by June Francis
‘Certainly not in my social life or the shipyard but I do have my fingers in other pies.’ He smiled. ‘I hope you have a nice day, Miss Moran.’
‘I hope the same for you,’ she said, wondering what other businesses he had.
As Tilly walked up the path to the Bennetts’ house she had no idea what her day would hold and that was what made the job interesting. Fortunately the money Mr Holmes had promised her had arrived in the post and so her need to earn more was not overwhelming. But sooner or later she would have to find another job. She worked three days a week and she had visited the Doyles several times. Patricia kept her standing outside on the step but she was obviously grateful for the help the family received. Tilly was convinced that Patricia still stayed away from school and had told Eudora about her suspicions.
‘It is worrying but unless we report Mrs Doyle to the school board, there is little we can do,’ she had said.
‘Shouldn’t we do that?’
‘You’d lose the girl’s trust and it’s important that we keep that if we’re to help the family,’ said Eudora. ‘It would be best if the mother could find a job.’
Tilly wondered what kind of job Mrs Doyle could do. She had recently read about a training scheme for war widows, organised by the Government, and had mentioned that to Eudora, as well.
‘A good idea, Tilly, but I doubt Mrs Doyle is the kind of widow that the training scheme would help,’ she had said. ‘The woman just hasn’t got the right kind of brain.’
Tilly felt certain that Patricia had a good brain but without education how could she use it to her advantage? She was frustrated, wishing she could do more to help her. Eudora reminded her several times that the Doyles were not the only family in need. They had visited various other families and Tilly had typed up reports. She had also visited the charity’s office and several times she had called in at the depot where donated clothing, bedding and food were stored. On one occasion she was given the task of helping sort out newly donated garments into women’s and children’s and taken them to the laundry.
Tilly entered the kitchen to find not only Joy there but Eudora, Robbie and her father. Mal was looking the worse for wear and he had a sleeve rolled up, exposing a swollen elbow painted with iodine.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, placing a hand on her father’s shoulder.
‘We’ve had a burglary,’ said Eudora.
‘When did it happen?’
‘Just before dawn. If it hadn’t been for Nanki Poo and your father we might have been killed in our beds. As it is poor Nanki Poo is dead.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Your father tackled the man but he managed to get away.’
‘That’s terrible!’ Tilly sank onto the chair next to her father. ‘Are you all right, Dad?’
‘I wish I could have held onto him but he was a wiry bugger and managed to slip out of my grasp,’ he muttered. ‘Damn fella kicked my legs from under me and I fell.’
‘You did your best, Mal,’ said Robbie gruffly, his shoulders slumped and his face a picture of misery. ‘I just hope the police have some information on the swine.’
‘You’ve sent for the police?’ said Tilly.
Robbie nodded. ‘They shouldn’t be too long coming.’
‘Don’t want to talk to the police,’ mumbled Mal. ‘They might think I lied and suspect me.’
‘How can they, Dad, when you’ve been injured?’ said Tilly, covering one of his work-worn hands with hers. ‘You’re worrying unnecessarily. Besides, we all know you’d never hurt Nanki Poo.’
‘Of course, he wouldn’t,’ said Eudora. ‘And he’d never steal from us either.’
‘Did the burglar get away with much?’ asked Tilly.
‘As far as we can see he’s taken a couple of ornaments I brought back from my journey to the Orient. They’re irreplaceable,’ said Eudora sadly.
‘Just the same as Nanki Poo,’ said Robbie, a suspicious dampness in his eyes.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Tilly, feeling deeply sorry for them.
‘No, dear,’ said Eudora, toying with the bracelet on her wrist. ‘Best you go home. We won’t be doing any visiting today.’
Tilly nodded. ‘What about tomorrow?’
‘Maybe. Call round, anyway, and I’ll make up my mind then.’
‘I’ll leave you to it then if there’s nothing I can do. I don’t want to be in the way.’ Tilly kissed her father’s cheek. ‘I’ll pop in and see you tomorrow, Dad.’
‘Thanks, girl!’ He patted her hand.
