The Shadow of Treason (2 page)

The Cavendish had ten rooms available for guests, and offered a modest serve-yourself breakfast. Cereal packets, bread, margarine, toaster, electric kettle, teapot and other
attendant
necessities stood on the sideboard each day until 9.30 a.m. Cold supper could be provided, if ordered in advance. But, on the whole, Emily encouraged her guests to be independent.

A key member of Emily’s staff was George Fowler, handyman and general helper. And it was he who answered the doorbell when it rang that afternoon. There was a conversation in the hall, and then George returned to the kitchen.

‘Bloke asking if there’s a room to let,’ he announced. ‘Number six will be coming vacant, won’t it? D’you want me to show him?’

Emily knocked back the last of her tea. ‘No, I’ll deal with it. You get on with fixing that tap in the scullery.’

The visitor was a dark-haired young man, neatly dressed, with a moustache. Probably a business type. He looked like a suitable Cavendish resident. Emily had never quite lost her theatrical abilities and, recognizing a good potential customer, she put on her most winning smile and a warm but
business-like
voice.

‘Good afternoon,’ she proclaimed. ‘You’re enquiring about a room?’

‘Yes,’ said the man. ‘I’ll be working in this area for the next few weeks. War work, you know. I saw your advert in the local paper.’

‘We’re always pleased to accommodate people on war work,’ said Emily. ‘But I’m afraid there’s nothing available at the moment. There’s a very nice room coming free next Monday though.’

‘That might do. Can I see it?’

‘By all means. There’s no one in there at present. But there’s some clearing up to be done.’

She led him to the staircase, where the upright at the foot of the banisters was topped by an electric lamp in the shape of a flaming torch. The young man seemed affable, and made conversation as they walked up two flights of stairs.

‘Nice spot, here by the river.’

‘Yes indeed,’ purred Emily. ‘We get very good air.’

‘I read in the paper that some chap who was staying here got killed. Road accident or something.’

‘Yes. Poor Mr Jefferson. That was a great tragedy. Actually,
it’s his room that’s becoming available. We rarely have
vacancies
at this time of the year.’

‘Oh.’ The young man looked slightly uneasy. ‘Dead man’s shoes, eh?’

Emily hurried to reassure him. ‘I don’t think the bad luck will rub off. I’m afraid it seems that Mr Jefferson had been drinking.’ She sighed. ‘The police have only just given us permission to clear his room.’

‘That’s all right. It’ll be cleared by Monday, will it?’

‘Oh, certainly. It’ll be emptied and cleaned over the weekend. Here we are.’

She unlocked a door at a corner of the second floor and opened it. ‘This is one of our best rooms. You have windows on two sides.’

‘That’s good,’ said the man. ‘I like a lot of light.’

He crossed the room and opened the windows in turn, peering out of each with interest. ‘Nice view from this one.’

‘Oh yes. On a clear day you can see right across the river into Kent. And there are always lots of ships out there.’

‘I’ll bring my binoculars.’

‘As you can see, there are plenty of drawers and cupboards. If you need more room, there’s extra storage space allocated in the basement.’

The man seemed interested. ‘Oh. Did the other chap use that?’

‘No, he didn’t. Why do you ask?’

‘Er … well, I’ve got a lot of stuff. So I may need that basement bit. I … er … I was going to ask you to check it was clear before I moved in.’

Emily gave a small deprecating laugh. ‘We wouldn’t need reminding. I have a very efficient staff here.’

‘Yeah, of course, sorry.’ As an afterthought, the man went and sat on the bed. ‘Nice comfy mattress.’

‘I think you’ll find everything in good order here, Mr … er …’

‘Mason. My name’s Mason. What’s the charge?’

‘Twenty-five shillings a week, payable in advance. We
provide breakfast. And we need seven days’ notice when you leave. Otherwise we have to charge for the full week.’

‘Fair enough,’ said the man. ‘Right. I’ll let you know in the next couple of days. I’ve got to see if there’s somewhere to stay for the rest of this week. Or I might keep travelling from London.’

Emily held the door open. ‘Don’t leave it too long, Mr Mason. Other people may be after this room. And you’ll need our phone number, won’t you? Here’s my card.’

Thanks.’ The young man looked out of the window again. Then Emily accompanied him downstairs, closing the door behind them.

From the landing above, Maurice Cooper watched them go.

