“We’re looking for a woman named Alice-Alice Plummer. Do you know her?”
He gave it some thought, then pouched his lower lip and shook his head in a firm denial. “No, I can’t say I do.” Then he surprised us by adding, “But I used to know a woman by that same name, I think it was. What was the last name again?”
“Plummer.”
“Yes, I knew an Alice Plummer, all right, but that was seven or so years ago.”
“Oh, well, have you seen her about in the last few days?”
“Why no. Is she here?”
“She’s been seen. If you happen to run into her, or if she comes by for a visit, ask her to get in touch with us, will you? That’s Mr. Proctor and Mr. Patley at the Good Queen Bess. We’re up here from London, and we’ve a message for her about her daughter.”
“Well, what is the message? I’ll pass it on to her if I see her.”
For some reason, Mr. Patley looked at me in an inquiring manner, as if wondering what now he might say and asking me for a suggestion. I was ready for him.
“We’ve been told to give the message to none but her,” said I. “Sorry.”
He hesitated, and then, certain there was no other way out, he promised to pass the message on to Alice, should he happen to run into her. We left him, staring after us and looking a bit confused.
We were no more than a few steps away and just out of earshot when, in quiet tones, I called the constable’s attention to a wall just round the corner where we might wait for Alice.
“I give her five minutes at the most,” said I.
“Closer to two, I vow.”
If we’d had a wager riding on it, Mr. Patley would have won. There was no mistaking her voice: first, a mildly acrimonious overture as she and Stephen wrangled over whether or not she should go to the inn and discover the nature of the message about Maggie.
“Alice, dear Alice, don’t you understand? ’Tis only a device to force you out, to get you to show yourself.”
“And don’t you understand?” came the muffled reply (for they were still inside the stable). I’ve little choice-none at all! If Maggie needs me, then I must go to her.”
Then did they quite explode into view-she running out the door of the stable, and he pursuing her, catching her up, grasping her arm to pull her back. The two nearly collided with another couple, older and ill-tempered, who abused them with harsh words and curses. Then, as Alice struggled to free herself from Stephen’s grip, they gathered a crowd round them, which was not at all to our liking. Yet those in the crowd were mostly women, and they set up a great din in her favor; whores and pickpockets were they by the look of them; they were her jury, and they found in her favor.
“Leave her be!”
“Unhand her, you bully!”
“She did naught to deserve such treatment, I wager.”
Her friend Stephen found it impossible to withstand such force. In spite of myself, I pitied him, though had he prevailed, our immediate problem might have been greatly complicated. Yet his last words could have been, and should have been, much gentler.
As he released her, he snarled, “Awright then, you drunken cow, you’re goin’ into a trap. I’ll do what I can for you, but I’ll have to wait till my relief comes on.” He turned away and headed back to the stable.
Alice, now free to go, stumbled about for a moment, looking round her wildly. Then, without a word to her rescuers, she set off down the hill at an awkward run.
I had then to restrain Constable Patley. He was all for catching her up and detaining her soon as ever we could-chasing her down, if need be.
“No,” said I, “all we need do is keep her within sight. And even if we should lose her, there is little doubt that she will be there awaiting us.”
We trampled along a good many yards behind her. No longer attempting to run, she now walked, staggering a bit, balancing with some effort. Years of gin-drinking had plainly taken a toll upon her.
In spite of all, I felt troubled-though I could not at first fathom the reason. It came to me then that I felt guilty. In spite of the fact that we had found Alice Plummer and would soon have her safely in custody, the means we had used to do this preyed upon my conscience somewhat. Had we not used Alice’s own maternal feelings against her? Indeed we had. But had she not also acted against these same feelings when she sent her daughter off to be the paramour of one whose notions of carnal love were utterly perverted? Yet had she known that of him? What Katy Tiddle had said suggested she had not. But reporting Maggie as a stolen child to Mr. Patley indicated that she suspicioned that something was not right about the unnamed recipient of her child. And why, if she truly believed she were bettering Maggie’s life, had she accepted money for her child?
Such questions always seemed to be clouded over with moral considerations of this sort, so why, indeed, should I feel guilty? And why, for a final why, must all be so damnably complicated?
In point of fact, we did lose her just as she came to the Good Queen Bess, yet that was because she had circled round it that she might enter respectably by the front door of the place.
She was leaning forward over the desk, speaking in a rather distraught manner to him in charge. Indeed, she was repeating our names over and over again. Then did he glimpse us with obvious relief as we entered.
“Ah, but here they are now. What a happy coincidence!”
She whirled round and, seeing us, ran to us.
“I heard you had a message from my daughter,” said she, wheezing slightly from her trip downhill.
“No,” said I, “that’s not quite right.”
She turned from me in disappointment and looked hopefully at Constable Patley. “It was you who said it, wasn’t it? But-but I know you from before, don’t I?”
“That’s right, Alice. You and me talked together.”
“About Maggie, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe we could step inside the tap-room. We could sit in there and talk,” I suggested.
She frowned at me in a somewhat befuddled way.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“A glass of gin would be nice.”
“Well, then.” I gestured toward the door to the tap-room, and she nodded and followed. I noticed the deskman continuing to look at us with considerable curiosity.
We must have made a strange-looking trio as we entered the room. And though I cared little what the many who gaped might think of us, I did wish to keep our conversation with this poor woman as private as might be possible. I directed the other two over to that same table in the corner, where Mr. Patley had seen her first. Then did I hasten to the serving woman and order two coffees and a glass of gin.
“Who’s the gin for?” she asked suspiciously.
“For her,” said I.
“This ain’t that kind of place. They won’t let you upstairs with her.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, if you permit, we’ll have two coffees and a glass of gin.”
Without another word, she turned away from me and made for the bar.
I went to the table and found Alice and Mr. Patley engaged in the sort of talk that I can only call neighborly. Though I should have, I’d never really noticed what a personable manner he had. He seemed to get people to do what he wished them to do simply by being agreeable, kind, or what they had taken lately to calling “nice.” What was it they were discussing as I sat down with them? As I recall, it was something to do with how and when he had happened to see her out the window.
“When was that, yesterday? or the day before? I ain’t sure about that, but I am sure I looked right out the window, and there you were.” He tapped it. “This very window,” said he.
“Is that how it was?” said she. “Just imagine!” She managed a smile.
It was strange to see him so. I realized that there were things that I could learn from him.
“I think,” said she, “that must have been day before yesterday.”
“Is that so? You’ve got a pretty good memory. You know that?”