There was a knock on the door at eight o’clock. Miss Pilgrim put her embroidery aside and answered it. An attractive, well-dressed young lady smiled at her.
‘Is Mr Cooper in?’ she asked.
‘I believe so.’
‘You must be Miss Pilgrim, his landlady,’ said Molly Keating, thinking her handsome but severe at first glance. That blouse. So high-necked, so Victorian. ‘I’m Miss Keating. I work with Mr Cooper.’
Miss Pilgrim’s cool blue eyes surveyed the caller. This was the young woman Mr Cooper had a soft spot for. She could not fault his taste. There was a perceptible warmth to Miss Keating.
‘A moment, please, Miss Keating.’ She turned and called in her clear voice. ‘Mr Cooper?’
Jim appeared on the landing.
‘Miss Pilgrim?’
‘You have a visitor. A Miss Keating.’
‘Good grief,’ said Jim, and came down the stairs to the front door. He smiled at Molly. ‘Come up, Molly.’
Miss Pilgrim returned to the quiet of her sitting-room. Molly went up with Jim.
‘I was passing,’ she said.
‘I’m pleased you stopped to look in. You can meet the kids. I’ve just put Ethel to bed. Horace is writing out lines.’
Molly met Horace first and found him instantly likeable. She looked in on the girl. And the girl was fast asleep, tired out from her long Sunday.
‘She looks a pet,’ said Molly.
‘For pet read pickle,’ said Jim, showing her the bedroom he shared with Orrice.
‘Troublesome pickle?’ said Molly, thinking how well he kept his lodgings, thinking of his handicap and the responsibilities he had taken on.
‘Not really,’ said Jim. ‘Lovable, really, but needs watching. She suffered more than Horace over the loss of her parents. She’s still not used to having them missing from her life. It’ll take time. Until she’s over it, I don’t think she’ll like me.’
‘Understandable,’ said Molly. ‘You’ll have to wait until they’re older before they realize just how much they owe you. Then they’ll smother you with affection. I like the boy, he’s a sweetie. So are you. Well, now I’m here, are you going to take me out? Will your landlady keep an eye on them if we go for a drink? My word, she’s a character just to look at, isn’t she? What is she, a refugee from the court of Victoria and Albert? I say, sport, have you ever seen a stiffer back or a prouder bosom? Magnificent, but a throwback, isn’t she?’
‘She’s actually a disguised angel,’ said Jim.
‘She’s what?’
‘Strictly disposed, but the best kind of Christian, a practical one. She believes the poor should be fed, not given Bible readings. But I don’t think she likes men.’
‘That accounts for her touch-me-not look,’ said Molly, and laughed. ‘There are some women like that. Well, will she keep an eye on the children if you insist on taking me out for a port and lemon?’
‘I’m sure she will.’
Miss Pilgrim did not disappoint. She readily agreed, much as if she thought it would advantage Jim to spend a sociable hour with the young woman he liked. She raised an eyebrow, however, when Jim said he and Molly would only be down at the Browning Street pub.
‘You are taking that charming young lady to a public house, and on a Sunday evening, Mr Cooper?’
‘Not to get her drunk,’ said Jim.
‘Can you not take her for a walk?’
‘I’m doing that,’ said Jim, ‘down to the pub and then to pick up a tram.’
‘It is not what I would have responded to when I was young—’
‘You’re still not an old lady,’ said Jim.
‘I do not like flippancy, Mr Cooper. But there it is, the war and its consequences have destroyed so much of our pleasanter customs and traditions, all in the name of progress. Go on your way with Miss Keating, I will keep an eye on the children.’
Jim spent a very sociable hour with Molly in the pub. Molly could socialize in any environment, and was always responsive in the company of people she liked. She liked Jim very much. She often wondered exactly how she would respond if he became serious about her. She thought her response might be total. He was such a friendly man, with never an axe to grind, not even about the pitiful pensions the Government handed out to disabled ex-soldiers. It was extraordinary that he should have taken on two orphaned children. It made him an extraordinary man.
