A Dream to Share

  ‘He’s not in then?’

  She shook her head. ‘Went out about twelve. No doubt he’ll be back soon. Supper’s at seven.’

  ‘I’ll wait here then if you don’t mind?’ He raised a questioning eye­ brow.

  She shook her head. ‘Although, you’re welcome to wait inside. Have you come far, Mr… ?’

  ‘Chester,’ said Kenny, leaning against the wall. The bricks were warm and he held his face up to the sun. There was a silence and he thought she’d gone inside and then suddenly she said, ‘Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea. You must be thirsty? It’s been a warm day.’

  Kenny opened his eyes, thanked her and followed her inside the house. One obstacle over with, he thought, wondering what the woman would think if she knew what he planned for Mr Temple.

  She showed him into the parlour and left him alone. On the way here he’d only been able to think about blackening both Bert’s eyes and breaking his arms so he’d think twice before writing another threaten­ing letter or attacking a woman, but now, sitting in this peaceful parlour with its occasional table, large leatherette three piece suite and piano, he came to the conclusion that he could hardly do that here.

  He was wondering how best to leave without upsetting the woman when she reappeared, carrying a tray. He realised it was going to be impossible to leave without drinking a cup of tea and eating at least one drop scone.

  She was obviously lonely because as she fussed over him her tongue wagged ceaselessly. She was a widow with two sons of whom she saw little. ‘Do you have any children?’ she asked.

  Pain crossed Kenny’s face. It didn’t go unnoticed and she patted his hand but did not comment. He gained control of himself and having swallowed several mouthfuls of tea, said, ‘I have a six-year-old half-sis­ter who lives with us. My stepmother died in childbirth,’ he added by way of explanation.

  ‘Sad,’ she murmured. ‘I presume Mr Temple has never been married?’ Kenny shook his head, wondering again what she would think if he said Bert had almost married his other half-sister and had beaten her when she discovered that he’d raped his own sister, Kenny’s wife! Anger and frustration twisted his gut and his finger tightened on the cup han­dle. It snapped and tea and crockery spilt on his lap. He grabbed hold of the cup and shot to his feet, apologising to the woman.

  ‘You mustn’t worry. I know there was a cup with an hairline crack but I can’t always see it. I’m only sorry you’re all wet.’ She blinked at him. ‘I’ll get you a cloth and you can wipe yourself down.’

  ‘No! Thank you… you mustn’t bother yourself. I appreciate your kind hospitality but perhaps I’d better go.’

  She looked up at him in surprise. ‘But Mr Temple should be in soon.’

  ‘I’ll come again,’ said Kenny, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his trousers.

  She smiled. ‘It’ll be nice to see you. One thing’s for sure… you’ll soon dry in the warm air.’

  Kenny agreed. He took his cap from his pocket and pulled it on and then buttoned up his jacket, glad that it was long enough to hide the damp patch. He was half way along the road when he realised a train must be in as people were spilling out of the railway station. He began to run, excusing himself as he forced his way through the crowds. For a brief moment he thought he saw Bert then he disappeared. Kenny hesitated, thinking to go after him but then changed his mind. Here in the open with witnesses was not how he wanted to deal with Bert. He had been too hasty rushing here. The confrontation with Bert needed more consideration.

  He showed his ticket at the barrier and then headed for the wrought iron stairway leading up to the walkway over the railway track to the platform on the other side.

  He was at the top of the steps when he felt a blow in the centre of his back. He staggered, recovered his balance and then felt another blow. He made a grab for the handrail and hung on to it, but then a hand came down and chopped his fingers with a viciousness that caused him to lose his grip. Another push and he lost his footing and went slid­ing down the steps on his back at speed. He thrust out a leg to slow himself down and his foot hit the side of the stairway. The shock jarred right up his leg and through his body with shattering pain. He managed to grab hold of one of the rails and swung himself to a halt.

  Thoroughly shaken he drew in his leg and sat down on one of the steps. The pain was so excruciating he felt sick and dizzy. He rested his head on his forearm and gulped air. Part of his mind was aware of run­ning footsteps and voices and, within minutes, he felt a hand on his shoulder whilst several feet ran past him.

