‘For a fee, perhaps?’
‘Certainly not.’ He was beginning to feel rather warm and hoped he wasn’t sweating. Wiping his face with a handkerchief would be something of a giveaway. He knew from past experience that he had to play this very carefully because they were always looking for ways to call your bluff. Maybe he should try to brazen it out, he thought with a flicker of hope. ‘So can I go now? I’ve answered your questions, and I’ve warned you about that rat Wickham! You can’t believe a word he says. Born troublemaker, he is.’ He stood up.
The sergeant smiled. ‘Sit down, Mr Burke. For your information, the person who alleges that you performed a fake wedding ceremony is a Mrs May Ellerway. Mother of a certain Jenny Ellerway. Name ring a bell, does it?’
He frowned. ‘Ellerway? No. I don’t reckon so.’ That was best, he told himself. Act ignorant. Admit to nothing. They only had Mrs Ellerway’s word for it . . . unless she’d seen the marriage lines he’d produced. She may have taken them to show the police. Damn! That was what happened when you tried to do someone a favour. His attempt to please young Dolly just might prove his undoing. Swallowing, he found his throat dry. This wasn’t looking good at all.
Uninvited memories of the prison crowded into his mind. Wash up in cold water, first thing in the morning in that dreary place crowded with evil-minded men . . . emptying the slop buckets . . . trudging round the exercise yard – not to mention the food which he hated, except for sago pudding, which he always enjoyed. He sighed.
‘So you admit to knowing the Wickham brothers?’ The sergeant was staring at him, his eyes narrowed. Before he could answer, another man entered the room dressed in civilian clothes and this gave Burke his first jolt of real fear. The sergeant stood up. ‘This is DC Berry. A detective. He wants to ask you a few questions about a certain jeweller’s shop. Glazers. Ring a bell, does it?’
‘No!’ Burke said hoarsely. ‘It does not ring a bell!’
‘Well, we’ll come back to this marriage business later, Mr Burke.’ The sergeant grinned at his colleague and said, ‘He’s all yours!’
As the detective sat down in the vacated chair, the sergeant leaned forward with both hands flat on the table. ‘It’s like this,’ he told Burke. ‘You’re in deep trouble, Mr Burke, but you can save your skin if you’re clever enough. You tell DC Berry all about the robbery, including the assault with a pistol on an innocent man, and we’ll forget all about fraudulent wedding ceremonies and we might – I say might – recommend you for a lighter sentence.’
‘Lighter sentence for what?’ He tried to look puzzled.
‘For driving the getaway car. That’s what I heard, Mr Burke.’
Burke frowned. ‘Don’t know anything about a getaway car. Never heard of any of it. I’m innocent.’ He looked from the sergeant to the detective, who were both grinning. ‘What? I know the law. Innocent until proved guilty.’
The sergeant left the room, and the detective said wearily, ‘If it takes all day and all night, Mr Burke, I’ll get the truth out of you. We’ve got Sidney Wickham locked up, and now we’ve got you. It won’t be long before we catch up with Donald Wickham. Your luck’s just run out, Mr Burke, and to tell you the truth I’m feeling pretty smug, in case you’re interested – but I don’t suppose you are!’
Burke realized suddenly that he was no longer sweating. Instead he was aware of a leaden feeling deep within him. Those blighters have ratted me out, he reflected, sick with disbelief. They’ve bloody well snookered me! God damn their eyes! He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. It seemed there was no way out. If Sidney had been fingered he’d have said anything to get himself off the hook – but without much luck, seemingly, if the sergeant was telling the truth when he said Sidney was already locked up. And that stupid cow, Dolly’s mother, sticking her oar in!
He shook his head unhappily. They’d done wrong by him so he’d damn well return the favour. He took a deep breath. ‘Well, if you must know, it wasn’t me killed that man,’ he said firmly. ‘I was outside, waiting for them in the car. All you can get me for was waiting in the car! It was Don Wickham who whacked him!’
At the reception desk Mrs Duggett was handing over a sooty-looking package. ‘It’s a gun,’ she told the bored-looking desk sergeant who was rising reluctantly from his chair. ‘Found it stuck up my chimney.’
