Untimely Graves by Marjorie Eccles Page B

wasting time they were being paid for.
    ‘You’ve done marvels already. Wait until my daughter sees it! She’ll be coming down to pick me up presently. I’ve been staying with her since that dreadful night. She’s a teacher and she has a lovely new house over at Lattimer. Even so, I shall be glad to get back into my own home. Just do as I want, you know, without bothering anyone else,’ Mrs Osborne added wistfully.
    ‘You shouldn’t live out here all on your own,’ said Tone suddenly. ‘Aren’t you scared?’
    ‘No, why should I be? I’ve got some good door locks and a telephone, and I’d never answer the door after dark.’
    ‘All the same, nasty things can happen to old ladies living on their own.’ He mooched off upstairs and in a moment, the sounds of furniture being moved penetrated through the ceiling.
    ‘Don’t mind him,’ Sue said, ‘His mother never taught him to mind his manners. He’s not as bad as he looks.’
    ‘Oh, I’ve already cottoned on to that! His heart seems to be in the right place. And he’s a good worker.’
    Cleo didn’t know about his heart being in the right place – it might have been anywhere, looking at Tone – but to her surprise, her cynical private observations about his capacity for hard work
had proved quite unjustified. When he took his jacket off, she could see he had strong muscles and he used them to good effect. And being so tall, he could reach as far as the low ceilings, which had been a help. He didn’t say much, but got on with the job, chugging away like a steam engine. Sue worked just as briskly. They seemed tireless. Cleo’s back was breaking, her arms ached with the unaccustomed exercise. But she thought she might get used to it, given time. Providing she didn’t drop dead first.
    In the end, Mrs Osborne surrendered to Sue’s persuasions about moving some of the smaller furniture down, and followed Tone nimbly upstairs to indicate what was what. He had already manoeuvred a walnut chest of drawers to the top of the stairs, and he and Sue began to assess the logistics of getting it downstairs. Cleo could see the old lady looking at the chest nervously and couldn’t blame her. Neither Sue nor Tone were weaklings but the stairs were narrow and twisting, and the chest looked valuable.
    ‘If you took the drawers out it wouldn’t be as heavy,’ she ventured, pulling out one of the top ones as she spoke and carrying it over to rest it on the bed.
    Mrs Osborne gave a little scream. ‘Oh goodness, they’re in such a mess, let me tidy them a bit first!’ She darted over to the one Cleo had pulled out. She hadn’t seemed to be the sort to be prudish about anyone seeing her winceyette nightdresses and thermal bloomers, and it turned out that wasn’t the reason she’d grabbed a woolly bedjacket and thrown it over the contents of the drawer – which weren’t undergarments, anyway, but table linen. Quick as a little sparrow, she still hadn’t been quite quick enough to conceal what Cleo had seen lying there.
    A car drew up outside.
    ‘Oh, there’s Eleanor,’ Mrs Osborne said, with evident relief. ‘Just you leave everything, now. Eleanor and the boys will see to it.’
    ‘You’re sure?’ Sue asked.
    ‘Quite sure,’ Mrs Osborne said firmly.
    They followed her downstairs, collected their belongings and Mrs Osborne was just writing out the cheque for their services and arranging for the next visit when Eleanor Robson walked in.

    Her critical glance swept around the room. ‘Well,’ she announced grudgingly, after a moment or two, ‘you’ve made a start, I’ll say that.’ She glanced at her watch and saw that there was still five minutes to go, which Cleo supposed meant fifteen in real terms, and said pointedly, ‘Didn’t you have time to get the furniture downstairs, then?’
    Sue began to explain, though Cleo was sure it wasn’t part of their job requirements to go lugging furniture around. Any offers to do so had been made out of the