This fascinated Bets, who kept watching him. The other possible person was a young girl about eighteen, carrying sketching things. She had a sweet, open face, and very pretty curly hair. Daisy felt absolutely certain that she knew nothing whatever about the letters.
‘It must be that sour-faced man with the twitching nose,’ said Daisy to herself. She had nothing much to do because it was no use tackling Mr. Goon and talking to him. It was plain that he could not be the writer of the letters. So she watched the others getting to work, and listened with much interest, though the rattling of the bus made her miss a little of the conversation.
‘Good morning, Miss Trimble,’ Daisy heard Larry say politely. ‘I haven’t seen you for some time. Are you going to the market too? We thought we’d like to go today.’
‘Oh, it’s a pretty sight,’ said Miss Trimble, setting her glasses firmly on her nose. They were always falling off, for they were pince-nez, with no side-pieces to hold them behind her ears. Bets loved to count how many times they fell off. What with watching the man with the twitching nose and Miss Trimble’s glasses, Bets quite forgot to talk to Mrs. Jolly, who was taking up most of the seat she and Bets was sitting on.
‘Have you often been to Sheepsale market?’ asked Larry.
‘No, not very often,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘How is your dear mother, Laurence?’
‘She’s quite well,’ said Larry. ‘Er - how is your mother, Miss Tremble? I remember seeing her once next door.’
‘Ah, my dear mother isn’t too well,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘And if you don’t mind, Laurence dear, my name is Trimble, not Tremble. I think I have told you that before.’
‘Sorry. I keep forgetting,’ said Larry. ‘Er - does your mother live at Sheepsale, Miss Trem - er Trimble? Do you often go and see her?’
‘She lives just outside Sheepsale,’ said Miss Trimble, pleased at Larry’s interest in her mother. ‘Dear Lady Candling lets me go every Monday to see her, you know - such a help. I do all the old lady’s shopping for the week then.’