Over the last few weeks Bert had been very careful to disguise himself when he met her outside. He had figured that most people would think he’d had a tooth drawn when they saw the muffler across the bottom half of his face. But today he’d been feeling confident and ready to face his dah if need be; after all he was his bloody son so he should be a bit more forgiving as he’d never done him any harm. Besides his dah had sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Ha! So he could keep his mouth shut.
To Bert’s disappointment and fury, when he arrived at the house on Francis Street he could not get an answer and there was no key on the string to use to let himself in. He hammered his fist on the door in rage. ‘They’ve gone out,’ said a reedy voice. He spun round and immediately pinned a smile on his handsome face when he saw one of the neighbours. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Jones. How nice to see you.’
The old woman’s eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘Bert Kirk! Well, I never. We haven’t seen you around here for a while.’
‘That’s because I’ve been away.’ He thought quickly. ‘America!’
‘Goodness me! I thought the only water you’d crossed was the Mersey.’
Bert had forgotten that his mother had told him the neighbours believed him to be working in Liverpool. ‘I was there for a while but then decided I needed to see more of the world.’
‘Well, you’re looking very well on it,’ she said, her wrinkled face alight with admiration. ‘Lovely blazer. Although your trousers could do with an iron.’
He frowned and glanced down at them. ‘You’re right.’ Instantly the memory of how he had creased them so badly struck him like a blow and he felt sick.
‘No need to look like you’ve broken the ten commandments,’ said Mrs Jones cheerfully. ‘I’ve got your mam’s spare key if you want to go in and put a match to the fire and make yourself a cup of tea. You could always heat up the iron and press them yourself. I remember how you always liked to look smart.’
His frown vanished. ‘Thank you, Mrs Jones. I’ll take you up on your offer. Clothes get so easily creased when travelling,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’ve left my luggage at the station. Didn’t want to carry it with me and then find no one was in.’ He watched her toddle off to fetch the key and thought there was no way anyone could connect him to what happened this afternoon. And if he were to need an alibi then the old biddy could provide him with one. He’d always been able to charm the old ladies in the street in the past, unlike that bloody Emma. Where was she?
* * *
If only he had known it, Emma was not far away. She had been up to her mother’s with some money. On the return journey she met David on his way to the General Station. She told him of her suspicions about her attacker and the man in Brook Street being one and the same, adding excitedly, ‘Hanny’s husband is doing a drawing of him. When I see it I’ll know if I’m right; then we’ve got him!’
‘So what I felt about him was right,’ said David, seizing her by the shoulders and drawing her to one side. His expression was concerned. ‘You’ve got to be careful, lovey. If he were to suspect what you were up to…’
Emma placed a finger against his lips. ‘Shhh! It’s lovely that you care what happens to me, but you mustn’t worry. I’ll keep my wits about me.’
He kissed her finger. ‘If I get my hands on him, I’ll deal with him for you, lovey.’
‘I’d like that,’ she said wistfully, thinking there was lot to be said for having a man feel protective towards her. ‘When will I see you again?’
‘I haven’t got a Sunday afternoon off for a while.’
‘What about an evening or the Whit bank holiday?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll send you a letter.’
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ she said softly.
He kissed her quickly and hurried off.
Emma watched him for a moment and then went on her way.
* * *
Mary tapped on the door of the drawing room but there was no response so she knocked again and called ‘Miss Victoria, are you there? Would you like me to serve tea now?’
Still no answer.
Mary turned the door handle and went inside. When she saw her mistress lying on the chaise longue, her first thought was that she was asleep. Then she realised her eyes were wide open and there was a smell in the room that caused her to put a hand over her mouth and nose. It wasn’t the first time that Mary had suffered a close encounter with death – she had been at the deathbeds of her granny, brother and sister but there was another smell in the room that made her nose twitch cautiously like a rabbit sniffing a predator in the air. She could almost feel the blood rushing through her veins as her heart beat rapidly in her scrawny chest.
