‘Oh, I do see. I’ll be here for when you need me. And I can teach you jujitsu as well. But in case you don’t want me to start right away, I’ve picked out a job from the newspaper.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ll stir the porridge. You look at this, Auntie.’ She handed me the newspaper. A job advertisement had been circled.
Wanted – Young Person to assist in
General Duties. Hours by arrangement.
Apply in writing to General Manager,
City Varieties Music Hall, Leeds.
‘Well?’ She took a dish from the cupboard.
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Why?’
‘No, no, no!’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s not a suitable workplace for a child.’
‘I’m not a child. I’m fifteen. Mam started work at thirteen, so did all my other aunties, and Uncle Bob.’ She spooned porridge into her dish.
‘Yes, I know you are almost grown up and you found your way here. What would you have done if there was no one in?’
‘Waited, or climbed through a window.’
I considered telephoning Mary Jane, but the thought of a long conversation and hearing a list of complaints against Harriet and Barbara May made me think better of it. ‘I’m going out soon and when I go, telephone your mother and tell her you’ve arrived safely.’
‘Yes I’ll telephone. She won’t care whether I’ve arrived safely or not.’
‘Of course she will.’
She pulled a face. ‘This porridge is a bit lumpy. I make good porridge.’
‘So does Mrs Sugden. This has been made a long while. She gets up early.’
‘Mrs Sugden took typing lessons, didn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘I could do that.’
Mrs Sugden chose that moment to return to the kitchen, glancing at the stove to see whether Harriet had made a mess of it.
‘Harriet’s going to stay for a while, Mrs Sugden. I’ve advised her against applying for a job at the City Varieties.’
Mrs Sugden looked at the advertisement. ‘Your auntie’s right. They’d have you doing nothing but tear tickets and waiting behind to put up all the seats when everyone’s gone. You don’t want to be coming back up from the town late at night. You’d miss the last tram.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘There’ll be something more suitable.’
Harriet added a spoonful of treacle to her porridge. ‘Well I want to find something soon and pay my way.’ She sat down to eat her porridge.
‘You don’t have to find work immediately. Perhaps you’d like to visit your gran in Wakefield. And you’ve never met my parents.’
She stirred the treacly porridge. ‘Yes I have. My gran is your mam and my granddad who died when you were a baby was your dad.’
‘But you know that I was adopted, and I didn’t meet your gran or my sisters until your mam came to find me.’
‘I know that.’
‘So when I say you never met my parents, I mean Mr and Mrs Hood who brought me up. They live in Wakefield, too, like your gran. Your gran will be pleased to see you.’
‘I don’t want to go today. I’ve just arrived.’
‘Well, we’ll see.’ As far as this case was concerned, I could see no end in sight.
By unspoken agreement, Mrs Sugden and I went into the front room, out of hearing.
‘What am I going to do with her, Mrs Sugden? She wants to help. She’ll be rummaging through the filing cabinet the minute I’m gone, thinking she’ll come up with the solution to some great mystery that has eluded us.’
‘The filing cabinet is locked. I’ll put the key round my neck.’
‘She wants a job.’
‘She wants money more like. I know someone who might let her earn a few bob today and tomorrow.’
‘Who?’
‘Miss Merton. She’s organising a garden party for tomorrow afternoon. It’s for some of the academics and their wives, and administrative staff, and foreign students.’
Miss Merton is still our neighbour, though not quite so close by. When her brother became university vice chancellor, they moved into a rather impressive residence not very far away. ‘How do you know Miss Merton would want Harriet’s help?’
‘She asked me to help and I had to say no. If I take Harriet round there she’ll be snapped up. She’s willing and she’s handy. There’s baking, jellies to make, and lemonade. I’ll find her a pinafore.’
I was still not entirely happy about having Harriet in the house. By now, most of the variety performers I had chatted to had asked where I live. And somebody from that company was a killer.
Twenty-Three
Mother-in-Law to the Star
Gledhow Lodge was easily discovered. From the front, the solid two-storey house boasted five windows downstairs and five upstairs, including two large bay windows. Like my own house, it stood close to a wood. A low wall surrounded the property, as well as a privet hedge and a tree at either end of the garden, one taller than the house. I parked the car and stepped out onto the pavement. Although I had intended to think of an opening gambit, I was suddenly unsure how to begin. According to Selina, it would be an understatement to say that there was no love lost between her and her mother-in-law. What they did have in common was concern about Jarrod and, presumably, love for young Reggie.
I opened the low wooden gate, walked to the front door, rang the bell and waited, calling card in gloved hand. First impressions count. I straightened my hat.
A maid answered. Gone are the days when such a maid would wear cap and apron. This was a shy, pretty girl of about fifteen with bobbed hair and her fair share of spots. She stared first at me and then at my car.