He saw her to the tram stop in the Walworth Road.
‘Well, I think we’ve broken the ice,’ she said.
‘What’s that mean, young madam?’
‘It’s your turn next time to ask me out,’ said Molly.
‘I’ve done well enough for myself already,’ said Jim.
‘In what way?’ she asked.
‘I happen to have you as a very close friend and colleague,’ said Jim.
‘Are you crazy?’ said Molly. ‘Try again.’ The tram was coming. ‘What am I?’
‘Lovely,’ said Jim.
‘That’s better,’ said Molly. ‘Well, give us a kiss, then.’
Jim kissed her. The tram glided to a stop. Molly, summer dress fluttering, darted. A van, motorized, screeched to a skidding halt, and its driver bawled an obscenity at Molly as she boarded the tram. She turned and waved to him. She waved at Jim, who stood in a state of paralysis. That was how his mother had lost her life. Probably as quick-limbed as Molly, she had darted too, but had not been as lucky as Molly.
He went back to his lodgings feeling a little shaken.
With the kids ready for school the following morning, he said goodbye to them and went down the stairs to begin his journey to work. There was a letter on the mat. He picked it up. It bore no stamp, it was simply addressed to Miss R. Pilgrim. The letters had been cut out of a newspaper and stuck on the envelope. That was the classic way of a writer of anonymous letters. He gave it a moment’s thought, came typically quickly to a decision and put the thing in his pocket.
On the tram he opened it. That act would meet with Miss Pilgrim’s frostiest disapproval, of course, but when the game was being played in fiendish fashion he had no hesitation in chucking certain principles overboard. He took out a folded paper and opened it. The single word that leapt to his eye had also been made of letters cut from a newspaper. Capitals.
‘MURDERESS.’
He tore it up and disposed of the remnants when he reached the club.
Higgs came up to Orrice during the mid-morning break.
‘A’ right, Wivvers,’ he said, ‘yer copped Catters fair an’ square. Yer got spunk, and yer don’t split. Yer our mate now, an’ we likes yer. ’Ere y’ar.’ He put out a hand. Orrice put out his. Higgs slapped a cracked and rotten egg into Orrice’s palm. The egg broke and Orrice stared at the mess and smelled the stink. Higgs bawled with laughter. Orrice tripped him up and sat on him, and wiped his hand clean over Higgs’s face. Higgs choked on the stink alone. Orrice was up in a flash and away, Alice and Effel flying with him. The teacher on duty rushed at the grounded Higgs. She recoiled at the smell.
‘You disgusting boy! Go and wash yourself. And stay in after school for playing with bad eggs. Go on, go on, at once, do you hear?’
In a corner of the playground, Alice and Effel were smothering their shrieks and giggles. Orrice was reading a comic.
‘Ethel, isn’t Horace a one?’ gasped Alice.
‘’E’s still a bit smelly,’ said Effel.
‘No, he isn’t, he wiped it all off,’ said Alice. ‘Horace, would you like to come and skip with me now?’
‘Well, I would, Alice, seeing what I owe yer for me clockwork train set,’ said Orrice, ‘but would yer mind if I didn’t? I got a broken leg from sittin’ on Higgs.’
‘All right,’ said Alice graciously. ‘You come and skip with me, Ethel.’
‘A’ right,’ said Effel, still a little in awe of everything Miss Pilgrim had said to her yesterday.
It did no good, Jim’s destruction of the first anonymous letter. Others arrived on Miss Pilgrim’s mat at intervals. She put each one into the fire. She did not even open them, not after reading the one that had come first to her hand. Eventually she spoke to Jim, in her kitchen. On the table was the latest letter, addressed to her in its usual way but unopened.
‘Do you see that, Mr Cooper?’
‘What is it, Miss Pilgrim?’
‘An anonymous letter.’
‘What’s in it?’ asked Jim.
‘I haven’t opened it. It is simply one of many.’
