The Deserter's Daughter

by Susanna Bavin

  She paused to glance over the letter in the machine, then looked down at the notes beside her to see what came next. When she had finished, she read it through before using the knob on the side to turn the cylinder and feed the letter into her waiting hand. With the tips of her fingers, she removed the carbon paper and put the letter and copy in the tray on the cabinet behind her. Then she lifted the typewriter onto its table and resumed her seat, taking some paperwork out of one of the drawers and laying it before her.

  She breathed a small sigh to ease herself into the moment. She liked to—oh, it was so silly and she had to laugh at herself, but honestly, it was such a pleasure. When she had paperwork in front of her, she liked to pretend this desk graced the home of Mr and Mrs Alexander Larter; the supplies inventory was actually a seating plan for one of her famous dinner parties (‘Do get yourself invited to the Larters’, if you possibly can. The food is divine.’); the staff rota was really a guest list for an elegant supper and dance at which she was going to appear in a new black velvet evening gown of devastating simplicity from Mademoiselle Antoinette’s in St Ann’s Square.

  There was a knock at the door. Before she could respond, Adam Armstrong appeared. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

  ‘The police are here. They want to speak to you. I’ve put them in the common room. Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  She smoothed her perfect appearance and went to the common room, and common was the operative word. Other parts of the house retained some of the original furnishings, but the common room contained a mishmash of sofas and armchairs, tables and shelves, for the use of the staff during their breaks from work.

  There were two men, neither in uniform. One, an older man with a Bolton accent, introduced himself as Inspector Woods and his colleague simply as Drummond. Drummond was younger, narrow-faced. He stood to one side.

  At Inspector Woods’ request, Evadne explained about the dealings she and Alex had had with Mrs Bentley, Miss Kent and others the inspector named.

  ‘Mrs Bentley understood that when you visited her on your own, you were buying on behalf of Armstrong’s,’ Inspector Woods remarked.

  As she started to explain about Foster and Wainwright’s, Drummond left the room. How rude! Inspector Woods kept her talking and she found herself admitting to letting Mr Wainwright and his colleagues believe she was a lady of consequence.

  ‘So you lied.’

  ‘A harmless deception. It wouldn’t have done to let them know I’m in the business.’

  Drummond returned. He slipped a folded sheet of foolscap onto the table in front of Inspector Woods and melted into the background. Woods unfolded the paper and glanced over it. His mouth pulled downwards into a thoughtful expression.

  ‘While we’ve been talking, Drummond put through a telephone call to the police in Chester, and they visited Foster and Wainwright’s for us. This is a list of the things Foster and Wainwright’s have auctioned on your behalf.’ He tapped the sheet. ‘There’s more here than you admitted to.’

  ‘Admitted to? There would be things I purchased from other clients.’

  ‘Things you neglected to mention before.’

  ‘Had you enquired about other clients, I’d have told you.’

  ‘I’m enquiring now. Shall we start with names and addresses, and then we’ll match those up with what’s on this list.’ A few minutes later, he observed, ‘These addresses are all in Parrs Wood, several in the same road.’

  ‘My grandfather’s neighbours.’

  ‘Have you bought anything from your grandfather?’

  ‘He isn’t in reduced circumstances.’

  ‘So you just pick on folk in reduced circumstances?’

  ‘I don’t pick on anyone. These people were happy to do business with Mr Larter and myself.’

  ‘Ah yes, Mr Larter. Tell me, Miss Baxter, you said Mrs Bentley provided the introduction to Miss’ – he glanced at his notes – ‘Kent, and then she had a sister, and that was how you got into these houses. I hope you don’t expect me to believe this chain of introductions led all the way to Parrs Wood.’

  ‘Of course not. I provided Mr Larter with those introductions. I don’t know what irregularity you imagine you’ve discovered, Inspector, but I’m sure Mr Larter, the Honourable Mr Larter, will support everything I’ve told you.’

  Woods frowned over his notes. ‘You say you bought a canteen of silver cutlery from the Goudge ladies, but that doesn’t appear on Foster and Wainwright’s list.’

