‘There was another door, outside, further up the platform,’ said John. ‘Let’s have a look at that.’
6. Miss Dibdin Makes Do
JOHN led the way, with Rosemary close behind. LADIES’ WAITING ROOM was written in fat, frosted letters on the glass which filled the upper half of the door.
‘I don’t suppose anyone ...’ he began, as he pushed the door open. Then he stopped.
The remains of a small fire were burning in the grate and a large, red fire-bucket stood in the hearth, with a wooden spoon resting across the top. A battered bench, like the one on the platform, was drawn up to the fireplace. An attempt had been made to sweep the dusty floor, and in a corner someone had propped a broom. It was not the usual household kind, but the sort that gardeners use, with a bunch of twigs tied to one end, instead of bristles.
‘I say!’ said John. ‘Look over there!’ Rosemary looked.
‘The road-man’s cones, all six of them, and somebody’s painted one of them black!’
They stood in a row, with an open tin in front with ‘Perkin’s Ebony Gloss’ printed in large letters on the label.
‘Well, whoever did it isn’t very good at painting,’ said John. ‘Just look at the splodges all over the floor. But who can have done it, and whatever for?’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Rosemary. She walked over to the corner, picked up the broom, and began to examine the narrow band that secured the twigs to the handle. ‘I believe I know who did it, but not why.’
‘Oh, lay off it, Rosie! How could you know?’ said John.
‘Well, I do, so there!’ said Rosemary. ‘The twigs are tied on with a piece of plastic ribbon with printing on it.’
‘So what!’ said John scornfully.
‘You needn’t be so squashing,’ said Rosemary. ‘The printing says “NOSTRADAMUS LTD. Fancy Goods”. The same as the tape that tied up Miss Dibdin’s box of crackers for the party. Now do you understand?’
‘You mean, Miss Dibdin ...?’
Rosemary interrupted. ‘When I went into her bedroom that evening there was a stick just like this one, leaning against the mantelpiece, and there was a pile of twigs on the hearth-rug. She must have tied them on with the tape from the parcel, to make the broom.’
‘Then it must have been Miss Dibdin who pinched the road-man’s cones as well!’ said John. ‘Good heavens!’ He knelt, and touched the cone that had been painted black. ‘And the paint’s still wet, so she can’t have been gone very long.’
‘And now,’ said an acid voice from the doorway, ‘she’s come back.’
John and Rosemary whipped round. Miss Dibdin, with Crumpet peering round her ankles, was standing in the opening. There was a long uncomfortable pause. Miss Dibdin stood tapping one foot on the floor. Her grey hair straggled in wet rats’ tails from a scarlet headscarf. Rain trickled from the long folds of her black mackintosh, and even dripped from the end of her nose, which looked even more beaky than ever. Crumpet stalked towards the fireplace, shaking each wet paw in turn as he went.
Miss Dibdin broke the uneasy silence.
‘What are you doing here?’ she snapped. ‘Snooping and interfering!’
‘We didn’t mean to snoop,’ said John.
‘We only came to the station to shelter from the rain,’ went on Rosemary. There was another pause, at the end of which Miss Dibdin took a deep breath, as though she had made up her mind about something.
‘Well,’ she began, almost amiably. ‘Since you’ve stumbled on my secret, you had better sit down, and we can have a little chat. But first you must promise to tell nobody about it. Not a human soul!’
‘Promise!’ said John. ‘Not a human soul!’
‘Promise!’ said Rosemary.
Miss Dibdin motioned them to the bench, and they perched themselves uneasily on the edge.
‘First of all we must make up the fire for Crumpet. He wants to dry his wet paws, don’t you, my pussididdlums!’ she cooed. ‘Such a wet afternoon.’ She added a few sticks to the smouldering embers, and coaxed them into life, before seating herself on a broken packing case. Crumpet sat down by the hearth and began to lick his paws, from time to time flashing a quick, green glance at John and Rosemary.
‘Well,’ said Miss Dibdin at last. ‘What do you think of my little den, dears? Cosy, isn’t it?’
Rosemary looked round, and thought that ‘cosy’ was one thing it was not.
‘You see,’ said Miss Dibdin, ‘I have taken rooms at Tucket Towers. So very kind of Mrs Witherspoon. I think she likes the company, and we have both started on the same ... hobby. Quite rivals we are becoming! So of course I wanted somewhere private where I could get on with things. Make messes with no one interfering, you know. After all, you can’t boil a cauldron in a bed-sitting-room, can you?’ She waved airily at the fire bucket which stood in the hearth, its red sides smudged with soot.
‘Do you mean you cook things in the fire-bucket?’ asked John.
Miss Dibdin nodded. ‘A sort of cooking, you might call it,’ she replied, pushing out her underlip. ‘You can imagine how pleased I was when I discovered this place that nobody seems to want! That was a couple of weeks ago, when I came to Highdown for the day to look round. There’s even a short cut to the station, through the fields from Tucket Towers. I didn’t tell Katie about it, at first. She’s so inclined to interfere.’
‘I remember you telling Mrs Cantrip you were going to be met by a friend at Highdown Station,’ said John.
Miss Dibdin smothered a laugh behind her hand.
‘That was rather naughty of me!’ she said coyly. ‘But I didn’t say what kind, did I? It was a furry, four-footed friend. A beautiful smooth-haired pussy! It belongs to Mrs Witherspoon. She told me it seemed to take a fancy to her, just as Crumpet did to me. Her cat met her first when she was coming home from church one Sunday morning. What with that, and the fact that it was a beautiful smoky grey, just the colour of the suit the vicar always wears, she called it Mattins. Mattins and Crumpet are such friends! Aren’t you, my precious?’
Crumpet, now warm and dry once more, was purring furiously as Miss Dibdin rubbed him behind his ears.
‘You see, at first Mrs Witherspoon wanted time to decide whether to take me in, not being used to letting rooms, and that was to be the sign. If, when I arrived at Highdown I found Mattins sitting in the Ladies’ Waiting Room, it would mean she would have me. And he was. So fortunate! But you remember that parcel I was expecting, with the Do-It-Yourself Kit? It never came, after all. I can’t think what went wrong!’
Rosemary flashed a look at John and began uncomfortably: ‘Miss Dibdin ...’
But Miss Dibdin snapped: ‘Don’t interrupt! I am telling you! Without it I am just having to make do. Why, I had to come to Highdown by bus and taxi, and carry my broom, instead of ...’ She looked up, and broke off as she saw the children’s fascinated gaze.
The windows of the little room were so clouded with dirt that not much light filtered through. The firelight flickered on her frowning face.
‘Well, anyway, here I am,’ she ended lamely. ‘But it is surprising the number of ways it is possible to make the best of things.’ She nodded towards the cones standing on the newspaper.
‘Did you really take them from the hole in the road?’ asked John. ‘The cones, I mean.’
Miss Dibdin shuffled her feet in their sensible flat-heeled shoes.
‘Well, I’ve just been telling you, I have to make do,’ she said irritably. ‘They were the right shape, though perhaps they aren’t very comfortable. The human head is oval, and the hollow inside the cones is round. I know, because I tried one on before I, er, borrowed them. The colour is soon put right. Oh, I shall put them all back when Katie sends my parcel on. I shan’t need them when it arrives. I told her where I was staying in the end. Tucket Towers sounds such a respectable address, don’t you think? I’m sure the parcel will come at last, and when it does, when it does ...!’ She threw back her head and laughed shrilly with wide-flung arms. ‘There will be nothing I cannot have and nothing I cannot do!’