‘A gun!’
There was a gleam of interest now, she thought triumphantly. ‘Probably been there for years by the look of it, so don’t blame me. Blame one of my lodgers. I’ve had all sorts over the years.’ She thought that was rather clever. She did not want to get poor Mr Burke into any trouble. ‘I’m just being a responsible citizen, that’s all. Doing my duty by handing it in to the police.’ She smiled modestly.
He eyed it cautiously. ‘Loaded, is it?’
‘Don’t ask me! I haven’t touched it. Soon as I saw what it was I wrapped it up again double quick and brought it round here. You’re welcome to it! I don’t want things like that in my house. Might go off and kill me, and then where would I be? Planted six feet under!’
Mrs Duggett gave a little laugh and hoped she sounded innocent of any ill-doing. She had decided not to try and get rid of it in case she was caught in the act, and this way she hoped she would earn a little respect for her community spirit.
The desk sergeant reached for a ledger and dipped a pen into the inkwell. ‘Better have some details,’ he said, trying to hide his excitement.
This, she thought, was brightening up his morning.
‘Name and address, please madam.’
Eleven
Dolly was up in the attic when the doorbell rang, and she decided to ignore it. She had come up to the attic to consider a plan she had for renting out the space, and now she was making a mental plan of the room as it could be, if a suitable lodger could be found. The idea of abandoning her first home as a married woman was painful to her, and taking in a lodger seemed to offer a way out of the dilemma.
‘Even if I’m not truly married – if what that stupid Sid said is true,’ she muttered bitterly. Her mother’s discovery that Willis Burke was not a real reverend had been a bitter blow to her pride, but she had done her best to rise above the disaster – telling herself that poor Don had also been taken in by Burke’s smooth talking. She had her child to consider, and rushing back home to her mother and sister was unthinkable. She had tasted a few days of independence and was not yet willing to give up her new life.
The bed could go against the right-hand wall, she decided, and would only be a single so a male lodger would be deterred from bringing home a woman. Maybe a tartan blanket would look cheerful. A bed there would leave a space under the far window for a table and chair, and to the right she could fit in a chest of drawers . . . but there would have to be washing facilities and somewhere to cook – unless she offered meals.
‘I could do that,’ she said. ‘Plain food, that is, but I needn’t charge too much. Mrs Daye has a lodger.’ Maybe she would call on her and ask for advice. She had the address somewhere . . .
The bell rang again – a prolonged and very determined buzz which sent her hurrying downstairs as fast as her pregnancy would allow.
She opened the door to a young policeman and groaned aloud. ‘You lot again?’ she snapped. ‘I hear you’ve arrested my brother-in-law. Isn’t that enough?’
‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Wickham – or should I say Miss Ellerway?’
Dolly tried to close the door, but he put out a large boot to hold it open. Seeing her furious expression he held up a hand by way of an apology. ‘Sorry, miss. I mean Mrs. That is . . .’
‘What d’you want, Constable? I’m busy.’
‘You need to answer some questions. Can I come in or shall we go to the police station?’
She could see admiration in his eyes as he considered her blue eyes and blonde curls, and Dolly thought rapidly. ‘Do you know anyone who’s looking for a room to rent? Our attic’s very nice, and there’s a bit of a view over the
rooftops. I could show you the room if you like. It isn’t furnished yet, but it will look very nice.’
‘Er . . . not at the moment, but I could ask around. You could show me the room though – after you’ve answered the questions.’
Dolly hesitated, then agreed. They ended up in the front room, sitting either side of a fireplace full of last winter’s ashes.
He studied his notebook, trying to phrase his first question so as not to antagonize her.
‘We have reason to believe,’ he said carefully, ‘that your husband Donald Wickham might be a suspect in a murder investigation. Do you have anything to say?’
‘Say?’ She looked at him blankly. ‘You’re saying my husband murdered someone? No. It’s impossible!’
‘I’m afraid not. We are currently looking for him, Mrs Wickham. We are led to believe that he struck a man on the head during a raid on a London jeweller’s, and unfortunately the man has since died. We believe—’
‘I don’t care what you believe, it’s not him. It’s not my husband. He wouldn’t kill anyone. Why should he?’
