Chapter 3
‘Are you truly unaware with whom you are speaking, Sergeant, or should I assume you simply beetle-headed?’ Henry winced, knowing he should have left his sister outside.
‘Lottie, Sergeant Miller cannot simply divulge personal information without the proper authority,’ he declared, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. ‘Why don’t you take a seat in the waiting room while I remain here until the Inspector returns.’
He exchanged a calculated man to man look with the now red-faced sergeant, hoping he might somehow manage to rescue the rapidly deteriorating situation from his sibling’s caustic tongue.
Of course, Henry was perfectly unaware that the Sergeant’s red face was not so much from anger as another equally intense emotion.
In truth, though he would have died rather than admit it, Sergeant Miller actually found the brusque tones of the matron quite exhilarating.
So unlike the meek, well-bred manners of most ladies.
In fact, when she drew in her breath to deliver another stinging set-down, he couldn’t help noticing that her bosom was actually quite magnificent.
As she was about to convey her exact opinion of the pigeon-livered policeman’s insistence in gaining the permission of the appropriate authority, Charlotte suddenly realised the direction of the sergeant’s eyes. And they certainly weren’t engaged upon her face…
The matron’s mouth shut with an audible snap, and she narrowed her eyes at the hapless sergeant whose face slowly diffused to the colour of an overripe tomato.
‘I… I’ll go and look for the information this very minute,’ he mumbled, in a complete about-turn from his stance only minutes earlier.
As he disappeared through a door, Charlotte stared after him, struggling to hide her surprise at his sudden capitulation.
‘I could be wrong, but it looks very much as though you have an admirer, Lottie,’ Henry offered drily after a second.
‘Well, you needn’t sound so deuced surprised about it,’ his sister muttered, before giving her customary sniff and marching towards a chair on the other side of the room.
They each remained silent for another five minutes – a usually unheard-of occurrence. On this occasion, however, the only indication of Charlotte’s irritation was the rapid tapping of her shoes on the stone floor.
‘You’ve got ten minutes.’ Henry jumped at Sergeant Miller’s sudden reappearance.
In contrast to his earlier discomfiture, the peeler’s voice was now much more confrontational.
Clearly mortification was rapidly turning into belligerence.
Recognising that he’d need to be quick if he was to discover anything at all, Henry thanked the sergeant effusively and hurried over to a still silent Charlotte.
He resisted the temptation to make a frivolous quip, since he wouldn’t have put it past her to box his ears in public.
Instead, he sat down next to her and opened the file.
‘Miss Shackleford and…’ The maid paused in the middle of her announcement and looked over at the three young ladies uncertainly.
‘We are all possessed of the same surname.’ Alexandra smiled towards the lady of the house and offered a polite nod At this point in time, she didn’t want to muddy the waters by referring to herself as Lady Tavistock.
‘I do not recall requesting three of you,’ Mrs Pettigrew retorted with a frown that didn’t bode well for a frank exchange of information.
Alex glanced over at Bella, giving her twin a look that said, ‘Over to you,’ as plain as day.
Fortunately, the glance wasn’t in their would-be employer’s eyeline.
‘Mrs Pettigrew, I do hope you’ll forgive us for descending on you in such a crowd…
Arabella said smoothly, ignoring Beatrix’s incredulous backwards look, as if questioning where the hoards had got to.
‘Indeed, I was originally attending you alone, but since my sisters both possess unique investigative talents…’ This time Bea’s eye roll and derisive snort were difficult to miss, and she received an exasperated glare from Alex.
‘I felt we would be doing you a grave disservice madam if we failed to utilise our very best minds to solve the heinous crime visited upon your person.’ Mrs Pettigrew’s expression softened, oblivious to the choking noise coming from the youngest of the three very best minds.
‘May we sit?’ Arabella continued with the reassuring smile she’d spent hours at the mirror perfecting.
‘Of course,’ the matron responded, smiling back. ‘Sally, would you be so kind as to bring us some tea. For the Chief Inspector too.’
‘The… Chief Inspector?’ Alexandra queried, carefully seating herself next to her sisters on the chaise longue Mrs Pettigrew’s languid arm had directed them to.
