The Pawnbroker's Niece

by June Francis

  As soon as Margaret told the constable that a thief had got into her shop, despite every door and window being locked, she could see that he did not believe she had locked up properly. He insisted on going over the whole building with her — even into the attic.

  ‘Aha!’ he said, spotting the skylight in the roof open several inches. He inspected the surrounding paintwork and even Margaret could see that it had been scuffed. ‘This is where he got in. I can see it as plain as the nose on my face,’ said the policeman with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

  Margaret’s gaze went from the window to the floor. ‘I find it incredible that someone should climb all the way up here, risking their life without even knowing whether they could get in or not, and all for a-a few…’

  ‘There’s lots round here who haven’t got much of a life so would think it’s worth the risk.’ He stroked his moustache and shook his head. ‘And some of these burglars are very sure-footed. Otherwise they wouldn’t be called cat burglars.’ He beamed at her.

  ‘Yes, I see that,’ said Margaret in a dry voice.

  ‘There’s been an outbreak of rooftop thievery lately. Lead being stripped from churches, etcetera… They could have spotted your roof from the top of the nearest church.’

  ‘Have you any suspects?’

  ‘None that we can pin anything on right now but the super thinks it’s a gang who are operating right across Liverpool as far as Bootle.’

  Margaret’s mouth tightened. ‘Well, I wish they’d picked on someone else. I expect in future for you to keep a better eye on my property.’

  ‘Always check your place, Miss Sinclair. Can’t be in three or four places at once, though, I’m sorry to say.’ He took out a notebook and pencil. ‘Now if you’d like to give me a description of what’s missing. Let’s hope we can get your property back. I don’t like to say this but there’s some in your line of work that aren’t fussy about where what they buy comes from. Anyway, I’ll have the fingerprint expert come round and see if he can get any prints. Not that I’ve much hope. Most of the villains know to wear gloves these days from watching the films and reading penny dreadfuls.’

  Margaret saw him out with little hope of her property being recovered. She told Rita what he had said about the skylight and then added in a stiff voice, ‘I should never have suspected you. Just because it appeared impossible for anyone to get in without someone being on the inside. I’m sorry for upsetting you. How’s your head this morning?’

  ‘I’ll survive.’ Rita turned over a page of the magazine she had on the counter. ‘And OK, I accept you are sorry, but maybe you should get someone else to help you here and I’ll go and live with Mam.’

  The silence that greeted these words was so long that Rita gave in to temptation and glanced up at Margaret. What she saw in her aunt’s face made her feel uncomfortable.

  ‘We all make mistakes, Rita.’ Margaret toyed with her fingers. ‘That could be one of yours. So why don’t we put this behind us and go on from here? We’d both like the burglar caught. He just might come into the shop and you’ll recognise something about him.’

  Rita doubted it but let go of her hurt pride. ‘There’s so little for me to go on, but I suppose you could have something.’

  ‘So you’ll stay here a bit longer?’

  Rita hesitated, then nodded.

  Margaret took a deep breath. ‘Good! Perhaps I should think of taking out some insurance. Father never believed in it but the way things are going these days … ‘ She did not finish but instead said, ‘The lock on the cabinet is going to need replacing so I’ll get along to the locksmith in Renshaw Street. You’ll be all right here on your own?’

  Rita realised that by going to the locksmith herself instead of sending her, Margaret was saying that she trusted her. It was just a pity that she’d doubted her in the first place but perhaps the blame for that lay as much with her as her aunt. If she had never stolen the chocolates and spent some of her change that time, Margaret wouldn’t have any examples of bad behaviour to throw in her face.

  Rita was still thinking about this and the burglary when Sam entered the shop. She presumed he was there because word had got around already about the burglary. Then she noticed he was carrying a musical instrument case.

  ‘What have you got there?’ She leant across the counter towards him.

  ‘It was me sister’s.’ His voice was subdued. ‘I need at least a couple of quid for it…more if you can. I’ve no idea what it’s worth.’

