by Caron Allan
She got up reluctantly and got herself ready to face the day—the first day of the New Year—she reminded herself. Next she went to find her sister.
Flora was looking very pale, Dottie was alarmed to see, and she rushed to her side, demanding to know what was wrong.
‘I’ve been as sick as a dog since five o’clock this morning,’ Flora told her. She looked really unlike herself. ‘George is off somewhere doing something manly with his cronies and some guns, and they’ll come back for dinner this evening. Oh Dottie, I didn’t know it would start so soon. I feel ghastly. And Mother and Father will be here in an hour and a half.’
Dottie pulled a chair over to sit beside her, and put her arm about Flora’s shoulders. ‘Have you had any breakfast?’
Flora shook her head. ‘I didn’t think I could bear...’
‘Nonsense,’ Dottie said briskly, ‘everyone knows you have to take toast and sweet tea until at least the end of the third month. I’ll go and see Cook. You should have sent Cissie to get it for you.’
‘I’m afraid she’s still changing my bed and airing out the room,’ Flora said ruefully.
Dottie looked at her and grimaced. ‘Oh dear. Right ho, you stay put, I’ll be back shortly.’
She was gone for five minutes and returned with Cook herself carrying the tray for Flora.
‘Mrs Greeley insisted on coming to take a look at you,’ Dottie explained.
‘Ten children I’ve had, and they’re all still alive, thank the good Lord,’ said Cook almost before she entered the room, ‘so if there’s anything I know about, it’s being in the family way.’ Small and slender, she was as unlike a cook as Dottie could imagine. Which belied the seductive power of her rice pudding and sponge cakes. Cook set the tray down and took a good look at her young mistress. ‘Hmm. Peaky, that’s what you are. What you want, Madam, is a little bit o’ toast, and some hot sweet tea, then back to bed with you.’
‘But...’ said Flora.
‘No buts now, you do as you’re told, Miss Flora,’ Cook told her severely. Flora smiled. It had been over a year since anyone in her own establishment had called her Miss Flora. It was comforting. ‘Now here’s a little bit of toast with the crusts cut off. Just have a wee bit of butter on it and a drop of nice sharp jam, I’ve brought blackcurrant, but I can just as easy go and fetch you a pot of gooseberry or plum. And lots of sugar in your tea. Now, while you’re—you know—you’ll find it helps to have a little bit every so often rather than big meals. And get as much rest as you can. It’ll soon pass and then you’ll begin to bloom, you mark my words. You just ring if you need anything.’
‘Thank you, I shall, and will you please tell Cissie how sorry...’
‘Ah! Don’t you go apologising to Cissie. She don’t mind in the least. You’ve never been the slightest trouble. And when you goes back to bed, it’ll all be spick and span in your room. And you just take yourself a nice rest and you’ll be as right as ninepence. Now, stop worrying and take care of yourself. Call me if you need me, or send Miss Dottie down. Erm—I’m guessing Mr and Mrs Manderson won’t be joining us for lunch after all?’
‘Oh Lord, I don’t know. Dottie?’
‘I’ll telephone to them and say you’re under the weather, and they can come in time for dinner. I expect Father will be glad of some time to read the paper in peace, anyhow, he had quite a few drinks last night.’
‘Oh thank you,’ Flora said gratefully. ‘I don’t feel up to Mother quite yet.’
And Cook, nodding her approval and saying, ‘Well that’s settled then,’ bustled away leaving a tearful but happy and reassured Flora to nibble at her toast.
When Dottie came back from telephoning, she set herself the task of keeping Flora’s teacup topped up and soon Flora admitted she was feeling a little better. She allowed herself to be persuaded to go back to her room, where her bed had indeed been remade, and the room was fresh and clean, a scent of lavender hanging on the January air. Cissie hovered, ‘just in case’, but Flora thanked her and allowed her to return to the kitchen, adding,
‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind waking me at four o’clock if I’m not up before then? Thank goodness the men won’t be back until seven. And Mr and Mrs Manderson will now also be arriving for dinner, not lunch.’
