The House on Rosebank Lane Page 10

  *

  The night seemed to be never-ending for Kirsten. The policeman had just left when she got herself and Dixie into bed. Cradling him into her, she was filled with horror at the thought that he and his sisters, Bea and Jane, could be removed from her care. She just could not have that. No use beating about the bush. She was in deep trouble. Oh yes, she realised, to gain some sort of respectability she would have to leave Stella’s employ.

  ‘Dear God,’ she silently prayed, ‘when I arrive before the court, please grant me the ability to persuade the sheriff, or whoever is my judge, that I have never been a . . .’ She gulped before thinking ‘prostitute’. She bit on her lip before adding, ‘Yes, I will confess that I am guilty of living off immoral earnings because in truth I have. But, Father, I must make them understand that Stella’s was the only job I could get that fitted in with my Dixie who needs me so.’ She hesitated as she pulled Dixie in closer to herself. ‘Dear God,’ she earnestly went on, ‘help me to get them to understand that I have given up working for Stella and am now . . .’ Now what, she wondered. A cleaner, a cook, whatever job I can get.

  Saying Stella’s name reminded her that after the children had gone to school she would call on her employer. Call on her not to carry out her duties, but to advise her that she could no longer work for her. She knew Stella would understand why she was leaving her. She knew Stella, like any mother, would know that her children’s well-being was her first priority.

  SIXTEEN

  Bea and Jane had just left for school, and Dixie and Kirsten were already walking along the pavement towards Lorne Street Primary when Kirsten decided to let Dixie catch up with his pals. This allowed her to go straight to Stella’s. After all, she had to face Stella and tell her of her decision. No point in waiting until later. The sooner she got it over and done with, the sooner she could be out looking for a job. She started to argue with herself again that if she got a job before her court case, then perhaps she would be kept on, then the thought that after her hearing she would have a criminal record panicked her again.

  On arrival at Castle View she was surprised to find everything in order. When she entered the downstairs lounge Mrs Baxter, as usual, asked her if she would like a cup of tea before she got started.

  Started? she thought. After the nightmare of what had happened the previous night she wasn’t ever going to get started in here again. She was leaving, and she hoped she’d be gone in the next half-hour!

  Of course, she could think all that, but what she did in response to Mrs Baxter’s offer was nod, and before she could respond verbally, Stella breezed into the lounge.

  ‘You’re sharp,’ Stella chirped. ‘I thought with you being late getting home last night you would be a bit later.’

  ‘Well, with what happened, I thought I should come and talk things over with you.’

  ‘Yes, we should. But I am awaiting a call at about ten before I wish to discuss last night’s . . . How can I put it, other than fiasco? By the way, Marigold’s mother died. Poor lassie is broken-hearted.’

  Before Kirsten could respond, the clock struck the half-hour and the telephone rang simultaneously.

  ‘Castle View,’ Mrs Baxter yelled into the receiver. ‘I’ll just get her. Mrs Wise, it’s for you.’

  ‘Did they say who it was?’

  ‘Naw. But he has a posh voice. Ye ken, bools in his mooth.’

  After giving Mrs Baxter a warning glare, Stella took the receiver from her.

  ‘Thank you for ringing back so promptly,’ she said, with a purr. There was a long silence before Stella uttered, ‘Thank you, sir. And I assure you that I will desist from asking another favour from you.’ Another silence. ‘Yes, and I will think long and hard about the position I have put you in. Next time you are in to visit Delores, do join me in a drink first.’ Silence, then a cheery, ‘Goodbye.’ The receiver was then replaced in its cradle.

  Stella turned her attention to Kirsten.

  ‘That was the call I was awaiting.’

  ‘Stella,’ Kirsten interrupted. ‘I came in this morning to say I can no longer work here. I must –’

  ‘Kirsten, that telephone call I just took was from one of our clients and he has –’

  ‘Please hear me out. I have to put my children’s safety first.’

  ‘My dear, there is no problem. You will not be going to court. Charges against you have somehow . . . disappeared.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I called in a favour. In my type of work, it is wise to have a few favours in the bank.’

