Love and Marriage at Harpers, page 22
‘Poor Aunt Helen,’ Maggie said when she learned that Beth’s aunt had died in hospital. ‘I’m so sorry, Beth – she was lovely to me. It’s really sad…’
‘Yes…’ Beth swallowed hard. ‘But I’m angry, Maggie. If that rotten devil killed her, I want him to pay.’
‘Yes, so do I,’ Maggie said fiercely, which made Beth smile and eased her tension a little.
Being busy behind her counter all that morning helped Beth come to terms with her grief. She enjoyed serving the customers, keeping her stocklist up to date and setting out her displays.
It wasn’t until they left work that evening that she thought to ask Maggie how they’d got on with the replacement assistant while she was away. They were standing on the pavement, waiting for the road to clear. It was busy, the motor buses queuing up to take passengers on board at a stop nearby when a young woman dashed across the road, narrowly escaping being mown down by one of the vehicles.
‘Janice was fine,’ Maggie said in answer to her question. ‘I like Janice, but she isn’t you, Beth. I do prefer Marion, but she has been off sick three times since she started working here…’
‘Yes, I wondered where Marion was,’ Beth said. Because she’d started not long before Beth’s wedding, she hadn’t really got to know her yet. ‘How long has she been off?’
‘Three days while you were away – and again this morning. I think Rachel is going to talk to Mr Stockbridge about her. I mean, we do need a junior sometimes, but she isn’t much use if she is off sick half the time…’
Maggie was exaggerating, but still it was happening too often and Rachel would have to bring it to the attention of the manager if it continued.
Beth’s bus came to a halt at the stop and she got on, nodding to Maggie, who was walking down the street. She glanced at the evening paper she’d purchased earlier, noticing that the headlines were about the deaths caused on London Streets by Motor Buses. Beth thought it was hardly a surprise that street deaths from motor buses had risen fivefold since 1907 when she saw the way some pedestrians simply dashed across the road.
Fred was late back for supper that evening. Beth had made something simple and she offered to cook Welsh rabbit for him when he finally arrived, but he shook his head.
‘I had a pie at the pub with Harold,’ he said. ‘He was pleased I’d gone to see him. His wife died six months ago and he’s feeling it a bit – told me to tell you he’ll be pleased to help and he’s looking forward to lunch on Sunday. Do you think we could have roast beef, Beth? I know old Harold is very partial to roast beef…’
‘Of course we can,’ she said. It was a favourite with the whole family. ‘Have we got any fresh horseradish in the garden to make our own sauce?’
‘Yes, I noticed it was coming on well the other day,’ Fred said. His vegetable plot normally kept them going with fresh food of various kinds. Tomatoes and salads, peas, runner beans and strawberries through the summer, and cabbage, carrots, sprouts, potatoes and parsnips in winter. He also had an asparagus bed in spring and some mint and horseradish plants, which were really tasty when they were ready to be picked.
Beth had settled into her new life easily. The house was easy enough to keep tidy and Fred did as much as he could for her, bringing in coal, coke for the range and chopping wood. Jack often washed dishes or took scraps out to the chickens in the coop at the far end of the small garden. They had a cock bird and five hens. The hens laid a few eggs most days and were kept for that purpose, though sometimes they let them sit on eggs and reared a few chicks. The pullets were killed and cooked when the right age and it made Fred almost self-sufficient in the kitchen, though he ate a more varied diet now that Jack and Beth lived with him.
Most evenings, Fred was content with something on toast and if Jack worked late, Beth had the same. One evening a week, they had a proper meal and she cooked on Sunday, when Jack would be at home for most of the day. His assistant was supposed to take care of things on a Sunday, but that first Sunday back at work Jack went in for an hour in the morning just to make sure that everything ran smoothly.
‘You don’t mind?’ he asked Beth and kissed her before he left. ‘I know it is officially my day off…’
‘Go and do what you have to, but remember we’re having a big lunch and your father’s friend is coming…’
Jack promised not to be late and Beth got on with the lunch. Fred’s kitchen was big and comfortable, with armchairs close to the range and an old settee against one wall. The large table was scrubbed pine and the chairs were all what was loosely called country style, wooden slatted backs and seats worn smooth with use and covered with bright cushions that Beth had brought with her when she moved in.