The Cavendish lounge was spacious, the only common room available to all residents. By the door was the sideboard, on which breakfast things stood in the morning. At the window end there were some armchairs, low tables and a bookcase. Here, tilted at various angles, rested a random collection of books, left behind by past residents. These ranged from
paperback
thrillers and Westerns to a crossword book with most of the puzzles filled in, and a guide to body building, abandoned by a guest, who’d given up after pulling a muscle.

On the mantelpiece stood a radio, the front of its shiny wooden frame built to look like the rays of the sun. From this came the closing signature tune of
It’s That Man Again, ITMA
for short, the phenomenal comedy series which had delighted and united the British since the start of the war. It was estimated that sixty per cent of Britain’s population heard the show each week. Tonight three Cavendish residents had shared the communal experience. One of them now tapped out his pipe in a large glass ashtray, and rose to his feet. ‘Well, that’ll do for me,’ he said.

‘Not staying for the nine o’clock news, Jack?’ asked his
neighbour
.

‘No,’ said Jack. ‘I need to stretch my legs. I think I’ll pop down to the White Horse for a nightcap. Care to join me?’

‘Well … yes, I don’t mind if I do,’ said the other. ‘You got your torch?’

‘In the hall,’ said Jack, and the two men set out to brave the blackout.

Left alone, Jane Hart switched off the radio and picked up a copy of
Illustrated Weekly
, noting with pleasure that it was only a month old. But before she could start reading, Adam came in, still wearing his raincoat and carrying his hat.

‘Hi there,’ said Adam. ‘Ready for action?’

‘I certainly am. Excellent timing, Adam.
ITMA
just finished.’

‘Good one tonight?’

‘OK. Not as funny as our new comic at the Windmill.’

‘Did you get the house key to Mark’s room?’

‘No, I have my own. Mark had his key copied, and gave me the spare. Don’t tell Mum. Copies are against the rules.’

‘Right. I’ll just take my hat and coat upstairs, and freshen up a bit. I’ll join you in number six in five minutes.’

Two surprises awaited Jane at Jefferson’s room. First, the door was unlocked. And then, when she opened it, she found the light was on. She entered warily. A man was bending over, rummaging through drawers and, as he straightened up, she saw it was Maurice Cooper. The exertion had brought little beads of sweat to his blotchy face. Close by, a cupboard door stood open. Jane was incensed. ‘Mr Cooper! What are you doing in here?’

Cooper licked his lips uneasily. ‘I’m thinking of changing rooms when this one’s free. It’s bigger than mine.’

‘How did you get in?’

‘Very easily, my dear. Your mum lent me the key, so I could look around.’

‘I’m not your dear, Mr Cooper. And looking around shouldn’t involve poking about in drawers.’

‘I’m entitled to see what space I’d have, aren’t I? I got a lot of things to put away.’

‘You can see what cupboards and drawers you’ve got
without opening them. And when did my mother lend you the key?’

Cooper had regained his confidence. ‘That’s between me and her – none of your business! She runs this place, not you! You stick to flaunting your tits on stage, and don’t start interfering here!’

Jane flushed. ‘You pig! How dare you talk to me like that?’

‘I’ll talk to you how I like, girl! I’m not taking cheek from a tart like you!’

Cooper kicked the door shut and grabbed Jane’s arm. ‘It strikes me you need a lesson!’

‘Get your hands off me!’ Jane slapped Cooper’s face with her free hand and tried to shake off his grip. But, in spite of his flabby body and pasty features, Cooper was strong.

He was pulling Jane towards the bed when the door opened and Adam came in. He took in the scene instantly, and punched Cooper hard. The man lost his grasp, fell backwards, and landed in a heap on the floor.

Adam was anxious. ‘You OK, Jane?’

Jane breathed deeply. ‘Yes, I’m all right. I found this oaf in here, going through Mark’s things. When I told him off he grabbed me. Once my mum hears about this, he’ll be out on his ear.’

‘And the sooner the better,’ said Adam.

Cooper was getting unsteadily to his feet, showing no
inclination
to fight. Adam seized the lapels of his shabby suit. ‘Listen to me, you bastard,’ he said. ‘If I ever catch you troubling this lady again, I’ll knock your block off!’ Cooper slouched towards the door. ‘Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you? You’re young and strong. Why aren’t you in the bloody army, fighting for your country, instead of thumping older men?’

‘Get out!’ said Adam.