  ‘Are you OK, pal? I could scarcely believe my eyes. You were delib­erately pushed!’ The man’s voice rose in indignation.

  Slowly Kenny lifted his head and stared into the concerned face of a middle-aged station master with a walrus moustache. ‘Did…?’ began Kenny weakly, only to have to pause to take another breath and steady his voice. ‘Did you see who it was?’

  ‘Fair haired, wearing a stripped blazer and white trousers,’ said the porter. ‘The engine driver saw it happen and has gone after him. He and his fireman were just topping up with water from our tank. He took off like a rocket.’

  Bert! thought Kenny furious with himself for not being on his guard. He swore under his breath.

  ‘You’ve gone a terrible colour. D’you want me to help you up? You can rest in the waiting room.’ Before Kenny could answer, there was the shush-hiss-shush-hiss-shush of brakes being applied as a train steamed into the other platform and the man said hastily, ‘I’ll have to go but I’ll be back.’

  Kenny saw that his train was still waiting, its tank being filled with water. ‘Help me up now! I need to get the Chester train.’ The station master looked doubtful but he didn’t argue with him and aided him in getting to his feet. Kenny gritted his teeth against the throbbing pain in his foot and ankle. The porter took one look at his face and asked for assistance from the youth now hurrying down the steps.

  ‘Alf, give us a hand here. This gentleman wants the Chester train. I take it you didn’t catch his assailant?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Alf removed his cap revealing ginger hair and wiped his brow. ‘Mr Davies hasn’t given up, though. For a bloke his size, he can’t half leg it. Apparently he recognised the man… and I’ve seen him before, too.’ The station master seemed about to ask another question when he remembered the train waiting at the other platform and hur­ried away.

  Alf gazed into Kenny’s tight-lipped face. ‘Yer look a bit rough, sir.’

  ‘I feel bloody lousy.’ He rested his head against the rails. ‘I was going to ask you to help me to get to the Chester train but I’ll rest here and wait for your Mr Davies. You carry on with your work.’ The lad hesitated and then hurried down the steps.

  * * *

  David caught up with Bert in the act of opening the front door to his lodgings. He grabbed him by the collar of his blazer and pulled him backwards. Bert managed to stop himself from falling against him by jerking forwards and dragging himself out of it. David staggered back, clutching the empty blazer and Bert shot into the house. He made to slam the door but David thrust his foot in the gap and forced it open again. Bert made a hasty retreat into the parlour where he picked up the shovel from the coal scuttle. David got as far as the doorway when a quavering voice said, ‘Who are you? What’s going on here?’

  He glanced down from his great height at the white haired old woman and said soothingly, ‘Nothing for you to worry about, lovey. Just go into your kitchen and leave this to me. This swine has just pushed a man down the steps at the station.’

  Her faded blue eyes showed astonishment. ‘Mr Temple? Never!’

  ‘That’s right, Mrs Payne.

  ‘Don’t you believe him,’ shouted Bert, from inside the parlour. ‘He’s a thieving debt collector and he’s bleed­ing me dry.’

  ‘You liar!’ said David, a pained expression in his face. ‘Do I look like a debt collector, lovey?’

  ‘It’s a disguise, Mrs Payne!
You know how crafty these debt collec­tors are,’ yelled Bert.

  David wasted no more time going in after him.

  Bert swung the shovel at his head but David brought up an arm and grabbed it. He tugged it out of Bert’s grasp with one hand and then slammed his fist into the other man’s face with the other. Bert moaned and staggered back, clutching his nose. He fell over the occasional table and was only prevented from landing on the floor by grabbing hold of the piano stool.

  With a great deal of satisfaction David looked at Bert’s bleeding nose, which was definitely a peculiar shape. He watched the other man shake his head as if to clear it. There was a venomous expression in his eyes as he grabbed the piano stool and with a string of foul sounding words attacked David with it. The Welshman only just managed to step aside in time but the leg of the stool whacked his arm and a hiss of pain sounded through his clenched teeth. The shovel he had wrenched from Bert slipped from his grasp. Bert went for him again with the piano stool. This time David managed to get a grip on two of the legs and he pushed with all his strength. Suddenly he released it and Bert fell back onto the sofa. Grim-faced, David bent over him and seized him by the throat. He was just about to heave Bert to his feet when something hit him over the head. He saw stars and there was a rushing in his ears as he lost consciousness.

