by Pat Herbert
“I think she was just using you, Robbie. I hate to say it, but I think she wasn’t serious.”
“I know, no fool like an old fool, eh?”
Bernard laughed and bent down to tickle Beelzebub’s ear. The cat, who had been stretched across the hearthrug between the men’s feet, looked up and yawned. He started to scratch at the rug and stood up. It was time for his supper. Bernard, as usual, had to get up from his warm fireside to let him out.
“That cat rules your life,” laughed Robbie. “I’d kick him up the backside, if he were mine.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Robbie. You like him almost as much as me.”
“He’s not so bad, as cats go.”
They were silent for a few minutes, drinking and smoking their pipes companionably. Bernard was the first to break the silence. “I think I’m going to hold an all-night vigil for Mr Drake,” he said.
Robbie stared at him. “An all-night vigil? Goodness me.”
“Well, I know there’s nothing we can do for him now. He’s going to be hanged at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, just under twelve hours from now.” He gave an involuntary shudder. “I’m sure he didn’t murder Alice Troy, but I’ve no way of proving it. I feel so useless, so the least I can do is spend the last few hours of his life praying for him.”
“They broke the mould when they made you,” said Robbie, swigging his whisky, feeling like a heathen as he did so. He was hardly ever at Bernard’s services these days, always finding some excuse not to attend, and it was beginning to prey on his mind. He made a secret resolve to attend next Sunday.
“I just feel it’s something I must do. And his poor wife, with a new baby to bring up all on her own. I must pray for her too.”
“Poor wee lassie,” said Robbie. “It’s such a shame for her and the baby. But, make no mistake, Howard Drake is guilty as charged.”
“You said yourself that there was something not right about May,” said Bernard crossly.
Robbie was immovable. “Mark my words, Howard Drake is the man.”
Bernard sighed and gave up. He looked at the clock. It was nearly a quarter to eleven. There was a scratching at the door and he rose to open it for his cat, who looked as if he had eaten half his weight in Kit-E-Kat. He strode into the room and started the process of licking every inch of his anatomy, before settling down to sleep in front of the fire once more.
“Robbie, shouldn’t you be off? It’s getting late. Won’t Lucy wonder where you are?”
“You know, Bernie, I can see a change in that lass all of a sudden.”
“A change?”
“Yes, she looks prettier somehow. I’ve always thought her a bonny lass, but there’s more colour in her cheeks and she seems much happier these days. She’s a pleasure to have around now. I think it’s since she’s been a hospital visitor, it’s given her an outside interest. I rather fancy I might make a go of it with her, old boy.”
“You mean you’re going to make an honest woman of her at last, Robbie?”
Robbie was slightly put out at his friend’s eager assumption. But, after all, wasn’t that what he was thinking himself?
“Steady on,” he said, “we’ll see. But that’s by the by. If I might use your telephone, old boy, I’ll ring and let her know I won’t be coming back tonight, so she can lock up.”
“You mean you’re going to keep an all-night vigil too?” Bernard was astonished.
“I rather think I am. As long as you keep the Glenfiddich coming, that is.”
***
The delicious smell of frying bacon was the first thing that woke them the next morning. Bernard jumped up and glanced at the clock, which was no help as he had forgotten to wind it the night before. But he knew that Mrs Harper always started the breakfast just before eight o’clock, so he was pretty certain the execution of Howard Drake was about to take place, if it hadn’t already happened.
Robbie was disoriented; where on Earth was he? He had aches in every part of his body. He even had aches in parts of his body he never knew he had. He must have fallen asleep in the chair all night.
Bernard rushed out onto the landing and called down to Nancy in the kitchen. “What time is it, Mrs Aitch?”
She came out and stood in the hall, looking up at him. She was surprised to see him looking so dishevelled, as if he had been up all night. “Ten past eight,” she informed him. “Breakfast will be ready in five minutes.”
“Have you got enough for Robbie, too?”
Mrs Harper, who never let anything faze her, just sniffed. She supposed she could put a couple more eggs in the pan, but the bacon would just have to stretch between the two of them.
***
Both men, probably unlike poor Howard Drake earlier that morning, ate a hearty breakfast. Nancy Harper’s fried breakfasts had a reputation the length and breadth of the parish. But they felt they shouldn’t really be enjoying their food when a man had just been done to death by the great majesty of the law.
Robbie stood up from the kitchen table, preparing to return home to get ready for his morning surgery at nine o’clock. As he made his way to the door, the bell rang and he found a tear-stained Flora Drake and baby on the front step.
“Hello, lassie,” he said. “Won’t you come away in?”
“Thank you, doctor. Is the vicar at home?”
Bernard was emerging from the kitchen as Robbie showed her into the hall. “Hello, dear,” he said, taking both her hands in his. “Come into the parlour, I think Mrs Aitch has the fire going in there.” She and the baby looked cold, as if they had been walking the winter streets for hours.
