The Lodger Read Online Free

cherishable.
    â€˜Let’s see,’ he said, ‘she’s Daisy, she’s Lily, so you must be Buttercup.’
    â€˜Buttercup?’ Third face looked outraged. ‘Ugh.’
    â€˜â€™E’s barmy,’ whispered Daisy to Lily.
    â€˜We best get Trary to see ’im orf,’ whispered Lily.
    â€˜I’m Meg,’ said third face.
    â€˜That’s nice,’ said Harry. ‘Well, Meg, can I talk to your mother?’
    â€˜She ain’t in,’ said Meg.
    â€˜She’s gone away,’ said Daisy.
    â€˜To Australia,’ said Lily. ‘On a tram,’ she added.
    â€˜It’s a long way to go, even on a tram,’ said Harry and then had a stab at the crux of the matter. ‘Is there a lodger lookin’ after you?’ Lodgers proliferated in Walworth. They helped with the rent.
    â€˜He ain’t ’ere,’ said Meg.
    â€˜Gone away,’ said Lily.
    â€˜We don’t want ’im back, niever,’ said Daisy.
    Footsteps sounded in the passage.
    â€˜Who you talkin’ to, you monkeys?’ A hand pulled the door farther open. Another girl appeared. She wore a clean but aged pinafore dress. Her dark brown hair was in no need of a brush or comb, it was dressed in two pigtails. The complexions of the younger girls were pale. Hers was creamy. It had withstood all the assaults of winter murk and summer dust. Her deep brown eyes were quite brilliant, even if they too were slightly ringed. Harry felt he might have seen her before, and probably had during his daily beats. She was one of the phenomena of Walworth, where some girls did blossom into loveliness despite fog, smoke and hardship. She stared at Harry and his uniform.
    â€˜Oh, lor’,’ she said, and wrinkled her nose and looked wry.
    â€˜It’s nothing to worry about,’ said Harry. He had to persist now because of the mention of a lodger, a lodger who had gone away and wasn’t wanted back. Why not? ‘If I could have a word with your mother?’
    â€˜Has that rotten Mr Monks put the law on Mum?’ asked Trary in disgust.
    Harry’s mouth tightened a little. Mr Ronald Monks was the local moneylender, a far harder and more grasping character than any of the obliging pawnbrokers. It was Harry’s ambition to catch Monks overstepping the law.
    â€˜I don’t work for Mr Monks, Miss . . ?’
    â€˜I’m Trary.’
    â€˜I like that,’ said Harry. ‘Daisy, Lily, Meg and Trary.’
    Trary smiled. He looked a nice copper, a nice man, with eyes a clear and manly grey.
    â€˜Trary?’ A woman’s voice sounded from the kitchen. ‘What’s goin’ on out there? What’re those mischiefs up to?’
    Harry, smiling, said, ‘I think that’s your mother, just come back from Australia. Could I talk to her? Word of honour, I’m not goin’ to ask her for money.’
    Trary looked at him. All Walworth knew about the murder. Trary was intelligent enough to put two and two together. But, of course, it didn’t really concern them, not if he was going round asking questions about ‘the man’. There were no men in their house, no father, no husband, no lodger. She could tell him that and save him wasting his time.
    â€˜I’ll see,’ she said, and opened the door fully. There they were, the three younger ones, seven-year-old Daisy, nine-year-old Lily, and eleven-year-old Meg. They all wore long grey frocks that reached to their patched boots. But the frocks were clean, and so were the faces. It was only their hair that needed attention. Harry thought their stomachs might be in need too.
    â€˜You ain’t goin’ to put our mum in prison, are yer, please?’ begged Lily.
    â€˜Cross my heart, Lily,’ said Harry, and Trary didn’t know any policeman she’d liked so much at first sight. In her fourteenth year, Trary was the bright light of the family.
    â€˜You can step into our