  When David came to it was to find himself stretched out on the sofa with a policeman and Alf sitting a few feet away, drinking tea. Hovering just behind them was the white-haired old woman. The relief on her face when he sat up was such that he felt he had to reassure her that he was OK.

  ‘I did it,’ she said in a trembling voice, clasping her hands in front of her bosom. ‘I didn’t realise Mr Temple was such a bad man. I believed what he said.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked David, touching the back of his head gingerly.

  ‘Scarpered,’ said Alf. ‘When the train was ready to go and you were still not back we had to get another driver. Mr Moran, the bloke who was pushed down the stairs, gave us this address and I was sent to fetch a bobby and here we are.’

  David swore under his breath. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Someone took him home. He refused to go to the hospital.’

  The policeman handed his cup to the woman. ‘Perhaps you’d like to give us a statement, Mr Davies, on the way to the station. Then we’ll get a search launched for Mr Kirk, alias Temple.’

  David agreed, hoping he was not going to lose his job over this. Mucking up the company’s timetable was not going to go down well with the owners, especially when he was known to belong to the union. But what else could he have done? He only hoped Emma would be pleased that he had at least caused some damage to the swine. But what of the bloke who’d been pushed down the stairs? He could only pray that his foot hadn’t been completely smashed.

  * * *

  ‘You were a fool to go alone,’ scolded Hannah, her expression strained as she eased off Kenny’s shoe, aware of his indrawn hiss of pain as she performed this service. She removed his sock with gentle fingers, try­ing to conceal her dismay as she stared at his swollen ankle and foot that seemed to be fixed at a peculiar angle. ‘I’ll fetch a bowl of cold water.’

  There came the rat-tat-tat of the knocker on the front door. ‘Tilly, you get that,’ said Hannah, wondering who it could be.

  Tilly hurried to the front door and opened it. On the step stood Joy and Emma. ‘Has Kenny arrived home yet?’ asked Joy, her eyes sombre.

  Tilly opened the door wide. ‘You’d best come in. His foot’s all swollen.’ Her voice quivered. ‘Uncle Bert pushed him down the steps. How could he be so wicked?’

  Joy and Emma exchanged worried glances and hurriedly followed her inside. They gasped when they saw Kenny’s foot.

  ‘Oh, Kenny!’ cried Joy, going over to him and putting an arm about his shoulders.

  ‘I acted bloody daft,’ he said in bitter tones. ‘I’d forgotten what a crafty swine he was.’

  ‘Stop blaming yourself,’ chided Hannah, placing the bowl of cold water on the floor. She lifted his foot and he gritted his teeth as she placed it in the water.

  ‘You’re going to need a doctor for that,’ said Emma, getting down on her knees and inspecting his injury. ‘Cold water won’t cure it. I worked in a doctor’s house and I’d say it’s broken. These days they can X-ray it for you so they know exactly how bad the break is. He’ll have to go to Chester Infirmary.’

  ‘But that would mean calling out the horse ambulance and that’ll cost money,’ said Hannah in dismay.

  ‘You want him to get the best of care, don’t you?’ asked Emma. ‘You be grateful he’s still alive, Hanny. Poor Victoria Waters is dead.’

  Hannah and Kenny stared at her. ‘What d’you mean, dead?’ they chorused.

  She glanced at Tilly and then whispered, ‘What I’ve to say isn’t for her ears.’

  Immediately Hannah asked Tilly to go upstairs and fetch a clean pair of Kenny’s socks from the chest of drawers. No sooner was she out of the room than Emma commenced to tell them what had happened at the Waters’ house.

  Hannah and Kenny could not conceal their shocked horror. ‘He must be out of his mind. I never thought he’d go that far,’ said Hannah in a shaken voice.

  ‘And he must have realised that I knew where he lived and panicked when he saw me,’ rasped Kenny. ‘I only hope to God that Mr Davies managed to get his hands on him before the police did.’

  Emma stared at him in amazement. ‘Mr Davies? Was he a big fella with fair hair?’

