‘Some right funny looks we got there.’ Peter returned the drawing to the shelf.
‘Is that how you earn your living, as an artist?’
‘I do what I can. Odd jobs in market. I was skinning skate yesterday. I shift bags of spuds, help some older ones set out stalls. There’s nowt doing in the drawing line when the weather’s bad. No-one stops to have their portrait done.’
Marian rose from the bed and went to a small brown suitcase in the corner of the room, opened it and took out a square silk scarf. ‘You could do with a sling for that arm.’ She tied the scarf into a sling and helped me put it on. ‘What happened to you anyway?’
I realised I had been holding my arm. The bruise on my cheek was probably turning a fine shade. I did not want to talk about my misadventure in the library, but their eyes were on me with that now it’s your turn to talk look.
‘I was in the basement of the library looking for something that might bring me to you, Marian, since you’d left your lodgings. I tripped.’ I could have told her the truth, but I did not want to go into long explanations. I was here to find out information, not to give it.
‘You’ve come here from the library?’ Marian asked.
‘Yes.’
She looked suddenly worried.
Peter gulped. ‘Might someone have followed you?’
‘No. I’m sure not. I was sitting in the dispensary for long enough before I came here.’
‘You should leave. Don’t tell anyone where we are.’
‘I won’t. Promise. And if you want to go to Australia, well I have brothers there. I have two families, you see, and my natural family, one of the brothers went to work on a sheep farm. But I expect you’ll want to be in a city, to be an artist, Peter.’
Marian shivered. She drew the blanket around her shoulders. ‘Why would you help us?’
‘You were unfairly treated. I can’t bear that.’
I almost had their confidence, and then the door opened.
Mrs Donohue appeared, very pleased with herself, basket on her arm. ‘I’ll have to fry this liver on Mrs Wrigg’s fire.’ She put down the basket and picked up a black frying pan.
Peter said, ‘She’ll want a slice then.’
‘I fetched her a duck egg, and one for you an’ all, for your tea. Bring some fire kindling home.’
‘Aye.’ Peter picked up his cap. He looked at Marian. ‘You all right if I go?’
‘Yes.’
Mrs Donohue said, ‘You’ll earn no brass hanging round here.’
She dropped liver into the frying pan, with a knob of dripping, and went out, followed by Peter.
‘Marian, how did you find yourself here?’
‘Peter brought me. And neither of us feels safe.’
‘Whatever happened, I know Mr Lennox is full of regrets.’
‘I don’t care what he is full of.’
‘Tell me, what happened between you?’
She patted her belly. ‘Doesn’t take a genius.’
‘When did it start? You began work at the library a little over a year ago.’
‘Yes, and I saw straight away that he liked me, and I liked him, even though he was so much older. When his wife died before Christmas time, everyone was so sad for him. There was talk about not having a Christmas do, but he said we should have the usual fuddle at Powolny’s, even though he was in mourning. He said life must go on. He sat beside me, and paid a lot of attention, but I never set my cap at him. If anyone says I did…’
‘No one has said that.’
‘She’ll say it. Mrs Carmichael. Whenever there was something to be done after work, he would ask me, and I know that upset her. Nothing happened between us, but if our hands touched, he would blush, and so would I. For St Valentine’s day I sent him a card at work, and he knew it was from me. I meant it as a joke.’ She pulled a face. ‘I should have known better, should have thought about Bathsheba Everdene and Farmer Boldwood.’
‘Don’t make me laugh, Marian. It hurts my ribs.’
‘Anyway, he had sent me a card, at my lodgings. Mrs Claughton teased me about it over breakfast, saying I had a secret admirer.
‘I was in work that morning, a Saturday, and had cause to go in the basement for something. When I got there, Mr Lennox was already there and asked me what I had to do and said he would see to it. But I just stood there, not knowing whether to pass a remark about the Valentine cards.
