On Mother Brown's Doorstep (17 page)

‘Ah well,’ said Sammy.

‘Mister Sammy Adams, kindly explain what ah well means,’ demanded Susie.

‘Yes, you’ve got it, Susie.’

‘I haven’t got it,’ said Susie.

‘Well, it could mean some of our competitors will be dyin’ of wantin’ what we happen to have,’ said Sammy.

‘Sammy, that’s not fair.’

‘Eh?’ said Sammy.

‘You’ll have cornered the market,’ said Susie. ‘It’s not nice.’

‘Pardon?’ said Sammy.

‘It’s not decent,’ said Susie.

‘Am I hearin’ you correct, Miss Brown, or is there something wrong with me listenin’ equipment?’

‘If I thought I’d helped you starve our competitors, I just couldn’t look the vicar in the eye on our weddin’ day,’ said Susie.

‘I’m glad you’ve got principles, Susie,’ said Sammy, ‘I’ve got some meself. Would I let our Shoreditch competitors starve for want of fabrics?’

‘I hope you’ve still got some Christian goodness,’ said Susie. ‘And I’ve just thought, they’d be getting all they wanted from the mills. Except, of course, some firms do order from the London wholesalers.’

‘Well, if our competitors couldn’t get what they wanted from the mills, I’d sell them what they wanted from our stocks,’ said Sammy.

‘There’s a good boy,’ said Susie.

‘At a fair price, of course.’

‘Sammy?’

‘One of me strictest business principles, Susie, is never to let me charitable inclinations interfere with the profits.’

‘You’re wicked,’ said Susie.

‘Well, we’ve got to live, Susie.’

‘Yes, ruination’s very upsetting,’ said Susie. ‘By the way Boots wants to see you.’

‘If he’s been enquirin’ after me, you can let him know I’m here,’ said Sammy.

‘I don’t think it was an enquiry,’ said Susie.

‘Watch what you’re goin’ to say next.’

‘Oh, he just said tell Junior to come and see me as soon as he gets back from Manchester – Sammy, don’t you dare!’

Sammy was after her. Susie fled back to her office. Sammy, grinning, went to see Boots. On the way he looked in on Emily, busy typing in her own little office. Its privacy related to the fact that she was the wife of a director.

‘Hello, Em. Everything all right with you?’ Sammy thought she was getting much too thin.

Emily’s smile was overbright, so were her big green eyes.

‘Hello, Sammy love. I’m fine. I think me lord and master’s been askin’ after you.’

‘It’s my serious opinion that Boots has been the fam’ly’s lord and master since he first put on long trousers,’ said Sammy.

‘It’s his posh education,’ said Emily.

‘I’m now goin’ to sort him out,’ said Sammy, and departed for his brother’s office, where he informed Boots he was against being given messages by his personal assistant that made him sound like the office boy.

‘Is that a fact?’ said Boots.

‘I hear someone’s been referrin’ to me as Junior,’ said Sammy.

‘First I’ve heard of it,’ said Boots, and Sammy cottoned on.

‘That Susie,’ he said, grinning again. ‘Wait till she’s Mrs Sammy Adams.’

‘We’re all waiting for that,’ said Boots. ‘How did you get on in Manchester?’

‘Manchester was what you call promisin’,’ said Sammy, ‘but I’m buyin’ in from London wholesalers in case the promisin’ bit gets rheumatism. Before I took me train to Manchester, I had to talk serious to Harriet about that delivery clause.’

‘You mean you floored her,’ said Boots.

‘Well, she fell about a bit,’ said Sammy, ‘but the delivery date’s goin’ to be put back two weeks. Now can I ask what you wanted to see me about?’

‘The Bermondsey scrap yard’s been temporarily shut down, Sammy.’

‘It’s what?’

‘That’s just between you, me and Susie’s dad at the
moment
,’ said Boots, and went on to recount how a young girl’s body had been found in the gravel under the shed floor. He’d been keeping in touch with the police, and an hour ago they’d informed him over the phone that the girl’s identity had been established. She was the daughter of a Bermondsey couple, officially listed as missing from home thirteen months ago. Her name was Ivy Connor and she’d been twelve years old at the time. The pathologist had diagnosed strangulation.

‘Jesus,’ breathed Sammy, ‘a twelve-year-old girl? The sod who did that to her ought to be put in an empty room with her father for an hour before they hang him.’

