The Importance of Being Ernestine (23 page)

“Jan was a whiz with her knitting even at twelve years old,” enthused her father.

“Well, it's not to be expected you've kept in touch with the Merryweathers all these years,” said Mrs. Malloy somewhat ungratefully.

“Isn't it?” Mr. Songer's boyish grin was back in place as he turned to his daughter. “Jan, where does your mother keep the address book?”

Eighteen

Mrs. Malloy was in a major snit when I dropped her off at her house in Herring Street. She thought me derelict in my professional duties in refusing to go rushing off to the address we had been given. Time, she reminded me sententiously, was of the essence, a point on which I agreed with her. At close on 4:00 in the afternoon it was time for me to get home to my family. Tomorrow would be soon enough to attempt making contact with Ernestine's adoptive parents, to which statement she responded darkly that she hoped I wouldn't live to regret them words.

It was already dusk when I parked the car in the stables and entered the house by the garden door, feeling foolishly like a child who had stayed playing outside beyond the time I had been allowed. Freddy was alone in the kitchen. And I have to say I was shocked. Usually in such a situation I would find him lolling back in a chair with his feet up on the table and a bulging sandwich in each hand. Not the case this time. He was standing with his back to me chopping onions. It has never pierced my soul to see a man slaving away in a kitchen, especially when it is my kitchen. But there was something about my cousin's lackluster ponytail and the dejected sway of his skull-and-crossbones earring that temporarily wiped all thoughts of Ernestine and the motley goings-on at Moultty Towers out of my head.

“You're worried about your Mum, aren't you?” I said as I hung my raincoat on one of the pegs in the alcove. “Any word?”

“Not a peep.”

“Oh, Freddy! I am sorry.”

“It's been seven days now, and Dad's contemplating having her declared legally dead.”

“That's Uncle Maurice. Always the stiff upper lip.” I stowed my handbag on the Welsh dresser and went and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But surely there's no reason to think something terrible has happened to her. Hasn't she done this sort of thing before? Gone off on one of her shopping expeditions and . . .” My voice petered out.

“Lost track of time?” Freddy laid down the knife and turned to face me.

“Or met someone—an old friend from boarding school—and gone to stay with them for a few days, quite forgetting in the excitement of getting caught up on all the gossip to phone home. Let's face it, she can be a little feckless, in the sweetest possible way of course.”

“Yes.” Freddy lounged over to a chair and sat head bent, hands lolling to the floor, “Mum has done a bunk before, usually when Dad's been narking on at her to cut down on her shoplifting, if she's going to come home with the same hat three days running.”

“While's he's needing a new cardigan.” I put the kettle on and reached into the cupboard for cups and saucers. “I suppose some people would say he had a point.”

“In certain ways, Ellie, theirs is one of those old school marriages, with Dad laying down the law and Mum every so often deciding she's had enough.”

“There you are then.” I handed him a cup of tea and a biscuit. “This is just another of those times. She's setting out to teach him a lesson and when she thinks he's had time to get the idea she'll come home.”

“That's what I've been trying to tell myself, coz.” Freddy sipped at his tea but set the biscuit down on the table—not a good sign, given his usual willingness to eat anything that didn't run for cover before he got within a yard of it. “But I've got a bad feeling this time. I suppose it's Dad telling me about her being down at that pub, The Wayfarers, or whatever it was called. Mum just isn't a pubby sort of person. She thinks they're places for amateurs, getting their start by pocketing those cardboard coasters. The Red Lion and such just aren't her scene.”

“What aren't you telling me?” I sat down across from him and stirred sugar into my tea. “You were worried this morning, but not to the point where you are now.”

“This is going to sound stupid.” He brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes.

“Tell me.”

“Okay, it's like this: Mum has always sent me a card on the anniversary of the date when I cut my first tooth.”

“I think that's dear.”

“Don't go all sloppy on me, Ellie. She doesn't remember my birthday, but this is different. She never missed until this time.”

