The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(80)
I took a deep breath, searching for some facts of my own. Then I remembered. “Both of the mothers already knew the sex of their babies before I took them away. They’d been delighted. I’d been so pleased. Why would I have needed to do such a terrible thing?”
“Neither of the women actually saw her child close up before you whisked it away, Miss Paltry.” Her voice was mellowing, like an overripe plum, lowering in tone, gaining confidence. “Both told me that the only reason they knew the sex of their baby was because you had announced it.”
“Oh now, don’t be putting ideas together from different stories. I know you’re just upset because you weren’t there, but it can’t be helped.”
She leaned forward and her eyes bored into me, and that’s when she came out with the one thing I would never have imagined she knew. “You made a deal with the Brigadier, didn’t you?”
I was scared. If she knew the Brigadier was involved, and let him know that she knew, then I’d be dead meat. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you met him the night of the bomb, and I have a good idea of the information you were attempting to sell.”
I gazed up at her with shock. How could she have known that? There’d been no one around. I swear on it. Just me and the Brigadier, alone. “We just happened to cross paths. Had a chat about the trains. The delays are appalling—”
“Wasn’t it a little late for you to be catching a train?”
Something inside me snapped. What right had this stupid woman to walk in here and pester me with accusations? In any case, my nicey-nicey approach wasn’t getting me anywhere. I was just a sitting duck for her. I needed to get her out of here.
“I can catch a train whenever I like, Mrs. Tilling.” I glowered, my voice rising. I sat up more straight, adjusting my leg on the bed. “How dare you come in here and start accusing me of these ridiculous crimes. How dare you, of all people a nurse! You should know to let a convalescing person stay quiet and calm.”
She sat poised, watching my gathering annoyance, a serene calm on her face.
“It was the moment I saw Venetia with baby Rose in her arms that I knew,” she said, showing off how clever she’d been to work it all out, just like bleeding Miss Marple. “The baby looked so very much like her. Venetia could have been her mother.” She looked at me, an eyebrow tentatively raised. “Or her sister.”
Goddamn that baby, and that wretched girl. If she weren’t so beautiful no one would have noticed a thing. I felt trapped, like a weasel in a poke hole.
With a sudden burst of ingenuity, I knew exactly how I could smash her little intimidation to smithereens. I reached for the glass jug next to my bed and shouted as loud as I could, “Nurse! Nurse!” And with a tiny laugh, I let the jug slip from my fingers, sending it tumbling to the cold, tiled floor.
A colossal crash broke the silence as a thousand splinters of glass soared into the air before cascading down, silvering the floor, the beds, the furniture with a delicate crust of icy glitter.
It would take hours to clean.
The nurses came rushing over, dashing here and there with brooms and mops, moving Mrs. Tilling out of the way, taking the chair, changing my blankets, reassuring me that everything was going to be all right.
I tried to look disheveled and innocent, nodding to the nurses apologetically. When I peeked over to Mrs. Tilling, she was standing away from the bed, hands clasping her bag, fury on her frowning face. She remained smoldering from afar, until a nurse went and had a word with her, fetched her navy coat, and led her to the door. Her long face turned to me as she was marched off, annoyance in her eyes and perhaps a ghost of the Mrs. Tilling of old, being pushed and shoved around again. Only this time she wasn’t happy about it. She wanted her own way now. I felt a chill over the back of my neck as the door swung shut behind her.
But what will she do next? My first thought, of course, was that she could try to blackmail me, extract some kind of reward for her silence. Thing is, it’s not the Tilling woman’s style. She has enough money for her practical little lifestyle. She would be more likely to do something for morality or decency, or some equally nauseating reason. She has a sickening desire to be an upstanding member of the community, and this little victory could perch her on a new throne.
Of course there is a chance she could do us all an almighty big favor and let the whole thing go. Why should she bother taking it further, after all? She has no proof. Her precious Hattie is now dead. Mrs. Winthrop is overjoyed with her boy. Swapping the babies back is not in anyone’s interest. It would just break up their little community and cause more trouble than it’s worth. Everyone would hate her. She’s not such a fool that she doesn’t know that.
Which brings me to my final, most alarming outcome. She might go and blab to the Brigadier, tell him I betrayed him, use it to get power in this little place.
And the Brigadier will come in here and break my bleeding neck, as he promised to do if anyone found out. Lord, I feel like a trapped fox with the hounds circling.
I made sure they moved my bed next to the nurse to be on the safe side, and just as I was settling in, who should walk in but Elsie. All fancy in a green floral dress and looking pretty as a young swan, until she opened her gob.
“I heard it off Kitty that a lad was looking for your money.” She leaned close. “And I know some of that is rightfully mine.”