  ‘It’s still at the Lloyds. I have a store cupboard there.’

  ‘Is it locked? The key, if you please.’

  And Woods and Drummond set off for the Lloyds. Evadne sat still, realising how startled she felt. What was going on? Inspector Woods hadn’t given her the chance to ask any questions.

  She went to the door, only to find a young constable in the corridor.

  ‘May I ask where you’re going, miss?’

  ‘Outside. I require some fresh air. Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘Better stop indoors, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I do mind.’

  ‘Inspector Woods, miss.’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘He’d rather you stopped inside.’

  ‘Well, really!’

  She went storming to her office, but when the young constable followed and stood outside, she marched back in high dudgeon to the common room, where he would be less conspicuous. She prowled the room. One shelf carried packs of cards, a draughts set and even a compendium of games – how childish! On another stood a line of books while the window seat was evidently the favoured place for stowing bags of knitting. Copies of Woman’s Weekly and Vera’s Voice were dotted around. She picked up one or two and flicked through the pages, but couldn’t settle and soon threw them aside, every tick of the clock on the mantelpiece adding to her annoyance. She planned exactly what to say to the men for keeping her waiting like this.

  Eventually, they returned.

  ‘So, Miss Baxter,’ said the inspector, before she could complain, ‘you accompanied Mr Larter on visits to Mrs Bentley and others when he bought items for auction at Armstrong’s. Subsequent to each visit, you made your own appointment and bought a small but valuable piece you could take away with you. The customers believed you were employed by Armstrong’s. You then introduced Mr Larter to your grandfather’s cash-strapped neighbours and the same thing happened. Mr Larter made purchases for Armstrong’s that were later collected, after which you returned and bought small things you could carry away. You got in touch with Foster and Wainwright’s, introducing yourself as a member of an old family embarrassed for the want of a bit of cash, and they auctioned your purchases for sums considerably in excess of what you’d paid.’

  ‘That’s the point of an auction,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Indeed. You then opened a savings account and deposited the profits.’

  ‘That’s what Mr Larter told me to do.’

  ‘So you say. The fact is, Miss Baxter, you’ve been fleecing innocent citizens. You learnt about old things from this Weston chap you mentioned, who’s now being brought in for questioning, and you used your association with Messrs Armstrong and Larter to buy things ostensibly for auction at Armstrong’s.’

  ‘That’s preposterous.’

  ‘You offered low prices for what you bought.’

  ‘I offered what I was told to offer by Mr Larter.’

  ‘Ye-e-s.’ Woods stretched the word. ‘I’ve heard a lot about Mr Larter recently, having called on Mrs Bentley and others. I gather he always paid in guineas – the sign of a real gent, according to more than one person. But you paid in pounds, I believe.’

  ‘Well … yes—’

  ‘A small mistake, Miss Baxter, but a telling one, and not very many pounds at that. Mr Wainwright informed my colleagues in Chester that the sums raised on your items were’ – he glanced down at the foolscap – ‘“pleasing,
though not excessive”. But you made a huge profit, didn’t you, because you paid paltry sums in the first place. But as you say, Miss Baxter, that’s the point of an auction, isn’t it?’

  ‘Inspector, I don’t know what this is about—’

  ‘What it’s about, Miss Baxter, is placing you under arrest.’

  Carrie swung round as Ralph appeared in the sitting-room doorway. She had spent all this time telling herself there was nothing to worry about. Evadne, a thief? Utter rot.

  But instead of saying, ‘It was all a stupid mistake,’ he said, ‘She’s been arrested. They’ve taken her to the police station on Beech Road.’

  And it wasn’t just what he said, it was the way he said it, that complacent quirk of the lips, that slightly raised eyebrow. Carrie clenched her fists.

  The moment he went back downstairs to the shop, she threw on her things, ran down to their private front door and hurried to the police station. She had to stand by her sister. She would stake her life on Evadne’s honesty.

