The Pawnbroker's Niece Page 25

  ‘She got it cheap and said if things get any tougher she’ll be renting out rooms. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Rita, trying to imagine throwing a party in this hall on a summer evening. She had never had a party in her life. She scolded herself. What was she doing thinking of parties when there was still no news of Billy and Mr Brodie? She worried as much as Margaret but kept it to herself. She slipped her hand through Sam’s arm. ‘Come on! Let’s go and pick our bedrooms.’

  ‘I thought Miss Sinclair wanted me to carry on living over the shop.’

  Rita grimaced. ‘I’d forgotten. I must admit I don’t like that idea. I’m going to miss you. These days you’re either up at the yard or out delivering so that I hardly see you much as it is.’ She paused as they came to the first floor and her brown eyes widened as she gazed about the huge landing. ‘We’re going to need more than Mrs Richards to keep this place clean and do the cooking. Unless Aunt Margaret does let out rooms.’

  Sam followed Rita into a front bedroom. She gazed out of the window at the bare branches of the trees, thinking it was heavenly having the garden in the centre of the square to look out on. If her mother could see her now she’d be green with envy. Margaret had said Abercromby Square had been named after a professor at Liverpool University, who had designed a youth hostel in North Wales for the YHA. Hundreds of young Liverpudlians had taken to rambling or cycling in the countryside to escape the city.

  Sam sidled up to her. ‘We could get married and then take turns at staying in each place.’

  Rita’s heart flipped over. She stared at his pleasant face, thinking how the scruffy runt she had befriended had turned into the man at her side. They had discussed marriage several times but she had always said no. She loved Sam and knew he loved her but they were not in love. Yet he was such a kind person she knew she would be safe with him. Besides, she would like to have children and if she could not have Billy’s, then Sam’s would do. He would make a good father.

  ‘I’ll let you have an answer later today,’ she murmured, then changed the subject. ‘I believe years ago this room would have been a family sitting room and that’s why it’s so large. Perhaps Aunt Margaret would like to keep it as one.’

  ‘I prefer small rooms myself. They’re cosier!’

  She did not argue with him but opened the catalogue obtained from Wades Furnishings. Margaret had ticked the items she was interested in and Rita tried to imagine the furniture in place.

  She picked a bedroom for herself on the second floor overlooking the rear walled garden and pencilled notes against the illustrations in the catalogue. It seemed to take ages to go over the house. Sam got fed up halfway and sat on the stairs, reading an Edgar Wallace thriller.

  When she had finished Rita squeezed up beside him. ‘Perhaps I will marry you, Sam.’

  She had to say it twice before he heard her and dragged himself out of the book. His face creased into a smile. ‘Honest? I’d feel better married.’

  ‘Good!’ She kissed him lightly on the lips.

  He hugged her. ‘I’ll buy you a ring. There’s one in the shop I’ve had my eye on for some time.’

  ‘Let’s go and tell my aunt.’

  Margaret was not the least surprised when they told her. ‘I’ve never heard the pair of you utter a cross word to the other. So when’s the wedding to be?’

  ‘June,’ said Sam firmly. ‘I’m going to be busy until then. The horse show’s coming up in May and that means more work for all of us.’

  Rita agreed June was a lovely month to get married. Sam bought a garnet and pearl ring that Margaret let him have for a special price and on Saturday they splashed out and had supper at the Silver Grill in Dale Street. On Sunday they went to matins and booked the church.

  They moved into Abercromby Square the week before Christmas. Margaret took to wearing a wedding ring. She was getting more and more frightened as the birth drew near. She changed her doctor. There were three women doctors who shared a house in the square. When she went into labour on Boxing Day, Rita was hammering on their front door at the first twinge.

  Dr Foley examined Margaret and smiling said she would be back after lunch. As it was, the baby did not arrive until evening. A tight-lipped Margaret had stopped trying to be brave and was giving vent to her feelings by cursing everyone she knew by name — including William. The doctor rolled up her sleeves, told her to behave herself and to give some nice little pushes.