  She sensed there was something wrong but did not like to pry so unfastened the snips of the case and opened it. Her eyes widened when she saw the accordion. ‘Does your sister really have to get rid of this?’

  Sam seemed to have trouble speaking and only after clearing his throat noisily did he say, ‘She’s dead. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here with it but I had to come before he gets his hands on it. She told me to take it just before she died and to get out and go down to Mam’s sister’s place in Shrewsbury.’

  ‘I am sorry, Sam!’ She reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘I know how fond you were of her.’

  ‘Yeah, well, these things happen.’ He glanced at her; his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  She felt like crying herself and had to look away but she hung on to his hand. ‘Do you really have to leave Liverpool?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m a coward, yer see. With our Flossie gone there’s no one but me to stop him doing his worse and I’m not much of a fighter. She and you made me life worth living, but if I stick around he’ll find me and I’ve had enough. Our Flossie said that me aunt’s husband might be able to get me a job. He works with motor cars, has a garage. So I’ve got to go down there and see if I can make something of meself.’

  Rita looked down at the frayed cuffs of his jacket. She did not need to ask him to step away from the counter to know that his trousers were too short in the leg. She withdrew her hand and placed it on the accordion. ‘I’ll tell you what, Sam, I’ve no idea how much this is worth but I’ll give you four pounds for it.’

  ‘Thanks!’

  ‘And I’ll give you a second-hand suit from out back. The bloke it belonged to died, so he won’t be wanting it.’

  His grey eyes brightened. ‘Yer good to me, Reet. I know I look a scruff.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said gruffly, determined not to worry about what her aunt might say when she discovered what she’d done. ‘The suit might be a bit on the big side but maybe you’ll put weight on once your aunt feeds you up.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘I can live in hope.’

  ‘Right! That’s sorted out.’ Rita did not look at him because she was a bit choked. She wrote out the pawn tickets and gave him one. ‘Just in case you’re ever able to redeem it.’ She also gave him four pounds in various coinage and notes. ‘Now come into the back and I’ll get them clothes.’

  He followed her into the storeroom, looked at the pinstriped suit, felt the fabric. ‘Good stuff. Could I put it on now?’

  ‘Of course you can! That’s the idea, Sam. I want you looking smart when you go off on your big adventure.’ She went back into the shop while he changed, thinking that she was going to miss him. He had been part of her life since she had come to live with her aunt.

  ‘Yer can look now,’ he said.

  She turned and thought, not for the first time, what a difference clothes made to how you saw a person. She smiled. ‘How d’you feel, Sam?’

  ‘I feel different,’ he said, pulling back his shoulders and stepping down into the shop.

  Rita knew exactly what he meant. She had never forgotten the sensation of being decked out in a decent set of clothes by her aunt. ‘You look like someone going somewhere.’

  ‘I am, aren’t I?’ he said with a grin, dragging on his tatty cap.

  Rita shook her head. ‘Hang on there!’ She darted into the storeroom and dived into a large cardboard box that contained odd items of clothing. She produced a trilby and gave it to him.

  He smoot
hed back his dark hair and put it on and then went to have a look at himself in the mirror. ‘I look the real thing,’ he said, turning up the brim of the trilby slightly and then tilting it to a rakish angle. ‘I just wish our Flossie could…’ His chest heaved and he turned away.

  Rita slipped her arm through his and hugged it. ‘She’d be pleased for you, Sam. You go out there and do what you’ve said. Make something of yourself. I just wish I could be there to see it.’

  ‘Me too.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Thanks for being like a mate to me. Yer a real gud skin and I wish there was something I could do for you.’

  She could not speak but squeezed his arm and held it against her. When she found her voice she said, ‘You write. I’d like to know how you’re getting on. I’ll expect to hear great things.’

  She saw him out and for a moment they stood there looking at each other. Impulsively she kissed his cheek. ‘Promise you’ll write?’

  He rested a couple of fingers on the place her lips had touched. ‘Promise.’ He turned and walked away.

  Rita watched until he was out of sight and then went inside the shop.