‘I feel the same,’ said Boots. ‘Her name and the pathologist’s report will be in today’s evening papers. So far, Susie doesn’t know the body was discovered in our scrap yard, and Jim’s said nothing to her or any of his family. Further, he’s kept the relevant page of their daily paper to himself. He doesn’t want Susie upset with the wedding not far away, and she won’t necessarily find out it concerns our Bermondsey yard unless the papers mention the firm’s name again. On the other hand, there’ll be an inquest, of course, and I don’t doubt Jim will be called on to confirm he was present when the body was discovered. He and his assistant are working at the Kennington yard at the moment. How much d’you know about the previous owners of the Bermondsey yard, Collier and Son?’

‘Couple of boozers,’ said Sammy.

‘I think the police are investigating them.’

‘Waste of time,’ said Sammy. ‘Old man Collier and his son Walter as boozers are harmless except to their business. Listen, I think Susie’ll have to be told.’

‘I thought you might think that,’ said Boots, ‘but left it to you to decide.’

‘The staff don’t know?’ said Sammy.

‘Some do, those who read the newspaper accounts,’ said Boots, ‘but they’re keeping quiet.’

‘I’ll tell Susie,’ said Sammy, and did so at once. It was a shock to her, but she was her dad’s daughter, she had his brand of resilience and was concerned more for him than for any shadow it cast over the wedding. She was concerned because the yard had been shut down just when he’d been appointed manager and because he’d had to see the body.

‘I feel sick, Sammy. That poor young girl.’

‘I share your feeling, Susie, and don’t think I don’t.’

Susie spoke to her dad that evening. She’d bought an evening paper on her way home. The details were all there, all relating to the grisly conclusion that the girl had been murdered and her body hidden in gravel under a shed in a scrap metal yard in Bermondsey. Reported missing from her home thirteen months ago, her murder was now commanding a full investigation by the police. There was no mention of Adams Enterprises as the present owners of the yard, but the report did state that the owners at the time of the murder were Collier and Son. It also stated that two men were helping the police with their enquiries.

Susie agreed with her dad not to discuss the matter with the rest of the family.

‘You’ve come, then,’ said Henry Brannigan in the evening twilight. The woman had got to the town hall before him.

‘You didn’t think I’d play you up, did yer, Henry?’ asked Madge.

He looked at her. Her face was only lightly powdered, her lips not quite so richly carmine. She was wearing a smaller hat and a less fancy coat. She looked very respectable, in fact. She had a little smile on her face.

‘Did yer tread on any lines gettin’ ’ere?’ he asked.

‘Not one,’ said Madge, ‘I wasn’t goin’ to risk a bit of bad luck poppin’ up and knockin’ me off me feet. It can injure a girl. I must say you’re lookin’ a gent this evenin’, Henry.’

He wore no coat. He was dressed in a serviceable blue suit that fitted him well, with a collar and tie and a trilby hat. His eyes looked deepset in his gaunt face. He was middle-aged, but his body was straight and without a paunch. She was willing to bet he was as strong as a horse, and that he was good in bed.

‘You’re lookin’ presentable yerself,’ he said, ‘but don’t think I didn’t like what you wore last night, except for yer paint an’ powder.’

‘Oh, yer fancied me saucy skirt, lovey?’ said Madge, smiling. ‘You should’ve said, I’d ’ave worn it again tonight.’

‘Good company you were,’ said Henry Brannigan. ‘’Ave yer found a flat?’

‘I found a really nice one in the New Kent Road, above that little paper shop,’ said Madge. ‘It’s got its own door an’ stairs at the side of the shop, and it’s two nice rooms and a kitchen, it’s all self-contained at ten an’ six a week. You’ll be able to visit when yer like, with yer own door key. I’ll cook supper for yer sometimes, if you fancy that. D’yer want to come an’ see it? Only I said I’d take it, it’s fully-furnished and I gave the newsagent five bob as a deposit on the first week’s rent. I couldn’t afford to give ’im the lot in case you – well, you know.’

‘In case I didn’t turn up.’

‘Well, a girl can’t trust every man she meets, even if she does like ’im,’ said Madge.

‘We’ll go an’ see it,’ said Henry Brannigan. ‘I know that shop, we’ll cut through Wansey Street. Watch the lines, it
ain
’t dark yet, an’ seein’ we’re after settin’ you up in the flat, let’s keep bad luck away from its door or we’ll risk it catchin’ fire the day you move in.’

‘Yer a thoughtful man about me superstitiousness, Henry,’ she said, and they began their walk, partners in their belief that it was unlucky to tread on lines, although Madge only practised this belief when the mood took her. They went down Wansey Street and made for Balfour Street, which would bring them into the New Kent Road. Dusk fell and the lines between paving stones began to be lost to the eye. Treading on them didn’t count then. They passed the sagging gates of the destroyed factory. Madge made a comment. ‘They ought to build a new one,’ she said, ‘an’ give the people round ’ere a bit of work. I did ’ear a new one might be goin’ up.’

