‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Maggie.
‘But, Mr Bradshaw, Mum couldn’t come by herself,’ protested Trary, ‘she’s only a woman – ’
‘Well, thanks very much, I don’t think,’ said Maggie.
‘Oh, I don’t mean you’re not as good as a man, Mum, you can do lots of things men can’t.’ Trary’s clear young voice sent echoes rippling around the garden. ‘And I’m easy as good as Bobby. Well, I’m better, in fact, I’m more useful and I’m not barmy. But a woman ought to have a man with her if she’s lookin’ inside an empty house. There might be mice or spiders. Spiders give mum the ’orrors, Mr Bradshaw, and I wouldn’t wish the ’orrors on anybody, I’ve had them myself just recent.’
‘You didn’t tell me,’ said Lily.
‘Nor me,’ said Daisy.
‘What ’orrors?’ asked Meg.
‘I’m over it now,’ said Trary. She glanced at Bobby. He was looking up at chimney pots. He had a grin on his face. ‘That boy,’ she said.
‘If all goes well, Maggie, I’ll be off duty at three o’clock on Tuesday afternoon,’ said Harry. ‘Would that do?’
‘I’d be ever so grateful,’ said Maggie.
‘I’ll look after the spiders.’
‘I’ll look after Trary,’ said Bobby.
‘I won’t be comin’,’ said Trary, ‘I’ll be at school.’
‘I meant I’ll look after you gen’rally,’ said Bobby. ‘I promised her I would, Mrs Wilson, an’ she’s relyin’ on it. Well, she’s still young yet, yer know. Can’t believe it sometimes, can you, the looks she’s got at her age. Fortunately, I’ve got manly vigour meself – ’
Trary shrieked and clapped a hand to her mouth.
‘Thank you, Bobby,’ said Maggie, ‘I need a bit of help with Trary sometimes. Well, we can all go ’ome now. Mr Bradshaw’s stayin’ to tea. Would you like to stay too, Bobby?’
‘I’m honoured, Mrs Wilson.’
‘I likes Bobby,’ said Lily, taking his hand for the walk back to the station.
‘Two talkin’ parrots together, that’s what you are,’ said Trary.
Bobby grinned. Maggie smiled. She caught Harry’s eye. He winked.
They were alone again in the parlour, after tea. Bobby and the girls were doing the washing-up once more. Trary had insisted. It was all part of her campaign.
‘Maggie, if you buy the house, you’ll have rates to pay,’ said Harry.
‘Will I?’ said Maggie, as if she hadn’t been aware of that. ‘How much would they be?’
‘A few shillings a week.’
‘I think I could manage that, I won’t be payin’ no rent.’
‘And there’d be a water bill, and any repairs or decoratin’. It’ll be a bit of a financial responsibility, and you’ve only got your pension, haven’t you?’
‘I’ll have a bit over from Uncle Henry’s will.’
‘Not much, I imagine.’ Harry lit his pipe and mused over it. ‘I did say buyin’ a house is a sound investment, but not if you get into debt. You need to have money comin’ in, Maggie. I was wondering.’
‘About what?’ smiled Maggie.
‘Well, if you had a lodger, would his bit help?’
‘What lodger?’
‘I was thinkin’, I’ve got my own house, I’ve paid off the mortgage, and I don’t really need a house all to myself.’
‘You’re offerin’ to be my lodger?’ asked Maggie.
‘If there’s a room to spare and my rent would help, and if – ’
‘Is that the only way you’d live with me an’ the girls, as our lodger?’
‘I’d miss you all otherwise,’ said Harry.
‘What kind of a miss would it be?’ asked Maggie.
‘Like a ruddy great hole in my life,’ said Harry.
‘Bless the man,’ murmured Maggie, ‘he loves Trary, that’s what it is.’
‘I love all your girls, Maggie.’
‘And what about me?’ Her faint smile showed. ‘Or don’t I count?’
‘I love you too, Maggie, don’t you know that?’
‘Well, then?’ Her smile became affectionate. ‘You’re not just goin’ to sit there, are you?’ Harry put his pipe aside and stood up. Maggie made her comparison. Yes, Harry was a far nicer man than Mr Jerry Bates. He was quieter, but he wasn’t dull, and the girls thought him fun. ‘Harry, why don’t you try givin’ me a kiss? I’m not an old woman yet, I’ve still got feelings.’
