The Cuckoo Child (18 page)
The two children stared, first at Emma Grieves, and then at each other. Finally, Dot spoke. ‘No wonder you were crying,’ she said. ‘Awful things have been happening to you at the worst possible time and you’ve got no one to turn to. So what do you want us to do? We want to help you but we don’t want those men coming after us.’
‘No, of course you don’t, and I don’t want it, either,’ Emma said. ‘I wish you’d actually seen Mr Rathbone, though, Dot, but you’re pretty sure it was him, aren’t you?’
Dot nodded emphatically. ‘I’m as sure as can be,’ she said. ‘And no matter how nice he was to you, Emma, he ain’t nice to kids like me, I can tell you. He’s quicker with a cuff than a kiss, as the saying goes, and that’s another reason why I didn’t want to go to the scuffers. No kids like Mr Rathbone an’ I’m scared they might think I was simply getting back at him.’ She looked hopefully at the older girl. ‘But it’s different for you, Emma; couldn’t you pretend you’d gone into his back yard on some pretext and found the necklace hidden away there? Or you could say you wanted his advice and when you got into his shop you could slip the necklace under the counter and make out it must have been there all along. Then you could go to the scuffers, and though it would only be your word against his I’m sure they’d believe you.’
Emma looked doubtful. ‘I couldn’t possibly do that,’ she said. ‘No, we’ve got to think of some way of implicating the thieves without running too many risks ourselves. And to be honest, the man I really want to see being put behind bars is the one who killed my grandfather . . . Ollie, did you say his name was?’
‘That’s right,’ Dot agreed. ‘If only there was someone who could
really
advise us – a grown-up, I mean, someone we know isn’t involved – but I can’t think of anyone. I live with my aunt and uncle, but just lately me uncle’s got real pally with old Rathbone, and he wouldn’t be any good anyway; all he thinks of is getting a bellyful of ale every night and doing as little work as possible every day.’
really
advise us – a grown-up, I mean, someone we know isn’t involved – but I can’t think of anyone. I live with my aunt and uncle, but just lately me uncle’s got real pally with old Rathbone, and he wouldn’t be any good anyway; all he thinks of is getting a bellyful of ale every night and doing as little work as possible every day.’
Corky chuckled. ‘What about a teacher at school, or a friend’s mum or dad?’ he asked. ‘I don’t come from these parts, but if I’d still been down south I’d have talked to that newspaper reporter I told you about.’
‘Yes, but he ain’t here, so a fat lot of use that ’ud be,’ Dot said scornfully. ‘As for teachers at school, most of ’em’s old and stupid; they’d hand us over to the law or say it were none of our business, an’ even if they didn’t do that, they’d tell their pals and it would get round to old Rathbone in no time. No, I reckon the three of us are on our own. You won’t say a word to anyone, will you, Emma? Not without discussing it with us first, at any rate? Because I don’t fancy being bashed over the head till I’m dead.’
Emma agreed that such a fate was to be avoided at all costs and the conversation turned to future plans. ‘Tell you what, we’ll all of us spend tomorrow thinking hard what to do,’ Dot said, ‘and then we’ll meet up again the day after. How’s that for an idea?’
Corky said he supposed that something might occur to him, and Emma began to clear away the tea things, saying as she did so: ‘Look, I’m not doubting the story you’ve told me, either Dot’s end of it or yours, Corky. But so far I’ve taken everything on trust. You’ve not shown me the necklace, nor told me where it’s hidden, and it is my property, after all. If it’s in a really safe hiding place, as you say, I wouldn’t dream of moving it because that might put all of us in danger, but I think it’s only right that I should see it.’
Dot and Corky exchanged dubious glances. Dot was sure that if Emma set eyes on the necklace she would want to keep it, and though she supposed it might be as safe in the flat above the shop as it was in its present position, she also thought that Emma might be tempted, one day, to put it back in the window where she must feel it belonged. But she could scarcely say so; Emma was right, the necklace really was her property.
Dot was beginning to say, reluctantly, that she saw Emma’s point of view when Corky cut in. ‘You certainly do have a right to see it,’ he said briskly. ‘But remember, it’s Dot’s neck that’s at risk if the perishin’ thing is seen by the wrong people, not yours, Emma. I don’t much want to bring it to the shop – I know Dot agrees with me there – but I suppose if you come to where we’ve hidden it, and promise to take a look but not to touch it, that would be all right.’