  Within the hour Margaret’s son made his appearance. She fell in love with him immediately. His hair was dark and curly and his eyes blue just like his father’s. She named him Jonathan William and he weighed in at seven pounds six ounces. As she put him to her breast, a fierce pride filled her. She thought of William and tears filled her eyes and she prayed one day he would see their son.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rita’s high heels click-clacked on the cobbles as she hurried across Oxford Street, quickening her pace as she approached Abercromby Square to avoid a man mooching in the gutter. He had the gait of the seafarer, taking a few short paces one way and then the same number back. She felt guilty watching him bend down and pick up a fag end. He took a tin from his pocket and placed the cigarette butt inside. She opened her handbag, took a sixpence from her purse and tried to slip the coin into his pocket without him noticing.

  ‘What are yer doing, girl?’ He grabbed her hand.

  ‘It’s just sixpence!’ She did not want a fuss.

  He took the coin from her and his rheumy eyes held a tear. ‘God bless yer!’

  ‘And you, too!’

  She made her escape, angry and sad. There were so many like him on the streets of Liverpool these days; they made her remember the poverty of her childhood. She would hate to go back to that again. As she approached the square she thought of her mother and wondered what she was up to. There had been no word from her for a while, although a letter had winged its way to Eve telling her about her engagement and the wedding planned in June, not that she expected her mother to attend. She wondered what Eve would make of the new house. Rita could easily picture the family of a rich merchant passing in and out of the lovely doorway topped by a decorative fanlight. He would be dreaming of the money he would make on cargoes of tobacco and cotton from New Orleans and rum and sugar from Jamaica. She could imagine his wife and daughters, long silk skirts brushing the floor.

  She smiled thinking how times had changed. The square housed professional people or contained departments of Liverpool University these days. She thought of the brass plate that Sam had screwed into the wall next to their front door. It bore the words MARGARET SINCLAIR, Financial Advisor and Broker.

  Shortly before they had moved, several advertisements had been placed in the local newspapers. At first there had been only a couple of inquiries and Margaret had talked of renting out several rooms, but so far nothing had been done about it. Business was picking up but they were still some way off from making a living. If it were not for the income from the yard and Margaret’s investments they would be in trouble. Money was tight but none of them were complaining because they were so much better off than lots of other people. Most of their clients were wives of professional men, and they had several medical students on their books. All were carefully vetted to make sure they could keep up with their payments or had some kind of collateral.

  Birds twittered in the trees and outside the house stood a horse and cart. Sparrows pecking at the droppings from the horse’s nosebag flew up at her approach.

  A man stepped out from beneath the overhang above the door. ‘I’m looking for Miss Sinclair. I believe she lives here but I can’t get an answer.’ He had a transatlantic accent but his features were barely distinguishable because the wide brim of his felt hat cast a shadow over his face.

  ‘Can I have your name, please?’ said Rita.

  ‘Jimmy Martin.’

  She froze. The memory of his attempted rape came vividly to mind despite all her attempts to forget it. Anger welled up inside he
r. What the hell was he doing back here? Obviously he had not recognised her, but then, they had both changed. They were a couple of years older and she was better dressed and her hair styled differently, and she now carried herself with confidence.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  She controlled her temper. ‘I’d heard you were living in America, Mr Martin.’

  ‘I was! But obviously I’m here now.’

  ‘What have you come for?’ She fumbled in her handbag for her door key.

  ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business. I’m here to speak to the organ grinder not the monkey.’

  Rita wanted to hit him. ‘I think you’ll find it is my business.’ Her tone was icy. She stepped over the threshold and noticed an envelope on the floor. She picked it up and slipped it in her pocket before beckoning Jimmy inside. He was taller than she remembered, but there was none of that restless energy that had attracted her in the early days of their acquaintance.

  ‘What d’you mean by that?’ He removed his hat to reveal hair the colour of sun-bleached cotton. He was shabbily dressed, so whatever he had been doing in America he had not been able to avoid the effects of the Depression.

  ‘Last time we met you were hell-bent on making an honest woman of me after attempted rape.’

  ‘Rita? Bloody hell! It was hardly that! A misunderstanding!’ His blue eyes took her in from head to toe.

