Dear Laura

by Jean Stubbs

  ‘Please to step inside, sir, if you will. But Mr Crozier’s always at business this time of day.’

  ‘Is he now?’ cried Lintott, smiting his thigh with his Bollinger. ‘That’s a pity. I thought he kept easier hours.’

  ‘No, sir. He’s always off afore nine and not back afore six, most days.’

  ‘Let’s sit down, my dear, I won’t keep you above ten minutes.’

  She crept into a chair and attended him closely.

  ‘I don’t expect you’ve seen any young ladies visit your master, have you, my dear?’ Lintott began directly.

  She shook her head.

  ‘I gets his breakfast, and then he goes to work, and I’ve finished here by midday. But I’ve found hairpins afore now,’ she said, and lest she had failed him she added, ‘and I know the name of his regular young lady, because she come here in a proper wax when he was out, and left a message with me.’

  ‘I knew,’ said Lintott, to some invisible deity, ‘that this young woman had her eyes and ears in the right place, and her head screwed on. What’s the lady’s name, my dear?’

  ‘Miss Eliza Tucker, sir, and she ain’t no lady – she dances at the Alhambra.’

  ‘Ah! That means an evening visit, and Mrs Lintott keeping my supper warm again! A policeman’s lot is not a happy one, Lily, eh?’ He regarded her with some ruefulness. ‘What does the lady – we’ll call her a lady for form’s sake, Lily – what does she look like, now?’

  ‘Showy,’ said Lily, in a tone reminiscent of her aunt.

  ‘Medium height, a bit on the buxom side, darkish, refined way of speaking? Might wear a veil, a thickish veil?’

  ‘How did you know, sir?’

  He laid one finger to the side of his nose, and winked.

  ‘Well, I never did. That’s her, sir. Lor’ bless me.’

  ‘I suppose you haven’t seen any other ladies, while he was out?’

  ‘I seen Mrs Crozier, but then she’s family. No, sir. I’ve gone home long afore he starts amusing of himself.’ Mrs Hill’s warnings had taken effect. The girl’s voice was tart. ‘But the hairpins is all different colours.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve kept them?’ asked Lintott wistfully.

  ‘Well, now you mention it – I have. I don’t know why I should, I’m sure,’ she added ingenuously.

  He knew, picturing her on the fringe of Titus’s private life. The hairpins were the nearest she was likely to get to romance. But he commended her foresight and prudence, and looked through the little scatter of pins.

  ‘These are a delicate colour,’ he observed, picking out three golden ones.

  ‘Yes, sir. For a fair-complexioned person.’

  ‘A lady with light-coloured hair?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And this is for brown, and that for auburn, and for black. That Miss Eliza Tucker must’ve dropped them. I tell you, sir, when I took this post my aunt told me what to expect, and I thank my stars she did. I’m ’orrified, sir. I really am.’

  He patted her arm and set his hard felt hat squarely on his head.

  ‘Mrs Hill is a remarkable woman, my dear. And so’s her niece. Now then, Lily, since you and I understand one another, you needn’t mention to Mr Titus that I called. I’d rather tell him myself. And, Lily, if you happen to see your dear aunt and get to talking about me – I’m a great favourite of hers, you know – tell her the same. If it was anyone but her and you,’ he said thoughtfully, staring at her, ‘I’d say that I always find out if someone’s been gossiping when they shouldn’t.’ She understood him, and her lips moved as if to repeat the message. ‘But I don’t need to say so, do I?’

  She shook her head violently, mesmerised by the slate-coloured eyes.

  ‘So, God bless you, Lily. And remember to invite me to your wedding, won’t you?’

  She was still giggling when he left: one hand lifted to conceal the discoloured cheek.

  *

  Miss Eliza Tucker was not as young as she would like to be and, judging from her manner, bore no deep affection for the police force. Nevertheless, the habit of charming the male animal dies hard, and she allowed the inspector to see more than a ladylike expanse of black net stocking. Otherwise, she pretended to ignore him, bending forward to repair her make-up in the cracked mirror.

  She shared a dressing-room at the Alhambra with a quantity of other young ladies, and the inspector sat in a pleasant state of siege. They could tell from his serviceable boots, his old Inverness greatcoat, his speech, his hard sensible face, that he was no use to them. Still, they brushed past him, crying, ‘’scuse me, duckie!’ and smiling: leaving a cheap fragrance behind them, a reminder of small armoured waists and rustling skirts, a trace of whitening on his sleeve.