Robbie retraced his steps and followed Bernard and Mrs Drake into the parlour. He looked at his watch which told him his patients would be congregating in his waiting room by now. Well, they would just have to wait. Most of them wasted his time anyway, with their coughs, colds and sneezes. What did they expect with this weather? He couldn’t do anything about the flu, either. Just tell them to take an aspirin and wrap-up warm. They should be able to work that out for themselves. Lucy would look after them, he had no doubt, dispensing tea and sympathy until he got there.
“So, Mrs Drake,” said Bernard, clearing his throat. “Is it – is it all over?”
She nodded and buried her face in her baby’s shawl. She hugged him close. “What am I going to tell him when he asks about his father?” she cried, looking at the two men as if she expected them to know the answer.
She held out her baby to Bernard. “Can you take him for a moment, please?”
He was taken aback. He didn’t know one end of a baby from the other, and was afraid they would break on contact. Robbie smartly stepped in. “Here, old boy, give him to me. You’ll drop the wee bairn, holding him like that.” Bernard was relieved to hand over the precious bundle to him.
While the two men fought over the baby, Flora removed a crumpled envelope from her handbag. “I want you to read this, vicar,” she said, her tears now flowing freely. She handed the envelope to Bernard and retrieved her baby.
“I’ll go and organise some tea,” said Robbie briskly, leaving the room to hunt down Nancy Harper.
“What is it?” asked Bernard, handling the envelope carefully. “It’s a letter addressed to you. Are you sure you want me to read it?”
“Yes, it’s from my husband.” She rocked her baby gently.
“If you’re sure?” said Bernard tentatively.
“I think you have a right to see what’s in it,” she said.
Bernard opened the envelope and took out two sheets of light blue paper. It was tissue thin and damp, as if Flora had wept tears over it, which she probably had. And Howard himself had probably shed a few himself while writing it.
Robbie returned with Nancy Harper bearing a tea tray. She rattled the crockery and made a general noise about dealing out the refreshment. She took one look at poor Flora and removed the baby from her. “There, there, ducks,” she said tenderly, “you give me the poor little mite. ’Ere, take m
y ’anky, it’s clean.”
Flora gratefully took her handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. Nancy assured her that she didn’t want it back.
Bernard looked up from the letter and stared sadly at Flora. “Can I let Robbie read it, Mrs Drake?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
Robbie, puzzled, took the letter from Bernard. Finishing it, he handed it back to him without a word.
“It looks like you were right, after all, Robbie,” said his friend.
Robbie looked at Flora sadly. “I suppose so, but it doesn’t give me any satisfaction.”
Flora looked down at her baby, still in the arms of Mrs Harper. “I now know the truth. It’s what I’m going to tell the little one that’s my biggest concern. I can cope, but it’s not fair on the child.”
“I’m afraid we weren’t put on this earth to be happy all the time, Mrs Drake,” said Bernard. “We just have to believe that adversity makes us stronger and God only makes us suffer for the good of our immortal souls.”
Flora Drake listened to his homily, but didn’t seem to be taking it in. “I’m not going to show this letter to his parents, vicar. They’re broken-hearted enough as it is. I don’t think my mother-in-law would recover from this. Do you think I should let them see it?”
Bernard shook his head. “It’s up to you, my dear. But if you think they’re not strong enough to learn the truth, perhaps it’s better that they don’t know. At least not yet. But you must do what you think is best, that’s all I can advise.”
“Thank you, vicar,” she said. She put the letter back in her handbag.
Bernard stood up as Flora took the baby from Nancy and prepared to leave. “One day, maybe not for quite a while, but one day you will learn to smile again. You know that I will do all I can to help you through these dark days, so will Robbie and, yes, of course, Mrs Aitch too. We’ll all be here for you.”
“Thank you, thank you all,” said Flora, beginning to cry again.
“When you’re ready, you must let me christen the child,” said Bernard, opening the front door for her.
“Yes, of course, I must think about that. Up until now I wasn’t sure what to call him. But I’ve decided now.”
“And what have you decided?”
“Donald, after his grandfather. I was going to call him Howard, but now I don’t think I want him to be associated with him in any way.”
“I can understand that, dear,” said Bernard.
***
As Robbie took his leave ten minutes later, he turned to his friend and gave him a wry smile. “She’s going to call her child Donald? Oh dear, that’s Donald Drake, a bit Walt Disneyish, isn’t it? The poor thing will no doubt get ribbed at school about it.”
Bernard didn’t smile. “It’s better than being ribbed for having a father hanged for murder.”
“Point taken,” said Robbie, consulting his watch again. It was nearly half-past nine and he needed a wash and shave before he faced his patients. His waiting room would be full to overflowing by now.
14th February 1958: Stockwell
May Stubbs was feeling a little more cheerful this evening. Before he had left that morning, Danny had suggested they go and see the new Paul Newman film at the Regal and that she should come to the shop at closing time to meet him. It seemed like ages since they had been out together, and she was looking forward to it. It also meant they wouldn’t have to spend another evening in their poky little flat, staring at the mess that Alice Troy had made during the day. Although it was ironic today had been the first day that Alice hadn’t made her presence felt, and the place was just as tidy that evening as it had been that morning.
