Not My Blood (4 page)

“Lydia!”

“Sorry. But, Joe, are you quite sure you had no idea … they didn’t ask your permission or drop a hint they were about to steal.…” In her emotion, Lydia groped for an acceptable word. “… your essence?”

Joe fought down an untimely rush of hilarity. He shrugged and answered seriously. “No, not a clue. I put it all down to my manly allure. By the time I caught on it was—evidently—too late, and no amount of indignant spluttering was going to affect the issue.”

“Ah, yes. The issue.” Lydia’s voice softened as she nodded towards the bathroom door. “Wherever he came from and whoever’s issue he is—I’ll tell you something, Joe: that’s a fine boy. Plucky. Resourceful. Handsome. A worthwhile addition to the human race, you’d say. And one can hardly
un
wish him. But I can imagine your feelings. Poor Joe! I knew you’d changed when you got back but then, I told myself, India does change people. I never guessed about the broken heart. Wouldn’t it have helped to talk about it?”

“Lord no! Hard to talk about the event without sounding self-pitying—or, worse, comical. Why burden others with my tales of woe? My mates would have grinned, dug an elbow in my ribs and said, ‘Lucky old bugger, eh, what!’ No. Some things are better kept out of view. I thought I’d buried it all until I saw the little
chap sitting there looking so like his mother. Same coppery hair and light frame.…” He broke off, hearing the bath plug pulled. “Look, Lydia, what’s happened to him—Jackie, that is—I have no idea. But obviously, whatever it is, I must look after him.”

“
We
must look after him. If you think about it, Joe, and your calculation is correct, well, then, he has an aunt now. A real one! That’s a role I can take on and play openly. Besides, I’ve had plenty of experience—there’s always some waif or stray of yours hogging my spare room. But what are we going to
do
with him?”

“I can’t tell. But I’ll tell you what I’m
not
going to do and that’s send him back to that school. Whatever happened this evening, it was something damned dangerous. That was blood all over the front of his uniform. A large quantity of blood, I’d say.”

So they talked on in hushed and urgent voices until Jackie, scrubbed and cleaned in pyjamas and an old shirt of Joe’s, came back through the door.

“There are things,” said Joe, “that I need to know, Jackie. Lyd, see if you can find a cup of cocoa. One for me too while you’re at it. Suit you?”

“Yes please, sir. Two sugars, if I may.”

Joe took Jackie’s hand and sat him down on the sofa. He plumped up a cushion and poked up the fire. “You told me you were on your way to see this Rappo. Is that right? Tell me some more. Pick it up from there. What happened when you got to him?”

“Well, I went up to his room and banged on the door. No answer. I banged again. Still no answer. I opened the door and looked in. As far as I could see, Rappo wasn’t there so I went in and looked round the room. I was right—he wasn’t there, and I began to think ‘Oh, crikey, he’s forgotten!’ I didn’t quite know what to do. I just walked round the room a bit and then I saw my running away bag. It was up on a high shelf. He’d taken my running away bag from my locker in the dorm! He shouldn’t have
done that, should he? It wasn’t anything to do with him and I couldn’t think why he’d taken it. The strap was hanging down and I could reach that so I gave it a pull. Then something awful happened! My bag tipped over and fell and everything spilled out onto Rappo’s desk. I was afraid Rappo would come back before I’d put everything together, but he didn’t. I stuffed everything in. Not neatly as I’d done it before, but at least I got it all back in. I mean there was clothes, spare shirts, spare pants, spare socks,
Treasure Island
to read, my map of London. But Rappo still didn’t come back. So I wrote him a note.”

“What did you say, Jackie?”

“Can’t remember exactly but something like: ‘Came to see you at six and waited for a bit. Sorry about the mess. Signed, J. Drummond.’ Something like that. I left it in the middle of his desk and weighed it down with a paperweight so he’d be sure to see it. Well then I went out onto the landing, and there were people standing about, talking, on the front stairs. I didn’t want anyone to see me in case they thought I was sneaking off … you know … in a funk. Then I remembered the back stairs. They go down to the changing room and the kitchen and the back door and places like that. I don’t know what I was going to do. Perhaps I was going to hide a bit but well anyway I set off down the back way and … oh … Uncle Joe, it was terrible! There was Rappo standing halfway up the stairs. He was standing there just staring at me. He was holding onto the banisters with both hands and he looked all funny. He had poppy eyes and his mouth open … like this.…”

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything except, ‘Ah, ah, grrr.…’ Like that. Growling and spluttering. I think he hardly saw me. He was panting for breath—I thought he’d been running, though Rapson never runs anywhere. He held out his hand as if he wanted to catch hold of me. I wasn’t going to let him touch me! I tried to
duck past him on the stairs but he grabbed me and held on to me, sort of groaning and trying to say something. I was ever so scared! He looked so mad! I gave him a push. Only to get away from him! I didn’t mean to hurt him! I gave him a push and.…” Jackie began to sniffle.

