God Save the Queen! Read online

  “This hits the spot.” Lady Gossinger swallowed half her sherry. “Nothing better than this, is there? The two of us sitting talking things out. You’re right, old bean, as you almost always are. There’s no sense leaving that shop sitting empty, and it would be impossible to let it with Florie living upstairs and having to use the kitchen at the back to cook her meals. Much better to give her a chance to make a go of things.”

  “My thinking exactly, m’dear. The girl needs something, a challenge if you like, to help get her over Hutchins’s death. Dreadful blow,” Sir Henry shook his head, “still can’t get over his being right as rain one minute and gone the next. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

  “Certainly does.” Her Ladyship finished off her sherry. “You’ve no idea, Henry, how I wish I hadn’t created a stink about your leaving Gossinger Hall to your butler. Somehow what happened seems like retribution.”

  Sir Henry could not quite view it that way, given the fact it was Hutchins who had paid the penalty, but he endeavored to make reassuring noises.

  “And then I have to go taking it out on Flora.” Lady Gossinger got up and poured herself another sherry without spilling more than a few drops. “Honestly, I must be the most awful woman alive. Deserve to be put in the stocks. But the truth is, Henry, I’ve always been more than a little jealous of her.”

  “I say,” Sir Henry looked startled, “you’re not suggesting, old dear, that I ever had—don’t quite know how to put it—an eye for the girl?”

  “No, of course not.” Her Ladyship sat back down. “What you had was a tendency to treat her like a daughter. And that was a thorn in my flesh, seeing that there was never any hope of us having children.”

  “Bound to be fond of her—she grew up here from three years of age. Always about the place, as merry a little thing as God ever made. Never could get anything out of Hutchins about her father, but I assure you, Mabel, I never meant to hurt you by making too much of Flora.”

  His wife sighed. “I know you didn’t. You’re much too good to have realized I was harboring some unkind feelings. But enough of that. I told Flora I would talk to you about the shop, so why don’t you go and give her a ring? Tell her we’re both happy about her plans and we won’t charge her anything until she gets on her feet.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “Positive. She’ll enjoy hearing from you, and while you’re on the phone I’ll just close my eyes.” Lady Gossinger suited action to words. “I’ve no idea why I’ve been feeling so exhausted lately, but there it is. I’m getting old, I suppose.”

  “Absolute bosh, m’dear, you’re at your peak; wouldn’t mind betting you’ll live to be ninety!”

  But as Sir Henry padded from the room he recalled thinking the same thing once about Hutchins. One never knew, did one?

  Instead of being glad of the moment alone so she could chew on her thoughts, Lady Gossinger felt a twinge of panic when the door shut softly behind her husband. The walls seemed to close in to the point of suffocation and she felt an unreasonable urge to jump up and open the windows. I wonder, she thought, if I’m losing my mind? Today when I was talking to Mrs. Frost I was convinced she’d been sent here as the new housekeeper to keep an eye on me, because the police don’t really believe Hutchins died a natural death.... Lady Gossinger was fighting down a fresh wave of paranoia when the door opened as quietly as it had just closed and Miss Sophie Doffit came into the room.

  “It’s only me, dear Mabel.” She moved briskly across the Persian carpet for a woman of her advanced years. “I think we need to have a little talk. It’s clear to me you can’t go on this way, and I want to help you because I do appreciate your letting me stay on at Gossinger, long after another woman would have had my suitcases packed and put out on the doorstep.”

  “You’re the last person I can talk to.” Lady Gossinger buried her face in her hands. “You’d run immediately to Henry. I have to do what needs to be done all by myself.”

  “Not in your condition, Mabel,” said Miss Doffit, plumping up a cushion and easing it behind her Ladyship’s bowed head. “You have to trust me, dear, because you need me and there is nothing more that a woman of my age likes better than to be needed. You pour your heart out, and I’ll pour us each a glass of sherry.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “The good thing about going out to tea at Mrs. Smith’s this afternoon,” Flora told Vivian, “is that I don’t have to worry whether I’m dressed right or wrong for meeting my father for the first time. If he does turn up, I’ll explain to him that I’m going out and he won’t think I’m too eager or, on the other hand, not sufficiently enthusiastic. He’ll understand that what I’m wearing has nothing to do with his visit.”

