The Pawnbroker's Niece Page 15

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, but never mind that now. I found Mr Brodie drunk and talking about you not believing he had sent money through Jimmy. He said that you’ve got it in for him. Alice is in a state because she thinks they’re going to be put out on the street.’

  Margaret’s eyes sparkled. ‘If he can drink it shows he’s got money. The money he says he sent with that stepson of his! Well, I’ve seen no money, and I’m sure if you had, then you’d have written it in the ledger. Will’s lying! He thinks because it’s me that he owes money to I’ll keep on giving him more time to pay.’

  ‘He doesn’t!’

  ‘Well, there’s a limit to my patience…and you’re only encouraging him in that belief, so put your money away.’

  Rita made no move to do what Margaret said, but instead tried to make sense of things. She would swear on the Bible that Mr Brodie had been telling the truth but, if he was, that could mean only one of two things — either her aunt was lying or Jimmy had kept hold of the money. Could her aunt be lying? It would be out of character, but this thing between her and Mr Brodie was making her really narky. The girl scooped up the coins and put them back in the tin, saying firmly, ‘I still want to do it.’

  ‘You’d go against me? Against the good advice I’m giving you?’ Margaret was really annoyed. ‘What about visiting Eve and your half-brother? That’s not important to you now?’

  ‘Yes! But it’ll keep.’ She shoved the tin across the table, a hand on the lid. ‘Please, do what I say?’

  Margaret made no move to take the money but wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s that smell?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject!’

  ‘Can’t you smell it?’ Margaret brought her head down and sniffed Rita’s hand. ‘It’s you! What’s that on your hand?’

  The girl rubbed at the stain. ‘Polish. I thought I’d got it off but it’s strong stuff.’

  ‘It’s a wonder you couldn’t smell it, but perhaps you haven’t got my nose.’

  ‘I did and tried to wash it off.’

  ‘You need a touch of spirit.’

  ‘OK! I’ll see to it!’ cried Rita exasperated. ‘Now, the money — will you take it, please, Aunt Margaret?’

  She scowled. ‘You’re not doing this for the girl or Will. It’s that lad — because it’s him who’s desperate to hang on to that yard.’ She rested her hands on the table. ‘Listen to me, Rita. Falling in love at your age will bring you nothing but trouble. I’d advise you to put Jimmy completely out of your mind.’

  Rita removed a strand of copper-coloured hair out of her eyes. ‘I’m doing it for them all. Take my money and do what I ask again, please?’

  ‘You’re still determined to go against what I say?’

  Rita’s stance was defiant, shoulders back, head held high. ‘Yes!’

  Margaret drew in her breath and there were two spots of colour high on her cheeks as she reached for the tin. ‘I wish you wouldn’t but perhaps you’ll learn something from this. Fetch me the ledger! I also want to see the credit agreement. It’s ages since I’ve had a look at it and I want to check exactly what I put in it.’ Rita went to do as she said but could not find the agreement. She looked through the file and then riffled through every other file in the drawer but it was not there. Puzzled, she hurried into the kitchen and placed the ledger on the table. ‘I can’t find the agreement.’

  Margaret frowned. ‘Have you gone through the whole drawer in case it was filed in the wrong place?’

  ‘Yes! It’s not there.’ Rita sat across the table from her. ‘It’s a mystery.’ She nibbled a fingernail.

  ‘Don’t bite your nails,’ said Margaret automatically. ‘I can’t see it going missing just like that. Someone must have taken it.’

  ‘Who?’ As soon as she spoke Rita knew there was only one answer.

  ‘Who’s had access to the drawer? Which member of the family has been in the storeroom?’

  ‘None of them,’ said Rita.

  ‘Then you must have taken it for them!’

  Rita’s eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘You accused me once before of stealing and it was proved I was innocent. It wasn’t me!’