  ‘That may be so. But you and I know that there will be a next time and a next time. And eventually the bank of favours will be bankrupt! Stella, please . . . try and understand that if I were to lose my children I would simply curl up and die. Your boys are adults and they live in America. Nothing here touches them except the money this place makes.’

  Stella nodded. She liked Kirsten. She also understood that Kirsten, like her, had made sacrifices for her children. She accepted that, even although she had sorted this problem, Kirsten was right in thinking that this week or the next there could be an overzealous police officer who would charge her again. She sighed.

  ‘So, Stella . . .’ Kirsten’s eyes now implored her employer. ‘Believe me when I say that I am grateful to you for giving me work. I now count you as a dear friend. Although I will not be in your employ I will still come to visit you.’ She smiled before adding, ‘And from time to time I will even bring Dixie because I know how fond you are of him.’

  ‘Know something,’ Stella smiled. ‘If you had a bob or two I could have steered you into a new business.’

  ‘A new business?’

  ‘Yes, there is a small family hotel in York Place that has come up for rent. You could make a go of it there. There’s always money to be made between the sheets.’

  ‘You mean you think I could start up a new . . . a new . . . place like this!’

  ‘No!’ Stella winked, but her tone was serious. ‘There is money to be made from travellers and visitors staying the night. Ask any hotelier and they will tell you. Edinburgh is such an attractive city that it is always full of tourists.’ Stella grew wistful, and more to herself she mumbled, ‘Would love to have gone for it myself. Would have liked that, so I would. Get away from this.’ She waved her hand.

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘Because, Kirsten, that bijoux of a hotel may be run-down but it has a liquor licence and because I have a criminal record I would not be granted the tenancy.’

  If she was being completely honest, Stella could have added, If my son Jamie didn’t see me as a cash cow, I could have advanced you the money to start up there. I would, of course, have remained a silent partner. Stella was, as she did every day now, thinking about Jamie. America had sent him packing back home two years ago. Evidently, they had enough spongers of their own; they therefore did not require any immigrants to add to their number. He had settled down in London on his return from the USA. However, every week he pestered her for money. He was like his father. He would neither work nor want. As to having any scruples, again like his dad, they were in short supply.

  Kirsten got to her feet. They both knew it was time for her to leave. Time for her to look for alternative employment. Firmly, they shook hands, and Stella wished Kirsten well. Her only regret was that she could not go with her.

  Once outside Castle View, for reasons she would never quite understand, Kirsten decided that she would seek out the letting agency for the hotel. Just suppose, she thought, that I could raise the setting-up money. Would that not be a great step forward? A little hotel in York Place that was, after all, in the centre of Edinburgh, so it could not fail as a business.

  *

  Eddie had just reported for his night duty shift when the back shift station sergeant informed him that the chief superintendent was still on the premises. Not only that, but he wished, no insisted, that Eddie go up and see him immediately.

  The chief super, Donald
Nicholson, was an Isle of Lewis man. He was a strict Protestant who abhorred alcohol, sins of the flesh and he strictly observed the keeping of the Sabbath holy.

  Eddie had worked under his supervision before, when Eddie was a rookie cop in A Division and the chief super was then a sergeant. He smiled as he recalled how Donald Nicholson had confided to him that the drinking of alcohol was going on in the pubs close to the police station. Eddie had thought then that the man was a bit too much of a zealot. So much of a zealot that whenever he was promoted he sold his house and bought one in the divisional boundaries of his new charge so he could keep an eagle eye on all that was going on. Now, as Eddie climbed the winding staircase up to the managerial floor, he wondered, no, knew, that for the chief super to have stayed on for a face-to-face meeting, something serious was about to be discussed.

  He just finished rapping on the door when a gruff voice called, ‘Come in.’ Obeying the summons, Eddie was confronted by the chief super, who, by the expression on his face, looked like he had just swallowed a stinging nettle. Before Eddie could say, ‘Good evening, sir,’ Donald spat, ‘Get this straight, I run a tight ship here, and I don’t wish to be contacted by the commander of another division asking, no demanding, to know why one of my inspectors was visiting a house in Balfour Street at the unholy hour of one in the morning.’

