God Save the Queen! Page 21

  Thank goodness for Nolly, thought Flora as the little dog came up and started nuzzling her feet. For his sake, I have to put myself on automatic, get myself dressed, and take him for a walk before breakfast. And it was surprising, she discovered, just how much can be accomplished using one-tenth of your brain. While out with Nolly she stopped at the grocer’s shop four doors down, and chatted to the owners—a husband and wife who told her they originated from Middlesex. In addition to selling her the essentials for a few days, they lent her a kettle and saucepan. Nice people. On being handed a biscuit, Nolly certainly thought so.

  She fed Nolly and boiled herself an egg, then put away the groceries and washed up the pieces of crockery and cutlery which had been sent up along with the furniture from Gossinger. And it was at that moment, with her hands sunk in soapy water, that a thought extricated itself from the fog inside her head.

  “I don’t believe it, Nolly!” Flora shook the water off her hands. “Maybe you’ll say I’m a coward and don’t want to face the truth, but I don’t think it’s that. I just do not believe that Lady Gossinger is enough of a monster to have murdered Grandpa! Yes, I can see her taking revenge on Sir Henry by giving away the tea strainer. That’s in character. But the rest—no, and if you want to know why I’m so sure, Nolly, it’s because Grandpa liked her. Oh, he never became as fond of her as he was of Sir Henry; that wasn’t to be expected. But he would often get upset with me for not seeing her good points. And if he were here right now he’d tell me that it was entirely understandable for her Ladyship—or any wife, for that matter—to be beside herself on hearing that her home was being left to an outsider. If Sir Henry ...”

  Flora reached across the draining board and snapped off a stalk of celery to nibble. “If Sir Henry,” she repeated, “had told Grandpa what he planned, I know Grandpa would have been appalled at the idea that he might one day own Gossinger. It would have turned his world upside down and somehow diminished his life of service to the Family. You think I’m silly,” Flora scooped up Nolly and laid her cheek against his, flattening his ears, “but I have to go by what Grandpa is telling me, even though you can’t see him. Because Grandpa was the most sensible man in the world. And he’s telling me that Lady Gossinger should not be blamed for what happened to him. Which leaves me where, Nolly?”

  The little dog indicated that, much as he sympathized with her problems, he wanted to play with his red ball. So Flora put Nolly down and made herself start on the drying up. She put away the saucepan the grocer couple had lent her and stuffed the disgusting old one in one of the carrier bags, which she put under the sink to make do as a rubbish bin for the time being. And while doing all this, she was trying very hard not to think about Vivian. But it was impossible. Because one glance into the shop told her it was empty as it had never been before. He was wrong, she told herself; but the words lacked the conviction of last night.

  So she tried again. All that time we were together, when I thought I knew exactly what was going on inside his head, I really didn’t have a clue. And then from the back of her brain another little voice piped up: Is this what your anger with him is all about? Wounded vanity? Because it should be clearer to you now, you silly goose, why Vivian didn’t know what to do for the best. If you can’t believe Lady Gossinger murdered Grandpa, then think how it must have been for Vivian, harboring those awful suspicions! And at the same time wondering if he hadn’t let his imagination run riot so that he was seeing bogeymen everywhere.

  Flora didn’t get any further in trying to decide what to do about Vivian because at that moment the shop door jangled. She had forgotten to lock it on coming back in from her walk with Nolly, and she now saw Mrs. Much crossing the threshold.

  “I don’t suppose you expected to see me,” Mrs. Much said, “but here I am, come to see how you’re getting along.”

  “It’s nice to see you,” said Flora, coming toward her, “but how did you know where to find me?”

