Maisie didn’t have long to wait for her tram, and once she had taken her seat, her thoughts returned to Patrick. She would never admit to anyone, even her mother, how much she missed him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a fire engine overtaking the tram. Some of the passengers stared out of the window to follow its progress. Once it was out of sight, Maisie turned her attention to Tilly’s. Since she’d sacked Bob Burrows, the bank manager had reported that the tea shop had begun to make a steady profit each month, and might even break Miss Tilly’s record of PS112 10s by the end of the year, which would allow Maisie to start paying back some of the PS500 loan. There might even be enough left over to buy a new pair of shoes for Harry.
Maisie got off the tram at the end of Victoria Street. As she made her way across Bedminster Bridge, she checked her watch, his first present, and once again thought about her son. Seven thirty-two: she would have more than enough time to open the tea shop and be ready to serve her first customer by eight. It always pleased her to find a little queue waiting on the pavement as she turned the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’.
Just before she reached the High Street, another fire engine shot past, and she could now see a plume of black smoke rising high into the sky. But it wasn’t until she turned into Broad Street that her heart began to beat faster. The three fire engines and a police car were parked in a semi-circle outside Tilly’s.
Maisie began to run.
‘No, no, it can’t be Tilly’s,’ she shouted, and then she spotted several members of her staff standing in a group on the other side of the road. One of them was crying. Maisie was only a few yards from where the front door used to be when a policeman stepped in her path and prevented her from going any further.
‘But I’m the owner!’ she protested as she stared in disbelief at the smoking embers of what had once been the most popular tea shop in the city. Her eyes watered and she began to cough as the thick black smoke enveloped her. She stared at the charred remains of the once gleaming counter, while a layer of ash covered the floor where the chairs and tables with their spotless white tablecloths had stood when she’d locked up the previous evening.
‘I’m very sorry, madam,’ said the policeman, ‘but for your own safety I must ask you to join your staff on the other side of the road.’
Maisie turned her back on Tilly’s and reluctantly began to cross the road. Before she reached the other side, she saw him standing on the edge of the crowd. The moment their eyes met, he turned and walked away.
Detective Inspector Blakemore opened his notebook and looked across the table at the suspect.
‘Can you tell me where you were at around three o’clock this morning, Mrs Clifton?’
‘I was at home in bed,’ Maisie replied.
‘Is there anyone who can verify that?’
‘If by that, Detective Inspector, you mean was anyone in bed with me at the time, the answer is no. Why do you ask?’
The policeman made a note, which gave him a little more time to think. Then he said, ‘I’m trying to find out if anyone else was involved.’
‘Involved in what?’ asked Maisie.
‘Arson,’ he replied, watching her carefully.
‘But who would want to burn down Tilly’s?’ Maisie demanded.
‘I was rather hoping you might be able to assist me on that point,’ said Blakemore. He paused, hoping Mrs Clifton would add something that she would later regret. But she said nothing.
Detective Inspector Blakemore couldn’t make up his mind if Mrs Clifton was a very cool customer, or simply naive. He knew one person who would be able to answer that question.
Mr Frampton rose from behind his desk, shook hands with Maisie and motioned her towards a chair.
‘I was so sorry to hear about the fire at Tilly’s,’ he said. ‘Thank God no one was hurt.’ Maisie hadn’t been thanking God a lot lately. ‘I do hope the building and contents were comprehensively insured,’ he added.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Maisie. ‘Thanks to Mr Casey it was well covered, but unfortunately the insurance company is refusing to pay out a penny until the police can confirm that I was not involved.’
‘I can’t believe the police think you’re a suspect,’ said Frampton.
‘With my financial problems,’ said Maisie, ‘who can blame them?’
‘It will only be a matter of time before they work out that’s a ridiculous suggestion.’
‘I don’t have any time,’ said Maisie. ‘Which is why I’ve come to see you. I’ve got to find a job, and when we last met in this room, I recall you saying that if I ever wanted to come back to the Royal …’
‘And I meant it,’ interrupted Mr Frampton. ‘But I can’t give you your old position back, because Susan’s doing an excellent job, and I’ve recently taken on three of Tilly’s staff, so I don’t have any vacancies in the Palm Court. The only position I have available at the moment is hardly worthy—’
‘I’ll consider anything, Mr Frampton,’ said Maisie, ‘and I mean anything.’
‘Some of our customers have been telling us that they would like something to eat after the hotel restaurant has closed for the night,’ said Mr Frampton. ‘I’ve been considering introducing a limited service of coffee and sandwiches after ten o’clock, which would be available until the breakfast room opens at six a.m. I could only offer you three pounds a week to begin with, although of course all the tips would be yours. Naturally I’d understand if you felt—’
‘I’ll take it.’
‘When would you be able to start?’
‘Tonight.’
When the next brown envelope landed on the mat at No. 27, Maisie stuffed it in her bag, unopened, and wondered how long it would be before she received a second, perhaps a third, and then finally a thick white envelope containing a letter not from the bursar, but the headmaster, requesting that Mrs Clifton withdraw her son from the school at the end of term. She dreaded the moment when Harry would have to read that letter to her.
