Heaven Knows Who by Christianna Brand Page B

Adams had, according to her promise made on the Saturday afternoon, gone round to the Broomielaw. She arrived at midday and did some washing but she could not recollect whether it was before or after the washing that she was sent on yet another of her missions, to the pawnshop. This time it was to Mr Clark’s. Mrs M’Lachlan gave her sixteen shillings and sixpence and the two tickets, and she redeemed a pair of trousers and a waistcoat and jacket of James M’Lachlan’s, paying out fifteen shillings and ninepence and giving back the change to Jessie. There is no more news of Mrs M’Lachlan on that Monday.
    Mr Fleming was back at the house by half-past two, for at that hour Paton, the milkman, called with the milk bill. The old man appeared on the doorstep. He seemed perfectly calm. He said nothing to explain their having taken no milk since the Friday and did not mention Jess M’Pherson; George Paton assumed that he was to go on calling. The milk bill was one and fivepence ha’penny which seems reasonable enough: John Fleming and his son would have been there during the previous week and the bill would cover milk for four, from Monday afternoon to Friday morning.
    At half-past four that afternoon, young John Fleming came home.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The two Flemings, father and son, left the counting house together at four o’clock and took the omnibus for North Street. They had not been home since early on Friday, for they had gone straight from the office to Dunoon that night, and this morning had come straight from Dunoon to the office. At North Street they parted, the son going on ahead and the father stopping off to do some shopping. He went first to the flesher’s and ordered some collops which the flesher’s boy was to deliver—and did indeed deliver with such despatch that they arrived on the doorstep at the same time as John junior. Mr Fleming then went on to the grocer’s.
    Young John went bounding up the steps. To his surprise his grandfather was there, taking in the parcel from the butcher’s. He said as they went into the house, ‘Where’s Jess?’
    Mr Fleming put down the parcel of meat at the head of the basement stairs. He said, ‘She’s awa’. She’s cut. I havna’ seen her since Friday.’ And, he added, her door was locked.
    John thought it extraordinary. He went with his grandfather into the parlour at the back of the house and began, with growing concern, to question him. Indeed, he was ‘rather strong with him’, he later confessed; he was ‘blowing him up’, for he felt sure something must be wrong. Hadn’t Grandpa thought of getting the door forced open?
    No, he hadn’t, said Grandpa. He’d just thought she must be awa’ seeing friends.
    Young John knew jolly well that Jess was not just away seeing friends; she had been with them far too long to do that sort of thing. He began to feel very ‘queer’. From the moment he’d heard about that locked door he’d thought something must be up. He said: ‘Didn’t it occur to you that she might be dead?’
    The old man did not answer; he just stood and stared at his grandson. But after a little while he repeated: ‘I havna’ seen her since Friday,’ and added ‘Dead or not dead, she’s awa’.’
    The bell rang again and John ran to open it and admitted his father. He was concerned but perhaps a bit excited also at the odd bit of news he had to communicate, and anxious to get in with it before Grandpa. He threw out a hand towards the parcel of meat at the top of the kitchen stairs. He said: ‘There’s no use sending anything for dinner here; there’s no one to cook it.’ He indicated the old man. ‘He says he hasn’t seen her since Friday and her room door’s locked.’ He added: ‘She may be lying there dead for all he knows.’
    Mr John Fleming also was concerned