With three of them on it, the couch was actually in danger of upending, quite possibly catapulting one or more of them through the large picture window.
‘Indeed,’ was the response, ‘and about time too. Chief Inspector Hartley has come from the Exeter police force to investigate – much as you have…’ She waved the same vague hand towards the ceiling as she continued on, entirely unaware of the blow she’d just dealt.
‘Benedict Hartley is the brother of Viscount Lavenham,’ she confided, lowering her voice a little.
‘Undoubtedly, my preeminent standing within the Torquay community has reached the ears of Sir Charles Drayton.’ She drew herself up and patted the elaborate coils around her ears before adding a final, alarming statement.
‘Indeed, I am not entirely convinced I will be needing your services since the Chief Commissioner himself is now involved.’
There was a tense pause. For once, neither Alexandra nor Arabella had an answer. Both were stricken at the knowledge that their father’s replacement was here – in this house.
Fortunately, at that moment, the maid, Sally, entered the room carrying a large tray of tea, giving the sisters a brief time to compose themselves. All too soon, however, the room reverted to the same awkward silence, broken only by Mrs Pettigrew as she leaned forward to pour the tea.
‘In my opinion, Mrs Pettigrew,’ Beatrix announced abruptly into the deafening hush, ‘it would be premature of you to even consider giving us the boot before we’ve even had a chance to view the scene of the crime.’
The only response was a loud clatter as Mrs Pettigrew dropped the cup.
By the time Muriel Pemberton reached the top of Victoria Street, Billy’s stomach was doing somersaults.
He’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, and lunch had come and gone with nothing but a wizened carrot he’d found in his pocket.
The bogus clairvoyant had visited practically every shop in the town’s main thoroughfare – beginning with the haberdashery three doors up from the Gerston and ending with the ironmongers at the very top.
She didn’t leave any of the shops with bags in her hands.
What his ma called ‘window shoppin’.’ Of course she could have been arranging delivery, but the boy doubted she’d be staying in the Bay for long – the risk of her being spotted was too great.
Why the devil had she come back? Surely, she was aware that she’d be facing the early morning drop if the peelers caught her.
As she crossed the road towards Palace Avenue, Billy wondered whether he should abandon the chase and report back to Cliff House – that was until he watched her push open the door to Rossiter’s.
To a nine-year-old who's only direct experience of shopping had hitherto been limited to fetching Charlotte Shackleford’s physic from the local chemists and the occasional theft of a sticky bun from the bakers, Rossiter’s Department Store might well have been situated on the moon as far as Billy was concerned.
A legitimate (though quite possibly illegal) excuse to walk in through its hallowed doors was simply too good to miss.
Hurrying across the road, he paused briefly at the large, ornate doors with Rossiters and Son etched into the frame, took a deep breath and pushed them open.
It was the smell that took him first. Indeed, he’d never sniffed anything quite so wonderful.
Even Mrs Williams’ steamed apple pudding couldn’t compare.
It smelled like he imagined a palace would - roses and honeysuckle mixed with the soap Baron Tavistock always used, and underneath all that was the smell of fresh pinecones like the ones Peggy threw into the drawing-room fire in Cliff House.
Billy thought about his ma as he stared in awe around him.
He knew she’d never stepped foot in such a place.
In truth, for a second, he forgot entirely about his mission – that was until he caught sight of an unsmiling man dressed in a dark green uniform walking determinedly in his direction.
Knowing he had to keep his wits about him, Billy looked around for his quarry and finally caught sight of her going up a small flight of stairs at the back of the shop. Resisting the urge to glance back at the oncoming security guard, he took off his cap and walked confidently towards the stairs.
As he reached the top, however, there was no sign of the former clairvoyant.
Muttering, ‘Tarnation,’ under his breath.
He looked in both directions. To his left were rolls and rolls of material, while to his right there were rows of actual dresses.
To buy. His eyes widened. There was even a young girl pirouetting in front of a mirror. Billy had no idea such a world existed.
Turning full circle, he spotted another set of stairs and, reasoning that was the only way Muriel Pemberton could have gone, he hurriedly started climbing.