“Jackie,” said Joe, “it’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe. Of course you gave him a push. It sounds as if it was very frightening. So what happened?”

“He fell! He fell backwards down the stairs all the way to the bottom and he sort of crumpled and rolled over. He landed on his front. He looked broken up. Like Humpty Dumpty. All his arms and legs were sticking out. I knew I ought to go to him and I made myself climb down the stairs after him. I tried to turn him over to see if he was still breathing. But he was too heavy. I couldn’t move him. I couldn’t hear anything so I put my ear to his chest to see if his heart was still beating but … Uncle Joe, he was dead! When I touched his jacket my hands got all sticky!”

Jackie held his hands out, his eyes wide with horror at the memory. “His front was sopping wet. I thought he’d been out in the snow and got wet through but it was blood! He was dead and all bloody! I’d killed him! I’d pushed him down the stairs and killed him! Broken his neck? I don’t know. People do break their necks when they fall downstairs, don’t they?”

“Well, yes, they do,” said Joe, “but I don’t think that can be what happened to Rappo.”

Lydia edged back into the room with a tray. “Here we are!” she said in the cheery tone of one bearing cocoa and ginger biscuits. “I floated some cream on top as they do in Vienna. Thought we all deserved a treat. Do go on. I heard what you were saying, Jackie. Poor old thing! What a dreadful experience!”

“Thank you, Auntie Lydia.” He sipped and gave a shaky smile. “Well you see, then I thought: Now I really am in trouble! They’ll all know I’ve killed Rappo! I must run way. Bring my
plans forwards, you could say. So I ran to the cloakroom and washed my hands, then I got my cycling cape and put my bag round my shoulder. It was about a quarter to seven and I thought if I hurried I could catch the seven o’clock train—the train to London—and come to you.”

“Jackie, I’m very glad you’re here, but why me?”

“Well,” said Jackie, “There was Uncle Dougal in Scotland but I hadn’t enough money for the fare, and the aunts in Brighton but they’d soon catch up with me in Brighton. And there are people in Camberley but I don’t really know them and then at the end of the letter Mum gave me—I’ve got it here.…” he said and went to feel in the pocket of his cycling cape. “Here you are, you see, here are the telephone numbers and addresses and at the end—look.…”

He handed the much crumpled paper list to Joe, who read it and passed it on to Lydia. The list of names concluded:
In emergency only, Joe Sandilands, 2, Reach House, Chelsea, London. Flaxman 8891. Uncle Joe is a policeman. He will take care of you
.

“That’s not Mummy’s writing,” said Joe, puzzled.

“No,” said Jackie, “it’s Dad’s. He added you just when I was saying goodbye to him. I’m glad he did!”

“Yes, by God!” said Joe. “I’m glad he did too! I don’t like to think of you loose in London without a bean.”

Jackie sat between them on the sofa, empty mug in his hand, blinking owlishly from one to the other.

“I think that’s enough,” said Lydia. “Come and see the bed I’ve made up for you. Quite cozy, you’ll find. I’ll tuck you in.”

“Will I be by myself, Auntie?”

“Yes. In splendour and state. Well, not much splendour—it’s only a box room. But there won’t be twenty other boys fussing about to keep you awake.”

“Lydia,” Joe called after her, and then, hesitantly: “I think you’ve misunderstood. He mightn’t
want
to be alone … nightmares
and all that. If you look in the bottom drawer of the pine chest, you’ll find something you’ll recognise. You can offer it to Jackie. It may help.”

“Go and climb into bed, Jackie. I’ll be with you in a minute.… What are you on about, Joe?”

“Hector. You can give him Hector.” He frowned to hear her peal of laughter.

“Your disgusting old horse? He was declared unhygienic and mother threw him out years ago. Anyway,” she whispered, “the boy’s nearly
ten
. I don’t want to insult him.”

