The Orphan Thief. Glynis Peters
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afraid any movement would alert whoever was outside to the fact there was someone inside. After a minute or two, it dawned on her to make herself known, and then word would be out that Garden Cottage was not empty. She had no candles and the light faded fast, but she recalled seeing an oil lamp in the corner of the second downstairs room, just off the hallway. She crawled into the room, feeling her way around until she touched the lamp. She went back to the kitchen, found matches and lit the lamp, keeping it low. Persuading her shoulder-length curls to settle under Stephen’s hat, she slowly opened the side door and lifted the lamp.
‘Who’sa’?’ she called out in a gruff voice, the deepest she could muster, and made the two words roll into one. It hurt the back of her throat, but she held back the tickling cough which threatened. She banged a saucepan lid against the edge of the lamp, unsure why, but hoped the noise would add to the threat she tried to offer the intruders.
She saw two shadows at the bottom of the pathway leading to the garden; both loomed large and masculine. Ruby, not wanting to get into a physical confrontation, went back inside, leaving the lamp on low at the kitchen window and the hat on her head. If the men were looking for trouble, it was best they thought a man was inside. The thud of their feet running past the door told her the ploy had worked and she let out a breath of relief.
Then she stopped. She’d lit a lamp and the house hadn’t blown up. She glanced over at the fireplace. She’d cleaned and prepared it in readiness for when it could be used. The fire would be so helpful for many things and, before she talked herself out of lighting it, Ruby struck a match and held it to the paper in the grate.
A large pan of water sat on the flames and Ruby’s clothes waited in the sink for a dousing of hot water. A wooden clothes horse propped around the fire overnight would dry them in no time. Ruby placed a tin bath beneath them to catch the drips. A scraping of washing soap would help with the soaking process, and give her another change of clothes. Helen was a kind soul and, yet again, Ruby felt guided by a parent in the right direction. She lay by the fire on a makeshift bed; the heat was not to be wasted.
As she drifted off to sleep, Ruby thought back to the days of working for her father, and of chatting with customers whilst tidying the shop. She yearned for those days again, even a stern lecture from her father on how to present the produce in their crates and how to safely stack tins on their shelves would be welcomed. News of her licence couldn’t come quick enough.
12th December 1940
‘First in the queue again, Ruby?’ Helen said and gave Ruby a beaming smile.
‘Second today. And thank you for the clothes; they fit me well enough. I found a couple of Stephen’s pullovers and look –’ Ruby opened the front of her coat to show off her ensemble.
‘Very … um … chic,’ said Helen, and both laughed. Ruby’s clothing was a mishmash of colours, but warmth and comfort came first. Stephen’s socks were long on her legs and the skirt fell calf-length and between them they kept her legs from freezing.
‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ Helen asked, and pointed to the packages in front of Ruby on the desk.
‘Papers I found in Stephen’s office. I think they need to be seen by someone with knowledge of accounts and passed along to the relevant people. This pile is mine.’
Ruby waited for Helen to sit in her seat across from her and she unravelled the string holding her package together.
‘They are to do with Dad and the business and, would you believe it, he had a bank account.’
She passed the papers one by one to Helen, who read each one and placed them to her side. When she’d finished glancing over the last one, she looked up to Ruby and then back at the paper in her hand.
‘Have you read these, Ruby?’
‘Some, but I haven’t read them all properly.’
‘Well, as you say, they are your dad’s, and they do relate to business. Two businesses, in fact. One the grocery shop, and the other as a landlord – Stephen Peabody’s landlord. Garden Cottage belonged to your father and, according to this, he rented it to Stephen.’
Ruby frowned at Helen and took the paper from her. She read it and laid it back down on the desk. ‘My dad owned the building – is that what you’re saying?’
‘I am. He did.’
‘How come we didn’t know?’ Ruby said, and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Mum never mentioned it, and I went there for lessons enough times. Are you sure it isn’t that Stephen owned the grocer’s and we paid him rent – wouldn’t that make more sense? I know we paid rent. I heard them talk about it often enough.’
Helen shook her head. ‘It’s there, in ink and binding. Stephen paid your father rent to live in the house. It was probably never mentioned as, with no disrespect, Ruby, it’s not the sort of thing children need to know. It does mean we have to sort your papers out and we find out about getting your inheritance sorted officially. There’s money in the bank, according to these. They are statements of the account. Stephen was a good tenant and paid on time.’
With a shudder, Ruby stood up and began pacing the floor. ‘It does explain why the landlord’s not been around for rent. I’ve waited for them to knock on the door.’
Helen gave a smile and chuckled. ‘In a way you’ve been waiting for yourself, Ruby.’
Ruby responded with a grin. ‘I suppose I have, but I’m not silly; I know I have to prove who I am and that it was Dad’s place. What happens if I can’t?’
Helen tidied the papers and took a brown file from her drawer; she placed the papers inside and wrote Ruby’s name across the front.
‘I have a good friend, a solicitor. I’ll track him down and ask his advice – with your permission, of course. But, in the meantime, say nothing to anyone. Sadly, there are a few ruthless people taking advantage of the vulnerable since the bombing. Keep yourself to yourself. If you need help, come here or this is my address.’ Helen scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to Ruby.
‘Thank you. This will change my life. Help my plans. If Stephen was alive, he’d explain and I know he’d look after me. Thank goodness I went to find him or I’d never have known. I’m not traceable, have no papers, nothing.’
‘Ruby, if I am right about this, you will have a lot more than you realise right now. You will have premises to sell from, and a home. And again, if I’m correct, a tidy sum of money in the bank. I suggest you go and stand in a food queue today; fresh bread and milk arrived in town and there’ll be a scramble for them. You won’t need a ration book; take this letter from me if you are asked for any type of paperwork. It explains your situation.’
When she left Helen’s office Ruby knew she’d found a friend, not just an official body willing to help, and she allowed some of the fear she held close free with a large sigh.
20th December 1940
‘Hello, Fred,’ Ruby said, and sat beside the frail man staring out of the window. His lank grey hair drooped over his weathered face, and his hands trembled in his lap.
Ruby had tracked him down to a private lodging in Cheylesmore, after a day spent checking medical tents, the morgue and finally the hospital, where they’d told her he’d been taken in by a friend of one of the nurses.
‘Fred, do you remember Gwen Blake, your neighbour from Kirby Road?’
With slow movements, Fred turned from the window and faced her. His arm was no longer in a sling, but his face bore the scars of recent wounds.
‘She was