Fred fetched a root of horseradish from the garden and scraped it, then shredded it and mixed it with vinegar and cream. Beth tasted a little on her finger and it was hot and delicious, just the way she liked it. She had runner beans from the garden, some baby carrots Fred had pulled while they were still young and tender, and some good-sized potatoes, which she put into roast.
The meat cooked slowly in the range while she whisked the batter for Yorkshire pudding, cut the beans and scraped carrots, and the smell was delicious. For afters, Beth had made a treacle sponge pudding and it simmered fragrantly on the range as she assembled the trappings of a delicious roast dinner.
Harold Brooks, Fred’s friend and former Scotland Yard detective, arrived five minutes early and Fred opened a large bottle of stout. After the introductions were made, Fred took Harold off round the garden, glasses in hand, and when they got back, Beth had the table set, the meat resting, waiting to be carved and the vegetables in dishes. She glanced anxiously at the clock, but Jack arrived just fifteen minutes late. He murmured an apology, kissed her on the cheek and shook hands with Harold.
When everyone was seated with a plate of perfectly roasted beef, Yorkshire pudding and vegetables, the conversation began. Beth found it easy to talk to the private detective because it was an informal occasion and everyone was enjoying the food.
‘From what you tell me, your uncle shows all the characteristics of a bully,’ Harold said after swallowing a piece of beef. ‘Delicious meat, Mrs Burrows, done just how I like it – and I agree that Mr Greene might easily have killed his wife, but whether it was planned or an accident I couldn’t say at this point. In my experience, it takes a cold intelligence to plan a murder perfectly. Bullies can kill and frequently do so, but normally in a temper or by using more force than they intended.’
‘I think he is cold and clever enough to have planned her death…’ Beth said, cutting a piece of pudding soaked in gravy. ‘He looked as if he would like to murder me when I went there…’
‘I would advise you to keep well clear of him. Watch him at the funeral by all means – but don’t go to the house.’
‘I never want to see him again,’ Beth said. ‘My supervisor has agreed that I can have time off to go to my aunt’s funeral next week, but I shall stay away from him…’
‘Yes, that would be wise,’ Harold nodded. ‘I’ll get on to the case immediately. I have a couple of divorce cases at the moment, but they are straightforward. This sounds worth my time and will keep me interested for a while…’ He smiled at them. ‘The problem is, you see, we need a motive. Your aunt didn’t have much money so that probably isn’t enough – unless your uncle had another target lined up…’
Beth stared at him. ‘I don’t understand… target…?’
‘If he chose your aunt for the fortune he thought she had, he was probably looking for someone else he could either marry or swindle out of some money. Some men specialise in looking for older ladies, women who have been left a fortune and are lonely…’
‘Yes, Aunt Helen would have seemed to fit those criteria,’ Beth agreed. ‘She received most of what her father left in his will, but it wasn’t as much as Gerald expected…’
‘He is a very unpleasant man,’ Jack said. ‘I didn’t like him at all, Inspector.’
‘Please call me Harold; I’m no longer in the force,’ Harold said and smiled. ‘Your aunt’s husband does sound a very unsavoury character and I shall be very interested to observe him. I shall attend the funeral, Mrs Burrows, but please don’t speak to me or show that you know me. We’ll save that little mystery for Mr Greene to discover.’
‘I’m sure she would still be alive if she’d never met him…’ Beth said and there was a sob in her voice. ‘He controlled her, though she didn’t realise it until it was too late…’
‘Yes, I imagine so,’ Harold agreed. ‘I can’t promise you’ll I’ll get conclusive proof of his guilt, but I’ll find the truth, if that’s enough for you.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Beth said and looked round at the empty plates. ‘If everyone has finished, I’ll serve the treacle pudding next.’