  “That wasn’t hard, dear.” Mrs. Much held her handbag in both hands as she sized up the room. “I rang up Gossinger last night to ask if I’d left a book behind that was given to me by my past employer Mrs. Frome. And the new housekeeper put me on to Sir Henry, so naturally I asked about you and he gave me the address. Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Flora. These walls will need stripping and painting.” She moved in for a closer inspection. “Three coats if you ask me. And I’d be careful, if you choose white, to pick just the right shade. Nothing with a hint of gray, or the shadows from the window will make this wall in particular look dingy. Mrs. Frome, the lady I just mentioned, always preferred an off-white with a hint of blush. Oh, she was a gem to work for, God rest her soul.”

  “How about a cup of tea?” suggested Flora, to cut short praise of the late Mrs. Frome.

  “No, thanks, dear, I just had one.”

  “Then why don’t we go upstairs and you can tell me how you like your new job.” This is good, thought Flora. Perhaps by the time Mrs. Much goes, all those bits and pieces floating around in my mind will have assembled into some sort of sensible shape.

  “You’ve got things looking just the way you had them at Gossinger,” Mrs. Much commented when they entered the flat and she had seated herself in the fireside chair. “Didn’t you want to start all fresh, maybe buy yourself a nice Danish-modern suite?”

  “No, I like being among old friends,” Flora replied.

  “There’s certainly a lot of that at Buckingham Palace.” Mrs. Much looked strongly disapproving. “All the furniture is as old as the hills and I’ve yet to see a fitted carpet. You wonder why one of Her Majesty’s chums hasn’t put a bug in her ear about talking to a decorator with some nice modern ideas.”

  Flora sat down across from her. “You don’t sound too happy.”

  “Well, it’s a job, isn’t it?”

  “Aren’t things going smoothly?”

  “Sometimes I suppose I expect too much by way of appreciation.” Mrs. Much took out a hanky from her handbag and blew her nose. “You try to do your best and it’s taken the wrong way. You’ll remember the fuss that was made at Gossinger about me washing those filthy tapestries.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “It was much the same as what happened the other day. You know how particular I am when it comes to toilets, Flora. Well, believe it or not, you should have heard the carrying on when it was found out that I’d put one of them sanitizing jobbies in one of the tanks. You know, the ones that make the water a nice royal blue. Oh, you’d have thought I’d committed murder, the way my supervisor carried on. It was only by saying ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir,’ to myself that I was able to keep my mouth shut and hang on to my job. If it wasn’t that it doesn’t do to keep jumping ship, I’d be looking for a new place tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I am sorry!”

  “Well enough about old me; I’m here to see how you’re coping with your grandfather’s death. It’ll take you a while to get over it, but then again I’m sure he wouldn’t want you down in the dumps too long. So, how was things when you left Gossinger? What’s going on with Mr. Tipp? I gave him my new address and was hoping he’d keep in touch, but so far not a dickeybird.”

  “He’s gone to look after a cousin who’s ill.”

  “Well, that’s a turn-up for the book.” Mrs. Much put away her hanky. “I’m sure he told me he didn’t have a soul in the world to call his own, but then again men are inclined to play on your sympathy when you’re a single woman. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t going a bit soft in the head. I remember a day, afternoon it was, when he did more talking than usual and looking back, I’m sure it was all a pack of nonsense.”

  “I do hope he’s all right.” Flora was really very glad when Nolly, who had not left his red ball to welcome Mrs. Much, came into the room and settled cozily down on the hearth rug.

  “More important, dear, are you all right?”

  “I’m settling in here and I have plans to open the shop downstair
s. Lady Gossinger,” it was a little difficult to say the name, “has said I can have it, which was very kind of her.”

  “And what is it you’re going to sell?”

  “Secondhand stuff at first, but eventually I would like to specialize in silver.”

  “Now you’ve gone and reminded me,” said Mrs. Much. “I was hoping you might have some of your grandfather’s polish with you. Because as you well know there’s nothing to touch it on the supermarket shelves.”

  “Of course I can let you have some. I’ve quite a few bottles of it on the window ledge in my bedroom.”

  “Could you let me have two, dear?”

  “I’ll be right back with them.”

