Read Online Elegy for Eddie by Jacqueline Winspear - Free Book Online Page A

wouldn’t have felt a thing when the roll of paper fell onto him, given that he was backward. Do you know who might have made that statement?”
    “Well, first off, that wasn’t reported in an Otterburn paper—not that you asked, but I wanted to make that clear. Secondly, I know the report you’re talking about because I read it myself, and we looked into it. I can tell you it wasn’t a manager here at Bookhams. We reckon the newspaperman went down to the pub—on the corner, at the end of the road—and talked to the blokes who work on the floor. One of them must’ve made the remark, or whatever was said was twisted. You know what these reporters are like; anything to add a bit of excitement.”
    “But, why would anyone say such a thing, even a reporter embellishing a story? I thought Eddie was well liked here.”
    “And so he was, but well liked doesn’t mean liked by all, does it?”
    “Did Eddie have enemies?”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t say he had enemies, but you always get people who take advantage of someone like Eddie being around, and they push a joke a bit too far. They make themselves seem bigger by showing up the weaker ones.”
    “And who would you say is like that at Bookhams?”
    Mills shook his head. “I couldn’t say, Miss Dobbs. I’m management. The men keep themselves to themselves. They don’t include me in anything not directly connected to their work.”
    “Does that have anything to do with the fact that there’s no union activity here?”
    “I can’t talk about company policy regarding organized labor, as I am sure you know. Like I said when you first arrived, I think you should be talking to Bookhams’ legal counsel.”
    “And if I wanted to do just that, to whom should I speak?”
    “Sanders and Herrold, at Lincoln’s Inn. Mr. York Herrold.”
    “York Herrold? That sounds like a newspaper, not a man,” said Maisie. “No wonder he’s the company’s legal counsel.”
    Mills smiled. “I’m told he was named after where he was born. York. In any case, he’s very sharp, but approachable. Not like some of them. He can answer all the questions that I can’t—or shouldn’t have.” A horn sounded on the factory floor again. “Now, if that’s all, Miss Dobbs.”
    “Yes. Thank you for your time. I am sure the fact that I have been here to see you will give Mrs. Pettit a little peace of mind.”
    “Indeed. Please give her our kindest regards.”
    Maisie had just reached the door at the bottom of the stairs when footsteps behind her on the concrete caused her to look back. “Miss Marchant—don’t worry, I’ll close the door behind me.”
    “No, that’s all right,” said the secretary. “I mean, well, I’ll see to it, but that’s not why I ran after you.”
    “Did I leave something?” asked Maisie.
    The young woman shook her head. “No. I overheard part of your conversation with Mr. Mills and I wanted to talk to you.” She paused, looking back up the staircase before bringing her attention back to Maisie. “I liked Eddie, Miss Dobbs. He was a good man—more like a boy, really. He reminded me of my brother; he was like that too, you know, a bit slow. He was older than me and died a few years ago, when he was thirty-six. Very gentle person, he was, and I have to tell you, I do miss him. Always cheerful, and a sweet man, just like Eddie Pettit.”
    Maisie smiled and put her hand on Miss Marchant’s arm, for she could see a welter of emotion rising in the woman’s eyes. “I’m so sorry you’ve lost your brother, Miss Marchant. I knew Eddie when I was a child. Everybody I know held him dear, and he tried so hard to be useful, to be part of society. It’s fortunate that both men had families who cared for them; otherwise they might have been sent away from an early age.”
    “That’s what my mum always said. ‘No one’s taking my boy away to sit and rot in an asylum.’ Our Brian could read and write, you know, and it was all down to my mum. She wouldn’t