The Lodger (15 page)

Trary shrieked again. The driver of a horse-drawn van cracked his whip playfully at her and called, ‘Good lively young 'un you are, gel.' Trary waved.

‘There,' said Bobby, ‘didn't I say you were only young?'

‘It's not my fault you're daft,' said Trary, ‘an' could you kindly spare me more talkin'? Did Mr Bradshaw mention my mum?'

‘He said he 'ad a nice note from her.'

‘Did he? D'you think my mum's nice?'

‘Not 'alf,' said Bobby, ‘if I was old enough and you were still too young, I wouldn't mind marryin' her instead. She's got nice looks and a nice figure.'

‘Oh, you're cheekier all the time,' said Trary. ‘Boys your age shouldn't talk about my mum's figure. D'you really think it's nice, though?'

‘Well, I like bosoms,' said Bobby. ‘I think every woman should 'ave one, which they 'ave, mostly. I can hardly wait till you're a woman, Trary. My ma's a woman, y'know, and we're all proud of 'er bosom. Then there's me Aunt Ada, hers is renowned, accordin' to me dad.'

‘Oh, I don't know I'll ever get home alive,' gasped Trary, as they passed the handsome town hall. ‘I never heard any boy take such liberties.'

‘I'm only talkin' about what's natural,' said Bobby. ‘Bosoms are natural. Well, on women they are. When you're a woman – '

‘Don't you dare,' breathed Trary, who had never enjoyed herself so much with any boy, ‘don't you dare say it, Bobby Reeves, or I'll push you under a tram.' They turned into Larcom Street. ‘It's private.'

‘It wouldn't feel private to me, bein' pushed under a tram in public,' said Bobby.

‘I mean talkin' to a girl about – well, it's private.' Trary, whose girlish bosom was budding nicely, was actually pink. ‘Mr Bradshaw wouldn't talk private.'

‘He might to yer mum,' said Bobby, ‘considerin' she's got lovely mince pies as well.'

‘Yes, I think so too,' said Trary.

A surging bunch of street kids, out of school, stopped to watch the approach of her and Bobby. Some of them began a singing yell of doggerel:

Trary's nose went high in the air, and she passed the kids as aloofly as a duchess. Bobby grinned at them.

In Charleston Street, Maggie was out at her gate, looking all ways, Daisy with her. Seeing Trary and Bobby, she smiled.

‘Hello, Bobby, did you just meet Trary comin' home from school?'

‘Walked 'er all the way, Mrs Wilson. It's best for her at her age. I'll – '

‘Here we go,' said Trary.

‘Yes, I'll do it as much as I can from next week, Mrs Wilson,' said Bobby. ‘I help me mum with her stall, that's me job at present, and I can get time off most afternoons, except this week, when I'll be out pickin' up loads of new seconds for her.'

‘Is Trary goin' to 'ave Bobby as 'er nice boy, Mum?' asked Daisy.

‘He'll be lucky,' said Trary. ‘What you doin' out here, Mum?'

‘Well, I'm a bit bothered, love,' said Maggie, the sun bringing little golden glints to her hair. ‘Mr Bates took our laundry to the Bagwash this mornin', and I 'aven't seen him since.'

‘Well!' said Trary.

‘Crikey, yer new lodger's nicked yer washin', Mrs Wilson?' said Bobby. ‘I'm not standin' for that. You're me most likeable lady friend. I know Trary's me girl, but that don't mean I don't 'ave a fond likin' for you. I'll go and find Constable Bradshaw.'

‘'E's comin',' said Daisy.

‘Mr Bradshaw?' said Trary gladly, and turned. But the man striding along the street towards them was Mr Bates. His smile was one of pleasure as he spotted what looked like a reception committee. He arrived at the gate, a large parcel under his arm, another in his hand, held by its string.

‘Mr Bates, what 'appened?' asked Maggie.

‘Met some old friends from old haunts, yer know,' he said. ‘Might I now deliver your clean laundry?'

‘But that's not bagwash stuff in those parcels,' said Maggie.

‘Ah well, the fact is, Mrs Wilson, I took the liberty of havin' it all laundered. You just say if it's too much of a liberty, only knowin' you've got yer hands full most of the time, I thought let the laundry take care of everything for once, eh?'

Maggie looked uncertain. Trary looked unresponsive. Bobby studied the new lodger. Well, he thought, he's a handsome bloke for Mrs Wilson to have around, but I don't reckon Trary's blissful about it.