‘So have I,’ said Harry fervently, and kissed her with great feeling. Maggie knew then that here was a man she could be a lover to. When Mr Bates kissed her, she’d felt natural pleasure. But not excitement, not need. With Harry, her healthy body came alive, and she pressed herself close to him. There had been too many years of having no-one to make love to her.
Harry lifted his head and said, ‘I want you Maggie.’
‘You’ll do, Harry love,’ she said, ‘you’ll do for all of us.’
‘The girls won’t mind.’
‘Oh, go on with you, you know they can’t wait for you to be their new dad.’
Trary danced in delight at the news. Daisy and Lily looked awe-struck at the prospect of having a policeman for a dad. Meg asked him for a kiss and got one. Bobby said, ‘I hardly know what to say, Mrs Wilson, not on an ’istorical day like this.’
‘Well, go on, make it hysterical,’ said Trary.
‘If I could try an’ say something?’ said Bobby.
‘Oh, our pleasure,’ said Trary, blissful for her mum.
‘Well, I’ll just say you’ve picked a real ’andsome future wife, Mr Bradshaw. Mind, I’m not surprised, you’re a thinkin’ man, an’ with good sense as well as good taste. I couldn’t be more short of breath about you an’ Mrs Wilson – ’
‘Not much,’ said Trary.
‘Which reminds me, Mrs Wilson,’ said Bobby, ‘could I ask you about me own future wife? I mean, would you mind tellin’ me if she puts curlers in her ’air at nights?’
Trary shrieked at him. Bobby ran for his life. Trary caught him before he could get through the door. She dealt with him.
Daisy, agog, asked, ‘What’s Trary ’itting Bobby for?’
‘Girls always ’ave to ‘it boys they’re in love with,’ said Meg. ‘Well, you do ’ave to or they get cheeky. I expect when mum gets married, she’ll ’ave to ’it our new dad with a rollin’-pin.’
‘Oh, you ’orror,’ said Maggie.
‘Only now and again,’ said Meg.
‘Like Mrs ’Arper does wiv Mr ’Arper,’ said Lily.
‘I likes ’Arry for our new dad,’ said Daisy. ‘I don’t want ’im ‘it wiv no rollin’-pin.’
‘Bless you, Daisy,’ said Harry.
Friday, thought Nicholas, as he walked down Browning Street, always on a Friday. Something nagged at his mind. What was it? Damn it, what was it?
Scotland Yard was beginning to believe that the man wasn’t local, after all, that he was coming in from distant fields. The Assistant Commissioner, concerned with the public’s worry and dissatisfaction, had now authorized the police to offer a reward of five hundred pounds for information that would lead to the apprehension of the killer, wherever he lived.
Emma appeared, turning into Browning Street from King and Queen Street. It gave Nicholas a lift to see her. The skirt of her light grey dress swirled gently around her ankles. Her neat matching hat had a single white feather. She had been a shop assistant in Reading, she was a shop assistant now. But how elegant.
She stopped and smiled as they met.
‘Hello, you’re going out?’ asked Nicholas.
‘I am out,’ said Emma. ‘Were you coming to call on me?’
‘No, to talk to a couple of uniformed men at the police station.’
‘Yes, I see,’ she said, feeling a little rebuffed. A breeze picked up dust from the middle of the street and redistributed it. ‘I’m just on my way to visit a friend in Denmark Hill.’
‘How long for?’ asked Nicholas.
; ‘Pardon?’
‘What time will you be back?’
‘Dear me,’ she said, ‘am I being interviewed again?’
‘Mrs Carter – ’
‘My name’s Emma, as you well know. Please don’t be so stuffy, Nicholas. It isn’t the thing around here.’
‘It’s a habit with every copper to be formal with the public,’ said Nicholas.
‘Heavens,’ said Emma, ‘I thought I’d become a friend, I’d no idea I was still the public.’
‘D’you mind if I ask you what time you’ll be back from your outing?’
‘Really, I – ’ Emma pulled herself up. He looked tired out. Two murders and one attempted murder, and there was still no arrest. ‘I’m sorry, I know how you must be feeling. I’ll be back about nine, just before dark.’
