The Woman From Heartbreak House

by Freda Lightfoot

  Vera thought she detected the sound of a car engine starting up and smiled secretly to herself. Then wiping the hint of a tear from her eye, she set off in pursuit of Lucy, and to offer support to Cissie in her hour of need.

  The day of the grand opening had finally arrived, and Kate still hadn’t seen Toby. He hadn’t come near, not to help with the final preparations, nor this morning on the day itself. Callum hadn’t turned up either. The sky was clear and sunny after what had been a miserably damp week, so at least the weather was improving.

  ‘The sun may be shining but it looks like we’ll be on our own,’ Kate sadly remarked to Flora. ‘Let’s hope the good weather encourages a few shoppers at least.’

  She glanced across at her silent daughter, apparently engrossed in the morning newspaper, which was unusual in itself, but then she noticed that the girl’s face had gone all pinched and white. Flora, young as she was, tried a brave smile. ‘I reckon that’s the least of our worries, Mammy. Have you seen this?’

  ‘What is it?

  ‘I think this is all my fault. Oh, Lord, it must be.’

  ‘All what is your fault? What are you talking about?’ Kate took the paper from her. The headline blazed out at her and Kate recoiled in shock.

  Mad Woman Opens Shoe Shop.

  She had to sit down since her knees had given way. The article went on to describe how Kate Tyson, widow of Eliot Tyson, former proprietor of Tyson Industries, a well known shoe manufacturer situated in the beautiful Lake District, had spent almost a year in an asylum.

  “Following the death of her husband in a tragic road traffic accident and the bankruptcy of his business, Mrs Tyson appears now to have left Kendal behind her and is turning her attention to Manchester’s needs. She has opened a new shoe shop on Stretford Road. But is Manchester ready to buy its shoes from a known lunatic? Can she be trusted to serve the ladies of our fine city with calm and decorum, or will they be subjected to all manner of abuse and hysterics?”

  The article continued in the same vein, but Kate could read no more. It was crystal clear what had happened. It didn’t need her sobbing daughter to explain or apologise about how she’d inadvertently let slip a few facts in the short, telling conversations she’d enjoyed with Theo Ingram, and for him to discover Kate’s true identity and take his revenge by exposing her colourful past.

  ‘To hell with him,’ Kate said, hugging Flora close. ‘To hell with the lot of ‘em. Let’s get going, we have a shop to open.’

  Kate held out little hope of any custom that day, but was trying not to mind. She was more hurt and disappointed that Toby had apparently let her down, and wouldn’t be there to offer his support when she most needed it. Callum too was noticeable by his absence. Not even a good luck card to wish her well. What was wrong with them all?

  Not a single customer walked through the door of the shop all morning. Kate did think at one time that she caught a glimpse of Theo Ingram hovering about outside, but when she went out to check there was no sign of him.

  ‘Just as well, I’d’ve pulverised the nasty, interfering beggar.’

  The little celebratory party was due to start at one o’clock but Kate was certain by this time that no one would turn up, neither customers nor her new business associates. Besides, it was raining now. She set out a few sandwiches and glasses of sherry, but didn’t expect any takers.

  At one o’clock precisely it was as if someone had fired a starting pistol. The door quietly opened and people simply poured in: neighbours and local shopkeepers, business associates, reporters from other local newspapers, no doubt all anxious for an even juicier story, and customers by the score. They came, Kate decided, out of curiosity.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve never seen an escaped lunatic before,’ she whispered to Flora. But her daughter was far too busy serving a plump lady with a pair of stylish dancing shoes.

  ‘May I try on those with the button bar?’ said a polite voice at her side.

  ‘Of course, madam.’

  ‘I rather like those pink silk evening slippers with the pretty design on the heel,’ said another.

  ‘Do you have any brown lace-ups in my size? My feet are quite tiny.’

  And so it continued for the entire afternoon. Kate and Flora were rushed off their feet. People may have come to gawp, to drink Kate’s sherry and see what someone who had spent almost a year in an asylum looked like, but they stayed to buy.