‘Take it to the police,’ said Jim.
‘Certainly not.’ Miss Pilgrim stiffened at the suggestion. ‘Open the letter, Mr Cooper.’
‘You want me to? I always think it’s best to ignore anonymous letters, to simply tear them up.’
‘Really?’ said Miss Pilgrim. Clad in a long-skirted dark blue dress, with a collar edged by white lace, she looked to Jim like some aristocrat’s most dignified retainer. ‘How many anonymous letters have you had to deal with in your lifetime, Mr Cooper?’
‘Oh, just one,’ he said.
‘And what had you done to even suffer one alone?’
‘Nothing that I can recall.’
‘What did you do with it?’ she asked.
‘Tore it up.’
‘I opened the first one I received,’ said Miss Pilgrim. ‘It called me a murderess. The others I put in the fire without opening them. Would you like to see what this one says?’
‘No,’ said Jim.
‘I thought, as you were interesting yourself in my affairs, that you would be interested in this.’
‘I’m interested in you, because I admire you,’ said Jim, ‘I’m not interested in sick letters. Put that one in the fire too.’
‘Very well.’ Miss Pilgrim used the bar to lift the lid of her range hob and dropped the letter in. ‘Horace is doing remarkably well with his poetry reading, he is beginning to acquire very passable enunciation.’
‘I know, but it all goes to pot the moment he leaves the house.’
‘He will learn, he’s a persevering boy. And Ethel is not having so many grumbles and sulks.’
‘And you’re evading the issue,’ said Jim.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.
‘I think it’s time you told me about everything that happened at your father’s mission in China.’
‘That, Mr Cooper, is over and done with.’
‘But it isn’t, is it? It’s come back through the agency of the dead man’s sister.’
‘A sick woman is an irrelevance, Mr Cooper.’
‘It’s an irrelevance that won’t go away. That old girl, Mrs Hardiman—’
‘Do you mean the elderly lady?’
‘I mean that old gossip. She stopped me in the street yesterday and enquired after my health. I got the impression she thinks you might be poisoning my food.’
Miss Pilgrim regarded him pityingly.
‘And how is your health, Mr Cooper? Are you suffering pains and sickness?’
‘Like hell I am,’ said Jim, and burst into laughter.
‘That, Mr Cooper, is definitely not amusing. Nor do I think your charming young lady would approve.’
‘Molly?’ Jim smiled. ‘Oh, I think Molly would consider you remarkable. I don’t think the devil himself could make you turn a hair of your head. In a crisis I’d stand with you before I would with anyone else.’
‘I really cannot cope with such an extravagance of exaggerations,’ said Miss Pilgrim. ‘Go and give your wards their tea.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ said Jim.
‘Now what are you saying?’
‘That you could have given good Queen Bess a run for her money.’
‘Mr Cooper, I shall disgrace myself in a moment by throwing something heavy at you.’
‘And I don’t think you’d miss, either,’ said Jim, ‘not after having seen you in action at that coconut shy.’ He departed laughing.
A smile touched Miss Pilgrim’s lips.
The school was breaking up for the summer holidays. Alice walked to the gates with Orrice and Effel.
‘We’re going to Margate in August,’ she said.
‘We’re goin’ on outings,’ said Effel.
‘With our Uncle Jim,’ said Orrice.
‘Oh, I wish I could come,’ said Alice.
‘No, Margate’s best for you,’ said Orrice, walking up Larcom Street with her and Effel.
‘I mean when we come back, we’re only going for a week,’ said Alice.
‘All right,’ said Orrice, ‘I’ll ask Uncle Jim.’
‘Oh, won’t that be nice, Ethel, if he takes us all on outings together?’ said Alice.
Effel sighed.
Jim called at the Larcom Street vicarage and spoke to the vicar. The vicar was sympathetic and understanding.
‘But there’s little I can do,’ he said.
