not a doctor, but if a man acts more like a gaoler than a husband, he ought not to expect his wife to like it. Canning was a bully, and that was the only word for it.
‘We should go back now, sir,’ said Ellen firmly, getting to her feet. ‘It will be bad enough as it is, when I go back, for they – Mrs Bell first and Mr Canning when he gets home – will want to know every mortal word we exchanged. But you needn’t worry, sir, that I will tell them what I told you. I am not afraid of them. They can send me away; but they can’t do it with a bad reference because of what I might go telling people.’ Ellen cast me quite a mischievous look. ‘I do believe, sir, that Mr Canning is a bit frightened of me!’
No, I needn’t worry about Ellen. She was more than able to look after herself.
When I arrived home that evening, I found Lizzie ready to tell me what had happened at Somerset House and her hope that the porter might have information for her on the morrow.
‘Well, there is no harm in going back there and finding out if his wife has any memories of her time in Putney of help in this case,’ I said cautiously, ‘but do please be very careful, Lizzie. Asking questions can be a dangerous business.’
Chapter Six
Elizabeth Martin Ross
‘THAT ANIMAL,’ declared Wally Slater, the cabman, with pride, ‘that is your genuine hackney vanner. That animal is bred for the purpose and is, as working horses go, a regular diamond. He’ll keep going all day without going lame or starting to wheeze or otherwise breaking down. He’s a young horse, too, you know, only a six year old. I had to pay handsome for him,’ added Wally confidentially, ‘but he’ll repay me with years of hard work, reliable as Big Ben is at telling the time.’
A smile of pride creased his battered ex-prizefighter’s features and rendered them, if possible, even more alarming.
The three of us, Wally, Bessie and myself, gazed at Victor as he waited, one hind hoof tipped, in the shafts of the four-wheeled growler, just outside our modest house. Victor in turn rolled a large brown eye at us, as if assessing what Bessie and I might weigh, without baggage. What he saw must have reassured him, for he sighed and settled down as if to doze off.
‘He looks quiet enough,’ observed Bessie. ‘He’s half asleep.’
‘He’s an excellent temperament. You’ve got to have a cab horse with a good temperament. There are those cabmen,’ continued Wally, ‘who look to buy a horse cheap. You know, some old carriage horse no longer fit to be part of a smart gent’s carriage pair. An animal like that might be more showy, but it’s not used to the work, can be difficult to handle, takes a chill easy, and don’t last more than a couple of years. I’ve seen horses like that drop dead in the shafts. No, Victor and me, God willing, will be together as long as old Nelson and me were.’
‘Speaking of youngsters, Mr Slater,’ I said. ‘Is young Joey still in your employ?’
‘That street urchin you foisted on me?’ Wally chuckled. ‘He’s come along very well. Of course, we had a few problems. F’instance, my wife won’t stand for bad language, as no more she should. So I had to tell him a few times to mind his. Trouble was explaining to him what was bad language, as he seemed to think all language was fit for anyone’s ears, females included. But we got that straight. He took to my old horse, Nelson, straight away and Nelson took to him. Why, when Nelson’s time was finally up, and he had to go to the knacker’s, young Joey was in tears, as was my wife. I had a tear in my eye, for that matter,’ added Wally. ‘Of course, you’d hardly recognise the lad if you saw him now. My wife has been feeding him up and he’s grown and filled out, though he’ll never make a prizefighter.’
Wally became business-like. ‘You want to go to Somerset House first and then out to Putney. We’d better get started.’
Victor recognised from the
‘We should go back now, sir,’ said Ellen firmly, getting to her feet. ‘It will be bad enough as it is, when I go back, for they – Mrs Bell first and Mr Canning when he gets home – will want to know every mortal word we exchanged. But you needn’t worry, sir, that I will tell them what I told you. I am not afraid of them. They can send me away; but they can’t do it with a bad reference because of what I might go telling people.’ Ellen cast me quite a mischievous look. ‘I do believe, sir, that Mr Canning is a bit frightened of me!’
No, I needn’t worry about Ellen. She was more than able to look after herself.
When I arrived home that evening, I found Lizzie ready to tell me what had happened at Somerset House and her hope that the porter might have information for her on the morrow.
‘Well, there is no harm in going back there and finding out if his wife has any memories of her time in Putney of help in this case,’ I said cautiously, ‘but do please be very careful, Lizzie. Asking questions can be a dangerous business.’
Chapter Six
Elizabeth Martin Ross
‘THAT ANIMAL,’ declared Wally Slater, the cabman, with pride, ‘that is your genuine hackney vanner. That animal is bred for the purpose and is, as working horses go, a regular diamond. He’ll keep going all day without going lame or starting to wheeze or otherwise breaking down. He’s a young horse, too, you know, only a six year old. I had to pay handsome for him,’ added Wally confidentially, ‘but he’ll repay me with years of hard work, reliable as Big Ben is at telling the time.’
A smile of pride creased his battered ex-prizefighter’s features and rendered them, if possible, even more alarming.
The three of us, Wally, Bessie and myself, gazed at Victor as he waited, one hind hoof tipped, in the shafts of the four-wheeled growler, just outside our modest house. Victor in turn rolled a large brown eye at us, as if assessing what Bessie and I might weigh, without baggage. What he saw must have reassured him, for he sighed and settled down as if to doze off.
‘He looks quiet enough,’ observed Bessie. ‘He’s half asleep.’
‘He’s an excellent temperament. You’ve got to have a cab horse with a good temperament. There are those cabmen,’ continued Wally, ‘who look to buy a horse cheap. You know, some old carriage horse no longer fit to be part of a smart gent’s carriage pair. An animal like that might be more showy, but it’s not used to the work, can be difficult to handle, takes a chill easy, and don’t last more than a couple of years. I’ve seen horses like that drop dead in the shafts. No, Victor and me, God willing, will be together as long as old Nelson and me were.’
‘Speaking of youngsters, Mr Slater,’ I said. ‘Is young Joey still in your employ?’
‘That street urchin you foisted on me?’ Wally chuckled. ‘He’s come along very well. Of course, we had a few problems. F’instance, my wife won’t stand for bad language, as no more she should. So I had to tell him a few times to mind his. Trouble was explaining to him what was bad language, as he seemed to think all language was fit for anyone’s ears, females included. But we got that straight. He took to my old horse, Nelson, straight away and Nelson took to him. Why, when Nelson’s time was finally up, and he had to go to the knacker’s, young Joey was in tears, as was my wife. I had a tear in my eye, for that matter,’ added Wally. ‘Of course, you’d hardly recognise the lad if you saw him now. My wife has been feeding him up and he’s grown and filled out, though he’ll never make a prizefighter.’
Wally became business-like. ‘You want to go to Somerset House first and then out to Putney. We’d better get started.’
Victor recognised from the
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