She gazed down into her mistress’s face. Her lips appeared blue and the expression in her eyes caused Mary’s stomach to tie itself into knots. Gently the maid drew the eyelids over. That was better. Now Miss Victoria looked like she was sleeping. Mary had known she might die suddenly but hadn’t imagined it would be so soon. Why hadn’t she rung the bell for her to fetch her tablets? Could it have been the drawing that had brought on the attack? Life just wasn’t fair, she thought sorrowfully, thinking of the old woman upstairs still going. She left the drawing room to go and tell Cook but as she walked towards the green baize door, it opened and Emma appeared. ‘She’s dead!’ blurted out Mary.
Emma did not hear at first because she was still thinking of David. Mary repeated what she had said and immediately Emma said, ‘Thank God for that. No more having to clean her up and having to wash smelly sheets, answer that blinking bell and…’
‘No, not her! I only wish it were.’ Mary clutched Emma’s arm. ‘It’s Miss Victoria.’
Emma’s face blanched and she gripped the maid’s hand. ‘How did it happen? Where is she? Have you sent for the doctor?’
‘I’ve only just found her. It could have been the shock of finding out that Mr Temple and the bloke who attacked you are one and the same.’
Emma swore. ‘I knew there was something not right about him. Cook said something about an envelope being delivered for me with a picture in it. Where is it?’
‘I opened it,’ gulped Mary. ‘And when I recognised the bloke in the drawing as Mr Temple I showed it to Miss Victoria. She went a dreadful colour. I suggested going for the bobby but she dismissed me and told me to fetch the girl who brought the picture. Joy somebody. It’s my fault,’ wailed Mary. ‘I shouldn’t have been so nosy and opened the envelope – but it wasn’t sealed. I’m so sorry.’
Emma dismissed her words with a shake of the head. ‘It doesn’t matter now. Where is she?’ she repeated.
‘On the chaise longue in the drawing room. We’re going to have to give it a good scrub.’
Emma baulked on entering the drawing room but reminded herself that she’d had to cope often enough with similar smells with the old lady. She walked to the chaise longue and gazed down at Victoria, thinking how annoyed she had been with her the other week. Reaching out a hand she caressed her cheek. ‘It’s a blinking shame,’ she murmured.
Mary was wandering round the room. ‘I can’t see it. I wonder where she put it.’
‘What?’ asked Emma, turning and staring at her. ‘The drawing.’
‘I’ll have a look for it. You tell Cook what’s happened and then go round to the doctor’s. Let’s hope that Sebastian Bennett gets here soon.’
Mary left the room and Emma went over to the french windows and flung them open. She stood on the terrace breathing in the scents of the garden. An idea suddenly struck her and she went back inside and over to the chaise longue. Getting down on her hands and knees she peered underneath it, hoping to see the sheet of drawing paper. Instead her eyes lighted on something else and, reaching out a hand, she brought out a pair of flesh coloured silk drawers.
To say Emma was surprised was an understatement. She was completely mystified as to why they should be there and was still kneeling on the fl
oor thinking about it when Mary entered the room. ‘The doctor will be here in about ten minutes. Should we have tidied her up and moved her somewhere else?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You know how fussy she was about being just so for people.’
‘She’s past that now,’ said Emma slowly. ‘Besides I don’t think we should move her. I found her drawers under the chaise longue and I’ve had this terrible thought.’ She took a deep breath and lifted her dead employer’s skirts. They both stared at the blood and mucus on the inside of her thighs.
‘She must have been having her monthlies,’ said Mary. ‘Poor thing.’
‘You’re thick!’ snapped Emma, a stony glint in her eye. ‘She’s minus her drawers and there’s no bindings. He’s had her.’
Mary’s mouth gaped open. ‘Wh – What d’you mean?’
‘Hasn’t your mother told you anything? That thing men keep in their trousers they use to wee with… it also helps make babies. He forced it in her and she probably died of fright.’
