‘Enough to make her do herself in? No, I shouldn’t have thought so. Strong as an ox, you know, she was really. All those headaches and upset stomachs and weak hearts, they were just turned on like a tap to bring young Arthur to heel. She’d have lived to be a hundred as far as her health’s concerned.’
‘What about the poison-pen letters? Did they upset her?’
Mrs Poltensky looked at Dover in some surprise. ‘Not as I ever saw. Why should they? They were only dirty words on bits of paper. I’ve heard worse coming from The Jolly Sailor on a Saturday night in the old days, I can tell you. I’ve had two or three of the nasty things myself and, if it hadn’t been for her ladyship up on the hill there poking her nose in as usual, I’d have thrown ’em on the back of the fire and had done with ’em. Mrs Tompkins felt the same way. She said all this fuss Dame Alice was making, and bringing the police in, was just encouraging the loony who was writing them in the first place. And, if you ask me, she was right. It was her husband who wanted ’em preserved. He said the police would never catch whoever was writing the letters without the evidence. I can’t say as how you’ve done much with it now you’ve got it, to my way of thinking.’
Dover sniffed and indicated that Sergeant MacGregor could go on with the questioning.
‘Mrs Poltensky,’ said MacGregor, ‘you’ve worked for Mrs Tompkins for some time?’
‘Four years,’ Mrs Poltensky agreed with no small pride, ‘and never a day off and never no complaints, either.’
‘How did Mr and Mrs Tompkins get on together?’
Mrs Poltensky studied her apron. ‘Well, now,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘that’s a bit of a facer, a question like that. Since you’re asking me, I’d say it was six of one and half a dozen of the other. You see, to my way of thinking, Winifred Bragg-what-was was one of those women who rightly never should have got wed in the first place. I know there’s more to marriage than four naked legs in a bed, if you’ll pardon the expression, but I reckon any man worth his salt wants a bit more than a pair of woolly bedsocks on a cold night. All Winifred Tompkins wanted out of marriage was a wedding ring and the right to call herself Mrs. It was when she found out her husband wanted a bit more, that half these illnesses of hers started. Anyhow, that’s my opinion.’
‘Did Mr Tompkins try looking for consolation elsewhere?’ asked MacGregor.
Mrs Poltensky’s mouth clamped firmly to. ‘I’m not one to gossip,’ she said righteously. ‘What he did was his own affair and I know nothing about it, and don’t want to, either. She thought he did, I don’t mind telling you that. That’s why she started all this baby business, thought it’d give him a bit more interest in staying home at nights. Daft, I call it, and I told her so straight. “Adopting a baby?” I said. “You must be out of your mind! You don’t know where it’s been nor who’s had it.” Anyhow, as things turned out, I could have saved my breath because they told her she couldn’t have one.’
‘Did Mr Tompkins want to adopt a baby?’
‘He did not and I can’t say as I blame him. Not that he ever came right out and told her so to her face, but I could tell. I wouldn’t want to see his face when he found out it had started up again!’ Mrs Poltensky chuckled reflectively to herself.
‘When what had started up again?’ asked MacGregor.
‘Why, getting a baby, of course. None of these legal places would help, so Mrs Tompkins got on to the idea of getting hold of some girl who’d got herself in the family way and buying the baby off her. It was all supposed to be very hush-hush – sort of black-market thing, really. And black-market prices, too, from what I heard. She told me a bit about it and swore me to secrecy. Even a worm will turn, and she reckoned if Arthur got wind of it he’d go clean through the roof. Spending a small fortune on buying some tart’s fatherless brat and her nagging him every time he bought himself half a pint at The Jolly Sailor and moaning that they’d finish up in the workhouse!’
‘A small fortune?’ said MacGregor with a look of great satisfaction on his face. ‘You don’t happen to know how much, do you?’
Mrs Poltensky shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t have time to get round to finding that out. It was a tidy sum, that I do know. Eh dear, it’s a rum life! Some people’ll shell out a fistful of pound notes to get rid of a baby and others’ll spend their last farthing trying to get hold of one. It make you wonder, sometimes, doesn’t it?’
Chapter Nine
MRS POLTENSKY found that being interviewed, while very enjoyable, was thirsty work. Completely off her own bat she suggested that the three of them might take what she called a natural break while she brewed up a cup of tea. Dover showed immediate signs of returning to life and mentioned that, owing to the nature of their work, detectives were always missing their meals and a bite to eat, if available, would be highly appreciated. Mrs Poltensky smiled approvingly and said she liked a man with a good appetite. Roguishly Dover promised to do his best to earn her affection. Mrs Poltensky giggled and said that he was a one. MacGregor winced and suffered for the frivolity of his elders.
Mrs Poltensky provided a sumptuous spread. Most of it, including the cake, had come out of the deep freeze in Mr Tompkins’s shop where she was privileged to buy at specially reduced prices.
‘I can’t see the point,’
