Friendship's Bond

by Meg Hutchinson

  ‘And if I . . . or a woman . . . chose the way of the heath?’

  ‘Then I’d advise against—’

  At the other man’s irritated, ‘Constable!’ the uniformed policeman cleared his throat with an embarrassed cough, going on to say, ‘The ’eath be riddled with spent coal mines, the shafts covered wi’ bracken, that is the ones as be knowed of an’ there be many as ain’t. That bein’ the way of it a body would need watch every step; I’d reckon on puttin’ another fifteen minutes on that ’alf-hour.’

  ‘And if the journey is made in the evening?’

  Behind the chair occupied by his superior the constable looked across at Leah. He’d grown up with the woman’s sons, sat with them in the classroom, shared their horseplay in long summer evenings.

  It be all right, I knows you have your duty.

  The constable read Leah’s silent message. ‘By way of the ’eath be a much shorter route but crossin’ in the dark . . . I’d say ’alf-hour if you wishes to get across safe.’

  ‘Half an hour.’ The inspector echoed.

  Leah recognised the tone, the calculation behind it. ‘I knows what you be a thinkin’, so why did the lad tek so long? You’ll get to answer if you does for y’self what he done . . . you be a stranger to these parts same as ’im, you knows as little about the pits an’ open shafts as the lad, but like ’im y’knows they be many and every one a waitin’ to drag a body deep into the bowels of the earth; to my way of thinkin’ that meks the pair of you equal so why not you go y’self now while it be dark, you cross that heath alone and see the time it teks.’

  The woman had a point and all power to her elbow for making it, but he still had a job to do. Looking at Leah, at the challenge sharp in her eyes, John Allingham nodded.

  ‘I take your point, a man would indeed need take his time.’

  ‘As would a lad!’

  ‘As would a lad.’ He acknowledged the quick retort then reached for his bowler hat, saying as he ran his finger over the domed crown, ‘That is a pretty necklace you have, Mrs Marshall.’

  Leah smiled at the boy beside Ann. ‘It were a present from Alec.’

  ‘He bought—’

  ‘Please,’ the inspector held up a restraining hand, ‘if you don’t mind, Miss Spencer, I would rather Alec answer himself.’

  ‘I got them from a gypsy,’ Alec answered at once. ‘Their caravans were parked on ground along . . .’ He looked at Ann.

  ‘Dale Street.’

  ‘Dale . . . Street.’ The constable wrote laboriously, his superior waiting until he finished before nodding to Alec to proceed.

  ‘The caravans were so beautifully painted, I was telling Ann I had never seen the like in Russia when a young woman came across to us asking we buy a trinket. I had money Mr Langley insisted I take for helping with the milk floats. What better to spend it on than a present for a loved one?’

  ‘Them.’ Allingham cradled the bowler. ‘You said you bought “them”; that implies you purchased more than one.’

  Alec smiled a little sheepishly. ‘Two,’ he said, ‘I bought two, one for Grandmother Leah and one for Ann.’

  ‘But you do not wear your gift, Miss Spencer?’

  ‘That is my fault, I draped the necklace over the ears of the horse telling Ann how my sister and I would place strings of beads over the ears of Vanka, my donkey, and how Vanka would trot proudly about the grounds as though he were still in the circus ring.’ Alec paused. ‘Sorry . . . I should have known.’

  ‘So this second necklace, where is it now?’

  ‘I do not know, sir,’ Alec replied quietly. ‘Rosie, the horse, must have flicked it off. I did not notice until I brought her into the stable; the necklace could have been anywhere along any one of those streets leading here.’

  ‘Mmm.’ The inspector mused a moment then, ‘This second necklace, the one which was lost, did it have the same colour of stone as Mrs Marshall’s has?’

  ‘No. I chose colours I thought to complement their eyes; Grandmother Leah’s eyes are the colour of ripe chestnuts so for her I chose amber while for Ann I took azure because her eyes are that lovely gentian blue of perfect summer sky.’

  The scratch of the constable’s pencil fell silent. Inspector John Allingham rose to his feet.