‘Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Mary’s chest heaved and she put a hand over her mouth and ran out into the garden.
Carefully, Emma pulled down the skirts of Victoria’s afternoon gown and followed her outside. As if drugged, she walked to the bench beneath the archway of twining honeysuckle and rambling roses and sat down. Her hands clenched and unclenched of their own volition. If she’d had Bert in front of her she’d have gone for his throat. How dare he think he could dip his wick wherever and whenever he had the urge and get away with it! She wanted to take a knife and slash his handsome face and cut off that thing he got such pleasure from.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Mary in a shaky voice as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face was pinched and drained of colour.
Emma glanced up at her and said in a low, fierce voice, ‘We were all aware that she could die at anytime. The doctor knows that and despite it being a sudden death won’t be looking for anything suspicious. At the moment we can’t prove it was Bert Kirk, alias Mr Temple, who raped her. You say you offered to fetch a bobby but she refused. Perhaps she decided to deal with him in another way. I need to speak to Joy. Maybe she knows something that we don’t.’
Chapter Fifteen
May, 1909
Bert settled himself comfortably in his father’s chair and stretched his legs towards the fire he had lit. He felt so cold despite the warm weather. He crunched on a thick slice of buttered toast and, with his free hand, he picked up the black leather-backed Bible from the shelf in the alcove next to the fireplace. Reading the scriptures always made him feel better. Particularly the epistles of St Paul – as long as he confessed his sin and was sorry then he’ll be forgiven and accepted into Heaven. And he was sorry that Victoria Waters had died the way she had. He’d had such plans. If it hadn’t been for that soddin’ Emma Griffiths’ interference everything would have been fine. He should have been quicker than that bloody boyfriend of hers and pushed her in front of the horse and cart… but he’d do for her one day.
He glowered as he put down the Bible and reached for his mug of tea and gulped a large mouthful. Right now he wished his mother would come home. His insides hadn’t stopped churning and he was annoyed with her for being out when he needed her. He supposed Freddie and Joy were with her and their dah.
For a moment he concentrated his thoughts on his younger sister, dark like their mother and brown-eyed, she was just like Hannah in that she was stubborn and had no time for him and would never have tried to please him like their youngest sister, Grace.
Grace! She had been so eager to spend time in his company, that was how they’d come to be on the bicycle but he’d never had the chance to do anything with her. Silly bitch! If she hadn’t messed about but done as he’d told her then he could have shown her how to please him and she would have still been alive. Instead she’d had to drag on his arm, causing him to lose control of the bicycle so they’d ended up in the canal. He’d tried to save her but his leg had got tangled up in the wheel. God, his mother had been in a right state when he’d told her what happened.
He broke out in a sweat just thinking how she had beaten him over the head with her handbag and it was ages before she would speak to him. As for Joy, Hanny and Freddie, they had never forgiven him. Pity! Joy had been developing into an attractive young woman when he’d been forced to disappear. She’d had a real shapely figure, much more meat on her than Miss Victoria Waters. Just thinking of the dead woman caused his hand to shake and tea spilt onto his trouser leg. He swore and scrubbed at the spot with his sleeve. Then he glanced at the mantelpiece and realised that it was six o’clock and swore again. He hadn’t realised it was so late. He should be on his way. The trains were going to be packed with trippers and he wouldn’t be able to get a seat. Seeing his mother would have to wait until another time.
He finished the toast and tea in double quick time, shrugged on his blazer and tilted his boater at a jaunty angle. He had the door open and was just about to step out onto the street when he spotted Joy out of the corner of his eye. She was alone and, immediately, he stepped back inside the house and closed the door. He grinned as he returned to the kitchen and hid behind the door, thinking that the day had picked up again, just when he’d almost given up on it.
* * *
‘We’re soldiers of the queen, m’lads, the queen, m’lads,’ sang Joy as she stepped over the threshold. She pushed open the kitchen door and saw the fire burning in the black-leaded range but the room appeared empty. She stepped further inside and closed the door. ‘Mother, Dad, Freddie!’ she called.