  ‘No visitors,’ she was told by a young bobby, who looked like power had gone to his head.

  ‘Then, please can I leave a message?’

  ‘No visitors, no messages.’

  ‘But it’s important. Say Mrs Armstrong came – just that. I’m her sister.’

  ‘I don’t see the harm in it,’ said another voice – an older policeman.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There’s nowt more you can do, so off you go.’

  On her way out, she almost bumped into someone on the steps. The heavy door swung shut behind her, nudging her forward, and she lost her footing. Hands steadied her and she found herself looking into Adam’s face, closer than she had ever seen it before, close enough to see the crow’s feet that promised humour and kindness, the vertical lines between his eyebrows that showed dedication and careful thought, the surprise in his eyes that transformed into warmth and something deeper than warmth.

  Around the two of them, Beech Road slid out of focus and they were encapsulated in their own moment. She had avoided thinking of Adam all this time, dreading in the depths of her heart that it was loving him that had distracted her from her role as a mother, leading her to neglect her baby at the vital moment. Loving him had turned her into a bad mother.

  She pushed free so hard that he stepped backwards onto the pavement. She glared at him, but really she was glaring at herself for ever having loved him. How had she managed to live this long without Joey, without her precious baby boy?

  ‘I’ve just heard,’ said Adam. ‘They told me when I finished my afternoon rounds.’

  ‘You can’t see her, if that’s why you’ve come.’

  ‘Isn’t Ralph here?’

  ‘He’s in the shop.’

  ‘He should shut the blasted shop. Sorry, Carrie, but he ought to be with you.’

  She shut her eyes. Did he think she was stupid? Did he imagine she didn’t know that?

  ‘I’d best go.’

  She had nothing to say to him. Head down, avoiding his gaze, she hurried away, thoughts careering between Evadne and Adam while, underneath, a horrified shame began to bubble. She wasn’t meant to do this. She wasn’t meant to pay attention to other matters. She wasn’t meant to care about other things – and yet she cared what happened to Evadne.

  ‘Please can we go to court tomorrow?’ Carrie asked. Never mind the stew and the apple fritters she had originally planned for their tea. She had shamelessly substituted them for toad-in-the-hole and baked custard, two of Ralph’s favourites, intent upon buttering him up.

  ‘It’s not appropriate. An employer might be expected to turn up to see a thieving employee being dealt with, but Evadne’s your sister. Our presence in court would be ambivalent, to say the least.’

  So much for baked custard. ‘She didn’t do anything.’

  He gave her a look. ‘Are you defending her?’

  ‘She’s my sister.’

  ‘Don’t pretend you like her. She looks down on you.’

  It was like having cold water dashed in her face. Whatever differences her and Evadne’s starts in life had created, she entertained strong family feeling. You didn’t have to live in your sibling’s pocket to feel loyal to them. Ralph should know that, having a brother of his own. Except that he didn’t know it, did he, because that instinct was missing in him.

  ‘I know Evadne. She’d never do anything against the law.’

  ‘The police have proof.’ His eyes glittered and Carrie’s insides shrivelled in anticipation of an outburst, but he merely shook his head. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Carrie. You’ve tried hard to be a better wife – and you’ve succeeded. You don’t talk in that common way any more; you’ve stopped hobnobbing with riff-raff; your appearance is smarter. At last I have a wife to be proud of – or so I thought. Look at you now, taking sides against me.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘This is how you repay me. After everything I’ve given you, all the comforts and advantages, this is how you repay me. Never for one moment have I held you accountable for Joey’s death, and this is how you repay me. Shame on you.’

  Battling to remain calm, Evadne sat on a wooden chair at a table in a small, windowless room deep in the bowels of the magistrates’ court. At least it was an improvement on the grubby cell in which she had spent a sleepless night. She made a point of sitting correctly. Honest people sat up straight.

  The door opened and in marched Grandfather. She came to her feet and was on the point of flinging herself into his arms when she realised they weren’t open to receive her. She sank down again, belatedly noticing that another man had entered. She formed an impression of ruddy cheeks and pinstripes before Grandfather introduced him as his solicitor, Mr Denton.