Beth felt much better after her talk to Harold Brooks. He had obviously served many years in the police force and knew what he was talking about, and more than that, he seemed to understand the criminal mind. He’d told Beth later as she washed the dishes in the scullery that criminals nearly always made a mistake.
‘There will be something somewhere,’ he’d said. ‘It might be that we get him for something unconnected with your aunt’s death – but it would prove his guilt by association and see him punished. Leave it with me, Mrs Burrows, but if anything comes up that you think I need to know, please be in touch…’
‘Yes, of course,’ Beth had promised.
She didn’t think anything would happen that she could report but kept an open mind as she waited for the funeral. She’d asked if she could have the time off, but because she’d had a lot of time off recently, she’d worked through her normal half day to make up for it.
‘I hope you will not make a habit of taking time off now you’re married, Mrs Burrows. I do hesitate about employing young married women, because they have babies at most inconvenient times,’ Mr Stockbridge had said a little severely.
Beth had assured him she wasn’t thinking of starting a family just yet. However, she noted that asking for extra time off would be frowned on.
The morning of Aunt Helen’s funeral was chilly. It was only the end of August, but the lovely warmth of the summer was suddenly gone and there was an autumnal feeling in the air. Beth wore a dark grey coat and a black hat with a veil. She felt very subdued, because only Fred had been able to get time off to be with her. Jack had apologised but was just too busy, Sally had appointments she couldn’t break and Rachel was needed in the department. Maggie had asked for time off but been refused because she was told one missing assistant at a time was sufficient and she must work.
Beth stood with Fred in the chill of the church and shivered. Gerald was in the pew in front of her and had two male friends with him. They all wore dark pinstriped suits and looked grave, their voices deep as they sang the austere hymns that Gerald had chosen.
He never looked at Beth once during the service or afterwards when she followed the small procession out to the graveside.
Beth was aware of Harold watching the proceedings gravely; he had a young woman with him but did not attempt to speak to her, though after the service she saw Gerald approach him. Harold told him something that seemed to satisfy Gerald and he went off in a large black car without glancing at her, accompanied by his friends.
He had not asked her to a reception and she doubted there was one. So she and Fred went for a cup of coffee and a bun before returning to work at Harper’s.
‘I agree with you, Beth,’ Fred said over their lunch. ‘Not a pleasant man – and I would say capable of anything, but don’t break your heart over it, love.’
‘No…’ Beth shook her head. ‘I’m not going to cry any more, Fred. It doesn’t do any good. I can’t bring her back, but I hate that man…’
‘Well, we’d best get back. I’ve got work to do and so have you, Beth.’
They caught a motor bus back to Oxford Street and went into Harper’s, Fred heading for his basement domain and Beth to her department. Marion had been holding the fort on the scarves while Maggie worked on hats, but Maggie gave up her place when Beth entered.
‘How was it?’ she asked sympathetically.
‘I’m just glad it is over…’ Beth said and Maggie nodded her understanding.
‘I’ve sold two red hats and a black one this morning,’ she told Beth, as if she understood that Beth would prefer to think about work. ‘The black one had a lot of veiling and the red ones were trimmed, one with roses and the other a feather.
Beth nodded. She could see that Maggie had replaced the hats on the stand with a mauve cloche and a pale blue felt trilby with a floppy brim; the trilby was very mannish but had a large cream bow on the side to soften it. Only a few younger women felt comfortable with a hat like that and Beth would move it as soon as possible for something prettier. Sally had tried it for their stock, because she liked to give the customers a big variety, but Beth didn’t like that kind of design, preferring the softer, more feminine styles.
Almost as soon as Beth had her coat off, she was serving customers, and continued to do so all afternoon. She sold six hats, most of them the new autumn stock that Sally had bought in recently, and to her surprise the trilby was sold to a young lady who was wearing the colours of the Women’s Movement in a brooch on her suit lapel. Her jacket had a rather mannish cut to it and her hair was cut short in the nape of her neck.