  “I think I have that clear,” Vivian assured her. “The one who doesn’t get it is Nolly; however, I have come to the conclusion that he is a very self-centered dog, who only really understands when you’re talking about him.”

  “That’s not true.” Flora stood looking at herself in the mirror on the sitting room wall. It was one of the pieces delivered the previous day. And she loved it as she did the mantelpiece clock and the fireside chair, perhaps even more because as a little girl she had believed in the magic of mirrors after reading a book about one that had the ability to conjure up a beloved face from its store of reflections. Now Flora half-believed that if she turned her head at just the right moment, she would see her grandfather, a little shadowy perhaps, but there in the mirror, performing one of the tasks that had been part of his everyday routine in their sitting room at Gossinger. Making sure the door into the garden was locked at night, damping down the fire, or folding the serviettes just as he liked them. Memories of the best sort, the ordinary kind that settle deep in the heart, all there inside this shiny silver piece of glass.

  As to her own reflection, Flora wasn’t absolutely convinced that it couldn’t be improved upon. She liked her hair short, although it did seem to need a little evening out. Perhaps she could arrange that with Edna Smith during tea. But the question remained: Would she look silly wearing a hat? She had asked Nolly’s opinion and he had tilted his head to one side and pondered the matter as if it were of much more importance than either his red ball or a midday snack of biscuits.

  Now Flora decided to pose the same query to Vivian. “Stay where you are,” she instructed him, and disappeared into her bedroom to reappear wearing a black 1920’s felt hat with a flower on one side twisted out of the same material. “What do you think about this? As you will observe, the black matches the braid at my neck and cuffs. I do love the combination of black and bottle green, don’t you?”

  “I can’t say I have previously given the subject much thought.” Vivian stood with his arms folded and a smile hovering around his mouth. “To be honest, I’m not sure about the hat. How about giving me a different angle to help me make up my mind?”

  “Take a good look all the way round.” Flora did a slow pirouette, her long skirts caught up in her hands to display black stockings and ankle boots. “Be honest now!”

  “I’m afraid the hat has to go,” Vivian told her. “It makes you look far too ...”

  “Silly?”

  “Ravishing is the word I was looking for. But suit yourself. If you don’t mind being stared at by men in the street while we walk to Mrs. Smith’s, that’s your business.”

  “You’re just being kind,” said Flora. “But I do love hats. They make me feel as if I should be speeding along honeysuckle-scented lanes in an old open roadster, sitting next to a young man wearing goggles and a cap, with a scarf streaming out behind him in the breeze.”

  “I have some goggles,” said Vivian, “but they are the sort used for swimming.”

  “Listen to Nolly.” Flora could not contain the happiness spreading through her like the promise of springtime. “That little bark is meant to tell us that he wants to be in the picture. Ladies who drove in those sorts of cars usually had small dogs sitting on their laps.”


  “I don’t doubt you’re right,” said Vivian, crossing the room to the door, “except about the bark. I think Nolly hears someone outside the shop. And there goes the bell. Would you like me to disappear into one of the bedrooms when you let your father in?”

  “That might turn things into a French farce, don’t you think?” Flora smoothed her suddenly damp hands over her hips. “Imagine Reggie opening what he thought was the toilet door and finding you hiding in the bedroom. That’s not how things are meant to go, when meeting your long-lost father. Besides,” she followed Vivian out onto the landing, “you said you wanted to look him over and help me decide if he’s on the up-and-up.”

  “I know I did,” said Vivian as Nolly darted past them onto the stairs, barking at the top of his lungs, “but I began to think I was being an absolute clod, shoving myself in on what is likely to be a very emotional meeting. Of course, if you beg me to stay, I won’t be forced to listen at the keyhole.” He was torn between his desire to protect her and not wanting to dampen even one moment of her happiness.

