The Gentleman on Pennyfield Street Page 8

  "Mr. Ridley," said a woman with lush, black hair, her smile beaming. She obviously knew him well. "It has been so long, and how handsome you look in your uniform."

  The tight smile on Dory's lips belied the imposition she felt by this woman, and her overt familiarity. Clearly they knew each other. Did she flirt with him? Did he flirt with her?

  "This is my friend Miss Sparks."

  The young woman's beaming smile didn't falter and she greeted Dory like a long-lost friend. "I will make you some coffee," she said. "Sit, sit. We have pastries just coming out of the oven."

  "No news of when your father is being released?"

  "Nothing yet," she said with an exaggerated frown, "but he appreciated your letter of recommendation."

  Ridley walked toward a seat that Dory suspected was his usual. "You come here quite a bit," Dory said. Obviously familiar with the family if he provided letters of recommendation for them.

  "I do fairly often when I'm at home."

  With a smile, Dory sat down and tamped down on the jealousy. It was probably perfectly normal, and it was only the easy charm and prettiness of the young lady that got to her. This was part of his life, she realized, and he was showing it to her. No need to ruin the gesture by sulking over how pretty the girl behind the counter was—or how familiar they seemed.

  Chapter 16

  "SO TELL ME ABOUT this body you found," Ridley said, stirring a spoonful of condensed milk into his coffee.

  "Not found as such. I was simply walking past, but I noticed that he wasn't covered in dust like the others they pulled out of the same house. I didn't think it odd at the time, but later it struck me, and the doctor at the morgue agreed that it was unusual that a body should emerge clean, and unbeaten—he mentioned that too—from a collapsed house."

  Ridley was listening, but giving her that blank expression he did whenever he questioned someone, as if he didn't want his own opinion to influence the person. "So you believe he was placed there."

  "Yes," Dory said emphatically. "And no one on the street could place him at the house. The family kept to themselves and rarely had visitors."

  "Doesn't mean they didn't on that night."

  Dory continued without responding to that, because it just seemed strange that a family that never had visitors would on the one day the house was bombed. "The man had no identification on him. Nothing. The only distinguishing features was a scar from an appendectomy, which is apparently unusual in a man of that age."

  "What age?"

  "Sixties."

  Ridley nodded absently as if he was thinking.

  "So I searched all the records at the Royal London hospital, which serves most of the East End, for older men with appendectomies, which was quite a feat. But it did little good. All the men that had had an appendectomy at the hospital are in some way accounted for. It could be that he is from another area of London, but it's hard to imagine that someone would cart a body across all of London during an air raid. Of course, they would have to place it on the collapsed building between the time the bomb fell and when the rescue brigade arrived, but on a night like that, it would be hard to tell exactly how much time that would be."

  "Anyone traveling during an air raid would draw attention," Ridley said. "It would be the time when unsavory characters would be out and about. Not everyone knows that, so it could well be that someone would think that would be a good time to drive across London. But it would be unusual that they weren't stopped and their details recorded."

  Dory looked at him while she tried to think. She would never get access to those records. They would be intelligence. Ridley could, though.

  "I don't have time," he said before she could asked the question. "Tell me how these men were accounted for."

  "Well, I went to their address and knocked on the door."

  "And they answered."

  "Not always them. Sometimes others—a spouse, or a maid, neighbor."

  "So you only have one account for each person?"

  "Yes," Dory said.

  "You have to get two. Anyone of those people could have lied and you have no way of corroborating it."

  With a gasp, Dory's eyes widened. Ridley was right. It hadn't even occurred to her that someone could lie to her. They could have said anything and she just took it for granted, assuming they had no reason to lie. But it could well be that she'd spoken just to the person who had a reason to lie. "So I can't take any of those accounts for granted."

  "No."

  "I have to go find a second source."

  "You're not suspicious enough," Ridley said with a smile. "You really should hand this over to the police."

  "On what grounds would they even bother? A man was found in a building. There is nothing else I can prove other than a gut feeling that something isn't right. Yes, he was remarkably clean, but the police are so stretched these days, I don't think they have the time or inclination to look at this."

  "But it's their duty to investigate crime, Dory, not yours." His hand slipped over hers and she felt the warmth of it. "This is not your responsibility. You need to take the case to the person responsible for investigating it. Hand over the list of men you gathered. I'm sure that will be very useful."

  "I will once I have some kind of proof that there was a crime committed. There is nothing concrete."

  "That is for them to determine."

  "Would you investigate it if you were still a policeman?" she asked.

  "I would find a second source to determine if the men on your list are indeed accounted for. If not, the man could be from anywhere. There are seven million people in this city. Sometimes, cases can't be solved, and you can't be an effective policeman if you don't accept that."

  "I'm not a policeman."

  "No, you are not. The police should make the call on how to proceed."

  With a smile, Dory nodded.

  "But you have excellent instincts," he said, leaning back against the bench and crossing his arms. Dory smiled brighter at the compliment.

  Taking her cup, she took a sip of her coffee, which was much richer than any she'd had in a long time. They liked strong coffee down along the Mediterranean coast.