‘I think I’ve seen you at our meetings,’ she said when Beth handed her the stylish box. ‘We’re going to make Mr Asquith pay for his treatment of Sylvia Pankhurst. You watch the newspapers and see…’
Beth nodded and smiled but made no comment. The suffragettes had been busy all month disrupting meetings and bombing ministers’ country homes. However, Rachel had impressed on her that she wasn’t to express an opinion while at work, even if invited to by a customer.
‘Well, good luck,’ she said when the young woman took her leave and saw her smile.
After that, the stream of customers slowed to a trickle and then it was time for them to close the department. Beth draped her hats with silk squares to keep them free from dust and checked her stock book before she went to get her coat.
‘You were busy this afternoon,’ Rachel said. ‘It was a good thing that you were here, Beth. Maggie sold several pairs of gloves and I was also busy. Marion was helpful, but she doesn’t know enough to manage for long on her own yet.’
‘At least she came in…’
‘Yes, I impressed on her that she needed to and warned her I would have to go to Mr Stockbridge if she continued to be off sick. She blushed and apologised.’ Rachel frowned. ‘I doubt she was ill any of the days she didn’t come in, Beth. She’s hiding something, but she wouldn’t tell me…’
‘Would you like me to speak to her – ask her what’s wrong?’
‘Maggie is nearer her age and they get on well. I’ll ask her to speak to the girl and see if she will tell her what is wrong. Tomorrow, I’ll send them on their lunch break together.’ Rachel looked at her. ‘I imagine you’re glad this morning is over?’
‘The funeral – yes I am…’ Beth sighed. ‘It still seems wrong that Aunt Helen has gone. She was never ill in the past. My mother was the invalid, but my aunt was strong and stubborn. I still think…’ She shook her head. ‘I’m going to put it behind me, Rachel. I have a husband and a home to run and I owe them my full attention.’
‘Good…’ Rachel smiled at her. ‘William came into the department this morning. He bought some gloves and a scarf from Marion – he says he has something important to tell me and asked if I would meet him for lunch this weekend…’
‘What did you say?’
‘I decided I would…’ Rachel hesitated, then, ‘Did Sally tell you that Miss Hart is not returning to the store?’
‘I haven’t seen her today…’ Beth was shocked. ‘Is Miss Hart too unwell?’
‘The doctors say she may never recover the full use of her arm and she will be lucky to walk. It seems she has a cousin, who is a widow, and she has offered to take her in when she leaves hospital, but…’ Rachel shook her head. ‘She will have to give up her own home and I know she was proud of it. She told me it was small but just as she liked things…’
‘Yes, it is sad if she has to give up all she has worked for…’ Beth was silent for a moment, then, ‘It means they will need someone to take her place here…’
‘Yes, that is what Sally said when I saw her earlier. They want to replace her with someone who already works here and recruit new staff to junior positions. Apparently, Mr Harper thinks it is better to move staff up so everyone knows they can improve their standing in the firm…’
‘You could do her job,’ Beth said and saw Rachel’s slight nod. ‘Is that what you’d like?’
‘It’s more money,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m not sure whether to apply or not – but it would be a step up…’
‘We should need a new head of department…’ Beth was thoughtful. ‘It would have been Sally if she was still on the counters…’
‘Yes, perhaps – but you could run the department, Beth. I’m sure you’re capable of more than you do already. If I did apply and if I got the job, I would recommend you to take my place…’
‘Rachel! I haven’t had anywhere near as much experience as you or Sally.’
‘I’ve trained you well. We could have another trainee, although Marion isn’t ready to move up yet.’
‘Janice did well when she was here.’ Beth thought about her suggestion. ‘Do you think you will apply?’
‘I wanted to talk to you – and also to Sally,’ Rachel said. ‘She was feeling upset because Miss Hart had resigned and I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage…’
‘No one could think that,’ Beth assured her. ‘I think you’d be just right and I hope you get the position.’ She smiled as Maggie came up to them.
‘I wanted to say how sorry I am, Beth, Maggie told her. ‘I couldn’t be at the funeral but I hope you know how I felt?’