  Attracted by the display of smart, stylishly designed shoes, the gossiping ladies simply couldn’t resist and spent a great deal of money. And as she served them and took their cash, Kate found the odd moment to answer questions put by curious reporters, even promised one a proper interview later.

  There didn’t seem any point in secrecy any more. ‘Besides, if you believe the old adage, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.’

  Flora gave a little giggle, not really having time to say much else.

  And then to Kate’s utter joy, Toby strode in. Something kicked inside her chest, reminding her how very much she had wanted him to come. Wearing a dark suit and tie with a pristine white shirt he looked so good, every inch the successful businessman, even if his shock of fair hair was as untidy as ever. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to her current customer. ‘I must just say hello to someone. Try these while I’m gone. The bow will suit your slender foot. I won’t be a moment. Toby!’

  She ran to him, wanting him to sweep her up into his arms and hug her, to say that he forgave her for her little indiscretion, that they were still friends. Kate realised that she wanted them to be very much more than that, had perhaps known this for some time, deep down, but may well have spoiled her chances and left it too late. She wanted him to congratulate her on having a shop crowded with customers, her small opening party having turned into a resounding success.

  But he wasn’t even smiling.

  When she finally reached him, pushing her way through the crowd, he grabbed her by the hands. ‘You must come. Bunty didn’t get married after all. She ran off with Callum. Now he’s been arrested for abduction, stealing a car, and murder!’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It was awful. Absolutely terrible. Kate couldn’t take in what he was telling her. Apparently, Callum and Bunty had eloped a mere hour or two before she was due to marry another man. And no wonder, since Ralph Powney was old enough to be her father. Kate might have rejoiced at her son’s determination to win the girl he loved, except that Lucy, being Lucy, was prepared to leave it at that.

  She’d called the police, insisted they give chase.

  As they travelled back to Kendal together by express train, Toby went on to explain: ‘The police refused at first to get involved, saying that since the girl was of age and Callum twenty, it was no concern of theirs. But then Lucy accused him of stealing her car.’

  ‘I’m sure he only borrowed it,’ Kate scoffed.

  ‘Exactly what the police said, so she gave them her soulful look ... you know the one. It neatly disguises the depth of her fury. She told them that it wasn’t the first time he’d borrowed her motor, that he’d taken it once before and used it to kill his own father.’

  Kate gasped, ‘She’s lying! Surely the police didn’t fall for that?’

  ‘Hook, line and sinker. Lucy explained, with heartbreaking accuracy how much Callum had hated Eliot at that time. How he’d resented the fact that he was adopted, and how Eliot had not given him any proper role in the business except to put him to work as an apprentice. She made no mention, of course, of her own part in their relationship, of how she’d abducted Callum as a child and left him in the Union workhouse. So, yes, they believed every word. To be fair, I don’t think they had any choice. They set off in pursuit and the young pair were apprehended long before they reached the border.’

  ‘Callum didn’t kill Eliot. He wouldn’t – couldn’t - do such a dreadful thing. He’s innocent. This is all one of Lucy’s tricks.’

  ‘I agree. You understand that. I understand that. But will anyone
else?’

  ‘Then we have to find who was driving her car that night. We have to find who did kill Eliot.’

  Kate was permitted a short visit with her son, who was still being held in Kendal police station while a statement was taken, questions asked, and the matter properly investigated. The cogs of justice had been set in motion and nothing could be done to stop them. They had little more than twenty-four hours’ grace in which to prove his innocence before he was transferred to Lancaster or Carlisle on remand. The thought of her son being taken to prison, put in amongst thieves and genuine murderers filled Kate with horror. He looked gaunt, his face grey with fatigue and worry. That he might be tried and possibly found guilty was more than she could bear to contemplate.

  ‘I’ll be hanged by the neck until dead,’ Callum said, his young, frightened eyes wide with terror.

