Page 41 of The Missing Maid
‘Disguise?’ he repeated, his jaw dropping a little. ‘What kind of disguise?’
‘I’ll leave that up to you,’ Harry said. She began to walk towards his car. ‘Just make sure it’s convincing – something that blends in. We’ll meet outside Elephant and Castle station at eight o’clock; that should give us enough time to get home and change.’
Oliver followed, shaking his head. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this.’
Harry felt something similar, although her disbelief mostly stemmed from the fact that he’d finally agreed to act. She smiled at him, feeling the blood sing in her veins. ‘I know. Exciting, isn’t it?’
14
The trousers took some getting used to, Harry decided as she loitered near the entrance of Elephant and Castle Underground station. It wasn’t that they were uncomfortable, exactly, more that the material felt strange swishing around her legs, but she had to admit they were practical. More to the point, they gave her a degree of anonymity she had never experienced before, not even when she was dressed as Sarah Smith. No one had given her a second look on the Underground, although several people had moved downwind of her. No one had called out to her as she walked, or told her to smile beneath her flat cap – she felt entirely disregarded and the freedom thrilled her. Dressing as a man was a revelation, she concluded with a considerable thrill of satisfaction. She might have to do it more often.
She spotted Oliver the moment he left the station. It wasn’t that his disguise was no good – he had kept things simple with a pair of dark trousers and a scruffy tweed jacket that had definitely seen better days, and he wore a flat cap that was not dissimilar to her own. But she had spent so much time watching him over the years that she thought she would probably recognise him anywhere. She did not think he had noticed her,however, so she sidled up to him and rattled the old tin cup she held. ‘Spare some change, guvnor,’ she said in a gruff, guttural tone.
‘Not now,’ Oliver said, barely glancing at her. He scanned the busy junction, eyes narrowed.
Harry rattled the cup again. ‘A fancy gent like you can spare a coin or two. Come on, have an ’eart.’
Irritated, Oliver did look down then and his reaction almost made Harry laugh out loud. ‘It’s you!’ he said, gaping at her. ‘But who – what—’ He took a deep breath and got hold of himself. ‘What on earth are you wearing?’
‘It’s my disguise. Do you like it?’
He opened his mouth once or twice. ‘It’s certainly effective. I’m not sure your own mother would recognise you.’
Harry grinned. ‘I sincerely hope not. Didn’t I tell you I was getting better?’
‘You did,’ Oliver said and the look he gave her was almost admiring. ‘I’m starting to think I’ve underestimated you in many different ways.’
In other circumstances, the words might have made her heart skip with a mixture of pride and something else she didn’t want to examine too deeply, but she was acutely aware of where they were and what they were about to do. ‘Drop a coin in my cup,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Then cross the street and walk down London Road. Turn left into Garden Row and wait by the pub there. I’ll meet you shortly.’
She knew he must have questions but he refrained from voicing them. Instead, he rummaged in a pocket and tossed a penny into the tin mug. ‘Now be off with you,’ he said loudly, before striding away. Harry picked out the coin and tested it with her artfully blackened teeth, fighting the urge to grin. Oliver might have resisted coming here tonight with all his might but she had to admit he was learning fast.
She waited ten minutes, approaching one or two strangers as they left the station and earning a few coins for her trouble. Eventually, she took herself in the direction Oliver had taken and found him lurking near the Albert Arms public house. ‘What took you so long?’ he asked irritably.
She shrugged. ‘This is enemy territory. I wanted to make sure we weren’t being watched.’
He sighed. ‘So where is Tea Cutter Row?’
‘That way,’ Harry said. ‘But first, we need to get a drink.’
‘Are you mad?’ Oliver said, staring first at Harry, then at the pub. ‘I’m all in favour of a bit of Dutch courage but we’ll never get out alive.’
Harry shook her head. ‘I’ve done this before. We go in, we order a pint of mild each, and we listen to what’s being said.’ She shook her mug, causing the coins to rattle. ‘Don’t worry, I’m buying.’
The beer did not smell any more inviting than the last time Harry had held a pint but she forced herself to drink it as she eavesdropped on the conversations around her. For the most part, there was nothing in particular of note – a man called Victor had lost his job and was drowning his sorrows. Another had argued with his wife and had come to the pub to escape her sharp tongue. Voices were often raised and the language was colourful. In the darker corners, shady business was undoubtedly being conducted but if Harry’s last meeting with Beth had taught her anything, it was that her disguises had limits. The last thing she and Oliver needed was to get caught up in something that had no bearing on Mildred’s innocence. Instead, Harry kept her mouth shut and watched the door, hoping the girl called Dora might appear, but at length, she nudged Oliver. ‘Time to go,’ she said. ‘Bring your glass.’
The air was cool after the fug of the bar. Slipping her arm through Oliver’s, Harry raised her half-empty glass and beganto weave along the pavement. Oliver caught on quickly and matched her movements. Together, they staggered onwards, looking for all the world like a pair of drunks weaving their way unsteadily home. Tea Cutter Row did not look any more inviting under cover of darkness. As they approached it, Harry tugged at Oliver’s shoulder so she could whisper in his ear. ‘We’ll walk to the end of the street first. There’s an abandoned house opposite number 25 that we can double back to, as long as no one spots us.’ She squinted along the narrow road with some anxiety. ‘Or at least there was.’
Her heart began to thud as they neared the house where she’d confronted Dora. But all seemed quiet. A faint light shone in one of the ground-floor windows, suggesting someone was in there, but she did not get the sense they were being watched. And then she noticed the number was missing from the flaking front door. ‘That’s odd,’ she murmured to Oliver, without slowing their unsteady pace. ‘The number is gone.’
‘No, it hasn’t,’ Oliver replied. He nodded at the house next door. ‘There it is. Number 25.’
Frowning, Harry followed the direction of his gaze. Sure enough, the house beside the one she had followed Dora to bore a scratched and dirty two and five. ‘But that’s not—’ she began and realised in a flash what had happened. ‘They switched the numbers! When I came here last number 25 was the house next door. They must have changed it so the family there weren’t lying when they claimed they’d been there for years. No wonder the police didn’t find anything Mildred claimed they would. They went to the wrong house.’
‘But they’d have checked,’ Oliver objected doubtfully. ‘Wouldn’t they?’
‘Would they, though?’ Harry said. ‘No, don’t stop. Let’s cross the road; we need to get out of sight.’ She scanned the houses opposite and let out a sigh of relief – the abandoned squatstill appeared to be empty. Zigzagging across the road, she and Oliver lurched inside and Harry forced herself to ignore the indignant screeches of the rats as they scattered. She let go of Oliver’s arm and placed her beer on the floor. ‘Would the police have counted the houses? I know I wouldn’t.’
Oliver nodded. ‘You’re right. I bet they took it at face value that the house bearing the number 25 was actually the one they wanted. How simple.’