  "Do you think this war will end soon?" she asked and Ridley's brow drew together.

  "No," he said. "Not for a while yet."

  "Lady Pettifer says four years. The Great War lasted four years."

  "I hope not."

  "Maybe if the American's come in, the German's will retreat. Lord Wallisford says that Roosevelt is favorable to the American's standing by us."

  "So I have heard."

  "I hope so too," Dory said. "I'm not sure how much longer we can take this bombardment. Food is getting scarcer—even with rations. And there are so many homeless people now. Tents are starting to appear in every park."

  In a way, she hoped Ridley would have answers to these things, something that would give her hope, but he didn't.

  "A lot hinges on the Russians, I think. Shall we walk for a little?"

  Dory nodded and they rose to leave. "Has the Government really interred all Italian men?”

  "Germans and Austrians too. Although mostly they are Jews, so the bulk of them will be or have been released, but not the man here."

  "It was kind of you to send a letter to vouch for him."

  "He is a good man. Good people get hurt by this war."

  "Yes," Dory agreed.

  For a moment, Captain Riley looked awkward, as if he didn't know what to do with leisure time. He was a hard man to imagine at leisure. "Do you want to walk along the river?"

  "That sounds nice."

  They walked in silence for a while. "Is it awful over on the continent? They tell us so little."

  "There are a lot of desperate people."

  As they had left Nice and Marseilles previously in the year, Dory had seen that desperation at the port—people trying to find somewhere to go and the Vichy Government refusing to let them, which had since been given the mandate by t
he Germans to govern over all of France.

  Beyond that, Dory had heard little of what had happened to the area she had gotten to know so well, or the people that had been left behind. Who knew what awful things had befallen them. Maybe Lady Pettifer's chateau was nothing but a burned-out shell now, or even occupied by German or Italian military.

  The world seemed so irretrievably different; it was hard to even imagine a world of peace again. It was a distant, shiny future that Dory would like to fully imagine. This war changed things; it was bound to. It couldn't just go back to the way it was, could it?

  "Have you ever lived anywhere else but in London?"

  "I was a constable in Oxford for a while."

  "I have never seen you in uniform—other than right now, but that is different."

  They walked past other couples doing exactly the same as they were, out for a day of leisure. Some looked a lot closer than they did. Exactly how close they were, she didn't know. What did this mean? Was there some closeness between her and Ridley? Was this day an indication that he saw her as something more than a friend? It was hard to tell. He wrote to her and had asked to meet her, but he hadn't specifically said anything about intentions beyond friendship.

  Dory smiled at him.

  "I understand most of the artwork in the museums have been carted away," he said.

  "I believe so." At times, the conversation between them felt very stunted.

  Parliament appeared along the river. The damage to Parliament had been reported in the papers, but Dory couldn't see it as it was on the other side of the building.

  "Let's walk through Green Park," Ridley said and Dory smiled her agreement. It was a place she knew of, but had only ever run through. "We used to go quite often when I was a child."

  "You grew up near here."

  "Yes, my father worked in advertising," he said. "Fleet Street."

  "My father passed away a long time ago."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Lung disease." It had been a while since Dory had thought about her father. He'd featured so little in her life, and she had barely any memories of him. Only a passing figure who came home after she had gone to sleep and left before she woke. Any spare time he had, he spent at the pub, rather than with his children. It was hard to miss someone she'd barely known.

  Chapter 17

  AS THEY WALKED INLAND beside Parliament, the large hole in the massive lattice window by the Old Guard square came into view. Most of the building was surrounded by sandbags. People and cars were coming in and out of the grounds, any debris from the bombing cleared away.

  Crossing the square, they walked down along the Horse Guard, where a small group was practicing maneuvers on the large graveled parade area. It was nice to see something that was both extraordinary and perfectly normal. Men in fancy uniforms performing parade moves was simply not typical in her life. Ridley must have seen such things more often.

  A blond woman in a smart fitted skirt and jacket walked toward them and then stopped. "Oh, didn't expect to see you here, Miss Sparks," Livinia said. "Extraordinary who you bump into some days. How are you? And the detective that came to our house. I see the acquaintance has extended."

  Livinia looked very understated compared to her usual clothes, but she still managed to look like the daughter of a titled man. Bright red lipstick accentuated her lips and her hair lay in glossy curls around her shoulders.

  "Miss Livinia," Dory said, a little taken by surprise. "Your aunt mentioned that you work around here."

  "Aunt Constance can't keep her mouth shut," Livinia said tartly. "We're not supposed to mention what we all do, are we? I see you are in uniform, Mr… Sorry, what was your name again?"

  "Ridley, Captain Ridley."

  "Yes, of course. Lovely to meet you again." Besides the required politeness, Dory knew that Livinia absolutely didn't think so. Although very conflicted about Lady Wallisford’s actions, Livinia in some ways blamed this man for bringing them to light. But the scandal of all that must be forgotten now that war had broken out. Too much water had flowed under the bridge, but there would be some who would never forget. "And I hear you are a brave girl and manning one of the searchlights every night."