  ‘First things first,’ Grandfather barked. ‘When they ask your name, say Jenkins. Don’t want the Baxter name dragged through the courts.’

  Evadne was taken aback. She had expected something kinder, more supportive, but the Baxter name mattered deeply to him – four generations of men serving their country and all that – so maybe it was understandable.

  She appealed to Mr Denton. ‘You have to make the police speak to Mr Larter. They can’t have done that yet, or I wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘With luck, you’ll be out this morning,’ Grandfather was saying in a loud voice as if he were addressing the troops. ‘You’re up before Hyland. Decent cove, known him for years. I’ll have a word before things get going.’

  But all this achieved was to make Mr Hyland withdraw from the case, leaving Evadne waiting to be referred to another magistrate, something that took most of the morning.

  In court at last, she stared into every corner, desperate for the sight of Carrie. Carrie’s attempt to visit her yesterday had meant the world to her, unleashing a primal need that only flesh and blood could fulfil, which was ridiculous, because Grandfather was flesh and blood and he was here. But he wasn’t enough; he wasn’t the right person. She wanted Carrie, her little sister, the infant she had adored when she was a child. Back then she had known what flesh and blood felt like. She had known what it was to feel connected to another person. A wave of need swept over her. She wanted her sister.

  But Carrie wasn’t present. Her spirits sagged but then steadied; she knew whom to blame for that.

  Adam Armstrong was here, though. Her glance scraped across him without stopping. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  The magistrate entered. A gentleman with a lined face and a weary air, he had a long nose and appeared inclined to look down it at her, which made her stand taller. He consulted his papers and nodded to the clerk.

  ‘Stand, please,’ ordered the clerk. ‘You are Evadne Josephine Baxter, currently residing at Brookburn House, Chorlton-cum-Hardy?’

  ‘Jenkins. Evadne Jenkins.’

  ‘Not Baxter?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ The magistrate’s expression suggested a low opinion of female intelligence.

  As if she wouldn’t know her own name. Evadne gave him a di
sdainful look, but the complacency was soon knocked out of her in the ensuing confusion.

  ‘A criminal alias, perhaps?’

  She had no idea who uttered the words, but they sent panic swarming through her. Afterwards, that was the detail Grandfather seemed to consider the most important. Never mind that she had been placed on remand. Never mind that she was to spend tonight in prison. All he could go on about was how the fiasco over Baxter and Jenkins would render her far more interesting to the press than Baxter alone would have done. He glared at her as if it was her fault.

  After Grandfather and Mr Denton took their leave, she perched on the wooden chair, fingers locked in her lap. A tray sat on the table. Perhaps she should make an effort. ‘You must keep your strength up,’ Mr Denton had advised. It was the most useful thing he had said all day. He certainly hadn’t been much help when she was up before the bench.

  Up before the bench – Evadne’s blood ran cold with shame. Oddly, it was Grandfather who had made her feel ashamed. Grandfather – the person she had relied on all these years.

  With the day plodding closer to the dreaded moment when she would be bundled into a prison van and taken away to face God knows what, she sat in stunned silence, hands clasped until they grew so clammy she had to untangle them. She was too exhausted and upset to remember where Alex was. Had the police spoken to him? He would clear everything up.

  Please let them speak to him before the prison van arrived.

  The door banged open and she jumped.

  A policeman stood there. ‘A gent to see you.’

  ‘Alex!’ she exclaimed. Her muscles melted with relief.

  Ted Geeson swung in.

  Chapter Forty

  It was a day for hogging the fire, but Carrie sat by the window all morning. She knew in her bones that Adam would have gone to court. She had known from the moment he first spoke to Mam in their bedroom in Wilton Lane that he could be trusted. Beneath the spikes of her anxiety for Evadne lay a solid core of certainty, because she knew he would do this for her; he would attend court and be her eyes and ears, knowing that Ralph wouldn’t bother.