The Proof of the Pudding

A Bartlett and Boase Mystery

Marina Pascoe

Chapter One

 ‘Oh, do come in please.  This is ever so kind of you – you know, to help me out like this.  I’ve been sick with worry ever since I found out.’

Marjorie Medlin held open the scullery door to allow the woman to pass through.  She carried on talking while the woman removed her coat and laid it across the back of a kitchen chair.  A girl of about ten was sitting at a small table with a younger girl of around six sitting on her knee.  On the floor a small boy, and the youngest of the three children, played with a tin train.  He pulled at the woman’s hem.  She looked down at him and then at the woman.

 ‘Well now, dear, I can quite see the predicament you’re in.’

 ‘Yes. They can’t go to school today – they’ve had the measles and they’re not allowed back in until Monday.  It’s so hard to occupy them when they’re home all day.  I’ve just been listening to Tommy Boyce with the golden voice.  Harold bought us a new wireless set for Christmas – he’d been saving for ages.  It’s ever so good.  Have you got one?  A wireless?’

The woman replied, not looking up from rummaging in her coat pockets.

 ‘No, dear.  I haven’t got a wireless.  However, I was sure I had a handkerchief here somewhere.  Ah, yes, there it is.  Now dear, shall we go upstairs?  Make haste please.’

Marjorie obliged and the woman followed her up to a neat front bedroom which contained a double bed, an oak chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a matching dressing table.  Two dressing gowns hung on the back of the door.  The woman went across to the window and peering out onto the other houses which made up Well Lane, pulled the curtains almost shut, all save a narrow gap which allowed the morning sunlight to filter through.

 ‘Not expecting any callers are you?’

 ‘No. No one.  My husband won’t be back until six.  It will be alright, won’t it?’

 ‘Yes. It’ll be alright.  Now you just lay on the bed and make yourself comfortable.  There’s nothing to worry about.  Try to relax and we’ll be finished before you know.  Just lift your skirt up above your waist for me.’

 ‘Shall I take off my stockings?’

 ‘No dear.  No need.  That’s right.  Good girl.  You just relax.’

Archie Boase ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.  Pulling open the top drawer of his desk, he reached to the back and pulled out a paper bag.  He opened it carefully and pushed his nose inside.  He sniffed.  And sniffed again.  No.  He wouldn’t risk it.  There wasn’t much that Boase wouldn’t take a chance on when it came to food but this, well…he thought to himself for a moment.  His landlady, Mrs Curgenven, gave him this sausage roll on…now, when was it?  Tuesday.  Yes, that was it.  Tuesday.  He was going for a walk and she thought he would like to take it with him in case he became hungry.  Tuesday.  Today was Monday and the Falmouth police station had been uncommonly warm this past week.  He peered longingly into the bag and sniffed again.  Well, he was rather hungry.  No.  He rolled up the bag and launched it into the air.  It landed fortuitously in the waste basket next to Inspector George Bartlett’s desk.  Boase surveyed the empty desk opposite him and wondered how his old boss was getting along.

No one had been happy about the way George Bartlett had been removed from the station, indeed, from the force.  Now alone and missing his older companion, whom Boase felt had taught him everything he knew about policing, the constable was feeling an emptiness in his life like he had never felt before.  He didn’t believe that was entirely due to the upset at work.  No.  The pain he was suffering went much deeper than that.  Four months since he had parted from the love of his life, Irene Bartlett.  He had been such a fool.  And now, well now he spent his spare time wandering the streets of Falmouth, sitting on the beaches thinking about his girl and hoping to catch a glimpse of her.  If he couldn’t have Irene for his own then he would have no one.  His landlady in whom he had confided, had told him he was still a young man – that there were still plenty of fish in the sea.  How he hated that expression.  

Boase opened up the second drawer in his desk and withdrew several scraps of paper.  All messages in the desk sergeant’s familiar scrawl and all saying the same – ‘please call Mr Bartlett.  Mr Bartlett would like to see you.  Call in to the Bartlett’s.’  These were going back some time and Boase had ignored them.  He wanted more than anything to see Irene.  But yet he didn’t.  What would he say?  What if she had another beau?  Boase pushed the notes back into the drawer and slammed it shut as hard as he could, tears pricking his eyes.  What a fool he’d been.  What a fool he still was!

As Boase thought about starting his day, the door opened and Constable Ernest Penhaligon leaned in.  

 ‘Sorry to bother you, Archie, only there’s a woman outside says she wants to speak to you.  I tried to tell her you were busy but she’s very insistent.’