‘That was how it began between us, on St Valentine’s Day in the basement of the library. Nothing much happened, but then it was out in the open between us. When we finished work, I shared my sandwich with him and we went to see a picture at the Coliseum, and we held hands.
‘It was very hard to be at work after that, knowing we loved each other but could do nothing about it. At Easter he bought me chocolates. He said he could not ask me to marry him, it being so soon after his wife’s death.
‘In May, he asked me would I go with him to Whitby and I did. He bought me a locket and a ring which I wore in the hotel, and then afterwards on my locket chain.
‘By then, Mrs Carmichael knew something was going on and was very jealous. She started to pick on me, and to say things about me, such as I was seen talking to a sailor, and then another time that I had picked up a man in the City Varieties bar, and it wasn’t true. When she said she had seen me talking and laughing with a pavement artist, I said yes and what was so wrong with that. That was when he first lost trust in me, thinking I was anxious to find a proper sweetheart that I could walk out with in a regular way. I told him that wasn’t true, but the damage was done and things were not the same. He believed her about the sailor, and some man in the Varieties. My condition was practically showing. She must have guessed, but he had not, and I had not told him. I was waiting for the right moment when he would stop believing Mrs Carmichael’s stupid lies about me and see what she was up to.
‘It was out of the blue when she accused me of stealing and produced a book that I was supposed to have put in my bag. That was 9 October, a Friday. He took Mrs Carmichael’s part against me, saying why else would I have a book in my bag. Why else would the index cards be in the bin where I had been working? I went a bit mad because it was so wrong.
‘All that weekend, I stayed in my room and cried and cried. Then I thought, why should he treat me this way? I must tell him that I am carrying his baby and then he will see sense. I waited for him after work, every night, telling him, but losing my temper and he said I was acting the mad woman, the complete mad woman, and I said that was better than being half mad, like him. I watched for him, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. He had to lock up, you see, so he could not avoid me. Each time he either tried to draw me away, where no one would see us, or he simply marched off.
‘On Thursday, he wasn’t there. I thought he must have gone away, that I had scared him away. And I was so tired because I pretended to come out to work each day, and I did not know how long my money would last and walked about the town and went to the museum, and tried to find some other job, any job.
‘When I got back to my rooms, there was such a kind letter from him, saying he would make it up to me, and to come to the back of the library at six o’clock on Saturday morning, which was 17 October, that he had some time off and we would go away together for the weekend. He believed me. We would plan what to do, but I must tell no one, it would be our secret, and I must bring this letter, and pack a case, and leave a note for my landlady to say that I was leaving.’
The smell of liver drifted into the room. We would not have much longer before Mrs Donohue’s return. ‘What happened next, did he meet you?’
‘I can’t say, because it’s not just my story from there. It is Peter’s too. He won’t want me to say. I just know he won’t.’
‘When does he finish work? I’ll ask him myself.’
There were footsteps on the landing.
‘If he earns a few coppers, we go to the Old Royal Oak. There’s a good fire there so we make a drink last. Go
there about seven o’clock. I’ll tell him you’re coming and I’ll stay here, then his mam will stay with me.’
‘Thanks for seeing to my arm.’
She smiled. ‘Never mind that, just don’t lose my scarf.’
Then it dawned on me. I could not walk into a strange pub on my own. She must know that. It was a ploy to be rid of me, or was it?
‘Marian, have you ever walked into a pub on your own?’
‘No.’
‘And neither have I, and I can’t can I?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘I’ll be at the entrance to the alley at seven. Don’t let him keep me waiting.’
When Mrs Donohue came in, bringing a pan of steaming liver, I began to feel weak from hunger. It was time for me to go. I would leave my car where it was, by the library, and catch the tram. This was not simply because I could not drive with one hand, but I felt anxious about going back there in case Mr Castle lay in wait.
Mrs Donohue put money on the table. ‘Here’s your change from the liver.’
‘Keep it, please, for some coal.’