“When should you have received the card?”

“The day before yesterday. But you know how the post can be. Sometimes you get a letter before it's been sent and other times you'd think someone was hanging on to it hoping the value of the stamp would go up.”

“So why panic?”

Freddy got up and strolled back to his onions. “Mum always sent the card off early to be on the safe side. And when it didn't show up today,” he resumed chopping, “I've got to tell you, Ellie, my blood ran cold.”

“Have you talked to your father?”

“I got him on the phone just before you came in. He had nothing to report, other than he was having to make do with poached eggs on toast for the third night in a row. And that there was nothing but tinned peaches for afters. What really got him splattering was that they were an off brand. And his blaming that on Mum just didn't wash. She never thinks price when she goes to the supermarket. She always takes the very best. Says it's more economical in the long run.”

“Less seasoning to add,” I concurred. “Freddy, what are you doing with those onions? And where”—I hadn't wanted to bring the subject up before—“where are Ben and the children?”

“He took them out somewhere about half an hour ago. To the library I think. And since I'd invited myself to dinner I thought I'd get a meal started. I'm making spaghetti bolonaise.”

“That's really thoughtful.” I was now standing refilling my teacup. “But you know Ben always has containers of pasta sauce in the freezer. Why not just relax?”

“Thanks, but I need something to do.”

“Then would you help me lay the table? Or, better yet, fix a salad?”

“All right.” Freddy set down the knife before wandering over to the fridge and returning with a head of lettuce in one hand and a couple of tomatoes in the other. “What do you think, coz, about my calling in a private detective to help find Mum? What about that bloke Mrs. Malloy works for?”

“He's still on holiday and impossible to reach. Remember? I told you that Mrs. Malloy and I have been filling in for him on that case. We had quite a chat about it this morning.”

“Missing my mother does not mean I'm losing my mind. Or maybe it does.” He tossed aside the knife and leaned morosely against the sink. “Most sons would have disinherited her, shown her the door, told her to get lost years ago, done all the things that outraged parents do when their offspring don't turn out well. It's no joke, although I know I make it sound like one, having a mother who'd rob the Pope of his little skullcap while asking for a papal blessing. But I can't send her back and ask for a new Mum, can I?” Freddy stood with his eyes closed plucking at his scroungy beard. “I've looked and I can't find the box she came in.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“You wouldn't be willing to talk to Mrs. Malloy about taking on a missing person case? It would be right up the same alley as the one you're working on now. My cousin opened his eyes and gave me a threadbare smile. “By the way, how's that going?”

“We made some progress today. In fact I think we may be close to finding Ernestine. We have the name and address of the people who adopted her.”

“Great!”

“It was mostly luck. Several things fell into place. Freddy”—I was struggling into an apron, getting my head stuck in one of the armholes in the process—“about your mother: I don't feel equipped. You need someone who really knows what they're doing. Not someone who's playing detective.” I felt sick when I heard what I was saying. It was just fine to practice on strangers, was it? But not when it came to my own family. Any exhilaration I had felt on leaving the house on Hathaway Road was wiped away. It didn't help to tell myself that, given Milk Jugg's absence, Lady Krumley could have been stuck in her hospital bed with no one believing a word of her fantastical tale. I was staring glumly back at Freddy when the garden door opened and my three children came bouncing into the kitchen, followed by Ben with his hands full of white cardboard boxes and several books under one arm.

“Fe fi fo fum! I smell Chinese food.” I felt a smile slide over my face as little Rose wrapped her arms around my legs and Tam and Abbey raced to pick up Tobias, whose furry face had appeared out of nowhere.

“I needed to go to the library, and the children wanted to come along.” Ben was unloading onto the table. “So we decided to make a treat of it and get a takeaway.”

“That's wonderful. Freddy can stop slaving away chopping onions.”

“Sorry, I thought I told him . . .”

“He's a bit preoccupied at the moment about Aunt Lulu.”