  *

  To her surprise Margaret said very little about the price she had paid for the accordion. ‘I played it when I was young, but the music stopped here when my brother died.’ She said no more.

  The burglary was a four-day wonder. People came into the shop, including Mr McGinty, just to look at the display cabinet and ask how they got in. It seemed completely daft to Rita. ‘They’d get more excitement at the cinema,’ she said to her aunt, busily polishing the brass items that were for sale.

  ‘But this is real life, Rita,’ said Margaret. ‘You haven’t told anyone where he got in, have you?’

  ‘I do have some sense,’ said her niece. ‘I just wish we’d hear something about the stolen goods.’

  But weeks passed and they did not hear anything.

  In all the excitement, Rita’s plea to help the Brodie family had been pushed to the back of Margaret’s mind but she was to be reminded of it one sunny day in May when a seaman came into the shop. Rita had been sent to Lunt’s for a couple of sausage rolls for their lunch. Mrs McGinty had gone to a funeral, so Margaret was on her own. She had to grip the counter tightly to steady herself, because looking at the sailor was like seeing the Brodie twins all over again. He wore a navy-blue reefer jacket and peaked cap, just like William the last time she had seen him.

  He removed his cap and smiled, placing a small brown paper package on the counter. ‘I want to sell this.’

  ‘Your name wouldn’t be Billy Brodie?’

  Instantly his eyes were wary. ‘You know me?’

  ‘I can’t say “know”. You were only a child last time I saw you. But I knew your parents. Although I haven’t seen your father since just after Bella, your mother, died.’

  ‘I don’t remember you.’

  ‘Why should you? I saw little of your parents after they married.’ She reached for the scissors beneath the counter and snipped the string, opening the wrapping to reveal a small length of ivory intricately carved with flowers and birds. She was enchanted, and fingered it gently. ‘Now this is lovely. How much do you want for it?’

  He placed his cap on the counter. ‘Ten pounds!’

  Her eyes dilated. ‘You’re expecting a lot. I had a young woman in here not so long ago with a Chinese vase to sell. She mentioned having a stepbrother called Billy who went to sea whose ideas on prices were rather inflated. It wouldn’t be you, would it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Although…what was her name?’

  ‘I can’t remember. My niece wrote it down.’

  ‘I see.’ He frowned.

  Margaret said, ‘If she didn’t send you, then why come to me?’

  ‘You were recommended. I was speaking to the padre at the Sailors’ Home about selling this,’ he touched the ivory with workmanlike fingers, ‘and Miss Turner, who’s a volunteer there, suggested I do business with you.’

  Margaret was surprised but pleased. ‘That was good of her.’ There were several questions she wanted to ask him but before she could do so he spoke again.

  ‘Can we get back to business? Are you interested in buying or not?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll give you six pounds.’

  ‘Not enough!’ His voice was firm. ‘Nine.’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Make it seven pounds ten shillings.’

  Margaret’s expression was steely. ‘You drive a hard bargain.’

  He grinned. ‘Do I have a sale?’

  ‘Yes. Although I’m not in the habit of paying over the odds for what, after all, is just a rather nice piece of ivory.’

  ‘It’s a Chinese artefact and you know it.’ He rested an arm along the counter and fixed her with his blue eyes in a way reminiscent of both his father and uncle. ‘There’s more where that came from. Refugees are flooding into Hong Kong because of the civil war. It’s going to get worse now the Japs have got a foothold, too, and are after more land. Those getting out of the country are in need of cash and desperate to sell their family treasures. I know it’s lousy for them but it’s a bit of good luck for hard-up sailors like me. Lucky for you as well, if you know a buyer for such things. You could make a nice little profit.’

  She did not betray by the flicker of a smile that knowing such a person was a strong possibility. ‘You’re forgetting these are difficult times, Mr Brodie. Trade worldwide has slumped badly since ’29.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know, Miss Sinclair,’ he said. ‘Will I come and see you next time I dock?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Her voice was light.