‘D’you think not?’ said Jim. ‘Well, there’s the information I’ve given you by way of the China Times. I think myself that’s good enough to justify a short address from the pulpit after your next sermon.’
‘Ah,’ said the vicar.
‘Ah what, vicar?’
‘H’m,’ said the vicar.
‘Are we getting anywhere?’ asked Jim.
‘I hesitate to use the pulpit. To begin with, Mr Cooper, it will embarrass Miss Pilgrim, and she is not the kind of lady who should be embarrassed.’
‘I’ll keep her away from church next Sunday.’
‘Can I rely on that?’
‘Of course,’ said Jim.
‘These anonymous letters are the last straw, I confess,’ said the vicar. ‘Yes, very well, I will make a suitable exposition from the pulpit. I am wholly on the side of Miss Pilgrim, a splendid lady.’
‘She won’t like it, of course,’ said Jim, ‘she’ll regard it as unwarranted interference.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ said the vicar with a wry smile, ‘but it has gone beyond the pale. These whispers have reached every ear, and Miss Pilgrim is being regarded as a pariah.’
‘A little worse than that,’ said Jim.
‘Yes, I must speak out,’ said the vicar.
‘Would you both like to go to the market instead of church this morning?’ asked Jim of the kids.
‘Cor, would we, not ’alf,’ said Orrice.
‘With tuppence each in your pockets?’
‘Could I ’ave fourpence?’ asked Effel.
‘Now, Effel, what you askin’ for fourpence for?’ demanded Orrice.
‘’Cos you can buy more wiv fourpence,’ said Effel the female.
‘Crikey, ain’t she crafty, Uncle?’ said Orrice.
‘Still, fourpence, why not?’ said Jim. ‘You are on holiday. Fourpence each, then. Off you go. But behave yourselves. No roughhouses, Horace. Keep your eye on him, Ethel.’
‘Yes, a’ right,’ said Effel.
‘You’re funny, you are, Uncle Jim,’ said Orrice.
Miss Pilgrim, dressed for church, was almost ready to depart. She jumped at the sound of a crash. She came at a rush from her bedroom. At the foot of the stairs lay her lodger, Mr Cooper. The back of his head rested on the hall floor, his legs lay sprawled on the lower stairs. His eyes were closed.
‘Mr Cooper!’ He did not respond, nor did he move. ‘Mr Cooper?’ She went down on one knee beside him. She touched his shoulder. ‘Mr Cooper?’ He lay quite still. Concern furrowed her smooth brow. It cleared as he opened his eyes. ‘Thank goodness. Are you all right?’ He looked up at her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘What happened?’ he asked, blinking.
‘You seem to have fallen down the stairs.’
He blinked again.
‘Hit the banisters,’ he said.
‘Yes, I heard you. I think you sometimes forget your disablement. Are you hurt?’
‘Not sure.’
Her concern came back.
‘Can you move your legs?’
‘Give me a few moments.’
‘Did you fall on your back?’
Jim frowned. Her hat sat neatly on her head.
‘You’re going to church,’ he said.
‘Never mind that,’ she said. The bell of St John’s was ringing.
‘I’ll be all right.’
‘I hope so, but we can’t be sure of that. Can you move your legs now?’ She was concerned, but showed no panic. Jim moved his legs and flexed them. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘I thought you might have broken them, or injured your spine.’ Jim winced. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Headache,’ he said.
‘I think you hit your head on the floor. Can you get up?’
‘You’ll be late for church.’
‘I’m already late. It’s not important. Mr Cooper, do please try to get up.’
Jim drew his legs from the stairs and sat up.
‘That’s something, I’m all in one piece,’ he said.
Miss Pilgrim helped to bring him to his feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and she put her left arm around his waist. In that way she got him into her kitchen and sat him down at the table.
‘I am very relieved that nothing seems broken,’ she said.
‘I’m relieved myself.’
‘You are shaken up, I expect. Really, Mr Cooper, you should take more care coming down stairs.’
‘Just a trip,’ said Jim.