Tilly said her goodbyes to the others and left the house. On her way back to the shop, she could not help wondering whether Eudora would give her another day’s work to make up for not working today. If not then she was going to be a day short in her wages. She sighed but told herself there were plenty worse off than herself and she was not going to waste her day mooning around and worrying about things. She would try and finish that pirate story she had begun.
As she entered the shop, a familiar voice said, ‘Tilly!’
‘Hello, Grant,’ she said, smiling.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here at this time of day,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘Wendy said you were working for Mrs Bennett.’
Tilly glanced at Wendy and wondered if it was her imagination that she did not look pleased to see her. ‘I only work part time and I should have been working today, but there’s been a break-in at the Bennetts’ house and I was told to go home. It was a bit of a blow all round. The burglar killed poor Nanki Poo and Dad was injured trying to prevent him from escaping.’
‘Did he get away with anything?’ asked Wendy.
‘Some irreplaceable valuables that Mrs Bennett brought back from the Orient,’ replied Tilly. ‘They’ve sent for the police. Dad’s not looking forward to being questioned by them.’
‘No one likes being questioned by the police but I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ assured Grant. ‘But tell me, did I really hear you say that you only work part time?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
Grant smiled. ‘Would you like another part-time job, putting in a few hours at my office a few days a week?’
Tilly’s face lit up. ‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Of course I do! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said it.’ He glanced at Wendy. ‘I thought you might have mentioned the job to Tilly.’
‘No. I forgot and she’s been so busy.’
‘Not too busy to put in a few hours for the great detective,’ said Tilly, darting Grant a teasing look. ‘I could do two and half days for you if that would suit?’ she added.
‘It suits me fine,’ he said, delighted. ‘Perhaps you’d like to accompany me to the office now?’
‘Of course I will.’ Tilly glanced at Wendy. ‘Will you tell your mam about the break-in? She might want to go and visit them.’
‘Yes, OK,’ answered Wendy. ‘Poor Nanki Poo. I liked that dog.’
‘Me too,’ said Tilly. ‘Your Uncle Robbie is really upset. I’ll see you later.’
She left the shop with Grant. ‘Where is your office?’ she asked him as they stood on the pavement waiting to cross the road to the tram stop.
‘Fenwick Street, near the Corn Exchange,’ he answered. ‘Do you know the area at all?’
‘Can’t say I do,’ she answered.
‘It’s within walking distance of the Pierhead.’ He took her elbow as a tram going in the opposite direction rattled by. They crossed the road, avoiding a cyclist and horse and cart. ‘Now it’s spring and will soon be summer it’ll be pleasant walking down to the Mersey and watching the ships coming and going while you eat your lunchtime sandwiches.’
‘That does sound nice,’ said Tilly. ‘But what’s it like in winter?’
He grimaced. ‘You can stay in the office because there’s a hell of a wind that blows up from the river. It’d chill your blood.’
Tilly smiled. ‘It can be really cold living by the Dee in winter.’
‘That’s where your sister’s house i
s?’
‘Yes. A mist rises off the water and it can be really scary when it’s just getting dark,’ she said softly. ‘Then when the sun starts to rise and shafts of sunlight shine through the mist, it looks really beautiful.’
‘You sound quite poetical,’ said Grant. ‘Do you miss it?’
‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘But I bet the Mersey can look just as good when the sun’s dancing on the water.’
Grant laughed. ‘The colour of the Mersey doesn’t lend itself to poetry. It’s khaki or mud coloured and it’s almost the same with the Leeds-Liverpool canal where it passes through the city.’
His mention of the Leeds-Liverpool canal reminded her of the woman who had drowned there in the fog last autumn. ‘Any more news of your pawnbroker?’
Grant hesitated.
‘You don’t have to tell me.’
‘If you’re going to be working for me then perhaps I can,’ he decided. ‘The police are putting it down as an accident because they have no proof of it being otherwise. But interestingly, someone has been in touch with her solicitor with the information that when the poor woman was young, she gave birth to an illegitimate son.’
‘Gosh!’ Tilly stared at him. ‘What happened to him?’
