Diamonds in the Dust (3 page)

Tom saw the expression on her face. ‘Come on, Dora, Mum’s been lying to us about her job. What else has she kept from us? Give me a hand with this mattress.’

They pulled the huge feather mattress off the bed, and gazed at what they had uncovered. At the foot of the bed was a small parcel, neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

Dora felt tears of disappointment prick her eyes and murmured, ‘What have you been hiding from us, Mum?’

They sat on the floor and opened it. It contained a small notebook, a batch of letters tied up with ribbon and a black velvet box.

Tom was turning the pages of the notebook and shaking his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. It’s all numbers.’

‘Well, it’s Mum’s writing.’ Dora examined it carefully, but Tom was right. Each page had a series of numbers grouped together. ‘We’ll give this to Mr Crawford in the morning. He might be able to make some sense of it.’

Dora ran her fingers through the bundle of letters, and then put them down.

‘Shouldn’t we read them?’ Tom asked.

‘They’re personal letters, Tom. Probably from Dad
over the years. I wouldn’t feel easy about reading them.’

‘Suppose not. Wow! Look at this.’ Tom had opened the velvet box and held out a sparkly necklace. ‘Cor, it looks like diamonds.’

Dora took it from him and held it up to the light. ‘It’s only glass, Tom. Where would Mum get diamonds? It’s just a keepsake with happy memories, I expect.’

He pulled a face. ‘You’re right. The likes of us don’t have diamonds. It must have meant a lot to her though, or else she wouldn’t have hidden it. Perhaps it was a present from Dad when they were courting.’

‘Must have been. Isn’t there anything else?’

‘Don’t think so.’ He shook the brown paper packet and something fell out. ‘Hold on a minute, what’s this?’

Dora knew as soon as she saw it. ‘Money. How much is there, Tom?’

He counted it. ‘Five pounds! What the bloody hell is she hiding that for?’

‘I’ve told you about swearing, Tom. Now cut it out!’

‘This business is enough to make a saint swear.’

She silently agreed with him, but wasn’t going to admit it. ‘Let’s put everything back except the book. We might need the money later on, but I’ll use my savings first.’

‘Er … I still think we ought to read the letters.’

‘Certainly not, Tom! They’re private.’

It didn’t take them long to put the room back as it had been, and after a cup of cocoa, they got ready for bed, exhausted and troubled.

‘I’m really glad Mr Crawford has agreed to help us because I’m completely confused.’

‘If Mum turns up tomorrow she’ll have a lot of explaining to do.’

‘I don’t think she’s coming back, Tom,’ Dora said quietly.

‘Nor me. She’s gone, Dora, but where?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, but I’m sick with worry that something dreadful has happened. We’ll have to hope Mr Crawford can find her.’

He’d been awake most of the night, but that wasn’t unusual. It was damned difficult to sleep with the pain. The doctors had wanted to amputate his leg, but he’d yelled at them until they’d agreed to patch it up. Pain was the price he was prepared to pay for keeping his leg. Though some nights when it was particularly bad he did wonder if he’d made the right decision.

After finishing his breakfast, Stan sat at the kitchen table, tucked the photograph of Mrs Bentley in his pocket, then opened the little book Tom had brought him before going to school. He turned the pages, frowning. Whatever information the book held, it had been put in such a way that only Mrs Bentley could understand it. It might just be a diary, but he doubted it. She had gone to a lot of trouble to keep whatever was in it a secret. But he couldn’t
understand why she would want to keep a collection of numbers a secret. Unless they were a code? He would have to give it some thought later. It was intriguing.

‘Oh, you’ve had your breakfast.’

He started at the sound of his sister’s voice. Irritated, he said, ‘Don’t you ever knock, Winnie?’

Ignoring his scowl, she sat down. ‘Had a bad night, did you?’

‘Just like all the others.’

She reached across the table and grasped his hand. ‘I wish you’d come and live with Reg and me. You know June would love to have her favourite uncle living with us. We don’t like you being here on your own. What if you fall down or something?’

‘We’ve been over this a dozen times.’ He softened his tone, knowing his sister’s concern. ‘I’m not going to be a burden to you. I’ve got to keep my independence. It’s important to me.’

Winnie sighed. ‘I know it is, but that doesn’t stop me worrying about you. I’m sure it was the worry that took Mum and Dad so close to each other.’

Stan looked up sharply. ‘They were both already sick when I came home. Are you trying to make me feel guilty?’

‘No, of course not! I didn’t mean it like that. It was the war that took them to an early grave. Losing their eldest son was terrible, and then seeing you return so badly injured was more than they could stand. They were heartbroken, Stan.’

‘I know it. But what happened to me was beyond my control, Win. And I always did my best to stay cheerful
around them. You’ve got to stop fretting over me. I won’t give up my independence. I’m coping all right, and I’ve done away with the crutches at last. I only need a stick now.’

She nodded, knowing when to give in. Then she noticed the book. ‘What’s that?’

Slipping the book into his pocket, away from her prying eyes, he smiled. ‘Some friends have asked me to see if I can work something out for them.’

