Walking from the tram stop down Bridge Street, Helen found herself glancing around, as though she were some character in a spy movie. She just needed to be wearing a mac with the collar pulled up and she would have looked the part.
Crossing the road, she glanced over at the Grand. Thankfully, it would be too early for her mother to be in there now, but still she hurried past, just in case.
Heading towards High Street West, Helen kept a beady eye out for anyone she might know, or who might know her. It was imperative no one saw where she was going.
When she reached the very innocuous-looking doorway at the corner where the two streets met, she had a quick look round to double-check she had not been spotted. Once through the main door, she started to breathe more freely, taking in the musty smell of the building’s interior, which had seen better days.
She hurried along the hallway, still a little anxious that she might bump into someone she knew. Georgina had informed her that there was also a music teacher on the ground floor, as well as a solicitor who worked from home.
Seeing the brass plaque that read Mr Pickering & Sons to the side of the door, Helen rang the bell. She’d just taken her finger off the ringer when the door opened.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Crawford.’
Helen looked at the old man welcoming her in. This had to be Georgina’s father. He was exactly as her mother had described, grey-haired, dressed in a slightly shabby-looking three-piece suit and sporting a lopsided dicky bow. There was no evidence of a gravy stain, though.
‘Mr Pickering, lovely to meet you,’ Helen said, shaking his gnarled hand.
‘Come in, come in, my dear.’ He waved Helen through to the hallway before overtaking her and showing her into the main dining room.
‘Georgina thought it might be better to conduct your meeting in this room rather than the office as it’s so stuffy and hot today. This is by far the coolest room.’
‘Of course, that sounds like a sensible option.’ Helen stood and took in the large, high-ceilinged room that was not unlike her own dining room, only shabbier. But it was homely, and Helen could see that Georgina had already put a tea tray out on the long, oval-shaped table in anticipation of her arrival.
Turning her attention back to Mr Pickering, she thought she recognised him.
‘You look familiar, Mr Pickering,’ Helen said, putting her handbag and gas mask on the table. ‘Do we know each other?’
Mr Pickering smiled.
‘We don’t know each other, but we have met once before. Very briefly,’ he said.
He had braced himself for Helen asking him such a question; had resolved not to say anything unless she did.
‘And where was that?’ she asked, unsure what it was that had jogged her memory. Was it the gold-rimmed spectacles? Or his voice, soft and well spoken, with a hint of a northern accent?
‘If my memory serves me right,’ Mr Pickering said, ‘it was one afternoon at the end of April last year. You were coming out of Mowbray Park.’
Helen felt her heart hammer. It had been the day she had thought Theodore was going to propose to her, but instead he’d dumped her. She had been devastated, had practically staggered out of the park, and had needed to rest against a wall to regain her composure.
‘I remember,’ Helen said, staring at Mr Pickering, her mind transported back to that humiliating day. ‘You came and asked me if I was all right.’ She smiled at Mr Pickering. At the time she had felt like collapsing into the old man’s arms and sobbing her heart out.
‘I think you’d had a bit of a dizzy spell,’ Mr Pickering said.
‘And you kindly offered to take me for a cup of “sugary tea”.’ Helen paused. ‘Yes, it’s all coming back to me now. You said you were meeting your daughter in a café up Holmeside.’ She laughed. ‘I’m guessing that was Georgina, unless you have other daughters?’
‘No, one’s enough, thank you very much,’ he chuckled.
‘What a strange coincidence,’ Helen mused.
‘Come and sit down.’ Mr Pickering pulled a chair out. ‘It’s good to see you looking much improved today.’ He had felt sorry for the young woman he had stopped to help that day.
‘Thank you,’ Helen said. ‘And you, too, look well. Georgina said you have been poorly.’
Helen caught a flicker of confusion on the old man’s face before he perked up. ‘All good now. Old age gets us all in the end.’
Just then the door opened and Georgina came bustling in, a file under her arm.
‘Oh, he’s much better now,’ she said, feeling herself blush and hoping it hadn’t shown.
‘Welcome to our home,’ she said, walking over to the table. ‘Are you happy here?’ She glanced round the room. ‘If you would feel more comfortable in the office, just say and I can take the tray in there.’
‘No, this is fine,’ Helen said. ‘Preferable. Anything cooler is preferable.’
‘And thank you for coming here,’ Georgina said. ‘I think it was wise. For the sake of confidentiality and privacy.’ Georgina had actually not wanted to risk bumping into Rosie and have to tell more lies.
‘Yes, I agree,’ Helen said. A part of her had been intrigued to come here. To see where her Miss Marple lived. She couldn’t wait to tell John.
Mr Pickering headed towards the door. ‘Just shout if I can help in any way.’ He looked at Helen. ‘And lovely to meet you. Again.’
Georgina took her seat opposite Helen and put the file on top of the mahogany table.
‘Again, apologies for the delay in seeing you.’
‘Don’t worry. Family comes first. Especially ill ones,’ Helen said, as Georgina poured their tea and handed Helen her cup.
‘I’m guessing that you have managed to make some headway,’ Helen said, taking a sip of her tea.
‘I have,’ Georgina said, hoping her nerves weren’t showing. This was not going to be the easiest of conversations.
She opened the file.
‘I have typed up everything I have found out and researched, which you are more than welcome to have, although some clients prefer not to have any kind of documentation.’
Helen nodded but didn’t say either way what she wanted. All of a sudden, she felt tense. She heard the squawking of a seagull and glanced out of the window at the building opposite.
‘I have a feeling you have something definite to tell me,’ she said, looking back at Georgina.