Flora lay back under the covers and Dottie could see she was really going to go to sleep. She had hoped to tell Flora about her dream, but it would have to wait. She left Flora and went back downstairs.
She went into the little library that was a pale imitation of her father’s but nonetheless a comfortable room. She sat at the desk, pulled out pen, ink and paper, and wrote down everything she could recall of her dream, just in case she had forgotten it by the time she had the opportunity of telling her sister all about it. Dottie wrote: ‘In my dream I was wearing my cloak and I was walking in a garden. I didn’t recognise where I was, but somehow I knew it was the home of the Pentermans.
‘It had been sunny, but suddenly the sun was gone and it had turned to deepest night. The trees and shrubs pressed in all about me, and I heard strange calls and slitherings and rustlings as if I was in a jungle. I felt frightened and began to really push my way through the vegetation, certain that I couldn’t afford to lose sight of the others, though I don’t know who the others were or where they had gone. They were ahead of me somewhere, that was all I knew.
‘I hurried on and had to keep freeing my cloak from thorns and branches that it got snagged on and which pricked me and scratched me. Ahead of me stood a tree on the edge of a clearing. I hid myself behind the tree and peered out. I could see a fire burning, and there was an altar, and around the altar and the fire were a dozen or more shadowy figures, all dressed in cloaks just like mine. They were chanting softly, and I could tell from their voices that they were all women. But I couldn’t see their faces because their hoods were pulled right up over their heads, so that their faces were hidden in shadow.
‘Then, I began to feel terribly afraid, and the sound of my heartbeat was so loud it made them all turn around and they began to come towards me. But instead of running, I just stayed where I was, rooted to the spot, unable to move. I was frozen with fear. I held up my arms in front of my face to try to ward them off, but I knew I couldn’t escape.
‘The first one, the one who I thought seemed to be in charge, came up to me with her hand stretched out and as she touched me, her hood fell back and in the firelight I could see her face. It was Susan Dunne. And she began to sing the song that Archie had sung, then when she stopped, she drew out a dagger from under her cloak and plunged it into my chest, saying, ‘how dare you wear the colour of the daughters of the Queen!’’
Dottie stopped writing and rubbed her aching wrist. Yes, that was more or less everything she could remember, except the fact that, when Susan had said those words, Dottie had fallen to the ground, and it was then that she had woken up. It all sounded so melodramatic and silly now that she was thinking about it in the cold light of day, but she couldn’t forget that when she had first woken from the dream, she had been shaking with fear.
Chapter Sixteen
Flora slept soundly until Cissie woke her at four o’clock, and came down to join Dottie for afternoon tea, still wearing her nightgown and negligee, and with a pair of George’s socks on her feet instead of her usual satin mules.
‘I’ll get dressed in a bit,’ she said, ‘but right now I’m desperate for a cuppa.’
Dottie approved the return of colour to Flora’s cheeks, and the absence of the bags under her eyes. She looked young and pretty, and completely herself again.
‘What have you been doing with yourself all afternoon?’ Flora asked.
‘Ah! I’m glad you asked. I had a rather horrid dream last night so I went into the library and sat down in a very business-like way, and I wrote it all down in case I forgot it, and now I want you to read it, if you feel up to doing that?’
‘I feel fabulous, actually,’ Flora said, and she certainly looked it. Dottie told
her so, then went to collect her sheet of paper from her room.
When she came back, they spent half an hour just enjoying their tea. Finally, Flora declared herself ready, and piled her plate, cup and saucer back on the tray and held out her hand. Dottie passed her the page, saying, ‘Tell me what you make of that.’
‘Oh gosh, there’s enough of it! Both sides!’
‘Sorry, there seemed to be so much to say. It’s not just about the dream but my feelings about it, and about the other things that have happened.’
