Away in a Manger (13 page)

He opened the box. Emmy's face lit up when she saw the locket. “It's Mummy's locket. It really is. Then she's close by, isn't she? She'll come for us any day now. Perhaps she was waiting for Christmas to surprise us.”

I glanced across at Sid. Our eyes met but we remained silent.

“I think we should leave the locket here for safekeeping,” I said to Tig. “You don't want to take it back to Aunt Hettie and risk losing it again.”

“Very well.” He handed me the box, with some hesitation.

“Miss Walcott and Miss Goldfarb will take really good care of it for you,” I said. “And as soon as you are settled somewhere safe, you can have it back. You wouldn't want a big boy on the streets to take it from you, would you? Or Aunt Hettie's friend to pawn it again?”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically.

“Why don't you children go into the kitchen and see what Gus is making for your lunch?” Sid said.

The worried look returned to Tig's face. “We should probably go back to our patch on the street,” he said. “I don't think we can stay here.”

“You are safe here, Tig,” Sid said. “I promise you that you are safe. Miss Walcott and I care about you.”

“I know,” he said. “But Aunt Hettie expects us to bring home money every night.”

“We can give you money to take home with you, if you really think you should go back there,” Sid said. “But we've told you, you are welcome to stay here and sleep in a real bed and have a bath in a real big bathtub.”

Tig nodded. “It's just that … what if Mummy did come back? How would she ever find us?”

“It sounds to me as if your Aunt Hettie might be glad to get rid of you, apart from the money you bring in,” Sid said. “Maybe if Miss Walcott and I went to see your Aunt Hettie and told her we were taking you off her hands, she'd be pleased.”

I could see that Tig was in an agony of indecision. Clearly he wanted to stay here, where he was warm and safe, but he couldn't extinguish the small hope that his mother would return.

“Don't worry about it now,” Sid said. “Go into the kitchen with Emmy and have some cookies and milk.”

As soon as they had gone Sid came over to me. “I went to the American Lines office,” she said. “And I found their names. They came over in March. The names were Margaret Everett Jones, aged twenty-six, Thomas Montague Jones, aged eight, and Megan Everett Jones, aged four.”

“That might explain the nickname Tig,” I said. “Short for Montague.”

“So was Everett her maiden name, do you think?” Sid asked.

“Her initials on the locket were
MEM,
” I said.

“So Montague was probably her maiden name, then.” Sid frowned. “That sounds more English than American. Upper-class English. Distinguished. I don't know how we are going to trace a family in England called Montague, do you?”

“When Daniel is better, he'll know how to contact the English police,” I said. “And a name like Montague will certainly be easier to trace than one like Jones.” I perched on the arm of the chair, holding out my hands to warm at the fire. I hadn't realized how cold I had become. “The big question is what an English aristocrat is doing here? Was there a family member she was hoping to meet?”

“A lover she was hoping to reunite with?” Sid suggested, coming to sit opposite me beside the fire.

“Or there's always the other possibility,” I remarked as this idea formed in my head. “She wasn't coming here to look for someone. She was running away, trying to get away from something unpleasant in England.”

“And the person she was running from found her and dealt with her?” Sid continued, “Or dragged her back to England against her will?”

“I have to think that Aunt Hettie is somehow involved in this,” I said. “If she makes such a fuss about keeping the children, why doesn't she simply turn them out? And Tig said something interesting in the pawnshop. He recounted a conversation between Aunt Hettie and her male friend called Uncle Jack. When he told her to get rid of the kids, she replied that he knew why she couldn't do that yet. Tig took it to mean that their mother was returning to them. But I wonder if there was something more sinister or underhand going on.”

“She was being paid to keep them by someone else?”

“It's possible, isn't it?” I said.

“Then this is all part of a bigger plot.” Sid stood up again. “Do you think we should confront Aunt Hettie? Have it out with her? Threaten to go to the police?”

“We have no proof of anything wrong,” I said. “And I wouldn't want her to take it out on the children.”