  ‘I’ll be in trouble with my wife over this,’ Lintott said good-humouredly, rubbing away at the clinging powder, nodding amiably at each damsel.

  He surveyed Miss Tucker’s strong calf muscles and over-blown flesh, and reckoned that she had passed her meridian.

  ‘I believe you’re acquainted with one Mr Titus Crozier, my dear,’ he began in his mild way.

  She rouged her mouth, staring at his distorted reflection in the mirror.

  ‘I might be. What of it? I can’t remember all their names, I suppose?’

  ‘Ah! You’ll have a deal of admirers, my dear, won’t you? Thinking of marrying one of them, are you?’

  She pulled down her red satin bodice to a more seductive level, and inspected her teeth.

  ‘I might, and then again I might not. That’s not what you’ve come about. I know crushers! Get on with it, will you? I’m not bloody well paid to talk to you.’

  The colloquialism for ‘policeman’ had not escaped him. He became blander.

  ‘Now, my dear, that’s an ugly sort of talk. Are you on friendly terms with Mr Crozier.’

  ‘Friendly? With that bastard? Not on your dear sweet life, I ain’t.’

  ‘You know very well what I mean, my dear,’ said Lintott softly. ‘I know you visit him in his rooms, if you want me to talk plainer. Did you visit his brother, Mr Theodore, too? There, or elsewhere?’

  ‘You ought to wash your mouth out, you ought,’ she cried forcibly. ‘I’m not that sort of a girl.’

  Lintott sighed, and lifted his eyes to the smoked ceiling.

  ‘We’re wasting your time and mine, my dear. Did you or did you not?’

  ‘Never knew he had a brother. He’s one of them as says a lot and don’t tell you nothing.’

  ‘Ah! He’s fly.’

  ‘Rotten bastard,’ said Miss Tucker emphatically.

  ‘So you never visited his brother, Mr Theodore Crozier, or stopped his carriage in the street, or delivered a packet to his house?’

  ‘I told you. How could I if I didn’t know him?’

  He looked directly at her, for fully a minute. But she glared back: sure of herself on this point at least.

  ‘All right,’ said Lintott, disappointed. ‘I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t – but, then, I’ve got a trusting nature. What was Mr Titus like as a spender? Pretty free?’

  ‘Mind your own … business.’

  Lintott tutted. ‘Now lookee here, my dear, if you don’t speak civil to me I’ll have a word with Mr Henderson here and make it hot for you. You want to keep your job, don’t you? This job, at any rate?’

  She attempted to stare him out, and failed.

  ‘What do you want to know, then?’ she asked sullenly.

  ‘I want to know how he paid you,’ said Lintott bluntly. ‘Rent? Money? Jewellery? Suppers?’

  He used to give me supper. Sometimes he give me money. But he did the dirty on me with that bloody bracelet.’

  ‘Oh, he held out a bracelet, did he? What was dirty about that? Did you take it to the jerryshop and find the diamonds were glass?’

  ‘No. He took it back. Said he wanted to match it with a ring. I’d lent him some cash. Not much, but what I had.’

  Lintott shook his head slowly in disbelief.

&nb
sp; ‘You don’t look like a flat to me, my dear. Whatever came over you to do a thing like that?’

  She shrugged thickening shoulders, then looked up with a little hope.

  ‘You can’t do anythink for me, can you?’

  ‘No, my dear. There’s a many in this world that should be in the stir, by rights. He’s one of them, and I can’t nab him. You’ll know better next time. So you got little enough out of him?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I should find yourself a decent fellow and get out of this,’ said Lintott, ‘before you’re coopered.’

  ‘One of our girls married a member of the aristocracy,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘Forget it,’ Lintott advised. ‘Take what you can get, and scarper. That’s good advice, that is. They won’t have room for you here, in another year or two, and then it’s the streets or starve.’

  He rose, nodded at her.

  ‘I’m only twenty-five,’ she said, challenging him to deny it.

  ‘They come up younger every year, and two a penny. And watch your language. The sort of chap that’ll be any use to you won’t like it.’