Suddenly a pair of arms went round her from behind and lifted her off her feet. She caught the smell of peppermint and hair oil and screamed. Kicking backwards she had the satisfaction of knowing the heel of her shoe had caught her brother on the shins. ‘Put me down,’ she demanded, attempting to prise his hands apart. ‘What are you playing at, and what the hell are you doing here?’
He thrust his knee between her legs. ‘That’s not a nice way to speak to your brother,’ he hissed in her ear.
‘You’re not a nice brother,’ she threw back at him, digging her finger nails into the back of his hands.
Bert dropped her. ‘You bloody bitch!’ He stared at his hand as blood began to ooze through the broken skin. He looked down at her sprawled on the floor and kicked her.
‘Swine,’ she yelled, scrabbling away from him. ‘Just carry on the way you are and Dah’ll catch you. Then you’ll be sorry.’
He laughed. ‘You think I’m scared of Dah? Not these days, little sister. I could take him on with one arm tied behind my back and beat him.’ He bent over and grabbed her by the front of her blouse and hoisted her to her feet. Ramming her against him he kissed her hard, crushing her lips against her teeth. Furious and scared she brought up both hands and slapped the sides of his face. He swore and then laughed. ‘You’re just how I like a girl… plenty of fight in her.’
Joy remembered what he had done to Hannah and fear tightened her stomach. Even so she looked him straight in the eye. ‘You mightn’t be scared of Dah but Mother’s not going to like it if you dare rape me.’
‘Rape!’ His eyes hardened. ‘That’s an ugly word, little sister.’
‘Aye, isn’t it? Mother’s not going to like it either when I tell her what you’ve been up to… threatening Alice, Hannah and Emma and making up to Miss Victoria Waters.’
He dropped her. ‘How d’you know about that?’
This time Joy managed to pick herself up and reached for the poker. She gripped it firmly and said boldly, ‘That’s shocked you, hasn’t it? If I was you I’d make a run for it before you find yourself in real hot water.’
He stared at her and without saying another word, he walked out of the kitchen. Joy could scarcely believe it and it took her several minutes to pull herself together and rush after him. He had already vanished from sight and she could only rejoice that she had resisted the temptation to fling at him the knowledge th
at they knew where he lived. Even now Kenny was on his way to the address she had given him. She experienced a momentary unease, thinking of what her brother had said about being able to beat their father with one hand tied behind his back. Perhaps Kenny should have waited for him, so there’d be two of them to face him, but her brother-in-law had been raring to have a go at Bert. She prayed that he had not taken on more than he could handle. He might have beaten Bert once but could he do it again?
* * *
A black and white cat dozed on the whitened doorstep in the early evening sun as Kenny pushed his cap to the back of his head and gazed at the terraced house with its brightly painted green door and small front garden. Floral curtains fluttered in the breeze that blew through the half-open sash window and he could see a woman glancing through the glass at him as she watered an aspidistra in the downstairs front room. For a moment, he wondered if Bert had found himself a live-in tart, but as he crossed the street he realised that the woman was elderly with white hair pinned up in a bun. As he watched she vanished, only to reappear when she opened the front door. She picked up the cat and held it to the bosom of her frilled cream blouse.
‘D’you want something?’ she asked.
Kenny removed his cap, revealing a mop of light brown hair. ‘It’s a fine evening.’
‘It is indeed. Can I help you?’
His sensitive mouth eased into a smile and his hazel eyes creased at the corners. ‘I hope so. I’m looking for Mr Temple. I’ve been informed he lives here.’
Her face lit up. ‘You’re the first visitor I’ve known him to have. He keeps himself to himself… not that he isn’t polite and friendly,’ she hastened to add.
‘Is he in?’ asked Kenny, reaching out and tickling the cat’s head and stroking its back. It stretched and purred.
‘You like cats?’ He nodded. ‘I don’t think he does,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Threw it out when it got into his room once.’
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