‘I do – and I don’t.’ Georgina gave a nervous cough and took a sip of her tea.
‘That sounds a little cryptic,’ Helen said. She had picked up on Georgina’s unease and had started to feel a little anxious herself.
‘Well, to start with,’ Georgina said, opening her notebook, not that she really needed it, everything she had learnt was pretty much imprinted in her head, ‘I discovered that Bel is definitely not the daughter of your great-uncle Alexander.’
She looked up to see disappointment on Helen’s face. This would have been by far the most preferable result.
‘I managed to get hold of your uncle’s death certificate and it would appear that you were right, he did indeed die of tuberculosis aged forty, in January 1913 – well before Bel would have been conceived.’
‘Are you sure?’ Helen asked.
‘Yes, absolutely not possible.’
Helen sat back in her chair.
‘With this in mind …’ Georgina took a breath ‘ … I began to look more closely at the other men in the family. And found there were no other men that could possibly have fathered Bel.’
She paused.
‘Apart from your grandfather.’
Helen felt a growing sense of trepidation that was reflected in Georgina’s demeanour.
‘This is where it all gets a little delicate,’ Georgina says. ‘And I think the best way forward would be for me to tell you all the facts and for you to decide for yourself how you think it is best to proceed.’
‘Gosh, this all sounds very serious,’ Helen said, suddenly having an overriding desire to have John by her side.
‘These are the facts,’ Georgina said, her voice flat and without emotion.
‘First of all, I discovered that Pearl Hardwick is a former employee of the Havelock household.’
Helen’s eyes widened. This was certainly a turn-up for the books. She couldn’t imagine Bel’s ma working anywhere but behind the bar in some east-end boozer.
‘Yes, that surprised me as well,’ Georgina said, seeing Helen’s reaction. ‘But two of your grandfather’s staff, Eddy and Agatha, who, I’m sure you’re aware, have worked at the house for a very long time, confirmed this.’
Helen nodded slowly. Eddy and Agatha were like part of the furniture. And almost as old.
‘I managed to speak to them in confidence,’ Georgina said, which was another way of saying that they had been paid for their information. ‘And they remembered Pearl well. She was apparently very pretty when she was young.’
Georgina took a sip of her tea. Her throat felt dry.
‘She turned up one night and your grandmother, who I think we have agreed was a little eccentric, took her in. Eddy said he had advised the mistress of the house against it, as they weren’t in need of another maid, and also because the young girl on the doorstep had no experience from what he could gather – but Mrs Havelock had insisted. She had been convinced Pearl was,’ Georgina glanced up at Helen, ‘the character from the Hans Christian Andersen story “The Little Match Girl”.’
‘“Den Lille Pige med Svovlstikkerne”.’ Helen repeated the title in its original language.
Seeing the look of surprise on Georgina’s face, she explained, ‘For some reason my mother used to always refer to the story in Danish. The exact translation is actually “The Little Girl with the Matchsticks”.’
‘Interesting,’ Georgina said, before continuing. ‘Pearl apparently started in September 1913 – not long after she’d had her first daughter, Maisie, adopted. She worked mainly downstairs as a scullery maid, but did do a short stint as a housemaid the following Easter – and it was after this that she left.’
‘Why did she leave?’
‘Eddy had no idea. He said they simply got up one morning after Mrs Havelock had thrown a going-away party for your grandfather – as I’m sure you know he worked away a lot – and Pearl had gone. Disappeared.’
‘How strange. Why didn’t she tell anyone? Had she done something wrong? Did she steal anything?’
‘No, from what I can gather she had been a good worker. Had fitted in well with the other staff there. And Eddy made a point of telling me that she didn’t pilfer anything from the house before she did her midnight flit. Apparently, she even left her maid’s uniform that your grandmother had bought her. Eddy said that it was Henrietta’s gift to all her staff – their uniforms were theirs to keep. That was something that struck me as curious.’
‘Why was that?’ Helen asked.
Realising Helen had no idea what it was like not to have any money, or clothes, Georgina explained, ‘Well, the uniform, which was really a dress with an apron over the top, was hers to take by right. She had earned it. But she didn’t take it, which I thought unusual because a young girl with barely two pennies to rub together would undoubtedly have taken it. If not to wear, then to sell.’
Helen sat back and looked at Georgina, who she thought was becoming a little flustered.
Georgina took a deep breath.
‘Bel was born nine months later in the east end.’
She looked at Helen.
‘And?’
‘If you are certain that Bel looks and has the mannerisms of a Havelock, then the only person who could possibly be her father is Mr Havelock. Your grandfather.’
Helen shook her head.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘That can’t be the case.’ She did a quick calculation in her head. ‘Grandfather must have been in his early fifties … and you say Pearl would have been, how old?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Well, that’s just not possible.’
Georgina didn’t say anything.
They were both quiet for a while.
‘Of course, there is the chance that Bel’s similarity to the Havelock side of your family is simply a total fluke,’ Georgina said. ‘It could be that Pearl fell pregnant around that time to someone totally unrelated to the family.’
‘Of course, that’s always been a possibility,’ Helen said, her mind whirring. She kept thinking of her grandfather.
Old.
And Pearl.
So young.
No. It just wasn’t possible. Was it? Could a fifteen-year-old girl and a man who was old enough to be her grandfather fall in love and have an affair?
‘My advice,’ Georgina said, ‘would be to approach both parties and ask them outright if this might have been the case.’
‘What? Ask my grandfather if he got a fifteen-year-old girl pregnant when he was married to my grandmother?’ There was no anger in Helen’s voice, just simple incredulity.
‘Or you approach Bel and her mother and ask them?’ Georgina suggested.