Emma laughed. ‘Don’t you trust me?’ she asked.
There was a short pause whilst Corky and Dot exchanged dubious glances once more. Then Corky spoke, his voice serious. ‘It ain’t that, Emma, honest to God it ain’t. But – but the necklace is the most beautiful thing me and Dot have ever seen. We know it’s yourn, no one denies that, but if we were to show it to you and you simply took it off of us, there wouldn’t be a thing we could do about it, would there? And it could put Dot in real danger.’
Emma nodded slowly. The laughter had faded from her face as Corky spoke, and when she replied, it was in a tone as serious as his. ‘Right, I swear I won’t even touch the necklace, though I admit I’d like to make sure it’s undamaged and so on. Now, when can you take me to its hiding place?’
‘Well, it’ll have to be at night, because the sight of a grown-up lady climbing walls and poking about in – in tumbledown buildings would soon set tongues wagging if we tried it in daylight,’ Dot said slowly. ‘Tell you what, Emma, could you find up some old, dark clothing from somewhere? Then you won’t look so con – conspicuous.’
Emma agreed that she had suitable garments and would wear them. She suggested that she should be taken to see the necklace that very night but Dot said she simply dared not escape from the house two nights running, adding that she doubted whether she would be able to wake up for she had only had three hours’ or so sleep the night before. ‘I think we ought to do as I said: spend all day tomorrow trying to work out what’s best to do, then sleep on it, then meet the following day to pool our ideas. Then, if nothing else has occurred to us, we’ll take you to see the necklace,’ she concluded. ‘After all, it’s been about five months since the robbery, so a day or two more won’t hurt.’
Emma agreed, though a trifle reluctantly. She was clearly dying to see the necklace, though Dot did not think she doubted them for one moment. And indeed, as she ushered them across the stockroom at the back of the shop, she thanked them fervently for coming to find her, and for sharing their knowledge with her.
She unlocked the heavy back door and they were about to set off across the small back yard when Corky thought of something and turned back. ‘That feller, the one in the Burberry, will he come back tonight, after you’ve closed? And what are you going to do about it? I know it’s tempting to say you won’t pay, but . . .’
‘I wouldn’t dream of doing anything so foolhardy. I’ll pay up, the same as I did last time, but once we’ve sorted things out he won’t get another penny and I’ll go round and tell the other traders not to pay either. See you in the shop the day after tomorrow. And come late, say around six, so I can let you in and lock up immediately afterwards. Come to think of it, it would be better if you came to the back door, the one you’re leaving by now.’ There was a stout wooden door in the wall of the yard and she accompanied Dot and Corky over to it, opened it, and told them to turn left along the tiny jigger which would lead them on to Leigh and Tarleton Street. ‘This door is never locked and there is a bell by the stockroom door which rings in the flat, so give it a good long push and I’ll come down and let you in. Take care, both of you; see you the day after tomorrow, around six o’clock.’
As they turned on to Church Street once more, Dot looked carefully round her, aware of Corky doing the same. The pavements were still busy with folk going to the theatre or the cinema, and others just enjoying the warm August evening, or making their way to pubs. A newsboy was shouting his wares and a large policeman was stolidly walking his beat and stopping now and then to exchange a remark with a passer-by, but there was no sign of the ferret-faced one, or of a man in a big cloth cap and a long Burberry. Satisfied that they had emerged without being spotted, Dot and Corky sauntered on their way.
Emma closed the back door and relocked it. Belatedly, she realised that she had no idea where either Dot or Corky lived, so could not get in touch with them if she needed to do so. However, she would be seeing them the day after tomorrow; surely nothing of importance could happen between now and then?
Having seen the children off, Emma went back up to the flat again and began half-heartedly to prepare her evening meal. She laid slices of ham upon a plate, added tomato, cucumber and lettuce, and buttered a round of bread. Then she looked at it without much enthusiasm. She told herself that on such a warm evening a salad was ideal, that a hot meal would simply have made the kitchen unbearable, and sat down, pulling her plate towards her. She began to eat, then threw down her knife and fork and jumped to her feet. This was absurd! She was beginning to feel that the shop and the flat were a trap from which she could not escape, so why not prove herself wrong and go out for a meal? She could, of course, go to one of the many cafés or dining rooms in the area, but thought it would be pleasanter to buy fish and chips and bring them back to the flat. At least she would be getting a breath of fresh air before going to bed.