  “All right, I’ll say it! I want you there. In fact, why don’t you go down and let him in while I pace the floor and try to guess what he looks like? So far all I can come up with is a villainous mustache and a hand holding a bunch of flowers. Go on,” Flora gave Vivian a little push, “before he decides I’m not home and goes away. I don’t want to have to go through this heart-pounding business twice.”

  She went back into the sitting room and began rearranging the candlesticks that she had brought with her in one of the suitcases. The clock struck the half hour, making her jump but at the same time reminding her that she was surrounded by friendly things—the bronze vase filled with silk poppies that she had given to her grandfather one Christmas, the figurine of the Scottish bagpiper, the embroidered cushions on the familiar chair. They were all telling her that she was not adrift in uncharted seas; she was anchored firmly to her past.

  As a result she was almost calm when voices reached her, accompanied by footsteps on the stairs and a woof or two from Nolly. Vivian ushered a tallish man into the room. He was holding a bunch of flowers and he did have a pencil-thin mustache, but the villainous aspect was lost when he smiled because he had a decided gap in his front teeth. He reminded Flora of someone. Yes, that was it! He looked rather like that actor, Terry-Thomas, that Mrs. Bellows used to like so much. Flora wasn’t tempted to cry “Daddy!” and run headlong into his arms, but she did decide that if he was still a bit of a bounder, it was the engaging sort. And she had a flash of why her mother might have fallen in love with this man.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “I say! You have turned into a little corker!” The broad smile creased his cheeks and displayed the gap in his teeth in all its splendor. “Old Snuffy told me as much, but my word, I wasn’t prepared! Would you mind if I sat down for a minute to collect myself? Don’t get the wrong idea—I don’t expect to dandle you on my knee after all this time, I’d just like to sit and look at you.”

  “Why don’t I take the flowers?” suggested Vivian.

  “Didn’t bring them for you, old chap.”

  “A pity! Pansies are my favorites.”

  “Mine, too,” said Flora, swiveling the chair around for her father to sit down in. “Grandpa told me, Reggie—is it all right if I call you that?”

  “I’ll say! And I know just what you have in mind, about the flowers. Grace—your mother—used to call pansies fairy faces.” His expression turned mournful. “Lovely girl, don’t know why she looked at me twice. Dash it all, seeing you does bring her back!”

  “Then I do look like her?” Flora sat on the sofa, bunching her skirts about her knees, while Vivian wandered about the room in search of a vase and settled on a diminutive jug with an Italian scene painted on it. He left the room to fill it with water.

  “Grace had fair hair, rather curly it was, and brown eyes. But I’m sure you’ve seen photos. Bound to have done. So it would be stretching it a bit, to call you the spitting image of her. But there is a marked similarity around the mouth and in the way you move. Don’t suppose you remember her much?”

  “I remember her hands touching my hair, and sometimes I can hear her voice reading me a story. Otherwise it’s just a feeling, I can see a room with light walls and pale yellow curtains and a picture of a garden ...”

  “Amazing!” Reggie’s smile wavered on the edge of conflicting emotions. “That was our flat. Jolly little place. Only thing to strike a sour note was that dashed unpleasant landlady, always knocking on the door wanting the rent. I say, where’s that little dog? Not trying to make a point, is he, that he’s no time for a bad penny?”

  “Nolly?” Flora called, and he came trotting up to her.

  “I say! Jolly good show! You’ve got him well trained, I see.”

  “I’m afraid that’s his only trick,” Flora admitted.

  “The way it should be.” Reggie beamed encouragement. “Hang it all, I tell my clients, a dog’s not a wind-up toy. Should be plain as a pikestaff the little beggars are entitled to their dignity, same as the rest of us. That’s my current business: bringing peace of mind to the hearts and minds of those who don’t have a voice in human terms.”

