by June Francis
Wendy hesitated a moment before saying, ‘Tilly’s worrying about watching some woman for Mr Simpson. He’s gone away and left her in charge. It’s the first bit of detecting she’s done and she’s worrying about letting him down. She asked me if I could take over for her and I would, except—’
‘I’ll let you have Joy,’ said Eudora. ‘She can stay with Tilly while you’re watching this woman.’
Wendy’s face lit up. ‘Thanks. Will you speak to Mam about it?’
‘I’ll get your Uncle Robbie to speak to her. She’ll take more notice of him than me.’
Wendy agreed. Once Eudora had left the bedroom, she sat for a few moments gazing down at Tilly and then she looked for her handbag and opened it. Inside she found what she was looking for: a photograph, an address and a map book of Liverpool.
* * *
Wendy was glad that the storms of the other day had passed and, although it was blowy, the sun was shining. The front door of the house opened and a woman stood in the doorway. Wendy recognised her from the photograph in her pocket. Smart dresser, she thought, as Mrs Nuttall shoved a bag under her arm and a purse in the pocket of her jacket. She glanced in Wendy’s direction but the girl’s head was buried in a newspaper. Suddenly a giggle burst in Wendy’s throat as she peered through the holes she had cut in the newspaper and stared after Mrs Nuttall as she walked along the street. When she turned a corner, Wendy folded the newspaper and hurried after her.
Two hours later she was still following Mrs Nuttall, whose behaviour she found puzzling. If there was any truth in her husband’s suspicion that she was having an affair during the afternoons, she was going a strange way about it. She had wandered up and down Walton Road, looking in shop windows, bending and talking to babies in prams but always walking away as soon as their mothers appeared. So far there had been no hint of an assignation with a man and Wendy was getting hungry and thirsty.
Wendy was just considering buying a meat pie in a nearby bakery when she saw Mrs Nuttall seize hold of the handle of a pram and ease off the brake. The next moment she was hurrying along the road with it. What was the woman doing? Wendy was tempted to shout Stop, thief! but did not want to draw attention to herself or to warn Mrs Nuttall that her actions had been seen. She soon realised that the woman was heading for home. She must be mad, thought Wendy. You can’t take a baby home without your husband and the neighbours being aware of it. Babies needed feeding and changing and could cry a lot.
She watched Mrs Nuttall wheel the pram up her path and round to the back of her house. Wendy hesitated before following her. She was in time to see Mrs Nuttall lifting the baby out of the pram.
‘What d’you think you’re doing with that baby?’ asked Wendy quietly, not wanting to startle Mrs Nuttall into dropping the child. As it was, the baby began to wriggle and suddenly slide from beneath her arms. Wendy sprang forward and put a hand to its bottom and held it there.
‘You’ve got no right to follow me here!’ cried Mrs Nuttall, clutching the baby tightly now. ‘I don’t know who you are but see what you’ve done? You’ve hurt my baby.’
The child began to cry.
‘It’s not your baby,’ said Wendy.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘No, it isn’t. I saw you wheel the pram away from the shop that the mother had just gone inside.’
Mrs Nuttall’s lips quivered. ‘You’re fibbing.’
‘And you’re a thief,’ said Wendy.
The woman’s face crumpled and tears filled her eyes. ‘You- you don’t understand. That mother stays in that shop for ages, gossiping and laughing. She doesn’t want a baby. I want a baby and can’t have one.’
Wendy felt sorry for her but thieving was thieving and you just couldn’t let people get away with it. ‘You have to give it back.’
‘No!’
‘Of course you do!’ cried Wendy. ‘If you hurry up before the mother sends for the police, you can always say you made a mistake. That you were taking care of a baby for your sister, friend or cousin and that you wheeled the wrong pram away because it was the same make and colour.’
Mrs Nuttall stared at her, rocking the crying baby awkwardly. ‘Who are you?’