  ‘Keep your eyes to yourself! It was no misunderstanding! You tried it on and don’t think you’ve got away with it. Let’s be hearing why you’re here. My fiancé’ll be here in a minute and he’s got muscles like Charles Atlas. One wrong move and you’ll be spitting out teeth.’

  She saw the flash of anger in his eyes and watched him struggle to keep his temper. He managed a smile. ‘Don’t be like that, Rita! My mistake! Put it down to your being such a looker I couldn’t resist you.’

  ‘You can cut the cackle and keep your soft soap. I’m nobody’s fool these days.’ Her voice was hard. ‘What the hell do you want? Out with it!’

  ‘I want the deeds to the yard. With my stepfather and stepbrother dead it belongs to me.’

  His assumption infuriated her. ‘Been talking to your sister, have you? Well, you’ve been misinformed. We haven’t heard they’re dead so we’re not giving up hope. She shouldn’t have either!’ Rita walked away from him and into the office.

  He followed her. ‘You’re just being bloody awkward. They must be dead if nothing’s been heard from them. Your aunt just wants to keep her filthy hands on what’s mine.’

  ‘Mr Brodie’s debt, you mean? Yeah, well, that’s outstanding. When are you going to pay it off?’ She went behind a large oak desk to put a barrier between them. She moved the ivory dragon pen and inkstand that her aunt had taken in exchange for a debt from a Chinese man in Pitt Street and rested her hands on the desk.

  His eyes smouldered. ‘It must have been paid off by now. The yard looks like it’s doing well.’

  ‘Well as can be expected in a depression. But I hate to disappoint you; even if the debt has been paid off there’s another claimant to the property.’ How she enjoyed saying that and seeing the shock in his face.

  ‘You don’t mean a bloody long lost Brodie cousin? I don’t believe it.’

  She had no intention of telling him about Jonathan, who held her heart and her aunt’s between his chubby little hands. ‘Someone like that. Of course, you can take it to court but it would cost money and even if you won I think you’d have to wait seven years before the court would declare Mr Brodie and Billy as dead.’

  ‘You’re bloody loving this, aren’t yer?’ He slammed his fist on the desk. ‘I’ve had it tough. You in your posh suit and high heels have no idea what I’ve been through! I’ve walked and walked from Texas to get here.’

  ‘Walked on water, did you?’

  His eyes darted her a venomous look. ‘I want that Dixon up at the yard out and I’m putting myself in charge.’

  ‘Get lost! You haven’t got a cat in a dogs’ home chance of that happening.’

  Jimmy lunged across the desk, caught her off guard and seized her by the throat. ‘I’d enjoy choking the life out of you right now,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  She believed him and clawed at his hands and drew blood. He swore and his fingers tightened on her windpipe. Then came the sound of voices in the hall and he dropped her like a hot coal; he looked about him and spotted the filing cabinet. ‘I’m not going without those deeds.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid!’ gasped Rita, feeling her throat. ‘Sam! Aunt Margaret!’ She made for the door but it opened before she touched it.

  Sam entered, took one look at her face and then at Jimmy, who was struggling to force open a locked drawer in the filing cabinet, and shot across the room. Jimmy aimed a blow at him but Sam seized him by a wrist and elbow and performed a series of quick movements. The next moment Jimmy was on the floor with Sam’s knee in the small of his back.

  ‘Who is it?’ Margaret had entered the room in his wake.

  ‘Jimmy! And he’s come for what he claims is his inheritance. I told him to get lost and he tried to strangle me. Thanks to Sam he now realises his mistake. How did you manage that trick, Sam?’ said Rita.

  He grinned. ‘Ju-jitsu! What d’yer want me to do with him?’

  ‘I’d like him battered, fried in boiling oil and then thrown to the dogs,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll take him to the chippy,’ said Sam.

  ‘Wait!’ said Margaret, eyeing Jimmy up and down. ‘You believe Will’s dead?’

  ‘Yeah! I bet you do, too, but yer want what’s mine,’ gasped Jimmy, struggling to get up, furious at being so humiliated by Sam.