Without giving herself time to think, she snatched her linen jacket off the peg on the back of the door and headed down the stairs. She had drawn the blinds across the shop windows when she had closed so the place was in semi-darkness, but she could have made her way across the floor blindfold, and did not switch on the light. Instead, she unlocked the shop door, pulled it towards her and slipped out into Church Street. She locked the door behind her, pushing the key deep into her jacket pocket, and was turning to make her way towards the fish and chip shop her grandfather had favoured when a voice spoke almost in her ear, making her jump. ‘Good evenin’, Miss Grieves. You all right? It ain’t often I see you entertainin’, but I saw a couple o’ young limbs goin’ into the shop earlier – I been keepin’ me eye on this shop since the robbery. Friends, was they?’ The speaker was a police constable. He had a round, ruddy face and a little black toothbrush moustache, and he reminded Emma of someone, though she could not think of whom. But he was touching his helmet and smiling kindly down at her, and she realised that he must be the policeman she had half noticed earlier, when the children had first entered the shop. So she smiled up at him, sure that honest concern was his only motive in addressing her.
‘Oh, good evening, constable; how you startled me! I expect you saw my young cousins; I invited them for a cup of tea and a bun when they popped in to ask if I’d like to go round to my aunt’s place for Sunday dinner. To tell you the truth, I get rather lonely. I miss my grandfather more than you can imagine.’
The policeman nodded solemnly. ‘Aye, that were a dreadful thing,’ he said. ‘So them kids is related to you, is they? Well, ain’t that nice?’
His big, many-chinned face broke into a smile, but caution made Emma say hastily: ‘Well, to tell the truth, I’ve always called them my cousins, but they aren’t actually blood relatives. I couldn’t invite them to stay for a meal because their mother expected them home, and besides, I’d decided to treat myself to fish and chips this evening because it’s far too hot to cook.’
‘Aye, you’re right there,’ the constable said, falling into step beside her. ‘There’s nothin’ I like better than a nice piece o’ battered cod and a paper of chips, well salted and vinegared.’ He sighed deeply. ‘But I’m on duty for another four or five hours and then it’ll be a cup of cocoa, a round of bread and jam, and me bed. Which shop are you bound for, missy? If it’s on my beat, I’ll walk along o’ you, keep you company like.’
‘I’m heading for Jones’s fried fish shop on Elliot Street,’ she said. She looked speculatively up at him. He seemed a friendly and reliable sort of bloke, and she badly needed a friend. Should she – could she – confide in him? But then she remembered that the only information she had to confide was not rightly hers at all. Dot and Corky had shared their secret with her and had taken it for granted that she would respect their confidence. It was a pity, because when it came right down to it, the police had as much interest as she herself in catching the wrongdoers, and this man was clearly well disposed towards her. She was still reminding herself that she had not actually promised to say nothing, though she knew, in her heart, that both Dot and Corky believed she had done so, when the police constable touched his helmet once more. ‘Me way lies along Waterloo Place and Ranelagh Street; I have to keep me eye on Central Station and then I makes me way to Bold Street, checkin’ the shops, makin’ sure there’s no one hangin’ about, suspicious like,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your fish supper, missy, and think of me when you sprinkle the salt and vinegar.’ He gave a rumbling laugh, in which Emma joined, and their ways parted.
Presently Emma, joining the queue at the fried fish shop, found that she was glad the constable had left her before she spilled the beans. No matter how trustworthy the man might seem, it would have been a mean trick to break her word, besides being fraught with all sorts of difficulties. Everyone in Liverpool knew everyone else, and quite a lot of them were actually related. The constable might well have been either a neighbour or a relative of Dot’s, and might go round to the girl’s house and demand that she show him the necklace. He might even suspect the child of involvement with the burglary; worse – and here, Emma’s hair rose from the back of her neck with horror – he might be either a relative or a close friend of Butcher Rathbone, and take the story to him.
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