“Do it anyway, Lydia.”

Joe sat and listened for a while to the soft voices coming through from the box room, first Lydia then Jackie in reply. There was a shared laugh. Probably greeting Hector’s appearance. These were the most natural of sounds, friendly and domestic. Impossible to believe that there was a bloody background to these moments of peace, hard to believe that they sat in the outfall of manslaughter at the very least.

“Well, Joe,” said Lydia when she returned, “what now? Worked out your next move, have you?”

“Yes, my immediate next move, said Joe, “but beyond that I can’t see. My next move has to be to ring up this wretched school. I should have done it hours ago but this has been rather a precious moment for me and I didn’t want policemen clumping all over the place. Or headmasters. I didn’t want Jackie to be in any kind of trouble whatever and we can keep him safe and warm and fed here. I even had a sort of mad idea that he might go back home with you for a bit at least. Was that so daft?”

“Well I have to say I think it was a bit daft. Of course he’d be totally welcome and for as long as you can manage—you know that. But there are others involved, aren’t there?”

“Quite a few,” said Joe. “Quite a few.”

He picked up the phone and dialled directory enquiries.
Lydia heard him say in a very police voice, “St. Magnus School, Sussex please.” And after the delay, “St. Magnus School? Please put me through to someone in authority.” And then, “My name is Sandilands. I’d like to know to whom I am speaking.… This is important and confidential. I would prefer to speak to the headmaster. You may tell him it concerns a boy of his. Jack Drummond.”

Almost at once a worried and angry voice: “Hullo? Hullo? You have something to tell me about Drummond? Do you know where he is? I say, do you know where he is? And, incidentally, who are you? Are you saying you’ve got Jack Drummond
there
? How did this happen?” The voice was anxious, hostile. “The police are looking for him you know.”

“I didn’t know but I thought it was possible. But I need to know who I’m speaking to—is that the headmaster?”

“Yes. Farman here. Where are you speaking from?”

Carefully and succinctly Joe gave his name, address and telephone number.

“London! How the hell did he get there?” said Farman, clearly not in any way reassured. “Who’s holding him?”

“No one’s
holding
him,” said Joe. “He’s in my care.”

“What’s it got to do with you? How did you get in on this?”

Patiently Joe explained. “Mr. and Mrs. Drummond gave Jackie my name and address as a contact if he was in any sort of trouble. I met him at Victoria Station and brought him back to my flat here. I’ve fed him and he’s now in bed. I do not want him disturbed or worried in any way tonight. He’s obviously been through an alarming experience. Now—you said the police were looking for him. Can you explain to me why?”

“There’s been a bit of … an accident here. It is apparent that Drummond was in some way involved. The police need to interview him. Perhaps you’d better speak to them. Come back to me when you’ve finished—we must arrange for Drummond’s return
as soon as possible. I consider that of paramount importance. I am, after all,
in loco parentis
.”

“And, by the same token,” said Joe, “I find myself
in loco
patris.” He delivered the invention with all the gravitas of a lawyer. “Which is to say, the boy has been transferred to my care, in writing, by Andrew Drummond. I have the document to hand. I have assumed paternal responsibility for him.”

“I shall need to see your proof. I have a list here that his parents gave me of relations and friends he might contact and I don’t see your name on it.”

“I don’t think I’m going to like this man,” Joe thought. “Do I play my trump card now? Yes, I think I do.”

“Before we say any more or make any plans for the immediate future,” he said frostily, “I want to speak to the officer presently in charge of this case.”

And Farman’s voice distantly, “He wants to speak to you. Some interfering blighter called Sandilands. I’m not getting much sense out of him myself. Will you take this? That might be best.”

An efficient police voice took over. “Detective Inspector Martin.”

“Good evening, Martin,” said Joe. “My name is Sandilands. You may possibly have heard of me. Assistant Commissioner Sandilands, Scotland Yard.”

There was a grunt at the other end. “Would you mind saying that again?”

Joe did so.

“And may I ask what has been your involvement so far, sir? This is a complicated case, as you probably gather, but I wouldn’t have thought it warranted the full attention of.…”

In the background Joe heard Farman’s voice: “Go on, Martin, tell him to mind his own bloody business! Tell him to get off the line and bring the boy back here. Or can we send a car for him?”