 ‘Okay – I’ll come out.  Thanks Ernie.’

Boase left the office and crossed the lobby to the large leather bench seat next to the sergeant’s desk.  A woman in, Boase guessed her late fifties, was sitting there holding in her hand what looked like a piece of crumpled newspaper.  As Boase approached her, she stood up.

 ‘Good morning, Madam.  I’m Constable Boase – how can I help you?’

 ‘Good morning, Constable.  My name is Dorothy Laity and I’d very much like you to look at this fish.’

The woman held open the newspaper and offered it up to Boase who, caught unawares by the smell as the newspaper unfolded, took a step back.

 ‘Madam.  I don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.  I’m sorry.’

 ‘Constable, it’s very simple – I want you to look at this fish.  It’s a piece of ‘addock.’

 ‘But I don’t understand what it has to do with me.’

 ‘Constable – are you being deliberately difficult?’

Boase looked over his shoulder as he heard a loud snort coming from behind the sergeant’s desk.  He glared at Penhaligon.  The woman persisted.

 ‘Yes – and you over there, young man.  You needn’t laugh – my ‘usband could ‘ave died.  Look, we was in George’s Café two weeks ago – me an’ me ‘usband.  We was ‘avin’ something to eat.  I only ‘ad a sandwich – see, I wasn’t very ‘ungry, but Percy, well Perce said ‘e fancied a bit of sausage – ‘e does like a nice sausage, Constable.’

Boase was now trying to take this seriously, his best efforts being hampered by the chuckles coming from both Penhaligon and now the desk sergeant who had just appeared.  

 ‘And, Madam…you consider this to be police business – I am very busy, I’m sure you understand.’

 ‘Well, if you be a bit patient, I’m coming to that.  That very night, Perce was ever so ill...up all night ‘e was. Dot, ‘e says, Dot, I do believe I’ve bin poisoned.  Don’t be daft, I said.  They was probably just not very good sausages.  Anyway, two days later ‘e was much better and back down the docks.  I went back and told the manageress.  Told ‘er straight I did – they sausages must ‘ave bin off.  There was ‘ell up.  So, she gave us a coupon for two free dinners – which I thought to meself, thas alright, and I forgot about it all.  Yesterday, lo an’ be’old – we went back.  I ’ad a nice bit o’ roast chicken – ansum twas and Perc ‘ad this fish.  Guess what?’

Boase stared, giving a good impression of someone who was trying to guess.

 ‘No. What?’

 ‘Perce was up all night again - same as before.  This is what ‘e ‘ad.  She thrust forward the newspaper again towards Boase.

 ‘Now, Constable.  Don’t you think this is a bit fishy?’

Boase continued to stare at the woman, unable now to ignore the uncontrolled laughter coming from behind the sergeant’s desk.

 ‘Madam – I don’t see…’

 ‘Well.  It’s obvious innit?  Someone’s trying to poison me ‘usband.  What are you going goin’ to do about it?’

 ‘Madam, that’s a very serious accusation you’re making.  Why would anyone want to poison your husband – and why in George’s Café?’

 ‘Well – you’re the police…isn’t that your job?’

 ‘But, Madam – if your husband ate the fish then how come it’s here now?’

 ‘Well, ‘e ‘ad a few mouthfuls and then said it didn’t taste right.  So, being naturally suspicious after what ‘appened in there before, I took the fish and put it in me ‘andbag.  Perce I said, I’m takin’ this to the police – I’m not ‘appy about this and so we left.’

 ‘Right.’

Boase was not in the mood for this just now.

 ‘Let me know when you’ve found out what’s goin’ on.  I’ve already left me details at the desk.  Good day.’

At that, the woman, thrusting the bundle of newspaper into Boases’s hands, left the station.   Boase sat on the bench.  What on earth was that about?

The day continued uneventfully for Boase.  He felt a little isolated if he was honest – what with his friend and mentor, Inspector George Bartlett having left.  Superintendent Bolton had said that Boase was to continue alone as best he could until a replacement came and under Bolton’s supervision.  To his credit, Boase had complied – and coped admirably.  But now, well, it had been a few months and it was becoming a little wearing now.  He supposed he should visit his old boss – he knew he would be more than welcome but, what of Irene?  Truth be told, Boase was frightened.  Yes, that was it.  Archibald Boase was scared – of what might happen if he bumped into Irene.  And yet, six months ago they had been so happy, making wedding plans and so in love.  He missed her smile, missed the scent of lilacs in her hair, missed the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed.  He missed her.