‘I’m going,’ said Cooper. ‘But you watch your step. I’ve got some friends who’ll sort you out.’ And with that he was gone. Adam glared after him.

‘Shouldn’t you tell your mother straightaway, and get him slung out?’

‘No, it can wait till the morning. She’ll have to give him a week’s notice, so one day won’t make much difference. Right now, I’d rather get on with clearing this room.’

Jefferson had left few belongings. His clothes and toilet kit went easily into the holdall they found in the cupboard. In the top drawer of the dressing table were three envelopes, a railway timetable, a fountain pen, a blank notepad and a wallet. The latter contained some postage stamps, cards from a taxi firm and a London restaurant, and a faded photo of two elderly people, smiling faintly at the camera. The money section was empty.

‘He certainly believed in travelling light,’ Adam observed.

Jane was looking at the photo. ‘And yet somewhere,
sometime
, he must have had a life. Family, friends and so on. I suppose these are his parents.’

‘Probably.’

‘D’you think someone could trace them from this?’

‘I doubt if anyone would make the effort. Not in wartime. Still, you could give it to the police and see if they’re interested.’

‘Yes. I expect they’ll be round again. What about the other bits and pieces?’

‘There’s not much, is there? Perhaps you could hang on to them for a few months, in case anyone claims them. After that, you can take them for your own use.’ Adam smiled wryly. ‘Make sure you use the stamps before the postage goes up.’

‘That seems fair enough. I’d like to have Mark’s fountain pen as a keepsake.’

‘I’ll take the clothes and stuff to the Sally Army, like I said.’

‘Thanks. That just leaves these letters I brought up.’

Jane took the three envelopes from the drawer, and opened the first. ‘It’s a charity appeal. The Red Rose Society for Children.’

‘Strange,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve never heard of that one. Anyway, I’m afraid that’s for the waste-paper bin. Mark won’t be contributing this year. Let’s see the others.’

‘This one’s addressed by hand,’ Jane observed as she slit open the second one with her thumb. ‘This might tell us something
about him.’ She took out a card and studied it. ‘Oh no, it’s just a dental appointment.’

‘Dental records could be useful.’

‘No, this is recent. I remember Mark went to the dentist in Tilfleet last month, and he was expecting a follow-up. In fact, he was dreading it.’

‘Oh well, at least he’s been spared that. I’ll ring tomorrow and cancel.’

‘Too late. This appointment was last week. Still, I’ll phone up and explain. I wouldn’t want them to think he funked it. Now here’s a puzzle.’

Jane was looking at the third envelope, which was rumpled and larger than the others. ‘There was postage due on this one.’

‘That’s odd. Someone must have paid it.’

‘George Fowler. See, the envelope’s been reused, but without a new stamp. George was moaning because he had to give the postman tuppence ha’penny.’

‘He could have rejected it.’

‘George? He wouldn’t turn down a letter; he’s too nosey. Anyway, he made a profit. I gave him a threepenny bit, which is what Mark would have done.’

Then Adam saw the slogan stamped on the envelope. ‘Let Memory Magic change your life!’ he read aloud. ‘So it’s just advertising anyway. Some scheme for improving your memory. I had one of these a couple of weeks ago. It’s only paper. You can chuck this in the bin too.’

‘It doesn’t feel like just paper. There’s something solid inside here.’

The flap was only loosely stuck down. Jane pulled it open, took out a blue notebook with a hard cover, and opened it. ‘This isn’t advertising,’ she reported. ‘It’s full of handwriting.’

Adam watched as Jane turned the pages. They both peered at lines of figures and letters, neatly written in black ink, and all totally incomprehensible.

‘It’s weird,’ said Jane. ‘All so carefully set out, but it makes no sense.’

‘It’s got to mean something to someone. And they must have expected Mark to understand it, or they wouldn’t have sent it to him.’

‘I suppose so. But why did it come in this Memory Magic envelope?’

‘Economy, I suppose. We’re always being told to reuse envelopes and things, aren’t we? To save paper. Also, this already had Mark’s name and address on it. Did George hand this to you?’

‘No. It was in the hall, with everyone else’s post. You know, George takes in all the letters and puts them in people’s
pigeon-holes
. It was when I saw him later that he complained about the postage due.’

‘Can you remember when it arrived?’

‘It was the day after Mark disappeared. I brought his letters up here for safety.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I thought he’d be coming back.’