On Mother Brown's Doorstep Read online

  ‘My, did he do that?’ said Mrs Brown.

  ‘Yes, it was when ’e was in darkest Africa,’ said Cassie, ‘’E was a famous explorer, ’e was explorin’ a jungle and ’e saw this lady. She was all tattered an’ torn. Well, ’er clothes were. ’Er ball gown was nearly ruined by the lions’ claws. They were runnin’ after ’er.’

  ‘Why was she wearin’ a ball gown in a jungle?’ asked Sally.

  ‘She was goin’ to a ball with an African prince,’ said Cassie, ’only the lions ate ’im.’

  Sally rolled her eyes. Mrs Brown smiled.

  ‘My goodness, Cassie,’ she said, ‘why did they want to eat the lady as well?’

  ‘Dad didn’t say.’ Cassie did a bit of thinking. ‘Oh, yes, I remember now, it was for afters. Lions like afters.’

  ‘’Ere, Cassie,’ said Freddy, who’d heard a lot like this before, ‘d’yer want a slice of cake?’

  ‘Yes, please, I’m not ’aving none at ’ome,’ said Cassie, ‘I told Annie I was ’aving a ride on your bike.’

  ‘Here we are, love,’ said Mrs Brown and cut slices for all three of them.

  ‘Cassie, you ’aven’t told us how your dad actu’lly saved the lady,’ said Sally.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Freddy, ‘she won’t forget to tell yer.’

  ‘Yes, me dad got down from the elephant ’e was ridin’,’ said Cassie, eating cake, ‘and ’e swept the lady up into ’is arms. Her hat fell off, but she didn’t mind.’

  ‘Fancy wearin’ an ’at with a ball gown,’ said Sally.

  ‘Well, it was rainin’ a bit,’ said Cassie, rarely at a loss. ‘Me dad said you should ’ave ’eard the lions, they didn’t ’alf roar, ’e said.’ Cassie ate more cake. ‘’E climbed up on his elephant with the lady an’ they galloped off.’

  ‘Crikey, you sure, Cassie?’ queried Sally. ‘I mean, gallopin’ elephants, I never ’eard of elephants gallopin’ before.’

  Cassie did some more thinking. She plucked at her fertile imagination.

  ‘Well, it was galumpin’ actu’lly,’ she said. ‘Elephants do a lot of galumpin’ in darkest Africa. After me dad ’ad saved the lady, she wanted to marry ’im, but ’e was too busy at the time, so she gave ’im a lock of ’er golden ’air instead. And I think she sent ’im a Christmas card once, with robins on it.’ She smiled at Freddy’s mum. ‘That was ever such nice cake, Mrs Brown. ’Ave yer got a cushion I could use for the bike ride, please?’

  ‘Get one from the sofa, Freddy,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Cassie, you mind you put it on the carrier, not anywhere else.’

  ‘Yes, I can’t put it in me things,’ said Cassie, ‘a cushion’s too big. Our Aunt Eileen ’ad to kneel on a church cushion once, but it did ’er back in an’ she ’ad to be lifted out of the pew by a fire engine. She was ever so blushin’. Well the ’Ouse of Lords was there, it was in St Paul’s Cathedral.’

  Sally had one of her hysterical fits. Mrs Brown just smiled placidly.

  ‘Come on, Cassie,’ said Freddy, wearing a huge grin, ‘let’s get the cushion.’

  He and Cassie were outside a minute later with the bike. Sally brought hers out too. Cassie was placing the cushion on Freddy’s carrier when Mr Ponsonby appeared.

  ‘Well, dear me, dear me,’ he said, ‘what’s all this on the pavement?’

  ‘It’s our feet, Mr Ponsonby,’ said Sally.

  ‘And our bikes,’ said Freddy.

  Mr Ponsonby peered and murmured.

  ‘Good gracious, and a cushion too,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it’s for Cassie to ride on,’ said Freddy. ‘This is Cassie, she’s me new mate.’

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Mr Ponsonby, and raised his bowler hat.

  ‘’Ello,’ said Cassie, ‘you give me a peppermint once.’

  ‘So I did, so I did. Did I?’ Mr Ponsonby puzzled over it. ‘What a charming girl. Ah, yes, and Sally too. You must all have a peppermint now. Dear me, what am I thinking of not to have offered them?’ He produced the bag, and Sally, Cassie and Freddy took one each. ‘Where is my camera? Bless me, two such pretty girls and I’ve forgotten my camera. Stay there and I shall bring it. Good afternoon, good afternoon.’ Off he went, his pigeon-toed walk making him look as if he was twinkling over the pavement.

