At this, Jenny extended her left hand, palm outwards, and stared at it as if it belonged to someone else.
‘He said it was like an engagement ring, only not official,’ said Jenny. She spoke even more quietly than Tom had, as if she was talking to herself. ‘He said it was old, and said how it had been a whatd’youcallit? — a hairloom — passed down through the generations. He said I must wear it in private where only I should be able to see it. . and I didn’t wear it private and look what has happened.’
‘Are you engaged then?’ said Tom. He was waiting to work round to the identity of the man who’d given her the ring.
‘Not official engaged,’ repeated Jenny, still staring at her hand, now curled up in her lap. ‘I think he must’ve been joking with this ring. He’s give me joking presents before, toasting forks and such.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Tom, but remembering the inexplicable burglaries in the cathedral close.
Jenny looked up at Tom for the first time. There was a shrewdness in her look now, a shrewdness and something else besides. ‘He give me the ring ’cause he was paying me back. He got something beforehand.’
Tom felt uncomfortable. Perhaps sensing this, Jenny continued, ‘It’s not what you think. I already give him what you think, and give it him for nothing. And do you know, mister, here’s a funny thing. . '
‘Yes?’
‘I didn’t mind giving it him for nothing.’
Tom saw that they were getting bogged down in detail. ‘I don’t care very much how you came by the ring but I believe it to be the property of a dead man,’ he said.
Jenny turned her gaze from him. ‘I’m sure it’s an honest gift,’ she said after a time.
‘So where did the ring come from?’
‘I don’t know where it come from, mister, but it was Adam gave it me.’
And she went on to explain that Adam — a quite well-spoken chap rather older than Jenny and one who’d knocked about the world a bit, by his own account — had tipped up in the city a few months ago out of nowhere. Now he did some unspecified job in another part of Salisbury. A labouring job, maybe, because he had scratched and dirty hands often. Though he seemed to be too clever to earn his living with his hands. He was a bit mysterious, didn’t give much away. He befriended Jenny after drinking one night at The Side of Beef, he soft-soaped her.
When they’d got more confidential (which was Jenny’s word), they’d sought out places where they might. . you know. Adam claimed that he couldn’t risk his reputation with his employer by taking her back to where he worked and lodged while she, Jenny, was accommodated on the top floor of the hotel when she wasn’t staying with with her aunt and innumerable nieces. So they had to look out for open-air spaces, for cosy nooks or flowery meadows. Luckily it was summer and there were plenty of both to choose from. Then, with the cooling of the weather, came a cooling in the friendship. Until a few evenings ago when Adam appeared in the back yard of The Side of Beef, with a particular request.
Here, the bravado which had been in Jenny’s tone up till now dribbled away. Eventually Tom got her to admit that Adam’s request had been to tell him the floor and number of the room occupied by a visitor from London, a young lawyer. Also, she was to turn a blind eye during the next few minutes while he went and had a poke around. In fact, instead of turning a blind eye she might keep watch for him. In double fact, if he could borrow her pass-key for an instant he could slip in and out, and no one the wiser. He meant no harm, he said. Just wanted to have a peek at the gent’s room. In return, he promised Jenny that she would receive something. . a present. . a surprise. And it was true, wasn’t it, no harm had been done to the gentleman’s belongings, only they were left somewhat disarranged.
‘S’pose you’re going to tell Mr Jenkins, sir?’ said Jenny after she’d finished her recital.
Tom shrugged. He didn’t know. He ought to inform the landlord about the chambermaid but at the moment there seemed bigger fish to fry.
‘Well, go and tell him then,’ said Jenny with a return of the old defiance. ‘Mr Jenkins asked me for what I give Adam and I couldn’t abide the thought of him even laying a hand on me — which he’s tried to do often enough. He’s had a down on me ever since. Go and tell him and see if I care.’
‘Go and tell who what?’ said Helen.
She was standing at the door to Tom’s room.
‘I grew bored with waiting, Tom. I was starting to think you’d found another dead body or drowned yourself in the bath or something. And I have had an idea about Atropos. But first, who’s telling who what?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Tom. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone anything, Jenny, as long as you tell me a single thing in exchange. This fancy-man of yours. Is he just Adam to you or does he have another name?’
‘Why, yes, he is called Eaves,’ said Jenny. ‘Adam Eaves. Which I thought was funny, if you think about it. Adam Eaves.’
‘The gardener at Venn House,’ said Tom. ‘The man with the shears.’
‘Atropos,’ said Helen.
‘Atropos who cuts short the thread of human life.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Jenny.
Later it struck Tom as odd that in all the time he had been asking Jenny about her fancy-man, she had not sneezed once. If she had caught the cold from one of her nieces, he knew now the person she’d passed it on to: the gardener who’d sneezed violently before giving them his lopsided grin. The gardener who’d certainly been responsible for thieving innocuous kitchen items from the other houses in the close and who had, with an almost equal certainty, thieved away the life of his master, Canon Felix Slater.
Tom ran out of the room and clattered down the stairs to the lobby of The Side of Beef. Helen raised her eyebrows at Jenny in female commiseration or incomprehension before following him, calling him to wait. She caught up with him on the pavement. The sun was beginning to set, a glaring red descent through the chimney smoke and the mist starting up from the river.
‘Where are you going, Tom?’
‘The cathedral close.’
‘I’m coming too.’
‘No, do not. I think that Eaves is a murderer.’
They stood there an instant, undecided. Helen glanced up at the sign which hung above the hotel porch. The car-cass of beef which advertised the place was glowing red in the late afternoon light.
‘Then we should go and find Inspector Foster. If you’re right then this Eaves is a dangerous man.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Tom. ‘But in the meantime the fellow may be making his escape if he hasn’t already done so.’
Helen saw the hectic look on Tom’s face. He nodded at her and then set off at a smart pace down the crowded street. She had no choice but to pursue him.
Henry Cathcart was going to make a confession to his wife. He walked wearily down the stuffy passage leading to her room and knocked on the door. It was late afternoon, a time when Constance was usually lively (by her standards) after her nap. In fact, Constance had been more alert recently. The murder in the close had given her zest. Even the ‘Come in’ that answered Henry’s knock was firmer than normal.
He was not pleased to see that Grace was in the room, fussing around the table on which were displayed his wife’s various remedies. Not pleased, but not surprised either since Grace spent most of her waking hours with her mistress and some of her sleeping ones too.
‘I should like to be alone with Mrs Cathcart,’ said Henry.
Grace’s gaze flicked towards Constance, who was sitting up in bed with a copy of the Gazette in her lap. The maid’s look seemed to say, I will leave the room but under duress and only if it is all right with you, Mrs Cathcart. Or perhaps she meant no such thing and it was only that Henry was sensitive to Grace’s looks. She left the room with little fuss, however.