Starlight by Stella Gibbons

tea,’ she said. ‘Oh – hullo,’ to Peggy. She set the tray down by the bed. ‘My god, four o’clock and nearly dark. Makes you sick, doesn’t it? Shall I pour out?’
    ‘I’ll do that – thanks.’ Peggy set about it in silence. Mrs George hesitated, moving Mrs Pearson’s collection of ornaments about on the mantelpiece and looking uncertainly from mother to daughter. She had suddenly become ravenous to know when the Pearsons would be going: Nora Pearson ‘gave her the creeps’.
    ‘Well, how’s that place of yours getting along?’ she demanded, accepting a cup from Peggy and sitting down by the electric fire, ‘if you’ve got workmen like the lot that came in to repair our second-floor-back ceiling, I pity you, that’s all.’
    ‘They aren’t a firm. It’s some men Tom knows,’ said Mrs Pearson, now revived by tea, and sitting up, ‘they’re to do with one of the shops – I don’t know much about it really. But Peggy says they’re working hard.’
    ‘Any idea when it’ll be ready?’ asked Mrs George, trying to sound casual.
    ‘By the twenty-third!’ Mrs Pearson exclaimed, smiling. ‘In three days’ time I’m moving in. In the afternoon. This young girl, the German –’
    ‘What German? You surely aren’t having one of those au pairs , Nora? Never there when you want them and always getting pregnant? And a German! You must want your head ex –’ She broke off, confused.
    Nora was half-mental anyway, having these queer turns and saying she could tell the future and all that; she really did need her head examining.
    ‘She’s not sixteen yet. She’s had a very hard life out there. She won’t get into trouble,’ Mrs Pearson answered, with that serenity she sometimes unexpectedly showed, which was so unlike her usual manner and which was accompanied as if by some celestial dancing-partner, with the sweetest of child-like smiles.
    ‘How’d you manage about all the formalities? Papers and that?’ Mrs George asked. ‘There’s no end of bother, getting these girls over here.’
    ‘Oh Tom doesn’t bother about papers and that kind of thing. You ought to know that by now, Marie. He knows someone who has a friend. It was easy, really,’ Mrs Pearson almost laughed.
    ‘You’ll have to let the police know. It’s the law, Nora – you’ll have to,’ said Mrs George warningly, driven to speak because she feared repercussions upon the family of George.
    ‘Tom’ll see to all that. It’ll be all right.’ Mrs Pearson leant back on the pillow, smiling still. ‘I know it will. I’ve seen .’
    ‘Mum, I really must go,’ Peggy interrupted, pulling on her gloves.
    ‘All right, if you must, dear.’ Her mother looked up at her, and Peggy stooped, and just touched her forehead. She nodded at Mrs George. ‘’Bye.’
    Mrs George saw no reason to give her more than a grimace and silence.
    ‘Peggy!’ Mrs Pearson sat up suddenly.
    ‘What, Mum? I’ve simply got to fly,’ irritably, and pausing at the door.
    ‘You aren’t walking back over the Heath, are you? Because there’s danger there, and I can’t protect you now. I could have, at one time, but now … it’s so hard. I can try, try until I feel as if I’m leaving my –’ she stopped, drawing in on a great gasp, her eyes fixed in a Medusa-stare.
    ‘Don’t fuss, Mum, you know I never take any notice of that kind of thing. Besides, I like danger. I’ll be all right. See you.’
    She shut the door.
    Mrs George was beginning something about the papers, and readily supplying details of the most recent horror, with her thick legs held out to the warmth and her second cup of tea at her elbow.
    ‘Don’t, please, Marie. It isn’t that kind of thing. But anywhere lonely, that’s been spoiled – that’s where they come.’ She spoke in an undertone that Mrs George could hardly hear. She leant back on the pillows looking exhausted.
    ‘Who come?’ Mrs George asked curiously; then lowering her voice, ‘I say – Nora. How