Read Online The Mysterious Affair at Castaway House by Stephanie Lam - Free Book Online Page A

‘This is Frank’s money. He left me all his savings in a strongbox when he died. To look after me in my dotage, he said. I must have brought the entire stock with me.’
    ‘You shouldn’t wave it around like that. People might take advantage.’
    Dockie was tugging at his beard. ‘I’m filthy. I must have travelled like this. Where are my clothes? Good God, this is awful.’
    An idea wormed its way into my brain. I’d made soup, and while that had been a good turn, it was more of an accidental one really. Now I had the chance to do something properly worthy, to be the person Star imagined I was. ‘I’ll buy you some,’ I said quickly, before I had the opportunity to change my mind.
    He blinked at me. ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘Clothes … and toiletries … and all those things you need.’ I was already imagining Bradley’s. I hadn’t had the money to go into Bradley’s for – well, for
months
. ‘Oh, you must let me. I’ll guess your size. It’ll be so exciting.’ I clapped my hands.
    He swallowed, and pulled at his disgusting overcoat. ‘Do I really look so terrible?’ he murmured. ‘Do I look like an indigent?’
    ‘Well …’ I peeled apart my thumb and forefinger. ‘Perhaps a little.’
    ‘Then …’ He blinked at me again. ‘You are right. I cannot go about like this.’
    ‘I’ll help you.’ I nodded. ‘You can trust me. I was Orchid Patrol Leader, you know. First Petwick Guides.’
    ‘Of course, of course. You remind me of …’ He frowned. ‘I cannot remember who you remind me of, but you are trustworthy. That, I know.’
    He flicked through the grubby wad of ten-bob and pound notes in the envelope. He muttered to himself and, I noticed with a giddy judder of excitement, added two fives to the collection before he held it out to me. ‘Will this be enough? I am not yet cognizant of the cost of goods in this part of the world.’
    I allowed the money to be crushed into my hands. ‘That’s … um … that’s f-fine.’ I hadn’t handled this much money in – well, maybe ever. ‘I’ll have to go after work tomorrow. I’ll come to you afterwards, okay? About midday. Guide’s honour.’
    He stumbled towards the bed and lay down full-length upon it, his badly laced boots still on his feet. ‘By the way,’ he mumbled, ‘might there be any Buckfast around the place? Indeed any tonic wine, to revive me, so to speak?’
    ‘I don’t think
that’s
a good idea,’ I said primly, although I opened and closed cupboard doors, just for show.
    ‘Then perhaps … I suppose you wouldn’t want to make a purchase at the nearest public house, would you?’
    I slammed one of the doors closed, and he added hurriedly, ‘It was just a thought. Anyway, my dear, what is your name?’
    His eyes were already shut. ‘Rosie,’ I said. ‘Rosie Churchill.’
    ‘Thank you, my dear Miss Churchill. My name –’
    ‘I know.’ I looked down at the rest of his money, spilling out of the torn envelope on the little table. ‘Your name’s Dockie.’
    ‘Correct. I was born, you see, on the docks.’
    There was a smudged square of paper on top of the pile of notes. As I looked closer, I saw it was a ruined photograph, sepia and almost obliterated by water or sunshine or just the passage of time.
    I glanced at Dockie, but his eyes were still closed. Only the top right-hand corner of the dog-eared photo was at all clear, and it showed the blur of an ear and the mildewed top of a round forehead. That was all, but the proportion of the features – the tiny ear against the smooth head – was enough to convince me that the photograph was of a baby.
    I eased the photo over. The back was a brown smudge, except for just one letter in the clear top left corner:
    b
    ‘Is this you?’ I asked Dockie, but for answer I received only the steady in and out of a gentle snore.
    I left the photograph on top of the pile of money and made my way out of the room into the dark of the passageway. As I pulled the door behind