The Cuckoo Child (21 page)
So when Corky was dressed and had eaten his breakfast of bread and apples, he set out to make himself familiar with the butcher’s shop and its vicinity. He would take a jolly good look at Archie Rathbone and his premises, spy out any good hiding places from which the shop could be constantly watched, and then see if he could find someone willing to share a newspaper round or let him run errands for them, so that he could earn some money.
Corky crossed the churchyard and slid over the wall at a point where overhanging branches obscured the bit of pavement on which he landed. Then he set off into the morning.
By the time Corky met up with Dot, he had a good deal to tell her. He had done as he intended and had ‘cased the joint’ beforehand, familiarising himself with the butcher’s ugly face and figure so that he was now confident of recognising the man anywhere, as much by his ponderous gait as by his broad-lipped, beady-eyed face. Most of all, though, he was eager to tell Dot of an incident which had occurred earlier in the afternoon. They had met halfway along Heyworth Street, outside a confectioner’s shop, and Corky had hurried into speech at once.
‘Dot, something’s happened, something not too good. I came back to the churchyard with a lump of bread and cheese a woman give me in one of the pubs. I got in over the wall, like we always does, and I were crossing towards the shed when something made me turn round, a – a feeling, sort of. And there was this little kid . . .’
Dot grinned. ‘That’ll be Sadie O’Brien; was she wearing a pink dress with a matching hair ribbon, and did she talk kind of posh?’
Corky grinned back, considerably relieved. ‘Yes, she talked very posh, and her hair ribbon did match her dress, only it were blue . . . well, blue and white. And she had a little gardening set – real neat it was – and she’d dug quite a deep hole in one of the graves near the wall. She said she were looking for buried treasure and was certain she would find some because she had met a girl in here the other day who’d been searching for something, though she didn’t know what.’
Dot groaned and dropped her head into her hands for a moment. ‘Kids! Now whatever gave her the idea I was searching for anything? Come to think of it, I did try to stop her rooting around in the earth because then, of course, the necklace was actually buried there . . . where she was playing, I mean. Which grave was she digging in, do you know?’
Corky looked dubious. ‘It were a baby’s grave, a little tiny one. She explained that she had meant to plant flowers, only when she started to dig she found there was quite a deep hole, with straw and stuff in the bottom of it, and that made her sure something had been hidden there. She showed me the “straw and stuff” and it was dried grass really, but sort of curved round so that it did look like a bit of a nest.
Was
that where you buried the necklace, Dot?’
Was
that where you buried the necklace, Dot?’
Dot groaned again and nodded, guiltily. ‘Yes, it was – well, you saw me digging it out the first night we met, and I suppose you scared me so much that I completely forgot to take out the nest of grass I’d made for it.’ She looked anxiously into Corky’s face. ‘You didn’t let on you was living in the shed, did you? She’s a nice little kid, but if you told her anything, anything at all, she might easily pass it on, even if only to her nanny. Oh lor, I s’pose she might have followed you. If she did, the fat’s well and truly in the fire and you’ll have to find somewhere else to kip down of a night.’
But Corky was shaking his head. ‘It’s all right, Dotty, don’t get in a two and eight! She’s only small; she couldn’t possibly push her way through all them nettles and brambles and that in order to reach the shed. I asked her how she got in and she showed me.’ He chuckled. ‘She’s so little and thin that she can squeeze through the side of them old iron railings by the gates, and the only places she can visit in the churchyard are the graves near the wall. Does she ever stop talking, do you suppose?’
Dot laughed with him. ‘I doubt it; she’s a gabby little blighter but a nice enough kid,’ she said. ‘Well, I don’t think you need worry about young Sadie, not so long as you don’t meet her too often so she gets suspicious. Anything else to report?’
‘Not exactly, though I’ve spent all the afternoon getting to know old Rathbone and his shop, and the area round it. I went into the shop pretending I were looking for a delivery job – cripes, he’s a nasty blighter, ain’t he? I’d barely got the words out before he started shouting at me, telling me if he needed a delivery boy he’d bleedin’ well put a notice in the window. I got out of there real fast before he could get round the counter, because the last thing I wanted was a clip round the ear. Besides, though I need to be able to recognise him, I don’t want him to go recognising me, do I?’
