Mrs Rugg was not a very enthusiastic witness, but she confirmed what Dover had already gathered about her daughter’s movements on the day of her disappearance.
‘Did she come and visit you every week on her day off?’ he asked, his one thought now being to get outside and draw some clean air into his lungs.
‘Usually,’ said Mrs Rugg without much interest. ‘Her ladyship used to bring me her washing to do.’ She jerked her head at a vast, unidentifiable article which was draped over her ironing board. ‘This is hers.’ She got another cigarette out of a packet in her overall pocket, lit it from the one which by now must have been burning her lip, and dropped the mangled-looking stub into the sink. She picked up her iron again, spat experimentally on it, and added in a grudging afterthought, ’
‘Course, she come to see the baby as well.’
‘Oh, you’ve got a baby, have you?’ said Dover, now concentrating on trying not to breathe.
‘Not me!’ replied Mrs Rugg shortly. ‘Her!’
‘Her?’ yelped Dover. ‘Wadderyemean, her?’
‘It’s her baby, not mine,’ explained Mrs Rugg impatiently.
‘Her baby? Do you mean your daughter, Juliet, has had a baby?’
‘’Sright!’ agreed Mrs Rugg coyly. ‘Wouldn’t think I was a grannie, would yer?’
‘But nobody told me she had a baby!’ howled Dover, glaring at Sergeant MacGregor.
‘Well, p’raps yer didn’t ask. Yer can take it from me, it’s no secret round here, though I must say, she didn’t hardly show at all, with her being so fat, you know.’
Dover was spluttering with fury. ‘And how old is this child?’
‘’Bout seven months or so. She had it just before she went to work up at Irlam Old Hall..’
‘But, is your daughter married then?’ demanded Dover, promising himself a good old dust-up with the local boys about this one.
‘’Course not!’ Mrs Rugg gave him a sardonic look out of eyes screwed up against the cigarette smoke. ‘Yer don’t have to be married to have a baby, yer know.’
‘But, who’s the father?’
‘Search me, mate!’ Mrs Rugg shrugged her shoulders and went on with her ironing.
‘Now look here, Mrs Rugg,’ Dover got a grip on himself, ‘let’s just get this straight. Seven months ago your daughter had a baby and then she went to work for Sir John Counter. What was she doing before that?’
‘Oh, she’s tried several things since she left school. She worked in a shop for a bit in Creedon, then she had a job with a hairdresser. Then she helped out at The Two Fiddlers, serving lunches and things. But none of them suited her, really. She couldn’t do with a lot of standing, not with her legs and being such a size, yer know, and, of course, she always had to wear them damned high-heel shoes which didn’t make it any better.’
‘She was living at home during this time?’
‘Oh yes, and that was a bit of a nuisance, too, having a girl of that age hanging round the place all the time.’
‘I see,’ said Dover, who wasn’t in fact seeing much at this stage. ‘And what about Juliet’s father, Mr Rugg?’
Mrs Rugg removed her cigarette from her lips and elaborately flicked the ash on the floor.
‘Well, which one do yer want to know about?’
‘They aren’t the same person?’
‘Fred Rugg and me got married in 1946. Juliet was about two then. Her dad was a corporal in the army and I never did know his surname, so when I got married I just called Juliet “Rugg” like the rest of us. I thought it looked better, like. Well, Fred Rugg hopped it about a year after we’d got married, when the twins was getting on for six months, and I haven’t seen hide or hair of him since. Nor ever likely to.’
‘The twins?’ repeated Dover.
‘Yes, I packed ’em both off into the army soon as they was old enough. Couldn’t do with two grown lads hanging round the place.’
It was at this moment in the conversation that the kitchen door opened and a child about four years old toddled into the room. He stared unblinkingly at Dover and MacGregor who each did a swift calculation, based on the date at which Fred Rugg had abandoned his wife and family to the care of the Welfare State.
‘Gimme some choc, mum!’ demanded the child in an earpiercing voice.
‘No!’ The maternal reply was short and to the point.
‘Aw, mum, gimme some choc!’ The child’s voice rose to a whine.
‘No, I shan’t! I haven’t got any. And you go and put yer trousers on – coming in here like that, showing all you’ve got! Go on, hop it!’
She speeded the child on its reluctant way with a resounding $lap on its bare bottom.
‘That’s Barry,’ she said as he disappeared back through the door.
‘Well,’ said Dover, ‘we were hardly likely to think it was Gwendoline !’
Mrs Rugg looked blankly at him.
The chief inspector sighed deeply. He was getting very bored with the whole thing. ‘I take it, Mrs Rugg,’ he went on with an effort, ‘that your daughter left her child here with you to look after?’
‘’Sright!’ said Mrs Rugg. ‘She had it all worked out, she had. She was going to pay me so much a week for looking after the kid, only, of course, everything went wrong and I’ve hardly seen a penny piece for all me trouble. I told our Juliet, there’s many a slip, I said, but, of course, she knew better.’
‘She was going to make you a weekly payment out of
