Sure and Certain Death by Barbara Nadel

Author:Barbara Nadel [Nadel, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2011-05-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

‘Oh, Mr H, there’s a note for you!’ Doris said as she pushed a scrap of paper into my hands.

‘What?’ Arthur had just climbed up on to the hearse and taken the reins of the horses in his hands when Doris came shooting out with her little piece of paper. ‘What’s this?’

‘I dunno,’ Doris said. ‘It was on the mat when I come in this morning. It’s got your name on it.’

I started to unfold the small piece of lined paper whilst also calling out, ‘Nancy!’

We should have been on our way down to the Tidal Basin pub five minutes before, but Nan was still nowhere to be seen. Walter Bridges, who was perched up on one of the back wheels of the carriage, muttered, ‘Women!’

I read the note, which was signed Margaret Darling. It said: Mr Hancock, I need to speak to you. If you come after seven this evening, I’ll be waiting. The medium didn’t say why she wanted to see me or whether it was connected to anything she and I had spoken about before. But I resolved there and then to go and I put the note into the pocket of my waistcoat. ‘Nancy!’

But as I looked up, I saw that she was in front of me. Dressed in one of the Duchess’s long black skirts, Nan also wore a tightly fitted black jacket. Her long, thick hair was tied in a bun which nestled at the nape of her neck. On her head she wore a top hat, the same as the rest of us. Unlike the rest of us, however, she looked absolutely stunning. Not that I told her that. I didn’t even help her get up on to the hearse beside Arthur. Amazing though she had proved to be in the looks department, Arthur, Walter and myself knew that we had to treat my sister just like any other member of the firm. Soon her thin shoulders would have to be bearing much of the weight of a coffin. There was no way that blow could be softened for her, and if she couldn’t do it, her career as one of my assistants could come to a very abrupt close.

‘All right,’ I said, once Nan had settled down beside Arthur, ‘let’s go.’

Terry Oldroyd, the landlord of the Tidal Basin pub, gave me a half-pint mug filled to the brim with malt whisky.

‘Mum would’ve loved what you done today, Mr Hancock,’ he said as he clinked his own glass against the side of mine. ‘My dad always said that we could trust your firm to do a proper dignified job, and he was right.’

‘Reverend Sutton performed a very nice service,’ I said as I raised my glass to my old friend Ernest Sutton, vicar of St Andrew’s Church, Plaistow. Elsie Oldroyd had been one of his most stalwart parishioners. Now, after his job was over, Ernie was leaning against the Tidal Basin’s bar, partaking of the generous hospitality of old Elsie’s son.

‘Oh yes,’

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