  ‘Alec Romney,’ he looked up from smoothing the crown of the bowler hat, ‘I must ask you to accompany me to the station there to give a formal statement.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What for, the lad ain’t done nothin’!’

  Leah’s hot protest joined Ann’s question.

  Allingham was sober-faced as he replied. ‘We have a witness placing Alec Romney at the scene of a murder. We have the body of a girl who was strangled with a necklace, a necklace such as that Alec Romney states he purchased from a gypsy, but subsequently lost: a necklace with a blue glass bead.’

  ‘So your young friend has been arrested.’

  Ann’s breath caught as a figure stepped from the shadows to bar her way.

  ‘Alec is not arrested, he is simply giving the police a statement.’

  ‘Statement you say.’ A thick chuckle erupted in the darkness. ‘So if it is only a statement they want why is he not returning home with you? How come they haven’t released him?’

  Thomas Thorpe! She did not need to see the face of the man blocking her path; the sound of the voice was something she would forever remember. She sidestepped but on the instant a hand fastened on her arm, the fingers biting with savage pressure.

  ‘Let me tell you why he is being kept locked up. He is a murderer, he strangled Sarah Clews.’

  ‘No!’ Ann screamed, trying at the same time to shake off the hand.

  ‘Oh but yes.’ It slid smooth as a serpent. ‘There was a witness, a witness who will swear on oath to seeing him with her on the heath.’

  Ann’s senses jarred at the gloating so evident in the voice. Thomas Thorpe was glad Alec had been taken into custody, grateful for the awful predicament he was in.

  ‘That witness . . .’ Ann tried again to pull free of the clutching hand. ‘Whoever it might be is wrong. It was not Alec with Sarah Clews, he didn’t even know her.’

  Thorpe treated himself to a low abrasive laugh. ‘A murderer doesn’t need to know his victim.’

  ‘Alec is not a murderer! He would never harm anyone!’

  ‘That must needs be proved; can he prove he didn’t strangle the girl, can he prove he wasn’t out on the heath on the night of her killing? If it be he can’t then . . . well, we all know the penalty for murder and young as he is now the time will come when he is given over to the hangman.’

  ‘He didn’t do it . . . you have to know he didn’t do it.’

  The strangled sob gratified Thorpe. This time he would get what had until now slipped from his grasp.

  ‘I know he did not kill Sarah Clews,’ he said.

  ‘The witness, they have a witness!’

  ‘A witness can change his mind, retract the statement, say he is no longer sure of who it was he saw with Sarah; it was already dusk, light on the heath is deceptive.’

  Hope surged in Ann as she looked at the face in the shadows. ‘This witness, will he . . . do you think he will withdraw the statement?’

  Thorpe pulled sharply on her arm, drawing her close against his throbbing flesh. ‘He could be persuaded . . . and you know how.’

  ‘It was you!’ Ann twisted away from the mouth seeking hers. ‘You told the police it was Alec with that girl!’

  ‘And I can say I made a mistake, I can save your friend’s life – but such a generous act needs be paid for.’

  He must have waited for her. Ann’s whole body contracted with abhorrence for the man pressing his mouth to the base of her throat, his hand pawing at her breast. He had known she would stay with Alec at the police station for as long as she was allowed but, uncertain whether she would return to Leah’s house by way of the town or the more direct route along the Holyhead Road, he had waited here at the small openi
ng leading off that main highway. Regardless of the rest of her journey, she must take this path in order to reach the house.

  ‘So,’ Thorpe breathed against her throat, ‘do you pay or does your friend go to the gallows?’

  Would he keep his word? Stand by a promise to tell the police his identification of the figure he had seen with Sarah was a mistake? Thoughts raced in Ann’s brain. He had told so many lies before, how could she trust him now? But how could she not if Alec were to be saved? Forcing herself to answer she said quietly, ‘I . . . I will do whatever you ask but first we must go to the police.’

  She thought to fool him. Thorpe’s mind shouted silent laughter. Go to the station, tell the police a mistake had been made. The only mistake was Ann Spencer’s believing he would fall for such a trick.

