telling you.’
Jayne kissed her stepmother on the head. ‘Enjoy yourselves, but don’t let Robert drink too much whisky. You know it gives him ideas.’
‘Aye, lass, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,’ said Robert over the top of his crossword book.
Jayne stayed another thirty minutes before it was time for their evening meal and for her to leave. After saying her goodbyes, she went out to the car and just sat inside for a few moments.
She knew she should be happy for them, and going to Australia together in February was an appealing idea, but a strange feeling washed over her. For a moment, she felt a strange disquiet.
She was going to spend Christmas alone.
It wasn’t a happy feeling.
Chapter ELEVEN
Monday, December 16, 2019
Didsbury, Manchester
Jayne arrived home and was immediately greeted by a meowing Mr Smith, tail proudly held aloft, intertwining his body between her legs as she struggled out of her coat.
The weather had changed as she drove back. From quiet, almost placid, battleship-grey Manchester to a city raging and storming with sheets of ice-cold rain being blown across from Iceland. Even in the short run from her car to the front door her coat had become soaked. At least the house was just as warm and welcoming as Mr Smith.
‘Okay, okay. I know you’re hungry, I get the message.’
To reinforce his point, Mr Smith sauntered into the kitchen and sniffed his bowl as if to point out how empty it was.
Jayne switched on her computer to check messages and, while it booted up, searched for a sachet of food in the fridge for the cat. The shelves were bare except for one Lil’ Grillers Tuna Special. Luckily he liked this one, although why it was called Lil’ Grillers or why it was special, she had no idea.
Time to go to the supermarket again. She could go without food herself but Mr Smith had to be fed to his highness’s strict dietary requirements. In other words, expensive cat food.
She poured a little dry kibble in the bowl, topping it with the wet chunks of tuna. Mr Smith pounced immediately, as if he hadn’t eaten for the last week, crouching down and lapping up the wet food followed by the crunch of the dry.
Jayne thought about opening her emails and then changed her mind. Time to open a nice bottle instead. The news that her parents were going to Scotland for Christmas had disturbed her more than she cared to admit. Of course, she was happy for them, but it was a tradition that she cooked Christmas dinner for them both.
At least, it was a tradition in her mind, having started two years ago after she had split up with Paul, her ex-husband. They were now officially divorced and he was engaged to a twenty-three-year-old Belgian beauty therapist, whatever one of those was. He had even invited her to his wedding in February in Brussels. But her chance of going was about the same as Rochdale winning the World Cup. In other words, none.
It wasn’t that she was bitter about the break-up. On the contrary, she saw it as inevitable. They had just drifted apart as he became more and more wrapped up in his job and she devoted her time to her genealogical investigations.
She would always be grateful for his support of her during the most difficult time in her life. When, as a detective, she had made
a routine check on a house in Moss Side. Her partner, Dave Gilmour, had knocked on the door while she had leant on the wall to one side, chatting aimlessly about something or other. The shots, when they came, exploded through the door, hitting her partner in the chest. The last words she remembered hearing from his blood-stained mouth were, ‘I should have ducked… Rookie mistake.’
He had died in her arms.
It took a long while to get over his death. When she returned to the police three months later, after counselling, it just wasn’t the same any more. It was as if her whole career had been tainted. Could she have acted differently? Could she have prevented his death? Couldn’t she have guessed what was going to happen?
Nobody blamed her, but she blamed herself.
A shudder ran down her spine. ‘Don’t think about it now, Jayne. Not now.’
Mr Smith looked up from his bowl for a second before returning to a particularly appetising piece of soggy tuna. Jayne took out a nice bottle of Sagrantino from Montefalco and poured herself a large glass, smelling the aroma and drinking a large gulp, feeling the warm hug of an Italian summer circle around her mouth.
She thought about answering her emails, or even starting to search for the family of Robert Duckworth in the 1841 Census. But she was tired, and even though she had only three days to find the answer, she knew starting now as a mistake. Being so tired, all she would do was miss important clues or hints that she should follow up.
And then it struck her what she had to do. She put her wine glass down and rushed into the living room. It was a place she only used occasionally; most of the time she spent in the kitchen. She had created her whole life there, so everything she needed from her work files to her computer to a glass of wine were always close at hand.
In the living room, she looked at the bookshelves in the corner. ‘It must be here somewhere,’ she said out loud, ‘I knew I put it here.’ And then she saw it, nestled between an Ian Rankin crime thriller and Winnie the Pooh . She reached up and pulled out the thin volume from the shelf.
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.
Opening the book, she saw the inscription written inside. ‘To Jayne from Mum, Happy Christmas ’92.’
The Christmas Carol: A Jayne Sinclair Genealogical Mystery Page 5