‘Oh no,’ Mrs Donohue said. ‘We don’t want charity.’
‘You could give it back when your ship comes in, but I think Marian is owed it.’
* * *
Rain came down in sheets as I left Danby Court. It was difficult to know what was worse: the story Marian had told, or finding out that I was entirely wrong and that there was no connection between her and Sophia Wells. I had wanted to believe they were one and the same person, convinced myself of that, made the ‘facts’ fit. Now I was back at the beginning.
It was only five o’clock, but already dark. I glanced about, in the hope that Peter Donohue would suddenly appear and that I would not have to kick my heels between now and seven o’clock. There were people about, that was good. Yet I felt ill at ease. What if Castle, or Lennox, lurked somewhere watching me, suspecting that I knew too much, though precisely what I knew was not entirely clear to me.
Soaked, head spinning, hand swollen, arm throbbing, a satchel that could be snatched from me in an instant, it was madness to walk about like this. Even if I found some reasonable eating place, I would draw funny looks; something the cat left on the doorstep. I was shivering with cold. My feet were blocks of ice, my fingers icicles. Arrows of bitter wind pierced my lids and turned my mind numb. Nothing seemed real.
Go home, Kate, I told myself. Come back later. Avoid the library. If a monkey could hide unseen in the back of the vehicle, so might something, or someone, else, and driving with one arm in a sling was not a trick I felt like trying just now. I walked to the Corn Exchange, unsure which would be the best tram stop.
There was a long queue.
When someone touched my shoulder, I almost jumped out of my skin.
‘You’ve been in the wars.’ It was Sykes.
‘Don’t creep up on me like that!’
‘I was watching to see whether anyone followed you. Your car or mine?’
‘Don’t ask hard questions.’
‘Yours then. Don’t want it left outside that library all night. Someone might get the wrong idea.’
‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘Chummy at the dispensary said you were there, and that he’d given you the Danby Court address. I thought about coming in, but you would have given me a rollicking.’
‘It was delicate. I need to be back at Danby Court by seven o’clock, to meet Peter Donohue.’
‘The wounded intruder?’
‘He was looking for me and couldn’t find the right house in the dark. The man is a talented artist, down on his luck. His portrait of Marian Montague is superb.’
‘Go on, tell me. You’re going to buy him a sketch pad, a set of crayons, perhaps some oil paints and canvases.’
‘They want to go to Australia.’
‘Well then, we can pay the fare to Australia. Our wonderful detective agency will go bankrupt and I’ll be the one emigrating.’
We crossed the road. As we walked back towards the library, I gave him a potted version of the events of this afternoon.
‘What did Inspector Wallis do when Castle attacked you?’
‘He said it would be my word against his.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question. What did Wallis do?’
‘He helped me upstairs, made me think…’
‘What?’
‘That he knew something. The police driver took me to the dispensary. Wallis said I should leave the investigation to him.’
‘According to him, he already solved the crime, by charging Umberto Bruno, so he’s talking about the assault on you. He must be.’
‘I don’t know what goes on in that man’s head.’
‘You could have gone to your own doctor with a sprained wrist. He packed you off in a police vehicle to the dispensary, a public place where you would be safe – for several hours, if you hadn’t scarpered.’
We had reached my car. My head ached. Nothing made sense. Sykes had to help me into the car. As we set off, I thought I glimpsed the shadow of a figure behind the library gates.
Twenty-Seven
At the kitchen table, Mrs Sugden uncorked the iodine and dabbed my cheek. It stung.
Sykes soaked a bandage in cold water. ‘So Marian Montague is not Sophia Wells and never has been.’
‘Not even for a second.’
I was more than bitterly disappointed. I felt stupid at having convinced myself that they were one and the same person, yet also relieved that Lennox had not seduced his own daughter.
What would the odds have been against my finding Sophia Wells’s father? Yet I had found him. No name, nothing to go on, and I stumbled on Lady Coulton’s long-lost librarian lover, but not her daughter. That was a little bit of information I would keep to myself, not even Sykes needed to know.