  ‘Filthy pig!’ she said to herself, when he had gone. ‘Bloody jack!’ Then danced on stage with the other girls: smiling, glittering, hungry.

  18

  A child should always say what’s true,

  And speak when he is spoken to,

  And behave mannerly at table:

  At least as far as he is able.

  A Child’s Garden of Verses

  – Robert Louis Stevenson

  ‘NOW this is what I like to see,’ cried Inspector Lintott heartily. ‘A fine strong child a-tucking into good food,’ though Blanche was making a poor attempt at tea, in spite of constant dosing with Liebeg’s Extract.

  ‘Eight of bread and butter afore she has a slice of sponge cake,’ said Nanny firmly. ‘Was you wanting to see me, sir?’

  ‘I can wait,’ Lintott replied comfortably, accepting a deal chair. ‘A pleasant room, Miss Nagle.’

  The nursery overlooked the garden at the back of the house, and Laura’s hand was evident in its decoration. The lower portion of the walls was pasted with scenes from the Christmas books of Mr Walter Crane and Miss Kate Greenaway and varnished: the upper portion distempered for the sake of health and cleanliness. Miss Nagle had made the rag rug on the linoleum. The brass-railed fireguard gleamed and flickered in reflection. Window-boxes promised spring flowers.

  ‘And do you keep your toys in that cupboard, my dear?’ Inspector Lintott asked the child, seeing not a single Dutch doll, not a golliwog in sight.

  Blanche, already in difficulties with her bread and butter, laid the slice down and nodded.

  ‘Speak when you’re spoken to, Miss Blanche!’ Nanny warned.

  ‘Yes, sir, if you please,’ said the little girl obediently.

  She had inherited her mother’s pallor, though it was now flushed with anxiety.

  ‘You needn’t mind me, my love,’ said Lintott smiling. ‘I ain’t an ogre, you know.’

  ‘This gentleman is an important policeman,’ Nanny threatened, ‘come to see you eat all your tea like a good girl!’

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ said Lintott cheerfully. ‘I’ve come to see you have your sponge cake. Do you like sponge cake, Missie?’

  Head bent, speechless, Blanche stared at her plate. Nanny’s mouth opened but he waved at her peremptorily, sternly.

  ‘I like cake,’ said Lintott, sitting four-square. ‘Miss Nagle, as you’re a friend of mine, you wouldn’t like to offer me a cup, would you? Yes, of course you would. I can see it in your face.’

  Nanny rang the bell with some asperity.

  ‘It’s a half after four by my watch,’ Lintott observed, consulting its plain dial. ‘Suppose we let poor Nanny have her tea in peace downstairs, and you and I have ours together? Would you like that, Missie?’ The child, in dread of them both, looked uncertainly from one to the other. ‘Yes, of course you would.’

  Harriet Stutchbury appeared at the door with an injured air.

  ‘Ain’t you got everythink, Miss Nagle?’

  ‘The Inspector’d like a cup of tea,’ said Nanny reluctantly.

  ‘And give my best compliments to Mrs Hill, Harriet,’ said Lintott, ‘and just mention that I’ve been on my feet all day, will you, my dear? She’ll know what I mean, I’m sure.’

  ‘Fetch a tray up, then, and hurry yourself, Harriet!’

  ‘Yes, Miss Nagle. Yes, sir.’

  She returned with a little banquet that made her arms ache.

  ‘Buttered crumpets,’ said Lintott, lifting a metal cover. ‘Piping hot! Three kinds of cake! Cherry conserve! Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits! I must be a favourite. Now, my handsome lass,’ to the bridling nanny, ‘off with you and enjoy a chat in the kitchen. I’ll take care of your young lady here. Lor’ bless you, you needn’t worry about us. I’ve got two girls of my own. I know all about children.’

  ‘Very well, sir. Miss Blanche, mind you eat all your bread and butter!’

  ‘Oh, she will,’ said Lintott blandly. ‘I’ll see to that.’

  A straggle of sun crept across the table and Lintott poured his tea in relaxed silence. The child sat, pink with terror, small hands knotted in her lap, glass of milk untouched.

  ‘Have a piece of crumpet,’ Lintott offered, holding out the plate.

  She shook her head and bit her bottom lip.

  ‘Why ever not, my dear? Don’t you like it?’

  She swallowed, and said, ‘Nanny thinks it’s too rich.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Lintott. ‘I think it’s capital!’

