‘I think there is. Caroline deserves to know.’
‘Know what?’ asked Caroline.
‘When Jack took me back home last night,’ said Nancy, glancing at her brother, ‘Gerald should have gone straight to bed. He was as exhausted as we were. Instead of that, he went to the shop and started mending shoes.’
‘Never!’
‘I simply had to do something,’ he declared. ‘I thought it might take my mind off Cyril. I needed to be occupied. Can’t you understand that?’
‘Yes,’ soothed Caroline, ‘I think I can. It seems ridiculous but what you did was right. It fulfilled an urge.’ When there was a knock at the door, she got up at once. ‘You stay here. I’ll see who it is.’
She went to the front door and opened it. The vicar was standing on the doorstep and he asked if he might come in. Caroline would have turned anyone else away but both Cyril and his father had worshipped regularly at the nearby church. She’d heard them speak well of the vicar, an elderly man with a kind face and wisps of white hair curling down from under his hat. In the hope that he might be able to alleviate grief and provide some spiritual sustenance, Caroline stood aside to let him in. When she took him into the front room, Ablatt and his sister looked up with gratitude, pleased to see the old man. Removing his hat, he set it aside and offered a consoling hand to each of them. Caroline put the hat outside on a peg and went into the kitchen to make yet another pot of tea. When she returned, she saw that the vicar had already lifted the morale of the mourners.
It was the chance for which she’d been waiting. After pouring the tea and handing the cups around, she excused herself to go to the bathroom, making sure that she shut the door of the front room behind her. She then scampered upstairs and went straight to Cyril Ablatt’s room, opening the door and gazing around with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. She needed minutes to recover.
Caroline then began a frantic search.
CHAPTER TWELVE
After a hectic morning in the lorry, Alice Marmion drove it back to the depot and brought it to a juddering halt. She looked across at Vera Dowling.
‘I don’t like the sound of the engine.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Vera. ‘Something is wrong.’
‘Let’s see if we can find out what it is.’
Alice switched off the engine and got out of the lorry. Vera went to fetch the toolbox in the back of the vehicle. By the time she brought it to her friend, Alice had lifted the bonnet and was peering underneath it.
‘Don’t touch anything,’ warned Vera. ‘It will be piping hot.’
‘I’m afraid that it could be something serious.’
‘We could always go to that garage and ask the mechanic to help us.’
Alice was derisive. ‘Ask a man to bail us out?’ she said. ‘This is the WEC, Vera. We sort out our own problems.’
‘Well, don’t expect me to do anything. I don’t know the first thing about engines — except that they get very hot after a while.’ She wiped perspiration from her brow. ‘They’re a bit like me.’
They’d spent several hours delivering bedding to various emergency accommodation sites. It had meant loading and unloading the lorry a number of times and they were tired. While Alice continued to scrutinise the engine, Vera leant against the side of the vehicle. Hannah Billington emerged from her office and marched across to them.
‘What seems to be the trouble?’ she asked.
‘We don’t know, Mrs Billington,’ replied Vera.
Alice was more positive. ‘We’ll soon find out when the engine cools down,’ she said, turning to the newcomer. ‘It was starting to pull and making a funny noise.’
‘It was a bit scary.’
‘There was no danger, Vera.’
‘You never know. It might have been sabotage.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Hannah. ‘Who would sabotage our lorry?’
‘I was only thinking of what my friend told me about the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps.’
Hannah was reproachful. ‘Oh, come on, please. You should have mastered the initials by now. And what did this friend from the WAAC tell you?’
‘Well,’ said Vera, discomfited by the rebuke, ‘when she first started driving a thirty-hundredweight van, the men were very jealous.’
‘Why aren’t we surprised?’ asked Alice, jocularly.
‘They did all sorts of things to slow her down. They cut her petrol pipe halfway through, they unscrewed valves, they even changed over the leads on the sparking plugs. What upset her most, however,’ she went on, ‘was that they emptied the paraffin out of her lamps. When it got dark and she tried to light them, nothing happened. That was a cruel trick.’
‘Nobody would dare to do that to my drivers,’ said Hannah. ‘Any vehicles parked here are watched carefully day and night. Luckily, we’ve got enterprising young women like Alice who can turn their hand to vehicle maintenance as well as to driving. You should follow in her footsteps, Vera.’
‘Not me — I’m all fingers and thumbs.’
‘Learn from Alice. It’s only a question of application.’
‘I’ve tried, Mrs Billington, I really have.’
‘You must make more effort, woman,’ said Hannah, curtly. She summoned up a smile. ‘Anyway, what have the pair of you been up to this morning?’
Alice delivered her report and earned a nod of approval. Vera was too nervous to venture anything more than the occasional word. Hannah looked from one to the other as if weighing something up.
‘You’ve done well,’ she said. ‘You’ve done very well, in fact. I trust that the lorry will be ready for action again this afternoon.’
‘Yes,’ said Alice, confidently. ‘I’ll have that engine singing like a bird.’
‘That’s the attitude — every problem can be solved.’
‘It certainly can — even if it means oily fingers and a lot of tinkering.’
The older woman gave her braying laugh then promptly changed the subject.
‘What do you think of the food here?’
‘It’s all right, Hannah.’
‘Do you agree, Vera?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said the other. ‘It’s better than I expected.’
‘But it’s rather bland and repetitive,’ said Hannah. ‘We can’t blame them for that. We’re subject to rationing like everyone else. I just wondered if you’d like a chance to eat something more appetising for once.’
‘We’d all like that,’ said Alice.
‘Then you and Vera must come to tea sometime. Cook makes the most wonderful scones and her chocolate cake is almost sinful.’
‘Thank you, Hannah. We’d love to come.’
Vera was less certain. ‘Yes … thank you for asking us.’
‘I’ll find a time when we’re not so busy and let you know.’
After flashing a smile at them, she turned on her heel and marched off. Vera waited until she was well out of earshot. She could be honest with a friend.
‘I don’t want to go, Alice.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I wouldn’t feel comfortable,’ said Vera. ‘I’ve never been to a house with a cook before. Mummy and I make the meals at home. I’d be on tenterhooks. I’ll find an excuse not to go. I hope that won’t stop you.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Alice. ‘I’d love to go. I’m much nosier than you.’
They met in Marmion’s office at Scotland Yard and were able to review what they’d learnt that morning. Marmion talked about his visit to the library and his conviction that Eric Fussell had enough hatred inside him to drive him to murder. Keedy told him about the second encounter with Stan Crowther and how the landlord had confirmed the alibi given by Robbie Gill. Marmion was more interested in the information that Crowther’s mother had been there and that she’d hotly denied that Waldron had arrived for a tryst with his spade.
‘So where did he leave it?’ wondered Marmion.
‘Maybe he took it back to his digs before he went to Maud.’
‘Why bring it home in the first place? Surely he keeps it at the cemetery. It would have been a bit late to do some gardening.’