Rising unsteadily, leaning into the slope, she began a careful ascent, trying to veer away from the sounds of the blows as the two men slogged it out. Ralph was bigger and heavier, but he had that head wound. Everything went quiet. Carrie’s insides turned slushy. She chanced a couple of steps, then a couple more, then fell over Ralph’s prone form. She gasped in horror, not because of Ralph, but because she sensed the presence out of sight.
Mr Larter grabbed her, but they both slid and stumbled on the wet slope. The grass felt greasy. She tried dropping to the ground, but Mr Larter jerked her to her feet. There was a gut-churning moment when they swayed and tottered on the brink. Then they went over.
Hitting the water, she was consumed by terror as she went under, but Mr Larter still had hold of her and he dragged her to the surface. She burst out of the water, gasping, then Mr Larter clapped his hand on top of her head and thrust her back under. She struggled, but he was too strong. Just before her lungs exploded, there was a disturbance in the water beside her and a great flailing and lunging began, in the midst of which Carrie bobbed up to the surface in time to see Ralph erupt from the water like a monster from the deep, before plunging down on top of his adversary.
Sick and dizzy, she floundered away. Even here, close to the bank, she could feel the insistent plucking of the current. If she didn’t climb out soon, it would tug her into the middle and sweep her away.
Making a desperate effort, she bumped into the bank only for gratitude to turn to a silent howl of despair as she realised the impossibility of climbing up. Yes, there were dents and outcroppings that might do for hand- and footholds, but not in her state of cold and exhaustion. Beneath Jackson’s Boat, the banks sloped right down to the water, so she must pull herself as far as the bridge – if her strength would last that long.
She found the slope and dragged herself out of the water, too exhausted to be grateful or relieved or anything. She lay there, stunned with fear and fatigue, unable to move, not even wanting to. What she wanted most was to go to sleep. She shook her head, trying to snap herself awake, but she had no energy left. She wondered vaguely how it was possible to feel utterly numb and yet ache from head to foot at the same time.
What was that? She forced herself to sit up and listen, but the buzzing of tiredness inside her head was louder than any other sound. She inched away, found the bridge’s foundations and tucked herself behind the ironwork. A sloshing noise told her that someone was emerging from the river. She felt rather than heard him slump to the ground, then she caught heavy breathing and a few muttered words. At last, he blew out a great long breath, then squelched up the slope and disappeared.
She didn’t dare move. Ralph – or Mr Larter? And what had become of the other one? She must have dozed off, because suddenly she was awake again, her muscles spiralling with cramp. With the cold and the pain, she could barely move. She managed to rub one calf to ease it a little. She needed to wriggle her toes, but she couldn’t feel them. Feeling ill, she grasped the edge of the bridge and struggled to her feet, only to fall over, toppling head first down the slope and landing practically on top of a body.
She rolled away, heart pumping.
‘C … Carrie?’ His voice was barely a croak.
‘Ralph?’
‘You’re … here. Alive.’
‘Mr Larter’s gone.’
‘I know … I couldn’t … fight any more. My head … I stayed under … as long as I could … so he’d think … I’d drowned.’
‘Did he think I’d drowned too?’
‘Maybe … or gave up. He’ll be … on his way. Listen, Carrie … Die of … ’sposure out here. Go.’
‘I’ll fetch help.’
She struggled up, her muscles screaming for mercy. She clambered up the slope to the bridge and hauled herself across it. At the far side she half-tumbled down the steps and collapsed onto the ground. She wanted to curl into a ball and sleep for ever. Waves of nausea swooping through her, she staggered to her feet. She tottered down the slope, finding the pub by walking into the wall.
She felt her way round, tapping bricks until she found herself tapping on glass. She could see light through a chink in the curtain. The curtain twitched aside, making her stumble backwards in alarm even though this was what she wanted. She had the oddest impression that the fog had found its way inside her head and then all thought was blotted out.
