Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ruth was clearing up the last of the glass from her bedroom, contemplating how dark the room was with boards tacked up over the windows, when she heard someone shout out.

“Anyone up there?”

Leaning her broom against the wall, she went to the top of her stairs and peered over the railing. Looking up at her was Celia. Unable to keep the surprise from her voice, she leant over and asked, “Is there anything wrong?”

Ruth had quickly learned Penny’s younger sister wasn’t slow in coming forward or in speaking her mind.

“It’s rather boring back there,” she calmly stated and then contradicted her rather snippy comment by saying, “so I thought I’d come over and see if you could do with some help?”

If she were honest, things were a little further off with the cottage being habitable than she’d let on. Come midday, there was still no sign of anyone from the Home Guard. A little annoying, but considering all they’d done both on the night of the bombing and with patching up her beloved cottage yesterday, she wasn’t too bothered. She would do something to show her thanks at some point, though what, she didn’t yet know. So another pair of hands, especially a young and, hopefully, hardworking pair, would be most welcome.

Ruth made her way downstairs, now swept clean of glass and wood from the window frames, and asked Celia to follow her into the kitchen. Now seemed as good a time as ever to put the kettle on. “Not exactly riveting conversation then?”

The kitchen had been cleaned, or more just tidied up, actually, the other day when the Home Guard had been present in force. An army may march on its stomach, but it won’t even get out of bed without a cup of tea, at least if it’s British. The table had been scrubbed clean, not as good as Ruth would have liked, but it would certainly suffice. Fortunately, none of the kitchen cupboards had any glass in them, so it hadn’t taken long to take the surviving crockery down, wash and clean them, do the same for the drawers, and then put everything back. She’d found that her pantry and cold storage had survived without any damage.

Celia drummed her fingers on the tabletop whilst awaiting the boiling kettle. “Betty was reading this Miss Marple mystery, only she fell asleep within a few minutes of putting her feet up.”

“Did Doris not have anything to say?” Ruth asked, pouring the water into the teapot.

“I’d hoped so,” Celia told her, lips pursed. “I’ve never met a Yank—sorry, I suppose I should say ‘an American’—before. But she grabbed the book and buried her head in it before I could even try to make conversation.”

Ruth took the biscuit tin down and placed it between them before pouring out two cups and taking a seat. “I’m sorry. You were never going to win there. They’re all completely crazy about Agatha Christie, especially Miss Marple. It all came in very handy last year, I can tell you.”

Taking the lid off the biscuit tin, Ruth passed it to her young visitor. “Try a honey biscuit. I didn’t make them, but I know the farmer who did, so they shouldn’t break your teeth,” she added at exactly the same time as Celia took a bite.

Thankfully, no teeth were broken. “I was hoping to read it myself,” Celia admitted. “I love her too.”

Ruth sat back, took a long drink of her tea and contemplated her young companion. “I think you’ll fit in well,” she decided.

“Not sure Penny would agree with you,” Celia mumbled, eyes cast down.

Ruth reached out and took Celia’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting it go and sitting back. “Give her time. From what I heard last night”—the girl went a little red—“you’ve both got a lot of new information about each other to process.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Anyway, you offered your help. I accept. Let’s get to work.”

Celia finished her drink and got to her feet, hands splayed on the tabletop. “Tell me what you want done.”

For the next two hours, Celia’s loud but unfortunately out-of-tune singing rang out from Riverview Cottage. About halfway through, Ruth had a pleasant surprise when people from the gas and water board, as well as the electricity company, turned up. Walter was accompanying them.

“I know it’s a strange thing to say in wartime, but it’s a slow news day, so I made a few phone calls. In exchange for a favorable story for these gentlemen’s council departments”—he waved a hand in the general direction of the three men talking together outside the back door—“they agreed they did have the time to check the house over today.”

Ruth beamed. “I could kiss you!”

“I think Doris may have words with you, if you did,” Walter replied.