‘Not on my stairs, I hope,’ she said, and went out to inspect the carpeted treads. There was nothing loose. Returning to the kitchen, she said, ‘I think you must have lost your balance. A little brandy is called for, perhaps.’
‘You have brandy?’ said Jim.
‘My father always kept some in the house.’ Miss Pilgrim searched her larder and found the bottle. She poured a little into a glass. Jim wondered if there was any woman cooler or more efficient than this missionary’s daughter. ‘Drink this, Mr Cooper. It was my father’s medicinal remedy for shock.’
‘Many thanks,’ said Jim. He drank the brandy in two swallows. Its fire induced a glow. ‘You’re an angel,’ he said, ‘and you’ve missed church on my account.’
‘I’ve already said, it’s not important. You may sit there for a while, and I’ll continue with the dinner preparations. Horace and Ethel will be wondering where you are. They went on to church in advance of you?’
‘Well, no, they went to the market this morning, they had a few pennies to spend.’
‘But they could have gone yesterday. They should attend church regularly. That is your indulgence again, Mr Cooper, allowing them to miss it this morning.’
‘I’m a slipshod old devil. By the way, would you like to come with us to Brighton one day next week? It doesn’t take long by train from Victoria.’
‘Brighton?’ Miss Pilgrim looked for a moment as if the invitation related to something sinful. ‘Thank you, but no, Mr Cooper. I’m busy all next week.’
‘We’ll make it the week after.’
‘Mr Cooper, you should ask Miss Keating, she will be much more suitable company than I will.’
‘Molly’s just gone to Devon for a fortnight, and I don’t see anything unsuitable about your company, Miss Pilgrim. It’s settled, then. Say Tuesday week.’
‘It is not settled, Mr Cooper.’ Miss Pilgrim rustled about. ‘Except that I shan’t be going. Please leave it at that. Are you quite all right now?’
‘Al,’ said Jim. ‘Sorry to have messed up your morning.’
‘I’m much too thankful you came to no harm to worry about other things.’
‘Shall I scrape the potatoes for you?’
‘Thank you, but no.’ Miss Pilgrim did not ask how he could manage to scrape the new potatoes. ‘I prefer to have my kitchen to myself when I’m preparing meals.’
‘I’ll push off, then,’ said Jim.
‘It will do you no harm to sit there, Mr Cooper, for a while longer. And you may talk, if you wish. That won’t interfere with my tasks.’
He sat and talked. Miss Pilgrim, slightly aloof in her responses, could not think why it was that her kitchen was becoming less and less her own province.
The congregation sat in stunned silence. The vicar, having outlined the known facts concerning events relating to a parishioner whom he did not name, was in chastisement of people who, knowing nothing of the facts themselves, chose to listen to whispers and to pass them on.
‘Shall it be said that among you such unhappy people exist? Are there any among you who would condemn any man or woman by whisper alone? I hope and pray there are not. What I would ask of you is to say to those who whisper, “Don’t bring me malice and rumour, bring me proof.” Few of us are worthy enough to cast stones, and even those who think themselves immaculate should hesitate before—’
‘Don’t point your finger at me!’ Mrs Lockheart was on her feet, her pretty charm wrecked by fury. ‘You are a hypocrite to side with a murderess!’
‘Madam,’ said the vicar, ‘be so good as to go to the vestry, and I’ll talk to you there.’
‘I’ll talk to you here!’
The vicar nodded to the organist, and the organ immediately drowned Mrs Lockheart’s voice. The vicar came down from the pulpit, and the congregation rose. Mrs Lockheart was a shocking sight in her fury, and people surged to leave the church. The vicar stood on the chancel step, waiting. The church cleared of choir and congregation, leaving Mrs Lockheart in confrontation with the vicar, who then spoke sternly and without compromise to her. She turned and rushed out. There was no-one to listen to her angry complaints, except elderly Mrs Hardiman.