“We'll bring them here. If she tries to prevent that, we'll demand to know why.”

I sighed, watching the flames of the fire lick upward at the chimney. “I'd be all for telling that woman what I thought of her,” I said, “but my one reservation is that if their mother does return, Aunt Hettie might say she doesn't know where they have gone.”

“Do you think their mother really might return after so long?” Sid asked. “What possible reason could there be for such a long delay with no communication whatsoever?”

I stood up suddenly. “What if there was communication? What if the mother has written to them regularly but Aunt Hettie destroyed the letters?”

“For what reason?”

“Money. What if she is blackmailing their family back in England saying she has the children, and will return them safely if she is paid?”

Sid shook her head. “None of this quite makes sense. If the mother can communicate with her children, she could also write to her family and tell them where the children are.”

“But she might have run away from her family for some reason and have no wish to communicate with them.”

Sid laughed suddenly. “Too complicated, Molly. No, I'm afraid the real explanation is quite simple. The mother has died. Aunt Hettie is keeping the children because they bring in a nice little sum of money every day,
and
because she suspects they might have good family connections and one day she'll be rewarded.”

I stood up too. “I suppose you're right,” I said. I turned to the mantelpiece as the pretty little ormolu clock chimed eleven.

“Eleven o'clock,” I said. “Only an hour until I can go and visit Daniel. I've been worrying about him all night.”

“He's in good hands at St. Vincent's,” Sid said. “I'm sure it's just a matter of keeping the wound clean and letting it heal. At least they didn't have to cut him open and fish around for a bullet.”

I nodded, unable to speak in case my voice betrayed my emotion. “I'd better go and get the children ready,” I said at last. “I'm sure my mother-in-law will want to come with me to see Daniel, so we'll have to take the children.”

“Leave them with us,” Sid said.

“But you've already got Tig and Emmy.”

“The more the merrier.” Sid laughed. “And I'm sure Gus is making enough food for an army. She's convinced the children need fattening up and plans to do it in one day. Dumplings, I believe. And a suet pudding to follow. You and your mother-in-law are welcome to join us when you return.”

“You're so kind.” I smiled as I headed for the front door.

*   *   *

Daniel was sitting propped up in bed as we approached him. His eyes were closed and he still looked horribly pale. And so young, with a curl flopping boyishly across his forehead. My heart did a flip, thinking how close to death he had come, and how I couldn't bear to lose him. I found myself thinking of the other officer—the young one, new and keen in the department, the one who was carried out under a sheet, who didn't make it. Did he have a wife, a sweetheart, a mother, who was at this moment sitting staring hopelessly out of the window, wondering how she was ever going to go on without him? I had known when I married Daniel that danger and risk were part of his job, but it had never hit home until this year, when we were almost killed in a bomb explosion. And now this.

Daniel's mother took one look at him then rushed forward. “Oh, my dear boy,” she said.

Daniel's eyes fluttered open. He looked around with surprise and then recognized his mother. “Hello, Ma,” he said. “So you got here safely then? No holdup with the snow? That's good.”

“Look at you,” she said, taking his hand. “I've told you it was time to leave police work behind, haven't I? You've a wife and family now. What would have happened to them if you'd died? You need to move on to a safer job. For my sake. For Molly's sake.”

Daniel looked past her and saw me standing at the foot of his bed. His face broke into a lovely smile. “I'm still here,” he said. “And Molly understands. Don't you, my love?”

“His job is his life, Mother Sullivan,” I said. “Did your husband abandon the police when you had a child?”

“No. He was as stubborn as his son,” she said. “But I think all the worry and hardship brought him to an early grave.”

“He was seventy-four, Ma,” Daniel said with a chuckle. “That's hardly an early grave. Three score years and ten. That's the appointed life span, isn't it?”

“Don't say that,” she snapped. “I'm seventy-two and I plan to keep going for a long while yet. What's more I want you to live out your full life—not to be stopped by a bullet.”