  “Thanks ever so.” Mrs. Much reached into her handbag when Flora returned with a bottle of polish in each hand. “How much is it I owe you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, I don’t like to take them for free.”

  “You can pay me by telling people that nothing has ever cleaned silver like it and then send them here to buy some because I will be making up more from Grandpa’s instructions and selling it in the shop.”

  “Well, that is good to know.”

  “And I’ve got even bigger plans than that.” Flora sat back down and patted her skirt for Nolly to come and sit by her. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Mrs. Much: I wrote a letter to the Queen asking if she would consider granting Gossinger Silver Polish the Royal Warrant. So far I haven’t heard anything, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

  “Well, that does give me an idea.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That I’ll take a bottle of the polish into work with me when I start my shift this afternoon.”

  “To Buckingham Palace?” Flora experienced a spurt of excitement. “But I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble, not after that bother with the blue toilet water.”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t be like that! I’ll give one of these bottles to my cousin, the one that got me the job—Glynis is her name—and she works on some of the silver. Just leave it to me, Flora. And who knows—I could end up getting a rise!”

  “If you’re really sure ...”

  “Positive, and I’ll be back in touch to let you know how things go. Well, dear, I’d better be off if I don’t intend to ruin things by being late for work. Let me know if you hear from Mr. Tipp. Poor old soul. Perhaps it would do him good when he gets back to come up to London for the day and have me show him the sights.” Mrs. Much continued to chatter as they went downstairs, wanting to know what Flora had seen so far of the big city and offering ample suggestions.

  “John Lewis has a lovely soft furnishings department,” she was saying when somebody banged on the shop door. Flora had a moment of panic mingled with hope, but of course Vivian would never thump on the door like that. And she opened it up to see Boris Smith looking up at her.

  “Gran made me come.” His eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “She said if I was having another day off school I should come round and ask if there’s anything you need doing.” His freckles were spotlighted by the sunshine that slanted at a sharp angle off the rooftops. I’m going to write to that teacher, Flora thought, because even if I don’t believe Lady Gossinger had a hand in Grandpa’s death, I have to find out if this boy knows something about what happened in the garderobe.

  “Hello, Boris,” she told him. “This is a friend of mine. Her name’s Mrs. Much.”

  “How nice.” The response was made with blatant lack of enthusiasm.

  “Mrs. Much has just promised to do something wonderful for me. She’s going to take a bottle of my grandfather’s silver polish into work this afternoon.”

  “And where’s work?”

  “Buckingham Palace.”

  “Is it really?” Boris perked up.

  “Do I look like somebody that tells lies?” Mrs. Much gave Flora a peck on the cheek before walking away to catch her bus.

  Boris watched her for a minute before turning back to Flora. “That’s what my gran says, and she does, you know, tell lies.”

  “That’s not nice of you to say.”

  “Even if it’s true?”

  “Then you need to talk to her.” Flora suddenly wished she were a great deal older, with a much better understanding of children. “Do you want to come in?” she asked.

  “No,” Boris kicked one foot against the other, “I’ve got to go.”

  “We could talk.”

  “Thanks all the same.” Boris was already moving away, sliding his feet along the pavement. “I’ve just remembered there’s something I have to do. Catch you later.”

  Flora was about to go back inside when she saw Mr. Banda Singhh talking to a delivery man outside his shop, and all at once, as if a torch light had flicked on inside her head, she remembered Mr. Singhh talking about his wife Emel and saying that she had worked with Edna Smith on the church bazaar. Dodging inside for the key and assuring Nolly that she wouldn’t be a moment, Flora stepped back out into the street and hurried down to Mr. Singhh’s place of business. The delivery van was no longer parked outside. When she pushed open the door of the fish-and-chip shop, she was met by the pungent smell of smoking hot oil. She found a woman with graying black hair drawn back low on her neck standing behind the counter.

  “Good morning,” the woman said. “First batch of chips all ready to come out of the basket, and we have some nice skate today.”