  ‘Come on, ’e won’t come back,’ said Freddy. ‘On yer get, Cassie, and I’ll ride yer round the ’ouses. You can come, if yer like, Sally, I see you got yer wooden legs on.’

  ‘Oh, she ain’t got wooden ones really, ’as she?’ said Cassie, sitting astride the cushion.

  ‘Well, she used to ’ave ord’nary short ones,’ said Freddy, ‘so she went an’ bought wooden ones down the market.’

  ‘Golly, they look real,’ said Cassie.

  ‘You’re both daft,’ said Sally, and away she went on her bike. Freddy went whooping after her with his delighted passenger.

  Henry Brannigan, on arrival home from work, put his head round the kitchen door. His sister was preparing supper for herself and her husband. Her crumpled blouse could have done with some ironing, and her hair could have done with some hairpins.

  ‘’Ere y’ar, Queenie.’

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Queenie Watts.

  ‘Box of choc’lates,’ said her brother. ‘I appreciate you fixin’ me up with lodgings.’

  Mrs Watts, taking the box out of its bag, gazed at it in bliss.

  ‘Well, ain’t you a love?’ she said. ‘And you ain’t no trouble, ’Enry; I’m pleased to ’ave yer after all yer troubles. ’Ere, is that a new coat yer wearin’? It looks really nice on yer.’

  ‘I reckoned it was time I ’ad a new one.’

  ‘Listen, what d’yer go out a lot for of an evenin’?’ asked Mrs Watts. ‘You found yerself someone you like? Only you never come an’ talk about yerself.’

  ‘I ’appen to ’ave got over me troubles, Queenie.’

  ‘That’s good, ’Enry. Yer still a fine strong man, except yer don’t always look as if yer put enough food into yerself, and yer don’t go in for talkin’ much. You could be welcome company for someone like a widder woman if yer talked a bit more.’

  ‘It’s been me troubles and me bad luck,’ said Henry Brannigan, ‘and all them street kids gettin’ in a man’s way.’

  ‘Gettin’ in yer way?’

  ‘Specially some. Still, can’t be ’elped.’

  ‘Well, there’s got to be kids, ’Enry.’ Mrs Watts helped herself to a cream chocolate. ‘It wouldn’t be no life for anyone if there wasn’t no kids. Mine are off me ’ands, of course, but I’m ’oping for some grandkids some day.’

  ‘You could do with some ’airpins first, Queenie, if yer don’t mind me sayin’ so.’

  ‘I don’t know where all me ’airpins get to,’ said Mrs Watts, and ate another chocolate.

  ‘You could look a bit ’andsome if you took more time with yerself.’

  ‘It’s me back, yer know, ’Enry, it catches me something chronic, but the choc’lates’ll cheer me up. Yer a good sort, an’ don’t you let street kids worry yer.’

  ‘Young devils some of them are,’ said Henry Brannigan, and went up to his room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Sammy’s mother entered his office. She was known to her family as Chinese Lady on account of her almond eyes and the fact that she had once taken in washing. She was in her fiftieth year, a slim woman of upright carriage and firm bosom. As she had once said to Boots, she didn’t believe in letting anything become unfirm. Not that she’d been referring to her bosom. Never would she have mentioned it to any of her sons. She regarded bosoms as unmentionable, in fact. No, she’d been talking about women who let themselves go. Go where? asked Boots. Chinese Lady simply gave him a look. She’d been giving her eldest son those kind of looks ever since his schooldays, when he’d learned to use his tongue in a way she found highly suspicious.

  She appeared in Sammy’s office wearing a brown velvet toque hat and a beige-coloured raincoat. She looked sprightly. Boots was there
as well as Sammy.

  ‘Hello, who’s this lady?’ asked Sammy. ‘Hold on, is that you, Ma?’

  ‘I don’t know how many times I’ve told you not to call me Ma,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘I don’t mind any of us bein’ poor, but I didn’t bring any of you up to be common.’

  ‘Who’s poor?’ asked Boots.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Chinese Lady, who always stuck to her guns however much her sons tried to confuse her. ‘I don’t want people tellin’ me that Sammy’s grown up common, specially now he’s in business. Mind, it’s not the sort of business I’d of expected of any of you, ladies’ clothes and things I won’t mention. I can’t bring meself to even look in that shop window of yours downstairs. When I think of you, Boots, lettin’ my youngest put things like that in the windows of all ’is shops, I wonder you sometimes don’t feel uncomf’table.’