On the mantelpiece, the clock that had been a wedding present from one of George’s hundreds of aunts ticked loudly and drowned the silence as Flora sat reading. Dottie could hardly contain her impatience when Flora went back to the beginning and read the whole thing through a second time. At last she handed the page back to Dottie, and Dottie practically snatched it from her, demanding, ‘Well?’
Flora raised a delicate brow.
‘I think you’re absolutely right.’
Dottie was momentarily confused. That was not what she had been expecting.
Flora explained. ‘I’ve been thinking of what we said last night about why anyone has a cloak. And the fact that you’ve been wearing yours has seemed to upset at least one person, and possibly two or three people.’
‘And?’
‘I think you’re right. The only explanation it can possibly be is that there is some kind of peculiar sect or secret society whose members wear a gold cloak as a sign of their—what you may call it—belonging.’
‘Allegiance,’ supplied Dottie, ‘or affiliation. Membership.’
‘Exactly. It seems to me that’s the only way any of this makes sense.’
‘But a sect?’ Dottie repeated, shaking her head, ‘Or a secret society? It’s all a bit...don’t you think? And one for women?’
‘Why not? Women have had the vote since I was little. Perhaps some women are now ready to branch out into more—esoterical—um, thingies.’
‘How beautifully you express it,’ Dottie laughed. ‘I suppose there are enough things that are for men only. Cyril was saying the other day that one of his clubs now admits women members. Apparently half the men have resigned their memberships in protest already. And Cyril said, what’s to stop some clubs from being exclusively for women? Cyril said he thinks women should have the same advantages as men.’
‘Oh Cyril said that, did he?’
‘What do you mean? Why shouldn’t he?’
‘Oh no reason. Apart from the fact that you go all pink and soft and fluttery when you talk about him—or even just think about him.’
‘I do not!’ Dottie said, and promptly demonstrated that she was lying by going extremely pink. ‘I just realised that the assistant at Liberty’s told us that his mother was one of the women who bought the gold fabric, that’s all. Or at least, said a Mrs Penterman bought some of the fabric. It might not be the same person. And, I forgot to tell you, George’s sister Diana is planning to have one made up, she told me. And she said some very odd things about wifely duties. At least, it was more the way she said it.’
‘Hmm,’ Flora murmured, deep in thought. She stared into space for a moment then said, ‘Perhaps we should call on Mrs Penterman. Have you met her?’
‘Only briefly. Not enough to say that I know her, more like seen the side of her face across a room. I don’t think she likes me.’
‘Ah of course, the fateful tea party! I’d forgotten about that. I wonder if we could persuade Mother to help out with her?’
‘I’m sure she would,’ Dottie said, ‘so long as she doesn’t know anything about the cloak thing. She’ll be happy just believing that she is forging bonds for the future. Though I should mention that she was more than a bit put out over the way Mrs Penterman received us at her afternoon tea. Mother thinks Mrs Penterman wants someone else for Cyril, and will make him take her instead of me.’
Flora raised an eyebrow at this, and looking at Dottie said, ‘I hadn’t realised things had progressed so well between you and Cyril.’
‘We’ve dined a few times, and danced, of course. He’s been to us for cards, and of course dinner and afternoon tea. And we’ve had lots of long talks about the future. He said,’ she faltered, then went on with a stronger voice, ‘Don’t tell Mother, but he said his parents wanted him to settle down and get married and that he had come to realise that was just what he wanted to do. He said we should have a serious talk when he comes back from his Christmas break on Saturday. He-He kissed me.’
‘My, my!’ Flora said and came to hug her sister. ‘I’m very happy for you, Darling, he’s a delightful chap, and I’m sure you’ll both be very happy. You will tell me, won’t you, the minute he proposes?’
‘Of course,’ Dottie said. ‘I don’t think we’re anywhere near that yet!’ she said, but inside she was thinking, he’s going to propose next time we see each other. This time next week, we’ll be engaged. She still felt flustered and embarrassed, but it was rather a relief to talk about it even a little. She nibbled at another petit fours, and poured herself some more tea. ‘And now, coming back to business, how about another visit to Susan Dunne?’