  ‘All right! Don’t take offence. I believe you.’ Margaret looked down at the ledger. ‘We need to think this through carefully before we make a move. You do realise that without the agreement I only have the ledger as proof that Will is in debt to me. How much that could be counted as a legal document in a court of law I’m not sure.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of going to court over this?’ said Rita, shocked. ‘It was bad enough being called as a witness at Mr McGinty’s trial.’

  ‘Not at the moment; I was just thinking aloud. I can’t make any sense of the different things that have been said and done today.’ Margaret opened the ledger and her eyes lighted on Ellen’s name. ‘Where’s Ellen?’

  ‘She’s up at the yard.’ Rita explained about the padre overhearing her play the saxophone.

  ‘You shouldn’t have let her have it,’ said Margaret. ‘But it’s done now.’

  ‘So is it OK for her to borrow it? She needs to practice and make money and once she’s done that she can pay you what she owes you.’

  ‘I don’t run this place as a charity, you know!’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ said Rita, tossing her head back. ‘Anyway, her clothes are still here. Perhaps you can keep some of them as a pledge in place of the saxophone.’

  ‘I will! And perhaps you can go up to the yard again and ask can they keep her there. Take her a change of clothes. You can also have a nose round Will’s office.’

  Rita gasped. ‘I’m not going sneaking in there. Mr Brodie trusts me.’

  Her remarks irritated Margaret. ‘Then it should make it easier for you to gain access.’

  ‘I’m not doing it,’ said Rita, folding her arms and looking defiant.

  ‘Then don’t,’ said Margaret, a quiver in her voice. ‘Although it’s about time you realised which side your bread’s buttered on and were a bit more willing to do things for me. At least go and ask can Ellen stay up there. I want a bit of peace and quiet to count these coins. Although at the moment I can’t see any point in taking this sum off the account. I’m expecting him to come in any minute and say he doesn’t owe me anything. Although, if he had taken the agreement then he wouldn’t have argued with me the way he did this morning.’ Margaret wondered if the padre wanting to see her had anything to do with Will. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to tell him about the missing agreement if he knew the family and see what he thought.

  Rita was glad to get away, and went upstairs and packed a couple of changes for Ellen, just in case Mr Brodie agreed to her staying there. She was going to miss her, but perhaps it was best she was out of Margaret’s way if she was going to be playing the saxophone.

  Alice could scarcely believe it when Rita told her that the family had a stay of execution. She promised to do her best to persuade her stepfather to stop drinking. ‘Not that I haven’t tried already,’ she said earnestly.

  ‘My aunt suggested that perhaps Ellen could stay here. Would that be possible?’

  ‘We’ve been talking about it,’ said Alice, her eyes shining. ‘I’ve mentioned it to Pops and he said she’ll be company for me. I could ask to use the piano in the church hall and we could rehearse there.’

  With that sorted out, Rita went in search of Jimmy because there were several questions she wanted answers to. However, he had left the yard for the docks and would not return until that evening.

  Rita poured a little methylated spirits on a piece of rag, but before using it to clean her hand, she sniffed at the stain again and her brow knitted. Could she be right? If she was, then something had to be done but she knew it was not going to be easy.

  That night Rita had her old dream about Mr McGinty, although he was not the only suspicious character creeping about in her mind. She woke the following morning to the mournful sound of ships’ foghorns on the river. For a moment she d
id not move, reluctant to get out of her warm bed, but her aunt was calling and there were things to be done.

  The light was on in the kitchen and Rita could just about make out the shape of the galvanised bath hanging from its hook in the yard.

  Margaret handed her the toasting fork and a round of bread. ‘It’s just the kind of weather to fill the graveyards. I’m going down to the Sailors’ Home to have a word with the padre. I can’t see it being busy here today.’

  Rita’s head jerked round as she was in the act of stabbing the bread with the toasting fork; the bread fell on the fire. ‘Will you be back for lunch? I was going to go up to the yard.’

  ‘Again! Had second thoughts of spying for me?’

  ‘You could say that.’ Rita blew black bits from the bread. ‘Give my love to the padre,’ she said with a mischievous smile.