  Kenny grimaced. ‘Engine driver! I was on the ground, so I only saw his legs passing by. But apparently he saw what happened and went after him. The lad said he recognised him.’

  Emma’s expression was gleeful. ‘I saw him today and I told him about my suspicions about Bert and about your drawing. No wonder he recognised him and went after him.’ She clasped her hands together as if in prayer. ‘Dear God, let David have beaten him into pulp.’

  Hannah smiled. But Joy said, ‘Kenny, you mentioned a bobby.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He reached out and took his wife’s hand. ‘We both know what you’re going to say, Joy… that your Mother won’t be able to cope with Bert being arrested and hearing what he’s been up to… but you know as well as we do that he’s got to be stopped.’

  Joy nodded. ‘I agree. He was hiding in the house when I arrived home and attacked me. I fought back and said a few well chosen words and he left.’ The two women gasped and Kenny swore. ‘I’ll tell you more later. I don’t want to be caught talking about it when Tilly comes down. I just wish there was another way to punish Bert, his going to prison could kill Mother.’

  Hannah frowned. ‘We’ve tried to protect her in the past – and where’s it got us?’

  Emma got to her feet. ‘I was all for leaving the police out of this. I wanted to deal with him ourselves but it’s too late now. I told the doc­tor what I suspected and half-expected him to tell me to wash my mouth out with soap.’ She hesitated. ‘Give him his due, he said that he would inspect the body closely and, if it was as I believed, he would report it to the police. Although, without witnesses they might have trouble proving it was him that raped her, causing heart failure.’ She sighed. ‘I’m prepared to stand in the witness box and swear it was him who attacked me. I’d like to see him hang, meself, but I’ll probably have to settle for a good stiff sentence with hard labour.’

  The others agreed.

  Soon after Emma and Joy left. They parted outside the Kirks’ house, promising to get in touch when they had news. Emma would have liked to have called at David’s house but knew it would be unfair to leave Mary and Cook alone any longer to cope with the aftermath of their mistress’s death. She guessed it was going to be left to her to get in touch with Mr Crane, the solicitor, and Victoria’s Uncle Martin to arrange the funeral.

  * * *

  In a church pew of St Mary-without-the-Walls, sat Emma and David, who had been suspended from his job while an enquiry was pending. Han
nah and Joy were also there, as was Mary. Poor Kenny had wanted to attend the funeral but it would have been too much for him. His ankle was broken and the impact had also shattered a bone in his foot. It was possible he might never be completely free from pain and be left with a permanent limp. Cook had stayed behind to keep an eye on old Mrs Waters and to see to the funeral meal.

  In the row in front of them were ranged several members of the Women’s Suffrage Movement, including Josephine Stone. On the other side of the aisle sat Mr Martin Waters, Mr Crane, the solicitor, and the doctor. Other pews were occupied by neighbours and friends and busi­ness acquaintances of Mr Waters from Liverpool.

  There had been no news from Sebastian and Alice or from Gabrielle Bennett. As for Bert, so far he had managed to escape capture and his mother was denying that he had done any of the things her daughters and Emma had accused him of doing.

  The vicar announced the final hymn and the organist began to play ‘Crimond’. The congregation stood up and started to sing ‘The Lord is My Shepherd’. The hymn came to an end and the final words of the service were said. The bearers lifted the pale oak coffin, with its wreath of red and yellow roses, on to their shoulders and led the way down the aisle and outside.

  Mary sniffed back tears and Emma dabbed her own eyes as Victoria was laid to rest beside her father. Again, Emma thought how unfair it was that she should have gone to meet her maker before her grandmother. Hannah, Joy and David left Emma outside the Waters’ gate. David had whispered in her ear that he would call round tomorrow and see her. Later, as she helped serve drinks and hand round plates of food, she overheard Martin Waters echoing her sentiments as to the unfairness of his niece dying before his mother. Only after the other guests had left, did he ask Mr Crane about the contents of his niece’s will. He must have forgotten Emma was there because he did not lower his voice, nor did the solicitor. Apparently Victoria Waters had not made a will. This news obviously did not please her uncle one little bit. He demanded to know what would happen to her shares in the company. Emma contin­ued to empty ash trays and tidy up in general, her ears pricked for what came next.