Maggie said, ‘Mr Bates, that can't be my laundered washin', you only took it this mornin' and they don't do full laundering the same day.'

‘I found a silver coin that wasn't doin' anything special except sitting in me pocket,' said Mr Bates, ‘and crossed a palm with it. Hello, is that young Daisy down there? And Trary up 'ere? And is this yer young man, Trary?'

‘That's Bobby Reeves, a fam'ly friend,' said Maggie. ‘Mr Bates, now I owe you for a full laundry on top of – oh, lor', it's kind of you but you shouldn't do it.'

‘It's best you don't, Mr Bates,' said Trary.

‘Couldn't help meself,' said Mr Bates, ‘and I'd be pleased if you'd just regard it as a token of rightful thanks for Sunday tea yesterday, Mrs Wilson. Let me cart it in for you.' He carried the parcels into the house, whistling.

Maggie looked at Trary. ‘His 'eart's in the right place, love.'

‘Yes, but we don't want to be beholden to wherever his heart is,' said Trary.

‘Well, I'll push off,' said Bobby, ‘and I'll start lookin' after you next week, Trary.'

‘Honestly, Mum, that boy,' said Trary, ‘you can hardly believe what he's talkin' about most of the time, and nor can't you understand what he's saying the rest of the time. Imagine him tellin' me I'm too young to come home from school on me own. I never met anyone dafter, not in all my life.'

‘I heard all that,' said Bobby.

‘Oh, you still here?' said Trary.

‘I'll be all right in a minute, Mrs Wilson,' said Bobby. ‘I'll be on me way then, but right now I'm just faint with admiration for Trary's talk. You've got a one and only oldest daughter, Mrs Wilson, did yer know that?'

‘Just about,' smiled Maggie. ‘You're a funny young man, Bobby.'

‘Yes, I mean to look after yer little girl Trary, Mrs Wilson, I'm the right age, thankfully.'

Trary, hand over her mouth, rushed indoors.

During the following days, Mr Bates proved himself much more welcome as a lodger than the odious Mr Hooper. He had, by sheer force of personality, divorced Maggie from the worrying clutches of Mr Monks. He accepted that he should not, however, have taken it upon himself to deal with her Monday washing in the way he had. He placed a restraint on his expansiveness and his readiness to dig into his pocket on her account. His breezy friendliness did not diminish, nor his willingness to be a help, but by becoming less intrusive he became a much more acceptable presence in the house. Maggie liked to be friendly, she did not like being embarrassed. Nor was she a simpleton. She knew that many of Walworth's widows needed lodgers to help with the income, and she knew too that some lodgers were only too pleased to pay an increased rent for certain extra comforts that they persuaded the handsomer widows to provide. If her mirror frequently told her the hollows in her face needed to fill out a little, it also told her she had not yet become unattractive. And she could still take pride in her figure. Not that Mr Bates, an obvious man of the world, was already making advances. He remained a cheerful man who showed admiration for the way she had fought hardship, and with that admiration was perceptible respect. His admiration did not displease her. But she was not the kind of woman to encourage an affair, not as the mother of four growing girls, and not in any case. Maggie believed in marriage or nothing.

Daisy, Lily and Meg responded to their new lodger. Trary remained cool, and it pleased her that he was out most of each day, in the City, and not at home making up to her mum. She wished Mr Bradshaw would call, just to ask her mum how she was.

Another study of the street map convinced Nicholas that Mabel Shipman, assumed to have visited a client on Friday night, had done so in a house off the west side of Walworth Road, and not too far from Steedman Street, the scene of the murder. Had her appointment taken her farther abroad, she would have travelled by tram back to the Elephant and Castle to reach her lodgings in the New Kent Road. And had the house been in any of the streets east of the Walworth Road, she would have gone nowhere near Steedman Street on her return to her lodgings. No, that house had to be in one of the streets on the west side.

He and Chapman spent days knocking on doors. The uniformed branch helped in the matter of knocking on those doors that remained closed to Chamberlain and Chapman because all occupants were out at the time. Nothing positive had happened yet.