  ‘Don’t say such a thing. Don’t even think it. We’ll have you out of here in the shake of a lamb’s tail, so we will. Trust us, Callum, it’ll be fine. We’ll have you released in no time.’

  ‘How? Who can we trust to help us?’

  His mother spoke with brisk authority. ‘You asked lots of questions at the time, about the accident. Tell us briefly what you found out. Who did you see? What exactly did you discover?’

  Callum told them again about how he’d discovered an old woman called Edith who claimed to have seen a black car parked at the end of her street on numerous occasions, including the day in question. ‘Her neighbour agreed but was unable, or unwilling, to tell us anything about the driver. Then Edith disappeared, vanished off the face of the earth, her whole family doing a moonlight flit.’

  ‘Now I wonder who persuaded them to do that,’ said Kate sourly.

  They were allowed twenty minutes, nowhere near enough time, and then Kate and Toby were ushered out of the police station and Callum was locked back in his cell.

  Kate and Toby sat in a corner of the Rifle Man’s and had a long and agonising discussion over what needed to be done. It seemed that any differences between them had faded into insignificance against this more serious issue. Nevertheless, Kate felt the need to say something. She couldn’t bear the thought of Toby thinking badly of her.

  ‘I’m sorry about Ingram. You were right, he was a slimy toad. I made a bad mistake letting him in the house.’

  ‘This isn’t the time to be worrying about that,’ Toby said, rather sharply, making her feel more foolish than ever.

  ‘But what are we going to do? How can we prove Callum’s innocence? I can’t think, can you? The police failed at the time to find Edith, or any other witness to the accident, found no evidence of any kind, so how can we possibly hope to succeed now? They didn’t even check Lucy’s car until it was too late, until after she’d had the crumpled wing smoothed out and the broken headlamp fixed.’

  Toby looked at Kate, considering these remarks with a thoughtful frown. ‘Who did the work for her? Which garage would she use to repair the car?’

  Kate gave a bitter little laugh. ‘She would never risk using a local garage. She’d go somewhere she wasn’t known, unless ...’ A thought struck her. ‘There is one person she might have asked for help. I’m trying to remember if Callum said something about that, but I reckon it would be worth having a wee word with our old friend Ned Swainson.’

  Swainson was not particularly pleased to see them. They’d had trouble finding him, trawling the streets of Kendal all that Sunday morning, since his living quarters were now little more than a filthy shack, a tumbledown shed made from bits of packing cases and cardboard, situated quite close to what had once been Poor House Lane, the place where his reign of terror had begun.

  The Cock and Dolphin, where Millie’s husband Clem used to warm his heart, was still there, as were the glebe lands of the church opposite and the wooded grounds of Abbot Hall beyond, but the narrow yard that had been Poor House Lane was now no more. The workhouse which had given the yard its name had long since been demolished, along with the stinking cottages it had harboured. A new world was dawning, where such horrors would no longer be tolerated.

  Kate tried to find some pity in her heart for Swainson, still stuck firmly in the past, but it was a struggle. She remembered only too well how he had abused the Tyson’s women workers, had reduced her own friend Millie to a thin shadow of her former self. Even to this day she refused to talk about it. There had been no hope of escape from his clutches, not if the women wanted to hold on to their jobs and carry on bringing in money to feed their starving families.

  Some of the younger ones, fearful of telling their husbands what he did to them since it might cost them their marriage as well as their jobs, had found running away or even suicide their only means of escape.

  Kate had been the first to stand up to him, and he’d hated her for that, had been hell-bent on a path of revenge ever since, even to the extent of destroying her, if he could. She’d never seen her brother Dermot since the day Swainson beat him to a pulp, near drowned him and drove him out of town back to Ireland. Oh, and didn’t she miss him sorely? When this was over, wouldn’t she take the ferry to Ireland and see him again?

  What part this evil man had played in Lucy’s schemes Kate didn’t care to contemplate. He’d kept a finger pressed hard down on the pulse of her life for far too long. It was long past time to lop it off.