  Margaret was rigid with pain and anger. ‘You own nothing, so don’t you come round here again throwing your weight around. It’s time you learnt manners. Your stepfather cared about you more than you deserved. Take him out, Sam!’

  Sam hoisted Jimmy to his feet. ‘But I’ve got nowhere to go!’ he yelled. ‘You can’t do this to me! Pops wouldn’t have done it!’

  ‘Your Pops was an old softie! Now get out.’ Margaret’s gaze shifted to Sam. ‘You’d better take the cart back. Heads will roll when I find out who let him take that.’

  ‘I’ll get you for this!’ said Jimmy, fixing Rita with a furious glare.

  ‘You and whose army?’ she said softly, picking up his hat and ramming it on his head.

  Sam frogmarched Jimmy out of the room, calling over his shoulder, ‘I might be late. I’m teaching a new bloke how to drive.’

  Rita looked at her aunt and saw the worry in her eyes and knew what she was thinking. ‘He’s wrong! They’re not dead.’

  ‘Is he?’ whispered Margaret.

  ‘Of course he is! Jimmy’s a selfish G-I-T.’

  ‘Will treated him like a son.’

  ‘That was his big mistake. He encouraged him to have expectations.’

  ‘I need to think,’ said Margaret. ‘I suspect he’s not going to go away.’

  Rita thought she was probably right and a chill ran down her spine. The swine, she thought, as if we didn’t have enough to worry about. She hugged her aunt. ‘Don’t think on an empty stomach. Let’s have lunch. You’re feeding Jonathan, remember.’

  They both left the room, Rita considering how love made you vulnerable. She went downstairs to the basement kitchen to see what Mrs Richards had left them. A widow, she shared the attic with her daughter, Babs, and looked after Jonathan. Today she was visiting her sister and had taken the baby with her.

  There was a casserole in the oven and Rita put on the kettle before returning upstairs. She found Margaret at her desk, perusing Will Brodie’s file. ‘So what are you going to do about Jimmy? He attacked me. We should have called the scuffer. A few months in jail would give Jimmy a fright.’

  Her aunt removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. ‘There’s a thought, but he’s family.’

  ‘Not yet he isn’t! And he’s no
t got our blood, thank God! Or any Brodie blood either.’ She perched her bottom on the edge of the desk. ‘If he comes near us again you should threaten him with the police.’

  Margaret shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. But I’d like to know where he is so I can keep my eye on him.’

  Rita frowned. ‘You mean hire someone like Sexton Blake to tail him?’

  Margaret gave her one of her looks. ‘A job at the yard, where Mr Dixon and Sam can keep their eye on him.’

  Rita slid off the desk. ‘You’re crazy! That’s a reward! The last bloody thing he deserves!’

  Margaret’s eyes glinted. ‘Don’t you bloody swear at me! I’m running the place, not you! I know what I’m doing!’

  Hot words sprung to Rita’s lips but she bit them back. Time would prove her aunt wrong — she just knew it. In the meantime she would carry a pepper drum around with her. Jimmy was not going to get the chance to take her by surprise again.

  Sam was to surprise them the next morning when he came storming round to the house at what felt like the crack of dawn. ‘There’s been a smash and grab raid at the shop.’

  ‘Jimmy?’ said Rita, biting back a yawn.

  ‘I wondered, but I’ve got no proof,’ said Sam.

  ‘You can’t believe Jimmy would be so stupid?’ said Margaret, tightening the belt of her dressing gown.

  ‘He’s the obvious suspect. He did threaten us,’ said Rita.

  ‘So did Mr McGinty,’ said Sam in a hollow voice.

  They stared at him. ‘Why d’you bring him into it?’ asked Rita.

  He hesitated. ‘He’s escaped from prison.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ Rita clutched her aunt’s hand.

  ‘When?’ said Margaret.

  ‘I forget!’ Sam looked uncomfortable. ‘I’ve had other things on my mind. I saw a poster outside the bridewell. There’s a price on his head.’

  ‘You had no right to forget!’ snapped Margaret. ‘You know the kind of maniac he is.’

  ‘He’d be a fool to come here,’ said Sam, flushing. ‘It’s the first place the police would look for him. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to worry you.’