  ‘Sir,’ Eddie interrupted, ‘we had occasion to call at Castle View and the lady in Balfour Street –’

  ‘Lady? There are no ladies employed at Castle View.’

  ‘If you would hear me out, sir. The lady concerned is a lone parent. She has three children . . . one of whom, her son, seems to be very dependent on her. Naturally, when she saw last night how precarious her position was, she got very upset. To date she has no criminal record.’

  ‘All that tells me is that this Kirsten Armstrong has worked for years for Stella Wise while the troops on the ground have been failing to do their job properly.’

  ‘Again, I ask you to hear me out,’ Eddie said, trying not to grow too frustrated. ‘I called on her because I was concerned. She was so horrified by the thought of going to court that I just wished to ensure . . . and I also wished to double-check that the correct procedures had been followed in her case.’

  ‘Oh, so you thought perhaps you could have the case concerning her dropped?’ The chief super smirked. ‘And what would you have expected from her in return?’

  ‘Sir, it is true that I have been a widower these last ten years, but never in that time have I misused my authority where women are concerned.’

  The chief super huffed. In a voice full of scorn, he said, ‘Your concern for the lady and her children does you credit. And I am pleased that you did not try and withdraw her report. But as to the lady . . .’ He stopped to snort. ‘I have to advise you, Inspector Carmichael, that she obviously has clients in high places because I have been asked, mind you not instructed, to somehow lose her summons.’

  Eddie had not been asked to sit down but now, without permission, he slumped down on a chair. He was gutted. Someone on high had leaned on this Holy Willy in front of him. He knew it would be against the chief’s strict principles to do what he had been asked to do, but still he would do it. Holy he was, but to the high command he was also a crawler. So, thanks to someone’s intervention, Kirsten Armstrong would not have to appear before a sheriff to plead her case. Eddie heaved a sigh of relief as he accepted that the report on her was now in the confidential waste bag awaiting incineration.

  ‘Is that all, sir?’

  ‘No. Could I suggest rather than visit women of questionable character in the early hours you get yourself a respectable wife. Someone like mine perhaps?’

  Please God, no, Eddie thought. He remembered, all too well, attending a wedding where Mrs Nicholson was also a guest. He almost smirked as he recalled her reaction when she caught a glimpse of the slightly merry young bride showing her groom her blue garter. ‘What is the world coming to?’ Mrs Nicholson had cried, as she feigned a half faint, ‘When wives are showing their husband the top of their stockings?’

  Eddie got to his feet, but the chief super was not finished. Waggling his beefy finger at Eddie, he added, ‘As I have just said, get yourself a respectable wife. Stay away from that Kirsten Armstrong. She will stall your career.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘Your association with her will be seen by those on high as unbecoming of a police officer . . . especially a senior one.’

  After this warning, Eddie was allowed to make his escape. As he descended the stairs, his mind was in turmoil. Was he wrong about Kirsten Armstrong? She was lovely; in fact she was more than lovely, she was quite enchanting. And he was touched, too, by how very maternal she was. She had awakened feelings in him that he thought were dead forever. But she clearly had friends in high places. What friends? And how did they know her? He felt baffled, but it was clear that they obviously knew her so well that they were prepared to go out on a limb for her.

  SEVENTEEN

  Kirsten spent the morning touring around Leith trying to find work. However, the jobs available – cleaner, shop assistant, usherette, undertaker’s assistant – did nothing to inspire her. But then, she thought, they wouldn’t. Not after Stella had waxed lyrical about her running her own hotel. To hell with it, she thought, I’m going to the letting agent’s in Queen Street. I’ll ask them what exactly they’re looking for in a tenant.

  If nothing else, her work at Stella’s had made Kirsten bold. She charmed the agent’s receptionist, and was delighted to learn that she met most of their necessary criteria – except, of course, the ready finance to upgrade the hotel. The sweet-natured lassie even suggested that she take the keys and go and look over the property.

