Ricks?’ asked Peter.
‘She and her sister hardly ever see each other.’
‘That’s not what I was told.’
‘Then you was told wrong, sir,’ said Joan, wagging a finger. ‘Anne never really got on with her sister. When they were younger, Mrs Ricks used to bully her a lot. She was always trying to tell Anne what to do.’
‘Is that why Mrs Horner refused to move in with her sister?’
‘That was one of them.’
Joan Claydon was a large, expressive, motherly woman in her early fifties, surprisingly well groomed in view of her limited resources. As well as coping with two female lodgers in the modest dwelling, she had to nurse a sick husband and look after a medley of pet dogs and cats, yet she did it all without complaint. Even in repose, she seemed to be smiling and positively exuded amiability. Having met her sister, Peter could see why Anne Horner had chosen the companionship of the landlady before that of Esther Ricks. While the sister would have exerted a measure of control over Anne’s life, Joan was much more understanding and tolerant. She simply wanted everyone under her roof to be contented.
‘I suppose that I shouldn’t say this, Mr Skillen,’ she began, lowering her voice to impart a secret, ‘but you might as well know the truth. When Mrs Ricks invited her sister to live there, it wasn’t as a favour.’
‘Why was that, Mrs Claydon?’
‘She expected Anne to pay twice what I ask in rent.’
‘Ah,’ said Peter, ‘so it wasn’t simply a question of filial loyalty.’
Joan blinked. ‘What does that mean, sir?’
‘She wasn’t merely acting out of sisterly love.’
‘Oh, I think that dried up years ago.’
‘Did anyone – apart from Mrs Ricks, that is – call here for Mrs Horner?’
‘No, they didn’t.’
‘So you saw no sign of any … admirers?’
‘I never pried into her private life, Mr Skillen. It’s not my place to do that. On the other hand,’ she said with a confiding glint, ‘you were bound to wonder. I mean, Anne is still a lovely woman and she’s kept her figure – not like Mrs Ricks, for instance. Men would look at her in a way they wouldn’t look at her sister, if you followme and I’m sure you do. But – hand on heart – I can’t honestly tell you that any of them did more than look.’
After talking to her for several minutes to win her confidence, Peter asked if he might see the missing woman’s room. The landlady became very protective, saying that it would be wrong for anyone – especially a stranger – to conduct a search.
‘It’s something I’d never dream of doing myself,’ she affirmed.
‘My position is somewhat different, Mrs Claydon. My appointed task is to track down Mrs Horner and I need any assistance that I can get. It may be – and this is conjectural, of course – that there is something in her room that might give me a clue as to her whereabouts. Surely, you’d raise no objection if that clue led indirectly to her safe return.’ He could see her resolve weakening. ‘You’re welcome to be present. I’ll touch nothing that you feel is sacrosanct.’
Joan blinked again. ‘That’s another word I don’t know, sir.’
‘You can tell me where it’s indelicate of me to look.’
There was a long pause, as she pursed her lips and weighed everything up in her mind.
‘Are you married, Mr Skillen?’ she asked at length.
‘I’m very happily married, Mrs Claydon, so a lady’s bedchamber is not exactly a novelty to me. I’ll accord Mrs Horner’s belongings the same respect that I show to those of my wife.’
Folding her arms, she studied him shrewdly. Reluctant to let anyone into rooms occupied by her lodgers, she saw that she might have to break her rule. Anne’s safety was paramount and – if there was anything upstairs that might indicate where she’d gone – it ought to be available to the man searching for her. Having seen enough of Peter to gauge his sincerity, she capitulated.
‘I’ll show you