‘I’ll be at the tram stop, waiting for you,’ said Nicholas. ‘If you’re late, if it is dark when you get back, I’ll run you in for failing to co-operate with the police.’
‘You’re not serious,’ said Emma. A passing neighbour said hello to her and gave Nicholas an interested look. Emma knew she was being talked about. Cockneys, in and out of each other’s houses, always liked to know what their neighbours were getting up to. ‘You’re not keeping a watch on every woman in Walworth, are you?’
‘No, only you,’ said Nicholas, ‘you don’t happen to be every woman, just yourself. Why isn’t your fiancé going with you to Denmark Hill?’
‘Oh, you’ve given me a fiancé now, have you?’
‘I’ve assumed he’s your fiancé, or close to the privilege.’
Oh, bother, thought Emma, this is getting ridiculous. ‘He’s not my fiancé, or about to be,’ she said.
‘Well, be back at nine, Emma,’ he said firmly.
‘You’re really going to be waiting at the tram stop?’
‘Yes.’
She smiled. ‘I’ll be a good girl,’ she said, and they parted.
She felt guilty on her way back. She was late, after all. But the discussion with her friend had been so stimulating that she’d overstayed. It was well after nine when the tram reached Manor Place, and dusk had arrived. Nicholas was there, waiting. She smiled brightly as she alighted.
‘Thank goodness I’m not late,’ she said, seeing his grim look.
‘You’re late all right, and you know it,’ he said. He had spent the evening at the police station, going through all the latest reports from the uniformed branch.
‘What’s the time, then?’ she asked, as she crossed the Walworth Road with him.
‘Nine-thirty.’
‘Oh, dear.’
‘Never mind oh dear, Emma, you’re under arrest.’
They entered Browning Street.
‘I’m what?’ said Emma.
‘Just a case of locking you up until we’ve caught this man.’
‘Locking me up? You’re joking.’
‘It’s no joke,’ he said, ‘I ought to lock you up.’
‘But we were talking about our next rally,’ said Emma, ‘and about the suffragettes who broke windows in Whitehall yesterday. Of course, although broken windows aren’t terribly militant – ’
‘Don’t let me catch you at it,’ said Nicholas, ‘the women concerned were arrested.’
‘Yes, poor things. You’re very hard on them.’
‘They wanted to be arrested.’
‘Yes, it’s necessary publicity. Nicholas, I’m really very sorry I was later than I promised, but when two suffragettes get together to solve the problems caused by envious men – ’
‘Envious?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Emma sweetly, ‘we don’t have hairy legs or bald heads, but we do have many virtues. We don’t bully old ladies or weak widows, and – ’
‘What weak widows?’
‘Me, for one,’ said Emma, and Nicholas was hard put not to pick her up and run off with her. ‘And you know very well our home-made biscuits and fruit cakes are the products of kitchen genius. Oh, did I tell you I’ve a little contract for supplying biscuits to the teashop near Camberwell Green? What do you think of that?’
‘Triumph of kitchen genius.’
‘Yes, I’m glad you believe in women.’ They turned into King and Queen Street. A house curtain fluttered. Emma smiled. Who was that gent I saw yer walkin’ ’ome with last night, Emma? A policeman. Lord ’elp yer, love, you don’t go out with a policeman, do yer? I wouldn’t mind occasionally. Gawd save yer, ducks, watch out for ’is ’ands, every copper’s got ’eavy ones. ‘Nicholas, you must come to our next rally and speak your mind to Christabel.’
‘And get eaten alive?’ said Nicholas. ‘Is that what you’d like?’
‘Actually, I think you could surprise her. You’re quite a nice policeman, and a quite reasonable man. And you don’t have horns.’ They reached her door. ‘Thank you for meeting me, I do understand your concern.’
‘Take care,’ he said. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight? Shame on you. Come in, and I’ll make a pot of tea. And you can talk to me about this awful murder case. Well, as much as you’re allowed to. I can be a good listener, really.’
What he told her over the pot of tea was not of any great account, since the whole case had become enveloped in fog. Not a single person in South London had been able to point a finger at the right man. Inspector Greaves was beginning to believe he came from north of the river. Nicholas still stuck to his conviction that the answer lay in Walworth, that Mabel Shipman had visited the man there. There was one difference about the second murder. The maniac had strangled his victim with a stocking, not a length of cord.