  He threw a bit in the air and caught it in his mouth like a dog. A quiver of lips told him that this was appreciated, so he repeated the performance. She glanced at him quickly, and smiled.

  ‘That’s better, my love. Come on. We shan’t let Nanny know.’

  Her fingers sidled to the plate and secured a delicacy. Then she paused.

  ‘What about the bread and butter, sir?’

  He stared at the eight triangles in amazement.

  ‘Do you ever get through it all, my love?’

  She shook her head, the crumpet clutched in one palm.

  ‘So you never have any cake?’

  Another shake.

  ‘I tell you what I’ll do,’ said Lintott, ‘I’ll eat it for you. What about that? Here, you’ve got your hand all over melted butter. Let me wipe it on my handkerchief.’ And this he did most carefully. ‘Now you tuck into whatever catches your fancy, and I’ll have a go at this mountain. Do you know something?’ Spreading cherry conserve thickly on the bread, and cutting it into strips. ‘I’ll wager you could eat one or two of these as well. Yes, I thought so.’

  They ate together amiably.

  ‘Sometimes my Uncle Titus eats my bread and butter for me,’ Blanche confided.

  ‘Does he now? He’s a kind uncle, isn’t he?’

  She nodded several times. ‘He’s funny, too, like you. He makes us laugh. He snored at Christmas, for the man on the lantern slide.’

  ‘That’s good, my love. Does Nanny make you laugh? And Mama?’

  ‘Oo no. Nanny says not to do things. Mama reads to me. But Uncle Titus is funny all the time.’

  ‘What about your two brothers, Missie?’

  The grey eyes were surprised.

  ‘Edmund and Lindsey are boys. They would not play with a girl. Besides, they are not at home now, except in the holidays.’

  ‘Who do you play with, then? Other little girls?’

  ‘Sometimes. Fräulein Walther is my governess, but she is not my very own governess. She teaches at three houses and we all share her. One week she comes to our house. Then next week she comes to Julia’s house. Then next week she comes to Frances’s house. Then next week to our house. She teaches Julia’s sister and Frances’s sister, too.’

  ‘And what do you learn, my love?’

  ‘Deportment and French and music and drawing and arithmetic and history
and general knowledge. And when I am older I shall learn German and water-colour painting as well.’

  ‘I daresay you’re a clever girl, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not very, because I think of something else instead of listening. But Nanny says better to be good than clever. But Fräulein Walther says to pay attention.’

  The state of her fingers dismayed her.

  ‘Wipe them on my handkerchief again, and destroy the evidence, Missie. Poor Papa must have been proud of you. I should have been.’

  ‘Papa has gone to heaven because he was a good man.’

  ‘That’s right, my love.’

  ‘He would like me to speak the truth, since he watches over us.’ She was troubled, remembering. ‘Papa could not love me very much because I made so many mistakes, you see.’

  ‘We all do, Missie.’

  ‘I make more mistakes than anybody else. All the time. The pennies fall off the back of my hands when I am playing the piano, and Nanny has to wash my sewing before I can show it.’

  ‘But Mama doesn’t mind mistakes, does she?’

  ‘Mama does not notice. She has so many headaches.’

  ‘And is there nobody in the house that makes much of you, my love?’

  ‘Only Uncle Titus. I love him best – except for Papa and Mama, of course. May I get down now, sir? I have had sufficient.’

  ‘Yes, my love. Did you know that rag rugs told stories? Come and look at this one. Here’s a bit of bright blue that might have been one of Mama’s gowns. And a bit of dark grey that might have been Papa’s suit. Do you see?’

  ‘That red is Sergeant Malone’s old jacket. If I am a bad girl, Nanny says, the sergeant will fetch me and put me in prison.’

  Lintott’s plain face was expressionless.

  ‘A soldier can’t do that, Missie. That’s my job. You see this here key?’ He brought out the humble instrument that locked his garden shed at Richmond. ‘You see the size of it?’ She nodded, impressed. ‘That’s the prison key,’ said Lintott deeply. ‘Now if I’ve got this key how can anybody else open the door?’

  She stood by his side, hands clasped behind her back, white-stockinged legs together, low-heeled strap shoes shining. He looked at the pale pretty face, the pale tongue of hair, the submissive head and gentle mouth.