She got on the bus, making her way up to the top deck. She found a seat near the back, and felt for her cigarettes. She felt quite relaxed, and didn’t feel the need for one, which made a pleasant change. She stared out of the window as the bus trundled along. The weather had taken a turn for the better, and the darkening streets, enhanced by the pale light from the street lamps, looked almost romantic.
She and Danny had been getting on much better over the last couple of days, and she wasn’t feeling quite so jealous anymore. After all, nothing had really happened between him and Alice, as far as she knew, and anyway she was dead. There was nothing to feel jealous of. Maybe her untimely death gave her a sort of glamour, like James Dean, but you couldn’t make love to a ghost. She thought of that lovely poem she’d learnt in school about the grave being ‘a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace’. That about summed up the situation, she thought happily. She and Danny could go on leading their lives together now, and maybe one day they would marry and have a family.
A man came up the stairs and sat next to her. He took a newspaper out of his pocket and unfolded it. The headline stared out from the front page “Drake Hanged”. Just those two words in two-inch high thick black letters. They made her reach for her cigarettes.
***
As she sat puffing quietly, she began to realise how many passengers were reading the same headline. No matter in which direction she looked, she saw those two words: “Drake Hanged”. As her journey continued, she became more and more anxious. Looking out of the window, the evening didn’t seem so pleasant anymore. The light from the street lamps seemed harsh now, showing up the Stockwell streets for what they were: dark and depressing, not palely romantic.
So Howard Drake had been hanged after all, despite rumours of a last-minute reprieve. She wished he hadn’t had to hang, not that she could have done anything to save him herself. Of that, she was convinced. She had spent the best part of seven months telling herself that, and now she truly believed it. The only way she could have saved him would have been by confessing to the murder herself. But she hadn’t meant to kill Alice, it had been an accident. She was no murderer. It was true she had pushed her, but she had fallen and knocked her head against the mantelpiece. It was just an unfortunate accident. Well, she supposed it was a little more than ‘unfortunate’ for Alice, but that’s the way things happened sometimes.
And even if she had gone to the police and told them what had happened, would they have believed her? No, she couldn’t have risked it. Just imagine. It could have been herself at the end of the hangman’s rope instead of Howard Drake, if she had confessed.
The man next to her got off. It was her stop next, so she got ready to get off too, collecting her bag and gloves and straightening her hat. As she did so, she noticed, for the first time, the woman in the front seat. That seat had been unoccupied just two seconds ago, she was sure. She never saw anyone go past her to the front. How odd, she thought. She got up and pressed the bell at the top of the stairs. She looked round as she did so, and saw the woman at the front stand up and turn round. It was a young, very pretty woman in a red dress. It was Alice Troy.
She smiled at May, a malevolent smile. It was a smile full of evil and spite. Her eyes seemed to flash fire. For a moment, Alice had a serpent’s face. The only thing missing was the forked tongue. She started to move towards May as she started down the stairs. As she reached the bottom, she turned and looked up. Alice was towering above her, looking twice her normal size.
The bus conductor watched as May nearly fell off the platform. “Hold on, love,” he called out. “Wait till the bus stops.”
But May wasn’t going to wait until the bus stopped. The serpent’s face came closer, and its mouth opened to reveal gleaming white fangs and a red sliver of tongue. May screamed and fell into the road in front of the car that was following the bus too closely to stop in time.
The conductor, horrified, turned to the smart young woman in the red coat who was coming down the stairs behind May. “Did you see what happened, Miss?” he asked.
“I can’t understand it,” she said. “She seemed scared to death. Just jumped into the road.”
***
May never knew what had happened, not until she awoke in a small hospital room, the sun shining through the s
mall glazed window. There were flowers all around the room, and the scent was almost overpowering. She felt fine, apart from her legs. She turned her head on the pillow to see Danny seated by her side.
“Hello, darling,” he said. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” said May, “except I can’t feel my legs.”
Danny looked away. “Don’t worry, you’ll be all right. The doctor is coming to see you soon.”
“How long have I been unconscious?”
“Nearly twenty-four hours, love,” said Danny, stroking her hand. “Look, now that you’re awake, I’ll have to get back to the shop for the evening rush. I closed it to come here. I’ve been coming and going all day. I’ll be back before you know I’ve gone.”
***
The doctor stood over May’s bed and consulted his charts. “Now, Miss Stubbs,” he said, “we’re glad to see you back with us at last. You’ve had a lucky escape. A very lucky escape, indeed.”
“What happened to me?”
“Don’t you remember? You were involved in a road accident. You apparently fell off a bus.”
May suddenly remembered Alice. She had been there, looming over her. A serpent’s head. It was horrible. She clung to the bedsheet.
“What’s the matter with my legs, doctor?” she asked, as she watched him writing on the chart. “I can’t feel them.”
“Not to worry, Miss Stubbs,” he said. “We need to run some tests to see what actual damage has been done.”
“Am I – am I paralysed?”
“It’s much too early to tell,” said the doctor, giving nothing away. “Until we have done all the tests, we won’t know anything for sure.”
But May knew, beyond all doubt, that she would never walk again.