Chapter Forty-Five
Carrie opened her eyes. She ached all over, inside and out. Even the mattress and the pillows seemed to ache. Her eyes shifted into focus and she frowned, not recognising where she was. Memories deluged her, the fear, the fog, so many images all at once. She had an obscure memory of weird, frightening dreams; she remembered struggling to waken. There had been another dream too, a topsy-turvey dream where, instead of her sitting at Mam’s bedside, it was the other way round, with Mam watching over her.
Sensing movement, she glanced round and there was Mam in an armchair, bundled up in blankets. Her face shifted into a lopsided smile.
So that bit wasn’t a dream. She toppled back into slumber.
Carrie awoke, no longer exhausted. The aching had subsided to a dull roar. The first thing she did was look to see if Mam was still there. She was. Carrie lifted her hand. Mam reached, missed, then seized it.
‘I’ll fetch Doctor Armstrong,’ said a quiet voice, and Carrie glimpsed a nurse’s uniform before the door shut.
‘Mam.’ She didn’t know where to start. ‘Why did you never …?’
‘Hush, love. All in … good time. You’re at Brook … burn. This is Ev … adne’s bedroom. I’m in an … other room … along the landing.’
‘Except you aren’t there, Mrs Jenkins,’ came Adam’s voice, ‘because you insist on spending every moment at your daughter’s bedside.’
Carrie’s throat ached at the smile in his voice. She didn’t dare look at him. She thought of the punishment she had endured at Ralph’s hands and quaked.
‘Where’s …?’ Her voice vanished and she had to try again. ‘How is Ralph?’ He must be in a bad way if he had let himself be brought to Brookburn.
Adam said, ‘I’m sorry. He died.’
Her heart surged as if to deliver an almighty clang, but instead seemed to hang in mid-air, leaving a strange, empty feeling that made it difficult to breathe.
‘He lay a long time in the bitter cold,’ said Adam. ‘He’d obviously been in a brutal fight. In particular, there was a nasty injury to the back of his head.’
‘Mr Larter said he had concussion,’ Carrie remembered. She froze, clutching Mam’s hand secretly. ‘Was it the head injury that …?’
‘No. He died of exposure.’
Exposure. The very word Ralph had used. ‘I went for help, only …’
‘You collapsed,’ said Adam, ‘and no wonder.’
‘But if I’d—’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself.’
‘Don’t tell me what to think,’ she snapped, startling herself as well as him. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Sorry.’
‘The police want to speak to you.’
A memory swam into her mind: Ralph keeping the police at bay after poor Miss Deacon died. She had been in bed then too. Joey.
‘You’ll be up and about in no time,’ Adam said, ‘so we must get the story straight now – to protect Mrs Jenkins, for one. We don’t want the world to know she attacked Ralph with the poker. And to protect you, for another. Those letters Ralph sent …’
She shuddered. No, she didn’t want anyone knowing. How did Adam know?
‘Here and now,’ said Adam, ‘we speak the truth. We’ll worry later about what to tell the police.’ He looked from her to Mam. ‘Shall I start? There was a telephone call yesterday morning from the pub the other side of Jackson’s Boat.’
She waved a hand to stop him. ‘Yesterday … was Tuesday.’ And the nightmare hadn’t started until Tuesday evening.
‘Yester … day was We’n’s … day.’
‘It’s
Thursday now, ten o’clock in the morning,’ said Adam. ‘You’ve been out for the count, with a little help from a sedative.’ He let her think about that for a moment. ‘On Tuesday evening, the landlord took you in, soaked through and covered in bruises. His wife put you to bed and sat up with you. Apparently, you kept almost coming round, but she couldn’t make out what you were saying, not until early Wednesday morning when she caught something about Brookburn. Hence the telephone call. Ted Geeson and I and a couple of orderlies took the ambulance to the top of the lane down to the meadows, then walked to Jackson’s Boat and stretchered you back.’
‘Did you …? Is that when you found Ralph?’