“It was probably my fault,” Daniel said. “I should never have gone after the young idiot. I hoped to stop him in time. As if he could ever get to Antonio. There would be at least three rounds of bodyguards between him and the front door. All armed. All ready to shoot intruders. I hope he's learned his lesson.”

“He's dead, Daniel,” I said. “I saw them remove his body.”

“Damn. He'd have been a good policeman, given time,” Daniel said. He looked up at me again. “They didn't mean to shoot me, you know. We understand each other. I heard one of them shout in Italian something like, ‘Not him, you fool. That's the captain,' right before a bullet knocked me over backward.”

He looked around. “Where's my boy?” he asked. “Did you leave him with Bridie?”

“They don't allow children in the wards,” I said. “He's with Sid and Gus at the moment.”

“Is that wise?” He looked concerned.

“Of course. He loves being with them. And Bridie's with him.”

“Let's hope they don't feed him curry or caviar or let him play with their knife collection,” he said. He closed his eyes again as if talking had tired him.

“Did the doctor say how long you'll have to stay here?” I asked.

“A few more days,” he said. “They want to make sure the wound doesn't turn septic. They are washing it with a disinfectant every couple of hours. Stings like hell.”

“My poor darling.” I smiled at him. “Still, you'll be home for Christmas and that's all that matters, isn't it?” I wanted to tell him about the English children. I wanted to ask him how to set about contacting people in England. And also how we'd find out whether their mother might have died. But I could see how weak he was. So I told him about Liam playing in the snow and the snowman we had started this morning and the goodies that his mother had brought with her. All positive things and no worries. The latter I kept to myself.

 

Fifteen

Tuesday, December 19

The next morning I opened the door to put out the milk bottles and jumped with alarm when something moved behind one of the box trees that grew in tubs on either side of Sid and Gus's front door. Then Tig stepped out of the shadows.

“For heaven's sake, Tig, what are you doing here?” I asked. “You nearly scared the daylights out of me.”

“I'm sorry,” he said as Emmy came to join him, “but we didn't want to wake you or the ladies too early. So we were waiting out of the wind for you to wake up.”

“Come inside,” I said, beckoning them to my front door. “We're letting the cold air in.”

They didn't need much urging. The morning had a cold dampness that went straight to the bones. I saw then that they had a small bundle with them.

“Has something happened?” I asked.

Tig nodded as he pushed Emmy inside ahead of him. “We had to run away,” he said.

I ushered them through to the kitchen, where Daniel's mother was busy making oatmeal on the stove.

“We have guests for breakfast,” I said as I brought the two children into the warmth of the kitchen. “They've had to run away from the place where they were staying.”

“Mercy me,” my mother-in-law said. “What happened?”

Tig and Emmy stood shyly in the doorway. He glanced at her and then he said, “We heard them talking last night—Aunt Hettie and Uncle Jack. Her bedroom is right below the attic and we can hear a lot through the floorboards. He said, ‘I told you you should have got rid of those brats ages ago. Now you'll find yourself in hot water if people come round here poking their noses in.'

“And she said, ‘What was I supposed to do? I wanted to be paid, didn't I?'

“And he said, ‘It's gone on long enough. Get rid of them.'

“And she said, ‘Just turn them out, you mean? But that could be dangerous. They know some women who have been giving them clothes.'”

Tig paused, then looked up at me with big, frightened eyes. “And then Uncle Jack said, ‘Get rid of them. We take them and throw them off the pier. They won't last two seconds in that frozen water. And then we say that they never came home one evening. Must have run away. Not your fault. No one can blame you.'”

Tig glanced at Emmy then looked back at us. “So I had to get Emmy away quickly, don't you see? They were going to throw us into the river. So we grabbed our things and came here, like you said.”

“And you've been outside all night? You poor things.” Mrs. Sullivan poured hot tea into two cups. “Get that down you. It will warm you up. And the oatmeal should be ready any minute.”