Must have been dreadful … but you noticed something, did you?’
She shrugged. ‘Well since you mention it, yes. But it wasn’t anything at all – leastways nothing what mattered.’
‘Perhaps not. But all the same you must have taken it out because my men reported that the basket was empty.’
‘All right, all right! Yes I did as it happens. There was no point leaving it there. After all,
madam
had got no more use for it.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Anyway, she’d chucked it away, hadn’t she.’
‘Was it a little parcel?’
‘Yes. A box in black shiny paper and tied with a pink ribbon, though that had mostly slipped off like it had been half opened, and some of the wrapping was torn. Still, it looked quite posh to me and I thought I might as well have it as not. And why shouldn’t I? It’s not as if we
all
get whopping wages!’ She eyed him with sharp truculence.
‘No of course not,’ he agreed hastily. ‘And what did you do with it? What was in it?’
‘Well I took it home, of course. Didn’t have time to openit properly, did I? Not with your lot hanging around and shouting the odds. And then … well I threw it away. It was just
silly
, disappointing.’
‘So what was it?’
Mrs Perkins gave an impatient sigh and raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘A lump of anthracite – a filthy bit of coke, if you please. I ask you, what sort of stupid present is that?’
‘So what sort of stupid present is that?’ Greanleaf echoed to himself after she had gone. Then recalling the dead woman’s reported response of ‘Not another effing one!’ he lit the delayed Woodbine and answered his own question: ‘Another piece of coke to put in the coal scuttle, that’s what.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rosy had spent one of those uneventful ‘domestic’ weekends; one when delayed chores were attended to, letters written, newspapers fully perused and a chance taken to enjoy a leisurely stroll in nearby Regent’s Park. It had also enabled her to mull over the events of Friday night’s dinner with Donald and his curious revelations about Marcia and the part she had played in Special Ops.
It was the last thing she had expected of her aunt, and surely went to show how little one knew of other people’s lives and capabilities. But even more curious was the sleep-talking outburst re the coal scuttle! It was intriguing but also unnerving. Could there really be a connection between that cry in the night and Marcia’s dreadful fate eight years later? Or was it simply one of those extraordinary coincidences that occasionally occur against umpteen odds? Uneasily she thought that unlikely, but shelved the matter to ponder her apparent mention in Marcia’s will.
Did she really want to forage for mementos? Not specially.And besides, from what she remembered of her rare visits to the house, except for the snapshots of her parents there was nothing there of particular interest. Still, it would be nice to have the photos, and if Donald was right and Marcia really had remembered her surely it would seem churlish not to take up the offer.
Thus on Monday morning, and temporarily dodging Dr Stanley’s hectoring requirements, Rosy made a hasty phone call to the executors.
Oh yes, the girl assured her, Miss Gilchrist had indeed featured in Marcia Beasley’s will; she and Mr Beasley had both been mentioned in a codicil. Hadn’t she received a copy?
‘Of the will, yes. Not of the codicil,’ Rosy said dryly. ‘I have only just learnt about it from her former husband, Mr Donald Beasley.’
There was a pause while the girl inspected her files – or formulated some excuse. Eventually she said, ‘Well, your name
is
ticked off, but there may have been some slight misunderstanding. I’ll send it immediately if you—’
‘No, that won’t be necessary. I gather my aunt simply says I may select a couple of items, mementos as it were. Perhaps you would just confirm that and give me a date when I could have access to the
She shrugged. ‘Well since you mention it, yes. But it wasn’t anything at all – leastways nothing what mattered.’
‘Perhaps not. But all the same you must have taken it out because my men reported that the basket was empty.’
‘All right, all right! Yes I did as it happens. There was no point leaving it there. After all,
madam
had got no more use for it.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Anyway, she’d chucked it away, hadn’t she.’
‘Was it a little parcel?’
‘Yes. A box in black shiny paper and tied with a pink ribbon, though that had mostly slipped off like it had been half opened, and some of the wrapping was torn. Still, it looked quite posh to me and I thought I might as well have it as not. And why shouldn’t I? It’s not as if we
all
get whopping wages!’ She eyed him with sharp truculence.
‘No of course not,’ he agreed hastily. ‘And what did you do with it? What was in it?’
‘Well I took it home, of course. Didn’t have time to openit properly, did I? Not with your lot hanging around and shouting the odds. And then … well I threw it away. It was just
silly
, disappointing.’
‘So what was it?’
Mrs Perkins gave an impatient sigh and raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘A lump of anthracite – a filthy bit of coke, if you please. I ask you, what sort of stupid present is that?’
‘So what sort of stupid present is that?’ Greanleaf echoed to himself after she had gone. Then recalling the dead woman’s reported response of ‘Not another effing one!’ he lit the delayed Woodbine and answered his own question: ‘Another piece of coke to put in the coal scuttle, that’s what.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rosy had spent one of those uneventful ‘domestic’ weekends; one when delayed chores were attended to, letters written, newspapers fully perused and a chance taken to enjoy a leisurely stroll in nearby Regent’s Park. It had also enabled her to mull over the events of Friday night’s dinner with Donald and his curious revelations about Marcia and the part she had played in Special Ops.
It was the last thing she had expected of her aunt, and surely went to show how little one knew of other people’s lives and capabilities. But even more curious was the sleep-talking outburst re the coal scuttle! It was intriguing but also unnerving. Could there really be a connection between that cry in the night and Marcia’s dreadful fate eight years later? Or was it simply one of those extraordinary coincidences that occasionally occur against umpteen odds? Uneasily she thought that unlikely, but shelved the matter to ponder her apparent mention in Marcia’s will.
Did she really want to forage for mementos? Not specially.And besides, from what she remembered of her rare visits to the house, except for the snapshots of her parents there was nothing there of particular interest. Still, it would be nice to have the photos, and if Donald was right and Marcia really had remembered her surely it would seem churlish not to take up the offer.
Thus on Monday morning, and temporarily dodging Dr Stanley’s hectoring requirements, Rosy made a hasty phone call to the executors.
Oh yes, the girl assured her, Miss Gilchrist had indeed featured in Marcia Beasley’s will; she and Mr Beasley had both been mentioned in a codicil. Hadn’t she received a copy?
‘Of the will, yes. Not of the codicil,’ Rosy said dryly. ‘I have only just learnt about it from her former husband, Mr Donald Beasley.’
There was a pause while the girl inspected her files – or formulated some excuse. Eventually she said, ‘Well, your name
is
ticked off, but there may have been some slight misunderstanding. I’ll send it immediately if you—’
‘No, that won’t be necessary. I gather my aunt simply says I may select a couple of items, mementos as it were. Perhaps you would just confirm that and give me a date when I could have access to the
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