  “Sounds delicious!” Flora smiled at her. “But I really came in for a chat. Mr. Singhh was kind enough to come round the day before last, and—

  “So,” the woman wiped her hands on her white overall before extending her right one across the counter, “you are the young lady from the empty shop! Banda, he was so pleased to meet you. Sadly, you have just missed him. He went down to the post office. I am his wife, Emel. Do tell me, if you please, how do you like Wishbone Street so far?”

  “Very much,” replied Flora. “Your husband helped convince me I will be happy here. Would you please tell him that I have decided to reopen the shop below my flat?”

  “Certainly.”

  “He mentioned that you had worked with Edna Smith on the church bazaar.”

  “Banda,” his wife’s face lit in a smile that showed her beautiful, even teeth, “he is a man who pays attention to little things; there is not much that he does not remember.”

  “The reason I bring it up,” Flora hoped she could keep the story short without making herself sound like the most awful busybody, “is that yesterday a friend of mine and I went to tea at Mrs. Smith’s, and she mentioned giving a tea strainer to the bazaar, which it turns out—"

  “Your friend, he was here not half an hour ago!” Seeing Flora’s astonished face, Emel Singhh added quickly, “It must have been him because he, too, said he had been to Mrs. Smith’s yesterday. And when he, just like you, asked about the tea strainer I was able to tell him that I was the one who sold it, to a woman I know quite well. She lives quite close by. That is what I told him. Look, that is him,” Emel pointed to the window. “No, you have missed him. He is a fast walker. But go now and catch up with him.”

  Flora was out the door before Mrs. Singhh had finished speaking. Which way? She hated to lose a fraction of a second turning her head the wrong way. But there was no need to worry. She saw him immediately, no more than a few yards to her right and without thinking, she called out: “Vivian!”

  He turned around at once. “I went looking for the tea strainer.”

  “And did you find it?”

  “I was on my way to show you.”

  “And I was at the fish-and-chip shop.”

  “Great minds think alike.” Vivian stood looking at her, the sun bringing out hints of gold in his brown hair.

  “That makes for a great team,” said Flora softly, seeing everything she needed to know in his eyes. “Let’s go inside so you can show me the tea strainer. Do you really have it?”

  “In my pocket,” he assured her as he followed her into t
he shop. “Flora, we have to talk about last night. My thinking was that if I could bring you this,” he pulled out the small paper-wrapped package, “you might find it in your heart, to forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” Flora bent down to pat Nolly and throw him his ball. “I got myself sorted out this morning and I’m glad you didn’t talk to the police about Lady Gossinger, because I don’t believe she did anything more than possibly smash a few plates after Sir Henry told her about his plans to make that very silly change in his will.”

  “Flora, I’m happy you’re no longer so upset, but—"

  “I know what you’re going to say, it’s that I’m indulging in wishful thinking, but I don’t believe that for one minute. Vivian, I’m sorry for the things I said last night, including saying that I’d fallen in love with you. I only did that to make you feel more guilty, which was extremely immature of me. So you see,” she gave him her most impish grin, “you don’t need to be frightened at the prospect of being alone with me. Now, are you going to show me that tea strainer or do I have to snatch it out of your hands?”

  “I want you to unwrap it.”

  “You have looked at it already?”

  “What do you take me for?” Vivian gave a laugh that came from a warmth of happiness he didn’t remember experiencing before. “I had to pay the woman who’d bought this big money, even though I told her it was of great sentimental value to my family.”

  “And you have no doubt it’s the right one?”

  “Take a look for yourself.”

  “My hands are shaking.”

  “All right, I have the paper off. Now take it.”

  “Oh!” Flora stared down at the tea strainer in her hands. Someone, presumably the woman who had bought it at the bazaar, had made an attempt at polishing it, but there still wasn’t much silver shining through the tarnish, which had turned it copper-colored in some places and a dull black in others. “What a beauty!”