‘It is alleged it might have been an accident, but it’s still manslaughter, even if it’s not murder, and we need to talk to your husband. Do you know where he is?’
‘No, I don’t, except that he’s away on business. He’s a very successful salesman. You could ask his brother Sidney since you’ve got him in custody. Lord knows what he’s supposed to have done.’
‘He is also involved in the robbery.’
‘Who is? I can’t understand all this.’
‘Sidney Wickham is also involved. The two of them entered the shop on—’
‘You’re talking through your hat!’ Dolly protested. ‘I know my husband better than you do, Constable.’
‘But he talked you into a phoney wedding, didn’t he? You didn’t know him that well!’
Dolly blinked. ‘He trusted Willis Burke, that’s all. We’ll have a proper wedding when he gets back and finds out what’s happened.’ Even as she suggested it, her heart told her it would never happen, and that particular knowledge introduced all sorts of doubts. Despite her brave words she felt as though the ground was shifting beneath her feet.
Risking a glance at the young policeman, she wondered if she could appeal to his better nature – if he had one. She pulled at one of her blonde curls, twisting it around her finger as she fluttered her eyelashes. ‘There must be a mistake, Constable,’ she said softly. ‘Sidney Wickham must be lying through his teeth. And why would he need to rob a bank? He’s got a private income from his grandfather. Family money. He told me so himself. He was the favourite so—’
‘Family money? Hogwash!’ The sergeant grinned. ‘He certainly pulled the wool over your eyes!’
But Dolly was not listening, as her thoughts had taken off in another direction. Abruptly forgetting her womanly wiles, she frowned. ‘Who ratted on Sidney and Don? Because whoever it was, they lied! They must have done.’
‘I’m not allowed to divulge information,’ he said sternly, ‘except to say it was a so-called friend. So to get back to business, Miss Ellerway, we now have two members of the gang in custody, and we understand your hus . . . your fiancé, Donald Wickham, is the ringleader. Do you know his whereabouts – yes or no? I have to remind you that withholding information is an offence. You don’t want to join them, do you?’
Inwardly, Dolly was seething. If what this policeman said was true then Don had tricked her into believing that they were married. That nice Mr Burke had been pretending – and Don had known it! Her mother had suggested as much earlier on, but Dolly had denied it, accusing her of stirring up trouble between husband and wife. How could she face her mother again – now that all this was happening? She herself had been more than satisfied with her marriage lines with the red sealing wax. Mavis had been so jealous, and Dolly had been so happy as Mrs Donald Wickham . . . and now she felt stupid. Don must have been secretly laughing at her for being so trusting. And now her poor baby would be born on the wrong side of the blanket! Dolly felt like weeping, but the tears refused to flow. She stared at the policeman and sighed deeply.
He said, ‘Look, I’m sorry about all this, but you have to answer my questions. Do you know where your husband is?’
She shook her head.
‘Do you know when he is coming back?’
She shook her head again. Maybe never, she thought miserably.
‘Has he given you any jewellery, Miss Ellerway, and if so, do you still have it? We have a list of stolen items that—’
‘He gave me a diamond ring and said I was never to take it off or it would break the marriage vows, but when he went off I thought he’d never find out so I let Sidney take it to get it valued for me.’
‘Did he now? How kind of Sidney!’ He rolled his eyes, grinning again. ‘Can you describe the ring?’
‘They call them solitaires because they just have one special stone. Solitary, you see. That means “one”. Like solitary confinement in prison. One person in a cell.’ She felt rather proud of that information as she watched him taking notes.
He glanced up at her. ‘Trust me – you won’t see that ring again.’
‘But he’s going to bring it—’ She paused as her thoughts raced on uneasily.
‘Exactly!’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Sidney Wickham is up before the courts any day now and won’t be coming back home for years. He was identified by an honest pawnbroker. Stolen property, Miss Ellerway. That’s what that ring was. You can bet on it!’
‘But it’s mine! It was my wedding ring!’she protested.