‘The woman doesn’t know but thought that she should come forward with the information. I think she was hoping that there would be a reward.’
‘And was there?’
‘I think she was given something for her efforts.’
‘So will they be able to trace him?’ asked Tilly. ‘And what about the father?’
Grant shrugged. ‘Who knows? The baby was registered but under the pawnbroker’s maiden name and the father’s name was left blank.’ He paused. ‘Here comes the tram.’
Chapter Fifteen
Tilly led the way to a front seat upstairs and sat down, wondering if he would continue with that conversation, but he didn’t, saying, ‘I enjoy sitting here,’ as he sat next to her and gazed down at the road ahead. ‘I pretend I’m the driver.’
Tilly smiled. ‘I like watching people. I find them interesting.’
‘That’s one of the reasons I enjoy being a detective.’
‘Are you on a case now?’
He nodded. ‘The result of which I hope means the couple stay together. The husband suspects his wife of seeing another man while he’s at work, so he’s hired me to keep an eye on her.’
‘It can’t be an easy task.’
‘I don’t enjoy following women around but it’s part of the job.’
‘I suppose it’s the only way you’ll get to know if she’s innocent,’ said Tilly.
‘I don’t think he wants to divorce her but one of the neighbours has filled his head with doubts and the uncertainty is torturing him.’
‘Why doesn’t he just ask his wife point blank if she’s seeing another man?’ asked Tilly.
‘Life is never that simple in the so called grown-up world, Tilly.’ He grinned. ‘My client has told me that his wife would be terribly hurt if she knew he didn’t trust her.’
Tilly smiled. ‘Is his wife a bit of a femme fatale?’
‘No. That’s what I find surprising,’ said Grant. ‘She’s nothing to write home about.’
‘Then she must have hidden depths if he cares so much for her,’ said Tilly. ‘Will you want me to type up your notes on the case?’
‘Of course! And tidy up my files. They’re in a bit of a mess.’
‘I presume you do have a typewriter?’
He nodded. ‘It’s not the latest model but I’m sure you’ll have no trouble with it. I’ve been using four fingers but it takes me ages just to type out the simplest letter.’
Tilly thought it was a change having a man confess to not being the best at something.
They left the tram near the Victoria monument, and walked past the bank on the corner into Fenwick Street. The sun had come out and Tilly was wondering how her father was getting on with the police and if they had any idea of who the burglar might be. Hopefully she would find out more when she called at the house tomorrow.
Grant stopped outside a door next to a philatelist shop. On the wall next to it was a wooden plaque with the words Grant Simpson, Private Detective painted on it in black. An arrow pointed upstairs and he unlocked the door and led the way up a narrow flight of stairs.
Tilly was pleased when she saw the size of the office but thought it would need a decent heater in the winter. The sunshine coming through the window showed up the dust and also that the glass needed cleaning. Grant switched on a small paraffin heater near a large desk, on which stood a telephone, an ink blotter and an ink stand with pen. There was also a smaller desk on which stood the typewriter he had mentioned, as well as a filing cabinet and a couple of spare chairs. She presumed these were for the clients.
‘There’s a tiny kitchen where you can make tea,’ he said, leading the way to a door that led off the office.
She followed him and discovered that the kitchen really was tiny but there was a sink, as well as gas ring with a kettle on it and a ledge containing cups and saucers below a cupboard on the wall.
‘Would you like me to make tea?’ she asked.
‘If you would. There should still be some milk from yesterday, hopefully, it won’t have gone off.’ He reached up and opened the cupboard and produced milk, tea and sugar, as well as a packet of biscuits and a box of matches.
She put the kettle on.
‘There’s also a lavatory,’ said Grant. ‘I’ll show you while the kettle is heating up.’ He took her along a corridor.
Tilly was glad about the lavatory being so handy but she suspected he did not have a cleaner. She put the question to him when making the tea.
He shook his head. ‘I can’t afford one.’ He paused. ‘You couldn’t?’
‘What?’ asked Tilly.