‘And you’re not going to tell me?’

‘No, I promised.’ He sat back, his expression animated for a change. ‘If I make a success of this I might be able to go into business solving people’s problems.’

‘A private detective you mean? You’re joking!’ When a deep rumbling chuckle came from him, the sound tugged at her heart. ‘Oh Stan, I haven’t heard you do that since you came back.’

‘Told you I’m fine, didn’t I? Now, off you go. I’ve got a lot to do today. I’ll probably pop into the station and see Reg this morning.’

Winnie laughed. ‘And give him some advice on his case load, I expect.’

‘Why not? I was a good copper, Win, and I’ve still got all my mental faculties.’

She leant over and kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll get you some shopping today. Your larder’s nearly bare.’

‘Thanks.’

As soon as his sister had gone, Stan had another look at the book. He didn’t know what kind of an education Mrs Bentley had had, but if she’d worked out a code, then it was bound to be something simple. All he had to do
was put his mind to the puzzle, but that would have to wait for tonight. The first thing he had to decide was how he was going to get around. Buses would mean a lot of walking to and from the stops, and getting on and off was still difficult for him. But there was an answer, if he could manage it.

He stood up and went out to the shed. His old bicycle was filthy dirty after years of not being used. A quick check showed it only needed a wipe down and a bit of oil on the chain. He could tie his stick to the crossbar, and he would have transport for the day. He was well aware that it wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d agreed to help the children, and he couldn’t do that by staying in the house all day. He had become lethargic of late, hating the pain and effort it took for him to move around. This was just what he needed to shake him out of his gloom. He must never give up; never stop believing that his condition would improve, no matter what the doctors said.

Half an hour later he was ready. Having long legs he was able to slide the bike underneath him, but after lifting his left leg to place it on the pedal, he felt that riding was going to be damned near impossible. However, if he was going to have any kind of normal life, it was essential that he got used to doing the impossible. Since the end of the war he’d been turned down for one job after another, and he had almost given up hope, but his determination had returned since the visit from the Bentley children.

He pushed off with his good leg and placed it on the pedal, pressing down cautiously. The surge of pain that shot through him was indescribable, making beads of
sweat form on his brow. But he was moving. The police station was only about a mile away. He could make it!

‘What the blazes do you think you’re doing, Stan?’ Reg Tanner, his brother-in-law, stormed up to him as he walked into the station.

‘Coming to see you, why?’

‘Don’t look so blasted innocent. You came on a bike! I saw you arrive.’

‘So?’

‘You can’t ride with that leg.’

‘Really?’ Stan made a show of looking puzzled. ‘Who says?’

‘The doctors – everyone.’ Reg studied his wife’s brother with more than a hint of respect. ‘And where are your crutches?’

Stan smiled. ‘They wouldn’t fit on the crossbar.’

Reg lifted his hands in resignation, knowing there was little point in pursuing the subject. When Stan made up his mind about something, then nothing on earth would shake him out of it. ‘Come on, you’re just in time for a cuppa.’

‘Good.’ Stan walked ahead of Reg into the main room, the smile fixed on his face. There was no way he would allow the pain to show. He was getting expert at hiding it.

‘Hello, Stan. Come to solve our cases for us?’

He gazed around the room at the men he knew so well, and his heart ached, longing to be one of them again. ‘From the look of it I’d say you need help. You’re never going to catch criminals by sitting around here wasting your time.’

He accepted a mug of tea and drank it gratefully. ‘So, what’s been happening over the last couple of days?’

‘The usual,’ Sergeant Baker told him. ‘Burglary, domestics, and a kid went missing, but we soon found him. The little devil was only three, but he was in the park. He told us he’d been chasing a dog and he wasn’t sure where his house was, but he’d have found it all right.’

He smiled at the sergeant’s wry expression. ‘Confident little devil then. Sounds like that family will have to keep him on a chain. Any other missing persons, or unidentified patients in hospital?’

‘Nothing’s come through here.’ The sergeant shook his head.

Stan listened to the men talking for a while, until they began to leave to walk their beats.

‘Can I stay for a while, Sergeant?’ he asked. ‘I won’t get in the way, but being stuck at home all day is driving me mad.’

‘Course you can, Stan. No luck with a job, then?’

‘No, not a chance.’ Stan grimaced in disgust. ‘One look at the crutches and I’m on my way out the door.’

‘Wish we could offer you something, but you know we can’t.’

‘One day you’ll be able to. I’m off the crutches and riding a bike again.’

‘Good. You come and see us when you can run down the street.’

‘I’ll do that. You keep a job open for me because it won’t be long now before I’m agile enough to catch the
crooks.’ Stan knew that his talk was all bravado, but he wouldn’t give up hope. If hope died that would be the end for him. He’d seen it in the eyes of too many ex-soldiers, and he wasn’t going to allow that to happen to him.

The morning passed quickly. He talked to the policemen as they came into the station, listening to their reports. But there wasn’t anything remotely connected with Mrs Bentley. He had lunch with Reg in the cafe across the road, and then made his way back home.