‘Well, you can’t wonder at it, dearie,’ said Mrs Hardiman, when she could get a word in, ‘all them things you said don’t rightly sound the same as what our vicar said. Now you go ’ome and make yerself a hot cup of tea, and have a good sit down, like.’
‘You silly old fool,’ said Mrs Lockheart, and went away.
Out shopping the next morning, Miss Pilgrim was stopped by two neighbours. They were friendly far beyond expectation, rejoicing rather than apologetic. Cockneys rarely wore an apologetic air. It did not suit their hearty and challenging approach to life. ‘Sorry, ducks,’ said it all and did not embarrass either party.
‘You must come and ’ave a nice cup of tea, Miss Pilgrim, I don’t ’ardly know when the last time was.’
‘My old man was saying only yesterday you ’adn’t been in lately, Miss Pilgrim. Thinks a lot of you, Alf does. More shame on them as don’t ’old you in kind regard.’
‘Pity you missed church and all yesterday, Miss Pilgrim. The vicar, well, I never ’eard ’im so downright punishin’. Made everyone sit up, like.’
‘Really?’ said Miss Pilgrim. ‘What about?’
‘Well, ’e didn’t name no names, but ’e poured ’oly fire on all them whispers that’s been goin’ on. Been a shame, Miss Pilgrim, a downright shame. When you got a spare moment, come in and ’ave that nice cup of tea with me.’
‘Yes, and any time in my ’ouse, Miss Pilgrim.’
‘How kind,’ said Miss Pilgrim, and went immediately to the vicarage. The vicar was in and received her with a smile. ‘Vicar, what was your sermon about yesterday?’
‘My word, you do come straight to the point, Miss Pilgrim.’
‘I never see any reason not to. I’ve just listened to some extraordinary comments from Mrs Wills and Mrs Higgs.’
‘They were referring, probably, to a few remarks I made after my sermon, when I spoke about people who cast stones because of rumours and whispers.’
‘I am appalled you should take a certain person as seriously as that, vicar.’
‘The matter had taken on a very serious aspect, Miss Pilgrim. I make no apologies for my determination to protect your good name. I trust I’ve succeeded in discouraging the misguidedness of that certain person.’
‘Such nonsense, vicar. I’m only too glad I wasn’t there to listen to you.’
‘I’m glad myself. Your presence would have deterred me from speaking out.’
‘I should have been there, but my lodger—’ Miss Pilgrim came to an abrupt halt, and her lips compressed. ‘I cannot fault your motive, vicar, but really. Good morning.’
Jim, who was taking his holiday fortnight, less one day that he owed the club, returned from a visit to the Zoo, Orrice having endured the long day well, Effel a little tiredly in tow. They had never been to the Zoo before. Effel had been dumbstruck and chattering by turn. Orrice had fed the monkeys with the permitted nuts.
Miss Pilgrim requested Jim to see her as soon as he had freshened up. She received him in her kitchen. Her blue eyes fixed him.
‘You are an impertinent scoundrel, Mr Cooper,’ she said icily.
‘A what?’ said Jim.
‘Wait, I should not want to accuse you on suspicion alone. So first tell me if your fall yesterday morning was genuinely accidental or deviously contrived.’
‘Deviously contrived?’ Jim played for time to think. ‘Have you been reading Pickwick Papers, Miss Pilgrim?’
‘Not for many years, Mr Cooper. Be so good as to answer the question.’
‘Why are you asking it?’
‘Because I discovered this morning that the vicar addressed his congregation yesterday on the wearisome matter that has come about through the presence in this neighbourhood of Mrs Lockheart. He decided, apparently, that it was his duty to scotch every rumour. Providing I was not in the church myself.’
‘What a splendid chap,’ said Jim, at which Miss Pilgrim eyed him witheringly.
‘Strangely, Mr Cooper, I was unable to attend church. Why was that? Because I found you unconscious on my hall floor. Or so it seemed. I put aside any thought of leaving you there.’
‘You’re a natural Samaritan,’ said Jim.