  ‘I suppose I’m blasé about it,’ said Boots.

  ‘Don’t you use them French words of yours to me,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘you know I don’t hold with them, nor with them fast French females you learned them from durin’ the war. Still, you come out of the war without gettin’ your head blown off, so I won’t go on at you about lettin’ Sammy get a bit unrespectable in his business. I just hope he won’t end up leadin’ his whole fam’ly astray. Lizzy was only sayin’ the other day that it’s embarrassin’ havin’ all her brothers workin’ in ladies’ unmentionables.’

  ‘I work in a suit myself,’ said Boots.

  ‘I do too,’ said Sammy, ‘you got my word for it, me old love.’

  ‘Don’t be familiar,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘you know what I mean. It’s just not decent, designing things for female persons.’ She was on her favourite hobby-horse, and Boots and Sammy knew it. ‘I don’t mind frocks and skirts and suchlike, but things, well, I can’t hardly bear thinking about it.’

  ‘I suppose I’m blasé about it myself,’ repeated Boots. ‘Well, I was taken into ladies’ underwear by Emily at an early age. In Gamages.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can talk so disreputable,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘and usin’ vulgar French words again as well.’

  ‘You’re a good old girl,’ said Boots.

  ‘And might I point out we don’t design ladies’ unmentionables ourselves?’ said Sammy. ‘We acquire them from manufacturers.’

  ‘Kindly don’t argue,’ said Chinese Lady firmly, ‘I don’t like any of my children to be argufyin’.’

  ‘Children? Who said that?’ asked Sammy of the pile of work on his desk. He knew it was no good telling Chinese Lady he was up to his ears. ‘Anyway, Ma, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit and your omelette?’

  ‘Omelette?’ said Chinese Lady. ‘What omelette?’

  ‘I think he means homily,’ said Boots.

  ‘And what’s that, might I ask? Another French word? If you must know why I’m here, I just happened to be passing.’

  ‘Passing, yes, I see,’ said Boots.

  ‘Yes, I thought I’d better pop in and see what you’re gettin’ up to,’ said Chinese Lady, who made a habit of that. She was, of course, proud of her sons’ accomplishments, but was never going to encourage them to get above themselves. She was always saying to her daughter Lizzy that they were good boys really, except that Sammy didn’t go to church as often as he ought to. Lizzy was of the opinion that Sammy was a live wire who’d only go to church regularly if he could sell the vicar a new organ, that Boots was a danger to well-behaved housewives and Tommy as honest as the day was long.

  ‘Well, we won’t keep you, Ma,’ said Sammy, who’d been talking to Boots about the murder investigation. It seemed from today’s papers that old man Collier and his son had been cleared.

  ‘Also,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘I happen to be meetin’ Rosie here from her school. I’m buyin’ her a special little something for always helpin’ me to wind me knittin’ wool. Where’s Susie?’

  ‘I think she’s workin’,’ said Sammy, ‘it’s what she’s here for.’

  That went over Chinese Lady’s head.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll have a cup of tea with her in her office while I’m waitin’,’ she said.

  ‘What’s she sayin’ now, Boots?’ asked Sammy helplessly.

  ‘She wants you to put the office kettle on,’ said Boots, as Chinese Lady advanced on Susie’s office door. At the door she turned, frowning.

  ‘I’ve just remembered,’ she said, ‘I’ve been readin’ about a murder done in a Bermondsey scrap metal yard. Boots, I hope it wasn’t an Adams yard.’

  ‘Well, old lady,’ said Boots at his most reassuring, ‘you can take it from me that we didn’t own any yard in Bermondsey until a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘I don’t know I hold with you and Sammy bein’ in the scrap metal business at all,’ she said soberly. ‘There’s a lot of shifty people in that sort of trade. It’s no wonder there’s been a murder.’

  ‘Now don’t give our yards a bad name, Ma,’ said Sammy, ‘we don’t go in for anything shifty.’

  ‘I should hope not,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘That poor girl,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Still, I won’t keep on at you about your business, I don’t believe in bein’ interferin’, and I’m sure you both do your best. There’s some mothers that have got worse sons, a lot worse. You’re good boys most of the time. Well, I’ll see Susie now.’ She knocked.

  ‘Come in,’ called Susie, and Chinese Lady entered. Boots and Sammy heard Susie exclaim. ‘Oh, what a nice surprise, Mrs Finch.’ Finch was the name of Chinese Lady’s second husband, presently abroad on Government business.