In September Harry was expecting to enter the sixth form, and he couldn’t hide the excitement in his eyes whenever he talked about ‘going up’ to Oxford and reading English at the feet of Alan Quilter, one of the most prominent scholars of the day. Maisie couldn’t bear the thought of having to tell him that would no longer be possible.
Her first few nights at the Royal had been very quiet, and things didn’t get much busier during the following month. She hated being idle, and when the cleaning staff arrived at five in the morning they would often discover there was nothing for them to do in the Palm Court room. Even on her busiest night Maisie didn’t have more than half a dozen customers, and several of those had been turfed out of the hotel bar just after midnight and seemed more interested in propositioning her than in ordering coffee and a ham sandwich.
Most of her customers were commercial travellers who only booked in for one night, so her chances of building up a regular clientele didn’t look promising, and the tips were certainly not going to take care of the brown envelope that remained unopened in her handbag.
Maisie knew that if Harry was to remain at Bristol Grammar School and have the slightest chance of going up to Oxford, there was only one person she could turn to for help. She would beg if necessary.
19
‘WHAT MAKES YOU THINK Mr Hugo would be willing to help?’ asked Old Jack, leaning back in his seat. ‘He’s never shown any sign of caring about Harry in the past. On the contrary …’
‘Because if there’s one person on earth who ought to feel some responsibility for Harry’s future, it’s that man.’ Maisie immediately regretted her words.
Old Jack was silent for a moment before he asked, ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, Maisie?’
‘No,’ she replied, a little too quickly. She hated lying, especially to Old Jack, but she was determined that this was one secret she would take to her grave.
‘Have you given any thought to when and where you will confront Mr Hugo?’
‘I know exactly what I’m going to do. He rarely leaves his office before six in the evening, and by then most of the other staff in the building have already left for the night. I know his office is on the fifth floor, I know it’s the third door on the left. I know—’
‘But do you know about Miss Potts?’ interrupted Old Jack. ‘Even if you did manage to get past reception and somehow made it to the fifth floor unnoticed, there’s no way of avoiding her.’
‘Miss Potts? I’ve never heard of her.’
‘She’s been Mr Hugo’s private secretary for the past fifteen years. I can tell you from personal experience, you don’t need a guard dog if you’ve got Miss Potts as a secretary.’
‘Then I’ll just have to wait until she goes home.’
‘Miss Potts never goes home before the boss, and she’s always behind her desk thirty minutes before he arrives in the morning.’
‘But I’ll have even less chance of getting into the Manor House,’ said Maisie, ‘where they have a guard dog too. He’s called Jenkins.’
‘Then you’ll have to find a time and place when Mr Hugo will be on his own, can’t escape and can’t rely on Miss Potts or Jenkins to come to his rescue.’
‘Is there such a time and place?’ asked Maisie.
‘Oh yes,’ said Old Jack. ‘But you’ll have to get your timing right.’
Maisie waited until it was dark before she slipped out of Old Jack’s railway carriage. She tiptoed across the gravel path, eased open the back door, climbed in, and shut it behind her. Resigned to a long wait, she settled herself down on the comfortable leather seat. She had a clear view of the building through a side window. Maisie waited patiently for each light to go out. Old Jack had warned her that his would be among the last.
She used the time to go over the questions she planned to ask him. Questions she’d rehearsed for several days before trying them out on Old Jack that afternoon. He’d made several suggestions, which she’d happily agreed to.
Just after six, a Rolls-Royce drew up and parked outside the front of the building. A chauffeur got out and stationed himself alongside. A few moments later Sir Walter Barrington, the chairman of the company, marched out of the front door, climbed into the back of the car and was whisked away.
More and more lights went out, until finally only one was still aglow, like a single star on the top of a Christmas tree. Suddenly Maisie heard feet crunching across the gravel. She slipped off the seat and crouched down on the floor. She could hear two men, deep in conversation, heading towards her. Her plan didn’t include two men, and she was about to leap out of the other side and try to disappear into the night when they came to a halt.
‘… But despite that,’ said a voice she recognized, ‘I’d be obliged if my involvement could remain strictly between the two of us.’
‘Of course, sir, you can rely on me,’ said another voice she’d heard before, although she couldn’t remember where.
‘Let’s keep in touch, old fellow,’ said the first voice. ‘I have no doubt I’ll be calling on the bank’s services again.’
Maisie heard one set of footsteps moving away. She froze when the car door opened.
He got in, took his place behind the wheel and pulled the door closed. Doesn’t have a chauffeur, prefers to drive the Bugatti himself, fancies himself behind the wheel - all priceless pieces of information supplied by Old Jack.
He switched on the ignition and the vehicle shuddered into life. He revved the engine several times before crunching the gear lever into first. The man on the gate saluted as Mr Barrington drove out on to the main road and headed towards the city, just as he did every night, on his way back to the Manor House.