With Celia helping out by demonstrating her tea-making skills, Ruth and Walter followed the inspectors around, notepads in hand, each asking all the right questions and making all the right noises so they knew what they were telling the newspaper people was of interest to them. By the time they had finished, each had not only certified the cottage was now safe, albeit not as pretty as it had been, to live in, but were also full of tea and had emptied Ruth’s biscuit barrel. A small price to pay to get everything signed off on one day. When they left, Celia disappeared back upstairs to finish cleaning the bathroom. Shortly after, the sound of what could charitably be called singing jangled its way downstairs once again.

Walter looked up at the ceiling, with an expression of pain. “She’s not going to give Vera Lynn any competition, is she.”

****

“The butler did it!”

Doris gently shook Betty again by the shoulders. “Come on, wakey, wakey!”

Betty shoved her friend’s hands away. “No! The cook with the ladle’s to blame!”

“I think you’d be best to just let her sleep.” Lawrence laughed, leaning against the doorway.

“I’m bored,” Doris announced, going back to her seat and picking up her book.

“Miss Marple not holding your attention?”

With a sigh, Doris put the book back down. “I hate to say it, but not even the venerable Ms. Christie is doing it for me today.”

“Is it the head?” Lawrence wanted to know. “Does it hurt much?”

Automatically, Doris rapped her knuckles to her forehead. “Solid as rock!”

“Perhaps it’s not a good idea to do that in front of Betty.”

“Not a good idea for me to see what?”

Neither had noticed Betty was awake and now eyeing them both.

“Nothing,” both Doris and Lawrence said at the same time, instantly raising Betty’s suspicion levels.

Betty was eying the two. “Step away from my book.”

A little reluctantly, Doris passed her back the book. “I’m next!” she reminded Betty. “How are you feeling?”

As if testing it, Betty slowly levered herself upright and then moved her waist from side to side. When she put her head back up, she had a smile on her face. “Can’t feel a thing.”

“Honestly?” Lawrence asked.

“Honestly,” she assured him, treating him to another smile. “Now, what’s this about Miss Marple not holding your attention? I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes if Penny hears you.”

“I’m sorry, Betty. I can’t help it! Whenever I hear an aircraft go over, I want to put my flying suit on.”

Silence ensued for a few minutes before Betty finally said, “Oh, enough’s enough. I think we’re all going to get tired of each other’s company very quickly unless we find something to do. So, as we can’t do anything about the damned missing handkerchief—any word?”

“Nothing. I really must speak to Jane about it. I do not like being called a thief.”

“Nor should you,” Betty agreed. “Then how about the three of us try to work out a little mystery of our own? If nothing else, it’ll take our minds off things. We’ve a few days until the two of us can go back to work.”

“And if we haven’t figured it out by then, I can carry on,” Lawrence decided.

Doris clapped her hands together. “Excellent. So, what’s the mystery?”

With a deep breath and after looking carefully around, Betty reached behind her neck and pulled a chain over her head. When she held it out before her, they could see dangling from it was a small brass key.

Doris and Lawrence leant forward for a better look.

Lawrence was the first to speak. “Where did this come from, Betty?”

Now everyone was wide awake, Doris came and sat next to her, and Lawrence took the seat nearest to them.

“I found it in my sister’s stuff,” Betty informed them. “I came across it when we were looking for her flask.”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow, and Betty nodded. Taking it from her, he held it close to his eyes for a better look, turning it back and forth and weighing it before handing it to Doris, who had her hand open.

“What do you think?” Betty asked.

The policeman in him didn’t allow him to answer without thinking things through. After a while, he answered, “I can’t be certain, but its size and weight, plus the number etched on it, make me think it could be a key to a safety deposit box.”

“Really?” Betty seemed surprised.

“I know someone at the Yard who could help,” Lawrence stated.

“Who could help with what?”

Everyone’s heads whipped toward the door to find Celia standing there. Nobody had heard the door open. Doris and Lawrence looked at each other, then back to Betty. There were no secrets between anyone in their little group. They’d been brought together by circumstance, and war had made them closer than friends.

Celia was Penny’s family, but could they bring her into theirs?