‘No, I suppose you don’t,’ Dot agreed. ‘But why is it important that he shouldn’t recognise you?’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to tell you until I could tell Emma at the same time, but the fact is, I think we ought to watch old Rathbone night and day, so that we can identify for certain the man you call Ollie. Once we know who he is, we’ll know whether it’s safe to inform on them, if you see what I mean.’
‘I’m not sure that I do,’ Dot said thoughtfully, after a longish pause. ‘Why should it be safer to tell on him once we know who he is?’
‘Oh, Dot, do use your head,’ Corky begged. ‘If your Ollie is someone really important, someone like a judge, or a headmaster or a solicitor, then it would be our word against his, and what chance would we have?’
‘I know what you’re saying, but surely no judge or solicitor, or even headmaster, would be friends with old Rathbone, let alone join him in a jewel robbery,’ Dot pointed out. ‘Still, I see what you mean. And now let’s get round to Emma’s place so we can pool all our ideas properly.’
They arrived at the back door of the jeweller’s shop dead on six o’clock – they actually heard a nearby clock chime – and rang the bell. Emma answered it so quickly that they guessed she must have been already in the stockroom. She ushered them up the stairs, saying as she did so: ‘I came up earlier and got us some tea. It’s all laid out on the kitchen table so we can eat as we talk. Do you both like veal and ham pie?’
The children assured her that they did and Corky’s eyes gleamed when Emma led them into the kitchen. The table must have groaned beneath the weight of food for, in addition to a very large wedge of veal and ham pie, there was a plate covered in thick slices of ham, a big bowl full of ripe tomatoes, and another of boiled new potatoes, as well as a dish of bread and butter and various smaller platters with such things as radishes, cress and spring onions arrayed upon them. In addition to all this bounty, there was a trifle, an apple pie and a jug of custard standing on the dresser, as well as a tall, green glass jug full of what looked like lemonade.
The youngsters stared at this feast and needed no encouragement to sit down and begin to help themselves. Emma poured the lemonade, then took a seat. She put some ham, a couple of potatoes and a large tomato on her plate but did not start eating at once. Instead, she looked questioningly from one guest to the other. ‘Well? Any ideas?’ Corky began to answer her, but since his mouth was full of potato and pie the result was less like speech than gurgling. Emma laughed. ‘It’s all right. Eat first and talk later had better be our motto. I’ve done my best to think up some scheme which would implicate the thieves, but the more I think of it, the more I realise that we can only point the finger at Archie Rathbone; I mean, it was his yard that you were hiding in, wasn’t it, Dot? And the truth is, when it comes right down to it, I’m keener to have my grandfather’s murderer caught than I am to see Archie Rathbone punished. You know what they say: once a man has committed the ultimate sin of murder, he’ll kill again and again, because the penalty’s the same – you can’t hang a man more than once.’
Corky stared at her, ceasing to chew for a moment. What she said was true yet somehow it was almost shocking. The man Ollie had killed once and, if Dot was right, had made a spirited attempt to push her under a train. In a way, Ollie had nothing to lose. If he discovered that they meant to spill the beans, then he might very well make a clean sweep and kill Emma, Corky himself and little Dot as well. Now that he came to think of it, it wouldn’t be that difficult; Ollie could take his time, pick them off one by one . . . They simply must discover the second man’s identity before he could realise what they knew.
‘Corky? You look rather grim. What are you thinking about?’ Emma’s voice broke into his thoughts.
Corky put down his knife and fork. ‘It was what you said,’ he told her. ‘I was telling Dot we ought to watch the butcher day and night until we discover just who this Ollie is. I know Dot thinks she saw him when she ran out of the back alley, but I’m not so sure, and if the man’s a murderer, then he’s far more of a danger than the butcher and, as you say, he’ll lose nothing if he kills again. I think, Emma, once we know who he is, you ought to go to someone real high up in the police department, show them the necklace and explain how you’ve got hold of it. They’ll believe you where they might not believe Dot or myself.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ Emma said, after a few moments of deep thought. ‘Look, when we’ve finished our meal, you two can have a game of cards or something whilst I nip down and check that everything is as it should be in the shop. Then I’ll wash up the crocks and tidy things away up here – I’ll pack up the rest of the food so you can take it back to your hideout, Corky – and go and change into something a bit less conspicuous than my working suit and we’ll make for wherever you’ve hidden the necklace. It should be getting dark by then, but I still think we’d best leave here one at a time, rather than in a group. Where shall we meet up?’