Adam’s eyes clouded. ‘We must have passed within feet of him.’ He looked away. ‘I didn’t know until later that he was missing. The police found him yesterday evening.’
Carrie closed her eyes.
‘I went to the flat,’ Adam continued, ‘because I knew Mrs Jenkins would need looking after. Fortunately, I arrived before your cleaning woman. The shop was unlocked. I went upstairs and found – well, you know what I found – the poker, the contents of the safe …’ He hesitated. ‘Bits of newspaper on the floor.’
‘I had … lain there all … night,’ said Mam, ‘too exhausted to … move. I kept … trying to get up, but … all my strength was … gone.’
‘Mrs Jenkins told me what had happened,’ said Adam. ‘I brought her here, then informed the police that Ralph had been missing all night.’
After that, it was Mam’s turn. Carrie listened in mounting horror.
‘… Ralph k-killed … his father.’
‘No!’ Carrie exclaimed. Ralph – a murderer? Had she been married to a murderer?
‘Killed him?’ said Adam. ‘What – on purpose?’
‘Saw it … with my own eyes. Threw … him down de-de …’
‘Deliberately?’ said Adam.
‘It was m-m—’
‘Murder?’
Mam’s eyes flashed. ‘D-don’t … speak … for … me.’
Carrie reached for her hand. ‘Take your time.’
After witnessing Joseph Armstrong’s death, Mam had collapsed, only to waken inside a body over which she had no power, her heart breaking as her jilted daughter fell under the murderer’s spell and became his wife. All the time that Carrie had been caring for her so tenderly and determinedly, Ralph had been slipping into her room now and then.
‘But he never went near you!’ Carrie protested.
‘He would … ask if I … could hear and then he … said things.’
‘What things?’
But Mam wouldn’t say.
‘I was … frightened. I knew he would … k-kill me if I showed signs of … ’covery. To start, I … really couldn’t … move. Terrified … awake inside … paralysed body. Wished … he’d killed me when he killed … his father. Then I started … get better, but had to … make my … self a … dead weight when you did the … exercises on me …’
‘Oh, Mam,’ Carrie wanted to jump up and pace the room, but she had to stay still and calm, for Mam’s sake.
‘Can’t tell you how … much I wanted to give … a sign. You … so dedicated. But I knew … only hope was to recover … enough to dress, sneak down … stairs … get to Wilton Lane. It felt … taking for ever … Exercised every night … arms and legs … just like …’
‘Just like I did for you,’ Carrie said, fighting to hold back the tears.
‘I was … so weak. My body … All my strength was in my head, in my … thoughts. Eventually started … levering my … self out of bed … trying to … to walk … So tiring. No … stamina.’
‘But you didn’t give up. You’re so brave.’
‘Worried about you after … you lost Joey. Spurred … me on. But … mistakes. One time … brushed my hair, but left … brush … wrong place.’
‘I remember that. I thought it was Mrs Porter.’
But that was nothing compared to the mistake that followed. She slowly explained how, when Carrie, after months of not chatting, had opened up again, and especially when she had spoken of visiting Joey, she had been overwhelmed by emotion and squeezed Carrie’s hand.
‘When you told … Ralph, he came and … stood over me. Thought he w … would throttle me. Got … careless. Pushed myself too … hard. Fell over during that night … woke you up. Only just … back to bed in … time. But when … you saw me at … window on Mon … day, thought the … game was up.’
‘I thought it was Mrs Porter skiving.’
‘Then you said … open the safe. Had to mek you realise … if evidence in safe … had to mean … Ralph criminal.’
‘That’s why you squeezed my hand again.’
‘Wanted … stop you.’
‘And later you heard me and Ralph, and you dragged yourself to my rescue.’
‘You’re a remarkable woman, Mrs Jenkins,’ said Adam.
‘Not … really. Were all I could do to … carry that … poker and after I’d … bashed him, I were neither use … nor orn’ment.’
‘Oh, Mam,’ Carrie said again, half-laughing, half-crying. Sitting up in bed, she leant over and hugged Mam, her arms tightening as she thought of all Mam had suffered.