Wendy had no intention of revealing her identity. ‘You’re wasting time. Let’s get this baby back to its mother.’ Mrs Nuttall made no move to do what she said but it was obvious she was filled with indecision. ‘Come on!’ cried Wendy. ‘Or it’s going to be too late. The police will be involved and you’ll end up in prison and what will your husband say to that?’
‘All right!’ she said, her lips quivering. ‘I’ll do what you say but you have to come with me.’
Wendy was not so sure of that. She did not know this woman and she just might be crafty enough to try and put the blame on her if the police were to get involved.
‘No. You have to do this yourself but I’ll be keeping my eye on you to see that you give the baby back,’ said Wendy. ‘You can be sure of that.’
Mrs Nuttall stared at her a little longer and then suddenly placed the baby in the pram, tucked in the covers, fastened the apron and released the brake. Then she stormed off.
Wendy had to run to keep her in sight because she travelled so fast and, to her amazement, when Mrs Nuttall arrived in Walton Road, it appeared that the alarm had not been raised. Was it be possible that Mrs Nuttall had been right when she said that the mother stayed in the shop for ages without checking on her child? Wendy decided that for whatever reason the mother had not yet missed her child: Mrs Nuttall had been very fortunate. She deposited the pram outside the shop and walked away. A few moments later a young woman came out and dumped a bag of shopping on the pram’s apron, smiled at her baby and chucked it under the chin.
Mrs Nuttall came striding towards Wendy but she did not stop when she came alongside her but walked right past. That suited Wendy, who headed for the tram stop and home, hoping Tilly was much better and she could tell her what had taken place.
As it happened, Tilly was still not well but her temperature had come down. She was still being kept in bed but she was up to carrying on a conversation. ‘You’re never going to believe this,’ said Wendy, pulling up a chair and sitting at the side of the bed.
‘What am I never going to believe?’ croaked Tilly. Her eyes still felt heavy and she ached all over.
‘Your Mrs Nuttall doesn’t have a lover. What she wants is a baby.’
‘What? How d’you know that?’
Wendy told her what had happened that afternoon and Tilly found the whole episode hard to believe at first. ‘It’s the gospel truth. Honest,’ said Wendy.
Tilly’s head flopped against the pillows and she stared at her for several minutes without speaking while she considered what she knew about Mrs Nuttall. ‘It would explain why she goes to the park and watches the mothers and toddlers feeding the ducks. And why she ran out of the talk given by the missionary – I remember he was showing slides of children at the time. Then there was the walking up and down Walton Road, talking to the babies.’ She sighed. ‘She might have been crazy to do what she did but it shows how desperate she must have felt.’
‘It was still wrong of her,’ said Wendy.
‘I agree,’ said Tilly. ‘And what a foolish thing to do. She must be out of her mind.’
‘If she’s in such a state she might do the same thing again,’ said Wendy. ‘Grant will have to tell the husband so he can deal with it. At least he should be pleased his wife isn’t having an affair. But going out every afternoon on the off-chance of stealing a baby – she probably needs to see a head doctor.’
‘No!’ squeaked Tilly, then burst into a flurry of coughing.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ said Wendy, and she vanished downstairs.
When she returned, Tilly drained the glass and then sank against the pillows, exhausted. ‘The husband doesn’t want her to know that he suspected her of adultery and hired a private detective. Unless she confesses what she’s done to him, he can’t talk about i
t to her.’
‘So what happens?’ said Wendy. ‘What do we do? Keep on watching her in case she tries again?’
Tilly sighed. ‘Until Grant comes back, I suppose you’ll have to. It’s his case. He’ll have to tell the husband what you saw and let’s hope he’ll know what to do to prevent her stealing any more babies.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Good morning, Wendy! Has Tilly left for the office yet?’
‘Mr Simpson, you’re back,’ said Wendy, beaming at him. ‘Did you have a successful journey?’
‘Fairly successful,’ said Grant cautiously, picking up his newspaper. ‘Tilly mentioned that to you, did she?’
‘She mentioned you were away but didn’t tell me what your journey was in aid of.’
‘That’s good,’ murmured Grant, reading the front page headlines. ‘So will she be long getting ready? I thought we could go into town together.’