  ‘Huh! You’re turning into a flirt just like your mother.’ Margaret put on her coat and hat and hurried out of the kitchen.

  Fog hung over the river like an old army blanket and Margaret stood a moment, a scarf covering her mouth and nose, thinking of the men she had cared about sailing away to distant lands, two of them never to return again.

  Alan had been so resolute, his eyes alight with zeal. Determined to do what he could for his Lord in China. She had been as excited as he was, stirred by his fervour, wanting to be a partner with him in an adventure. His letters were few and far between because he was travelling about that great land, but when he settled for a while in Shanghai she had written to him asking when she could join him. His reply had never come. Instead, William had told her of his twin’s death in an uprising. How devastated she had been, furious with William for not keeping Alan alive and closing the escape route from the humdrum life with her father. Now it was as if history was repeating itself. She had allowed herself to dream of marrying him for a while but his behaviour, echoing the past, had ruined the dream. She turned away from the river and made her way to Canning Place and the Sailors’ Home.

  Margaret stood on the multicoloured tiled floor in the rhomboidal court looking about her and half-wishing that she had not come. She felt out of place amongst the seamen coming and going about her. Most spared her a glance and quite a few winked at her. She supposed it was flattering in a way, not that any of these men were anything to write home about.

  She looked at the clock attached to the wrought iron railing of the first-floor gallery and wondered how much longer the padre would be. Then someone touched her elbow and she started apprehensively, only to realise that the man at her side must be Father Jerome, who not only knew Rita, but William, Billy and Sarah Turner, her niece’s former teacher.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he said with a smile.

  She gazed at the strong bones of his face and the prominent nose and returned his smile. ‘You came to see me — but as it is there is something I want to ask you. Perhaps there is somewhere we can talk privately?’

  ‘Certainly.’ He inclined his head. ‘A cup of tea in the kitchen? It’s much warmer there than in my office.’

  ‘That would be welcome.’

  He led the way and soon they were seated at the corner of a well-scrubbed table, drinking tea and partaking of buttered toasted teacakes. She was hesitant at first to tell him what was bothering her.

  He could be one of those clergy who looked down on her kind, bracketing her with the tax collectors in the Bible, yet she needed to speak to someone.

  At first she stumbled over her words, but his manner was so attentive and sympathetic that soon she was telling him more about her troubles than she had ever told anyone else before. He let her talk without interruption.

  When her voice finally tailed off, he said, ‘I think you should go and see William and tell him the agreement has been stolen. It’s a pity we don’t know exactly when. I will say this because I am sure he is innocent. It can’t be Billy, despite his having served on the reformatory ship, the Akbar, when he was twelve.’

  This was news to Margaret. ‘Was it for theft?’

  The padre hesitated, then resting his elbows on the table, put his hands together as if in prayer and tapped them against his chin. ‘No! Youthful high jinks! Destructive, nevertheless, and he had to be punished. There was a lot of anger in him when he was younger. I’m sure you know something of what it was like for him after his mother died.’

  Margaret nodded. ‘What was his crime?’

  ‘He smashed nearly every window of Dunlop’s rubber factory on Brownlow Hill. You know where I mean?’

  She nodded. ‘There was no doubt of his guilt?’ ‘No. He admitted it…was quite defiant. He’s calmed down a lot since, all things considered.’

  ‘What d’you mean by that?’

  ‘He was banned from the house after his first trip. He had left the Akbar. Something about his being a bad influence on Alice and Jimmy. Most likely Jimmy did try and follow in Billy’s footsteps. It’s surprising what some lads find admirable. The stepmother was always more likely to believe her son innocent than Billy, whom she accused of theft on more than one occasion. Although a year or so ago she supposedly had a change of heart, but Billy said she was a hypocrite and wouldn’t have anything to do with her. He always denied the thefts and I believe him. He is genuinely attached to his stepsister and was to Jimmy, until recently.’

  ‘Why only until recently?’

  The padre shrugged. ‘That’s something he chose to keep to himself.’