‘I’m afraid not. It was never Donald Wickam’s property because it was stolen, so he had no right to be giving it to you and his brother had no right to be trying to pawn it. Don’t you see? You could be charged with receiving stolen goods, but I believe that you did not understand the true situation. The police are after the three perpetrators, not gullible womenfolk.’
Hurt by the slur, Dolly held back a bitter comment. Things were bad enough, she reasoned, without upsetting the police.
By the time the sergeant left, Dolly felt as though her whole life had been a total muddle. She stood on the doorstep and watched the policeman ride away on his bicycle and thought that nothing worse could possibly happen to her.
She was wrong.
‘Mrs Wickham?’ A large middle-aged man had approached her from the opposite direction. He looked what her mother called ‘thuggish’, with a square flat face under a mass of brown hair. As he drew alongside she smelt the whisky on his breath.
‘Mrs Wickham?’ he repeated.
‘Not any longer.’ She sighed.
‘But you do live here, don’t you? ’Cause if you do you owe three weeks’ rent and the boss says “pay up” or sling your hook!’ To emphasize the point he held out a large calloused hand.
Dolly thought about it dispassionately. Did she still legally live at number sixteen? It was the Wickhams’ place, but what was the point if Don was gone, Lord knows where, and Sidney was arrested? Did she want to stay there on her own? Probably not. Could she afford to settle the rent arrears? No. But could she bear to go home to Ma and Mave and have them gloat over her misfortunes? Most definitely not.
‘What’s it to be?’ he asked, scratching his matted hair.
His surly tone and total lack of interest depressed her. ‘I was planning to rent out the attic,’ she confided, but her hopes were fading. ‘If I did then I could pay you the rent that’s owed. Would he wait for a week or so?’
‘Don’t ask me, I only collect the cash.’
‘I dare say I could ask him myself.’
He shrugged. ‘And if you don’t find a lodger you’ll owe even more.’
Regretfully, Dolly saw the logic of that and surrendered the idea. ‘Tell your boss I’ll be gone by nightfall,’ she told him, ‘and tell him from me –’ she folded her arms belligerently – ‘that the corner of the front bedroom reeks of damp and the wallpaper’s peeling off. The kitchen
window frame is rotten – you can press your finger through it – and there’s a thing like a smelly brown mushroom growing in the cupboard under the stairs. Perhaps he should spend some money on the place before it falls down around the next lodger’s ears!’
His smile revealed neglected teeth. ‘Perhaps if people like you paid their rent on time, he would.’
‘Just tell him!’ she snapped.
‘Tell him yourself.’
There was no answer to that so Dolly went inside, slamming the door behind her, then went upstairs to pack her few belongings. By the time she had finished she knew exactly where she was going and set off with Lydia Daye’s address clutched in her free hand.
Later that day Lydia was polishing the silver – a job she had been doing from childhood and greatly enjoyed. Sitting at the kitchen table in the same kitchen, with cloths and polishes to hand, she had earned approval from her mother for her diligence and always received a penny for her labours which she would spend in the sweet shop on the corner. Now she smiled. She had spent ages in the little shop, which smelled of aniseed balls and chocolate and marzipan and many other smells that she could not name.
At that time she had enjoyed the luxury of being adored by both her parents, and she clearly remembered her excitement when her mother announced that they would soon have an addition to the family as the stork would bring her a baby brother or sister. When he arrived, the baby was named Robert, but there the happy ending rested for a number of years until a third child brought about drastic changes. The new sister died soon after birth, and her mother died a few months later, allegedly from an infection aggravated by an excess of grief.
She glanced from the kitchen window and was reassured to see her father sitting in the garden, well wrapped up against a blustery wind. Beside him Adam played with a bubble pipe and a bowl of soapy water, sending the bubbles high into the air and running after them with squeals of excitement.
Lydia smiled wistfully. The scene brought back memories of her brother Robert when he was the same age and adored by all and sundry – which included Lydia. Her father had doted upon him, but Lydia had never resented the fact that, as Robert grew older, her father paid her less and less attention. The boy’s death had been a devastating blow to everyone, but her father had been half out of his mind with sorrow and the pain of loss.
The Great Betrayal Page 16