‘Tilly hasn’t been well. She won’t be going into the office today.’ Wendy dropped her voice. ‘She got soaked while keeping watch on Mrs Nuttall.’
Grant stared at her. ‘Is she going to be all right?’
‘She’s on the mend but Aunt Eudora insists that she’s not to get up until there’s no sign of fever at all and she can’t go out until the cough’s gone.’
‘Hell!’ said Grant, looking worried. ‘Can I see her?’
‘Can you heck!’ said Wendy firmly. ‘I’m surprised at you for suggesting such a thing.’
A slight flush darkened Grant’s cheeks. ‘I only wanted to talk to her.’
‘I should think so but you might tire her out. Besides, I can tell you all you need to know about Mrs Nuttall.’ Wendy crooked a finger and beckoned him closer. He lowered his head so that it was on a level with hers. ‘I’ve been watching her and I can tell you she’s not after a fancy man but a baby.’
‘A baby? How d’you know this?’
A customer came in and so Grant was kept waiting for an answer. He drummed his fingers on the counter and watched Wendy joking and laughing with a young man with a limp. He was accustomed to having Wendy’s undivided attention and found himself irritated at her flirting with the young man.
Wendy waved to the customer as he went out and then with a smile on her face, turned back to Grant. ‘He’s a lovely bloke,’ she said.
‘I’ve never seen you flirting before,’ said Grant.
She looked puzzled. ‘Me, flirt? I was just being nice to him. He’s had some bad luck and when that happens you don’t want miserable faces round you, do you?’
Grant agreed. ‘So, Mrs Nuttall?’ he asked.
Wendy explained what she had seen and he stared at her with increasing amazement. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you to be so firm in such circumstances,’ he said. ‘I owe you my thanks but I suspect my client is going to have very mixed feelings when I tell him what has happened. He might ask for my advice and I don’t know what to say.’
‘Perhaps a holiday,’ said Wendy. ‘She needs to get away and try to forget what happened. A second honeymoon. Who knows what might happen?’
He grinned. ‘That’s a brilliant idea. Thanks, Wendy. You give Tilly my regards and tell her not to worry about her job. It’ll be there waiting for her when she’s fit for work again.’
‘I will.’ She added casually, ‘If there’s any other help I can give you, then you only have to ask.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said. ‘I probably owe you some money for your time.’
‘Forget it,’ she said generously. ‘I was glad to help you and Tilly out.’
‘You’re one in a million,’ he said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. Then he hurried out, forgetting to pay for his newspaper.
Wendy touched her cheek, thinking that was a really sweet gesture. Could it be that Grant was beginning to notice that she was growing into a woman at last?
It was halfway through the morning before Wendy had a chance to go upstairs and speak to Tilly. She took her a cup of tea and knocked on her bedroom door before entering. ‘Mr Simpson has been in, Tilly, and he sends you his regards.’
The hump beneath the bedcovers shifted and Tilly’s head appeared. ‘Did you tell him about Mrs Nuttall?’
Wendy nodded. ‘He was amazed.’
‘I should think he would be,’ said Tilly, sitting up in bed. ‘Is that tea for me?’
‘Who else?’ Wendy smiled and passed it to her. ‘He said you’re not to worry about work but your job will still be there for you once you’re fit.’
‘That’s a relief,’ said Tilly. ‘Although I suppose I shouldn’t have expected him to behave differently. I wonder what Mr Nuttall will do about his wife.’
‘I suggested that he takes his wife on holiday. A second honeymoon,’ said Wendy.
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Tilly, staring at her as if she had never seen her before. ‘You’ve really come up trumps, Wend.’
Wendy flushed. ‘Glad you think so and if there’s anything more I can do for you?’
‘A book! You can bring me up a book,’ said Tilly.
‘You must be feeling better,’ said Wendy. ‘How about a nice boiled egg and some toasted soldiers?’
‘I think I could manage that,’ answered Tilly, smiling.