Sykes put the bandage on the table for Mrs Sugden. ‘You’ll make a better fist of this.’
‘That should see you right.’ Mrs Sugden put the cork back in the iodine bottle. ‘You’ll find Sophia. You always find them. It’s only a week yesterday since you took the train to London.’
I placed my arm on the table, for Mrs Sugden to begin her re-bandaging. ‘By the time I find her daughter, it may be too late for Lady Coulton.’
Sykes gave a little sway, the prelude to one of his bad jokes, probably along the lines that at least I had been given a good retainer.
I glared at him. ‘See if you can find me a sling in the first aid box. I’ll wear my cape to cover it.’
Mrs Sugden paused in her bandaging. ‘You’re not going out again? If that lass in Danby Court isn’t the one you’re looking for, what else do you need to know?’
‘I’m interested to find out why Marian has gone into hiding, in fear for her life. Oh and by the way, the chap you shot the other evening, he was her fiancé.’
‘You want me to give you my notice over that pistol don’t you?’
‘After today, I have half a mind to borrow it.’
‘You don’t know how to use a gun.’
‘It can’t be that hard. Point it and pull the trigger. If you can shoot a chap in the leg, I’m sure I can.’
‘But would you want to?’ Sykes handed Mrs Sugden a safety pin for the bandage.
‘If that pistol had been in my pocket this afternoon, Mr Castle would have been the one in need of bandaging.’
Sykes fished a large square of linen from the first aid box. ‘How’s this for a sling?’
There was a loud knock on the front door.
Mrs Sugden observed her handiwork, and was satisfied. ‘Are we expecting anyone?’
‘No.’
She marched to the door.
The voice was familiar. It was Inspector Wallis. ‘Is Mrs Shackleton at home?’
‘I’ll just see.’
She came back into the kitchen. ‘Are you at home to a plainclothes man who’s carrying an ugly plant?’
‘Show him into the drawing room.’<
br />
‘Right you are.’
Sykes knotted the sling and helped me lift my arm into it. ‘Will that do?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
He nodded in the direction of the drawing room. ‘I’m not here?’
‘You’re not here.’
He straightened his tie. ‘Should I be here?’
‘Yes. You can give me a lift to town to meet Peter Donohue.’
I walked down the hall and into the drawing room.
The inspector was standing a little to one side of the fireplace. On the linoleum to the edge of the rug sat a brass plant pot containing a wilting evergreen.
He smiled. ‘Excuse my dropping in, but I wanted to make sure you were all right.’
I returned his smile and gave a slight lift of my arm in the sling. It hurt. ‘Do sit down.’ I sat in the wing chair.
He took the seat opposite mine. ‘You left the dispensary without being attended to. I sent the driver back for you.’
So he had been keeping track of me. ‘It was such a long wait. I knew what to do myself, being a nurse.’
I glanced at the potted plant. We both did, for rather longer than strictly necessary. ‘I hope you like it. It is a thank you for your help.’
‘That was very thoughtful of you.’ A smile hid my dismay, but I fear he heard it in my voice.
‘I had it at home, and I know that you like rubber plants because you bid for one at that charity auction.’
‘We both did, so you must like it yourself and I would hate to part you from it.’
‘They collect dust. I only bid because I felt obliged to fork out for something. Oh, sorry, now I’ve put my foot in it. But you do like them?’
Either the man had no social skills whatsoever or he was being extremely rude. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. ‘They are popular plants.’
He looked relieved, but uncertain.
‘May I offer you something?’
‘No, thank you. I won’t stay more than a minute. I wanted to see how you are, and also to tell you that I looked into the people you thought to be missing, the library assistant Miss Montague, Miss Sophia Wells and her mother Mrs Bradshaw.’
I was suddenly aware of holding my breath. Had he succeeded where I failed?
Death of an Avid Reader Page 23