  ‘There’ll be no goin’ to the station ’til payment be made nor will that debt be settled in Chapel House.’ The hand clasping her breast moved swiftly to her throat, one savage tug ripping open a blouse gleaming white in a sudden shaft of brilliant moonlight. Another rip revealed small high breasts. He stared at the moonlit mounds, the flesh between his legs pounding its insistence. ‘Your fee,’ he said hoarsely, ‘will be paid here and now.’

  Chapter 35

  ‘You are with him from choice . . . of your own free will. Lord, how stupid can a man be! You certainly made a fool out of me. I’m sorry I’ve spoiled your evening; rest assured I won’t do so again.’

  In the silence of her bedroom the words of Edward Langley rang in Ann’s head. He had come to Leah’s house to enquire further after Alec and on being told she was still at the station, had set off for there to walk her home. It must have been her cry as Thomas Thorpe pushed her to the ground, Thorpe almost leaping on to her, that alerted Edward to the fact someone was being assaulted.

  With one hand he had hauled Thorpe halfway to his feet then seeing the face as he twisted the man round had snarled, ‘You again! I warned you, I told you what I’d do if you came anywhere near her again. It seems you didn’t understand, but you’ll understand well enough by the time your bones be mended.’

  His free hand had crashed into the face staring up at him then as it lifted for a second blow she had grabbed his arm.

  ‘No! It isn’t what you think.’

  ‘No?’ he had grated, ‘Then what is it?’

  She must not let him beat Thomas Thorpe. It had raced through her brain like an onrushing tide, washing away thought of anything except Thorpe’s promise to tell the police he had been mistaken in identifying Alec as the person with Sarah Clews. ‘I . . .’ She had stumbled on words she knew had to be spoken yet burned on her tongue. ‘We . . . Thomas and I . . .’

  A flash of eyes caught in a strong moonbeam had warned she was not convincing Edward Langley, but she had to – for Alec’s sake she must make him believe. Her next words had come almost on a cry.

  ‘I am with Thomas because I want to be with him.’

  It had seemed an age before he had answered and when he did his voice had been laced with disgust.

  ‘You are with him from choice . . .’

  Ann’s eyelids pressed down hard but the attempt to block out the consequence of what she had said failed totally, Edward Langley’s scathing remarks echoing relentlessly.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve spoiled your evening . . .’

  There had been contempt in the reply, his glance following the way Thorpe had fled the very second Edward’s grip had been released.

  ‘. . . rest assured I won’t do so again!’

  He had turned from her, becoming rapidly lost among merging shadow. She had not moved. Ann opened her eyes and stared sightlessly at a window showing nothing but the sable dark of night yet at the same time filled with the picture of a young woman standing alone, listening to the fading sound of dying footsteps.

  But had it been Edward Langley’s steps she had listened so intently to or was she on the alert for those of Thomas Thorpe, returning to carry out his intention?

  Ann moved to the bed. She had waited, shame at what she was about to do stinging like acid in her veins. She would not do as he asked; she had even turned to follow along the way he had gone, to tell him of her decision, but then filling her mind’s eye had come the picture of a young boy with tousled fair hair, eyes dark with incomprehension, a boy who asked, ‘You do believe me, don’t you Ann? You do believe I did not kill that girl?’

  And so she had waited, trembling but resolution strong and steady as a rock. She would lie with Thomas Thorpe, suffer his assault of her body, lose the respect of Edward Langley, even the love and friendship of Leah; she would forgo all of these if it meant Alec’s freedom. Each of those actions would bring her pain. Ann slipped into bed, the sheets cool against a body hot with shame. But of them all the thought of Edward Langley’s contempt hurt most.

  Ann sought sleep but none would come.

  She had waited there on that dark secluded path, waited for Thomas Thorpe to return, but he had not come back.

  ‘Don’t you go a tellin’ me I be wrong . . .’

  Etched on the shadowed ceiling, the scene played clearly as if in daylight. Leah had taken one look at the clothing Ann held together across her chest. ‘It be that filthy toerag Thorpe, I’ll pull his gizzard out through his earhole!?’

  Leah’s eyes had glistened with reproof as she dismissed Ann’s confession of being with Thorpe because she wished to be.