‘You’re a natural humbug. Unconscious indeed. It’s my firm conviction that you tricked me, that you conspired with the vicar to keep me here, away from the service. Isn’t that so?’
‘Well, I’ll tell you what is true,’ said Jim, ‘and that’s the fact that I gave myself a nasty bump on the head. It’s still tender. But did the vicar actually give his congregation a talking-to? Damn good. He looks a gentle man of God to me, I’m glad to know he can deliver fire and brimstone when necessary. It’s my belief that fire and brimstone are a good old-fashioned remedy for people who stray from the path of love-thy-neighbour stuff. Next time I see the vicar I’ll shake his hand. I’m very much in favour of him standing up for an admirable woman like you. If that’s all, Miss Pilgrim, I’ll go and see to the kids’ supper. They’re both starving.’
Miss Pilgrim regarded him in a strangely helpless way. Her mouth quivered. She set it firmly again.
‘You deceived me, Mr Cooper.’
‘I thought the cause a good one,’ said Jim.
‘You actually had the audacity to connive with the vicar.’
‘Connive? That’s a bit much, old thing.’
‘I’m not an old thing, nor am I a simpleton.’
‘That’s the last thing I’d take you for,’ said Jim. ‘It’s true I had a chat with the vicar. We decided—’
‘Such impertinence!’
‘Oh, lord,’ said Jim.
‘It was unforgivable. I did not think I’d find both impertinence and deceit in you. What other dubious secrets do you have?’
Jim grinned, then spoke on impulse.
‘I’m illegitimate,’ he said, and Miss Pilgrim’s fearless eyes opened wide. ‘My parents weren’t married.’
She was silent for a moment before she spoke.
‘That is an accident of birth, for which you were not responsible, Mr Cooper. I was speaking of faults and failings, not of something unimportant.’
‘Unimportant?’ said Jim.
‘Uncle Jim? Uncle Jim?’ Orrice made himself heard from the top of the stairs. ‘I finished makin’ the bread and butter, shall I put the sausages on? Effel’s slicing the tomatoes. Uncle Jim?’
Jim put his head out of the kitchen door.
‘Good on you, laddie,’ he called. ‘Yes, put the sausages on. All of them. Don’t forget to prick them with a fork first.’
‘I fried sausages before,’ called Orrice, ‘I’m not daft, yer know, Uncle.’
‘That’s a fact, you’re not, old chap. All right, leave it to you. I’ll be up in a moment.’
‘Is that boy handling a hot pan on the gas ring?’ asked Miss Pilgrim.
‘I’ve faith in Horace,’ said Jim. ‘What did you mean, my illegitimacy is unimportant?’
‘It’s the person who is important, Mr Cooper,’ said Miss Pilgrim in matter-of-fact fashion, ‘and how he or she face up to the world. You have faced up to it very well. You’ve overcome the disadvantages of your birth, your orphaned state, and a lost arm fighting for your country. Not many men with those disadvantages would look or behave as you do. You are a man, Mr Cooper, in the best sense of the word, and I hope you never think you have anything to be ashamed of. Except perhaps your deceitfulness. When I think of how concerned I was for you, I’m shocked at my naivety, knowing as I do now that you were lying there laughing at me.’
‘Never,’ said Jim, astonished that someone so strictly-minded could dismiss his illegitimacy as unimportant. ‘You’re a magnificent woman.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Miss Pilgrim, and sighed. ‘I’m so many things, I’m angelic, generous, warm-hearted, remarkable, and now magnificent.’
‘Also perfection in a kitchen.’
She shook her head at him.
‘I’ve never known any man whose tongue runs away with him as much as yours,’ she said. ‘I am no better and no worse, I hope, than my neighbours. Please go and take charge of that hot pan before Horace sets the house alight.’
‘Yes, I’d better, I think.’
‘And don’t speak again of the accident of your birth as if it makes you less than you are.’
Jim smiled.
‘Remarkable,’ he said, and went upstairs to see how the sausages were doing.