  Toby put a hand on her arm, silently urging her to remain in the doorway and not venture into this hovel. Kate had no intention of doing so. The stink of it was making her feel giddy from here. Perhaps Swainson himself was adding to the offensive odour. He certainly didn’t appear to have enjoyed a good wash in a long while, and most of the food he’d recently eaten seemed to have left its mark on his black stuff trousers, and that so-familiar checked waistcoat.

  Now he regarded her with bloodshot eyes, a tell-tale bottle of whisky clutched tightly in his hand. ‘What the hell brings you here, turning up like a bad penny?’

  ‘And the top of the morning to you too,’ Kate said, in her cheeriest, most Irish brogue. ‘You haven’t forgotten who I am then?’

  ‘Wish I could. You lost me the best job I’ve ever had, ruined me life you did.’

  ‘I reckon we’re about even there, or you might be a bit ahead, but we’re about to change all of that. We’re here to help you make reparation for your sins, as ye might say. Won’t it stand ye in good stead when you come face to face with St Peter at them pearly gates.’

  A grunt was Swainson’s only response.

  ‘No, thank you, I’ll not sit down if it’s all the same to you,’ continued Kate, eyeing the wooden crates and boxes that made up his furniture as if he’d offered her a velvet divan to sit upon. ‘It’ll not take more’n a minute to state our business. You know Mr Lynch here, manager of Tyson’s Shoes, now operating under new ownership?’

  Another grunt, which might have been an acknowledgement.

  ‘What we have to say to you is with regard to that terrible accident which befell my lovely husband. You do remember Eliot? Of course you do. Well, my son …’ At this point Kate faltered, emotion suddenly choking her, but only for a moment. Straightening her spine, she went on, ‘Without going into too much detail, the fact of the matter is that my son has been arrested for his murder. The police have been informed that it was Callum driving the car that night. Now you and I both know that was not the case. He is innocent in all of this. We are both aware who the guilty party is, but we also know how difficult it is to prove. The police have tried to discover the culprit, and failed once already.’

  ‘That accident were nowt to do wi’ me. Don’t try and pin this one on me.’

  Despite Toby’s warning, Kate did now step into the shack. She’d endured worse places in the past. She wanted to look this man in the eye. ‘What we’re needing, you see, is some way to get my lad out of jail. You’ll appreciate that I’m not too bothered how I achieve that.’

  Kate saw panic register in his mean little eyes. ‘I’ve told you, I did nowt.’


  She smiled at him then, and the brilliant warmth of it, false though it might be at this juncture, stunned him. His hand had begun to shake and he set down the whisky bottle, fished a dock-end out of his waistcoat and began to search for matches.

  Kate waited until he had the cigarette alight and had stuck it in the corner of his mouth before she quietly remarked, ‘That’s the biggest porky I ever heard. I’m no fool, Swainson. I realise you must have been the one to get the car mended. Did you take it somewhere it wouldn’t be recognised, so it could be made as good as new? And I expect ...’

  He interrupted her, ‘I don’t need no garage. I can fix such things meself. I’m good wi’ me hands, I’ll have thee know.’ He held them up, as if to prove his point. They were stained with nicotine, black with dirt, criss-crossed with scars and horn-hard.

  A small silence followed, long enough for Swainson to appreciate how pride in his own ability had tripped him up. ‘Of course you are,’ Kate agreed, her voice soft and encouraging. If getting his help meant flattering the bastard, she’d do it, so she would.

  ‘You were used by Lucy, same as we all were. You were every bit as much her victim as I was, as Callum is now. Isn’t that the truth? Although I dare say she paid you for that little service.’

  ‘Not enough! Nowhere near enough, not for the risks I took for the bloody woman. Then when she’d got rid of you, packed you off to the mad-house and got herself nicely settled at Tyson Lodge, she dropped me like a hot potato. Had to squeeze every last penny out of her I could, but she still didn’t pay me what was due.’