Page 18 of Kirkyards & Kindness
“The children think he took Bobby,” Annie says. “They’re sure of it. They said they’d never seen him before, and then he was lurking around Bobby.”
“It might not signify,” the watchman says.
“But it might,” Annie says, stubbornly setting her jaw.
“Can you tell us where to find the children?” I ask.
Annie nods. “Come by tomorrow morning. They always stop in to see me around the ten o’clock bell.”
Chapter Eight
We meet up with Gray to walk home. Isla isn’t back yet, so we talk for a bit before heading off to bed. Then the next morning, Gray and I are up and off before Isla rises. It’s not that we leave early—it’s past eight—but evidently, she had a late night, and I will refrain from any grade-school snickering when I see her.
We have an appointment to speak to Davina at nine. She wants daily updates, delivered before her day gets busy. She also, apparently, wants breakfast. Gray offers to find a place for us, and she squawks at that, as if he’s going to shortchange her. Then he takes us up to High Street, to a section that’s already the tourist trap it will be in my day. There, he guides us to a tearoom I’ve visited with Isla.
“Fancy, fancy,” Davina mutters under her breath, acting very unimpressed even as she exchanges dirty gloves for a cleaner pair from her pocket.
“Would you like to go elsewhere?” Gray asks mildly.
“This will do.” She lifts her chin and nods at the hostess.
The hostess looks Davina over in the exact way the bouncer at the pub had looked us over yesterday. Her mouth opens, ready to say she’s sorry, but they have no tables available. Then Gray clears his throat.
The hostess’s gaze shoots to us, and I can see the moment of confusion—are we with Davina or trying to get past her. I lean in and speak to Davina, smiling and touching her arm, making it clear that we’re together.
“A table, if you please,” Gray says. “I believe there are several private ones.” He passes the hostess a coin. “If one of those is available, that would be lovely. Our guest prefers her privacy.”
Another look as the penny drops. Clearly, Gray and I are do-gooders, treating a destitute woman to a fancy breakfast, probably so we can lecture her on the evils of drink.
The irony of that isn’t lost on me. It’s easy to blame the blight of the poor on alcohol, when the root problem is the same as it will be in my day. If you don’t have money, you don’t have what it takes to get money—an education, childcare, decent clothing, a permanent address. If this hostess would refuse Davina admittance based on her appearance, she sure as hell wouldn’t give her a job.
“I am sure we can find you a private table,” the hostess says, with a touch of relief. Thank goodness she can hide Davina from their other patrons.
The teahouse is bustling for tourist season. It has a few small rooms for meetings, one of which I dined in with Isla when she told me I no longer had a job with her, spurring me to break down and confessed my time-travel truth. Probably good that we had a private room for that.
The hostess shows Gray to a tiny, curtained room that seems more designed for courting couples. She brings an extra chair, and we squeeze in at the small table.
After we’ve ordered—tea and scones for Gray and me, a full breakfast for Davina—I update her on the case.
“You’ve learned nothing,” she says when I’m finished.
“We have established the time of Bobby’s disappearance,” I say. “We have made contact with both watchmen, who are inclined to speak to us and answer any further questions. We have a lead on someone who may have taken Bobby.”
“According to children,” she says. “Children who didn’t report anything wrong before the dog disappeared. Then all of a sudden, they remember some mysterious fellow lurking about.” She leans back in her chair. “I will bet that they remember no such thing. It’s that bloody fool, Annie.” She taps her temple. “Soft in the head, that one. Used to work in the factories. Had a husband and children and a good home. But she fell into the bottle and never cared to climb back up. Husband threw her out. Children won’t see her. Weak, that’s what she is. Weak and addled.”
I clamp my jaw tight and say nothing. From what I understand, Davina never drank. I suspect that means there’s heavy drinking in her family, and she saw things that made her abstain. That’s great for her, but it doesn’t make her better than Annie. Who knows why Annie started to drink? Abusive husband. Physically punishing factory work. Or just general boredom and disappointment with life.
I very highly doubt, though, that Annie “never cared” to crawl back out of the bottle. I cannot imagine willingly giving up your children and your home to drink on the streets. From what I saw in Vancouver, that’s not a choice—it’s addiction.
“Maybe so,” I say. “However, it’s the children who say they saw?—”
“The children said no such thing. It’s Annie, making up stories. Then she will warn the children that you will ask, and so they will make up their own story, and you will give them a few ha’pence for it. Soft-hearted Annie helping the wee bairns. Wee bairns who’d rob her blind if they had the chance.” She sniffs. “Those raggedy children know not to come near me, I tell you.”
“You said you bet that is the case? That Annie made it up to earn the children some money?”
“Yes.”
I fish in my pockets and pull out a half crown. “You’re on.”