* * *
It was to be almost May before Tilly was fit enough to start work and she could not wait to be out and about again. It seemed ages since she had seen Grant or her family in Chester. Joy had phoned them to let them know she had been ill but was on the mend and that she would visit them soon. Unfortunately, she missed baby Nicholas’s christening. Mal had called in and seen her but he had not stayed long. He had told her, though, that he had been unable to identify the burglar from the pictures the police had shown him. So on a sunny Wednesday morning, she set off for the office in Fenwick Street. She was impatient to find out from the great detective what had happened on his journey south to see the actress.
‘Good morning, Miss Moran.’ Grant grinned at her and made to hug her but she backed away. ‘Sorry, he said. ‘Just pleased to see you.’
‘It’s good to be out and about,’ said Tilly, smiling at him. ‘I’m raring to go.’
‘And you’ve remembered the milk,’ he said, indicating the bottle she clutched in her hand.
‘Yes.’
‘Then let’s get inside and you can put the kettle on. There’s quite a lot to catch up on with your having been absent for so long,’ he said, opening the door. ‘But I’m sure you’ll manage it.’
‘You’ve had several more cases?’
He nodded. ‘More to do with the insurance investigation work I do but there’s another divorce snoop pending and two missing persons, as well as a jewellery and cat theft,’ he replied. ‘A Mrs Goldberg out Sefton Park way is the lady who has asked me to get involved in the latter.’ He looked pleased. ‘It’s good to have some money coming in again.’
‘How did you get on with the actress? Did you find her?’
‘Yes. Her film name is Sylvia Adams. She offered me money to tell my client that I couldn’t find her,’ said Grant. ‘She’s had another big break and had been given a part in a series of films being made in America. She’s a very attractive young woman and it’s not just that she’s lovely to look at. The producer has taken a shine to her and she knows that if he was to discover she’d had a baby then she might lose her chance.’
‘Why didn’t she just go for help to an unmarried mother’s institution and give the child up for adoption when it was born if she had no intention of keeping it?’
‘Because her grandmother offered to help her. She had once been on the stage herself and promised to look after the baby while Sylvia carried on working. The problem occurred when the old woman died unexpectedly, leaving Sylvia in a fix.’
‘That’s the trouble with life,’ said Tilly. ‘You can make all kinds of plans and then something happens and spoils everything.’
Grant nodded. ‘She did say that she had considered putt
ing her daughter into an orphanage but she kept thinking of Oliver Twist.’
Tilly stared at him. ‘I don’t know if I believe her.’
He shrugged and sat at his desk and fiddled with the blotter. ‘She was thrilled to bits when I told her the mother wanted to adopt her daughter. I suspect it’s already occurred to her that when the child’s paternal grandmother dies that she might be included in her will. She was talking about when she, herself, is in the money, she might just want to see her daughter again.’
Tilly was astounded. ‘How will the child feel about that?’
‘Sylvia thinks she should welcome her with open arms. You know these actresses, they live in a make-believe world.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, I rather liked her despite everything. I was happy to take her money.’
‘What about your client?’
‘Don’t like him. Besides, she asked me to promise to keep my eye on her daughter and to keep her informed about her progress. So that means she’s my client now because she’s going to pay me for doing that.’
Tilly said, ‘I wouldn’t have believed people would behave in such a way.’
‘Truth is often stranger than fiction. That’s why in real life people get away with all sorts of things. Murder, even. If you put some things that happen in a book and dress it up as fiction, your readers just might believe you.’
Suddenly Tilly wanted to be back in her bedroom, sitting at her typewriter. She had done little writing since catching a chill but had been fortunate enough to have several stories that she had sent away earlier accepted.
‘What about the Nuttall’s case?’
‘Thanks for reminding me. I meant to tell you that Mr Nuttall was shocked and upset by the information I gave him but the next day he got in touch and said he would take his wife away for a long holiday and hopes that will do the trick.’
‘She needs more than a holiday,’ said Tilly. ‘If she still doesn’t have a baby she needs something to fill the hours. You said she tap danced. I wonder if she’s good enough to take part in the concert for the orphans?’