  Sammy grinned. Boots smiled. Chinese Lady would get her cup of tea. Susie thought the world of her future mother-in-law.

  ‘What a character,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Yes, not too many like her,’ said Boots, ‘she keeps putting us in ladies’ unmentionables.’

  Twenty minutes later an open sports car pulled up outside the shop. In it were Rosie, Boots’s adopted daughter, and Rosie’s favourite teacher, Miss Polly Simms. Rosie, nearly eleven, was fair-haired, blue-eyed and enchantingly vivacious. Polly, an ex-ambulance driver of the Great War, was twenty-nine, her rich chestnut hair styled in a Colleen Moore bob, her vivid good looks accentuated by her large and expressive grey eyes. Her sense of humour was irrepressible, although there was often a brittle note to it, a legacy of her years among the men of France and Flanders. She regarded all surviving Tommies as old comrades. Her special regard for Boots, a survivor himself, was of an incurable kind, and it caused her a great deal of heart-burning.

  ‘I expect Daddy’s got his nose to the grindstone,’ said Rosie. She never thought about Boots as her adoptive father, simply as her one and only daddy. No-one, except perhaps Polly, quite knew just how much Rosie loved him.

  ‘Frightful, if he finishes up with no nose,’ said Polly.

  ‘Oh, he’d just say that that would save him having to blow it when he got a cold,’ said Rosie, and a little giggle arrived.

  ‘Yes, he would say that, wouldn’t he?’ smiled Polly, a cloche hat cuddling her head.

  ‘Nana says he’s airy-fairy.’

  ‘Is airy-fairy good or bad?’ asked Polly.

  ‘Well,’ said Rosie, ‘Nana’s always saying it wouldn’t have happened if she’d boxed his ears more often when he was younger.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard her talking to him,’ said Polly. She spent most Tuesday and Thursday evenings at the house which Boots and his family shared with his mother and stepfather. She was coaching and cramming Rosie for a scholarship exam next January.

  ‘I’d better go up and meet Nana now,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll say hello to Daddy first.’

  ‘Yes, do him a favour, lift his nose off the grindstone for a few minutes,’ said Polly.

  ‘Whose nose?’ asked Boots, and they looked up. There he was standing beside the car, a smile lurking.

  ‘Oh, hello, Daddy, where did you spring from?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘I saw the pair of you from my window,’
said Boots.

  ‘You actually left your grindstone to come down and say hello?’ asked Polly.

  ‘What a blessing,’ said Rosie. ‘We don’t want you to wear your nose away, Daddy.’

  ‘Well, if I do I’ll have a wooden one fixed,’ said Boots, ‘and the grindstone can have a go at that.’

  Rosie laughed.

  ‘We thought you’d say something like that, didn’t we, Miss Simms?’ said Rosie. ‘Is Nana up there, Daddy?’

  ‘Yes, she’s waiting for you in Susie’s office,’ said Boots, and Rosie scrambled out of the car, said goodbye to Polly and ran into the shop. ‘Thanks for giving her a lift, Polly.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Polly, ‘the girl’s adorable. So am I.’ She looked up at him from the car. She couldn’t help herself, she loved everything about him, his looks, his masculinity, his whimsical self and his lazy, almost blind left eye, which she always wanted to kiss. ‘Well, say something.’

  ‘Yes, all right, you’re adorable, Polly. Can’t stop, though, must get back to my desk.’

  ‘Stinker. Look, couldn’t we dash off to Paris together for a little while? Say for a year?’

  ‘Sounds exciting,’ said Boots, ‘and French.’

  ‘Do you mean I excite you?’ asked Polly.

  ‘Frequently,’ said Boots.

  ‘Well, then?’

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘You can manage a little adultery, can’t you?’ said Polly. A tram clanged by. People went by. The driver of a horse and cart whistled at Polly. She was oblivious of all the hustle and bustle of Camberwell Green, and didn’t even hear the whistle.

  ‘Polly, do you want to wreck my marriage?’ asked Boots.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ said Boots, who had had this kind of conversation with her before.

  ‘Oh, come on, old love,’ said Polly, ‘meet me somewhere at midnight. Is it fair, is it even decent, for Emily to have all of you all the time?’

  ‘I’ll have to pass on that one,’ said Boots.

  ‘I hope you’ve heard that hell hath no fury,’ said Polly. ‘I’ve lived like a virgin ever since I met you, and I’m getting fed-up waiting for you to take me to bed. I’m going to sleep with the next man I meet, even if he’s hairy all over.’