Play@YSDC

Queensway, Bayswater- London, England
9:00 AM - Sunday, September 8, 1940

Having gotten directions from Anna and Rufus, Phyllis and Maggie took the Central Line to Queensway. From there it was a short walk to Mrs. Steadman's street. The house in question, part of a row of similar houses on the left side of the street, near the head of the block, had the blackout curtains over its front windows drawn aside, tape crisscrossing the panes with Xs. There were no lights visible within.

OOC,How does the house look compared to the others in the street? Is it run down? Is the front garden/steps tidy? Phyllis takes great store in keeping up appearances; even the poor should take pride in cleanliness. Is there any signs of life in the other houses?

"Well, Maggie. Let's begin by asking the neighbours; I've never met one yet who doesn't like a good gossip." Phyllis rummages around in her bag for a collecting tin and then straightens her hat, she starts walking purposely.

The house looked much like the others on this block. There were of course no metal railings, all of them having been salvaged months ago, but they were otherwise in good shape. This looked to be a respectable, well-to-do neighborhood. The steps and the victory garden were well kept, both for the house in question and for the others nearby. Phyllis and Maggie approached the front door of a neighboring house.

OOC,[b]Phyllis[/b], please roll Luck. This will determine whether or not there are signs of life in the other houses.

"Shall we try the neighbours first?" Phyllis walks up the steps and bangs the door knocker.

Luck,(65%) roll: 03%

The house on the left of the Steadman house had lights on and the curtains spread wide. When Phyllis knocked on the door, it was opened by a short lady of about fifty years old, with curly gray hair and a friendly smile. "Good morning," she said. "How can I help you, ma'am?"

"Good morning, Ma'am, sorry to trouble you this early on a Sunday; we are collecting for the Women's Institute. Rather a rough one, last night; that raid simply went on and on didn't it? I hope you and yours are all recovered?" Phyllis puts on her best smile.

"Oh, yes, very frightful!" said the woman in sympathy. "It was lucky none of the bombs fell round here. I do have some knitting I've been doing that I can spare. Finished a sweater while I was waiting out the air raid. Come in useful once the weather starts to turn. Won't you come in? I'm Doris Spangler."

"Woollens are always most welcome," says Phyllis stepping through the door. "I'm Phyllis Cruikshank and this is Maggie Duncan. I like a bit of knitting myself, although it's getting harder to find the Wool these days. My niece, Jane, brings me a dozen skeins when she visits from Manchester but that's not so often now. This is a nice, tidy street Mrs Spangler; is it a good neighbourhood to live in?"

"Oh, yes, it's very nice here, Mrs. Cruckshank," said Doris, closing the door after Maggie followed Phyllis inside. "Good people too, for the most part."

Phyllis stands in the hallway and looks around. "Yes, it's so important to have neighbours one can rely on in times like these. You are lucky. One of my neighbours went a bit queer and it made all so much harder when it came to discussing hedge trimming and such."

"Oh, I know what you mean," said Doris. "Now I'm not one to gossip," she continued, lowering her voice before proceeding to do exactly that, "but Mrs. Steadman next door is just that sort. Her parents were both crazy, you know, and I think it's rubbed off on her."

Phyllis's eyes widen in sympathetic appreciation, "They often say it's heriditary and it gets worse with age you know. It's not so bad when there's family around, to act as a buffer, but as the neighbour you often have to deal with all sorts of weirdness. It must be very difficult for you. Shall we have a cup of tea?"

"Oh, of course," said Doris. "Let me put the kettle on. Back in a bit." She puttered off to the kitchen.

Phyllis follows her into the kitchen. "My, what a lovely service; Willow Pattern? What's your neighbour like then?"

"Why, yes, that's right," said Doris, taking out the kettle and filling it. "Mrs. Steadman is...just a bit off. I can't put my finger on exactly what's wrong with her, but she's...odd. Her husband seems a decent enough bloke, I suppose. He's an RAF officer, you know. After last night, I'm even gladder he's about. Of course, he hasn't flown in weeks, ever since he got shot down and lost his leg, poor man. He's recovering nicely, though, and he's walking about. He's got a limp, he does, but he can still get around. I can't imagine what he sees in her. Maybe he married her because she's pretty, or maybe he took pity on her, but he must know about her parents. They did something horrible years ago, and people died. Her father was killed too, but her mother survived and was committed. Except I think she must be out now. This morning I saw Mrs. Steadman leave her house with an older woman who looked rather like her."

Phyllis's jaw dropped, metaphorically, 'I wonder if it's the same man; it must be!' she thought. "Is he the sort of man to dally, would you say, Doris? I only ask because he sounds rather like a man that a young lady I knew was seeing. Her chap's name was Jim. What a coincidence it would be if it was him!" She takes an appreciative sip of tea.

"Oh, I can't imagine he'd do that," said Doris. "He's utterly devoted to his wife, and besides, there'd be hell to pay if he ever strayed. I've never seen any strange women around here, except the one with Mrs. Steadman this morning, that is. He doesn't go by Jim, either, it's always James. Major James Steadman."

"Oh, I see." says Phyllis but secretly she's thinking, 'James...Jim; it still could be him. And Mrs Steadman's mother could be back home if she's escaped- but surely this would be the first place the Asylym would look.'

"I heard that a dangerous patient had escaped the asylym last night but I suppose it couldn't be Mrs Steadman's mother if she's walking about in broad daylight. I tell you, Doris, it makes a body shiver to think of what's lurking about the streets at night; as if we hadn't got enough on our plates with the raids. It must be a great comfort to you knowing Major Steadman is next door, even if he has only one leg."

"It's nice to know he lives there, yes," said Doris, "though he hasn't been home much lately. He was in hospital for most of the last few weeks, after he lost his leg. He's out now, but he wasn't home last night or this morning. Must be busy at the RAF base, especially now."

"yes of course. And you say Mrs Steadman is out? What a shame; I was so hoping to see everyone on this street for collection. I guess we'll have to come back later. Now, about that knitting Doris, what can we have?" Phyllis finishes her tea with a ladylike slurp and puts the cup down.