‘Hello. Will you present my compliments to Mrs Compton and ask if she will see me?’
She took the card and was about to say yes when she remembered instructions. ‘I’ll have a look.’ She hesitated, unsure whether to ask me in. It was my guess that not many visitors called at Gledhow Lodge these days. She compromised, leaving the door ajar with me standing by the doorstep.
Moments later, she was back. ‘Mrs Compton asks, “What is the nature of your call?”’
‘I’m here regarding Billy Moffatt.’
She knew the name and smiled. ‘I’m sure she will see you in her sitting room. Come this way please.’ At the sound of her own voice, the young woman straightened up, as if proud at having passed a test. She closed the door behind me and I followed her along the hall’s attractively tiled floor.
She opened the second door. Mrs Compton looked younger than I imagined. She must be in her fifties but she had aged well. Her skin was smooth and when she stood to greet me, she stepped forward gracefully, moving like a dancer. ‘Please come in.’
‘Thank you for seeing me.’
It was a pleasant airy room with William Morris wallpaper, a parquet floor, an Aubusson rug and a low fire burning in the grate of the marble fireplace, more for cheer than warmth I thought. There was a piano, sheet music open on the stand. I felt a pang of envy, guessing that she was probably a really good pianist. From Selina’s description I had expected something of a harridan but she graciously waved me to a small sofa and sat down opposite. ‘Will you have coffee?’
‘Thank you, yes.’
Why be so hospitable to a stranger, I wondered. The maid had forgotten to mention Billy. Mrs Compton must have excellent hearing to have heard me say his name. And then the answer came, from the stillness of the room. She was lonely.
Perhaps the hospitality would evaporate the instant I had given her news of Billy’s death, and when she knew I was here as Selina’s emissary.
Suddenly suspicions about the deaths of Douglas Dougan and Floyd Lloyd having a sinister slant seemed ludicrous in this oh so civilised room. Selina was uneasy and full of doubts. Fame, success and an overweening sense of responsibility had frayed her nerve ends. I had allowed myself to take the story of an over-anxious woman
at face value, or had I? Yet it was I, not Selina, who was on tenterhooks while waiting for information about a damned cigar.
‘Mrs Compton, I’m here at the request of your daughter-in-law, Selina.’
There was the slightest tightening of her jaw. She waited.
‘I was in Giggleswick yesterday, with Selina, to witness the eclipse, in the company of Billy Moffatt. I’m here so early in the morning because Selina did not want you to read news about Billy in the paper.’
‘I’ve already seen the paper. There is no mention of him.’ She reached for her newspaper. ‘I saw that Selina was at Giggleswick. There’s an article.’ She turned the pages. ‘Here it is. “Even stellar star Selina Fellini didn’t eclipse the eclipse.” She must be disappointed that there is slightly less about her than the event itself.’ She said this without a hint of irony, as if simply observing a fact of life. ‘And Jarrod, was he invited?’
‘Yes, but chose not to go.’
‘Who invited Selina?’
‘The headmaster I believe.’
‘Was she shown around the school?’
‘One of the older boys gave her a guided tour.’
‘Jarrod ought to have been there. What is the point of one parent being shown around the school?’
Suddenly the words of the headmaster’s wife made sense. Jarrod’s mother had enquired about sending young Reginald to Giggleswick. But why, when Selina said he was settled at Ampleforth? Perhaps Mrs Compton wanted her grandson nearer home, and away from Roman Catholics.
I pushed those thoughts of family tugs of war to the back of my mind. She was all but dismissing my attempt to tell her about Billy. I pressed on. ‘The edition is too early to have the news about Billy Moffatt. I’m sorry to tell you that he died yesterday morning, after collapsing in the school grounds.’
She suddenly became rigidly still, staring at me as if believing I had come specially to torment her. Her mouth opened but for the longest moment no words came.
‘Billy dead? How? What do you mean, collapsed? He was thirty-six years old.’
‘I’m sorry. It must come as a shock, and to hear the news from a stranger. I believe he and your son were close.’
She stared at me. ‘Who are you?’ She looked at the card. ‘I mean, I know your name, but why are you here? Couldn’t Selina telephone me?’
‘She asked me to act for her.’
‘Act for her? Are you a solicitor?’
‘No. I arranged the flight to Giggleswick.’
‘You are some sort of tour guide, or travel agent.’
That job, or being a solicitor, seemed suddenly rather attractive.
‘Selina contacted me through a mutual acquaintance.’
‘Well I’m sorry to hear about Billy. We loved that boy once. My husband spotted Billy when he was a kid entertaining a theatre queue. He gave him his first chance. But if I were a religious woman, I might say it was God’s judgement.’
‘Oh?’
