Maureen JENNINGS - Under the Dragon’s Tail

Annie was relieved when Burns answered the door, not Meredith. In spite of her bravado, she hadn’t been looking forward to another encounter. The butler gazed down at her disdainfully.

“Mrs. Pedlow is expecting me,” she said and handed him her calling card, one of the new ones she had printed just the last week.

He glanced at her in surprise. “You’re Miss Brogan?”

“Have been all my life unless you know something I don’t.”

“She is indeed expecting you.”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. His expression said it all. Why somebody like you is calling on Mrs. Pedlow, I cannot imagine.

“Madam is in the gazebo. She asks you to join her there.”

Annie was used to servants despising her and she’d long given up either fighting or placating. However, in spite of herself she still cared. She gave a haughty lift to her chin, sending the scarlet feathers bobbing.

“Where?”

Burns pointed. “Go across the grass and around by the porch. You’ll see her.”

Annie did as he said, irritated as her good boots sank into the soft earth. She lifted her skirt high above her ankles, aware that the butler was watching her.

The white gazebo was tucked into the far corner of the garden, and as soon as Annie rounded the porch, Maud saw her and stood up. Today she was dressed in a lilac-flowered muslin gown. The sleeves were full to the elbow, and the bodice was of white satin, embroidered with jet and green sequins. Annie would have felt honoured by such a presentation except she had the suspicion Mrs. Pedlow dressed like this on every occasion.

In spite of her fine apparel, she looked haggard, and the pallor of her skin emphasized the lividity of the birthmark.

“Please sit down, Miss Brogan,” she said and ushered her into the shade of the gazebo.

Annie took one of the wicker chairs. She smiled.

“You could have knocked me over with a goose feather when you came through the door. What a surprise after all these years.”

Mrs. Pedlow made no acknowledgement to this remark but said coldly, “May I offer you some refreshment? Our cook does make a very pleasant lemonade.”

Annie was put out by her tone. She had been prepared to be friendly, but hurt, she became snooty.

“Pleasant lemonade would be…pleasant.”

The other woman stiffened but she poured the drink. Annie accepted the glass and took her time sipping. She could feel Mrs. Pedlow’s tension, sensed she was waiting for something, but Annie’d be damned if she took the lead. Let her do it. With ostentatious delicacy, she replaced the glass on the wicker tea trolley.

“I think it’s going to rain, don’t you? Very unpleasant, I must say.”

Her hostess clasped her hands tightly in her lap and not looking at Annie, she said, “Sarah will be back soon, so we can’t waste time. We both know why you came here. Perhaps we could get straight to the point.”

“And what point is that, ma’am?”

“Please, Miss Brogan, I really don’t have much time.”

“Pity that. I thought we could have a nice chat. About old times. However…” She began to unbutton her gloves. “Given that we’re in a hurry and all that, do you mind if I ask you a quick question?”

“What is it?”

“What happened to your baby?”

George and Freddie were sitting at the kitchen table. They could have gone into the parlour but they were like song birds who have been caged too long and don’t fly to freedom even when the door is opened. Dolly never allowed them anywhere but the kitchen and their own room.

George had found a cigar butt on the street and was trying to get it to light, dropping matches recklessly on the floor.

“You’re gonna get it if she sees that,” said Freddie, and he gazed around uneasily as if Dolly was watching them. George punched him on the arm.

“Get it through your loaf, you nocky fool, she’s not going to give it out again. Ever. She’s gone to the grand silence, Fred. She’s a stiff. Worm fodder.”

This didn’t soothe the younger boy who was biting back tears. He swung his legs against the wooden chair.

“What’s going to happen to us then? And Lil? I wish she’d come back.”

“Don’t fret about the dummy. She’ll be back, she’s bunked off before.”

“And us?”

“We’ll be all right. Better than before, you’ll see.”

Freddie looked doubtful but he knew better than to argue. George puffed hard on the stinking cigar and managed to get a glow. He drew in a deep breath, coughed a bit, and sat back the way he’d seen the men do when he looked through the windows of the Yeoman Club down the road. He swung his dirty, callused feet onto the table.

Freddie waited, then he said in almost a whisper, “Do you think it was what Lil did as killed Mrs. Mother?”

“Not likely is it? You saw with your own eyes that Missus got up. She was walking around after, wasn’t she? Look!” He indicated a bruise on his forearm. “She could pinch good as ever.”

“Why’d she die then?”

“She fell. She was drinking like a soldier since the afternoon. She fell down and cracked her head.”

Freddie wriggled his buttocks on the chair. He always itched. The cigar had failed again and George gave up in disgust.

“Come on. We should get up the wooden hill.”

The other boy shifted restlessly. “We can stay up now. Nobody’ll mind. I want to wait for Lil.”

“No, we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Like what?”

“Like we’ve got to see about a funeral.”

“How do we do that?”

“Bloody hell, I don’t know. We ask somebody.” He smiled ferociously, his eyes turning. “We’re family now, it’s up to us. I said, come on.”

Truth was that George was tired out and in need of retreating to his own lair, but had no intention of going up by himself.

He lit one of the porcelain oil lamps. Another thing they hadn’t been allowed to touch.

“Here, you carry this. I’ll bring the candle.”

In a circle of light the boys left the kitchen, Freddie leading the way. At the foot of the stairs, he halted and shrank against George.

“What if she’s going to come back?”

For answer George kicked him on the ankle. “Keep going, you silly coon, or you’ll get it from me worse than any ghost.”

But it was the lights that gave him courage and the necessity of being hard in front of Freddie.

Once in their squalid bedroom, they closed the door quickly as if they could ever shut out spirits.

“Can we leave the light burning?” asked Freddie.

George had every intention of so doing but he pretended to hesitate just to torment the younger boy.

“All right, you yellow belly. Anything to stop you bawling.”

He turned down the wick of the oil lamp, leaving the candle stub lit. Instantly the room was filled with shadows. Both boys undressed hurriedly and jumped into bed.

“Can I sleep close, George?”

“Only if you don’t fart or fidget.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“And if you piss in the bed, you’ll get it but good.”

“I won’t.” He pressed into George’s bony back, his arms folded against his chest. They lay for a few moments then he said, “George, can I tell you something?”

“Better be good. You’re spoiling my shut-eye.”

“Somebody came here in the night.”

“What d’you mean?”

“A woman came. I heard her. You were dead asleep but she was knocking like a thunder and woke me up.”

“Probably Lily.”

“She wouldn’t knock on the front door.”

George hesitated, not wishing to concede the point. “So what are you getting at, our Fred?”

“This woman. She and Mrs. Mother had a roaring good dustup.”