  ‘. . . I knows that blackguard better’n he thinks; he can pull the wool over the eyes of Ada Clews and the like but he can’t do it with me. Be my guess he stood waitin’ of you and it all be to do with the lad. Tell me that don’t be the truth.’

  More lies! Ann watched herself turn away from the other then swing quickly back to the woman tying the corners of her shawl beneath her breasts saying as she did so,

  ‘You refuse to say so I’ll just go get it from Thorpe. He knows Leah Marshall be no mullock, her don’t be ignorant of the fact he be naught but a roarin’ ranter spoutin’ the Scriptures, actin’ like he be the Lord’s true disciple when there be folk to impress. But when there ain’t he sheds the role like a snake sheds its skin, but like the snake the poison inside of him remains deadly.’

  ‘No Leah please you can’t, he might refuse to . . .’

  ‘What might Thomas Thorpe refuse?’

  The question had placed Ann in a quandary, seeming to rob her of the ability to think clearly. Was it best to confide in Leah or to lie yet again?

  Impatient at receiving no answer Leah had begun sharply, ‘Keep it to yourself if you will but that won’t keep it from me, not if I have to squeeze every word from his lying . . .’

  The flow had halted as she frowned, intensifying the tightness of her face, her anger-brightened eyes boring into Ann’s.

  ‘That be it don’t it?’ Sudden perception had kept her voice low. ‘That no good fossack’s promised summat as’ll see the lad freed, but first you was meant to pay and we both knows it weren’t money he were askin’.’

  Ann had recognised it would do no good continuing to lie. Quietly, brokenly it had all come out.

  ‘You truly thought he would tell that inspector it were a mistake, that it weren’t Alec he’d seen along of Sarah.’ Leah had shaken her head in disbelief. ‘You could believe that knowin’ the lies he’s told! Lord, wench, that man be so crooked he can’t lie straight in bed; hadn’t it been for Edward comin’ along as he did Thorpe would have teken what he wanted and laughed all the way ’ome; as for goin’ along of the police it’ll snow in hell afore he does that.’

  ‘Then I will have to tell them.’

  ‘Won’t mek no odds, they’ll think it be one more con on your part to get the lad out.’

  ‘But I can’t just leave him there.’ Ann heard the desperation in her own voice and the common sense in Leah’s down-to-earth answer.

  ‘Alec be best off where he is. Arthur Clews be driven half mad by his wench’s murder, I wouldn’t answer for what he might do to the lad. No,
I says let things lie as they be; it’ll be frightenin’ for the lad bein’ locked up but he’ll be safe there ’til the real killer be found.’

  Ann watched the pictures fade leaving the ceiling a tiny sea of shadows while thoughts buzzed in her brain.

  What if the real killer was never found?

  What if Alec was judged a murderer?

  What if the law hanged him?

  Ann closed her eyes and sobbed.

  The body had been found!

  Thomas Thorpe’s veins drummed.

  ‘Found floatin’ in the Devil’s Pool.’

  It couldn’t have been! Thorpe refused to accept what he heard. The body would have been sucked down, pulled into underground mine workings.

  ‘Arthur Clews come upon it, he were out searchin’ o’ them gypsies.’

  Clews! Thorpe’s brain clicked to normal. The man was deranged at the loss of a daughter; in that crazed state, wanting as badly as he did to catch the person responsible, might he not have thought whoever it was in that flooded shaft had first killed the girl then drowned himself out of remorse? It would make a decent argument against Alec Romney being guilty, a case Thomas Thorpe must prevent being put.

  ‘But the police already got the one who done for that wench.’

  ‘Ar, but ’ave they got the right one?’

  ‘He be naught but a striplin’ of a lad and Clews’ wench were well built and strong from workin’ along of a factory all day; I for one don’t see he could ’ave overcome ’er.’

  ‘You be right, Joby, the wench would ’ave been more’n capable of throwin’ him off.’

  He for one did not believe Romney was the culprit. How many more thought the same, or more importantly how many yet might be swayed if this line of talk was allowed to go on?

  They would not him pass by without first listening to this latest piece of news. That would be his chance. Thorpe stepped closer to the group of men.