“Still no word?” Ben straightened up and began unbuttoning his coat. I could see the concern in his face as he looked at Freddy. And I had one of those moments when my love for him welled up inside me. I felt comforted and sheltered without his eyes shifting my way, or his hand reaching for mine. It had nothing to do with his dark good looks or his way of giving elegance to an elderly sweater and even older pair of trousers. It had to do with the knowledge that he would always be there to rescue me in times of trouble. And, possibly even more important, he would be equally willing to let me rescue him.

I bustled the children out of their coats as Ben stood talking to Freddy. And after that the three of us got down plates, set out the cutlery and opened the cartons, while the kettle boiled for a fresh pot of tea.

“This is a feast.” I removed the apron while surveying it.

“I was in the mood for chicken fried rice,” announced Tam, climbing on to his chair.

“And I wanted shrimp slug bug.” Abbey pranced over to give me a kiss before taking her place.

“That's sub gum,” corrected her brother.

“Is it?” Abbey appealed to me.

“Darling, it's delicious. That's all that matters.” I was getting Rose into her booster chair, while Ben poured the tea and Freddy produced beakers of milk for the children. He was still looking strained, but he made an effort to appear his usual self when asking Ben what books he had got at the library.

“Ones on computers.”

“Oh, dear, so you're still having trouble?” I was thinking that I must get back in touch with Kathleen Ambleforth to find out what luck she was having in tracking down the typewriter and other items from the study. It didn't matter that Ben was no longer upset with me. I still had to put things right. Before he could answer Tam started to talk about his library book.

“It's about a little train that gets lost. And the people inside get very cross because they wanted to go to London. But they don't. The train takes them to the seaside. Then they look out the windows and see the sand and the children with buckets and spades and . . .”

“My book's about a bunny rabbit. It's sad because it can't find its Mummy.” Abbey looked at my cousin with her bright blue eyes. “Is that why you're sad, Freddy? Do you want your Mummy?”

“Do you, Freddy?” Tam was shaking soy sauce onto his plate of fried rice, which he had shifted away from Rose after she reached out to take a handful. Being the typical two-year-old she always preferred one of her siblings' plates to her own.

“They must have heard me on the phone talking to Dad.” Freddy was pushing his sub gum around with his fork and completely ignoring his mandarin beef. “Don't worry kids.” He forced a grin. “I'm fine. After dinner you can read me those books of yours, while your parents have fun by themselves doing the washing up.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Ben spooned out the remains of the cartons.

And so the evening went. Eight o'clock rolled around, and it was time for the children to get ready for bed. I insisted on doing the honors. I sensed that Ben was eager to get into the study and crack open those computer tomes. He had asked me how my day had gone. Not wanting anything to break the lovely harmony of the moment I had said it had been fine and I'd tell him about it later. I thought about what I would say while giving the children their baths, tucking them into bed and singing “Jesus Tender Shepherd Hear Me” in my untuneful voice before turning on their night lights and giving them each a final goodnight kiss.

I was halfway down the stairs when the phone rang. I picked it up to hear Kathleen Ambleforth's voice on the other end.

“Ellie, cousin Alice has come through.”

“Splendid!” It took me a moment to realize whom she was talking about.

“Remember, she made out the lists of where the donations were sent?”

“Yes.” If Aunt Lulu hadn't been missing and people getting killed at Moultty Towers I would have erupted into a song and dance number.

“Do you have a piece of paper handy?”

“And a pen.” I picked it up.

“Then here's the name of the organization and the telephone number. Are you writing it down? Am I going too fast?”

“I've got it.” To reassure her I repeated the information back. It was all just letters and numbers to me. My mind was in a whirl. But I did remember to thank Kathleen profusely before putting down the phone and slipping the piece of paper into my skirt pocket. I would telephone first thing in the morning. Ben came out of the study as I crossed the hall. I was so tempted to tell him, but then I risked disappointing him if something went wrong. Better to wait and surprise him.