‘Selina sent you because she would have been embarrassed to tell me herself. Billy was Jarrod’s best friend but recently he has been… well I don’t believe I need say what Billy has been to Selina.’
Remembering Selina’s denial that she and Billy were lovers, I wondered who had gossiped to Mrs Compton and whether that same person had told tales to Jarrod. ‘I know nothing of that, Mrs Compton.’
‘I was in the business myself. I hear things, though it surprises me to know that Billy was in Selina’s company at Jarrod’s old school. I’d call that bad form.’
This was not going well. Yes I was here to break the news, but also to find Jarrod.
‘Is Jarrod here?’
‘No he is not. He lives in Bridlington.’
‘He was in the theatre yesterday and left some songs for Selina in her dressing room. She thought he might be here.’
‘Perhaps he sent the songs via someone else.’
Under her cool exterior, she was practically bristling with distress and rage. I could understand why. It was ridiculous that a total stranger should come and tell her that her son and daughter-in-law’s friend was dead, and in the same breath enquire about her son. ‘I’ll tell Selina that Jarrod isn’t here and that I’ve passed on the news about Mr Moffatt. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’
She was suddenly reluctant to release me. ‘Stay and have coffee. Violet takes so long to make it that the least you can do is drink a cup.’
Mrs Compton crossed the room to a table that held a cigarette box. She offered it to me. I shook my head.
‘My daughter-in-law likes to twist people around her little finger and keep a coterie of followers, usually male. From the cut of your jib, I’d say you wouldn’t fall for that.’ She lit her cigarette. ‘So Jarrod left her more songs. At least she acknowledges privately that he writes them.’
‘He writes wonderful songs. What he left for her read like something of a musical play.’ I wanted to know what plans Jarrod had for Selina, and whether these conflicted with those of her manager Trotter Brockett, putting the two men at odds.
My praise of Jarrod’s songs loosened Mrs Compton’s tongue. ‘He was always talented, even as a little boy he would write stories and put on plays with his toy animals.’
‘He was a performer too I believe.’
‘As a child, yes. His father and I weren’t sorry when he decided not to follow a life on stage. He might have gone into theatre management if not for the war, and my husband Reginald’s death.’
‘He’s still young, who knows what the future holds?’ I made polite conversation, hoping she might give some clue as to where Jarrod may have gone. ‘Was theatre management your husband’s line of work?’
‘It was.’ She frowned. ‘Did Selina telephone, to see if Jarrod arrived safely back in Bridlington?’
‘Not that I know of, not yesterday evening anyway. She returned home rather late.’
‘Then she hasn’t telephoned Bridlington, just as she did not contact me.’ She looked at her watch. ‘She’ll still be sleeping, as she does.’
Mrs Compton stood. ‘Excuse me.’
She went into the hall, leaving the door ajar. The telephone must have been on a party line because she exchanged a few words with someone straightaway, apologising and saying she had an urgent call to make.
A moment later, she was giving the operator a telephone number. She hung up the receiver but did not come back into the room. The telephone rang. She picked it up. ‘Yes, please let it continue to ring.’ After a minute, she spoke again, giving the operator a different number. She was connected quickly and spoke quietly. I did not catch all the words, except ‘Mrs Compton here’, and ‘something has come up’. She asked for Jarrod.
Several minutes passed.
‘Yes I’m still here.’ She listened for a long time. ‘Thank you for telling me. Yes I’ll look into that.’ She paused again. ‘Of course. Will you please ring me when my son returns?’ During the few steps from the hall into the room, her walk had lost its spring.
‘That was the caretaker’s wife at Jarrod’s block of flats. Apparently he went off on his motorcycle two days ago. He intended to view the eclipse.’
‘Did they know from where?’
She shook her head. ‘Reggie and his classmates were being taken somewhere, perhaps Richmond. There are so many places across the line of totality that I just don’t know where Jarrod would have gone.’ She sat down. ‘Mrs Shackleton, unless your imagination is non-existent, don’t let any son of yours ride a motorcycle. Not if you want to keep your sanity.’
‘What type of motorcycle does Jarrod have?’
‘A Scott Flying Squirrel that he goes mad on. It terrifies me.’
‘They’re very solid and he’ll know all the roads.’
‘So I tell myself.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘I can’t get over Billy Moffatt’s death. Did the doctor give an explanation?’
‘Not yet. Mr Brockett is in touch with the hospital.’
‘What is Trotter g
oing to do?’
So she was on first name terms with Mr Brockett. ‘I don’t know. He was devastated by the news. He did manage to find a replacement for yesterday evening’s performance.’
‘Who?’
‘Jimmy Diamond.’
‘Oh yes, he’ll pass muster, but he doesn’t have the range or the intelligence.’
She clearly knew everyone and so I tested the water regarding Selina’s suspicions.
Death in the Stars Page 19