The ride back was even more of an ordeal, and by the time he arrived home he was drenched in sweat and exhausted. He dragged himself upstairs, stretched out on the bed and slept.

Stan woke so suddenly he nearly tumbled off the bed. He was searching his pockets before he was fully awake, grunting in satisfaction when he located Mrs Bentley’s notebook. A possible answer to the puzzle had come to him while he’d been drifting between sleep and waking. He was eager to see if it could be that simple.

Pulling himself upright until he was leaning against the headboard, he opened the book at the first page. The highest figures were in the twenties, and there were twenty-six letters in the alphabet – each number represented a letter. It was so obvious he was disgusted with himself for not seeing it at once.

With a stub of pencil rescued from the depths of another pocket, he set to work. It didn’t take him long to discover that he’d been right, and he chewed the end of the pencil as he studied the result. There were only three
groups of numbers on the first page – one a surname, and the other two Christian names. Under each Christian name was a place in London – all upmarket areas. Stan was disappointed. He had been hoping for more information than this. It didn’t tell him a damned thing! Perhaps he’d have more luck with the rest of the book?

He was about to tackle the next page when there was a knock on the front door. Using both banisters on the narrow staircase as support, he swung himself expertly down. Dora was on the doorstep and he didn’t miss the startled look as she took in his dishevelled appearance.

‘Erm … am I disturbing you, Mr Crawford? Only I wondered if you had any news.’

‘No, nothing yet.’ He reached out for the walking stick he kept near the door and moved aside. ‘Please come in. Go through to the kitchen. I’ve been resting and I could do with a cup of tea.’

Giving him a hesitant smile, Dora walked along the passage to the kitchen. This house was exactly the same as hers, so she knew where to go.

After Stan’s morning exertions, his leg had stiffened up and it took him longer to reach the kitchen. When he arrived, Dora already had the kettle on to boil and cups on the table.

‘Thanks.’ Stan eased himself onto a chair, and looked up to find her studying him carefully.

‘I’m not sure we should have brought our troubles to you. Have you been overdoing it, Mr Crawford?’

‘I rode my bike for the first time today and my leg’s sore, that’s all. I’ll soon get used to riding again.’ He spoke
with confidence, but his leg was telling him a different story. From the expression on Dora’s face it was clear that she didn’t believe him.

Having made the tea, she poured a cup for both of them, and then sat at the opposite end of the well-scrubbed kitchen table. ‘You must take the bus, Mr Crawford, and tell me how much you spend on our behalf.’

‘That won’t be necessary—’

‘But it is!’ She opened her purse and took out two shillings, pushing the money towards him. ‘You take that for a start.’

‘I don’t want your money, Dora!’ He placed the coins back in her hand. ‘Look, I’m glad to have something to do. No one will employ a cripple.’

‘You’re not a cripple!’ she exclaimed. ‘And you mustn’t think of yourself like that. You’ve got a bad leg, that’s all, and you got that fighting for this country. Where’s the gratitude? That’s what I want to know. A whole generation of young men slaughtered, and many of those who did come home are injured or damaged in their minds. It’s disgraceful that there’s no work for them. What was it all for, Mr Crawford?’

The transformation from polite, timid girl to fiery woman was extraordinary. Stan couldn’t take his eyes off her. He knew she worked as a housemaid, but from the way she expressed herself she’d had a decent education. He hadn’t taken a great deal of notice of her before, but now he did. Dora Bentley was pretty with her cheeks flushed and eyes blazing. There was hidden fire there, and he was impressed.

She coloured even more under his scrutiny, glancing down at her clenched hands, then back at him. ‘I do beg your pardon, Mr Crawford, but I get so mad when I see what’s going on.’

‘I know how you feel.’ He grimaced. ‘Whatever happened to a land fit for heroes, eh?’

Dora gave him a nervous glance, relaxing when she saw he was smiling. ‘We should have put all the politicians in the trenches and see how they liked it. They might understand better and do more to help.’

‘They might, but I doubt it, Dora. The war’s been over for a while now, and some people have short memories.’

‘That doesn’t make it right though, does it?’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ He changed the subject. ‘Tell me, where did you go to school?’

‘Only the local school where we lived in Limehouse, but Mum gave me lessons as well. She’s very clever and always reading books.’ She chewed her bottom lip in agitation. ‘Where’s she gone, Mr Crawford?’

‘As I told you, I haven’t been able to find out much today. I went to visit my brother-in-law at the police station …’ When Dora looked at him in alarm, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything. Nothing connected with your mother has been reported, and the hospitals haven’t any patients they don’t have details for. But I have found the key to deciphering your mother’s notebook. Is there any tea left in the pot before I tell you what I’ve found?’

Dora poured him another cup and sat forward eagerly.

‘The book’s still upstairs, but I’ve only worked on the
first page and can remember that. The first name in the book is Duval, then Andrew, Park Lane, and then Charlie, Hampstead. Do these mean anything to you?’

‘I don’t ever remember hearing them before. We haven’t any family. Mum and Dad never talked about their past … except …’