‘Outside Lime Street Station,’ Dot said promptly. ‘There’ll be a heap of folk around, there always are. And even then, we needn’t actually walk with you, Emma, just in case someone’s watching. Me and Corky will kind of stroll along together, because no one notices kids, and you can follow us. And we’ll wash up whilst you go down to the shop, as a sort of thank you for the best tea we’ve ever been give,’ she finished.
Emma smiled at her. ‘Thanks, Dot,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ve not had any bright ideas? I’m afraid I’ve not come up with anything constructive, but watching Rathbone’s shop is a real brainwave. We’ll do it in shifts; you two will have to do daytime because I’m working, but I’ll do evenings and some of the night as well.’
Corky looked at her doubtfully. She was wearing a grey pin-striped suit and a dazzlingly white blouse, and her feet were clad in black patent leather court shoes. He was thinking that she would stand out like a sore thumb when Dot reminded them both that, in fact, Corky was best placed to watch the shop after it grew dusk. ‘The two of us will manage just fine,’ she said tactfully. ‘Ladies like you don’t hang around Heyworth Street much and we’ll be all right, honest to God we will.’
Emma laughed and pinched Dot’s cheek. ‘We’ll discuss it later,’ she said. ‘I shan’t be very long,’ and she disappeared in the direction of the stairs.
Dot and Corky cleared the table and washed up, and Dot was tremendously impressed by the many conveniences of the small flat. There was a neat little gas heater over the sink, which provided hot water for washing up, and a tap which brought cold water so that Emma never had to fill buckets. Next door to the kitchen, there was a proper bathroom – a thing Dot had only heard about. Here was a white enamel bath with another heater over it and two big brass taps. There was a wash basin and a lavatory with a cistern above it and a long chain with a pear-shaped pull on the end. She called Corky through to admire the amenities but he was inclined to laugh at her. ‘A big institution like a children’s home has to have running water and flush WCs,’ he said authoritatively. ‘As for baths, you couldn’t have kids carting hot water to fill a tub this size, so it’s got to be laid on. Haven’t you never been to the public baths?’
‘No, but I’ve heard about them,’ Dot said yearningly. ‘Folks say they’re grand, but a bath costs a lot so kids don’t get took there. Don’t I just wish I could have a bath right now!’
They heard Emma coming up the stairs and rejoined her in the kitchen. They had put away all the crocks and cutlery so the room presented a very tidy appearance. Emma glanced round, then dived into a sideboard and brought out a pile of comic papers and magazines. ‘Read these while I change into something dark,’ she said, and disappeared towards her bedroom.
She was gone rather longer than either Dot or Corky expected, and when the kitchen door opened at last Dot, who was facing it, gave a squawk. A young man stood before her. He was wearing a large cloth cap, pulled well down over his brows, a navy blue shirt, a dark brown jacket and black trousers. He wore wellington boots and a rather self-conscious grin and when he spoke Dot knew him at once – or her, rather, for it was Emma.
‘My grandfather was a keen birdwatcher and fisherman,’ Emma said, half apologetically. ‘These are his fishing clothes. I think they’ll do, don’t you?’
‘They’s – they’s grand; you gave me a right turn. I didn’t know it were you until you spoke,’ Dot said honestly. ‘No one will ever recognise you in that lot, Emma. I bet you didn’t, did you, Corky?’
‘No, I never,’ admitted Corky. ‘Why, you’ve even dirtied your face and hands! But – but where’s all your hair gone? I s’pose you’ve had to cut it off?’
Emma laughed and pulled off the cap, bending her head to show them how she had pinned her long, shining curls up into a knob on top of her head. ‘So now do you see how I can help out with night shifts?’ she asked. ‘There’s always young men going to or from boys’ clubs or pubs. Will I pass muster?’
Other books
Recipe For Love by Sean Michael
Borrowed Ember by Samantha Young
Just a Little Embrace by Tracie Puckett
El monstruo subatómico by Isaac Asimov
The Butcher Beyond by Sally Spencer
My Brother Evelyn & Other Profiles by Alec Waugh
Football Hero (2008) by Green, Tim
The Scarlet Pepper by Dorothy St. James
Champagne Showers by Adler, Holt
Catalyst by Ross Richdale