Belle - Lesley Pearse [15]
‘And Millie, did she get chosen often?’ A different, gruff-voiced policeman asked this question; until then Belle had thought there was only one policeman with her mother.
‘Oh yes, she was my most popular girl,’ Annie said without any hesitation. ‘I’d say nearly all of my gentlemen have asked for her at some time. But I told you last night she wasn’t killed by any of my regulars, the man that done it had never been here before.’
‘Will you describe him for me?’ the gruff policeman asked. ‘And try and think about it a little harder than you did last night,’ he added sarcastically.
‘I already told you it wouldn’t do to study a man too closely on his first visit or he’d never come again,’ Annie said sharply. ‘He weren’t no more than twenty-five, I’d say. Slender, well-dressed, with brown hair and clean-shaven. Looked like he worked in an office – he wore a bowler hat and a wing collar.’
Belle frowned in puzzlement at her mother’s description of the man as it was about as far from the truth as she could possibly get. She sort of understood why her mother didn’t want her to tell the police about what she’d seen, but now she seemed to be sending them off on a wild goose chase looking for a man who was nothing like the real killer.
Mog came stomping down the main stairs at that point, so Belle had to close the door and rush back to her ironing. Strangely, Mog hadn’t said anything more to Belle yet, no questions, no warnings, nothing. Whether that was because Annie had warned her against it, or because she didn’t want to say anything while the police were in the house, Belle didn’t know.
Another strange thing was that Jacob was nowhere to be seen, and although Belle couldn’t be certain, she didn’t remember him being there last night when the police arrived. It seemed to her that Annie must’ve told him to call the police, then clear off and not come back until this blew over.
It struck Belle that in the last twenty-four hours her whole life had changed. Yesterday morning she hadn’t even understood the nature of what went on upstairs. She understood that now and it disgusted and shamed her. She’d also witnessed a murder which had terrified her. But now she was hearing her mother lie through her teeth and that didn’t make any sense at all to her.
The police tramped in and out of the house until after four in the afternoon, and Mog grumbled bitterly about the snow they kept bringing in with them.
‘Up and down the stairs, in and out the parlour, not a thought to what they’re doing to our carpets. Why can’t they come in and stay in? Men! Useless articles! I wouldn’t give them house room!’
Belle sensed that Mog wasn’t worried so much by the mess as about everyone she felt responsible for. Belle had found herself jumping at sudden noises, feeling weepy and scared. She’d gone over what she’d seen again and again, and still it didn’t make sense that the man would kill Millie just because she didn’t want to go and live with him. She really needed to talk about it, to rid herself of the ugly pictures in her head, and the one person who should be there to listen, to comfort and to explain things, was her mother.
Anger was building up inside Belle minute by minute. She felt let down and bitter that Annie appeared to care more about ‘her girls’ than her own daughter, and that Belle was expected to act as if nothing had happened and get on with normal chores.
‘Ma wouldn’t have much of a business without men,’ she sniped, half hoping that would provoke Mog into continuing what she’d started last night.
Mog didn’t rise to it and continued stirring the chicken stew she was making for supper, but her pale, strained face showed that she was every bit as troubled as Belle.
‘Good girl,’ Mog said appreciatively when she looked round to see Belle was folding up the ironing blanket having finished the huge pile of laundry. ‘We’ll have a sit down and a cup of tea now, I think we’ve earned it.’
Throughout her short life Belle had observed that Mog’s way of dealing with any problem was to make a pot of tea. If the girls