‘Give the office a bit of a clean? I’m sure it won’t take you long.’
Tilly almost asked him what job exactly was he was hiring her for? A secretary or a cleaner? But she was so grateful to have this second job that she did not voice the question.
‘I’ll pay you for your time,’ he said hastily, as if reading her mind.
‘Do you have polish, dusters, a brush, a mop and disinfectant?’
He opened a drawer in his desk and produced a dirty rag. ‘I’ve been making do with this.’
‘Mr Simpson, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!’ With a disdainful look, she took the rag from him with the tips of her fingers and dropped it in the wastepaper bin. ‘If you want to increase your clientele then we’re going to have to improve the look of this place. I presume you have a petty cash box?’
A smile lurked about the corners of his mouth as he opened another drawer and took out a tin. He flicked open the lid and emptied out a pile of copper. ‘That’s it,’ he said.
She took all of the coins. ‘I’ll visit a chandler’s on the way home and the next time I come in here, this place won’t know what’s hit it.’
‘That’s the ticket.’ His smile widened. ‘I’ll show you the files now.’
He opened a drawer in the filing cabinet and removed a couple of pieces of cardboard. A piece of string held them together. She removed it and out fell sheets of handwritten notes. Tilly raised her eyebrows and bent to pick them up at the same time as he did. They banged heads. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘You OK?’ he asked, taking hold of her arm and bringing her to her feet. Their bodies brushed against each other and she stepped back swiftly, avoiding his gaze. He picked up the notes and placed them on the smaller desk. ‘You’d best sit down.’
Tilly sat at the desk and rifled through the sheets of paper, pausing when she came across the name of the insurance company that had employed her.
‘How is Miss Langton?’ she asked, glancing up at him.
‘She’s been arrested for buying opium.’
‘Opium!’ Tilly’s voice rose to a squeak. ‘Where did she get opium from?’
; ‘She’s not saying but she bought it for her mother, who apparently is in terrible pain with arthritis,’ he murmured. ‘Of course, she might have bought it from a Chinaman in Pitt Street. When I was in the police force we raided an opium den in Chinatown,’ said Grant, going over to the window and looking out. ‘I can tell you there was more going on there than opium smoking. It was a real den of iniquity.’
‘But what will happen to her and her mother?’ asked Tilly, shocked and concerned.
‘Mr Holmes is dealing with it. He’s got a solicitor to represent Miss Langton.’
‘Will she get the sack? If she does, then he’s going to need someone to fill her position.’
‘He’s had to dismiss her and has already got someone from head office,’ said Grant, coming back over to her desk. ‘Why? You weren’t thinking of applying for her job?’
‘No! I do feel sorry for her, though. Miss Langton and all the other women who desperately need help to cope with their lives.’ Tilly thought about Mrs Doyle and her gin drinking, which led to neglect of her children. Women who had no man to support them. Miss Langton was fortunate in that she had Mr Holmes as a family friend, and a forgiving one at that!
‘People can’t break the law and get away with it, Tilly. They have to be taught a lesson,’ he said gently.
‘So she might have to serve a prison sentence,’ murmured Tilly.
‘Not necessarily. The court can show leniency. She could just get a fine.’
‘But can she afford to pay the fine? Or will Mr Holmes—?’
Grant shrugged. ‘It’s not your problem, Tilly.’
‘I’d like to know what happens to her. You’re sure to find out. Will you let me know?’
He nodded and she thanked him before inspecting the typewriter more closely. She was about to ask him another question when the telephone rang. He picked it up and turned his back on her. She placed a sheet of paper in the typewriter and typed The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. The keys were a little stiff but that was probably due more to a lack of proper use than the machine needing a drop of oil. She had noticed that dust clung to the base of the keys. She reached into the wastepaper bin for the dirty rag that Grant had taken out and carefully wiped away the dust. She was aware of the murmur of his voice as he spoke on the telephone but could not hear what he was saying properly because he spoke quietly. She picked up the first handwritten sheet of paper and placed it at the side of the typewriter and then placed a clean sheet in the machine and began to copy the handwritten one.