Adam surrendered his handkerchief and Carrie mopped her face. Then it was her turn and she described the blundering chase through the fog.
‘Ralph wanted to save me. The concussion was bad, but he wouldn’t give up.’
When she ran out of steam, there was a sober silence before Adam said, ‘He loved you.’
‘Then why … poison pen letters?’ Laboured speech or not, Mam sounded acerbic.
Carrie didn’t want to answer, but felt obliged to. ‘Punishment.’
‘For Joey?’ Adam asked.
Well, of course he would think that, having read the words scattered on the floor. It would be so easy to say yes. No, it wouldn’t. It was impossible. She wouldn’t attach this lie to Joey.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It was … something else.’
She saw understanding in Adam’s eyes and looked away.
Evadne’s hands trembled so much she could barely fasten the buttons on her blouse. She was wearing her own clothes again. She had been taken to see the governor, who had looked up from his work long enough to inform her that the charges against her had been dropped and she was to be released. No information, no details. Then his gaze returned to the papers in front of him and she stood there like an imbecile, not daring to feel relieved in case she had misheard, until the wardress plucked at her arm and she was led away.
But not back to her cell, thank God. She was taken to – she hadn’t the faintest idea where she was taken, because now relief and hope and gratitude were breaking through and it was all she could do to walk in a straight line.
‘Your things are over there.’
But she lurched at a chair instead, plonking down before her knees buckled.
‘You’re going home.’
It was safe to believe it. It wasn’t the words that made her certain. It was the absence of her surname. ‘Do this, Baxter. Do that, Baxter’ and ‘Posh bitch, aren’t you, Baxter?’ had been the refrain since she was dumped here; and the lack of that Baxter was what told her the nightmare had come to an end.
She dressed. Oh, the feel of fine-quality underwear, the soft yielding cotton of her blouse, its starch long since gone, the sheer smartness of her elegant skirt and matching jacket! Her throat thickened with emotion.
‘There’s a gent come to fetch you.’
Grandfather. But she had learnt various things during her time in this godforsaken hole, one of which was that when you were set free – if you were ever set free – you were taken to a small door set inside a pair of massive doors and you stepped through onto the cobbles, where a loved one might or might not be waiting for you. Oh, the shame of stepping outside like any common thief or – or woman of the night. Grandfather would not be there to share the shame. He might send Mr Denton, but he wouldn’t
set foot within a mile.
‘He’s waiting along the corridor. The governor allowed it, under the circumstances.’
Grandfather! That was good. It was perfect – wasn’t it?
She didn’t want her grandfather. She wanted … but would he be described as a gentleman? Well, why not? He might not be, socially or financially, but in his person and his character he most certainly was, and that was what mattered.
With an unaccustomed flutter in her belly, Evadne followed the wardress down the corridor. The woman waved her into a room and she walked in to see – please let it be – Adam Armstrong.
Oh. She stood tall, smoothing her features, keeping her secret.
‘Congratulations on your release,’ he said. ‘I’m here to take you home.’
‘Thank you.’
‘This way.’ He ushered her back down the corridor and towards a staircase. ‘I should warn you, there are reporters outside, but not to worry. The governor owes me a favour: I saved his godson’s life during the war. Plus, the circumstances of your case are now known to certain people and that’s another reason for him to let us creep out of a back entrance. I’ve a motor waiting.’
‘I don’t understand why the press is interested,’ she said, as they started down the stairs. ‘It’s not as though I was found guilty of anything.’
‘My dear girl, that’s precisely why they’re interested. Most of what’s happened has been kept quiet while the investigation proceeds, but there’s nothing hush-hush about your part in it, which we believe is what Larter intended. Throw your beauty into the mix and you’ve got yourself a story. We’ve even had the odd reporter sniffing round at Brookburn; Geeson’s had to padlock the gates.’
In the most casual voice possible, she asked, ‘How is he?’
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