 ‘Come on, Rabone – I’ll buy you a cuppa at George’s.  You’re about due to knock off?  I ought to at least go there so I can tell that awful woman that I’ve investigated her fish.’

Boase and Constable Rabone took the walk from the police station, across the Moor and headed to Arwenack Street to the always popular George’s Café.  When they arrived the place seemed unusually quiet and they went up the stairs and found a table by the window overlooking the harbour.

 ‘I never tire of that view, Rabone.’

 ‘Nor me.  I was born just over there…’

 ‘Really? Where?’

 ‘Flushing.  My parents still live there.’

 ‘I thought you were born here in Falmouth.  I like Flushing.  Yes, I like it a lot.  Irene and I used to…’

Boase stopped himself and remained quiet while images of taking the boat across the river for a picnic with his girl flashed across his mind.  A waitress came to the table, notepad and pencil in hand.

 ‘Two teas please, Miss.  Fancy a cake, Rabone?’

 ‘Well, I’m a bit peckish – but I think I’ll have a sandwich actually.’

 ‘Me too – what sandwiches do you have, Miss?’

The waitress flipped her book over to the back page and read out the available options.

 ‘We’ve got ham, cheese, fish paste, beef or chicken.’

Boase couldn’t decide.

 ‘I don’t know – what are you having, Rabone?’

 ‘I think I’ll have the chicken.’

 ‘Make that two please, Miss.’

Boase was happy not to have to think about anything.  Just lately he had become such a ditherer – so unlike him, so out of character.  The waitress returned promptly, cups and saucers rattling on the tray. She set down a large pot of tea with milk and sugar.

 ‘Sandwiches won’t be long.’

 ‘She’s quite a cutie, Archie.’

 ‘Well, if you hadn’t noticed, Ernie, she’s wearing a ring.’

 ‘So you were looking too?’

Boase turned and looked out of the window.  How could anyone ever think he had eyes for another woman?  Now that Irene didn’t want him, he would never look at anyone else.  Never.  

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’

Boase and Rabone both looked up as the sound of breaking crockery reached their ears.  

 ‘Cook having a tantrum probably.’  Rabone was grinning.

The aforementioned cook, a rotund woman of about forty, came running from the kitchen.

 ‘Oh, gentlemen, please, can you help?  It’s Dorothy – she’s collapsed.  Please come quickly.

Boase and Rabone ran into the kitchen where Dorothy was just sitting herself up.  Boase lifted her to her feet.

 ‘Are you alright, Miss?’

Dorothy Fox rubbed the back of her head and, looking at her hand, gasped when she saw a patch of red blood.

 ‘Oh! I’m bleeding’

Boase looked at the back of her head.

‘Don’t worry miss – it’s not too bad.  Look, you must have banged your head on the corner of this cabinet when you fell.  It’ll be okay – here, take my handkerchief.’

Boase held his white handkerchief to the wound on Dorothy’s head and helped the girl to her feet.  

 ‘Oh – thank you.  I don’t know what happened.  One minute I was buttering some bread the next…on the floor.  Thank you so much.  I’m alright now.  Thank you.’

Mrs Tremayne, the cook, fetched Dorothy’s coat.

 ‘Ere you are my girl.  You get off ‘ome.  You’re in no fit way to be ‘ere.  I can’t ‘ave girls collapsing in my kitchen – go on.  Mind you’re on time tomorrow.  Run along now.  You young women are always the same – won’t eat nothing in case you get fat.  Well, then before you know it, you’re fainting.  Fat didn’t do me no ‘arm – my ‘usband says ‘e likes a bit of something to grab ‘old of.   Sorry, gents – if you’d like to return to your table, Cissy will bring your food along.’

Boase and Rabone couldn’t wait to escape that particular topic of conversation and were happy to oblige.  Presently Cissy, the object of Rabone’s earlier interest, appeared with two plates of sandwiches.

The two men ate the food and stared out across the harbour in silence.  Rabone spoke first. ‘So – what do you reckon on the old lady’s fish?’

 ‘Oh…what?  Sorry.’

Boase was watching the light fade and thinking about Irene.

 ‘Sorry, Rabone.  What with that distraction I forgot why we were here.  I dunno – can’t imagine anyone poisoning the food in here, can you?  It’s all in her mind.  The old man probably ate something off that she cooked I expect.  She got her free meals from it so I wouldn’t bother any further.  But we can tell her we’ve been in – that’s not a lie, is it?’

Rabone nodded.

‘Righty ‘o.  Whatever you say.’