  “You’re a dog psychiatrist?”

  “Animal faith-healer.”

  “All sorts of animals?” Biting her lip as she pictured a gorilla throwing away his crutches when told to get up and walk, Flora gathered up Nolly, who hadn’t gone racing over to sit at the feet of the master. “Do you mean lions and tigers?”

  “What have I missed?” inquired Vivian, coming back into the room and setting the flower jug on the bookcase.

  “Reggie’s an animal faith-healer.”

  “Well, I suppose that makes as much sense as the other kind.”

  “I was just asking if he works with wild animals.”

  “Smashing idea! Love to try it sometime.” Reggie did not sound one-hundred-percent enthusiastic. “But so far, my professional dealings have been with the domesticated species. I’m often the last resort when traditional methods, such as spaying and neutering,” Nolly chose this moment to disappear under the sofa, “fail to break a dog or cat’s habits. You’d be amazed at how many people are completely cowed by their pets. Fastest growing form of abuse in this country. Bally bad show, but there it is!”

  Flora and Vivian could only listen entranced.

  “I am currently working with a duchess who is afraid to put on her pearls because her Siamese cat lunges for her throat each time she wears them. Her Grace tried the obvious, buying the cat a jeweled collar, but no luck.”

  “But you’ve been able to help?” Flora refused to look at Vivian.

  “Oh, I should say!” Reggie flashed his gap-toothed grin. “Not wishing to boast, you understand, I’m an absolute whiz at what I do. Meditation, that’s the key—teach them that and you’ll have the pussycats purring all day long. Better at it than dogs, but even dogs get it in the end. Dogs do better being regressed to their former lives.”

  “Not so many of them, perhaps,” said Vivian.

  “Some people think dogs are more suggestible,” replied Reggie, and Flora found it impossible to tell if he took himself seriously, “but according to my findings they’re more in touch with their feelings, and more liable to take risks on the path to true self-awareness.”

  A doggy yawn drifted up from Flora’s feet.

  “It all sounds most impressive,” she made haste to say. “Don’t you think so, Vivian?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Dash it all, I’m not aiming to become a household name. Got properly cut down to size last summer.” Reggie looked instantly crestfallen. “A bit of a facer, all right. A friend of mine, thundering good chap, gave me a ticket to one of the garden parties at Buckingham Palace. Seemed a chance in a million to have a natter with the Queen about the corgis. From all you hear, she could do with my sort of help bringing them into line. But when I started to explain the virtues of faith-he
aling and tried to give Her Majesty my card, two men appeared out of nowhere and gave me a chair lift out the gates. There was even a small bit about it the next day in The Times. Luckily, I didn’t lose many clients, even though they’d dug up the bit about me being in prison, but it does dampen your faith in the Royal Family.”

  “Oh, poor Reggie!” cried Flora, genuinely moved. “What a horrid experience! But I don’t think you should blame Her Majesty. I’m sure she would have loved to talk to you if those interfering security guards hadn’t hustled you away.”

  “Speaking of being in a hurry,” Vivian looked at the clock, “would you like me to ring up Edna Smith, Flora, and tell her we’re running behind and not to expect us right away?”

  “Oh, I say,” Reggie got to his feet, “Snuffy did say something about your going out to tea this afternoon, and here I am rattling on and making you late.”

  “But you can’t go yet,” protested Flora. “I haven’t even offered you something to drink.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a good malt whiskey tucked away? No, I can see you don’t. Well, another time, perhaps. I’ve had a smashing time, my dear. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world and hope you’ll let me come again. Promise not to make a nuisance of myself. But,” he reached into his pocket again, “must let you have my card. No, seem to have come without one. Sorry to say, my phone is temporarily out of order, but that should be fixed in a jiffy.”

  “Well, don’t go just for a minute,” said Flora. “I’ve got my camera in the bedroom and I’d like Vivian to take a picture of you and me, Reggie, to record our reunion.”

  “Jolly good show, hope you’ll let me have a copy.”