  "Yes, somewhat down the river."

  "Even braver. Well, I must run." Lifting her hand off the black velvet clutch in front of her, she waved to a man on the other side of the street. Dory had never seen him before. Perhaps Livinia had a new beau, but then it was hard to tell as she had a multitude of male friends. This one, Dory hadn't seen before, but clearly of Livinia's set judging by the clothes, and a small, white dog on a thin lead.

  "Well, it was lovely…" Dory said, but trailed off as Livinia jogged across the street and let the man kiss her on the cheek.

  It was strange how they had been so close for a while, but now felt like complete strangers. Her friendship with Livinia had been a consequence of being thrown together rather than based on any true affinity.

  Dory turned to Ridley and didn't quite know what to say. "That was Livinia Fellingworth."

  "I remember," Ridley said. Holding his elbow out, he urged her to take it.

  "Her brother Vivian has been neglectful in telling anyone where he is," she said, and wondered if Livinia knew. Working in the War Office, she might have access to such information, but then even Lord Wallisford didn't know, and Livinia was frankly quite useless at keeping secrets. One had to wonder if someone had made a grave overestimation placing her in the War Office, but it could be that she had changed. The subdued clothes did go some way to say she had.

  They kept walking to the park and stopped at a small bridge that looked back on Buckingham Palace. Apparently one of the guard houses had been struck there too, but it couldn't be seen from where they stood.

  The trees were all without leaves and the pond water looked cold and still. Clouds had rolled in, making it dark. It was still lovely, though, as was wandering with no particular destination in mind. They walked over to a bench and sat down. Ridley went over to a cart and bought two steaming cups of tea.

  "Will you return to your old role with the Met when the war is over?" she asked.

  "That is the intention."

  "I have no idea what I will do," Dory admitted. It was unlikely she would return to being Lady Pettifer's companion, but she hadn't particularly settled on a career to follow either. It had been interesting working in the munitions factory, turning up every morning and doing a full day's work. Perhaps she would work in a factory again once the ATS was done with her.

  "I thought we could have dinner at one of the restaurants," Ridley said, distracting her from her musings.

  "That would be lovely."

  "Maybe walk a little further and then go."

  "Not one for dancing and drinking, then?"

  "Do you want to go dancing?" he asked, and she could see the discomfort in his eyes.

  "Not particularly," she said with a smile, "but it's the only thing the girls I live with do on their days off."

  "Not much of a dancer?"

  "I suppose there are those who feel this is the occasion to dance, and I completely understand that, but I struggle to."

  Normally Dory would be rushing to get ready for work now, and she felt guilty for not being there, but everyone had the odd day off, particularly if their… friend came to town for a few days off. Sadly, they could only spend this one day together as she had to work the next evening.

  "Come, let's walk," he said, taking the now empty cup out of her hand, "and then we'll find somewhere warm."

  It had grown markedly chilly as the sun was starting to set, being as it was late autumn, quickly hurtling toward winter.

  They walked down the Mall, then found a restaurant just off Piccadilly. It was a lovely place with a Victorian glass roof that had somehow managed to survive months of bombardment. Palms stood around the space, elegantly bending their fronds down for admiration. The tables were small with wooden chairs. It was packed with men in green uniforms, atte
nding their dates for the evening, a joyous atmosphere where people laughed and talked.

  They ordered lamb cutlets with mash and gravy. And it was all wonderfully flavorful. She didn't dare think what this meal would cost, but it wasn't the night to worry about frugality. This was Ridley's only night out, and he was spending it with her.

  "Are you spending the rest of your time back here in London?"

  "No, but I cannot tell you where I'm going."

  "Of course," Dory said. While she completely understood the need for secrecy, there was still that part of her that felt he should know that she would never betray a confidence. But she also respected him for not wavering on the rules.

  They had glasses of wine and savored them as long as they lasted—until the air sirens sounded. Some rushed up to leave at once, deserting their meals. Others took their time, but the waiting staff were eager to close down.

  "What do you want to do?" Ridley asked as they were gently ushered outside.

  If she went to the shelter, it would be the only time she had, and it would be a shame spending the rest of her time with him crammed into a dusty and claustrophobic shelter. "I'm happy to do whatever you want to do. Obviously, I never go to the shelters."

  "Then dare we brave it? I haven't experienced the air raids."

  For a moment, she'd wondered if he'd force her down to a shelter as he seemed to be very particular about her safety. Tonight, though, he didn't want to spend the night in a shelter either.

  People were running along the dark streets, seeking a burrow to spend the night in. Yawning children being pulled by their mothers and cars disappeared off the streets.

  "Let's return to the river," Dory suggested, in a way feeling like she wanted Ridley to see what they experienced here every night. The Westminster Bridge would give them the best vantage point of what was the brutal and beautiful light display that was an air raid.

  They walked in silence, an air warden ordered them to get somewhere safe from across a street, but neither of them wanted to. Maybe the war had changed Ridley's view of safety. Or perhaps it was hypocritical pushing her into a shelter when she stood on a roof making herself known to the Germans every single night.