‘Why would he have done that?’ asked Emma.
‘He used a length of cord on the young woman he attacked in Manor Place. She was positive about that. The cord failed him on that occasion. I can imagine him brooding on that failure.’
‘So he used a stocking instead?’ said Emma. ‘Then he’s probably a married man, isn’t he? He probably used one of his wife’s stockings.’
‘Emma, you’re a clever girl,’ said Nicholas.
‘Oh, you’re not so bad yourself, you know.’
‘I’m not a clever girl.’
‘Yes, how very nice that you happen to be a man,’ said Emma.
‘Nice for whom?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Oh, for all women who don’t think every man is a gorilla,’ said Emma.
She awoke at midnight. She sat up with a start. What had woken her? Either a noise or a bad dream? What had she been dreaming about? A gallows, a noose and a hanging body. A woman’s body. And the noose had been a stocking.
No, there was a noise, a faint metallic noise travelling through the silent house. It sounded like a key being repeatedly turned in the lock of her front door. And the front door was bolted. She had taken to doing that, because a certain sergeant from Scotland Yard would bully her if she didn’t.
She slipped from her bed, the linoleum cool to her bare feet as she crossed to her window. Her heart beating a little too fast for her liking, she silently eased the bottom frame up and put her head out. A distant street lamp cast its pool of light, but it did not reach her house, which lay in darkness. But with eyes adjusted to the night, she was able to see there was no-one below, no-one at her door, no-one within vision. Old and dilapidated Walworth was asleep, its resilient men and women, and their boisterous children, wrapped up in their beds.
She closed the window, walked to her bedroom door and opened it. She stood listening. There was complete quiet. Her dreams had played tricks with her ears. She went back to her bed and back to sleep. Emma Carter was not a woman who frightened easily.
The fluttery wife woke up.
‘Herby, where you been?’
‘Downstairs. It’s all right.’
‘Haven’t you been to bed yet?’
‘For a bit, but I couldn’t sleep. I made myself some tea and did some reading. That’s a good book of yours, The Mayor of Casterbridge.’
‘Was it your back again?’
‘I’m putting up with it.’ He settled into the bed. ‘Go to sleep, Maudie.’
‘Yes, all right, Herby.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘You’re gettin’ quite reliable,’ said Trary, as she walked away from the school gate with Bobby. Other girls were watching. Some were giggling. Bobby was a familiar figure now, and she knew that more than one girl had an eye for him. ‘Not many boys are reliable.’
‘Yes, I’m pretty good,’ said Bobby.
‘You’ve said that before.’
‘It’s self-confidence,’ said Bobby, ‘you need to ’ave a fair bit of that, or you don’t get on.’
‘Bless the boy,’ said Trary, ‘he’s showin’ off again.’
‘I’ve been thinkin’ lately about our destiny,’ said Bobby.
‘Our what?’
‘Well, you an’ me, Trary, we met our destiny, yer know, when I had that Salvation Army box on me loaf of bread.’
‘Our destiny? Oh, you daft thing, destiny’s just something that you read about in books.’
‘That’s printed in books, Trary. I’m talkin’ about the book of life.’
‘You’re potty,’ said Trary.
‘Well, I’ve got to admit it,’ said Bobby, ‘I’m potty about you. I don’t know it’s believable, the way a feller can go off ’is chump when he meets a destiny like you. I ’ardly know what I’m eatin’ sometimes, and sometimes I don’t know if I’ve eaten or not. D’you feel like that about our destiny?’
‘Oh, you barmy boy, girls don’t meet their destiny when they’re only fourteen, and I will be fourteen next month. It’s June twelve.’
‘I’ll make a note,’ said Bobby, ‘I’ll try an’ get a card with words about destiny comin’ but once in a lifetime. Incidental, I saw your mum down the market this mornin’. She said she’s goin’ to buy that house, she an’ Mr Bradshaw looked it over yesterday afternoon. She told me she’d been left a bit of money. I told ’er I was downright rapturous for her. Well, I’m fond of your mum, if I’d been older an’ she’d been younger – ’
‘You’ve said that before too. I was goin’ to tell you about the house, but all this talkin’ you keep doin’, I know it’s goin’ to send me deaf and dumb one day.’
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