Linda Jennings did not escape Inspector Greaves, who ordered Nicholas not to complete any statement for her signature for the time being. He gave Linda a nervous time. He was the complete, searching professional, with a ponderously methodical approach. Yet he got no more from her than Nicholas had. He turned fatherly and asked for her co-operation. Linda in return asked for protection if ever she had to appear in the witness box, for the sake of her mum and dad. Inspector Greaves promised he would speak to the defence counsel in the event of the man being caught and tried. Linda accordingly agreed to accompany him and a detective-sergeant to West End theatres at night, to look during intervals at the faces of men in the bars, and to point out any whom she knew as gentlemen friends of Mabel Shipman. But she did, of course, ask why he didn't make use of Mabel's notebook and its addresses. Inspector Greaves cast complications over that tactic, and proceeded to follow his own line, with Linda's help. During the course of four successive evenings, Linda alighted on only one known man, a man thoroughly disgusted at being questioned and able to supply a cast-iron alibi.

It was Friday. Trary answered a knock on the door. She had just got home from school. Constable Bradshaw smiled at her from the doorstep.

‘Oh, Mr Bradshaw, sir, 'ow nice to see you,' she said, dropping an aitch.

‘Much nicer to see you,' said Harry.

‘You're just sayin' that,' said Trary. ‘D'you want to see mum?'

‘Well, I just thought I'd come and ask how you all were, Trary. How's your new lodger?'

‘Oh, him,' said Trary.

‘Something wrong with him?' asked Harry, instinctively the policeman.

‘Well, not really, I suppose, he's better than our previous lodger. You're goin' to come in an' say hello to mum, aren't you? She just happens to have the kettle on.'

‘I'm on duty,' said Harry, ‘but as it's traditional, a cup of tea for a passin' copper, I'll step in.'

They were all in the kitchen, the girls and Maggie, and about to have the cup of tea Maggie always provided when they came home from school. The girls were delighted to see Harry, and Daisy offered to stand on her head for him. She'd accomplished that trick recently. Maggie, pleased that Harry had stepped in, informed Daisy that she wasn't to perform any of those larks with a visitor present. Daisy looked mystified.

‘But I'm best of all the girls in our class,' she said, ‘and I'm only little.'

‘Mum means she don't want you showin' yer drawers,' said Lily.

‘But they won't come down,' protested Daisy.

‘You can't show yer drawers when mister's 'ere,' said Lily.

Harry coughed. ‘Everything all right, Mrs Wilson, apart from Daisy wantin' to stand on her head?'

‘I'll give 'er stand on her head,' said Maggie.

‘Crikey,' said Daisy, ‘I ain't even done it yet.'

‘Sugar in your tea, Mr Bradshaw?' said Maggie, smiling.

‘If it's – '

‘Oh, we've got some now,' said Maggie, ‘due to the kind Salvation Army or someone.'

‘Oh, yes,' said Trary, ‘and that boy Bobby Reeves, who brought it all in a box on his head, did you know what a terrible talkin' boy he is? He came and walked me home from school last Monday, and I never had a more tryin' time in all my life.'

‘'E kisses 'er,' said Lily, hands around her cup, head bent to it.

‘That's ever so tryin', gettin' kisses,' said Meg.

‘He's got a hope,' said Trary.

‘She blushes,' said Meg.

‘I am not in the habit of blushin',' said Trary, her well-known aloof air raising a smile in Maggie.

‘I like kisses,' said Lily, ‘only I ain't 'ad none yet. Except from me mum.'

‘Trary, is kissin' wiv a boy nice?' asked Daisy.

‘I don't do kissin' with daft boys,' said Trary.

Daisy cast a glance at Harry. He winked. She giggled. She whispered to Lily. Lily looked at Harry, then whispered back.

‘I know what you two are sayin',' said Maggie. ‘They've got their eye on you, Mr Bradshaw.'

‘Do policemen kiss, mister?' asked Meg.

‘Not each other,' said Harry, at which Daisy and Lily spilled giggles into their cups.

The girls talked, mainly to Harry, and Trary thought it was nice how he talked back to them, making himself at home with everyone in a different way from Mr Bates, who was, well, sort of overpowering. No-one asked him if the police had caught the man who had murdered a young woman. Maggie never talked about it to her girls, and so her younger girls never even thought about it.

Harry stayed only a short time. He was far too sensible to linger, and he was on duty, in any case. Maggie said it had been nice of him to call to see how they all were, and she thanked him again for the Salvation Army gift, doing so in a way that suggested she knew who the real donor was. But she didn't say come again, which was a grievous blow to Trary.