‘She didn’t exactly welcome us with open arms last time,’ Flora pointed out.
‘True, but I’m planning a more direct attack. This time I shall simply say, tell me about the Esther thing and what it’s all about. Perhaps I could pretend I want to join?’
‘Do you really think she’ll tell you anything? Or even admit there is anything to tell?’ Flora laughed. The clock struck the quarter and Flora, shocked, leapt to her feet.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake! A quarter past five! George will be arriving home at seven with his pals!’
And she leapt to her feet and hurried out into the hall. Almost immediately Dottie heard her running up the stairs and reflected that Flora had certainly made a good recovery from her bout of sickness that morning.
*
It was hardly a surprise to find the jeweller’s was closed as it was, after all, New Years’ Day. But Hardy had been over the evidence time and again trying to see what it was he had missed and now he wanted to speak to the jeweller again. He had a gap in his evidence that needed to be filled, if only for his own satisfaction.
There was a flat above the shop. Hardy banged on the shop door then stepped back to the edge of the pavement, hoping to catch the eye of anyone looking out of an upstairs window. It worked, the window above his head was thrust up and the jeweller, in shirt sleeves, leaned out.
‘Sergeant? What do you want?’
‘I’m sorry to trouble you again, and on a bank holiday, but could I possibly ask you again about Mr Dunne?’
The head disappeared, and after a few minutes the elderly man appeared behind the shop door, unbolting and unlocking it to let Hardy in.
‘Thank you so much, I’m very sorry.’
‘It’s all right. What was it you wanted to know?’
‘I’d like to take a look at your ledger, if I may, I realise now I should have made a copy of everything in there, as evidence. I’ll only keep you a minute or two.’
The jeweller was already behind his counter and, hauling out the big book, he found the relevant page and turned the book round for Hardy to read.
‘Of course!’ Hardy said. He was cross with himself for missing it before, yet elated that his instincts to double-check the jeweller’s ledger had proved correct. The address Archie Dunne had given was not his home address. Hardy got out his notebook and neatly wrote, Flat 4, Richmond Villas, College Street.
‘Thank you so much for your time,’ he said and hurried out into the street.
*
Dottie was seated between George’s friends Charles and Alistair, the doctor who’d tried to assist Archie Dunne on that fateful night a month earlier. She decided that Flora must have planned the table that way to maximise Dottie’s enjoyment of the evening, for the two young men were highly entertaining, and kept her amused throughout the meal, so much so that
she hardly had a moment to spare for conversing with anyone else.
Glancing across the table to where Flora was laughing at something the gentleman on her left had said, Dottie felt a huge sense of relief to see her looking so well, quite her normal self again.
During a lull in the conversation, whilst Alistair was exchanging a comment with the lady on the other side of him, Charles turned to Dottie and with a serious look, asked if she had quite recovered from ‘that dreadful business’ back at the end of November. She had long suspected him of being fond of her, but although she enjoyed his company, she found it difficult to view him as anything more than a kind of unofficial cousin. She had known both him and Alistair for several years, although not as intimately as Flora and George.
She told him she thought she was quite recovered, but that she would dearly love to know whether anyone had been arrested for the crime.
‘That’s the awful thing about it,’ she said, ‘the police came round and asked lots of questions, then that’s practically the last one hears of it unless there’s something in the newspaper.’
‘Well, that Hardy chap still seems to be on the case,’ Charles said, ‘he spoke to both of us again just last week. That must mean that things have ground to a halt and he’s gone back to the beginning of the case to try to find some clue that’s got overlooked. Like they do in detective stories.’
Dottie nodded in agreement, biting her lip. ‘Do you know him at all?’ she asked.
‘What Hardy? Yes a bit. Not as well as we used to, of course, not since that business with his father. Before that we used to see each other all the time. Good chap. Quiet. Very sharp though, never misses a trick. No doubt perfect as a detective, don’t you know.’