  As York Place was only a hop, skip and jump away from Queen Street, Kirsten gladly accepted her offer and made her way to the hotel.

  As she mounted the five steps and stood in front of the large wooden door to the hotel – which, on closer inspection, she saw was in need of a lick of paint – Kirsten felt herself become bewitched.

  She didn’t dwell on the work that would be required to make the place habitable: all she could see was the potential. In fact, she could actually picture herself standing in the hotel lobby proudly welcoming foreign visitors. Indeed, she knew instantly that if she did not try and find a way to get the money to finance the upgrade, she would have failed herself.

  But how? Who had ready cash? Who would oblige her with a loan?

  Kirsten immediately thought of Stella. She could almost bet Stella would jump at the chance to be a silent partner in the venture. But then slowly she shook her head. Normally she would have asked Stella, but she’d noticed how, of late, even though her business was on the up and up, her former employer seemed always to be short of ready cash.

  As she closed the door on Stella, Kirsten became momentarily despondent.

  Then, as if touched by a magic wand, her shoulders relaxed. A broad grin came to her face. Of course, she knew where to go for a big fat loan. Where else other than Jessie, her formidable mother-in-law? With a literal skip about the entrance hallway, Kirsten was sure she would only have to say to Jessie that it would be better for the children, especially the girls, if she was in respectable employment and Jessie would, despite all the differences between them, help out.

  When she returned the key, Kirsten assured the receptionist of her very real interest. She was only too pleased to give the lassie her particulars.

  *

  Kirsten wasted no time in hurrying on the bus to Jessie’s Granton home, where she rang the bell. It struck her as strange that there was no yelping and snarling, and no sound of Brutus charging up the hallway. After a few minutes the door opened ever so slightly.

  ‘Who’s that there?’ Jessie demanded.

  ‘It’s only me. Kirsten.’

  ‘Thank God it’s you, Kirsten. Just wait until I take the chain off the door.’

  Once the chain was removed Jessie flung
the door open wide and grabbed Kirsten into a strong embrace.

  Bewildered, Kirsten asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Sssh. Come in and shut the door. I don’t want anybody to ken.’

  Once they were in the living room, Jessie sighed. ‘Oh, Kirsten, thank goodness my God answered my prayers and sent you.’

  Kirsten had never before felt that Jessie was so pleased to see her. Amazed, she looked about the living room. Nothing seemed to be amiss, so what was the matter with her mother-in-law? Then she remembered the dog. Relieved, she smiled when she saw Brutus asleep in his basket. Going warily over towards him, Kirsten bent down to clap the dog. It was then she realised that something was wrong. Normally the dog would have been awakened by the ring of the doorbell; certainly he would have sensed company and begun to bark.

  ‘Is Brutus ill?’ she asked, turning to look at Jessie.

  ‘Aye, awfy ill. So much so that he’s deid!’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You ken how he likes chasing cars. Well, we were out at the shops and on oor way hame he ran off the pavement to annoy a car.’ Jessie sniffed. ‘The swine saw him and swerved into my wee darling. I picked him up and he seemed okay. Carried him hame, put him in his basket. Later, he didnae seem to be moving. I lifted him up and I . . . oh, Kirsten, do you think he was deliberately hit because someone is coming to rob me?’

  ‘Shh, no. Of course not.’

  ‘Loved that wee rascal, so I did.’ Jessie was now crying. ‘He was my pal – my companion – my guard.’

  This was a side of Jessie that always surprised Kirsten. She was hard as nails. But she could be so kind to an underdog. Kirsten nearly sobbed herself when she recalled the moment Jessie first saw Dixie; how she said, ‘Oh son, we will need to get some meat on your bones.’ From that first minute, there was no doubt she loved him – she had a special place in her heart for him, which meant she would always try to make life easier for him. And Brutus – well, he was her dog, but in truth he was a terrier, a bad-tempered one at that, and his bark was indeed worse than his bite. Kirsten shrugged before going over to rub Jessie’s arm.