  ‘What caused him and Will to fall out?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Apparently the rift between him and Billy started long before this last trouble. In fact Sarah Turner…you know Sarah, I believe?’ Margaret nodded. ‘Her mother knew the family, too, and apparently it started even before the first Mrs Brodie died.’

  Margaret found all this very interesting. ‘I knew Bella. I don’t understand why there should be such antagonism between Will and his son. Unless…’ She was remembering what William had told her about Bella being pregnant when they got married.

  Perhaps he had felt trapped and resented the boy for that reason.

  ‘Unless what?’ prodded the padre gently.

  She shook her head, tracing a pattern on the table with a finger. ‘Just a thought. It’s strange. Will spoke about having a son. He looked forward to showing him things. I think most men want a son.’

  ‘Ahhh!’ The padre smiled. ‘Then I’m the exception. If I ever marry I would like a daughter. Girls are much less trouble. More biddable.’

  ‘You think so?’ Margaret’s voice was dry. ‘You have met my niece?’

  ‘More than once.’ There was a twinkle in his eyes. ‘The first time she would have nothing to do with me.’

  Margaret would have liked to know more about that meeting but decided now was not the right time to ask. Instead she said, ‘So despite Billy’s past you’re convinced it wasn’t him who stole the document? He was on shore leave at the time of the second break-in.’

  The padre leant back in his chair. ‘But not the first. I think we both have a fair idea about the person most likely to have taken it. The one who cares about the yard most! I repeat — have a word with William.’

  ‘I will.’ She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘I must get back. It’s been very informative talking to you.’

  ‘And you,’ he said getting to his feet. ‘I never realised you knew the Brodie twins so well. I’ll see you out.’

  As they walked towards the door, he spoke about Sarah Turner. ‘She’s lonely since her mother died despite having a worthwhile job teaching and doing voluntary work here at the Home. Like you, she lost a fiancé. By the way — I met Alan.’

  ‘You did!’ She was amazed that he hadn’t mentioned it before. ‘Where?’

  ‘Hong Kong. It was where I first became interested in the Seamen’s Mission. Alan came in with William. Now, when was it? It only seems like yesterday.’

  ‘It must be over fifteen years ago.’

  ‘That long? Surely not!’

 
She nodded. He looked thoughtful. ‘I remember they were arguing over something. It was incredible how alike they were.’

  ‘Like two sides of a double-headed coin,’ she murmured.

  ‘We spoke at some length; both being in the same line of business, you might say.’ He took her hand and patted it. ‘I really would try and put the past behind you. People are seldom what we think they are. You could do with a woman friend with whom you could share your little worries. Sarah could be the very person.’

  Margaret was not so sure about that, having never had a woman friend, so she just smiled and said, ‘I believe you’ve asked Billy’s girlfriend and stepsister to play at the Home.’

  ‘Yes. I’m thinking of having an experimental dance. We’ve never had one before. Perhaps you’d like to come. The more women, the better.’

  She thanked him and left the building. The fog still hung over Canning Place, and the sound of the ships’ foghorns was just as mournful as before, but she was feeling a little better. Perhaps she would go up to the yard and have a talk with William sometime — but not today. After all, she had called him a liar to his face on more than one occasion, and he might slam the door in her face. She would wait and see what Rita had to say when she returned from the yard.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rita hunched her shoulders against the damp chill of the fog, burying her mouth and nose inside the fur collar of her coat. There had been little traffic on the roads and so she was hoping to find Jimmy at home. How to get him alone if the two girls and William were around could be a problem, but what she had to say was for his ears only.

  She was in luck. Alice and Ellen had their heads together discussing music, and although they broke off to say hello, to ask how things were and thank her again for what she had done, it was obvious that they didn’t really want to be interrupted. She asked after Jimmy’s whereabouts.

  ‘He and Pops are over in the stables. Something about getting the place tidied up,’ said Alice, smiling. ‘I told Pops what you did for us and he knows Ellen is Billy’s girlfriend.’