  She reached for the receipt book. ‘But tell me how your father’s getting on. Last time I saw him he was still a seaman. Now I hear he’s in the carting business. How did that come about?’ She glanced over her spectacles and saw he was tight-lipped. ‘Come on, don’t be shy, Mr Brodie. I won’t go repeating what you tell me but I have heard the yard was in trouble. Maybe I can help.’

  ‘You mean…?’ He hesitated.

  ‘It is in financial trouble?’

  He nodded. ‘The business belonged to my great uncle, whose only son was killed in the war. Pops inherited it, so he gave up the sea.’ He lowered his eyes and drew an invisible pattern on the counter with a finger. ‘It was something my stepmother had been on at him to do ever since she married him, from what I gathered.’ He lifted his head and met Margaret’s gaze. ‘She didn’t like being left to look after me all on her own after my grandparents died. I was a bit of a lad, you see?’

  ‘Yes, I do see.’ She could not prevent a smile. There was something attractive about him. ‘I can’t imagine it being easy for either of you. A husband and father away at sea more than he was home.’

  ‘If Mam hadn’t died things would have been different.’

  ‘Yes, that must have been a great upset for you.’

  He nodded.

  She said no more but wrote out a receipt. She was just about to go into the back and get some banknotes when the shop door opened and Rita entered. ‘Here’s my niece,’ said Margaret. ‘Your parents knew her mother, as well. You have something in common. She lost her father at an early age and you lost a mother.’ She went into the back, wondering why she had to bring Eve into it.

  Rita was wearing a long green jacket over a pale green and oatmeal frock; she was pleased with her appearance, knowing green was her colour. She removed her hat and smiled at Billy. ‘We’ve met before.’

  He returned her smile. ‘Where? Surely I’d have remembered someone as pretty as you?’

  Colour rose in her cheeks. ‘Flatterer. But I didn’t always look like this. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve sold this to your aunt.’ He touched the ivory with the tip of his forefinger.

  Rita spared it a glance as she lifted the flap in the counter and passed through. ‘That’s nice.’ She placed the bag of sausage rolls on the ledge beneath the counter before
resting her elbows on the mahogany and staring at him.

  He looked puzzled. ‘Are there wanted posters out for me? Your aunt recognised me, too. Although that’s not so surprising because apparently she knew my father and I’m like him.’

  ‘I was a scrawny little slummy when we met for the first time.’ Her brown eyes twinkled and she held out a hand. ‘Rita Taylor. You were getting thrown out of a gambling club in Chinatown. I was the girl that helped you stay on your feet.’

  He looked surprised but took the hand she offered. ‘Thanks for that! I haven’t forgotten you. I’ll admit I wouldn’t have recognised you. Did you ever find your mother?’

  Rita was impressed. ‘Fancy you remembering that.’

  ‘How could I forget? You made it memorable. Between us we really got Jimmy’s goat. He still hasn’t forgiven me for gambling my own money away.’

  ‘That’s because he wants to save the yard.’

  ‘You remember him going on about that?’

  ‘No, I’ve seen him since.’

  Billy’s mouth formed a silent ‘O’ but he didn’t pursue the subject. Instead he said, ‘So how is it you ended up here?’

  She smiled and withdrew her hand. ‘It’s a long story. I never did find Mam but I know she’s in Cardiff and has married and had a baby, despite her being the world’s worst letter writer.’

  ‘That’s parents for you,’ he drawled. ‘My dad never writes but then I never write to him. Not since he took my stepmother’s word as gospel instead of my side.’

  Rita sighed. ‘I never knew my father. You’re lucky having a family.’

  ‘Ha!’ He pulled a face and rested his elbows on the counter so that they brushed hers. ‘You need to get to know my family better and you’ll realise just how wrong you are.’

  ‘I’ve met Jimmy and Alice; they seem OK.’

  A small cloud seemed to descend on him. ‘You’ve met Alice?’

  ‘She came in here. She sold a Chinese vase to my…’ Rita bit her lip. ‘I shouldn’t have told you but she was upset about selling it.’

  ‘Can you show me it?’