‘Don’t let him know you’re in the back until he’s reached the city centre,’ Old Jack had advised. ‘He won’t risk stopping there, because he’ll be afraid someone might see you together and recognize him. But once he reaches the outskirts of the city, he won’t hesitate to chuck you out. You’ll have ten to fifteen minutes at most.’
‘That’s all I’ll need,’ Maisie had told him.
Maisie waited until he’d driven past the cathedral and across College Green, which was always busy at that time of night. But just as she was about to sit up and tap him on the shoulder, the car began to slow down and then came to a halt. The door opened, he got out, the door closed. Maisie peered between the front seats and was horrified to see that he had parked outside the Royal Hotel.
A dozen thoughts flashed through her mind. Should she jump out before it was too late? Why was he visiting the Royal? Was it a coincidence that it was on her day off? How long did he plan to be there? She decided to stay put, fearing she would be spotted if she got out in such a public place. Besides, this could well be her last chance to confront him face to face before the bill had to be paid.
The answer to one of her questions turned out to be twenty minutes, but long before he got back into the driver’s seat and drove off, Maisie was in a cold sweat. She had no idea her heart could beat that fast. She waited until he had gone about half a mile before she sat up and tapped him on the shoulder.
He looked shocked as he turned round, which was followed by a look of recognition, and then realization. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded, recovering slightly.
‘I have a feeling you know exactly what I want,’ said Maisie. ‘My only interest is Harry, and making sure his school fees are paid for the next two years.’
‘Give me one good reason why I should pay your son’s school fees.’
‘Because he’s your son,’ Maisie replied calmly.
‘And what makes you so sure of that?’
‘I watched you when you first saw him at St Bede’s,’ said Maisie, ‘and every Sunday at St Mary’s when he sang in the choir. I saw the look in your eyes then, and I saw it again when you refused to shake hands with him on the first day of term.’
‘That’s not proof,’ said Barrington, sounding a little more confident. ‘It’s nothing more than a woman’s intuition.’
‘Then perhaps the time has come to let another woman know what you get up to on a works outing.’
‘What makes you think she’d believe you?’
‘Nothing more than a woman’s intuition,’ said Maisie. This silenced him, and gave her the confidence to continue. ‘Mrs Barrington might also be interested to know why you went to so much trouble to have my brother arrested the day after Arthur disappeared.’
‘A coincidence, nothing more.’
‘And is it also just a coincidence that my husband has never been seen since?’
‘I had nothing to do with Clifton’s death!’ shouted Barring-ton as he swerved across the road, narrowly missing an oncoming vehicle.
Maisie sat bolt upright, stunned by what she’d heard. ‘So it was you who was responsible for my husband’s death.’
‘You have no proof of that,’ he said defiantly.
‘I don’t need any more proof. But in spite of all the damage you’ve done to my family over the years, I’ll still give you an easy way out. You take care of Harry’s education while he’s still at Bristol Grammar School, and I won’t bother you again.’
It was some time before Barrington responded. He eventually said, ‘I’ll need a few days to work out the best way to handle the payments.’
‘The company’s charitable trust could easily take care of such a small amount,’ said Maisie. ‘After all, your father is chairman of the governors.’
This time he didn’t have a ready response. Was he wondering how she’d come across that piece of information? He wasn’t the first person to underestimate Old Jack. Maisie opened her handbag, pulled out the thin brown envelope and placed it on the seat beside him.
The car swung into an unlit alley. Barrington jumped out and opened the back door. Maisie stepped out, feeling that the confrontation couldn’t have gone much better. As her feet touched the ground, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently.
‘Now you listen to me, Mai
sie Clifton, and listen carefully,’ he said, a look of fury in his eyes. ‘If you ever threaten me again, I’ll not only see that your brother is sacked, but I’ll make sure he never works in this city again. And if you’re ever foolish enough to even hint to my wife that I’m that boy’s father, I’ll have you arrested, and it won’t be a prison you’ll end up in, but a mental asylum.’
He let go of her, clenched a fist and then punched her full in the face. She collapsed on to the ground and curled up into a ball, expecting him to kick her again and again. When nothing happened, she looked up to see him standing over her. He was tearing the thin brown envelope into little pieces and scattering them like confetti over a bride.
Without another word, he jumped back into the car and sped away.
When the white envelope came through the letterbox, Maisie knew she was beaten. She would have to tell Harry the truth when he got back from school that afternoon. But first she had to drop into the bank, deposit her meagre tips from the previous evening, and tell Mr Prendergast there would be no more bills from BGS, as her son would be leaving at the end of term.
She decided to walk to the bank and save a penny on the tram fare. On the way, she thought about all the people she’d let down. Would Miss Tilly and Miss Monday ever forgive her? Several of her staff, particularly some of the older ones, hadn’t been able to find another job. Then there were her parents, who had always watched over Harry so that she could go to work; Old Jack, who couldn’t have done more to help her son; and most of all, Harry himself, who in the words of Mr Holcombe, was about to be crowned with the laurels of victory.