‘You ’eard that, did yer?’ Henry Brannigan gave it some thought. ‘Well, you ladies usually manage to ’ear more than men do.’

‘Henry, you got a nice way of makin’ a lady of me.’

‘A woman like you, you’ve got the makings of bein’ a lady, that’s me honest opinion. I ’eard meself that this place is a kids’ playground, which keeps ’em off the streets an’ gettin’ in people’s way. Watch that lighted bit of pavement comin’ up, the lines’ll be showin’.’

Madge did a little one-two step at the right moment, and Henry Brannigan couldn’t help being highly approving of her.

He liked the flat. It was very nicely furnished, the bedroom neat, the living room cosy and the kitchen just right. It had new wallpaper and an almost new gas oven.

‘Yer really like it?’ said Madge.

‘Be a pleasure for me to keep yer comfortably resident ’ere, Madge. I’ll give yer thirty bob a week to pay for yer rent and yer livin’ expenses.’

‘Thirty bob?’

‘It’ll keep yer respectable, an’ now and again I might treat yer to some new togs. That fair, is it?’

‘It’s all that to me,’ said Madge, ‘but I still can’t see what you get out of it.’

‘I like yer, I like yer company, and I like bein’ able to talk to yer,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay you the allowance monthly. Here.’ He took out his wallet and extracted six pound notes. Madge reckoned he had twenty of them in the wallet. It didn’t give her ideas. If she’d become a tart, she’d never been a sly or calculating one. Henry represented the turn of the tide, a turn that was highly welcome to her at her age. ‘That’s yer first month’s,’ he said, and handed her the banknotes. ‘I’ll come an’ see yer Tuesday an’ Thursday evenings, and I’ll take you out Saturday evenings an’ Sunday afternoons. I know yer’ll play fair with me.’

‘You sure you know?’ said Madge.

‘I’m bettin’ on yer.’

‘I’m short of flour and bakin’ powder,’ said Mrs Brown the next morning. Her husband and Susie had gone to work, and Sally and Freddy to school, but Will was still around and thinking of going to the public library to borrow a couple of books. ‘And I need some bakin’ eggs as well.’

‘What’s bakin’ eggs?’ asked Will.

‘Cracked ones that come half price. I’ll have to go out, I can’t start me bakin’ till I do.’

‘Well, I’m goin’ to the library, Mum,’ said Will, ‘I’ll get the stuff you want.’

‘Oh, would you?’ Mrs Brown spoke fondly. ‘I’m a bit busy, love, I’d be grateful. I’d like two pounds of self-raisin’ flour, a tin of bakin’ powder, four cracked eggs
that
’s not too cracked, and two pounds of caster sugar.’

‘Right,’ said Will, a little grin on his face as he decided which shop he’d patronize. ‘Special reference to four cracked eggs not too cracked, eh, Ma?’

‘If you would, love,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘You can take me shoppin’ bag.’

‘D’you mind if I don’t?’ said Will. ‘I’m a bloke, not a mum.’

‘Oh, you don’t want to take no notice of what people might say,’ said the affable Mrs Brown, ‘and you’ll have to carry the shoppin’ in something.’

‘I’ll work it out,’ said Will, who was keeping active but without putting himself under stress. He’d had a couple of mild evening attacks, that was all.

There were customers in the shop, and Mr Urcott, Miss Banks and Annie were all busy. Will, entering, hid himself behind a large lady whose voluminous apparel doubled her size. Her hat was a further help. Not until Annie finished serving her did Will become visible. It was like a Houdini trick to Annie. One moment there was only a large lady at the counter, the next moment Will materialized. With a grin on his face, of course. Still, he had a nice face, a sort of country face because it looked brown and healthy. A girl could put up with a grin on that kind of face. But he’s going to sauce me, she thought, and prepared herself for verbal battle.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ she asked.

‘Any cauliflowers, miss?’ enquired Will.

‘No, nor any coal, either, nor any soldiers’ sauce, except yours.’

‘What a funny shop,’ said Will. ‘Never mind, I’ll try for two pounds of self-raisin’ flour, two pounds of caster
sugar
, a tin of bakin’ powder and four cracked eggs not too cracked.’

‘I hope you’re serious,’ said Annie, bobbed hair smooth, neat and shining, grey eyes daring him to be joking.

‘Mrs Brown is,’ said Will.

‘Mrs Brown?’

‘My mother. She wants to do some bakin’. Go to a good grocer’s, she said, where they serve you with a smile and don’t give you any lip.’

‘Any lip? You can talk,’ said Annie. ‘Are you really shoppin’ for your mum?’